Read How Hard Can It Be? Online

Authors: Robyn Peterman

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary

How Hard Can It Be? (18 page)

BOOK: How Hard Can It Be?
3.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Oh, oh, oh, I’ve got one.” Shoshanna raised her hand. “What’s your real name? I’ve wanted to know that one for twenty years.”
“Fred.”
“Are you married?” I jumped in.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?” I tried again.
“No.”
“Boyfriend?” Shoshanna went for it.
“No.”
“Are you always this eloquent?” I inquired, racking my brain to find out something useful.
“Only when the occasion dictates,” he said with an eye roll.
I was pretty sure he’d just insulted me. “Fine, Fred, tell us something about yourself. Anything. We’ve been cooped up in this hellhole for a week and I don’t know the first thing about you. I’d like to know you better.”
He seemed surprised by my request and Shoshanna gave me an odd look. She didn’t know where I was going, but in true LeHump fashion, she blindly followed.
“Yeah, Fred, I might even find out I like you,” she added. I wasn’t sure if that helped or if it scared him to death.
His eyes were glued to his notebook and his shoulders slumped forward. “My name is Fred Smith, and I’m fifty-eight years old. I live with my mother. She’s in fragile health, and I take care of her.” He sighed heavily and continued, “I don’t have many friends. They seem to drift away when you have no time for them. I work and tend to my mother. She loves me. I would rather die than embarrass her.” He raised his eyes from his notebook and held mine. “My salary pays for her medicine. Without my job, she would die.”
Oh my God. Was that what Evangeline had over him? His mother’s life? But that didn’t add up . . . had Fred’s mom been sick for twenty years? That was only part of the story. I’d bet Jack’s and my unborn children that there was more to this . . .
“But Fred . . .” I wanted the rest of the story.
“Let’s get to work,” he said firmly, opening his notebook and signaling an end to the cozy get-to-know-you chat. “I’m ready to be revolted by your colorful imagination.”
That was the second time he’d dodged me in five minutes, but the twinkle in his eye made his insult seem almost endearing.
“You asked for it.” I grinned and started talking.
Chapter 18
Pirate Dave stared at the hat full of assholes and wondered who had sent him such a lovely and unusual gift. He considered trying to fuck them, but since they weren’t attached to anything, he decided against it.
Apparently he had a secret admirer.
He’d received daily gifts for a week. Shirley was fit to be tied. She’d tried to tempt him away from thoughts of his admirer by swinging naked from the chandelier in the galley. Bad fucking move on Shirley’s part. During her buck-ass naked extravaganza, she’d accidentally blinded six crew members standing nearby when she gouged their eyes out with her toe.
Her lack of remorse was a huge turn-on for Pirate Dave, but she only had one vagina. Pirate Dave ripped open a box of Salty Skeeboodles and shoved them in his mouth. He left the crumbs from his snack embedded in his chest fur. Lice need to eat, too.
He looked down at his expanding stomach and realized he couldn’t see his peckers anymore. His inability to find a fuck buddy with two lady holes had led him to eat. A lot. He cared not that his once nicely indented ass had turned as flabby as Poseidon’s.
Feeling nauseous and horny, Pirate Dave formed a plan. He would stay awake until he caught his secret admirer. Anyone thoughtful enough to leave him a hat full of assholes deserved a garlic press.
A nasty storm brewed on the horizon. The wind whistled ominously and blinding streaks of lightning ripped through the sky, tearing the darkness apart like a go-cart at a monster truck rally. The ship tossed and turned, causing Dave’s triple bacon cheeseburger, onion rings, and fish sandwich to threaten a reappearance.
“Goddamnit,” Pirate Dave railed against the howling gale, “I hate getting wet.”
Pirate Dave’s head drooped and his shoulders sagged, for Dave had become too fat to fit through the cabin doors. He’d been relegated to living on the deck, becoming one with the motherfucking elements.
If only that shit-ass little troll hadn’t lopped his wanker off, none of this would have happened. He’d be happily porking Shirley. A gag and duct tape had solved the voice problem. He really did love her as long as she didn’t speak, but . . . Laverne had given him a boner numerous times, too. Her violent murderous streak made his johnsons stand at attention. What to do . . .
“Who’s the secret admirer?” Shoshanna asked, shell-shocked from the words that had just passed my lips.
