The Maestro & Other Stories
three free flash fictions
by Morgen Bailey
The three stories in this mini collection were inspired by prompts supplied
by the winner, second-placed and third-placed
of Morgen’s January / February 2016 500-word challenge.
The prompts are listed after each story in case you don’t
want to know what they are before you read.
ISBN 9781311671851
Copyright 2016 © Morgen Bailey
Thank you for downloading this free eBook.
Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
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Winner: The Maestro (564 words) – prompts by Katy A Lohman
Joe ‘The Bricklayer’ Marsh swigs from the cask of Amontillado. He splutters as the wine gushes out but he doesn’t care. It’s not his cask and the owner is upstairs, oblivious to Joe’s actions.
The walls of the cellar are grey, the same shade as Joe’s wife’s ashes. He thinks of the royal blue urn on the mantelpiece back home, alongside the pictures of their children and grandchildren. Joe smiles as he thinks of little Bobbie Boo, the youngest of the brood, turning four in a couple of weeks. He hopes to see her again but he knows the chances are slim. Taking out the former boss of the Chicago syndicate isn’t the wisest thing Joe’s ever done.
Munro ‘Maestro’ Mandiani is the master of disguise, as his nickname would suggest. Joe had been hunting him since that fateful day ten years before. The internet had been helpful, and Joe’s eldest Frankie a whizz with technology. He’d tracked down Munro to the old stockyards but Munro had always been a step ahead, a sixth sense or habit, Joe didn’t know.
Then luck had played its part; Joe recognising Munro’s henchman Billy Fletcher’s southern Irish accent when Billy had been giving a taxi driver a rollocking – and beating – for charging too much… probably at all, knowing the syndicate. They were in everyone’s pockets, still are.
Joe had followed Billy into the building; Billy too angry to ensure the door was shut. Joe had hit him on the back of his head with his Colt .38’s butt then dragged him down into the basement then trussed him up with rope he’d fetched from his car.
Joe sat on an old chest until Billy regained consciousness. Joe smiled as the younger man begged like a dog. “Please, Joe. It weren’t me. It were… can’t say. You knows I can’t say.”
“Yes, you can. Maybe you don’t want to live. What do you have to live for? Another fifteen years working for Munro? Another stretch inside? You got family, Billy. Wanna live for them?”
Billy frowned as if Joe firing questions at him had confused him.
None of it mattered to Joe. All that mattered was getting revenge. Revenge for the fact that Bobbie Boo had never got to meet her Nanna Marsh.
Joe had got the information he wanted, hadn’t enjoyed what he’d had to do to get it but he’d found Munro and now was sufficiently emboldened to return upstairs, to wake up the Maestro, exact the revenge Joe had been waiting so long for.
Munro’s eyes dance underneath their eyelids as Joe approaches the bed, Munro a horizontal crucifix.
Munro’s eyes spring open as Joe pours the Amontillado over Munro’s face. He buckles against his restraints then screams as the chains fed through his palms rip open the skin further. Keeping his hands still, he gently wriggles his feet, relief flooding his face as it’s clear this crucifix hasn’t yet gone all the way.
Munro pants as Joe waits, looking down.
“Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something. Which one are you, Munro?”
Munro growls then whimpers as he looks at one of his hands.
Joe knows what he has to do. It doesn’t matter if Munro admits what had happened or not. This will be where it ends. Joe picks up the cask and smiles.
*
And Katy’s prompts were:
– Character name/s: Joe, aka, The Bricklayer
– Location: former Chicago stockyards
– Object: a cask of Amontillado
– Dilemma: when does forgiveness become folly?
– Character trait / emotion / quirk: quotes philosophers to be a smart alec
– Colour / shade of colour: ash gray
– Other comments: Always looks different in photographs. Chameleon?
Second: Jungfrau (651 words) – prompts by Rosemary Pooley
Birgitta stares at the fridge. A half-empty can of Coke and a bottle of equally flat sparkling water. Not enough to quell her rumbling stomach.
Turning away, she peers through the tiny kitchen window, down on to Weinbergstrasse, She sighs at the group of girls returning home, laughing and teetering on their high heels, probably after a night at one of the nearby clubs. Zurich has plenty of them.
It’s been too long since Birgitta’s been anywhere just to spend money on drink, alcoholic or otherwise. Coke and bottled water has been as extravagant as she’s got in the last month and the two containers in the fridge are the last of her supplies. And it’s all thanks to David.
She’d been on one of the nights out with her colleagues Margarite and Florrie when she’d met David. Although her friends were more typically attractive, Rolf had come to Birgitta, and offered to buy her a drink.
“Nein, danke. Ich bin mit meinen Freundinnen.”
So he’d offered to buy Margarite and Florrie drinks too, in his tourist German. They’d been more than willing for the tall, dark and stereotypically handsome Brit to buy them a drink, giggling as they sipped at their cocktails.
Drinks in hand, Margarite and Florrie had stayed at the bar, insisting that Birgitta chat with David somewhere a bit quieter.
“Raus!” Margarite had said. “Hab Spass!”
Birgitta shivered every time someone walked past, every time the toilet doors opened, too often for her liking. She’d wanted to go home hours before but it was Margarite’s birthday, and Birgitta hadn’t wanted to spoil her fun.
“Do you speak English?” David had yelled over one of the choruses of Robin Schultz’s Show Me Love.
“A little,” Birgitta had said, holding up two fingers of her right hand with about an inch space in between them.
David had smiled. “Another drink?”
Birgitta had shaken her head and pointed to her still-half-full glass.
