"BOARDROOM MASSACRE" ~ By Darren Sant ... *The Shadows of Our Noir*

"Hey noir lovely lady,
Thought your audiences may dig this . . ."
~ Daz

"Hey nifty Brit guy,

Howzabout a Boardroom Massacre

instead of a Valentine's Day one?"

~ Absolutely*Kate . . . 

"And . . . So it goes . . . "
 ~ vital Vonnegut,
 (not playin' AT THE BIJOU, but he woulda dug our vibes)

   Dig Daz's ~

( It's time! )  

  

B O A R D R O O M   M A S S A C R E

By ~ Darren Sant

Vinny sang along cheerfully to Hotel California as he rammed the clip home. He secured the stock to the barrel with an air of almost gleeful indifference. His little radio belting out one rock classic after another as he casually constructed the powerful killing machine with a practised ease borne of experience.

* * * 

Neil tried with an almost Zen like concentration not to drum his fingers on the desk. Two hours of this drivel he'd had to listen to so far. Two whole soul destroying FUCKING hours. Thank god it's only once every six weeks he thought grimly. Three more speakers then it would be his turn to give his sales presentation. He looked despairingly at his watch and tried to stifle a yawn. 

* * * 

Vinny admired his handy work. Fairly quick assembly but he'd managed it quicker in the army. The L96 smelled pleasantly of gun oil and to Vinny it was a work of art, a thing of beauty. They could keep their bloody Rembrant’s this weapon was a sleek, well honed masterpiece. 

* * * 

Time slowed, as it always does when one is bored. 

The hands of the clock above the projector moved at glacier like pace. Neil’s mind wandered aimlessly and he could not help but stifle a grin as he thought of last night. 

 Sofia had been at the sink washing the dishes. Her blond hair bobbing up and down as she nodded along to her favourite CD, some ghastly album by George Michael. 

Neil had crept up on tiptoes behind her and cupped her firm breasts. She'd complained at first as his lips caressed and then his teeth had bitten the soft skin of her neck. His hand roamed and deftly undid her skirt, sliding down the zip at the back with one fluid motion. He nipped her neck as he ripped off her blouse roughly. She'd raised her voice sharply at this point, angry. She realised that he was naked and standing intimately closely behind her. The complaints trailed off as he unclasped her bra and threw it casually across the room. His soft hands now kneading her breasts, deft fingers sliding around her pink areolas and pinching the nipples gently. She gasped a little, all sense of complaint gone now. He knelt down behind her and slid down her panties, already smelling the heady musk of her arousal. His heart beat hard in his excited chest. 

* * * 

Vinny sang along now to the Beach Boys as he attached and set up the telescopic sight with all the care of a master jeweller examining a precious ring. He squinted as he sighted down the room, oh yes he was feeling those good vibrations. He adjusted the elevation minutely. He fiddled briefly with the focus and magnification until he was satisfied. He strolled to the window and opened it up just a crack, just enough for a rifle muzzle. He drew the curtains closed and kneeled on his kneepad. He flicked off the safety and began the long wait. Black Sabbath’s Paranoid pounded from the radio and Vinny’s smile left his face for the first time that afternoon as he thought grimly of the task ahead.

* * * 

Neil hardened now as he thought of her. Such a beautifully sexy and curvaceous woman. Her sparkling green eyes and flawless alabaster skin drove him wild. Damn they better not call me next or I'll have to hop to the whiteboard he thought ruefully. They couldn’t continue on like this though. She had to go through with it like they’d planned. You couldn’t sneak around forever it was good for no one. 

He heard his name called. He fixed his best fake smile, and walked over to the whiteboard. Knock 'em dead massacre them his ego told him. A sudden movement caught his eye as he passed the window . . . 

* * * 

Vinny’s target finally loomed large in his scope. He took aim and slowly, carefully and with endless patience squeezed the trigger. The light pressure took an aeon to move the trigger and time stopped then exploded back into life as the rifle kicked hard at his shoulder.

* * * 

With a crash like the end of days to the startled Neil a pigeon slammed hard into the window and he leapt back startled colliding with the seated form of Randall the managing director who in turn spilled his coffee all over his notes. Neil’s false swagger evaporated like water in the desert. 

* * * 

FOOTNOTES TO A CRIME

In the street below an attractive blond woman in red high heels and an expensive raincoat crumpled suddenly to the ground. A crimson pool slowly spreading out around her.

Vinny whispered tenderly "Why Sofia?"

© 2012 ~  Author Darren Sant

Images:  L96 site / Aqua Terra wrist shot ~ the Omega Forum
and Christian Louboutin Decollete red pumps

THEY CALL HIM "DAZ"

More Sant?    

