Blue Castaway by Rod Mertes
When Pat and Paul boarded the cruise ship, they went through the required orientation and abandon ship procedures. They were instructed on how to maneuver around the different decks of the ship and steps to take when they found themselves completely lost or disoriented. Paul didn’t pay much attention to the instructions because he knew they were safe and wouldn’t have to actually employ any of the safety procedures. Besides, if there was an emergency, he’d just follow all of the other people who had paid attention. He was more interested in checking out the other female passengers. One brunette returned his glance and smiled seductively. He lingered after orientation and searched for the woman. The brunette had disappeared and left Paul with a witty introduction line stuck in his throat.
Paul reluctantly joined Patricia for a dance on the first night. He stumbled around on the dance floor and later suggested they split up during the second day so they could enjoy the “whole” experience of the cruise. They could rendezvous at the room at night and share dinner and the ship’s planned, evening festivities.
Paul found a casino area that offered a scaled-down version of the casinos he frequented in Tunica, Mississippi. He dumped a few dollars in the slot machines and after having no good luck, he wandered to an empty blackjack table.
He sat down, bought a hundred dollars worth of chips and ordered a beer from a smiling, scantly-clad waitress. Her outfit was incredibly tight and looked as though it had been painted on her body. The design of the outfit provided for maximum cleavage exposure and it certainly drew Paul’s attention.
He lit a cigarette and fantasized about being alone with the waitress in his cabin, while the dealer shuffled the cards.
“Sure is nice to look at,” said a short man as he pulled out a stool next to Paul.
“Hell yeah!” replied Paul with a huge smile.
“They count on you looking at their servers so you won’t be able to focus on the game and lose more money,” offered the stranger.
“It’s working with me! I’ll bet they get hit on a lot,” suggested Paul.
“I’m sure they do. The casinos have strict policies about that. There are several good reasons why they’re not allowed to date the guests. I imagine they ‘bump’ into a few of the high rollers after hours though,” said the stranger as he lifted a glass and sipped the contents slowly.
“I used to watch some of the high rollers back home and they would lay some healthy tips on those serving trays,” stated Paul.
“Some of those servers make more in tips in a month than many people do in a year.”
“I believe it. I wonder how many of them screw the gamblers for extra cash,” said Paul as he inhaled on his cigarette.
“I suppose there are a few that do that sort of thing. I doubt you have enough money to draw that kind of attention though,” said the stranger.
Paul chuckled and replied, “I know that’s right! I sure wish I did. I’d like to sit at table and play with $100 and $500 chips. I’d like to have money to burn and come here alone. I’d write my room number on some $500 chips, drop them on the server’s tray and spend each night in bed with a different woman. Boy, wouldn’t that be the life?!”
The stranger smiled and said, “It would be nice, that’s for sure.”
The dealer finished the shuffling and dealt the cards. Paul looked at his cards and seeing that he had fifteen points, decided not to take any hits. He waved his hand over his cards to indicate he didn’t want anymore. The dealer looked at the stranger Paul had been conversing with and waited for a response. He too decided to stick with what he had. They both ultimately won the hand. As a matter-of-fact, they both won the next six hands in a row.
“Seems to be our lucky day,” chimed the stranger.
“It sure feels good,” Paul remarked as he fiddled with his growing stack of chips.
“Luck is a mysterious thing that few ordinary people understand. Savor your victories today, for good luck is a fleeting event!” said the stranger. The man angled himself sideways, extended his hand to shake Paul’s and said, “By the way, my name is Floyd. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paul.”
Paul sat back in his chair. His eyelids closed slightly as he examined the stranger’s face. He angled his head and stared questioningly at Floyd. He ignored Floyd’s hand and said, “How did you know my name?”
Floyd withdrew his handshake offer and said, “You know, Patricia is really quite a wonderful woman. She’s sensitive and has a tremendous capacity to love. You would do well to consider those attributes.”
The man sitting to Paul’s right nudged his arm and pointed to the waiting dealer. Paul looked at his cards and said, “I’ll hold.”
“I’m guessing I’ve met you somewhere before and can’t remember for some reason. Help me out here. How do you know me and my wife?” said Paul as he lit a cigarette and took a short drag.
Floyd gazed at his chips and pushed them across the green felt to Paul. He finished his drink and said, “Quite simply, because I do!”
“That makes no sense,” snapped Paul as Floyd turned and shuffled away.
Paul watched Floyd until he went around the corner of a bank of slot machines and vanished into a crowd of gamblers.
Paul fondled his additional wealth and looked at the dealer. “Man, I’ve lived twenty-four years and thought I’d met some weird people. I’ve got to tell you though, nothing tops the weirdos I’ve run into in the last two days. It’s unbelievable!”
The dealer smiled obligingly and said, “Would you like a hit?”
“I’ll hold,” replied Paul as he glanced in the general direction of Floyd’s path.
Patricia found Paul at the blackjack table, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “How much did you start with?”
He jumped slightly and said, “You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
“I sat down with 100 bucks and now I have nearly five.” Paul lit another cigarette and said, “Do you know a guy named Floyd?”
Patricia thought for a moment and tried to remember the names of all the men she had encountered over the years. “I can’t recall ever meeting anyone with that name,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Half of my winnings came from some guy named Floyd. He was gambling and decided he had enough and left. When he got up from the table, he gave me all of his chips. He seems to know a lot about you.”
Patricia shook her head. “Never met any Floyds that I know of. Since you’re so far ahead, give me a 100 so I can try my luck.”
Paul counted out 150 dollars worth of chips and handed them to Pat. “Here. Take Floyd’s chips. I’m sure he won‘t mind.”
“I told you, I don’t know any Floyds! I’ll take the chips though!”
Patricia clasped her hand around the small bankroll and kissed Paul on the cheek. “Good luck, honey,” she said as she headed for the cashier cage.
They each gambled for a few hours, explored the ship and met back at the cabin so they could go to dinner together.
“So, how much did you walk away with?” asked Patricia.
“I didn’t win another hand after you left. I kept doubling my bets trying to get even and lost my ass. How did you do?”
“About the same. I hit a few times and made enough to keep me going. Then the house finally caught up with me and left me broke. Which restaurant do you want to go to tonight?”
“Let’s go to the Fairview Restaurant, I have a taste for fish,” said Paul.
“Okay.”
They enjoyed a meal like none before. The service was impeccable; the food was fresh and delicious. For the brief time they were seated, they felt as if they were royalty, or at least people of great wealth and prominent social stature. Paul enjoyed the special attention and just wished the ship provided free brothels to complete the experience.
After dinner, they went to the Florentine Room and took in a magic show. The magician was aided by two gorgeous women, one of whom was later made to levitate and float freely around the stage.
He tapped Patricia on the shoulder and said, “See the way he’s moving the hoop? He’s doing it to make it look as though it’s solid. If you get right up there, you’ll see that there’s actually a small gap in it so that it passes the wires that are suspending her.“
Patricia smiled vacantly and nodded, however, she didn’t take her eyes off of the performers.
Then the magician produced a length of rope and cut it in half with a pair of scissors. He waved his hand across the rope and magically restored it to its original form.
“Where did they get this guy? That trick is lame! He’s using a specially prepared rope and joining it together by rubbing the ends together with his fingertips,” laughed Paul.
