The Maternal Instinct by Mike Miller
Mom was a bitch from second one. The moment that woman walked through the door carrying her baby, Nicky could hear her carping and knew the whiney tone well. “Right, and now we have to go there, on a Friday night no less. God, it’s cold in here!” It was a shame, the mom screeching so loud next to the tender ears of her own newborn. It made Nicky a little bit sad and a little bit angry.
After the cow’s meek and mild sperm donor emerged from behind her with a pair of anxious urchins in tow, Nicky grabbed a set of menus and escorted the gang to a booth at the rear of the restaurant. Even though there were only four other patrons in the empty cavern of the diner, Nicky knew that the baby would start crying. All babies cry all the time, except for James.
When asked for drinks, dad starts to talk but mom interrupts with, “We’ll take four waters with no ice, but that doesn’t mean we want warm water. It’s a freezer in here, but not that cold. Also, put a slice of lemon in two of them.” When they finally ordered, their meal was permeated with flourishes of micro-management: a slew of special instructions, substitutions and sauces on the side.
Nicky pondered whether it was better to suffer the condescension of this bitch’s brash commands or the humiliating ogling of a lonely male pervert. Last hour’s asshole was a fat and hairy guy who just wouldn’t shut up about her swollen breasts to his short and hairy sidekick. But always behind Nicky’s ever pleasant and professional mask of upbeat enthusiasm was a swirling stew of revenge scenarios and the prayer for anything above 10%.
During her break, Nicky smoked a cigarette and called the babysitter’s cell phone. Karen told her, “Everything’s fine as always. He’s sleeping quietly right now, and hasn’t made a noise all evening. Nobody’s left any messages here for you either.”
Of course, thought Nicky, and she smiled genuinely for the first time the whole night. After hanging up though, the hollow dread of work-to-be-done resurfaced within her again. Nicky and her façade danced back into the restaurant.
“Excuse me, server.” hollered the matriarch of table 9. “Where’s that knife I asked for?” Nicky was just about to get it, and immediately stomped back into the kitchen. She found the dullest blade available.
Upon her return to the floor, Victor the busboy told her, “Phone call.” Nicky popped with panic as she shot across the rubber mats of the inner kitchen.
She had never been called at the restaurant.
“What is it, Karen?” gasped Nicky.
A subdued baritone voice responded, “This isn’t Karen.” Nicky knew instantly who the man was.
“How’d you get this number?” she screamed. With the knife still in her hand, she stabbed the cutlery into an imaginary throat. She didn’t care how many cooks turned in surprise.
“I’m rich and smart, Nicky, which makes everything that much easier.” Palmer only made jokes when he was in a good mood. Fear shot through Nicky’s body, tightening her grip around the receiver until the faint snaps of plastic fibers framed the silence from Nicky’s end.
“You sound pretty exhausted. Busy night at the grease galley?”
Nicky flatly responded with, “Jump to the hump.” She could imagine Palmer’s cherubic grin melting into a somber fat frown.
“Thought about my offer?” he queried.
“Why don’t you get Brian to do it?” she asked back.
“Long gone, and you’re the best I know. Even a year out of the biz, I bet you’re still hard as a rock,” he chuckled.
Nicky said nothing at all before Palmer slowly rumbled, “I’ll give you three times as much as before. Nicky smiled for an unprecedented second time during the dinner shift. “What can you say to that, Nicky?”
She casually flipped the knife around in her hand as the blade lithely danced over and around fingers and knuckles.
“Sure.” said Nicky as Victor crept up and hissed, “The customers are getting very pissed off.”
“Alright then,” said Palmer. “Call me when it’s done.”
“Of course. And Palmer? Don’t ever call me here ever fucking again.”
He chortled at her feistiness. “I thought you’d appreciate a call at work. What, got a new boyfriend?”
Nicky hung up the phone and strolled back to the dining area. On her way, she dropped off the dull blade, and grabbed a freshly washed steak knife.
“There you are,” exclaimed the fairly irate mom. “Could I please get my knife now?”
Nicky held the blade between her fingertips and extended it towards the woman handle first. Horrified, the lady gasped, “You just filthied it up with your fingers. I can’t believe you!”