Right here:

The Darren Sant ever-evolving spiritual home for prolific writings ~ a timeline of teeming talent ticking  

SANTS RANTS ~  Book Reviews & News

OLD SETH voice o'choice  ~ @ CLOSE TO THE  BONE

New fiction to lucky readers ~ @ NEAR TO THE KNUCKLE

Poet ... Renegade rockin' writer ... to gritty urban industrial-strength Radgepacket series contributor, Darren Sant, the DAZ-man, rocks words online and where ebooks are sold. Rockin' on, his career's now on a roll. All along the way, readership, regards for fellow authors and a heart of gold (to which I attribute his niche-name of a nickname) garner greater lustre.

I dove into a delve, or delved in as I dove, to learn more of this lustre. Daz's ready shine illuminated my investigation. There was no bluster ~

*** The guy simply, thus strongly, has a doggone deep appreciation for the PEOPLE in his LIFE:

DAZ: Not long after I met my wife she paid for a collection of my poems to be bound in a booklet. That was the most personal amazing present I have ever received. 

*** He gives from depth, Daz does,
to the heart of what REALLY matters:

DAZ: My brother died in September. I don't wish to be maudlin but I feel the best present I can give is for me to scatter his ashes on the football ground we used to go to. I will be doing this early 2012. I feel this is the best present I will ever be able to give.

*** My heart hugged his. Empathy emanated intuition. Darren shared how he would like to be remembered as an evolving author:

 DAZ: "He was sincere and he made us laugh. A bit."

*** The fellow's sincere alright. And he has that ubitquious attitude of gratitude. You can see it. (And we have an ocean between us and his Hull, UK):

DAZ:  I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I will be eternally grateful for the people who have given me a chance and published me. Including you Dearheart Kate.

*** I love it when Daz calls me "Dearheart" ... more so on Valentine's Day. So I pursued the spurt of Higher Energy I sensed around the guy. I asked him about the premise of the promise we both hold dear ~ authors taking authors the higher ... and his recent development taking up a slice of facebook real estate: The WRITING' SUPPORT NETWORK? The whys of his wise . . .

DAZ:  I have answers. Sadly not the answers to Life's great mystery or even to where all the pens disappear to. However, I have answers that I'm hoping you will find fine and dandy! It’s quite simple Dearheart. I felt so much love and support out there from my fellow writers that I wanted to focus it. Social media gives all of us the chance to have our voice. The group is my way of trying to focus and amplify that voice in a pleasant and supportive environment. 

*** Ahhh, been there, done that, dig that. With teeming talents and all the skies in no-limit mode, I gleaned the  best sainted Sant approach for hitting the worlds he desired destiny to reach:

DAZ: Like so very many writers I am an avid reader. I’m a peculiar guy with a wide range of eclectic tastes. However, when writing I keep one thing in mind and only one - that I want to entertain. Some of my stories come out quite dark. Other stories have quite a bit of observational humour in them. Sometimes it’s morality that comes to the fore. To be honest Dearheart I can no more control what comes out of my balding head than I could lasso the sun. I care not a jot, so long as I entertain. To cause a smile or a tear leaves me tickled pinker than a lobster after a warm bath. 

***Opportunity knocked. I pulled out my Valentine. But I left the radio on when we left each other to enjoy  respective words across our mere ponds. The background when Daz writes? Silence? Music? Which tunes, if tunes? Does he keyboard or scrawl? Backs of napkins or a trusty notebook when story ideas assail his noggin? I surmised inquiring minds would wish to know nuggets of notarized notoriety:

DAZ:  You're right. I Love your Cowboy Valentine. You make guys like me BELIEVE they can lasso the sun. Now when I write, it's rarely in silence but sometimes, when I’m particularly focused. I gotta have the vibe of lively tunes in the background. Sometimes blues or indie or rock. Sometimes haunting tunes. As for how I write it’s generally with a basic idea, a few notes or lines and then I let rip and let it come out organically. Once the first draft is done I leave it alone for a few days before the real work of editing begins.

Thank you Kate, absolutely.

You and AT THE BIJOU make me smile.

You have such a sparkling way about. 

Thanks for being you my dear.

 ~ Dazzlin' Daz

xxx

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, believing
in believers ... off the starboard

Ah Daz. The world's sure a far better place, even under all its shadows, with you writing round it, stirring up your welcome cheer. Grace o'my thanks and you keep writing over the blues and lassoing the sun.  

