Too Perfect Marriage – Part 1

“We’re doing great, really great… I just needed to listen better… No, a kiss goodnight and in the morning… not a chance, my parent’s divorce ruined me… she’s their mother, man!… Sounds good, you too.” Calvin ended the phone call and put out his cigarette. He hung his head, then smiled and opened the sliding door. He returned to the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” said Bridget. She scrunched her nose and sniffed. “You smell like cigarettes.”

“You quit, not me.”

“Smells repulsive.” Bridget finished shimmying into her red party dress. “How do I look, baby?”

Calvin plopped down at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets. “Great.”

Bridgette slipped her thumbs under her spaghetti straps and flipped her top down. She wiggled at the hips, so the two hills filling her push-up bra jiggled around.

“This better, baby?” she said with a laugh.

Calvin smiled. “Didn’t think you were dressing up for me.”

“You’re my husband!”

“…why don’t I come along, for a change?”

Bridgette scoffed. “We’ve been over this. You don’t do good at social events.” She tugged her red dress back up over her breasts, then smiled and pecked Calvin on the cheek. “You’re the one I come home to. You’re my protector and guardian… but sometimes I need you to protect and guard the kids.”

Her phone beeped. She peeked in her purse, then scurried with it out to the hallway bathroom.

“I was thinking maybe I could join you this time,” said Calvin.

“Why? It’s just me and people from the dealership.”

“But it’s a club, right?”

“You won’t let me dance now? God, give me a break-”

“Never said that, babe. But you’re going dancing, so I’m sure bringing a spouse is fine.” Calvin sighed, then dragged himself out to the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “You said you wanted to spend more time together, right?”

“At the dinner table! The dinner table, baby! When I’m here alone, and you’re working, or whatever it is you’re really doing.”

“Ok… well maybe it would be fun, like the old days. It’s good to go out together sometimes… I already hired a babysitter and cleared my plans-”

“Aw, baby,” said Bridgette. She came over to Calvin and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You cancelled your date with your guitar, all for me?”

He forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I told Brody I’d be his date tonight,” said Bridgette, before glancing at Calvin through the corner of her eye. She scratched her eyebrow. “If you really want to come, I’ll let him know.”

“I do… You’re important to me.”

“Aw! You’re important to me!” Bridget smiled, then pinched Calvin’s cheek. “Fine… you win.” She grabbed her phone, tapped out a text, then waited for the response with her fingers in her lips.

“Who’s Brody?” said Calvin.

“Huh? Oh, my boss.”

“Ah. Ok.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know. You don’t say much about work.”

Bridgette’s eyes went wide. “I don’t say much about work?”

“I’m a firefighter… I work with all guys… Three days in a row.”

Her phone beeped. Bridget laughed so hard she snorted, then covered her mouth.

“What?”

She grabbed her purse and left the bathroom shaking her head.

“Babe?”

“You wanted this, not me!” Shouted Bridgette. She opened the front door and left the one-story house.

Calvin remained where he stood. He noticed something in their wedding portrait he’d never noticed before – Lying on the hill in the background was an old couple. Calvin squinted and moved for a closer look to be sure – the woman, easily seventy five, had her hand in her husbands pants! The husband, who might as well have had ‘grandfather’ written in wrinkles on his forehead, was smoking something that was far too fat and green to be a cigarette.

“You dirty dog…” said Calvin.

The front door swung open, and Bridget stuck her head back inside. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Calvin. He met her on the driveway then followed her out to the curb. Calvin plucked out another cigarette and lit it.

“Let me,” said Bridget, summoning the pack with her fingers.

He lowered an eyebrow, then handed her the lighter.

“The cigarette,” said Bridget.

“I thought you quit?”

“I did,” she said, then nabbed one out from his pack. She sucked half the life out with one puff. “We’re in for a show tonight, babe.”

“Oh… why?”

“Brody’s bringing his wife,” she said, exhaling a stream of white smoke.

“Oh,” Calvin said.

Bridgette pet down his hair. “She’s a bitch, honey. Imagine Cruella de Vill’s vagina. Everyone at work hates her. If Brody wasn’t such a sweetheart, he’d have divorced her already.”

Calvin lowered her wrist away from his hair. “Maybe he feels marriage is his best option… No matter what.”

Bridgette cracked up laughing and soon was in tears. “Yeah, right. Brody? Honey, he’s got more options than he can count! His wife’s a leech… married him for his money. Plus she’s dumb as a rock. Words won’t do justice, you just have to see for yourself. I kind of feel bad for him. Even her. She’s what’s known as ‘Fugly’.”

Calvin nodded. He lit another cigarette, but Bridgette plucked it from his lips. She smoked it, tossed it on the ground and stomped it out with her heel.

“No more smoking. We’re in this together.”

Calvin twisted his lips, then rocked back and forth as he waited with his hands in his pockets. Bridget texted.

A long black limo pulled up and parked by the curb. The driver walked around the vehicle and opened the door for them.

…To be continued.

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

Sunset – Part 5 – FINALE!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

John flipped his hand out from his pocket, then unfolded a giant map of the world. “I’ve entered the coordinates. I know where our treasure is.”

