500 Words

Working at the florist hadn't been Danny's idea of a dream job, but it actually wasn’t all that bad. He served mainly as the cashier and took phone orders and checked email for any online purchases. It also didn’t hurt that the owner's daughter and main florist, Marla, was smokin' hot. She had naturally curly, red hair that hung down to her shoulders and the palest skin with just a dusting of freckles on her nose. She didn't dress to accentuate the rest of her body like most girls did, but she didn't have to. He knew that she played sports quite a bit in high school and won a softball scholarship to the university. All that exercise wound up giving her plenty of lean muscle under the subtle curves that he preferred.

All of that natural beauty was ruined though, the minute she opened her mouth. All she would do was complain about the shop's humidity and the havoc that it wreaked on her hair, or her latest guy trouble, or the pound she gained last week. All of that happened in the most incredibly nasally voice that would have made Fran Drescher proud. Thankfully she was dedicated to her work, so most days he would do his job and take his glances, counting the minutes until quitting time and the days until he returned to university in the fall.

The bell over the front door jangled and he stood. Mr. Ryan told him that he should always stand to greet customers. "S'more professional," he would say in a cigar roughened baritone. The man that cleared the shop entrance stood a good head height over Danny's six feet and had a good deal more muscle than the rangy twenty year old. He was wearing a new jogging suit, one of the expensive ones that Danny associated with the hip hop flava of the month. This man was no rapper though. An older white guy, maybe in his forties, but still in good shape he looked all business.

"Can I help you sir?" Danny offered. His guess was that the man was looking for an "I'm sorry!" bouquet, the one that husbands often bought when their side action had been found out.

"No thanks son." His voice had little accent and was friendlier than the demeanor that it came from. "Just looking."

"Okay. Well let me know if you need something special." Danny watched Mr. Sweatsuit peruse the goods that were housed in refrigerated cases. There was some good stuff in there. Of the few florists he had ever found himself in, most of those the grocery store variety, Ryan's had the best stocked impulse buy section he'd seen. He chalked that up to Marla's love of tinkering with arrangements.

At the last word the man looked from the nearest glass fronted box. "Special? Yes I think something special is in order. What can you do for me?"

Danny grabbed his pad and pen. "You tell me what you want and I'm sure that we can do you up right." He looked up at the man, ready to take an order and saw the gun. Panic rose up, hard and fast in his chest. "Hey, easy man. You can have anything you want."

"Really? Well that's mighty nice of you young man." He waved the gun, indicating that Danny should move from behind the counter. He glanced back towards the arranging area. "Looks like you're not alone." He raised his voice. "Pardon me, miss. Can you join us out here please."

Marla looked up from her work. She'd been listening to her iPod at a volume that still made it possible to here the man's voice, but she'd been clueless as to what was going on. "Just a minute." All she could see was Danny's back. He was standing with his arms up. Almost without thinking about it, she slipped a pair of shears into her apron and walked up front, hands jammed in its pockets. Once up front she could see the man and something in his face seemed familiar. She couldn't place it, but if she let it stew in her mind she'd get it. If she had that much time left.

"Now that we're all together we can take care of business. If you young folks would be so kind as to get on your knees, that would be of great assistance to me."

The fear that had a hold on Danny clawed its way up his throat. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Please don't kill us sir. I don't want to…"

"Of course you don't and if you play your cards right you won't. Now do as I said." Mr. Sweatsuit, known in most circles as Jacobi, would have been disgusted once upon a time by what he saw on Danny's eyes. The young men these days were so much weaker than in any other time he'd lived through. Jaded by more than one of just these sorts of encounters though, he got over it.

Danny had no reason to trust the stranger, but doing so made him feel better, anything to stave off the sense of impending mortality. He did as he was told. He felt like he was going to throw up, but didn't want to lose what little cool he had left.

"There not much in the drawer and my dad doesn't keep a safe here," Marla said from her kneeling position. She'd maintained her grip on the shears even as she hit her knees. Her mind raced around trying to think of what she could do. Her dad always said that if she ever got held up that she should just cooperate. This wasn't a robbery though, no matter what the man said, them getting out of this alive wasn't looking good.

