Hey, JoeFebruary 12, 2012 at 10:30 PM | Posted in Fiction | 3 Comments
Tags: flash fiction, girlfriends, sexual harrassment
This week’s challenge was to make an unlikable character the protagonist. I think I can handle that. To read more, go spend some time over here:
Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge: The Unlikable Protagonist
But also, while you’re here, go read my story from the challenge from two weeks ago, where we had to do a story in present tense. I really like that story, but no one read it. Such is life.
The Baby Boomer
The customer won’t shut up. Fuck. I smile and nod and kind of lead him towards the desk, and hand him a pen. “Why don’t you get started on this, and I’ll make sure they get everything ready?”
The asshole was probably still talking after I left. The shit I have to put up with to make an obscene profit–
Outside the break room I find Denny. “Hey, Lenny—“
He turned to me and rolled his eyes like a bitch. I tossed him the keys. “Prep this Merc, pronto. Joey made a sale.”
He grabbed a clipboard and walked off disgusted. What the hell is his problem? I spied Sarah in the break room. I’m gonna hit that ass, and soon. I walked up behind her and gave her a small dose of Joey’s charm. “Hey, sweetheart—“
“Oh, Jesus! Joe! Get your hands off my ass. And quit sneaking up behind me; that shit is irritating.” She walked off in a huff. Must be on her period.
After that sale, I’m done for the day. “Joey is outta here.” Joey doesn’t ask permission, not from the owner’s son. I slide into my Jaguar and get ready to roll. Rolling in a Jag takes preparation. Driving gloves—check. Expensive sunglasses—check. Loud-ass tunes—check. Perfect hair—double check. Fuck, I look good.
I don’t look behind me; behind me is for losers. Some dickhead honks his horn at me. Do you not know what a Jag is, you pick-up-driving Neanderthal?
I’m a partner in a Jewelry store. The location is shitty but we see a lot of traffic. Mostly niggas buying gold for their bitches. I got my fiancé a job there, because I wanted someone to watch out for my shifty Arab partner. “Hey, baby.”
Right away she starts in on me. What the fuck? I didn’t really pay attention to what she was saying, because I was looking at her tits. Besides, I don’t actually have to solve any problems, I just have to pretend to listen. She doesn’t like when I solve her problems for her, the ungrateful bitch. You’d think that giving her a job would have been worth a blowjob. I swear I don’t understand bitches.
After she finishes her little tirade, I expect that she’ll feel better. It’s usually slow in the middle of the afternoon. We could lock the door and go in the back for a quickie.
“Didn’t you hear a goddamn word I said? This neighborhood is fucking dangerous, and I’m not working here anymore!”
Oh, shit. I heard that part. Maybe she had a point, but if she loved me, she’d take one for the team and stick it out. One for all, all for me. I might still be able to talk her into going in the back room and bending over the desk for me. Bitches like to be complimented, so I whispered in her ear. “You’re so pretty when you’re angry.”
She pushed me away hard. “Just get the fuck out of here. Go. Come back tomorrow when Rashid is here.”
“Oh, that reminds me—did that Arab leave a deposit in the safe?”
“He’s Pakistani, Joe. No, he took it to the bank.” I stood there, trying to figure out how to out-maneuver that crafty African bastard. “Joe!”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“Fine. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead.
I’m back on the street, and I’m rollin’. Everybody else be hatin’. Especially this cunt in a minivan in front of me. There’s traffic all over, but she is in front, slowing me down. I can’t get in the other lane, and she won’t switch lanes to let me move ahead. What the hell is her problem? We go down a couple miles and what seems like a hundred fucking intersections. I flash my lights every so often, but she doesn’t take the hint. I honk a few times. I think she’s ignoring me.
Joey is not ignored. Not by bitches in minivans. The light changes, and I can see there is big space in front of her. She is going about 25. I can’t take it anymore. Maybe she needs a reminder.
Ever so gently, I tap the back of her van with my front bumper.
That got her attention. She looks at me in the mirror. You look good like that, honey, with your mouth hanging open. I tap her again.
I have to slam on my brakes as she hits hers hard and pulls over to the shoulder. Finally. I slide right on by, through a yellow light. Maybe a little orange around the edges.
Later that night, I’m at home watching Sportscenter and drinking some Dewars. Joey likes top shelf. There’s a knock on my door. I look through the window. Cops. Uh-oh—did that bitch call the cops on me after I asked her nicely to move out of my way?
“Sir, are you Joe Cannoli?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Joey Cannoli.”
“Are you one of the owners of Shiny Gold and Jewelry?”
A sigh of relief. I wasn’t busted. Wait. Shit, did I get robbed? I bet it was an inside job. That slimy Arab fuck Rashid. Man—I hope my insurance is paid up. “Yeah, that’s me. I own it. Did something happen? Was there a robbery?” This was looking better and better. I could cash out, get out of that business, ditch my partner and my pathetic excuse for fiancé.
“Sir, yes, there was a robbery. Two armed men came in, shot the clerk, and took everything.”
“Wait-shot the clerk?“ Ha. That bastard Rashid is dead.
“I’m sorry, sir. She was dead before police arrived.”
I didn’t hear the rest. It wasn’t Rashid. It was Jenny. My Jenny. My Jenny is gone. Oh my God. Now what am I going to do?
I bet I can parlay this into some sympathy sex.