orig fic piece. beginning. hrm.

[amand_r]

You are very grateful for the small pleasures of life.

(LEARN CHINESE – Winter. dōng tiān)

 

 

Whippoorwill Jones just hated her name until the first time she saw it in print on her WANTED poster. Then she fucking hated it. Not that her picture was any good, either. They used mug shots for that shit, which was probably part of the punishment for being on a WANTED poster in the first place. If she ever got caught, she was slapping that motherfucker on the sentencing judge's desk and demanding a reduction for time served on the walls of the post office.

Seriously, when they took that picture, she'd been dragged out of a bar, and some bitch had torn a huge chunk of her hair out of the side of her head. And her eyelashes were invisible, because her mascara was gone. She looked like an eyelash-less, eyebrow-less cancer patient. They'd cropped out her fingers, which was a little dignity, since she'd lost three nails, ripped right the fuck off.

On the other hand, it was nice to be wanted. Sort of.

The snow was piling up on the sidewalks, and the plows had gone by a few minutes earlier, locking in all the cars on the road. Clo was making sure that they were clear enough to pull out, backing out and re-parking to trample the slush down. Some sad dude lost a fight with a chair in someone's parking spot. The stereo was on, but they weren't really paying attention to it. Besides, it was old Salt N Pepa.

"It was the fucking Great Gatsby," Whip said, licking a cheese puff and tossing the hull out the window.

The car stopped and Clo cut the engine. The neon lights all along the street blinked in and out with the snow and the intermittent pulse they used to draw people in. Bars were like bug zappers in a way.

"I saw that movie," Clo said, "they wear their pants all pulled up."

Whip shook her head and dug around for a really big cheese puff. This shit always got under her fingers. She needed gloves, or a wet nap or something. Instead she stuck her fingers in her mouth and scraped the orange powder off with her bottom teeth. The wipers ran over the windshield, wiping away the droplets of melted snow.

"I think they greased their hair, too." Clo mused, checking his magazine.

Whip tossed the bag of cheese puffs in the backseat and fished her gun out of her purse. "You never read it?"

Clo's face said that he'd never read something when he could watch the movie. Fucking figured. Her sister used to have a word for people like that--philistines. Clo was a philistine with a driver's license and a wall of handguns.

"Okay, so yeah, there's this badass guy, was in the war, started bootlegging, made a fortune. That's the fucking American dream."

Clo shrugged. "So?"

"So, there he was, all this shit, and we were sitting in fucking school, talking about some fucking green light, and some pair of billboard glasses or some shit." She pulled the mag out and tossed it in her purse. Clo handed her a full one; it was never good to go into something with half a mag. That shit was just stupid. Philistine.

The clock on the dash flipped to 11:45, and they tucked their guns into their coats. Clo swore when he opened the door and stepped into a big puddle. "My foot's gonna fucking freeze."

She checked the ground before setting her boots down--these were calfskin heels. Clo left the doors unlocked--that was key, actually. Too many instinctive assholes set the alarm on their cars before knocking off a joint, and it stole get away time, fumbling with the button, thinking about the button. Less to think about, the better, really.

Her phone buzzed and she checked the display: Cady wanted to know of she could have Spaghettio's for dinner. Clo led the way across the street while she worked her thumbs hard: eat a veg n a thing of peaches, 2.

"I hate reading," Clo told her when they reached the other side of the street. "All them letters make my brain hurt."

Whip shook her head, put her phone on silent, and zipped it into her coat pocket. "The movies are never like the books."

Clo looked through the glass door before opening it. "Yeah, they just cut all the boring shit out. Add more snatch." He ran a hand through his hair and checked his teeth in the glass.

Whip wanted to tell him that the solution was not always to add more snatch, but, well. She settled for ignoring the electronic buzzer that signaled their arrival and went back to the task at hand.

The clerk was one of those ubiquitous quasi-foreign men who could be from any number of places, and whose name tag read 'Mike". His eyes followed Clo from behind the counter, and he hadn't really looked at her, which was fine. She checked out the high priced slim range of panty liners and sauntered down the aisle. Clo signaled her by picking up a People at the newsstand and sticking his face in it, so that now he was wearing the disembodied face of Britney Spears.

'Mike' was still pretty concerned about Clo, so it took him a second to see her coming from the other side. His fingers twitched down by his side, like he wanted to reach for something but couldn't. Or wasn't sure.

"Hey there," she said to him, leaning on the counter so he could see her tits. They always went right to the tits, even the fags. "How ya doing?" There was a soft thicka of Clo filing the magazine back where he got it. So po-lite.

The man's eyes went to the expected land. "How can I help you, yes?"

"I want all the money in the register. And anything else you think I might like, like your wallet, or that watch you're wearing." She jiggled her chest. He was still staring at her tits. Fucktard.

It took him another second, and then he started to open his mouth, but Clo put his arm over her shoulder and pointed his gun. "All the money, asshole."

