A Twist Of Noir 440 - BJ Bourg

BACK YARD - BJ BOURG

Originally published at Flashing in the Gutters in May 2006

Johnny Brooks hit the kill switch on the table saw and stared in admiration at the cut he’d just made.

“The factory couldn’t have done it better!”

He walked to the armoire he was building and glanced up at the wall clock in his barn. Ten o’clock. Guess she won’t be calling tonight. Just as he thought it, the cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate and he jerked it to his ear. “Hey, baby, what’s up?”

“Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I’m in the barn.” Johnny walked to the door and stared at the house. All was quiet. “Sarah had a glass of wine, so she should be out soon. How about you?”

“Dennis got called to go to work. Want to meet?”

“You know it!”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The excitement built in Johnny’s chest as he slipped out the barn and into the wooded area behind his house. The full moon made it easy to follow the faint trail. Within minutes, a glowing figure materialized out of the shadows of the trees. “You got here quick!”

Bessie Harrington rushed to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her mouth to his. After a long kiss, she buried her head into his chest. “I’m so glad I found you.”

“Me, too.” Johnny caressed Bessie’s long brown hair. He suddenly chuckled. “I still can’t believe you actually moved.”

“I wanted to be closer to you.”

“Why don’t you just leave him?”

Bessie leaned back. “You know why.”

Johnny pursed his lips and nodded.

Bessie turned away and walked to her night bag that was several feet away. She pulled out a blanket and spread it on the ground. When she looked up at Johnny, her brown eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Get over here and give me—”

A deafening explosion suddenly disrupted the stillness of the night.

Bessie’s mouth dropped open. She clutched at her stomach. A scream ripped from her throat when she saw the blood. Another explosion sounded, and then another.

Johnny dropped to the ground and scrambled behind a nearby tree. Ears ringing, he peered from behind his place of cover.

With each explosion came a flash of light. Each flash of light illuminated the shooter’s face. Johnny gasped. He stepped from behind the tree. “Sarah! What the fuck are you doing?”

Sarah strode from the shadows and into the full moonlight. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to shit in your back yard?”

Johnny stared in horror at Bessie’s lifeless body. Blood had already saturated the front of her shirt and was beginning to pool beside her body. “Do you realize what you’ve just done?”

Sarah tossed Johnny’s pistol on the ground. She removed the latex gloves from her hands. “I didn’t do anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My prints aren’t on the murder weapon.”

“You’re talking crazy!”

“What’s crazy is how easy it’ll be to get rid of you for life.”

Johnny glanced down at Sarah's feet. She was wearing his boots. His heart raced. “No one will ever—”

“You bought that gun two weeks ago. Why?”

“Protection.”

“That’s not what the jury will think. What about the last person Bessie called before she died? Don't you think that’ll be a hell of a clue?”

Johnny dropped beside Bessie and desperately groped around in her pockets for her cell phone. When he found it, he also grabbed his empty pistol.

“You can burn her phone and it won’t save you. That call is now a permanent record on her bill. And you’ll never find all your bullet casings before the cops get here.”

Johnny sighed as resignation set in. He stood and turned slowly to face Sarah. “You’ve left me no choice. I’ll have to turn you in and testify against you in court. I’m an eyewitness to a murder.”

Sarah laughed. The wickedness of it caused Johnny to shudder. “You were having an affair with the Chief of Police’s wife. You think they’re going to believe anything you say?”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ BOURG.

A Twist Of Noir 429 - BJ Bourg

FINAL DIVORCE - BJ BOURG

Rosalie Beard shut the suitcase and flipped the latch. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

Jay backhanded a school of tears that slid down his face. “You mean, you’re just going to throw away six years of marriage over a lousy job?”

“It’s not about the job. It’s about your integrity, and your ability to support me and the kids.”

“Baby, I’m telling you, Richard’s lying. I didn’t steal any money from the company.”

Rosalie frowned and brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. “He’s got the proof. You won’t be able to get a job within a hundred miles of here.”

“To hell with getting a job. What about love?”

“Love doesn’t pay the bills. Love doesn’t put clothes on our children’s backs.”

“I can get another job.”

“Doing what?”

“I’ll find something.”

“Not making the kind of money we’re accustomed to.”

“When did it become about the money with you?”

“When I had to support two kids.”

Jay looked around the bedroom. “Where are they?”

“My Mom’s.”

“I want to see them.”

“Not until the divorce is final. I want the custody issue resolved before I let them out of my sight.”

