Exterminator

"Exterminator" digital design by Katty Pulsar

August

Bitch kept my dog. Bitch even kept my fucking dog.

I work and I earn and I'm tired on a day off. Body sore. Day off in the apartment. Smells like biscuits. Dusty. Who the fuck cares about dust. Can't believe I'm living in an apartment. My whole life. Of course she got the house. House I earned.

Rigged system. Probably fucking her attorney right now on his desk. Probably fucked the judge. That's how they get you. Spending my money to buy her underwear.

American whiskey though. Tastes like hot charcoals.

Looking out the window to the pool. Young ass sitting in the sun. Too young. Well. Maybe not too young. Snort.

Knock at the door. What the hell? I hate this shit. Nobody knocks on your door when you own your house because they know they get the business end of a Glock in their face. What time is it? 11 am. Not even too early to drink. Who is it? I am not to be fucked with.

Who do I spy through my little peephole with my eye. Some dude. Little dude. Exterminator. Fuck. Yeah, I guess, man. I guess I allow it. Open the door. Yeah? Stare him down. Let him know who he's fucking with. What? Exterminator. Yeah, I figured that out already, ass-wipe. Just make a smile face, he's here to do his job.

Let him in. Short Hispanic guy. Nametag "Nando." Fucking beaners. Better be legal. Yeah, you will take just a minute. Lead him into the kitchen. Refill my drink.

Big cannister of the real deal poison. Spraying the baseboards. Smells like ass, man. Walk to the living room to open the patio doors and air this shit out. He walks down the hall to the bathroom.

Cute girl at the pool got a girlfriend now. I'd do them both. And leave them destroyed in a puddle. One's "Legs" and the other's "Tits." Now kiss.

Click behind me. Exterminator on the way out the door. Yeah, you are all done. Thank me? Fuck you. Get the fuck off my property, Nando.

My kids won't even talk to me now. She filled their heads up with bullshit. Lying bitch. She'll get hers. Jesus, the smell.

Turn the overhead fans on and walk back to the bedroom to open a window. Go into the bathroom to piss. Set my glass on the sink counter. That poison chemical smell. Oily smell. Piney.

I piss a river like a fucking champ. I'm the man.

Why is the sink shiny under the mirror? Did that motherfucker spray poison on my sink? Shit, is it on my toothbrush holder? My toothbrush? Wait. Is it damp from using it this morning or did that spic fuck put poison on my fucking shit?

Okay. Okay. No proof. Maybe just wet from this morning. But it just goes to show you. This is why they all need to be deported.

---

September

I'm ready for the beaner this time. Sober. Middle of the month. Already got the email. He'll be here today. I meditate patient in my big-ass chair. Breathe deep and regular.

I got it figured out.

What I gotta do is find a woman with kids. One who needs a provider like me. Cook her some fish sticks. Lawry's 'em up good. Lay on the charm. Then sit her down and set it out for her simple. 'All I want is for you to keep shit clean. And I'll need you to blow me once a day so I don't get migraines. You and your kids? You can have all this.' Then while she's figuring how to thank me, seal the deal. Unzip and let her see The Warrior.

Three short knocks at the door. "Exterminator!" I strut over. Unlock the door. Greet him. Big smile. Totally natural. Little fuckface. "Yeah, man, how ya been, come on in. You doing good?" vibes.

I size him up. He steps into my space. Wiry little bastard. Kinda guy you wanna get in close and clinch. Come hard with knees and elbows. Don't let him get you to the floor. Hammer-fist! Shatter his fucking collarbone. Pound him into the ground like a nail. That's how you do a wiry guy like that.

He's off in his little world. Retard. I tell him, "I'm going to get a little work done. You do what you gotta do."

"Yes sir, won't be long." Soy cuck accent. Speedy Goddamn Gonzalez.

I rest on a stool. Pull up the cameras app. Front door, living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Newly installed. Recording. I watch out of the corner of my eye. Make sure he doesn't mess with my dishes in the kitchen. Then I wait. He walks to the bathroom. He doesn't know I know what he's been doing.

I stare close at the camera. I see him walk in the bathroom. Sprays the baseboards. Sprays around the toilet. He checks himself out in the mirror, and... that's it. He doesn't put poison on my personal shit I put in my mouth. This time.

