The Devil Wears Black Leather: Chapter 11

David S. Grant is posting his latest fiction “The Devil Wears Black Leather” while he works on his latest book, the fourth and final installment that follows: Bliss | Bleach | Blackout. The working title is of course, Bleak. Why is he doing this? Because he loves you! (Note: Also, may be drunk, hence the third person intro.) For more information (or purchase/download) David’s books check out his Goodreads (Bleach 4.6 out of 5 rating; Bleach | Blackout 4.8 rating) or Amazon page.


Gerald wakes up strapped to the front of a forklift that is parked in the corner of a damp warehouse.  The Vegas sun seeps through the skylights of the abandoned room.  His natural instinct is to scream, but there is duct tape covering his mouth.   He tries to remember what happened, how did he get there?  The last thing he remembers was playing Black Jack, no – it was standing at an ATM machine at Bally’s.  That’s right.  Gerald keeps thinking, trying to move his legs that are bungeed to the bottom of the forklift.  Yes, ATM then back to play more Black Jack, then, wait – the guy with the hair, looked like Elvis was playing next to him and then yes, YES, they left the table and went to the bar.  He tries to remember what they ordered and then remembers the evil look on Elvis’s face when he got in closer.  This is the last thing he remembers.  Gerald tries to scream again.

BOOM.  There is a pause, and then BOOM.  Gerald looks up and sees a man approaching, he is holding a guitar and is tapping it on the floor as he walks, the noise echoing throughout the abandoned warehouse.  BOOM.  Gerald looks down and sees there are electric wires attached to his stomach, toes, and testicles.  They may also be attached to his neck.  BOOM.  As the man comes closer Gerald recognizes the man from the Black Jack table, a tear forms as Elvis approaches.

Elvis picks up his guitar so it no longer drags.  Elvis turns dramatically toward Gerald.  “I’ve been watching you”.  Elvis walks to his left side. “You have spent the past seven days at Bally’s, playing Black Jack.” Gerald tries to say something, Elvis begins strumming his guitar, stops and reaches into his pocket.  He pulls out a picture of a boy and then a picture of a girl.  He holds them up to Gerald who begins crying uncontrollably.  “Precious.  A son and daughter, how old are they?”  Elvis stares ahead.  Gerald tries to say something, but Elvis cuts him off. “Seven and five?  Is that what you are trying to say?”  He asks and then begins again strumming his guitar.  Playing random strings Elvis sings, “Last seven days gambling away food and school money, never checked on my kids, and now looks like no one is checking on me.”  Elvis stops and asks, “What do you think?”  Gerald tries screaming and Elvis says, “Yeah, needs work.”

Elvis moves to the side of the forklift and jumps into the driver’s seat, he turns the key in the ignition to the right, turning the electrical on, and then jumps off.  He pushes a car battery over that has wires that run through the forklift engine and are then connected to Gerald.  Next to the battery is a foot pump of some sort, Elvis motions to it for Gerald, “Now when I push this down I want you to remember your kids.”  Elvis turns his back, but keeps talking.  “I want you to remember that we are giving them a chance.  A chance for your children to grown up, learn about life in a nice Christian family.”  Elvis bends over, and picks up his guitar.  “No more suspensions.  No more drugs.  No more missed school.”  He begins strumming and then presses down on the foot pump that releases the electric current through Gerald.  His body twists and turns, veins immediately pop out.  Elvis releases the pump.  Gerald continues to try to scream, but he his tied securely and there is no way out.  Elvis pushes down again on the foot pump and begins strumming his guitar, “This one is called Trouble.”  By the time the song completes Gerald is limp, hanging from the bungee cords.  Elvis finishes the song saying “Thank you, Thank you very much” to know one in particular.


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The Writing of David S. Grant View all posts by Pulp Scribbler

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