How Do Mechs Love?

I wrote this a couple of hours before the second to last class of the quarter based on a writing prompt from McSweeny’s. The prompt is unimportant, and the story could be expanded. Anyway, Old people throwing

money, murder, french fries with gravy and a little girl peeing in a bucket.

Tuesday 2:01 a.m.

Tony stumbled out of The Rusty Tambourine smelling of dollar whiskey shots and covered in purple lipstick. Steam rose from the sewer grates and the streets were empty except for a bum who fell asleep from too much drink and vomited over his tattered hoody. The world spinned as Tony struggled to walk home. He tripped over the bum and tried to apologize only to realize that his eyes were not closed and he lacked pupils. Shocked he jumped and ran as best as he could away from the body. The cold started getting to him a block away from the bar and he zipped up his beige Carhartt. A car or two would pass him every five minutes or so, but all they were to him were flashes of colors.

As he continued his journey home, he started to think of a lie to tell his wife why he was so late. I guess I could tell her that I had to finish paper work that piled up or that my brother’s wife left him, he thought, but decided that she would see through the first one and that he would feel bad when Bernice finally left his sack of shit brother. He resigned to the fact that she would yell at him as she always does when he goes out to get numb, and figured that he should stop at the 7-11 on the way home. Maybe if he had a hot dog or something it would soak enough Jim Beam to make it seem like he only had a few instead of the endless line of shots he did have.

If only she’d fucking leave me then everything would be okay, he thought, why can’t that bitch get off my fucking case? I work hard all day. At the end of the day I just want to relax and have a few. What crime is that? This is America, right? Fucking bitch. If only there was some way to… As Tony got lost in his thoughts, a red corvette barreled down the road with loud techno music blasting from inside. From the passenger side an old man with a fu man chu and Raybands threw handfuls of paper out of the window. When the car reached Tony, the old man threw a thick stack of paper at the side of Tony’s head and knocked him off balance. The car raced way with the old man still throwing paper from the side. Tony rubbed the side of his head, and pushed himself off the freezing cement.

“Yea, keep goin’ ya fuckin’ cock sucker. If I eva see ya ass again, I’ma fuckin’ knock ya out. Motherfucker,” he yelled rubbing his jaw and picking out tiny pieces of rocks from his cheeks.

The blow to the head sobered Tony up a bit and he looked around to see what the old man knocked him down with. He picked up the thick stack of paper and his eyes widened. The green paper felt rough in his hands. His fingers thumbed through the stack to make sure they were all the same. His jaw dropped when he realized that he carried a stack of 100-dollar bills in his hand. After checking the bill under a streetlight for a security tag to make sure they were real, he walked up and down the block picking up other bills from the street. As he stuffed bills into his coat, he realized that there must have been at least a hundred thousand dollars lying over the block. Once he retrieved every bill, he continued walking home. I wonder who you call to murder your wife.

Thursday 2:35 p.m.

“Just so we’re clear, my fee is twenty thousand. Half up front and half upon completion of the job,” Francis said as he sipped his coffee with two sugars and heavy crème.

“Okay. How should I go about you know, paying?” Tony asked as he picked at the turkey club he ordered, but has been too nervous to eat.

“Tomorrow at three-thirty, go to Haroshi Park. Sit near the duck pond. Bring a small army green duffle bag with the money inside. Feed the ducks for about ten minutes and then get up. Leave the duffle bag on the inside of the bench; I will pick it up after you clear the pond.”

“Okay. Will it hurt? I mean will it be painful for her?”

“Depends, do you want it to be?”

“No, no. I just want it done quietly.”

“I understand. Okay, this weekend you need to head out of town. Go somewhere nice like Vegas or Salem. Anywhere, but make sure you’re with a buddy or something that way you have an air tight alibi.”

“I can do that. When will it be done?”

“When you get a phone call from the police.”

“Okay.”

Saturday 10:45 p.m.

Francis pulled down his ski mask and tightened the silencer on his gun. Tiny leaves crunch under his boots as he sneaks over Tony’s fence. All the lights are off in the two story colonial like Tony said. When Francis approached the back door, he slipped the spare key, Tony left in the small duffle bag with his payment, out. He silently opened the door and slipped inside.

Francis checked around down stairs to make sure that the wife did not fall asleep watching Desperate Housewives on the couch. Once he looked through the living room and dining room. He quietly made his way up stairs. Heavy snoring came from behind Tony’s bedroom door. Francis thought it sounded like a boom box being dropped in a bathtub. Slipping the gun into the back of his pants, he tip- toed over to the door. The floor boards squeaked as he made his way down the hallway.

He gripped the doorknob and turned it. He walked into see Tony’s wife lying spread eagle on top of the covers. Her flower print robe opened slightly at the chest. Francis shuddered as he stared at the woman’s floppy breasts. He pulled the gun from his pants and walked around the bed. Pushing the barrel gently into the base of her head, he pulled the trigger twice. A small ping rang at each shot.

Francis said a little prayer for the woman and turned to exit the room. What he saw when he went for the doorway was a small girl with red curls standing slack-jawed staring at him. Before the girl could scream, Francis rushed over and hit her on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. The girl went down like a sack of potatoes and fell into Francis’ arms. He threw her over his shoulder and exited the house.

Monday 5:45 p.m.

“This was not part of the deal, kiddo. But, it’s either you come with me or I kill you. I’ll let you decide,” Francis said as he loaded the last of his stuff into his SUV.

“Can’t you let me go home? I won’t say nothin’. Promise,” The tiny whisp of a girl said.

“Sorry, can’t do, kiddo. It won’t be so bad if you come with. Once we get to Canada, I’ll enroll you into school and you can make some friends. Plus, we can get you some poutine. Know what that is?” He asked tightening the ropes on the top of his car.

“No.”

“French fries with cheese and gravy. It’s delicious.” He said. He kneeled next to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Alright, decision time, kiddo. Canada or a shallow grave?”

“Canada, but can I pee before we go?”

“Sure thing, kiddo. The waters off inside, so you’ll have to go around back there is a bucket there.”

She walked around the bungalow, her crimson curls bouncing, and saw the shiny metal bucket. As she walked over, she lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. She sat down on the cold metal bucket and let go.