Nicky flipped the knife back around, grabbed the handle and slammed the blade into the table a half inch from the woman’s left index finger. Nicky took a good look into the terrified soul of the woman as she cowered against her tiny son in the booth.
Later that night, the father would suddenly go to the bathroom to uncontrollably smile when he thought about the look of terror on his wife’s face.
Nicky stomped towards the exit, hurling her apron to the floor. The look of fear was just the she needed to pick up her spirits.
As she departed, Victor was collecting some left-behind bowels and hissed, “What the hell are you doing, man?”
“You can keep the tips tonight, Victor.” Nicky cruised out the door just as the baby started to wail.
“Have a great weekend, Nicky!” said Victor cheerfully. He would spend all of the night’s tips getting drunk at the racetrack.
Twenty-two hours later, little James slept quietly. His rattle still rattled though as Nicky pushed his carriage down the street. The dim nightlights only barely illuminated the darkened rows of houses. She checked the address again and Nicky confirmed that Karen’s house was only two doors away.
But the house between Nicky and her destination throbbed with a wild party of college kids. To offset their thumping rhthym, Nicky began to hum a ditty her own mother used to sing. She didn’t remember the words, but knew the melody well.
But she gasped suddenly as she watched a burning cigarette butt plummeting towards her sleeping baby.
Nicky shot her hand out to nimbly snatch the cigarette. With her fingers pinched around the butt, a few cinders of ash still drifted down towards James’ oblivious face. But they dissolved into the ether by his holy aura.
Nicky hurled the smoking debris to the street while James remained thankfully still asleep. Fully enraged, Nicky looked up at the origin of the cigarette and noticed a few heads bobbing into view atop the second-story roof of the party house. Judging by their loud, dumb music, they were likely a bunch of loud, dumb idiots. Now Nicky especially wished that Karen had agreed to come to her own apartment, instead of insisting she deliver her boy next door to a herd of hooligans. Gently caressing the handle of the 9mm stashed in James’ stroller, Nicky decided she would first drop off James before doing anything rash.
Nicky quickly hustled her child over to Karen’s house. Karen was typing and watching television when the distraught mother slammed the front door open.
Nicky hurriedly ran through the usual set of instructions while Karen tried to pretend she hadn’t heard them a dozen times before. Pacifier, check. Bottle, check. Fuzzy banana doll, check. Fresh diapers, change of clothes, and pink blanket? Check check check.
Nicky snatched her backpack and charged for the door until Karen said, “Aren’t you going to kiss him goodbye?” Nicky jogged back to kiss the still-slumbering James on the forehead as tradition and motherly love dictated. While making her final departure from the babysitter’s house, Nicky said, “Good luck with your paper.”
Karen enthusiastically shouted after the fleeing mother, “And good luck with your tips!”
Nicky checked her watch. There was still an hour to kill before she had to murder the quarterback, plenty of time for a pre-assassination warm-up.
Nicky waded through some blathering teenagers on the porch of the party house before heading inside.
The place was filled with drunken brats, all slowly swaying to the overwhelming bass of the music like reeds in an autumn wind.
The chaos was potent, but Nicky managed to find the stairs in a heartbeat. Fighting her way up to spill several red cups, Nicky arrived on the second floor only to find a thick crowd in the hallway. She grabbed the closest moron and demanded, “How do I get to the roof?”
He groggily replied, “This place has a roof?”
His friend said, “What’s your deal, lady?”
Nicky crushed the friend’s balls with her left hand, and he gurgled, “The bedroom, the window,” before he crumpled to the ground in agony.
Charging into the room, Nicky spotted the open window while a guy hollered from the corner, “Yo, we’re trying to make love in here.”
Disregarding the newest numbskull, Nicky hopped out onto a brief ledge. She hurdled up a short wall and spotted four guys standing in a circle in the corner of the wide roof by the street.
“Which of you guys smoke?” Nicky demanded as she approached.
Guy 1 responded, “Weed or cigarettes?”
Guy 2 said, “I got a cigarette.”
She rephrased the question. “Which of you dumb-fucks just finished smoking and flicked his cigarette off the front of the house towards the street where there are babies?”
