Authors note: I have no real reason to start writing shorts other than this: I had a thought the other day and you know I have no idea how to write a short story. everything i think up starts to get longer and longer with each passing day so i guess you could say this is my experiment and you are my lab rats. :D enjoy. Second Authors note: I did this one in about five minutes. I was listening to my grandparents fan and it sort of escalated from there...
The fans were on the ceiling of this underground bar whirling slowly, whuh-whuh-whuh, their little lights dimly illuminating the scene below. A metal counter under which worn wooden stools sit, awaiting the next denizen to thump into them and shoot orders at the creaky old fellow behind the bar steadily wiping the glass-like cups lining the shelves below the counter. Dark paint has peeled off the walls revealing pockmarked stone on which paintings by unknown artists hang, crookedly. Little tables, dwarfed by the people huddled around them, were randomly scattered around.
In a stranger walks and all the bums at the tables looked up then look down, blank disinterest on their faces, more interested in the visions dancing in their cups. Red hair swings past the dark clad hips of the stranger as she walks up to the counter and sets a case down on the floor where it can huddle at her feet.
Ee-ee ee-ee, go the fans as their slow momentum swings the base back and forth. The man at the counter with the white hair and dark glasses, holding a cig, moves over to let her sit. She ignores the seat and sneaks a peek at his hands which are covered in scars that entwine each finger. They study each other in silence as their cigs fill the air with smoke and the bartender pours the man a second drink. She with the dark skin, oversized jacket, and blue eyes, one covered by a bloodstained patch, surveyed the man wearing a white suit with a dark shirt and tie.
Silence is broken by the man, "Almanzo Sersinn." he says, and presents his hand to the stranger who grasps it, firmly. "C.O. Badoux. Call me Coco." She replies, smiling faintly, as she pushes a paper across to him. He picks it up and reads these words, 'I was followed by 5 men Be prepared C.O. Badoux', and looks at her. She is ordering a drink. He slides the paper back to her and, as she looks at him, slips his hand into his jacket.
The door bursts open and three men carrying various weapons walk in wearing dark suits and dark glasses, they are anonymous and intimidating as they roughly search the people gathered around the tables and the bartender looks on, wiping absentmindedly. A whistle is blown and two more trot in and they confer with the others. One walks up to the bar and notices the cigs burning in the ashtray. He staggers back as blood splatters the wooden stools and Coco and Almanzo come out blazing like two gunfighters in an Italian Western.
Men in black turn around, too late, guns in hands, they kill those that were too slow to hit the deck. One manages a call for help before a hole appears, like magic, in his forehead. Not a drop of blood on either survivor as they gather the weapons held by the dead that litter the cheap wood floor.
They reload and leave, her grabbing the case and replacing the bazooka, click goes the lock, out the side door to emerge in a hallway leading to the outside. Sun blinds those who come from the dark places but not these two, they move with a purpose as they enter the alley across the street and watch a vehicle pull up to the bar entrance to let some men in dark suits pile out. The men leave soon after and drive off, heading uptown.
Coco breathes a sigh of relief and sheathes her gun in a shoulder holster. "Well, that's that. Wanna come crash at my place, Sersinn?" She asks as she lights up, cupping a hand around the flame, and looks up when a click sounds in the silence after her question.
She looked past the black hole centered on her chest into the dark glasses that reflected her surprised eyes as three shots thundered into her body. She fell back, her head propped at an angle as it rested against the wall behind her, her cig flaring as it slid into the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttering as he who killed her reloaded and stopped, forehead wrinkling, to look down at her in bewilderment as she grinned. She started to speak and he bent down to catch her whisper, the sun glinting off her gold earrings. "Boom."
Flames billowed from the alley across the way from a once popular underground bar, which in its day was a hot spot for artists of all kinds and boasted patronage to some golden figures of society such as, Almanzo Sersinn who fixed the justice system and rose to national prestige.
People rushed out to douse the fire before it caught the buildings alongside it on fire but one walked away. Red hair swung past hips clad in stylish pants over rubber boots that made no sound as the stranger strode through water and over broken glass to come to a halt at the corner. She looked back at the carnage littering the streets through eyes as red as blood, gold hoops glinting, and put a watch, inscribed "Badoux, C.O. With love, Manzo" on the cover, back in her oversized leather jacket and turned back into the wind, a triumphant grin lighting her dark face.
After the fire had been doused the press released the following statement:
"The fire was caused by an explosion that originated from a prototype ZX3490LR, which can be programmed to carry out normal activities for their human counterparts, that was found next to the body of the unknown male that was caught in this tragic incident. If you have any info, please contact…" A mechanical voice squawked out of a flat gray device, disguised as "art", hanging on the wall opposite the empty bar. The old service bot behind the counter wiped a glass as music filled the once smoky air.
End~