boofheads, Daily Prompt, murder club, serial fiction, Stories, thoughts, writing

Hey aren’t you?

boofheads

boofheads

The Murder Club:

Hey aren’t you?

Continues from here

“Where are we headed tonight?” Tickles asked from the back seat of the Mustang as it sped down the highway.

“Karaoke bar just down the road from the town hall.” Golly replied. “Take a right here, Big Bear.”

“Karaoke bar?” Asked Snowflake. “Suppose it was only a matter of time until those places started calling us constantly.”

“Do you know what we have yet?” Tickles said.

“Yeah, another bad singer forcing himself on those around him.” Golly answered.

“But isn’t that the idea of a Karaoke bar?” Tickles replied.

“Yep, but when one person takes that to extremes the new idea is we step in and do the job they pay us the big bucks for.” Golly responded without taking his eyes off the map, “Next left Big Bear.”

As Big Bear indicated his intention to turn left, approached the corner and the drove around it he spoke for the first time. “We are getting paid big bucks? Just how many of these big bucks are we getting?”

“For the amount of work we do, it’s a ridiculous amount!” Golly answered, “Left again Big Bear.”

For the next fifteen minutes the occupants of the car were silent, except for the directions Golly stated as each turn approached. Through the silence Big Bear steered the silver beast along the suburban streets and to their final destination before bringing the car to a stop out the front of Sully’s Karaoke Bar.

“Ear plugs?” Snowflake inquired as they stood at the back of the car.

“Don’t think we need them here, but pocketing them as a safe guard might be good.” Golly stated as he headed for the door.

As the Murder Cub made their way inside the club they stopped at the door and spoke to the manager.

“No, we didn’t call you.” Stated Mark Sully, the owner of the club. “As far as singers go this guy on stage is far from the worst we’ve had. He’s the only guy that’s been giving it a go all night.”

“We got a call from someone saying he was assistant manager and someone was murdering Chris Brown songs.” Golly said confirming the call came from the Karoke bar.

”Well that would be this guy up now but seriously the guy’s not that bad.”

“Mind if we sit down and have a listen?” Golly asked.

“Nah go for it, the music sucks but the singer is bearable. Drinks are on the house take a seat where ever you want fellas.”

Murder Club walked into the club and found a table for four and sat down. Seconds after getting comfortable a barmaid appeared beside them and took their orders for drinks. The boofheads settled and listened to the music.

It’s alright,
I’m not dangerous
When you’re mine,
I’ll be Generous
You’re irreplaceable, a collectible
Just like fine china

“Mark’s right, it’s not the singer that sucks here, it’s the music.” Big Bear said as the drinks arrived.

They kept listening as they downed their drinks and by the end of the song they were still equally confused as to who had made the call for them to appear.

“Hey check out that guy over in the corner.” Snowflake said.

In a dark corner over to the right of the bar sat a tallish, dark skinned man, wearing a hoody and sunglasses.

“The loner in the sunglasses?” Tickles asked.

“Yeah, I think we ought go over and have a word to him?” Replied Snowflake.

Making a detour via the bar Snowflake grabbed a drink which was sitting on the bar waiting for him and lead the Murder Club towards the table.

“Here have a drink on us.” Snowflake said as he slid the glass across the table to the stranger.

“About time you guys got here. This idiot on stage is the worst singer ever, you need to get rid of him.” The stranger said as he took a long swig out of the glass he was given.

“Now, now, Chris.” Snowflake started. “Just because the amateur on stage sings your own song better than you have eve done, that’s no reason to ring the Murder Club.”

As Chris Brown’s head slumped onto the table in an conscious state the Murder Club waved over two security bouncers who picked him up and carried him out to the car.

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