40
Happy Birthday to me. I even already got my first present. OK, probably the only one. Of course, a dead mouse from your cat hardly a present makes...

40. Heh. So what now? Is now when I'm supposed to do the midlife crisis? I'm supposed to buy a sports car right...probably a red Corvette? I'm half considering a BMW 760i sedan, does that count?

I don't have a secretary to have an affair with, or anyone to cheat on. I am picking up a new suit today. It's about time, too. I haven't gotten a new suit in years. Worth doing now and then, I think.

And I'll hit the gym. Hot tub and sauna are always good. I'll probably stop by one of my favorite illegal gun shops. Another favorite is looking too likely to attract federal attentions. I won't be going there anymore. Fortunately, I have several sources I work with. It just doesn't do to rely entirely on one source.

I know I don't go into enough detail for my readers, and well... maybe I'm turning into a ratings whore, I don't know. Always shooting for those "love it" votes.

So here's a birthday related story for you:

An engaged couple. They're not living together until one of their leases ends. Not a lot of time left and she gets pregnant. She tells him. Don't worry, he says.

A month goes by. It's her birthday. She gets up, turns on the computer, and there's an IM saying: Just wanted to let you know, I'm sleeping with my secretary. I don't think our engagement's gonna work. Ship me the ring back and I'll pay you back for the postage."

I don't fucking think so, she sends back. (Sorry, can't bring myself to type "IM's back"). Half hour later she's in the shower trying to calm down and the phone rings. She answers it, figuring it's her chance to tell him off. Nope. Turns out he's never made a payment on the ring. X grand today or we'll send someone to come get it.

"He called off the engagement, I gave it back to him. Call the bastard yourself," she says, and gives the collection guy the cell phone number.

Some time passes and I meet her. He's been defaulting on other payments and giving her phone and address as the contact info. They had identical cars and her was even repo'ed. She had to convince them to check the VIN to see they had the wrong car. It was the right kind and color at the address they had listed. So by now she wants him dead. "Fucking dead" she says between drags on the cigarette she chain smokes. She really wants him to die on his birthday. Only fair, she says.

Normally I don't work that way. But I ended up agreeing. Hey, it was the best paying job I'd had at the time, and was even decent by my current standards. She had already scheduled a boob job for the day. She joked it should have been hemorrhoid surgery. "You know, removing that pain in my ass."

Then I'm watching him in the week leading up to the day. Every day he orders pizza - 5 days straight. Something like 10 minutes or so later he turns on the porch light, and it's 15 or 20 after that until the guy shows up. It's not the same guy every time, not even the same place. Will he stay home on his birthday and continue his daily routine? I'm ready and watching. I have backup plans. He is home all day, and alone. Good start.

Then he calls. Then the porch light goes on. I wait about 5 minutes and pull in the drive. Walk to the door with the gun concealed under the pizza box. Ring the doorbell. He opens it without asking anything. No checking, just open. No chain to undo.

He's high as a kite. No shirt, pants half on. One shot in the chest and he stumbles back a bit and falls. I step in, push him clear of the door with my foot and shut it. He's immediately choking and drowning. Nice big bullet in the lung will do that. There's no way he'll be salvageable by the time help would arrive.

There's beer cans everywhere. Bag of pot near a cheap pipe on the table next to a couple lines of coke. There's muted porn on the TV. I grab his wallet and the bag of coke, shut off the porch light and go.

I'm just another car going by leaving the subdivision when I pass a pizza delivery guy on his way in. I threw the coke away.

It barely made the news a few days later. Just a little newspaper blurb about a guy found dead in his home of a gunshot wound. The police were unsure if robbery or drugs were the motive. And it was a neighbor that found him. I guess the pizza guy just assumed he'd been blown off or that the guy ran out and forgot or something.


So there's something to think about if you find yourself planning to stay home getting high and masturbating for your birthday. Me? I'm goin' out.
 
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