Page 99 of X Marks the Stalker
The guy doesn’t speak, just points to a rusty key hanging on a nail by the register. I hurry over and stop short, staring at what has to be the most ridiculous bathroom key attachment I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s a plastic rainbow trout, at least a foot long, mounted on a wooden plaque. Someone has carved “GOT ONE THIS BIG!” into the wood in uneven letters. The trout’sglass eyes stare at me as if offended by my bathroom emergency.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter, reaching for the monstrosity.
The key itself is attached to the fish’s tail with what looks like baling wire. The entire thing weighs about five pounds, and the trout’s plastic fins dig into my arm as I clutch it.
“Out back,” the attendant says, finally deigning to speak.
I nod thanks and shuffle toward the exit, the absurd fish dangling from my hand. Through the window, Xander pumps gas, his head turning to track my movement. The complete bewilderment on his face when he spots my fishy companion is almost worth the bladder discomfort.
“Don’t ask,” I mouth at him, hoisting the trout higher for emphasis.
The bathroom door sticks, requiring me to ram it with my shoulder while balancing the enormous fish. Inside, it’s as disgusting as expected—a single flickering light illuminating horrors that I immediately try to unsee.
“Whoever designed public restrooms was definitely a man,” I continue my rant to the judgmental fish trophy. “Stand, point, shoot—that’s your entire process. Meanwhile, I’m playing Twister with a rainbow trout just to avoid contracting seven different diseases.”
The toilet paper disintegrates when I touch it, leaving me to MacGyver a solution with the least suspicious-looking paper towels and hand sanitizer.
“And don’t get me started on period emergencies,” I tell the fish as I attempt to wash my hands in a trickle of water. “Every man should have to navigate a gas station bathroom wearing white pants during a surprise visit fromAunt Flo. It would revolutionize public bathroom design overnight.”
The bathroom door bursts open. A wild-eyed man with a patchy beard and a “Live, Laugh, Loot” t-shirt brandishes a screwdriver.
“Gimme your purse! And your phone! And—” his eyes dart, “—and that fish!”
“I don’t have a?—”
He lunges forward, screwdriver aimed at my chest. My fingers tighten around the fish’s wooden base.
My arm swings. The wooden plaque connects with his temple with a solidthwack.
The robber staggers backward, his screwdriver flying from his hand. It strikes the ancient condom dispenser mounted on the wall, puncturing it somehow. The machine starts dispensing its decades-old contents like a jackpot at a depressing casino.
“What the—” the robber exclaims, distracted by the rain of dusty condom packets.
He stumbles backward, slips on the wet floor, and falls. His head connects with the toilet with a sickening crack. The toilet tank lid slides off and smashes on his already-injured head.
Water gushes everywhere from the broken tank as I stand frozen, the fish-key still clutched in my white-knuckled grip.
The bathroom door pushes open, and Xander appears, gun drawn. His eyes widen as he takes in the scene. Me standing in shock with the fish in hand, the robber motionless by the toilet with condoms raining down on his body, and water flooding the floor.
“I...” I start, still holding the fish like a weapon. “He just...”
“This is not on the itinerary,” Xander mutters, holstering his weapon and pulling out latex gloves from his jacket pocket. “This isn’t even in the appendix of potential scenarios.”
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“Of course you didn’t,” he says, crouching beside the man.
His fingers press against the robber’s neck, searching for a pulse. He shifts positions, trying the wrist instead. Thirty seconds pass in silence.
“He’s dead.” Xander straightens and begins pacing the small space. “This complicates things. Significantly. Exponentially. The complication factor just went parabolic.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, still clutching the fish.
“Put down the murder weapon, please,” he says, his voice tight, “before you kill me, too. Death by trout was not how I planned to go.”
He pulls out his phone, checks the screen, then shoves it back in his pocket. “No coverage. Of course, there’s no coverage. That would be convenient, and nothing about this is convenient.”
