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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
A Real Puncher
"So, my wife and her mother leave for the weekend for a… What do they call it? Girl… something.”
Nikki’s a real comedian. His cousin, Joey, is, too, but Nikki’s got the big mouth.
“Aw, come on, Nikki. You're killing me.” My saying that feels kind of ironic, all things considered.
“Hey, listen, I didn’t write this shit. Just give me a second, here,” Nikki says. He takes a sip of his scotch, and sits there beating that pinkie ring of his against the table. “Girl getaway!” he says, snapping his fingers. “My wife and her mother went on a ‘girl getaway.’ So, my son asks me, “Dad, can we order takeout the whole time mom and grandma are gone?” and I say to him, “Yea!””
The dim bulb in the backstage dressing room flickers. The goons around me give a preemptive chuckle. Fuckin’ nimrods laughing at what clearly was going to be a bad joke. That's why goons always end up with one in the back of their skulls. Their foresight is always shit.
“You want takeout while they're gone? You got it. We can eat takeout until the cows come home!” Nikki yells.
The goons laugh way too hard—a dime a dozen, these guys. I take a suck on my cigarette and hope the smoke hides the roll of my eyes.
“Now, is that terrible or is that just terrible?” Nikki says, twirling his pistol around on the table. “I tell ya, we'll be doing the public a service!”
His pistol twirling makes me a little nervous. So, I sit up. “Okay, let's go over this one more time, Nikki,” I say.
“What are you stupid? What's there to go over? You wait until he says the punchline, then go for the headshot.”
“Yea, I know that, Nikki,” I say. Even as I say it, I can feel my trigger finger itching. “What I mean is what happens before? You know Joe puts me in charge of the runs. If he gets a call from a customer wondering where their stuff is, he's gonna know something’s up. What if he figures I’m here?”
“Listen, don't worry. Okay?” Nikki chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder. “Everybody Joey knows, I know. I already called ‘em up, told ‘em you’re gonna be late. By the time they get their stuff tonight, Joe will be out of the picture, and we'll be under new management.” He grins, pops his collar, then checks his watch. “Almost showtime, guys. Let's go.”
The goons jump into action. One of them smacks his forehead into the light. It fizzles out, leaving us in pitch black. Morons.
I lag behind in the hallway before showtime. It's dangerous, but I need one more smoke to calm my nerves. Plus, Nikki said it was alright.
I reach into my pocket and fumble around for a second. My cigarettes and lighter come out, but something else, too. A tiny red, rubber ball. I smile at the thing as my smoke lights up. I remember when Joey first gave this to me. It was after he bopped that ogre Frank for picking on me at school.
I shake my head. It really is a shame things had to turn out this way.
When I look up, I'm a bit confused. Joey shouldn’t be back here when he’s supposed to be on stage. Yet, lo-and-behold, there he is, standing in front of me, staring right into my stupid face.
We both blink.
“Forgot my tie,” he says, putting his hand on the dressing room door knob. “Ain’t you supposed to be out on those runs?”
“Yea,” I say. I can tell he’s trying to hide a grin.
“So, what the hell are you doing still lurking around here?” he asks next. His grin is full blown now. So is mine.
I don't answer.
“Dad, can we order takeout while mom and grandma are gone?” Joey says. He stands in the spotlight, dabbing at his forehead with a white kerchief. Nikki is off to his side, chuckling at his horrible joke.
The cigarette is still dangling from my lips as I stand in the balcony. The goons are beside me. “Remember, fellas. On the punchline,” I tell them.
“You want takeout while they're gone? You got it...” Joey says into his mic. His eyes are wide, trained upon Nikki.
I raise my forty-five, and line Nikki up right under its sight. The goons follow suit.
Nikki’s always had a big mouth.
Nikki’s a real comedian. His cousin, Joey, is, too, but Nikki’s got the big mouth.
“Aw, come on, Nikki. You're killing me.” My saying that feels kind of ironic, all things considered.
“Hey, listen, I didn’t write this shit. Just give me a second, here,” Nikki says. He takes a sip of his scotch, and sits there beating that pinkie ring of his against the table. “Girl getaway!” he says, snapping his fingers. “My wife and her mother went on a ‘girl getaway.’ So, my son asks me, “Dad, can we order takeout the whole time mom and grandma are gone?” and I say to him, “Yea!””
The dim bulb in the backstage dressing room flickers. The goons around me give a preemptive chuckle. Fuckin’ nimrods laughing at what clearly was going to be a bad joke. That's why goons always end up with one in the back of their skulls. Their foresight is always shit.
“You want takeout while they're gone? You got it. We can eat takeout until the cows come home!” Nikki yells.
The goons laugh way too hard—a dime a dozen, these guys. I take a suck on my cigarette and hope the smoke hides the roll of my eyes.
“Now, is that terrible or is that just terrible?” Nikki says, twirling his pistol around on the table. “I tell ya, we'll be doing the public a service!”
His pistol twirling makes me a little nervous. So, I sit up. “Okay, let's go over this one more time, Nikki,” I say.
“What are you stupid? What's there to go over? You wait until he says the punchline, then go for the headshot.”
“Yea, I know that, Nikki,” I say. Even as I say it, I can feel my trigger finger itching. “What I mean is what happens before? You know Joe puts me in charge of the runs. If he gets a call from a customer wondering where their stuff is, he's gonna know something’s up. What if he figures I’m here?”
“Listen, don't worry. Okay?” Nikki chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder. “Everybody Joey knows, I know. I already called ‘em up, told ‘em you’re gonna be late. By the time they get their stuff tonight, Joe will be out of the picture, and we'll be under new management.” He grins, pops his collar, then checks his watch. “Almost showtime, guys. Let's go.”
The goons jump into action. One of them smacks his forehead into the light. It fizzles out, leaving us in pitch black. Morons.
I lag behind in the hallway before showtime. It's dangerous, but I need one more smoke to calm my nerves. Plus, Nikki said it was alright.
I reach into my pocket and fumble around for a second. My cigarettes and lighter come out, but something else, too. A tiny red, rubber ball. I smile at the thing as my smoke lights up. I remember when Joey first gave this to me. It was after he bopped that ogre Frank for picking on me at school.
I shake my head. It really is a shame things had to turn out this way.
When I look up, I'm a bit confused. Joey shouldn’t be back here when he’s supposed to be on stage. Yet, lo-and-behold, there he is, standing in front of me, staring right into my stupid face.
We both blink.
“Forgot my tie,” he says, putting his hand on the dressing room door knob. “Ain’t you supposed to be out on those runs?”
“Yea,” I say. I can tell he’s trying to hide a grin.
“So, what the hell are you doing still lurking around here?” he asks next. His grin is full blown now. So is mine.
I don't answer.
“Dad, can we order takeout while mom and grandma are gone?” Joey says. He stands in the spotlight, dabbing at his forehead with a white kerchief. Nikki is off to his side, chuckling at his horrible joke.
The cigarette is still dangling from my lips as I stand in the balcony. The goons are beside me. “Remember, fellas. On the punchline,” I tell them.
“You want takeout while they're gone? You got it...” Joey says into his mic. His eyes are wide, trained upon Nikki.
I raise my forty-five, and line Nikki up right under its sight. The goons follow suit.
Nikki’s always had a big mouth.