Tagged: tune in next time

I Wanted To Punch John’s Smirking Face

  • by jenagainst the shimmering water
  • Karma? What a crock of shit.
  • I had almost forgotten the treasure
  • as hilarious as you would expect
  • Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t

Tune In Next Time Part 1

I wanted to punch John’s smirking face. He winked and said, “Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t, and it’s about as hilarious as you would expect.”

He’d been talking so long I had almost forgotten the treasure that was supposed to be buried somewhere near the boardwalk pilings that stood out against the shimmering water like stiff dead fingers. The boardwalk was long gone, of course, along with the partnership John and I formed so many years ago, before he betrayed me and ran off with both my woman and the treasure map, leaving me for dead.

Karma? What a crock of shit. If karma existed, I’d be the one sitting in the zodiac with Tessa and a harpoon gun, and it would be John standing in water up to his chest with cinderblocks chained to his ankles as the tide came in.

He was leaving me for dead again, and it looked like this time it would stick.

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Aren’t Ya Gonna Shoot Him?

  • Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.k-avatar
  • wanted the reader to be kidnapped
  • “You appear to be astonished,”
  • I will deliver it by hand.
  • taken in by a pair of handsome con artists

Tune In Next Time Part 2                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Aren’t ya gonna shoot him?” Tessa asked.

John smirked harder, then turned a softer smile her way. “It’ll be more fun if I don’t, babe.” He kissed her.

I turned away, the sight of that smooch worse than my own imminent demise. I looked over at the old pilings, where the high-tide level was marked by the sudden absence of snaggletoothed masses of mussels and barnacles. That level was at least a foot over my head. Shit. Each lazy swell rode higher up my torso, soon they’d be lapping my chin like cold, fishy-smelling Saint Bernards.

“You appear to be astonished,” John said. “Didn’t you know what I was planning?”

“Tessa,” I said, “you don’t want to see this. Make him put you ashore.”

She shook her auburn head, smiling playfully and winking. Shit.

“John, this is stupid,” I tried. “It’s like sending a ransom note when you wanted the reader to be kidnapped. How are you going to pull this off without me?”

“I have the map, moron!” John called.

I shrugged. “Unless you don’t.” I always was the better poker player. “I knew you had the combination to that safe, so I took some precautions. Of course, now I don’t know if the original made it back to me, or if the phony was misdirected.” Another shrug. “Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.”

John laughed. “Nice try,” he said.

Tessa huffed and folded her arms, buoying her cleavage like the inflatable speedboat she sat in. “Why’d I hafta get taken in by a pair of handsome con artists? It’s gettin’ cold out here, John, just shoot him already.”

John grumbled, but to my horror he raised the harpoon gun and took careful aim.

Click. The weapon didn’t fire.

“Run for it!” Tessa yelled.

I started hauling myself backwards, dragging the blocks chained to my feet, fighting the undertow. John tried the gun two more times, then snarled coldly, “I will deliver it by hand.” He slid the long projectile from the barrel and started the zodiac’s motor.

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I Dragged Myself Backwards

  • by jenlight pollution works in your favor
  • took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid
  • recognize these assholes out in the wild
  • maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps
  • with slowness immeasurable

Tune In Next Time Part 3                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dragged myself backwards toward shore with slowness immeasurable, the cinderblocks chained to my ankles digging deep into the sandy ocean floor. The zodiac lurched forward with John in the bow, brandishing the harpoon. Tessa giggled maniacally.

“Run for it!” she shrieked again, mocking me, then guffawed.

Amongst the pilings I tried to find a shadow to hide in, but the boardwalk was awash with blinking neon and apparently light pollution works in your favor when you’re a psychopath. Tessa steered the boat straight at me and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid in the flask she kept tucked in her ample cleavage.

I thought of everything that had been in the safe: maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps, diamonds — John had all of it now. John and Tessa.

If I survived the night I’d need to learn to recognize these assholes out in the wild, save myself the trouble of partnering up with them. Or worse, falling in love.

The harpoon was mere feet from my chest when suddenly Tessa yanked hard on the tiller and John toppled into the sea with a salty splash.

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John Reared From the Water

  • by jen— however bad a person you may think I am —
  • place on 53rd Street
  • “I tried to save her,”
  • the child’s umbrella
  • something from a Mary Shelley nightmare

Tune In Next Time Part 4                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

John reared from the water like something from a Mary Shelley nightmare, with a harpoon instead of the usual lightning rod. He waved the thing over his head like the child’s umbrella he stole in our first caper together, then flung it at the receding zodiac. Or maybe he was aiming for Tessa’s back. In either case, he missed. The harpoon lanced into the waves and struck bottom, then stood there quivering in the flashing neon and surf.

“I tried to save her,” John muttered, “from you and from herself. And this is the thanks I get?”

