Death Wish
David Shuler
Special Smashwords Edition
© Copyright 2010 David Shuler
Special Smashwords Edition
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author.
“Loving her…” he told the bartender,
“… is like trying to fuck standing up in a hammock.”
Chapter 1
“You disgusting, lazy-ass, self-indulgent pig.”
Damn, she looked good.
“I see you are still working feverishly at being the most boring, drunk-ass bastard on the planet.”
Bitch had a point. I suppose the three empty Guinness bottles and scattered shot glasses on the bar were a blatant tip-off. This crappy dive of a bar was my second home. I still hadn’t created the proper derogatory slam to hit her with, so I simply sat quiet and let her do what she did best.
“You are just exactly how I expected to find you, belly-up to the bar and still mentally constipated. What’s the matter … pussy got your tongue?”
I took another long draw from my Guinness. Yeah, she looked hotter than Bionce’ in her fuck-me pumps.
“Not a word from you in a Goddamn year, and this is how it’s gonna be? Speak to me, you arrogant prick.”
“You’re giving me a hard-on.” By now, she was inches from my ear and shouting as if she was somewhere across town.
“I fucking hate you, you miserable, sorry-ass, fuck-up of an idiot. I oughta rip your testicles off one at a time and cram them down your throat, you cold-hearted jerk-off.”
Yeah…I think I could love her.
“So, Mr. I’m-gonna-be-famous, Mr. Super-mega-author-writer, Mr. World-kiss-my-ass…how’s your stench of a life going, anyway? Here I stand, looking damn good in this hot little outfit, and all you can do is stare at the fucking bartender?”
“You know what else you’d look good in?” I asked, dry and emotionless. She just growled into my ear like she was going to eat her way through my head. I finished my sentence. “…A straight jacket and a gynecologist chair.”
Her fists were squeezed up tight as drums, and I was just certain one would push through my inner ear any minute. I was doing pretty good, really, despite my usual lack of self discipline with her. I held my own, sort of…that is, until she drug her tongue up the outside of my ear and ended with one of those kisses that could ejaculate a brass monkey.
“So…miss me?” she asked.
What the hell was I going to say? Hell yeah, I missed her. My shipwreck of a life was as lackluster as an Al Gore speech. In the last year, since our biggest and worst fight of our life, Cat stomped away from my tiny apartment and out of my life. And I thought it was for good. Since then, I just kept typing out enough words to sell to the half-dozen smut magazines and paparazzi papers to pay the rent. Her Super-mega-author-writer comment hurt a little, but she was right nevertheless. I never went anywhere other than the grocery store and this damn stinking bar and grill—and the grill was the stinking part.
Damn, she looked good. And that kiss…shiiiit! Yeah, I missed every part of her, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of hearing it from me. We were both guilty of everything we ever accused one another of, and our last fight was only slightly more graphic and ugly than our usual daily arguments. Neither of us were what you might call upstanding pillars in society. And even though I was still absolutely furious with her, I was still so friggen glad to feel her near that my heart raced inside my chest.
Damn, she looked good.
“Hey, Johnny,” she shouted across the bar, “…why don’t you get off your dead ass and get me a beer?”
Johnny smiled and shook his head as he twisted the top from a Budweiser. He sat it gently in front of her and smarted off. “Two-fifty, Bitch.”
Cat reached over the bar and grabbed his neck tie. She tugged him nearly across the bar and tongue-kissed him like she was on fire. When she released him, she smiled that rip-your-heart-out grin and asked, “What did you say?”
“Nuthin’…” he stammered, trying to hide the teepee in his pants. “Nuthin’ at all.”
“So,” she continued, “you never said you missed me.”
“Yeah, I miss you…like I miss my last hemorrhoid.”
“Are you still seeing that dog-fucking, crack-whore, Sherri?” Cat was never short on clever put-downs.
“Shame on you, Cat. You know Sherri doesn’t do crack.” I knew she’d like that response. “To answer your question, no. I ran out of dogs.”
Cat laughed out loud and shouted again at poor Johnny. “Hey, Dickhead, two more beers.” It didn’t take him long to grab two Buds and head our way with a new heavy apron tied to his waste. It didn’t hide the stiff one he carried with him.
