TBC Publishing Pride Month Flash Fiction Challenge

TBC Publishing Pride Month Flash Fiction Challenge, 29 of 30

Title: Pink Flamingoes and Cigarette Smoke

Author: R. Scott Tyler

Genre: Mystery

Word count (500 max): 483

The trailer court smelled like fried bologna and old secrets. Benny knew the scent well; he’d lived here three years, ever since his ex kicked him out for falling in love with a man who wore eyeliner and read tarot cards.

Now Benny was standing in front of Lot 9, staring at a tipped-over lawn flamingo and a smear of something red on the gravel. It could’ve been ketchup. Or blood. Either way, Freddy was missing.

Freddy—real name Frederick St. James III, self-proclaimed medium and drama queen—was the court’s unofficial oracle. He wore feather boas on Tuesdays and always predicted rain when someone was lying. The court called him crazy. Benny called him “darlin’.”

They’d had a fight two nights ago. Freddy had read his cards and gone pale. “Someone here’s got death clinging to them like polyester,” he whispered. Then he kissed Benny too hard and slammed his trailer door.

Now his windows were dark, his porch plants dying, and Benny had a bad feeling chewing his gut.

He knocked. Nothing.

He pushed the door. Unlocked.

The trailer smelled of rose incense and something foul underneath, ‘like spoiled meat. Benny stepped in, heart thudding. Freddy’s sequin jacket was on the couch. His favorite mug ‘Don’t Make Me Hex You’ was shattered on the floor.

And the cards. Freddy’s tarot deck was scattered across the linoleum like someone had thrown it mid-reading.

Benny knelt, trembling fingers flipping one over.

The Lovers.

Then another.

The Tower.

Then—

Footsteps behind him.

Benny spun around.

It was Donna from Lot 12, curlers in her hair, cigarette clamped between two chipped red nails. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she rasped.

“I think Freddy’s gone.”

Donna sucked her teeth. “I saw him get into a black car late last night. Didn’t look happy.”

“Who was driving?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t see. But he left his boa fluttering in the wind. That man never left his boas.”

Benny stood, the cards still in his hand. “I think he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. Said someone here had death on them.”

Donna looked around, then leaned in close. “He told me the same. About Earl in Lot 7. Earl’s wife disappeared last year, didn’t she?”

Benny nodded.

Donna blew out a stream of smoke. “You be careful, sugar.”

That night, Benny couldn’t sleep. The cards kept flashing in his mind—the Lovers, the Tower. Destruction. Betrayal. Maybe Freddy ran. Maybe he was taken.

At 3:00 a.m. there was a knock at his door.

When he opened it, there stood Freddy. Bruised lip. Bloody knuckles. Clutching his boa like a lifeline.

“I told Earl I knew about his wife,” he said hoarsely. “He didn’t like that.”

Benny pulled him in, held him close.

Outside, the flamingo lay broken. But inside, two men clung to each other like survivors.

Tomorrow, they’d tell the sheriff.

Tonight, they just breathed.

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