The following is an off-the-cuff story I came up with that reminds me that dialogue is a powerful tool in any kind of story. Even without any guided action or internal monologues, there is still coherence. Fragmented, yes, but there is still a full story here. Names. Locations. Emotions. They are all something a writer uses to build a world. But when we don’t have them, what are we left with? Still an awful lot.
This story has three characters throughout the duration of it. And the inspiration is rather reminiscent of quick-fire dialogue in films of the 1940’s/1950’s. Enjoy.
“Got the information?”
“Most of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means your informant don’t wanna be a rat no more.”
“Useless. What’d boss even see in you?”
“Opportunity. Excellence. I didn’t see you out in the field doing the grunt work.”
“Because that ain’t my job. Lemme see what you got.”
“Don’t expect the unexpected. Shit sounded rehearsed. Mind if I smoke?”
“Smoke all you want. Don’t you hate it when things sound rehearsed? Like, just fucking help us with our job. S’all we want.”
“Eh, she’ll get what’s coming to her.”
“She?”
“Yea. She. Where that information came from.”
“I never said our informant was a she. Do you realize what you coulda done?”
“Hey, I got paid to do a job. I did a job. You expected me to think about consequences?”
“Gods damned mercenary. I gotta clean up your shit now. You know what that’s gonna set me back?”
“A buck-fitty? I ain’t no mathematician. What’d she tell ya?”
“Why’s it matter to you? You fucked this up.”
“I ain’t fucked nothing up. I may have fucked a few gals, but I ain’t one to fuck no job. Stellar reputation. That’s more than you’d get from the yellow-bellied freaks your boss keeps on the payroll elsewhere. Ya owe me an explanation as to what’s in that dossier.”
“Can’t believe I’m doing this, but it’s information. Information on movements. Jobs. That sort of confidential stuff.”
“Ain’t nothing privy no more. Your eyes don’t lie. Not one word that came out your mouth just now were true. I bet me grandpop’s left nut on it. That’s his working nut.”
“Too much information.”
“And false information too. Grandpop still goes twelve rounds with every floozie he meets. Both his nuts work. And unlike you, I ain’t afraid to admit the truth. So, quit hogging the juicy details. Spill the beans. Never know, I might have more for ya to peruse.”
“Unlikely.”
“Oh, a real Johnny Tightlips, are ya? Perhaps I’ll make you speak the same way I did Unbreakable Tyrone. Spoiler alert: He weren’t as tough as his name suggested. Shame, really. I wanted a challenge from him.”
“Do you ever stop talking? Our business is concluded.”
“Nah. ‘Fraid our business only just started. See, your boss don’t trust you no more. Thinks your a snitch. You know what happens to snitches?”
“Yes. I do. I’ve killed many over the years. And no matter what you try, you won’t intimidate me.”
“I can try though.”
“You really want information? I’ll get you anything. Name it.”
“No, no. No deals now. Too late for that. A shame to lose such a good archivist. Hard to find new ones on such short notice.”
“Well, glad boss won’t need to find one. Now, if you would excuse me, I got work to do. Crawl back into whatever hole you came from.”
“We ain’t done here.”
“Oh, I think you find we are.”
“That’s what I expect from a pussy-eater!”
“Well, at least I can say I eat pussy. Better than choking on cock.”
“So, why would you come crawling to me with this?”
“Thought you could use it.”
“I have heard stories about you. Word travels fast in this business.”
“Yea? All good, I bet.”
“No. Far from it. Some do not approve of your methods. But I am concerned with less trivial matters. You assaulted one of my men. Threatened him under the pretense of it being my doing. Therefore, by that deduction, any information you bring to me is worth less than the paper it is written on. Less than your life. What do you say to these accusations?”
“Shitbags will say anything to get the hired gun in trouble. S’all blatant lies.”
“Indeed? Perhaps… this might change your mind.”
“Whoa there, big fella. Things are coming back to me now. Yea, yea. Perhaps I let my temper get the better of me. I strangled him a little. Just to show I weren’t to be messed with.”
“Exactly what a liar would say. And I hate liars. More than I hate snitches. I hate snitches more than I hate law enforcement. And I hate those guys more than I hate liars. It is a neverending cycle of hate.”
“Ironic, too.”
“Quite. Make sure he sleeps with the fishes. Snuff his candle. Compact his car. Take his trash out. Clean his drapes. Dust his crops. You get the drill. And replace that carpet. The sight of his blood makes me queasy.”
END
Fenrir's Lair 