Lucky Fives (short story)

'I'm gonna kill that bastard' I mutter, staring at my haggard face in the mirror, running my finger across the scar. I glance back at my son, whose eyes are glued to the TV. 1

I hate myself for becoming the kind of mother who uses the TV as a babysitter. It’s all Jack's fault. I want to make him suffer like I do. I want him to carry a scar like mine, to remind him of what he ruined. Or worse. 2

I worked my ass off, straight out of college, for ten years before I met him, and thought he would complete my picture of a perfect household. I had it all planned out… 3

My house was two stories high, with the old furniture from the former owners piled everywhere. I couldn’t stand to look at that junk, so I went to all the estate sales to find the perfect piece. After all, I could afford exactly what I needed, I had a good job and the wedding gifts had all be exchanged or returned for money. The people who gave them simply had no sense of interior design or fashion, or common sense for that matter. Never mind the fact that no gift registry could ever include my dreams for this house. 4

I had Jack hire a painter, because I simply couldn’t get any paint on my wardrobe. Not as a sales clerk. No way, no how. Meanwhile, I hopped from store to store, checking out draperies and artwork and every little home furnishing I could find. Jack never once said he liked anything. I would have rather had him say he didn’t like something than sit there in silence, ignoring all my efforts. 5

I had the perfect house, the perfect life. Then, suddenly, it all changed. 6

One day, after we’d fought over a cum stain I’d found on his work clothes, his lawyer came to me. He disclosed a few comments Jack had made to him about an affair. What ever happened to lawyer-client privilege? I would rather not have found out at all than to have found out from the man who helped Jack Ass to take my precious house and all my work away from me… 7

That’s when I decided that the bastard doesn’t deserve to live in such a beautiful home. Not after what he did to me. Fucking that whore, in the bed I designed no less. I’ll just have to hurt him, the way he hurt me the day I confronted him. 8

I hate this scar; ironically it was his wedding band that cut me, right across my cheek. I stare at it so often, wishing I could afford dermabrasion. It is the scar, and remembering my work is now at his mercy, that causes me such pain. The bastard has my house, my things… but I will have his life! 9

I dash out to the garage to the little green Ford Taurus, the only respectable looking car I could afford after getting almost nothing in the divorce settlement. 10

Thanks to no traffic and not hitting red lights, I make it to my house in less than five minutes. 11

I let myself in through the porch. Jack's carelessness finally pays off for me. It used to infuriate me, how he’d come home from work and flop on the leather couch with his can of Budweiser. You don’t want to know how badly that stuff stains. It always made me so mad when he spilled it, and he never cared. 12

"If that whore is here, I'll just have to kill her too. Can't have any witnesses. Witnesses talk. And talk is cheap. Like that whore." I just have to giggle. I always giggle when I’m nervous. I better get a grip on myself, or they might hear me. If they aren’t making too much noise themselves, that is. It really pisses me off that he could make a woman scream in pleasure. He never bothered to try too hard with me. Wham bam, thank you ma’am. Jack Ass. 13

I reach into my black Calvin Klein handbag and pull out the revolver. I unwrap the bullets and the tissues fall to the floor. Whoops, I’ll have to pick that up later. 14

One… two… three… four… five… slip into the chambers with a clink. But, the sixth slips from my shaking hands and falls to the floor. “Shit!” 15

The grey tabby cat that was dozing in the mid-afternoon sunshine leaps off the sill with a hiss. I drop the gun and brace myself for a discharge, diving under the antique mahogany table. 16

I hear nothing but the patter of cat paws on the linoleum floor in the kitchen. 17

“Damn you, Frisky! Always such a nervous little cat! If you don’t stay out of the way, one of these might be for you.” 18

BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!19

The antique grandfather clock chimes the five o'clock hour somberly. 20

Jack would soon be home from work. I snatch up the gun, and run into the hallway. I check the angle from the linen closet to the couch, and decide it’s good enough. I hate the thought of getting blood on the gorgeous Persian carpet. If I had only gotten the one with red designs, this would all be easier. 21

I squeeze myself into one empty shelf. I can barely see through the slats, but that will be enough. Staying patient might be harder. 22

The clock chimes once more. My nerves and the smell of fabric softener make me feel nauseous. The front door creaks. I grip the gun tighter and wait for his footsteps. 23

As always, Jack flops down on the couch, then turns on the big flat screen TV. 24

I open the door, and my knees crack. Lucky for me, Jack likes to watch Jerry Springer. The trailer trash I usually detest and pity earns my thanks today for not letting the surprise get ruined. 25

I pull out the gun and aim it at Jack’s bald spot. He leans forward to grab his beer, and spills some on the carpet. He promptly plops his feet, with boots still on them, on the table. 26

How could he desecrate my table like that?! My hands shaking with fury, I decide it’s now or never! 27

BANG! The first shot hits the clock above the mantle. It bongs one last time, and sails face first onto the granite hearth. 28

Jack drops the can of beer and it splashes all over the mahogany table, gushes out and soaks into the beautiful carpet. I’ll tend to that after I get rid of the body. But first I have to kill him. He’s looking right at me, with that stupid expression on his face. 29

BANG! BANG! The next two hit the Tiffany lamp and the china cabinet. Jack turned just in time to see colored glass, crystal and porcelain exploding. Oh shit, I should have practiced more! I’ll never replace those things. Now I better focus! I don’t want to hit anything else. Just the Jack Ass, who is now lumbering towards me. 30

I steady my hand and take aim again. 31

BANG! The fourth penetrates his beer gut. Jack makes a face and clutches himself, moaning. Yes! Now he will suffer! But I’m not done yet. 32

BANG! The fifth lodges itself into the bastard’s collarbone. Blood pours out of both holes, as he falls onto the carpet. The blood darkens the greens and blues, and turns the cream an eerie shade of orange. 33

Click! 34

“Damn it!” 35

Where did that sixth bullet go? I want to shoot that slut-fucking dick of his. Let him scream like a whore while he dies! 36

“Meow” 37

“Goddamn you stupid cat! Get out of here!” I yell, throwing the nearest object at the fleeing ball of fur. 38

I finally see the sixth bullet… lying a few inches from the shattered figurine I’d just thrown. Maybe I could grab it, finish off the Jackass, and still get out before the police show up. By now I’m sure that a neighbor has heard and called the police. Gunshots aren’t common noise in this suburb! 39

Oh fuck. I can already hear the sirens wailing as they negotiate the streets. 40

I make a mad dash for the bullet. Miraculously it slips into an open chamber, and I take aim… 41

As I depressed the trigger, I hear eight furious feet coming up the stairs and onto the porch. 42

Two officers and two paramedics dash in. 43

In my mind I resist, but my body doesn’t respond. I feel my hands being bound by cold steel cuffs. The revolver goes in a Ziploc bag; the last bullet still in the chamber. They drag me to the squad car and shove me in the back seat. My fingers sting from the gunpowder, and my arms feel numb. 44

I look back and the paramedics taking Jack. He must still be alive or they wouldn’t be rushing. After all my careful planning, it still didn’t go right. How appropriate, today was a perfect summary of our marriage. Next time it will be different… 45