Chapter 1

It was the end of what had to have been the most disgusting day of my life. After busting my hump with that company, 15 years on the job and never a complaint, I get canned. Economic slowdown, they said. You aren’t being fired, just a furlough, they said. Sorry, no unemployment and your medical insurance is going to get cut off in 90 days, they said. And by the way, the retirement fund was embezzled and there’s nothing left. Sorry about that, be sure to clean out your locker when you leave.

The only thing I had left was $58.00 in my wallet and $5,000.00 in my savings account. To make matters worse, the mortgage and car payments were due next week. At 55 years old my reemployment chances were slim. And I would probably have to start all over at the bottom, that is IF I could find a job.

As I was driving home, I started trying to think how I was going to tell the Harpy, My wife. One of the reasons I was driving a 10-year-old Honda and eating baloney sandwiches was the $10000.00 boob job she demanded last year. Recently she had started making noises about tucking all the loose flab that was going to show up when she had her fat hoovered.

On Broadway, I saw the Dew Drop Inn. This was my old watering hole. Back when I was allowed to have a beer or two after work. “What the hell,” I thought, “I deserve a beer or two today, Especially today.” I pulled in to the parking lot and went inside. The place hadn’t changed any. It was still dark, smoky and loud. The jukebox was set at ‘ear damage’ and couldn’t be changed. As I walked in, a flood of old memories came over me. Some good, some bad. As I walked up to the bar, I was shocked to see the one person in my life I least expected to see, My Wife.

She was dressed in a red miniskirt, at least one size too tight. A blouse with a cleavage down to her navel, that defiantly highlighted the boob job I’d paid for. Finishing off the ensemble were the 6-inch heels she had on.

I might have been able to forgive the ‘for sale’ outfit she had on. It was the guy she was hanging onto that pulled the plug. He was big, both height and width. His biceps alone were bigger than my thighs. He was dressed in a cutoff denim vest with the local biker’s logo on the back. If I had been a bit smarter, I would have turned and walked out. Let the lawyers work it out. But today, after losing my job, I went a tad mad.

“VICKIE, WHAT THE HELL?”

She bounced off the stool and turned towards me, a look of pure panic on her face. “Wally? What are you doing here?”

“Damned cheating bitch.” I reached behind me and pulled my .38 out. I usually kept this in my locker at work, for when I had to work late. I raised the pistol and pointed it at her. All I could see was red. What I didn’t see was the steak knife that Vickie pulled from the plate on the bar.

As I pulled the trigger, she lunged at me. I could feel the knife push into my chest, as I pulled the trigger again and again. Falling backwards, I could see that I had hit my mark. Vickie was also falling back.

All around me was chaos. Screams and yelling, people running towards the door, yelling for someone to call 911. I could tell I was in bad shape. That knife had hit me in just the right place. I was having trouble breathing and I was getting colder.

Then I heard a voice. “Wally? Want to try it again?” My last thought was sure, I’d do better next time. There was a flash of light.