pipe

by Paul Kavanagh

Bank Street                                                    
                                                           
Steelworks picked up the whiskey bottle and poured herself a drink. The whiskey was cheep and bitter. She couldn’t see the kids, but she could hear them. They were fighting. Steelworks sighed and finished the whiskey and poured herself another drink. This time she poured the whiskey until the liquid cascaded over the circumference. Tears appeared in Steelworks ’s eyes. The kids were screaming a fight was in progress. Steelworks swabbed the tears and gulped the whiskey. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. Steelworks found herself paralyzed. She endeavored to move, but she couldn’t. It was futile. Steelworks pick up the whiskey bottle and swig greedily from the bottle.
                                               
Mobberley Road         
           
Steelworks had come down from Chicago. After the Pen DJ Trick had dragged Steelworks down to North Carolina. Now Steelworks found herself in a shack with a kid that called her mama. Steelworks shrugged her shoulders smoked her pipe and pumped out smoke like the steelworks on Lake Michigan.

Maine Road.

The kid was bloody and bruised. He was too soft for the other kids. Steelworks led the kid into the kitchen. She sat him down and looked at the blood upon his face. He had been punched and scratched. Steelworks picked up a dirty rag and poured out a mouthful of whiskey onto the rag. With the rag Steelworks washed the blood away, the kid winced, the grimace was the result of the whiskey burning inside the lacerations.

Bury Road

Steelworks knew what it was like to be punched and kicked. When a john punched and kicked Steelworks she bent down and pocketed the singles. She never fought back, those that fought back ended end up at the Dunes or bobbing in Lake Michigan with their throats cut. Plus fighting back didn’t pack the pipe.
Steelworks flicked the kid’s hair off his face and smiled, he sure did look like DJ Trick.
The slamming of the door advertised that the kid was no longer in the kitchen. Steelworks sat down and picked up the whiskey bottle. She held the bottle and picked up the cap. She thought of putting the cap back on the whiskey bottle, but she couldn’t. She poured the whiskey into the cup and drank quickly.

Corbieres

Don’t worry about me.
But I do.
Well don’t
But if something happens to you then we’ll be on our own.
She watched him drink. He never drank before a job. He fumbled with the whiskey cap and he couldn’t pour without spilling. He drank as though he was dying of thirst. He would normally joke, even sing, but not this time, he stared into the nothingness and listened to the kids playing ball outside.
Will he ever hit a home run?
I don’t know.
I think he’s got it in him.
Me too.
He’s just like me.
He’s your son.
Maybe one day I should teach him.
That would be nice.
Yes, maybe one day I should show him.
Maybe you should.
                                   
Salford Flats
                                               
Steelworks didn’t have the fare for the greyhound and there was no way she could suck enough cock in a place like Badin. She hurried into the bedroom, slammed the door and sat down upon the unmade bed. Under the pillow she found her pipe and she pumped out smoke like the steelworks on Lake Michigan.

The Arndale   

Fucking get down! You heard me!
The gun in DJ Trick’s hand was pointed at the bankteller. The bankteller was wan and crying. DJ Trick turned and made sure everybody was down on their bellies. He was nervous but he had on his game face. He eyed the supine bodies. The last thing DJ Trick wanted was a hero. DJ Trick handed over the sports bag and told the bankteller to fill it. DJ Trick wasn’t sweating. The bankteller was fumbling and kept swabbing the sweat. 
Come on! Come on!
The bankteller stuffed the bills into the sports bag and eyed the point of the gun. DJ Trick saw a hundred bill. DJ Trick just eyed that bag with that hundred-dollar bill bedded with those ones fives and tens.

Hare and Hounds

DJ Trick never saw the guard point his gun at his torso. Next thing DJ Trick knew he was lying and numb. He could no longer feel his legs. The numbness was travelling slowly up his back. His left arm was next to go numb. Confused DJ Trick pulled the trigger. Through the smoke he saw two dead women but he had missed the guard. There was much confusion and DJ Trick didn’t know what to do so DJ Trick pulled the trigger until the gun was silent.

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~ This piece was posted on Thursday, August 10th, 2006 and was filed under Short Story, Writing. You can make comments on it below. ~