“I have no idea,” I told her truthfully. I figured Cecil-Fred had realized by now that I was pulling everything out of my butt, so hiding my ignorance of the upcoming plot didn’t faze me.
“Can I take a shot at it?” Shoshanna asked.
I heard Cecil-Fred’s sharp intake of breath. Clearly, the thought of LeHump adding her own brand of crazy to the mix frightened him. “Be my guest,” I said, a little bit afraid myself.
The storm picked up and Pirate Dave realized the rain might shrink his ass-less leather chaps. He loved his leather chaps. They’d become slightly uncomfortable due to his double cocks, but his vanity overruled his comfort. Of course his recent hundred-pound weight gain didn’t help, but that wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of the formerly blind stupid fucktard troll.
He looked down at his wrists and shook his head in disgust. Mr. Smee had lost the key to the furry handcuffs and now he was stuck wearing pink fur and metal until someone could saw it off without removing his hands.
He tightened his braided leather vest. He was so glad it kind of still fit. He needed the support for his new man-boobs. He decided to shave his chest and pubic area. Of course not being able to see his scrotum made this a dangerous venture, but Dave liked living on the edge. Unfortunately the only razor he could find was dull and rusty . . . Oh well, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
He raised the razor to the Heavens for that fat bastard, Poseidon’s blessing. Closing his eyes, he brought the razor down to his . . .
“Um, Shoshanna,” I stopped her before she could cut Pirate Dave’s double ding-dong off, forcing him to grow back four. I was surprised I could speak. My mouth had dropped to the floor and Cecil-Fred was an ungodly shade of red.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“Well, yeah. If you castrate him again, four more will grow back.” How was I having this conversation?
“I was only going to cut off one,” she explained.
“Yes,” Cecil chimed in, turning a deeper shade of red, “but if you do that, he’ll have three.”
“How’s that?” Shoshanna asked, confused.
“If you cut both of them off, four will grow back. But if you only cut one off, two will grow back, leaving him with three,” I informed her logically.
“Oh my God!” She nodded in understanding. “That didn’t occur to me. Other than that, what did you think?”
I paused for a moment, wondering how much detail I should go into. I decided none. “I loved it.” And I did. It added a hideous flavor I never would have come up with. “Fred, what’s your take?”
“First of all, ladies, you must call me Cecil. The Madame is not aware that you know my real name and I prefer to keep it that way. As far as the story goes”—he took a deep breath and blushed a little more—“I think it will serve the purpose for which it’s intended very well.”
“Cecil”—Shoshanna slapped him on the back—“I never thought I’d say this to you, but welcome to the club, my friend. Welcome to the club.”
After one of the most exhausting days of my life, I still had a long and bizarre evening ahead. Thankfully I’d gotten ahold of my only friend at the accounting firm and she’d agreed to take on the Poppy Harriet/Walter Garski case. Her discreet nature and sense of humor were the reasons I knew I could trust her with the delicate matter; plus I’d saved her ass multiple times. Once her hysterical laughter had died down, she promised to have it fixed within the week. I would owe her big-time, but the deadline on Pirate Dave meant I couldn’t focus on anything else.
Cecil stayed with us the entire day, giving me no time to share my discovery with Shoshanna. He might have planted himself so I wouldn’t say anything, but we did get a lot done and he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. There was something missing from the blackmail plot against him. I knew asking would lead nowhere. I’d have to discover it myself.
The suckiest part was that Jack and I had played phone tag all day. I couldn’t believe how empty I felt at the thought of not seeing him until Thursday. Although knowing his grandpa was doing well made me happy. Thinking about Jack made me happy. Hearing his voice-mail message made me and my lady bits happy. Everything about him made me happy. WTF? Was it possible to fall for someone this fast? Or did the fact that I wanted to see him naked have anything to do with it? I decided to file those thoughts away until I had the time and energy to figure it out. I didn’t have the time or energy to even grab anything to eat . . . As promised, in exchange for the car money, I was taking Aunt Phyllis to her first Bigfoot meeting tonight. Fuck.
Chapter 19
T
he dark, dank back room of the community center smelled like rotten eggs, wet dog, and poopy diapers, or maybe it was the attendees. I couldn’t be sure. The ride over to the center consisted of Aunt Phyllis repeatedly apologizing for drugging me with her tranquilizers. No matter how many times I told her not to worry about it, she insisted on apologizing again.