'Mike' raised his and to waist height. "There's like nothing in there, man. No one uses cash anymore." His fingers had stopped twitching. Whip checked the front of his filthy jeans for piss. Sometimes they pissed themselves.

"Call me old fashioned," she said, "but just humor me." She tapped on the register edge with one finger. "Don't make me say please."

'Mike' reached out for the register with one hand, and then paused. "I could get you in the back. The safe is back there, man, just don't hurt me--"

"Jesus Christ," Clo said, leaning against Whip and gesturing with the gun over her shoulder. She hadn't even had to draw hers yet. Nice. Clo always took the initiative, even if words did make his brain hurt, apparently. "If that will make you happy, man."

'Mike backed away one step, and then rounded the small counter. He was three feet away and walking towards the back, hands up at his sides when Whip drew her gun from her jacket and fired, tap tap tap, just like duck hunting in the arcade.

The body went down, hitting a corner display of Pop Tarts (horribly overpriced--five bucks for two?). Most of the blood went out with the exit, but there was a little splashback, and it hit the shelves, a little bit on her boots, dammit.

The body lay there for a second before Clo rolled it over and now there was the piss, Whip noticed. Clo took the watch, and then rifled through the man's pockets, coming up with a keychain that held three keys and a trinket of Pope John Paul II's head. "Vatican City," Clo told her, swinging the key chain between thumb and forefinger.

"All right, just stash him a little," she told Clo, yanking a carton of Pall Malls from the cigarette display above the counter. "Dump him back there or something."

Clo pushed himself to standing. "This is leather!" He waved his jacket sleeve.

Whip rolled her eyes. "Here." She reached into the automotive section and snagged a bottle of Armor All wipes, throwing them at him. "Cleans leather and vinyl."

Clo was not amused. He picked at his knee. "I just got these, and I have a date with Candy."

If that was all he was worried about, then well. "A lap dance and a free hand job is not a date," she said over her shoulder as she watched out the window.

"It is in my book," Clo mumbled, reaching for 'Mike's' ankles. "Aw his piss smells like maple syrup."

Well that was a new one.

Oh yeah, books.

"Anyway, the whole book is about a guy who gets everything he wants but love, and he loses it all, because he wants some bitch." She grabbed a package of wet naps from the nearby shelf. And a bag of Corn Nuts.

Clo dragged the body into the back and out of view of passers-by. "It's always some bitch." He opened the register with a pry-bar and grabbed the cash, but that wasn't really the point. Robbery didn't get you shit unless you were taking out a jewelers' or a fight, and no one did that anymore. Crimes for the little man were bullshit. Goddamn debit cards.

"And all these fucks are going on and on about ennui and blah blah blah and the meaning of shit," she told him as they flipped the store sign to closed, just for fun. "And I realised that they're all sitting here talking about what some people did in a fucking book. In a book. It's not even real." She shook her head and Clo mirrored her. "Fucking bullshit symbolism my ass."

"So then what?" Clo said, handing her the keys as they picked their way across the street to the car. The door handle popped up under her fingers. Nice.

Whip shrugged this time. "I cut school on the day of the test, walked into Tonio's Pizzeria. Found Lestrone in the back booth and told him to put me to work."

There were sirens in the distance. Some assfuck had called the police. They hoofed it to the car and she leant on the pedal all the way back to Rococo's.

 

***

And there you have it.

Comments

[mia-ugly.livejournal.com]

Holy mother of god.

First off, Whippoorwill!?!?! Genius. Bloody genius.

Second, "it was nice to be wanted."

Thirdly, oh my god, the violence and the casual way they banter about it makes it so much more brutal and disturbing, and the text she sends to Cady and YOUARESUCHAGREATWRITER I can't even handle it.

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

i have a whole thing! A bunch of short stories that all weave together. One of them is this one.

[paragraphs.livejournal.com]

Mia said it, the casual conversation while they were committing violence is way disturbing. I still think you should write murder mysteries. You'd have the best villains!

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

ha! i need a mystery first!

[elainasaunt.livejournal.com]

I would read that bunch of short stories. I would read them hard.

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

Haaahaaahahaha awesome.

[count-to-seven.livejournal.com]

I think it was the maple syrup line that made me love you.

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

Well, it was either that or asparagus, and really, would Clo know what asparagus smelled like? I think not.

[quean-of-swords.livejournal.com]

They're doing robbery and talking about The Great Gatsby. I hate that book, and I STILL LOVE THIS. OMG. :D I want more of Clo and Whip's adventures. NOW, DAMNIT.

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

Haaahahaha Clo and Whip are bastards. Long live the semi-literate murderers!

[amonitrate.livejournal.com]

If she ever got caught, she was slapping that motherfucker on the sentencing judge's desk and demanding a reduction for time served on the walls of the post office.

This is my favorite line, I think. I really love the way you have with POV and character voice, the specificity of it.

[amand-r.livejournal.com]

Haaahahaaahah, thanks! Oh, Whippy, she's so mean.