Wednesday, January 4, 2012

The Contractor - Part 3a - by nova

I got home safely. A relief in itself.  I lived in what had supposed to have been a building full of luxury condo's that had never sold. Somebody, I didn't know who, or really care, had converted them to apartments.  Mine was the "basic" model which meant I had less square feet and my view was the wrong way. I did have stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops which gave the place a modern look.  Too bad I didn't how to cook but my beer stayed cold. Thinking of that reminded me that I was hungry.  I opened up the refrigerator and looked inside to see what I had to eat.  I don't know why I bothered.  I already knew what was in there.  Yet I did that all the time.  I guess part of me hoped the food fairy or mom had come by while I was out.  Neither one ever did but I kept believing.

Nothing had changed.  One half eaten container of yogurt that was at least six months old that I kept as a memento of the woman who had picked at it.  Other than that it was four bottles of Sam Adams, one less than I thought I had.  No food fairy in my life but damn if my beer didn't keep disappearing on its own. I pulled one, told myself it had calories so it was the same as food, and drained half in the first swallow.  Damn! That was good.  I didn't care how tight money was I wouldn't drink mass market American beer.  I'd have to be homeless first and thanks to the FBI that didn't look like a possibility.  I did a silent toast to America, killed the rest, and reached for another. Life was good.  About the time I finished the third beer I realized I didn't need to go to work tomorrow.  The FBI had my back.  I laughed and decided to finish the last beer and dig out the vodka I had in the cabinet. 

When I woke up the next morning it was a mouth that tasted like I had been suckling on someones sweat socks after they had worn them a day too long.  And thirsty. So very thirsty.  My head hurt too.  Probably from the damn vodka. "Never mix drinks you idiot" I told myself for what had to be the hundredth time. I reached for my cell, checked the time and if I had missed any calls, and winced.  The vague memory of my call to the temp agency's voice mail box came back to me.  I really hoped I hadn't said the part about ass fucking.  I probably hadn't.  I sure wasn't going to call them to find out.

I rolled out of bed, stretched, and headed to the bathroom.  I wasn't sure when Agent Johnson was going to call about my new job but it would probably be smart to be semi ready if he did call.  Was he supposed to call? Damn. Was I supposed to show up somewhere? None of that had been mentioned.   I really should have asked.  Oh well.  It would work out.  I also should have saved one beer for this morning. 


  1. "The vague memory of my call to the temp agency's voice mail box came back to me. I really hoped I hadn't said the part about ass fucking. I probably hadn't. I sure wasn't going to call them to find out."


    Great stuff, Nova, as usual! Another charming, identifiable character, and every story you write is like Pavlov ringing his bell.

    Can't wait for more...


  2. p.s. The. Greatest. Quitting scene. EVER.


  3. I'm pretty sure Sam Adams is American, it's what I've got in my fridge right now... but I get what he's saying... haha

    And yeah don't mix, for the 100th time -_-


  4. Dreamer,

    Hmmm..yeah. I changed it a bit. To mass market beer. Thanks