by J E Moore
The Bonus, a short story from Twisted All to Hell, which is also available now.
A Fowl Covenant
"It must be seven fifteen. There goes Mister Weinstein out to feed the birds again," remarked Sophie Peterson. "Every morning, just like clockwork... before he goes to work."
"Humph," returned Jack, her husband of forty years.
"He's been doing the same thing for over three years... ever since we moved in here," continued his wife. "What do you make of that, Dear?"
"Frig'n nut case is what I say," as he placed his coffee mug on the kitchen table. He glanced up from his newspaper and stated, "Birds, all the time birds. He has a dozen cages on his patio and probably twice as many more inside his house judging from my nose. I told you what happened last week didn't I?"
"Yes, Dear. Several times."
"Humph, damn moron," as he turned a sports page and continued to talk to himself - reliving the incident anew. "I went out to get the newspaper and noticed his carrier had thrown his into our yard. I picked it up and walked toward his house to toss it at his front door, being a good neighbor and all. Well, he just happened to be coming out to retrieve it at the same time. He accused me of trying to steal that rag of a paper he reads, The Herald. Can you imagine how stupid that is? Me, steal his crappy paper! I'll bet all he uses it for is to line his bird cages... to catch bird poop. Weinstein probably can't read at all!"
"The fool's front door was open when I handed it to him. The stink coming from inside smelled like the County Zoo's aviary if they hadn't cleaned the cages for a month. I said, "Geesh, Harvey, do you have any live birds in there?" and pinched my nose closed. He called me a Cretin and made bird whistles at me as I returned home."
"I know, Dear. You've told me before," as she topped off his cup and handed it back to him. "What's a Cretin, Dear?"
"Never mind, Sophie. I think you've missed the point, again," and dropped the subject.
She took a last peek at her neighbor's back yard to observe Harvey sitting in his lawn chair with bits of bread and birdseed spread all about him in a twenty-foot wide circle. No birds came to sample his offerings. They kept their distance - sitting on the telephone pole wires until he went back inside his house and left for work at eight a.m.
It was the same routine year after year. The weekends were different: he would sit out in the field for an hour in the morning and the same in the evening - waiting in vain for his 'wild' friends to join him. It made Sophie often wonder why he didn't give up on the wild ones and just tender to the domestics he had and said as much to her husband.
"Because he's a nut job, that's why," retorted Jack.
"Yes, Dear."
Poor Harvey Weinstein. He cherished his own birds, but wanted more - the affection of the wild ones also. Isn't that a typical human weakness to seek after what we can't have? Sometimes even to our own detriment? For eleven years, he watched from inside his house the blue jays, brown and grey doves, black birds and a dozen other varieties enjoy his foods, water dish, handmade birdhouse and a perch he bought and assembled in the hope of luring their elusive companionship.
He lived in a small two bedroom 1970's 'starter house' located in a neighborhood consisting mostly of fifty years or older residents (primarily retirees). It certainly suited his needs, he being alone and never been married. Most of the folks around him were basically in the same situation. There were perhaps as few as three children in the entire complex of a hundred homes. Quiet, just right - nothing to scare the wildlife away. His house, in a string of seven, butted up against a nine acre lot owned by a Baptist church group who were 'temporally' having their services in an elementary school auditorium ( for the last ten years ) due to the fact they had over-extended themselves financially in buying the large piece of 'rural property'. Their hope for developing this land into a permanent church site in the near future had been hamstrung by the meager cash flow from their small congregation. However, placing their unrealized good intentions aside, the town ordinances still required them to keep the property maintained even though there was no activity other than an occasional member's picnic... thus creating a perfect 'status quo' situation for the neighborhood and especially Mister Weinstein.
But alas, for only Harvey, it seemed there was always something to screw things up his plans. One particular irritating drawback to our bird-lover's pursuit was that even if he moved his lawn chair into the middle of the most open part of the church's field, he discovered he still couldn't lure the birds in to feed. "Most strange and very wrong indeed," he reasoned and felt denied of what he rightfully deserved. He deduced the birds were afraid to come to him because of those nosy, prying busybodies next door. "They're always looking out their windows at me. The birds can sense they're being watched. At least I have enough sense to turn the lights out, put a black towel over my head and hide behind my living room couch when I watch them. Those stupid gawkers really tick me off! As a matter of fact, all the gawking, damn neighbors tick me off," he fumed as he picked up his folding chair and threw it toward his house.