A man seated at a table to his left heard the bits of insight and frowned. He cleared his throat loudly to gain Paul’s attention and looked at him scornfully. He was annoyed by Paul’s constant verbal interjections and hoped his expression of disdain would send a clear message to cease and desist. Paul was proud of his insightful observations and had commented on each trick throughout the act. He enlightened Patricia and anyone within earshot on how each trick was performed. Paul glanced over at the man once again and said, “These tricks are all outdated. I saw all of this stuff explained on a television special. This guy is just average at best.”
“I have no doubt you are an expert in the field. My wife and I, however, are not and we’d like to enjoy the entertainment. Should we require explanation, you will be our primary source of clarification!” said the man.
Paul rolled his eyes and replied, “No problem, pal!” He leaned over to Patricia and said, “What a jackass!”
Patricia rested her hand on Paul’s forearm and whispered, “Relax. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
When the magician produced a live dove from a handkerchief, Paul wanted to blurt out why all magicians use doves. Patricia squeezed his arm, peeked at him from the corner of her eye and turned her attention back to the stage.
The magician concluded his act and thanked the audience for their applause. His assistants shared the accolades and then handed the magician a microphone. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You’re the best audience I’ve ever had!”
“Give me a break!” exclaimed Paul.
“And now it is my distinct pleasure to introduce our final performance for the evening. She has been acclaimed throughout the world as one of the premier visionaries of our time. Please put your hands together and prepare to challenge the psychic powers of Madame Navoise.”
The magician raised his cape over his head, wrapped it around his body and temporarily disappeared into a huge cloud of white smoke. When the smoked cleared, the cape dropped to the stage and the magician had been replaced by Madame Navoise.
Paul raised his eyebrows and muttered, “Has to be a trap door somewhere.”
“Shhhhh,” uttered Patricia.
The woman walked to the edge of the stage and queried, “There is a man in the audience who is worried that his income tax audit will result in a penalty which he will not be able to pay. His name is Dur…Durman. Wait a minute, that’s not quite right. It’s getting clearer. It’s Durwyn. Are you here tonight, Durwyn?”
Members of the audience searched the room for the man referenced. A man with balding, gray hair and caffeine-stained teeth raised his hand cautiously.
Madame Navoise smiled and said, “Shame on you, Durwyn. You’re not going to be penalized on the IRS tax audit. Rest easy. The fact that you cheated on your business expense account will go unnoticed. Your secret is safe with me!”
Durwyn’s face turned bright red and he smiled as he squirmed in his seat.
Paul shook his head and looked at Patricia. “They planted him in the audience. She’s no better than the magician.”
Madame Navoise closed her eyes and said, “Oh my! Daneisha, you’d better take another pregnancy test. The first stick you used gave you a negative result because it was defective!”
The audience chuckled and once again searched the room for the psychic sender. Several minutes went by, yet no one claimed the name.
Madame Navoise suddenly stopped smiling and closed her eyes. “I feel a tremendously strong force in the room. It is unlike any I’ve ever felt before.”
She began to stagger aimlessly and clasped her head in both hands. A member of the stage crew ran a chair out to her and steadied it as Madame Navoise plopped on it like a wet dishrag.
The stage lights flickered and a hot, dead stillness fell over the room like someone had just covered everyone with a woolen blanket and turned the furnace to full blast. Candles on the tables flickered and some went out completely. Audience members were tugging at clothing close to their necks and wiping beads of sweat from their brows. All the while, Madame Navoise sat lifelessly on her chair.
Kudzu-like vines sprouted from the stage and totally enveloped the curtains serving as a backdrop behind Madame Navoise. Additional sprouts emerged and proceeded to carpet the stage, lifting and running under anything in its way.
Then all was still and completely silent. Members in the audience were becoming apprehensive. They remained in their seats and fixed their eyes on the stage as if in a hypnotic trance. Some were unsure how much was theatrical and how much was real.
Madame Navoise finally stood and faced the audience. All of the lights were back to full intensity and it became obvious that the psychic had altered her appearance. Her faced had become incredibly withdrawn and pale. Her eyes had turned as black as coal and her styled hair had gone limp and resembled darkened strands of wet sewing thread.
“I have a crystal clear vision,” she said flatly as she turned toward Paul’s table. “Good evening, Patricia Porter. I’ll bet you looked magnificent in your wedding gown.”
The statement jolted Patricia and she turned sharply to Paul. She smiled, grabbed his arm and said excitedly, “What do you think now?”
“Anyone could have gotten that information from the ship’s registration log. If you’ll recall, you signed us in as newlyweds,” came Paul’s reply.
Madame Navoise moved to the very edge of the stage and stared directly at Paul.
She didn’t moved a muscle for a good five minutes. Audience members were beginning to grow impatient and started to chatter amongst themselves.
“Perhaps your spouse will find a better mate, if and when she decides to get remarried. Malvada has seen your resume and will soon be sending you on an extended assignment,” stated Madame Navoise ominously.
Patricia was puzzled. The psychic’s announcement made no sense to her. “Who’s Malvada? Did you apply for another job?” she asked as she pulled back from Paul.
Paul’s jaw dropped and he immediately got a sick feeling in his stomach. There was no way anyone aboard the ship could have known about the freaky, old woman in the woods. Even if the psychic did internet checks on them, that kind of information simply isn’t available.
The man to Paul’s left that had engaged him in conversation sometime earlier, seized the opportunity to retaliate with his own critique of Madame Navoise. He leaned forward, tapped Paul on the shoulder and said, “You’ve just been busted, dude! Sounds like someone found out about a girlfriend of yours. I can only imagine what the assignment is!! So, tell us, how they did they do this trick, buddy?” The man sat back in his chair, looked at his wife and some other people and laughed.
Paul recovered from his initial shock, bit his lower lip and said, “I never heard of anyone named Malvada and I haven’t applied for a new job anywhere. This is all bullshit. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it forever…all of this crap is fixed.”
The stage lights dimmed and there was a familiar huge puff of white smoke. When it cleared, the vines had disappeared and Madame Navoise returned to her original stage appearance.
Paul was about to explain how the psychic slipped on a wig while the lights flickered, when a clump of hard, red clay slammed in the middle of their table. It was about the size of a business
card and had some strange markings on it.
Paul’s eyes widened and his stomach cramped. He threw the chunk of dirt to the floor and crushed it with one of his heels.
Madame Navoise thanked the audience for their participation and agreed that they were the best audience ever. She left the stage and the house lights came on. The air conditioning had resumed and the room was considerably cooler.
“Paul, are you sure you don’t know any women named Malvada? If it’s one of your old girlfriends, you can tell me. As long as it’s over between you two, I could care less,” reassured Pat.
“I’m telling you, I’ve never met anyone, male or female, by the name of Malvada.”
Paul was actually telling the “literal” truth. After all, he hadn’t really “met” Malvada. Unfortunately, for Paul, the psychic was right on the money.
Pat suspected that Paul was lying to her. She also realized that no matter how hard she dragged a dead horse, it would never rise to a gallop so she dropped the subject. “I’m pretty tired right now. I think I’ll go back to the cabin, order a movie and crawl under the covers. Are you coming?”
