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Steven Domingues

Thinks of things, then writes them down

The Deckard Job

Click here for full story in PDF

The second story written (but chronologically the first) in my Daphne Kay series, The Deckard Job answers questions raised in Chaos and Kay-Awes. Daphne is recruited to find a man named Deckard, and along the way, finds that in her inexperience, she’ll need help from the wrong side of the law.

Sample text follows, click the link above to read the full story.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon and there were only two people in the bar, the bartender, and an old biker. The old biker’s head was thick with gray hair and he wore a sleeve torn jean jacket with a patch on the back, a large dirty white skull, grinning, surrounded by fire. The words “Flaming” and “Skulls” were above and below the grinning face, respectively. The jacket was a testament to his motorcycle club and his age. He sipped amber liquid from a glass and watched the football game on the dusty TV above the bar.

Daphne strode past the old man and sat at the bar. The bartender flicked his head in her direction, his stringy blonde hair waving in the pale light, asking what she wanted. He wore a dirty white button up shirt and jeans. He didn’t look very hygienic.

“Just gimme a water, no lemon, I have some questions.” The biker swiveled his head around to look at the new arrival. He glanced at her and turned back to his game. Daphne took off her jacket and waited for her drink. The barman scooped a glass in a bucket of ice and filled it with a nozzle under the bar. He gave it to her on a coaster and leaned on the aged wood of the bar.

“What?” He looked disinterested and bored. His left hand held onto a dirty rag.

“You know Deckard?” Daphne sipped the water; its condensation soaked the coaster.

“Yeah.” The barman’s eyes flicked to the TV and back to Daphne.

“I called earlier, you said you’d answer-“ The barman’s eyes widened, remembering.

“Yeah, that was earlier. Right now is a different story. I think I’ve changed my mind.” The barman smirked at her and raised his right hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

“Money, huh?” Daphne stared at the man, calculating. She drank more water and set the glass aside. The barman didn’t notice.

“Not a bribe or anything, just a contribution. The bar’s not been doing so great lately, and, I dunno, a few hundred could go a long way.” The barman laughed and the biker joined in, not looking away from the TV. Daphne didn’t know if the biker was listening to their conversation or laughing at the beer commercial.

“Okay. How much?” Daphne tensed her legs on the crossbars of the bar stool.

“Oh I couldn’t really say. Two hundred? Three hundred?” The man shrugged at her, smirk still on his lips.

“Well, two or three?” Daphne cracked her knuckled under the bar, the popping mixed and lost with the sounds coming from the TV above the bar.

The man leaned in close to Daphne, “Make it three, honey.” Daphne sprang up from the barstool and grabbed the barman’s greasy blond hair in her hand and slammed it down once, then twice on the bar and held it there, his forehead squished into the wet coaster. Her right hand reached for the pepper spray clipped to her belt, grabbed it, and pointed in the direction of the biker, who was now watching something much more interesting than a ball game.