As expected, things again turned quite the worst for our unlucky Harvey: his weekly work schedule at the library changed to10 a.m. to 7 p.m. which now gave him only one opportunity to observe or try to entice his quarry. He argued his case to retain his current hours to his supervisor, the new guy, who laughed so hard he almost passed out. "You want to keep your current hours so you can try to feed birds which have never shown up in three years! Look, guy, I know that's real tough on you but I now have to provide adequate job coverage with two less people because of those retirements last month. Birds... silly me. And to think I was told before I transferred to this department we had 'team players' working here - apparently, not all! Whatta joke on me!" and laughed some more.
His fellow co-workers had long considered the obnoxious Mister Weinstein to be many cards short of a full deck and this well-deserved embarrassment to him served as great entertainment.
Then, one typical Saturday morning as Harvey sat in his lawn chair in the middle of the field bemoaning and cursing his fate a stranger walked out of the underbrush toward him. He didn't immediately notice the tall, slender man donned in black because he was engrossed in scanning the trees as he mumbled and spat on the grass.
"Hello, partner," hailed the approaching figure.
"Shush!" rebuked Harvey. "You'll scare away my birds."
"Sorry, friend," returned the newcomer. "I've been watching and didn't see any. In fact, I've been watching you for quite a while and..."
"Quite a while?" interrupted Harvey. "Are you some kind of stalker? You better be careful, Buster. I was quite the man not too long ago and I can still put most men down."
"I'm sure you can," agreed the intruder as he viewed the fat, one hundred pound overweight couch-potato wedged into his extra-heavy duty constructed chair. "No offense, friend. I just came over to help you with that little problem you're having."
"I ain't having a problem, Mister."
"Oh, sorry again. I had the impression you wanted some up-close and personal feathery company. My mistake?"
Harvey cleared his throat as he eyed his smiling visitor's matching black cowboy hat, shirt, jeans and boots. "Oh, that... well, er." He quickly assumed his usual belligerent demeanor. "So what's it to you? Who do you represent? The Audubon Society? Got some hot tips for me? You can forget it, Bub. I've read all the books. These little peckers just won't come to me." He rested his chubby chin on his chest, "I must be cursed."
"Well now that's an outright shame," asserted Mister Black. "I don't think it should be that way at all, especially for a caring man such as yourself." This perked up Harvey's ears and stoked his ego.
"Damn straight," agreed Weinstein. "I guess I could bring myself to accept a good suggestion from a fellow bird-lover if I had a mind to."
"Glad to hear, sir but let me tell you right off I'm not affiliated with any particular group as you would know it and I'm not asking for money. However, I can assure
you I can definitely help you fulfill your wishes regarding these birds and many other things if you so desire." Harvey gave him a discerning scowl meaning the 'other things' had better not be sexual in nature. "Oh, no, Harv," reading his mind. "Just two friends sharing their thoughts. Trust me, nothing else. So now we've broken the ice, what in the heck do you want? I mean, you're been sitting out here countless hours... months... years. Tell me. Just between the two of us." He opened both arms wide like an evangelist, "I know I can help you. Speak to me, Buddy."
Harvey, although distrusting and cantankerous as ever finally broke down and confessed, "I want birds to pet, lotsa birds... different from the usual domestic ones living in my cages. Is that so wrong? I want to be able to touch and love the outside ones also. Do you think I'm crazy? Hell, I've seen it on TV. Why not me too?"
"No, no, friend. Nothing wrong with that." He paused, "But you must understand those people you've seen on TV had to pay a price for such a privilege."
"A price? What do you mean?"
Mister Black rattled off some of the possible corporate details with, "Training, props, sponsorship, insurance and who knows what else. It's a complex presentation."
Harvey considered, "Oh, well sure," admitting it was logical for concessions and coordination being made.
The visitor smiled to himself and asked, "And you my friend, what would you be willing to concede for a short period of time in order to receive prized moments with your new-found friends? Wonderful experiences which no one else could have... only you, Harvey Weinstein."
"Concede?" caught his ear. "Do you mean to give up something?" The stranger nodded, 'Yes'. "It depends on what it is. Why would you ask such a dumb question?"
