Page 31 of The Fed Sex Man

“I would have guessed you’d tell a different one. That one’s a little, oh, I don’t know. Harsh.”

Jenny shot me a glare. “Let him tell his story.”

“Where was I?” Shawn asked.

Jenny grinned. “You were getting a hotdog at Circle-K.”

“Yeah. The hotdog.” He glanced at each of the girls. “When I rolled into the parking lot, it was empty. Empty as in empty. I pulled in and parked at the side the building, so no late-night drunks that happened to stop in would ding my car doors. Half drunk and hungrier than fuck, I stumbled around the corner of the building and toward the door. As soon as I get to the front of the building, I see this crazy-acting fucker through the glass. It looks like he’s arguing with the guy behind the counter. The guy behind the counter is facing me, and he notices me. So, the weirdo with his back to me spins around, and his eyes get as big as dinner plates. There’s this big display of Cheetos beside him, so I can’t see everything, but I noticed when he turned around he shoved his hands in his pockets really fast.”

He looked at Jo, took a dramatic pause, and then looked at Jenny. After another long pause, he continued. “Now, remember, from inside the store a person couldn’t see my car, because it was around the corner of the building. So, when I see this big-eyed weirdo, I didn’t think too much of it. You know, just that he’s shocked because I came walking up out of nowhere.”

“He was robbing the place, wasn’t he?” Jenny asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see what happens,” Shawn said.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“Now this guy stands about six foot seven, weighs about a buck-fifty, and he’s as white as a fuckin’ ghost. The kind of white a guy gets when he’s never been exposed to the sunlight. When I walk in, this ghastly-looking string bean motherfucker stops talking and starts pacing the floor. I give this weird fucker a glare and go back to the hotdog machine. While I’m getting my chilidog all doctored up, I notice he’s scratching his arms like they’re on fuckin’ fire. I’m thinking ‘this fucker’s a meth-head’, but I step beside this lanky prick to pay for my chilidog anyway. While I’m leaning against that oversized display of Cheetos and digging in my pocket for change, the guy behind the counter looks at me like, help me. I hand him a wad of change and give him a what the fuck’s going on? Look. He opens the register and gives me that same help me look right back.”

“What did you do?” Jenny asked.

“I was armed with a chilidog, a pocket full of change, and an empty wallet. I couldn’t have been much help. So, I paid for my chilidog, took a big bite off the end of it, and walked back to my car.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I had to,” Shawn said with a laugh. “To get my gun.”

“He was robbing the place, wasn’t he?” Jenny gasped.

“At that point, no,” Shawn replied.

“Ohmygod.” Jenny clasped her hands together excitedly. “Tell us the rest.”

“I’d realized during this little hotdog getting venture that I was drunker than I’d originally thought, so I ate that chilidog on the way to the car. After washing it down with half a bottle of Coke, I popped my trunk and loaded my shotgun.”

“Wait,” Jenny spouted. “I’ve got two questions.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

“You got a bottle of Coke, not a can?”

“Always get a bottle. Cans taste like shit.”

“Glass or plastic?”

“Glass. The ten-ounce Mexican bottle. If it ain’t made in Mexico, I won’t drink it. The Mexicans have got their shit together. They still use the original recipe. Circle-K keeps it in the side cooler by the Jarritos and that funky white cheese. They call it the ‘Mexican Cooler’. What’s the next question?”

“You carry a shotgun in your trunk?”

“I’m a Texan,” Shawn replied. “I carry an arsenal in my trunk.”

“Point taken,” she said with a playful wave of her upturned hand. “Please continue.”

Shawn positioned his hands as if he were carrying a shotgun. “This shotgun’s one of those things like Arnold Schwarzenegger carried in The Terminator. Pistol grip, short barrel, extended magazine. An assault shotgun. Well, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to walk around the other side of the building, so I’d really sneak up on this fucker. So, I’m drunker’n a monkey stumbling around the backside of this dark as fuck building. When I came around the last corner, I see this lanky prick’s got a pistol in his hand. He’s robbing the guy, just like I thought he’d be.”

Jenny’s eyes went wide. “What did you do?”

“Remember, I’m walking on the other side of the building, in unchartered territory. And, I’m drunker’n fuck. So, I’m stumbling across this unfamiliar chunk of concrete, and my eyes are fixed on the weirdo’s pistol. Guess what happens? I trip over an imperfection in the sidewalk.”