Guy 3 said, “Whoa, lady. Calm down.”
Guy 4 said, “Aren’t you a little bit old and crazy to be here?”
Guy 1 responded, “Hey, all chicks are totally welcome.”
While Guys 1 through 3 chuckled at the remark, Nicky punched Guy 4 in the throat and kneed him in the stomach. He crumpled over and almost fell off the house when Nicky grabbed his shirt and spun him back to slam him onto the ground.
She turned to the stunned buddies. “Any of you step closer, and you become cigarette butts over the side.”
She turned to gargling-for-air guy on the ground. “When you can talk again tomorrow, tell the asshole that almost burned my baby with his dumb cigarette butt to be more fucking careful next time.” His motion of his choking and writhing head resembled a nod. “You can fuck him up for me too, if you want.”
Nicky was momentarily content until she spotted an unmistakable brown Buick in front of the babysitter’s house.
Without a second thought, Nicky dashed towards the side of the roof and leapt. She landed atop of the roof of Karen’s house.
Guy 1 said, “Dude, are you okay?”
Guy 2 added, “That was fuckin’ crazy, man! Shit was like Batman.”
Guy 3 contributed, “Dude, only when you’re high, dude.”
Later that evening, Guy 2 would later be slapped very forcefully for throwing another cigarette off the roof.
Nicky tumbled over the lip of the roof, to land on her feet on a slide ledge. She pushed herself flat against the wall of the house and pulled the gun from her backpack. While a faint, “Look what she’s doing now!” was cried in the distance, Nicky crept to the front of the house just in time to watch the dilapidated brown Buick putter off down the street. She flipped over the awning onto the front porch.
When Karen heard her screen door crash open, she turned around at her desk and saw Nicky marching towards her with a pistol. “Ohmigod stop please!” she pleaded as she extended her palm before the barrel of gun. Victims not only held their hands out to somehow futilely stop an oncoming bullet, but also to hide the gun from view and create a foolish but calming illusion of safety.
After witnessing Karen’s dual reactions of futility by a single gesture, Nicky’s body surged with rage. She was ready to judge Karen as she asked, “Is James here?”
Karen started sobbing. “They just left with him.” and Nicky marched to the front of the room.
“He threatened to kill me, Nicky. I’m so sorry.” and Nicky ripped the television from its stand.
“He paid me so much money too, but I didn’t want it. Well, I wanted it, but not to get rid of James. Please don’t kill me.”
Nicky stomped right up Karen and her paper-in-progress and held the TV aloft.
“They took his fuzzy doll, the diapers, even the stroller, Nicky. I don’t want to die, please”
Nicky hurled the TV into Karen’s computer. Both exploded with a spray of plastic and sparks.
Nicky said, “You’re lucky I’m letting you live. Maybe it’s because of that time at Chuck E Cheese’s.” And Nicky sped out the door.
Karen thanked the Lord that she was still alive. But she would be very sad when she got a C- on her paper because it was too short.
Nicky grabbed the first car available. The Integra belonged to some guy who was helping his girlfriend throw up on the nearest tree.
Jumping into the open door, Nicky shifted into drive and sped off down the street while the boyfriend ran after his stolen car and the girlfriend fell into a rose bush.
Cutting a left at the same intersection Brian had, Nicky noticed the brown Buick farther down the road. It was stopped just one light short of the freeway on-ramp. Nicky sped after them as they boarded the highway.
The Buick swerved immediately into the fast lane, but Nicky stayed in the middle, never losing sight of the vehicle.
She decided it was time to load her other gun and mount silencers on both. So she slunk down in her seat, reached into her bag and drove with her knees.
They exited the freeway.
Pulling up in front of the brick apartment building at the corner of 43rd and Elmwood, Nicky remembered the many times she had stumbled to the same complex after a hard night out at the bars or work with Brian. She remembered more about her life with Brian and that it wasn’t all bad.
The Buick pulled up alongside the curb and Nicky headed into the next driveway. Motor still running, Nicky leapt out the car and dashed towards the three silhouettes exiting the car. Only one was holding James, and it was Brian, coming out the driver’s seat. His hairline had receded slightly.
