Wicked Stories Number Three

By Douglas G. Barnett

These stories are suspense thrillers with a touch of black humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514434420

Douglas G. Barnett

Douglas G. Barnett is an Anglo-American born and raised in Peru who one day literally decided to make his dreams come true. His stories are recollections of constant nightmares, therefore deciding to make it a habit writing them down at any given hour of the night. After seeing the amount of stories, he was animated then to give them a twist of black humor. Then masterminding these, he also got familiarized to write them when awake in the day.

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Copyright © 2015 by Douglas G. Barnett.

ISBN:         eBook          978-1-5144-3442-0   

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/10/2015

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CONTENTS

A Motto Cycle

A Very Effective Earphone Device

An Administrating Wife

Asking For It

Bandits

Complete And Unabridged

Cover-Up

Eaten Alive

Fortunato Sablana

Good Samaritans

Good Show

In Front Of Everyone

Keep Running

Lip Reading

No Laughing Matter

One Of Those Parties

Partners

Partying Together

Say Goodbye To Mommy

That Effect

Those Eyes

A MOTTO CYCLE

Douglas G. Barnett

A motorcyclist swerves to the left on a quiet and very lonely road, taking Reese Cardashian by complete surprise.

Get off the road, you motorcyclist bum!

What did you call me, you yuppie bastard!

Me what, you disgusting piece of shit, and he swirls his car toward the motorcyclist, taking him off balance. When he’s able to control the bike again, Cardashian does it once more. But this time, he hasn’t been able to get him off guard, so the biker kicks at his window, which, yes, infuriates him to the point of losing all control and desperately wanting to kick him off his bike.

This goes on for some time, the kicking and the insulting, until Cardashian finds his opportunity as the motorcyclist runs into a branch, which is of no real problem except that Cardshian, who is centimeters behind, can’t believe his luck, so he presses on the accelerator and pushes him into the undergrowth from which the motorcyclist quickly comes out with his fists in the air, saying the worst insults. Cardashian sees red and gets out of his car to fight him.

So me a yuppie against a bum, is that it?

The motorcyclist, who is actually a bum in all sense of the word, comes at him. It’s going to be quite a fight because both are very strong. They’re kicking and hitting each other with enormous ferocity, still insulting each other in their different manner of speech.

Cardashian is a bit worried now because he’s near his house. In fact, he can see it at a distance. It would be very embarrassing if some neighbor passes by and sees them fighting, so he quickens his kicks and knuckles to try and end it, but this other fellow just seems accustomed to this and seems he could go on all day like this.

Cardashian, probably because of his worry, is somehow taking the upper hand, so the bum takes out a knife and hurls himself at him.

Cardashian is taken aback and, seeing that he is obviously an expert at this, runs to his car with the attacker behind.

On opening the door of the car, the attacker stabs him, cutting him in the arm, to which Cardashian, just in the nick of time, takes out a revolver because he’s about to strike again, though this time not in the arm but in his chest.

What in the world has happened to you? asks his wife, Lena, a rather beautiful mature woman of forty-three.

His answers are one of disgust. I ran into a bum, and we had it out.

I’m surprised you still react that way, Reese darling, moving her head in disapproval.

What else could I do? He came at me.

Rather difficult I’d say, you could always run.

Well, I don’t run from any bum.

You’d rather have it out with him then.

Yes, Lena, I do.

What are you doing here so early anyway? We weren’t leaving till the kids came back from school.

I want to pack so that as soon as they arrive, we’re off. Lena, leave everything you want to take here in the living room, and I’ll put it in the car.

All right with me, she says.

The packing takes a couple of hours, and by that time, the children have arrived back on the school bus.

Climb in, everyone. We’re off.

So off they go on their holiday, one they haven’t had in a very long time. The kids say years.

It’s a sunny afternoon, and they’re all quite happy. The kids, a boy the oldest, is only ten, and the girl is nine. They’re the ones enjoying it the most.

We should have bought a station wagon, says Lena.

They’re too big and bulky. This car has more hold.

More uncomfortable too, she says.

For the kind of trips we make, it wouldn’t justify such a big car.

For the one trip we make, you mean.

Now don’t imitate the kids, Lena. Let’s just have a good time as it is.

