Owen had had enough. Satisfied that his career as a jazz musician was going nowhere,
Owen sighed as he signed over the remainder of his soul to the demon. The goblin
snarled as he accepted the less than ideal arrangement. One third of a man’s
mortal soul would do. Snapononeandthree shrugged, knowing he was the only malignant
spirit equipped to handle jazz musicians that desired more than $100 gigs during
their short, miserable stay on the planet.
Sucking heavily on a clove-flavored cigar, S/1+3 lit the blood-spattered
document with the end of his stogie and stuffed it into a rather sinister looking
mouth. He turned to his newly acquired property and belched out a rancid smelling
unintelligible spell designed to provide Owen with the necessary tools to achieve
the + $100 goal. His odor remained behind as he left the green room with
a tip of his beret and a “go get ’em, tiger.”
Owen wiped away at the acrid mist, tuned his axe to pitch, and strode to the stage.
Of course he played like a man possessed. After the show the club owner handed him
the envelope stuffed with cash and hoped he could book him again soon. Owen smiled
and left the club without looking inside. He had paid his sideman and was sure his
new fiend had kept the bargain.
Arriving at his place he set down his horn and opened the envelope. He counted out
the bills. Fifty, twenty, two tens, five, five ones. He frowned and shook the
envelope. A quarter fell out, rolled off the table, across the floor, and into the
heat register. As he looked into the darkness the smell of cloves hit him and a
gravelly voice whispered, “no shortcuts champ.” His tears left dark
stains on the tattered rug.
is a jazz bassist, composer, and writer working near Lake Michigan. His poetry appears
in The Birds We Piled Loosely (Issue 5, October 2015). His short stories are
available on Amazon/Kindle. His 2013 CD release I Imagine So includes 11
original compositions in the jazz genre.