“Great work bro,” said D’angelo.

John smirked, then took a step back. “You… believe me?”

“You the treasure hunter, right?”

“Wow, that’s great, really happy to hear it. Wow, I just, didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Say where.”

“Nevada, actually. Nowhere near Las Vegas, I don’t think, unless it’s under it, but that’s only possible if roulette is rigged at the Luxemburg.”

“Go.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go bro, get your treasure,” said D’angelo. He turned his back on John, and walked along the dark street toward McFlannigans.

“What about your share!”

“Keep it,” shouted D’angelo, without bothering to turn around. He had bigger fish to fry – someone was out to kill him. The messages came from an unknown number, and the fact that the predator told him to meet him at McFlannigans was a huge clue – had to be someone he met there.

D’angelo spit in the gutter, then bounced the barrel of his Easton 777 against the flat of his palm. Sunset was his prime suspect – the ominous warning, the quick getaway after taking his phone number, and the threatening pictures she’d posted on her facebook. Still, something didn’t seem right – but the only other person who he’d given his number to was John, and D’angelo was convinced John was too head-balls to be his potential killer.. Unless the lunacy was all an act.

D’angelo reached the door to McFlannigans and checked his phone. The last text told him to meet there in fifteen minutes. That meant he had three left.

D’angelo took a breath and shut his eyes. Shaky hands, thunderous heart beat – moment of truth.

He swung open the door and marched in. Mouth shut, D’angelo checked one side of the bar to the other. The lights were dimmed – closing time. If his killer was here, they could be lurking anywhere.

Place was empty, though darkness filled it.

A creak – far end of the bar counter.

D’angelo sucked in air through his nostrils and inflated his lungs. Sunset was short enough to stay hidden crouching between two bar stools. As he drew closer, the images of her posing with knives flashed through his mind.

Snapping click – same dark spot on the far side of the bar. Identical sound to Sunset’s heel slapping against the floor when she left earlier.

D’angelo stopped. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He fastened his grip around the bat, then slapped and raveled his other hand around the handle.

His teeth stayed closed while his lips peeled away. Fight time.

“Come out!” D’angelo screamed, then took three hard steps forward, arched back for a downward swing at whoever pounced out. He nearly fell forward when he abruptly halted.

“Scared the shit outta me,” he said, then shook his head. He lowered until his bum hovered over his ankles, the studied the poor critter – it was a rat, squirming away from a trap that had just snapped on its neck.

“Wrong move,” said the voice behind him.

D’angelo whirled around.

“Cost him his life.”

D’angelo exhausted a wind of breath, then pressed his hand to his heart. “Whoo-damn bro, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He stood facing the bartender. “Can’t bring that in here.”

“What?” said D’angelo, before remember the bat he held pointed at him. “Oh, this?”

The bartender snatched it away, then took it to the front door.

“Nah bro, I need-” D’angelo stopped his sentence short when his phone beeped. He slid it out from his pocket – a new text, but this one came from a new unknown number.

Hey, it’s Summer! …So I know I seemed kind of odd when I met you tonight, but I promise (!!!) it wasn’t personal. I’m not really into you either, thought I should mention that : /. I needed to tell you something, but couldn’t do it in person, especially with where we were.

The bartender slammed the door shut and locked it up. D’angelo scoffed, then returned to the text.

The thing is, I’ve been dating Gil for a while, and he really despises you. I mean, I guess you treat him like shit or something? Hollering at him whenever you need a drink? Anyway, I just broke up with him and think it might have sent him over the edge : ( So just stay away from him… he’s kind of a convicted killer… kthanksbye.

D’angelo shook the phone back into his pocket. “Gil?”

The bartender had his back turned, grabbing something from behind the bar counter. “What?”

D’angelo creeped toward the front door.

“Can’t go out that way. Just locked up.”

D’angelo stopped in his tracks. “Where’s my bat?”

Gil the bartender rotated around, double barrel rifle in hand. He cocked and loaded it.  “Seemed to hit it off with Sunset earlier. Fuck her yet?”

“No,” said D’angelo, with his hands up. “Never.”

“Shouldn’t let strangers read your phone number out loud. Could get in the hands of the wrong person.”

D’angelo’s eyes darted everywhere – no way out.

“Why don’t we take a walk… prick.”

“Just wanna go home, bro. Got nothin’ with you.”

“‘Course not. I’m just the lowlife bartender who serves your drinks, right? Nothing but the piece of shit whose girlfriend you’re fucking?”

“Just met her tonight, swear to God.”

“Save it. Let’s go.”

Gil came around then prodded D’angelo forward by poking the gun barrel into his spine. D’angelo walked toward the back door with no weapon, no plan, and no idea how he could survive this.

He opened the door, and the two walked alone into a dark alleyway. Nobody else around, nothing but a dumpster.

“On your knees.”

“Just let me go-”

“On your knees!”

D’angeled shut his eyes, then lowered.

“I never touched your girl-”

“I’m in charge, now! I pick your last words!”

D’angelo shut his mouth. Gil smacked him in the ear.

“Wish you were me,” said Gil.

