“Sit on the fucking couch!” Lewis waved the butchers knife he had grabbed from the sink. “Just sit and shut the fuck up.”
Diane and Hector did as they were told. Hollis, Lewis’ brother stood against a wall with Lewis’ current fuck buddy, Pepper.
Lewis paced. “Now, you listen. When I got out, what did I say was the main thing I was lookin’ for?” He glared at the two on the couch who remained silent, mainly due to the socks stuffed in their mouths held in place with neon pink duck tape. “Hollis?”
“Fried Chicken,” Hollis said with a quivering voice.
“Not just any damned chicken, dumb ass. Baby’s fried chicken. With sauce. And a fucking side of okra.” He pressed the knife into Diane’s leg. “That’s all I wanted. Dreamed about that shit for two years.” He stepped away leaving a spreading red spot on her jeggings. “So what happened?”
Again, no answer.
“I brought you that chicken and okra, baby.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re a good bitch.” He walked over and patted her on the head before smacking her ass. “But I didn’t get that chicken, did I, Hollis?”
His brother cleared his throat, looking at the knife. “No, Lewis. You were asleep.”
“I wasn’t fucking asleep, ass. I was passed out. Drunk. I just got out. It’s a fucking party.” He wiped some spit from the side of his mouth. Poking the tip of the knife into Hector’s cheek, he took a deep breath. “But I guess my old friend Hector here, thought that meant I wouldn’t be hungry when I got up.”
Hector shook his head, cutting his cheek open on the knife.
“Well, jerk off, I am hungry, and I want my fucking chicken.”
“Not now, Pepper!” Lewis took the knife and cut Hector open at the abdomen. Blood rushed out with muted screams. Diane scrambled away but Lewis caught her, and cut her open as well. “Now, I’m gonna get my chicken back, you fucking pigs.”
“What the fuck do you want, Pepper? I’m busy.”
“We still have some chicken. And okra. In the kitchen.”
“What? Go get it, bitch.”
Lewis watched the life leek out of the two on the couch. “Hurry up, woman.” He took the chicken from Pepper. “This is cold. You coulda least tossed it in the fucking microwave. And where’s the damned sauce?”
“Sorry, baby” Pepper was shaking. “We don’t have any more.”
“Son of a bitch!” He slapped Pepper across the face.
“I can run out and get some!” Hollis stepped toward the front door.
“Nah, that’s alright. I got it.” Lewis took the chicken and dipped it into the red pool on the tile floor and took a bite. “Now that’s some good fuckin’ chicken.”
BIO: R Thomas Brown spends most of his free time having fake sword fights with his three kids and quickly cleaning up before his wife gets home. He squeezes in writing and a job that pays into the other hours. To see his thoughts about short crime fiction and other stuff, you can visit rthomasbrown.blogspot.com