Dying on the shitter was a hell of a way to go, and not exactly what I had planned for myself. I was thinking that if I had to go, it would be better to go out with some dignity, like 80 some years old and in bed with a couple – three – 20 something hookers. Maybe in Bangkok. Or even just plain old auto erotic asphyxiation. Sure, you lost some dignity when they found you, but at least it wasn’t so bad when it came to actual dying part. Instead I was sitting on the toilet behind a locked stall door.
Someone had written “Fred Died here” on the wall. It was the stall that Fred Barnes had died in come to think of it. He’d gone in to take his morning dump, just like clock work, after his 10:30 coffee and donut break. It’d been well after lunch before anyone had realized that he wasn’t at his desk and closer to quitting time before we’d found him on the stall. He’d died of a massive coronary while trying shit out a wad of greasy donut like product from his colon. The next day someone had written “Fred Died here” on the wall in blue Sharpie. Management kept having the janitor wipe it away, but it kept coming back, making this the Fred Barnes memorial toilet. I’m sure that he’d have wanted it that way.
Mitch had split, he’d made a run for it. Ostensibly he was going to get help, but I had my doubts. I couldn’t really blame him. Not with Iggy red eyed and glazed banging his head on the doors outside. I don’t know if Iggy was his real name or not, but he looked like an Iggy.
Iggy had been the replacement security guard for the night shift. I hadn’t caught his name, but he looked like an Iggy. Big guy, as in fat, sunken eyes, sloping brow. Yeah, Iggy worked for him somehow.
The only reason that we even had night time security was because some of our files were confidential. We were just an insurance company for Christ’s sake, it wasn’t really that interesting, but our own insurers gave us a break on rates for having armed guards on the premises. The only reason that we’d added a second guard at all was because of the parking garage expansion.
Mr. Phelps, a vice president in charge of something or another, had forgotten and left the top down on his small penis/mid life crisis Porsche convertible during a storm. The Corinthian leather (I guess wherever Corinth is, they must have nice skins on the cows) seats had ended up soaked and ruined. Two weeks later they broke the earth on a parking garage to waste some stockholder equity.
Anyway, tools and construction materials kept turning up missing, so they added a guard at night to do a walking patrol and try to keep things from vanishing from the job site. Iggy was the new man, Kyle was out sick or had the day off or some damn thing, I wasn’t sure.
I had only been working nights this week to catch up. We had an audit coming and I’d just gotten back from vacation. I should have just fucking stayed in Florida – sun, sand, sluts. What more could a man want? But no, I had to be a good corporate tool and come home on time. What did I find when I got back? Two weeks away from an audit that no one had bothered to tell me was coming. Thus I was working nights for a bit playing catch up.
Mitch and Kyle were the usual guard. I didn’t know much about Kyle. He seemed tight lipped. Mitch, now he was okay. I didn’t mind Mitch. He was finishing up his four year degree in accounting and wanted to become a CPA. I admired a man who liked his numbers. Unlike Kyle, Mitch didn’t seem fond of going into the store room to jack off to the pages of Hustler. I’d had to start bringing in pencils from home.
I’d been happily typing away at a spread sheet when the lights had gone out. The back up system for my computer kicked right on, so I didn’t lose my spread sheet, but I still hit the save button to keep from losing four hours of number crunching. Sure, it only should have taken about an hour, but I was getting a bonus for working extra hours, so I was milking it.
The 6 volt emergency lighting system kicked on. I was the only person in the building aside from Toby in IT who was working on the servers or surfing Dutch internet porn or some damn thing and the guys in the security office. The emergency lighting was enough to see by, but wasn’t exactly bright. I had a promotional flashlight that someone had dropped off a while back in my desk. There was a whole bag of promo items that I had thrown in there, a carabiner with a little compass on it, some kind of knock off Chicom Leatherman reject multi tool, and a lighter. I just about cut myself on something, but managed to find the little plastic AA LED light and click it on. The batteries actually still worked and it kept me from tripping over any cords while I made my way down the stairs and to the front of the building to see if the guys in the security office knew how to fix the breakers or turn some kind of switch or something to make the lights go back on. Sure they were just contract employees from some kind of agency or another, but they needed to earn their 12.50 an hour.
