No Snapped Necks: 750 Word Parody

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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The big drifter swung down from the truck's cab and waved his thanks. It was twelve noon. The square root of twelve is 3.464. He had exactly $34.64 in his pocket. He liked numbers. He liked short sentences. The trucker had dropped him off by the bus terminal. Over the road he saw a kiosk selling coffee and donuts. He realized he was thirsty and hungry. He needed to keep his strength up. There might be necks needing snapping here. In the last town he had snapped a dozen necks. But they had been bikers or narcotraficantes or neo-Nazis or foreign agents out to steal a computer program. The details got blurred with time. But they were the bad guys and he was the good guy. So they had it coming.

He crossed the road. "Coffee, please," he said.

The young woman poured into a Styrofoam cup and pressed a lid onto it. She was pretty with dark hair and brown eyes. She had a good figure. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. He took a few donuts and paid her, leaving a tip.

"Thank you," she said.

The coffee was strong and freshly made. She made good coffee so she must be a good woman. The big man said nothing but sat on a bench outside. He didn't have long to wait. A black town car pulled up and a man in a suit got out. He glanced at the drifter and walked up to the woman.

"Got my money?" he demanded.

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. Business has been slow." She looked scared.

"Then you'll have to pay some other way. Get in the car," he said.

The drifter put down his coffee and stood. He was sorry to leave it. He stepped to the man.

"She's staying here. I want another coffee," he said.

The man stared at him. "Keep out of this unless you want to get hurt."

The drifter said nothing.

The man nodded and two more big men stepped out of the car. The driver and a minder. Both had shaved heads and wore cheap suits.

"Get rid of this bum," the man told them.

"They're not enough. Bring the rest of your gang," the drifter said.

The fight lasted under three seconds. A head butt to the driver, a roundhouse kick to the minder's groin and finally an elbow smash into the boss's torso. Now three men lay groaning in the gutter. It had been no contest. It never was. But no necks had been snapped this time. Now he had a town car to use.

"Thank you," the woman said coming out of her kiosk.

She looked at the drifter and saw a man in his fifties with dirty blond hair that had been combed with his fingers. He wore a faded khaki jacket and green work pants that looked as if they had been pressed under a mattress. She had a thing for older men with the hobo look. He was emptying the mobsters' wallets.

"Come back to my apartment," she said. She locked the kiosk.

"Will I get hot coffee there?" he asked.

She nodded.

The drifter said nothing but opened the town car's door. They got in. She gave him directions. They climbed the steps and she let them in. The one room walk-up was neat and cared for. Soon their clothes were on the floor. She led him to the shower and turned on the water. They stepped under the spray. The hot water splashed over their bodies. He pressed her body up against the tiled wall. Later, they wrapped towels around themselves and crossed to the bedroom. They had great but non-described sex a second time. She was really pleased and smiled when they finished.

He was not scared about STDs. STDs were scared of him.

"Are there any more in the gang?" the drifter asked.

The woman shook her head. "No. I'm leaving town anyway to care for my mom and I'll start over."

They fell asleep for a while but the drifter set himself to wake at exactly 3:46 p.m. The woman was still asleep, her hair spread over her pillows. The drifter pulled on his clothes and let himself out. He left the keys to the town car with her to help her leave. The drifter walked back to the terminal. The crooks had picked themselves up and gone. He caught the first bus out of town. He sat towards the back and wondered what necks would need snapping in the next town.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is a little parody I wrote regarding a long running series about a big drifter who comes to town to sort out various bad guys. I really enjoyed the earlier books in the series but not the later ones which were stale and poorly written in my opinion. Anyway, those who have read them will guess who the copyrighted drifter is. Hope y'all enjoy this little tale.