HARDWOOD BLOOD CH.1 - GO BACK FOR SOME LASAGNA

BLOOD ON THE HARDWOOD CONCRETE CH.1 - GO BACK FOR SOME LASAGNA

By Yasamine Alisha

Just as you are about to take off, Sweetwater pops his meathook onto your shoulder. “Best to pass the buck to the other Joes for now, ya jive?” 

“Sure. No point in getting all roughed up before dinner.” You walk back into the restaurant, step behind the front desk and pick up the phone in front of the pretty young olive skinned girl sitting at the desk. You flick the receiver clip a couple times and tell Bernice the operator to connect you to the precinct.

“Got another one.” Pause. “Sure.” Pause. “Dead as a doornail.” Pause. “Okay, okay, spare me the gobbledygook.” You hang up the phone, pinch the girl's cheek, and wink before heading back to the table. 

You sit at the table with the ‘Trotters and enjoy a nice bottle of wine. Other than the murdered dame out in front, the restaurant isn’t really that bad. You figure whether or not it’s true what they say about the I-talians cooking rat in the meatballs, the joint still made the best lasagna you've ever had.

"Ah! Longa time noa see!" The owner walks up with another bottle of wine. 

"What's the good word, Rocco?” You ask, knowing the owner always has something up his sleeve.

“Molto Bello! You looka good! You losea weight? Ah! You needa my mama's lasagna!” Rocco pats you on the shoulder and walks away, only to return to your table with a large platter of steaming lasagna. “Even the deada bird will not stop the lasagna!” He shakes his head as he serves you and the ‘Trotters each a heaping chunk of meaty, cheesy layered pasta. 

You stuff your face. The Sweetwater is arguing with Twiggy about the importance of parmesan cheese. Everyone else is silent in their feasting as you listen to the beat cops cordoning off the crime scene.

“Got anything new on the menu?" You ask. 

"I bringa new dessert!" The rotund owner says as he walks back into the kitchen, his thick accent hanging in the air. 

“He stinks of garlic, but damn can the man cook." you mutter as you start to imagine the owner's mother's special cannolis.

Rocco walks out with a tray laden with plates of what looks like custard. "Marcello is back from that French school for the summer. Is called crème-a brooley." he sets the plates down and pulls out the blow torch. 

"Whoa, what are you, a blockhead? That's for buildings, not pudding. Geez." You instantly back up from the torch.

"No, paisano! Trusta in Rocco!" He lights the torch, lowers the flame, and brushes it gently over the top of the custard. It caramelizes as the sweet smell makes your mouth water.

“I'll be damned. Ain't that about a bitch. It’s crispy!” Twiggy says as he drops his ball and shovels a spoonful into his mouth. 

"Well I’ll be a monkey's uncle," you mutter as Rocco wanders around the table blasting everyone's pudding, yours being last.

"Prego!" He says, waving the torch dangerously close to your head.

"Watch it, bub."

"No, no, I havea the perfect control!" He spins the lit wand. It slips from his fingers and brushes past your head as it hits the table. The flame blasts to life and lights your hair on fire. The pomade is like butane in your hair and on your forehead as you suddenly burst into flames! You scream for help, but your aftershave ignites the fire further down your neck and over your entire body.

You stand and run from the table through the front door and trip falling onto the corpse, incinerating the evidence. You live just long enough for Rocco and Sweet Lou to douse your fire with a boiling pot of spaghetti. You die in agony, burnt to a crisp as the ‘Trotters, standing around you, eat cannolis dipped in the creme brulée.

"Well damn, there goes our free throw backup,” Meadowlark mutters are he licks his spoon.

Oops...Return to Chapter 1

TIME DOUCHE CH. 3 - FOLLOW THE LITTLE GENERAL

TIME DOUCHE CH.3 - THE LITTLE GENERAL

By Yasamin Alisha

You take off behind the young man in front of you, clutching the communicator in your pocket.

“That's it! You've... mmmfffphh really screwed up... grrggg... mrrrfff... damnit!” Thomas is screaming muffled phrases at you through your hand and two layers of fabric.

“Shut up! You're going to get me killed and then you aren't getting your stupid machine back, so just shut up for once, you damned windbag!” you growl into the communicator angrily.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?” Bonaparte asks as he turns a sharp corner, grabbing your elbow to take you with him.