Little fucker. As he walks out of the bathroom, peeks up at the camera. There's no way he could see it. It's tiny. And hidden. But somehow he knew I was watching.

He bounces back down the hallway into the living room. I'm waiting by the bench doing curls with a 40-pound weight.

I stare him down hard. He misses a step. "All done," he says. Slinks toward the door and out. I hold my mouth.

I burn through him, though. Coming and going. Into the back of his head like a bullet. I see you. I see you. Nando Alvarez.

---

October

Took two Percocet for my knee. Don't need them. Pain doesn't bother you when you're raised to be tough.

Lights off. I sit in the dark on my bed. Door closed. Locked. Watching on the phone. Nando comes to the door. He knocks. Waits. Looks around. Finally, he opens the front door with a master key. "Hello?" he says in that voice. Walks in. Turns on the light.

Everything as it should be. Dark. Quiet. He doesn't know I'm here. The Spider King.

He walks to the kitchen with the cannister. Sprays the floor under the sink. Sprays the floor under the refrigerator. Sprays the floor under the stove.

He looks at my calendar. October swimsuit girl. You'll never be with a girl like that, midget. What's Spanish for midget?

Down hallway to bathroom. I pull the phone closer. He sprays the floor under the bathroom sink. Sprays along the base of the tub. Sprays around the toilet. Leaves.

I'm not frustrated. I don't know how he's fooling the cameras. But it doesn't matter.

Back down the hallway to the front door. Walks out, locks door, leaves. It doesn't matter. Sneaky bastard.

I log back on to the BallChan forums. Old school. I continue cluing people in on Nando Alvarez. Illegal alien, employed by Cooke Family Pest Control. Drug pusher. Addict that steals old ladies' prescription drugs. Child trafficker. Wife beater. I post a screenshot from the video footage. His ugly face looking up with an evil gleam in his eye.

Girl who lives in the apartment cross-corner walking her dog. Dog barks. Little brown wiener. I hear her door closing. No soundproofing. Old apartments. You hear everything.

She's fat. But I would.

She always acts like she doesn't want to talk when I see her outside. Carrying groceries. Coming and going. Why do girls gotta act intimidated by a real man? When that's what they want? I can take the stairs two at a time. That's not old.

Today was my kid's birthday. Got her a pocket knife. Happy birthday, sweetie. I love you.

---

November

New exterminator company sends out is named Mason. Nice kid. Clean cut. Trustworthy.

We talk about football. He's a Lions fan. Dumb, you're dumb when you're young. They've got no secondary. But his family's from East Detroit -- the good part -- so he came up as a fan. He can't help where he come up.

He sprays just enough. He does it right.

I want to ask about Nando. But Mason wouldn't know anything.

I did read the Yelp reviews that got him in trouble. I'll never know who wrote those. Someone else on the forum claimed they were going to call ICE on him. Or email them. But who knows about that.

Also DEA. Local sheriff's department. Child Protective Services. Code enforcement. Someone else said they'd get the word out. Social media. To all the local churches. Linked In, was that one? I don't know half these websites now.

Don't Date Him Girl. Hilarious. Good luck with the ladies, asshole. Keep the gene pool clean fool.

But I don't know. I haven't seen the things. Better if I don't know. If anyone asks. I didn't do anything. That's true. They're the ones who figured out his address and number. I'm the victim in all this.

Mason finishes up and leaves. Nice kid. Nice kid. I wish my son had a work ethic. But no. He wants to influence people on YouTube. Or some shit.

I sit on the toilet looking at my phone. I need a woman. I don't "need" a woman, I "want" a woman. Well, I want a mouth. Not one that makes too much noise, though. That's funny. I'm funny.

I see something move. Other side of the shower curtain. Skitter. Mother fuck. I laugh through a scowl. A little fucking roach. I wad up some toilet paper. I sit up from the toilet and catch the bug in the paper and smash it real good. I drop it all in the toilet and sit back down.

When is that girl getting back from walking her dog? I look up from the toilet. Up to the corner where I mounted the camera. Can you tell it's there? Not even if you know it's there. I hear a bark and hurry to wipe myself clean.

Neil Oldman fiction for the Daydream Misfit blog

Buy Me a Coffee