How Was Your Day?

Jake got in a little after midnight, grinning and shaking his head.  His wife, Linda, met him at the door and gave him a kiss, soft and sweet on the lips.  She asked him if he would like her to reheat dinner, and he said sure, even though he wasn’t hungry.  After another kiss, sweet as the first, he went into the bedroom and put his gun away.

“So, how was your day?” he asked when he’d returned to her.

“Oh, nothing special,” she said, handing him a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses.  “Though we did have one guy come in with a stab wound.”

“Sounds promising,” he said, taking the wine to the table.  He opened the bottle and poured them both a glass, then sat down and grabbed a breadstick from a bowl Linda had already put out.  “Let’s hear it.”

Linda smiled and elevated her voice so she could be heard over the microwave.  “Well, as with all stabbings, the interest lies largely in how it happened, only in this case we had to put the pieces together ourselves, because the guy kept insisting he’d done it to himself.”

Jake spoke while chewing on the stick.  “Doesn’t that happen once in a while?  Don’t people ever stab themselves?”

“Sure,” his wife said, shrugging at him, “but usually in the stomach or chest.  Sometimes by accident in the thigh, if they miss what they’re actually trying to stab.  But rarely does anyone stab themselves in the ass.”

Jake laughed and choked a little on his food.  He took a sip of wine before speaking again.  “The ass?  You mean in the—”

“No, no,” Linda said, “the cheek,” and she slapped her own backside for fun.

“Okay, because with the way some people are—”

“Yeah, but that’s wasn’t the case here.”

“But there’s more to the story.  That’s what you had to piece together.”

The microwave beeped and Linda took out a plate of lasagna.  After removing the plastic sheet on top and throwing it in the trash, she brought the plate to the table with a couple of forks.  Together, they chopped it up and ate, sometimes feeding each other, sometimes feeding themselves.

“After the doctors patched him up,” she continued, “the guy—let’s call him Mike—asked Judy if she’d heard of Whiskey Gary.  At first we thought it was a bar, maybe that’s where he got stabbed, but there was no evidence of it in the phone book.  We found a Whiskey Gary’s online, but not here, somewhere in California.”

“So Whiskey Gary’s probably the guy who stabbed Mike, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what we decided.  And later, Mike asked if anyone else had been admitted with a stab wound.”

“In the ass as well?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m thinking the neck, because he also had a bite wound around his thumb.”

Confused, Jake shook his head.  “His thumb?”

Linda grabbed another breadstick and lightly stabbed him in the neck with it.  With her other hand she pinched his nose and brought his mouth down to the joint in her thumb.  He pretended like he was going to bite her, to follow through on the demonstration, but instead he gave her joint a kiss.

“You see?” she said, letting him go.

“Yeah, I could see that.  So did Whiskey Gary ever show up?”

“Not while I was on, no.  But the police are looking for him.”

“The police?  You talked to them?”

Linda laughed and fed him a bite.  “It’s what you have to do sometimes in my line of work.”

Jake shook his head, chewing.  “I don’t think I could handle it.”

“You probably couldn’t,” she laughed again.  “And how was your day?”

“Well,” he said, having waited till after he’d swallowed to answer, “it was a lot less violent—”

“Thankfully.”

“—but I think I’ve got you beat this time.”

“Oh?  I didn’t realize it was a competition,” she said, grinning.

“That’s because you always got the better story.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she said, refilling her glass.

Jake readjusted himself in his seat, as if preparing for something big.  “So we get there, right—”

“Where?”

“Sorry, at the sandwich shop.  Right at ten, right before they lock their doors, and I park right out front, you know, not in a spot, but like across the yellow lines—”

“Perpendicular.”

He wiggled his nose at her.  “Right, perpendicular.  For a quick getaway.  Anyway, we throw on our ski masks and get out and go right in, and right away we whip out our guns, and I say—”

“‘Gimme the money.'”

“Right, that’s what I say.  I must have told you this story before.”

“Something unique always happens, though,” she said, urging him on, though she looked as though she’d already won.

“Very unique,” he said, nodding.  “Anyway, the girl behind the counter, she freezes for a second like they all do, like she’s gonna piss her pants, and I usually give them a second, you know, to let them get over the initial shock of having a gun pointed in their face, because you want them to be able to function right so you can tell them what to do, but like, right away, Tiger says—”

“Tiger?”

