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Posts Tagged ‘Whiskey’

Fong’s Part V

In Fantasy, Fiction, Fong's, Writing on May 30, 2015 at 11:45 am

Knucklebrow looked ready to shit himself.

“Have no fear, Mr. Twosie,” said Fong. “You are among friends. Enjoy your whiskey, and cast your mind back to a time and place when you felt safe, loved and valued.”

Knucklebrow stared at Fong, frowning as he said, “You think I don’t feel safe? You think I’m not man enough to take care of myself?”

“I think you’re letting good whiskey go to waste, Mr. Twosie. I’m certain you can take care of yourself, and several others. I imagine you could take care of an entire brood. But what I think doesn’t matter. What matters is what I know. And I know you will enjoy that whiskey,” said Fong.

Knucklebrow sat still for a moment, like a volcano measuring the value of an impending eruption, then reached for his glass.

Fong murmured, “Double,” gesturing to Heifitz for a refill as Knucklebrow downed his whispey. Heifitz obliged.

Knucklebrow downed the double and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand holding the glass, his eyes focused on the frame of the mirror behind the bar, his soul focused on protecting the memory of someplace safe. A single drop threatened to fall onto Knucklebrow’s shirt front, but was caught by Fong on a tiny folded paper flower. Placing a cup of steaming coffee on the bar, Fong set the flower to float in the dark liquid and said, “Black mirror, white flower, show us now your ancient power: does this Twosie tell the truth? Or does he lie from heart uncouth? Dig beneath his lifelong sediment, thus uproot his speech impediment!”

Knucklebrow reeled back like he’d been beaned with a brickbat, then shook his head to clear it. He was winding up to lunge across the bar when Fong blew a pinch of white powder over the steam of the coffee.

The room slowed, the lights dimmed, and from the steam of the coffee a young girl’s voice said, “Petey, help me! I’m lost and I can’t find my way!”

Knucklebrow’s arm fell to his side, his face crumpled, he stared at the coffee. It spoke again:

“Petey, Papa’s gonna sell me! Please find me!”

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Fong’s Part IV

In Fantasy, Fiction, Fong's, Writing on May 29, 2015 at 11:45 am

“Welcome, stranger. What’s your name?”

“Twosie,” he said.

“Twoseat what?” she said.

“No, Knupplebrow,” he said. Heifitz put a shot of whispey in front of him. Un-dosed, one notch above rotgut.

“Good to meet you, Twoseat No-Nipplebrow,” she said. “I’m Penny Onehole.”

“No, not Twoseat No-Nipplebrow. it’s Knupplebrow. Knupplebrow Twosie,” he said.

“Ooo, I like your name, honey, but say it again, real slow. I’ve mixed it up in my head. Too much opium in my popium, if you know what I mean,” she smiled, leaning forward to expose cleavage not yet spotted and leathery like old Laughin’ Sal.

“Name’s Knupplebrow. Twosie.” Frustration edged his voice like a rusty blade. “Knupples, you know, lipe – ” and he cracked his knuckles loud enough to stop Bimps at the piano, everyone in Fong’s front room turning to look.

“Ooh, right. Knuckles. Knucklebrow. Yes. Well, tell me, Knucklebrow Twosie, what brings you to Fong’s?” Penny smiled again, hoping to smooth away his rising anger with the hint of sexual intrigue.

“I’m looping for a girl,” he said.

“Ain’t we all?” Penny laughed, Heifitz and Bimps following suit, the laugh making its round through Fong’s front room with the same contagious, hazy release as a yawn.

A gong sounded, deep in one of the back rooms – or below the floor, it was hard to tell – and Fong arose in a cloud of smoke behind the bar. No matter how many times he’d done it, no matter that he’d shown her the mechanics of the trap and the smoke, it gave Penny the chills. Fong called it his Mystical Chinese Devil trick, saying it was just what Westerners expect of the proprietor of a back alley opium den.

Wreathed in smoke and staring right though Knucklebrow Twosie, Fong said, “You seek a girl, she is your sister, but you cannot find her because no matter how close you get – your anger leads you astray.”