Friday, March 9, 2012

Free Falling

 I don’t have a lot of time, so listen up. At 20,000 feet, you have about 90 seconds before you hit the ground. That information was generously provided to me by Sal Giovanni, right before two of his goons threw me out of the plane.
Here’s another meaningless fact. Today was my first time in an airplane.
One last fact: there may be some things worth dying for, but I can now say that Maggie isn’t one of them.
I met her in a Starbucks about two weeks ago. She was blonde, leggy, soft in the right places and knew how to wear the fuck out of a pair of high heel shoes. Red, if you can believe it. Every guy in the place was looking at her; a few of the women as well. At the time, I couldn’t believe my good luck when she spoke to me. I’m not a horror show, but no one is ever going to mistake me for Brad Pitt. I have a bit of a paunch, a bit of a bald spot and a bit of halitosis. I’m the kind of guy that a wife will put up with. So when put her hand on my upper arm and asked:
“Hello, have you ever killed a dog?” I was too excited to worry about the question. 
“Um, hi. What?”
She wore a yellow sundress, smelled like honeysuckle, and her tits worked harder than Viagra. She squeezed my arm and smiled. My blood rushed to exactly where it was supposed to go, and when I came to, we were sitting in the corner of the coffee shop and she was whispering in my ear.  
Now, she could have whispered the first chapter of ‘War and Peace,’ and I could have died a happy man.  But what she said was:
“I need someone to fuck me, steal my husband’s money, and kill a dog. His dog. And I want that someone to be you.”
I probably should have told her to get lost. But then she breathed. Oh my, did she breathe. So instead, I played it cool.
“The thing is,” she whispered, “my husband’s a prick. And I found out he’s not a monogamous prick. She placed her small hand on my thigh, causing me to black out for a bit again. “So I want to return the favor, and then some.” Her hand moved up my leg. Things stirred, let me tell you. It was time to turn on the charm.
She gave my thigh a gentle squeeze. “So, are you in…” 
She kissed my ear. “Or are you out?”
“In?” Another soft squeeze. “Or out?”
Fifteen minutes later we were in her hotel room. Fifteen minutes and 3 seconds later, I was in her mouth. I know, I know, but I don’t have time to be circumspect. Also, there were pictures. She took all kinds of pictures.
“For hubby,” she purred.
I’d be lying if I said it bothered me.
Later, after we scraped ourselves off the sheets and washed up, she took two objects out of her purse and placed them on the nightstand. A keychain and a gun.  You can imagine that my enthusiasm had cooled somewhat at this point.
“The big key opens the front door. The small key opens the safe in the upstairs study.  It’s a floor safe under the desk.  There should be 40 to 75 thousand dollars in there. You get to keep half. The other half you bring to me. If you’re not back in two hours, I send these pictures to my husband, along with your name and address.”
“But –“
She held up my wallet. “My husband is not the kind of man to let something like this go.
He’s more like the kind of man to have you dig your own hole.”
"If you are back here in two hours, I send the pictures anyway, but without any of your info. I hope that prick does a slow burn for the rest of the day, and then I hope his head explodes when he finds out his money is missing."
“And the gun? I could use the money and I appreciate the, um, the sex. But I don’t think I could shoot anyone.”
She gave a soft laugh and walked over to the bed. She took my head in her hands and pressed it against her moneymaker.
“The gun’s for the dog.”
Oh yeah. The dog. 
"The house will be empty except for his damn dog, Lucky. He loves that mutt more than me and maybe more than money. It’s about 500 years old and farts more than it barks. You’ll be doing Lucky a favor.”  She grabbed my head in both hands and pushed herself against my face. “Shoot the dog, bring me back its collar, and I’ll let you put it on me and fuck me like a dog until one of us passes out.”
I’d be lying if I said the prospect bothered me. 
The house was a large colonial in a nice neighborhood. Like all suburban neighborhoods in Jersey, it was a complete ghost town between 10:00 am and 2:00 pm. I opened the door and slipped inside. Easy peasy. I didn’t take time to tour the whole place, instead making my way straight up the stairs. Hook a right, go past two doors; open the third. Bingo. The study. 
I walked quickly to the desk, got on my hands and knees with some difficulty (being a bit sore from my morning Maggie workout), and found the keyhole to the floor safe. Like she said, there was a lot of cash. $55,000 and change. I took it all, together with a Movado watch, the museum piece.  I love Movado watches.  If there’s a silver lining to this story, it’s this:  I got to keep the watch. 
Anyway, I took it all.  Easy peasy.   I put everything in a “Kings Supermarket” reusable shopping bag and stood up, ready to get the hell out of Dodge and start spending my hard earned cash.
Lucky. The four footed walking wind bag sat in the doorway, looking at me. It was a German shepherd and Maggie wasn’t lying when she said he was old. His eyes were filmy, his hair was matted, and his breathing sounded like my Grandpa Manuel when he watched the showgirls on Telemundo, Nueva York. Lucky was big enough, but I could tell there was no fight in him.
And he wore a silver studded collar, black.
My mouth went dry at the thought of Maggie on her knees wearing nothing but that collar.
“Hiya boy. Who’s a good doggie?” I cocked the gun and took a few cautious steps toward the door. Lucky sensed my hesitation and immediately took the opportunity to lie down and pass a fart. He looked at me with those watery eyes and yawned.
A few steps closer. Even a rube like me couldn’t miss at this distance. I stood there, gun in hand, eye to eye with the Methuselah of the canine world. Lucky sighed. 
I don’t’ know how long I stood there, but it was for quite some time.   Maybe I was hoping the poor dog would die on its own.   The promise of untold forbidden treasures dangled before me.  All I had to do was shut Lucky. 
But I couldn’t do it. I had fifty-five thousand dollars, a watch and a beautiful woman. Why should I kill a dog? I’d just stop by PetCo on the way to the motel, buy a damn dog collar and have my fun.
“Today’s your lucky day, Lucky.” I put the gun away and stepped over pooch. I was halfway to the stairs when I heard the front door open.
I quietly ran into the first bedroom on the left. The house may have been opulent, but the bedroom was Spartan.  My choices were under the bed, in the closet or in the bathroom. I chose under the bed.
Footsteps up the stairs. A brief pause. A man’s voice. 
“Lucky! How ya doing boy?”
I heard Lucky panting, working up the energy for a half-hearted bark.  Then the soft clicking of doggie paws.
“Where you going, boy”
Dog paws slapped against the wood floor. Then the sound of a good size fart.  Then paws scratching at the bedroom door.
“What’s wrong, boy.”
A door opened.
More paw clicking. Excited whining. 
A long, wet nose peeks under the bed, sniffing and searching for its new friend.
“Lucky? Out of the way boy.” 
I should have -- 

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