The Espresso Trade

27 Aug 2014 Leave a comment

by Quietude's Junction in Short fiction Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This is an entry in WOEGMAN’s TTT challenge. The challenge was to write something in an alternate reality in 1000 words or less. This comes in at 994. I hope you enjoy it.

 

The petals drifted down, coating the pavement with the fragility of spring covering what was left of the evidence. Watching from behind The Times, a grin crept across his granite before he closed up shop and the vid uploaded. Pulling the umbrella down, he packed away his goods and pushed the cart down the path. Another successful experiment filmed in the park.

****************

“Yo boss! Vinny didn’t make checkpoint!” Joe Pettigucci glared at the bridge in Central Park where his muscle should have walked. A chill danced down his neck stiffening his spine. This was the fourth pick up that’d disappeared this week. Soon the boys were gonna take vengeance. It wouldn’t be pretty.

Joe walked the route. He went over Gapstow Bridge by the Pond passing picnics and people just lazing about. The Victorian Gardens were blooming as he continued on around making his way towards East Drive. Vinny would have walked right through here, but there wasn’t even the slightest notion of a man that big along the path.

Making his way to the street, a flurry of pink blossoms circled his legs while the scent of burned coffee wafted around him. As he looked down, a small piece of gold winked up from a small pile of ashes. Kneeling, he picked up the crucifix Mama Leo had given Vinny when he joined The Family.

“Gooch, what’cha got there? Anything Cap’d like to see?” Matt, one of the boys in blue, reached over to take the crucifix, but Joe held fast.

“It’s nothin’, just an old crucifix from Mama. Must’a fallen outta my pocket.” Joe put it away before Matt decided to grab for it.

“Cap’s getting worried, Gooch. Don’t like it when Cap’s upset. Things break.”

“We’ll get it to him. Just give us time.”

“24 hours, Gooch, 24 hours.”

Joe waited until Matt was out of hearing. “Boss, gotta make it happen, fast.”

***************************

It was almost complete. The tests had gone well. So far the formula disintegrated everything except metal. That wasn’t a loss, just annoying. Social media was running with the videos, swearing they were fake which suited him. A few of the more intelligent were trying to figure out where he was filming, but no one had caught on, yet. When he was ready, he’d make his demands. The Big Apple would either recognize his brilliance or disintegrate.

Pushing his cart down the path, he chose his next site carefully, waiting for one of the “boys” to walk by before he raised his umbrella. He nodded, friendly-like to the joggers and walkers alike until he was ready. It was almost time for the next delivery to come through. Looking out beneath his brows, he grinned.

*************************

“I’ve got it, boss. It’s in The Briefcase.” Joe picked up the leather coated metal and Kevlar reinforced case. He wound the band around his wrist securing it before setting his shoulders. The route firmly in his head, he started out.

The first checkpoint was by the bridge where he had to pick up a paper, tuck it beneath his arm. Turning to walk past, Joe watched the old man sit down and lay the paper down, discarding it. Picking it up, Joe nodded to the man, then moved on down the path. The key to the document would be in the help wanted section.

The second checkpoint was under the cherry tree as he turned to East Drive. There he was to pick up a specific edition of “Gentleman’s Quarterly” from the vendor before making his way to the street. A small package was stashed within its pages under the guise of a free sample. Once he crossed that street, he’d be home free.

Off to the left of the path, just barely on the pavement was the vendor. It was old Granite face. He got that name when his face hit the granite one too many times leaving pockmarks, permanently. Some say he was a promising chemist years ago that the boys in blue punished for not creating a coffee substitute fast enough.

Who knew? With coffee being on the critically endangered list, it was against international law to harvest the beans, much less brew a cup of joe. Espresso was out of the picture. Starbuck’s died four years ago when the bean crisis first hit. The boys were twitching from the world-wide shortage, willing to pay big for anyone willing to cross the Colombian border to bring some back. Granted having the beans and knowing how to roast ‘em for the perfect brew were two different things. That’s where The Family came into play.

Joe looked over at the vendor. Granite Face reached behind a pile of magazines to pull one out, put it on the side of the rack. Opening up the drinks case, he pulled out a soda and offered to Joe with what he thought was a smile as he came over. With his wallet in hand, Joe paid the man then took the soda and the copy of “Gentleman’s Quarterly” with him. He folded it up with the newspaper before continuing along the route to the drop-off. Every sense on alert. Walking the walk of beans was risky. Too many unreformed coffee junkies waiting for a chance.

But junkies weren’t the problem this time, it was something else, something sinister that was hitting only The Family, but that would have to wait. The delivery was first or their credibility was gonna suffer. Joe stuck the coke in his pocket for later as he left the park and strode to the waiting car. Getting in, he handed over the paperwork that had directions for the perfect brewing machine plus a free sample of the product. Cap stuck his pinky into the rich brown granules and tasted the dark espresso that only The Family could provide, then nodded his head for Joe to hand over the case. One more happy Cop in the Espresso Trade.