"Because I can make it happen for you."
"Sure," Harvey mocked. "You have a magic trick or some kind of bird-attracting whistle or mating scent spray?"
"No tricks or gimmicks," he laughed. "But I do have a gift... a sort of a power I'll use, for you."
Weinstein pondered this offer while thinking, "What the hell: I've got nothing to lose. Did he say I had to pay a price? I don't remember," and concern crossed his brow.
Mister Black saw him mulling over the prospect and offered, "Tell you what Harvey. I'll give you a free demonstration for a week. Say we start this coming Monday? It'll be for Monday through Saturday... not on Sunday. Then we'll talk some more... talk price. Whatta you say, Harv? A free demonstration."
"Free? Well sure. Er, who do I call you, what's your name?"
"Oh, just call me Mister Black," as he pointed at his clothing. "Simple," and gave a reassuring 'thumbs up'. "Just come on out here Monday morning, do your usual routine and see what happens."
Harvey rose up, faced his house, folded up his chair and remarked, "Can you do anything about these piss-ant neighbors of mine?"
No reply. Mister Black had disappeared.
Monday morning
Harvey didn't sleep well for the last two nights due to fitful anticipation and as he finally shuffled out into the middle of the field carrying his trusty lawn chair and a plastic bag full of bread crumbs he was already in a surly, semi-depressed mood. He felt sure he was being taken for the fool. Mister Black was most likely hiding in the brush, perhaps even videotaping 'dumb-ass' Harvey Weinstein. "Those scumbags living next door undoubtedly hired him. Maybe all my neighbors put this plot together to embarrass me. Bastards. I hate them all!"
He opened the chair, plopped down and aimlessly tossed about some of his bread crumbs. His spirits were in the dumps and mumbled, "Okay, you worthless turds, you've got me. I'll sit here long enough for you to get your jollies off!" He then shouted toward the houses, "But I'll never come back to this field again!" He thought, "I'll just stay on my patio where you can't see me. Maybe I'll tear down all the things I've built, chop them into pieces and throw them in your backyards in the middle of the night. Ha," he smirked. "Just try to prove it was me, you assholes." He stewed some more, "Better yet, I'll kill all my birds and throw those in your yard."
All of a sudden his ears discerned a fluttering in the trees. "What the...?" He knew the sound of flapping bird wings but hadn't heard them this close before. It was in the correct place but out of place at the same time. He finished setting-up as quickly as he could and started tossing more crumbs all around in a wide circle. "I'll bet that damn Mister Black is projecting a cd sound tract at me. All to make me look even more foolish," but a spark of 'the impossible happening' fired a glimmer of hope within him. "What if?" as he sat mesmerized at the wind-driven swaying tree branches. He didn't detect any movement. Then came a bird call, 'coo'. And another call, this one distinctly different from the first, then followed by a 'cheep'. Next, a 'wheat-wheou' from behind him. "I recognize those sounds. That last one was a blue jay, a red-winged blackbird and a grey, ring-necked dove." Harvey knew his birds. Soon he heard dozens of calls from all different types. He sat very still. A blue jay swooped down from a poinsettia tree and landed ten feet in front of him. It hopped up and down in their usual manner and pecked at the bread. Then four more arrived to complete its family. They all ate the crumbs right in front of him instead of picking them up and returning to their home nesting tree as their custom. "Wow." He could almost reach down and touch them. "This is amazing!" More and more of all types came, a total of at least fifty. They arrived so fast he couldn't count them. Both Harvey's eyes and mouth were wide open when the best of all occurred: a spotted brown dove landed on each knee and began cooing at him for food. He was so shocked he couldn't move and just stared. A small blackbird landed on his right shoulder and a mockingbird on his left. They snuggled up to him, rubbed their little faces on Harvey's ears and playfully kissed him on his cheeks... he almost wet his pants. His hand trembled as he retrieved from his pocket a plastic baggie full of wild bird seed. His new found friends took turns sitting on his wrists and eating the food out of his hands. "Unbelievable," he gasped. In thirty minutes all of his provisions were depleted and yet they wouldn't leave him. They kept taking turns hopping up and kissing him then returning to the ground to sit and rest. Harvey shed a tear of happiness.
