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"The Bonus" (the forty-second ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Bonus" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), February 15, 2005 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Bonus by walshnyc@yahoo.com (Entry #4) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| The scope of the high-powered rifle
brought the victim into sharp, detailed focus. The buttons on his black silk
shirt, the gray hairs that garnished his hairline; the beads of condensation on
the water glass as he raised it to his lips. It was a perfect shot, but not one
Tommy wanted. He lowered the gun, waited, and remembered….
********************* "This is the big one, isn’t it?" Manny said, his insincere grin firmly in place. "This is the hit that closes our deal, right?" Tommy took a sip of his coffee as he nodded. It was swill, but that was a chance you took when you set your business meetings at a different ‘dive’ diner every single time. The half-eaten piece of pie on the plate in front of him made a similar statement to the food quality in this place as well. "You’ve really surprised me, pal- really exceeded my expectations," Manny seemed the kind of guy who deplored silence, and filled it with the sound of his own voice any chance he got. "When Angelo told me you were looking for work, I was a little apprehensive. It’s a risky thing to bring in new, untested talent, but I was in a bit of a fix. I have guys who usually take care of this sort of thing for me, but there’s been some extra heat on us since we had to deal with some aggressive competition last year." Tommy remained silent. He picked up the envelope that Manny had pushed toward him when he came in and sat in the booth. He pulled out a series of photographs and studied them. "…some really beautiful work. Four hits, all single shot kills. Where’d you learn to shoot like that? The military?" "Yeah." Tommy lied, but not entirely. He had learned to shoot from an uncle whom had been in the Special Forces. "I thought so. So, listen, our original deal was you would do five hits, build your reputation, and I when all is said and done, I give you the bonus we agreed upon, and you go back to being a free agent, right?" "Yeah." "Yeah, well, I was wondering if you might be interested in restructuring our arrangement." "Why?" Tommy had put the photos down and stared intently at the other man. Manny shifted nervously in his seat. "Well, for one, I feel we have a good thing going, and think we should continue it. You’re a smart guy; you make me come out here to talk business- which I used to think was a major pain in the ass, but I can see the benefit. Being an out of town contractor kind of keeps you off the radar back in New York. You don’t have a reputation around here, so it seems you know better than to shit where you eat, right? I mean, you are from Detroit, aren’t you?" "Maybe." "And that’s another thing- you seem to know how to keep your mouth shut. Most of the idiots willing to the pull the trigger for money can’t keep their fucking mouth shut. You can’t trust somebody like that because you know they’ve got a short shelf –life, and odds are, they’re gonna fuck you over when they get caught. So, what I’m saying is I’d rather just stick with you. If it’s about the money, I’m sure we can work something out…" "Not interested." "Look if there’s one thing I know, it’s that it gets easier," Manny seemed to realize how high his voice had risen, and quickly adjusted, leaning in closer. "If it’s your conscience that’s bugging you, let me assure you that everyone of the mooks you took out had it coming…" "That’s not it," Tommy said. "I told you I was only doing this long enough to make a specific amount of money. If you pay me like we agreed, this hit will be my last." "What’s the problem? You owe taxes? Gambling debt? Your wife’s a big spender?" "I’m not married." "Whatever. Look, maybe I can help you out financially, give you an advance…" "Why do you care? Angelo said you had five targets to be taken out," Tommy tapped the photos for emphasis; "After this guy, both of are problems will be solved; why don’t we just leave it at that…" "I’ll tell you why," Manny hissed. "If you stay out on the market, sooner or later, somebody might be paying you to pop me. I know all the other players out there, but of you, I know squat. I’d rather keep you on payroll so I know you won’t come gunning for me. You’re a little too good for my comfort level, and I know I probably won’t see you coming, so I’d rather keep you where I can see you, so to speak." Tommy nodded. He took a long draw off of his coffee, then looked around to be sure of their privacy. "I’ll give you one thing, one bit of information about me, if it makes you feel more comfortable; I need the money to pay alimony. My ex-wife is taking me to the cleaners, and I just want to get her off my back, make some investments, and live my life in piece. When this is done, I swear I’ll never pick up a gun again…" "Maybe, but I sure would feel better if I had some assurance greater than your word," Manny replied. "I guess I’m sort of looking at your bonus as collateral. But I guess we’re both getting a little ahead of ourselves, arent’ we?" "Yeah. I think I should clean my plate before you start pushing the next course on me, or before I start announcing that I’m full, right?" Tommy picked up the photos again, the job that was ‘on his plate’, and the remainder of their meeting was focused on the particulars of the job at hand. As usual, it ended with Manny handing him the ‘up-front’ money, and they parted over the promise of the bonus that would be paid upon completion. ********** Tommy had performed the fifth hit with his usual discretion and expediency, but was not surprised to find the promised funds were not deposited in the ‘safe’ bank account as per their arrangement. Tommy tried calling Manny, always using one of a series of untraceable cellular phones, and demanded to know why their deal had been reneged upon. Manny avoided the subject, and instead tried to get Tommy to agree to a meeting to discuss further business. Eventually, Tommy agreed to meet with him, and arranged a time and place. The time was now, and the place was the diner across the street. