I MASHED HER MIDDLE toe, right foot, the following week.
It occurred to me that Carol might have done very well during the Inquisition. Thumbscrews, The Boot, The Rack. I doubt they’d have known what to make of her though, except to be terrified out of their freaking minds that they’d actually finally met a witch and would’ve burned her first chance they got. That would have been the downside I guess. Carol wasn’t into burning.
I’d asked her.
If they noticed the limp at work, nobody said anything.
SHE HAD SOME VACATION days coming so I took some time off from the ad copy and we flew to Sarasota. The agency was pissed. They wanted me to do a TV-only ad for a Best of Barry Manilow collection. You know the type. Your CD starts skipping before you hit the PLAY button. I told them I was wrong for the job anyway. I liked heavy metal. They said there was evidence heavy metal was turning kids into murderers. I told them if that was true then Barry Manilow was probably turning them into florists.
It was the beginning of May, so the Florida humidity hadn’t descended yet and the hotel was cheap enough so we rented a car and spent the days basking in the sun on the fine white sand at Siesta Key and window shopping at St. Armand’s Circle, eating streetside there and then going back to our hotel to do what we did best together and it was only when she showed me the Louisville Slugger that I got worried.
We were lying in bed. Mr. Muscle was very sore.
“Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t that assault and battery? No pun intended.”
“Not if it’s consensual. I figure if you choke up high on it you can bring it down right over my forearm.
“Both hands?”
“I think you’d have to use both hands, yeah. Otherwise it’s not gonna break. I’ll just wind up with a hell of a bruise.”
“And we don’t want that.”
“No.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Sure. I’m too pooped tonight anyway. I just thought, how appropriate, you know? We’re here in Sarasota. The Cincinnati Reds do their spring training down here. Whenever I see them on TV I’ll think of you.”
I was dead tired too, but I kept thinking, lying there in bed that I was maybe getting in a little over my head on this and that the pinkie or toe were one thing but that the radius or ulna were probably another. Not to mention all the sensitive nerves and tender blood vessels in attendance. That I could possibly cripple the nutty bitch and then where would I be? My sleep was troubled. I remember morphing into Yogi Berra at some point and that Berra was striking out again—he could never hit worth a damn—and I remember thinking the way you do when you’re half asleep and half awake that I wasn’t even playing for the right team.
At another point I was arrested by the Sarasota police.
The charge was breaking and entering.
The wake-up call was good though. The wake up call was Carol’s lips sliding up and down my dick and before you could say Boy Howdy I was tickling her tonsils with the thing.
She looked up and smiled around it and I think she said, “morning.”
I know I said morning back.
She lifted herself up onto her knees and slid me inside her and started moving back and forth and side to side and soon I was starting to come, I could tell it was on its way, not only from the feeling down below but because I have this sort of involuntary grunting moaning thing I do way back in my throat—and because I had my eyes closed I didn’t see it coming a second time.
She’d reached down behind her on the bed I guess and next thing I knew my right collarbone felt like it had just exploded. I screamed and bucked her off me back hard onto my thighs and the bat flew out of her hands to the floor and my come whipped off into her hair like strands of gooey tinsel on a Christmas tree. She was smiling. I was shouting, groaning.
“You fucking…!”
“I thought you’d like to see what it was like,” she said. “So, what do you think?”
“You fucking…you crazy….fucking…!”
And I don’t know how I managed it through the pain or even saw her clearly enough through the dots of yellow bursting in front of my eyes, but I leaned up into her and planted my left fist into the side of her jaw like it was born to be there once, just once in a goddamn lifetime and then leave its mark forever.
She didn’t fall off the bed—she dove off the bed. Sideways, almost gracefully. She looked like a girl sliding dreamlike off her ski in some Esther Williams movie. Well, we were in Florida.
My collarbone was killing me. My fist was killing me. I felt like one big sack of pain.
So much for the thrill of broken bones.
Thanks so much for sharing.
I could hear her sobbing down beside the bed.
Somehow I got to my feet and walked over. She was lying on her back, her right shoulder off at a strange unnatural angle. She was trying to hold her jaw in place with her left hand.
“I think you broke my jaw,” she sobbed.
At least I think that’s what she said.
I could see she’d dislocated her shoulder.
I hated to watch a woman cry so I went into the bathroom and got her a hand towel and bent down and gave it to her. That jaw looked broken all right.
“I got one question for you, Carol,” I said.
I could see our near future then clear as the Sarasota night. The hospital, the explanations, probably the cops. The flight back to New York with the passengers and flight attendants all looking at us like gee, what a terrible awful shame, it must have been an awful wreck, I wonder if anybody else survived? Then the breakup, the tears, the inevitable parting of ways.
“Whussat?” she said. I had to ask.
“Didja come?”
SECUREDATE.COM
by Boyd E. Harris
Melanie crossed her legs under her tailored suit and said, “You know, we’re not really an online dating service anymore. So much is done in-person now that SD has developed into a hybrid of sorts. Think of it as having the best of both worlds. Personalized service from field experts and the non-intrusive benefits of first meeting your prospects online. So are you nervous?”
“Yes.” Patrice’s voice was frail, her demeanor the same.
