|
|
|
Gilman is a cop that writes crime fiction. His stories have appeared in a variety of internet crime magazines including Thuglit, Demolition, Orchard Press Mysteries and Blazing Adventures Magazine. His flash fiction is featured at Muzzle Flash and MFOB. He has work coming to the second edition of Out of the Gutter Magazine and Issue #3 of The PulpPusher. His first novel is right around the block.
The Blue Flame by Keith Gilman
She was young, too young to be in this place, too young to even know where it is. No way she was old enough to drink and no way a girl with those looks, the soft eyes and innocent mouth should look like the world had saddled her up and rode her into the ground.
This place is the Diamond Bar and I should have known when she waltzed through the front door to turn her around and send her back out. The problem was my boss, Tony Parker, spotted her a split second before I did and you didn’t bounce something looking that good, not if Tony had his eye on her.
She dropped a five on the bar and ordered. I could spot trouble and could tell she’d need more than the rum to solve her problems. She started to say something when Tony slid in next to her. He cupped her elbow and whispered like he was coaxing a parakeet back into its cage.
I tended to a couple other customers but kept my eye on her. When she came in, she looked worried, a little sad. Now she looked scared.
Tony called my name and snapped his fingers like a merengue dancer. If he was sitting at his table in the back, he’d whistle. If that didn’t get my attention, he’d pull out his gun and make some noise.
“Bring us something special, Sam. One of those crazy drinks you make.”
“What are you in the mood for, Tony?”
“Surprise me.”
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Tony chasing around some tender adolescent, young enough to be his daughter, fresh out of school and too stupid to see a guy like Tony Parker coming a mile away.
Tony pulled a gold case and lighter from the breast pocket of his tan blazer and lit a cigarette for her. Her hand trembled and her eyes never came off the table.
I grabbed a bottle of Sambuca off the shelf, set it on the bar with two clean shot glasses. The glasses were those dainty kind, a long thin neck supporting an ounce of glass so thin it could crack between your fingers, the kind Tony Parker threw against the wall cause he liked the sound of shattering glass.
I poured the clear liquid, filling each glass to the top. The odor of black licorice was strong, a sweet smell Tony inhaled like he was in a garden, sniffing the spring flowers before he cut them for his parlor vase.
I looked at the girl perched on the end of the stool, ready to fly away with the next stiff wind. She tapped her cigarette reflexively into the ashtray. Her light brown hair fell across her cheek, covered one eye and tickled her chin. The cigarette smoldered between her fingers.
Tony knew what I had in mind and he tossed me the gold lighter. He’d seen it before, loved to watch the blue flame dance over the surface of the glass, the smell of warm anise in the air. I sparked the lighter to life. The yellow fire licked at the alcohol. The Sambuca burned its blue flame.
They reached for the glasses in unison, their long thin fingers feeling for the heat, testing it, trusting the blue flame not to leap from the burning liquid. Tony raised his glass in a toast and she followed, their pinky fingers frozen in a perpetual curl.
The blue flame lit her face. The resemblance to Tony was remarkable, the same straight nose, the high forehead and wide jaw. She could have been his daughter. I was surprised he couldn’t see it.
What I thought before was sadness and fear, I knew now was hate. I saw it in her eyes, the reflection of blue flame burning deep inside them. Tony raised the glass to his lips. She raised her glass in a mocking toast and threw the drink in his face. The fire crawled over his skin like it was alive.
THE END Keith Gilman © 2007 |