“Yeah, sorry, Buddy,” he snickered.  “We went with Barack and Tiger this time.”

“And you’re Barack because you’re the leader.”

He squeezed her knee under the table, happy she was humoring him.  “Right.  Anyway, Buddy says, ‘There’s only one,’ meaning only one employee.  There’s supposed to be two.  When we were casing the joint, there was always two for closing.  Usually the other one was this older guy, bald on top, like a manager.  So right away, I run into the back to check, but there’s no one else there, just the girl—let’s call her Amy—”

“Because that’s what her name tag says.”

“Maybe.  Anyway, it’s just her, this eighteen, maybe nineteen-year-old girl with red stripes in her hair.”

“Red stripes?”

“Like she dyed part of it.  The rest was blonde.”

“Was she cute?” his wife asked with a hint jealously.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, smiling, “but nowhere near as cute as you.  Anyway, I come back to the front and I ask her, ‘Where’s the other one?’ and she says, ‘Other what?’ not to be difficult or anything, she just hasn’t figured out what the hell we’re talking about.”

“Because she’s scared.”

“Right, I mean, probably.  So I say, ‘The other employee, the old guy who usually closes.’  And at first she’s a little surprised, like how the heck do I know about him, but then she gets this disgusted look on her face, and she says, ‘You mean Tom?  He left early.'”  He shook his head.  “I tell you, the look on her face…she was not happy with Tom.”

“So was that the part you think beats mine?”

“No, not even close.  Though Tom’s not being there kind of led to it, because if he had been it never would have happened.”

“So what happened?” she asked, getting restless, and she directed his fork toward her mouth.

“Well see,” he said, being careful, “all these places, they got a safe right under the cash register, you know, like in the floor, and now that I’m behind the counter I’m staring right at it, but instead of thinking about all the money that might be in there, I get this terrible feeling like I’m gonna throw up.”

His wife swallowed and sat back.  “I think I know where this is going.”

“Right.  So I look at Amy and I say, ‘Open the safe,’ and right away she looks down at her feet with this look of horror on her face.  ‘I don’t have the key,’ she says.  ‘Tom took it, I swear.’  And I can tell she’s not lying either, because the expressions on this girl, they don’t hide anything.  Sort of like the opposite of you.”

“Me?” Linda said, touching her chest with mock surprise.  “I’m an open book.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “written in invisible ink.”

“Very clever, I like that.”  She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, then took another sip of wine.  “Go on.”

“Anyway,” he went on, finishing up the last of the lasagna, “just because I can tell she’s not lying doesn’t mean I should just trust her either, or me and Buddy would get a bad rep.”

“Wait, was there someone else there, like a customer?”

“No, I meant when she talks to the cops, or her friends, or whatever.”

“Okay, got it.”

“So what I do is, I grab her around the neck and I put my gun up to her head and I start threatening her, you know, till she cries.  I mean, I hated doing it, but like I said, you gotta.  Anyway, after that I clear out the register and I tell Buddy we’re out of here.”

At this, Linda put out her hand, waving her fingers.  “So let’s see what you got.  Whip it out.”

Jake smirked, thinking ahead.  “The story’s not over yet, hon.”

“But you just said you went out the door.”

“I did, only when I got outside, I realized Tiger—I mean, Buddy—Buddy didn’t follow me.”  He paused to take a drink, to let his story linger in the air.  “So I turn around, and he’s just standing there, inside, with his hands at his waist, gun down and everything.  So now I’m thinking, shit, he’s gonna do something crazy, something that’s gonna get us both locked up for good, and for a second—and I hate myself for even thinking it—but for a second I think about leaving him there, letting him take the fall all by himself.”

“But you didn’t leave him,” she said, leaning in and placing her elbows on the table.

“No, I couldn’t,” he said, shaking his head.  “He may be dumb as nails, but I’ve known him since we were eight.”

“You care about him.”

“Damn right I do.  And I don’t turn my back on someone I care about.”

“Wait a sec,” she said, pointing over his shoulder, “could you grab that for me?”

“What?” he said, turning his back to her.  Finding nothing to grab, he turned back to the table with a blush.  “That’s not fair.”

“It wasn’t meant to be, darling,” she laughed.  “So what happened next?”