An hour and a half had passed before he noticed his watch. "Uh, oh, it's time to go to work. Drat, maybe I'll call in for a sick day, get more supplies and come back out here." He surely didn't want to leave and end this once in a lifetime experience. "But wait, didn't Mister Black say this could happen to me every day? I believe he did!" Enforced with the prospect and with a happy heart he gladly packed up his gear, bade 'goodbye' to all his friends and added he'd be back tomorrow. He also swore if the birds weren't here he'd go looking for Mister Black in a most unkind way. After-all, it would be a crime to show him all this happiness and then snatch it away. Harvey had become confused again as he ambled back to his house. "Did he say I could buy this? Or rent it? I don't quite remember." He then saw Sophie peeking from her kitchen window and quickly flipped her the finger. "Die, Bitch."
The next morning came ever so slowly. Harvey, ever the pessimist, dreading a heart-breaking disappointment, slogged into the field to the same spot where he had set-up the day before. He brought with him triple the amount of supplies. "Did it really happen? Was I sick, delirious on my couch and imagined yesterday? It was utterly impossible... after-all, these are wild birds, not domestic pigeons." To his infinite delight, it happened again on even a grander scale - a hundred birds and more varieties. Harvey fell in love.
Almost a week passed and it seemed like a mere few minutes. Saturday came. He ran out of goodies after two hours and his friends retreated into the trees to rest as Mister Black made a reappearance. "How'd it go?" as he gave a knowing grin.
Harvey was so grateful a tear ran down his cheek again. He quickly turned away - not wanting to show a sign of weakness. "Okay... good," he croaked.
"Hey, friend, cheer up. They'll be back this early evening. Wild birds feed twice a day, morning and evening. You probably forgot since you've been working those crazy hours at the library."
&nbs
p; Weinstein's heart did a joyous flitter and answered, "Oh, yeah, yeah. I knew that," trying to appear knowledgeable.
"Of course you did, Harv. They rest at midday and all day Sunday. Nothing on Sunday, Partner but I'm sure you knew that also. Right?"
"Oh, yeah. Everyone knows, especially me. I'm known as somewhat of an authority," he bragged.
"Yes, I know what you are," returned his benefactor. Then getting straight to the point, "Do you want this to continue?" Harvey just glared at him in response to the ridiculous question. "It's your call, Buddy. You've sampled the wares. It's time to talk turkey, or in this case, wild birds," and grinned at his play on words.
Harvey and Mister Black were an arms-length apart. The salesman gave him a few moments to reflect on his recent experience. "Are you satisfied; are you happy with my demonstration?"
Weinstein reflected in his mind, "Is this a trick question? I've never felt so wonderful, alive, vibrant... I can't even describe it." Not wanting to tip his hand and reveal his innermost feelings Harvey answered, "Yeah, yeah. You really delivered the goods. Thanks a lot." Unsaid, he reasoned, "Did you do anything at all? Or was it just a coincidence? I don't see any evidence indicating you personally lured these birds here."
"Thanks a lot. Is that all you have to say, Partner? Are you actually ready to bid a final 'goodbye' to these magnificent creatures who in turn have grown to love you?" Harvey gulped. Mister Black raised and dropped his hand. All the birds gave a resounding chorus - a blend of beautiful music to their yearning, wanting, last caretaker.
"Oh, my god," whispered Harvey.
"Well, not exactly... but close. Which brings us to the knitty-gritty. Harv, my good friend, you can have this for the rest of your life... even an extended life... for a small price," he stated as he waved a wide circle around the bird lover. "What do you say, Sport. Are you ready to deal?"
"I'm a man of little means..." began Harvey.
"No, no," raising his hand, interrupted Mister Black. "I have a different proposal; no money involved."
"I'm listening," acknowledged the ardent bird-lover. "What do you want?"
"Your soul... just for a little while," while showing a slight gap between his index finger and thumb.
Harvey stood waiting for the punch line of this silly joke. Mister Black folded his arms and stared him down. Harvey finally smirked and said, "Good one, Bro." A pause. "You are kidding, right? Cause you sure don't look like the Devil and I don't think the Big Red One would be trading bird feathers for souls."
"You'd be surprised my friend at the deals made. Good deals, for people as yourself. Oh, and by the way I'm not the 'Big Red One'. Consider me to be an agent for him. A travel agent if you wish; that would be most fitting."
