the master is served.
short story
he’s buried in blue-green light, meditatively sipping johnny walker. his phone buzzes. he eyes it; she's eying him at the same thing, her fingers running small circles on his right thigh. the phone continues buzzing, face down; it could be ali, he thought, calling about those darn trucks stuck at the gauldron pass ...
he snatches the phone, digging his fingers into the cold wood of the table, scooping the plastic-&-glass slab in his weapon-trained grip; hello, he grunts into the receiver.
she's tearing her way through his zipper now, twisting her neck like a tigress at the sight of dinner, smacking her red-glossed lips. the receiver sings in static.
huh? ali?
she is taking out his schlong delicately, one of her claw-like nails brush against the head, he winces, he shifts in his seat. a long wisp of smoke is ascending from the ash tray, the beaded curtain is swaying its strands like a slow, sensual stripper in the lemon-tinged light.
master? finally comes through & he tilts his head a little more towards the receiver, clears his throat, he can feel the alcohol in his larynx.
master, we still here at gauldron &—
have you made any headway with the authorities? he growls & watches her. she had held it's length & was examining it carefully, like a zoologist studying a newly discovered species.
master, they say our special pass expired. 2k dollars sir for a new pass.
God damn you ali, no one there has 2 fucking k dollars? deal with that shit. his breathing was laboured. she was teasing him too much.
problem sah.
master resists the temptation to ask, huh?
everybody leave their money at base, sah. we need a-wiring.
the memory of his previous order flew into his head like a paper plane dives into a neighbor's window. gauldron's pass was a little-known road cutting through the mountains to the other side. he feared his mercenaries wouldn't pass on such a temptation. cash would be the yoke on their legs.
i will uh order a-wiring, ali.
ok, sah.
i want you alone in charge of that, you alone, ali. come back to me with results.
yes, sa—
her mouth envelops his mushroom head, taking the entire length in one slurpy gulp. he growls into the receiver & snaps the phone off. ali would think, for a second, that someone had killed his master. finally.
from emmanuel