Another week of shenanigans in New Orleans

Today, our story has 769 followers on Twitter. Another great week, and I’ve got to thank you for continuing to help write this story through Twitter and Facebook.

Now, let’s recap the week. DJ Ponchatoula and Kat LeRouge are taking New Orleans, but they have no idea what’s in store for them as Bobby Grim gets closer to the city. The impending collision is one you won’t want to miss.

DJ punched the accelerator and passed the bus on the left. "Hey, look, some old guy's waving at us."

"Ugly tie, briefcase, some lawyer, money, but too lazy to drive. Pull over."

"No way, we're in enough shit already."

"Pull over, now, or next cop we pass, I scream rape and blame all this on you."

DJ stopped near the curve.

Kat opened the door, and the white-haired lawyer said, “I’m late for a meeting. I just need to go about a block and a half.”

"Oh, we'll take you,” Kat said, "Climb on. Sharing and caring, right?”

The lawyer stepped down into the cab and sat his leather bag between his body and Kat's. "Thank you. I should have be there 5 minutes ago."

DJ pulled the car away from the curve. Grinning, Kat moved the leather bag to the floorboard and scooted close to the lawyer.

"How about a better idea?" She touched his chin with the barrel of the cab driver's thirty-eight. "Ever play a game called gimme?"

"My wallet's in my coat. Sixty bucks and some credit cards."

"How do you know I want money, maybe I want your body, maybe I'm old school, into that retro shit?"

The taxi jolted, and Kat said, "Damn it, DJ, you want this gun to go off in grandpa's face? Stay from behind that friggin bus."

The car whipped left. The lawyer gasped as something exploded.

When Kat came to, no lawyer, just DJ hunched over the wheel, and the cab on fire, jammed under the axle of a Community Coffee truck.

Kat frowned at the crowd peeking through the cracked windshield spotted with blood. "It's all that freaking lawyer's fault."

The back door creaked as she climbed out, sirens echoed from three directions. Opening the driver's side, she gave DJ a tit-twister through his T-shirt.

"Wake-up, Dildo, cops are coming, and I can't carry your scrawny ass."

Kat and DJ hijack a New Orleans lawyer’s taxi

Okay, here’s the second half of this week’s Twitter crime fiction. We’re watching Kat LeRouge and DJ Ponchatoula getting deeper into trouble in the Big Easy.

"A round brush, really?" Kat said.

DJ thinking: What a night, no Circle K, thank God, and no casino, just acrobatics and toys at Kat's play land. Ultra awesome, but she’s some kind of bitch in the morning.

"Round brushes are out." She waved at a corner on Magazine Street. A yellow car stopped, they jumped in. "They were never in for guys."

"Driver, turn that Bob Marley shit down," Kat yelled.

"Balance, Mon,” the driver said, “that’s Ernie K-Doe and Professor Longhair, New Orleans’ homegrown."

"Sorry, I have a cowlick," DJ said. "You ever woke up with bed head?"

"You're such a hick," Kat said, "Give me that." She stuck the handle of the brush into the driver's neck. "Now, start driving, Squid Head."

The taxi left the curb, behind a city bus. "Don't shoot, Mon, I got nothing you need." Over sweaty dreadlocks, Kat saw bug-eyes in the mirror.

"Aw, don't do this, Kat," said DJ, "Please tell the man you're joking. What if he's got a gun, I don't want to die on Canal Street."

"No gun, Me," the driver said, "But I got excellent hearing. Take you anywhere you need, but please, no shooting. My little children need me."

The bus stopped in front of the taxi, and a mime crossed between them. "Watch the road," Kat said. "And pass that cash box back here, real slow."

DJ opened the box and counted. "38 dollars and 50 cents. Hey, there is a gun in here.”

"What’s the matter, Squidy, are you stupid? Who'd wanna get killed for less than fifty."

The bus stopped again. Behind it, the driver stomped the brake, threw the cab in park, then opened the door and slumped down in the seat. Kat heard mumbling, something like, “Half idiot pussy hose,” then she saw Squid Head running up the street in a squat, his dreadlocks bobbing up and down.

She smirked at DJ. "Don't just sit there, Dildo. Go after him."

Kat heard horns honking ahead, then the bus moved, and she saw DJ standing there, shrugging. "I don't know where the guy went."

"We're blocking traffic, get in."

"What?"

"Drive the friggin cab, before the cops show up."

"Get away from that bus," Kat said. DJ punched the accelerator and passed the bus on left. "Hey, look, some old guy's waving at us."

"Tie and briefcase," said Kat. "Some rich lawyer, too lazy to drive. Pull over."

Bobby Grim leaves Texan crying in the street

For those keeping score, we’ve got almost 700 followers on Twitter, helping write this story, sending private messages, telling me what they’d like to see the characters in Pay Dirt do next.

I’ll post twice this weekend, once for each scene collected from Twitter this week. The first scene takes up where we left off last week, with Bobby Grim in line at a Texas pawn shop, behind some jerk, who made his wife sell her jewelry.

Bony Girl left sobbing with Bent Hat counting her money.

Bobby Grim slapped his pawn ticket on the counter and said to Ernie, "Don't start..."

"Well, well, well," said Ernie. "First I heard dead, then the Pen, retirement after that. Now, here he is, the King of Black Ops, back in action."

"I screwed your wife, Ern. Get over it and fill the order, where I can get to work."

Ernie snatched the ticket. Shaking his head, he walked to the back and returned with a red, white, and blue acoustic guitar.

"What the hell's this?"

"You expected a black bag, a brown paper wrapper? People are wise now, thanks to fucking James Bond."

Grim grabbed the guitar and walked to the door.

"Will I see you later?" Ernie asked.

