So, as many of you know, I’ve been writing microfiction over on Twitter (@Aeryn_Rudel) under the #vss365 hashtag, and having a lot of fun with it. Much of my microfiction falls into the crime genre, and a while back a created two characters, a pair of hitmen Lucky and Sal. I’ve written a bunch of them, and most are little snippets of conversation between these two killers, usually with a humorous slant. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to collect the ones I’ve written thus far right here. They’re not all winners, of course, but I had fun with them. Hopefully, you will too. Who knows? Maybe there’s a complete short story or even a novel waiting to be written about these two guys. 🙂
Oh, the hashtagged word is the prompt for that day. If you click the date for each entry, it’ll take you directly to the tweet, you know, if you wanna throw me a like or a retweet or something. 😉
I don’t watch Lucky work. It creeps me out. My job is talking, his is making people receptive to talking. He comes out of the garage, wiping blood from his knuckles, that weird satisfied look on his face. “You’re up.”
“Can he still talk?”
Lucky shrugs. “He can #listen.”
(In this first one, I was still figuring out their voices, hence the first-person).
“Hey, Lucky, are we #villains?” Sal asked, wiping blood from his knife.
“Nah, just bad guys,”
“There’s a difference?”
“Sure,” Lucky said. “Bad guys work FOR villains
“Man, it would be great to be a villain.”
Lucky nudged the body with his shoe. “Keep working at it, Sal. You’ll get there.”
“And that works?” Sal asked, grimacing.
“Sure does,” Lucky said. “Most guys don’t get past the fingers before they start singing.”
“Jesus, what happens when you run out of fingers?” Sal shuddered, dreading the answer.
Lucky shrugged. “Lots of stuff fits in a vise.”
“Gun, knife, or garrote?” Lucky asked.
Sal rolled his eyes. His partner would often #vacillate between tools of the trade.
“What?” Lucky said. “It’s an important decision.”
“And a fuckin’ easy one,” Sal said. “The gun’s too loud, and you wore a white shirt today.”
Lucky put his gun away and frowned. “I need a #vacation.”
“Yeah? Where do you want to go?” Sal said.
Lucky pointed to the splatter of blood on the wall behind Mr. Favero’s head. “Hey, what’s that look like?”
“Kind of like Florida.”
Lucky nodded. “Florida it is.”
“Sal,” Lucky said. “Little help here.”
“Sorry. You caught me #reminiscing.”
“The first time we, uh, cleaned up.”
Lucky chuckled. “Jesus, we made a mess with that hacksaw.”
“We’re smarter now.” Sal smiled and picked up the chainsaw. “Head or feet first?”
“Hey, Lucky, do you #love your job?” Sal said, looking up from an issue of Cosmo.
“I don’t know. Why?” Lucky said.
“This article says if you don’t love your job, you should quit.”
Lucky looked down at the corpse of Joey Fritz, partially wrapped in plastic. “And do what?”
“Something else. Whatever.”
Lucky shook his head. “You ever heard the term institutionalized, Sal?”
“What’d this guy do?” Sal asked and stooped to pick up the spent .45 casing.
Lucky rolled the corpse up in the carpet they’d brought with a grunt. “I don’t know. Something #vile, probably.”
Lucky blinked. “What, you think we’re offing guys who do Doctors Without Borders and work at soup kitchens in their spare time?”
“He looks kinda peaceful, don’t he?” Lucky said.
Sal nodded. “Yeah, guy looks like he’s lost in #reverie.”
“You know, reverie. Daydreaming. Pleasant thoughts.”
Lucky glanced at the hole in Donnie Ranallo’s forehead and chuckled. “I doubt that last one was pleasant.”
“Don’t stand too close,” Lucky said. “That #smoke ain’t good for you.”
Sal stepped back from the two-story bonfire consuming Ivan Petrov’s house, lit up a cigarette–Camels, unfiltered–and took a drag. “Thanks, Lucky. I’d hate to get the wrong kind of lung cancer.”
“Hey, Lucky, do I lack #empathy?” Sal asked.
Lucky shook his head. “Nah, you’re a real sweetheart as hitters go.”
