After we finished up I told Denny we had to go. I could see on his silent face that he understood. He stood up and said, “In the immortal words of Gary Gilmore, ‘Let’s Do it.’ “

For the first time in over twenty-four hours, we both laughed, even if the joke was dark in nature.

Driving down the maple lined streets, the mid day sun stabbed passed leaves and branches  into the car and caused my eyes to hurt; adding to the nearly unbearable need  to fill my gullet with bourbon.

Denny didn’t mention my drinking problem one time during the trip, or I might have regrettably gone ballistic on him.

Once the quiet neighborhoods were behind us, it was a matter of a short jaunt on the freeway and then into downtown. I knew that once we were on the exit ramp, I could look down at the station and see if the coast was clear to bring Denny in the ‘back door’.

I laughed and pointed the scene out to Denny. We both had our second laugh in the past day. It was beginning to feel like old times again.

What we saw was an obvious diversion centering on a group of blues trying to secure a parking spot at the front steps of the station while the press was trying to force themselves closer to the front door.

The back gate was free and clear.

Quickly, Denny and I made our way to the Chief’s office where the Chief shook my hand and shooed me away. Not standing at Denny’s side while he was about to be skewered was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I understood why it had to be done. There couldn’t be a hint of corroboration between Denny and myself. I already jeopardized that in a big way and didn’t want to push it over the edge.

On the way into the station, I assured Denny that I would go straight to Nora and let her know that Denny would be okay. I knew that I had lied to Denny. The tremors would only let me go to one place first.

The need for bourbon was overwhelming; so much so I couldn’t get to the liquor store fast enough.

I parked in the shadows of the ripe dumpster, the old wooden security fence and the crumbling brick apartment building that adjoined the store’s lot. I had a plan.

Grabbing a one gallon bottle along with the pint that was central to my plan I went to the counter, asked for a pack of my usual mints, and fumbled my money all over the counter.

“Having a bad day, Detective?”

I looked up at the washed out blond woman behind the counter. For the first time in a year,I saw her face and what ravages time had taken on her. Worm paths had crisscrossed her face and capillaries exploded at the end of her nose, making me wonder which door behind the counter that she would hide behind, drowning away her miserable life.

“Something like that,” my voice shook.

Back at the car, I took out the pint and sheepishly chugged half of it. My nerves started to calm as the artificial euphoria teased at the edges of my mind. Still clear enough to realize I had better scoot home, before I got too sloppy, and begin my journey to Forgetville.

The trip started before I started the car, because I had already forgotten about Nora.

It seems we have turned down an even darker alley this week as our tale looks at the downward spiral of our central character. Alcohol has clearly taken a herculean grip on the soul of Jack.

On top of that, we have thrown his best friend Denny to the wolves. Like a pure lamb, Jack marches into the belly of the beast; vowing not to violate his integrity.

What will be the price that Jack must pay to uphold all that is sacred to him?

Thanks for following along, and remebere; if you are participating in this experiment, drop us a link and we will be more than happy to link to your work from here.

Until next week!

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© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

Alex Crabtree

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Tags: 55 word fiction, Building A Short Story, Fiction, flash, Series

This entry was posted on July 2, 2010 at 6:19 am and is filed under Building A Short Story, Featured, Series, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.