Christmas Eve Blow
and Doll Houses
by Luke Walters
Talk about lucky.
It’s Christmas Eve. I’m outta blow, and
next to my car outside of Speedy’s Check Cashing is a wallet—a glittery, teal
one with an embossed black "M." Inside, there’s six hundred bucks, a
driver’s license for some Mex named Maria, and a Christmas list. Mostly toys
and shit on the list, only two things crossed off. Boy, is she fucked.
I pocket the
cash and toss the wallet onto my passenger
Party time. I
drive to Hollywood Boulevard and wave Alicia
over. For the season, she’s wearing a green bra with red edging around the
cups, and sparkly high heels that make her red spandex-covered ass stick out a
for some action?" I ask.
me her not-you-again look. "Need somebody
who got lots-a jack," she says. "Still got presents to buy."
I show her my wad.
"Hop in," I say. She groans and gives me a nod.
"You still owe
me from last time," she grumbles,
as she slides inside. "I want it up front."
I grin. "Me,
I stop around
the corner and count off a few twenties. She
stuffs them in her bra. As I do her in the front seat, she pulls the teal
wallet from under her butt, and I tell her about the Christmas list.
She says, "You’re
a real jack wad. You should give the
money back. That is, except what you paid me."
"Yeah, sure thing,"
I say, as I finish.
"Gimme a ride
to Walmart," she says.
"Do I look like
a fucking taxi? Get out and
Alicia gives me the
finger, as I pull away.
not standing at his usual corner. I find him
hanging with his bros on his back porch in the alley behind his house—Christmas
music’s playing from inside.
I yell to him
from my car. "Give me some of your good
He rubs his thumb
against his index finger. "Dinero, hombre."
I fan some twenties,
and his gold teeth flash me a smile.
to my car and lifts his shirt and yanks out
some bags. Before he hands me the stuff, he grabs my wrist and calls out to his
buddies. He’s staring at the wallet Alicia put on the dash. "That’s my
sister’s. What you doing with it?"
I bite his hand.
As he lets go, I hit the gas.
His friends chase
after me. I lose them, but I’m fucked.
He’ll hurt me for sure, and I won’t be able to buy shit. Nothing left to do.
Later, I go back.
With Enrique at my driver’s side door and
his pals around my car, I tell him, "I got everything on your sister’s
list. Except for the Little Princess Doll House. None were left anywhere. I got
the Sweet Angel one, instead. We okay? You think?"
Radwanski, aka Luke Walters, resides in Arizona. His flash fiction has appeared
in Yellow Mama, Mash Stories, Post Card
Shorts, and in Envision -
Future Fiction, an
anthology by Kathy Steinemann on Amazon.
well known that an artist becomes more popular by dying, so our pal Steve Cartwright
is typing his
bio with one hand while pummeling his head with a frozen mackerel with the other.
Stop, Steve! Death by mackerel is no way to go! He (Steve, not the mackerel) has
a collection of spooky toons, Suddenly Halloween!, available at Amazon.com. He's done art for several magazines, newspapers,
websites, commercial and governmental clients, books, and scribbling - but mostly
drooling - on tavern napkins. He also creates art pro bono for several animal
rescue groups. He was awarded the 2004 James Award for his cover art for Champagne
Shivers. He recently illustrated the Cimarron Review, Stories for Children, and
Still Crazy magazine covers. Take a gander ( or a goose ) at his online gallery:
www.angelfire.com/sc2/cartoonsbycartwright . And please hurry
with your response - that mackerel's killin' your pal, Steve Cartwright.