Page 4 of Fish out of Water
Right?
What I wouldn’t give to have that damn paper right now.
I tucked both hands into my armpits as I walked past the creepy fish with the stabby spines and lurking presence. I almost made it to the door before something caught my eye.
No single part of me wanted to take a closer look.
But why in the hell wouldthatbe dropped into the bottom of a damn fish tank?
Bessie, Bertha, and I took tiny steps toward the fish, all three of us hoping I was wrong.
That it wasn’t the key to Mr. Frazier’s mailbox in there, sitting against the multi-colored gravel floor.
Mail was a hot commodity around here. It contained coupons and retirement account statements and AARP magazines.
No way would this be where Mr. Frazier stored his mailbox key.
I bent down, getting eye-level with the fish. “You’re an asshole. I can tell by looking at you.”
I’d known a few assholes in my day. Dated one or two.
I knew better than to try fishing around in the asshole tank.
But here I was, considering doing it anyway.
Because staying up past my bedtime might make me crazy.
I straightened, looking around the sparsely-furnished space. There had to be some kind of a net around here, especially since I’m pretty sure the inhabitants of the other tank took their final dip in the swimming serial killer’s waters.
I caught sight of a green, wire-handled option hooked on the side of the millions-of-fish tank and snagged it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly long enough to reach the bottom of the stupidly tall aquarium containing the key.
The kitchen was my second option, and after searching a few drawers I came out with a set of tongs and a fingered pasta scooper.
Look at me. Improvising.
I went to the front of the tank and pushed Bessie and Bertha up on their toes, seeing if I was tall enough to reach down into the thing.
No dice.
Without a table or chairs to stand on I was left with only one option, and it would give most of the women here a heart attack if they knew I did it. Hell, they’d probably seal off this apartment and never touch it again.
Oh freaking well.
I turned my back to the peninsula and scooted my ass up onto the counter, wiggling back until I could use Bessie and Bertha to push across the laminate surface toward the tank. Unfortunately my cattle didn’t have quite the traction I was hoping for, so I had to resort to crawling on my hands and knees. By the time I got to the side of the tank the fish inside it was moving a little faster. Probably thought I was going to feed him his next victim.
Hopefully that wasn’t the case.
I flipped open the lid and leaned over the opening, pinching the handle of the pasta grabber with the tongs. I slowly lowered the grabber into the water.
The evil fish immediately started bouncing off the plastic, mouth open, as his spiny fins spread out wide.
“Stop being a dick.” I used my jerry-rigged key retriever to swing at the fish, managing to bonk him enough that he backed off a little.
I’m sure Mr. Frazier wouldn’t be thrilled with me assaulting his pet, but I’m also sure he wants me to collect his mail, so…
I managed to hook one poker of the pasta grabber under the single ring attached to the key and got it halfway up the tank before that damn fish went at it again, knocking the key loose and sending it sinking back to the rocks.
“Mother trucker.” Was it possible to hate a fish you barely knew?