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Manny’s number, then peered through the rifle-scope to watch him answer. "Where you at?" Manny said into his phone. "I got tied up at work; I’m on my way there." "Should I wait?" "Yeah. I really want to discuss this bonus situation," Tommy said. "I should get to you in just a few minutes. You should order some pie. The pie is really good there." "So, you work somewhere nearby, and you’ve had the pie here before," Manny mused, taking another drink of water. "Sounds like I was right; you do live in Detroit." Tommy said nothing. He watched as Manny put the empty water glass down on the table, and imagined he could hear the distinctive sound it would make. He shifted his sights to watch as the waitress who had been hovering near the counter began to approach with the water pitcher. "You’re wrong," he told Manny as he raised the rifle into position; "I don’t live in Detroit; my ex-wife does." "Yeah? What do you do, drop by a lot to see how she’s wasting your money?" "No. As far as she knows, I’ve never set foot in the city..." He watched as the waitress arrived at the table, then focused the gun sight on Manny’s chest. His finger pulled back on the trigger just as the view through the scope filled with the image of the waitress leaning across to fill the water glass. The gunshot rang out, blending in with the sounds of sirens, car horns, and radios turned up so loud, that the few people who acknowledged it at all just peered around curiously, shrugged, and went on their way. In the diner, the waitress had fallen lifeless onto the tabletop, a growing pool of blood enveloping the shards of window glass and blending into the spilled water. Tommy eyed Manny through the scope. A bloody hole punctuated his chest, but he was still breathing, leaning back in the booth seat with an expression of disbelief on his face. Tommy advanced a second bullet into the rifle’s chamber, the insurance of a completed task if the obstructed first bullet had failed to miss it’s mark, but as Manny’s breathing became laboriously slow, Tommy realized a follow up shot would be unnecessary. As a woman’s screams emanated from the diner, stepped back from the edge of the apartment building roof. He dismantled and concealed his gun with practiced precision, and disappeared into the night. The following day, Tommy awoke in his Seattle apartment to the sound of a ringing phone. He found the one of the half dozen he kept on his night-stand that was making the tone, and answered it. "Did you hit Manny Stewart?" It was Angelo. "I might have. He was failing to uphold his end of our deal. Is that a problem?" "Not to me. Personally, I never liked the little shit. But for you, it might be bad for business." "I’m out of the business." Another phone rang. It wasn’t one of the cells, but the regular ‘land line’. "Hang on," he told Angelo, and picked up the other phone. "Is this Harold Thomas?" The voice on the other end asked. "Yes? Can I help you?" "Are you the ex-husband of Natalie Leonard-Thomas?" "Yes, that’s me; what’s the problem..?" "Mr. Thomas, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your ex-wife was killed last night. There was what we’re assuming is some sort of gang related slaying at the diner where she works; she apparently got in the way of the assassination of an out of town crime figure." "Oh, no..." "We called you because nobody seems to know how to get in touch with her family, and she happened to have your number on a check that she had in her wallet at the time. Mr. Thomas, do you have any contact information for your ex-wife’s family?" "Yes; hold on- I’ll get it for you…" He put the phone down and walked to the other side of the room before he put the cell phone back to his ear. "Angelo, I’ve got to go; what did you call me for?" "I thought I’d check and see if you were interested in more work, seeing as how you ain’t never gonna get that bonus from Manny now," Angelo said. "Yeah, well thanks but no thanks," Tommy replied as he located the old address book that had his former in-laws listed in it. "I think I worked it out so I won’t be needing the extra cash anyway," he said, then hung up. As he picked up the other phone and read off the requested information, he could hear his voice cracking with emotion as he thought of his ex-wife. It was an unexpected perk that she had not cashed the last check he’d sent her, and in considering her unplanned last act of generosity towards him, he was almost sorry that he had killed her. It wasn’t a huge sum of money, but he was wise enough to grasp that unexpected bonuses are the ones most worthy of appreciation. |
| The Bonus by Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com (Entry #3) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| "Hear Ye, Hear Ye!" The announcement went out through the tiny kingdom. It seems that the King was more than a little peeved at the neighboring band of marauders that had been raiding his cattle, siphoning off his crops, and worse yet, probably stole many of his prize azaleas. The notice read that whomsoever could bring him the head of this fearless band and scatter them asunder, would recieve a chest of gold and jewels, and as a bonus, recieve the hand of his daughter in marriage. The daughter, with a chestnut mane of leonine hair and a body that caused clocks to stop, was a prize worth vying for (though she did have an unhealthy appetite for astrology and beginning every sentence with "Like methinks"). Several men stepped to the fore, mostly unworthy rabble with the exception of Blue Ivan (Black Ivan was already taken) and our hero John Doh. John Doh had just come of age and come into his inheritance of two goats, a half acre of rocky soil, and a coupon good for a trip for two to Carthage (meals and hotel not included), so he felt himself worthy of attaining this emolument as well as the rather winsome bonus. The king had her confined in the castle, guarded by a trusted squire of near Goliath proportions and a Barrymore-esque profile, owing to her tendency to slip off to the market stalls and spend his money on garish clothing and flavored ices. Blue Ivan leapt upon his horse and with a fierce battle cry that resembled an aggrieved wolf, galloped off in the known direction of the malefactors. John Doh also leapt on his steed, unfortunately falling off the other side with a thud. He dusted himself off and limped back to the stirrups, mounting a little more gingerly. Giving a brave wave to the stern king and pouting princess, he followed Blue Ivan's dust. The others also rode off with no clear purpose other than to be away from their harping mothers and menial chores. Soon there was a fork in the road and Blue Ivan reined his horse to the left, likely obeying a sign posted there that had an arrow and the legend - Fame and Fortune. John Doh took the right fork, either through divination or stupidity, figuring (correctly) that the Robin Hood imitators had probably moved their camp by now. Surely enough, he saw the smoke from cooking fires and quietly dismounted, tethering his horse to a bush. To his dismay, the weak bush was no match for the reins of the powerful equine as he ripped himself loose and cantered back towards town, leaving John without even the chocolate bar and his favorite nappy that was in the saddlebag. No matter, the goal still lay ahead as John advanced on the encampment and stole close in his best feline manner. He figured the leader of the offensive band would have to take a leak sooner or later, so armed with a stout piece of wood, he waited stolidly in the forest. The wait was so long he nearly yawned off to sleep but then his chance came. He rushed at the evil one, though he stubbed his toe on a root giving great yelp of pain, but still managed to smite him about the head, causing his adversary to crumple to the ground. The broadsword was drawn and as he stood poised for what was sure to be a messy beheading, he lowered it in a fit of remorse rivalling that of Oedipus. "Canna do it, can ye, chicken." Doh whirled around to see his hated rival, Blue Ivan, standing there with his tousled beard and a sneer reminiscent of Cinderella's godmother. "This is my prize, Blue Ivan. I don't know how you followed me