“Oh, no, not at all. I'm just trying to survive.”

“Are not we all, friend?” He hustles you around another corner down a small alley and through a low door.

You stop and let your eyes adjust as the door is closed behind you. Thomas is being oddly quiet and the gravity of the situation starts to really kick in. You're stuck. You've just run off with one of the most famous conquerors in history. What the hell was Thomas thinking?!

“Quickly, they will be here soon,” Boneparte whispers from across the room.

You blink as you look around, finding him kneeling in a corner and holding up a trap door. You take to the stairs, as he seals the door above your heads.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs you realize you're not alone.

“Mon Dieu!” a soft, lilting voice says as you see her serving bowls of some strange stew.

“Marie, be calm. He's a friend.”

“Is it over? I see you are alive.” She runs to him and you try not to stare at her breasts, which barely stay confined in the top of her low collared, simple brown dress.

“It is. This is...” He turns to you and you shrug.

“Fred.” you mutter. “Uhhh... Do you have a bathroom down here?”

He directs you to the small hall leading to two other rooms: one a small bedroom, the other like an outhouse. You close the door behind you and pull out the communicator.

“Listen here, pal. You built a time machine in your freaking house next to your guest bedroom? What idiot does that!? You want to be a mad scientist you do it right; you build a proper lair like everyone else, preferably underground or in a mountain, or if you're lucky you'll find an unoccupied volcano! BUT NOOO, you had to build it in the shape of a damned shower in your house next to your guest room!”

“Are you quite finished?” Thomas replies calmly.

“No. No I'm not. You deprived me of dinner, you jackass. You're lucky I didn't piss all over your stupid time machine! Get me out of here, and do it now!”

“I need you to get back to the machine. I can instruct you on how to get back here, but you need to get back to the machine!”

“I'm kind of stuck right now, so I'm in charge here, pal. I'm on the run in France of all places, with Napoleon outside this door making kissy face with some hot chick. So As soon as I get back, I'll call you. I'm going to try not to step on any damned snails and change history any further than I've already done. Okay?”

“Fine.” You can tell Thomas is angry but he has no choice and you like that idea.

You shove the communicator back into the little pocket of your puffy pants and head back out to Bonaparte. “Sorry, just a little stressed.”

“Understandable, my friend. I want to thank you for your help today. This is Marie, my love.” He points to the pretty girl with blonde curls who hands you a bowl of stew. You try not to stare at her, but God, is she hot.

“Hi there.”

“Hello.” She's shy and you can't help but like that.

“So where are you from? Your accent is impeccable.”

You reach up and cup your hand over the translator and blush. “Oh... here and there. I am a wanderer.” And apparently a really good liar, you can't help thinking to yourself.

You sit at the bench table and devour your stew. The lovers coo at each other as they feed each other and you can't help thinking about French girls and the ones you might be missing, hiding underground. “So, I need to get back to the glen where I left my... carriage... yeah.”

“Impossible for now. The palace guards are on the hunt. You will have to stay with us at least over night before you can go any further.”

“Oh that just sucks.” you mutter.

“Excuse me?” Bonaparte is staring at you strangely. “What is sucking?”

“Uhhh... Never mind.” Shit! You think to yourself. You'll have to watch your words around this guy. You don't need Napoleon walking around France screaming “It sucks!” instead of “Charge!”

“Shhh... they come.” Everyone stills as you hear the feet on the floorboards above you.

“We are looking for that upstart Bonaparte and a stranger with him! An accomplice in his murderous ways!” Guards are yelling at someone above you.

“There is no one here, but please feel free to turn my shop upside down as you do every time you feel the need to search for someone.” says the voice of an elderly woman. You can barely hear her but her tone is exasperated, even to you. There is much tumbling above you as the guards turn the shop upside down and leave.

“They sicken me, those palace pigs.” Bonaparte says as he eats his stew with anger.

“I want to fight them, now!” Marie is shaking a ladle above her head.

“Mon Ami, we cannot. You will stay here, be safe and tomorrow I will take Fred back to the glen. I will return for you and we will run, you and me.”

