BUGWHACKED

A short story by

K. Sue Collins, author of Literary Promiscuity

His name was Bug. He had been struck by lightning a total of four times. An inordinate amount for anybody. And he has killed. He was a hitman until he turned against his employer for his own monetary gain. His money is gone and he must resort to working a regular job. He arrived at the day labor office. The shocked office girl sent him on a job passing out flyers at the corner of Atwood and 87th. He was offering coupons for the local Burger Joint called Prontos.

The owner of the new restaurant didn’t quite know what to make of Bug. The lightning strikes has left him hairless form the waist up with the exception of two finely etched eyebrows. His lower lip curved upwards and every once and a while drool would dribble out from his mouth. And other odd quirk of Bug’s demeanor was his inability to pronounce the letters "P" and "L" in succession. Nevertheless, he opted to let Bug pass out the half off coupons outside of his restaurant. The only reason the owner allowed him the job was he was terrified if he told Bug "no." Bug had an overwhelming presence that frightened the five foot six inch restaurateur. Bug didn’t think it was exceptionally hard work, but at least it was work even someone of his limited intelligence could accomplish. Rainman would have been able to perform this task.

A twenty-something couple emerging from the hotel across the street waited at the crosswalk where Bug was stationed. He walked over to them and shoved a flyer at the male. "Take this." The couple jumped back as if they were being mugged at gunpoint.

Now, in all fairness to the tourists, Bug’s presence must have been an imposing one. And his pronunciation of the English language was not Alex Trebek efficient or eloquent. The man wrapped his arm around his partner and ushered her into the wielding traffic away. Safety be damned. The only thing that matter to the man was that he got his girlfriend away from the crazy man who was handing out papers about the end of the world or such nonsense as that.

The owner was watching through the window at the horrified glances of the people to whom Bug was trying to get into his restaurant. The owner did not want a confrontation with this madman, but he also did not want to loose his business. He had a total of five people besides himself in his café and three of them were employees. It was officially lunch hour. It was the most important hour of the day for Pronto. He made the sign of the cross and went outside to try to have a calm talk with Bug.

Bug was accosting a businessman with a briefcase on his lunch break. The businessman held the briefcase to his face to shield himself in case Bug decided to hit him. The owner tapped Bug on the shoulder. When Bug turned around, the businessman ran for cover to a nearby McDonalds.

"What do you fuckin’ want!" Bug snapped.

The owner didn’t have the guts to fire Bug, he did after all have a wife and two kids. "Mr. Bug, I’m sorry, but I think that you need to lighten up on your sales approach."

"Fuck does that mean?" Bug was already bored with this conversation and he was looking for his next target. The owner touched Bug on the shoulder. Bug spun around and glared at the owner with the fiery hateful of a thousand Democrats at the President’s State of the Union address.

Wisely, the owner removed his hand from Bug’s shoulder. He offered another tactic. "Mr. Bug, it seems that your hard core selling approach might be having the opposite effect on potential customers."

Bug gave a blank look at the owner. "Speak fuckin’ English."

The owner’s throat suddenly got very dry and his pulse rate raised fifty heartbeats. "It’s just I think you may be scaring people away."

Crinkling his face up, Bug weighed what the owner was telling him and took the advice as an insult. "You tellin’ me I’m fuckin’ ugly."

The owner had been taught by the Church and his parents that honestly was the best policy. However, he felt that if he gave an honest answer he would be joining his parents in heaven far sooner than he anticipated. "No, of course not, it’s just…" The owner tapered off. He had to regroup his thoughts for the rest of the conversation. "You are a very attractive man." The owner bumbled.

Shit, this mother is making a pass at me, the thought sauntered through Bug’s mind. He all of a sudden wanted to ram the queer’s face through the glass window. "You fuckin’ hittin’ on me?!"

The owner’s face opened up wide. He was knocked off guard. Sure, he found Brad Pitt a hottie, but what person on the planet didn’t. But that didn’t necessarily make him gay. "No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I just meant…" The owner paused. Nothing he said at this junction would help his case. Bug looked down on him with a his lip curled upward wanting an explanation. "I’m sorry, just ignore what I said." The owner backed away and slithered into his business.

Bug wanted to know what queer guy was thinking about him. He didn’t swing that way and he wasn’t about to let some pervert entertain ideas about him in that light. The owner was lucky, if Bug had half a chance he would be dead. Bug had killed before, but he had decided to try to go straight. He had never worked an honest day in his life. He was eager to try. The restaurant owner had messed up his style. He was doing this dude a favor by passing out his coupons. He had been on his feet for two hours and had probably only earned under fifteen bucks. He could have earned ten times that in the same amount of time working for Mack Delgado, but his old boss was dead.

Another businessman walked past him. Bug could sense that the man was trying to ignore him even before he reached him. He didn’t see Bug ahead of time so he couldn’t travel to the other side of the street to get away from him. He was hugging the gutter of the street to avoid running into Bug. For all of his faults being out of shape was not one of them. Bug chased the man down and cut him off before he had the chance to pass Pronto. Bug shoved the flyer at him. "Take this," he ordered.

The man had the nerve to ignore him. Bug didn’t like to be ignored. He grabbed the man by the tuff of his neck and spun him around. The man opened his mouth to protest and Bug crammed the flyer in the man’s mouth. Bug then turned the man back around and kicked him in the ass. The man toppled to the ground. He dropped his briefcase. He gathered his belongings and cowered off.