D’angelo pursed his lips.

“Say it!”

D’angelo spit.

Gil punched the back of his head, and D’angelo spilled forward. Gil grabbed him back up.

“SAY IT!”

A pair of headlights flashed on. D’angelo and Gil turned simultaneously – a purple civic.

“Who the fuck!” said Gil. He stormed toward the vehicle, rifle aimed.

D’angelo spun around – if he ran the opposite direction now he could make a clean getaway.

“Move your ass!” Shouted Gil. He fired a warning shot at the vehicle, taking out the passenger side headlight. The engine revved.

D’angelo noticed a cracked brick lying on the ground. He picked it up.

“I said MOVE!” said Gil. He fired another round, this one at the civic’s grill. The engine revved again.

D’angelo brought his arm back, then flung the brick at Gil’s head. It smacked him in the shoulder blade instead, doing little more than buising him.

“Motherfucker!” said Gil. He faced D’angelo again, loading another round.

Tires spun, and the purple civic floored it straight toward them. Gil grew distracted, caught between firing at the vehicle and shooting D’angelo. D’angelo stormed forward, dove forward and tackled Gil before he could take any shot. The Honda Civic plowed into them before they could hit the ground.

Windshield shattered, fragments spilling everywhere. Gunshot – bullet whizzed by D’angelo’s ear. He struggled with one arm to keep Gil from aiming at his head. Car crashed into the dumpster, and both men rolled off the hood and onto the pavement.

“You’re dead!” yelled Gil.

One of the larger fragments spilled with them. D’angelo clenched it, then sliced Gil’s throat with one swift swing of his arm.

Gil clutched his neck as he gurgled on his own blood and folded backwards, landing with a rock-hard slam to the back of his head.

“You wish you were me now, bitch!” said D’angelo.

Car door opened – the driver was Sunset, John emerged from the passenger side.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” said Sunset. She covered her mouth, then ran over and hugged D’angelo.

“Forget it, ‘preciate the heads up,” he said.

“Glad that’s over with,” said John. “Now we’ve got a twelve hour roadtrip. I hope your bags are packed, or at least you can pack them quick, or maybe just leave without bags altogether.”

D’angelo pulled away from Sunset. “Hold up… whatchu doin’ with him?”

“Who, John?” said Sunset.

“Yeah!”

“I thought he told you.”

“Huh?”

“Knights of Templar… I’m a treasure hunter, too.”

D’angelo raised his eyebrows, then let out a long whistle and nodded.

The End!

• Thomas M. Watt

Sunset – Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Coming to kill you.

D’angelo read the text, fumbled his phone back into his pocket, then spun around.

The purple civic passed by again, slowing as it drove by his studio apartment.

D’angelo ransacked his place – but he didn’t own a gun, and had no steak knives. He checked his closet.

“Dammit!” he said, tearing down four blue suits from the rack. That’s when it caught his attention – his high school baseball bag. He tugged it out from the closet, then opened the bottom slit. He slid out his Easton 777, an aluminum baseball bat. D’angelo tapped the barrel against the flat the wood panels on his floor, then stepped over to his door.

He grabbed his phone back out, and his thumb shook as he responded.

Come get it.

D’angelo slammed the front door and hopped down the stoop. He waited on the side of the road.  Screeching tires – purple civic had just slammed the brakes and come to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver flickered their lights on and off, taunting him.

D’angelo’s heart raced as he marched toward it. He clenched the bat firm and breathed heavy. The engine turned off, and the lights went out.

“I’ll kill you!” D’angelo yelled. “You hear me?” He swung the bat over shoulder, but the handle slid through his sweaty hand. The bat fell and rang out on the cement. “I’m not afraid of anyone!” He said, picking it back up.

D’angelo wiped the sweat from his brow. “Ain’t afraid a shit,” he muttered to himself.

D’angelo crept onward. Night had turned cool, so much so he could now see his own breath. The purple civic turned back on, and the lights switched to bright, blinding him. D’angelo shielded his eyes, then heard rubber burn. He braced for impact, then kept one eye open when forced himself to look – The wheels took the civic in the opposite direction. It backed off the road, over some grass, then plowed into a tree. The airbag deployed.

“Karma, bitch,” said D’angelo. He broke into a jog – then his phone beeped. New message.

Meet at McFlannigan’s.

D’angelo squinted at the purple civic. An overgrown man moaned and groaned his way out. He wore a brown raincoat and aviator sunglasses. He stumbled over to D’angelo.

Hiding his eyes were dark aviator sunglasses that had been shoddily glued back together.

“John?” said D’angelo.

John halted with a wobble. His phone was in his hand.

“You drunk, bro?”

“No, never, of course not. I do not drink alcoholic beverages. I’m not an alcoholic.”

“I met you at McFlannigans.”

John shook his head, then turned away and slid his phone back into his pocket. “Common misconception. Where we allocate may indicate certain characteristics of our personalities, but it does not dictate our actions.”

Another beep. D’angelo opened the new message.

Be there in 15 or I will kill you in your sleep.

D’angelo shook his head, then spit on the ground. “Hey, I got to go bro. Good luck with this,” he said, then turned and headed off.

