by Jeff Strand
"There's no reason to talk to her like that."
"Did you see how she looked at me? You think that just because I've got this shit all over my face it's okay to stare at me like I'm some kind of freak?" Benjamin pressed his finger into one of the sores on his chin and then wiped it off on the counter.
"Either way, I'm going to ask you to be polite or I'm going to ask you to leave."
"Ask me to leave? Good luck with that. I'll ooze wherever I want to ooze." Benjamin slammed his fist against the counter. "Yo! Tammy Titless! Where's my cake?"
The man slid off his stool and stood up. Benjamin noticed that the other man at the counter, who looked equally large, was closely watching the encounter.
"I'd like you to leave," said the man in the ball cap.
"I'll leave after I finish my cake and three steaks."
"I'd like you to leave now, sir."
Friends...
"You're not my friend," Benjamin told the man.
"No. I'm not."
"What's your name?"
"Ron."
"Well, Ron, I'm not going anywhere. So you can either sit back down and let me enjoy my meal, or you can kick my ass." That didn't sound quite right, but Benjamin didn't correct himself.
The other man stood up as well.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Benjamin started to think that this situation was moving in a negative direction, and that perhaps getting into a diner fight with two much larger guys wasn't such a good idea.
"Don't do anything," said Tammy, emerging through the swinging doors from the kitchen. "I already called the police."
"You called the cops on me?" Benjamin asked.
"Yeah. So you'd better get the hell out."
Food...
Benjamin looked over at the family in the booth, who were nervously watching the proceedings. "Can you believe that? They called the cops on me for ordering food. All I wanted was some food. This is a diner, right? It's not like I came into a Laundromat and ordered a steak. I hope you all die."
"Sir—" Ron began.
Benjamin threw a punch at the man, hoping to hit him in the face so hard that his ugly ball cap spun around like a helicopter propeller. He failed at this particular task, missing completely.
Ron punched him in the stomach. Benjamin's mouth dropped open and he fell off the stool, crashing to the tile floor and smacking his head against the counter. Something ran down his face, though he wasn't sure if it was blood from a new wound or just his old sores leaking.
Pain tore through his entire body, but also a strange sort of exhilaration, like the thrill of digging your teeth into fresh juicy flesh.
He reached up, grabbed the seat of the stool, and pulled himself back to his feet. "Is that all you've got?" he asked.
Tammy handed Ron a baseball bat over the counter. Benjamin thought that was pretty stupid—was he planning to try out for a baseball team at three in the morning?
Food.
Friends.
Kill.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tammy hadn't brought him silverware yet, so Benjamin didn't have anything to stab Ron with. He patted his pockets, found nothing, and settled for extending his thumb in an intimidating manner.
Kill.
"I'm trying!" Benjamin said. He stared at Ron's face, looking for the best place to insert his thumb.
"Sir, I will break your neck if you don't leave here immediately," Ron warned.
He really is going to break your neck! What the hell are you doing? Get out of here! You're not right in the head!
Kill.
"I heard you about the kill thing!" Benjamin shouted. "Enough already! Give it a rest!"
Ron stepped back.
"He's insane," said Tammy. "Ron, just wait for the police, I mean it."
Was Ron scared of insane people? That could provide the advantage Benjamin so desperately needed. He contorted his face into the most insane expression he could think of, and then lunged at him.
Ron jabbed him in the stomach, using the bat like a lance. Benjamin doubled over, fell to his knees, and began to weep. People weren't supposed to get hurt this many times in one day. It wasn't fair.
Somebody lifted him to his feet again. It was the other guy, probably, though Benjamin couldn't see him behind him. This time the bat cracked him on the side of the head. He dropped again.
"I could've hit you a lot harder!" Ron insisted. "You just need to get out of here."
Benjamin was starting to agree with him. He tried to get back up but his arms, legs, torso, and head weren't cooperating.
He asked if he could get the steaks to go.
* * *
In her dream, Julie was watching Brad Pitt vacuum her living room. He wasn't just getting the main area, oh no, he was doing under the rugs and behind the furniture and everything. George Clooney winked at her as he reorganized her pantry, putting everything into neat little categories. Canned goods on the bottom shelf, boxes on the second and third shelves, and bagged items on top. Oh, God, yes.
She snapped awake. Dammit. It was impossible to get a good dream going again. If she fell right back asleep the best she could hope for was having sex with them.
Benjamin was gone.
Had she given him permission to leave?
She quickly got out of the car. This job was so not worth the money or the glory. She was either going to kill Benjamin or get herself killed, either of which would look bad on her resume.