Jacobi went around behind them, noting as he did the fierce grip that the attractive young lady kept on some object in her apron. Based on the intel he'd gotten before coming here, she warranted keeping a solid eye on. He pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of Marla's skull. "Bring your hands out very slowly, Missy."

In a flash of wishful thinking Marla envisioned taking the sharp point of the gardening scissors and burying them in his chest. She knew that she'd be capable of it too, but she had no doubt that her brains would be all over the floor if she tried it. Her grip relaxed and she did as she was told.

The cold steel of handcuffs went around Marla's wrist and snapped tight by momentum. It hurt like hell, but she worked hard not to flinch. After all, it wasn't the first time she'd been cuffed. A hiss did escape her lips though.

"That hurt, did it?" Jacobi yanked her arm down and around by the cuff's chain. "Be so good as to put that other hand behind your back." He confined her left wrist and cinched it tight as well. "Now you, young man." He gave Danny the same treatment. Satisfied that they'd stay put, he went to the cash drawer and emptied it out. "You're correct Mistress Marla, not much in the till at all. Still one needs to be thorough."

The cheap plastic of the cash register sounded like a small bomb going off as it hit the concrete floor. Shards flew and another crash, this time glass, filled the air like a sharp echo. Danny nearly crapped in his pants. He started praying under his breath, trying desperately to remember anything other than "Now I lay me down to sleep."

"It'll be okay Danny," Marla whispered. She thought he looked like he was going to puke, pass out, or both. She didn't think she sounded too convincing, but she wasn't sure that he heard her anyway. She wasn't convinced herself. Her shoulders were already throbbing and while she was relatively sure that she'd be able to stand without falling there was no way she could do it fast enough and nothing that she'd be able to do once up. She focused on relaxing and started doing some deep breathing she'd learned in yoga class.

Jacobi looked his prisoners over. Killing them here wasn't part of the plan, but he was beginning to rethink that. "It'll just be a few more minutes. I'm going to have a bit of a look around. You children sit tight. Move and it will be messy." He went through the doorway into the work area, where Marla had been.

Danny's brain latched onto something half heard. "'Miss Marla'? He knows you. How does he know you? Do you know…"

"Shut it, Danny. No I don't know him." Her cheeks flared red. She didn't look at him. "Keep your head screwed on straight and we'll get out of here."

"That's crap. You know what's going on here, don't you?" Danny began to think that there was more to the whiny redhead than he knew. No way was he going to die because of her. Right now he had to admit that she was right, though. He had to keep calm. He looked around and saw that the phone was only a few steps away and the old guy had gone into the back. Danny's legs felt fuzzy, but he thought maybe he could make it to the cordless and dial nine one one. Maybe leave it off hook and get back to kneeling before the man returned.

"Don’t do anything stupid Danny," Marla hissed through clenched teeth. She saw him begin to struggle to his feet.

Jacobi scanned the area surrounding the work table. He'd been told that there was a loose floor tile hiding what he was here for. The details were sketchy beyond that. The floor was a patchwork of mismatched tiles. Ryan was nothing if not cheap and had probably bought a mix of boxes at some closeout sale and done the work himself.

He holstered the forty-five and got down on his hands and knees. Close up he could actually see that the quality of the work itself was good. The floor was level and each square flush with its' neighbors. There was one at the corner, near the workbench's front left leg, that was raised just a few millimeters. It was the sole white one with off white at each compass point. Jacobi chuckled a bit and reached into the pocket of his windbreaker, pulling out his pearl handled switchblade. It clicked open and he used it merely to test the edges to see how easily it would come open. No sense in using such a fine tool for so gross a purpose as a pry bar.

Though raised, the square did not unseat easily. He put the knife away and stood. Surely there was something that he could put to good use. A small toolbox peaked out from a shelf that ran the length of the room at head height. It sat amongst a collection of vases. He eased it down and opened it. The meager collection of tools did include a stout hammer. Three sharp raps to the middle of the square fractured it into more than a dozen small pieces. Carefully, he moved each fragment to an adjacent tile slowly revealing a six inch square hole, one foot deep. A black steel box filled it with only a hairsbreadth on any given side.