“Aunt Phyllis”—I blew out an exasperated sigh as we tried to find someplace to sit in the crowded room—“I swear to God I will flush all your Martians down the toilet if you don’t stop saying you’re sorry.”
She giggled and pushed me down onto a seat in the front row. “They love the sewer system,” she whispered. “If you really want to screw with them, play Céline Dion. They hate that shit.”
Oh my God. I knew I didn’t fit in here, but I began to wonder if maybe Aunt Phyllis did . . .
A man and a woman entered the room in full camouflage. Their faces were painted green and black, and they carried cameras and camcorders strapped to their backs like weapons. The crowd went nuts as they made their way to the front of the room. I clapped so I wouldn’t stand out, but keeping my eyes from rolling was impossible.
“Hi everybody,” the woman yelled above the roar of Sasquatch believers. She then bent her knees, lifted her hands like they were claws, and growled at the audience. All around me people lifted their own hand-claws and growled back.
“Is that the secret fucking handshake?” I asked my aunt, laughing until I realized she too had her claws in the air. She elbowed me and gave me “the look.” I shook my head, thanking Buddha, Jesus, Allah, Zeus, all the angels and saints, and Brett Favre that I didn’t know anyone there. I raised my claws and gave a very halfhearted growl.
“You can do better than that,” Aunt Phyllis insisted, growling for all she was worth.
“No. No, I can’t.” I had entered an alternate universe, and I was going to have to stay for at least two hours. Two hours of my life that I would never get back. Ever.
Turned out the camo-growler was Kim Jensen Johnson and her face-painted cohort was her husband Hugh Jensen Johnson. Kim had to be the size of my SUV and outweighed Hugh by at least two hundred pounds. The vague images of their sex life that kept flitting through my mind were enough to put me into a coma. I decided to put that info into the brain folder labeled “Never Ever Think Those Thoughts Again.”
“We are here tonight,” Kim shouted, “because we believe.” The crowd went ballistic. “Some of us have witnessed the miracle that is Bigfoot and some of us live every day in hopes that, we too will see the Bigfoot.”
I heard a strange sound. I glanced around the room to see if anyone was ill . . . Nope. What the hell was that sound?
“People think we’re foolish,” she yelled like a preacher and the crowd booed and hissed. “That’s right, my friends, people think we’re foolish to dedicate our lives and our savings accounts to finding Bigfoot. But they are wrong. They have not seen the light!” Kim did the growl thing again and the crowd growled back. Including me, but only because Aunt Phyllis kicked me hard enough to leave a mark.
I heard the sound again, although it had morphed into something more bizarre. It sounded like someone hyperventilating and changed to cats having sex. If you’ve never heard cats having sex, trust me, it’s bad. From the feline intercourse, it slowly changed to a grunting monkey. WTF? I glanced around again and my eyes landed on Hugh . . . I realized it was him. At first I thought he was sick. Then it occurred to me he might be mentally challenged, and I felt horrible for making fun of him inside my head . . . When it dawned on me he was making what he believed were sounds of Sasquatch, all bets were off. I could ridicule to my heart’s content. He was doing sound effects for his wife’s sermon on the Yeti.
“We are here tonight for testimonials. If you’ve seen the beautiful beast, we want you to share. If we have enough sighting stories, we believe we can convince the TV show
Finding Bigfoot
to come and film us.” That sent the crowd into a frenzy. So much so, I feared for my and Aunt Phyllis’s life.
“I’ve seen him,” called out a man in the back, who possibly had inbreeding in his family tree.
“Tell us, my friend,” Kim shouted back as Hugh squealed in a high pitch reserved for dogs and breaking glass.
“It was three years ago. He picked me up and shook me like a can of pop.” He sat back down with a satisfied look on his face. Who in the hell shakes cans of pop? Why would he choose that metaphor? Thinking too hard was going to make my brain explode.
“That’s nothing,” said a mousey little gal two rows back. “Bigfoot came on to me.”
The shocked gasp from the hardcore freaks almost made me pee my pants.
“Tell us about it, my sister,” Kim bellowed. I wondered if loud was her only volume level. Hugh, if I’m not mistaken, started speaking in tongues.
“I fought him off and he masturbated in the corner of my bedroom.” She finished her disturbing tale and sat back down.
“Bigfoot was in your bedroom?” I laughed until realized they were all looking at me with pity. I clearly didn’t believe.
“Yes, of course,” she replied as if I were an idiot. “He comes at least twice a week.”