Paul eyeballed the stage and then said, “Nah. I think I’ll walk around on deck for awhile. My dinner’s still waiting for a hall pass.” Pat kissed him on the lips and headed back to their cabin.
Paul took a zigzag course throughout the ship and made his way to the fantail. He stood in awe as he watched the huge propeller wake being highlighted by the full moon. He had never seen anything like it before. He‘d never been on a passenger ship either. He’d been on several small fishing boats in ponds, lakes and rivers when he went fishing. They paled in comparison to the magnitude of what he was experiencing on the passenger liner.
Distant lightning bolts created gashes in the fabric of the night sky and reminded him of another fishing trip he went on with LJ and Kevin. The three boys took their fishing gear to Dead Man’s Pond, (so named one summer many years earlier when a drifter’s corpse was found decomposing just off the bank), and boarded a small, fourteen-foot boat they kept tied up there. It was an old, weather-beaten, wooden boat given to them by Paul’s uncle when he bought a new aluminum one.
Kevin had just turned fifteen and received a new shotgun from his father as a present. He brought the shotgun along so they could test it out in the woods before they went fishing. He also brought it along to shoot snakes. Snakes scared the crap out of Kevin and he went out of his way to kill them.
It was breeding time for the copperheads and not uncommon to see three or four racing from shore to shore. Occasionally, they’d confront boaters and people fishing along the bank. Some said it was simply out of curiosity, while others feared a full scale invasion and vicious attack. Kevin knew from experience that they were protecting their breeding ground and would die trying to defend it from any intruders, no matter how big they were.
He wasn’t about to take any chances. If they got too close to the boat and decided to drop in, the shotgun would serve as the ultimate stop sign. You had to be a relatively good shot, like Paul, with a regular rifle or pistol to hit a copperhead. With Kevin’s new shotgun, he would only have to be close.
The boys had been fishing for about an hour and were happy that the morning, summer sun was still cloaked in ominous dark clouds. LJ was sitting in the middle of the boat when he spotted a water moccasin slithering across the surface of the water. He nudged Kevin, who was on the aft end of the boat, and said nonchalantly, “Snake.”
Kevin whipped his head in LJ’s direction and shouted, “Where?”
LJ pointed and said, “There.”
“Shit!!” he exclaimed as he dropped his fishing pole and jerked his shotgun to the ready. “Move over, LJ. I need a better angle.” Kevin was stepping over the wooden seat in the middle of the boat when a lightning bolt struck a tree in the woods about 50 yards to their right. The sound of the thunder and near strike startled Kevin and in his confused fright, he squeezed the trigger of his shotgun. A shell discharged, blowing an impressive hole in the bottom of the boat and narrowly missing Paul’s foot.
“Son of a bitch!” screamed Paul. “Damn, man, what the hell are you doing?”
Their boat filled with water in a matter of minutes and the last thing Kevin saw as he stood in water chest deep, was the water moccasin changing course and heading straight toward his face. He panicked and flailed his arms as he struggled to get to the safety of shore. In the process, he hit a floating stick. Thinking it to be the slithering evildoer, he let out a fear-choked scream and altered his course, taking a longer route to shore.
He scrambled up the bank and collapsed onto his back like a load of wet rags. He expended every last of bit of energy and lay with his eyes closed, gasping for air. He could hear LJ and Paul laughing as they approached. He sat slowly and turned to face his friends.
“It’s not funny, assholes!” said Kevin angrily.
LJ stood next to him, dropped Kevin’s shotgun in the weeds by his side and said, “It was funny as hell to the snake!”
Paul turned his back to the ship’s wake and chuckled as he remembered the incident. His thoughts quickly changed to the words of the psychic. No amount of trickery, slight of hand or mirrors could have been used to know what she knew. That meant she had to be the real thing and that was just plain bad on so many levels. He didn’t even know Malvada and he was already angry at her.
Paul stood at the fantail for nearly an hour and watched as the storm skirted miles to the west. The midnight sky was once again dark and silent. He yawned and decided to work his way back to the cabin. When he got back, the cabin television was showing some romantic comedy and Patricia was sound asleep. He turned the television off and was asleep before the set could cool down.
The remainder of the cruise was relatively uneventful. They did the “tourist thing” in the Bahamas and took scores of digital photos of themselves smiling in front of various sites and objects. They gambled a little more on the return trip and repeated their losing performance of previous venture. Paul looked occasionally for the mysterious Floyd. He wanted to know about him and how he knew so much about him and Pat. Instead, he saw scores of beautiful women and lusted for each one of them. Each time he thought he was onto a promising lead, the woman would be joined by some other man or she would simply walk away. He was disappointed by his losing efforts in the casino, and frustrated by his lack of success with the ladies.
The two flew back to Memphis on a Saturday night and resumed their daily routine in Mississippi on the following Monday morning. When Paul showed up for work at the warehouse, he was informed that there were staff reductions to increase profitability and he was among the workers being released. He was enraged by management’s decision because there were dozens of other employees who didn’t work five of their eight-hour shift and they were being retained. His supervisor handed him a white envelope containing his severance check and wished him well. Paul squeezed the envelope in the middle and shouted, “I can’t freakin’ believe you’re letting me go and keeping that worthless slug over there that spends four hours a day in the bathroom!”
The supervisor remained stoic and replied, “We have our reasons for making the decisions we made. They’re not subject to debate. I suggest you leave now, before you bite off more than you can chew.”
Paul could feel a surge of hostile blood rush to his face. He wanted to smash his boss’ face in and get revenge, however, he allowed his subconscious reason to prevail. He stormed out to the parking lot, got in his truck and sped off, leaving black rubber marks from his tires as he did. He drove off in a blind rage and wasn’t even aware of his surroundings until he was a good five miles down the highway. His experience summoned forth the same emotions he experienced when he was seventeen. He was working part-time at a pet warehouse as the housekeeping manager. The warehouse supplied pet stores throughout the southeast with live fish of all kinds, monkeys, parrots, etc. His title was deceiving because he really wasn’t a manager in the stri
ctest sense of the word. He did no hiring or firing and had no employees to supervise. His main responsibility was to keep huge concrete fish containers, animal cages and warehouse floors clean.
The concrete fish containers were six-feet long, three-feet wide and two-feet deep. He put on wading boots and walked around inside them, scrubbing algae from the sides with a toilet brush. The containers were used to store large quantities of common household fish. There were several other teenage boys employed there and it was common practice to grab some goldfish from a holding tank and either throw them in with the baby alligators or piranhas. Paul refrained from joining in on the practice and was merely an amused spectator, until one Wednesday night when temptation got the better of him. He scooped up a small net full of goldfish and dangled them over the alligator tank. He dropped them one by one, laughing as the baby alligators clambered over each other to get a fish. Unfortunately, the owner of the pet warehouse was standing right behind him as he did. The one time he went against the grain, he was caught and his punishment was unemployment. He was angry as hell because the other boys always fed the alligators and never got caught. The other boys were frequently tardy and goofed off once they got there. Paul was always on time and always performed his assigned tasks in a timely manner. Yet, he was the one being punished.
