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 the only rule is: six sentences in length.
Prompt Word:
WIRE
“Really? You’re sorry and this is all a misunderstanding, that’s what you’re going with?”
“Can you fuckin’ believe this guy?” The owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge looked around, three of the four men showed no inclination to regard their boss’s interrogative as anything but rhetorical, however, the fourth, clearly most junior of them, offered a shocked ‘What the hell!’; his older, more seasoned companions repressed their reaction to the young man’s misguided ambition, favored uncles smiling at the enthusiastic if not off-key performance at a grade school talent show.
Being the owner of most of the warehouses in the once-thriving industrial park, Lou Caesare found the small, elevated office marked, ‘Shipping and Receiving’ was ideal for private, secure meetings; the subject of his attention at the moment, a second-tier accountant for an import company primarily serving a speciality market based in several South American countries, struggling against the painful embrace of several rolls of duct tape.
Raising an eyebrow, a salt-and-pepper hedgerow he reserved for only the rarest occasions of non-verbal communications, when a rabbit punch to the kidneys or, at the moment, a Skil saw umbilical’d to a wall socket, was insufficient to convey his frustration and slightest touch of pique;
“Tell me who put you up to wearing a wire or you’ll hear my aunt Rosa, may she rest in peace, who used to say, ‘I swear, Louis, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t tied on.'”