“Come ‘ere,” Cat grunted, staring him down. Johnny was a bit timid, but horny as a spring jackrabbit. Once again, his tie was in her hand and his body leaned out over the bar. This time she did him in. She whispered something deep into his ear and followed the words with her tongue. By the time she began nibbling down his neck, he tugged away and raced to the restroom.
Cat gave a wry smile. “I guess I’m just more than he can bear.”
No shit.
Cat had always been this way. She never backed down from anything, and I suspect no man has ever escaped once she’d elected to have him for a few hours … or days. She could make the Devil blush if she wanted and could turn a crowd of men into a slobbering slush heap in a matter of seconds. The impish tattoo on her right arm showed a little she-devil holding a pair of handcuffs, with four words stenciled below. I MAKE THE RULES. And she always did. You wouldn’t think anyone could pull off tattoos and a miniskirt, but she by-god could, trust me. Damn, she looked good.
“So, whaddaya want, Cat?” I finally asked, being as blunt as ever. “I know you don’t love me anymore…if you ever did. I’m sure you’re still doing every cock-ape you can find. Why visit me? I already told you, I ran out of dogs.”
Again she laughed, and I felt a little bit better about myself.
“Everything has to have a motive, doesn’t it, Mr. Defensive. I can’t just come see you, asshole?”
“No, not you, Cat. Everything you do, you do for a reason. And it usually has something to do with a dick.”
“Well, Dick…I’ve come for you. Ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“To honor my death wish…where else?”
Chapter 2
I’m no angel, alright. I’ve always drank too much, but I’ve somehow managed to steer clear of breaking the law. I never liked guns and handcuffs and shit, well…except for where Cat was involved…but let’s not go there.
I’ve either been lucky or just plain afraid of being caught by the law for anything, so my boring ass just never pushed the envelope. Now Cat, on the other hand, has been a hell-raiser since she was an infant. I bet she kicked her way out of the womb, giving the doctor the finger while sliding out. That’s just the way she is. I mean she’s fearless as shit. And how she got so damned hot I’ll never know, but it suits her to a T. She’s no runway model, but she’s so friggen hard-bodied you could sprain your eyes looking at her. Hot is all I can say. Dark and twisted … and damn well hot.
Whew.
So here we sat, just her, me, and my hard-on … talking about her death wish. I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by death wish. Did she want to die? Was that it? I learned years ago not to push Cat on certain subjects, and death was one of them. She had a strange darkness about her that always made me think she knew more about it than me. There was sort of a Zen quality about her that resonated like bees to and from a hive. But who really knows about death, anyway? All I know is that at that moment, at that one particular turning point, my life changed. And quite frankly, I was so fucking bored with it all that I didn’t care. Straight up. What ever this crazy-ass, morbid-thinking nympho had in mind was first on my list of must-dos.
Damn, she looked good.
“So, you in?” she asked, nonchalantly as Bob Barker asking for a price.
“What the hell are you talking about? Death wish?”
“I’ve been thinking about life lately, D, and more importantly…about death.” She took a long pause and pounded her bottle down on the counter to get poor Johnny to return, but he was nowhere to be found. I suspected he was still cleaning his underwear in the bathroom, but I didn’t know for sure.
“It’s like this,” she continued, “I’m dying, D. I’ve come to realize now that time is short. I’ve never worried about the future, never considered much about what comes next…but for the first time in my life I realize how precious each of our days is. I’m 39 years old, D…and I’m dying.”
“Jesus, Cat…I had no idea.”
I found myself nearly in tears as she continued to stare off into the bar as if she saw more than I did. Every now and then she’d slam her bottle down on the counter and shout for Johnny, but he was clearly hiding somewhere.
“Where is that timid little bastard, anyway?”
I stood and walked behind the bar, delving into the Bud cooler for a couple of fresh bottles. I knew Johnny wouldn’t mind, Christ, he’s one of my best friends. That sounds sad, but it’s true.
