Everything Sucks #7, Win Read online

Everything Sucks

  Short Story #7

  Win

  Written by R. Smith

  Edited by Shawn M. Greenleaf

  Cover & Design by Savage1Studio

  Copyright © 2013 R. Smith

  All rights reserved

  Books and Series by R. Smith

  Pop Culture Sucks, Manifesto Of A Vampire

  Everything Sucks Series

  Knights Of Albion (coming soon!)

  Win

  Even as a child, Kate was a girl of big ambitions--not for achievement, but for real life. By the time her first adult tooth arrived (comically large next to all those little baby ones) she knew she'd escape Oklahoma the second she could. She wasn't certain exactly how, but she was determined.

  Oklahoma. The land of perpetual shades of tan--only leaning into a yellowish hue when the wheat came up.

  No.

  She promised herself there would be no wheat in her future. No barley. No chickens, no pigs, no 4 a.m. breakfast bell.

  Most importantly, no Papa.

  "These fields sustain us," her Papa would say, "it's proud work."

  Filthy, monotonous work, more like. Kate would think with a derisive chuckle--in her head, of course. She seldom felt a good guffaw welling up, and even on those rare occasions, she didn't dare let it escape her mouth.

  "If you've got time to sit around and laugh, you've got time for weeding."

  Mustn't upset Papa.

  No brain, all brawn, Papa. If he didn't have muscle, he'd have nothing at all. And he didn't take kindly to back-talk. She hated the man and their home with a passion, but a sore behind just wasn't worth the few pathetic jabs she might get in first. So she learned to hold her tongue no matter how much she wanted to scream, which was at least once a week. She'd have screamed until her lungs burst if she could.

  She never won. Papa took the trophy every time.

  That was the other solemn promise she made to herself.

  Win.

  She would always win when she grew up, no matter what it took, and she would always walk away with a prize. A new place to go, and the money to get there.

  Every day she longed to grow up.

  No mother, no siblings. There was only her and Papa to manage everything. She hardly ever had time to make the long walk into town, not even for school, which suited Papa just fine.

  "We aren't the school types, Kate. School didn't teach you how to butcher a chicken, and I'll bet you a buck it doesn't teach you anything else you need to survive. "

  She resented his attitude, but honestly, she didn't like going to town. The rumors were everywhere. It was impossible not to hear the whispers. Everyone in town was just certain her Papa had killed his poor wife.("It's plain as day!")

  As much as she loathed the man, she knew it wasn't true, and the talk bothered her. Not for her Papa's sake, but because it made people in look at her with a kind of rueful, sympathetic gaze, as if she were a wounded deer cornered by a wolf, and they could do nothing to rescue her. She rejected their pity with utter scorn.

  I can rescue myself thank you very much.

  The first man she drew in was mostly sleaze, there was no point denying it, but at least he was an easy mark. The great comedy of their 'courtship' being he thought she was his mark.

  He spent a few weeks telling her exciting stories; each one no doubt designed to make a sheltered, lonely, 16 year old farm girl see him as worldly and experienced. She had him pegged as a two-bit con right away, but knew she'd never achieve her growing list of dreams unless she got out of Oklahoma, and away from her Papa. She couldn't afford to be too picky.

  She hooked him with hardly more than a smile and a wiggle.

  The only prizes she wrung from Mr. Sleaze was a one way ticket out of Oklahoma, and the basics of forging various bogus documents. Prizes which, at the time, were more valuable to her than cash.

  He helped her make her first fake ID. Kate Granger. Age 19.

  "Kate" was the only thing she intended to keep. It was her mother's name.

  Sentiment aside, sticking with "Kate" meant she'd be less likely to slip up in an unguarded moment, and give her real name someplace where everyone knew her as a Julie, or Margaret, or whoever. No. Best to stick with Kate.

  Mr. Sleaze started catting around on her right away; busty women, svelte women, all sorts of women (except classy); but she could have cared less. She knew full well what her plans were, might as well let him have his fun while he could.