“Wait!” said John.

D’angelo stopped. “What?”

“Where are you going, I was wondering?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Is it McFlannigans? Or will you just go to sleep tonight? It’s just a question, actually two, but that’s it.”

D’angelo knocked the end of his bat softly against the pavement, and stared at John with a single eye squint.

“McFlannigans.”

“Great! I’ll go with you.”

“Your cars here, bro.”

John turned, laughed at his car, then swatted at the air with his hand. “I’m quite sure, you know, that even if I leave it here, I will find it here, sitting and waiting for me, later, when I come back for it.”

John jogged over. D’angelo stuck his hand out when he got close.

“You’re stayin’, bro.”

“I know where you live,” said John.

D’angelo pushed his jaw out.

“But only because I watched you run there. I remained where I stood, don’t you remember? I was angry.”

“Whatchu want, bro?”

John stepped forward, and reached into the pocket of his raincoat. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve been… straightforward.”

“You got a deathwish?”

John flipped his eyes down at the bat D’angelo held, then chuckled.

“Never said a joke, bro.”

“The bat. That is the joke,” said John. His hand remained in his pocket, angled straight at D’angelo. “If you knew what I was holding, you would know why I am laughing.”

“Why?”

“It will not help you.”

“I can knock skulls with-”

“Should have brought a shovel. Would have made things easier.”

D’angelo ground his teeth, then lifted the bat over his shoulder.

John flipped his hand out from his pocket, then unfolded a giant map of the world. “I’ve entered the coordinates. I know where our treasure is.”

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5!

Sunset – Part 3

If you missed Part 1, click here.

If you missed Part 2, click here.

D’angelo shook his head, took two quick steps, then checked over his shoulder – John hadn’t moved. D’angelo broke into a sprint away.

He charged two blocks, stopped for no one, then rushed up the stoop and into his apartment. D’angelo leaned back against his front door to smack it shut, then sucked in oxygen as fast as possible. Humidity was bad in California – enough to leave him drenched in sweat from the hasty dash.

D’angelo stared at the cheap wood flooring in his studio apartment for a while. He rubbed his bald head, then rocked it back and gazed up at his ceiling fan.

“God-damn!” he said to himself, then laughed.

A casual Tuesday at the bar had turned into a nightmare – first the vixen who’d taken his digits and booked it, then the nutcase who could’ve found patterns in pigeons.

D’angelo strolled over to his home computer. The next five minutes he spent listening to it hum as it booted up. Once he had it up and running, D’angelo went to work – time to find out who this Sunset chick was.

Couldn’t be that hard, a name like that is one in a million – a rare type that no man forgets. D’angelo browsed facebook, instagram, twitter – nothing.

D’angelo scoffed.

“Where you at, girl.”

He tried ‘Sun Set’. Still Nothing.

D’angelo went to the fridge, popped open a Michelob Ultra, then returned to his seat. Rolled up the blinds, raised the window, and kicked his feet up. D’angelo watched the orange sun finish disappearing behind the city skyline. He let out a sigh, drained half his beer with a few gulps, then burped.

“We both know you ain’t in livin’ in no damn cave…”

He shut his eyes and took another sip. He froze in position, shot his eyelids apart, then pounced over to his keyboard.

Sunset Coors Light

He entered the terms into the search engine, then scrolled down like mad to see if he could find anything. The first couple pages were no help, but the third included a link to an article – and a picture of her beside it.

“Damnnn!” said D’angelo.

Sunset was a Coors Light girl – meaning she went to popular sports venues wearing a skimpy two-piece outfit and cheered behind her Coors Light booth. The girl got paid to show up and look good.

The article included a caption with her name at the bottom –

Sunsett Martinez

D’angelo scratched his bald head, wondering if the poor girl had any idea her name was spelled wrong.

He stuck ‘Sunsett’ into his web browser, and an extensive list of profiles lit up his screen. He clicked on her facebook, then bobbed his head back and covered his mouth.

“What the fu…” He muttered.

Tons of half-nude picks – bra and panties, bikinis, and short purple dresses. D’angelo couldn’t look away – but her body had nothing to do with it.

Every shot showed her with a different weapon – steak knife, butcher knife, swiss knife – the girl loved blades.

“I don’t fuck wichu,” D’angelo whispered.

He noticed one of his facebook friends, someone he didn’t know in real life, named Aaron, had posted up and down on her wall. Dude was obsessed – he’d commented and liked every single thing she’d slapped up there. Girl could’ve dressed a corpse like Hitler and he would clicked ‘like’.

D’angelo twisted his lips, then hovered his fingers over the keyboard. He grabbed the mouse instead and clicked on Aaron’s profile.

Pictures of him out drinking with the guys.

“Okay,” said D’angelo. “Okay.”

He fired a direct message off to Aaron.

“You know Sunset?”

Aaron responded before he could blink.

“Yea, of course!”

“She cool?” wrote D’angelo.

“Huh?”

“Don’t know how to say this bro… but is she C-R-A-Z-Y???”

