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Sneakers on the Wire (Ch 3) Mexican Roulette

March 18, 2011

           

                                             SNEAKERS ON THE WIRE

                                                         A Novella 

                                                                       By

                                                  Corona Cabronisimo     

             The sound of running water hisses…
 
             Rubio sticks his scratched forearm in the kitchen sink.
 
             The not-so-updated kitchen is also ransacked except for…
 
             A glass tank.  Atop its gravel-covered bottom, a snake sleeps
             peacefully.
 
             Amidst clutter scattered on the counter, sits a
             tipped-over, nearly full Whiskey bottle.
 
             He snatches the bottle, swigs, heads to the sink and pours
             the alcohol over the scratches.
 
             Wince.
 
             He opens the refrigerator.
 
             Within the mess of disheveled food items, a bowl of mashed
             potatoes sits tipped over…but the potatoes are intact.
 
             He sets the potatoes and the liquor bottle on the table,
             eases into a chair.
 
             He scoops off potatoes’ top layer. Inside, rests a 38-revolver
             trapped in styrofoam.
 
             He hesitates.
 
             He reaches for the gun but stops just shy of grabbing it.
             His hand trembles.  He finally snatches it.
 
             He flips open the cylinder.  Six chambers, six bullets.
 
             He dumps five bullets on the table, slams the cylinder
             shut, spins it, slams the gun on the table.
 
             He looks to the Heavens.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Forever soulmates, baby.
 
             He snatches the liquor bottle, swigs, presses the gun to
             his temple…
 
             CLICK-CLICK.
 
             Nothing.
 
             He swigs again…
 
             CLICK-CLICK, pulls three and four…
 
             Nothing.
 
             He takes a third swig, presses the gun to his temple…

             CLICK, a different CLICK, not from his gun.  His eyes shift
             to the side.
 
             The barrel of a chrome handgun presses into the back of his
             head.
 
             A gloved hand wraps itself around the handle.  The gun’s
             hammer is cocked back.
 
             An Intruder draped in black clothes, a black ski mask.
 
             Rubio sarcastically chuckles.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Do I look like I care?
 
             The Intruder eases a gloved hand onto Rubio’s gun.
 
             Rubio thinks about it, allows the Intruder to ease the gun
             from his hand…guess Rubio does care some.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           You the one who’s been breaking
                           into my house?
 
             The Intruder walks backwards towards the back door, gun
             aimed at Rubio.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Why don’t you ever take
                           anything?
 
             The Intruder disappears.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           You make this mess or the cops?
 
             No response.
 
             Rubio spins around.  Empty.
 
             A KNOCK at the front door.
 
             He looks towards the KNOCK.
 
             He slams the back door shut, locks it.
 
             He heads to the snake tank, tosses out the snake (it’s
             fake!), shoves his hand into the gravel…yanks out a 9mm
             handgun.
 
             He slides out the clip…fully loaded.
 
             He shoves the clip back in, hustles out of the kitchen, gun
             firmly in his grasp.
        
             
             He stomps to the front door, gun pointed to the sky.
 
             KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Who is it?
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Britney.
 
             He frowns…
 
             Tosses the gun inside a closet.
 
             He opens the front door.  Britney stands on the porch,
             wearing all black.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Hi.  You’re okay.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           What are you doing here?
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           I was passing through the
                           neighborhood.
 
             Rubio gives her a “Who you kidding?” look.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Near the neighborhood.
 
             Rubio still doesn’t believe it.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           A few cities down.
 
             He believes it.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Can I come in?
 
                                      RUBIO
                                (hesitant)
                           Sure.
 
             Britney snatches the mail from the mail box.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Want this?
 
             Rubio takes the mail without looking at it.

                                      RUBIO
                           Thanks.
 
             She walks in, looks around at the mess.
 
             Rubio looks across the street.
 
             Cookie wears all black, sits on the porch with a forty
             ounce beer bottle.  He toasts Rubio, takes a swig.
 
             Rubio shuts the door, watches Britney scan the mess.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           I had messy company.  How’d you
                           find out where I live?
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           The internet.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Of course, the internet.  I
                           wish we could go back to—
 
             His eyes drift to a stamp-less business envelope on the
             stack of mail in his hand.
 
             WRITTEN ON ENVELOPE:
 
                                 SNEAKERS ON THE WIRE
 
             He lowers the mail, eases Britney towards the door.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Uh, I really gotta clean up.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           I’ll help you.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           Do my homework instead.
 
             He eases her out the door.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           You didn’t give us any.
 
             He looks across the street.
 
             Cookie’s gone.
 
                                      RUBIO
                           I’ll give you an A if you go
                           straight home.

             He shuts the door before she can respond.
 
             He tears open the envelope, yanks out a letter.
 
             INSERT LETTER:
 
             ADMIT TO THE SNEAKERS ON THE WIRE OR THEY’LL FIND NEW ONES
             AT SUNRISE EVERYDAY UNTIL YOU DO.  DO NOT GO TO THE COPS.
 
             Rubio slams his back against the door, his eyes wide.
     
                                        **
 
             On the other side of town, lights beam around an elegant mansion.
             
             Britney huddles in jacket against the night cold, rings the doorbell
             while finishing off a bottle of water.
 
             A stone-faced BUTLER swings open the door.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Sorry I’m late I—
 
                                      BUTLER
                           Speak only when spoken to.
 
             Butler steps aside, closes the door behind her.        
            
             Inside, the plush surroundings do not disappoint.  
 
                                      BUTLER
                           You full?
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Ready to burst is more like it.
 
             Butler takes her bottle, hands her a fresh one.
 
                                      BUTLER
                           Finish it.
 
         
                                       **

             A lavish, expensive bedroom.
 
             A framed picture of a smiling, lanky nerd in a suit, hangs
             above the head of the bed.
 
             Engraved on the bottom:
 
                          Stephen James — District Attorney
 
             At the foot of the bed, sits the nerdy D.A. wearing only
             boxer shorts.  He holds a fresh bottle of water.

             His anxious, wide eyes focus on the closed bedroom door.
 
             SCRATCHES echo from the other side of the door, followed by:
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Woof-woof!  Woof-woof!
 
                                      D.A.
                                (smiles)
                           Girl?
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Woof-woof!  Woof-woof!
 
                                      D.A.
                           Come in.
 
             The door opens.  Britney, on all fours, wears dog ears, a
             dog collar, a dog tail, and a bikini.
 
                                      D.A.
                           Heyyy.
 
             She closes the door, crawls, a la Madonna, to the D.A.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Woof-woof!  Woof-woof!
 
             D.A. slips five one-hundred dollar bills into her top.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Woof-woof woof-woof!  Woof-woof
                           woof-woof!
 
             He waves the bottle of water around her lips.
 
                                      D.A.
                           Thirsty?
 
             No barking.  No movement.
 
             D.A. smiles, tosses the bottle.
 
                                      D.A.
                           Wanna go pee-pee?
 
             Britney hops on the bed on all fours, wags her tail.
 
                                      BRITNEY
                           Woof-woof woof-woof!  Woof-
                           woof woof-woof!
 
             D.A. lies on his back smiling.

                                      D.A.
                           One fire hydrant ready.
 
             Britney raises a leg above the D.A.
 
             The framed picture of the accomplished public figure looms close…
 
             While a continuous flow of liquid against flesh echoes.
 
                                      D.A.
                           Good doggy.  Good doggy.

             To be continued…

*No part of this novella may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author.    
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