When Paul got home, he threw his crumpled paycheck on the kitchen table, opened a beer and turned on the television. He couldn’t focus on any specific programming. All he could do was pace to and fro in his living room. He had no means of venting his frustration and couldn’t let go of the injustice thrust upon him. He should have tried to focus on events less irritating. Instead, he began thinking about the warehouse manager and the corporate assholes the warehouse manager sucked up to. He determined that it would take the manager and three corporate officials combined, to equal the work he preformed and dedication he possessed. Yet, he was the one being put out the door.
He grabbed his rifle from the closet and drove to the woods near the abandoned farmhouse. He figured that a brisk walk in the woods and some target practice would help vent his angry steam. He walked through an area of dense underbrush and noticed several large crows circling over a group of pine trees near the farmhouse. He didn’t much care for crows or any bird for that matter and decided to rid the world of a few. Maybe he couldn’t kill his boss or his co-workers but at least he could kill something.
He led the first crow and took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger slowly and timed the shot perfectly. There was a small puff of black feathers quickly followed by a black mass spiraling to the ground. Instead of flying away in a frenzied panic, the remaining crows flew to a tree behind the farmhouse and seemingly stared in Paul’s direction. Moments later, the woman in black, whom he now knew as Malvada, emerged from the heretofore abandoned, kudzu-enveloped farmhouse. Her appearance surprised him.
She glared at Paul with her beady black eyes and then shuffled to the fallen bird. She bent down, lifted it from the ground and slid it into pocket on the side of her dress.
That looks like the same dress she was wearing before I left on my honeymoon, he thought as he watched her go back into the farmhouse. You filthy slob, someone ought throw you into a lake and scrub you down.
“You eatin’ those damn birds?” he yelled. “Hang loose, bitch, second course comin’ up!” Paul raised his rifle, slid the stock to his shoulder and took aim. The next round discharged and another crow dropped like a rock.
Malvada came out once again. This time she was carrying something under her arm. She walked deliberately to Paul, never breaking her stare. Thistles firmly hooked the fabric of her dress as she walked, yet they didn’t impede her progress. She stopped within two feet of Paul and jammed a white sign with bold, red letters directly in front of him. The hand painted sign read,
“Private Property
- No Trespassing -
Violators Will Be Dealt With My Way!”.
The unmistakable stench of rotting flesh and tissue nearly took his breath away. Paul was familiar with the odor of death. He had smelled it many times before. He also knew that flies savored the ghastly aroma. Of all the things he could have been thinking about, the foremost thought was flies. It came to mind that they were missing. There were no flies anywhere near Malvada. The thought bothered him as he backed away. He tried to maneuver in such a way as to avoid being in the path of the breeze blowing in his direction.
“Hi. I don't mean to trespass. I didn't realize anyone owned this place. When did you buy it?” asked Paul as he lowered his rifle. The bitch can't afford this property. She's probably just a damn squatter.
“You’re becoming a real nuisance. Now leave!” replied Malvada as she turned her back to Paul and walked to the fallen crow. She retrieved the corpse and slid it into the same pocket as the previous bird. She went back inside the farmhouse without casting another look in his direction.
“This is not my freakin’ day!!” he exclaimed. He fired several more shots randomly into the air, then turned his rifle to Malvada’s sign and ventilated it with three final rounds. He returned to his truck and angrily jammed his rifle in the gun rack. Paul got behind the wheel and gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He turned the ignition key so hard, it bent slightly. Then he gunned the engine with his right foot, pushed on the brakes with his left and dropped the truck into gear. He looked in his rearview mirror and held the gas pedal to the floor. A stream of pebbles and red dirt flew from the shoulder of the road in Malvada’s direction. Paul laughed as he sped off. Although he wasn’t sure where he was going. he knew he was certainly going to get there in a hurry!
He thought about going to see LJ and having a calming beer or two. A quick check of the time revealed that LJ wouldn’t be at the bar for at least another hour. Even though LJ was a bartender at Ray’s Sports Bar, the three friends always drank and socialized at Grumpy’s. It had been their hangout years before LJ started at Ray’s and there wasn’t a good enough reason to break camp and change their favorite watering hole.
LJ was on his way to Ray’s when he stopped to get some lunch at a fast-food restaurant. He ordered a burger, some fries and a soft drink. The cashier told him his total and LJ handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill.
“Here’s your change, sir,” said the cashier.
”It’s almost my change. Unfortunately, you’re ten dollars short,” stated LJ.
“You gave me a ten and I gave you the correct change.”
“Here’s the deal, pal. I saw you shortchange both people in front of me. I don’t know why they didn’t notice and I really don‘t care. Now you’re doing the same thing to me. The difference between them and me as that I’m not going to stand for it.”
The cashier called his manager over and said, “This guy is calling me a liar and a thief. He says he gave me a twenty. I guarantee that when you look in my drawer, you won‘t see a single twenty.”
The manager looked at LJ and said, “Let me check the drawer and we’ll straighten this all out.” Sure enough, both the woman’s twenty who was first in line and LJ’s twenty were missing.
“It would seem you are in error, sir. You can plainly see there are no twenties in this drawer. We all make mistakes.”
LJ nodded and said, “I understand.” He raised his eyebrows and continued, “A mistake was definitely made.”
The manager smiled and said, “Enjoy your lunch and have a good day!”
LJ returned the smile and said nothing.
The cashier brought LJ’s order to the counter and said, “The manager super-sized your order at no additional expense to you. Enjoy your meal.”
LJ took his lunch to a table and watched the cashier the entire time he ate. When he finished, he walked behind the counter and headed straight for the manager. He read the name badge the manager had pinned to his chest and said, “Steve, I want you to know that I have absolutely no problems with the food. I certainly have no reason to complain about the taste or temperatu
re of the meat. However, we need to have a heart-to-heart chat here about that asshole you have standing at the register.” LJ put his arm around the manager’s shoulders and walked him to the cashier.
“You were absolutely correct, Steve. A mistake was made…by this asshole,” said LJ as he removed his arm from the manager’s shoulder and jabbed his finger in the chest of the cashier that took his order. The cashier stumbled backward from the impact and looked fearfully at LJ.
“This freakin’ jackass is ripping people off. He has a pocket full of tens that he palms and switches with the twenties that customers give him.”
The cashier looked at the manager, regained his composure and said confidently, “The man’s on drugs or something, Mr. Wilkins. Do you want me to call the police?”
LJ reached across, grabbed the cashier’s shirt near the collar with his left hand and smashed the guy’s nose all over his face with his right fist. He stood the barely conscious cashier against the counter and said, “One and only one last chance. I’m not much on long conversations. Am I right or am I right? You only have until I count to three!”
The cashier didn’t wait for LJ to count. “You’re right, ”he mumbled weakly, spraying tiny streams of blood that had gushed from his nose as he did.
“I don’t give a shit about the other people he ripped off. That’s their problem,” said LJ as he stuck his hand in the guy’s pockets and turned them inside out. He scooped up all the tens and twenties from the cashier’s pockets and said, “Let’s consider this an out-of-court settlement. Agreed?”
The cashier brought LJ into focus and said, “Okay.”
LJ looked the manager in the eyes and said, “Whatcha’ say Steve? Is it over or is this just round one? If it goes to round two, it‘ll get a whole lot uglier!”
