Ten-years-after Tuesday: Xiomara's Flying Circus

Xiomara’s Flying Circus
Pancho Villa’s Flying Circus, ten years on

by Ernest Hogan

This flash sequel takes place ten years after the events of “Pancho Villa’s Flying Circus”, Ernest’s story in We See a Different Frontier, and was written to celebrate the tenth anniversary of TFF. If you want to see more fiction like this in the future, please support our fundraiser, where you can pre-order the celebration anthology and pick up other exciting rewards, for a few more hours only!

Mr. Burroughs must have thought he was Tarzan the way he treated Xiomara.

“You’ve done well for a hot little tamale. In just ten years, you’ve gone from a señorita in a dirty little town in Mexico to to owning a movie studio in Hollywood.”

He reached under the table.

I reached for the pistols under my silly embroidered waiter’s jacket

Mr. Burroughs’ bodyguard, a big lug who was too stupid to play Tarzan didn’t even notice me. He believed me when I said I “no espeak mucho English.”

Xiomara slapped Burroughs’ hand. “Please, Señor, we are in public!”

“We might as well be in Tijuana by the looks of this place. And call me Ed.”

“Ed. A funny little name.”

“We can’t all be something exotic like Xiomara.”

I hate the way gringos mispronounce her name.

“And I will be be the perfect Dejah Thoris!”

Mr. Burroughs licked his lips and grinned.

“So, Señor Burroughs, do we have a deal?”

“I’d love to have you make A Princess of Mars!”

“I’ll have my lawyers send you a contract.”

“Yes, yes. But first, I though we would seal this deal in another way.”

He panted a sloppy kiss on her lips, tore her dress, and squeezed a chichi.

I reached for my guns.

One of Xiomara’s eyes told me to wait.

“Señor! You are a married man!”

“My wife is more interested in making love to a bottle than me. And you inspire me!”

“Cabrón!” said Xiomara.

Mr. Burroughs whistled. His bodyguard aimed his gun at Xiomara’s face.

Her fist smashed Mr. Burroughs’ huevos as I put a bullet into the bodygaurd. Then I vaporized Mr. Burroughs with the Tesla death ray.

Cháirez and Holguín, who flew with me for General Villa, and now owned this restaurant, came out from the backroom, with guns drawn.

“Any problemas?” asked Cháirez.

I vaporized the bodyguard.

“Nada,” said Xiomara. “He thought my naglas were part of the deal.”

“That chingdera makes life easier,” said Holguín.

“Too bad,” said Cháirez. “It would have been a great movie.”

“It will be,” said Xiomara. “I’ll talk to his widow.”

Cháirez and Holguín hooted. “Viva Princess of Mars!”

“Princess?” said Xiomara. “I’d like to make her more of an empress.”