Nicky fired two rounds of two into the other two gentlemen, double-tapping both into the afterlife. One managed to get his gun, but both dropped dead while making abstract art on the sidewalk and car.
Brian ducked behind his car as Nicky fired off four more shots, all banging into the hood of the Buick.
“Hey, I got a kid here, you crazy-- Who the fuck are you?” called Brian.
“You know who I am, you bastard!” And Brian knew who she was.
“You dumb bitch, I’m holding our kid here!” called Brian.
“Don’t cuss!” She took cover behind the building and checked her guns. The four bullets total left were three more than she needed.
Brian emerged with his gun trained straight ahead, and tiny James clutched to his chest. The child began crying horribly, and Nicky tried not to cry too.
“How the fu-- I mean, heck can you shoot at our kid?” he asked.
Nicky shot into the air causing Brian to flinch. “I was aiming for you,” she responded.
James began caterwauling even more loudly at the loud boom of her gun, which made her more miserable.
“I even found this goddam cannon in his stroller. What kind of a mother are you, you trying to kill what’s-his-name-here? I am too right to get him away from your psycho ass.” James wondered if he should’ve said ‘butt’ instead.
Nicky sighed and closed her eyes. She tossed the gun onto the sidewalk.
“The other gun too,” demanded Brian. Nicky held out the other gun by its barrel, but kept herself shielded behind the brick wall.
She wondered whether she deserved to die for getting her son into this situation. Brian smiled sickly and bobbed the child up and down, which softened the kid’s tears.
Gathering her strength, Nicky said, “You know what the funny part is, Brian?”
Confused, Brian said, “Funny? Are you on something again?”
Nicky said coolly, “I don’t even know if he’s yours.”
Still confused, Brian demanded, “Then whose is he?”
Nicky shrugged. “Probably Palmer’s. Isn’t he in on this?”
Brian thought back to the unusually good mood his boss was in yesterday. He did chuckle way too much during that phone call for the babysitter’s number.
Nicky stepped around the corner, practically aiming Brian’s gun for him as she bravely stood before him. The gun remained dangling from her outstretched arm like she was disposing the dirtiest of diapers.
“Fuck you, you never banged him,” said Brian. “Oh, I mean, ‘forget you.’”
“You’re right,” smiled Nicky now walking slowly forward. Brian retreated backwards. “But he’s still not yours.”
“Yeah, then whose?” Brian demanded, jerking the gun to emphasize the threat.
“Mine.” Nicky flipped the gun around and shot Brian in the stomach.
She dashed forward to steal her boy as Brian stumbled backwards in pain. Brian knew he could have still wrestled the child from his crazy ex. But letting go was the right thing to do.
As Nicky snatched the boy and cradled him tightly, Brian splashed across the hood of his beat-up Buick, bleeding black red all over the faded brown.
“If he were yours, you would’ve been the one to kill me.” Nicky stiffly proclaimed. “And I would never keep a loaded gun around my baby.” She patted James’ little head and his cries softened.
Brian thought maybe she was right. It wasn’t that he ever tried to shoot her; it was that he didn’t have the heart to do so. He figured that’s the type of mentality a good parent needed. It was too bad he was learning the lesson late.
Brian held a hand to his wounded stomach and watched Nicky unbutton her blouse. She pulled out her breast, which was even better than he had remembered, and let the boy suckle on it. While Nicky aimed her gun at Brian’s head, the boy only paused to burp.
Brian smiled and said, “Good boy.” Then the bullet struck.
Nicky raided the car for James’ lost items. In her head she inventoried Brian’s overt sloppiness in his care for the boy. The idiot obviously had no idea what to do. No babyseat, no bottle, no wipes. He didn’t even check that unknown gun for bullets. The best thing Brian ever did for James besides possibly making him was to die.
But the man did have a small arsenal in the backseat. In counting on her to fight fiercely for the child instead of lazily abandoning the lad like her younger self might have, Brian had overestimated Nicky for once. So she proudly accepted that as a sign of maturity achieved.
With belly full, James was quickly falling asleep, so Nicky returned with her child to the stolen car, hoping to make it safely without a car seat.
As they drove cautiously home, Nicky thought about whether she should try and kill her son’s other possible father. But then she moved to another state and got a better waiting gig.