The manager looked at the cashier and then back at LJ. He thought about his impending promotion and transfer to a new state. He didn’t want any legal hassles or possible physical disabilities to hinder his progress. “Case closed, as far as I‘m concerned.” He looked at the cashier and said, “Don’t even consider filling out an accident report. Just clock out and go home. You’re fired!”
LJ took the money he was holding, stuck it in his pocket and left. On the way out the door, he tucked his shirt back in and covered the pistol stuck between his belt and his back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEW JOB
Paul reluctantly joined Patricia for a dance on the first night. He stumbled around on the dance floor and later suggested they split up during the second day so they could enjoy the “whole” experience of the cruise. They could rendezvous at the room at night and share dinner and the ship’s planned, evening festivities.
Paul found a casino area that offered a scaled-down version of the casinos he frequented in Tunica, Mississippi. He dumped a few dollars in the slot machines and after having no good luck, he wandered to an empty blackjack table.
He sat down, bought a hundred dollars worth of chips and ordered a beer from a smiling, scantly-clad waitress. Her outfit was incredibly tight and looked as though it had been painted on her body. The design of the outfit provided for maximum cleavage exposure and it certainly drew Paul’s attention.
He lit a cigarette and fantasized about being alone with the waitress in his cabin, while the dealer shuffled the cards.
“Sure is nice to look at,” said a short man as he pulled out a stool next to Paul.
“Hell yeah!” replied Paul with a huge smile.
“They count on you looking at their servers so you won’t be able to focus on the game and lose more money,” offered the stranger.
“It’s working with me! I’ll bet they get hit on a lot,” suggested Paul.
“I’m sure they do. The casinos have strict policies about that. There are several good reasons why they’re not allowed to date the guests. I imagine they ‘bump’ into a few of the high rollers after hours though,” said the stranger as he lifted a glass and sipped the contents slowly.
“I used to watch some of the high rollers back home and they would lay some healthy tips on those serving trays,” stated Paul.
“Some of those servers make more in tips in a month than many people do in a year.”
“I believe it. I wonder how many of them screw the gamblers for extra cash,” said Paul as he inhaled on his cigarette.
“I suppose there are a few that do that sort of thing. I doubt you have enough money to draw that kind of attention though,” said the stranger.
Paul chuckled and replied, “I know that’s right! I sure wish I did. I’d like to sit at table and play with $100 and $500 chips. I’d like to have money to burn and come here alone. I’d write my room number on some $500 chips, drop them on the server’s tray and spend each night in bed with a different woman. Boy, wouldn’t that be the life?!”
The stranger smiled and said, “It would be nice, that’s for sure.”
The dealer finished the shuffling and dealt the cards. Paul looked at his cards and seeing that he had fifteen points, decided not to take any hits. He waved his hand over his cards to indicate he didn’t want anymore. The dealer looked at the stranger Paul had been conversing with and waited for a response. He too decided to stick with what he had. They both ultimately won the hand. As a matter-of-fact, they both won the next six hands in a row.
“Seems to be our lucky day,” chimed the stranger.
“It sure feels good,” Paul remarked as he fiddled with his growing stack of chips.
“Luck is a mysterious thing that few ordinary people understand. Savor your victories today, for good luck is a fleeting event!” said the stranger. The man angled himself sideways, extended his hand to shake Paul’s and said, “By the way, my name is Floyd. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paul.”
Paul sat back in his chair. His eyelids closed slightly as he examined the stranger’s face. He angled his head and stared questioningly at Floyd. He ignored Floyd’s hand and said, “How did you know my name?”
Floyd withdrew his handshake offer and said, “You know, Patricia is really quite a wonderful woman. She’s sensitive and has a tremendous capacity to love. You would do well to consider those attributes.”
The man sitting to Paul’s right nudged his arm and pointed to the waiting dealer. Paul looked at his cards and said, “I’ll hold.”
“I’m guessing I’ve met you somewhere before and can’t remember for some reason. Help me out here. How do you know me and my wife?” said Paul as he lit a cigarette and took a short drag.
Floyd gazed at his chips and pushed them across the green felt to Paul. He finished his drink and said, “Quite simply, because I do!”
“That makes no sense,” snapped Paul as Floyd turned and shuffled away.
Paul watched Floyd until he went around the corner of a bank of slot machines and vanished into a crowd of gamblers.
Paul fondled his additional wealth and looked at the dealer. “Man, I’ve lived twenty-four years and thought I’d met some weird people. I’ve got to tell you though, nothing tops the weirdos I’ve run into in the last two days. It’s unbelievable!”
The dealer smiled obligingly and said, “Would you like a hit?”
“I’ll hold,” replied Paul as he glanced in the general direction of Floyd’s path.
Patricia found Paul at the blackjack table, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “How much did you start with?”
He jumped slightly and said, “You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
“I sat down with 100 bucks and now I have nearly five.” Paul lit another cigarette and said, “Do you know a guy named Floyd?”
Patricia thought for a moment and tried to remember the names of all the men she had encountered over the years. “I can’t recall ever meeting anyone with that name,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Half of my winnings came from some guy named Floyd. He was gambling and decided he had enough and left. When he got up from the table, he gave me all of his chips. He seems to know a lot about you.”
Patricia shook her head. “Never met any Floyds that I know of. Since you’re so far ahead, give me a 100 so I can try my luck.”
Paul counted out 150 dollars worth of chips and handed them to Pat. “Here. Take Floyd’s chips. I’m sure he won‘t mind.”
“I told you, I don’t know any Floyds! I’ll take the chips though!”
Patricia clasped her hand around the small bankroll and kissed Paul on the cheek. “Good luck, honey,” she said as she headed for the cashier cage.
They each gambled for a few hours, explored the ship and met back at the cabin so they could go to dinner together.
“So, how much did you walk away with?” asked Patricia.
“I didn’t win another hand after you left. I kept doubling my bets trying to get even and lost my ass. How did you do?”
“About the same. I hit a few times and made enough to keep me going. Then the house finally caught up with me and left me broke. Which restaurant do you want to go to tonight?”
“Let’s go to the Fairview Restaurant, I have a taste for fish,” said Paul.
“Okay.”
They enjoyed a meal like none before. The service was impeccable; the food was fresh and delicious. For the brief time they were seated, they felt as if they were royalty, or at least people of great wealth and prominent social stature. Paul enjoyed the special attention and just wished the ship provided free brothels to complete the experience.
After dinner, they went to the Florentine Room and took in a magic show. The magician was aided by two gorgeous women, one of whom was later made to levitate and float freely around the stage.
He tapped Patricia on the shoulder and said, “See the way he’s moving the hoop? He’s doing it to make it look as though it’s solid. If you get right up there, you’ll see that there’s actually a small gap in it so that it passes the wires that are suspending her.“
Patricia smiled vacantly and nodded, however, she didn’t take her eyes off of the performers.
Then the magician produced a length of rope and cut it in half with a pair of scissors. He waved his hand across the rope and magically restored it to its original form.
“Where did they get this guy? That trick is lame! He’s using a specially prepared rope and joining it together by rubbing the ends together with his fingertips,” laughed Paul.
