Eat the Rich

A Horror Comedy Flash Fiction for Flash Fiction February (Day 1)

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I tried not to think about the inevitable cleanup as I dragged the body of Antonio Ferretti across the marble floors of his villa. Just like in life, his body left a trail of blood wherever it went. It was a rookie mistake, but stabbing is one of those things where you have to commit once you’ve started.

In for a penny, in for a pound!

It wasn’t my fault he moved right as I brought the knife down. I was just grateful he didn’t have carpets.

“Hey, what the fu—” a gunshot echoed across the arches and crown molding that lined the walls. I dropped Antonio’s body and sighed.

“What the hell was that?” I shouted.

A scrawny man by the name of Barry Peterson emerged from one of the villa’s many halls. He was holding a literal smoking gun.

“I’m sorry boss, I panicked!” he cried.

“I have one rule, Barry! One rule! What is it?”

Barry broke eye contact as he hung his head. “Don’t—”

“Don’t fucking shoot them!” I interrupted.

“I’m really sorry, boss.”

I shook my head. “Where did you even get a gun?”

Barry shrugged. “I always carry it with me. You know, for protection.”

Given the state of the world, you can’t really blame him.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Just get him to the kitchen and then go find Charlie. We need this place all cleaned up before the guests arrive!” I said.

Barry nodded and rushed off down the hall. I grabbed Antonio by the shoulders of his shiny leather jacket and resumed our journey to the kitchen. When I turned the corner, I dropped both him and my jaw.

Beautiful granite countertops, a restaurant-grade gas range, a chef’s knife set, and a fully stocked wood rack of seasonings greeted me. I was an artist in the kitchen, and this canvas would do nicely!

I patted Antonio on the chest near one of the many holes where my knife had entered him.

“I’ll give you this, Tony, you had good taste!”

I dragged his body over to the island in the kitchen just as Barry came in with the recently deceased body of the other goon he had killed.

“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.

“He’s bringing the others. Two more for the meat grinder,” Barry said.

“I’m not grinding them, we’re doing steaks tonight,” I replied.

I looked up and saw Barry smiling.

Oh, I get it.

I laughed. “Alright, that was a good one. Mind getting them undressed?”

Barry nodded. “You wanna pass me that cleaver?”

I pulled the blade out from the wood block on the countertop and handed it to him.

“Hey boss, can I ask you a question?”

I heard the hollow thunk of the cleaver hitting flesh and bone.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“How did you get into this line of work?”

“You mean eating people? I don’t know, I just had a taste for human flesh at an early age. Hey, do me a favor?”

Barry stood up, wiping the bloody cleaver on his white shirt.

“What’s up?”

“Can you put on the cooking channel for me? I like to get inspired while I cook.”

Barry jogged over to the gargantuan TV mounted on the wall. I reached down and picked up one of Antonio’s severed hands and set it on the wood cutting board before grabbing a fillet knife out of the block nearby.

“How the hell do you work this thing?” Barry asked.

“You’ll figure it out!” I replied.

I stabbed the knife down into the cutting board and walked over to the spice cabinet.

I ran my hand over the spices, considering their aroma and complementary partners before finally settling on a simple combination of salt, pepper, and garlic.

I brought the seasonings back to the cutting board as Barry miraculously got the TV working. One of my favorite hosts, Julia Caruso, smiled on the TV screen.

“Welcome back! We’re just simmering our soup here, and then we’ll add some fresh basil.”

I snapped my fingers and grinned. “Yes, basil! A little taste of home, eh Antontio?”

I grabbed some basil flakes from the seasoning cabinet and added it to my collection.

“Hey boss, what’s with the gunpowder rule anyway?” Barry asked.

“It’s like rubbing dirt in your food. It ruins the flavor,” I replied, tossing Antonio’s fingers into a pot of water.

“That makes sense. So, what’s that dish you're making?” Barry asked, hovering beside me as I removed the fingernails.

“I’m mixing these in with potatoes, wanna guess what kind?” I asked.

“What?” Barry asked.

I picked up one of the long, thin potatoes and grinned. “Fingerlings!”

Barry’s eyes went blank.

“Oh, come on! Fingers, fingerling potatoes?” I asked, waving one of the severed fingers through the air.

Barry’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I get it!” He laughed, “You’re so funny, boss.”

I set the pot on the stove and turned on the heat.

“Yeah, that’s what people tell me.”

***

Several hours later, I sat at the head of a polished wood table, a glass of wine in hand. Barry walked into the room dressed in a tuxedo and set down a plate with medium rare steak and a potato medley. He brought out identical plates for two guests: the local city governor and his wife.

“It was so kind of you to have us over for dinner, Mr. Ferretti. Your house is stunning,” the governor said, raising his glass of wine. I hated his smug face.

“The pleasure is all mine! I’m so glad you all could make it. We have much to discuss, after all!”

The governor’s wife raised her glass as well. All I could think about was how her magnificent dress probably cost more than most people’s salaries.

“Your support for my husband’s political campaign has been crucial to our success leading up to the election,” she said, taking a sip.

I pierced a piece of the steak with my fork and took a bite. The flavor was exquisite.

“So, I’m told you’re a staunch supporter of my policies, Mr. Ferretti,” the governor said, taking a bite of his steak. “Oh my, this is incredible! Where do you get your meat from?”

I smiled. “It’s locally sourced. I’m glad you like it! And yes, how could I not be a supporter of your policies? After all, it puts money in my pockets.”

The governor let loose a deep laugh like a cartoon villain. His wife cackled alongside him. I sipped my wine as they continued to enjoy their meal.

Eat the rich, indeed.

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