The Job

The first thing I notice when I wake up is someone’s knee against my face. The leg attached, both parts, runs down my chest; the groin pressed into my hip is female. It’s pitch black and it’s cramped, and my body is twisted in directions it hasn’t bent in years. The clothes I’m wearing don’t quite fit. I can feel the rumble and shake of a moving car.

“You’re awake, Kat? Good, take this.” The handle of a large gun is pressed into my hand.

“What’s going on?”

Last night is kind of a blur. One, maybe three, too many Mai Tai’s and a sexual marathon with a gorgeous and very flexible girl. My mouth feels like I accidentally ate my lipstick and the headache’s so bad I can’t think straight. I was very upset about something, but what?

“You said you wanted to work with me. We’re on the way to a job.”

“A job?” That was it! I lost my job yesterday!

“Yeah. You said  you needed work. When we stop I’ll pull the release and the trunk will open. We’ll be surrounded by cops, so you have to come out shooting.”

Shooting? What have I gotten myself into? We hang a hard left and her leg squishes my breast for a moment. She kisses my shoulder. I wish I could remember her name.

“We’re nearly there. Two more turns, about ten seconds. Remember, once we’re out we’re silent. No talking whatsoever until we’re done. We do this right and nobody gets hurt.”

“Uh...” Nobody gets hurt? But we’ve got guns!

The car slams to a stop and suddenly the trunk opens. Except the trunk is on the front and the stopping motion throws us both out onto sawdust in a shower of oversized greenbacks. I sit up and pull the trigger.

There’s no boom, only a loud ‘thwut’. A white splat appears on the hood of the old-style VW bug we were riding in. People are closing in around us. Grossly distorted police officers.

As I jump to my feet my head screams for Advil, but I keep firing anyway. Anything in blue is a target. The first guy I shoot does a full backflip as the white glob stains his chest. The next guy takes a splat to the knee and drops.

The whole place smells of stockyard and whipped cream and grease. Roars of surprise and agitation and laughter nearly make my head explode while nightmare images of ghost-white faces fill my vision. I get a few more, but eventually the police subdue me with rubber clubs. Giant, but surprisingly light, handcuffs are placed on my wrists.

I’m hauled to my feet beside Sophie –that’s her name– and the cop in the big hat with the brass badge on it faces us. Out comes Charlie Brown adult speech.

“Wha-wha-wha-WHA wha-wha-wha-WHA-wha.”

We’re pushed into the back of an old-style paddy wagon. Sophie sticks her face out between the bars as we start moving.

The noise is starting to die down when she turns back to me.

“Great job, Kat! I told you everything would be okay.”

Her lips find mine and I carefully tilt my head so she doesn’t knock my nose off. She’s right; my attempt at ‘normal’ life was a total failure, but now I’m home. Once a clown, always a clown.