AUTHOR’S NOTE: for this week’s installment of Flash Fiction Friday, we had to write a story comprised solely of dialogue. So much fun! I love these types of stories. A very interesting challenge in which my innermost Tarantino steps into the spotlight.
So, Mike Walls. That’s quite the rap sheet. We should give you a key.
What’s this about?
Where were you the night Maggie Ellis died?
Maggie’s dead? Nah, man, you playin’ me.
Don’t be a wise-ass. Tell me. Wednesday night. Where were you?
When’s the last time you saw Maggie?
Lemme think. Must be three weeks back. At her job.
Wrong answer. I’ve got a witness puts you with her this past week. Saw you at the movies, all lovey-dovey. Even heard you call her cupcake. Says you were tongue-wrestling a lot. During the best part of the movie, too.
That be one lying witness.
I don’t appreciate this Mike.
Do I give a flying fuck what you appreciate, Detective?
Wednesday night. Between ten and midnight. Where was your ugly ass?
Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. They all the same, you ask me.
Donnelly’s. That’s that Irish pub down by the waterfront, right?
Best fish and chips in town.
I’ve been there. Never seen you though.
I work in the shadows.
That where you always work? The shadows? Were you in the shadows on Wednesday, Mike? Waiting for Maggie to come home so you could jump her?
Your imagination be wilder than wild, Detective.
Isn’t that your M.O., Mike? 1998. Lisa Ming. You jumped out of the bushes, pulled her to the ground and had your way with her.
I thought she was your sister.
And 2002. Wanda Polk. You caught her in a dark alley. A pizza delivery man who got lost because of his GPS saved her from your loving ways.
Past be the past.
Are you a changed man, Mike? Did you find God?
I’m changed, all right. But God ain’t the why of it. I did my time and paid my debt to society. That’s all on me.
Then you won’t mind telling me where you were on Wednesday. That way I won’t have to beat it out of you.
Ah! You’re killing me. Who’s gonna hurt me? You?
I won’t pass up the chance.
You don’t have the cojones to.
Don’t test me, Mike.
Look at you. You never laid a finger on anybody but your old lady. What a tough guy you are!
Watch your mouth, young man.
You can’t fool me. Look at them hands. Probably got a manicure when you finished cop college, haven’t had to get another one since. What’s wrong, Detective? Mommy didn’t love you?
Good-looking woman like Maggie, lives not even a block away from Casa de Mike. Every day, Maggie walks right by your window in a short skirt and a halter top. Flaunts her goods. And damn, those goods look mighty good. Don’t they, Mike? My guess is you got tired of beating your own rocks off. Decided you wanted a piece of that.
Wasn’t like that.
Maggie wanted it bad. Bitch begged me for it.
Maybe, you being a changed man since you got out of the joint, you went about it the right way. Maybe you sent her flowers. Sang a love song under her balcony. Juliet, my Juliet.
Man, I don’t need to do all that. All I do is show up. Works like a charm.
Except with Maggie. What happened? Did she say no to you? Big man can’t handle rejection?
Ain’t never had to.
Really? Is that why you force yourself on women? Is it the only way for you to get off?
Nah, nah, man. All them bitches are liars.
Was Maggie lying when she filed a complaint two months ago?
Says someone broke into her house. Turned it inside out.
Yup. Guy took a few lace panties. Maybe a bra.
Text me when you get to the part where I should care.
Mike, why don’t you tell me what I’ll find if I search your apartment.
Lots of cool shit, man. I got like a big man-crush on Batman, so I got plenty of stuff with him on it. T-shirts, posters, coffee mugs. I even got boxer shorts with the bat signal across the crotch. Glows in the dark.
You’re living the dream. Anything else?
Oh, and I eat Honey Nut Cheerios with whole milk. Buckets of it. Keeps my cholesterol low.
I won’t find those lace panties and a bra or two?
Only if your momma done forgot them when I kicked her out.
I’ve had enough of you. You can deal with Rick now.
Is it time for the good cop, bad cop thing? Man, you guys ain’t original. Crap’s getting old.
Wipe that smile off your face.
Make me, Mister Good Cop.
How do you know I’m not the bad one?
Please. The only bad thing about you is yo breath. So, bring me Ricky the bad boy. I’ll take my chances with him.
Can’t believe the mouth on you, Walls. Let’s see if you’re so tough when you step into the shower with a horny thug who’ll call you Baby while he tears you a new one.
That happen to you?
You killed her, Mike.
Why did you kill her?
I’ll kill you if you don’t shut yo mouth.
Come on, spill it. Get it off your chest. Why did you kill her?
She deserved it, alright? I gave her what she fucking deserved.
Nobody deserves to be killed, Mike.
Fucking bitch always come around my way, asking do I got any dope. We got high, listened to some music. She danced a little, you know. Like one of them strippers. Teased me, lifting her shirt and rubbing her tits and all that shit. Only when I touched her, she got all shy and stuff. No, no, I don’t want to, Mike.
What happened then?
I slapped her. She fell and then got up and ran for the door. I grabbed her from behind and pinned her against the wall. I wanted to give it to her, you know. Only I couldn’t… well… you know. On account of how high I was. Ain’t never a problem for my soldier to step up, you know.
Of course. What happened next?
Next? Well, I choked her till her eyes popped out of her skull. Fucking blood everywhere. Freaky shit.
See? That wasn’t so hard, now, was it, Mike? Don’t you feel better?
Hope you enjoyed this one.
Like I mentioned above, I feel like this type of story brings out the Tarantino in me. To me, this guy is the master of all things dialogue. As is Elmore Leonard.
What about you? Who comes to mind when you think about dialogue?