Gum Belle, Episode VII
Ted Ricketts dashed from Helmut Arcturions opera box, only to see a red-gold cocoon pulsing high above the lobby floor. Rubbery tentacles swarmed around it, each bearing a frightened opera patron, but it was his fathers face, red and straining, eyes bulging as the cocoon crushed the life out of him, that rammed an ice-cold spike of terror through his heart.
Da! he cried, his voice high and shrill.
Gum Belles head looped around on its waving, fleshy stalk of a neck, and Ted barely had enough time to glimpse the vacant, dead look in her eyes before another tentacle peeled from her body with a soft, floppy flick and whickered through the air at him.
But Ted, though only an average student in the classroom, was an attentive pupil during recess, which had taught him many valuable skills, thanks to playground bullies. One of them was: when attacked, surprise.
He ran forward. The tentacle undulated lower and whipped at his ankles, but he hopped over
Gum Belle, Episode IGum Belle, Episode I6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The tall, handsome waiter moved easily through the pale wonderland that was the Plaza Nightclub. The tables were pearly white, the chairs were white ash, the floor was white marble, and the plates were pure white china. He himself wore a white uniform, and he delivered the food and drink with hands encased in white cotton gloves. Each table was set with a tall white candle, and he made sure each was lit with a pure, alabaster flame as he passed them by. The bandstand, all silver and stucco, was stocked with very fine musicians in bright ivory suits that glittered in the stage lights. They played the latest music; the Big Band stuff that was all the rage with young people like the waiter.
White, you could say, was the color of the day at the Plaza Nightclub, which made the six big men at the owners table so very conspicuous. They all wore dark suits with matching snap-brim hats pulled low over their eyes. Several wore black leather gloves, and their oily patent-leather loafers lur
Miss Twist: PrologueEast Berlin, December 14th, 1965. 8:30 PMMiss Twist: Prologue4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It was snowing on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall.
The woman in black burrowed deeper into her coat and rubbed her hands together beneath her fur hand muff. It couldn't be warmer then fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, and the harsh, blustery wind made her face numb and stiff. No wonder the lovely lads in the press department called this the Cold War.
She turned down a narrow, dingy alley, her boot-heels clicking briskly on the cobbles. Something vaguely human was huddled beneath a pile of white-dusted rubbish. She made the effort not to look too closely at it. She couldn't afford pity. She was on the clock.
The alley opened onto a street. Across the way was a local bar. Its small-paned windows were too frosty and fogged up to see inside, but two drunks slumped by the front door, singing boisterously in German. Best to move now, before they saw her and wondered why the pretty lady was skulking in the shadows. The woman in black twitched her s
Gum Belle, Episode IIGum Belle, Episode II6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
a spray of gas bombs hit her square in the face and blossomed into sickly green fumes. Gum Belles eyes rolled back in their sockets and her head fell into a stack of her own coiled neck. The crooks van roared off, its six heavy wheels leaving deep tire tracks in the unconscious womans shapeless body. Bum Frank coughed and sneezed and struggled against the belt that kept him tied the deathtrap that was now the freighter Confidence, but to no avail.
Just then, FBI Special Agent Lionel Ricketts awoke with a gasp and a pounding headache. The Confidence was littered with bodies, and there was a big pile of some rubbery red sheeting in the middle of the deck. The custom armored jobbie was long gone, but the cloying stench of the gas was everywhere.
What a mess, he grumbled. Leave it to the criminal element to vomit all over six months hard work. Jenkins was still curled in a fetal position next to one of the gangsters, whose gas mask ha