Friday Fictioneers – Ten Little Bottles

(Author’s note: G’day, everyone! First classes have come and gone for the week [or at least they will as of tomorrow night at 6:30PM]. I hope to be writing a bit more, considering I am going to need some time away from writing autobiographical pieces, biographical pieces, short fiction, and scripts. So much writing, so little time. Anyhow, here’s today’s Fictioneers.)

© G.L. MacMillan.

Ten Little Bottles

by Miles H. Rost

“Big ones! Small ones!” Beano slurred, “So many different types!”

Beano looked completely hammered. and fully animated. I was merely annoyed.

“Beano! What the heck are you talking about?!”

He turned his rotund frame my direction, and smiled one of those smiles that can irritate an IRS agent. It was the smile that I knew from my time in the Army with him.


Again, flustered was I.

“What about Mexico, Private?!”

“I found all these bottles in an empty house. And I drank them all.”

“And that’s why you’re drunk now?” I asked, blinking at him.

Beano grinned.

“Permanently drunk. Not sure how!”

And now people know why I will never visit Mexico.


Straight Tequila Night

by Miles Rost

It was another one of those nights for Denise. The aggravations of the daytime bled into her nighttime, ruining the mood she was trying to pick up at the local canteen.

Starting with a note on her computer at work from her boss, telling her that she was responsible for the company losing a major contract, her day went downhill from there. Computer problems, cars that refused to start, at least four customers who tried to use bad credit cards. Working as a car rental agent was stressful, but it wasn’t supposed to be THAT stressful.

And that was all before lunchtime.

Just after lunch came part II of her bad day gone worse. That’s when her ex-boyfriend, someone who she never should have hooked up with in the first place, walked in and started going on about his life with the airhead of the counter clerks. Denise warned her many times about him, but she just didn’t seem to get it, and started flirting in a major way with him.

The day finally ended, and she was able to go home and switch her clothes. Putting on a nice pair of blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and putting her long reddish-brown hair up in a ponytail, she took herself to the canteen to unwind and let her troubles go. She was already into her second tequila shot, and had a whiskey shot ready to go within a half an hour of arriving. She was just about at the point where the vent would be able to be shut off and she’d be able to savor the day.

The door opened up, and Denise looked back. The smile that was building on her face suddenly shattered into a billion pieces. Her face went from the nearest thing anyone would call joy to shock and disgust at the culprit who opened the door.

Patrick walked in.

She dreaded what was about to happen. She knew that he was interested in her, and he knew that she wasn’t interested in him. He walked over to the bartender and smiled that same greasy smile that he always had when he was on the prowl. She quickly turned around and prayed that nothing would happen.

“Scotch on the rocks for myself,” Patrick ordered, “And what is she drinking down there?”

The bartender looked up at him and gave him a warning eye.

“You don’t want to approach her tonight.”

“Why not? I figure she’s probably game for anything.”

Don’t ask her on a straight tequila night. She’ll start thinking about him, and she’ll kick your ass.”

Patrick laughed at the bartender, in a haughty laugh that all but advertised his arrogance.

“A young woman like her? She’s small. She couldn’t hurt anyone. Get her another tequila shot and tell her it’s on me.”

The bartender merely raised his hands, signaling that he had given the advice and he was now ready to serve. And he did so. He gave her the notice that Patrick was sending her a tequila shot.

She slumped her head against the bar, knowing that she would be unable to resist it, and the consequences that would come as a result. With a sigh, she downed the shot in one gulp. She held herself steady at the bar for about 26 seconds. She quickly whipped her eyes towards Patrick.

He looked at her, keeping that sleazy grin on his face, hoping that his charm would win her over.

He closed his eyes and took a sip of his scotch, then opened his eyes again. And he was looking into the black eyes of the woman that he was trying to pick up.

“You ignored the bartender.”

He looked into her eyes, and realized that he made an incredibly bad mistake.

“You remind me of my ex. That makes me mad,” she said calmly, as she launched him into the back room with a swift punch to his sternum.

For the next 20 minutes, Denise did to Patrick things that no one would ever have mentioned or would ever have believed. For folks at the canteen, this was merely another straight tequila night with Denise. And as the pain-filled screams of Patrick filled the bar, the people just kept talking and enjoying their time there.