                                                           ~ Absolutely*Kate 

*AT THE BIJOU*

Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR

   LINK serves delicious INFLUENCES of ~

                OUR NOIR AUTHORS' "JUST DESSERTS" ~

   LINKS TO OUR NOIR SO FAR ~

  

Kevin Michaels ... Graham Smith ... Julie Morrigan 

  

Chris Rat-a-Tat Rhatigan ... Joe Grant ... AJ Hayes

 Absolutely*Kate co-noveling with AJ Hayes

Paul Bishop ... Anthony Venutolo ... Eric Beetner 

Matt Hilton . . .  Jeanette Cheezum ... Nigel Bird 

 Zelda Martin . . . The GRIMM TALES Gang ...

Ian Ayris . . . Steve Miscandlon ... Helen Howell   

Sal Buttaci  . . .  Kevin j Mackey . . .  Christina Vincent

Cover Up & Content (Noir e'publishing)

 . . . and Absolutely*Kate so far . . . . 

   NOIRTORIOUS COMING ATTRACTIONS ~ 

                          Every-other-day or so, cold crimes . . . THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR

Paul Brazill ... Leon Jackson Davenport

BR Stateham ... Fiona Johnson ... Jack Bates 

Luca Veste, on the record OFF THE RECORD

 Julian Bramwell Slater ... 

Charlie Wade ... David Barber

Lily Childs ... Walter Conley

Carrie Clevenger ... Daniel Stine  ...  

Thomas Pluck and the Lost Children benefit show

New Year's new NOIR-Publisher BLASTED HEATH

editor John Kenyon, publisher of GRIFT magazine

tempting telling tales of GRIMM TALES' fairytale crime-spree

Rex Pickett picks a surprise ... 

plus . . . return of our pally, the great Randisi ... 

AT THE BIJOU'S Harry B Sanderford ... Matthew Magda ...  

intermittent intermissions by masters of the ceremonious ~ 

Kevin MadDog Michaels and Absolutely*Kate ... 

Why ~ Who knows who's getting into the act? . . . 

RAYMOND CHANDLER may be channeled! 

  

ABSOLUTELY*KATE, BOGEY & PALLY PRODUCTIONS

THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR ~ AT THE BIJOU

AFTERNOON AT THE MAJESTIC ~ Irish Author Kevin J. Mackey debuts AT THE BIJOU

AFTERNOON 

AT THE MAJESTIC

 ~ By Kevin J Mackey, 

debuting AT THE BIJOU!

The quiet of the room was disturbed only by the beep-beep of a heart monitor. The breathing of the woman in the bed barely disturbed the air.

Roy sat on a chair off to her right. In the dim light of the room, he allowed his eyes to darken her white hair to its youthful black, the parchment-thin skin of her face to become smooth with the blush of youth.

He reached out and touched her hand, thin, frail, locked half-closed with age. 

Her eyes opened, looked around for his, and Miriam spoke.

"Still here, Roy?" Her voice was so quiet he had trouble hearing her. 

He leaned in towards her and shrugged.

"I'm going nowhere." 

Miriam smiled for a moment, and then her face twisted in pain. Roy almost stood, but she raised her hand to stop him.

"It's nothing," she said. "Nothing." She looked at him, searching his face. "I did love my husband, Roy. He knew that, didn't he?" 

Roy closed his hand over hers, squeezing gently. He nodded. "He knew, Miriam," he said. "He knew." Roy fell silent.

"But you, Roy," Miriam said, "you never married." 

Roy said nothing, just shook his head. He hadn't married, but his best friend had. He'd married Miriam. 

"Roy? Why? Why didn't you say... Why didn't..." 

Roy looked at her, his face creased with decades-old regret. 

"I was afraid, Miriam," he said after a while. "Young, stupid, and afraid." 

Miriam shook her head. "Never stupid, Roy. Never stupid." She paused a long moment, her breathing shallow, and then said, "I knew how you felt. I felt the same. But I couldn't...you know..." 

Roy nodded his head, patting her hand gently. He looked at her. "If you could, Miriam," he said, "if we could...would you have?" 

Her smile was all the answer he needed. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a movie ticket. He held it up, old, yellowed, as out of date in the modern hospital as any sixty year old movie ticket would be. 

"I don't understand," Miriam said as he pressed the ticket into her hand. 

"Shh," Roy said and he stood. "You don't need to. Come. I'll be waiting." 

 

Roy leaned against the wall near the entrance to the Majestic Theater. The long rays of the afternoon sun were in his eyes and he almost missed seeing Miriam, arm linked with her friend Elaine, coming along the sidewalk towards him. 

He stood, straightening his tie, wishing he'd opted for the open necked shirts he saw other young men wearing as they escorted their dates into the movie theater. 

"Hello Roy," Elaine said as the two reached him. She looked over at Miriam, an eyebrow arched. 

Miriam smiled. "You go in, Elaine. I know Jack is waiting for you." She gently pushed the other girl. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

Elaine nodded, looked critically at Roy, and flashed a grin at Miriam before sauntering into the theater. 