A man seated at a table to his left heard the bits of insight and frowned. He cleared his throat loudly to gain Paul’s attention and looked at him scornfully. He was annoyed by Paul’s constant verbal interjections and hoped his expression of disdain would send a clear message to cease and desist. Paul was proud of his insightful observations and had commented on each trick throughout the act. He enlightened Patricia and anyone within earshot on how each trick was performed. Paul glanced over at the man once again and said, “These tricks are all outdated. I saw all of this stuff explained on a television special. This guy is just average at best.”
“I have no doubt you are an expert in the field. My wife and I, however, are not and we’d like to enjoy the entertainment. Should we require explanation, you will be our primary source of clarification!” said the man.
Paul rolled his eyes and replied, “No problem, pal!” He leaned over to Patricia and said, “What a jackass!”
Patricia rested her hand on Paul’s forearm and whispered, “Relax. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
When the magician produced a live dove from a handkerchief, Paul wanted to blurt out why all magicians use doves. Patricia squeezed his arm, peeked at him from the corner of her eye and turned her attention back to the stage.
The magician concluded his act and thanked the audience for their applause. His assistants shared the accolades and then handed the magician a microphone. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You’re the best audience I’ve ever had!”
“Give me a break!” exclaimed Paul.
“And now it is my distinct pleasure to introduce our final performance for the evening. She has been acclaimed throughout the world as one of the premier visionaries of our time. Please put your hands together and prepare to challenge the psychic powers of Madame Navoise.”
The magician raised his cape over his head, wrapped it around his body and temporarily disappeared into a huge cloud of white smoke. When the smoked cleared, the cape dropped to the stage and the magician had been replaced by Madame Navoise.
Paul raised his eyebrows and muttered, “Has to be a trap door somewhere.”
“Shhhhh,” uttered Patricia.
The woman walked to the edge of the stage and queried, “There is a man in the audience who is worried that his income tax audit will result in a penalty which he will not be able to pay. His name is Dur…Durman. Wait a minute, that’s not quite right. It’s getting clearer. It’s Durwyn. Are you here tonight, Durwyn?”
Members of the audience searched the room for the man referenced. A man with balding, gray hair and caffeine-stained teeth raised his hand cautiously.
Madame Navoise smiled and said, “Shame on you, Durwyn. You’re not going to be penalized on the IRS tax audit. Rest easy. The fact that you cheated on your business expense account will go unnoticed. Your secret is safe with me!”
Durwyn’s face turned bright red and he smiled as he squirmed in his seat.
Paul shook his head and looked at Patricia. “They planted him in the audience. She’s no better than the magician.”
Madame Navoise closed her eyes and said, “Oh my! Daneisha, you’d better take another pregnancy test. The first stick you used gave you a negative result because it was defective!”
The audience chuckled and once again searched the room for the psychic sender. Several minutes went by, yet no one claimed the name.
Madame Navoise suddenly stopped smiling and closed her eyes. “I feel a tremendously strong force in the room. It is unlike any I’ve ever felt before.”
She began to stagger aimlessly and clasped her head in both hands. A member of the stage crew ran a chair out to her and steadied it as Madame Navoise plopped on it like a wet dishrag.
The stage lights flickered and a hot, dead stillness fell over the room like someone had just covered everyone with a woolen blanket and turned the furnace to full blast. Candles on the tables flickered and some went out completely. Audience members were tugging at clothing close to their necks and wiping beads of sweat from their brows. All the while, Madame Navoise sat lifelessly on her chair.
Kudzu-like vines sprouted from the stage and totally enveloped the curtains serving as a backdrop behind Madame Navoise. Additional sprouts emerged and proceeded to carpet the stage, lifting and running under anything in its way.
Then all was still and completely silent. Members in the audience were becoming apprehensive. They remained in their seats and fixed their eyes on the stage as if in a hypnotic trance. Some were unsure how much was theatrical and how much was real.
Madame Navoise finally stood and faced the audience. All of the lights were back to full intensity and it became obvious that the psychic had altered her appearance. Her faced had become incredibly withdrawn and pale. Her eyes had turned as black as coal and her styled hair had gone limp and resembled darkened strands of wet sewing thread.
“I have a crystal clear vision,” she said flatly as she turned toward Paul’s table. “Good evening, Patricia Porter. I’ll bet you looked magnificent in your wedding gown.”
The statement jolted Patricia and she turned sharply to Paul. She smiled, grabbed his arm and said excitedly, “What do you think now?”
“Anyone could have gotten that information from the ship’s registration log. If you’ll recall, you signed us in as newlyweds,” came Paul’s reply.
Madame Navoise moved to the very edge of the stage and stared directly at Paul.
She didn’t moved a muscle for a good five minutes. Audience members were beginning to grow impatient and started to chatter amongst themselves.
“Perhaps your spouse will find a better mate, if and when she decides to get remarried. Malvada has seen your resume and will soon be sending you on an extended assignment,” stated Madame Navoise ominously.
Patricia was puzzled. The psychic’s announcement made no sense to her. “Who’s Malvada? Did you apply for another job?” she asked as she pulled back from Paul.
Paul’s jaw dropped and he immediately got a sick feeling in his stomach. There was no way anyone aboard the ship could have known about the freaky, old woman in the woods. Even if the psychic did internet checks on them, that kind of information simply isn’t available.
The man to Paul’s left that had engaged him in conversation sometime earlier, seized the opportunity to retaliate with his own critique of Madame Navoise. He leaned forward, tapped Paul on the shoulder and said, “You’ve just been busted, dude! Sounds like someone found out about a girlfriend of yours. I can only imagine what the assignment is!! So, tell us, how they did they do this trick, buddy?” The man sat back in his chair, looked at his wife and some other people and laughed.
Paul recovered from his initial shock, bit his lower lip and said, “I never heard of anyone named Malvada and I haven’t applied for a new job anywhere. This is all bullshit. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it forever…all of this crap is fixed.”
The stage lights dimmed and there was a familiar huge puff of white smoke. When it cleared, the vines had disappeared and Madame Navoise returned to her original stage appearance.
Paul was about to explain how the psychic slipped on a wig while the lights flickered, when a clump of hard, red clay slammed in the middle of their table. It was about the size of a business
Paul’s eyes widened and his stomach cramped. He threw the chunk of dirt to the floor and crushed it with one of his heels.
Madame Navoise thanked the audience for their participation and agreed that they were the best audience ever. She left the stage and the house lights came on. The air conditioning had resumed and the room was considerably cooler.
“Paul, are you sure you don’t know any women named Malvada? If it’s one of your old girlfriends, you can tell me. As long as it’s over between you two, I could care less,” reassured Pat.
“I’m telling you, I’ve never met anyone, male or female, by the name of Malvada.”
Paul was actually telling the “literal” truth. After all, he hadn’t really “met” Malvada. Unfortunately, for Paul, the psychic was right on the money.
Pat suspected that Paul was lying to her. She also realized that no matter how hard she dragged a dead horse, it would never rise to a gallop so she dropped the subject. “I’m pretty tired right now. I think I’ll go back to the cabin, order a movie and crawl under the covers. Are you coming?”
Paul eyeballed the stage and then said, “Nah. I think I’ll walk around on deck for awhile. My dinner’s still waiting for a hall pass.” Pat kissed him on the lips and headed back to their cabin.