but I was here first," he snarled bravely, though it came out more like a whine. "Then defend yourself, fartlet." (Blue Ivan had meant to say varlet but could never pronounce a vee correctly). John Doh drew back his sword to protect his honor, but as luck would have it, the sword slipped out of his hands, landing in the nest of some magpies who complained rather vociferously. The classic swordfight never materialized, so John had to trudge back to town, leaving Blue Ivan with the spoils that were rightfully his. His only consoling thought was that even had he been fortunate enough to bed the ravishing princess, he would probably have stuttered something in ancient Latin or gotten one of his nosebleeds. As dusk was creeping in, he finally strode back into town, content with the fact that he had sought and conquered, stood up for his manhood, and built character (which is what any good hero in a story is supposed to do). Espying one of his neighbors, a man of sturdy peasant stock with a face resembling a ripe turnip, he enquired as to whether Blue Ivan had already arrived to collect his reward. "Didn't you hear? The princess ran off with the handsome squire and the treasure chest." John Doh smugly smiled. |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #4 Second place: #3 Others receiving votes: #1, #5 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Bonus lee10@host365.com |
#1 of 10 |
| 2399 | |
| I was glad I hadn't been given the top table. It would
have been so embarrassing to have to serve the wedding meal to my ex, and to
the girl who'd stolen him from me. As it was, I had Table 3; assorted elderly uncles and aunts, whose demands were few and whose chatter was not exactly riveting. And apart from a vague, old dear, who drooled constantly and smelt of drying urine, they weren't very interesting. She kept picking at the floral centrepiece and flowers littered the table. But who was I to stop someone enjoying themselves? The bride looked beautiful, I had to admit. She'd always been pretty had Sandra and today her shoulder-length, blonde hair swung and shone. Her dress was classic simplicity. Her shoulders were bare, with two thin straps holding the Empire line bodice snugly in place. The fabric fell, a slim, white sheath to the floor and each long, tight sleeve ended in a point, the one on her left hand indicating the presence of the brand new wedding ring. Her blue eyes glittered with happiness. Till she saw me, that is. Then her smile left her face as though turned off by a switch and I felt the full force of her displeasure. She glanced around the room, no doubt checking on the whereabouts of her husband, Jeffrey. I scowled. She flounced over to me, the train of her dress sweeping the floor behind her. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, giving me a look that would shrivel prunes. "Working." I replied through teeth clenched so tight it hurt. "Earning a living, seeing as how I haven't got a bloke to keep me." "I've a good mind to get you sacked," she growled. I laughed. One or two people turned at the harsh sound, so I lowered my voice. "The maitre d' wouldn't do that without a very, very good reason," I said. "It would leave him short-handed." I refrained from saying that if I had to go because of my relationship with Jeffrey, so would two more of the waitresses. I smoothed the sides of my black skirt, tweaked the collar of my white, work-blouse and continued. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to your guests at Table 3." The room was lined with mirrors and as I walked away, I saw, a dozen times over, the glare aimed right between my shoulder blades. "Let me pour you another glass of wine," I spoke loudly to the drooling octogenarian. "Red, was it?" Reflected by the mirror at the far end of the room, Sandra stormed back to her own table. I filled the glass to the brim. The old girl reached out an excited hand. It shook and rivulets of red soiled the pristine whiteness of the cloth. It didn't seem to bother the other wrinklies though. Probably used to it at the Home, I thought. I helped mop up the mess with a couple of napkins, the original dusky-pink colour turning deep maroon as I worked. I glanced over my shoulder. The bride hadn't noticed the mess my table was in and the smile was back on her face as she revelled in the attention she was receiving. Jeffrey didn't look too comfortable, but then it was the bride's big day. He was really only there to make up the numbers. Usually Jeffrey stood out from the crowd. All the girls at school had fancied him. I'd always thought he preferred brunettes because Melissa and Jodie, the other two waitresses he'd dated before me, were brunettes too. They'd let him slip through their fingers but I'd truly believed I could hold him. He was the catch of the neighbourhood; good-looking, rich and charming. He had thick, black hair, dark-blue, Mel Gibson eyes and a smile that melted hearts, mine in particular. I'd been devastated when he'd dumped me for stuck-up Sandra. It was no good telling myself that I was going off him anyway, because it wasn't true. I was ditched for a pompous blonde with the brains of a shrimp. And I hadn't felt any better about it when Sandra's big-mouthed sister Geraldine gabbed about how Jeffrey had admitted he'd always had a thing for blondes and only went out with brunettes while he waited for the right girl to come along. "He said it was any port in a storm," she'd giggled to one of her cronies, knowing I could hear every word. Serves her right, I thought and smirked at the plum-coloured, satin dress she was wearing. Neither the colour, nor the little-girl style with puffed sleeves and tight waistband, suited her full figure. It was obvious that Sandra had not wanted her chief bridesmaid to outshine her in any way. Geraldine was having to fuss around her sister; a purple, coal barge chugging round a sleek, clipper ship. By her frown, I don't think Geraldine was too happy with her task. "Yes!" I grinned, pleased at her discomfort. "What did you say, dearie," asked the old dear. "Shall we try again with that glass of wine?" I smiled at her. But before I could cause any more mayhem, Jodie, who was passing on the way to Table 6, skidded in a pool of wine. As she thumped down on her backside, the dish she'd been holding shot up in the air and crashed onto Table 4, while peas rained down like mini musket balls, clattering onto the parquet floor. Every head in the room whipped round. Unsympathetic voices guffawed and giggled. I peeped. The bride was furious, her face the colour of her sister's dress. "Goodness me," one of my old boys chuckled through clicking dentures. "I'm glad I don't have to eat the peas. They'd give me jaw ache." I helped Jodie clear up the mess and soon, apart from the stained tablecloth on Table 3 and most of the guests rebelling and refusing to eat peas, matters returned to normal. I had to pass the top table on my way to the kitchens. The bride's mother, a skinny lady with wispy, mousy hair, wore a mauve suit and matching hat. Stray hair escaped from under the hat, and despite the lavish attachments of lace and floral bits and pieces, it looked like a bucket. And as the afternoon progressed, it adopted a more and more rakish angle on her head, making