  She didn't wait long. True, he could be a hoot sometimes. They had some good laughs together, but he wasn't even a good con man. He planned too little, acted too fast, and never considered the possibility his marks might not be stupid. Twice during the first few months they were 'together' he'd come crashing through the door of their apartment yelling "pack up, baby, we gotta go! Hurry it up!"

  It didn't take her long to realize his sort of dumb would only drag her down.

  A little too much booze, a hot bath . . . holding him under wasn't even that hard.

  Cops took one look at it--known drunk drowned in a bathtub? You don't say.

  An utterly insincere "Sorry for your loss, sweetheart," and case closed.

  She sold everything they had. Hot items went to the snakes she'd met through Mr. Sleaze. Guys who knew how to move goods on the down-low.

  Once she'd squeezed the last dime out of Kate Granger, she packed her trunks, and took the train to San Francisco. She left Low Class Kate behind, swapped Granger for Lingerfelt, and re-molded herself into Simple Farm Girl Kate, a tragic orphan chased from home by cruel siblings.

  She landed a job as a receptionist almost immediately. There she typed, and typed, and typed. Then she typed, and typed, and typed some more. She also filed, handled the mail, kept an eye on the telegraph, and quickly taught herself Morse code so she could message back.

  Her boss held her in high regard. He also made very good money. But he had a wife and two kids, and was decent enough not to sniff around for a little on the side. She supposed she could have made an effort, she certainly had no qualms about chasing off an inconvenient wife, but the guy had kids. She was pretty sure they'd be around a lot, even with a divorce, and the thought of living with snot nosed runts gave her hives. She didn't give a cuss about kids; so helpless and needy. They reminded her of everything about her childhood she'd rather forget.

  She'd have to look for someone else.

  It didn't take her long to find his replacement. There was a jewelry store across the street owned by a rather handsome man. With her boss crossed off the list, she started paying more attention to Mr. Jewelry. He wasn't a flashy man, most wouldn't take him for wealthy, but his suits were clearly custom fit (Kate had a talent for spotting small details), and she'd seen him driving around town in an automobile a few times.

  Perfect.

  She set her mind to becoming Mrs. Jewelry.

  Obviously, meeting Mr. Jewelry was the first job.

  How should we meet? Luckily, that wasn't a brain buster. Every day before going to work, he stopped at the bakery two blocks away, and ordered something to go. So she decided Kate Lingerfelt was a pastry person.

  Lingerfelt was also self-assured, yet bashful, when praised. She showed up in the pastry line with him several times, but was only rewarded with split second, half-familiar glances. So she started timing her entrance to his exits, always giving a quick hello and a wave. It took longer than she expected, but she finally got the result she'd been waiting for.

  "Excuse me, but aren't you the receptionist at Brower & Sons?"

  Look around as if surprised he recalls you. Kate could read people like they were billboards. He would respond to Kate, she was sure of it.

&n
bsp; "Yes," shy laugh. " Grace Jewelers, right? You're across the street from us?"

  They stepped out of the doorway to the sidewalk.

  Mr. Jewelry flashed a perfect-toothed smile at her and tipped his hat. "I'm flattered you noticed me."

  Flirty shrug. "Well, my only window does look out on the street front."

  "So I just happen to cross your eye line a lot?"

  "Precisely."

  "Otherwise I'd blend right in with the crowd?"

  "I'm a busy lady, Mister . . . ?"

  "Simmons. Lars Simmons."

  He offered his hand, which she shook with confidence, sensing it was the right moment to shed a bit of her shyness. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Simmons. Anyhow, I don't usually have time to press my nose against the glass and watch every bozo who walks by."

  "Agh!" Simmons clutched his chest as if shot. "Bozo!" He felt emboldened enough to step a bit closer to her--just a tad. Well within the limits of propriety. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to make myself more memorable?"

  She chewed the corner of her lip for a moment. She considered batting her eyes as well, but decided it would be a step too far. He didn't seem like a dolt, might smell a fortune hunter if she