Sometimes, ya gotta punch Life in the balls. Also sometimes, Life really doesn't give shit and he punches you back also in the balls. Harder. Maybe you were just mindin' your own beeswax and Life just walked up and punches you. Why? Probably for assuming they adhere to male pronouns or somethin', I dunno. The important thing is I got punched in the balls by Life and I really suck at analogies.
Picture it: The night before Thanksgiving. Everyone gett'n all cozied and cute, fretting over what brand cranberry sauce to throw their money at. Dementia riddled grandparents, wandering the streets after exiting the train station. Through the light haze of midnight rain and the creeping darkness that's their cos' it's freakin' Winter nearly and the sun don't exsist no freakin' more, and there's a guy, lying sidewaysed in the gutter. Can't tell if that newspaper is for warmth or if the shmuck is so drained that he doesn't notice it's there.Sporting a 5 o' clock shadow of the very soul. Kinda doin' that pervert heavy breathing thing. Flipp'n through his dented IPhone. Pornography, probably.
...It's not freakn' pornography, you sickos. It's Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp. Look, I'm as frigid as it gets, couldn't get off if an electric eel with a velvet tongue clamped onto my... Analogies. Nope. Probably one of the reasons why my girl left me. The other reasons could include me losin' my job, my place, my goddam honor as a Police Detective and pretty much all the cash that came with it. Also, probably the weight gain. I'm not too worried about the last part. Being penniless can really help on a diet.
...In case you didn't get it yet, I'm talk'n about myself. Yeah, that's me.
The guy getting the shit beat outta him in the alley ain't, though.
"I swear on my mother's baby blanket! My late mother," Some poor shmuck gargles, the sound of their spine being pulverized against the damp alley wall almost overpowering their words. "Believe me -- Oof!" A good thud takes it's cue. I feel pretty sorry for the guy. Maybe he'll have some teeth left afterwards.
You're probably wondering why I don't get up and help him, huh? Well? I can't blame ya. I hate me too. I normally would -- I am a Detective, upholder of justice and all that-- but I'm just taking some time for some self care. Me time. Working on my weight.
Another thud and I feel even sorrier.
This time, it's a different voice that perks up, all gritty like he smokes six packs and eats the boxes. "You thought you were real clever, eh? Trying to make some cash and then get a good laugh, eh? Make us go out with a bang?" His voice is filled to the brim with Canadian malice.
"The first two parts I willingly admit too, yes," Shmuck answer politely through probably a mouthful of blood. "But I cannot say I was aiming for a laugh. I have no idea how that dynamite got into that turkey...Let's calm down a tad, boys. Let's apply some rational to the sit--"
The boys, I assume, do not apply rational to the situation. But I don't let them on for long.
I slap a hand onto a tough guy's shoulder. "Did you guys mention...Dynamite? In turkeys?"
The tough guy momentarily quits punching Shmuck and gives me good look up and down (I'm damp, chubby, non-threatening, probably made of abandoned sponge cake). "Who're you?"
I manage to muster up a hopefully menacing grin. "I'm...a very sad man."
And so I let loose.
****
Picture it: The oddest look'n couple ya ever saw at two in the morning, dripp'n blood and rain all over the least impressive diner ya ever saw. Flickering lights suggest the place is lacking TLC whilst the possible scutter of what might be a cockroach only verifies the obvious. Coffee like turpentine and two plates of Apple Pie ala mode perfectly luke war and soaked through sit on a table made entirely of linoleum. As cute as it freak'n gets.
"Well, old sport, I must thank you bunches for the service you've done me. I surely would've ended up like lump of blood pudding and we couldn't have that, could we?" The dapper chap lets out an inappropriately polite laugh that shows his pearly whites ain't all where they used to be. I'd feel guilty if I wasn't in the same state. "So, you a regular in these parts?"
He extends his pinky like he's the queen of freak'n England as he takes a sip of that gasoline. A single bead of blood gathers on the end and, I swear to God, politely plops onto the table. Unbelievable. But frankly, I got a different kind of unbelievable to chat about.
"Exploding turkey," I deadpan. "Talk."
He raise his eyebrows like an innocent lamb.
"Look, don't gimme that kind of' too-pure-pure boy' bullshit. I used to be a detective guy, ya see--" Immediately, the eyebrows lower. "And I had this case, ya see. A guy, a real dapper type, goin' around, tell'n Canadian shmucks that certain goods were illegal in America, that you could make a big profit by sell'n black market items. Like...Say, black market turkey?"
You can tell a guy has got the experience if he grins like a cat when he's caught in a trap.
