Gum Belle, Episode XII, Pt. IIAs he poured himself another drink, Vincent Salucci could almost believe that the Skull was smiling. He glanced at Helmut Arcturion, who still looked nothing like a captive as he sat in Deadeyes chair and tinkered with the intricate contents of an aluminum box the size of a cigarette case. The mans hair wasnt even mussed as he twirled a miniature screwdriver between his fingers. Salucci wondered just what he was working on. Whatever it was, the scientist had a funny look on his face, as though he was enjoying his own private joke.
Your men have done as I requested?
His sinister backers reverberating voice jarred Salucci out of his musings. Yeah. The ones who arent being grilled downtown. He had to work hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. We hooked the Generator up to the Plazas fuse box, just as you instructed. But I dont know why.
You have no need to know why. All will be revealed s
Gum Belle, Episode IGum Belle, Episode I5 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: Prologue3 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
The Origin of ElasticaThe Origin of ElasticaThe Origin of Elastica5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
So, what is this place like? Aline twitched her fingers nervously as she looked over at her best friend Eliza who was sitting confidently behind the wheel of her car. The two had met in high school and remained friends after graduation despite Eliza being two years older than Aline. Their friendship was a rather odd one, since it was hard to imagine two more different people.
Eliza was always well organized, her personality forceful, and her face extremely prone to irritated frowns. She was wearing a bright red shirt, black long pants, and gazed ahead with a vague contempt for the other drivers or quite possibly the road its self. By comparison Aline was dressed in a much more tame green shirt and bland white pants.
As they reached a red light and the car came to a reluctant stop Eliza finally provided her best friend with an answer. Does it really matters