{"id":3336,"date":"2022-12-01T02:36:30","date_gmt":"2022-12-01T07:36:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/?page_id=3336"},"modified":"2022-12-01T14:10:41","modified_gmt":"2022-12-01T19:10:41","slug":"fine-print","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/fine-print\/","title":{"rendered":"Fine Print"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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\n\t\t\t\t\tFirst Published May 25, 2017 - Sick Lit Magazine<\/span>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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R. B. Wood\u00a0is a technology consultant and a writer of speculative and dark fiction.\u00a0 His first novel,\u00a0The Prodigal\u2019s Foole<\/em>, was released to critical acclaim in 2012.\u00a0 Mr. Wood is currently working on the second book of his Arcana Chronicles series, multiple short stories, a graphic novel and a science fiction trilogy that he dusts off every few years. Along with his writing passion, R. B. \u00a0is host of\u00a0The Word Count Podcast<\/a><\/em>\u00a0\u2013 a show that features talent from all around the globe reading original flash-fiction stories.<\/p>

R. B. currently lives in Boston with his partner, Tina, a multitude of\u00a0cats and various other critters that visit from time to time.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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Fine Print<\/h2>\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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The sun was just setting when a car with heavy tinted windows pulled up to the dilapidated plantation at the end of an overgrown private way. A beefy, dark skinned woman wearing a secondhand flowered dress stepped out of the car into the sweltering August dusk, beads of sweat immediately appearing on her forehead. She mopped at her brow with a lacy handkerchief, grabbed a worn leather briefcase, \u00a0then beat a path through the overgrown lawn to the paint-pealed and termite infested porch of the old manor house. Florence Moses knocked tentatively, afraid that a pane of glass from the oak front door might come crashing down as the lead sealant had all but worn away.<\/p>

Florence heard a snapping, crashing sound and turned just in time to see a gator dive into the swamp ten yards from the house. There was a second one and it stared at her hungrily. She shivered in ninety-degree heat.<\/p>

\u201cWhaddya want?\u201d croaked a male voice so old it sounded as if it were covered in dust. Florence, who had been distracted by the large reptile, gasped and jumped back slightly, the porch creaking dangerously.<\/p>

Florence tried to compose herself. \u201cMister\u2026Rehnquist?\u201d She asked tentatively.<\/p>

\u201cI don\u2019t want no encyclopedias,\u201d scratched the voice. \u201cNo vacuum cleaners neither.\u00a0 Now go \u2018way.\u201d<\/p>

\u201cNo,\u201d Florence said, confidence returning. \u201cNothing like that, sir.\u00a0 I\u2019m here from Miss Dupree\u2019s office.\u201d<\/p>

The door squealed open a fraction of an inch. \u201cDupree?\u00a0 My solicitor? Guess you better come in, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>

The man\u2014Rehnquist\u2014shuffled away from the front door, leaving it open. He was wearing little more then a stained nightshirt and a pair of moccasins. \u00a0Florence went in quickly, snapping the door shut behind her.\u00a0 \u201cYes, thank you sir for inviting me in.\u201d<\/p>

But Rehnquist had kept walking, turning the corner at the end of the foyer.<\/p>

Florence followed, looking at stacks of yellowing newspapers and dried animal feces littering the once opulent reception area rug. Careful not to step on anything, she turned the same corner Rehnquist had to find herself in what remained of a large kitchen.\u00a0 There was a camp bed in the corner, and rickety card table with two folding chairs piled high with empty TV dinner boxes, and an old rotary phone.<\/p>

Rehnquist pulled out one of the chairs.\u00a0 \u201cSit,\u201d he said, turning to face her. \u201cMiss Dupree done what I asked then?\u201d<\/p>

\u201cYes sir.\u00a0 I have the paperwork here,\u201d she said patting her briefcase. \u201cThe manor house, 107 acres of property.\u00a0 The old mill down by the river.\u00a0 It\u2019s prime Charleston area real estate\u2014we have already found a buyer, willing to pay cash.\u201d<\/p>

Rehnquist held out his hand, Florence quickly took out a sheaf of papers from her briefcase.\u00a0 Multicolored post-it note arrows stuck out at random intervals.<\/p>

\u201cI\u2019ve already marked where you need to sign\u2026\u201d<\/p>

Rehnquist took the papers with a dismissive gesture. He signed without reading.\u00a0 \u201cMiss Dupree\u2019s pappy and I go way back. Helluva solicitor.\u00a0 He and I\u2026well, we used to feed you sorta folk to the gators out back.\u201d<\/p>

Florence took back the paperwork slowly as Rehnquist handed it over with out looking at her.<\/p>

\u201cThank you, Mr. Rehnquist. I\u2019ll see myself out.\u201d<\/p>

Her lip only trembled once as she got out of that house as quickly as she could.<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

#\u00a0 #\u00a0 #<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

It took nearly an hour to navigate around the flash floods the summer evening torrential rainfall caused.\u00a0 The windshield wipers beat at full speed to little effect on the car that pulled up to a smart-looking triple-decker. Dupree Solicitors was on East Bay Street in the professional district of Charleston near the Old Exchange & Provost Dungeon.<\/p>

