October 25, 4:45 A.M
“No!” I shouted. “No don’t do it! Running upstairs is a rookie mistake! There’s nowhere for you to go now, girly!”
“She’s a ditz,” Agnes replied. “All boobs and no brains.”
“My kind of dame,” I said.
“Ugh,” Agnes said. “Really?”
“Just ask my first wife,” I said. “Her brassiere had its own Congressman.”
Together, on opposite sides of a phone line, we watched as a beautiful buxom babe bought the farm at the edge of a maniac’s butcher knife.
“This fella has issues,” I said. “Where are all the coppers? Someone needs to run this palooka in on any number of charges. Breaking and entering. Assault. Battery. Attempted murder. Actual murder. And I’m not sure what specific crime it is to wear your victim’s entrails as a hat but it’s got to be against some kind of law somewhere.”
Only one survivor left. He hid off to one side of an open doorway, only to bash the murderer’s face in with a shovel as he walked into the room.
“Ahh,” the hero said. “Time to celebrate! I’ll have a glass of champagne, maybe a nice snack, take a nap…”
“No!” Agnes shouted. “Kill him again!”
“I’d of pounded this cat’s face into hamburger and set him on fire by now,” I said. “No. Come to think of it, I’d of just fed him to good ole reliable Betsy.”
“Betsy?” Agnes asked. “A girlfriend?”
“No. A gun I keep under my coat at all times.”
Silence for a moment from Agnes’ end.
“You need help, Jake,” she said.
The hero’s back patting session was cut short, literally, when the psychopath cut him in half. What a gruesome sight. Worse than some of the depravity I saw in World War II.
“Which movie do you want to watch, next?” Agnes asked.
“Ahh,” I said. “Sorry Aggie old gal but I have to make like Fred Astaire and shuffle off. I’ve got a report to file.”
“OK,” Agnes said. “I think Herb’s finally going to sleep for awhile anyway so I’d better join him.”
“Herb’s one lucky fella,” I said. “If I were over seventy, wretchedly ravaged by age and with no other options, your door would be the first one I’d knock on, Ag.”
“It’s…it’s too late to explain to you why that’s rude. Thanks. This helped me get my mind off of my problems. You know, it’s just so hard sometimes, to be a caregiver for an ill loved one. I try to do my best but it’s so difficult to…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Sorry Aggie, but I’m a dick, not a shrink. Sayonara.”
I hanged up a phone. It was time to give Battler the goods.
Bookshelf Battle 