D’angelo tapped his fingers on the desk. He groaned, stood up, grabbed another beer, then sat back down. Aaron still hadn’t responded. D’angelo cracked open his beer and inhaled a fresh sip. Still no response. D’angelo waited. And waited. And waited…

Tired of staring at the screen, he propped his feet up on the windowsill and coddled his beer.  He watched the cars pass by without much interest, until a purple civic caught his attention. Nothing super bizarre – it just kept driving past his apartment one direction, then return going the other direction every ten minutes or so. He told himself it was nothing – John from the loony bin was in his head. Dude claimed cars drove in patterns, after all.

The half-empty Michelob Ultra slipped from D’angelo’s grip and dinged against his wood-paneled floor as he dozed off. He remained out cold, until the repetitive and loud beep from his phone finally woke him up.

D’angelo rubbed his eyes open, gave his cheek a little slap, then made his way over to the fridge. He tugged the door open when his phone beeped again. D’angelo slid it out from his pocket – text from an unknown number. D’angelo opened it.

Coming to kill you.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 4!

Sunset – Part 2

If you missed Part 1, click here.

“Bad thoughts,” she said, then whirled around and strutted away.

“That was strange, very strange.”

D’angelo turned around. Guy with a brown raincoat and aviator glasses took the barstool behind him.

“What?” said D’angelo.

“That whole thing, you know, with that girl? Sunset? Didn’t seem normal… not at all. Did it?”

“No,” said D’angelo. Weird was one way to describe that bombshell – Threatening fit better.

“Name’s John,” said the man in aviator glasses.

D’angelo shook his hand.

“She wanted your number, didn’t she? And that was it? Sunset?”

D’angelo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yo bartender!”

The bartender stopped shaking the drink he’d been mixing.

“‘Nother whiskey ginger,” said D’angelo, tapping the bar counter. “Let’s go.”

“That was all she wanted?” said John.

D’angelo turned to him. “You’re wearin’ sunglasses. In a bar.”

John smirked.

“CIA or something?” said D’angelo.

Now John honed a full-on grin.

“Aight,” said D’angelo. “Whatchu got on that?”

“Suspicious, to say the least, dangerous, to say the most.”

“What kinda danger? You know her?”

John slid D’angelo a napkin and a pen.

“I can help, I think,” said John. “Number.”

D’angelo held a blink.

“Your number, write it down.” said John.

“Bartender!” said D’angelo.

“Hurry, time is running out. You should write it down, I think.”

“Why?”

“I can help, I deal with things… like this. A lot.”

“What things?”

“Odd Patterns. Stuff normal people miss.”

“You’re losin’ me.”

John chuckled. “I’m not surprised, but you are.”

D’angelo shook his head, then wrote down his number on the bar napkin. “Yo bartender!”

The bartender groaned as he brought over the whiskey ginger.

“9-1-8, 2-1-0-9,” said John.

D’angelo took his drink, then swirled it around.

“That’s why she wanted your number.”

D’angelo took a hefty swig, then coughed. “What?”

“The numbers. They mean something. You don’t know?”

“It’s a phone number. You get it at random.”

“You think. But sometimes, quite often, people think wrong. Others don’t.”

“Others? What? What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

John laughed through his nose. “Ordinary people, they never fail to amuse me,” he said, then tapped D’angelo’s digits into his smartphone.

“That makes you… what?”

“Extra-ordinary,” said John, with a sideways smile. He stood up. “Why don’t you come with me, I think you should.”

D’angelo raised his eyebrows, then followed John’s lead. John was much taller and well built, and oddly took long strides with only one leg. The two of them ditched the bar and carried on along the sidewalk outside.

“Everyday, millions of people go about their lives thinking they’re in control, but they’re not. Thinking that there is no big brother, thinking conspiracy theorists are loony, a bit nutty.”

D’angelo stopped. “That you? A Conspiracy theorist?”

John pulled his aviator glasses down to the tip of his nose. “I’m no theorist.”

D’angelo scratched the back of his head and nodded. The two returned to their pace.

“Why would the government, the U.S. government, care about a guy like you, is what you’re probably wondering,” said John.

“All I’m wonderin’ is why I’m still talkin’ to you.”

“The numbers.”

“What of ’em?”

“You want to know what I see, right, that’s what want you to know?”

“Nailed it bro.”

“Ok, alright, I see.”

“I don’t,” said D’angelo.

John laughed hysterically.

“Waddup, bro?”

“You do see. If you didn’t, you would trip, or at least need a cane.”

“Numbers John,” said D’angelo, before snapping. “Out with it.”

“Ok, I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to believe me.”

“I believe that.”

“Those numbers – your numbers, your phone number-”

“God-damn, bro! Spit it out!”

“Okay, I will, just hold on,” said John, before sticking his arm out. “You spot it?”

“What!”

“The cars – did you, do you notice that?”

“You’re on one.”

“A pattern. Green, red, red, blue, black, white.”

“Huh?”

“Watch,” said John, before pointing.

“You’re losin’ me bro.”

“Your phone number. It’s got coordinates.”

“What?”

“Treasure. Verizon didn’t give you that number – U.S. government did. Heard of Fort Knox?”

“You’re high.”

