by Baron Sord
One of the hanging piñatas exploded in a colorful spray of candy that clattered to the tile floor.
BAM!
Another piñata exploded, raining wrapped candy onto the Verts and Zonts where they stood toe to toe.
BAM!
BAM!
BAM!
Several more piñatas gave up their sugary treasure.
“Yay!” The children in the restaurant screamed gleefully and ran for the candy.
The cholos stopped to watch as the kids snatched up the colorful wrapped candy like it was gemstones and gold coins. The children’s laughter was catching and the grim cholos started to smile. Several of them put their guns away and stooped to pick up candy of their own. Some even laughed along with the kids.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Disaster narrowly averted.
“What the hell happened?” Arnold gasped as he sat down opposite me in the booth. “I thought I heard shooting.”
“Nope,” I grinned. “That was me.”
“Farting?”
“No,” I chuckled. “Exploding the piñatas.”
“How?”
“Trade secret,” I smirked, held up my index finger like a smoking gun, which actually was smoking, the tip white hot with heat energy. I blew on it and pretended to holster it at my side. “All in a day’s work, partner.”
Picture the black-hat villain in a shoot-em-up western sneering at the hero, “Those sure are cocky words for a dumb bullfrog, pardner.”
To my utter dismay, I was a few short hours away from a high-noon showdown I would never see coming — partially because it would occur shortly before midnight not noon, partially because it would not occur on the dirt street between the saloon and the whorehouse (although the location would be very hospitable), and partially because I was hornier than a toad whose brother was a bullfrog.
Keep your eye out for the villain in black.
—: Chapter 27 :—
“How long is it to SD?” Arnold asked as he merged the Prius onto the westbound Interstate 8.
“About two hours,” I said. “That should put is in at about 8:30. Oh shit! My date is at eight! I’m going to be late!”
“Date? What date?”
“How fast are you going?”
“70. The speed limit.”
“Can you go any faster?” I pleaded.
“You don’t want me getting a speeding ticket, do you?”
“No. Maybe I should drive. If we do 75, we might make it by eight.”
“Who with?”
“What?”
“Who is the date with? Vangelina?”
I tried not to grimace.
“Aaaaah!” He laughed heartily. “You finally came to your senses, didn’t you, you dog!”
I smiled sheepishly, “Actually, it’s someone else.”
“Lady Liberty?” He gasped, “It’s her? It is! You dirty dog! I knew you’d hit that eventually! How did you do it? Come on, tell me! I want details!”
Chuckling, I said, “Actually, it’s not Lady Liberty. It’s someone else.”
“Who else is there?!”
“Her name is Justine.”
“Justine?!” Arnold looked ready to blow a gasket. “Doug! You fucking dog! How many women do you have hanging from your jock that I don’t know about? Ten? Twenty? A thousand?”
All I could do was laugh.
“What kind of secret sex life are you leading while I’m at work? Maybe we should change your name from Wildfire to Wildcock. No, Supercock!” Arnold was laughing now. “You and your Supercock! How many times have you been laid since this all started?”
“None,” I smirked.
Arnold’s smile faded to disappointment, “Why do I believe you?”
We both chuckled guiltily.
“Dude,” Arnold said, “I don’t know who this Justine is, but you better hit that tonight.”
“C’mon, Arnold,” I said, embarrassed.
“Is she hot?”
“Uhhhhhh… yeah?” My face was bright red.
“As hot as Lady Liberty?”
“No one is. But she’s better than I ever dated by far.”
“Is she as hot as Vangelina?”
“Aaaah, Justine is different. Less bombshell and more sexy librarian.”
“Nice,” Arnold grinned. “Sexy librarian totally works. What time is your date again?”
“Eight,” I sighed. “We’re never going to make it.”
“Like hell we’re not,” Arnold eyed his side mirror and signaled as he pulled into the fast lane and pinned the speedometer at 85mph.
“Aren’t you worried about getting a ticket? You know CHP patrols by air out here.”
“If I get a ticket, I’ll pay it when they mail it to me.”
We made good time until we hit the town of Alpine, where traffic picked up, slowing us down to 50mph.
“Oh, man, I’m going to be so late,” I groaned. “I still have to shower and change! My shirt reeks!” After the heat and dust in El Centro, I smelled like a walking locker room and looked like I’d been rolling around in the dirt all day.
“Wear your Las Cerdas Hermanas shirt. It’s brand new.”
I glared at him. “It has cartoon pig women on it.”
“So? It’s awesome.”
“For a kid in middle school.”
He frowned, “Would you rather smell?”
“I’m not wearing the shirt. I need something else. And a shower.”
The rest of the way to San Diego, I grit my teeth. My super powers couldn’t stop time or lighten traffic, no matter how hard I tried to do exactly that. To bad I couldn’t run faster than traffic, otherwise I would have.
Eventually, we arrived in Normal Heights.
To my utter amazement, it was 7:59pm. We had made it.
“Don’t worry,” Arnold said as he parked in front of a random house around the corner from Justine’s Dad’s place, “you can keep the car tonight. I’ll walk home. It’s like a mile from here.”
“No, it’s like five miles.”
