Adorable.
Faraday was in the kitchen devouring a piece of chicken. He teased another gremlin, Einstein, with it. They moved on to argue about who had said “I will make you suck my farts” first. Einstein had, and I should know, since I wrote it, but I had no intention of getting involved.
Someone get the Polaroid – this is one phenomenally fucked family photo.
I sat cross-legged on the floor near the couch and leaned back. A moment later, I felt Ariela’s hand stroking my hair.
I smiled to her. Reached for an Xbox controller. Found a nice quiet horror movie on Netflix.I popped a cigarette between my lips.
When I flicked my lighter, the cats and the gargoyles turned their drowsy heads toward me as though I had no right in the fuckin world to interrupt their nap. And, of course, they all did so in that terribly snobbish feline way.
I reached out with both hands in different directions. I pet my cat behind her left ear, the gargoyle behind his right. Quick as could be, they laid their heads back down, began to purr, and everything seemed right with the world.
Snow blanketed the streets outside. Obfuscating and perverting the shadows caused by the spotlights in my apartment building’s courtyard.
A billion different shapes all hitting the ground at the same time.
The cats and the gargoyles were at peace. I stood at the living room window, cigarette perched twixt my lips like Sam Spade. I watched the white fall upon the landscape.
They were cute, my live-in monsters. But would they keep the real bad guys out?
The drug bosses came a few days later.
I was expecting them, thanks to a tip from Schneer. He said, “Here’s hoping you’ll be around for drinks tomorrow,” before he left.
My plan was too simple to fail. Check the peephole at the door. See how many guys were present. See if they had guns drawn. If the guns were concealed, let them in. If the guns were out, open the door so that the gargoyles and gremlins could go nuts.
The bad guys were going to die either way.
I checked the peephole.
Five guys. Hands in their pockets.
More show than shoot so far.
I adopted Heisenberg’s tone. “Hi! Come on in.” I smiled my best bullshitter smile.
The lead guy, greying and doing his best Don Corleone, held back while one of his mooks pushed the door against me and scoped the apartment out. I let it roll. I eyed the nooks where I knew the gremlins were hiding. I watched the bedroom door, behind which the gargoyles were waiting.
We sat. Me and five assholes.
Ariela acted presentable and served alcohol for the guests.
For fifteen minutes or so, I stayed cool. Listened to the Boss threaten me. Threaten Ariela. Listened to his gang extol the virtues of their plan and how it had been ruined, because of my “fuckball dumbshit” actions. Or inaction. Whatever.
I responded to all of this by saying that I hadn’t acted out, but rather had been acted against. And that if they were going to start the plan over, than to do it using someone less volatile than Mr. Pusher.
“Besides,” I said, “folks in the building knew. No offense, but it was only a matter of time until he rubbed someone the wrong way hard enough for his little shitty life to be snubbed out. Cops would have done something eventually.”
They weren’t quite offended by this. They took it under consideration. Or seemed to. Don Corleone rubbed his chin. The soldiers watched him for direction. For a sign that let them just fuckin kill me already.
“That is some mouth you got on you,” the Don finally responded. “We come here knowin you killed our guy. We don’t kill you right off, we got the sense of respect to talk to you, see your side.” He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, along his skull. Hard enough with his fingernails that I could hear the keratin grate against skin. “But now you run that cunt mouth of yours and it seems like an insult.”
The soldiers straightened their backs. Checked their pockets. Checked their guns in their side holsters. Eyed me. Eyed the Don. They were waiting for an excuse to just get this shit over with.
“Your woman is nice. Got us booze. Ain’t she nice? I like Hispanic girls. Got a good shape.”
The soldiers all grunted their approval.
Ariela was bent over, serving another round of shots.
The Don reached up and smacked her ass and then grabbed a handful.
The soldiers laughed.
“Why can’t you be more like her?” the Don asked me. “Subserviant.”
Laughter.
I could see Ariela’s next move on her face. The flash of absolute hate. She was going to kill someone.
I said, “I don’t think you know her like I do.”
I saw the soldiers’ shoulders jerk. That told me they were going to draw, like a boxer telegraphing his punch.
And now it all becomes present tense.
“You guys’ve made the biggest mistake of your miserable lives,” I say.
I snap my fingers once.
Ariela is a blur. She flips the serving tray she is holding, letting glass and alcohol fly. From the belt holding her jeans up she pulls a corkscrew. She drives it triumphantly into the Don’s neck. Blood pours from him like wine.
The shadowed corners of the apartment are suddenly alive. The gremlins leap out, giggling. They mount the gangsters like playground structures. Tearing and clawing.
None of the soldiers has the chance to get a shot off.
The bedroom door opens. The gargoyles stalk out, predatory. They are silent while their jaws are not. Bones snap and hemoglobin falls.
The entire event starts and ends in a flash.
Before the neighbors can even consider complaining of possible noise, there is little left of the bodies. A finger here, an eye there. The rest in the bellies of my friends. And those wayward pieces will make their way to the digestive tract soon.
I stand, shot in hand, triumphant and mad.
The gremlins and gargoyles lick their lips.
I grab Ariela. I hold her in my arms. She is still breathing heavily. I can feel her heart under her breasts.
My hand finds purchase around the back of her neck and I pull her to me.
Our lips lock.
We kiss, passionately, noisily over the devouring.
I can’t think of a better ending to write myself.
Or of a better girl.
Thank You for Reading.
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About the Author
William Vitka is an New York City-based author and journalist.
He’s written for CBSNews.com, NYPost.com, GameSpy.com, Stuff Magazine, On Spec Magazine, Necrotic Tissue, The Red Penny Papers and the upcoming Kindle All-Stars with Harlan Ellison and Alan Dean Foster.
He also works for the charity Blue Redefined, which aims to create social and entertainment opportunities for individuals who are disabled, hospitalized, or in an assisted living environment. He lives in New York City.
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ISBN: 978-1-62007-154-0 (ebook)
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Table of Contents
Appetizer:
Book Cover
Title Page
Main Course:
1. The Dangers Of Field Work
2. On The Rocks
3. Bodily Harm
4. Smalley's Smirk
5. Urban Decay
6. Hell Of A View
7. The Boneyard
8. The Thing In The Tunnel
9. The King Lives
10. Jack The Ripper, Saviour Of Humanity
11. I, Voyager
12. Janitors Of The Cosmos
13. Best Friends Forever - Whether You Like It Or Not
Dessert:
Closing
About the Author
Copyright & Publisher
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