Annie On Writing

June 22, 2016

Coming Undone by Epiphany Ferrell

Filed under: Twisted Tales,Writing Tools — Annie Evett @ 11:05 am

The last thing Fritz expected to find among his luggage was a tongue. A tongue was a strange find, even for someone with multiple entanglements in the entertainment world. Fritz knew it right away for a tongue, partly because it had been packed on ice inside a plastic bag and so retained something of a normal appearance, and partly because it was pierced with a bright sterling silver ball and he knew at least three people with similar piercings.

The door to his hotel room was still open, the under-tipped bellboy evidently not feeling himself sufficiently recompensed to close it, so Fritz quickly strode to it and shut it. It seemed the right thing to do. After all, the tongue had belonged to someone, and leaving it out for casual passers-by to gauk at was disrespectful. And quite probably illegal.

Fritz knew he should call the police, and naturally, he was disinclined to do so. People who deal with the famous and their secrets are in the habit of keeping secrets, not in the habit of enmeshing themselves in tedious and often detrimental-to-fame interviews with skeptical and boorish police officers. He wondered if the tongue belonged to one of his clients. It was an unpleasant thought; perhaps it meant that someone had spoken out of turn, or perhaps it meant that he himself was being warned against talking. He was unaware of any plot out of the ordinary which would require such a drastic message at this time, and that in itself was troubling. Overlooking the obvious was not a habit that led to continued employment.

One thing that was obvious — the tongue couldn’t remain in his hotel room. He thought about flushing it down the toilet, but seemed to remember from some cop drama in which one of his clients guest starred that such a plan was not failsafe. Perhaps a drink would clear his head, maybe cheer him up, he thought, and so thinking, plucked the tongue in its iced plastic bag from his Kenneth Cole suitcase and dropped it into his jacket’s inner pocket. Rather than risk wandering the hot streets and having the ice melt, Fritz elected to find a bar near his hotel.

The bar across the street, let’s call it the Brazen Monkey (though that was not its name) was reasonably dark and crowded, but not too crowded. Fritz spent money, a bit of money, buying drinks for several young ladies at the bar. He ordered the vodka for their cocktails by name, which made them think it was top shelf. It wasn’t. He settled on two who seemed to have conceived a dislike for each other, and let the others fade to the sidelines. The strawberry blonde seemed the nicer of the two, but the one with the olive complexion seemed sharper.

He bought them both milky cocktails with chocolate syrup around the rim of the glass. As he favored first one, then the other with his intense blue-eyed sincerity, he dropped his hand to his pocket now and then, working the bag open, sliding the tongue into his hand. As soon as he had it, without a pause, he slipped it into Strawberry’s drink. He did it while he leaned close to her diamonded ear, her glittered collarbone, to tell her god she was beautiful but she talked too fucking much. He said it loudly enough for Olive to hear, and hearing, to laugh a wicked, sensual, conqueror’s laugh.

Fritz checked his watch, dropped a name, said he’d be back, and slid out of the bar light to the street. He congratulated himself on his cleverness.

He hadn’t discovered the eyeball in his other pocket, yet.


1 Comment »

  1. Wow, that was disgusting on SO MANY LEVELS. Well done! Twisted, indeed. ☺


    Comment by ganymeder — June 27, 2016 @ 4:38 am | Reply

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