Touch me. Touch me like you didn't touch me last night.

FIVE MINUTE ART PROJECT!

I started this over on my Book of Faces, but it applies here, too.

1) GO GRAB NEAREST PAPER AND WRITING IMPLEMENT.
2) TAKE LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES AND DRAW THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND.
3) POST IN COMMENTS.

ALLEZ CUISINE!!!

Fifteen minute fiction, no re-read, no edits:

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    Oddly, her first thought was not “Why does he have a gun?” or even “My God, somebody is shooting at us!” No, as she lay sprawled across the warm pavement where he had pushed her, her first thought was this:
    “I thought drive-bys only happened in the movies—or rap music.”
    By the time she had collected her thoughts, her date had already fired two shots, one hitting each of the front wheels of the Mustang as it sped down the street. Spinning rubber careened through the air, ferociously hitting cars and pedestrians. The car, distressed by its sudden lack of wheels, spun in place, eventually coming to a rest pointing the way it had come.
    Lisa tried to speak, but was again interrupted as all four doors of the battered vehicle opened at once, and her date, squinting a bit, laid all four of the gunman out.
    All at once they were surrounded by a group of men in immaculate suits and horrible ties, all swinging their handguns wildly around in the air, as if another attack could come from anywhere: the street, the buildings around them, or even the sky above.
    As they chattered at each other in Italian, Pete knelt down and held his hand out to a visibly shaken Lisa.
    “Here, let me help you up.”
    “Wait. The mafia only does this in movies.”
    “Well, I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never met the mafia before.”
    “Then why did you—”
    “Instinct, I’m terribly ashamed to say. In my defense, I did tell you that I spent six years in the military.”
    “You didn’t mention that you killed people.”
    “Well, the army does that sometimes.”
    “No, in real life, you ass!” she said, batting away his hand and standing up on her own. She tried to dust off her skirt before realizing it had actually been scraped from black to a dark gray.
    For the third time in three minutes she was interrupted, this time as the Italians spread a pathway, and a portly man with a gin-blossomed nose and the biggest lips she’d ever seen in her life made his way towards them.
    “I cannot thank you enough! My men, they shoulda seen that coming,” he laughed, smacking one good-naturedly on the back of his head. “But thank the Virgin Mary you were here to save my life! You want a job, you got it! Anything you want. Here, take something for your troubles,” he said as he pulled a wad of hundreds from his pants pocket.
    “No, really, we just—”
    “I won’t take no for an answer, mister…”
    “Jones,” Lisa heard him lie, “Anthony Jones.”
    “Well, Mr. Jones, as I said, I never takes no for an answer, so lets get outta here and get you two lovebirds something to eat. You like Chinese? I love it, but for some reason the boys and the bosses all think we all gotta eat goddamned lasagna and meatballs and drink Chianti all the time. Me, I want some egg rolls and General Tso’s chicken, so let’s get going. I know a nice place about ten blocks from here that hand-makes every skin and filling of their crab rangoons, and they got some rice wine that’ll make you forget you ever drinked anything else. Jerry, take the lady’s coat, I want it dry-cleaned by the time we get back from dinner. Lil’ Tim, you take the man’s gun, file off the serial numbers, fuck up the rifling and drop it in the river. Goldie, the fuck are you still standing here for, why haven’t you brought the car around, what, I don’t pay you enough?”
    Lisa and Peter were both astonished at how much the man had said, without pause, and seemingly without taking a breath. As the only blond man walked to the only extra-long Benz on the block, Lisa took Peter’s hand without thinking. Or maybe he took hers; it was hard to tell in the heat of the moment.
    “You kids look shook up. I’m sorry, this must be a lot to take in. Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine. That was nice shooting, Mr. Jones, and you ain’t gonna get in no trouble for it. I know I come across like a pretty imposing figure, but all I wanna do is take you two for some nice food, give you a little spending money, and consider our debt settled.”
    When the Benz rolled up, three men fought for the privilege of opening the door for their boss. He started to get in, then turned around and looked at Lisa and Peter, the jovial expression gone from his face.
    “Don’t worry, after tonight, we ain’t never gonna see each other again, we ain’t never gonna talk to each other again, and we ain’t never gonna acknowledge a damn thing that happened here tonight. I don’t like to know men that shoot that well if they aren’t working for me, and I don’t think you wanna move in the same social circles as me, ‘Mr. Jones’,” he said knowingly.
    “Now c’mon," he said, the smile returning, "I want some fried rice, and I’m curious if Jerry can actually hustle somebody into cleaning the young lady’s coat by the time we’re done eating.”
    As he door closed behind him, the remaining Scarface extras turned and looked at Peter. They shrugged their shoulders at him, as if to say “The fuck do we know, man?” before opening another door for Lisa.
    To their credit, none of them looked at her legs as she got in.

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benjamin