THUGLIT Issue Nineteen

by Mike Miner

  She dyed her hair black a while ago, which made her look kinda slutty, but in a good way. So did the tramp stamp and the bellybutton piercing. But I guess if you're trying to piss off your super-rich father, it's all part of the game. None of the guys who came in here seemed to mind, though. Especially not Jimmy.

  She claimed she actually liked the guy. Felt sorry for him because of the whole "incident" that put him in jail for two years and change.

  He used to be an Animal Control Officer for the county, out picking up strays, shooting rabid dogs, and scraping roadkill off the highway. Driving through a ritzy neighborhood in search of strays, he saw an asshole roughing up a Golden Retriever. The guy had been talking on his cellphone and this dog took off after a squirrel or something. He had the dog on a chain leash with a choke collar, and he apparently yanked it back so hard, it flipped the dog in the air. The dog nipped at him and the guy went ballistic, kicking at it and yanking the collar so tight around its neck, it was gasping for breath.

  Jimmy apparently drove right up on the lawn, jumped out of his truck, and sucker-punched the guy, knocking him out like a light. Then, according to Jimmy, he just drove off. But when the guy came to, he found the hand holding the leash was all mangled. Didn't know whether it got tangled in the chain as the dog tried to run off, or if the dog had bitten him or what. Whatever it was, one finger was so messed up the doctors had to amputate it.

  That's what made it all seem so tragic to Tiffany. If Jimmy had just hit the guy, it wouldn't have been so bad. But because of what happened to the guy's hand, it became "aggravated assault causing grievous bodily harm." That made it a Class C felony instead of just simple assault, which was the difference between a few months in prison and a couple years.

  With the felony on his record, Jimmy couldn't get his old job back. Apparently some government policy. His old boss thought it was a damned shame, of course, and would have hired him back in a heartbeat if he could, but his hands were tied.

  Now Jimmy was stuck doing yardwork for the city: mowing the medians, trimming tree branches in parks, that kind of thing. A couple days ago, I saw him waving a weed-eater back and forth over the sidewalk like a guy with a metal detector searching for something valuable he'd lost.

  "And how's James today?" Tiffany asked him, flashing him the high-wattage smile. She always called him James, I noticed, even though his nametag said "Jimmy."

  "Can't complain," he said. "You're looking lovely as ever."

  "Always the sweet-talker," Tiffany said, patting his arm. "Mind if I sit for a second? Those guys have been running me ragged and my dogs are barking."

  "Take a load off," he said, making what he probably imagined was a gallant gesture toward the space on the bench beside him.

  He was a little disappointed when she opted for a seat on the far side of the booth, but it was wise choice on her part. He usually smelled like a potent mix of lawnmower, sawdust, cigarettes, B.O., and Icy Hot.

  "And how's Miss Ginger these days?" she asked him.

  She was laying it on thick, asking about the cat he'd previously shown her pictures of. She must've already decided the used car salesmen weren't going to be great tippers and was hoping Jimmy would make up for the lost income.

  Talking about pets is Tiff's go-to conversational gambit with certain regulars. She's got two cats of her own, so her place always smelled like cat food, litterbox, and piss. She has all these little toys scattered everywhere. A bunch of feathers attached to a stick, little mouse-shaped stuffed animals, and this carpet-covered scratching post thing that I'd stubbed my toe on more than once getting out of bed to grab a beer or take a leak in the middle of the night.

  Tony smacked the bell in the kitchen and Tiff looked up for a second, but then turned back to coo over some pictures of Jimmy's kids on his phone. The fat loser sitting alone in booth six was making a big production of looking toward the kitchen and then back toward Tiff, huffing out exasperated sighs to catch her attention. Finally he snapped. Literally snapped his fingers like she was a bad dog.

  Tiff knew it was meant for her, but instead of getting up or even looking over, she just said, "Hey Josh, can you grab that for me before that poor man shrivels up and starves to death?"

  "Kinda busy doing my own job here," I told her, starting another vodka tonic for my drunk at the bar.

  "Be right back," she told Jimmy with a sigh. "You want your regular?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said.