her look tipsy. Every now and again, Sandra would "tut" and push it straight but it was not long before gravity would give it a gentle tug and it would start on its downward slide once more. Of such small incidents are most wedding receptions made. This one was no exception. The groom's grandmother came back from the Ladies with her skirt tucked into her knickers. She was a very small, very round lady and the sight of her corset-pink drawers, fitted snugly around the tops of her knees, had a group of teenage boys falling about in hysterics. Their hooting and hollering caused Sandra to look up from her fresh fruit salad, to see her grandmother-in-law reflected a hundred times in gleaming mirrors, as she glided like a galleon back to her seat, unaware of the furore she was causing. Sandra bitched at her new husband, who just sat and looked glum. I was giggling fit to bust and decided I'd best make myself scarce for a while. Everyone was eating dessert so I knew I'd not be missed for a few minutes and I went outside for a breath of fresh air, where I bumped into the groom's brother, Derek. Derek was the best man. He and I were mates. We'd been in the same class together at school. I'd always liked Derek but our relationship went no further than that because Derek had a boyfriend. By the light pouring through a window, I could see the boyfriend, Jamie, was glum "Sue," Derek sounded relieved. "Help me." He put his arm round Jamie's shoulders and hugged him. "I love this sweetie and want everyone to know it. Do you think that's such a bad thing?" "No, of course not," I replied. "But the silly girl doesn't want me to tell anyone." He raised his voice. "And I want to tell the world about us," he shouted. "Shhhhhhh!" Jamie whispered. He took a large handkerchief from his pocket. It was so white, so new, it glowed in the dark. He blew his nose daintily. "Derek, hush. People will hear." I had an idea. "Why don't you," I suggested, "instead of telling people how you feel, show them instead?" "How d'you mean?" "Well, later on, when the disco's done its damnedest to deafen us all, there'll be a couple of smoochy dances. Why don't you go on the floor and show people how much you think of each other?" Two thoughts chased across my mind. One was that I'd still like to dance that close to Jeffrey; the other was, if Derek and Jamie smooched in public, it would take the guests' attention from the bride; and that'd really piss her off! I left them discussing whether or not Jamie had the courage to dance with Derek and went back to work, clearing away the debris of the meal before the speeches could begin. The speeches: an hour of terminable boredom, relieved only by the smiling faces of Derek and Jamie, who'd obviously come to some agreement. Then there came the cutting of the cake. I was standing near enough with a pile of napkins and a serving tray, to see the full horror as the knife sliced easily through the icing. The cake had been seriously overcooked! Even several paces away I could smell burnt currants. There is no way that cake can be edible, I thought. It was just a thick, black, charred mass. For a brief second I almost felt sorry for Sandra. But then I pulled myself together, and smiled a sweet, cloying smile that I knew would make Sandra go ballistic. "Oh, dear," I sighed. Sandra still had the knife in her hand. Jeffrey took it from her, with some difficulty. "Shall I start to hand out the cake?" My smile stayed fixed in place. "Madam?" She snarled incoherently at me as Jeffrey led her back to her table, her fairy tale wedding in crumbs, which is more than the cremated cake would ever achieve. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," I hummed. "If god don't take you, then the devil must." I know I'm a cow, but by this time I was beginning to enjoy the wedding. Sandra was a bitch and I'd decided that Jeffrey had got what he deserved. It was time for a break. I headed towards the kitchen but was stopped in the corridor by Derek and Jamie. They grinned at me. "We're going to do as you suggested," Derek said. "I've asked the D.J. to play 'Lady in Red' for us later, because it always makes Jamie go weak at the knees." "Well done, boys," I said, suddenly needing a cigarette and knowing just where to find one. I wasn't supposed to use the guests' toilets but Jodie usually hid her fags behind the window blind in the middle cubicle, so I slipped into the Ladies. Following the cake fiasco, the bride and groom were leading off the dancing and most of the guests were watching them. I sat on the loo seat, taking the weight off my aching feet for a bit. I was nearly at the end of my cigarette when I heard someone coming in. I couldn't escape so I stayed put, quietly, eavesdropping. "That dress doesn't really flatter you, you know," voice number one said, as a girl entered the cubicle on my left. "No," snapped a second voice to my right as the cubicle door slammed. The bolt crashed shut. "The bride couldn't have her older sister looking prettier than her, could she?" Um, I thought, I wasn't the only one who'd noticed then. "You don't mean to say she deliberately chose that dowdy dress, do you?" "She sure as hell did," Geraldine replied. "And what's more she wanted me to wear a ghastly matching lippy, but I soon told her where to get off. I mean, can you see me wearing purple lippy?" Both girls emptied their bladders noisily. Paper was ripped from loo rolls and I heard the rustle of satin as Geraldine tidied herself. There was cussing from my left. "Damn it, I hate these thongs," the other girl moaned. "I feel like my crutch is being held together with a laggy band." Bolts were undone and the girls left the cubicles. "Tell you something else too," Geraldine spoke awkwardly, around her re-application of her lipstick. Job done apparently, she snapped the case back together. "My sister, my oh so stuck up sister who I'm delighted to be getting rid of?" I listened intently, determined not to miss the gossip, which I could tell was coming my way. "?my sister," there was a long, dramatic pause. Come on stupid, I wanted to scream, get on with it before somebody comes in.And then it was that a good evening got even better. What Geraldine revealed was the icing on my personal cake; it was a delightful bonus, the cherry on the top of a long day of conflicting emotions. "My sister," Geraldine said, "in seven month's time, will be delivered of a premature baby. "No," hissed the other girl, laughter bubbling up in her throat. "Oh, yes," squealed Geraldine. "Sanctimonious Sandra, my pontificating prat of a sister who never puts a foot wrong and preaches at the rest of us constantly, is up the duff, preggers, got a bun in the oven." The door opened. The noise from the reception rushed in but I heard Geraldine say as the two left, "So what do you think of that then?" The closing door cut off the other girl's response, so I replied instead. "So the virgin bride is human after all." I chuckled. "No wonder she looks so sour." Her childhood dream, her perfect day, was spoilt even before I arrived on the scene and it was all her own fault. Poor Jeffery. I had a feeling she'd never forgive him. "But I do, Jeffrey," I said. "I do." |
|
| The Bonus P.S. Giffiord psgifford@sbcglobal.net |
#2 of 10 |
