Wednesday's Three Word Wednesday

The words over at Three Word Wednesday are frantic, lurch and odor.

Sisterhood

The taxi lurches to a halt in front of the Excelsior and from it unfolds three Sisters from the eastside, biggest motherfucking trannies you ever saw. One’s carrying a length of lead pipe and a knock-off Gucci clutch for lipstick and rubbers.
This may be the ass-end of the city, where steamy piles of trash smolder with rot and the downcast follow cracks in the concrete with their eyes, but God bless the Sisters.
Nothing escapes their network. One distress call from a mobile cut short by hard slaps and screams and they’re on the case.
Working girls arrive at the Excelsior on wobbly fuck-me pumps, black stiletto thigh-high boots, shared taxis. They enter single file, slowly fill the lobby in orderly rows. Many won’t even get within a whiff of the action, but in numbers lie their strength.
Nobody fucks with the Sisters.
They’re up on three and they’ve paid for the room for the entire evening. They’ve also paid off the night clerk, sent him off with a five crisp $20s and instructions to eat a long, slow breakfast.
They were going to be busy. For hours.
He’s got the smell of shit and piss about him, his bowls long since vacated. But it’s the odor of fear that wrinkles the nose.
Both eyes are puffy from the beatings. They’ve got him on his knees, his arms held behind him with a length of barbed wire. Where in the fuck did they get that?
They’ve stripped him down to his expensive boxer briefs. Fresh blood runs from his nose, across his lips, where frantic breaths and spittle turn the gore into pinkish bubbles.
He’s long since tried to reason his way out of this one. Cash wasn’t going to solve the problem, either.
He’s a future missing persons report.
The crowd parts and the Sister who was wronged enters the gloom set off by the crowd, the single bare bulb. They’ve already staunched the blood, tended to her wounds, sewed up the ragged flesh where he’d bit her.
She puts a hand under his chin, raises his face to hers.
He begins to gag.
She asks if he believes in God. He says nothing above a whimper.
She removes the .45 from his mouth.
“God,” she says. “Do you believe?”

28 comments:

anthonynorth said...

I do NOT want to meet them! Excellent, dark and edgy.

Tim Remp said...

Hell has no fury like a woman scorned...

Dark and edgy I agree!

Crystal Phares said...

I love this! Amazingly dark, and wonderfully written.

peggy said...

I cringed. You do have a latent dark side, Thom.

Entertaining, even though it turned my stomach a bit.

madeline d. murray said...

This is riveting, pitch-perfect, a wholly satisfying read. My grumpy mood is officially over. Thank you.

Julie Jordan Scott said...

Wow. Why is that song about what goes around comes around playing in my mind? Shivers. This one was dark and great....

Crybbe666 said...

Thom, you create such a great atmosphere in this piece. The pace is excellent and the finale is a great rush!! Loved it.

Daily Panic said...

I love slumming with you! Trannies, blood, guns, victims, heroes... thanks for taking me along!
I should get out more!

Stan Ski said...

Great piece - and I don't mean the .45...

Sweetest in the Gale said...

Intense and oh, so gritty...you captured the mood perfectly.

April Lindfors said...

Wow, I agree - definitely dark and riveting. Your writing always draws me right in. Nice work.

Invitation to Flight

Ann (bunnygirl) said...

Wow. Disturbing and pitch-perfect.

Life without Clots said...

Whoa...an inspiration from your new loft?

Jay Thurston said...

Captures the rawness of "the ass-end of the city" perfectly. Great descriptions of wardrobes and appearances. Left me wanting to read on.

jimdempsey said...

I liked this a lot. I'm reading Will Beall's LA Rex at the moment and this just fits in with that similar frame of mind - and that's a big compliment. Favourite line was : 'the downcast follow cracks in the concrete with their eyes'. Great stuff

Tumblewords: said...

Strong imagery - dark and gritty. A great reminder to stay away from the 'ass-end' of the city, any city.

Tony Noland said...

You stupid bastard, did you think that "transvestite" = "helpless/friendless"?

Hal Johnson said...

Sheesh, I should have worn a jacket when I read this, cuz it gave me chills. Dark indeed, but what a story.

Linda said...

Dark and edgy... but I thought believers were nice? Peace, Linda

Marisa Birns said...

Gritty, visceral, dark. And very good!

Karma is a bitch...

elizabethditty said...

Wow, very dark, but also very compelling. Very nice work.

Dee Martin said...

The gun looked familiar - oh, right. It's the one that used to be stashed under the Victoria Secrets in his wife's lingerie drawer...

This is great Thom - loved it!

livloveslit said...

Oh! I love trannies! They're so loyal to each other and more fun to hang out with than anyone I've ever met. Except in this case. Your story is very intense and made me cringe a few times. Well written. ~ Olivia

Andy Sewina said...

Phew, I thought she was gunna shoot!

shannon said...

Bad ass trannies meet #fridayflash! lol, you do dark and gritty surprisingly well. What else do you have up your sleeve? :-)

CJ Hodges MacFarlane said...

Stories of vigilante whores always ALWAYS make me wonder why pimps exist. Great job.

gautami tripathy said...

You had me sitting on the edge!

Here is my 3WW post!

Cathy Olliffe said...

Only a newspaper reporter could write this bad and this GOOD. Talk about attitude, this piece sings with it. Very cool.