Harvey gave him a cynical look and returned, "Do I look like some kind of smuck? Sounds like a load of crap to me." He surveyed the surrounding area. "Am I on America's Funniest Home Video's or something?" He waved his two middle fingers at the trees. "Up yours, folks. How'd you like that, Mister Travel Agent?"
The salesman remained calm and retorted, "Yours is a typical response. We both know what you really want. You'd be surprised to learn that nearly all of our contract holders didn't desire money, fame or power either. They wanted things which were personal to them, most involved some form of love. In that regard, you're just like them. You're in the majority, Bud. The initial problem I have at the beginning is that people don't understand the conditions and details of the contract which is called a covenant. Don't worry; we'll go over everything thoroughly."
Harvey stopped making smart remarks and began to listen. "I assume you're not an overly religious person. Are you?" Weinstein indicated, 'no'. "Let me explain the highlights, the Big Picture for you, my friend. Most people, uninformed people, are afraid of being thrown into a firey pit called Hell when this life is over and burning forever. I would be too! But it doesn't work that way. I admit there are a few warm spots here and there reserved for some truly bad to the bone folks but that's not what the system's about. Here's the lowdown, Sport. Hell is not much more than a big, giant holding tank, full of souls waiting for the Resurrection. You've heard of the Judgment Day, right Harv?" He nodded a meek, 'yes'. "It's going to be a real and true happening; you can count on it. On that particular 'day', which is a figure of speech in relation to actual time, God will decide who's good or bad and send them off to their proper final destination. I'm sure the group I'm affiliated with will get a few returnees to be dealt with appropriately when the time comes. But you're a 'good' man so you've got nothing to worry about. Correct?" Harvey nodded his head vigorously, 'yes' again. "I thought so." He raised his hand once more and the birds chorused in anew. "And they think so too. So, as I was saying we have all these souls just hanging around in a big staging area waiting for the Big Day. They're not being hurt or tortured, just biding their time. Here's the kicker. What I know and am willing to pass on to you to seal the deal is that the Big Day is right around the corner! Yes sir, my friend you'll end your human days here on earth and just like this," as he snapped his fingers, "it'll be your turn to be picked to go to Paradise. What a deal! It's a win-win situation which you so richly deserve."
Weinstein rocked back and forth on his heels. "Well, er, it sounds awfully good. You present a hellava... oh, sorry, a 'good' argument indeed. Can I have some time to think about it?" Again, he wanted to see first if the birds would return to him without his getting tied up with this possible con-artist.
"Of course, Harv. I'm an easy man to deal with. I'll return a day when I know you've made up your mind. But, my friend, I'll only extend this offer one more time. Remember if we go through with this, your new-found friends will be with you morning and evening six days a week. Not on Sunday. I'm leaving now; I have lots more customers waiting to make a deal." He gave Weinstein a 'thumbs up', 'win-win' sign and strode off into the foliage.
Saturday evening, twelve days later
All the nagging points had been proven and Harvey became surlier with each disappointing, passing day. No birds came, to say the least - not even a rustling or an occasional call from the trees. He couldn't even see the high-flying predators which were always visible overhead or on the horizon. His neighbors only 'thought' he had been hard to deal with before. Yesterday he kicked over their curbside garbage can when he found it a couple of inches over where he had deemed his property line to be.
Sitting in the open field with his stack of provisions he mumbled, "All right, Mister Black I agree. Let's get it done. I'm so miserable I'm just about ready to kill myself or someone else."
"I heard you, partner," called his old, bosom buddy.
"It's about time," snarled Harvey. "I've been waiting three weeks!"
"I think not but I'm sure it felt that way." Stoking Weinstein's ego, "I know a good, deserving man when I see one. This is going to be so easy you won't believe it. All you have to do is say, 'I, Harvey Weinstein, agree to the previously stated covenant,' unless you have some further questions."
"No, I'm fine. Let's get this damn thing done." Mister Black smiled. "I, Harvey Weinstein agree to the covenant."
"Okay... that was the short version but it'll work," and the two men shook hands.
"Now, bring em' on," ordered Harvey.
"Sorry, Buddy. It's too close to sundown. They'll be here first thing Monday morning."
"Monday?" Harvey furrowed his brow, "How about tomorrow?"