“She’s going to the place on 53rd Street,” I said. “You can’t let her get there John — however bad a person you may think I am — you can’t let her. You know how much trouble we’ll both be in if she gets her hands on it! How much trouble the world will be in!”

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“This Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Still Kill You Later”

  • k-avatarplanning to take the bus
  • , mostly prostitutes
  • No one knew whose they were
  • regarding an unnatural sex act
  • up through the asphalt

Tune In Next Time Part 5                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“This doesn’t mean I won’t still kill you later,” John said as he helped me move up the beach. He unlocked the chains from my ankles, freeing me from the concrete weights.

“Tessa has a huge head start,” I pointed out. John said nothing as we jogged up to the boardwalk. He paused at the edge of the street, watching the oncoming traffic. I wondered if he was planning to take the bus.

“This is 13th,” he said. “It’s 40 blocks to the place. We need wheels, man!”

I was still out of breath from my near-drowning. We were both dripping seawater. No way a cab would pick us up. Scanning the people around us, mostly prostitutes, I hoped to find some kind of transportation inspiration. I did, in the form of two bicycles laying beside the fortune teller’s kiosk. We asked if they belonged to anyone, we even asked the fortune teller. No one knew whose they were.

John said, “After the things we’ve done, you’re worried about stealing a bike?”

“Borrowing,” I corrected as I threw a leg over the red one and started pedaling. “After the things we’ve done, we really need to do better.”

John caught up and passed me, forcing me to pedal harder. I wanted to get in front again, to get to Tessa first. Also, the view from behind, of John pumping furiously on the undersized bike, was like a pantomime performance regarding an unnatural sex act.

By the time we reached the 50th Street Overpass, it was well past midnight and we were both gasping for breath. The only traffic I saw was a single taxi that swung into the avenue a couple of blocks ahead of us. It pulled up to the curb at the place, and the rear door flew open. “It’s her!” John yelled, his absurd exertions increasing as he poured on speed.

I shifted gears and started gaining. I couldn’t allow those two to be alone together, and I hated to think what John might resort to as a way of stopping Tessa. Suddenly John’s bike wobbled to a stop, both tires flat. I veered around the small cluster of nails poking up through the asphalt and leapt from my bike without stopping, dashing straight in through the revolving door in time to see Tessa in the elevator as it closed.

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First an Ocean Swim

  • by jengross little brine-loogies
  • despite the morning’s embarrassment
  • wearing sloppy clothes and tennis shoes
  • breathless from her bootyshaking
  • many strange and fanciful masks

Tune In Next Time Part 6                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

First an ocean swim while chained to cinderblocks, then a ride on a child’s bicycle, and now running up stairs, I thought as I took the steps two at a time, heaving for breath and coughing up gross little brine-loogies. It’s like some sort of triathlon of the absurd.

Two floors below I heard John enter the stairwell, and despite the morning’s embarrassment that led to this evening’s murder attempts I was glad to have him around. Even wearing sloppy clothes and tennis shoes saturated with seawater he was an intimidating guy, and I thought that the two of us working together might be able to defeat Tessa. If we got really lucky. And if John didn’t betray me again.

I got to the fifth floor and pushed through the fire door into some sort of rave. A gorgeous woman in silver body paint stood on stage, breathless from her bootyshaking, and the people in the crowd wore many strange and fanciful masks. I pushed through the throng, John hot on my heels, looking for Tessa. She had to be here somewhere. The secret compartment that was her ultimate goal was hidden under the floor.

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Who Are These People?

  • k-avatar“Revenge.”
  • Clayton and his wife simultaneously noticed
  • did not attempt to check her tears
  • She was alone.
  • visit him every weekend

Tune In Next Time Part 7                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Who are these people?” John shouted over the throbbing music. “This is supposed to be a law firm!”

I wagged my head and held up my empty palms, but I did have a faint notion what was going on. Officially, this place was the offices of Gallows-Clayton, Ltd., but when Clayton and his wife simultaneously noticed that they could make more money renting it out for parties, and that said parties would bring in droves of lithe, horny young people, they shifted their business model from corporate law to glowsticks and ketamine.

A stage had been constructed over the hidden floor panel. John searched along its lip for some way to get underneath, while I sought the improvised backstage area. Inside a corner office being used as some kind of dressing room, I discovered Tessa. She was alone. Looking up when I came in, she did not attempt to check her tears. In her lap was the giraffe-hide briefcase, so I knew she’d found a way to the hidden compartment.

“Tessa, why?”

“Revenge.”

I just stared at her, unable to conceive of what wrong would drive her to madness in the name of vengeance. With each turning of the diabolical wheel that was my business partnership with John, through all our betrayals and stupid macho games, we both had always looked out for this woman.

