Page 8 of Cannon

“Well, perhaps not, but it all turned out well in the end. Maybe I could catch some exotic disease, a harmless exotic disease that would have me meeting my woman. “ I throw this out in fun, but as usual, Breaker takes it literally.

“And where the hell are you going to catch any kind of exotic disease, man? When was the last time you ventured fifty miles from the clubhouse? I don’t think you traveled that far to rescue me and Molly! You can be such a dumbass at times. Fucking exotic disease. Only you could come up with a plan like that to catch a woman. Well, you or Fury!”

Chapter 5

*~* Barbara *~*

Icould kill Breaker with his interfering ways. Why couldn’t he just leave things well alone? Save Cannon a journey indeed. I had been looking forward to that drive home all day and had even made a surprise meal, granted only takeout, for when we got to mine. Cannon was already halfway caught, hook, line and sinker until that dumb fuck Breaker stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I need to watch my language, but I get so frustrated.

“AAAARRRGGGHHH!” That felt good. Now I’ve got to come up with another plan to catch my man. Oh yes. He’s the man for me. I knew it from the first time I laid eyes on him. It would have been easier if he’d just accepted his fate, but being a man, of course, he couldn’t just see what was in front of him and accept it. Oh, no. Nothing could be that simple, could it!

I need a new battle plan. I lost that fight, but the war isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot, it isn’t. Sitting at my kitchen table nursing an iced tea, though God knows why, as I have a lovely, comfortable couch and yet spend most of my time at this damned table, I try to arrange my thoughts.

I could invite him on a date. Nah. Too old-school and open to refusal. I could just tell him how it is and give him no option but to take me on. Take me on? What am I, a stray dog? No, that’s definitely off the table. A blind date, that might work. Oh, how do I invite him on a blind date? No, dates are out. Any kind of date.

I can’t get him around here to fix my plumbing, as much as I’d like to see his plunger! He’s not part of construction or any of those trades. So, he’s the manager at the pet crematorium. I need to get a pet so it can die, and I can use the crem’s services. A dog can live for years, so can a cat, and I don’t want to wait that long. I am not going to kill anything just so I can use its dead body. I haven’t sunk that low, yet. Yet? What am I saying?

So I need a pet with a very short lifespan but big enough to be able to have it cremated. It takes only ten minutes on Google, and that plan is out the window. Even rats and mice live over a year, and I’m not that patient. How do I even go to a crematorium and ask for a rat to be cremated? A chameleon lasts four to five months, but again, would it be big enough to warrant cremation? In four or five months he could have found someone else. No, it has to be something a damn sight faster than that.

Okay, back to the dating thing. Are there any dances coming up? Dances? How old-fashioned am I? Ugh. If I’m going to get anywhere with this, I might have to get some help. I’m not much use at this kind of thing, and let’s be honest, I’m not inundated with offers of courtship, or even a quick fuck for that matter. Not that I’m that kind of girl, but an occasional offer might do my ego a bit of good.

Showered, dressed, and ready for work, I’m back at the table, this time with my second coffee of the day. Apart from a hot dream about my favorite biker, which involved a shower, too, I’m no closer to coming up with a plan. Banging on my kitchen door has me almost wearing my coffee. Opening it, I find my neighbor, Jeannie, sobbing her heart out.

“He’s dead, Babs. He’s dead.” Sob. “ After all these years together, he’s died on me.” More sobs. “ What am I going to do without him? He’s been my only one since school. I’ve never had another. What am I going to do?” Even more tears and more sobs.

“What happened? I mean, how?” Christ in a cradle. She’s only in her mid-thirties, and her husband, Matt, can’t have been forty yet.

“He’s been a bit slower the past couple of years, but I thought that was just natural. Not as full of ‘get up and go’ as he was, but that’s normal, isn’t it?” Sob some more. I stand with her in my kitchen, my arm around her shoulders, trying to show some moral support.

“I don’t have much experience to call on, Jeannie, I’m sorry.” What else can I say? I’ve never had a man around the house, let alone a husband.

“I tried giving him some pills in his dinner. He won’t take medication for any reason, you see, so I had to trick him into taking it. They worked for a little while, but I think his body just got used to them, and that was that again. Back to being Mr. Floppy and he’d just stay all lethargic and lazy, not getting up for days.” Sob, sob. I don’t think I’d make a good counselor or support worker because all these tears are starting to get on my nerves.

“Are you sure you should have been giving him meds in his food without his knowledge? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh no. I sought proper medical advice first. They said it was that, or I had to force it down his throat. I couldn’t get him to open his mouth, though I tried. I sat on him and forced his teeth apart, threw the pills in, but the bastard just spat them back at me. Fooling him with his food was the only way they said.” She seems to perk up a bit at this, thank God, I think.

“So, what happened? How did he die in the end?” I’m going to regret asking that, I think to myself.

“I blame myself. I couldn’t bear to see him all limp like that, so I made him get up and took him in the garden. I think I overdid it because he just gave a little gasp and that was that. He just went. I killed him, Babs.” I wish she wouldn’t call me that. I hate it and I’ve asked so many times for her to call me Barbara.

“Well, where is he now? You haven’t left him in the garden, have you?” I don’t want to walk out there and see Mr. Floppy in all his glory, thank you very much.

“Oh heavens no, I couldn’t do that. I dragged him inside and put him in his bed. I struggled, though. I didn’t know he was so heavy. I suppose that’s what they mean by dead weight, is it?” She looks at me so earnestly, and all I want to do is burst out laughing. Deadweight! Though I’m sure she’s correct as to where the term comes from.

“Have you called the police and told them, or an ambulance at least?” I ask, but I’m fearful of the answer.

“I haven’t told anyone yet, just you. I came around as soon as it happened and I had him back inside. Do I really need to tell the police?”

“Well, yes. Someone's going to come looking for him at some point, don’t you think?” I point out, rather obviously, I thought.

”But who? He doesn’t have any friends and never goes anywhere. Except when he comes to see you for the odd treat, of course. That’s why I had the fence raised, so he couldn’t stand out there and watch you all the time. I think he preferred you to me sometimes.” She actually smiles at me, as though this was all perfectly normal.

“I didn’t know he did that! I would have been a bit more discreet about how I walked about sometimes, had I known anyone was watching.”

“Oh, he didn’t mind stuff like that. You were fine.” She gives me another smile, and before I can respond, I almost faint when her husband walks through the door, larger than life.

“Oh, she’s already told you then? I didn’t think she’d be long telling you.” He looks at me and I think his eyes look swollen, blurry, and moist.