“So what? I can make it. You take the car. You’re always saying I need more exercise to get rid of this.” He grabbed his gut and shook it.
I grinned, “Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
We both jumped out and I jogged around the car to climb back in behind the wheel.
“You better get laid tonight,” Arnold said sternly as he leaned against the driver’s window frame.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I smirked.
His comment was more encouragement than it was a likely outcome and we both knew it. Guys like me and Arnold never got laid on first dates. Or third. Tenth, if we were lucky, which we weren’t.
Maybe that would change tonight.
Arnold slapped the roof of the car, “Make sure you wear the shirt!”
“It’s stupid.” I was still wearing my stinky gray T-shirt.
“Wear it!”
“Maybe. Bye!” I drove slowly around the block and parked in front of Justine’s Dad’s house. I snuck a smelfie, sniffing my pits. Rank. I looked at the Las Cerdas Hermanas shirt still in its plastic wrapper. What other choice did I have? It was already 8:05pm. Going home for a clean shirt and a shower and coming back would take at least 30 minutes. So I pulled off my T-shirt, wiped my pits with it, tossed it in the back, ripped open the package of the Hermanas shirt, and put it on. At least it was clean. Hopefully the brand-new smell would cover up my lingering B.O.
I should’ve brought deodorant.
Next time.
Living the superhero life, right?
You figured it out as you went along.
I jogged up to the house and rang the bell.
Doug Escala opened the door looking mad as hell. “YOU’RE LATE!”
Surprised, I yelped, “Only five minutes!”
Doug’s anger melted into a smile, “Pulling your chain, kid.”
Relief washed over me.
“Love the shir
t.” He shot me a wink. “That’s from Breaking Bad, right?”
“Something like that,” I chuckled nervously, not wanting to correct my date’s dad.
“Justine’s inside.” He turned and hollered into the house, “Hey, princess! Chance is here!” To me, “Come inside. Take a load off.”
“Sure.” I followed him into the house, reminding myself I was Chance. I had almost forgotten. Not Doug. He was Doug. I was Chance, Chance, Chance. Why had I told them that lie when I sucked at lying?
“You want something to drink?” Doug asked. “You look like you need it.”
“Oh, no, I have to drive.”
Doug chuckled, “Relax. I meant something like ice water or a Coke.”
“Oh, sure. Ice water sounds great.” I was incredibly nervous, expecting everything Doug said to be a test to see if I was good enough for his daughter. I think I was also nervous because I actually cared about making a good impression. Doug seemed nice enough, and Justine? What was not to like about her?
Doug pulled a pitcher of water from the fridge and poured me a glass. “You need ice?”
“Nah, this is fine.” I downed the entire glass in two swallows.
“Slow down, kid! You know we’re having a drought, right?” Doug Escala was clearly a highly accomplished bullshit artist.
I smirked, “Next time, I’ll wear a leash so you can pull that instead of my chain.”
He chuckled, “That’s my job.” He hollered to the back of the house, “Hey, princess! We’re waiting!”
“Calm down, Dad!” Justine hollered back. “I’ll be right out!”
“Girls,” Doug chuckled. Then he lowered his voice for me, “You take care of my daughter tonight, okay?”
“Of course.”
“She’s a good girl. She’s all I got.” Doug gave me a hard look. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“I will be a perfect gentleman.”
“Don’t be too perfect,” he chuckled. “Justine hates perfect.”
“Sure,” I said nervously.
“You need more water?”
“Yes, please.”
“Hi,” Justine said softly.
I turned around and nearly dropped my glass on the kitchen floor.
Justine was stunning. Her eyeglasses were gone, her blonde hair was down, and it cascaded around her slender neck and delicate shoulders, which showed prominently above her off-the-shoulder black dress. No cleavage on display, but the dress clung to her slender body. She also wore a black lace choker around her neck and black high heels.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey,” Justine whispered back, her smokey eyes sparkling. She bit her plump lip nervously.
My heart was pounding.
Doug said pointedly, “Do you have a permit for that dress, Princess?”
“Shut up, Dad!” Justine swatted his arm with her clutch purse.
“Heh, heh, heh. Sorry,” he muttered.
“Oh my God!” Justine’s fingers shot to her lips when she finally saw my Las Cerdas Hermanas T-shirt. “Look at your shirt!”
I grimaced, waiting for her to laugh and tease me about the immature cartoon kid thing I was wearing, the same way Pinstripe had.
“I am totally over dressed!” Justine blushed brightly. He must think I’m a complete idiot! “What was I thinking?! I should’ve put on something casual! I can’t go out like this!” She shook with nerves.
She was nervous?
That was a twist.
“You look incredible,” I said, meaning it. “You don’t need to change.”
“Yes I do!” She spun and charged out of the kitchen.
Had I said something wrong? I turned to Doug.
“Women,” he winked at me.
Ten minutes later, Justine walked back into the kitchen wearing tight jeans and a slightly less tight T-shirt with MTV’s Daria on the front. The only hint of dressiness were her shoes. The same sexy black high-heels with criss-cross straps from before. Her smokey eye makeup and lush lipstick were gone, replaced by a hint of eye liner. She may have been dressed down, but she was still stunning. And she was single.
