by Mattieau Brose Views: 12
It was one of those nights when the moon’s light bathes the world in anarchy. Abandoned dogs prowl in packs. Nurses in asylums demand double pay. And too many drinking sessions end in bar fights. Things get out of control.
Drew was busy packing away his tools. Another job completed. Another debt settled.
This particular job had been a tough one: a shoe cabinet.
But not any ordinary shoe cabinet.
This one was constructed from the finest ebony, with shelves made from scented sandalwood that glided along revolving coasters as elegantly as a ballerina. The coup de grace was an inlaying of silk, which presented every shoe with the pomp befitting of a princess.
It had been one of his most demanding tasks for one of his most discerning clients. A quest for excellence requiring the most delicate of carpentry skills, expensive materials and nearly two weeks of his sweat and specialist labor.
Unfortunately, this had been one job for which the client had refused to pay. Seemingly, they were unaware, or unwilling, to meet the cost such meticulous craftsmanship demanded.
Well, in this case, the price had become the ultimate one.
Drew mopped his brow.
Refusing to pay had been a big mistake.
He had taxes to pay, mouths to feed and the finest ebony and sandalwood that, while it did grow on trees, needed to be paid for. Thankfully, he knew there were bundles of cash, jewelry and other luxuries around the house now in need of a new owner. They were his by right. Any level-headed judge could see that.
After hammering in the final nail, the job was complete.
Drew took a final drag on his cigarette then dropped it, careful to leave the embers burning.
He wasn’t dumb. He watched CSI.
He knew the smell of nicotine would cloud his scent when the investigators arrived. He also knew the four gallons of acetic acid he’d liberally sloshed in his hastily reshaped cabinet wouldn’t raise too many red flags.
Its pungent smell and skin corroding qualities suited his purposes perfectly.
Had he claimed he’d bought it to make his own vinegar eyebrows would have been raised. Making his own wood glue was another matter.
That final thought gave Drew a wry grin. He was in the wrong line of work. His skills were wasted as a carpenter. Chemistry was more his style.
Mattieau has been telling stories his whole life. He lives by his wits and word processor as a freelance copywriter, creating marketing campaigns for global tech brands, but nothing beats the satisfaction of penning a short story for other people to read and enjoy.