[FMK] 12 Hard Inches: Chapter 8 (Patreon)

CHAPTER EIGHT

When I opened my eyes, I saw Frank’s face, just beyond the barrel of a long rifle. I felt the cold metal of his gun against my forehead. “Don’t fucking move,” he said. His hands were trembling. His face was dark red and dripping with beads of sweat. His dark hair was slicked to his face.

“Frank,” I said. “What the hell are you doing?”

Then, Bambi gasped next to me as she woke up and saw the lunatic holding the gun to my head. “Frank, what the fuck!?” she cried.

“Shut your mouth, whore,” he growled. “I’ll shoot you next.”

Now, he was trying to muster up the courage to pull the trigger. His finger was on that trigger, and I knew damn-well just how sensitive those things were—one slightly jerk and that gun was going off in my face.

“Don’t do this, Frank. You’ll spend your life in prison,” I said.

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice cracking. “If it means you dying, it’s worth it. You’re a scumbag…” He turned to Bambi. “And you—You just used me! You made me think that you loved me!”

“I never did that!” Bambi cried. “I told you every day that you’re just a client, Frank!”

“That’s not what you said with your actions!”

“What does that even mean!?” she yelled.

“You both deserve to die,” he said, and I’m going to kill you… right now. I—I’m going to do it.”

“No you aren’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re a dumbass, Frank, but you’re not a murderer. Put the fucking gun down.”

“Don’t call me a dumbass!” he barked.

“Raymond!” Bambi said. “Watch your tongue!”

“What?” I said. “It’s true. Frank is dumber than a box of apples, but he’s not a bad person. He means well, even when he’s trying to get me arrested. He’s just… dumb and annoying. He doesn’t deserve to spend his life in prison. So just put down the gun and get the fuck out of here, Frank. You don’t want to ruin your life over this. She never loved you and you’re just an idiot for thinking she ever did. But you’re not a murderer.”

“Raymond!” Bambi shouted again. “Stop calling him names or he’ll blow your brains out!”

“That’s right!” Frank said.

“It’s just the truth,” I said.

“Truth or not—shut up!” Bambi said. Then she turned to Frank. “Please don’t do this, Frank. Like he said: you aren’t a bad guy. You’re a sweet guy. You just… You shouldn’t go to jail over this.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot too?” he asked her.

She was silent. “No,” she said finally. “Not at all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. “Why don’t you want to be with me? Why do you want to be with him? What does he have that I don’t have?”

“I want to be with you too, Frank!” she said, though her lie sounded awful; she wasn’t a good fibber at all. “He’s just a client.”

“He’s paying you for this?” Frank asked.

She was quiet again before nodding her head. “Yep,” she said.

“Bullshit. With what money?” he growled, and then he pushed that gun harder to my forehead, getting ready to shoot. “I’m going to kill him. I can’t stand the sight of his ugly face.”

“Don’t!” Bambi shouted.

But he wasn’t shooting, even though I was bracing to meet my maker. I finally opened one eye and looked at him, to see him crying. “Why are you crying, you baby?” I said. I just couldn’t help myself; I had to mock him when I had the chance; it was just in my nature, I guess.

“I thought she loved me,” he said, using a hand to wipe his eyes. “She… She was so good to me.”

“You paid her to be good to you, Frank. It’s her job.”

“I just don’t get what you like about him,” he said again.

“There isn’t any reasoning behind love,” Bambi said suddenly, taking us both by surprise. “I hear it all the time—girls asking their men, ‘Why do you love me?’ It’s a stupid question because it’s impossible to answer. All people say is, ‘because you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny.’ But that’s never the real reason. Love is something that can’t really be explained. You can fall in love with someone who isn’t beautiful or funny or smart, but it’s still love. You can fall in love with someone who doesn’t have any of the same interests as you… I mean—just ask any girl what they like. They’ll tell you: makeup, watching the Real Housewives, hair, fashion… no guys like that stuff. Guys like hockey, cars, guns—girls don’t like that stuff. So no, I don’t really have anything in common with Raymond. He’s not really the most handsome guy, and he’s not particularly funny—and he’s definitely not smart—but I like him… maybe I love him too. Why? I don’t really know. I can’t answer it—but I know that I have feelings for him.

“And you, Frank—you’re sweet, funny, and you were much more handsome back when you were thinner, but you’ve still got a charming face. I can tell you all the things I should love about you—but I just don’t feel anything. You’ve always just been a client. You pay me for a service and I give you your money’s worth. There’s no way to really quantify why I want to take him home and not you. I’m sorry; it’s just the truth. Please don’t kill him, though—because I do love him. He’s a bit crude and maybe he’s a bit of a slime-ball, but I love him and I don’t want you to kill him.”