David had nodded and gone to buy himself another drink. She knew the rule of never letting anyone get a drink without her seeing what they were doing but she didn’t want to follow him and lose their table. She wriggled her toes then winced as a blister bashed against the squeaky fabric of her new shoes. She usually went for comfort over fashion but they were the only colour to match a dress she’d wanted for so long and finally bought in seventy-five percent off one-day sale.
David had returned with two Vodka and Cokes, and poured one into her old glass, she assumed to freshen it. Thinking she could do with the same, she excused herself and went to the ladies, not feeling guilty for being the one to blast others with cold air.
She’d remembered very little about the rest of the night, only regaining consciousness the following lunchtime in her bed, but something was different. She had a pounding headache and felt as if she’d gone ten rounds with Andreas Hug. She’d screamed as she’d stared into the bathroom mirror, her normally pink face various shades of grey and purple. She’d grabbed a towel and punched the mirror, as if it were the one w
ho had assaulted her. She’d then slumped to the floor and burst into tears, each salty drop stinging her eyes and skin.
As she chips away at the ice in the fridge’s icebox with a mini axe, she pictures David’s face as if he’s one of an array of faces in a Jungfrau or Matterhorn version of Mount Rushmore. His arrogance shows in the twinkle of his eyes, a snowflake perhaps.
She fills a glass with Coke and brushes in some of the ice. She knows the drink will be quite tasteless but she doesn’t care. She’s got a plan to make and when her benefits payment goes through, she knows that revenge will be a dish best served cold.
*
And Rosemary’s prompts were:
– Character name/s: Birgitta
– Location: Switzerland
– Object: Ice axe
– Dilemma: No food left
– Character trait / emotion / quirk: Arrogant
– Colour / shade of colour: grey
– Other comments: A struggle for survival
Third: Is it me? (466 words) – prompts by Lesley Middleton
Arthur wedged his lit cigarette into the corner of his mouth then opened the letter.
“Dear Mr Finch. Thank you for your application. Unfortunately…” He didn’t need to read on. It was more of the same. He was too old, too experienced, inexperienced. The reasons they gave were sometimes the same, sometimes different but they amounted to the same thing; they didn’t want his services. Didn’t want to employ him as a sales executive, sales manager or anything else with ‘sales’ in the title. It was all he’d known and he knew he’d been good at it but nowadays it didn’t suit him. Did he really want to meet and greet people, put on a brave face, either in a car showroom or on the road? Were people any nicer when they didn’t want something or when they thought they had but then changed their minds? People weren’t nice, Arthur concluded, and maybe these letters were just a paper way of saying it to his face.
Dublin, like everywhere else in the country, in the world, had troughed after too long a peak and Arthur, like many others, now owned a house he couldn’t afford, especially without work.
“Admit it, Arthur, no one wants you.” He picked his wallet up from the table and looked at the picture within. Sandy, his ex-wife, was still smiling at him from behind the plastic. Arthur wasn’t sure why he still kept the picture so long after she’d left – while he’d been at work, no note, no explanation. Keeping the picture was his way of maintaining normality but maybe it was time to cut all ties. No more Sandy, no more sales. No more people. He’d find something else to do. Something with as little contact as possible with the outside world. The internet. Was that the answer? Real people pretending to be other real people.
“Is it me?” he asked the picture as he slid it from behind the protective sleeve. He knew what Sandy would have said but didn’t wait for an answer as he dropped the photo into the metal bin next to the sofa. The picture produced a dull thud as it made contact. Arthur leaned over and looked at it, the white back facing upwards. “Enjoy the view, Sandra darlin’,” he said then tapped the grey column of ash from the end of his cigarette on top of her. It didn’t matter whether it lit the photo or not, whether Sandy would end up as dust or in landfill. Maybe that was where she was anyway. She didn’t care about him, so why would any emotion flow back in the opposite direction?
The satisfaction of disposing of someone he had no feeling for made him smile and he now knew how he’d make his living.
*
And Lesley’s prompts were:
– Character name/s: Arthur Finch
– Location: Dublin
– Object: Letter
– Dilemma: Does the character really want to know the truth?
– Character trait / emotion / quirk: Loner
– Colour / shade of colour: Grey
– Other comments: Twist in the tail.
***
About the Author
Based in Northamptonshire, England, Morgen Bailey is a freelance editor, writing-related blogger, creative writing tutor for her county council, and the author of numerous short stories, novels, articles and some poetry. She was also the annual HE Bates Short Story Competition Head Judge for 2015/6, and a RONE Judge 2015.
When not researching for her teaching or writing, Morgen is a British Red Cross book volunteer and walks her dog (often while reading, writing or editing) and reads, though not as often as she’d like, and mostly to review.
Everything she’s involved is detailed on her blog https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com and she can usually be found chatting away about all things literary on Twitter, Facebook (where she is morgenwriteruk) and LinkedIn, amongst others.
Note from the Author
Thank you for downloading ‘The Maestro & Other Stories’.
The idea to run a 500-challenge came to me as a way for me to write more than I do (and short stories have always been my first love) and who doesn’t enjoy giving away prizes?
I already give away my online courses on https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/100-word-free-monthly-competition and I provide an editing service so I thought what better way to combine writing and editing by creating https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/500-word-flash-fiction-challenge.
I welcome feedback on any aspect of writing, and you can either find me on the links listed under ‘About the Author’ or via email:
[email protected].
Katy, Rosemary, Lesley and I would appreciate you leaving a review to encourage other visitors to read these short stories. Thank you.