ralbert and 24 for the spotify wrapped drabbles ?
The Story of Broken Dreams
Spotify Writing Challenge (No 1)
Song: Dastaan-E-Om Shanti Om by Shaan
Albert tugged at his hair in annoyance as he stared into the mirror. He was unused to it not being its usual flaming red.
Davey sighed. “I know, Al.” He exchanged a look with Jack over Albert’s head. “But remember why we’re doing this.”
Albert set his jaw tight, staring at the little picture in the corner of the vanity mirror. “For Race.”
________________________
If this was a spy drama, Albert would be walking into a dark and mysterious casino, full of interesting characters that spoke in hushed whispers, assurances from his friends through the earpiece he had hidden in his ear.
But real life was nothing like that. This casino (if you could even call it that) was dim and dank. That didn’t seem to bother the high profile clients this place served. They were all still dressed in their work suits, chatting with associates as they placed bets that would have any regular person wincing.
Albert felt a little growl of disdain in his chest. These people gambled frivolously. With money and lives.
He stopped at a roulette table, pretending to watch. In reality, he was trying to find Jack and Davey, the only allies he had left.
Davey was on the far side of the casino, at a blackjack table. He had arrived half an hour prior and had already seemed to make himself comfortable. Albert couldn’t help the little snort of amusement that escaped him. Davey was in his element. But a moment later he looked up and saw Albert, his eyes flashing in recognition. He subtly mouthed “Jack” before continuing his game.
To avoid attracting suspicion, Albert placed a bet in the next round while he scanned the casino floor.
Initially, all three of them were going to gamble. However, Albert didn’t own a suit and none of Davey’s suits fitted him. Jack’s did but he only owned one. It took some arranging but Jack called in a few favours and got himself a job as part of the security for the night.
Sure enough, when Albert’s gaze landed on the bar, there was Jack, standing vigilantly, his gaze darting between Albert and Davey. Catching Albert’s eye, he casually tilted his head. Albert followed the movement with his eyes and felt anger bubble inside him when he saw the reason he had come to this place.
Spot Conlon. Laughing raucously with his companions as they gambled, the pile of chips he had was significantly larger than everyone else’s. Albert wouldn’t have been surprised if that was a result of cheating. Spot Conlon would do anything to win.
Even kill.
“I’m sorry, Albert. Maybe if things were different but…I love Spot.”
But Spot didn’t love Race. And Race paid the price.
Albert walked over to the bar, next to Jack, buying himself a seltzer.
“He’s already half-drunk.” Jack paused as Albert swallowed his drink all at once. “Remember, Al. We just need him to confess. Revenge comes later.”
Albert just nodded and made his way over to the poker table.
“Mind if I join?”
Spot Conlon stared him down. “Do I know you?”
Despite how awful he felt dark hair was on him, he was glad Davey had insisted he dye it. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out his hand. “Francis Sullivan,” he introduced, using Jack’s birth name. Spot didn’t recognise him and it would be best if it were kept that way.
“Spot Conlon.” They shook hands and Albert sat.
They played a few rounds and the entire time, everyone around the table shared stories of exploits, real and fictional. The common theme of utilising others made Albert feel unnerved.
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Francis.” Spot was staring at him, curiously. “A man such as yourself must know a good story.”
Albert had been keeping tabs on how much Spot had drunk since he’d arrived. If he hadn’t been drunk before, he certainly was now.
“Well, I did hear a very interesting story from a few years back.” He subtly reached into his pocket and covered up the click of the recording device with a cough.
“Let’s hear it then.”
“The story starts with a young man, an actor. He specialised in dramas and the like. Always one for some embellishment. And he had a friend who loved him.”
“But…I love Spot. Actually, we’re getting married.”
“But he didn’t love his friend. Instead, he was getting married to a big shot. Some man who earned his money in less than legal ways.”
The men at the table cheered. Of course they would cheer, the man in the story was like them.
But Spot had started to recognise…something. His eyes were fixed on Albert, all attention diverted from the game.
Albert didn’t falter. “The actor and his fiancé went to the place they wanted to get married. The…uh…”
“The venue,” Spot filled in, stretching the syllables in what Albert thought was either suspicion or a drunken slur.
“Yep. And the fiancé, no one knows why, burned it down…with the actor inside.”
Mutters erupted at the table, the game effectively halted.
“But there’s a part of the story that no one knows.” Albert locked eyes with Spot Conlon, keeping his gaze and voice steady. “The friend of the actor had followed them and had seen and heard it all. He tried to rescue the man he loved but failed. Nearly died. They say he’s out for revenge.”
“Who did you say you were?” Spot growled.
Albert shrugged and left the table, excusing himself.
As he walked outside to the alleyway, he knew he was being followed. But he didn’t turn until Spot reached out and spun him by the shoulder.
“I shoulda recognised that stupid voice of yours, Albert.”
“That’s on you, Spot. Just like Race’s blood is.”
“Anthony deserved what was coming. He was sticking his nose into business that didn’t concern him.”
“Your business?”
Spot roughly shoved him against the wall. “Yes. My business. He knew too much. He had to die.”
“Albert! I can’t get out!”
“It’s okay, Racer. You’ll be okay.”
Albert snarled and grabbed Spot, spinning them around so it was Spot pinned against the wall. “You didn’t have to kill him. He loved you.”
Spot stared at Albert for a long moment then started laughing. A deep, scary laugh that made Albert loosen his grip ever so slightly.
“‘There’s a part of the story that no one knows,’” Spot told him between chuckles, echoing Albert’s story earlier. “When the fire died out, the fiancé went back, to make sure the actor was dead. But that stubborn little bastard had found himself a little corner to hide in. So his fiancé had to finish the job.”
Albert’s eyes widened, hoping to God that the recording device was picking this up.
“What did you do?”
Spot grinned wolfishly. “That venue has a beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling, undamaged by the fire. A miracle really.”
Albert pushed against Spot harder. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“Directly underneath it,” Spot continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “In the ground, there’s the body. Little bastard didn’t stop screaming even after his fiancé sealed his grave.”
Spot shoved Albert, who was so shocked, he just stumbled backwards.
But Spot was still laughing. “And now, the actor’s friend will join him in hell.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, aiming it straight at Albert’s head.
“Drop the gun, Spotty. Or I’ll empty mine into the cavity where your heart should be.” Jack and Davey both emerged at the end of the alleyway. Jack’s gun was aimed directly at Spot.
“Well, if it isn’t my darling brothers-in-law.”
Albert saw Davey put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I only had one brother-in-law,” he said smoothly. “And you killed him.”
Spot snorted. “None of you have proof. Who do you think the police will believe, me? Or a lovelorn friend, an alcoholic brother and his enabling husband?” But he seemed reasonably cowed at being outnumbered because he pocketed the gun, spat on the ground and shoved past Albert.
Davey immediately rushed to Albert’s side. Jack kept his gun trained on Spot until he was out of sight before joining them.
“Didya get it?”
With shaking hands, Albert pulled out the recording device, pausing it. “I got it.” He held it against his chest as he watched Jack and Davey kiss.
They were one step closer to avenging his Race.
21 notes
·
View notes