hundred? A thousand?
Almost certainly not.
The truth of the matter is, to convince an otherwise kindhearted man to murder his pharmacist would require a sum of money that’s out of reach for virtually everyone who would want a pharmacist killed. Because even if you offered him a million dollars, the kindhearted man would still worry about the consequences. What good is a million dollars in prison?
A million dollars is some good in prison, of course. One could bribe guards or purchase cigarettes to use as currency. Still, is having a million dollars in prison better than not having a million dollars at home? Almost certainly not.
But what if there were no consequences? What if you could assure this kindhearted man that he would never be caught? What if you could promise him that he would be able to spend every cent of his million dollars without the risk of even a single night behind bars?
Would he do it?
These were the kinds of questions I was asking myself while I went down on Felicia. I suppose it goes without saying that I was not an attentive lover.
“More to the right,” she said.
I moved my tongue a bit more to the right. Based on her reaction, it was the correct distance to have moved, and I went back to my philosophical thoughts.
* * *
“But why?” I wailed. “ Why ?”
“Because,” said the non-kindhearted-looking man, “you were boning my wife.”
That information helped, but didn’t narrow things down all the way. I couldn’t perish without understanding why I was being killed, and yet admitting that he could be one of four husbands might increase his hostility towards me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I said. “I am the gayest professor you’ll ever meet. The impurity of the thoughts I’m having about your brother would amaze you.”
He’d introduced the other man as his brother. It worried me that he was sharing the status of their relationship with me, since it implied that I would not survive to make use of this knowledge, yet he hadn’t told me either of their names, implying that my death was not a certainty.
“Bullshit,” said Greg. (It would be awkward and disingenuous to continue to refer to him as “the man,” since I now know that his name was Greg.) “At the very most, you’re bi.”
Truth be told, I was a little bi, although not for Carlton. I’d never done anything with a man, but there’d been times over the years when I’d made eye contact with a gentleman from across the room and thought there could be worse uses for the restroom stall. Sadly, the one man who’d offered me his finger was rather unattractive, and after a few seconds of consideration I’d politely declined. Now that I was facing possible death, I regretted that decision.
“Please don’t kill me,” I said. “I’ll do anything!”
That wasn’t entirely true. If these men had lined up a row of babies, handed me a machine gun, and told me to mow them down, I would have refused, sacrificing my own life for that of the babies, a sacrifice that might turn out to be a waste if they went ahead and killed the babies themselves, but a sacrifice that needed to be made regardless.
They did not line up a row of babies. They also did not hand me a machine gun, which was disappointing because if they were that foolish, I would have turned it on them.
Instead, they threw me into the trunk of their automobile and brought me down to Carlton’s basement.
I was not prone to shouting things like “Gaaaahhhhh!!!” but how articulate could one expect me to be when I gazed upon five hideous faces on the basement floor?
“Will he do, master?” asked Greg.
“He will indeed,” said the five faces in unison.
And then Carlton held me down while Greg decapitated me with a shovel. At that point, I died, so I wasn’t really present in the moment, although I’d get to watch it later.
10
Greg
To clarify: the faces didn’t make me call
Almost certainly not.
The truth of the matter is, to convince an otherwise kindhearted man to murder his pharmacist would require a sum of money that’s out of reach for virtually everyone who would want a pharmacist killed. Because even if you offered him a million dollars, the kindhearted man would still worry about the consequences. What good is a million dollars in prison?
A million dollars is some good in prison, of course. One could bribe guards or purchase cigarettes to use as currency. Still, is having a million dollars in prison better than not having a million dollars at home? Almost certainly not.
But what if there were no consequences? What if you could assure this kindhearted man that he would never be caught? What if you could promise him that he would be able to spend every cent of his million dollars without the risk of even a single night behind bars?
Would he do it?
These were the kinds of questions I was asking myself while I went down on Felicia. I suppose it goes without saying that I was not an attentive lover.
“More to the right,” she said.
I moved my tongue a bit more to the right. Based on her reaction, it was the correct distance to have moved, and I went back to my philosophical thoughts.
* * *
“But why?” I wailed. “ Why ?”
“Because,” said the non-kindhearted-looking man, “you were boning my wife.”
That information helped, but didn’t narrow things down all the way. I couldn’t perish without understanding why I was being killed, and yet admitting that he could be one of four husbands might increase his hostility towards me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I said. “I am the gayest professor you’ll ever meet. The impurity of the thoughts I’m having about your brother would amaze you.”
He’d introduced the other man as his brother. It worried me that he was sharing the status of their relationship with me, since it implied that I would not survive to make use of this knowledge, yet he hadn’t told me either of their names, implying that my death was not a certainty.
“Bullshit,” said Greg. (It would be awkward and disingenuous to continue to refer to him as “the man,” since I now know that his name was Greg.) “At the very most, you’re bi.”
Truth be told, I was a little bi, although not for Carlton. I’d never done anything with a man, but there’d been times over the years when I’d made eye contact with a gentleman from across the room and thought there could be worse uses for the restroom stall. Sadly, the one man who’d offered me his finger was rather unattractive, and after a few seconds of consideration I’d politely declined. Now that I was facing possible death, I regretted that decision.
“Please don’t kill me,” I said. “I’ll do anything!”
That wasn’t entirely true. If these men had lined up a row of babies, handed me a machine gun, and told me to mow them down, I would have refused, sacrificing my own life for that of the babies, a sacrifice that might turn out to be a waste if they went ahead and killed the babies themselves, but a sacrifice that needed to be made regardless.
They did not line up a row of babies. They also did not hand me a machine gun, which was disappointing because if they were that foolish, I would have turned it on them.
Instead, they threw me into the trunk of their automobile and brought me down to Carlton’s basement.
I was not prone to shouting things like “Gaaaahhhhh!!!” but how articulate could one expect me to be when I gazed upon five hideous faces on the basement floor?
“Will he do, master?” asked Greg.
“He will indeed,” said the five faces in unison.
And then Carlton held me down while Greg decapitated me with a shovel. At that point, I died, so I wasn’t really present in the moment, although I’d get to watch it later.
10
Greg
To clarify: the faces didn’t make me call
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