Paul took a zigzag course throughout the ship and made his way to the fantail. He stood in awe as he watched the huge propeller wake being highlighted by the full moon. He had never seen anything like it before. He‘d never been on a passenger ship either. He’d been on several small fishing boats in ponds, lakes and rivers when he went fishing. They paled in comparison to the magnitude of what he was experiencing on the passenger liner.
Distant lightning bolts created gashes in the fabric of the night sky and reminded him of another fishing trip he went on with LJ and Kevin. The three boys took their fishing gear to Dead Man’s Pond, (so named one summer many years earlier when a drifter’s corpse was found decomposing just off the bank), and boarded a small, fourteen-foot boat they kept tied up there. It was an old, weather-beaten, wooden boat given to them by Paul’s uncle when he bought a new aluminum one.
Kevin had just turned fifteen and received a new shotgun from his father as a present. He brought the shotgun along so they could test it out in the woods before they went fishing. He also brought it along to shoot snakes. Snakes scared the crap out of Kevin and he went out of his way to kill them.
It was breeding time for the copperheads and not uncommon to see three or four racing from shore to shore. Occasionally, they’d confront boaters and people fishing along the bank. Some said it was simply out of curiosity, while others feared a full scale invasion and vicious attack. Kevin knew from experience that they were protecting their breeding ground and would die trying to defend it from any intruders, no matter how big they were.
He wasn’t about to take any chances. If they got too close to the boat and decided to drop in, the shotgun would serve as the ultimate stop sign. You had to be a relatively good shot, like Paul, with a regular rifle or pistol to hit a copperhead. With Kevin’s new shotgun, he would only have to be close.
The boys had been fishing for about an hour and were happy that the morning, summer sun was still cloaked in ominous dark clouds. LJ was sitting in the middle of the boat when he spotted a water moccasin slithering across the surface of the water. He nudged Kevin, who was on the aft end of the boat, and said nonchalantly, “Snake.”
Kevin whipped his head in LJ’s direction and shouted, “Where?”
LJ pointed and said, “There.”
“Shit!!” he exclaimed as he dropped his fishing pole and jerked his shotgun to the ready. “Move over, LJ. I need a better angle.” Kevin was stepping over the wooden seat in the middle of the boat when a lightning bolt struck a tree in the woods about 50 yards to their right. The sound of the thunder and near strike startled Kevin and in his confused fright, he squeezed the trigger of his shotgun. A shell discharged, blowing an impressive hole in the bottom of the boat and narrowly missing Paul’s foot.
“Son of a bitch!” screamed Paul. “Damn, man, what the hell are you doing?”
Their boat filled with water in a matter of minutes and the last thing Kevin saw as he stood in water chest deep, was the water moccasin changing course and heading straight toward his face. He panicked and flailed his arms as he struggled to get to the safety of shore. In the process, he hit a floating stick. Thinking it to be the slithering evildoer, he let out a fear-choked scream and altered his course, taking a longer route to shore.
He scrambled up the bank and collapsed onto his back like a load of wet rags. He expended every last of bit of energy and lay with his eyes closed, gasping for air. He could hear LJ and Paul laughing as they approached. He sat slowly and turned to face his friends.
“It’s not funny, assholes!” said Kevin angrily.
LJ stood next to him, dropped Kevin’s shotgun in the weeds by his side and said, “It was funny as hell to the snake!”
Paul turned his back to the ship’s wake and chuckled as he remembered the incident. His thoughts quickly changed to the words of the psychic. No amount of trickery, slight of hand or mirrors could have been used to know what she knew. That meant she had to be the real thing and that was just plain bad on so many levels. He didn’t even know Malvada and he was already angry at her.
Paul stood at the fantail for nearly an hour and watched as the storm skirted miles to the west. The midnight sky was once again dark and silent. He yawned and decided to work his way back to the cabin. When he got back, the cabin television was showing some romantic comedy and Patricia was sound asleep. He turned the television off and was asleep before the set could cool down.
The remainder of the cruise was relatively uneventful. They did the “tourist thing” in the Bahamas and took scores of digital photos of themselves smiling in front of various sites and objects. They gambled a little more on the return trip and repeated their losing performance of previous venture. Paul looked occasionally for the mysterious Floyd. He wanted to know about him and how he knew so much about him and Pat. Instead, he saw scores of beautiful women and lusted for each one of them. Each time he thought he was onto a promising lead, the woman would be joined by some other man or she would simply walk away. He was disappointed by his losing efforts in the casino, and frustrated by his lack of success with the ladies.
The two flew back to Memphis on a Saturday night and resumed their daily routine in Mississippi on the following Monday morning. When Paul showed up for work at the warehouse, he was informed that there were staff reductions to increase profitability and he was among the workers being released. He was enraged by management’s decision because there were dozens of other employees who didn’t work five of their eight-hour shift and they were being retained. His supervisor handed him a white envelope containing his severance check and wished him well. Paul squeezed the envelope in the middle and shouted, “I can’t freakin’ believe you’re letting me go and keeping that worthless slug over there that spends four hours a day in the bathroom!”
The supervisor remained stoic and replied, “We have our reasons for making the decisions we made. They’re not subject to debate. I suggest you leave now, before you bite off more than you can chew.”
Paul could feel a surge of hostile blood rush to his face. He wanted to smash his boss’ face in and get revenge, however, he allowed his subconscious reason to prevail. He stormed out to the parking lot, got in his truck and sped off, leaving black rubber marks from his tires as he did. He drove off in a blind rage and wasn’t even aware of his surroundings until he was a good five miles down the highway. His experience summoned forth the same emotions he experienced when he was seventeen. He was working part-time at a pet warehouse as the housekeeping manager. The warehouse supplied pet stores throughout the southeast with live fish of all kinds, monkeys, parrots, etc. His title was deceiving because he really wasn’t a manager in the stri
The concrete fish containers were six-feet long, three-feet wide and two-feet deep. He put on wading boots and walked around inside them, scrubbing algae from the sides with a toilet brush. The containers were used to store large quantities of common household fish. There were several other teenage boys employed there and it was common practice to grab some goldfish from a holding tank and either throw them in with the baby alligators or piranhas. Paul refrained from joining in on the practice and was merely an amused spectator, until one Wednesday night when temptation got the better of him. He scooped up a small net full of goldfish and dangled them over the alligator tank. He dropped them one by one, laughing as the baby alligators clambered over each other to get a fish. Unfortunately, the owner of the pet warehouse was standing right behind him as he did. The one time he went against the grain, he was caught and his punishment was unemployment. He was angry as hell because the other boys always fed the alligators and never got caught. The other boys were frequently tardy and goofed off once they got there. Paul was always on time and always performed his assigned tasks in a timely manner. Yet, he was the one being punished.
When Paul got home, he threw his crumpled paycheck on the kitchen table, opened a beer and turned on the television. He couldn’t focus on any specific programming. All he could do was pace to and fro in his living room. He had no means of venting his frustration and couldn’t let go of the injustice thrust upon him. He should have tried to focus on events less irritating. Instead, he began thinking about the warehouse manager and the corporate assholes the warehouse manager sucked up to. He determined that it would take the manager and three corporate officials combined, to equal the work he preformed and dedication he possessed. Yet, he was the one being put out the door.
