By K.M.
I’ve got to be honest, so far today is in my top 5 bad days, not number one, but it’s up there. All I wanted to do was go to the store and buy pudding cups and some NyQuil. But so far I haven’t managed to get to the store but rather I wandered into a mafia meeting, and have been mistaken for the member that hadn’t shown up yet. So now I’ve been given a cleaver, a cleaver, and been told in a not so roundabout way to cut up one of the lower members who insulted me. He said my outfit was ridiculous, but in his defense I’m wearing duck slippers that quack with each step. So yeah, not my worst day, but up there.
—–
My flatmate and I are sick. He’s retching in the bathroom so even though I feel like a chewed piece of gum Vlad deemed me well enough to walk the two blocks to the store and buy something to make us feel better. I thought he meant for me to get some rum to lessen the droning headaches but when he was shoving his credit card at me he kept mumbling about pudding cups. If he’s making me walk two blocks in the same whether that got us both sick, he’ll get whatever I pick up from the store.
My hands feel disconnected and tingle so it was a bit hard to lock the front door. Stupid sickness. Stupid Vlad for making us sick. Stupid me for agreeing to Vlad’s “Hey Bro, let’s go swimming”. It was about thirty two degrees that night and the only reason the water didn’t freeze around us was because of the fever the alcohol (this was why we were out of rum) was giving us.
A bell boy actually jumps out of my way when I exit the elevator into the lobby, I must look horrible. I guess my wrinkled college t-shirt sparsely covered with snot and nyquil cold and flu makes a great impression.
If Vlad was walking to the store in the same situation as me he would have had every person he saw trying to be a kind soul to him, grandmas would help him cross the street. People say we look a lot alike, but people look at me like I’ve just killed someone and am walking away from the crime scene. My professor for me architecture class kicked me out of class on thursday because and I quote “My boy you look like death hit you with a hammer, a slight wind could knock you over, go home before you destroy the blueprints with another of your horn sneezes”. Like I know I look rough when I’m sick but gosh.
One block down, one more to go but now the constant clouds have decided now would be a great time to disperse and allow the sun to shine into my eyes directing pain the my head that feels like it’s full of mucus and cotton. I look at the ground to escape from the sun until I’m violently shoved to the side, some biker not looking where he was going. Well I guess I wasn’t really looking either. I glare as much as I can at the moron biker, he didn’t even offer me a hand up, that jerk.
“Hey Ridiculous, you should but the attention you didn’t give getting dressed into where you’re going, I’m late for a meeting.” and he pedals off. Really? He thinks this was my fault? Why is life so cruel? My nose hurts from my landing, it’s running again so I pull one of the tissues I’ve stored out from my pockets and shove it of there.
Back to watching the sidewalk I go. Observing the pavement to reach Kroger. Past the ground burned with cigarettes in front of the tobacco shop, past the gum covered bench in front of the bus stop, and past the produce vendor that’s stalls always smell like cooked cabbage. I’m here, time to get the whiny brat some pudding, and pick up some actual medicine. You would really expect him to be fine, he lived in Russia for the first sixteen years of his life, a little frosty temperature should not turn him into a sad glob of tissues, blankets, and half drunk water bottles.
I didn’t notice I had just barged into the completely wrong building until after I had already crossed the room to meet the only empty chair, my first clue should have been the sounds of the guns cocking, but I’m sick and my ears draining, I can barely hear.
“Who are you?” Extremely Buff Man number 1 said.
“Vladimir” That’s my flatmate’s name, he entirely to blame for this, his credit card is the only sort of I.D. I have on me. If I’m going to die, I’ll die with a better name than Clarke Peterson engraved on my tombstone.
There are at least five guns in the room and three others have knives. I’ve come to the realization that with these guys there will be no body to put in a casket, I spend eternity in the bottom of the closest river.
“Oh good, we were waiting for you! The meeting can begin now.” Extremely Buff Man number 2 smiles.
What?
“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, some jerk hit me with his bike and then proceeded to insult me, hey you” I point, the bike dude was one of the knife holders in the room, he looks paler than he did earlier. “If you’ve got something to say about the way I’m dressed go ahead and say it.” I probably should not be disregarding that I’ve accidentally stumbled into a mafia meeting, but this guy needs to learn some manners, someone could have seriously been hurt!
“Dis is the guy who made you bloody? We chop ‘im up real good, he expendable just drug runner.” Buff 1 shrugs then hands me a cleaver. What am I supposed to do with this? I’m way over my head. “ ‘is nose for hurting yours, pardner.” I look down and see my tissue I shoved in my nose stained red, oh, I just thought it was running.
Bike Jerk is being held down on one of the conference tables. I can’t chop this guys face off, I can hardly cut carrots without injuring myself.
“No. I’m not getting even more messy before I go shopping, I’ve got a worse punishment for him.” I’m purposely ignoring that some of the other people perked up at this. “We’re switching shoes and he will make his runs wearing them or else we can ‘ow you say ‘chop ‘im up real good’”
He’s wearing some snazzy looking dress shoes that look my size, and I’ve got a big class presentation in a week where we have to wear business professional and all I own are converse. I look down to see which pair I’m giving away, my smudged white ones, or my accidentally bleached red ones, only to find that I left the house wearing Vlad’s duck slippers. To make matters even worse, even worse than me now apparently being mistaken for a member of the mafia, is that these slippers have quacked with each step I have taken since I apparently put them on in the flat. I’m kinda embarrassed.
I get the dude’s dress shoes and they fit nicely, now I just have to sit through the rest of the meeting and hope no one notices I’m not who I say I am. I don’t know why the guy i’m impersonating didn’t show up, but it was probably because his thug buddies were idiots.
——
“No, if you’re going to rob the bank of sixth street and use your plan, you are going to get stopped by the automated doors that come down when somebody enters the second vault room. You should go this way if you want to get out of there without being arrested.” Many tissues and pen markings on some blueprints later and the meeting was over. I knew my architecture degree would come in handy someday, helping thugs wasn’t what I was anticipating, but I’ll take what I can get.
Everyone left quietly through the entrance in intervals, one even climbed the fire escape, except for bike dude. It was really hard not to laugh as he tried to hold his dignity intact as he sped walked to the door, each quack was loud in the silent room and made me want to burst into giggles.
“Nicely done, Mr. Vladimir. I was wondering how the boys would react to the new head of the Russian sector, but you really helped them with what you did today. I look forward to seeing more from you.” I look forward to seeing less of her, I would rather not see scary grandma lady again.
I did it, I actually B.S.ed my way through stumbling into a room full of cartel leaders, and hittmen. I feel like I should buy a lotto ticket.
Now to do what I came to do.
——-
“Honey, I’m Home!”
“Shut up Clarke, my head’s exploding.” Vlad looks terrible. He’s not in the bathroom anymore, but he’s now watching John Green movies with the sound down low, lying with his head on the cool tile floor but covered in three blankets.
“I got what you wanted, and your next mafia meeting is next Friday, I already sent a message to your boss at the Cheesecake Factory getting you the days off.”
“Thanks, Clarke” he mumbles with his eyes slowly closing.
It’s not until I reach the hallway that I hear it, “Disgusting! What type of Evil Swine buys Lemon pudding?! Clarke!!”.