What more could I ask for?
She grinned, “Now we match.”
“What?” I said.
“Our shirts?”
“Oh, right,” I grinned. “Because they’re both cartoons?”
“Yep,” she grinned. Her Darla shirt definitely made her more relatable.
“You look better than before,” I said sincerely.
“Shut up,” she giggled and swatted my arm.
“Where’d you get that shirt?” I asked.
“My old room,” she nodded toward the back of the house. “I’ve had this shirt since high school. I was a huge Daria fan growing up.”
“Wait, you grew up on Daria?”
She winced, “Am I showing my age?” I hope he doesn’t think it’s stupid, she thought.
“No, not at all.” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. She was barely older than I was. Early 30s at the oldest. I guess it was that thing where women over 29 were insecure about their age? Regardless, how could she be nervous? She had everything going for her. I was… I was just me.
“Shall we?” she offered.
“Sure,” I said, now anxious that the date was officially starting.
“You kids have fun,” Doug said. “But don’t stay out too late.”
Justine rolled her eyes, “Daaaad. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. You kids do your thing. Have fun.”
“But not too much fun,” I said.
“Right!” Doug threw an arm around my shoulder and laughed. “I like this kid!”
Outside, I opened the passenger door for Justine.
“Thank you,” she grinned and sat down inside the Prius.
I closed her door. While I walked behind the car, I resisted the urge to jump in the air and do a fist pump. At that moment, my Robot phone buzzed in my pocket. Despite its cracked screen, it still worked. I pulled it out and saw a new text from Arnold.
You better hit that!
I looked up, and sure enough, two houses down, Arnold was leaning against the fender of some random sedan parked in the street, pretending to read his phone. He flashed me a wicked grin.
I texted him back several emojis of a hand flipping the bird.
Arnold laughed to himself, stuck his phone in his pocket, and started walking home.
I got in the Prius with Justine.
“So,” she said, “where are we going?” To your place or mine? Ha ha ha! Oh my God! I hope I didn’t say that out loud! Her hazel eyes sparkled, the pupils dilated invitingly.
I took one look at her and thought, I don’t even care where we go, as long as it’s with you.
Who needed Lady Liberty when you had a Darla fan like Justine sitting in your car?
Tonight was going to be a very good night.
Of that, I had no doubt.
Lady who?
—: Chapter 28 :—
While Doug Moore was heading out on his date with Justine Escala in San Diego, Holly Schmitt was walking into her dark upscale apartment in Irvine, her keys jingling in the front door as she let herself in from the building’s long and lonely hallway.
Holly felt like the walking dead and was ready to drop.
She had just worked a killer 36 hour shift.
Holly was a fourth year surgical resident at the UC Irvine Medical Center, which coincidentally was located in the city of Orange, not here in Irvine. Grey’s Anatomy it was not. There was no McSteamy, no McDreamy, but there was a McAnnoying, a McAssinine, and a McAsswipe. None were handsome, not even remotely.
On nights like this, Holly told herself it’d all be worth it when she finished her residency, opened up a private practice in Beverly Hills, and the real money started rolling in. Then she could finally start chipping away at her immense med school loans hanging over her head like a guillotine.
Holly dropped her bag on the apa
rtment’s kitchen counter, walked past her dark office, and headed straight for the master bedroom’s bathroom. There, she turned on the shower, slid out of her doctor’s scrubs and jumped into the noisy spray of hot water to scrub away the antiseptic scent of human suffering.
—: o o o :—
Lester Gorman, the petulant young handyman who worked at Holly’s luxury apartment complex, was hiding in her dark office closet.
He caressed his hatchet with both hands.
The blade gleamed evilly in the faint light seeping through the crack in the closet slider door.
When Lester had heard Holly come inside, he practically came in his work pants.
He wanted her like he’d never want any other woman.
He wanted every inch of her.
And he wanted to make her pay.
Pay for ignoring him.
Pay for saying no.
Pay for being such a frigid fucking bitch.
He was ready to do it right fucking now.
No, he had to wait until the time was right.
When Lester heard her turn the shower on in the master bathroom, he imagined that blonde bitch getting naked and soaping herself all over.
That nearly made Lester come again.
He needed to take her fucking NOW!
No! He had to wait!
His hands twisted impatiently on the shaft of his hatchet.
He’d only get one shot at burying his hatchet in the back of the bitch’s head.
He’d wait until she was in her bed asleep.
Lester knew she was a doctor.
Lester knew she worked long hours.
Lester knew once she went to sleep, she wouldn’t wake up for a long time.
He knew because he’d snuck into her apartment using his maintenance key many times during the day to sniff her dirty panties from the hamper. It wasn’t until the fifth time, in the middle of the day when everyone should have been at work, that he’d been surprised to see Holly sleeping in her bed by herself. Between her sleeping mask and her ear plugs, she never knew he’d come inside. That was the day he’d decided to make her his forever.
That day was tonight.
Now, once she was asleep, she’d never know what hit her.
Then… then… Lester could do whatever the fuck he wanted to Holly the Blonde Bitch Schmitt.