Toby was bumbling his own way down the stairway, eating a giant submarine sandwich of some kind. Plop. He dropped a hunk of tomato from his sandwich and onto the floor. Toby was a douche bag and I hadn’t had much respect for him since the time I watched him go into the shitter, cop a squat on a stall, and make godawful noises while he squeezed out a dookie the size of St. Louis, all the while munching away on a foot long Blimpie sub. It’s hard to respect a man after you see something like that, even if he does have the hook up for some donkey show smut fresh out of the back dens of Holland.
“Whazzup wit da lights?” Toby managed through a mouth full of meat and meat like products.
“They went out,” I replied.
“Whab?” Toby said.
“I don’t know why, I don’t think there is a storm,” I added.
“Mebbe sumbud fogot peb da bib,” Toby said, snorting and splattering bits of what looked like ham, but could have been prosciutto, down the front of his shirt.
“I’m pretty sure that we paid the bill,” I muttered, as I had been around Toby enough lately to learn how to speak sandwich.
Iggy and Mitch had the door to the security office open and were shining their lights around. They always kept a couple of those big rechargeable Maglites in the security office. Mitch had used one to walk me to my car the other night to avoid Nemesis possum, who lived under one of the topiaries. That damn thing was always hissing at me, and I’d tried to brain him (her? I hadn’t checked the filthy rodent for cojones) with a rock a time or three.
Iggy had the front door propped open and was leaning against it, fumbling a pack of Marlboros out of his pocket, throwing his clip on tie over his shoulder to get to them.
“Lubs ub,” Toby said to them, panting a bit from having to go down the stores.
Mitch stared at him for a moment, apparently being less conversant on understanding sandwich in mouth than I was. “Huh?” he said, seeming puzzled. He swept us with the beam from his Maglite.
“Ack,” I yelped, throwing my arm up over my eyes, the beam from the flashlight seeming painfully blind compared to the dim 6 volt emergency lights that probably just barely met code. “Watch it, would you Mitch?”
“Sorry,” Mitch said, moving the beam down towards the floor.
“The lights are out upstairs,” I said, translating from the Toby into the English language.
“Thab, whab I sud,” Toby said, shoving more of his sandwich into his mouth. I had my suspicions that he kept a ready supply of them in his mini fridge down in his office so that he’d never be without one. Damn but I hated working nights.
“The power is off in the whole building, even the street lights are off outside in the parking lot,” Mitch said, pointing outside.
I looked out the windows and the parking lot was indeed pitch black. Great. I’d been thinking about calling that girl that I’d met at the bar the other night this afternoon too. I looked at my watch, Mickey said that it was 4:00 a.m. It was a Saturday, I’d planned to go home, take a nap, and maybe get up around noon or so and see if I couldn’t find a date for tonight. What was her name? Angela? Andie? Something like that. She was cute enough, I’d stopped off for a drink during my dinner break and we’d chatted a bit. She seemed cute enough, but she said something about having to get home to her daughter. Kids, that was bad, still she might make a nice fuck and single moms were often lonely.
A sound like thunder reverberated across the parking lot. Maybe there was a storm after all.
“Whab de fub?” Toby muttered, stuffing the last of the crust from his sandwich down his gullet.
“That was loud,” Mitch said, stroking his chin. It looked he was trying to grow a goatee, maybe trying to look less like an accountant.
Heat lightening? I wondered as I saw what looked like a flash coming from the tree line beyond the parking lot.
Iggy succeeded in getting his cigarette lit. It stank. I realized that he wasn’t smoking real cigarettes after all but had some of those nasty “mini cigars” like they sell at gas stations and had merely jammed them into an empty Marlboro pack.
