Mike Faricy - Bite Me

“Our right to free speech shall not be silenced. We…”

“The phone call to 911. Made from a couple of blocks away, you know, you should have thought things through a little better, before you had her call,” I bluffed.

It was Thompson Barkwell’s turn to go red faced.

“I’ll take that, wait here while I cut you a check,” he said, then snatched the envelope out of my hand and stomped back toward his office.

“Could I, could I have my gun back?” the Sergeant Major whined.

“Are you kidding me?”

“It’s, it’s not mine it belongs to one of the other guys on the team.”

“Team?”

“Seal Team Six, there’s six of us. We’ve sworn an oath…”

“Stop, before I really hurt you. Seal Team Six, this isn’t some fucking toy, numb nuts, this thing is loaded. In fact you know what, spoils of war, I’m keeping it. You better find a new line of work because this sure as hell doesn’t seem to fit you.”

“But I promised, I’d take care…”

“Mister Haskell, here, your deed is done, now get out.” Thompson called from behind me then thrust a check in my direction.

I glanced at the amount, about a hundred and twenty-five bucks short.

“That’s not the right amount.”

“I took a twenty percent discount, based on early payment.”

“Twenty percent, that’s not my policy.”

“No, its mine, good day, Mister Haskell.”

“You’re stiffing me for a hundred and twenty-five bucks?”

“No, I’m paying you more than you’re worth, as it is, now get out before I call the police.”

“This isn’t the last you’ve heard of me.”

“Good day, Mister Haskell.”

There wasn’t much I could do. I thought about throwing Thompson out the window but with the way my luck was running he would simply land on his thick skull and remain unfazed. Instead, I drove over to his bank, cashed his check before he had a chance to reconsider and stop payment. Then I drove to my office, rifled off a nasty letter and attached an invoice for the balance owed. I slapped a stamp on the envelope and mailed the thing before I had a chance to reconsider.

Amazingly, the mail box was right across the street from The Spot. I decided a beer couldn’t hurt. I was successfully pursuing that activity some hours later when my phone rang.

“Haskell,” I answered, forgetting the ‘investigations’ part.

“Oh wow, Dev, how exciting, you sound positively uncivil. I heard you had a run in with that tubby little wart Tommy Barkwell, earlier.”

“Who’s this?” I was having trouble hearing over Lonesome George Thorogood cranking out ‘ Bad to the Bone ’ on the jukebox and I staggered outside into the heat.

“It’s me, Kiki. Where in God’s name are you?”

“The Spot. What do you want?” I mumbled, attempting to clear multiple beers from my head as I leaned against the outside of the building.

“Oh I don’t know, just a girl looking to party.”

“Well, like I said, I’m at The Spot.”

I don’t remember much beyond that. I know Kiki must have shown up at some point because I woke up in her bed the next morning. Mercifully, there were no knives. In fact there wasn’t any drama, well except for the spray painted “KRAZ SUCKS” in large red letters, about four feet high, across a bedroom wall.

“Holy shit,” I groaned stuffing my head back under her pillow.

“Here, take a couple of these,” Kiki said, holding out what I guessed we’re four aspirin and what looked like a glass of orange juice.

I tossed all four aspirin into my mouth, then washed them down with the orange juice, sugary, sweet and the first non-alcoholic thing in my system in the past eighteen hours.

“Actually, two of those were for me,” she said.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that, God, that stuff was sweet, man.” I smacked my lips and then ran my tongue over my fuzzy teeth.

“Yeah, I added sugar, lots of it. It’s what the system craves just now. The sweet carbs will go a long way in fighting your hangover. I’m guessing you’ve got one, a hangover.”

“The king of all hangovers. What the hell is this?” I asked as I turned my head back and forth to crack my neck and felt something tighten.

“Whoops, your collar and leash.” Kiki laughed.

“My what?” I asked sitting up, then glanced at the black leather leash along my side, reached up and felt where it clipped onto a dog collar around my neck.

“You were in need of some, um, training, last night. Don’t you remember, bad puppy?” she said, then gave the leash a tug.

“What?”

“Oh, you were a bad boy, a very bad boy,” she giggled.

I noticed the grass stains on my knees.

“Need to be taken outside again?”

“No, no, ahhh look, I probably should get going, I’ve got a meeting. What time is it, do you know?”

“Just a little after two?”

“In the afternoon?”

“Yes, in the afternoon, do you think the sun would be out if it was two in the morning, silly?”

“Yeah, good point, I guess.”

I swung my feet onto the floor, sat on the edge of her bed and took a couple of deep breaths, then looked around the bedroom for my jeans.

“You sure you haven’t already missed your meeting?”

“I only wish, no, it’s at three thirty or four I can’t remember which,” I lied.

“What are you doing?”

“Actually, to tell you the truth, I’m looking around for my jeans.”

“Oh, I think you left them in your car.”

“My car?”

“Yeah that big red clunky thing you drive, it’s out in back.”

“Oh yeah, now I remember.”

I thought I spied my t-shirt on the floor, began to pull it on, but it got caught up on the leash.

“Hey, could you maybe help get this thing off me. The leash?” my arms were up in the air with the t-shirt over my head.

“Yeah, I guess. By the way that’s my top you’re putting on, unless you have one with spaghetti straps.”

“Oh sorry,” I peeked out at her as she climbed off the bed and unclipped the leash.

“Here, give me this. Now turn round,” she said directing me with her hands.

“I think puppy needs a lot more training, what do you think?’ she giggled and rubbed against my back.

“I think I need my jeans.”

“I’ll go get them,” she said pulling on a thong and exiting the bedroom.

“What if someone sees you?” I called.

“What if they do?” she said, already in the kitchen. I heard the back door open a moment later. After a couple of minutes she strolled back in, carrying my jeans, t-shirt and boxers.

“No worries, they were all in your car,” she said like it was an everyday occurrence.

“Thanks for getting them,” I said, then glanced at the spray painting on the bedroom wall as I pulled my boxers on.

“Enlighten me,” I said nodding at the wall.

“Oh, you did that right before I took you outside.”

I looked at the graffiti I’d apparently sprayed on her bedroom wall. I must have been flying, I never write with capitol letters, but then again, I never write with spray paint either. It seemed particularly harsh against the beige walls and glossy white woodwork.

“You were pretty screwed up,” she said.

“Yeah, I would say so. Look, sorry about that. I know a guy who can fix that, paint it, I mean. Let me get him over here, take care of that right away.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like it.”

“You do?”

“No, just yanking your chain, I mean, your leash,” she said and held up the leash, giggled, then tossed it onto the bed with a suggestive look on her face.

“Look, I better run, sorry to dash out like this,” I said, slipping on my shoes.