"Sorry again," waving a finger at him. "Not on Sunday. Remember that part of the contract?"
Harvey frowned, "Humm, I guess you're right. But I'm not happy about it."
"I understand, Buddy." He patted him on the back, "Monday'll be here before you know it and you won't be disappointed."
Harvey folded up his extra-wide, oversized for greater stability chair and said, "Better not be," to no one in sight.
He was not disappointed. There were over a hundred feathered friends who clamored to show their affection. Harvey didn't feel just being happy, he wa
s in near ecstasy.
The months went by and he increasingly neglected his home birds. Finally, one day he declared, "I've had enough of feeding you and cleaning up your poop." He emptied his cages one by one and threw his pets outside with a harsh hand until they were all gone. "Good riddance. I've got bigger and better now." The freed birds, lost and disoriented scattered in all directions. None wished to return. High overhead and from atop the tallest trees the predators did not let this go unnoticed. (Note/Fact: Any bird shop or home pet released into the so-called freedom of the wild will be killed and eaten by a predator within forty-eight hours.) And Weinstein thought he knew all about birds. Rid of this messy, domestic encumbrance, he gleefully returned to the field for his personal doses of happiness.
This lasted about two years at which time a couple of new intruders entered his Shangri-la.
Harvey didn't remember the exact day because all of his were semi-wonderful and running together. Even with all he had he was becoming a bit jaded with his good fortune.
There lived a family of four, harmless, black garter snakes who had made a home at the base of one of the trees in the church's field. Two of them had become curious at the human's on-goings and slithered closer to his position for a better view. They knew the birds would not attack them and kept scooting nearer and nearer. Mister Weinstein spied them at thirty feet away and approaching. Although he knew right away they were harmless, black snakes, he jumped up and rushed to them. He violently stomped on them and shouted, "You're violating my sanctuary you slimy bastards!" Then grabbed them by their tails and threw them against the closest tree trunk. They weren't killed but were certainly bruised and battered. The birds retreated into the trees and went silent from viewing the rampage. He called to them, "What? Where are you going? This is my ground and you are mine to command." However, they didn't return that day or the next and Harvey became truly pissed. Three days later on Saturday, a third of them flew back but wouldn't let him touch them. Weinstein remained angry, especially at the lesser showing. "Sonnavabitch, I better have a full boat here tomorrow and get this show back to normal."
And as he should have known, none of his feathery friends returned the following day - Sunday. He cursed up one side and down the other.
The following Monday through Saturday ran as usual except for the fewer head count. Then out of the blue, it dawned on him there were many other types of birds which never came to him - he was being denied! He saw them far overhead and skirting between the trees beyond his allotted perimeter. "I've been short-changed. I've been cheated! Where are you Mister Black? You conniving shylock."
No sooner than the words had left his lips his 'travel agent' appeared. "Nice trick," attacked Harvey. "Flashing in and out of here like some kind of magician. And by the way I figured out your little scheme. How you've tricked me into getting less than what I paid for. The gig's up, Buddy."
"The gig? What are you talking about? What's ailing you now, my boy?"
"My boy?" contested Harvey.
"Yes, since I'm many thousands of years older than you are, I believe I'm qualified to use that particular term."
"Whatever floats your boat, old man."
"Now, since we're clear on that issue would you please explain your accusations Mister Weinstein?"
"It's simple," Harvey blurted.
"You didn't give me all I bargained for." He gestured at the big birds flying overhead, the hawks on the far outside of his cordon and a few others by the waterways. "And I'm sure they are even more than those."
"Oh, I see," returned his benefactor. "Are you aware those birds you're referring to don't get along with the ones I have provided you? They're sorta in a different class. They're predators... meat eaters. Your mounting greed will endanger these more docile birds."
Harvey became angrier, "That's a load of crap! I know you can control them; you lying weasel."
Mister Black was getting a little short on patience also. "Anything else, partner?"
"Since you mentioned it," Weinstein continued with a new demand. "I want Sundays too!"
Mister Black's eyebrows shot up, "What? Need I remind you again the contract excludes Sundays?"
"Of course I remember but I am hereby initiating an amendment. Get it? And stop defying me. It's my soul. You remember that!"
"I don't have the authority to make those kind of changes without approval," answered his antagonist. "I'll have to pass it on to my supervisor for a ruling."