She hurried into the diner and saw Benjamin seated on the floor, two men standing over him, one with a baseball bat. Hopefully she could get them out of this little pickle without shooting anybody.
"Hi," she said, giving a friendly wave. "The guy you're beating to death is with me."
"Oh, yeah?" asked the man with the bat. "Maybe you could teach him some manners, then."
"Isn't that what you're doing now?" She walked over to the counter and not-so-gently helped Benjamin to his feet. The men stepped back and didn't try to stop her. Julie quickly ushered Benjamin out of the diner and shoved him into the passenger seat of the car. She slammed the door behind him and then got into the driver's seat.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't punch you out," she said.
Benjamin shrugged. "You'll get gook on your fist."
"Seriously, what was that all about? Why'd they attack you?"
"Rude."
"What were you even doing in there? You weren't supposed to go inside."
"Am I grounded?"
"I'm serious, Benjamin!" This was really bad. Nobody had said that the parasite would be affecting him this way. Julie wasn't supposed to give him another shot this soon, but she needed to get him under control. She didn't know the impact of a double-dose. Should she risk it, or just throw him in the trunk?
The trunk sounded pretty good.
No, no, she needed to be able to keep an eye on him, in case his physical condition got even worse.
She reached into the back seat and grabbed the briefcase with the hypodermic needles. Benjamin placed his hands protectively over his stomach as she popped open the lid.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked.
"What do you think? I'm drugging your stomach guest."
Benjamin shook his head. "No."
"No?" Aw, crap, how far gone was he? "You mean no because you don't want a needle in your stomach, right? Not because you're protecting the parasite?"
Benjamin's eyes flicked to the right, as if he was trying to make a quick decision. "I don't want a needle in my stomach."
"Are you lying to me?"
"I'm not a liar, liar, pants on fire, hanging on a telephone wire."
"You need a shot."
"Try it and die." He didn't seem to be kidding.
Julie very calmly took one of the hypodermic needles out of the case. She depressed the plunger a bit to remove the air bubbles. "Fine. If you don't want the shot, then I have to give myself one to keep from catching what you've got."
She jab
bed at his stomach with her left hand. Benjamin immediately blocked it, which is what she wanted him to do, since the needle was in her right. She thrust the needle into his gut and squeezed the plunger, hoping that she struck the parasite on the first try.
Benjamin looked positively enraged and ready to rip her head off, but then his expression softened and he let out a deep sigh. "Thanks," he said.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine now."
"Are you faking?"
"No."
Julie looked at him closely and decided that she believed him. "Good. What happened in there?"
"I don't know," Benjamin admitted. "I just got...hungry. And mean."
"You're lucky they didn't kill you."
"Or me kill them."
"No, I think it was always going to be about them killing you."
"You're probably right," Benjamin admitted. "I have no idea what happened in there. I just lost my mind. Oh, by the way, do you promise not to get mad?"
"Absolutely not."
"The waitress said she called the police."
Julie sighed. "Of course she did. Otherwise we might have had a couple of minutes that didn't suck."
"Sorry."
Julie reached down and began messing with wires. "The next time you feel compelled to do something like that, let me know so I can hobble you."
"I'm really sorry."
"Understood. Try not to feel too guilty if I get arrested and have to use my cyanide capsule."
"You have a cyanide capsule?"
"Yep." Actually, she didn't, but letting Benjamin think she did might prevent future stunts like this.
The engine roared to life.
* * *
They sped down the road, no longer sticking to the posted speed limit. They'd been driving for about fifteen minutes, so it was possible that they'd gotten away in time, though Benjamin expected to see flashing lights at any moment.
He felt like an absolute jerk. How could he have done something so stupid, even with parasitic assistance? This wasn't like eating tons of chocolate or gambling away two thousand dollars.
"I'm really worried about what happened in the diner," he said.
"How so?"
"The previous things I did, they were extreme versions of things I might have done anyway. I ate too much candy. I liked to drop a few bucks in the slot machines. I loved to...be with my wife. But I was a complete asshole in there. I'm not like that."
Julie didn't look at him. "Maybe you are and just didn't know it."
"I'm not." God, I hope I'm not. "That was a different person. It almost felt like somebody was talking to me."
"Like how?"
"A voice in my head. My voice, but not me thinking, if that makes any sense."
"What'd it say?"
"'Friends.' And 'food'." Benjamin decided not to mention "Kill" for the time being.
"Hmm. I can't honestly say that I was expecting that. Are you saying that the parasite is trying to talk to you?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, but if you had to guess, would you be leaning in more of a 'parasite talking' direction or a 'parasite quiet' direction?"
