I ran into myself at a bar last night. It was an unsettling experience to say the least.

“Hello!” he said, quite cheerfully.

“Hello,” I replied, trying to look busy with my phone, “how’s it going?”

“Pretty good actually!” he said, annoyingly cheerily. “I’m just having a few drinks. Care to join me?”

I tried to shuffle away but he wrapped a strong, snake-like arm round my shoulders and guided me to a table. We sat across from each other and he slid a beer towards me, which I sipped grudgingly. A group of girls walked past and he eyed them up with a lofty little smile on his face. One of them glanced at him and he raised his glass in a toast, to which she giggled and returned to her friends.

“You have a girlfriend,” I reminded him.

“I know, but there’s no harm in being friendly,” he laughed.

This was getting on my nerves now. I was ready to stand up from the table and just leave right then but… well, he was irresistibly handsome. I couldn’t do anything but stay.

“So what’s up? You seem a bit weird lately. Not bad weird, just weird weird.”

I sipped on my beer while contemplating the answer. “True. I’m just a bit disillusion at the moment. Don’t worry, give it a month or two and I’ll be normal.”

“Why’re you disillusioned? Watched the back of a magic show again?”

“Smart arse. Remember that party?”

“Oh God yeah. What an awesome night. And morning. Not the best afternoon though.”

“That’s not the point. That walk-”

“-and that epiphany.”

“Yeah, I tried to recreate it.”

He paused in mid sip of his drink. A smile spread across his face.

“You cock. You know how it works. A moment’s all you can ever expect from perfection. Anything else is greedy.”

“Yeah, I know it was stupid. But the feeling’s gone now. I just wanted it back.”

“It’ll come. You know it will.”

“Yeah, I know. Like I said, I’d be better eventually.”

We clinked bottles and finished them off. At that moment a girl wearing a short, thin white skirt came over to our table and flashed a pearly smile at us. Her fingernails were tinted pink and a waft of flowers emanated from her soft blonde hair.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “do you have a cigarette?”

In less than an instant we had both produced cigarettes for her.

“I only need one.” She smiled.

“Yeah,” I said, “but you might need one later.”

“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my friend over there.”

“Oh,” my counterpart commented, “take two anyway. As a gift.”

“Thank you!” she giggled. She walked away a few steps before turning on her heel and coming back. “So, tell me, why did you start smoking in the first place?”

There was a pause as I looked at myself, and then, almost synchronised, we both chorused “He has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, ok,” she blushed, “have a good night then.”

And she left.

“My round?” I asked, and left the table to buy more drinks. When I returned he was gone.

Hypocrisy
- a poem by Jonathan Mercer

Sleepy headed fires that scorch smiles
into lush green landscapes.
Hairs sprout from carpets that groan and
heave with
unheeded desire.

Thoughts and secrets are told and retold
in the soft serenity
of a screaming ballad.
The heart thunders a whisper which
refuses to stop no matter
how
hard
one
tries.

Naked in its most clothed form
amidst thread bare skins
of fears and woes.
The charmer is the thief
of the thoughts
and the soul
and the soft, supple flesh.

The prisoner is the prison guard.
The falcon is the falconer.
The sinner is the saint.

And in the distance, a saxophone screams.

I know there’s no reason, rhyme or madness to make me feel this way. No, wrong, FUCKING WRONG, because there oh so obviously is. It’s just in my head. And not in my head.

There’s a difference between thinking the whole world conspires against you and knowing the whole world is conspiring against you. I learned this years ago. Thinking breeds hope, knowing breeds death.

But despite all this hope and promise and delusion and dejection, I feel as if I am slowly and surely going completely insane.

Three bricks in tow, each one clutching a strip of paper in an elastic band grasp. The driver leans forward and lights his cigarette from my lighter before I snap it shut. He laughs maniacally and drums his fingers along the rim of the wheel. I smile at him through my glasses and buckle up as he speeds up, thundering down the midnight streets with youthful reckoning. The speed was fast enough to wrench our heads from our necks if we crashed somewhere, but something about the speed set us free. We slowed to a stop in front of a huge plate glass window. Behind the portal laid hundreds and hundreds of books, lined against walls and floors with each cover shining virginially in the light. The place was deserted so I stepped out the car and ground my cigarette. I could see all the books inside, I could see all the whore pages that would be read over and over for a penny a fuck and I could see their shallow shit encrusted little faces become lost in mediocrity and dying in memory. the window made a satisfying smash when I threw the brick into it. My carrier pigeon took my words and guided them safely to a solid crack on the floor, and I wondered what people would think when they read what I wrote. I stepped into the car, shuffling glass away with my feet and we drove off deeper into the city and deeper into the night. We still had two bricks by our feet and we still had so much to say.

We were starting a writing revolution.

Noir
A short story by Jonathan Mercer

They threw me into the chair like a sack of potatoes, and my spine cracked off the metal backing. I let out a grunt of pain but the tall one pressed his gun to my cheek, so I shut up, despite him hitting my teeth. He pulled it away and swayed across the room like there was some slow tempo jazz running through his ears, flicking on a light with the barrel of the gun when he reached the other side of the room. The other two just stood there with their hands behind their backs as he moon-walked his way round them. I tried to get myself comfortable, but having your hands cuffed behind your back isn’t too good for sitting down with.

There was a table in front of me and a desk lamp resting on one of the corners closest to the chair across from me. I had to suppress my grin. They were going to shine it right in my face and shout at me. Then, when I refused to give them an answer, they were going to crack it over my jaw. I really had to try to keep my face straight. These guys were amateurs. One too many films and too much access to firearms. Though, now that I thought about it, I had only seen the tall guy pull a piece on me. It was beautiful as hell, sure, but it was only him who had one so far.