Jay’s lower jaw dropped. “Divorce? I thought you said we couldn’t afford to get a divorce? That it would cripple us financially?”

“That was before you stole money from your boss and got fired.”

“For the last time--”

“I know, I know, you didn’t do it.” Rosalie heaved the suitcase from the bed and stumbled toward the door.

Tears flowed freely down Jay’s face. He dropped to his knees in front of Rosalie. “Please, don’t leave! I can’t live without you. I can fix this, I can make this right!”

Rosalie dropped the suitcase and leaned against the wall. “How?”

Jay rubbed his face and spoke like an auctioneer on speed. “I know what to do. Richard’s doing this to try to get rid of me because I found out he’s been screwing around on his wife. That’s why he fabricated this story. He claims he has documents that show I’ve been stealing, but I know it’s bogus. If I can get my hands on those documents, I can prove it’s a fraud.”

“Do you know where he keeps it?”

“It has to be with all his important papers in a lockbox at his house. It has a simple lock; I can pry it open with a screwdriver.”

“How do you plan on getting into his house?”

Jay smiled. “His wife’s at a nursing conference in Boston and he’s planning to meet his girlfriend tonight.”

Rosalie gasped. “Are you thinking of breaking into his house? That’s against the law!”

“What he’s doing is against the law. Plus, he’s destroying our lives.”

“What if you get caught?”

“I won’t.” Jay stood and touched Rosalie’s face. “Besides, I’d risk anything just to prove to you that I didn’t do this.”

Rosalie’s eyes moistened. “Baby, I’ve never seen you this determined.”

Jay leaned and kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ll call you when I have the documents.”

*

Rosalie jerked awake. She stared with wide eyes around the room. Her heart jumped in her chest when the phone rang again. She snatched it up. “Hello?”

“It’s done.”

She sighed. “Any problems?”

“No.”

“What now?”

“All you have to do is act surprised when the police notify you.”

“What are you going to do about her?”

“I’ll have to wait a while--”

“Richard, I didn’t help you kill my husband just so I could be alone.”

“You won’t. We’ll be together soon. I just don’t want to draw any attention to us.”

“You shot Jay while he was breaking into your house. How will that be suspicious?”

“If my wife dies soon after that, the cops will start digging deeper into our lives and we don’t want that to happen.”

Rosalie sat silent for several minutes.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah.” More silence.

“What’s wrong?”

“It sucks that the kids can never know you’re their real father.”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ Bourg.

A Twist Of Noir 398 - BJ Bourg

GREEN GLOVES - BJ BOURG

Originally published in April 2006 at Flashing in the Gutters

Blade McKenzie pulled the wet wraps from his aching hands and let them fall to the gym floor. He removed his mouthpiece. The familiar stench of stale sweat drifted from his hands.

“You okay?” Sam Wyatt asked.

Blade licked the salt from his lips and nodded.

“Still in pain?”

“A little. Doc says my hand should be healed enough for the fight.” Blade sank wearily to the bench and shoved his hand into a bucket of ice.

The gym doors abruptly opened and Chip Armstrong strode in. Chip dipped his shoulder and dropped his bag to the floor. The trainers and other boxers gathered around him and spoke in excited voices as Chip wrapped his hands. They cheered when he slipped through the ropes and shadowboxed to the beat of Kid Rock’s remake of Saturday Night’s All Right For Fighting.

Blade’s eyes were green with envy. “What’s he got that I don’t?”

Sam slapped his back. “Relax, man, you’ll get your chance.”

“It ain’t just the title fight.” Blade pointed to his trainer. “I’ve made more money for Tim than Chip ever will, but he won’t even acknowledge—”

“Dude, Coach is the least of your worries. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but...”

Blade flexed his hand and grimaced. “Tell me what?”

“It’s about Debbie.”

Blade froze at the mention of his fiancé’s name. He and Debbie Ridley had been dating since grade school. She had been his one and only love. “What about her?”

“Chip’s been getting real friendly with her lately.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam’s eyes darted about the gym. He leaned close to Blade. “Debbie showed up at the gym last week while you were out. She walked outside with Chip and they talked for about an hour on the sidewalk.”

Blade slowly got to his feet. Sweat glistened on Chip Armstrong’s bare shoulders as he threw a combination of punches to the heavy bag. The metal bag rack creaked under the force of the blows.

