On the fourth day, Deirdre had stopped leaving the hotel room altogether.
+++++She pressed her forehead against the window, the heat tickling her temples like a soft electric current, and stared down at the canal. It didn’t look like water, more like thick, brown molasses or cold lava.
+++++Behind her, Josh snored steady and slowly, grinding her nerves down with every breath.
+++++She had stopped speaking to him two days ago, after a quick pity fuck, thoroughly annoyed by his retarded Jack-in-the-box face wobbling up and down, wiggling above her, and when he, cock still dripping, gave her a smug grin and said: “That’s what ye could call a little death in Venice, eh?”, she got up, and put on her bathrobe. He had seen nothing but the back of her since then.
+++++He had adapted quickly, spent his time either at the hotel bar, warming up, at the casino, loosing his money and, again, at the bar, drinking away his sorrows, before he went up to their room for a nap.
+++++Deirdre kept busy by hating Venice. It was hot and humid, she didn’t understand a word, and it was way too crowded, even now, well after the holiday season. Navigating through the market place had taken her almost an hour, wriggling between American tourists in colourful shorts and floating cameras with skinny Asian guys glued to the view-finder. Worse, since their first walk through the lanes and alleys in search of a McD for Josh, she couldn’t get the smell of shit out of her nose.
+++++A McD, for God’s sake. Venice’s a top choice for a guy who can’t stand pasta.
+++++The persistent stench was the final draw. The natives probably all shat in a bucket and poured it out of their window, into the canals, once a day, where a merry bunch of gondoliers stirred it up with their paddles, singing O Sole fucking Mio.
+++++And then there were the pigeons. Thousands of them, a hitchcockian thread circling above the city, ready to drown Venice away in a biblical flood of pigeon guano. They had ruined her Versace dress within half an hour.
+++++Deirdre was almost longing for some red hooded dwarf who’d put her out of her misery.
+++++“City for lovers, my arse,” she muttered.
+++++The knock at the door startled her and she dropped her cigarette. It was a non-smoking room anyway, so she stubbed it out with her heel. She heard the bed creak. Between two yawns, Josh said: “I’ll go. Fuck forbid, you’d move away from the fucking window for a minute.”
+++++She heard a muffled scream, then a short, dry sound of some fragile thing breaking. When she turned around, the big guy was halfway into the room, two branch-thick fingers hooked up Josh’s nostrils, dragging him behind. Josh floundered and ground, so the big guy dropped him and kicked him in the dick.
+++++Calling him big didn’t do him justice – he was built like a brick shitter inside a nuclear reactor.
+++++“Three days, Hank? It took you three fucking days to come and get me? What did you do? Amble along the scenic route all the way from Dublin?” Deirdre lit another cigarette and tossed the pack over to her brother.
+++++“Well, first of all I had a bit of a hard time convincing the old man that you shouldn’t get your ass whipped for running away with 750000 of his quid and that cuntwart here.”
+++++He casually kicked Josh’s balls again.
+++++“I did phone you, didn’t I?”
+++++“Took you a while though, didn’t it?” Hank lit his Chesterfield, took a hard drag, till a flock of ash snowed down on Josh who was silently puking snot and tears on a hand-woven carpet.
+++++“Must’ve been down to surprise, I reckon. First time the loser showed a bit of initiative.”
+++++“You married the moron. Told you not to. The old man told you not to. Even Josh’s Mom told you to dump him.”
+++++Josh babbled opaquely. and gained another kicking, hard enough to take all air out of his lungs.
+++++“So … he and I are good again?”
+++++“Yeah. Sure you are. Sentimental git loves you like a daughter.”
+++++Hank went to the window, opened it to flick out the cigarette butt and resiled.
+++++“God-damn. This fucking city smells even worse over here. You sure we won’t explode when I drop the fag?”
+++++She went over to the armoire to fetch the suitcase.
+++++Meanwhile, Josh tried to get up, toppling on his hands and knees, so Hank went over and put his shoe to Josh’s chin.
+++++“I wonder if you would’ve called if he had taken you to New York, sis’.”
+++++She paused and pursed her lips. Shrugged.
+++++“No idea,” she said. “You know what they say about New York, right? Everyone who wants to live anywhere else is a cunt.”
+++++“Thought so.” He gave her a big, shiny grin.
+++++“Oh, by the way.” She turned around, holding up a thick backpack. “With the hotel bill and what he lost at Black Jack, I’d say – 50000 Euros might well be gone.”
+++++“That’s OK.” Hank nodded, poked this thumb at Josh. “Old man said it wouldn’t be worth the bother to bring him back for anything less than 200000.”
+++++“Right.” She opened her suitcase and started packing.
+++++“Guess the old saying is true, then,” she said. “There really is no place like home.”

by

The following two tabs change content below.

• Bio
• Latest Posts

Thurston Maxim Simmler

T. Maxim Simmler writes crime, horror and assorted weird stuff, mostly while working the night desk at a decrepit riverside hotel. He maintains the probably most swear word riddled page in the history of social media here: www.facebook.com/TMaximSimmler.

Latest posts by Thurston Maxim Simmler (see all)

• Love Is Stronger - January 24, 2015
• Little Deaths In Venice - December 11, 2014
• Breathe - October 6, 2014