I sat the bottle in front of her, almost wishing she’d cry … just so I could comfort her. But that wasn’t Cat’s way. She’d be hard and tough if she were dying this very instant. I decided to press my luck.
“What…no sultry kiss for your beer?” I asked.
“Sit down, Dickhead, and I’ll tell you what you’re going to do for me the next two weeks.”
How the hell did she know I’d be such a pushover? I did actually have a shred of life left in me…a tad bit of decency still left inside. Arrogant bitch…maybe I had better things to do than kiss her tight little ass for two weeks.
Damn she looked good.
“Maybe I got better shit to do than you,” I grumbled, knowing full well she wouldn’t buy it and wondering if she really was dying or just messing with my head.
“Hear me out, Shithead. It’s like this. I have five things I want to do before I die. Five. I need someone to watch after me when things get rough…and they will. It’s gonna get rough, D. That’s where you come in. You will be the one that watches after me and keeps me safe from harm. You, you disgusting drunken fuck-up…you’re my bodyguard… my knight in shining armor…my keeper.”
“Jesus, woman…you’re nuts!”
“No…it’s your nuts. They’ll be well cared for in my keeping. For every action of yours, there will be an equal and opposite reaction. You won’t be in want of affection. For your troubles…you will be dutifully rewarded. She gazed down into her blouse, just for effect.
Damn, she looked good.
“Pussy?” I asked…like a complete and total fool.
“No, you fucking idiot … I thought I’d just toss you doggie treats.”
I had that one coming, I guess.
“What kind of five things?” I asked. Stupid questions were becoming my specialty.
“Does it matter? I mean…will it change your outlook on it? I need your help, Goddamnit. Will you or won’t you help me?” I had a bad feeling about this.
Damn, she looked good.
“I’ll even start paying you upfront,” she said with a smile.
“Paying me?” I asked. Yeah, stupid question.
“Yes, you stupid-ass, bonehead, idiot. We’ve got to fix that lump in your pants.”
Now she had me coming and going.
Chapter 3
Well, she fixed that lump.
Damn, she looked good.
Chapter 4
As we boarded the flight, I certainly wasn’t in any mood for some extravagant, self-indulgent, loudmouth to take the seat next to me. I secretly hoped that the seat beside me would be occupied by an Ethiopian midget on Valume…you know … kinda quiet, and more importantly, tiny. But alas, I soon found out my neighbor resembled a four hundred pound Rosie O’Donnell on acid. Cat chuckled as she fell into the isle seat.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
As the mongoloid Bigfoot beside me grunted and growled out her life’s story, I continued to stare at Cat’s shapely figure. For someone who was dying, she sure looked like a vision of perfect health…hell, perfect everything. I fought back every urge to ask that one question, “How long you got?” But I knew I wouldn’t ask her. I guess I was worried it might actually hurt her feelings. I suppose she has feelings, but I probably wouldn’t recognize them if she showed them. I’m telling ya, this chick is rock-solid tough.
Again today, she had on an outfit from some department store in Hell. I’ll never know where she shopped, but I’d buy the damn franchise if I ever found out. It was one of those tube-sock thingies, jet black and way too fucking small. It fit her like a condom, only tighter. And with one glance, it was obvious that it was the one and only garment she wore.
Damn, she looked good.
I couldn’t help but notice that she kept giving me this ornery smile the whole trip. I could tell that it wasn’t just because of the Helga-whore beside me. Bitch had something up her sleeve … well, okay, she wasn’t wearing sleeves, but I knew something was about to hit the fan.
* * *
Exactly mid-flight, Cat stood and stretched. We hadn’t spoken much at all, mostly due to Princess Pork beside me and her incessant chatter (growls, really). And I still had absolutely no idea why in the hell we were flying to Chicago. I hate Chicago. Don’t get me wrong…I love the Bears—always have. I still have my Walter Payton rookie card from my youth. Best damned football player to ever live, if you ask me. But the rest of Chicago … screw that dump. Those people that love it can have it.
So now Cat’s staring down at me with that same damn grin, and I know that this must be when that proverbial fan is going to start chopping away. I sort of dreaded what ever was going to happen next, but hell, I’d come this far…might as well follow through.