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.
It is hosted by Denise and has a strict Six Sentence Limit
Speaking of ‘Penny Dreadfuls‘, Tom and I are writing a Serial Six Sentence Story: ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘. (Get your ownself all caught-up before the story ends)
Prompt word:
GRAIN
“Your efforts to assist my organization in this matter of Mooncross Industries has, regrettably, been insufficient; I would be remiss, Mr. Caesare, were I not to remind you that no information coming out of our mutual effort find it’s way into the public eye; negligence in this matter would be quite ill-advised.”
Diane Tierney watched Lou’s face as the voice on the other end of the call slithered out of the handset in search of something to poison; for his part, the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge winked at her and began to make faces at the old-fashioned, very non-video handset; Diane knew boss’s ‘tell’ was nothing as obvious as a scowl or reddening of the face, as he replied to Cyrus St. Loreto, the calm in his tone making his contribution to the surprise telephone call all the more effective.
“Hey, Count Chocula, where I come from we have something called omertà, it’s a code of silence that’s kept people like me in business for quite some time; maybe if your ancestors didn’t have slaughter-everyone-in-the-village engrained in their culture, you could leave the garlic necklaces and heads-on-stakes behind and come live in the 21st-fuckin’-Century; no one and nothin’ leaves my organization without my say so, capiche?
And, while we’re on the subject of who was doing who a favor, when were you gonna tell me about your goddamn super-powered friends, that Co-Ordination of Super Villains bunch; if I hadn’t sent the two people I did, your company’s name would be all over every tabloid in England by now.”
“Boys, boys…boys how about you stop with the ‘who’s penis to bigger or longer or whatever metric you obsess over and act like adults, can you do that for me?”
Anya Claireaux’s voice stepped seamlessly between the two men; underneath the smiling tone, the wheedle of a teenaged girl discovering the power to make her two-week boyfriend drive their stolen car off the interstate and rob the first filling station they came to; not because she needed money, just because.