7
Y MINUS FIVE
AMARILLO, TEXAS
Joe Tasper pulled his boots on while his girlfriend continued to rant. His headache was getting worse.
He had to raise his voice to be heard over her tirade. “You don’t need any more jewelry, Crystal. And I sure don’t need to run my credit card up any higher.”
“If it was something for your car or your stupid computer, you’d put it on your credit card!” she said, spittle flying from her mouth.
She was about five-foot-seven, had multicolored hair and piercings in various places. When he first got with her she seemed normal and was attractive. Since she’d been with him, her persona had grown more and more bizarre; she grew overweight; and she started fights all the time about nothing.
“Why does it have to go on the credit card anyway?” Crystal demanded. “What have you been doing with the money that you hide from me?”
“Paying bills,” he said, tying his work boots. “Like the electric bill that’s more than doubled since you moved in. And the phone bill, since you insist on exceeding your minutes every month.”
“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for your money troubles, Joe! It’s not my fault that your job is for losers. Maybe if you’d have gotten an education, you could have found something that pays decent.”
He finished tying his laces and stood. “Oh, like your fancy college degree is doing you so much good? Go buy your own trinkets if your education is so great at generating money.”
Her face beet red, she stepped forward, poking her index finger toward his face, and called him a few unflattering names. “You would belittle my education, you pathetic moron! You’re so threatened that I’ve accomplished more than you have; that I have a degree…”
He stepped around her, pushing her finger out of his personal space, and strode for the door. “You wanna give me something to feel threatened about? Get off your ass and find a job. Bring home some money to help with the bills for a change, instead of just spending it faster than I can make it.”
“Oh, you think you’re a ‘real man’ because you go screw around with your buddies all day and get a paycheck for it?” Crystal asked, shrilly. “I bet Jordan doesn’t mind buying his girlfriend something nice once in a while. I’ll bet…”
The rest of her words didn’t register. He was blown away by the idea that she believed his grueling, dead-end blue-collar job was “screwing around with his buddies all day.” She made it sound like he was at some fun party six days a week, instead of working himself half to death. Was she really that delusional?
The distraction of this thought must have slowed his stride, because she raced past him despite the weight of her flab, and barricaded herself in front of the door.
“You’re not going to walk away from me this time!” she declared.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re complaining about how I don’t have enough money to buy stupid shit, so you’re gonna keep me from going to work? How much sense does that make?”
“It’s not stupid! You want to know what stupid shit is? It’s spending hundreds of dollars on a stupid pickup truck you don’t need!”
“Oh, I don’t need it?” he retorted. “Like how we used it to move all your crap over from your mom’s apartment?”
She was ready with a remark, as always, but changed gears when he picked her up and set her down over to the side so he could open the door. She screamed out as if she’d been injured, and screeched obscene insults while flailing wildly at him. One of her clawing hands caught his shirt and tore it right down the front.
Joe felt himself losing his temper, and had to get out of there. He stepped through the door and slammed it behind him, which at least muffled the volume of her tirade. Now he had to show up for work wearing only a partial shirt. He wasn’t sure how serious a reprimand he’d get for that, but he knew better than to go back inside and try to get an undamaged one with Crystal on the rampage.
He got in his car and started it, itching to take off right away but not wanting to strain the engine before it warmed up. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw he was bleeding from scratches under his eye inflicted by her fingernails when she clawed at him.
He heard a door slam and craned his neck around toward the source of the noise. Crystal was charging toward him. She had taken his baseball bat from inside his closet and wielded it like a weapon. He rolled down his window and shouted, “That’s mine, Crystal! Put it back where you found it and calm down!”
“Calm down?” she repeated. “You want me to calm down?” While hurling more insults, she swung the bat with all her strength into his windshield.
The glass was shatterproof, but the blow cracked it into a spiderweb pattern.
Now he was pissed. He got out of the car and stalked toward Crystal.
She held the bat cocked, threatening to smash his head with it. He grabbed it and yanked it out of her hands.
“Listen, bitch,” Joe said, straining to control violent impulses, “get the hell away from me; get your ass back in the house and keep your big damn mouth shut! We’ll deal with this when I get back.” He tossed the bat in the back seat and began to open the car door again.
He wouldn’t have guessed she could act any crazier, but she went completely berserk now. All she heard was the word “bitch,” and she became a windmill, trying to punch and kick him repeatedly.
He caught one wrist as she was trying to hit his face. She swung with her other arm and he caught that wrist. She kicked him in the groin and spit in his face. Reeling from the pain, he let go of one wrist and wiped the spit off. She took advantage of the opportunity to slap him.
She’d slapped him several times in these stupid altercations since they’d been together, and he’d never retaliated. All his life he’d heard it was wrong to hit females, so he put up with a lot because he had no choice. But at that moment he stopped caring what he’d been taught.
He slapped her and she went down, wailing, gasping, staring up at him in horror.
He spit on her, got in the car and drove away.
Joe had almost made it to work when the cop car pulled up behind him with flashing lights.
Great. Now he was going to be ticketed for the windshield, which was going to make it even harder to scrape up the money to replace it. And it would make him late for work. He had already missed several days at his job due to Crystal’s unlimited supply of personal crises, and was probably close to getting fired.
He had to get her out of his life. He was a fool for ever letting her in.
Two cops got out of their car and walked up to stand at both Joe’s doors. He rolled his window back down.
“Is your name Joe Tasper?” the cop nearest him asked.
That was weird. Usually they asked for the driver’s license and registration first before they let on that they knew his identity. Joe confirmed who he was and the cop rattled off his address, asking if Joe lived there. Joe confirmed again.
“I need you to get out of the car, Mr. Tasper.”
Joe complied, asking, “What’s going on, officer?” as he stepped out.
“Face your vehicle and place your hands on the roof, please,” the cop said, with a hard ugly look.
“Whoa, wait,” Joe protested. “What’s going on?”
“Just do what I said, Mr. Tasper.”
The cop nearest him had handcuffs in his left hand, his right hand resting on his gun butt, thumb under the holster snap. The other cop was circling around to sandwich Joe from the other side, something black in his hand.
“Are you arresting me?”
“We are placing you under arrest, yes.”
“For a busted windshield? It’s my own car; and I’m not even the one who did it.”
“You’re under arrest for aggravated assault,” the cop said.
Joe groaned. Crystal again. The gift that just kept on giving.
“Listen, officer, if there was any assault that happened today, it was against me. I was kicked in the groin; slapped in the face; my clothes torn up; windshield smashed… You can see my face is bleeding, right?”
The cop coming up behind him said something, but Joe only caught part of it: “…You get for abusing…”
“No, you listen,” the other cop growled. “I said turn around and put your hands on the car!”
Again Joe swallowed his anger. There was nothing he could do right then to avoid getting arrested, so he spun in place and began leaning forward. But before his hands made contact with the car, two sharp objects pierced the skin in his side. He had time to look down at the source of the pain and form the word “tazer” in his mind, then he was on the ground, flopping like a fish.
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There are supporting characters in False Flag who play a significant part in the story–partly because they’re just normal citizens in worsening circumstances. Joe Tasper is one such character.
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The Kindle version of False Flag is on sale for 99 cents for one more day. After that it will likely jump to a price point that is around $4.
CORRECTION: Price will remain $2.99 for two weeks.
The paperback will probably stay at its current price for a long time. As lengthy as the novel is, it can’t really sell for less and be profitable.
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