Sixth in a series of Flash Fiction shorts that I’m writing while in Thailand. I’m allowing myself a maximum of two hours per story so please forgive the rough edges. Cheers!

—SW

The teeth hung on a length of twine nearly as yellow as they were. Joe patted his shirt, reassuring himself of their presence. He pulled the edges of his old sleeping bag up to his neck and prayed that the rain would hold off until morning. Cars rumbled over the viaduct.

Before sleep took him, he whispered a word for Denny. Hard to believe it had been nearly ten years.

The shelter was full that night. Figured, fucking rain. Denny nudged the figure curled up in the only dry spot left.

“It’s my turn, Joe. You been in there for four hours now.” The words whistled around the two remaining teeth in his head. He hated that whistle, it embarrassed him.

Joe began to snore, mouth wide.

“Fuck it. Sleep in, brother.” Denny got up to look for another dry spot.

Lucky day. The trash guys must’ve come early that night because one of the dumpsters near the parking lot was empty, or at least not full. Sleeping in a dumpster is dangerous shit when it’s full. Dying in the compactor of a garbage truck was nobody’s idea of a good way out.

Denny climbed in.

“Ha!” He laughed out loud. A pair of boots sat nestled in the corner of the dumpster. Nice ones, pretty new looking. Red Wings at that. Guess he should be thankful to Joe for being so damned lazy.

He snatched up one of the boots and checked inside.

A puff of air hit his face. He braced himself for some manner of funk. This wasn’t his first rodeo after all, but then the boot began to shake.

He tossed it on the floor of the dumpster and pushed himself backward. He started hollerin’ real good. No way he was gonna die of some weird terrorist poison inside a dumpster, not Denny Egan. Lots a shit he put up with over the–.

Shh, said a voice.

Denny’s throat closed. He pawed at it, gasping for breath.

I’ll let you breathe again. Will you be quiet for a moment? The voice was calm, like a shrink’s.

Denny nodded his head. His throat opened back up and he drew in a lungful of air.

The smoke cleared. Across from him sat a small man, even smaller than Shane The Shrimp, the midget panhandler on Pike and 2nd. His skin was blueish and his mouth was way too wide for his face. Denny pinched his arm to keep from screaming again.

“The hell do you want?”

Funny, the little guy said. At least he must have said it but his lips didn’t move. I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m in search of two very special things to complete a collection and you might be able to let me out. Would you do me a favor? Would you, smile for me?

“You makin’ fun of me?” Bastard making fun of his two remaining teeth was more than even he could bear. Denny made a move to get up but before he could move he was shoved back into the wall of the dumpster. The little creature regarded him with dark eyes.

Go on.

Denny pulled his lips back, revealing the two teeth he had left in his head. His front buck tooth and the canine right next to it.

Oh, that’s too bad. The creature opened its mouth into a wide grin to reveal two missing teeth, a buck tooth and a canine as luck would have it. Those are the right teeth but they’re just a bit too damaged for me.

“Goddamn,” Denny wanted to jump on the prick, kick his ass, but some kinda dread kept his hands still. All he wanted was out of there. He went to stand up but a glint caught his eye. Son of a bitch if it wasn’t a pile of coins as gold as a pimp’s grill. “Holy shit.”

If you could find me two nice, clean teeth I’ll give you two of these shiny gold coins. The creature held one up, it was nearly as big as the palm of his hand.

That much gold, hell he could get a ticket to Alaska for both him and Joe. Pound the docks, get a job on a boat. Sleep under a deck instead of under a bridge. Joe always wanted to go, and he’d been a standup dude. They’d split the loot, one coin each.

I hope to see you soon, Mr. Egan.

Joe was going to take some convincing.

“You want my fucking what?”

“Your teeth, man. I know it sounds crazy. This little, I dunno gremlin or something in the dumpster. He had gold, the real stuff! Said my teeth were too decayed for him. Come on man, we could get out of here.”

“You lost your goddamned mind–.”

But Denny couldn’t take it. Joe would thank him later. He wound up and slammed Joe right in the mouth with a well aimed haymaker. The punch landed with a pop. Joe spit two little white chiclets onto the ground.

“Son of a–.“

Denny swiped them up and hightailed it to the dumpster, Joe on his heels. What Denny lacked in teeth he made up for in speed, he legged it over the side of the dumpster and closed the lid.

The little grey creature appeared in another puff of smoke. That was quick, let me see them.

“You gotta hurry, they’re right here.”

Joe slammed into the side of the dumpster, howling with rage. The lid flew open.

Joe didn’t see the little grey man. He did see Denny, crouched down clutching something in his hands. His blood was up, though. He didn’t take any notice before jumping into that dumpster and beating his dearest friend’s head against its steel walls.

Denny’s body went limp in an ugly, final way. His hand uncurled to reveal two huge shining golden discs.

“Son of a bitch.”

Joe would never forget the words he heard next.

These were not given freely, I’m afraid the deal is off.

The two discs of gold melted away into nothing. Next to where they’d been Denny’s last two yellow teeth sat in a puddle of red.

Joe put them in his pocket.