Roy stood a moment, looking at Miriam. Her black hair was swept off her brow above her dark eyes. The line of her nose led him to her lips, cherry red and slightly parted. Her summer dress hid nothing of her neck and he gazed at the pulse beat in her throat. It was fast. 

"Shall we?" they both said as one, and laughed. The ice was broken. 

The attendant took their tickets and they made their way into the cool dark of the theater. Roy had no idea what was playing on the screen. He was only aware of his hand, clasped gently in Miriam's, resting in her lap. Her head lay on his shoulder and the air was filled with the light fragrance of her skin. 

They blinked once they were again outside. It was evening, but not yet late. 

He was tongue-tied, but managed to ask her if she would like a malted. His heart leapt when she said she would. 

Sitting together, sharing one, he was more content than he ever remembered being. 

Miriam looked at him, smiling. "I don't know how you made this possible, Roy." 

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Is this how you would have wanted it?" 

For answer, Miriam placed her hand on his, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "It's perfect," she said. 

Later they walked, hand-in-hand, to the home she'd grown up in. They stood outside her gate a long while, talking some, smiling a lot, being with one another. 

"I guess I need to be going," Miriam said at last. 

Roy nodded, hesitated for an instant, and then swept her into his arms. The kiss held a lifetime of longing and, after, they continued to hold one another. 

Roy's face flushed with embarrassment as his body reacted. He moved to break the embrace but Miriam laughed and pressed herself against him.

"Roy," she said, "I birthed five babies. I know how these things work." 

Roy laughed gently. "I'm sorry, Miriam. I was always so timid." 

"Shh," she said. "You gave me this day. I will treasure it always." 

Roy nodded and released her. She stepped away, making her way to the door of her home. He watched a little longer and turned away and sat down on the hospital room chair once again. 

"Was it worth it?" a woman, bearing a distinct resemblance to Elaine, asked. 

Roy looked over at Miriam, who lay motionless in her bed, and nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it was." 

"Good," said the Elaine-like woman, and took him by the arm. Roy flinched as her fingers burned his flesh, her claws piercing his skin. 

"Come with me," she said. "Payment is due." 

Roy stood and the two of them left the hospital room. 

Later, a nurse, responding to the heart monitor alarm, was surprised to find her patient's visitor slumped in his chair. 

She shook her head sadly. He had visited her every day. They'd seemed to know one another well. Maybe it was fitting they should both die on the same day.
 

(c) 2011 ~ Author Kevin J Mackey
Valentine's Debut ~ AT THE BIJOU

Photo Credits:  

The Majestic Theatre ala Kimburlee

Miriam at the hospital ala Alfinat0r

KEVIN J MACKEY, the ubitquious KjM we see flashin' finesse come Fridays in Fiction'towne? Yep, that's the one true only. This Irish fellow charms with a gentle suave to his soft sensibilities that sneaks up on you until your grinnn has overextended your face and the smile stays inside . . . why sometimes, for hours. He's lyrical, he's a researcher of the right word or sensation to evoke the right moment. Aye, he's blessed by the wee leprechauns even in the San Francisco Bay area for at times this transplanted Irish man's poetry or his Shakespeare grows right up through a deft brushstroke of a short story or a lilting prose, and you know, you just know you wish to linger your drinkin' it in, just a bit longer.
  

Absolutely*Kate:  So Kevin, what's the story with your stories @ KjM - on the web? Rumour has it you really REALLY like to write -- 

Kevin J Mackey:  I'm glad you asked that question Kate, though your blarney has a bit o'the Kathleen to its sheen too. I wanna write, gotta write - writing keeps me awake. That's as much as one can ask.
  

Absolutely*Kate:  Glad we are to stay up late with what you then offer Mr Mackey. You've been sighted trying out different red velvet seats at a proliferation of our AT THE BIJOU shows recently. Sure trust you're going to be a regular and we see you keeping us in a bit of awe regularly up on the stage.

And Kevin just smiled. 

Ah, but the twinkle in his eye. 

Twasbeautiful to behold.

 Keep munching your popcorn,
holding hands and smoochin'

and enjoying theRomance.

CHARLIE + MABEL follows

and . . . come a tomorrow near you,

AT THE BIJOU's stellar authors

have some heartwarmers 
to cuddle up with . . .

WATCH FOR MORE STUNNING

*THEATRICAL PERFORMANCES*

                during the ~

~ FAB*FEB*FILM*FEST ~

grandstanding with ~
  

THE RAT PACK REVUE

  
featuring Robert J Randisi

in spotlights and interview

*AT THE BIJOU*

WHERE WRITERS' RAVES ARE READERS' FAVES

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our swanky staff of renown