Monday, May 24, 2010

A Twist Of Noir 467 - Des Nnochiri


Van Camp had promised retribution. For the mix-up, in Zurich.

Mix-up? More like nightmare.

Eight civilians killed. Thirty-seven injured. Interpol, alerted to the activities of the cartel.

And Brooks had missed the target.

Son of a bitch was still walking around. Or jogging. A fitness nut; jogging would be more his style.

With the police closing in, and the net of Van Camp’s agents drawing tighter, Brooks had done the only thing he could.


To the farthest, darkest corner of the globe that his multiple false identities would take him.

And hide.

Which, in this case, meant more plastic surgery.

He had an appointment with the doctor, in fifteen minutes. A local man; butcher, probably. But he’d come recommended. And, under the circumstances, what choice did Brooks have?


God, but it was so damn hot, here.

Brooks wiped his brow. Sploshed water on his cheeks.

He looked up, into the bathroom mirror. A last glimpse of his current face.

Brooks grabbed the toothbrush, from the holder by the sink. Brushed. Spat. Spat again.

That toothpaste...

A local brand. Vendor at the pharmacy had practically shoved it into his fingers. Along with the gauze, chemicals, and a bunch of other crap he probably didn't need.

The stuff was sharp and minty, all right. Like the label said. But, there was something else. An undertaste.

Brooks couldn’t quite place it.

Toweling off as he entered the bedroom, the first wave of asphyxia hit him.

As his vision swam, the analytical part of Brooks’ brain kicked in. Identifying that undertaste.

Bitter almonds; a cyanide derivative, probably.

Death would be almost instantaneous.

As the floor rushed up to meet him, Brooks might also have observed that the plastic surgeon wouldn’t be necessary. The corner of the bed would rearrange his features perfectly well, thank you very much.

But he didn’t have time. Even for that.

BIO: Desmond (Des) Nnochiri spent his early years traveling with his parents, and was educated in England, the USA, and the Republic of Ireland (Eire). He writes freelance now, and has taken his first steps into the world of screenwriting. He has contributed stories to A Twist of Noir, The Flash Fiction Offensive, and Powder Burn Flash. He blogs at Des Nnochiri’s Write to Speak.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wow! I remember a commercial years ago for Scope mouthwash. Slogan was: "It leaves you breathless." Too bad your guy didn't see it. Enjoyed this a lot. Fast, clear then BAM! The bedpost negating his need for a plastic surgeon was nifty also. Cool!