Frank took a deep breath and wiped his tears again. “I just feel like you’ve been lying to me this whole time. You’ve made me think that you like me, and now I don’t know anything anymore. Raymond has been a thorn in my side for years. He raises hell in the park. We’ve been trying to evict him forever. And maybe I would be doing the world a favour by taking him out. The park would certainly be a better place. So I just have to do it—even if it means going to prison; that’s just the way it has to be. I guess I’m like a martyr. I’ll sacrifice myself to get rid of him. And then you… I can’t let you go around hurting guys like you hurt me. You need to go too.”

“Murderers aren’t martyrs,” I said. “Every murderer thinks they’re doing some sort of good. Hitler thought he was doing the world a favour too, Frank. Just put the fucking gun down.”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “No can do.” Then he lifted that gun up, taking a deep breath in. He was ready to shoot, when suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around his chest, tugging him back. He fired, but it was too late—his gun was aimed up at the roof. He blew a hole through the drywall, making chunks of debris rain down. Bambi and I both covered our eyes, wincing away from the drywall dust.

Now, there was a man wrestling Frank, getting the gun from his hands—and it didn’t take the mysterious man long to disarm Frank. He rolled Frank over and pinned him hard tot he ground. Then, the dust settled (literally), and I could see who saved my life.

It was Joe from the shop, with his grey beard and his grizzled look. He hardly looked like he was straining to keep Frank down. “Grab that gun,” he said with his deep voice, so I jumped out of bed to grab the gun.

“Joe?” Bambi said.

“You know Joe?” I said, shocked.

“He was my eight-o’clock,” she said.

“You’re a client?” I said to Joe.

Joe just shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a bit early,” he said. “Good thing, too. I heard the commotion and saw the broken doorframe, so I let myself in.”

“Oh my God, Joe, you’re an angel,” I said, giving him a pat on the back. “You really saved my ass.”

Joe turned to Bambi. “Call the cops,” he said. A moment later, Bambi had her phone in her hand.

“Wait!” I said. Everyone turned to look at me.

“You don’t have drugs on you, do you, Raymond?” Joe said.

“No—nothing like that. I just… I don’t think we should call the cops,” I said.

“Want to kill him instead?” Joe asked with a terrifying bluntness.

“No!” I said. “I just…” I took a deep breath. “I think we should let him go.”

They stared at me, perplexed.

“I don’t think he should rot in jail,” I said. “Frank is an idiot—like I said—but he really does mean well. He deserves a second chance. He… He makes a good trailer park supervisor… sometimes.” It pained me to admit it, but Frank was dedicated to keeping the park safe, even though he was always getting into people’s personal business. Maybe he deserved to be in jail for trying to kill me and Bambi, but I knew he could get past it.

“Are you serious?” Bambi asked.

I looked at Frank. “You never did tell Daryl about what you saw, did you?” I said.

He stared back at me. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t do it.”

“And you weren’t actually going to pull that trigger—were you?” I asked.

He was white in the face.

“He was,” Bambi said.

I laughed and shook my head. “Well, it wouldn’t have hurt much.” I lifted up the gun and shook it, making the air-soft beads inside shake and rattle. “It’s a toy. It sure as hell looks real, but the moment I felt that it was plastic in my hand, I knew he was just trying to scare us.”

So Joe let his knee off of Frank’s back. He turned to Bambi and said, “Should I go?”

Bambi shied her gaze away. “Well,” she said. “Maybe. I—I don’t know if I’m going to keep seeing clients.” She turned and looked into my eyes. “As long as you don’t mind moving in with me to split some of my bills.”

Frank perked up. “Raymond will be leaving the park!?” he said.

“Maybe we can move into my trailer,” I said, ignoring Frank. “There’s more space, and the bed is bigger.” I grinned.

Frank groaned loudly.

“We have time to figure that out,” Bambi said, sitting up. She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Just don’t fuck me over. I’m giving up a lot for you.”

I just smiled back. I was excited; I didn’t normally feel that way around girls—and I’d had a few girls ask to move in with me before (that request usually led to the end of the relationship, because I always wanted to have my own space). But with Bambi, I didn’t feel like I cared about my own space; I wanted to share my space with her. I wanted to keep her around. I wanted to lay with her every night. And, of course, I wanted her big, hard shaft to keep my company on quiet nights.

Joe pulled Frank out of the apartment so that Bambi and I could have a bit of alone time together. I thanked Joe later with a fresh bottle of whiskey; he really was a great guy, even though he scared the hell out of me.

He let me know that he always had my back, and I felt grateful, because I didn’t really have anything to give back to him; I don’t think he wanted anything from me anyway. “Just do me a favour,” he said.

“What’s that, Joe?” I said.

“Put a ring on her finger and don’t let her get away. She’s one-in-a-million,” he said.

I smiled. “I will,” I said.

THE END