| 1117 | |
| Have you ever had one of those days that you can
remember every little facet? Well please allow me to indulge a little. Permit
me to share my little story. There are millions of stories like this in the
world…But here is mine-humbly submitted Its funny I have no idea what happened the day before, it could have stormed. They might have discovered life on Mars for all I can recall. I have no memory. That morning I was supremely unaware that today was going to be magical. Indeed life altering. I was thirty years old at the time and living a relatively contented existence in my run down little apartment with my beloved companion Eddie Valentino, my trusted dog and best friend , I could put in writing ten thousand words on him and in fact I already have written much about him. But that is not what we are here to talk about today, so allow me regain my focus on my wonderful day and unexpected bonus. Now where was I? Ah yes! I remember. It was a typically mundane Saturday afternoon. I would have dutifully fed my Eddie and then prepared to get ready for work. I remember I wore my finest black dress pants, a white shirt with a blue tie and a striking tartan vest to finish it off. A vest? Yes ,I owned a dozen of them, in remarkable colors. I would have hopped into my blue convertible and sped toward the restaurant where I managed. The radio would have been blasting. I had already been in the restaurant business for several years at this point, Finding the money rather agreeable. but the hours dreadful-Mostly evenings, weekends and holidays. Nevertheless I was a single man. I was working at Marie Calendars at the time. A family styled restaurant famous for there pies-Exciting huh!! What a life I lead.. I would have arrived at just before three and had a meeting with the day manager.. Then started to check the schedule, perform my food quality controls and all the other dozens of mundane tasks that makes a restaurant appear to run effortlessly. You might be surprised to discover just how stressful running a busy restaurant can get. Pumping out 200 plus meals an hour for several hours can be overwhelming. Hungry people are often the most cranky. That pot pie had better make it to old Mrs. Philips table in ten minutes. At 7:47 the rush was starting to fade and my breath was beginning to return. Now there was one young waitress who worked with me and she had adopted me as some sort of agony aunt. (Or I guess in this case agony uncle) For whatever unfathomable reason she would tell me all that was going on in her life and I would give her appropriate nods or shakes of my head in response. The thing was she had always expressed that if she had an older sister she would ‘Fix me up with me’ . This particular Saturday at the aforementioned 7:47 she stood there in front of me and I could tell that she eagerly wanted to ask me something. She proceeded to tell me that she had this aunt. Adding that she wanted me to be introduced to her. Her name was Sarah. looking at her , I could not disappoint the excited teen. "Okay" I would have mumbled (I was always a man with words). Now I had met Chrissie’s parents on several occasions and found that they were delightful and personable folks, but their sister? I had an image dancing in my head of a 45 year old spinster type who was prematurely gray and bitter at the world. I bit my lip, regained my composure and bounced over to where she sat. I was known for my bouncing. In fact it was often supposed that I could be in two places at the same time. Sarah was sitting in the bar. The booth furthest to the right as a matter of detail (I remember all the details). I instantly saw her. Time simply stopped. Clichéd I know…Yet in this case irrefutably true, I was instantaneously captivated by the gleam in her greenest of eyes. I lost my heart, I lost my soul, I lost my voice….I recollect prancing awkwardly in front of her and saying some polite drivel, bowing (I had a habit of bowing) then running for cover spinning. Now have you ever experienced a moment like that? One of those life defining moments? Where that in a micro- moment nothing will ever be the same again? I looked at my watch and It still read 7:47...Time had indeed stopped. I then put my watch to my ear. It had also stopped ticking. I must get a new battery I thought. Chrissie came over again, chuckling, as she had been observing. "Well, what did you think of her" She prompts whilst beaming at me. "Lovely" I said (As I mentioned I was always good with words).She darted off. Returning in a matter of seconds. "They are leaving…" she frantically explained…"They want to say goodbye…" I remember walking back to the booth my heart was racing and I was desperately thinking of just the right words to use. What could I possibly say. I was overcome with panic and my moment of opportunity was fleeting. What for Pete’s sake was I going to say…Do? Turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Sarah’s sister, Rhonda, did it for us. "So when are you two going to go out! " She blurted an expression of delight overcoming her face (she was never one for coyness). And that was it! Oh…Lets skip some of the details (Not the place or the time.) Suffice to say we got engaged on that very first date. Moved in together six weeks later. People assumed we were crazy and I am sure they are right…But ten years later and we are happier than ever before. Furthermore here is the wonderful clincher I also got a fabulous bonus as when I met Sarah she had a young son, Jonathan , who was just eighteen months old then. The perfect age. Now he is our eleven year old son and I am so very proud of him. He can never remember me not being there. It is a funny thing, everyone say we even look alike. I am so very proud, and the word dad has for years now been my favorite word. Like I mentioned there are millions of similar stories like this in the world. It is what keeps the Earth spinning on its axis…But I wanted to share mine. |
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| The Bonus Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com |
#3 of 10 Runner-up |
| 851 | |
| "Hear Ye, Hear Ye!" The announcement went out through the tiny kingdom. It seems that the King was more than a little peeved at the neighboring band of marauders that had been raiding his cattle, siphoning off his crops, and worse yet, probably stole many of his prize azaleas. The notice read that whomsoever could bring him the head of this fearless band and scatter them asunder, would recieve a chest of gold and jewels, and as a bonus, recieve the hand of his daughter in marriage. The daughter, with a chestnut mane of leonine hair and a body that caused clocks to stop, was a prize worth vying for (though she did have an unhealthy appetite for astrology and beginning every sentence with "Like methinks"). Several men stepped to the fore, mostly unworthy rabble with the exception of Blue Ivan (Black Ivan was already taken) and our hero John Doh. John Doh had just come of age and come into his inheritance of two goats, a half acre of rocky soil, and a coupon good for a trip for two to Carthage (meals and hotel not included), so he felt himself worthy of attaining this emolument as well as the rather winsome bonus. The king had her confined in the