“Well,” he said, setting his fork down and placing his hands behind his head, “I look around, to make sure the coast is still clear, and there’s no one, not a soul in sight, so against everything I’ve learned over the years, I decide to go back in.  As soon as I open the door, I say to Buddy, ‘Tiger, Tiger, come on, let’s go.’  But Buddy, he doesn’t budge.  So I look past him, you know, at the girl, at Amy, and that’s when I see she’s got a cell phone in her hand.”

“Oh my God,” his wife said, putting her hand over her mouth.

“Yeah, to put it mildly.  So anyway, the first thing I do is, right away I point my gun at her again and tell her to get the fuck off the phone.”

“Please tell me she did.”

“I can’t, because she didn’t.”

“But you didn’t shoot her?”

“Honey, there aren’t any bullets in the gun.”

Now Linda was the one to blush.  “Oh, right.  I always forget that.  So what actually happened?”

“So Buddy, he looks over his shoulder at me and he says, ‘It’s cool, Barack.  I got this one.’  ‘Got what?’ I say, because to me the situation’s out of hand.  But again, Buddy, he says to me, ‘Cool it.  I know what I’m doing.’  Still, I’m thinking something’s not right here, because Amy’s still on her phone and she’s not even listening to us.  I mean, I’m standing there ten feet away pointing my gun at her head, which a minute ago had her crying her eyes out, and now she’s not even looking at me.”

“Where’s she looking?”

“That’s the thing, at Buddy’s waist.”

“Buddy’s waist?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, so I walk up next to him to see what all the fuss is about, to see what’s more engaging than a gun, and I look down and there Buddy is with his dick hanging out of his pants.”

“What?” Linda said, sitting up straight.  “No,” she said, shaking her head, “you’re messing with me.”

“I’m telling you,” Jake laughed, “he took his dick out.  And I don’t know if I ever told you this before, but Buddy’s dick is huge, it’s like a fricking python, even just hanging there taking a breather.”

“Hm,” his wife said, rubbing her hands together, “maybe I should have married him instead.”

“Well at least let me finish my story before you start the divorce proceedings,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.  So anyway, Amy must have thought Buddy was gonna rape her or something, only that’s not right, because she looked more perplexed than scared.  She had this look on her face, you know, like a dog gets when he thinks your hiding his favorite toy behind your back, only he’s a dog, so he doesn’t quite know for sure.”

“Only Buddy’s not hiding anything.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Jesus.  So who’s she calling?  The cops, or—”

“That’s the kicker.  She’s calling Tom.”

Linda laughed, putting her hand over her mouth again.  “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said, bringing his hands down to the table, “and I find this out like a second later, because suddenly she’s yelling and cursing into the phone telling him to get his bald ass down there right this second, making up some story about the cash register going berserk on her.  And I can hear Tom on the other end apologizing his heart out, saying he’ll be down there right away, and he got there pretty quick, too.”

“So what, you two, you just stayed there and waited?”

“Well, yeah.  I mean, I had Buddy go out and move the car so when Tom showed up he wouldn’t expect anything—and also to get him to put his dick away.”

“What about Amy?”

Jake snickered and rubbed his belly.  “She made us sandwiches.”

“She did not,” his wife said, laughing hard now.

“She did, and they were pretty good, too.”

“But you still ate my lasagna.”

“Well, I’ve always got room for your lasagna,” he said, and he took her hand between his own.  For a moment, they stared happily into each other’s eyes, and then he said, “So do I have you beat yet?”

Linda grinned and gave him a kiss.  “Did you get in the safe?”

“Soon as Tom got there,” he said, pulling the money out of his pocket and handing it to her.  “But man, what a putz that guy was.  He actually had the nerve to give Amy the stink eye, like it was her fault, like she was the one robbing the store, not us.  Just because she called him.  I mean, if he’d have just stayed there as long as he was supposed to she wouldn’t have had to call.  ‘Course, then the story wouldn’t have been as interesting.”

“So in the end we have Tom to thank,” she said, counting the money.

“Well, I do,” Jake said.  “I don’t know about you, though, with your silly stabbing story.”

“All right, you win,” she said, bowing her head in defeat.

“And what do I get for winning?”

“You mean besides my undying affection?”

“I was hoping for something with chocolate.”

—-

Though largely an autodidact, Wolfgang Wright has earned a B.A. in English and philosophy and an M.A. in English, both from the University of North Dakota.  During his days there, he also worked as the fiction reader for the North Dakota Quarterly.  He has taught writing and composition at the undergraduate level.