Mom was a bitch from second one. The moment that woman walked through the door carrying her baby, Nicky could hear her carping and knew the whiney tone well. “Right, and now we have to go there, on a Friday night no less. God, it’s cold in here!” It was a shame, the mom screeching so loud next to the tender ears of her own newborn. It made Nicky a little bit sad and a little bit angry.
After the cow’s meek and mild sperm donor emerged from behind her with a pair of anxious urchins in tow, Nicky grabbed a set of menus and escorted the gang to a booth at the rear of the restaurant. Even though there were only four other patrons in the empty cavern of the diner, Nicky knew that the baby would start crying. All babies cry all the time, except for James.
When asked for drinks, dad starts to talk but mom interrupts with, “We’ll take four waters with no ice, but that doesn’t mean we want warm water. It’s a freezer in here, but not that cold. Also, put a slice of lemon in two of them.” When they finally ordered, their meal was permeated with flourishes of micro-management: a slew of special instructions, substitutions and sauces on the side.
Nicky pondered whether it was better to suffer the condescension of this bitch’s brash commands or the humiliating ogling of a lonely male pervert. Last hour’s asshole was a fat and hairy guy who just wouldn’t shut up about her swollen breasts to his short and hairy sidekick. But always behind Nicky’s ever pleasant and professional mask of upbeat enthusiasm was a swirling stew of revenge scenarios and the prayer for anything above 10%.
During her break, Nicky smoked a cigarette and called the babysitter’s cell phone. Karen told her, “Everything’s fine as always. He’s sleeping quietly right now, and hasn’t made a noise all evening. Nobody’s left any messages here for you either.”
Of course, thought Nicky, and she smiled genuinely for the first time the whole night. After hanging up though, the hollow dread of work-to-be-done resurfaced within her again. Nicky and her façade danced back into the restaurant.
“Excuse me, server.” hollered the matriarch of table 9. “Where’s that knife I asked for?” Nicky was just about to get it, and immediately stomped back into the kitchen. She found the dullest blade available.
Upon her return to the floor, Victor the busboy told her, “Phone call.” Nicky popped with panic as she shot across the rubber mats of the inner kitchen.
She had never been called at the restaurant.
“What is it, Karen?” gasped Nicky.
A subdued baritone voice responded, “This isn’t Karen.” Nicky knew instantly who the man was.
“How’d you get this number?” she screamed. With the knife still in her hand, she stabbed the cutlery into an imaginary throat. She didn’t care how many cooks turned in surprise.
“I’m rich and smart, Nicky, which makes everything that much easier.” Palmer only made jokes when he was in a good mood. Fear shot through Nicky’s body, tightening her grip around the receiver until the faint snaps of plastic fibers framed the silence from Nicky’s end.
“You sound pretty exhausted. Busy night at the grease galley?”
Nicky flatly responded with, “Jump to the hump.” She could imagine Palmer’s cherubic grin melting into a somber fat frown.
“Thought about my offer?” he queried.
“Why don’t you get Brian to do it?” she asked back.
“Long gone, and you’re the best I know. Even a year out of the biz, I bet you’re still hard as a rock,” he chuckled.
Nicky said nothing at all before Palmer slowly rumbled, “I’ll give you three times as much as before. Nicky smiled for an unprecedented second time during the dinner shift. “What can you say to that, Nicky?”
She casually flipped the knife around in her hand as the blade lithely danced over and around fingers and knuckles.
“Sure.” said Nicky as Victor crept up and hissed, “The customers are getting very pissed off.”
“Alright then,” said Palmer. “Call me when it’s done.”
“Of course. And Palmer? Don’t ever call me here ever fucking again.”
He chortled at her feistiness. “I thought you’d appreciate a call at work. What, got a new boyfriend?”
Nicky hung up the phone and strolled back to the dining area. On her way, she dropped off the dull blade, and grabbed a freshly washed steak knife.
“There you are,” exclaimed the fairly irate mom. “Could I please get my knife now?”
Nicky held the blade between her fingertips and extended it towards the woman handle first. Horrified, the lady gasped, “You just filthied it up with your fingers. I can’t believe you!”
