Flash fic – Crabby
This one came from a request on Twitter: @FrogCroakley – @aspeed will you do me a 200 one about a man with crab DNA struggling to make it as a con artist in future las vegas?
Okay. It’s actually a bit over 200 words, and the bizarre thing? I could have kept going.
Carver looked out at the heat waves rising from the asphalt, and wondered how anything human ever survived such heat.
Even in the walkway suspended between Shell’s Tropicana Casino and the Hallburton Mayfair Hotel, you could feel just a bit of the heat bleeding in through the plasteel. The air conditioning was fighting a losing battle when the sun was out.
A couple of pasty, overweight tourists trundled past him, and he pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes, even though he wasn’t facing them. Still, since the vid feeds were flashing his pic all over the place, it was better to err on the side of caution.
He scratched his nose with his claw, which was hidden inside a fake cast. It was a bitch to get on and off, but most of the casinos in this part of the city didn’t allow mutants. Not even useless crab ones like him.
Appearance aside, Carver wasn’t an idiot. He knew, if you were going to run a con on someone, you didn’t choose anyone working in the casinos. That wasn’t just stupid, it was suicide. How was he supposed to know the rube he targeted at the bar was actually the half-brother of the Tropicana’s pit boss? He wasn’t just blackballed – now they were looking for his head too. He knew he’d be lucky to get out of New Vegas alive.
Keeping his head down to avoid the cameras, he slipped into the doorway leading to the Mayfair, and pictured the walkway map in his head. With a little bit of luck, maybe he could get out of here with his shell still intact.
Old Vegas was kind of dumpy, but maybe it was more crab friendly. Worth finding out.