Flash Fiction Series…

A reflection beams back from the Crome; the scene mirrored in a visor. Chinstrap loose, pushing the helmet up to suck in air, the shell drops back down into place. Time check: half an hour has passed. Helmet feels heavy, breath sharp, a look round, the space closing in.
Walls gleam, nothing unusual, an average lift.
Thirty minutes trapped. Boxed in tight, nowhere to go. “We are still here Sir,” says a voice through the speaker. “Are you ok?”
The reply curt, “yes.”
Head butts the wall; no force, just a tap. The voice of the responder again, “won’t be long now Sir.” “Ok.”
The conference will be due to end shortly. A need to get out and away before the main speaker is missed. A busy city like London, not uncommon for people to be late. Soon the questions will start. They will come looking.

Hurry the fuck up

Sweating; it’s close like a coffin, helmet tight, uncomfortable. A glance up at the camera. Still broke, smashed before pressing the alarm. The visor stays down.

Fucking feet ache

A wiggle of the toes, a look at the phone… still no signal. “Sir, the engineer has arrived.” That voice again, an irritating tone. “Won’t take much longer,” she says. “He will need to set up, then winch the lift to the rooftop.”
Gun removed from the waistband, gets into position.


“Is it definitely just you in the elevator?” says the speaker, “the hotel CCTV shows two people entering.” A corpse sits behind, the wall above painted in blood. The silencer fastens into place as the door peels back. A workman stood there, mouth open, his face in terror. An employee screams. Two shots fired. The gunman steps out onto the roof and moves towards the fire escape.

On the street crowds exit the hotel. The motorbike starts first time. It speeds off. The call connects in the helmet, “Go ahead.”
“Mr Yakanawi will not be speaking at this years conference Sir.”
“Very well Julie,” the reply. “Payment will be received in the usual fashion.”


Tell it as it was – Flash Fiction

So we are in NYC right, and all we have done for 3 days is drink. That and walk. We spend this one afternoon cracking jokes with the hotel barmaid. We bring the laughs; she pours the drinks. This girl is hot stuff; her eyes sparkle as she giggles. I’m erect.
Jimmy is hammered. He flips a drink, trips over his feet, says enough is enough and heads back to the room for a siesta. I’m happy for him to do so. It gives me a clear chance at the girl.
The charm rolls from my tongue like pure magic; she’s loving it. I’m almost in the end zone when suddenly there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see this black hulk. He stares at me, “you a guest at this hotel Sir?” Hotel security, reports of a disturbance on the 5th floor.

Instinctively I know this involves broken brains. He has a track record of fuck-ups. The bouncer accompanies me to the elevator. We exit to find a half dozen Yanks stood over my friend, he’s laid out flat in the corridor, key card in his hand.
“I know CPR,” screams some fuckwit as he dashes to the scene. The guest medic gets down into position as my tolerance packs up and leaves. I stick the boot into Jimmy’s ribs, “no heart attack here, just a drunken clown.” Somehow they don’t get the British humour, unlike the barmaid.
I toe poke my friend in the temple. Somebody shrieks. I smell a lawsuit in the air.
“Let’s get him inside,” says the doorman as he scoops him up. I grab the key card. The hulk throws Jimmy face down on the bed.
“Shows over folks,” I slam the door towards their gawping faces.

Downstairs at the bar I slide back into the flow; beer and best chat up lines. “Is your friend ok,” she asks.
No he’s not, in fact now I think of it, he never was.
“Sir, I need to speak with you again.” It’s the hulk. “Your friend Sir, he’s wandering the corridor naked now.”

I’m no longer erect…

Jimmy, eh?


D&O in Fresno