“It’s a significant step to take.” Melanie leaned forward a little. “I was divorced three years ago myself. It took a while, but I made it back to dating six months later. I subscribed to Securedate.com and remember how nervous I was in the interview. But here I am, engaged to be married to a wonderful man.” She paused, noticing Patrice wanting to ask something.
“How many dates will it take?” Patrice managed.
“It depends on your compatibility, and after each new date, we will know a little more about you. Our state of the art security design does a background check on every member, every week. And just recently we installed a new program that actually analyzes every potential match you might have.
“We call it ‘Agent Cupid’. We’ve hired the best programmers and the best researchers around to implement this program.”
Patrice crumpled her brows together. “Agent Cupid?”
“Yes. It analyzes all available information on potential clients, starting with your legal history. We won’t have any ex-cons or pedophiles sneaking through our gate.” She snickered to emphasize how ridiculous the thought was. “It does a credit check, an employment check and it even analyzes your tax records. It checks marriage history, and even past living arrangements.”
Patrice nodded.
Melanie continued, “Nothing gets by Agent Cupid. And we’re constantly doing things to improve his arsenal of information gathering abilities. Even this morning, our engineers are installing software that will pull up not only statewide, but national records.” She grinned. “You’re not wanted for grand theft auto in Arizona, are you?”
Patrice, becoming a little more comfortable, smiled and shook her head.
“Well then you qualify. We’ll put you into the Securedate exclusive pow
er search membership right away.” Melanie stood up. “Follow me.”
Patrice apprehensively held up her forefinger and asked, “Melanie, how much will it cost?”
Melanie sat back down. “Patrice…” She paused for effect. “Think about the attorney costs in your divorce, and how your ex drained your accounts before you knew he was cheating.”
Patrice raised her head in surprise. “How could you know all that?”
The answer came with a tone of surprise from the question. “Agent Cupid.” Melanie moved over to the sofa and seated herself next to Patrice. She put one arm around her and held a box of tissue in front of her with the other.
“Thank you,” Patrice said as she pulled one from the container.
“Patrice dear, we are not cheap. The initial membership is $4,500. Every first date is $1,500…”
Patrice blew her pink, irritated nose. It had been tender for over a year.
Melanie completed her close, “But you know that these fees pale in comparison to the costs you’ll incur if you end up with another creep like your ex-husband.”
Patrice held the tissue on her nose and covered most of her face to sponge the fresh tears. Then she nodded.
AT 330 POUNDS, AND sporting a pasty bald spot on the pinnacle of his upper forehead, Drake Drebbins’s appearance wasn’t exactly a strong point. He preferred working out of home, but currently he was installing and testing new software.
Today was a tough one. The system was having hiccups. From his custom built chair, he cursed the program. “Damn script errors…! Script error, script error, script error!” The system was temporarily frozen, so he decided to take management his progress report the old fashioned way.
He stepped into the hallway and spotted Melanie in the lounge. The girl sitting with her was astonishing. A perfect mix of beauty and innocence. Drake tilted his head a little, a sweat mustache beading along his upper lip. His deep, hollow breathing sped up. He quivered as the two women got up and approached him.
Melanie stopped and said, “Oh Patrice, meet Drake. He’s our wizard behind Agent Cupid.”
Patrice smiled. “Hi Drake.”
Drake’s head went hot. Through heavy gasps, he managed, “Hello.”
Then the two women continued toward Melanie’s office and Drake fell back into the room and collapsed in his custom chair. The progress report would wait.
AGENT CUPID HAD LIFE, and Drake smiled. Like any detective, the critical task was to filter out the unnecessary data and to make sense of what remained. Drake had complete access to the company system from his apartment, and he’d recently stuffed away his collection of Marvel comics to study Patrice Giddings and the men she spoke with. Making sure his software was ready to protect women like her had become his new fixation.
An instant message from Agent Cupid distracted him. “Patrice is important to you.”
Drake clicked his response. “Yes, I want to tell her that I love her.”
AC > “Not a good idea.”
Drake > “I know.”
AC > “She is vulnerable, though. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Drake > “Thanks.”
AFTER A FINAL DIAGNOSTIC, Drake concluded that the system was operating perfectly. Agent Cupid was armed with a new weapon, nationwide cognizance. Securedate.com now had access to vital records from any state.
Instead of celebrating with the others, Drake raced out of the office. He set his abundant posterior on the custom built, extra wide seat of his turbo moped, with its custom pink paint job. His rolls of skin dangled from his arms as he grabbed the handle bars. The moped roared to life and he sped from the parking lot into the hazy and ominous Iscariot Falls city night.
DRAKE COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS eyes. He stared into the screen, reading a copy of Leighton Witherspoon’s marriage certificate. Cupid had done a careful study in Florida and had found only this, no divorce decree.
Tonight Patrice would have her first date, and it would be with this man.
Cupid’s message to Drake appeared. “He lied on his application, said he was divorced.”
Drake pounded back, “I knew it. He’s smooth-talked her.”
AC > “Lied to her.”