Nicky flipped the knife back around, grabbed the handle and slammed the blade into the table a half inch from the woman’s left index finger. Nicky took a good look into the terrified soul of the woman as she cowered against her tiny son in the booth.
Later that night, the father would suddenly go to the bathroom to uncontrollably smile when he thought about the look of terror on his wife’s face.
Nicky stomped towards the exit, hurling her apron to the floor. The look of fear was just the she needed to pick up her spirits.
As she departed, Victor was collecting some left-behind bowels and hissed, “What the hell are you doing, man?”
“You can keep the tips tonight, Victor.” Nicky cruised out the door just as the baby started to wail.
“Have a great weekend, Nicky!” said Victor cheerfully. He would spend all of the night’s tips getting drunk at the racetrack.
Twenty-two hours later, little James slept quietly. His rattle still rattled though as Nicky pushed his carriage down the street. The dim nightlights only barely illuminated the darkened rows of houses. She checked the address again and Nicky confirmed that Karen’s house was only two doors away.
But the house between Nicky and her destination throbbed with a wild party of college kids. To offset their thumping rhthym, Nicky began to hum a ditty her own mother used to sing. She didn’t remember the words, but knew the melody well.
But she gasped suddenly as she watched a burning cigarette butt plummeting towards her sleeping baby.
Nicky shot her hand out to nimbly snatch the cigarette. With her fingers pinched around the butt, a few cinders of ash still drifted down towards James’ oblivious face. But they dissolved into the ether by his holy aura.
Nicky hurled the smoking debris to the street while James remained thankfully still asleep. Fully enraged, Nicky looked up at the origin of the cigarette and noticed a few heads bobbing into view atop the second-story roof of the party house. Judging by their loud, dumb music, they were likely a bunch of loud, dumb idiots. Now Nicky especially wished that Karen had agreed to come to her own apartment, instead of insisting she deliver her boy next door to a herd of hooligans. Gently caressing the handle of the 9mm stashed in James’ stroller, Nicky decided she would first drop off James before doing anything rash.
Nicky quickly hustled her child over to Karen’s house. Karen was typing and watching television when the distraught mother slammed the front door open.
Nicky hurriedly ran through the usual set of instructions while Karen tried to pretend she hadn’t heard them a dozen times before. Pacifier, check. Bottle, check. Fuzzy banana doll, check. Fresh diapers, change of clothes, and pink blanket? Check check check.
Nicky snatched her backpack and charged for the door until Karen said, “Aren’t you going to kiss him goodbye?” Nicky jogged back to kiss the still-slumbering James on the forehead as tradition and motherly love dictated. While making her final departure from the babysitter’s house, Nicky said, “Good luck with your paper.”
Karen enthusiastically shouted after the fleeing mother, “And good luck with your tips!”
Nicky checked her watch. There was still an hour to kill before she had to murder the quarterback, plenty of time for a pre-assassination warm-up.
Nicky waded through some blathering teenagers on the porch of the party house before heading inside.
The place was filled with drunken brats, all slowly swaying to the overwhelming bass of the music like reeds in an autumn wind.
The chaos was potent, but Nicky managed to find the stairs in a heartbeat. Fighting her way up to spill several red cups, Nicky arrived on the second floor only to find a thick crowd in the hallway. She grabbed the closest moron and demanded, “How do I get to the roof?”
He groggily replied, “This place has a roof?”
His friend said, “What’s your deal, lady?”
Nicky crushed the friend’s balls with her left hand, and he gurgled, “The bedroom, the window,” before he crumpled to the ground in agony.
Charging into the room, Nicky spotted the open window while a guy hollered from the corner, “Yo, we’re trying to make love in here.”
Disregarding the newest numbskull, Nicky hopped out onto a brief ledge. She hurdled up a short wall and spotted four guys standing in a circle in the corner of the wide roof by the street.
“Which of you guys smoke?” Nicky demanded as she approached.
Guy 1 responded, “Weed or cigarettes?”
Guy 2 said, “I got a cigarette.”
She rephrased the question. “Which of you dumb-fucks just finished smoking and flicked his cigarette off the front of the house towards the street where there are babies?”
Guy 3 said, “Whoa, lady. Calm down.”
