essendoubleop

Faydwick pulled up in his faded yellow Mustang, signatured by the absence of hub-caps and a cracked front window. He looked at the espresso-house attendant and immediately scowled.
“I expect a better cappuccino than the last one I got.”
“I’m sorry sir.” She managed to hide her smile at his effeminate voice. When Faydwick was a child his parents castrated him in hopes of him becoming a castrato, a male singer with a female voice. The attendant handed him his beverage. “Have a nice day, sir.”
“Mehhh…” his high-pitched voice grumbled.
Right behind him was a man named Chums.
“Coffee. Black. Tall,” he stared straight ahead.
A few moments later, “Have a nice day.” Chums managed a sad smile and pulled away quickly. A little too quickly. His blue slug bug slammed into Faydwick’s rear end.
“What do you think you’re doing! I’ve got hot liquids all over my legs and---” he stopped short. “You know it’s going to be a crappy day when someone has the misfortune of coming across you!.” He pushed his fat finger into Chums’ chest. “Now, I expect you to repair all this,” he waved towards his car, “and you can expect a call from my lawyer about this.” He looked down at his lap and a small patch of brown.
“I’m very s-sorry. You know I am, clumsy. I don’t have much money, but you know you can take what I have.” Faydwick snarled and drove off. Chums chugged the rest of drink and left in his car.

Later that night, Chums was making his nightly stroll through town. With his drug-of-choice Nyquil in tow and already well into his buzz, he stumbled into a place he hadn’t seen before. There was a tall fence made of old bricks that crumbled away when you leaned on them. The only thing that interrupted the march of bricks was a rusting iron gate. Chums pushed it and was startled by the sudden violent screeching of the hinges. He stumbled through and followed a path that was only recognizable because the garden of weeds inside receded over it. Large and ominous trees watched over him like gods. Their twisted limbs were bare and darker than the midnight sky. Most men would be intimidated, but Chums had learned only to fear other men, and the syrup daze strangled the common sense out of him. He followed the path a little more until the sleepiness took hold and shut him out.

Chums awoke the next day to the sounds of two men talking. Most Nyquil chuggers had a high tolerance for sound the morning-after, but Chums was a professional at what he knew best. He found himself in a small natural pit of earth and leaves and turned his head towards the voices. He leaned in closer and could barely make out a few words.
“--want it. M---- ---s just --- cold,” said the first voice.
“Listen. I need ----- ---- ----- pony. He’s ----ing ----- --set and is dangerous.” Chums knew the second voice. But from where? ‘I can’t think straight. Ughh,’ he thought as his headache leveled him.
“Dangerous, huh?”
“Yep. E--- I‘m ----- -- ---.”
‘Is that a woman?’ Chums thought.
“Fine. Here’s six ----. ----- get the rest --ter.”
“Same ----- next ----?
“Sure. Down low.”
The first voice left the second voice to rustle through a package of sorts.
“Ahhhhh. Finally.” It was Faydwick. Chums got up and walked over to him. Faydwick was startled and nearly tripped on a branch on the ground.
“What are you doing here?! Leave now before I smash your bottle over your head! I’ll bet it’s that Nyquil stuff. Ha. It is isn’t it? Well, I’ve moved on to bigger and better things,” he put the package in his coat pocket then got in Chums’ face. Even though Faydwick was much shorter, his body shape was like the inverse of an hourglass. He also looked down his trunk of a nose when he talked to project his voice. Surely a technique learned in his botched singing career.
In what was quite possibly the most ungentle whisper in history, Faydwick rasped, “Tell you what. You don’t tell anyone about this, and we’ll drop the car business. If I ever see you again--” he motioned a cross-chop across his throat. Chums took a step back and Faydwick left. After looking down at his Nyquil bottle, he tossed it over his shoulder and went the other way.

J.R.V.A.

Nice work, I like it. Thanks

__________________
And as she plays,
her sweet song of laughter
floats through the air
and warms my heart