Jacobi grabbed it by its handle and pulled it free. This was it, no doubt. It matched the measurements he was given and was every bit as heavy as he was told it would be. He didn't know what was inside it and in truth had no desire to know. He was being paid handsomely to do what he was told and no more. He rested the box on the bench and dusted off his pants, straightening the fabric in the process. Jacobi prided himself on being an immaculate dresser. The running clothes he wore were detestable and he couldn’t wait to burn them, but just because one had to dress like a slob to blend in didn't mean that he needed to be dirty.

The strongbox had a small square in centered on one long side, an inch under the crack that ran around its perimeter. He rested his thumb against it in a moment of weakness. As he suspected it did nothing, not even emitting a noise. He took it by the handle in his left hand and pulled the pistol with his right. It was time to collect the other part of the package.

"Get back here you idiot," Marla whispered as fiercely as she could. Danny drove her crazy, constantly ogling her and doing little more than he had to around the shop. Now he was going to be the death of them both. She got to her feet a little more smoothly than her co-worker.

Danny reached the phone and realized the flaw in his plan. He wouldn't be able to pick it up much less dial it very easily with both hands behind his back. He glanced around the shop. No way he could go through the door. The bell would be a dead give away. Phone it was then. He turned and was about to try and grab it when he looked up to see Marla close the distance.

She got right in his face, close enough for her spit to spray him. Her face was bright red, but her words were calm and low. "I swear if you don't get on your knees I will kill you myself."

He believed her, so he complied. "I'm sorry Marla. I just don't want to die."

"Neither do I Danny, neither do I." She looked down on him and felt the urge to tousle his hair. Of course she wouldn't have been able to anyway. "Now get back over there." She took a small pleasure in watching him knee-walk back to his spot. Before she joined him she saw a letter opener sitting on the counter. It wasn't much, a replica of Excalibur that dad got at some stupid trade show, but its point was wicked sharp and she couldn’t get to the shears. Marla turned her back to the counter and managed to grab it on the first try. It slipped neatly into her back pocket. Thankfully her jeans had just a little bit of bag to them and it shouldn't be too obvious.

The sound of something shattering came from the back. She moved quickly back to where she had been and crouched back down. Danny was kneeling about where he had been before and looked like he had settled down just a little. His breathing was measured. That was good. If they were going to make it out of here he needed to be able to listen and do what he was told. She didn't really have a plan per se, but she had always been good at improvisation and her upbringing made her no stranger to men with guns.

Footsteps signaled Jacobi's return. She focused all of her mind on Brandi. She was seven when she'd found the Golden Retriever puppy with the bright red ribbon around its neck waiting for her in her bedroom. She had giggled and jumped up and down and showered Daddy with kisses. She loved that dog more than she had loved any human being for the two years they'd had her. Then one day Brandi had run out into traffic. Marla could still feel the burn of the leash running through her fingers. The squeal of brakes and a wet crunching sound woke her from her dreams for months. The emotion from that memory added to the stress of her current situation and tears came easily.

Jacobi returned to the front of the flower shop. The smell of fresh cut flowers and the sound of quiet weeping were constant companions in his life. He saw Marla kneeling there, her shoulders softly quaking and it touched one of the few remaining soft spots that he had in his heart. He had a granddaughter her age. Of course the tenderness had no bearing on his job and ability to perform it. He circled around to face the two young people.

"Cara mia, don't cry." The large frame pistol stayed pointed at the floor. He placed the box on the floor gently and pulled the long, pearl handled knife popping the blade free as it came level with the floor.

Danny's eyes widened in horror. He watched the old man move toward Marla. Part of him wanted to leap up and rush Jacobi, knocking him aside with the weight of his body. Fear stuck him to the floor as effectively as any glue. Three quick moves and her green apron hit the floor with a dull thud.

"You're not that good of an actress." Jacobi finished his thought. The blade went back in his pocket and he stooped to pick up the cloth bundle. "Good, but not good enough. Your father's daughter wouldn't cry over something like this. Now get up, the both of you." He gestured with the pistol.

The gentle sobbing stopped and Marla got to her feet. Her deep blue eyes sparked and her mouth was hard set. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

A flinty smile creased Jacobi's face. "No, perhaps not, but I have a feeling that we'll both find out." He gestured with the gun again.

