A Story Orgy™ Author New Release Alert!
A Pulp Friction story
Sometimes the only way for justice to prevail is to get a little Wicked...
People who call him know the deal. He'll solve their problems, but he'll do it his way. That's the only way Wick Templeton plays the game. His years on the force and connections to all types of specialists put him in a league of his own. That's how he intends to keep it.
An ex-boyfriend in need puts Wick on a path that crosses that of Ned Harris, a stranger who proves to be a worthy adversary.
Wick's simple agenda gets a little more complicated. Item one: Clear his ex's name. Item two: unmask the enigma that is Ned Harris.
It's a good agenda. Too bad Wick can't seem to stick to it.
Wick whistled while he worked, clicking on different files in Neer's computer and copy/saving them onto the brand new flash drive he had brought with him. Most of the files would end up being worthless, but he wouldn't chance missing the right one because he didn't want to transfer them all over.
"Would you mind not whistling that shit?"
Wick didn't even bother looking up, he could tell from his periphery vision that the big brute still sat proper in the chair. "Oh sorry, was that bothering you?" He licked his lips and when he blew between them the theme song for It's a Small World took flight.
"Just kill me now."
"I don't take requests. Now less talking please, I'm concentrating." He continued whistling his little ditty while he finished the last of the transfers.
He reached into his pocket for his second flash drive when he noticed a link on the M drive that he could've sworn wasn't there before. He clicked on it...nothing. He moved the mouse over it again and double clicked...still nothing.
"Say, Cliffy dah-ling. What's so special about the M drive?"
"Go to hell, fuckwad."
"Okay, that's a tad unwarranted." But it wasn't the words that got Wick's interest piqued. No, he already guessed Neer wasn't a poet. The way his back stiffened when asked about the M drive, now that interested Wick.
He messed around trying to find a back door for this elusive drive, but no go. Finally he just put his pointer over it and clicked repeatedly out of frustration.
It opened up to a password protected file.
"Well fuck me, that really does work?" He chuckled as he searched the obvious places on the desk just in case Neer's denseness equaled Brad's. Unfortunately, Neer didn't leave a handy dandy sticky note with passwords stuck anywhere. Well, this was as far as he could go without asking for help. He curled his lip up to the right, he hated asking for help.
"Hey Cliffy, wanna play a game?"
He twirled the chair so he faced the back of Neer's head and propped his feet on the desk.
"Go to hell, fuc—"
Wick raised his voice over Neer's, "There are five main swear words that are frequently used in the English language to hurt people's feelings. When used with lesser cuss words you can procure hundreds of derogatory names. When combined to make compound words your options go into the thousands, even higher if you aren't particularly worried about the grammar Nazis. If you insist on insulting me I'm going to have to ask that you change it up each time. It keeps our romance alive, keeps the spark in our relationship.
"So now, about our game. I've got a silencer in my bag here. I'm about to equip it on my gun right here in my hand." He held up the gun, when Neer attempted to look he stopped him. "What are you doing? No turning around. I really do have a silencer. You'll have to have a little faith in your dance partner on this one. Now, I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. If you answer them correctly all is well. If you don't; I shoot. Let's say, oh I don't know...I'll begin about a foot away from you, but each time I don't get the answer I want my aim will target a little closer...and yada yada yada. Get the gist of it?"