The Baron's Thriller Novel : Part 1

The Baron has read a few thrillers in his day and has begun to notice certain commonalities that seem to span all modern examples. As such, The Baron is pretty sure that he could write his own more awesome thriller with very little effort. This will be an ongoing experiment.

The Baron presents:

The Copenhagen Corollary:

Chapter 1:

Vienna: 3:35Am

Phinneus Corkwald limped painfully down the darkened cobblestone street of an ancient ward of an ancient city. His breath hung heavily in the frozen air, tinged with copious molecules of ethanol. The sweet smell drifted back in his wrinkled face and he snorted it away.

Phineus had spent the evening swilling martini's, vodka shots and gimlets all the while feverishly stroking his member in a vain attempt to achieve erection. He had intended on bagging the plumpest, palest escort he could get his hands on but had failed miserably.

Successful coitus required that his gear was in working order and at 85 years old, getting "Little Phin" rolling was like trying to rip starting a diesel lawnmower in January. Needless to say, his desires had gone unfulfilled for the second night in a row and Phineus was now enraged and nearly 6 sheets to the wind.

The old man emitted a long hissing burp so thick he could almost chew it and grunted in frustration at the cold moon illuminating the paving stones. It was a typical February night in Austria (probably) and the old man's bones ached from the wet cold almost as much as his bone ached for the warm wet.

"Fucking viagra my ass" he hissed, flinging a handful of blue tablets. They skittered along the frozen surface of the snow pack and slid off into the distance like tiny hockey pucks.

Just then Phineus felt a cold prickling on the back of his neck, a feeling he had been trained to appreciate and to heed. Someone was following him. That in and of itself was not unusual, after all this was a crowded European metropolis. Drunks and students were everywhere and it was nearly impossible to walk 3 feet without bumping into one or the other.

But this was different. The presence the old man felt had sinister intent, was trying to conceal its presence. The man, he was sure it was a man, was making every effort to muffle his footsteps, but the pavers and frozen slush made this near impossible.

Phineus' calculating, reptilian mind devised a plan nearly instantaneously. He pretended to be drunker than he was, staggering slightly and splaying his arms wide for balance. He stopped to check the time, examining the right arm first then the left, then his pockets. Without betraying even the slightest suspicion, the old man slipped his leathery palm over the butt of the 40 caliber Glock resting in his interior jacket pocket. He hoped the stalker had not noticed. The next few moments would determine whether he lived or died.

Phineus coughed placed his left hand on his knee as if overcome and then spun around on his heel with the speed of a snake. Halfway round he was already depressing the trigger, the man would have no time to react, let alone draw his own weapon.

With a sharp crack the pistol shot seemed to tear the very night itself as it peeled down the alleyway and was muffled by the snow.

A cruel sneer spread over Phineus's face as he watched the man crumple and fall. The bullet had pierced his chest and no doubt ruptured his heart just as he had intended. An amateur to be sure, the man's hands were still in his pockets. Perhaps he was just a common pick-pocket, grifter or scumbag?

Regardless, Phineus had to make sure the man was really dead. Decades of training and indoctrination came rushing back and he quickly shuffled to where the would be assassin had fallen. Phineus kept his pistol drawn and held at arm's length with an unwavering steadiness that seemed to defy his age.

"Now then, who would be so stupid as to send a whelp against me?" The old man half whispered as he closed the final few feet between himself and the corpse.

"Oh my poor young.....what the shit!"

The man was no assassin! Rather he was a young, drunken idiot, American by the looks of him. His jacket was covered in beer scented vomit...and now blood as well. This was not the presence Phineus had felt earlier. This clod could no more get the drop on the old man than he could pleasure a woman or ride a horse side-saddle.

At that moment a searing dread swept through Phineus. He had been tricked, had let down his guard, and now he was going to die.

A shadow lunged from the alley and pinioned Phineus with a single lightning quick movement. His arthritic shoulders groaned in protest as the stalker wrenched them backwards. A sharp pain swept through his ass and he howled in anger.

"Gah fuck, not like th..!" Phineus' words were overcome by a terrible gurgling sound as veritable geysers of red foam shot from his mouth, nose, eyes, weiner and butthole.

The iron grip released and he sank to the ground, dreaming of huge, saggy boobs that would never be his..