“Most certainly, I am not. Fort Knox doesn’t hold any treasure – it’s a showroom. All of it, an empty museum. Treasure is buried – destination? Unknown.”

“Ho-ly fuck.”

“People have been searching for it – people like me. She’s one of them. You can tell by her hair – purple streak? Symbolic.”

“Illuminati?”

“Knights of Templar. You’re the one. You’ve been chosen.”

D’angelo stared at him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t want the treasure. Gold means nothing to me. I’m a hunter, it’s what I do.” John violently grabbed D’angelo by the throat, forced his back against the building beside them, then pressed close with a finger in his face.

“But if you cross me, and I do solemnly swear it, I will kill you. It’s also what I do. I’ve done it before – treasure’s my life. Not keeping it, just finding it, I want to be the one who finds it. You can be the one it belongs to – but I’m going to be the one who finds it. I was born for that, destiny, it’s my gift. I had no ordinary birth-”

“Get off me!” said D’angelo, shoving John away. John fell on the ground, and his aviator glasses spilled off his face onto the sidewalk. Still at a hunch, he rushed to pick them up. D’angelo stomped on them before he could get a hold of them.

“You’re fucking crazy,” said D’angelo. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

John gradually erected straight. He glared back, red-faced and shaking.

D’angelo quit looking him in the eyes. “You’re crazy bro,” he said, then patted him on the shoulder.

John inhaled giant gulps of air, both fists clenched.

D’angelo shook his head, took two quick steps, then checked over his shoulder – John hadn’t moved. D’angelo broke into a sprint away.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3!

Sunset – Part 1

Coming to kill you.

D’angelo read the text, fumbled his phone back into his pocket, then spun around.

• * *

3 HOURS EARLIER

Orange glow of the sun hovered over the horizon. D’angelo had just gotten his head shaved and beard trimmed at the local barber shop. Nothing unusual this day – other than the young girl who’d nearly killed herself crossing the street. She had headphones in and never checked for cars before setting foot on the crosswalk. D’angelo spotted and grabbed her before a BMW plowed her into oblivion. The thanks he’d gotten from those nearby was great, but the fact he didn’t have to wait around to file a witness report was thanks in itself.

D’angelo lived a good life – lots a work, a little play… What more is there? A long day with a few good sales called for a drink at the local pub.

Whiskey and ginger, that was his shit. Lakers game on a Tuesday evening didn’t require much. But that’s when she entered – thick body, round cheeks, and a streak of purple in her jet black hair. Girl’s a freak – just his type.

“Number,” she said.

D’angelo eyed her, then checked over his opposite shoulder. “Who you talking to?”

“Ghost behind you.”

Dangelo smiled and laughed. She didn’t.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Order me a drink.”

D’angelo scratched his neck, then whistled for the bartender.

“Yes?” said the bartender.

“Get this lady a cocktail.”

“Try again,” she said.

“Margarita,” said D’angelo.

The bartender raised his eyebrows at her.

“Coors Light,” she said.

D’angelo laughed.

“Sunset,” she said.

“What?”

“My name.”

“Your name’s sunset?”

The bartender brought over her drink.

“Yes,” said Sunset. Soon as she took the Coors Light, she swapped it with D’angelo’s whiskey ginger. Sunset sucked down D’angelo’s drink through the skinny red straw ’till nothing but ice remained.

“Who do you think you-“

“Open your ears, I told you already. Phone number,” said Sunset, before holding out her phone.

D’angelo scoffed, then shook his head. “I’m not into bossy women, you know,” he said, then entered his number into her contacts. He gave the phone back to her.

Sunset stood up and started away. D’angelo grabbed her by the elbow.

“Where you going?”

She looked down at the grip he had on her, then slowly lifted her gaze until her purple lasers were aimed at him. “Don’t,” she said.

“Okay, alright.” He let go. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” she said, then started off.

D’angelo swiveled on the bar stool, stood up and spat out his words.”For leaving, or what?”

The clicking of Sunset’s heels ceased. She kept her back to him for a moment, then rotated around slowly. When she faced him again, she wore a red lipstick smile from ear to ear. Sunset strolled back to D’angelo, cupped her hands around his ears, then pushed a wet kiss onto his lips.

“Bad thoughts,” she said, then whirled around and strutted away.

To be continued...

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

Donald and Thurma – Part 4 – Finale

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

“I think I can,” he said to himself, chugging along the sidewalk tracks. “I think I can.”

Donald walked with both fists clenched. Amanda and Thurma strolled a short ways ahead, Thurma with her head down.

He wasn’t angry, he was determined – and approaching a girl who was more than likely to reject him was no easy task for Donald.

“Hey,” he called out.

The two girls turned around. Amanda smirked, and crossed her arms. Thurma stilted like a wooden statue.

“Let me guess,” said Amanda. “You found something and were wondering if it belongs to Thurma. Is that your excuse for talking to her? Because that’s not exactly original.”

“No,” said Donald. “I want to talk to her as myself.”

“Why?” said Amanda, narrowing her eyes. “Been acting like somebody else?”

Donald stared straight at Thurma. “Have you?”

Silence.