"Doubt it, there’s another 500 miles to the job, and I’m taking the train back.”

"Bullshit. You gotta show ID to buy a ticket."

"I never said I was buying anything."

Outside, Bent Hat's truck doors were open. Near the center of the lot, he was dragging Bony Girl backwards, his hand around her throat.

Behind the truck, Bobby Grim smashed the guitar over Bent Hat's skull, knocking him to the pavement, bleeding and cursing, as Bony Girl ran. Grim dug a duct-taped envelope from the red, white, and blue splinters, opened it, and pulled out a map and a two-inch stacks of 100-dollar bills.

Bent Hat stood, swinging the jagged neck of the guitar. Grim pulled his nine-millimeter from his vest and slapped him unconscious. Bony Girl came back and kneeled beside him, sobbing.

"Here." Grim peeled three bills from his stack. "Tell Barney to give your stuff back, use the rest to get away from this jackass."

Before Grim left the parking lot, Bony Girl had her arms around Bent Hat. "Who asked you, Asshole? I'm calling the cops."

No good deed goes unpunished. Tomorrow, I’ll post this week’s second scene, Kat LeRouge and DJ Ponchatoula hijacking a taxi cab in New Orleans.

Pay Dirt triples Twitter Followers

You guys are giving me feedback, and I’m incorporating your ideas. Together, we’re creating quite a world. Twitter and Facebook are still buzzing, and I’m excited about it. Twitter followers of the story have tripled in two weeks. Thanks to you!

Thanks again, everyone who’s participating. This is how the second week went…

Kat stood, DJ bug-eyed and puppet-wobbling, pliers clamped between his legs. "So cute for a moron," she said, "Say, you like Kat or Kathy?"

Katrina Geauxmieux before the storm, Kat LeRouge loathed the name Kathy, and using her mom's last name sounded way cooler than Kat "Go Mew".

"I like whichever one makes you turn loose my boner and lets me haul ass away from you."

Kat kissed DJ's cheek, stirring the crowd. Then she turned and pranced up the street with DJ close behind her and the crowd applauding.

"Please unclamp me," DJ said, shuffling his feet as fast as Kat could walk. "What if I want to have kids or something?"

Around a dark corner, Kat slammed DJ against a wall. Her big brown eyes inches from his, she released the pliers, but DJ didn't move.

"How about we knock off a Circle K and get wasted at the casino?" She asked.

 

Four hours and five hundred miles away, Bobby Grim smirked in the plate glass window at the rays kaleidescoping his peeled head. Amazing sunrises in Texas, but everything else sucks.

The guy next to him needed to shut-up. If Ernie didn't open soon, he’d open with blood splattered on the pawn shop doors.

"You know I ain't had my coffee," said the hairy guy in the bent cowboy hat. "Keep whining, won't be my fault what happens to you."

The bony girl's lips quivered. Her eyes, sunk deep in her head, stared.

Bobby Grim picked up a Coke bottle filled with and cigarette butts and Skoal juice. He walked towards Bent Hat, just as Ernie's bug rolled into the lot.

Bent Hat and the bony woman met Ernie at the door. Bobby Grim dropped the bottle into the trash and followed them inside.

The woman placed three rings and an anklet on the counter. Ernie asked, "Pawn or Sell."

Bent Hat answered, "Selling" before she could speak.

Bobby Grim stood behind them, gnawing his lower lip, and fumbling with a battered pawn ticket between his thumb and forefinger.

First Week of Pay Dirt starts Internet Buzzing

Together, we’ve written quite a story so far. Twitter and Facebook are starting to buzz, and I’m blown away. Twitter followers of the story have actually doubled in the last three days. Thanks to you!

Really, I want to thank everyone participating. So far, so good…

Two miles out of Vegas, Bobby Grim sat on his backpack, thumb in the air. Seven days to make New Orleans and arrange a hunting accident.

On Bourbon Street, the French Quarter hood ornaments knew not to look at Kat LeRouge too long, much less spit the B word, but DJ Ponchatoula reigned from the 985 and whatn't taking nothing from no 504 shorty. "On your knees, Be-atch. I got some lunch meat for you."

"Yummy," Kat said, licking her lips and kneeling before DJ and the crowd outside Johnny White's Bar. "Whip that big Andouille out here."

The sidewalk gawkers cheered and DJ's face got hot. He looked left to right, then shrugged and unzipped.

The crowd roared.

"Bon Appétit, Be-atch," DJ said.

His last syllable went a little long, when Kat jabbed something shiny into his crotch. "Craftsman Vise Grips," she said, "double clamped."

For those just joining the party, here’s what we’ve been doing: In the tradition of the fast-production pulps of old, I got a wild plot and some zany, but dangerous characters, and through Twitter and Facebook, readers are helping create a crime fiction short story posting less than 140 characters per day. (Yea, I know I posted extra on Friday, but I couldn’t wait!)

As I said before, you could watch me fall on my face in an experiment gone wrong, or you can guide my actions, and together we can invent a new medium—a pulpy sort of Tweet Fiction or Twitter Pulp.

Our plot:  When Wild Child Kat LeRouge hooks up with Bad Boy DJ Ponchatoula, they find out the hard way that some New Orleans cab drivers carry guns. Desperate for safer income, Kat decides to blackmail a crooked Louisiana politician—a scheme that brings this modern day Bonnie and Clyde face to face with CIA Black-Ops Baddie Bobby Grim.

Next installments on Twitter and Facebook tomorrow.

Let me know what you think. Since technically this story hasn't been written yet, your thoughts and feedback will actually change the course and ultimate outcome of the story. Message me or tweet your ideas to everyone. As a group, you the readers, will actually decide who lives, who dies, and how many thrills they experience along the way.