Irresistible Taste Treat

Irresistible Taste Treat


Vince Kirkness chewed slowly, savoring the taste and texture of his after-dinner treat.  The ribs had been adequate, if a bit tough.  Free range isn't all it's cracked up to be, he thought to himself.  Thank goodness for that tenderizer and my special sauce.

He almost hadn't cared, though, how good the ribs did or didn't taste.  Even as he'd worked his way through the ribs, mashed potatoes and salad, all he could think about was the dessert to come; it had taken all his willpower to finish the main meal.  Face it, Vince, he challenged himself, you're hooked on the fingers--lady fingers, or whatever--addicted to them as surely as a smoker is to that nicotine buzz.  Certainly, they're way better than any pastry you ever retrieved from a dumpster.

It hadn't always been so.  Not that long ago, he'd never even tasted one, considering them to not be proper food, and certainly not worth the hassle of preparation.  Then had come that fateful night.  Vince had finished his meal of crèche cacciatore and found himself still a little hungry.  As he cast about for something to 'fill in the corners', his gaze had fallen on the tiny digits he'd been prepared to discard.  Why not? he'd thought.  I can always dip 'em in the sauce.  And so he had.

He had been completely unprepared for the sensations that rushed through him as he ate the first one.  The tiny bones, scarcely more substantial than those found in the average rainbow trout, hadn't bothered him at all.  He'd tried it both with and without sauce and, as the flavor of the tender flesh exploded in his mouth, promptly decided on 'with'.  He'd popped the remaining nine into his mouth without a second's hesitation, one right after the other.  A chemical connection formed in his brain, and Vince was hooked.

As the addiction took hold, Vince found himself altering his usual pattern.  Whereas he had previously limited himself to nocturnal hunts for vagrants or overnight guests at some small, out of the way motel, he now found himself walking the boulevards in broad daylight.  He sought out cafes and restaurants that had windows right next to the sidewalk, and would stand and stare hungrily at the assortment of delights, reasoning that hands so well cared for would also taste good.  Eventually, one of the staff would appear to shoo him away, never guessing what had entranced him so.

His cruel mistress also led him to take dreadful chances.  Today was a perfect example.  The frantic mother had almost caught him after he'd snatched the momentarily unattended morsel from a stroller.  She had been handicapped by her shoes--flats completely unsuited to running--and had been unable to shed them without slowing, thereby losing any chance of rescuing her baby.  She'd fallen further and further behind, her screams for help fading as Vince had continued to increase the distance between himself and his pursuer.  He'd eventually reached the alleyway with his prize and disappeared into the warren of closed or abandoned offices and shops.

As he washed down the last bite with a sip of cheap wine, Vince began to plan his next meal.  The infant would be outstanding, but not particularly filling, and he was getting tired of his recent diet of vagrants and visitors.  Perhaps a nice selection from a nearby subdivision?  Yeah, he decided, that sounded good.  He started planning his route.


[572 words]