Songbird

18 Aug 2014 2 Comments

by Quietude's Junction in Short fiction Tags: , , , , , , , ,

When I was a musical theatre major in college we had a gentleman who would come and play the most amazing songs on the piano. He wore a long brown trench coat. I remember creeping up to the practice rooms just to listen. One time I even sat in the room just listening to him play. We became friends of a sort. He was college age, but always on the look out when he played. I found out later that he was homeless. He was making his way through college while sleeping where ever he could. Playing the piano was his way of losing himself for a brief time. So, this story is for that long ago friend of music. He inspired me.

****************

“There will never be a day, when I won’t think of you…”

A sweet, lilting soprano voice filled with longing caressed the hallway as James walked through the front door of the theatre building on old North Campus. He could feel the notes wrap around him comforting the bitterness away, coating him in warmth even though the icy wind tried to whip the door open behind him. She was singing. She sang off and on in the marble stairwells where her voice soared, reaching for the angels, then disappeared as quickly as the notes evaporated into silence. Who she was, he hadn’t a clue, but like every other time he hustled to the stairwell hoping to catch a glimpse of his siren only to find it empty.

The school had dubbed her their little “Phantom”, but with her voice she was more “Christine” than “Phantom”. The banked emotion that she let soar made everyone stop what they were doing for just those moments to feel her voice.

No one had ever caught her. Some said she was a ghost but James knew better. One day when he silently crept to the stairwell, he thought he had her. For once he was going to lay eyes on the one who had haunted him for the last couple years, but the upstairs door closed behind her leaving only what drifted slowly down. She was gone. He caught that cobalt scarf as he raced up the stairs only to find the hallway empty. Looking down at his hand, he smiled. There in the folds were a few stragglers of long, silky mahogany hair. She was real.

“If I ever catch her…” Zac, the music director, paused beside him, “It’ll be Webber all the way.”

James nodded, knowing the feeling. Their little joint department hadn’t had a true crystal voice like that in a long time. Imagining what she could do for a show, he smiled. “We need to find her first. Too bad the university wouldn’t foot the bill for cameras. At least that way we would know what she looks like.”

As he walked across the lobby to his office, his fingers caressed the scarf that was folded in his coat pocket, always with him.
************
Panting, Josephine picked up her knapsack where she left it. Once again the lure of the stairwell had called out to her. When was she going to learn? Security had already warned her, told her that the school was no place for her. They even threatened to call the police the last time she was found. One day she would be caught and sent away, she knew it, but the way she felt when she sang, took away all the pain. Singing was her refuge, her respite, it allowed her to dream if only for a moment. On the bad days, the threat of getting caught was more than worth the moments of peace.
**************
Days passed without a sound from the one he sought. After a week went by, James began to wonder if maybe his special song bird left. His fingers just about rubbed a hole in the sheer scarf as he wondered where she might have gone. Surely she was a student at the very least? Perhaps, she was studying for spring midterms? It was a bit early for them but some were more studious than others. Without realizing what he was doing, he put on “Phantom” just to listen to the songs she loved to sing.

“Playing the music won’t bring her back. Give her time. She’ll sing again.” His secretary handed him the latest schedule of rehearsals for the play he was directing.

“How long has she been here? Haunting us all with her voice?”

“She showed up about a year before you did. At first she sang only classical songs that were being taught to the voice majors, so we all thought she was a student. Then she branched off into other genres. Theatre people thought she was a voice major. Music people thought she was theatre. So, no one knows. All I know is that the stairwell calls her. She’ll be back.”
***************
Two weeks later, the night was bitterly cold with sleet slamming its way through, piercing anything it hit. Not able to remain outside any longer, Josephine slipped through the loose door in the basement. Creeping slowly as she kept an eye out for the night watchman, she threaded her way through the scene shop and over to the prop and costume shops where she gathered blankets and a wool sweater. With soft feet she moved over to the main office where she knew a small heater was kept. There she huddled trying to warm herself.
***************
“Come feed the little ones. Show them you care… all it takes is tuppence from you”

The ice storm had convinced him to stay later than normal. He was glad he did when he heard her voice. As silently as he could, James walked to his office. The voice, her voice, was thin, yet still she sang almost too softly to be heard. There were pauses, jumps and dips that shouldn’t be there, but still … she sang. He eased through the door to his office. There she was huddled in ragged blankets, her hair a straggled mess, the marks of street life showing as she rocked herself.

Reaching behind his back, he closed the door. She jumped when the latch caught, but didn’t rise. Instead, she burrowed further in the blankets.

“Please, don’t call the cops. I was only trying to get warm.”

“I just want to meet you.”

“I’ll go.” She reached to turn off the heater.

“Stay.” Moving slowly to not scare her, James turned the heater back on before sinking to his heels beside her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out her scarf. “I kept this for you.”
Despite her shivers, a smile bloomed across her face as she reached for it.