castle, guarded by a trusted squire of near Goliath proportions and a Barrymore-esque profile, owing to her tendency to slip off to the market stalls and spend his money on garish clothing and flavored ices. Blue Ivan leapt upon his horse and with a fierce battle cry that resembled an aggrieved wolf, galloped off in the known direction of the malefactors. John Doh also leapt on his steed, unfortunately falling off the other side with a thud. He dusted himself off and limped back to the stirrups, mounting a little more gingerly. Giving a brave wave to the stern king and pouting princess, he followed Blue Ivan's dust. The others also rode off with no clear purpose other than to be away from their harping mothers and menial chores. Soon there was a fork in the road and Blue Ivan reined his horse to the left, likely obeying a sign posted there that had an arrow and the legend - Fame and Fortune. John Doh took the right fork, either through divination or stupidity, figuring (correctly) that the Robin Hood imitators had probably moved their camp by now. Surely enough, he saw the smoke from cooking fires and quietly dismounted, tethering his horse to a bush. To his dismay, the weak bush was no match for the reins of the powerful equine as he ripped himself loose and cantered back towards town, leaving John without even the chocolate bar and his favorite nappy that was in the saddlebag. No matter, the goal still lay ahead as John advanced on the encampment and stole close in his best feline manner. He figured the leader of the offensive band would have to take a leak sooner or later, so armed with a stout piece of wood, he waited stolidly in the forest. The wait was so long he nearly yawned off to sleep but then his chance came. He rushed at the evil one, though he stubbed his toe on a root giving great yelp of pain, but still managed to smite him about the head, causing his adversary to crumple to the ground. The broadsword was drawn and as he stood poised for what was sure to be a messy beheading, he lowered it in a fit of remorse rivalling that of Oedipus. "Canna do it, can ye, chicken." Doh whirled around to see his hated rival, Blue Ivan, standing there with his tousled beard and a sneer reminiscent of Cinderella's godmother. "This is my prize, Blue Ivan. I don't know how you followed me but I was here first," he snarled bravely, though it came out more like a whine. "Then defend yourself, fartlet." (Blue Ivan had meant to say varlet but could never pronounce a vee correctly). John Doh drew back his sword to protect his honor, but as luck would have it, the sword slipped out of his hands, landing in the nest of some magpies who complained rather vociferously. The classic swordfight never materialized, so John had to trudge back to town, leaving Blue Ivan with the spoils that were rightfully his. His only consoling thought was that even had he been fortunate enough to bed the ravishing princess, he would probably have stuttered something in ancient Latin or gotten one of his nosebleeds. As dusk was creeping in, he finally strode back into town, content with the fact that he had sought and conquered, stood up for his manhood, and built character (which is what any good hero in a story is supposed to do). Espying one of his neighbors, a man of sturdy peasant stock with a face resembling a ripe turnip, he enquired as to whether Blue Ivan had already arrived to collect his reward. "Didn't you hear? The princess ran off with the handsome squire and the treasure chest." John Doh smugly smiled. |
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| The Bonus walshnyc@yahoo.com |
#4 of 10 Winner |
| 1975 | |
| The scope of the high-powered rifle brought the victim
into sharp, detailed focus. The buttons on his black silk shirt, the gray hairs
that garnished his hairline; the beads of condensation on the water glass as he
raised it to his lips. It was a perfect shot, but not one Tommy wanted. He
lowered the gun, waited, and remembered….
********************* "This is the big one, isn’t it?" Manny said, his insincere grin firmly in place. "This is the hit that closes our deal, right?" Tommy took a sip of his coffee as he nodded. It was swill, but that was a chance you took when you set your business meetings at a different ‘dive’ diner every single time. The half-eaten piece of pie on the plate in front of him made a similar statement to the food quality in this place as well. "You’ve really surprised me, pal- really exceeded my expectations," Manny seemed the kind of guy who deplored silence, and filled it with the sound of his own voice any chance he got. "When Angelo told me you were looking for work, I was a little apprehensive. It’s a risky thing to bring in new, untested talent, but I was in a bit of a fix. I have guys who usually take care of this sort of thing for me, but there’s been some extra heat on us since we had to deal with some aggressive competition last year." Tommy remained silent. He picked up the envelope that Manny had pushed toward him when he came in and sat in the booth. He pulled out a series of photographs and studied them. "…some really beautiful work. Four hits, all single shot kills. Where’d you learn to shoot like that? The military?" "Yeah." Tommy lied, but not entirely. He had learned to shoot from an uncle whom had been in the Special Forces. "I thought so. So, listen, our original deal was you would do five hits, build your reputation, and I when all is said and done, I give you the bonus we agreed upon, and you go back to being a free agent, right?" "Yeah." "Yeah, well, I was wondering if you might be interested in restructuring our arrangement." "Why?" Tommy had put the photos down and stared intently at the other man. Manny shifted nervously in his seat. "Well, for one, I feel we have a good thing going, and think we should continue it. You’re a smart guy; you make me come out here to talk business- which I used to think was a major pain in the ass, but I can see the benefit. Being an out of town contractor kind of keeps you off the radar back in New York. You don’t have a reputation around here, so it seems you know better than to shit where you eat, right? I mean, you are from Detroit, aren’t you?" "Maybe." "And that’s another thing- you seem to know how to keep your mouth shut. Most of the idiots willing to the pull the trigger for money can’t keep their fucking mouth shut. You can’t trust somebody like that because you know they’ve got a short shelf –life, and odds are, they’re gonna fuck you over when they get caught. So, what I’m saying is I’d rather just stick with you. If it’s about the money, I’m sure we can work something out…" "Not interested." "Look if there’s one thing I know, it’s that it gets easier," Manny seemed to realize how high his voice had risen, and quickly adjusted, leaning in closer. "If it’s your conscience that’s bugging you, let me assure you that everyone of the mooks you took out had it coming…" "That’s not it," Tommy said. "I told you I was only doing this long enough to make a specific amount of money. If you pay me like we agreed, this hit will be my last." "What’s the problem? You owe taxes? Gambling debt? Your wife’s a big spender?" "I’m not married." "Whatever. Look, maybe I can help you out financially, give you