Running Out of Plans: An Installment of The Plan by Kristen And Julie
TODAY’S BREW: Woodchuck hard cider
Another freakshow installment of The Plan by Kristen and Julie Catch up on the earlier installments here.
THE PLAN: RUNNING OUT OF PLANS
“Fuck! My wallet is gone!”
“What? Your wallet?” Jeff was just a blank page of hangover, a mess all over. He registered not a word I said. He didn’t realize what the fuck this meant.
We could be found.
“Wake the fuck up, Jeff! We have to go back to the club. My wallet is at the fucking strip club!”
He rolled to one side, away from me, and I pulled him back to look at me. “Jeff. They will know who we killed.”
“We can’t go back, babe. We’ll get arrested. You killed that bouncer.”
“Well if you didn’t pay to fuck that stripper, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” I practically jumped up and down on the rumpsprung mattress.
“Relax, Kendall. It was twenty bucks.” Jeff pulled my pillow over his face. I fought the urge to smother him with it.
“Do you know how many things she has to stick in that raunchy pussy at twenty bucks a pop to actually pay her rent?” I pushed at him. “What are we going to do, Jeff? We need to fix this.”
He sat up, a disaster, running his hands through his mess of hair, looking like he just started drinking or just finished. “Okay. Okay, so we go back and get it.”
I sat down next to him. “Think, Jeff.” I tapped him hard on the head. “Anyone who finds a wallet at a strip club is going to fucking use it. They may know who I am already.”
“Well, only one way to find out. “
We got dressed fast, and headed out. What else was there to do?
The strip club sat quietly between warehouses and bars in the early morning light. Delivery trucks dotted the street, but not much other activity was happening when we arrived.
We’d kill anyone who questioned us. It was in their best interest to think we blended into the woodwork.
Jeff tried the front door. Of course it was locked.
“Maybe you should knock.” I leaned up against the outside of the building, arms crossed.
“Fuck you, Kendall.”
“If you had done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And we could have spent that twenty bucks on something important. Like duct tape.”
“You’re the smart one. Of course. Killing the bouncer. Okay, let’s try the back door. Chances are that’s open for deliveries.”
I pushed the door open easily. The club was more surreal in day light than at night. Dust motes highlighted the filth that filled every inch, despite it being empty. I went to looking under chairs and on tables, as clearly the place hadn’t been cleaned last night. Nothing.
“Fucking nothing!” Jeff yelled.
“Looking for this?” I heard, and turned around slowly.
A oily, short man held my wallet up in the spotlight with his pudgy fingers. He smiled, his teeth gnarled in his pockmarked face.
He thought he had us where he wanted us.
“I am.” I took a step towards him, knowing better than to grab at my wallet. “Thank you for keeping it safe for me.”
“What are you going to do for it, little girl? I know why you left in such a hurry.”
“Do you?” The killer came forward, not just me, but the person inside that loved this death. I was right in his face, close enough to smell last night’s whiskey. “Cause I could fucking show you exactly what I can do, friend.”
Jeff was close, watching, and I knew this would be so easy. He was easy. It would be funny.
“I can negotiate with you, since if I don’t give this to you, you’ll go to jail.”
“What do you want?” I braced myself, knowing exactly what he’d say.
The fat man approached me, grabbing at my chest roughly. He grinned again. I wondered how long it had been since a woman liked it when he groped her. I bent my arm in half, exposing my elbow. I whacked him in the face, connecting hard with his gin blossom nose.
“You little bitch!” He groaned after the bone finished cracking. Both of his hands went up to his face. He dropped the wallet. I kicked him in the groin.
I’m not sure the man ever even noticed Jeff. I kicked the wallet as soon as it hit the floor over to him.
But I didn’t need Jeff to do anything more than pick up my wallet.
I punched the fool in the face, right in the nose, blood spurting everywhere. He still tried to grab at my boob as he fell to the floor, the persistent little pirck, but I kicked him on the way down, and straddled his back once he hit the floor.
“You whore!” he yelled to me over his shoulder.
I laughed. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe or think. I laughed until Jeff was a memory, until I was a memory. And I put my hands on his neck and twisted, snapping it like a chicken bone in my fingers. Like the nothing that he was. Jeff looked on, a vision of fear and admiration.