Harry glumly swallowed the last flat swill of his McBudweiser and adjusted himself on his Ikea Balkarp sofa. The stained grey fabric itched his skin and one of the legs was cracked, prohibiting a comfortable and level laying experience. He had bought a brand new Balkarp after a tranquil journey through the womb-like sanctuary of the nearby Swedish retailer. The meatballs warmed his belly and the oxygen pumped in through the air vents calmed his mind. It had been a good day. But when he brought it home and attempted to assemble the sleeper sofa he quickly found that there was no YouTube “How-to” videos on the subject and so he was forced to tuck his tail between his legs and return the enigmatic furniture for store credit. Determined to own the reasonably-priced and functionally stylish piece, he took to the Facebook marketplace in search of a used one, but the one he bought was broken and ugly, not worthy of the Scandinavian designer universally associated with exquisite design for a valuable price.
He put his empty beer down and turned up the volume on the compilation of funniest 1980’s commercials playing on YouTube. His roommate had returned home from a night out at the barcade and was blasting Spotify’s Rap Caviar playlist. Lil Yachty’s autotuned croon would usually put him in an upbeat mood but he had been down in the dumps ever since he lost his job at the independent cell phone retailer at the mall. Life felt uncertain and disappointing without his daily stop at the mall’s food court. When he was still employed he had made it his mission to try every food item from every vendor and he had gotten damn close. Even after he got fired, which happened when an angry wine aunt accused him of downloading porn onto her phone when he was installing an app for her, he would occasionally take the 2 hour long busride to the mall and wander around the food court, eating free samples and talking to his favorite cashiers. But he no longer had the money to get the food he needed and he had nothing better to do. He couldn’t even afford to renew his Xbox Live subscription.
“It’s Lit!” he heard his roomie exclaim with exuberance from the other room. Harry began to feel his eyes grow heavy. Autoplay loaded up EPIC 80’S CEREAL COMMERCIAL COMPILATION. Harry smiled to himself as the California Raisins started to sing their negro dirge. The cookie crisp dog came on and he was asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dust swirls in the window as I sit down at my desk. I take out my JUUL and take a hearty puff. It’s time to get to work.
The manilla file folder stares back at me with a sinister smile. Inside are orders from the King himself to shut up some rabble-rousers, by any means necessary. I feel the cold steel of my pistol against my leg and frown, hoping it doesn’t come to that but knowing it probably will. Ain’t no thing as a free lunch.
My mission is all in there, my objectives as long as the line at the local burger joint on free burger day. Maybe there is such a thing as a free lunch after all, but this ain’t it. Not by a long shot.
The King is a powerful man and that power wasn’t earned the nice way. His latest conquest was the acquisition of the pharmaceutical behemoth Purdue Pharma. Rumor has it that the King wanted to refocus efforts on cures for burger-related diseases. Customers live longer, they eat more burgers. Simple enough.
But then a tanker of Oxycontin spilled offshore and got into the towns drinking supply. It was bedlam, unlike anything I’d seen before. The whole city turned into junk fiends. You couldn’t go more than a block without stepping over the body of a collapsed doper. Sometimes they would still be clutching their fresh bag of burgers in their hands, fries sprawled across the dirty streets. Poor bastards.
Then some folks got to talking on the internet. Maybe burger King and Purdue Pharma planned the tanker spill themselves, get folks jonesing for the Oxy as much as they did for their tendies. One hell of an idea, but not well executed. People were so dopesick they couldn’t get their burgers. Sales plummeted. One big mess and the King needed it cleaned up. Wanted the folks spreading the self-sabotage rumor to be sabotaged them self. That’s where I came in.
~~~~~
It’s Friday night and I need a drink. I pull my trench coat up close and step out into the street. It isn’t long before the hourly Narcan rains from the sky. It smells sweetly sick and the streets fill with a ghoulish chorus of revived dopers. They shuffle, embarrassed and groggy, looking for another hit. Some don’t get up. My phone buzzes and the daily OD count is updated to 1,432. Better than yesterday.
A neon light flickers the name of my favorite chain of bars. I push open the glass door and am bathed in the ambient 2000’s rock music and sports announcers. It ain’t much but for me it’s a little slice of heaven.
“Hey Harry, your Buffalo Tenders and McBudweiser?” Jim, the bartender, asks.
“Am I really that predictable Jim?” I ask, not sure if I’m making a joke or asking earnestly. I pull open Instagram and start scrolling. Better not to think too much about the heavy stuff. No one ever retired to Miami because they were the most introspective cat in town.
