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Free Falling


by Adam Sifre


 

I don't have a lot of time, so listen up. At 20,000 feet, you have about 90 seconds before you hit the ground. That information was generously provided to me by Sal Giovanni, right before two of his goons threw me out of the plane.

 

Here's another meaningless fact. Today was my first time in an airplane.

 

Anyway, there may be some things worth dying for, but I can now say that Maggie isn't one of them.

 

I met her in a Starbucks about two weeks ago. She was blonde, leggy, soft in the right places and knew how to wear the fuck out of a pair of high heel shoes. Red, if you can believe it. Every guy in the place was looking at her. A few of the women as well. At the time, I couldn't believe my luck when she spoke to me. I'm not a horror show, but no one is ever going to mistake me for Brad Pitt. I have a bit of a paunch, a bit of a bald spot and a bit of halitosis. I'm the kind of guy that a wife will put up with. So when she asked:

 

“Hello, have you ever killed a dog?” I was too excited to worry about what she actually said.

 

“Um, hi. What?”

 

She was wearing a yellow sundress, she smelled like honeysuckle, and her tits worked harder than Viagra. She put her hand on my arm and smiled. When I came to, we were sitting in the corner and she was whispering in my ear.

 

“I need someone to fuck me, steal my husband's money, and kill a dog. His dog. And I want that someone to be you.”

 

I probably should have told her to get lost. But then she breathed. Oh my, did she breathe. So instead, I played it cool.

 

“Um…”

 

“The thing is,” she whispered, “my husband's a prick. And I found out he's not a monogamous prick. She placed her small hand on my thigh, causing me to black out for a bit again. “So I want to return the favor, and then some.” Her hand moved up my leg. Things stirred, let me tell you.

 

“Um…”

 

She gave a gentle squeeze. “So, are you in…

She kissed my ear. “Or are you out?”

 

Uhh..”

 

“In?” Another soft squeeze.

“Or out?”

 

Fifteen minutes later we were in her hotel room. Fifteen minutes and 3 seconds later, I was in her mouth. I know, I know. But I don't have time to be indirect.

And there were pictures. She took all kinds of pictures.

 

“For hubby,” she purred.

 

Later, after we had scraped ourselves off the sheets and washed up, she took two objects out of her purse and placed them on the nightstand. A keychain and a gun.

 

“Uh…”

 

The big key opens the front door. The small key opens the safe in the upstairs study. It's a floor safe under the desk. There should be anywhere from 40 to 75 thousand dollars in there. You get to keep half. The other half you bring to me here. If you're not here in two hours, I send these pictures to my husband, along with your name and address.” She held up my wallet. “My husband is not the kind of man to let something like this go. He's more like the kind of man to have you dig your own hole and leave you there.”

 

“Um…”

 

"If you are back here in two hours, I send the pictures anyway, but without any of your info. I hope that prick does a slow burn for the rest of the day, and then I hope his head explodes when he finds out his money is missing."

 

“And the gun? I could use the money and I appreciate the, um, the sex. But I don't think I could shoot anyone.”

 

She gave a soft laugh and walked over to the bed. She took my head in her hands and pressed it against her moneymaker.

 

“The gun's for the dog.”

 

Oh yeah. The dog.

 

"The house will be empty except for his damn dog, Lucky. He loves that mutt more than me and maybe more than his money. It's about 500 years old and farts more than it barks. You'll be doing Lucky a favor. Shoot the fucker, bring me back its collar, and I'll let you put it on me and fuck me like a dog until one of us passes out.”

 

“Um…”

 

The house was a large colonial in a nice neighborhood. Like all suburban neighborhoods in Jersey, this one was a complete ghost town between 10:00 am and 2:00 pm. I opened the door and slipped inside. Easy peasy. I didn't take time to tour the whole place, instead making my way straight up the stairs. Hook a right, go past two doors, open the third. Bingo. The study.

 

I walked quickly to the desk, got on my hands and knees with some difficulty (my knees being a bit sore from my morning Maggie workout), and found the keyhole to the floor safe. Like she said, there was a lot of cash. $55,000 and change. I took it all, together with a Movado watch.

 

Easy peasy.

 

I put everything in a “Kings Supermarket” reusable shopping bag and stood up.

 

Lucky. The four footed walking wind bag was sitting in the doorway, looking at me. It was a german shepherd. Maggie wasn't lying when she said he was old. His eyes were filmy, his hair was matted, and his breathing sounded like my Grandpa Manuel when he watched the showgirls on Telemundo, Nueva York. He was big enough, but I could tell there was no fight in him.

 

And he wore a silver studded black collar.

 

My mouth went dry at the thought of Maggie on her knees wearing nothing but that collar.

 

Hiya boy. Who's a good doggie?” I cocked the gun and took a few cautious steps toward the door. Lucky took the opportunity to lie down and pass a fart. He looked at me with those watery eyes and yawned.

 

A few steps closer. Even a rube like me couldn't miss at this distance. I stood there, gun in hand, looking eye to eye with the Methuselah of the canine world. Lucky sighed.

I stood there for some time. But I couldn't do it. I had fifty-five thousand dollars, a watch and a beautiful woman. Why should I kill a dog? I'd just stop by PetCo on the way to the motel, buy a damn dog collar and have my fun.

 

“Today's your lucky day, Lucky.” I put the gun away and stepped over pooch. I was halfway to the stairs when I heard the front door open.

I quietly ran into the first bedroom on the left. My choices were under the bed, in the closet or in the bathroom. I chose under the bed.

 

Footsteps up the stairs. A brief pause. A man's voice.

 

“Lucky! How ya doing boy?”

 

dogs happy pant and half hearted bark.

 

“Where you going, boy”

 

Dog paws clicking on the wood floor. Dog paws scratching at the bedroom door.

 

“What's wrong, boy.

 

A door opens.

 

Dog paws clicking on the floor. Excited whining.

 

A long nose peeks under the bed, sniffing and searching for its new friend.

 

“Lucky? Out of the way boy.”

 

I should have --

 

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