WARNING: this piece includes graphic and/or explicit language and alludes to sex and violence. It is fictional and ironic, but may not be suited to all readers.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Carrie challenged me with “Lazarus, Spooks, and Gordon Meow Meow,” and I challenged Bridget with “like whatever happened yesterday.”
I combined this with an exercise for class that asked us to write a monologue in which we revealed our narrator to be unreliable. May or may not be a success.
Gordon Meow Meow:
Spooks had a tat of a lion devouring a lamb that covered his shoulders. The lion had the lamb’s throat in its mouth, up on Spooks neck and into his skull, the jaws and blood curling around under his jaw. He called it significant because the weak always go out bleating like a lamb. I wasn’t afraid of Spooks, though; he talked big, but he’d piss himself if he had to shoot somebody. Sometimes going downtown he get jumpy an act like it was practice; he’d be saying to me “baby, I got you, you know I take care a you,” and I’d be thinking, you dumb sonofabitch, you ain’t got your own shit in line, let off mine. But you don’t go talking shit to dudes with lion tats.
Anyway, Spooks was king and Lazarus’s just some pint-size shit. He was bold, you know, like wearing ties sometimes and shaking hands real straight. He was lucky Spooks didn’t hate on his ass much. Spooks might’ve been scared like shit most the time but he had boys covering his back 24. And he had me.
I knew Lazarus was crooked from day one. But my boy Spooks wouldn’t hear me out less we was in the middle of things in the back room and then nobody’d be talking business because pleasure comes first – isn’t that right? Spooks didn’t want to hear me, though. He was so busy loving on me that he started thinking to whole world was looking out for his bullshit and loving him back.
I knew because I had a drink with this Aryan bastard awhile back and he told me about a bust and some dude with a real biblical complex getting himself inside them and cracking heads after only a couple of weeks. Lazarus was slimy as shit with his brown hair slicked back and his shiny ass suits.
“You just jealous,” Spooks’d say to me and I’d get mad, but Spooks like it and he’d kiss me hard then, push me a little and then it would be pleasure before business, as usual. I couldn’t tell him about the Aryan asshole because then he’d get jealous. And like I said, I ain’t afraid of Spooks, but when he get jealous, he ain’t Spooks no more. So I bit my tongue and hoped the fucking Aryan was playing me a fool – getting a rise outta me by describing the shit like Lazarus. The Aryans got networks like nobody else. He coulda known Lazarus was new in our hood.
But nobody play me a fool if they know anything.
I watched Lazarus close. He had a walk, cocky bastard, like some swagger gone up and bit him. And he looked at me like he knew I knew, or maybe like he thought I wanted a new man. I told him to fuck off with a pat to the piece in my jacket. Motherfuckers understand bullets.
He played cool enough, but always trying to get in close on Spooks and me. Acted like he was some freak groupie.
When shit went down, I shoulda known but my pants were around my ankles and my eyes were on the floor. Spooks made sure we had boys outside. Lazarus came in and knifed Spooks, dragging him down.
I tried to shoot the little shit’s brains out, but I was pulling up my pants and hit Spooks in the lion’s mouth and he looked back at me for he died, like maybe he thought I meant to do it. Our bastard crew came in then, saw the gun in my hand and knew easy what happened.
They sniveled and apologized like lamb fucks and grabbed the little shit saying, “What should we do with him, boss?”
Seemed like at least I could have things finished, so I told the idiots to leave him and go watch the fucking door. I dropped my pants again and sat down.