I coughed dramatically, but Iggy seemed oblivious, staring at the trees. “Did you hear something?” he asked, looking back at us with his dull beady eyes.
“Yeah,” I replied, he met my gaze expectantly, “I heard me coughing because of you lighting that thing. It smells like ass. Take outside farther would you?”
“I’m going to go look around anyway,” Toby said, hitching his belt up. He had some kind of Taurus .357 revolver with rubber grips that he was carrying in a cheap nylon holster. Mitch had told me that they had to buy their own guns but received a $400 allowance for one that came out of their checks in increments but was returned in full if they served a year. Mitch had gotten his – an old square trigger guard S&W 5903 9mm auto for $375 from the used case at the local Gander Mountain. I suspected for some reason that Iggy had already owned his.
“Yeb, geb thab obba har, pepple are trubbing to ebe,” Toby said. Where the hell had he gotten another sandwich from anyway?
“Don’t go too far,” Mitch said, looking worried for some reason, “I need to call this in,” he added, going back into the security office and reaching for a phone on the desk.
I decided that if the lights didn’t come back on in about fifteen minutes, that I was just going to go home and call it a day, or morning, or night rather.
“Ub thib webe ouga gob home?” Toby asked. He dropped a slice of pepperoni onto my shoe.
“If the lights don’t come back on, I don’t see why we should have to-” I stopped short as I saw Mitch come out of the security office, he looked puzzled and scratched his new beard. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Can I borrow one of your cell phones?” Mitch asked. “The landline in there isn’t working and I can’t get any service on mine for some reason.”
I had a Razr on a pouch on my belt, I’d practiced flipping it open to work on having a bit of flair to use at the bar to impress the bitches, but despite my polished opening routine, I found myself staring at a “no service” message. “What the fuck? I just got this thing.”
Toby had removed his Blackberry from a pouch around his ample middle and was staring at it. “Dab obb, I gob no bars,” he said, his gaze narrowing.
“Lightening must have struck the cell tower,” I said, wondering if I could get reimbursed on my plan for the time that it was out of service. It looked like maybe I wouldn’t be able to get a date anyway. Just as well, I’d started to break out in a rash since I got back from Florida and wondering if maybe I should have worn a condom with one of those spring break girls. I’d told her that I was auditioning new talent for a “Girls Gone Wild” video and she’d fallen for it. I hoped that she hadn’t given me herpes or something.
I stopped thinking about my itchy shit down below and jerked back to the present with as the unmistakable sound of gunshots drifted across the parking lot. Looking outside I caught the muzzle flash from what I presumed to be Iggy’s six gun as the sound of another shot came rolling across the lot.
“What the hell?” Mitch said, shining his light outside.
Iggy came running back across the lot far quicker than I’d have thought possible for a guy his size. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” he yelled. He came barreling in through the empty door. He’d lost his flashlight, and I could just barely see where it’s beam was at the far end of the parking lot, near the trees. His Taurus was in his right hand, his finger on the trigger, and he was making me nervous as his finger was still on the trigger. His left arm was bleeding. “Mother fucker bit me!” Iggy said.
I pushed the muzzle of his revolver towards the floor. There was a plop noise as Toby’s sandwich dropped to the floor. Toby was just staring.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Mitch said, looking pale as he ducked back into the security office.
“Who bit you?” I asked, trying to calm Iggy down.
“Some bum man, he was all fucked up, on drugs or some shit,” Iggy said.
“Where?” I asked
“Out by the trees, some fucking bum,” Iggy repeated, “I thought he was out there stealing shit so I was all like ‘you’re in my house now boy, better get out of here before I call the cops’, but he just came right at me and tried to kill me,” Iggy said, breathing rapidly.
“What did you do? Shoot him?” I asked, concerned that old Iggy might have been a bit trigger happy.
