Saturday, March 15, 2014

Writing Exercise: Hard Boiled

I did this a while back for Ursual K. LeGuin's Steering the Craft. I don't remember which lesson, though.

"Spread them," Detective Mackie spits the words.

I do. He pats me down. Left pocket: pencil, paper, and a pack of gum. Right pocket: a gun, no bullets. I shoulda tossed it.

"What have we got here?" He crows. His grin: broad and brutish. It matches his mug.

"That, detective is a gun."

"No shit, Sherlock. What's it doing in your pocket, that's what I wanna know.

"Not much. Just sitting there."

"Hey, Mack, we got us a comedian," Detective Mackie's partner joins in.

"I reckon we do, Polchek."

Detective Polchek: a pie-faced Polak, chewing on a cigar like candy. Oral fixation, I bet.

"We'll just have to take you downtown, then. Have a little chat."

Polchek cuffs my wrists behind my back. Mackie watches.

"I think we just caught the Klump Street Killer. Captain will be happy," Polchek comments.

Stupid shit. I had enough. "You couldn't catch a three-legged dog at the pound, you fat fuck."

His fist hits my jaw like a jackhammer. He moves fast for a ball of dough.

No comments:

Post a Comment