Danny looked back and forth between the two. It was like something out of a movie. He couldn't believe that the girl he'd worked with for the last couple of months and had seen at the cafeteria on campus was staring this man down. He stood after he noticed that they were both staring at him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Now what?"

"Now we all go out the front door. You nice folks get in the back of a van that I have waiting and we drive to an undisclosed location." He read the nervous looks, not that it was hard. "You play along, you don't die. You don't and you die right here."

Fading light streamed in through the smoked glass door. Marla knew that there wouldn't be many people on the street outside. This wasn't the neighborhood it used to be and this close to sundown most of its inhabitants kept to themselves. Even if someone saw something there wouldn't be any witnesses. Still, alive in the van was better than dead here. She nodded at Danny and he went first.

The door bumped open under his foot activating the bell. In moments they all stood outside. A large, nondescript white van was parked in one of the few spaces in front of the shop. Marla suppressed a giggle and Jacobi swore. In the few minutes he'd been in the store all four tires had been slashed and the side had been tagged by one of the local grafitti artists.

The hired killer looked around the small lot and then at his prisoners. An unasked question hung in the air.

Marla picked up on it. "I take the bus and he rides his bike. I'd apologize, but ya know, I wouldn't mean it."

"Fine. Back inside." Jacobi herded them into the shop. "Back on your knees." He didn't wait for them to comply. He put the box on the counter and took out his cell phone. He barked into the phone and proceeded to ream someone out. At least that's what it sounded like to Danny.

Danny had taken some Russian his first year in school and it wasn't that, but it sounded a bit like it. Anytime he'd ever heard a foreign language spoke, it always seemed like the speaker was overly angry or excited. That probably came from the fact that they usually spoke it so quickly. He supposed that people who didn't speak English would think the same thing when they heard him. The look on Jacobi's face made it clear enough that he was not only angry, but enraged.

Finished and without waiting for a reply, Jacobi slammed the flip phone shut. He felt like crushing it and feeling the plastic pieces dig into his hand. It would have satisfied some sort of primeval need for blood. Things were beginning to deteriorate and he didn't appreciate that. No one would be available to pick him up for at least an hour.

He went to the front door and flipped the thumb lock. There was no sign to indicate that the shop was open or closed. Hopefully the idiots that shopped here would be able to figure out that it was closed if the door was locked. One could never be certain with the cattle that occupied this country.

Marla watched Jacobi move. Things didn't look well for them continuing to draw breath. Of course he'd left them alive so far, a fact that more than surprised her. With that knife he could have cut their throats and been on his merry way. Unable to raise her tied hands, she tried to get his attention with a pleading look. Her earlier smartass remark probably hadn't helped his mood.

"Yes, Marla," he said in a more level tone, "what can I do for you?"

Die she thought. She almost started to say "Let us go." That was likely a bad idea though. She knew how cliché her response was before she even said it. "No, it's what I can do for you. I can get you in that box if you want."

"You don't say. And why do you think I want in this box, or couldn't get in it if I did?" He waited for her answer.

Marla shrugged just a little. "Someone wants in there and they've hired you to do it. I guess if you've got no interest in it then I have to ask why you are here? As for you getting in, I know you'd have to wreck it to do so. How do I know that? Couldn't tell you, not yet anyway, but I do. If that box gets damaged then I'll wager you're out of a job. Right?" The man just looked through her. "So there's your answers."

The steel that Danny saw in the young lady that he thought of as merely whiny eye candy a few hours ago began to frighten him more than a little. He kept telling himself that it was more than likely going to end up killing them both, but as every minute ticked by it didn't. Sure the guy looked more than a little pissed off and frankly Danny couldn't blame him. Still, everyone continued to draw breath. He relaxed his shoulders. That was when the snout of that menacing pistol smacked him on the right side of his head.

"You will tell me whatever I ask you." Jacobi looked down on the mewling little boy that now lie bleeding onto the hard linoleum of the shop. The pistol came up, its finish now marred by a slick of red and you couldn't have drawn a straighter line between it's dark throat and Danny's ear with a surveyor's precision.