Sam shook his head. “Don’t even think about it. When Chip was born, he chewed his umbilical cord in half, beat up the doctor, and carried his mom home.”

Blade’s heart thumped in his chest. He flinched with each of Chip’s thunderous strikes to the bag. “Did they just talk?”

“They just talked.”

Blade snatched up his bag and stormed out of the gym. His wet shorts and shirt clung to his body and he shuddered when the cool night air greeted him. An image of Chip flirting with Debbie flashed though his mind. Determination turned his blood to ice. He raced to his parent’s home and borrowed his father’s F-150.

*

When Blade returned to the gym, he surveyed the dark parking lot. It was empty. He parked the F-150 beside Chip’s red Mustang. Grabbing a tire iron from behind the seat, he slipped into the bed of the truck and lay hidden, waiting for Chip to leave the gym. He didn’t have to wait long.

The alarm on Chip’s Mustang beeped and the doors flipped unlocked. Footsteps drew nearer. Blade gripped the tire iron. The footsteps stopped beside him. He heard the door to Chip’s Mustang open. After taking a deep breath, he jerked upright and lifted the tire iron high into the air. With one great heave, he brought the tire iron down onto the top of Chip’s head. He was surprised at how easily the skull collapsed. Chip dropped to the pavement and Blade leapt from the bed of the truck. He glanced around. All was clear.

Blade grabbed Chip’s arm and turned him onto his back. The arm felt soft. Blade lifted the tire iron and was about to bring it down a second time when the interior light from Chip’s Mustang splashed across his victim’s face. Blade involuntarily lurched forward and vomited on the pavement. Heaving uncontrollably, he dragged himself forward and cradled Debbie’s head in his arms. “Oh, my God,” he wailed. “What have I done?”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ Bourg.

A Twist Of Noir 382 - BJ Bourg

GET SOME - BJ BOURG

Originally published at Flashing In The Gutters in June 2006 as Baby Come Get Some

“Hey, baby, come get some!”

Allison quickened her pace and stared at the ground.

“Come on, baby, where you going?” The man moved away from the tin building. He was lanky, unkempt. He sauntered closer.

Allison could hear his boots dragging the graveled parking lot. She walked faster.

“Hey, Pedro, think you can keep up with her?” someone called.

“I dunno, she’s a quick one.” Pedro's laughter chilled Allison to her Hush Puppy sandals. She ran through the parking lot. As she ran, she fumbled in her purse. Frantic fingers searched for car keys. When she found them, she smashed the unlock button and dove into the Mountaineer. Inside, she locked the doors and buried her face in her hands. Tears rolled down flushed cheeks. Her breath came in labored gasps. Suddenly, a sharp smack on the driver’s window caused her to jerk her head around.

Allison screamed when she saw Pedro’s face pressed against the glass. His mouth was open wide. His tongue slithered between stained teeth, as he licked her window like a dehydrated coyote lapping water from a cool stream. Allison’s body swayed involuntarily as the Mountaineer rocked from side to side. Men hollered and cheered as Pedro pulled on the door handle and beat on the window.

Heart pounding in her ears, tears streaming down her face, Allison pushed the key in the ignition with a hand that trembled. She cried with relief when the engine roared to life. A pull on the gearshift set the Mountaineer in drive. Her vehicle lurched forward. Pedro pounded on the window as she sped away.

*

Allison rushed into her house and slammed the door shut. Tim looked up from his recliner. His brow furrowed when he saw her. “What’s wrong, Ali?”

Allison rushed to the recliner and collapsed on the floor beside Tim. She leaned against the arm of the chair and sobbed uncontrollably.

“They...they...they almost raped me!”

Tim jumped to his feet. “What?”

Between gasps for air, Allison recounted what happened in the parking lot at her work. Tim listened intently at first. The more Allison spoke, the more his face relaxed. “Baby, I thought you said they almost raped you.”

Allison’s mouth fell open. “What the hell do you think they were trying to do?”

“Just hassling you.”

“Hassling me?”

“Look, you work around a bunch of horny men. Besides, look at the way you’re dressed.”

Allison glanced down at her jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You buy your jeans two sizes too small, you--”

“Are you saying this was my fault?”

Tim shrugged his shoulders. “Look, they didn’t touch you, so they didn’t commit a crime. If you don’t want it to happen again, stop dressing the way you do.”

Allison shook her head slowly, her eyes bloodshot and sunken. “You’re a sorry excuse for a cop and a worse excuse for a husband.”

