Monday, February 8, 2016

Alternate Violet part 5: Kill the Bastid

Delacroix slapped the back up magazine into the ancient Colt and put 7 more in Victor's chest where he lay, motionless, on the blood stained deck.

"Let's see you get up from that, you bastid" she muttered.

Turning to the nearest worm hole she had to 
pause briefly to let the family of hungry Polar bears exit. The largest one flashed her a crooked bear-grin.

"Gee thanks, Lacey!" He said.

"Bon apatite" Said the killer, and vanished.
 Lacey was cleaning her antique 1911 Colt. There was a knock at the shed door. It was Mr. Bear. He looked sheepish. It was an odd look for a 2000 lb. carnivore.

"C'mon in," said the ever, er, occasionally cordial Delacroix.

"Erm. No thank you. Too many trophy heads on the wall. I don't want to tempt fate."

"This is FaceBook." observed Lacey, "I've been told that the average FaceBooker has the attention span of a gnat. Was there something you wanted?

"I have bad news. It's the lawyer"

"Ah! The late Victor you mean?"

"Yes. Or rather, no. There was a bit of a problem. You put an awful lot of lead in him. Little Winkle broke a tooth."

"She's still a cub, and has her baby teeth. Is that all?"

"No. Have you ever eaten a lawyer?"

"Not as such, an African spitting cobra is about as close as I've come. Why?"

"Well, they upset the tummy. Me and Ma and little Winkle and Frosty had some, how to say this...rather disappointing bowel movements."

"Oh I AM sorry to hear that, will that be all?"

"You don't understand. They were, er, runny. And have you ever seen mercury on a glass table top? How it will all run together into a single silvery mass? Well that's what our poop did. Only not silvery."

Lacey was getting a bad feeling...

"Once it had formed into a single malleable mass it assumed a lawyer-ish shape and mode of locomotion, and trotted off toward Catalpa Valley."

"You're shittin' me?"

"No, I shat him. You weren't listening."

"What does it take to kill this guy?" mused Lacey, who was generally very good at it.

"I dunno, but next time leave us out. Our tummies hurt."

"So sorry. Come back in a week I'll have a stegosaur haunch for you."

"Ooh! We like stegosaur haunch! G'bye Lacey!"

"So long, Mr. Bear."

Lacy closed the door and looked ruefully at the pistol on the table.

"Maybe a flame thrower?" she muttered.

Victor stumbled, regained his balance and walked up the sidewalk to Violet’s front steps. A newspaper lay at the bottom of them. He stared at it, trying to recall just what it was. Then he remembered. It was Violet’s newspaper. 
He felt so…queer. As if his mind had taken the day off. He didn’t remember driving here, although surely he hadn’t walked. Had he? And that dream kept playing over and over in his mind like a scatological version of Ground Hog’s day. First the hail of bullets, then the polar bears and then the hideous rite of passage through four separate sets of bear intestines.
It was simply unbearable.
He bent for the paper and several things happened at once.
He heard a sharp sound, like the crack of a muleskinners bullwhip. Seeming to pass just over his head, the crack morphed into a loud knock, like a heartfelt hammer blow on a plank. This also was right over his head. Additional sounds of collateral wreckage ensued, apparently from inside of Violets house.
Several seconds later came a sound Victor knew well. It was the sound of Violet venting her spleen and threatening to vent someone else’s as well.
Victor stood up, newspaper in hand. He looked at the porch pillar in front of his nose. It had a largish hole in it. The hole had not been there a moment before.
“Be damned.” said Victor.
Violet burst through the door, eyes wide, face flushed. She stopped abruptly when she spotted Victor.
“Victor what…”, she began, but Victor interrupted.
“There’s a hole in your house”, said Victor, grinning affably and pointing at the pillar. 
“Yes!” said Violet, “there is a whacking great hole all the way through my house including the outside wall here,” she slapped the siding where a hole about the side of a quarter lined up nicely with the porch pillar, “the kitchen cabinet and my second best soup tureen, the living room wall, Great Aunt Smother’s cuckoo clock – took cuckoo’s head clean off – and through the far window. The big one. The expensive one. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Don’t blame me, I was retrieving your paper for you, “said Victor, “Hey look! I’m a spaniel! Anyway next thing I know there’s a hole in your house. Want your paper?”
He extended the paper, weaving side to side and grinning maniacally.
“Victor?” said Violet, “have you been drinking?”
“Not since Bendem, Ouvre and Schtickem’s “We Won A Class Action Lawsuit” party three weeks ago. I had Sherry.”
“You don’t drink wine!” said a startled Violet.
“No I had scotch and soda. Sherry is their receptionist. Violet, I want to tell you could learn a few moves fr…”
“Victor you a-hole! Why the hell did I blow up John Yearly and waste a perfectly good bomb in the process? You, you cad! You bounder! You, what is the term of opprobrium I am groping for here? You Lawyer!”
She calmed, but only slightly. Gesturing at the hole in her porch pillar she said, “Don’t you realize somebody took a shot at you?”
“Is that what happened?” Victor sidestepped awkwardly, teetered, then got his feet back underneath him.
And focused on Violet. “Be the third time today then; I was wondering what was going on. I stepped out of my front door and something spanged off of the flagpole. Then later at the 7 – 11 I put my cup of coffee on the roof of the car and it just seemed to, I dunno, vaporize in front of my eyes. Damn good cup of coffee too, might actually have been fresh.”
“You’re delusional,” said Violet, “wait here a sec.” 
She entered the house.
When she reemerged a few moments later she held a pair of binoculars and a drinking straw. She handed the former to Victor.
“Try not to drop them,” she said. “They belonged to great great Uncle General Gordon. It’s all that remained to the family after Khartoum.”
“General Gordon was an uncle of yours?” asked Victor.
“In a manner of speaking, sorta. He was related to the family my Grandpapa burgled these from. Close enough.”
“I guess,” said Victor.
Violet gently slid the drinking straw through the hole in the porch pillar and looked through it. A blood shot eye glared back at her.
“Victor! Get out of the way!”
“Oh! Sorry love!”
Victor busied himself trying to peer through the bullet hole in the siding. With her view temporarily unobstructed by the legal community Violet was able to follow the line of sight that lead through the straw, across the road, up the immaculately trimmed lawn that formed the hillside to a rather impressive patch of what some folks like to call delphiniums.
“Hmmm.” hmmm’d Violet. “I’m calling the cops.”
Plucking a mobile from a pocket in her apron she did just that.
“Violet…” Victor was gesturing vaguely at the hillside across the street. 
There was movement by the delphiniums.
Retrieving the binoculars violet saw that a woman dressed in part at least in camouflage gear and carrying a rifle had stepped from behind the flower bed.
Violet, who now knew much more now about firearms of all types than she had even a year before watched as the stranger worked the weapon’s bolt. Something flashed in the sunlight as it fell to the ground. She closed the bolt and hooked the carrying strap over one shoulder.
Raising binoculars of her own she studied the house, almost immediately spotting Violet watching her. For what seemed like eternity but was really only a few seconds the two studied one another. Then the shooter dropped her binoculars, raised her outspread hands in a “What are you going to do?” gesture, took two odd little hop steps to her left, began a spin and…
Her disappearance was accompanied by a kind of dull “whoomp” sound, as of air collapsing into a vacuum, loud enough to be plainly audible even over the 100 yards or so which separated Violet from the would be killer. 
Right on cue, the police arrived."

©2013 Mac Pike All Rights Reserved

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