A lump formed in Marla's throat. Thankfully it blocked the mocking laugh that threatened to come at the same time. She didn't like Danny, not one bit. She didn't want him dead, but the idea that his life held a great deal of meaning at this particular juncture seemed ludicrous to her for some reason. Not ordinarily a cynic by any stretch, her own attitude surprised her almost as much as it had surprised Danny. Still, Mom had said for years that it was just like she had been spat out of her father's mouth. And dear old dead was every inch and ounce a cynical man. "I will tell you what I can, when it suits me." Her voice sounded thick and on the verge of tears. "You'll kill us both anyway, so threatening him doesn't do you a damn bit of good."

A veil of pain and darkness covered most of Danny's senses. It's like he imagined listening for a train by putting your ear to the cold metal of the track would be. Unfortunately for him, the train had come and danced on his head. He heard and understood Marla's words and wanted to stand screaming in defense of his own life. He couldn't deny the truth in what she said though, what he understood of it. Standing wasn't in his near future and the pool of warmth under his head became tacky. Stay awake, he said to himself. Falling asleep with his brains all about him on the floor was bad form. A giggle nearly came out when he thought that.

"Fine then. We'll play it your way for now. You're right in that I do need you alive. For now." He over enunciated the last two words just a bit. "I don't need him particularly, but having you both walking suits me for now."

The two fully conscious members of this little gathering simply stared at one another and waited for what was to come. Marla surpassed a sigh that would have been as treacherous as her earlier laugh. One disaster averted. Who knew how many more to go?

Written for Lorna's Blog Party. It required the use of the words practical, shaggy, porcelain, dragon, approximate, explain, narrower, fountain, gyrate, exhaling, off-balance, angels, exaggerate, cotton, incriminate, afterward, moon, terror, ruptured, and sickly. I'll return you to your regularly scheduled florist soon enough.

Bobby was never a very practical boy. At least that's what his teachers always told him. He was raised by his Mom and Dad to always seek the most interesting solution to any problem, rather than necessarily taking the shortest route. "Son," Dad would say, patting Bobby's shaggy brown hair, "life is too short to treat every situation like some sort of porcelain doll. If your answer ruffles some feathers then you're probably on the right track. If you're wrong then just keep trying."

So when the young lad saw his first dragon, rather than assuming he had gone off his rocker, he took it at face value. With an approximate length of four inches and iridescent pink scales, it didn't look much like the ones he'd read about in faerie stories. Still it would no doubt be easier to catch and keep than something the size of a car or larger.

There was no book that he could find to explain how one caught a dragon. Most of them concerned themselves with matters of killing and that just didn't sit well with him. Unfazed by this, he came up with his own idea. Using a cardboard box, some string and a stick that was a bit narrower than his thumb Bobby built a trap. He'd seen something like it on Looney Tunes.

The primitive trap was constructed in his back yard, near the fountain his Mom had built to compliment her Zen rock garden. He'd sighted the pink dragon there on several occasions, sunning itself. On schedule he watched it gyrate through the air, until it lighted on the sturdy branch of an apple tree that occupied the rear corner of their lawn.

Exhaling the tension from his little body, he waited now for it to discover the bait. He didn't know what smaller dragons ate. There was much talk in the book about virgins and that sort of thing. Lacking anything appropriate, he decided to go with a strawberry pop-tart. It was what he had and perhaps the sweet confection would be as big a hit with the dragon as it was with Bobby.

The speed with which the beast moved to the box caught him off-balance. Before Bobby could blink it had grabbed the pale rectangle and flew to a perch on the fountain. Looked like it was time to take a more direct approach. He said a prayer to his guardian angels, someone had once said that a boy like him would need more than one, and stood slowly.

"Pardon me, Mr. Dragon," Bobby said in a clear, quiet voice. "I'm not sure if you can talk or even understand me. I won't exaggerate my knowledge of your kind. But if you can, would you be so kind as to be my pet?"

The petite monster, if such a thing could be so called, reared back on its haunches. Its belly was as white as Bobby's cotton briefs. It appeared to be thinking. "I'm sorry boy. I don't think I would make a very good pet. Besides, this trap that you have laid for me would seem to incriminate you for attempted dragon-napping. That doesn't incline the odds in your favor of me sticking around." Its voice was light and airy, yet still carried a commanding tone.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure what else to do. I don't intend you any harm." Bobby took a step forward.