  As she slid out of the booth, Jimmy said, "If that guy gives you any grief, you just let me know. I'll have a word with him."

  She pretended not to hear him as she walked past the bar toward the service window. My drunk leered at her as she passed by. "Oh the things I'd do to that ass," he told me, louder than he should have.

  "Settle down, buddy," I said.

  "Come on," he said. "Tell me you wouldn't hit that."

  Truth is, of course, I had been "hitting that" off and on for the past few months, and I probably would've told him so if Jimmy hadn't shoved in next to the guy and slapped a meaty hand on his shoulder. The guy flinched and dropped his glass, sending ice cubes and a slice of lime skittering across the bar.

  "What the hell—"

  Jimmy silenced him by driving his thumb in hard against the guy's clavicle. The drunk sucked in air between clenched teeth and turned to see who his tormentor was.

  "You best watch your filthy mouth and leave that girl alone," Jimmy said. "I'm only gonna tell you once. We clear on that?"

  "What are you, her dad or something?"

  "No, but she's somebody's daughter, ain't she?" Jimmy said. "You got a daughter? How'd you feel if someone talked about her like that?"

  The used car salesmen froze and were looking over to see what was going on. Tiffany was still back in the kitchen, probably spitting in that loser's burger for snapping at her.

  Drunky swiveled his barstool around, reaching up to grab Jimmy's wrist. "Listen, pal," he started to say.

  Jimmy caught the guy's hand and turned it palm up. He twisted it out and over, using his thumb to exert pressure in a direction a wrist shouldn't go. I don't know what you'd call that move, but it looked like some straight-up kung fu shit to me, and it caused the guy to jerk sideways to alleviate the pressure. He banged his elbow on the bar in the puddle of spilled liquid.

  "Alright, alright," the guy winced.

  "We clear?" Jimmy asked.

  "Yeah. Jesus."

  "Good," Jimmy said. He let the guy free and strode back to his corner just as Tiffany was dropping off the order for number six.

  "Jimmy needs a Coke," she told me.

  "He needs a good smack upside the head," Drunky told her.

  She put a hand on his sore shoulder. "And you think you're man enough to give it to him, do you?"

  I turned to see if Jimmy was hearing this, but instead I saw the door closing behind him. Through the front window we saw him headed across the parking lot.

  "Gone out for a smoke?" I asked.

  "I don't think so," Tiffany said. She showed me the twenty-dollar bill he'd left her on the table.

  In bed later that night, completely out of nowhere, she said, "You know Jimmy can't afford twenty bucks for a ten-dollar meal he never even got." She was rubbing some bruises just above her elbow from where I'd gotten a little rough. We like a little rough stuff and role-playing every once in a while, but unfortunately she bruises easy.

  "He thinks he's your knight in shining armor," I said.

  She raked her hand down my chest, letting her nails scratch little pink lines into my skin. "Might come in handy some day."

  "You could probably get him to do whatever you wanted," I said.

  "I bet I could," she said. She started drumming her fingers on my abs, like she was considering various possibilities.

  Tiffany

  Okay, first of all, Josh was hot. Let's just get that out of the way. All lean and sinewy, heroin chic, but with just enough meat on his bones to keep him from looking sc
rawny. Just the tiniest bit feminine, but still—so hot. And pretty great in bed, too. Most of the time, anyway. If he wasn't drunk.

  But God he was dumb. And the worst kind of dumb, too. The kind that tries to look smart by carrying around unread Penguin Classics and misquoting lines from the old movies he'd sit on my couch watching all Sunday afternoon. He told me once that the "Love" and "Hate" tattoos on his knuckles were inspired by Robert Mitchum in Cape Fear.

  I'm like, "Night of the Hunter, you mean?"

  And he goes, "No, the one they spoofed on The Simpsons that time. The one with Robert DeNiro." That's how dumb he was.

  He liked to imagine he was a kept boy. It turned him on for some reason, thinking he was such an irresistible stud. He thought I let him stay with me because I was needy and desperate. He thought I put up with the rough stuff because I just couldn't bear the thought of losing him.