an advance…" "Why do you care? Angelo said you had five targets to be taken out," Tommy tapped the photos for emphasis; "After this guy, both of are problems will be solved; why don’t we just leave it at that…" "I’ll tell you why," Manny hissed. "If you stay out on the market, sooner or later, somebody might be paying you to pop me. I know all the other players out there, but of you, I know squat. I’d rather keep you on payroll so I know you won’t come gunning for me. You’re a little too good for my comfort level, and I know I probably won’t see you coming, so I’d rather keep you where I can see you, so to speak." Tommy nodded. He took a long draw off of his coffee, then looked around to be sure of their privacy. "I’ll give you one thing, one bit of information about me, if it makes you feel more comfortable; I need the money to pay alimony. My ex-wife is taking me to the cleaners, and I just want to get her off my back, make some investments, and live my life in piece. When this is done, I swear I’ll never pick up a gun again…" "Maybe, but I sure would feel better if I had some assurance greater than your word," Manny replied. "I guess I’m sort of looking at your bonus as collateral. But I guess we’re both getting a little ahead of ourselves, arent’ we?" "Yeah. I think I should clean my plate before you start pushing the next course on me, or before I start announcing that I’m full, right?" Tommy picked up the photos again, the job that was ‘on his plate’, and the remainder of their meeting was focused on the particulars of the job at hand. As usual, it ended with Manny handing him the ‘up-front’ money, and they parted over the promise of the bonus that would be paid upon completion. ********** Tommy had performed the fifth hit with his usual discretion and expediency, but was not surprised to find the promised funds were not deposited in the ‘safe’ bank account as per their arrangement. Tommy tried calling Manny, always using one of a series of untraceable cellular phones, and demanded to know why their deal had been reneged upon. Manny avoided the subject, and instead tried to get Tommy to agree to a meeting to discuss further business. Eventually, Tommy agreed to meet with him, and arranged a time and place. The time was now, and the place was the diner across the street. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed Manny’s number, then peered through the rifle-scope to watch him answer. "Where you at?" Manny said into his phone. "I got tied up at work; I’m on my way there." "Should I wait?" "Yeah. I really want to discuss this bonus situation," Tommy said. "I should get to you in just a few minutes. You should order some pie. The pie is really good there." "So, you work somewhere nearby, and you’ve had the pie here before," Manny mused, taking another drink of water. "Sounds like I was right; you do live in Detroit." Tommy said nothing. He watched as Manny put the empty water glass down on the table, and imagined he could hear the distinctive sound it would make. He shifted his sights to watch as the waitress who had been hovering near the counter began to approach with the water pitcher. "You’re wrong," he told Manny as he raised the rifle into position; "I don’t live in Detroit; my ex-wife does." "Yeah? What do you do, drop by a lot to see how she’s wasting your money?" "No. As far as she knows, I’ve never set foot in the city..." He watched as the waitress arrived at the table, then focused the gun sight on Manny’s chest. His finger pulled back on the trigger just as the view through the scope filled with the image of the waitress leaning across to fill the water glass. The gunshot rang out, blending in with the sounds of sirens, car horns, and radios turned up so loud, that the few people who acknowledged it at all just peered around curiously, shrugged, and went on their way. In the diner, the waitress had fallen lifeless onto the tabletop, a growing pool of blood enveloping the shards of window glass and blending into the spilled water. Tommy eyed Manny through the scope. A bloody hole punctuated his chest, but he was still breathing, leaning back in the booth seat with an expression of disbelief on his face. Tommy advanced a second bullet into the rifle’s chamber, the insurance of a completed task if the obstructed first bullet had failed to miss it’s mark, but as Manny’s breathing became laboriously slow, Tommy realized a follow up shot would be unnecessary. As a woman’s screams emanated from the diner, stepped back from the edge of the apartment building roof. He dismantled and concealed his gun with practiced precision, and disappeared into the night. The following day, Tommy awoke in his Seattle apartment to the sound of a ringing phone. He found the one of the half dozen he kept on his night-stand that was making the tone, and answered it. "Did you hit Manny Stewart?" It was Angelo. "I might have. He was failing to uphold his end of our deal. Is that a problem?" "Not to me. Personally, I never liked the little shit. But for you, it might be bad for business." "I’m out of the business." Another phone rang. It wasn’t one of the cells, but the regular ‘land line’. "Hang on," he told Angelo, and picked up the other phone. "Is this Harold Thomas?" The voice on the other end asked. "Yes? Can I help you?" "Are you the ex-husband of Natalie Leonard-Thomas?" "Yes, that’s me; what’s the problem..?" "Mr. Thomas, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your ex-wife was killed last night. There was what we’re assuming is some sort of gang related slaying at the diner where she works; she apparently got in the way of the assassination of an out of town crime figure." "Oh, no..." "We called you because nobody seems to know how to get in touch with her family, and she happened to have your number on a check that she had in her wallet at the time. Mr. Thomas, do you have any contact information for your ex-wife’s family?" "Yes; hold on- I’ll get it for you…" He put the phone down and walked to the other side of the room before he put the cell phone back to his ear. "Angelo, I’ve got to go; what did you call me for?" "I thought I’d check and see if you were interested in more work, seeing as how you ain’t never gonna get that bonus from Manny now," Angelo said. "Yeah, well thanks but no thanks," Tommy replied as he located the old address book that had his former in-laws listed in it. "I think I worked it out so I won’t be needing the extra cash anyway," he said, then hung up. As he picked up the other phone and read off the requested information, he could hear his voice cracking with emotion as he thought of his ex-wife. It was an unexpected perk that she had not cashed the last check he’d sent her, and in considering her unplanned last act of generosity towards him, he was almost sorry that he had killed her. It wasn’t a huge sum of money, but he was wise enough to grasp that unexpected bonuses are the ones most worthy of appreciation. |
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| The Bonus mrwrleft@yahoo.com |
#5 of 10 |
| 1653 | |
| After the premier of the Class "B" movie "Ghost in The
Log Cabin" starring Andrea Sulsberg, Jack Nace, the driver of her limousine,
took her to the fashionable night club "Foggi'e Notion" for a celebration.