“Damn right, he was all fucked up I’m telling you, he was going to kill me!” Iggy insisted. He looked over his shoulder.
Mitch came back out with the first aid kit and snapped it open, knocking a plastic plant over so that he could use an end table. “There’s gauze here somewhere I think,” he said, shining the Maglite on it.
“Uh, guys?” Toby said.
“Maybe you should give me the gun,” I told Iggy, still worried about his finger on that trigger.
“Fuck you man, I’m telling you he tried to kill me!” Iggy insisted. He dug out his pack of ass smelling little cigars with his wounded hand, trying to calm himself it seemed.
“I know that there is gauze in here somewhere,” Mitch said, dumping the contents of the kit onto the table.
“Uh, guys?” Toby said again.
“Don’t smoke that in here,” I told Iggy, gun or no gun, I didn’t want to smell those those things.
“Fuck you, I’m not going back out there,” Iggy said.
“Found it!” Mitch exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a roll of gauze from the kit. “Now where’s the tape? Don’t we tape with gauze?”
“There’s some scotch tape on my desk, or maybe use the Swingline,” I said.
“Damn it guys!” Toby yelled.
I looked over at him. He looked three shades paler than usual, which was pretty pale, being as how Toby didn’t exactly get out much. “What is it?” I asked, thinking that he might want someone to go get him a new sandwich. Then I noticed that he was pointing at the parking lot.
“Is that… Is that him?” Toby stuttered.
I spun around, Mitch doing the same and shining his light out into the parking lot. Pinned in the light was the bum, and I had to give Iggy credit, the guy did look fucked up. He didn’t really look like a bum though, well maybe he’d fallen on hard times. The guy was wearing a suit that looked two price points up from mine, but it was torn and dirty. He had red stains around his mouth. At first I’d suspected that Iggy had just fallen and hurt himself, but suddenly I believed him when he said that the guy had bitten him.
“Sir? Sir? Are you okay sir?” Mitch asked trying to be polite.
“Look out, that’s the fucker that bit me!” Iggy insisted. He started to raise the Taurus.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, jerking Iggy’s gunhand upwards, almost too late. He pulled the trigger, dumping ceiling tile dust down on me and causing my ears to ring. Damn, but the muzzle flash was bright. “You can’t shoot someone for no reason!” I started to say.
Then the bum charged right in through the door that we still had propped open. He was moving fast, faster than even Iggy had been running. The bum bowled right into Toby, knocking old Tobe right down on his ass. Then it got worse. The bum made some kind of snarling noise and leaned forward, biting Toby in the neck, the teeth sinking in deep. Suddenly there was a spray of arterial blood and it was all over the tiles.
“Jesus H. Fucking Christ!” I yelled, staring wide eyed. I felt my jaw drop as I released my grip on Iggy’s gun hand.
Iggy pushed me out of the way, slamming me into a wall as he brought the muzzle of his Taurus down. Another bright flash and my ears were ringing again. It looked as though he’d hit the bum, in the back maybe, as I saw a bloody wound on the bum’s left shoulder now, but it didn’t seem to have slowed him down any. Toby was barely whimpering as the bum bore down on him gnawing like a hungry dog on a rawhide chew. Click, click. Iggy kept pulling the trigger on his gun, but nothing was happening.
“Do something!” I yelled to Mitch who was also standing there frozen.
Seeming to snap out of his trance, Mitch started clawing at the security holster that his gun was in. He told me that he’d ordered it from Galls on clearance and it was supposed to be designed to keep someone from taking his gun away. Mitch apparently hadn’t bothered to practice getting it out himself though, as he seemed to be having trouble with it.
There was a fire extinguisher on the wall behind me. I ripped it loose from its claw mount and swung it, not noticing how heavy it was. Clunk, I caught the bum in his shoulder. It didn’t seem to bother him. Clunk. I swung it again and whacked him upside of the head with it.