"I hope I was just imagining it," Benjamin said.
"Yes. That goes without saying. I hope you were imagining it, too. That said, I'd like to know what you truly believe happened."
Benjamin considered it for a moment. "I think it was talking to me."
Julie slammed her fist against the steering wheel, making Benjamin flinch. "Shit! What the hell kind of freaky shit is that? Nobody told me we had a fucking chatty parasite in your gut!"
"I wouldn't call it chatty."
"I was exaggerating out of anger, okay? I've had a lousy day and I can't seem to get any sleep without bad things happening."
"I'll drive if you want to—"
"Benjamin? Don't mess with me. I'll throw you and your chatty parasite right the fuck out of this car."
"Okay."
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Julie continued to look pissed.
"How did you get into the bounty hunting business?" Benjamin finally asked.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Why wouldn't I? I mean, the career path of an English teacher is pretty straightforward. I went to college, got my teaching certificate, and got a job in a high school. I'm guessing that there isn't a college curriculum for what you do."
"Nope."
Benjamin waited for her to elaborate. She did not. "Is this something you don't want to talk about?"
"I don't want to talk about anything right now. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit ticked off."
"You're being kind of pouty, actually."
"I beg your pardon?"
"No offense, but you are. You're pouty." Benjamin smiled when he said it, although inwardly he cringed and expected her to make good on the threat to fling him out of the car.
To his surprise and relief, she smiled as well. "Yeah, I guess I am. We'll be okay. If the cops haven't found us yet, I think our luck will hold up. I just don't do well when I don't get enough sleep. Which is a bad thing to admit, since a lot of my job involves long hours of surveillance, but I've always been a big believer in eight hours of sleep every night. Keeps your mind sharp."
"How long have you been a bounty hunter?"
"Started when I was six."
"Is this your way of avoiding the topic?"
Julie shook her head. "I'm serious. Six years old. My friend Margie wanted to kiss this boy named Craig. She gave me half of her Twinkie to catch him and bring him back to her. I chased him around the playground for about ten minutes, until he fell off the jungle gym and hurt his leg. I dragged him over to Margie and she kissed him until he started crying. Then she stiffed me on the Twinkie and I stole a whole one out of her lunchbox the next day."
"And that's when you decided you wanted to be a bounty hunter?"
"No. Back then I still wanted to be a fairy princess. Then I wanted to be an FBI agent. Tried. Didn't do so well."
"What happened?"
"I'm not a good test-taker."
"I see."
"And I accidentally shot somebody I shouldn't have."
"I see."
"It wasn't even that bad. Leg wound. Leg grazing, really. Barely required any stitches. But he was sort of a VIP, so it kind of derailed my potential career."
"Did you shoot the president?"
"No," said Julie. "Well, not of the United States."
"Then you went into bounty hunting?"
"No, then I went into retail. It's awful. Don't do it."
"I won't."
"I went from retail, to waitressing, back to retail, which sucked even more the second time, to being a secretary, which is where I met—oh, crap, I hope that's not a cop behind us."
The police car turned on its red and blue flashing lights. Another car behind it pulled into the adjacent lane and turned on its lights as well.
"We're about to break some laws, aren't we?" Benjamin asked.
"We won't be able to outrun them in this grandma car," said Julie. "And I'm not inclined to start shooting at the police. Do you think your chatty parasite can teleport us out of here?"
Benjamin ignored her sarcasm. "We're surrendering, then?"
"No. We're still going to try to outrun them in the grandma car. It's just not likely to work out for us."
The speedometer crept up to ninety miles per hour. Benjamin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "If you don't think it can be done, should we maybe take the option that's less likely to get us into a high-speed wreck?"
"That's a thought."
"We should also possibly be considerate of other drivers that we might smash into. Y'know, moms with babies in the back seat and stuff."
"Also a thought."
"Let me put it this way: I'm having a crisis of conscience over making fun of the size of the waitress's breasts. If we accidentally kill somebody, especially a baby, I won't be able to handle the guilt."
"Fair enough." Julie applied the brakes. They slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road, followed by the cops.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Benjamin turned around and looked out the back window at the stopped police cars. The cops hadn't yet gotten out of their vehicles.
"What are we going to do?" Benjamin asked.
"I don't know yet."
"But you're thinking of a peaceful solution, right?"
"I said, I don't know yet."
"Okay, I have to give a big thumbs-up to the idea of a peaceful solution. Anything you can do to facilitate that would be great. Please tell me you're not planning to shoot the cops."