Florence shut the engine off, got out of the car and hurried up the front steps clutching her briefcase. She didn\u2019t bother with an umbrella\u2014wouldn\u2019t have done much good anyway. The main entrance was still open and there was a light in the hallway.<\/p>

She shivered a bit as she crossed the hallway to Ms. Dupree\u2019s office; her soaked shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor.\u00a0 She opened the heavy oak door without knocking. The acrid smell of burning tobacco permeated the office.<\/p>

Ms. Dupree, an anorexic waif of a woman with dirty blonde hair tied up in an elaborate bun, was sitting at a large desk that had been hand crafted from the timbers of a sunken steamboat. The desk was sparsely used; only a laptop computer, it\u2019s bluish light washing out the lawyer\u2019s features, sat on its surface. An expensive rubbed-oil bronze floor lamp illuminated the rest of the office with a soft yellow glow. The luxurious blood red carpet already had towels down to mop up rain water brought in by visitors, and mahogany bookcases filled with leather-bound law books lined the walls.<\/p>

A smoldering cigarette sat with it\u2019s burned out cousins in a glass ashtray.<\/p>

Florence hurried over to one of the chairs facing the desk, careful to stay on the towels.<\/p>

\u201cDon\u2019t sit,\u201d said Dupree, never looking up. \u201cIs it done?\u201d<\/p>

\u201cYes. The old bastard never even read it.\u201d<\/p>

\u201cGood work,\u201d Dupree said, looking at Florence. \u201cThis calls for a celebration. Be a dear and pour me a drink.\u201d<\/p>

Florence put her briefcase down on the chair she\u2019d been told not to sit in and walked over to the matching mahogany mini-bar across from the desk. She poured a generous portion of a rich amber liquid into a glass.<\/p>

Florence smiled.<\/p>

\u201cHere you go, ma\u2019am,\u201d she said turning. Dupree had gone into Florence\u2019s bag and already had the deed transfer papers in her hand. Dupree began to read the papers, absentmindedly holding out her hand for the tumbler.<\/p>

Florence handed her a drink.\u00a0 She remained standing while Dupree sat.<\/p>

Dupree downed her drink in one quick motion.<\/p>

\u201cWait.\u00a0 What\u2019s this?\u00a0 These aren\u2019t the documents I gave you,\u201d said Dupree, irritated.<\/p>

\u201cNo, ma\u2019am. They aren\u2019t,\u201d said Florence calmly.<\/p>

\u201cYou bitch!\u00a0 You put your name in! You had Rehnquist sign over the deed\u00a0to you!\u201d\u00a0<\/em>Dupree threw the papers at her.<\/p>

Florence stood impassively, watching the papers scatter across the carpet.<\/p>

\u201cYou\u2019re fired.\u00a0 And I\u2019m going to have you arrested\u2026\u201d Dupree broke off, her eyes bulging. She began to cough as white foam appeared at the corners of her mouth.<\/p>

\u201cGuess you should\u2019ve read the papers too, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>

Dupree had fallen on the carpet, her breath coming in wet-sounding rasps. It was over in less than a minute.<\/p>

#\u00a0 #\u00a0 #<\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

It didn\u2019t take long for Florence to tidy the office, pour the poisoned bourbon down the toilet, and move Dupree\u2019s towel-wrapped petite body out to the trunk of her car. In this rain, there would be no witnesses. She locked the office and got in the drivers seat.<\/p>

The dashboard clock read 9 PM.<\/p>

Pulling out her mobile, she dialed a number.<\/p>

\u201cMr. Rehnquist, Florence Moses here, from\u2026yes that\u2019s right. Sorry to disturb you. I realized I forgot one last bit of paperwork\u2026my fault completely, yes. I can pop out tonight if you\u2026\u201d There was a buzzing sound on the line.<\/p>

\u201cAppreciate it! See you in a while.\u201d Florence pressed the off button.<\/p>

She checked her briefcase and found her snub-nosed .38 next to the papers recovered from Dupree\u2019s office. Florence put the car in drive and headed back toward the planation. She left just as the first tongues of flame began to lick at the curtains of Dupree\u2019s office. The fire chief\u2019s report would list the cause of the blaze as a poorly discarded cigarette.<\/p>

The plan was almost finished. Along with the body in the trunk, there remained one last loose end. As for the bodies, well, Rehnquist\u2019s gators were going to eat good tonight.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

First Published May 25, 2017 – Sick Lit Magazine R. B. Wood\u00a0is a technology consultant and a writer of speculative and dark fiction.\u00a0 His first novel,\u00a0The Prodigal\u2019s Foole, was released […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"no-sidebar","site-content-layout":"page-builder","ast-site-content-layout":"","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"disabled","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"disabled","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3336","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3336","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3336"}],"version-history":[{"count":22,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3336\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3372,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3336\/revisions\/3372"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3336"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}