Disney’s ESPN’s Sport Center takes a break to show a new energy drink ad. My favorite NBA player is selling it so I make a note to buy some if this case drags on for too many long nights.
“Siri, add Esquire Energy to my shopping list.” A pretty dame walks into the bar with a blinding radiance that makes me forget the plate of warm tendies sitting in front of me. This is heaven. This is Valhalla. Her bright red hair spills over her vanilla milkshake white shoulders and her freckles must be the kisses of angels. Dear lord is she walking my way?
“Hey there cowboy,” she says. I remember I’m wearing my Whataburger T-shirt and almost blush. Not the most grownup look.
“Hey yourself” I reply, picking up my McBudweiser for a hearty gulp.
“You wouldn’t happen to be my Tinder date, would you?” She asks, twirling her hair a bit and leaning over. I can smell her I can see her I can taste her and I am lovin’ it. My brain freezes up like I just sucked on a frosty too long. Game time, Harry, you got this.
“That’s me alright I say.” I pull open my Samsung wallet and hand it to Jim to scan. I need to break away from the scene of the crime before my duplicity is discovered. The Great Escape.
We burst out into the night like a couple of bats out of hell and make for dancehall. The bright neon lights and LED billboards bask us in a world of possibilities, fun in every flavor of the rainbow if only you got the scratch to buy a ticket.
The dancing is a blur of laughter and booze. Before I can get my head on straight we’re back at her place and she’s on top of me, that red hair pulled up in pony tails and her blue and white blouse on her bedroom floor. I call out her name: WENDY.
~~~~
Consciousness hits like a hammer and I burst straight up in a strange bed. Strange memories on this chilly Saturday morning. Beer, dancing, Wendy.
“Hey” I call out, hoping that I don’t sound too desperate to hear her respond.
“I’m in here.” she calls back and I sigh deep, her sonorous voice a beautiful tonic to cure my hangover.
Inside her small kitchen is a pot of coffee and a bag with a few McMuffins. I unwrap one and sit down with a cuppa hot black joe. She’s at her laptop and I’m in heaven.
“That was some night” I offer between bites.
“I’ll say, sexy” she purrs and goosebumps race up my spine. After I wrap up the case I’m getting out, just me and her, taking off in my Nissan across the great American highways and spending nights at the Marriott Courtyard. She glides across the room like a beautiful swan and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ve got to take a shower,” she whispers into my ear. “You can stay out here as long as you like.”
I wonder if forever is long enough and know that it’s not, not possibly enough time with my fair Wendy. The water hisses on and gobble the last bite of my McMuffin. Curious to know more about my savior, I walk around her apartment.
Old college textbooks, bags of make up, some of the best damn decorations Bed Bath & Beyond has to offer. I start to wonder if I didn’t die last night and go to the pearly gates of paradise.
My eyes wander to a push-pin board and I walk over to get another look. My heart freezes and my bowels lurch. On the board are news paper pinnings from the very tanker explosion I’m helping to cover up. A copy of the press release is riddled with red circles. Next to one is the word LIE.
The water hisses off and my eyes grow wide as saucers. Think now, Harry, think. Don’t lose your cool. I begin to head for the door when she appears in the room, naked, dripping with water, toweling her goddess’s body off.
“Hey Harry,” she asks, her voice a paragon of innocence. Maybe it’s not so bad, this is all one big coincidence. My mind races. My voice quivers as I reply.
“Were you really my Tinder date last night?” She asks, her voice dripping with honey, a wolf’s question in a sheep’s voice.
I stammer out an explanation as I reach for my phone. “W-well the thing is, umm, no I can’t say I was. I’ll come clean, yup, I’ll come clean I was just having some tendies and when you asked I couldn’t help but say yes, you being so damn beautiful and all. I’m sorry to start things off with a lie, I understand if you want me to leave.”
“And that is the only thing you lied about?” she asks and suddenly drops her towel, exposing a small handgun that’s pointed straight at my gut.
“Wendy! Please!” I shout and put my hands out in front of me like a pathetic cornered animal.
“You told me you worked in marketing for Starbucks but I know you work for the King, you little worm.” She cocks the gun. I close my eyes, there’s nothing I can do.
“Well now you work for me. And your job is to send a message to him and all his cronies. And that message is death.”
The last sound I hear is a thunderclap and I’m down. I remember being a small child, drinking a McFlurry on a warm summer day. Spongebob played on the TV and my mom was taking me to Chucky Cheese for dinner that night. I wonder if it really happened. Maybe life was always but a McDream.
Menu Previous Layer Next Layer