"Stay where you are young man," the dragon said sternly. "Let us talk for a moment and perhaps afterward a friendship will be possible. I am called Spinel and you are?"

"Bobby Stewart. A pleasure to meet you Spinel." He said, remembering his manners.

Spinel took another bite of the pastry. "The bait you chose is quite good Bobby. It was quite a long flight from the moon and I was feeling a bit peckish. Now, as you probably know our races have gone back and forth for generations causing a great deal of terror on both sides."

He nodded, though from his point of view it would seem that dragons were far more terrible than humans.

"The time has come though, for us to make peace with you and take our place in our rightful home. The moon is lovely, especially this time of year, but we belong here." Spinel took the last bite and licked each claw clean, rather like a cat. "As such, a group of us have been sent to find people who might help. You are one such boy."

Bobby's heart felt like it had ruptured by the sudden influx of joy. An ambassador to dragons, him?

A look of concern, indistinguishable to humans from any other dragonly look, crossed Spinel's features. "Are you alright young man? You look a bit sickly."

"Oh, yes sir. I'm just fine and I'll be glad to help you in any way." Only a boy as impractical as Bobby would make such an offer, though he and the world would one day be glad of it.

"Can I help him sit up at least?" she asked Jacobi.

"Alright. Since we are going to be here a while." He fished out the key to her cuffs with his left hand. "Turn around." He watched her carefully as she slowly spun one hundred-eighty degrees. One of the circlets popped open.

Marla resisted the urge to make any quick motions. She did take a few seconds to massage her wrists, before stooping to check on Danny. The letter opener wasn't far from her mind. If her hands stayed free long enough, she'd take pleasure in jamming it into some soft part of Jacobi's body.

Soft fingers touched Danny on his temple. Pain shot through his head, sharply clearing cobwebs and causing him to wince. "Easy."

"Sorry. It doesn't look too bad." Marla paused. "Okay well, it actually looks awful, but head wounds are never pretty. I think you'll be okay." The gash was long and narrow and would probably benefit from a couple of stitches. She looked up at Jacobi. "Can I get the first aid kit? It's under the cash register."

Without answering he walked around the short counter and grabbed the small metal box. It flew through the air in a brief arc, caught easily by the young lady.

"Thanks." She opened it and took out some sealed envelopes. "This will sting a bit." The tang of rubbing alcohol filled the air.

A hiss of air forced its way out of Danny. "Liar."

"Wuss." She cleaned his scalp as best she could and held a patch of gauze in place to staunch the bleeding. "Hold that there." While he did as he was told she shook to tablets out into her hand. "Take these, you'll have to dry swallow them."

Danny grimaced at the thought, but took them just the same. A whopper of a headache had already begun. "Thanks." The two young people locked eyes, light green and brown, both showing determination. He saw her determination turn into realization or something akin to it.

She stood, pivoting as she did so. "I know you. I mean you looked familiar when you first came in here. There's a picture of you in my dad's study. It's younger, but it's definitely you."

Jacobi cracked a smile. "Your father and I do know each other. We go back quite a way as a matter of fact."

Marla wanted to come to him, to poke a finger in his chest. Brave though she was, she was not foolish. So she stopped short of that. "So why? Why are you doing this?"

Jacobi chuckled. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Don't confuse relationship with friendship. We were never friends. We had business dealings. I occasionally worked for him, sometimes it was as equals. No doubt you know that he was not always a florist."

"I know enough about him to know what you're saying is probably true." She set her jaw and spoke her next words through clenched teeth. "But he has changed."

The chuckle became a full bore laugh. It rang through the shop. "Men like your father and I don't change. We can try, but it doesn't take."

Danny watched the two go back and forth, then stood. "Look, you know what, can we just get this over with?" He struggled to keep his voice even. "I'm tired of being threatened, confused, and afraid. Kill me if you want to. Hell kill us both, I don't care. I'm just ready for this to be done."

"Alright. It's as well done here as anywhere at this point. That wasn't the plan, but it seems that God is laughing at my plans today."