“Hey, don’t blame your problems at work on me! Besides, it’s an internal issue, not a crime.”

“I already reported them to security.”

“What did they say?”

Allison hung her head. “Nothing they could do. They said he was free to say whatever he wanted. That he has a right to free speech.”

“Well, you can always quit if you can’t handle it.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve always said a woman’s place is in the home. At least I’d have a warm meal when I got back from work.”

*

The next day, Allison swallowed hard before stepping out her office. She clutched her purse and walked grim faced, her jaw set. When she approached the tin building, she heard Pedro’s familiar voice.

“Hey, baby, come--”

Allison turned abruptly and stomped directly toward Pedro, who froze in his tracks. His eyes widened as she pulled a hand from her purse. In it, she clutched a bottle of Freeze +P she’d taken from Tim’s gun belt. Pedro opened his mouth to speak and Allison raised the bottle. She pressed the ridged cap and pepper spray streamed from the bottle and splashed against Pedro’s face, in his mouth, and across his eyes. He fell to the rough ground, clawing at his face.

Allison raised her foot high and stomped the side of his head with the heel of her Nine West shoe. She did it again, and again, and again. Pedro could only grunt and writhe helplessly in pain. Between stomps, Allison yelled down at him, “You have a right...to free speech...so feel free...to tell your friends...what just happened...you piece of shit!”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ Bourg.

A Twist Of Noir 373 - BJ Bourg

THE OLD MAP - BJ BOURG

Originally published in April 2006 by Flashing in the Gutters

Jared Snell stepped off the Greyhound at Fifth and Main and stood amazed at his surroundings. “Is this really Locksville?” he asked a young boy who whisked by on a skateboard.

The boy, no more than fourteen, skid to a stop and stomped one end of his board. The other end flipped up violently. With one deft motion, he caught the end of the board and pushed it against his leg. He hiked up his baggy shorts and brushed his orange bangs from his eyes. “Granddad, this is 2006,” he said. “You’d better chunk that Elvis Presley suit and get with the times.”

Jared opened his mouth to reply, but the punk jumped into the air, landed on his board, and wheeled away. Jared shook his head and pulled the yellowed piece of stationary from his coat pocket. He studied it not from necessity, but from force of habit. The map looked the same as it had when he drew it twenty years ago and that image was burned into his brain. He glanced at the street sign. This is it. He followed Fifth Street to the corner and headed east on St. Charles Street. When he reached the Dead End sign he smiled. The old gas station was in ruins, but it was absolutely Peggy’s Service Station. He could smell the money now-all $500,000 of it. Knowing that the loot was securely buried under the Locksville Church of Christ is what kept him alive all those years. No one would mess with the Lord’s house. He smiled at the irony of God safeguarding his sinful profit.

Jared made his way to the back of the service station and into the wooded area. The woods weren’t as dense as he’d remembered. “But, then again,” he said out loud, “I didn’t have much time to sight-see with those cop dogs on my ass.” He trudged on and a smile spread across his pale face when the trees faded and the clearing came into view. He was only a few hundred yards away from his retirement stash. Most people work their entire lives to retire to a nickel and dime social security check, but not him. This was one time when a life of crime would pay off. Sure, he’d had to pull fifteen of twenty years in the slammer for not telling where the money was hidden, but it was worth it now.

Anticipation got the best of him and he broke into a stumbling run. He crashed through the last clump of bushes and just stared. “What the-?”

Jared slowly sank to his knees. The map that had been his Bible, his sole reason for living, slipped from his fingers and danced away in the breeze. The detective’s voice from twenty years ago rang loud in his ears. “Tell us where the money is and the prosecutor will let you plead to two years. You won’t get a better deal for robbery.”

Jared had spat on the floor and told the detective to shove it.

“Sucks, don’t it?”

Jared jumped to his feet and spun around. The hair was now white and there were more wrinkles, but he recognized Detective Patterson. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you.”

“What?”

Patterson smiled that wicked smile of his. “I hope you don't think they let you out five years early for good behavior. Nope. I’m ready to retire and I needed you to lead me to the money so I could go in peace.”

“You got me out?”

Patterson nodded and stared at the Super Wal-Mart that squatted on the property previously owned by the Locksville Church of Christ. “So, it’s buried under that?”

“Fifty-seven feet due east of this very spot.” Jared hung his head. “What now?”

Patterson slapped his back. “It looks like you did fifteen for nothing.”

BIO: BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at BJ Bourg.