Guy 4 said, “Aren’t you a little bit old and crazy to be here?”
Guy 1 responded, “Hey, all chicks are totally welcome.”
While Guys 1 through 3 chuckled at the remark, Nicky punched Guy 4 in the throat and kneed him in the stomach. He crumpled over and almost fell off the house when Nicky grabbed his shirt and spun him back to slam him onto the ground.
She turned to the stunned buddies. “Any of you step closer, and you become cigarette butts over the side.”
She turned to gargling-for-air guy on the ground. “When you can talk again tomorrow, tell the asshole that almost burned my baby with his dumb cigarette butt to be more fucking careful next time.” His motion of his choking and writhing head resembled a nod. “You can fuck him up for me too, if you want.”
Nicky was momentarily content until she spotted an unmistakable brown Buick in front of the babysitter’s house.
Without a second thought, Nicky dashed towards the side of the roof and leapt. She landed atop of the roof of Karen’s house.
Guy 1 said, “Dude, are you okay?”
Guy 2 added, “That was fuckin’ crazy, man! Shit was like Batman.”
Guy 3 contributed, “Dude, only when you’re high, dude.”
Later that evening, Guy 2 would later be slapped very forcefully for throwing another cigarette off the roof.
Nicky tumbled over the lip of the roof, to land on her feet on a slide ledge. She pushed herself flat against the wall of the house and pulled the gun from her backpack. While a faint, “Look what she’s doing now!” was cried in the distance, Nicky crept to the front of the house just in time to watch the dilapidated brown Buick putter off down the street. She flipped over the awning onto the front porch.
When Karen heard her screen door crash open, she turned around at her desk and saw Nicky marching towards her with a pistol. “Ohmigod stop please!” she pleaded as she extended her palm before the barrel of gun. Victims not only held their hands out to somehow futilely stop an oncoming bullet, but also to hide the gun from view and create a foolish but calming illusion of safety.
After witnessing Karen’s dual reactions of futility by a single gesture, Nicky’s body surged with rage. She was ready to judge Karen as she asked, “Is James here?”
Karen started sobbing. “They just left with him.” and Nicky marched to the front of the room.
“He threatened to kill me, Nicky. I’m so sorry.” and Nicky ripped the television from its stand.
“He paid me so much money too, but I didn’t want it. Well, I wanted it, but not to get rid of James. Please don’t kill me.”
Nicky stomped right up Karen and her paper-in-progress and held the TV aloft.
“They took his fuzzy doll, the diapers, even the stroller, Nicky. I don’t want to die, please”
Nicky hurled the TV into Karen’s computer. Both exploded with a spray of plastic and sparks.
Nicky said, “You’re lucky I’m letting you live. Maybe it’s because of that time at Chuck E Cheese’s.” And Nicky sped out the door.
Karen thanked the Lord that she was still alive. But she would be very sad when she got a C- on her paper because it was too short.
Nicky grabbed the first car available. The Integra belonged to some guy who was helping his girlfriend throw up on the nearest tree.
Jumping into the open door, Nicky shifted into drive and sped off down the street while the boyfriend ran after his stolen car and the girlfriend fell into a rose bush.
Cutting a left at the same intersection Brian had, Nicky noticed the brown Buick farther down the road. It was stopped just one light short of the freeway on-ramp. Nicky sped after them as they boarded the highway.
The Buick swerved immediately into the fast lane, but Nicky stayed in the middle, never losing sight of the vehicle.
She decided it was time to load her other gun and mount silencers on both. So she slunk down in her seat, reached into her bag and drove with her knees.
They exited the freeway.
Pulling up in front of the brick apartment building at the corner of 43rd and Elmwood, Nicky remembered the many times she had stumbled to the same complex after a hard night out at the bars or work with Brian. She remembered more about her life with Brian and that it wasn’t all bad.
The Buick pulled up alongside the curb and Nicky headed into the next driveway. Motor still running, Nicky leapt out the car and dashed towards the three silhouettes exiting the car. Only one was holding James, and it was Brian, coming out the driver’s seat. His hairline had receded slightly.
Nicky fired two rounds of two into the other two gentlemen, double-tapping both into the afterlife. One managed to get his gun, but both dropped dead while making abstract art on the sidewalk and car.