“Erm, I’ll leave you two alone,” said Amanda, before patting her friend on the shoulder and walking on ahead.

“What are you talking about?” Thurma said to him.

“This shit.” Donald pointed back to the bar. “You want some dipshit frat-boy, let me know and I’ll leave right now.”

“I don’t want that.”

“I’m a dork. My name’s Donald by the way.”

“Mine’s Thurma.”

“You’re one too.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Thurma. She twisted her lip, then sighed and lowered her gaze to his feet. “But maybe I’m not the bitch who you met, either.”

“Good.”

She looked back up. “Maybe I am just a basic bitch. Maybe if you knew the real me, you wouldn’t have come running to talk to me.”

“I like basic bitches. I’m a basic dude.”

Thurma chuckled, then hid her teeth behind her hand. “So what do you want?”

“Huh?”

“What are you after?” She said, then set her hands on her hips. “Is it a number, to brag to your friend about? Because if you really think you’re going to sleep with me tonight-”

“I came to talk with you. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because when I look at you I see a part of me, the part that I like.”

“What part’s that?”

Donald scratched the back of his head, then looked away. “I like good morning texts. I like snuggling. I like having to tell a girl she doesn’t have to worry about what’s-her-name, no matter how paranoid she’s being, or clingy she becomes.”

“I’m not following you.”

Donald shook his head, then returned his gaze to Thurma. He creased his brow when he noticed the mark on her chin, then leaned forward to get a better look at it.

“Stop!” she said, then covered the mark with her hand. “That’s rude.”

Donald grabbed her wrist and forced it away, then set his thumb on her chin. “I like the scar you try to hind behind your makeup.”

Thurma’s exhale came heavy. “Oh…”

“The stuff that puts other guys off, that’s the stuff that I like. You could say that’s from low-confidence, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a preference.”

“Ok.”

“There’s no line I can say to make you want me, there’s no maneuver I can use that will get you to like me back.”

Thurma’s eyes fidgeted in Donald’s.

“I’m just saying that I’d like to get to know you. If that friend zones me, then fine-”

“You said it.”

“What?”

“About fifteen seconds ago. You said the line that won me.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss me dork.”

Donald moved in with a smirk, then gave Thurma a light peck on the cheek.

Thurma shook her head, then scolded him with a finger wag. “I swear to God, if that’s what you think it means to kiss a girl don’t ever-”

Donald slid his hand through her hair, raking her brunnette locks up in his fingers until he had his hand wrapped around the back of her head. He advanced until her forearm fell flat against his chest, then dug his lips into hers. Thurma’s eyes dropped closed and the phone she had been holding unraveled from her fingers and plummeted until it cracked against the sidewalk. She immediately pressed her newly-freed hand against the side of his face.

An obnoxious series of honks was followed by a loud holler:

“Fuck her already, bro!” Yelled Freddy.

Donald finally took a step back.

“Number,” said Thurma.

“I think your phone broke.”

“Ok.”

Donald smiled, then wrote his down on a wrinkled napkin he’d stored in his pocket. “Nice meeting you,” he said, then turned around and headed towards Freddy’s escalade. Once he took his seat Freddy sped away.

“You better get a tit-pit,” said Freddy.

Donald grinned and looked at him.

“What?” said Freddy.

“I’m the man,” said Donald.

“You’re a man, not sure if you’re the man.”

“No,” said Donald, before turning the bass up on Freddy’s sound system. “I’m the man.”

The End!

Hope you enjoyed.

• Thomas M. Watt

Fail

Donald and Thurma – Part 3

If you haven’t read part 1, start here.

If you haven’t read part 2, start here.

“Waddup bitches, see you’ve met my friend. Huge cock, case you were wondering.  Name’s Freddy,” said Freddy, as he extended his hand out for the girls to shake.

Donald took Freddy’s hand, then yanked him along with him, away from the two girls. “Time to leave.”

“Strip club?” said Freddy.

The pair passed through the doorway, hurried by the smoke crowds, and headed toward the parking lot.

“She’s not feeling it. I don’t want to be here, this isn’t me,” said Donald.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Freddy. He stopped on the sidewalk. “If you want to leave to go somewhere else, that’s one thing, but if you wanna book it ’cause of some chick-”

“I know, I get it, that makes me a pussy.”

“Jeeze, Donald,” said Freddy. He looked his buddy in the eye. “I wasn’t gonna call you that, you know.”

“Ok.”

“Super pussy. That was it.” Freddy’s eyes bulged, and he pointed back toward the bar. “Look!”

Donald whirled around. The two girls were approaching, only Thurma walked stilted, like Amanda may have had a gun to her back.

“Bye I guess,” Thurma said to Donald, as they passed.

Donald waved back. “Nice meeting you,” he muttered after they were out of earshot.

“Is your dick for sale cause that shits in demand these days,” said Freddy.

“What are you talking about?”

“You leave. She leaves. She comes your way, wishes you a goodnight, checks out your package. What do you do? You rotate your hand like the slow-mix setting of a god-damned cake mixer.”

“She checked out my package?”

“Winked at it.”

