The Swetky Agency - Raw Meat Submission Synopsis

Raw Meat

by Laird Long

Book Opening:
I banged a spoon on the warped counter. The demand was action, the response was glacial. Louise slowly hoisted her head out of a tabloid and stared at me with cow’s eyes as dull as pinball slugs. Her jaws masticated a stick of gum. I jabbed a digit at my empty mug. She sighed, launched her fat body off the end of the counter like an ore boat, and slumped into a shuffling gait. She dragged along a near-empty decanter of coffee and poured the dregs into my cup.

“I’m not paying for the atmosphere,” I stated. I flattened a bluebottle with my bare hand, used a napkin to clean up the kill. The air in the coffee shop was dense with smoke. A thick guy in a short-sleeve business shirt and a heavy sweat was puffing on a long, green cigar in one of the booths. He was mumbling to himself.

“One free refill, that’s it, Sydney,” Louise responded flatly.

“I know the rules. The fly was toting a banner.”

She smiled sourly. She was covered in a veneer of lethargy that would have done a postal worker proud. “Funny,” she mumbled, scratching her red beak over my black coffee.

Benoit Joyal slid onto the vinyl toadstool next to me. Joyal was a street hustler and sometime pimp. He was a French-Canadian anxious to get home; his obstacles were money and guts. His artificial leg squeaked when he walked, howled when he ran. “Bonjour, Charles,” he said. He was out of breath, a bad sign - he needed help. “How is it going, eh?”

I cocked my head like a hammer and took a look at him. His dark face was a sweltering nest of tics, his nervous, brown eyes squinting even more than usual. He had an old guy with him. “I don’t have any money, Joyal.”