He grabbed his rifle from the closet and drove to the woods near the abandoned farmhouse. He figured that a brisk walk in the woods and some target practice would help vent his angry steam. He walked through an area of dense underbrush and noticed several large crows circling over a group of pine trees near the farmhouse. He didn’t much care for crows or any bird for that matter and decided to rid the world of a few. Maybe he couldn’t kill his boss or his co-workers but at least he could kill something.
He led the first crow and took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger slowly and timed the shot perfectly. There was a small puff of black feathers quickly followed by a black mass spiraling to the ground. Instead of flying away in a frenzied panic, the remaining crows flew to a tree behind the farmhouse and seemingly stared in Paul’s direction. Moments later, the woman in black, whom he now knew as Malvada, emerged from the heretofore abandoned, kudzu-enveloped farmhouse. Her appearance surprised him.
She glared at Paul with her beady black eyes and then shuffled to the fallen bird. She bent down, lifted it from the ground and slid it into pocket on the side of her dress.
That looks like the same dress she was wearing before I left on my honeymoon, he thought as he watched her go back into the farmhouse. You filthy slob, someone ought throw you into a lake and scrub you down.
“You eatin’ those damn birds?” he yelled. “Hang loose, bitch, second course comin’ up!” Paul raised his rifle, slid the stock to his shoulder and took aim. The next round discharged and another crow dropped like a rock.
Malvada came out once again. This time she was carrying something under her arm. She walked deliberately to Paul, never breaking her stare. Thistles firmly hooked the fabric of her dress as she walked, yet they didn’t impede her progress. She stopped within two feet of Paul and jammed a white sign with bold, red letters directly in front of him. The hand painted sign read,
“Private Property
- No Trespassing -
Violators Will Be Dealt With My Way!”.
The unmistakable stench of rotting flesh and tissue nearly took his breath away. Paul was familiar with the odor of death. He had smelled it many times before. He also knew that flies savored the ghastly aroma. Of all the things he could have been thinking about, the foremost thought was flies. It came to mind that they were missing. There were no flies anywhere near Malvada. The thought bothered him as he backed away. He tried to maneuver in such a way as to avoid being in the path of the breeze blowing in his direction.
“Hi. I don't mean to trespass. I didn't realize anyone owned this place. When did you buy it?” asked Paul as he lowered his rifle. The bitch can't afford this property. She's probably just a damn squatter.
“You’re becoming a real nuisance. Now leave!” replied Malvada as she turned her back to Paul and walked to the fallen crow. She retrieved the corpse and slid it into the same pocket as the previous bird. She went back inside the farmhouse without casting another look in his direction.
“This is not my freakin’ day!!” he exclaimed. He fired several more shots randomly into the air, then turned his rifle to Malvada’s sign and ventilated it with three final rounds. He returned to his truck and angrily jammed his rifle in the gun rack. Paul got behind the wheel and gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He turned the ignition key so hard, it bent slightly. Then he gunned the engine with his right foot, pushed on the brakes with his left and dropped the truck into gear. He looked in his rearview mirror and held the gas pedal to the floor. A stream of pebbles and red dirt flew from the shoulder of the road in Malvada’s direction. Paul laughed as he sped off. Although he wasn’t sure where he was going. he knew he was certainly going to get there in a hurry!
He thought about going to see LJ and having a calming beer or two. A quick check of the time revealed that LJ wouldn’t be at the bar for at least another hour. Even though LJ was a bartender at Ray’s Sports Bar, the three friends always drank and socialized at Grumpy’s. It had been their hangout years before LJ started at Ray’s and there wasn’t a good enough reason to break camp and change their favorite watering hole.
LJ was on his way to Ray’s when he stopped to get some lunch at a fast-food restaurant. He ordered a burger, some fries and a soft drink. The cashier told him his total and LJ handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill.
“Here’s your change, sir,” said the cashier.
”It’s almost my change. Unfortunately, you’re ten dollars short,” stated LJ.
“You gave me a ten and I gave you the correct change.”
“Here’s the deal, pal. I saw you shortchange both people in front of me. I don’t know why they didn’t notice and I really don‘t care. Now you’re doing the same thing to me. The difference between them and me as that I’m not going to stand for it.”
The cashier called his manager over and said, “This guy is calling me a liar and a thief. He says he gave me a twenty. I guarantee that when you look in my drawer, you won‘t see a single twenty.”
The manager looked at LJ and said, “Let me check the drawer and we’ll straighten this all out.” Sure enough, both the woman’s twenty who was first in line and LJ’s twenty were missing.
“It would seem you are in error, sir. You can plainly see there are no twenties in this drawer. We all make mistakes.”
LJ nodded and said, “I understand.” He raised his eyebrows and continued, “A mistake was definitely made.”
The manager smiled and said, “Enjoy your lunch and have a good day!”
LJ returned the smile and said nothing.
The cashier brought LJ’s order to the counter and said, “The manager super-sized your order at no additional expense to you. Enjoy your meal.”
LJ took his lunch to a table and watched the cashier the entire time he ate. When he finished, he walked behind the counter and headed straight for the manager. He read the name badge the manager had pinned to his chest and said, “Steve, I want you to know that I have absolutely no problems with the food. I certainly have no reason to complain about the taste or temperatu
“You were absolutely correct, Steve. A mistake was made…by this asshole,” said LJ as he removed his arm from the manager’s shoulder and jabbed his finger in the chest of the cashier that took his order. The cashier stumbled backward from the impact and looked fearfully at LJ.
“This freakin’ jackass is ripping people off. He has a pocket full of tens that he palms and switches with the twenties that customers give him.”
The cashier looked at the manager, regained his composure and said confidently, “The man’s on drugs or something, Mr. Wilkins. Do you want me to call the police?”
LJ reached across, grabbed the cashier’s shirt near the collar with his left hand and smashed the guy’s nose all over his face with his right fist. He stood the barely conscious cashier against the counter and said, “One and only one last chance. I’m not much on long conversations. Am I right or am I right? You only have until I count to three!”
The cashier didn’t wait for LJ to count. “You’re right, ”he mumbled weakly, spraying tiny streams of blood that had gushed from his nose as he did.
“I don’t give a shit about the other people he ripped off. That’s their problem,” said LJ as he stuck his hand in the guy’s pockets and turned them inside out. He scooped up all the tens and twenties from the cashier’s pockets and said, “Let’s consider this an out-of-court settlement. Agreed?”
The cashier brought LJ into focus and said, “Okay.”
LJ looked the manager in the eyes and said, “Whatcha’ say Steve? Is it over or is this just round one? If it goes to round two, it‘ll get a whole lot uglier!”
The manager looked at the cashier and then back at LJ. He thought about his impending promotion and transfer to a new state. He didn’t want any legal hassles or possible physical disabilities to hinder his progress. “Case closed, as far as I‘m concerned.” He looked at the cashier and said, “Don’t even consider filling out an accident report. Just clock out and go home. You’re fired!”
LJ took the money he was holding, stuck it in his pocket and left. On the way out the door, he tucked his shirt back in and covered the pistol stuck between his belt and his back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEW JOB