She left the back room and walked to the bartender. She still had a serious look, but her eyes were no longer the deep black that Patrick had gazed into. She paid the bartender and told him to call a bus for the man, with the bartender giving a knowing nod.

So a little warning to all of you out there. When dealing with Denise, just remember her heart is on the mend. If you ever decide to see her, even again, don’t ask her on a straight tequila night.

Harbour Town

Harbour Town 

by Miles H. Rost

Across the entirety of the port city of Stewartsport, it was said that when 5:15 came around, the only thing you could hear were the many whistles from each of the 20 terminals in the city. Like a choir opening a Sunday service with a loud start, the whistles blew simultaneously.

It was this signal that the day ended, the night began, and on a Friday night like this one, it would be one humdinger of a night.

Down at Terminal 10, Cha Yeong-Jin had just finished loading a skid of incandescent light bulbs. Affectionately known as CJ, he was someone who finished his job when he finished his job, not when the whistle blew. However, today, he was right on time and was able to leave quickly.

CJ grew up in South Korea, the son of a shipbuilder father. Growing up in the island town of Geoje, the seas were in his blood. However, he was also a traveller, and someone who wanted to see the world. Working as a stevedore, he worked in places like Luzon, Singapore, and Sydney before he ended up in Stewartsport. The longest he stayed was a couple of years, and he left only because he felt too comfortable.

He was in Stewartsport for only two months before this night. As he walked off the docks and out to his small truck, a hand landed on his shoulder. CJ immediately turned around and looked into the big mean eyes of his co-worker, Tarik “Evil Eye” Adadark. Eyes which immediately brightened up, and expressed relief and happiness.

“Ah, CJ. Isn’t it great that Friday night has come?” Tarik chuckled, slapping CJ on the back like an old pal. Which was to say that they were, as he and Tarik were friends since their time in Singapore, and travelled together on the same jobs.

“It is a great thing indeed. I just can’t wait to clean up and hit the town. Since it’s a three day weekend, I want to wake up tomorrow in an unfamiliar room,” CJ responded, his command of English impeccable for a kid who never had any academy training.

“Then I think I know the place to go. There’s a great place just off Chambers that has not only good quality drinks and good quality women. It may just be your lucky night!”

After an hour of cleaning up and getting things ready, CJ and Tarik were dressed up and on the way down to the bar on Chambers.

“You’re doing the blue jean thing, T?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling a bit lucky tonight, too. At least you have the chance to not only catch a woman, but land a good business deal at the same time. Taking tips from Barney Stinson?” he responded, making reference to a popular character on a show that they watched constantly while there.

“Dress to impress, dress for success, do not settle for anything less,” CJ responded, smiling, “My dad taught me that. Probably explains why he had three wives.”

They went to a grill and had something to eat, then proceeded to the bar that Tarik referenced.

Since it was payday, they had a good amount of money on their persons. Knowing how rough some ports could be, there was always a second set of documents on their person just in case they were robbed. Three wallets were the usual with stevedores and longshoremen. CJ knew this, and patted the side of his knee, acknowledging to himself that he still had his most important wallet with him.

They passed by two beautiful women as they made their way to the bar. One was a tall, black haired Chinese woman who looked like she walked out of a fashion magazine, and the other was a striking redhead who seemed have features found in Irish women. CJ looked at the redhead and he instantly turned on the charm as they passed.

“Oh, come on baby! Take a hold of my hand! The fire is burning!” he called out, just after they passed. The redhead turned around and smiled. She gave him a wink, turned around, and kept walking. CJ cursed his current luck.

The bar on Chambers was called “Underworld”, and the owner/bartender was a tall wiry fellow named David. A former Israeli Defense Force soldier, David may have looked like a pencil, but he was able to kill a foe with two clicks of his fingers.

“Oy, Daveed!” Tarik called out.

“What’ll it be, Evil Eye? Did you bring the Korean with ya?”

“Right here, ya nut.” CJ responded.

“Glad to see ya! Care for some Rumple Mintz?”

“Not tonight! Get me a Glen and Ginger Ale, and another shot of Glen 12 Year.”

David acknowledged and made up the drinks for CJ. CJ, in return, gave him a hundred dollar bill and hold him to keep a tab on his drinks.

“Don’t worry about me, let’s just get you a woman tonight. “