Hello, and welcome to the tenth issue of
Tales from Snippettsville
, Short Stories From A Small Town.
If you want to know what it's all about, go to
Snippettsville Group
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Contents of Issue 10
Grease Monkey
by Seattle Zack
I Get My Looks From My Pa
by Alex de Kok
Hometown Hotshot
by Quasimodem
Every Town Needs A Roadhouse
by PierceStreet
Illustrations
Banner, (c)Quasimodem, 2003
Header Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Footer Picture, (c)Perdita, 2003
Now read on...
* * * * *
Grease Monkey
by
Seattle Zack
Unable to keep still, Claire tapped her foot nervously. It was crazy to be here, but what choice did she have? It had arrived yesterday -- a photograph of them both in a passionate embrace, the neon motel sign and Carl’s Mustang clearly visible in the background. Block letters on the photo, simple and direct: “HANNAHS 3PM TOMORROW.”
She buried her face in her hands. Who could have found out? They had been so careful!
“Long time no see, Claire.” It was just Billy McClure from the Station. Filthy work coveralls, stinking of gasoline, grease caked under his nails. He eased onto the nearby stool.
She looked away, pretending to work on the crossword in front of her. “Take a hike, Billy. I’m meeting someone.”
“Claire Galveston now, huh? Big house up on Oak Hill? Must be nice.” He peered over her shoulder. “Word games? Don’t like words. I like pictures.”
Oh shit. Heart pounding, she froze, unable to speak. He took the pen from her hand and wrote on a napkin. “This is my pad. Just off Green Lake. You want the negatives, be there in an hour.”
“Billy? Please,” she whispered.
“Little Claire Lechner. Rich lawyer’s wife. Kinda old for you, ain’t he?” He lowered his voice. “Know what we used to call you in high school? Claire Lick-er.” He drew the word out with a lewd sneer.
Billy’s place was a dump -- appliances in the front yard, faded paint peeling from the siding. Shuddering, she knocked on the door. He had shed the coveralls but, alarmingly, was dressed only in boxer shorts. The main room was piled high with pizza boxes and beer cans. “Billy, what do you want?” She must be firm, resolute, take control of the situation.
He flopped down on the couch, insolently grinning. “I want you to suck me, Claire. Like you never would in high school.” Pulling his cock out of his shorts, he waved it back and forth.
Revulsion surged inside her. She shook her head.
“Way I reckon, don’t got much choice, Claire. Lawyer hubby gets them pictures of you and Carl, your ass is out of that fancy house in no time.” He snapped his fingers.
Claire closed her eyes. It was true; the prenuptial agreement was very specific about adultery. “You’ll give me the negatives?”
“That’s the deal.”
Queasily she knelt on the grubby carpet and took him in her mouth. She began moving her lips up and down his shaft, nearly gagging with disgust.
“Fuck, yeah … come-guzzlin’ slut … knew you was good at this.”
Desperately sucking harder, wanting it to be over, she fought the nausea welling inside her. Finally he groaned, spurting into her mouth, almost making her vomit. She ran to the sink.
“Wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” His eyes were half closed.
Frantically she rinsed her mouth, slurping the water straight from the tap. “Goddamnit, Billy, just give me the fucking negatives!”
He tossed a black strip on the coffee table. “Deal’s a deal.”
“Is this all of them?” she demanded.
“Nope. Got three more. Be here next week and I’ll give you the next one.” He smirked. “Oh, bring some money too. Say, a thousand bucks.”
She stared at him, furious, wanting to kill him -- his shit-eating grin, dick hanging out of his shorts. Without saying a word, she stomped to the door.
Billy picked up the TV remote. Perfect, just in time for SportsCenter. He laughed. It would be a pretty good month. And she didn’t know about the videotape yet. Hell, it might be a pretty good summer.
* * * * *
I Get My Looks From My Pa
by
Alex de Kok
The scar on my cheekbone from a bottle when I was fifteen, the broken nose from a headbutt when I tried to protect Mary from a beating. Why she'd never left him I didn't know, except that without any money she had nowhere to go.
After Pa broke my nose, I took off. I found work at first helping on a horse ranch near the Cimarron, then joined a logging crew on the coast. That was three years ago. I was nineteen now, knew more ways of dirty fighting than I had ever guessed existed, had money in my pocket and I had come home to keep the promise I made to Mary.
The Road House was quiet this early in the evening, only three or four customers. One of them my Pa, of course, drinking Mary's wages.
Mary came up to me as I moved to the bar. There was a fresh bruise on her cheek and my fists clenched. She moved nervously, mistaking my intent.
"What'll it be, mister?"
"Hi, Mary," I said gently. "I came back, just like I said I would."
Her eyes widened. "Alec?" she whispered, her hands clasped together. "Is it you?"
"It's me, Mary. Sorry I'm later than I planned."
She smiled tremulously. "You've grown, Alec."
I nodded, smiling. "Working in the lumber camps does that." I studied her, amazed that the life she led, and the senseless brutality of my father, had left so few marks on her. Pa had married her when Mary was just sixteen and I was ten, my own mother dead in a car crash, so that Mary was still only twenty-six. She had been good to me, and treated me as her own. It was thanks to Mary that my beatings from Pa hadn't been worse than they were. When I left I'd told her I'd come back to look after her one day. She'd smiled and said, 'do that', but I don't think she believed I ever would. Now I was back.
"Your Pa's in the corner," Mary said.
"I know. It's you I came to see. Are you ready to leave him, Mary? I've got a little ranch in Texas. It's not much at the moment, 'cos I was too busy putting a herd together, but there's a place for you there. If you want it."
"Leave?" she whispered, her eyes enormous. "I ..." She hesitated, then I could see the determination. "Now?"
"Now."
She nodded, took off her apron and came around the bar to me. "Let's go."
We were half way to the door when I heard Pa's voice. "Where the fuck do you think you're goin'?"
Mary turned. "I'm leaving you, Jake. You've hit me once too often."
"You'll do no such thing! With this punk?" he sneered.
"Hi, Pa."
His jaw dropped, then rage spread over his face and he swung. I used to think he was a good fighter, but that was before I learned how. I stepped inside his swing, sank a fist into his gut, broke his nose with a head butt and hit him again so hard that he skidded when he landed. He was out. There was quiet satisfaction in me, but not the pleasure I'd anticipated.
Mary took my arm and we went to the door. Tom Holt, the police chief, was standing just inside the door, his face expressionless.
"Going to arrest me, Tom?"
He looked over my shoulder, then at me. "For littering?" he said, fighting a grin. "No. Just don't do it again, Alec. Okay?" He moved aside.
* * * * *