“Thank you. I’ll leave as soon as I get warm, promise.”

“No talk of leaving. You’re safe.”

To Ask or Not to Ask #WOEGTTT

23 Jun 2014 3 Comments

by Quietude's Junction in Fantasy: Shorts Tags: , , , ,

“The lilies go next to the curtains over in the right corner!” she directed Thomas, a volunteer at the church, as she placed her own vase on the opposite side of the altar. He placed them where she asked then exited towards the sacristy to get more supplies. Long nights of cutting ribbons, flowers, and sorting out all the details for her grandfather’s service had Kaitlyn’s head drooping. Her back ached from all the work but who was left to tend him while he was dying and now in his death? All were dead. One by one her family had met their ends none in the bed of old age save her grandpa. Sorrow pierced through her but it had to be done. The details, the details, must be followed to the letter according to his last words.

As she placed the brilliant hand-beaten copper bowl filled with holy water beside his head, the wind picked up, branches slapped against the windows threatening to shatter them. For an instant, Kaitlyn swore there was more in that bowl than holy water. Something whirled in its depths drawing her in, but then it was gone as the front doors to the church whipped opened, slamming against the walls.

Shaking her head at her momentary folly, she placed the deep purple, blue, fuchsia and white candles around the bowl in the diagram left by her grandfather. She laid out the herbs he requested then stepped aside to set the braziers alight with the spices at his head, feet, and hands. Sandalwood, cinnamon, and others mixed to create a murky aroma thickening the air around him, cocooning his body. Some of the spices would have been hard to come by in their small town by the ocean had her grandfather not been prepared. As he lay dying, he guided her through secrets in their old house that she’d never plumbed as a child. What else had he kept locked away?

The wind whipped a shutter off the side window bashing it into the stained glass, crashing hard enough to shatter, yet it did not penetrate. The glass, while broken into thousands of pieces remained in place, frozen.

“Miss, Finish It! The ceremony must be done and only you are left to complete it!” Father Eckels took her arm in his leading her to the altar.

Kaitlyn started at his rudeness. Father Eckels had never so much as touched her before and now this? She raised her eyebrows, “But surely Father, this is just a Nor’Easter. It will blow over soon enough. Shouldn’t we wait for the mourners to come?”

“Surely he told you! You cannot be his kin without knowing the reason why he never left! Why your family always searched, save him?” Father’s eyes grew huge as the wind whipped stronger, pounding rain and now hail against the stones of the church. He spun in his robes, his body tense with imminent danger.

Pulling her to him, “You MUST complete the ceremony, NOW!” With a quick swipe of his hand, he cut into her arm drawing it over the copper bowl forcing her blood to drip into its depths while she struggled in his arms.

“No! Are you mad?”Kaitlyn screamed as she pushed against him, shoving for all she was worth, but unable to escape. Kicking out, she lost her balance as he caught her up, taking her into the heart of the incense. She felt her muscles soften as she was forced to breathe in until all she could do was listen. Gently, he laid her down beside her grandfather, connecting their hands together.

He began chanting softly, deeply in a language that she recognized from her grandfather, yet did not know. She felt herself nodding as slowly, slowly the words began to echo. Images flashed through her mind. Defiance, protection, security, strength, and love. Yes, all of these and more. Webbed, intertwined within her psyche and then she saw it. The core, the reason for her family. Floating above herself, she felt his voice take her through the past, through the ceremony to the beginning. To the Promise. Broken all those years ago, it was up to her family to protect, safeguard and she was the last one left. Power unwrapped within her: unleashed, unchained, unguarded.

The window shattered, this time faltering as the wind burst inside sending shards of glass throughout the church. Pierced by spears of colored glass, Father Eckels faltered, falling to his knees.

“Die now knowing she will follow ending her line!” came a voice of beauty formed from glass.

Father Eckels only continued his tale blood welling up, dripping from his wounds. Forcing himself up, he lit the candles deep within the incense and began the chant.

Struggling, Kaitlyn brought herself out of the trance to sit up staring at the horrific scene around her. Fury at this interruption whipped through her. Gripping her grandpa’s hand in hers, she kissed it.

Rising, Kaitlyn turned to face the elemental, the glass sheathed intelligence trying to infiltrate the altar.

Arming herself with new born power, she cried out,“Leave this place!” Shouting the last word the force of her anger focused on the beast. Her hair whipped behind her as she stood, all traces of the incense leaving her.

“I said, LEAVE!” She growled.

A wall of force accompanied her very Will as the wind elemental was pushed backwards towards the window it had burst through. Taking a step closer to the being, Kaitlyn raised her hand focusing her power and began the ancient chant that Father Eckels kept repeating, enhancing it with the strength of her fury. Step by step, she walked the beast out of the church until the window righted itself once more becoming whole.

Stalking back to the altar, she blew out the candles. Taking the copper bowl, she dumped its contents on the old man. Glaring down at her grandfather as his eyes
opened, she growled, “Next time you want help, ASK!”