Tongue Tied - Episode 1

Sometimes I get the urge to write something out of the ordinary. I am going to put up new episodes of Tongue Tied here once a week. They're short (500 words, or thereabouts) and off-the-wall. I hope you enjoy them.

Tongue Tied – Episode 1

J. E. Thompson

"Put down the knife," Grant said.

Drake tossed the knife from one hand to the other. "I will if you put down that blaster."

Grant bent down and set the blaster on the floor. "Kick it over here," Drake said.

"That wasn't part of the deal. I put down my blaster, now it's your turn. Put the knife down."

Drake bent down, until his knife was inches from the floor, instead of dropping it, he used his crouching position to lunge at Grant.

The moment seemed frozen in time. Drake hurtling toward Grant in mid-air. Grant stood motionless, as if it was inevitable for Drake to plunge the knife into Grant's chest. His weapon lay on the floor only inches from his feet, but five feet below his hand.

Grant raised his left hand. The transparent repulsor strapped to his palm glowed, and Drake stopped in the air as if he had run into an invisible wall, then dropped to the floor.

"It ain't smart to bring a knife to a gun fight," Grant said. He bent down, retrieved his blaster, and holstered it. When he picked up Drake's knife, he laid it flat across his hand and weighed the balance.

Seems haft heavy.

Grant wrenched off the knife's engraved-silver rear bolster, and turned the knife upside down. More than a dozen small white pills rolled onto his hand. Quick dope. He rolled the pills back into the knife and rinsed the pill's residue off of his hand with the shot of whiskey on the bar in front of him. "Another."

The bartender poured another shot into Grant's glass. "Make it a double," Grant said. The bottle trembled in the bartender's hand. Half as much went on the bar as into the glass. "I'm not paying for that," Grant said.

"Of course not, sir. Your drinks are on the house."

"I meant the whiskey on the outside of the glass." Grant fished into his pocket and flipped a silver dollar toward the bartender. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir." The bartender put the dollar in his mouth and bit it with sharpened teeth.

Grant watched him and said, "What's the matter? Don't you trust me?"

The bartender paled. He sheepishly dropped the coin into his apron pocket. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's a habit. A dollar is a lot of money--and silver..."

"Don't worry about it. A...whatever you are...has got to do what...you got to do. Am I right?"

"I am a goonfeldt," the bartender said. He puffed out his chest and stood a little straighter. Difficult to do for a creature with a rounded spine. "From a proud line of goonfeldts."

"Like I said."

"We are known for parsecs around as a frugal and careful people."

"With sharp teeth."

The bartender smiled and displayed his evenly-spaced double row of yellowing teeth. They looked like shark's teeth.

"Which is worse, your bark or your bite?"

"I am offended you would compare me to a canine."

"What makes you think I was comparing you to a dog?" Grant said. "Maybe I was talking about a cockamouse."

The bartender snorted and turned away. "If there will be nothing else..."

Grant wiped the bartender's snot off his shirt. "How about some grub?" hesaid.

Drake started moaning and stirring. He started to push himself up off the floor. Grant drew the blaster, rotated the control knob to stun and fired it into Drake's back.

Drake dropped to the floor.

Grant rotated the blaster's control back to the handwritten, 'fry,' holstered the weapon, and turned back to the bartender. "Grub?"

(Ready for more? Here's Episode 2)