The double entendre made me bite my lip so hard it bled. I love my Aunt Phyllis, but she would be on her own at the next Sasquatch gathering.
“The last time I saw Bigfoot, he smelled so bad I couldn’t eat for a week,” a tall bald man said, shaking his head and wincing at the memory.
I felt movement beside me. An icy chill shot up my spine. Aunt Phyllis was ready to add her two cents. This could only lead to her being institutionalized. I tried to stop her, but she would have none of it. “That’s nothing,” Phyllis jumped up and pointed at the bald guy. “I survived salmonella-gate and couldn’t eat for two weeks and three and a half days.”
“Oh my God,” Kim screeched. “You were there?” Hugh began humming the theme from
Jaws.
“Yes, I was, and I lived to tell,” my aunt said with pride.
The crowd murmured with shock and respect. Several people came up and touched her while a few others knelt at her feet. Was everyone here insane?
The tall bald guy was one who knelt. “I heard it was at Evangeline O’Hara’s mansion,” he said, extremely impressed. That was news to me.
“I love her books,” Bigfoot’s mousey girlfriend squealed. “Is she as scary as she looks?”
“Scarier,” Aunt Phyllis said, miming big boobs to her rapt audience.
Always the conspiracy theorist, Kim said, “I heard it was a setup. I heard the caterer had nothing to do with it.” Hugh was now having his out-of-tune way with the theme song from
Mission Impossible.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked. Something in the way she spoke made the hair on my arms stand up.
“My cousin’s brother’s girlfriend’s sister works for the Health Department and was the lead investigator on the case. She said something was added to the food. It was not the food itself or the way it was prepared that made people sick. They think Evangeline O’Hara did it, but they could never prove it.” Hugh was working up a sweat, beat boxing until Kim punched him in the head. He went flying and everyone smiled their relief that the alarming concert was over.
“What did they find in the food?” I asked.
“Some kind of weird plant extract from Bulgaria, similar to Silly Putty,” Kim said, shaking her head in disgust.
Sweet baby Jesus, she’d poisoned people with the same stuff that she pumps into her bosom. I paled and wondered who the poor caterer was that the Viper had ruined. How many fucking people had Evangeline destroyed?
“That doesn’t make sense,” Aunt Phyllis said. “Evangeline got sick, too.”
“That was her alibi,” Kim said knowingly. “If she hadn’t gotten sick, she wouldn’t have gotten away with it.” Hugh started in with the theme from
Jeopardy!
but quickly ceased when Kim gave him the evil eye.
“Did they have any idea what her motive was?” Coming to this meeting was more educational than I ever could have dreamed.
“Apparently, she had it in for the caterer, and she hated all the ladies she played bridge with,” Kim said.
Every eye in the room went to Aunt Phyllis as she mulled over the new information. “It’s a fine hypothesis.” She nodded. “That bitch does hate all the bridge girls. We’ve been kicking her ass for years, but I can’t confirm the caterer. I don’t know who she used.”
“I do,” mousey gal volunteered. “It was Nan Thorenson. I have all her cookbooks.”
Oh shit. I’d just discovered what the Viper had on Nancy. The food-sniffing made sense now. Oh my God, poor Nancy.
“Did the caterer know Evangeline was suspected?” I asked.
“From what I heard, she took off and hasn’t been heard from since,” Kim answered, stroking Hugh’s head where she had punched him. “She evaded the Health Department. O’Hara testified that the caterer admitted her guilt and took off. Nothing anyone could do if the caterer wouldn’t talk.”
I’d bet the caterer was still under the impression that she’d poisoned everyone and thought Evangeline was protecting her. I needed to find out if Evangeline had a line of cookbooks . . . My stomach churned and my hands clenched into fists. My only revenge was my story. I smiled and looked around the room at the freaks who were now beautiful to me.
I stood and walked to the front of the room. I hugged Kim and patted Hugh on the head. “Could you guys tell me a little more about Bigfoot? I’m doing research for a book, and I want to make sure I get my facts straight.”
The entire room erupted into applause. They made me a believer. . . kind of.
BOOK: How Hard Can It Be?
3.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Caligula: A Biography by Aloys Winterling
Criminally Insane by Conrad Jones
Rottweiler Rescue by O'Connell, Ellen
Home of the Brave by Katherine Applegate
Dusk and Other Stories by James Salter
Pieces of Hope by Carter, Carolyn