  On the contrary. I had no interest in settling down with him, because, really, I couldn't imagine a lifetime of daily conversations with a guy who thought Adam Sandler and Jason Statham were "really underrated as dramatic actors." And as for the rough stuff, I could handle it. If he got a little too rough or demeaning with it, I'd call him on it and he'd usually settle down and go a little easier. So, yeah, he was a little deluded, but he served his purpose. It was a fling is all. I figured it was only a matter of time till he found someone younger or richer and moved along, but that was fine by me.

  Daddy absolutely hated him though, which was a nice bonus. Kept bitching about how I deserved someone better and how Josh was just a two-bit con artist taking advantage of me for money and sex. Said he was worried about "protecting the family's reputation in the community" since he was this big-shot real estate developer slash contractor who made deals with politicians and often showed up in the newspapers.

  But Daddy was every bit as obsessed with money and sex as Josh was. He had three ex-wives, a big empty house on the golf course, and a little red convertible intended to attract gold-diggers with fake tits and no self-respect. Which, fine, whatever. More power to him. As long as I didn't get bumped from the will, let him have his fun. I just worried he'd blow all my inheritance on cars and alimony before I got what I deserved as his only child. Josh kept hinting how great it would be if I could get my hands on that inheritance sooner rather than later. No doubt, he imagined I'd ask him to help me spend it, too.

  Meanwhile Jimmy—like most of the guys who flirted with me at the Tavern—didn't know my last name or about my privileged upbringing. He thought I was just some hard-luck, working-class girl from a trailer park with no education and no prospects. Most guys treated me like trash because they thought that's what I was; Jimmy thought I was poor, too, but he treated me like a princess.

  And sure, sometimes I felt a little guilty about taking big tips from him when I knew he needed the cash more than I did. But I really felt I was providing a service to guys like him. I'd make them feel special, or desirable even, and in exchange they'd give me a couple extra bucks. Or fix my car for free. Or drag a rotting animal carcass out from the crawlspace under my porch. Whatever I asked them to do.

  Just like clockwork, Jimmy showed up at quarter-past noon on his next payday. I greeted him at the door this time and ushered him over to the corner booth by the window.

  "Good to see you again," I said. "I was worried after last time. Hope it wasn't something I said."

  "Aww, no, kiddo. Shoot. Sorry about that. It wasn't you." He wouldn't meet my eyes. He slapped his ball cap against his thigh, knocking off some sawdust. "I didn't want to lose my temper with that drunk at the bar, so I hightailed it out of here. Sorry about that. I was just looking out for you. Didn't mean to cause a scene."

  "You're so sweet," I said, putting a hand on his forearm and leaving it there for a second too long.

  "Hey, what happened there?" he asked, finally noticing my arms. "Are those bruises?"

  "Oh, these? It's nothing," I said. I gave him another quick look at the distinct finger and thumbprint bruises around my elbow before folding my arms and looking away.

  "Who did that to you?" Jimmy asked.

  "Lemme just go get your drink," I said.

  "Hang on, now," he was saying, but I had already walked away.

  I gave Josh a wink at the bar when I picked up the drink. Setting the straw and glass down on Jimmy's table provided another chance for him to study my bruises.

  "Let me go put your order in. Same as usual?"

  "Who gave you those? Was it that asshole from last time?"

  "No," I said, all meek and embarrassed. "It's nothing. Really."

  "Doesn't look like nothing."

  "I was just— I don't— It's nothing. I went roller-skating with a girlfriend of mine is all. She had a hold of my arm, trying to keep me upright. That's all. I'm so clumsy. You should see the bruises on my ass." I forced a little laugh and hoped I wasn't overselling it.

  Jimmy pursed his lips and shook his head a little. "You know if you're in any kind of trouble, you can tell me."

  "Oh, I know," I said. "Let me just go put your order in."

  "Alright, kiddo."

  "And this one's on me," I said. "Here you're looking out for me and you didn't even get the lunch you paid for last time."

  "No, no," he said. "That was for you. To apologize for storming off like that without even saying goodbye."