"Yeah, another cop-out," mocked Harvey. "You sound like one of those corporate lawyer assholes."
"Well, I guess we'll both find out tomorrow won't we?" He turned to leave and warned, "You may be surprised how binding a verbal contact is."
"Up yours," heckled Weinstein. "Just get me my birds. Everyday!"
Sunday morning came and went without any type of bird making an appearance. Harvey was steaming mad. "I'll be back later this evening and they'd better be here or come Monday morning I'll bring my gun. After I shoot a few of his pansy birds he'll know I mean business. I'll show him he can't mess with Harvey Weinstein!"
Later that evening...
Harvey camped out like a soldier awaiting an enemy attack. He inspected his provisions: a massive amount of bread and seed. "Humm, this stuff may not do. I may have to check at the pet shop to see what the big un's prefer to eat."
It was 6:45 p.m. Sophie peeked out her kitchen window, "Why look at that, Honey. Mister Weinstein is in the field again... and it's Sunday. I saw him there this morning too but no birds came."
"I'm amazed," returned Jack. "I thought they were all on the same wavelength. Bird-brains. Stop watching that moron; it's almost time for Wheel of Fortune."
"Yes, Dear but it's so strange," as she closed the curtains. "I've never seen him out there on a Sunday. I'm sure he'll be in soon. You know he watches 'Wheel' also."
"He's still an idiot," commented her husband as he settled into his TV recliner.
Harvey was about to call it another uneventful day when all of a sudden he heard the flapping of wings. Big wings! Then two, twenty pound Turkey buzzards dropped down in front of him 'Swoosh' ten feet from his chair. "Good grief!" he exclaimed. "You two are a coupla big, ugly-lookin' dudes." They just blinked in response. A bald eagle and three Black vultures joined them. "At least I have one pretty one in the batch," referring to the eagle. Next, a Broad-winged hawk landed on each of his knees. "Whoa, careful, big claws here now." Ospreys and cormorants circled immediately overhead. Harvey was happy but a little wary. "Looks what I'm giving up in quantity is being replaced in poundage." A nervous laugh, then, "Got some big suckers here. This'll take some getting used to." These birds made no cooing noises nor attempts at snuggling for affection. They just glared. "Must be because I don't have the proper food. Sorry, next time guys." More arrived.
Harvey felt a tightening from his knees to ankle and from his forearm to his wrists. He stared down to his horror and found there were black garter snakes entwined around his arms and legs - binding him to his chair! He tugged against their grasp to no avail. "I thought I got rid of you vermin!" he yelled. A Red-tailed hawk landed on Harvey's head, knocking his hat off and took a stance. Harvey shook his head, "Get off me!" The bird dug his claws into his skull so he wouldn't be dislodged. Blood flowed down both sides of Harvey's head. "Arrugh! That hurts! I said, get off!" The hawk pecked the top of his head. The skin ripped; the blood flowed freely as the bird peeled it from his skull and ate. The other predators anxiously watched and decided it was 'chow time' for them also. The two hawks on his knees eyed the tasty morsel inside Harvey's open mouth as he screamed and took turns ripping his tongue out to consume it. Harvey wasn't so loud then. His nose, lips and ears (soft and tasty) came next for the trio. It was a win-win situation for the ravenous predators which hadn't eaten since the day before. The rest of the assemblage swarmed from the ground as the airborne aviaries swooped down and joined their voracious fellows. They viciously rent and tore him to shreds. The efficient, flesh-eati
ng killers were quickly satisfied with their evening meal.
"I thought I heard a noise coming from the field outside a few minutes ago," remarked his neighbor, Sophie.
"That fat, moron probably stepped on his own foot," reasoned Jack. The Wheel of Fortune jingle was playing, then followed by, '...and Vanna White.' "She sure looks good for an old lady," as he rubbed his crotch.
Sophie caught his motion, "Jack, what are you doing?"
"Huh?" as he pulled his hand away. "Just a little bit of rash, Dear. You know, caused by sweat from working in the yard. Nothing else."
She drew back her curtains just in time to see the snakes slithering away and the birds taking flight. They were finished, very finished. Sophie stared at the bloody skeleton slumped in the lawn chair. "Oh dear, I think Mister Weinstein is going to miss 'Wheel' tonight."
The Bloody End
Thanks again, John