“You want the case,” she spat. “You want it before John finds us. That’s all you care about.”

She had me there. I had been edging forward, compelled by my desperation to control the destiny of the items in that case, to deprive John — and Tessa — of them.

She stood, and John burst in. He froze in the doorway and his eyes locked onto the briefcase. After a tense second he said, “Girl, you’re cornered. So just hand it over and we’ll all go join the party out there.”

Tears still flowing, Tessa began to laugh. “I’m in charge, now! I have the briefcase, and what I say goes unless you want me to open it.” I shook my head and saw John doing the same. “Good, then we understand each other. I’m afraid one of you will be taking the fall, but the other one can visit him every weekend.”

 

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At That Moment

  • by jendo not leave a trace
  • the best-looking guy in the room
  • the adults took turns
  • “That was a game, wasn’t it?”
  • I know you’re part Indian!

Tune In Next Time Part 8                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

At that moment Tessa’s eyes rolled back and she slumped to the floor, the giraffe-hide briefcase slipping from her grip. She should have remembered that I’m quite partial to contact-tranquilizers (especially the kinds that do not leave a trace on a tox screen), and always smeared them liberally on the handles of all of my briefcases.

I pulled a pair of soggy gloves from my pocket and wrung the seawater out of them. I may not be the best-looking guy in the room, but I’m usually the cleverest. When I was young and the only child in the cult, the adults took turns teaching me the many skills they used to evade the authorities. No matter how challenging the lesson I always laughed and said, “That was a game, wasn’t it?” That attitude got me far in life.

But enough about me.

John still stood just inside the doorway, eyeing Tessa on the floor. Or, more likely, eyeing the briefcase.

“I can’t let you have it,” he said without looking at me. “I know you’re part Indian! I know you’ll sell it to your cohorts back in Mumbai!”

I chuckled at his total misapprehension of my motives, and that’s when he pounced.

 

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John’s Fist Came Toward My Face

  • k-avatarpizza cutter, thick with blood.
  • Dr Pepper wrangling
  • as a speckled trout to a fly
  • in inverse ratio to his prowess among men
  • too strong for him

Tune In Next Time Part 9                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

John’s fist came toward my face, but when I ducked that I put my chin directly in line for the snap-kick that was the true attack. It was the same move I fell for last time, the cheap fake-out I’m as drawn to as a speckled trout to a fly. I came to with ringing ears and double vision in time to see John leaving with the giraffe-hide briefcase, wearing my damp gloves.

Damn him. I sat up rubbing my jaw and looked over at Tessa, who was already stirring. Either she was tougher than I knew, or else that tranquilizer had lost potency over time.

Tessa sat up, rubbing her temples. She glanced at me, and said, “Don’t be too worried, the locks on that thing are too strong for him.”

I nodded, more out of hope than any faith in those locks. Then again, my mentor always told me that one’s capacity for puzzling minutiae is in inverse ratio to his prowess among men. That had always just felt like a zen riddle, but in this case I could see its applicability.

“So what happened? Did he have a blowgun or something? Got us both, I see.”

It was tempting to just nod again, but I knew if I lied to her now we would never be okay again. My memory lurched to a linoleum floor and a pizza cutter, thick with blood. So I confessed to the tranquilizer on the handle of the briefcase.

She stood and bellowed down at me, “You son of a misbegotten, Dr Pepper wrangling,  burrito slinger!” She spun away and folded her arms, staring out the window.

“Hey, easy with the casual racism, babe.” I stood up. “Besides, I’m only part Indian. And I have an idea.”

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“I Don’t Trust Your Ideas”

  • by jenground patrol had proved ineffective
  • arrested in London
  • You think your great big husband will protect you?
  • Six hours after injection
  • you’re never going to win the lottery

Tune In Next Time Part 10                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t trust your ideas,” Tessa spat. “Not after London.”

I winced, remembering how my idea for ground patrol had proved ineffective during the Barclay’s bank heist, leading to Tessa being arrested in London, and John and me in Birmingham. The charges hadn’t stuck, but it had been an unpleasant couple of weeks for the three of us and apparently Tessa held a grudge.

“Things are different now,” I said.

“I should have listened to John all those years ago when he tried to warn me about you. He was there at our wedding you know, trying to talk me out of it. He said, ‘You think your great big husband will protect you? That asshole only wants to get into your pants. You don’t believe me? Go ahead and marry him. Six hours after injection, or ejaculation, or whatever you want to call it, he’ll be out the door. Girls always want to be lucky in love, but you Tessa, you’re never going to win the lottery.'” She turned back to glare daggers at me. “And he was right.”

“That wasn’t a real wedding, babe. You know that! It was all part of the plan.”

“Your plans suck. This time it’s my turn to be in charge. Now here’s what we’ll do…”

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