Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers).
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise, governed by a single admonition to make the story six sentences (no more, no less) in length.
This is our next installment of a Serial Six (co-written with Tom) ‘…of Heroes and the Misunderstood’. For heightened reading pleasure: …Previously in our story.
This week’s prompt word:
PASS
I’d be catching hell from Rue as soon as we were alone, but hey, sometimes gender trumps a guy’s better judgement, so as long as I was in bodyguard-mode, I decided to try and defuse the mounting tension in the room, “Let’s all take a beat, aiiight?”
Being 46 degrees of Italo-American descent, I was blessed with the whole, dark hair/complexion/eyes/improbable dimple, yet for God knows what reason, I find affecting a gangsta patois amuses the hell out of me, not to mention throwing my opponent off-balance, if only a little bit.
“OK, everyone but the dead or comatose chick on the floor stop talking,” I moved to the side just a microsecond before Rue’s hand on my back could move me; she was totally focused on the skinny dude with a twitchy arm, sneery lips and what looked to be a professional manicure; I moved over to our currently-holding-the-rug-down assassin-ette.
Crouching next to her, I turned her over on her back; her light-brown hair was short, (the pale of the nape of her neck suggesting a recent effort to change appearance), she was wearing what I think they call a peasant blouse and, as god-is-my-witness, circa 70s hip hugger jeans complete with a triangle of flowery fabric at the cuff; standing, she’d be 5′ 4” or so with a pass-able figure; a small tattoo showed above her honest-to-god macramé belt, a symbol: ; disregarding the remains of a big-assed gun now reduced to wood stock and canvas strap on the floor next to her, she reminded me of a coed who shot me down back when I was impersonating a college student.
Wonder Boy, or whatever his name was, was still speaking to Rue like I was her plus-one said something that reminded me that we weren’t in the US of A and how, other than Aston Martins, the Beatles and a recent UN award for “Most Progress in the Field of Dentistry’, I wasn’t in love with London or the whole spite-makes-right attitude of it’s inhabitants.
Then again, Rue had orders from Lou Caesare, orders far more nuanced, (and private), than the one he gave me: “Don’t let anyone kill her; you’re the more dispensable, capische?”
Nice comparison of Lou’s assessment of their use values: “Don’t let anyone kill her; you’re the more dispensable, capische?”
Lou a direct man of not-so-many-words
“OK, everyone but the dead or comatose chick on the floor stop talking,…”.
Rocco’s alright.
Seems he and Rue are in the midst of a bit ‘o international intrigue. What a web be weaving. Say – swear we’ve seen “comatose chick” somewhere before…
Now that you mention it…
I quite enjoyed London, but I wasn’t there with such orders which makes a world of difference.
Agree
(Never having been, I just hope to not make too big an error in setting (thank god for google maps/street-view)
Jolly good show, chaps!
thank you, Chris!
Completely enjoyable.
Sometimes I love London – it’s as if everyone is playing solitaire and forgetting that anyone else exists. The result is a constant murmur of “sorry” or “so sorry” or “terribly sorry” when you bump into someone. We excel in being utterly sorry.
TY, M.
this was my favorite line, maybe because it is always fun to poke a little fun at our UK friends.
…the Beatles and a recent UN award for “Most Progress in the Field of Dentistry’, I wasn’t in love with London…
Thank you
Moonbeam would probably be pleased that his professional manicure has been spotted, but not so much with the skinny dude description… he works hard on his physique.
not so much physical tone as girth and raw power, remember he (Rocco) works for Lou Caesare
Having lived in London during my formative years, I now know where I got my spite-makes-right attitude from!
lol
ty
The dead or comatose girl’s well described attire is making wonder if she could be a time traveler from the 70’s. Regardless, great chapter!
oh man! don’t tempt me! (We have the Sophomore and he’s turning out to be hard to handle… i.e. the inherent complications of time, travelers and timelines