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“What is it about women?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one with the PhD in broads, farm boy.”
I looked at the drunk on the stool next to me. I wasn’t a farm boy. Not even close. I hadn’t attended
an institution for higher learning and majored in the fairer sex but a lot of experience on the street
had to count for something. Maybe I was an honorary PhD. If so, I sure didn’t practice what I knew.
“Can I buy you another round, pal?” I asked the bloated, red nosed, teary eyed, piece of human
debris sitting next to me.
“What ever floats your pickle, farm boy,” came his slurred reply.
There it was again…farm boy. And now a pickle reference. Was I about to be hit upon? Strange. I
ordered another Scotch for myself and bought the drunk a beer.
“She comes in out of nowhere.” I said. “All legs and huge beautiful tits…”
“I like boobies,” offered the drunk.
“…and this look in her eye. Ya’ know…like I’m the sexiest guy that’s ever walked the earth. Like
I’m a movie star or somethin’. She walks right up to me.” I motioned to the stool that the drunk now
occupied. “She walks right there where you’re sitting. She brushes up against me so I know she’s
real. Her blouse is cut so low I feel like tippin’ her a buck. Then I see the lips. Red like sweet ripe
cherries…”
“I like fruit,” said the drunk.
“…and eyes like…shit, man they sparkled like there was diamond dust or somethin’ in ‘em.” The
scotch arrived and I dropped it in one quick pass. I signaled for another. “She says she’s seen me
somewhere before. I go, ‘where, like at the track?’ And then she says, ‘Nah, silly.’ She said it just
like that, ‘nah, silly.’ So I ask her where and she says ‘around.’ I’m all kinda fogged up by her
beauty and all so I’m not thinkin’ straight. I mean, I’ve had a few pretty girls in my time, don’t get
me wrong, but this one was outta my league.”
“Play ball,” said the drunk.
“That’s what I thought. I mean why not. I’m not exactly a movie star but I’m no hideous chud
either.”
“You’re fugly,” said the drunk.
I ignored the drunken insult and continued. “So before I know it, this dame’s got me thinking I’m the
love of her life. She’s promisin’ me all kinds of kinky sex, like she’s gonna ride me like I’m a triple
crown winner. Says, she’s got this big job for me first though. Only one thing I gotta do for her and
then its sweaty sex, twenty-four hours a day!” I leaned closer to the drunk. “All I gotta do is get
some of her stuff out of her ex’s apartment.”
The drunk let loose a warbling and fluid filled belch that sent the bartender to the other end of the
bar. “So did you kill him?”
“Wha’da I got to kill him for? It’s a B and E job. I stake out the apartment, when the guy’s gone I
go in and clean house.”
“You do windows, farm boy?”
“Very funny, smart guy. So I wait ‘till the guy’s MIA from the apartment. The broad, she don’t
have a key anymore on account of the ex slappin’ her around a bit and takin’ it back. He just threw
her out on the street.”
“What’d she want?” the drunk asked.
Here was the rub. Here was why I shouldn’t listen to broads that are out of my league. “She wanted
her poodle.”
“Her poodle?”
“Yeah. Little yappy shit of a dog. A poodle.”
“Get the fuck outta’ here with that. A poodle?”
“Did I stutter? Yeah. Like I said…a poodle. So’s I break in. I’m looking all over for the little fucker.
Finally find the damn thing in one of those dog crates. I grab it and I’m on my way out the front
door when I run into hubby. Turns out the dope only went down to the corner for a paper.”
“Was it for the poodle? For his cage I mean? That would be ironic or somethin’.” The drunk looked
into his empty glass as if staring at it would magically make it fill up again. It worked. I signaled for
another round.
“I don’t fuckin’ know if it was for the poodle or if the guy needed it for his morning shit. Why would
I possibly care? The point is I bump into this guy on my way out of his kicked in door carrying his
ex girlfriend’s poodle.” I lit up a cigarette. “It was humiliating.”
“He bust you across the chops with the paper?”
“No. This guy was packin’. I turn to run. The fuckin’ dog starts barking and howling like it’s in heat.
I’m lookin’ over my shoulder as the boyfriend is pulling out this .38. He starts shootin’ and I take
one in the ass before I can get to my car. I toss the cage inside, bullets are flyin’ all around my head,
and I drive off. I’ve got an ass wound. I’m bleedin’ all over my leather seats. I’ve got a whining
yappy dog pissin’ itself and the piss is runnin’ out of its cage, fuckin’ up the other seat. On top of
that, I got two gunshot holes through the front windshield. Wanna' know the kicker? I fucked up
the alignment by jumpin’ the curb on my way out of the lot.”
“What’s the make and model of your car?”
I looked at the drunk for a moment in disbelief. “Why the fuck would that matter? Picture what ever
the fuck kind of car you want.
"Where was I? Oh yeah, so I go see my medical guy about the wound. Painful as hell mind you. My
ass has got stitches right along side the crack so wipin’ myself is a laugh a minute. I drop off the dog
and she gives me a miserable peck on the cheek. Like that covers the debt. Like we’re square now.
Then she slams the door in my face sayin’ she’ll call the cops if I don’t go away.”
“Women?” said the drunk.
I picked up my scotch and saluted the drunk. “Fuckin’ A to that, pal.”
The Poodle Caper