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Just Reward [Urban Fantasy-lite, 967 Words]
dresdenphile
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
I haven't written anything since high school, so I thought I'd try something small to get the creative juices flowing again. This is a super rough-draft, so be gentle. 
Donny held the crumpled note up and read it again: Distinguished gentleman looking to liberate item of interest from former business partner.
The rain was coming down in sheets as Donny waited for the light to change and the chance to cross the street. O'Malley's Pub was barren, as empty as it normally was full. Had to be the weather keeping people in. Oh, well, an empty bar suits me just fine, what with what I need to talk about in there.
Donny folded the note and put it back in his pocket. He knew a guy who met some chick on Craigslist (gave the poor bastard the clap; lesson learned, Donny figured), but advertising for a thief was new to him. Still, he needed the cash, so what harm was there in talking to the guy?
The light changed, and Donny dashed across the street, under the maroon awning and into the bar. The place was deserted, save the bartender, nose buried in a Sudoku book, and one man sitting at the far booth. That’s the client, I guess.
His client was not what he was expecting. For starters, the man was dressed as though he made a wrong turn on the way to the Renaissance fair; a dark grey puffy-sleeved tunic and matching cape. A cape? His black hair was slicked back and drenched with some sort of pomade, and his facial hair was styled similarly. His face lit up upon seeing Donny, and he asked, “Mr. Mullins?”
Donny nodded, and the man gestured for him to sit down. “Barkeep, this man’s drinks are on me.”
The bartender looked up at Donny. “Scotch, on the rocks,” Donny said after he was seated. The bartender went to work, quickly filling the order and going back to his Sudoku book.
“My name is Vincent DuBois. I know your time is valuable, Mr. Mullins, so I’ll get straight to the point. The matter at hand concerns a man I know by the name of Dr. Winston Caruthers. We used to work together, digging for trinkets and artifacts all over the world. It’s sad to say we had a falling out some time ago, and we’re no longer on speaking terms.”
“However,” DuBois continued, “Winston still has an item that belongs to me, a jewelry box, in his possession, and he simply refuses to return it.”
Donny nodded and interjected, “And that’s where I come in, right?”
The man nods. “Quite right, Mr. Mullins. I’m just a scholar; I don’t have any experience with...less-than legal means of entry.”
Donny took a sip of his drink and thought about the man’s offer. Break into some house and bring this guy back a box. Seems simple enough; maybe a little too simple. “The job sounds pretty cut and dry, but I gotta ask about payment. If I bring you back this box, how much are we talking here?”
The other man smiled broadly. “My good man, if you bring me the box, you shall have your just reward.”
Donny’s expression soured. If the jukebox had been working, a record scratch at that moment wouldn’t have been out of place He finished the rest of his scotch in one gulp, grabbed his coat and stood up. “Okay, deal’s off. Thanks for the drink, mister.”
DuBois balked, nearly spilling his drink as he stood to intercept Donny. “What?! Where are you going?”
“I asked a simple question, and your answer is straight out of ‘Shit the Bad Guy Says When He Clearly Intends to Fuck You Over’ handbook.”
“I answered your question, Mr. Mullins,” DuBois replied, a bead of sweat appearing above his well-maintained brow.
Donny wasn’t in the mood for this, but against his better judgement, he said, “Fine; let’s try this again: “I bring you the box.”
“Yes.”
“I hand you the box.”
“Yes.”
“You give me...?
“You will receive your just reward,” the man replied, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“In dollars, how much is that?”
“You’ll get what you deserve.”
Donny pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If I take what you give me down to McDonald’s and buy a Big Mac, how much change would the cashier give me?”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, of course,” the man answered, barely able to contain his glee.
“And again, we’re done here Every answer you give is intentionally vague, and I’m guessing this whole thing ends with me inside the stomach of a creature beyond my imagining.”
“Mr. Mullins, I assure you...” DuBois began.
Donny interrupted, raising his voice. “Listen to me, Doctor Strange: it’s pretty obvious you’re into some heavy shit here. I mean, for starters, it looks like you oiled your goatee. Who does that? At best, you walked into the drugstore with “Goatee Oil” at the top of your shopping list, but I’m really not counting on that.”
“And not that I’m one to talk about what’s in style”, Donny continued, “but it looks like you’re wearing an honest-to-God cape. A fucking cape? Unless you're performing at a kid’s birthday party or we’re back in olden days and I didn’t get the memo, you really shouldn’t wear a cape out in public.”
“Now, wait just a minute...” DuBois stammered out, clearly flustered with Donny’s response.
“No, I’m out of here! Whatever you’re summoning, I don’t want to be its first snack or rape doll when you ultimately fuck up the spell. Good luck with finding the key to the ‘Fuck Goblin’ dimension or whatever the hell.”
“Actually, I think it translates to ‘Sex Ogre’ dimension, but...” DuBois offered.
Donny groaned with frustration and stormed back out into the rain, letting the heavy door slam behind him. Genre savviness was his cross to bear, but it hadn’t steered him wrong so far.
The rain was coming down in sheets as Donny waited for the light to change and the chance to cross the street. O'Malley's Pub was barren, as empty as it normally was full. Had to be the weather keeping people in. Oh, well, an empty bar suits me just fine, what with what I need to talk about in there.
Donny folded the note and put it back in his pocket. He knew a guy who met some chick on Craigslist (gave the poor bastard the clap; lesson learned, Donny figured), but advertising for a thief was new to him. Still, he needed the cash, so what harm was there in talking to the guy?