  Over Jimmy's shoulder, I saw Daddy's Corvette pull in. He parked diagonally across four spaces, like he owned the place. Which, I mean, technically, he did. But still.

  Jimmy turned to see what I was looking at and I started scampering back toward the kitchen, looking nervous and upset. As I passed the bar, I nodded to Josh who was already headed over toward Jimmy's booth.

  "Oh, shit," I heard him say. "That's all she needs right now."

  At the kitchen door I turned back to see Josh pointing out the window toward the convertible. All was going according to plan.

  Josh

  "She used to live with that guy," I told him. "Total dick. Still thinks he can control her." All of which was 100% true.

  Jimmy didn't say anything. He just sat there, neck craned around so he could see Walter sitting in his Camaro or whatever it was.

  "I don't know what she saw in him," I said. "Other than his money, of course. I guess she's just into older guys. I thought I had a shot with her, but she's never showed any interest."

  Outside, Walter turned the car off and checked himself in the rearview mirror. Tiff seemed pretty sure he wouldn't come inside. He usually sent one of his guys in to collect the rent.

  Jimmy just sat there watching Walter answer a call on his Bluetooth. I thought for sure the "liking older men" bullshit would get some kind of reaction out of him. When Tiff and I rehearsed this, she gave me all these lines to use.

  "He was so mean to her cats, too," I said. "He wanted her to get 'em declawed but she was against it, especially since they were outdoor cats. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves."

  Jimmy just kept staring out the window, silent.

  "She said it's really cruel. The vets don't just cut the nails off. They cut off the toes, right up to the knuckle."

  Jimmy turned and looked up at me. "If you did that to a person it'd be a Class C felony," he said.

  I had no idea how to respond to that craziness, so I was relieved to hear the creak of the kitchen door swinging open. Tiff came out, talking on her cell.

  "I told you I'm coming," she said, headed out the door.

  Walter got out of his car and tapped his earpiece to end the call. He caught me looking and I ducked back out of the way quickly. Jimmy noticed my reaction and I instantly regretted it. I mean, we wanted Walt to look upset with her, so I probably should've just let him glare at me for a second.

  "So they used to live together, huh?" Jimmy asked.

  "For a while, yeah," I said, busying myself by picking up the discarded wrapper from his straw. "He used to get so pissed at her cats. See, they'd kill birds and mice
and stuff and leave them on the doorstep. He'd get all, you know, like, pissed about it and just scream and kick 'em and stuff."

  "Is that right?" Jimmy said, looking back at Walter and Tiff.

  "She said it was just a sign of affection. What the cats did, leaving the birds there. It was just a present. Like a gift, you know? A what-do-you-call-it? A love token. To show they cared and would protect her from, you know, like, intruders or whatever. Invaders. So it was stupid to get upset at them."

  "Yeah," Jimmy said.

  "Total asshole," I said. "I think he used to beat on her, too. Maybe still does. I don't know. I thought they broke it off."

  "Should I go out there, you think? Have a word with—"

  "No, don't," I said. "She'll be fine. Wouldn't want to escalate things. He's pretty mean."

  Walter was pulling a laundry bag out of the back seat. It was supposed to be "stuff she left at his place," but really it was just old clothes of hers from high school that she asked him to bring over. Tiff yanked the bag out of his hand like she was mad. Even though we couldn't see her face, she made it look like she was yelling at him. He just shook his head and walked around the car, got in, and started it up. Just for good measure, she yelled something and flipped him off as he drove away.

  When she came back in, she was wiping her eyes. She headed to the storeroom, probably to stuff the old clothes in her locker. When she came out of the kitchen, she was carrying Jimmy's lunch.

  "Wanna tell me what that was all about?" he asked her.

  "Sorry you had to see that," she said. "He's such an asshole."

  "Nice car, though, huh?" Jimmy said.

  She looked a little taken aback at that. "I guess. Too bad cars are more important to him than people are."

  "Yeah, I've met people like that before."

  "Things and money," she said. "They're more important to him than people. And animals."

  She sat down on the bench right next to him. This was it. She was about to get to the good stuff now. The whole set-up.