“You think so?” Sal pulled his knife from the body with a wet squelch.
“Sure. I’ll bet Mr. Luciano there appreciates you only stabbed him the one time.”
“What’s around your neck, Lucky?” Sal asked.
Lucky held up a coin on a gold chain. “Magic quarter. Keeps the bullets off me.”
“Uh, you’ve been shot eight times.”
Lucky smiled and showed Sal the lead bullet embedded in the other side of the coin. “But not nine.”
“Sal, what do you want to eat?” Lucky shouted.
Sal shut off the chainsaw and wiped blood from his face. “What?”
“Dinner? When we’re done with Mr. Russo. What are you in the #mood for?”
“Oh. I don’t know. Kinda feelin’ roast beef or steak.”
“You run last month’s numbers?” Lucky asked.
“Yep,” Sal replied. “Five hits. Twenty-five Gs.”
“Less expenses, we netted only fifteen.”
Sal sighed. “The Rosetti job. Clients thought he was a werewolf. Silver bullets cost a #fortune.”
“This might #sting,” Lucky says and pours hydrogen peroxide over the bullet hole.
His partner gasps. “Jesus, that hurts.”
“Come on, Sal. Just a little through and through.”
Sal brightens. “You think it’ll scar good?”
“Yep. It’ll be a nice addition to the collection.”
“No way. I’m not going unless we drive,” Sal said and crossed his arms.
Lucky sighed. “You’re a goddamn contract killer. You work with some of the scariest motherfuckers on the planet. HOW are you afraid to #fly?”
Sal rolled his eyes. “I can’t shoot a plane, Lucky.”
Sal handed Lucky another #stack of hundreds and sighed. “Getting paid in cash sucks.”
Lucky shrugged. “What do you want? Something like Venmo?”
“Yeah, but for contract guys.” Sal grinned. “Maybe call it Kilmo.”
“Oh, genius. You should take that shit on Shark Tank.”
“The gun, the knife, and the garrote?” Lucky said as Sal packed for the job. “How many times you gonna kill this guy?
“I just don’t want to play #favorites.”
“I don’t follow.”
“They’re like my kids, you know?” Sal grinned. “I want them to know I love them all the same.”
“This article says killers are triggered by the full moon,” Sal said, tapping his iPhone.
Lucky glanced at the corpse at his feet. “Uh, there’s no moon tonight.”
“Guess we’re doing it wrong.”
“Yep, we’ve just been killing for money like a couple of assholes.”
Sal handed Lucky the cordless #drill. “You do it.”
“Me?” Lucky said. “Why the fuck me?”
“I got a code. You know that.”
“Bullshit. I watched you dismember a guy with a hacksaw last week.”
“Sorry, Luck. No kids, no civilians”–Sal shuddered–“and no fuckin’ teeth.”
“Damn it, Lucky,” Sal said, “Look what you did.”
“I shot him. He’s dead. That’s our job.”
“Right, but look at your shot placement.”
Lucky shrugged. “So?” “Heart, liver, kidneys.”
Sal flicked the driver’s license at his partner. “Guy’s an #organ donor, asshole.”
“He ain’t #invincible,” Lucky said. “Just huge.”
“Bullshit,” Sal replied. “He strangled four hitters AFTER they shot him.”
Lucky closed the cylinder of the .500 S&W Magnum and grinned. “Those guys went after a man.” He patted the giant revolver. “I’m packing for bear.”
“You going to Jonny Fazio’s wedding?” Sal asked.
Lucky picked up shell casings from the ground and nodded. “Yeah, just need a few more of these.”
“You ever been to a hitman’s wedding?” Lucky shook the brass casings in his fist. “You don’t throw #rice.”
“Lucky, what the fuck is on the end of your gun?” Sal said.
“Huh? Oh, #jingle bells. The recoil makes ’em jingle.”
Sal rubbed his eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s Christmas. Everyone deserves a little holiday cheer.”
“Even dead guys?”
“Especially dead guys.”
Well, I hope you enjoyed the exploits of Lucky & Sal. Keep an eye on my Twitter account (@Aeryn-Rudel) for further adventures. 🙂