Drake wiped his massive forearm over his drenched face, droplets of sweat flinging onto the desk. Witherspoon had promised Patrice a surprise restaurant for dinner. Drake was in a panic. His pupils swelled.
AC > “He’s going to destroy her.”
Drake > “She needs help before that happens!”
AC > “That’s right. It’s time to act.”
Drake > “What do we do?”
AC > “You know what to do.”
Drake > “No, I don’t. Tell me.”
AC > “It’s time to go live with this thing.”
Drake > “You mean…?”
AC > “Yes.”
Drake > “But, it’s too early. This could jeopardize the project!”
AC > “Some things are worth the risk…”
There was a long pause, and then Agent Cupid stared at the screen from the other side for the first time. He was now in the flesh, and he felt the sweat trickling down from his massive new forehead, onto his meaty upper lip. He felt the heavy rasps of his chest pumping the cool air in and the hot air out. He paused in place for just a moment to acclimate, then stood up from the custom made office chair and backed away from Drake’s computer.
His first audible words were, “There now, it’s about time.”
AGENT CUPID STRUGGLED WITH the stretchy tights. They had been purchased from Party People Warehouse, with special embroidery done at Lonny’s Tailors. He heaved and pulled, stretching the heavy duty spandex in stages, sliding it over a new fold of fat with each, mighty tug.
Once finished, the superhero incarnate stood in front of Drake’s full-length mirror. The vision before him was spectacular; a powerful man, legs and arms of Mr. Universe. The chest pumped upward, yielding the six-pack any woman would crave. He turned his head for a look at the facial profile. Under the mask, a powerful jawbone angled into a proud, protruding chin. He grinned, revealing pearly white teeth, and they glistened under the closet light.
LEIGHTON PARKED THE CAR on the hill leading to her apartment and went around to Patrice’s side to open her door.
She stepped out and with a warm smile, said, “Thank you.”
He pierced her eyes with a deep gaze. He was fatefully perfect tall, dark, and handsome. Smooth, confident, refined. There was an enchanting sparkle in his eyes. Her nervousness subsided. She now felt uncontrollable warmth growing in her heart. She wondered if he could be her one and true soul mate.
He held his arm out and she hooked hers through his. They climbed the hill toward her apartment entrance. They passed a funny looking pink Scooter and they both gawked at its absurdity.
“Interesting seat,” he said, which ignited a rash of giggles from both of them.
They reached the front door. She stepped up and turned to face him. Their eyes met again, and his sparkle returned.
He leaned forward to kiss her, but then he pulled back. She detected deep concern. He glanced down and then restored his focus into her eyes. He spoke with a new, cautious tone. “Patrice, I have to be completely honest with you. I lied on my Securedate application. I’m not divorced yet. It’s a nightmare situation that still has a way to go. I was swept up by a conniving woman and I allowed her take advantage of my inexperience. I caught her cheating and since then, she has gone to every length to discredit my reputation and destroy me. She won’t settle. She’d rather clean me out in court, even if she gets less that way.
“It’s been so bad that I picked up and moved here to get away from it all. I’m looking for the one person who will dispel this horrible chapter of my life. I can’t stop this hopeless romantic inside that tells me you’re the one. I tell you this, praying you’ll forgive me. Hoping you’ll…”
She lifted her forefinger and gently touched his lips. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
S
he raised her own lips up to his face, gently pressing them to his. But something told her she pressed too hard, because his eyes opened unnaturally wide, bulging from their sockets. His head tilted backward, then rolled off of his shoulders behind him. It made the thunk of a cantaloupe as it hit the sidewalk. His body fell forward into her arms, quivering in shock, the open neck resting against her chin. Blood surged from his jugular into her nose and mouth. Choking on the stream, she held her love for a brief moment, then dropped his spasming corpse to the concrete. She coughed up a glob of thick gore and looked out to see Leighton’s open-eyed head rolling off the sidewalk into the street. Each time it made a full rotation, his frozen eyes seemed to glance at her.
Under panicked arrhythmic breathing, she looked up to find a giant man in a tight, hot pink suit. Folds of fat from his feet to his chin were covered with tired spandex. An equally bright cape covered his lumpy shoulders and arms. There was a large, red heart embroidered on his chest sporting the initials “AC.” A mask covered his eyes, each side in the shape of hearts. Heavy sweat trickled from under the tight mask and white spittle clung to the corners of his mouth. His right arm was holstering a large, blood-soaked Odachi Samurai sword to his left hip.
Once he completed sheathing the sword, he dug his fists into his waist.
Agent Cupid said with a deep, resonating voice, “Good evening, ma’am. This mendacious client will no longer be a threat to you or any other female patron of Securedate.com. You may now carry on with your quest to find the perfect love through the exclusivity of the safest dating service in the land.” He saluted her. “My work here is done.”
With that, Agent Cupid turned and burst into a dramatic, broad stepping run. He mounted the love bike and once again, it roared to life. He made his escape, slowing and swerving momentarily to avoid Leighton’s rolling head. His long, sleek cape caught air and flapped upward, revealing that the love bike’s funny seat had now hidden itself under a magnificent, hot pink ass.
FACE
by Patrick Shand
The face stared at him from the foot of his bed.
A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous Page 2
