Saturday, October 3, 2009


by Allie Dresser

Ryan Phillips stepped into the smoky cave, pushed his way past the four deep, half drunken patrons and leaned an elbow on the mahogany. One hand signaled for a beer while the other reached for the gardenia scented page in his pocket.

“Cap’n,” The bartender greeted then laid out the dark brew. “Rough day?”


“Well then it’s on me.”

It was their routine intercourse meant to circumvent the payola rumors that swirled around McKenna’s Tavern. It wasn’t the barroom brawls that caught the attention of the local press, or even the ladies of the night who frequented the establishment. It was the underground action they needed to keep on the lowdown. The fun and games that Candy got deep into just before she was killed.

Ryan brought me to the shooting gallery in the basement today. My first glock. It has such power, like a man at my beck and call.

The corner with the date was ripped off but Ryan didn’t need a Timex to recount their history. He remembered every smoky, heated moment: the way she’d slipped her hand around the steel like a silk stocking, caressing the half moon trigger with her finger; the wicked gleam in her eye as she took aim and the glassy look that said they weren’t alone in the room; the gangrene that ate at him because someone else inspired that passion in her.

It wasn’t my first time but I let him think it was. I’ve shot a gun and meant it twice before. My aim isn’t so bad.

That’s how Ryan had come to be in Candy’s life. A rabid call as the sun was just chasing away the shadows of night. She’d sworn it wasn’t her that pulled the trigger.

Ryan saw me slip a small pearl handled one into my garter but he let me take it. He probably thought he’d have access to it later. I didn’t tell him I was heading to Mickey’s.

Captain Phillips shoved the diary page back into his pocket, loathe to read further though the ink was burned on his irises. He knew he should return it to the evidence file, but he couldn’t chance being connected to her in such an intimate way. Not after what had gone down.

[The first original Candy Sangria story written by an outsider. A million thanks to author Allie Dresser for taking part in this. The Sad, Sad Tale of Candy Sangria continues....]

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