The bum snarled but rolled off Toby. He landed on all fours and stared at me. I felt my bowels release as I realized that he was about to leap right for me and I had a sudden image flash through my head of laying there bleeding out on the floor next to poor Toby.
Mitch was standing there pointing his gun at the bum, trying to pull the trigger, but nothing was happening. I realized what was wrong somehow, “Safety!” I yelled, swinging the fire extinguisher at the bum for all I was worth and smacking him in the bridge of the nose. It split into a bloody pulp and also some teeth went flying, slowing his lunge enough for me to dodge.
I slipped in some of Toby’s blood and went flying, landing hard on my shoulder. It hurt like a mother fucker.
Mitch stood there stunned for another instant and then managed to find the safety on his Smith and Wesson and push it upwards with his thumb. Bang. The first shot seemed to almost startle him, it went wide, the long and hard double action trigger pull sending the 9mm slug up into a light fixture sending glass tinkling downward. The gravely injured Toby rolled around a bit and I saw him take a face full of the glass, causing me to lose my dinner as I vomited onto the floor.
I lost count of the shots as Mitch kept pulling the trigger. By the time I was done puking, and looked up, Mitch was standing there still pointing his pistol. The slide was locked back, the gun empty, and there was a spreading wet stain down the front of Mitch’s gray uniform trousers. I realized that he’d pissed himself.
The bum was down, one of Mitch’s bullets had caught him in the head. It didn’t explode like in the movies, but there was now an open flap on the back of the man’s skull and some gray matter just seemed to be slopping out as he lay on the floor twitching.
Iggy was still clicking his empty revolver at the bum, an unlit ass stink mini cigar flapping forgotten between his lips. Finally, he stopped, but his eyes still looked wild as he thumbed the cylinder release on his revolver and dumped the empties onto the floor. He struggled to reload it as his wounded arm now seemed to be bothering him more.
“Are you okay?” Mitch asked me.
“No, I think I need new shorts,” I admitted.
“Join the club,” Mitch said, ashen.
I noticed his empty gun. Guns had been a hobby of men when I was in college, before I discovered the joys of pussy. “You have any more ammo for that thing?” I asked, nodding towards his Smith and Wesson.
Still ashen, Mitch nodded and dropped the empty magazine to the floor. He fumbled a fresh magazine out from a pouch on his belt and managed to insert it, pulled back on the slide to snap it forward to chamber a fresh round.
“Toby, we need to help Toby,” I said, looking over at him, he seemed to have stopped moving.
“I’ll get some gauze, we just need gauze,” Mitch said, seeming fixated on the subject. He picked up the bandage roll, it was something labeled Kerlix, that he’d dropped earlier.
Toby sat up.
“Toby? Are you okay there big guy?” I asked, struggling to my own feet. “Iggy, help him up will you?”
Iggy grunted and tucked his revolver into his belt and moved forward, offering Toby his good hand.
Toby stared at it for a second, his eyes seeming to glaze. Then he leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Iggy’s wrist.
Iggy started screaming and I blew the rest of my dinner out of my ass and further soiled my already ruined Scooby boxers.
I started running, heading for the display kiosk off the lobby. It held examples of all the various long service and retirement awards that the company gave out. There were watches, plaques, trophies, pens, and other items. For the sixty year mark, assuming anyone made it that far, there was a display of what we’d jokingly called the retirement Luger. The joke was that they gave you a gun so that you could blow your brains out when you saw what your pension really consisted of. It wasn’t a Luger though, it was an engraved three inch Smith and Wesson Model 60 revolver in .357 magnum. For whatever reason, they had one displayed in a wooden presentation case with ten rounds of ammunition sitting in the case. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and maybe wasn’t even legal, but then we probably shouldn’t have had beer in the vending machines either.
I hadn’t done my sixty years, more like six, but right that moment I’d decided that I was going to make an executive decision and award myself that gun for services rendered.
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