"...Tonight, I thought my only company was to be those up-northern empty heads. I sold those turkeys to them for double-- no, triple, and they thought they were getting the deal of their lives! Told them that turkeys were a precious commodity in America-- Like cocaine made of goddam diamonds. The look on their faces was almost adorable, except for their horrendous accents. Is it really necessary to say 'eh' at the end of everything? Manners, manners, well, that's what they really should've purchased, I think--"
"--Exploding Turkeys--"
"--Except I never snuck a single stick of TNT into a single one of those birds, I swear on my father's baby blanket." He finishes his sludge with subtle flourish before pouring himself another cup of the stuff and dumping exactly half a sugar packet in. "I'm Conner Liemann...But I'm sure you already knew! Now, could I please have the name of the gentleman arresting me?"
"...It's, uh... Deck. Deck Deckard, Deckland Police Detective...Formerly. Uh. Former Detective. So I'm not gonna arrest you."
"...Oh?"
"No... Cos' I've go some business with those turkeys. Ya see, I lost everything...Cos' of one stupid mistake."
***
Picture it.
Chips. Salsa. Somebody made homemade Coca Cola and we're all drinking it to be polite. The queso is good but the tortillas are lacking so I'm secretly licking the cheese off my fingers, hoping nobody'll notice. It's the annual 'It's Not Thanksgiving But It's Almost Thanksgiving" party at my ol' hard-boiled work joint and everybody is taking it down a notch or too. My boss actually looks me in the eye. I whip out the turkey.
We had this checklist, ya see-- You check down what you're gonna get and you get it, no repeats that way. Jenny was the pistachio pudding. Creepy Steve got the Piccata. I got turkey.
Yeah, you can figure how this goes.
So I was carvin' the thing--
You know how this stuff goes--
Steve, the not creepy one--
Sweet kid, really--
"It's kinda chilly, huh! Hey, Chief, mind if I use the microwave?"
40 seconds on high is all you need to ruin everything.
...Yeah, you can figure.
***
Liemann peers sensitively over his folded hands as I weakly mush around my melted pie. He clears his throat, pretty thrown off, I guess. "...Detective, I'm sorry. That's terrible."
I try to grin, but I ain't got the spoons. "Yeah, it kinda is."
"I mean someone so young, so innocent...It really is a tragedy, I can't imagine..."
"....Yeah...I mean...It's not like he died or noth'n."
"Still, disfigurement is quite a setback in this appearance driven world--"
"Didn't disfigure him either. He just nuked it, pulled it out, and said 'Hey, isn't this a stick of dynamite?' And then I was fired. It didn't explode and murder him, if that's what ya think, God."
"That is what I thought! You made it sound like the poor boy became the new wallpaper!" Liemann fumes a bit and I gotta admit, disrupting that guy's pure-pure act is probably the best freakin' thing I've done all night. If I wasn't playing Animal Crossing under the table, I'd take a picture.
"The important thing is that this is a thing," I announce, "Potentially explodin' turkeys. It screwed with you, and it screwed with me. You lost some teeth and a deal... and me? I lost everythin'. Damn everythin'. So we gotta know who's pullin' this bullshit..."
The dapper Dan across from me catches my drift like a boat with open sails. "...And why this mysterious character would do such a thing." We share a knowing glance and he quickly calls over a waitress. He whispers somthin' real fast to her-- couldn't catch it much, I was kinda focused on apple gathering here-- and we sit quietly in silence until the worn out dame drops off a glassy look and a dish between us.
"Ain't never had no one order ice-cold turkey before," She grumbles before shuffling away, "Is that a homo thing?"
Ice cold turkey sits in front of us. It oddly fits the mood, matching perfectly with our depressing caked wounds and stained seats. Liemann picks up a flimsy dollar store steak knife and holds it cautiously over our order.
"...I didn't want it to cause a commotion in the kitchen, should they toss it in a pan you see. But I was thinking: Perhaps our situations are merely coincidental. It is a silly thought, but what if there was a happening and only a little batch of turkeys received such treatment? What if we were caught at the wrong place, at the wrong time? What if this is just a little thing that we can move on from, and there's no greater thing beyond it all?"
I give him a look that screams 'ya gotta be shittin' me'.
He sighs and makes a cautious cut into our mystery dinner.
His eyes widen (at least the one that isn't swelling) and a decisive look settles onto his sly face, unchanging as he turn the plate around like a car wheel.
Peeking through the half-frozen turkey is a rosy-red stick of dynamite.
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I really like these prompt things, so I guess I just wanted to just "Go for it!" and write whatever came to mind. Happy Thanksgiving and I hope you liked it enough! +.*\(0u0)/*.+
