Page 37 of Night Blind

Today was going to be a shit day. His bones ached with the announcement of cosmic vibrations heralding the echoes from the universe that his day was going to go at full pace down a poop hole. Everything in his life had changed, and now he had nowhere to hide from the chaotic world filled with women, but at work. At this rate, he wanted the fax machine to go off so he could have a moment of peace and quiet driving in his shop. On the one hand, where he held tight to the complaints and gripes, on the other, was a bowl filled with happiness. The issue was, he couldn’t find the balance in the emotional wheelhouse.

“It all just feels weird,” Michael Isaac Neary said to no one in particular.

In the past week, his wife had broken her foot on assignment. His sister-in-law, who was actually a cousin-in-law, had to fill in for his wife and left home to kill a fucker with Michael’s brother riding shotgun. She returned nearly a hundred and fifty thousand ideas richer, but luckily, standing next to the man she was sent to target was another fella who had made her asshole itch, as she explained to him, and not knowing the man was a high-value target, she had earned her one hundred thousand blessings from The Company.

“She killed him because the man made her asshole itch,” he said, looking up to see his boss making a beeline for his office. “Speaking of itchy assholes.”

“Neary,” Jerry Stanfield said as he tapped on the door, peering inside the space with his round red face. “Did you see the report from Texas? Now there is a problem in Arizona. We can’t keep up with the sheer numbers.”

“I’ve seen the reports,” Michael replied.

“Then what are we gonna do about it?

“Sir, that is a your pay gradetype of decision, not mine,” he told his boss. “My pay grade affords me decisions on who to place on the plane to render assistance, what local resources should be activated, and how much per diem each agent should receive for the market in which we are called in to assist.”

“Yes, yes. But what are we going to do?”

“Sir, in all honesty, I don’t have an answer,” he said, surprised at the truthfulness of the statement. “My wife broke her foot over the weekend, and the past five days have been rough.”

Jerry entered the office all the way, closing the glass door and taking a seat. He provided Slow the same look the old coon dog his dad used to take hunting would give him each time he started to eat a sandwich. It wasn’t his way to confide in anyone, especially not his boss.

“Is Abigail okay?”

“She’s fine, but her sister Helen, I think, had something happen with my brother over the same weekend, and for the past three days, she’s smiling and humming all over the damned place,” he said.

“Wait, you have a brother?”

“Yes, we have a brother; Jarius, that’s his name, came home over the weekend, and he and Helen must have hit it off,” he said. “The thing is…my brother isn’t a bad guy, but he’s not marriage material.”

“Ah, and you can’t say anything because you don’t want the old ball and chain to think you’re jealous since you’re not the focus of attention anymore as the sole cock of the walk,” Jerry said.

Slow stared at him mutherfuckingly for a good minute and a half. “Is that where your mind went?”

“Well, yeah. I know when my sister-in-law visits and brings those double D cups into our home, they take all the energyin the room. I’m tired when she leaves from straining myself not to watch those juggulugs bouncing all over the place,” he confessed. “The one time I mentioned to my wife about Julie getting a better bra, she of course scolded me, asking me why in the hell was I looking? They are double D’s, man. Who in their right mind wouldn’t look? I’ve seen women in Trader Joe’s looking at those back breakers.”

Slow still stared at him mutherfuckingly before saying, “I don’t even know why I try to talk to you. There are maybe three or four loose neurovascular connectors in your occipital lobe, which makes you have a borderline personality disorder.”

Jerry was confused, asking, “What?”

“I firmly believe that if you didn’t pretend like you actually worked in law enforcement, you would have a compound in the mountains where you grew your own food, milked goats, and had five wives all named Mary,” Slow told him.

“How did you know I was planning that for my retirement? I don’t know about five wives though, but Julie and them knockers would be welcome for a Friday night distraction,” Jerry said, waggling his eyebrows.

Slow didn’t have time to respond before his phone buzzed, announcing his wife was on her way up to see him. His forehead furrowed in concern that Abigail was coming up to his office. He knew she had a doctor’s appointment today to check the cast on her foot and take new X-rays and such, but he wasn’t expecting an in-person visit.

Jerry sat waiting for her to arrive. The elevator doors opened, and Slow stepped out of his office. His wife had been on the crutches for most of the day. He figured she was more than likely tired from hobbling; therefore, he took it upon himself to meet her at the elevator, lifting her in his arms and carrying Abigail like a child, while she held onto crutches, to his office. Severalsighs could be heard from the women in the office as he walked by.

Jerry, all smiles greeted her with gusto. “Well hello, Abigail. I’m sorry to hear about your foot. How is our little Naomi? Is she still socking men in the mouth?”

“I don’t know, Jerry. I think she only socks men she doesn’t like; I guess little Naomi is still transforming the patriarchy,” Cherry told him. “Good seeing you.”

As obtuse as Jerry Steinfeld could be, he knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Yes, yes, of course. Love to Naomi.”

Cherry didn’t look at Jerry as he left. He was, among many other reasons, why she never took an office job. Men like that made her want to shoot them all and watch the blood slowly drain from their bodies. However, there was a purpose for her visit. She looked up to see her sexy, very confident husband sitting on the edge of his desk, patiently waiting for an explanation for her coming upstairs to the office.

“How bad is the break?”

“Not too rough, but he couldn’t get a good X-ray, which means he has no way to tell me how long it will take to heal,” she told her husband.

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