The Case of the Hijackings - Chapter 22

I saved the best for last, and began to work him into the far dark corner so I could pound his perverted little foreign ass to the floor, and then kick him into a blind dither with my rear tire.

I punched, and kicked him till my gal pulled me off of him. “Darling please, you have to keep one of them alive so that they can go back to their boss, and tell them what a mistake it was to jump us.”

“Yeah, you’re right baby, you’re right. I’ll leave this one alive so he can tell the big guy to watch out for Axle Spline, because he’s coming for him, and soon.”

I tossed the guy out the second floor window so that he’d land in the dumpster below and eat garbage.

After catching my breath, we took off for the kitchen so my gal could get a good look at me.

“Oh my, darling, you look terrible.”

“How bad do my panels look , baby?”

“They are going to need some professional pounding, darling, so I’ll pass on any dolly work tonight.”

“Suits me, let’s go eat, I’m so hungry, I could swallow a whole dumpster.”

We arrived at the “Jack hammer Pete’s Tin Palace”, a dark quiet place known for it’s fine cuisine.

A big slick looking fella wearing a faded blue shop apron seated us.

It was a nice cozy table in the corner where I could look at everybody in the place, see the entrance and exit doors.

We looked over the rather pricey menu, and I knew right away that I was going to like this place real well. Why they had stuff on here that told me they knew what guys likeme enjoyed eating.

The waiter came over to take our drink order, we were just in time for their happy hour. My babe ordered some foofy drink called a “Spun Bearing”, consisting of 3 shots of 22 year old barrel aged carb cleaner, with a spritzer of windshield washer solvent and a dash of trans flush.

Me, I ordered a man’s drink, a drink that’d cross your headlights in a flash, a drink that told you that you were a real man if you could choke down this chemical mayhem without doing a double-back flip into an alley full of vicious tow trucks.

It consisted of 4 shots of battery acid, a dash of brake fluid for flavor, and topped off with 3 shots of starting fluid.

All a fella had to worry about with a drink this dangerous was to not backfire through the carburetor.

We sat there enjoying our drinks, when she started in with the dreaded bathroom project.

I knew I was going to be sick. She told me how she wanted me to go to the store and help her pick out the wallpaper, and linoleum, and then go to the plumbing store to pick out some gawdawful fawcetts for the big purple tub.

Crap I thought, how can I get out of this mess, I’d rather take a direct hit from a speeding cab than go through this torturous foofiness.

I went along with the gruesome conversation about how she wanted me to install hardwood floors, tinted window, a purple oversized tub that would accommodate the two of us, and blah, blah, blah.

All I could think about was the damage that I could do the first time I swung a hammer, why I might hit my babe, and cave her in real bad. I began to get queasy as she rambled on , and immediately, shoved myself away from the table and headed for the men’s room. My engine had condensation dripping from it, which told me that I was about to vomit half my manhood up from the barrage of home repair tips I was just lashed with.

When I get home, I’m going to bury my darn old toolbox in the yard, that’ll getme out of everything.

I don’t want to rain on the poor gal’s parade, but I can’t do this, I just can’t.

I cleaned up, and went back to my seat, and just sat there, forlorn, and still a bit queasy.

“What did you have to go to the bathroom for, darling? Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, it’s just this whole bathroomthing dear, I get sick tomy transmission hump whenever you bring it up.”

Just then, the waiter showed up to see if we were ready to order. It was perfect timing, I was starving to death, I wanted to rip his fenders off, wad them up into little balls and eat them as appetizers.

Rhonda started by ordering the steamed hydraulic cylinder packing, covered in lightly seared o-rings, with a side order of blackened oil pan gaskets.