Donald gulped, lightly patted his hair, then slid his hand along his button-down to smooth out the creases. He then shook his head and turned to Freddy.

“I’m only going over there if you’re one-hundred percent sure she’s interested.”

“Bro,” started Freddy. “Interests is for loaners. Girl is invested. You know who invests?”

“Stock-brokers?”

“Heart breakers.”

“What?”

“Shit rhymes, bro,” said Freddy. “Called a metaphorical simile.”

“Huh?”

Freddy kicked Donald in the ass, leading him to stumble off in the direction of Amanda and Thurma.

“Go get her heart-breaker,” said Freddy.

Donald caught himself then continued to follow his feet.”I think I can,” He said to himself. A new flurry of visuals played through his mind, the type he wasn’t accustomed to – confident images. He stopped thinking of himself as an inconvenience to the world around him, and began to entertain the possibility that he actually could make a girl happy, and maybe Thurma would be the one for him.

“I think I can,” he said to himself, chugging along the sidewalk tracks. “I think I can.”

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

Donald and Thurma – Part 2

If you haven’t read part 1, start here.

Donald and Freddy sat at a back table, a beer to each of them.

“Who you keep staring at?” said Freddy.

Donald shook his head. “Nobody, forget it.”

“Don’t be a pussy. Who is it?”

“The girl I ran into at the door. She seemed nice.”

“We want bad bitches, not basic bitches. Where she at?”

Freddy poked his head up like an ostrich, prompting Amanda and Thurma to stop looking in Donald’s direction.

“The blonde or brunette?” said Freddy.

“God, you have to be so obvious?”

Freddy smacked Donald on the forearm. “You have to be such a bitch? Blonde one’s hotter, go for her.”

“No. I like the brunette,” said Donald, glancing at Thurma after he said it.

“Makes sense, you don’t have enough confidence to take down a tiger like that blonde. Girl got a dumper.”

“Tiger? Dumper? What?”

“Are you gonna go over there or just sit here and talk about going over there?” said Freddy.

Donald scratched the back of his head, then crossed his arms and sunk into the table. He took a sip of his drink.

“Let me finish my beer first. That way I have a reason to-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Freddy knocked the glass mug off the table. It shattered and the blue moon washed away.

“What the hell?” said Donald.

“Oh shit, looks like you need another drink! Now get your ass over there and talk to her.”

Donald bit his lips, checked out Thurma again, then stood up.

“Fine.”

“And remember-”

“What?”

“Be an asshole. Else you’ll be stuck in the friend zone again.”

Donald sighed. “Got it,” he said, then started over to the bar.

• * *

“Oh, he’s coming,” said Amanda, nudging her friend.

“Which one? The douche or the one who maybe lifeguards during rainy days in autumn?” said Thurma.

Amanda’s head bobbed back. “That was a pretty specific description.”

“Just tell me!”

“The tall one with the good-boy hair.”

“God no. Shit. I don’t want to do this. Come with me to the bathroom,” Thurma said, then stood up from her bar stool.

Amanda grabbed the bottom of her skirt and whipped it up.

“Stop!” Said Thurma, snapping back into her seat.

“Haha. You’re going through with this. Remember – demand respect.”

“By being a bitch?”

“Yep.”

“Oh shit. God dammit. Got it.”

The two went quiet, and Donald took the seat beside Thurma.

• * *

Donald turned to Thurma, and the two met eyes. Neither smiled, and both instantly looked straight ahead.

“Waddup,” said Donald.

“Who are you talking to?”

Donald looked at her. “Oh. Didn’t notice you there. You’re so short.”

Thurma raised her eyebrows, then turned to Amanda. Amanda pushed her so hard Thurma’s barstool rocked and sent her colliding into Donald.

Donald caught her in his arms. “Be careful! You okay…  idiot?”

“Yeah, I – What?”

“What.”

Thurma pursed her lips together. “You’re not good enough for me. Bye.”

“Oh. Ok,” said Donald. He began looking around for Freddy, but his friend had disappeared from their table.

“Who are you looking for?” said Thurma, hands to her hips. “And why are you still here?” She brushed one of her curly brown locks back behind her ear, then stood with her hands at her hips.

“More… bitches,” said Donald.

“You’re looking for more bitches?”

“Yea. Badder ones. You’re a basic… be-yotch.”

“We prefer the to be called females.”

“Oh ok. I’m looking for more females.”

“You sound like a moron.”

“Ok,” said Donald. Both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, then stopped when they thought the other person would. Neither said anything, and both looked away.

“You’re kind of a b,” said Donald.

“A b?” said Thurma, before pressing her tongue into her teeth. “What’s that b stand for, eh?”

“I said ‘B’, not ‘A’.”

They both smiled and laughed.

Something gave Donald a sudden jolt forward, and his momentum sent him shoving Thurma into Amanda. Both girls spilled their drinks all over their dresses, then stared at Donald with shark jaws.

Wide-eyed, Donald slowly turned around to see who had shoved him.

“Waddup bitches, see you’ve met my friend. Huge cock, case you were wondering.  Name’s Freddy,” said Freddy, as he extended his hand out for the girls to shake.

To be continued…

– Thomas M. Watt