The light changed, and Donny dashed across the street, under the maroon awning and into the bar. The place was deserted, save the bartender, nose buried in a Sudoku book, and one man sitting at the far booth. That’s the client, I guess.
His client was not what he was expecting. For starters, the man was dressed as though he made a wrong turn on the way to the Renaissance fair; a dark grey puffy-sleeved tunic and matching cape. A cape? His black hair was slicked back and drenched with some sort of pomade, and his facial hair was styled similarly. His face lit up upon seeing Donny, and he asked, “Mr. Mullins?”
Donny nodded, and the man gestured for him to sit down. “Barkeep, this man’s drinks are on me.”
The bartender looked up at Donny. “Scotch, on the rocks,” Donny said after he was seated. The bartender went to work, quickly filling the order and going back to his Sudoku book.
“My name is Vincent DuBois. I know your time is valuable, Mr. Mullins, so I’ll get straight to the point. The matter at hand concerns a man I know by the name of Dr. Winston Caruthers. We used to work together, digging for trinkets and artifacts all over the world. It’s sad to say we had a falling out some time ago, and we’re no longer on speaking terms.”
“However,” DuBois continued, “Winston still has an item that belongs to me, a jewelry box, in his possession, and he simply refuses to return it.”
Donny nodded and interjected, “And that’s where I come in, right?”
The man nods. “Quite right, Mr. Mullins. I’m just a scholar; I don’t have any experience with...less-than legal means of entry.”
Donny took a sip of his drink and thought about the man’s offer. Break into some house and bring this guy back a box. Seems simple enough; maybe a little too simple. “The job sounds pretty cut and dry, but I gotta ask about payment. If I bring you back this box, how much are we talking here?”
The other man smiled broadly. “My good man, if you bring me the box, you shall have your just reward.”
Donny’s expression soured. If the jukebox had been working, a record scratch at that moment wouldn’t have been out of place He finished the rest of his scotch in one gulp, grabbed his coat and stood up. “Okay, deal’s off. Thanks for the drink, mister.”
DuBois balked, nearly spilling his drink as he stood to intercept Donny. “What?! Where are you going?”
“I asked a simple question, and your answer is straight out of ‘Shit the Bad Guy Says When He Clearly Intends to Fuck You Over’ handbook.”
“I answered your question, Mr. Mullins,” DuBois replied, a bead of sweat appearing above his well-maintained brow.
Donny wasn’t in the mood for this, but against his better judgement, he said, “Fine; let’s try this again: “I bring you the box.”
“Yes.”
“I hand you the box.”
“Yes.”
“You give me...?
“You will receive your just reward,” the man replied, the corners of his mouth turning up.
“In dollars, how much is that?”
“You’ll get what you deserve.”
Donny pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If I take what you give me down to McDonald’s and buy a Big Mac, how much change would the cashier give me?”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, of course,” the man answered, barely able to contain his glee.
“And again, we’re done here Every answer you give is intentionally vague, and I’m guessing this whole thing ends with me inside the stomach of a creature beyond my imagining.”
“Mr. Mullins, I assure you...” DuBois began.
Donny interrupted, raising his voice. “Listen to me, Doctor Strange: it’s pretty obvious you’re into some heavy shit here. I mean, for starters, it looks like you oiled your goatee. Who does that? At best, you walked into the drugstore with “Goatee Oil” at the top of your shopping list, but I’m really not counting on that.”
“And not that I’m one to talk about what’s in style”, Donny continued, “but it looks like you’re wearing an honest-to-God cape. A fucking cape? Unless you're performing at a kid’s birthday party or we’re back in olden days and I didn’t get the memo, you really shouldn’t wear a cape out in public.”
“Now, wait just a minute...” DuBois stammered out, clearly flustered with Donny’s response.
“No, I’m out of here! Whatever you’re summoning, I don’t want to be its first snack or rape doll when you ultimately fuck up the spell. Good luck with finding the key to the ‘Fuck Goblin’ dimension or whatever the hell.”
“Actually, I think it translates to ‘Sex Ogre’ dimension, but...” DuBois offered.
Donny groaned with frustration and stormed back out into the rain, letting the heavy door slam behind him. Genre savviness was his cross to bear, but it hadn’t steered him wrong so far.
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dresdenphile on
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I hate everything about this sentence. The description of something being as empty as it normally was full makes no sense. Also you describe the bar as deserted in the third paragraph as well, if he hasn't entered how does he know it's so empty.
The part in the parenthesis probably can just be part of the normal sentence, although it could also be dropped completely for the idea of advertising for a thief being a new idea.
I like the idea of the thief realizing he's going to get fucked over, but I think it's a little overdrawn at the end, and I hate the last sentence to pieces. I'd end the piece with Donny's tirade at his client and call it a day. After the cape thing you're just dragging it out, and kind of killing the joke.
I think you can drop a lot of details about the client's business partner as well and streamline this piece more so you can get to the joke faster and don't try and drag it out like there's some story happening afterward.
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I think I mostly agree with Magell; this is a one-liner story so it needs to lose some water weight to be punchier. A story like this, under the 800-word mark, is probably marketable in humor sci-fi, preferably lighter. The joke is fun for longtime spec-fic readers, but it's telegraphed from a mile away. It needs to really sort of cut to the chase.
I'm not quite sure how to do that from here, apart from really honing in the details on the narrator and the situation, and making that turnabout a little more sudden/unexpected to catch the reader off guard rather than simply fulfill their expectations.
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