Brian ducked behind his car as Nicky fired off four more shots, all banging into the hood of the Buick.
“Hey, I got a kid here, you crazy-- Who the fuck are you?” called Brian.
“You know who I am, you bastard!” And Brian knew who she was.
“You dumb bitch, I’m holding our kid here!” called Brian.
“Don’t cuss!” She took cover behind the building and checked her guns. The four bullets total left were three more than she needed.
Brian emerged with his gun trained straight ahead, and tiny James clutched to his chest. The child began crying horribly, and Nicky tried not to cry too.
“How the fu-- I mean, heck can you shoot at our kid?” he asked.
Nicky shot into the air causing Brian to flinch. “I was aiming for you,” she responded.
James began caterwauling even more loudly at the loud boom of her gun, which made her more miserable.
“I even found this goddam cannon in his stroller. What kind of a mother are you, you trying to kill what’s-his-name-here? I am too right to get him away from your psycho ass.” James wondered if he should’ve said ‘butt’ instead.
Nicky sighed and closed her eyes. She tossed the gun onto the sidewalk.
“The other gun too,” demanded Brian. Nicky held out the other gun by its barrel, but kept herself shielded behind the brick wall.
She wondered whether she deserved to die for getting her son into this situation. Brian smiled sickly and bobbed the child up and down, which softened the kid’s tears.
Gathering her strength, Nicky said, “You know what the funny part is, Brian?”
Confused, Brian said, “Funny? Are you on something again?”
Nicky said coolly, “I don’t even know if he’s yours.”
Still confused, Brian demanded, “Then whose is he?”
Nicky shrugged. “Probably Palmer’s. Isn’t he in on this?”
Brian thought back to the unusually good mood his boss was in yesterday. He did chuckle way too much during that phone call for the babysitter’s number.
Nicky stepped around the corner, practically aiming Brian’s gun for him as she bravely stood before him. The gun remained dangling from her outstretched arm like she was disposing the dirtiest of diapers.
“Fuck you, you never banged him,” said Brian. “Oh, I mean, ‘forget you.’”
“You’re right,” smiled Nicky now walking slowly forward. Brian retreated backwards. “But he’s still not yours.”
“Yeah, then whose?” Brian demanded, jerking the gun to emphasize the threat.
“Mine.” Nicky flipped the gun around and shot Brian in the stomach.
She dashed forward to steal her boy as Brian stumbled backwards in pain. Brian knew he could have still wrestled the child from his crazy ex. But letting go was the right thing to do.
As Nicky snatched the boy and cradled him tightly, Brian splashed across the hood of his beat-up Buick, bleeding black red all over the faded brown.
“If he were yours, you would’ve been the one to kill me.” Nicky stiffly proclaimed. “And I would never keep a loaded gun around my baby.” She patted James’ little head and his cries softened.
Brian thought maybe she was right. It wasn’t that he ever tried to shoot her; it was that he didn’t have the heart to do so. He figured that’s the type of mentality a good parent needed. It was too bad he was learning the lesson late.
Brian held a hand to his wounded stomach and watched Nicky unbutton her blouse. She pulled out her breast, which was even better than he had remembered, and let the boy suckle on it. While Nicky aimed her gun at Brian’s head, the boy only paused to burp.
Brian smiled and said, “Good boy.” Then the bullet struck.
Nicky raided the car for James’ lost items. In her head she inventoried Brian’s overt sloppiness in his care for the boy. The idiot obviously had no idea what to do. No babyseat, no bottle, no wipes. He didn’t even check that unknown gun for bullets. The best thing Brian ever did for James besides possibly making him was to die.
But the man did have a small arsenal in the backseat. In counting on her to fight fiercely for the child instead of lazily abandoning the lad like her younger self might have, Brian had overestimated Nicky for once. So she proudly accepted that as a sign of maturity achieved.
With belly full, James was quickly falling asleep, so Nicky returned with her child to the stolen car, hoping to make it safely without a car seat.
As they drove cautiously home, Nicky thought about whether she should try and kill her son’s other possible father. But then she moved to another state and got a better waiting gig.