While waiting in the car till the party ended, Jack dozed off. A year before Jack had retired from the Navy and decided it was time to go to LA to pursue his life-long dream of becoming a stunt man. So far, though, the closest he’d gotten to his dream was this position as a driver for a moderately-known actress. At three-fifteen A.M. his cell phone rang and she told him to wait for her at the door. Jack stepped out, locked the car and walked toward the entrance. As he stopped at the door, a security guard gave Jack a measuring look. Although the guard was a burly-looking fellow, Jack wasn't at all intimidated - he was built in a way that the security guard position could very well be his. The door opened and Andrea grabbed Jack’s hand. "Oh… here you are." Andrea held herself upright, but by the way she leaned on him Jack gathered that, even for her accustomed-to-drinking brain, the dose she had taken this time was way too much. This time instead of his customary opening the door and offereng his hand, he had to hold her underneath her armpits while seating and then rotate her and arrange her legs. "Do you think," she gave Jack the name of a famous young actress and inviting him into a conversation, "she's beautiful?" "Not as beautiful as you are, M’am." Jack answered with customary politeness, looking around the intersection before making a left turn. The limo swam through the warm night, surfing on smooth shock absorbers. " ‘Not as beautiful,’ mi amigo, still assumes the presence of beauty. While in my opinion she's not beautiful at all. Wouldn't you agree?" "Some people find her beautiful." "I am not interested in other people's opinions, Jack. Light it for me would you?" Andrea stretched her hand with a cigarette in between the seats and, after Jack flicked the lighter, took a deep drag. "Don't try to shift the topic. This might work with some bimbo; not with me. Do you think I am a bimbo?" "No M’am." "So tell me your honest opinion, don't be afraid." She waved her hand with the cigarette in a gesture wide and theatrical. "Is she beautiful or not?" Her questioning was interrupted by the insistent siren of an ambulance. Jack stopped the car and waited until the ambulance passed. "No M’am." he swallowed a sigh – deep down inside he found the actress that Andrea was inviting him to comment on perfectly beautiful. And to him, this interrogation – with the rebuttal of obvious fact – seemed useless, like an empty lot surrounded by barbed wire. "They all are jealous of me," she continued, "this swarm of brainless, no talent bimbos." Andrea relaxed on the warm, soft leather seat, dropped her guard and, gradually, her conversation lost consistency, start jumping from one subject to another. She often stopped her thought in the middle only to start another one, the connection to the previous one lost somewhere in her intoxicated brain. "…but not today. Today was my day. Mine! They all came and sucked the grease off my shoes. These," Andrea lifted her legs up in the air and shook them, "See?" Jack turned around quickly and smiled. It was a good pair of legs, indeed. "And it doesn’t matter whether I played this stupid role in the log cabin, or I played Ophelia, or Juliet, or Wonder Woman – I’d still be better than them. Bunch of stupid, brainless freaks. All of them! The whole of Hollywood!" Jack saw her making a wide gesture, "YOU could've played better than them." There was a short pause as if Andrea not completely lost her train of thought, but changed cars. "You know what I had to go through to get here? Hell! Fucking Hell. Through all those greasy, horny bunches of pricks!" She opened the window and screamed into the night. "You’re all a bunch of priiiiicks!" *** From this point on Andrea kept on screaming profanities periodically out the window all the way till the car approached her mansion and stopped. "We are home, Miss Sulsberg. Would you like me to walk you to your door?" "You want to call it a night, huh?" her question contained a hidden answer, like a false-bottomed suitcase contains cocaine. Jack looked at her inquisitively, waiting for instructions. "No, I don't think this night is over just yet," she continued. "I think something is missing." These words she said in a softer, dreamier tone of voice. "Come over here, Jack." She tapped on the leather. "Sit right by me." Jack came out of the driver seat, opened the passenger door, and sat by Andrea. "Let me look at you. Nice and firm" she giggled while her hand slid down from his shoulder and squeezed his right bicep. "What about here?" her hand went down his body and into his pants. Jack instantly reacted. "Oh my God," she muttered to herself, "You are as big as a tree stump. You are not Jack! You are ‘LUMBER-jack!’ " she added with playful affection. "Open the sun roof." "M’am?" "Open it!" As Jack was pressing the button to open the sun roof, she impatiently prepared herself for what was about to happen. "Here, put this on," but almost instantly changed her mind. "No wait. Better use these. They'll suit you better." Jack complied. As she lowered herself down on him the first time, her eyes and mouth opened wide in an expression of perplexity, as if she saw a live serpent. When Jack tried to offer his support to prevent her from sinking too low, too fast, she almost snapped. "Take your hands off, I’ll control it myself." She grabbed the edges of the sun roof, established herself, and went to work. As she was at the pinnacle of her movement, a strip of light from the street lantern fell on her neck and Jack noticed two little white scars behind her ears. ‘Strange I never noticed them before. She must have had a recent plastic surgery.’ When she slid down as far as she could, in the resulting sun roof opening, within a remote constellation, Jack noticed a bright star. *** ‘She said I was as big as a tree stump,’ Jack recollected, lying in bed at his apartment, looking at the ceiling. To him the whole situation seemed like an unexpected opportunity, the opening in the fence line revealing the cut grass of the golf field. A dreamy smile rolled around his lips. ‘I am not a tree stump, of course, but packing some good equipment, nonetheless.’ Jack crossed his hands behind his head and his smile became more pronounced. He thought that now, after what happened between them, he’d become Andrea’s lover. At first it’d be a big secret. It’d be her escape, her fantasy, her ‘kink.’ He’d become this fantasy, her big, strong, "lumberjack." Why not - if that’s what she wanted. But, after a while, she’d grow dependent on him – she’d want him every night. She’d eventually get tired of doing it in the car and she’d invite him into the mansion. They’d do it in her bed and in the Jacuzzi and on the kitchen table. Hell, wherever she wanted it. Then she’d like to have breakfast together and they’d have lots of fun doing… whatever the hell rich folks do. Play polo and go to parties. ‘I’ll help her study her roles. I’ll become a familiar face on all her movie sets. I’ll become noticed, myself.’ *** The next day, getting ready for work, Jack gave special attention to the details of his attire. Taciturn by nature, he’d always let them speak that mood. He even put on cuff links made of jasper – the most expensive accessory in his wardrobe. As Jack met Andrea, he gave her a tacit smile. She responded with a smile of her own, but a forced one, stretched thin on top of the iceberg of a frown. All the way to the studio neither were able to find words. Several times she seemed to want to say something, but faltered. Only before stepping out of the car inside the studio lot, she coughed, clearing her throat, and started rather dry, as if she was handling a task, unpleasant but necessary, like putting the trash containers out on a Friday morning street. "Ok, Jack. I think I owe you an explanation. You are my driver and I am pretty happy with your performance. You are always freshly shaved, appropriately dressed, and use nice cologne. And you are a good, solid... " she giggled nervously searching for a word, "...’performer.’ I should give you that." "Having said that..." she opened her purse, pulled her lipstick, touched up her lips and rolled them two times to distribute the lipstick evenly. This movement, enforced with the successive look in the mirror, gave her a burst of confidence and she continued in a calmer tone. "Having said that, I’d like you to see what happened last night in the proper light. I am a move star... and you are a driver. Am I being perfectly clear?" she smiled with almost maternal kindness. "What happened," she added to the utmost clarity, "was not a benefit of your job, but a one time bonus. You understand?" "Ok," she added after a pause, "maybe an occasional bonus." And she giggled amicably. *** On his way home that evening Jack stopped at a nearby bar, boozed himself up and got in a fight. As he walked home, bruised and black-eyed, that star from the remote constellation looked down at him, steady and cold. |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club