They spread out on side-by-side loungers. Susan proceeds to slather Tiara with Euro-cream deep tanning oil.
Tiara closes her eyes.
If he comes after me, she thinks, I’ve got the Glock.
Her mind drifts.
At first the images are in black & white. Old footage of attack choppers in Nam, machine gun and rocket fire ravaging the hedge lines. Then she’s back in college. Its Labor Day weekend and she’s swimming naked with friends on a deserted South Padre beach. A Navy helicopter hovers over the beach, the pilots and crew ogling the cavorting bathers.
Without warning the screen turns to color. An olive drab Huey utility chopper churns above the desolate Mexican desert in the shadow of a dark cloud. When the Huey emerges from behind the cloud, sunlight strikes the window glass like an explosion.
Susan touches Tiara’s left nipple with an ice cube and she jumps awake. She wishes she had a cigarette, but Susan doesn’t smoke.
15.
By the time they arrive at the hunting lodge, the Vice President is half in the bag. Monty and the heli-hostess get him inside and naked under white linen sheets. Overhead an ancient ceiling fan spins and wobbles like a drunk.
Monty orders a pot of coffee. Extra strong. But the VP is already snoring.
The hostess suggests that she & Monty meet later for a drink. He agrees. Who wouldn’t?
The Veep awakens at five minutes after seven. That’s 19:05 hours. Wearing nothing but his boxers, he wanders into the great room of the lodge. Several Mesoamerican-looking men and women dressed in cocktail attire and holding drinks turn and look at him.
Monty steps out of the shadows and bundles the Veep into a knee length terrycloth robe and a straw Panama Pinch.
The VP meanders over to the 42” plasma flat screen TV in one corner. Monty treads close behind.
“What’s on the news, Monty?”
“Haven’t looked, sir.”
“Information is the key to survival, Monty. The key.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Veep finds the battery operated remote and flicks on the set. It’s a satellite connection. But all the programs are in Spanish.
“How the fuck do I get FOX News,” the Veep says.
Monty takes the remote, consults a laminated chart next to the TV and fiddles with the keypad. FOX News flashes onto the screen. A woman with huge snow-white choppers and wheat-straw hair that has seen better days gazes forlornly at the camera, reading from a teleprompter.
“And we have more on that chopper crash in the Chihuahua desert.
“It is now reported that the helicopter that crashed & burned at approximately 2:15 p.m. today was an old Vietnam era Huey owned by the Mexican army. It was being used to ferry high ranking military and government officials in a flyover recon of a major new cross border anti-drug offensive dubbed Operation Fig Leaf.”
A giggle tips from the news anchor’s ruby lips. Then she resumes:
“A spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security denied the crash was caused by narco-terrorists, attributing it to an unforeseen mechanical failure.
‘It was an old but well-maintained helicopter’ said Agusto Reyes, Minister of Government and Justice. ‘Now we have to find a scapegoat.’
“All passengers and crew died in the accident. The number of fatalities now stands at 16.”
Just then El Presidente arrives next to the Veep. To make the VP feel at home, El Presidente is also wearing a terrycloth robe.
A long distance aerial shot of something burning near the horizon appears on the TV screen. It could be anything. The Veep waves the TV remote at the image.
“Good thing we didn’t go on that battlefield boondoggle. Helicopter we were to ride in crashed & burned. No survivors.”
El Presidente’s face turns the color of a mint-flavored Tums tablet. He slams a fist into the palm of his other hand.
“God damn fucking cartels.”
Someone hands him a shot of tequila. He tosses it back with a grimace.
“Your guys say it was a mechanical failure.” Then as an afterthought the Veep adds: “Either way, we’d have been toast.”
16.
Corporal Emilio Suarez survives the file room bomb blast with only a broken foot to show for it. He lies in sickbay smoking a blunt of the local herb. When he hears about the helicopter crash and the death of all on board including two officers of the Brigade Escorpion, an itty-bitty smile creases his lips. Just for a moment.
###
The Authors in Speedloader
Nigel Bird has given up just about everything since hitting 40, everything except his job, his family and his writing. He recently released a collection of stories called Dirty Old Town as an ebook. His Dancing With Myself series is scorching the earth. In 2011 he'll have a story in 'The Best British Crime Stories' anthology by Maxim Jakubowski and he's also hoping to finally nail that novel of his. He's very grateful to all those who've helped and supported him along the way (thanks).
W. “David” County lives and writes in Lee’s Summit, Missouri. He is currently working on his debut novel, “Sammi and the Therapist”. When not writing, Dave loves to put the top down on his Miata and speed along country roads. So far, he has not been ticketed.
Matthew C. Funk is a social media consultant, professional marketing copywriter and writing mentor. He is the editor of the Genre section of the critically acclaimed zine, FictionDaily, and a writer for FangirlTastic and Spinetingler Magazine. M. C. Funk’s work features at numerous sites online, indexed at his Web site, and in print with Needle Magazine, Howl, 6S and Crimefactory. He is represented by Stacia J. N. Decker of the Donald Maass Literary Agency.
Nik Korpon is from Baltimore, MD. He likes to bang on the keyboard until something intelligible comes out, or his head hurts, whichever comes first. His stories have appeared in numerous publications and his first novel, STAY GOD, was published in 2011. He reviews books for the Outsider Writer Collective and is a Fiction Editor for ROTTEN LEAVES Magazine.
Richard Thomas lives in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. He was the winner of the ChiZine Publications 2009 “Enter the World of Filaria” contest. His debut novel, a neo-noir thriller entitled Transubstantiate (Otherworld Publications) was released in July of 2010. His work has been published in numerous publications. In his spare time he moderates at The Cult writer’s workshop, has been an Editor for Colored Chalk and is Co-Editor and Designer at Sideshow Fables. He also writes book reviews and interviews for The Nervous Breakdown. Richard is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the International Thriller Writers. He was the Fiction and Poetry Curator for Around the Coyote, a Wicker Part art festival.
Jonathan Woods resides in Dallas, Texas. He holds degrees from McGill University, New England School of Law and New York University School of Law and for many years practiced law for a multi-national high-tech company. His writings have appeared in 3:AM Magazine, Dogmatika, Plots with Guns, Thuglit, Pulp Pusher, Noir Originals and other web-based literary magazines. His collection of short stories, Bad Juju was released in 2010.
***
For more information about Snubnose Press please visit our website.
Table of Contents
You Dirty Rat by Nigel Bird
Plastic Soldiers by W. D. County
Cuffs by Matthew C. Funk
Mori Obscura by Nik Korpon
Herniated Roots by Richard Thomas
Crash & Burn by Jonathan Woods
Author bios
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