The stew is finished and Bonaparte leads Marie to the small bedroom. He peeks his head out and says, “There is a pallet for you to sleep on by the fire and blankets for warmth. Sleep well and I will wake you early. Do not worry, we will get you back to your carriage.” and with that you are left alone.

You pull out the communicator and start to whisper, “Thomas . . . shhh, keep it down. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I will be back at the time machine by morning and you can stop shitting bricks.”

“Do not do anything stupid! You will change the face of time, you fool!”

“Stop squawking at me. Everything will be fine.” You turn the volume on the communicator down and go to sleep.

As you doze, dainty hands wrap around your chest and you turn only to face Marie.

“You saved my Napoleon, no?” Her soft accent makes your toes curl as she lies next to you and presses her body to you.

“Not really. I just ran with him.”

“You do not have to lie to me.”

“Uhhh... Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“I am... Let us commence...”

Should you...

A: Sleep with Marie, hoping to get away with it?

B: Not sleep with Marie and tell Bonaparte that his woman isn't faithful?

C: Run like hell?

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - FIRST PROCEDURE

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.2 - FIRST PROCEDURE

By Yasamin Alisha

You wake up the next morning feeling like the decision was just a good sleep away. You pull the face mask from your eyes and ignore your maid as she wanders around your massive bedroom opening the blinds and setting out breakfast. You stand from your bed, not caring that she is still there, and walk naked to the bathroom.

“Your PA called again.” She mutters as she fixes your bed.

“What’s the message?” you yell from the shower.

“Call back now or kiss your career goodbye.” She hustles out of the room before you can reply.

You walk out of your shower, air dry as you walk into your bedroom again, and smile at the thought that it looks as though you never slept in it. She may have had a smart mouth but she’s the best help in town.

You decide it’s definitely a silk-pajama day; there’s no way you’re leaving your house today. You slip them on and eat your breakfast. The more you think about the options given by Dr. Skin, the more you know how you plan to answer.

You pick up the phone and dial his number. The receptionist answers and you let them know you want to book the first surgery. You think that with technology these days, maybe it’s time you take a workout regimen seriously for once.

She tells you that the next available appointment is in three days. You agree to that. She tells you to fast for 24 hours and to avoid doing anything strenuous to keep your muscles as relaxed as possible. You agree and ask about pain level.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Skin will prescribe you only the best in pain meds.” She hangs up on you and you sit for a second, seething at her rude behavior.

You take a deep breath and call your PA. “I know.” You say the moment the phone is answered.

“This is beyond damage control. We are going to have to take a vacation for a bit. Reebok has decided to go with another ‘Legend’ for their Legend shoes this fall. We need to lay low and do recovery.”

“I’ve decided to have some work done.”

“What kind of work?”

“Basic stuff. A lift, maybe a tuck. Nothing to worry about.”

“Who’s the doctor? You don’t want to come out looking like a goddamned clown.”

“I won’t. He’s the best.”

“Get me his info and I’ll do some checking.”

“I’ve already booked the appointment.”

“It can be canceled if I find anything hardcore. Just send me the shit and I’ll do the search. In the meantime, don’t talk to anyone. Just stay home until I get you some tickets for you. You’re going on vacation. Maybe we’ll go save some remote village somewhere. We’ll bring food or some shit like that.”

“You’re awesome.” You respond to the sheer lack of caring. You have a real love/hate relationship with your PA.

“Trust me.” The click on the line tells you it’s time to maybe have a mimosa by the pool.

You wander closer to the glistening water and think about everything you’ve been through. Your fucking career is in the toilet. Your life is pretty much over at this point. This surgery has to save you or you have nothing left.

You feel a soft oily cloth under your foot just before it slides out from under you and you tumble forward. The damned maid left the dust rag on the tile next to the pool again.

You fly into the air, your head slamming against the tile at the edge of the pool. The excruciating pain suddenly fades as you feel fluids pouring from your body. Blood streams from your nose and ears as you slowly slide into the cool water.

The water creeps up your body but you have no control of your muscles to scream. It laps past your head and you can do nothing as the water fills your lungs. You cannot move but you sure as hell can feel as your lungs convulse and your heart squeezes in the attempt to keep you alive. Your whole body is paralyzed as you slowly drown in your pool, and all you can think is:

Well shit. There goes damage control.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 2