The mortified restaurant owner watched. The other employees stopped working to watch the show outside. He was at a loss for what to do. He was scared to death of the Neanderthal outside, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it without putting himself at risk. He couldn’t take that chance. He thought for a minute. He ducked down and ran over to the door and hit the deadbolt. The two customers stopped their eating once they heard the deadbolt click.

"Excuse me?" the first customer called out. "How are we suppose to get out of here?"

The owner lowered himself over to the customer’s table and knelt down so Bug would not see him. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "But I’ll let you out the back door into the alley when you’re ready to leave."

The other customer called out when he heard what was being said. "What?! I’m not leaving through the back alley like a rat."

Shuffling over on his knees to Customer #2. He remained in prayer position as he explained his situation. "You don’t seem to understand." He pointed to Bug, whose back was at the restaurant’s window. "But that man out there, he’s emotionally unstable."

"That’s not our problem," Customer #1 retorted. "It’s your problem."

Customer #2 was nearly finished with his cheeseburger. "You can’t keep us locked up here because you’re afraid of one of your employees."

The owner clutched his hands together. He held them up to the customers like a sinner making a last ditch effort to get on God’s good side before he dies. "Please, I’ll let you have your meal for free if you just leave out the back."

"You’re damn right I’m having this meal for free. There’s no way I’m paying for you to kidnap me." Customer #2 threw his paper napkin into the owner’s face.

The owner started pleading again. "Please." He heard beeping followed by Customer #1 talking.

"Yeah, 9-1-1, I’m being held hostage at Pronto’s on Atwood and 87th."

The owner scooted over to Customer #1 and attempted to bully the phone away from him. "Help!" Customer #1 yelled. "He’s trying to take the phone away from me."

The owner wrestled the Nokia away from the customer and tossed it aside. "Please, I need your cooperation."

The smug customer crossed his arms across his chest. "Explain that to the police."

The owner stood up. He was screaming. He couldn’t tell this to the police. He was doing the right thing. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to be the hero. He was trying to save them from that psychopathic madman outside passing out flyers. "I’m trying to protect you from that psycho out there." He pointed to Bug.

Bug’s hearing was extraordinarily good. He heard what that queer said about him being mentally unbalance. He was going to give him a piece of his mind and fists. The owner let out an "eek" when he saw Bug approach the front door. He covered his mouth with his hand and dropped down. He had hoped that Bug had not seen him. Bug pressed his face against the glass, squinted and saw the owner crouched underneath a table. Customer #2 kicked him.

Bug reached for the door handle. He pulled on it and it was locked. The owner crawled out from underneath the table. The steady stream of kicks changed his mind about hiding under the table. The three employees of Prontos didn’t know what to make of all this. The consensus was to leave. The three dodged out the back door when the owner was otherwise engaged. They weren’t getting paid enough to go to jail or pay hospital bills.

Anger of being locked out of the place he was working for, Bug slammed his elbow into the glass door. It shattered with impact. Bug reached in and turned the deadbolt. The owner was backed himself into a corner. The adrenaline was not rushing to his brain to tell him to get out while he still could. Collapsed into the corner, he covered his face with his hands. The patrons of the restaurant on the other hand, were not scared. They knew the intended target of Bug’s rage was directed at the owner and not them. Bug unlocked the door and came barreling in. The two customers immediately pointed to the restaurant owner hiding in the corner. "He’s over there," Customer #1 said and continued to munch on his fries.

Bug lunged toward the owner. "Oh, God, please don’t." He begged. He bent down and hauled him up.

The owner tried again. "Oh, God, don’t kill me. Take my money."

"Huh?" Bug responded. He lowered the owner to his feet. The owner reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold. He took all the cash out. He held it out for Bug. There was only 67 bucks.

Bug pocketed the cash with his free hand. He kept his grasp on the restaurant owner. The owner pointed to the register. "There’s money in there."

"How much?" True, 67 dollars was most likely more than he would be receiving from the owner in his day’s worth of work, but it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to gather some seed money.

The owner reached into his pocket and pulled out the register key on the WWJD keychain. "I don’t know, take it all." Bug snatched the key from the owner. He dropped the owner on his tailbone. He winced as he crashed to the floor.

Bug turned the key into the register. There was only about fifty odd bucks. Hardly worth taking, but he did anyway. The owner was rubbing his backside. "Please take it all and leave." Bug shrugged it off. He grabbed all the bills and change. He pushed it all into his pockets.

"Outta here." Bug stopped at Customer #1’s table and grabbed a handful of fries before he left the restaurant.

It wasn’t until the owner was sure that Bug was down the street that he started to cry. He hung his head into his hands. He barely heard when the police showed up. He looked up when Customer #2 pointed him out to the police. "It’s him, he’s the one who took us hostage and wouldn’t let us leave."

The owner was still crying when the police officers took him into custody. His business went under two days later. He is currently serving three to five in the state penitentiary.

Over a hundred bucks for a couple of hours of hard labor, it just didn’t seem worth it to Bug. He had to stand on his feet and approach people and be nice to them and his boss. He was his own man. He didn’t have to report to anybody. Yep, Bug didn’t see any reason as to why he would want to find a job that had the same hours each day. He was much better suited to his own schedule. He decided to go a little north. He always wanted to go to Universal Studios and ride Spider-Man.