s

...

“The doorman waves him inside. He parks himself beneath a decaying monitor and orders a whiskey inferno...."

winging it
a tale from gary hewitt


John Deckard knocks back two tabs and makes the bus. He sits besides a silver grimalkin of a woman speaking to her hand. John settles back and does the same.

“Charlie, I'm on my way to Fengs. You coming?”

His palm blinks. A holograph shakes his head.

“Sorry. I'm meeting Jevon. I hear Feng's got Euphoria. That stuff will fray your brain.”

“That's the idea, especially after today. I'll see you Monday.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

John brushes his palms together. The image disintegrates. Stops whiz by. John rises when Central flashes as the next destination. He shuffles into a tiny space on the pavement and joins a throng of humanity scurrying to escape the reality of serfdom and morsel pay.

He greets the sentry on duty at Feng's with a steam shadowed nod. The doorman waves him inside. He parks himself beneath a decaying monitor and orders a whiskey inferno.

An oriental beauty appears and deposits John's order.

“Anything else?”

“I hear you've got Euphoria? What's it like and how much is it?”

“It takes you to heaven. One syringe stab and time freezes in beautiful harmony. Cost is eighty five plus three for the drink of course. You buying?”

John shows her the palm of his hand. She scans and heads back to the bar. Her boss returns and orders his client to roll up his sleeve. John does not register the spike in his forearm. He ogles the waitress at her boss's side. Her name is Mina.

He blinks. They melt into bed. They make love. Over and over he takes her. His brain palpitates yet he cares not. In his eternal priapism he wants Mina. He will give her anything and everything.

..

“Mina, how's our zombie friend doing?”

“He's drained and brained.”

“I'll dispose of him later. Did you get the details?”

“Oh yes, passwords, account numbers the works. I'll guess we'll need this.”

Feng inspects a severed hand with satisfaction.

“Good work, I'll see you get a full bonus.”

(illustration: john richen)


Gary Hewitt is a raconteur who lives in a quaint little village in Kent. He has written two novels which are currently being edited. His writing does tend to veer away from what you might expect. He has had several short stories published as well as the occasional poem.

He enjoys both writing prose and poetry. His style of writing tends to feature edgy characters and can be extremely dark. Some of his influences are James Herbert, Stephen King, Bulgakov, Tolkein to name but a few.

He is also a proud member of the Hazlitt Arts Centre Writers group in Maidstone which features an eclectic group of very talented writers.

He has a website featuring his published works here.

More from Gary Hewitt can be found in the Smokebox Archives.

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