“Now!” The tall one began, throwing himself onto the opposite chair so that it almost fell over, but not quite. He sat there for a while, watching me expectantly with those big black eyes of his.

“Now, what?” I asked.

He waved his gun in circles in the air as if his words were hostages and he was telling them to come closer. “You were going to tell us something, I think?”

I shifted position again and felt my back crack as I straightened my spine. It was a good crack though, and I felt miles more comfortable. The cuffs still hurt like hell, but it was a start.

“Really? I don’t remember anything that I was supposed to tell you. Is there something specific in mind? Maybe you can jog my memory.”

I heard the scraping of a chair, I felt his fist bury itself into my gut, and I heard him sit back down again, but I didn’t see him move. How much had I had to drink again? Either I was wasted or this guy moved liked greased lightening.

“Ah,” I coughed, still feeling that fist compress my lungs, “Now I remember. Your boss, whatsisname… Caldonia. Yeah, got some good information on him, something that you and him would really like to know.”

The tall one laughed and shone the silver barrel of his revolver with his sleeve. Damn, it was a pretty gun. “How do you know we’re with Caldonia? We could be with Miles.”

I coughed again. “You a fag?”

This time I saw him, there was a movement, his fist connected with my jaw and his furious face was dragged away before he was sitting down again, his smile losing some of the shine from before. My mouth filled with warm fluid and I leaned to the side and spit out a beautiful blob of blood.

“What makes you think I’m a fag?”

“I never said that, I asked if you were a fag. You’re not with Miles because he only hires white guys, so you’re either with Carter or Caldonia. And guess who only hires toy boys?”

He stayed quiet. The two big guys in the back still didn’t move. I tongued my mouth and felt another loose tooth. This wasn’t my day at all.

“All right, what you got on Caldonia?”

“No no,” I tell him, trying to sit up straight and failing, “get rid of the ugly one first.”

He looked round behind him at his two goons.

“Which one?”

“God, there are two? How much have I had to drink?” I say, focusing in between the two hulks of muscle. This was easier than babysitting my nephew.

“What can you say that they can’t hear?”

“Sensitive stuff. Don’t want one of them to run off to Daddy when I’ve spilled my load. I could end up in trouble.”

“More trouble than you’re in right now?”

I look around at the dank, soundproof room.

“You have a point, but still, this is big stuff.”

He stared right at me for a moment, his thumb itching to pull back the hammer on that sweet, sweet little thing he was holding. Using his gun, he waved them out of the room and kept on looking at me. When the door had closed behind them he slipped a cigarette out his inside pocket and lit it, taking a good long drag. God I wanted one. Screw quitting, this was just the perfect bad day to justify having one.

“Can I have one of those?”

He absentmindedly pulled one out and put it to my mouth, lit it, and threw the matchstick at my face.

“Also, do you mind?” I asked with my cigarette clenched between my teeth. It was a good brand too. Goddamn it was a good brand. I shuffled over and showed him my cuffed wrists. “Kind of hard to smoke with these on.”

I gave him my drunkest look, the one I picked up on my high school prom night when I really wanted to screw that teacher. She took advantage of me, of course, and damn that was a good night. He looked me over a long time, longer than Mrs Sewell did, before standing up.

“No funny business, alright?”

“You’re the man with the gun.”

I let him uncuff me and cuff me again round the front, no struggle and no sign of struggle to alert him. I was just another drunk who had gotten in too deep. He sat back down and I exhaled a long cloud of smoke. Goddamn.

“So, what’s this big secret you know?” He asked. His gun was still in his hand, which was hanging limp by his side. “Something that could get my boss in trouble?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you what it is. Come closer though, I don’t like saying it out loud.”

Dear God, the fool actually came closer. He leaned in, his face a picture of expectancy. I almost felt sorry for the kid.

“Closer, I really don’t like it.”

And he came closer. I felt less sorry for him now. Every dumbass needs a good kick once in a while to set them straight. I felt sorry for myself though. I hated wasting a good cigarette.

“Your boss…” I said, right to his face, “is an idiot for hiring you.”

And before he could react, I punched him in the eye. My cigarette was resting nicely between my fingers at this point, and embers sparkled over his cheek like fireworks. He yelled and fell backwards onto the floor while I tucked my hands under and flipped the desk over him. Running over the other side of the desk I gave him three swift kicks to the head, and he was out.

I stood poised, ready on my tiptoes for any movement by the door, but this place was soundproofed by professionals, and it seemed that goon 1 and goon 2 remained oblivious to what was happening in the room. I moved the table and took the piece from his hand. I was never an expert on guns, but this thing was a beauty. A true piece of art. I flicked open the chamber to see the rear ends of six glorious bullets mooning me. Perfect.

I walked over to the door and steadied the gun in my hand, using my other cuffed hand to support it. I gave the door three kicks to the middle and one kick at the bottom, making it sound like there was a bit of a scuffle going on in here. As I predicted the two goons burst through the door, running straight into the middle of the room. When they were both clear I kicked the door shut and fired a round straight into the back of goon number 1’s head. He collapsed like a house of cards, but goon 2 had turned and leapt towards me. I fired off three rounds in a panic and he fell on top of me like a large, and now very wet, tree.

By the time the tall guy had come to I had flipped him onto his stomach and handcuffed his hands behind his back before hog tying him with his own necktie. I took a belt of scotch from the flask I found in goon 2’s jacket and blew out a sweet plume of smoke. He just groaned on the floor and I slipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it.

He spat it out. “I’ll tell you anything. I swear I will.”

“I know you will.” I told him, leaning one knee on his back and pulling one of his fingers until it made a sickening snap. “I’ll make sure of that.”