Oh yes, let’s enjoy it, she says. It could be the last one too.

He looks at her with a strange look.

What do you mean, Lena?

Just… Never mind, she says and opens a magazine, her way of saying, Forget it. Concentrate on the road, just her usual way.

All right then, I’ll do just that.

Two on a motorcycle pass, signaling at them, then go further up and slow down, forcing Reese to overtake them. Remembering that morning, he gets a chill on his back.

Oh no, not again.

Are you having motorcycle problems, dear?

What problems, Daddy? asks the boy.

Nothing, son. It’s nothing.

Your father was in a fight this morning with a man on a motorcycle.

A bum, Mickey, nothing to worry about.

Did you beat him up good, Dad?

It wasn’t fun, Mickey, so don’t get any ideas.

Geez, that’s why you’re all bruised up then. You know that could be him again. You wouldn’t know because they’re wearing helmets. They’re coming again, Dad. Step on it.

Calm yourself, Mickey. You’ll get your sister scared.

I am scared, Father. They look pretty mean.

Now, Rina, it’s all right. Don’t worry. Mommy is here.

Yeah, sure, as if you could do anything about it, says Mickey.

It’s Mother’s way of protecting, Mickey. Don’t forget it.

I don’t know about this, but I’d rather put my trust in Father.

That’s my Mickey. We’ll settle this if there is trouble, and trouble there is because the cyclist has accelerated and gets beside them.

Reese swerves the car to push him away, but the cyclist has already foreseen this and has moved his bike in time and now is in front of him as if nothing had happened. This goes on for some time, getting Reese Cardashian more nervous by the minute.

Lena has said nothing after her first intervention, making Reese angrier.

I don’t like this, Lena.

Oh, you’ll get over it. It’s probably like old times for you.

What makes you say that for heaven’s sake? I’m worried for the kids.

Oh, just the kids? What about me?

Well, you know what I mean. Don’t take it like that, Lena. It’s not fair.

Maybe that’s their way of saying hello, she says.

How I hate these bums, he says to his family.

What have they done to you to hate them so much?

Lena, they can be very aggressive, these groups of motorcyclists. And apart from that, they’re usually into drugs and who knows what.

You don’t like them because they don’t think like you about how one should live one’s life.

I’m beginning to think that you are on their side.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It’s just that you’re taking it too far. She laughs at him, hitting him once with her magazine.

Just enjoy our trip and look forward. We don’t want an accident where you’ll put the blame on the motorcyclist, do we?

All right, I won’t mention them again.

You can outbeat them any day, Daddy.

Thank you, son. It’s good to have a pal in times like these.

Let’s stop to eat, Dad.

But we’ve only been on the road for an hour and a quarter, so there is about forty-five minutes left, and we can then have a decent meal at the cabin.

We want something now, Dad, say the two of them together.

Fine with me then. He turns the car into a place that serves quick meals.

The Grill, eh, let’s hope they have one, he says, rather molested.

They all order a big dinner of steaks and take their time.

Look, a couple of motorcyclists, and they’re coming here. What do we do now, Dad?

Nothing, just all behave as if nothing had happened. Don’t even look at them, and that’s an order. At this, Lena sighs in disbelief.

We’re doing fine here. We’ve practically finished anyway. We’ll order dessert to take away on the way out. C’mon, let’s go. I’ll pay at the cashier.

They’re lots of people, so it is easily done. They’re out and in the car in a flash. He darts out of the place and races the car down the highway, leaving a stellar of dust and smoke from the tires.

Did anyone get to see them? asks Reese.

How could we, says Lena, we were out so fast.

That was a great getaway, Dad.

How sure are we that it was the same people? There are loads of motorcyclists especially in these parts, says Lena.

Well, we weren’t going to approach them and ask them either, were we? to which Mickey laughs, but the little girl cries.

C’mon, Rina, it’s past. Shortly we’ll be at the cabin.

What happens if they come to the cabin? asks Rina.

I’ll take care of that, and he brings her to the front seat.

Your dad will always look after you, and he kisses her on her apple-size cheeks. There is nobody following us, so I’ll turn in to the path here that leads to the cabin.

Once there, he orders everyone inside, saying