by Essa Alroc
“Name the contestants.”
“Your choices are any four of the Golden Girls. You can leave one out, but you have to use at least three.” Sal cocked her head as she stretched her back at the bar, waiting for the answer to her question.
“Ouch, nice set up,” Mooki looked down. “Well, obviously, I’d fuck Blanche, cause she was kinda the slutty one.”
“Disgusting,” Gio said, joining the conversation. “I wouldn’t fuck that one with a borrowed dick. Tell you who I’d do, Betty White. She was a pretty hot piece for an old broad.”
“I picked her to kill,” Nicky responded. He began to shuffle, dealing out a hand of poker with the skill of a Vegas casino worker.
“You kidding! How the fuck could you kill Betty White. The woman’s a fucking saint.”
“Nothing personal,” Nicky responded as he organized his cards. “Just business.”
“How?” Mooki pulled up a chair.
“I got a celebrity death pool going online.” He smiled as Gio looked at him in confusion. “People make lists of what celebrity they think is going to die, and pay a buck a name to bet. Their celebrity kicks it, they get a piece of the win. They don’t, I keep the money. I got so many people betting on Betty White, if she dies any time next year, I’m gonna be friggin bankrupt.” Nicky shifted the cards in his hands. “So I would off the old broad, then keep it on the down low until the year was over. January 1, Betty’s body shows up in a vacant lot and I keep all the money.” Nicky met the horrified eyes watching him from around the table. “It’s just good business.”
“I would marry Betty White.” Heads swiveled in Mumbai’s direction as his low voice caught them off guard. “She has much money and few years left.”
“I love how practically you guys view this game.” Sal commented as she pressed two fingers to the pulse in her throat. “Not a stroke. Just a little worked up. I’m gonna burn my bar down!” Sal smiled like a kid on Christmas morning and returned to making circles on her paper.
The men sat playing a loud, argumentative round of poker while Sal sat on the bar, flamethrower between her knees, pen in hand, absorbed in the paper in front of her. She muttered to herself and crossed something out. Around the third hand the group all turned as they heard a sound they had never heard before. The jingle of the bell in the entryway.
A customer.
Sal’s eyes returned to her paper. “Sorry, we’re renovating,” she said without looking at the newcomer.
“Your sign says you’re open,” the man responded flatly.
“Yeah, it’s stuck to the window with some kind of mystery goo.” Sal gestured to the sign and looked up in frustration, annoyed at the customer attempting to patronize her business. “Listen, you don’t want to drink here. Hell, even I don’t want to drink here, and I own the place. There’s a pretty nice bar…”
The man cut her off. “I’m not here to drink. Are you Angelica Salvatori?”
“Who wants to know?” Sal crossed her arms over her fire extinguisher and watched as the man began to walk towards her. He was tall, at least a foot and a half taller than her, and thick. She could see where his suit cut into his neck. The sleeves were too short for his arms. He had the kind of body that made his head look too small. Hundreds of hours logged in a gym, hell of a lot of steroids.
“The FBI.” The man pulled out his billfold and flashed a badge quickly. Sal watched as he snapped it shut and put it away. “I have some questions I need to ask you. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” The man stopped in front of her, only a few feet away. Just out of reaching distance. The men at the poker table watched the exchange. No one spoke as they waited for Sal to take the lead.
“FBI,” Sal looked at the man thoughtfully with a slight smirk. “Right.”
The man took another step. This time, with a stretch, he could reach out and touch her. “Are you Angelica?” Sal didn’t like his voice. It was flat and odd, like he was reading off a script.
Sal raised the nozzle of the extinguisher and pointed it at the man. “So what if I am?” She held it cautiously, and her eyes took on their sharp unsettling glare. For a moment, the man seemed unable to look away. Then he seemed to snap out of it.
His wooden face split into an amused grin. “What are you going to do? Extinguish me to death?”
“No, but I could ruin your suit.” She giggled a weird little laugh then shook her head. “I’m just teasing though,” Sal said as she looked down at the fire extinguisher, her eyes just slightly absent. Her voice far away. “I don’t want to be any trouble. I actually really respect the FBI. Even thought about joining up in high school. There was something about that ‘First do no harm’ motto that really called to me. That’s the motto, right?” Sal cocked an eyebrow as she watched the man, waiting for confirmation of her suspicion.
The man shook his head while he looked at her. “Sure honey, that’s the motto.” He started to reach out a hand towards her, planning on snatching her while her guard was down.
He had time to watch her eyes narrow and her lips curve into an evil little grin before his world erupted in flame.