Dog Training The American Male Part 23

"Ow! Are you crazy?"

"Shut-up and take off your clothes."

"Wait . . . for real? Please say it's for real, because if this is a joke-"

"The boys are sleeping over my sister's. Now get over here and ride me like a mule, you big dumb hairy orangutan."

"Oh, h.e.l.l yes!" Vinnie kicked off his shoes . . . "baby, you look unbelievable." He quickly pulled down his pants and underwear without unbuckling his belt. "G.o.d, I love you, I love you so much. And I respect you. Totally."

"Tonight you get to disrespect me."

"Oh dear G.o.d." He tore off his shirt without unb.u.t.toning it-"Wanda's definitely getting that raise, no pun intended."

-and rushed into his G.o.ddess's outstretched legs.

"COME ON, FAT boy, work up a good lather! I want you nice and sweaty when you f.u.c.k me from behind."

Nancy smacked Jacob's bare a.s.s again with the riding crop as her boyfriend jogged at a brisk pace on the treadmill-naked, save for his jock strap, white socks, and Nike sneakers.

STRAY DOG.

The gun club was located in West Palm Beach, off Okeechobee Boulevard. Jacob parked his van in the half-empty lot and stepped into the blinding noon day sun. Now I know why Clint Eastwood was always squinting in those spaghetti westerns. He checked his dive watch, estimated what time he had to leave in order to get back to work for his afternoon shift, and then entered the building.

An a.s.sortment of handguns and knives were displayed in locked gla.s.s cases; a.s.sault weapons lined the walls. A female clerk, heavyset and graying at forty, was showing a pistol to a well-endowed redhead and her skinny tattooed boyfriend.

"This is a Glock-26 subcompact, nine millimeter. It's very popular, great for a concealed carry. Your boyfriend may prefer the Glock-19, which has a longer grip-" She glanced over at Jacob, offering a cherub smile. "Be right with you, sweet britches. Why don't-cha look around."

"Actually, I'm supposed to be meeting someone . . . Mrs. Kleinhenz?"

"Ruby's on the range with the women's group. Through that door and turn left. Grab yourself a pair of earm.u.f.fs when you go in, Honey-buns."

"Thanks." Jacob opened the door and entered a small alcove that led to a gla.s.s door which sealed off an air conditioned egress corridor. Inside the shooting area, half a dozen women encircled a gray haired male firearms instructor.

Ruby Kleinhenz spotted Jacob and waved him over.

"Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Mr. Appleseed and I'll be your firearms instructor for today. As you know, these are dangerous times. Just this morning I read about a fatal car-jacking in Fort Lauderdale; last week another woman was raped and a.s.saulted in Palm Beach County. Ladies, there are three kinds of people in the world. Most are sheep . . . frightened creatures dependent on the flock. Then there are your wolves-the animals that prey on society, the a.s.sholes who force us to live in fear. Finally, there are sheepdogs, the ones who don't take s.h.i.t from the wolves."

The instructor held up a 9mm semi-automatic handgun. "This, ladies, is the instrument that turns sheep into sheepdogs."

Jacob growled beneath his breath.

Ruby snickered, nudging him with her elbow.

The instructor recited a few safety regulations, then a.s.signed each woman to a stall, the targets: cardboard male silhouettes.

Jacob watched Ruby expertly snap a loaded magazine into place. "You look good, Jacob. Did you lose weight?"

"Five pounds. Been exercising." He glanced one stall over where the instructor was observing a timid brunette. The college soph.o.m.ore aimed her pistol down range, her slender arms shaking. Looking away, she squeezed off a shot, the recoil nearly hitting her in the face.

Mr. Appleseed shook his head in disgust. "That's no way to discharge a weapon. Look at your target. You've got one shot before he rapes you! Shoot to kill. Now, fleabag!"

Suddenly the timid brunette became Dirty Harry, scattering six holes across the target.

"That's better. Load another clip, only this time try aiming." The instructor moved over one stall to watch Ruby. The divorcee spread her legs in an exaggerated horse-stance and fired a perfect cl.u.s.ter . . . punching holes over her target's groin.

"Impressive cl.u.s.ter, Ruby. Only those aren't kill shots."

"I wasn't trying to kill him. I wanted to make him suffer."

Jacob cringed.

Ruby loaded another magazine and turned to face him. "You're up, lover."

"Whoa, not me. I'm afraid of guns."

"You're afraid of a lot of things. Now get your sweet a.s.s over here before I put a bullet in your crack." She handed him the loaded weapon, then stood behind him, positioning his arms. "Strong arms. Aim and squeeze the trigger."

His body quaking, Jacob aimed and fired, flinching at the recoil-the bullet hole visible over the target's heart.

Ruby kissed him on the cheekbone. "See that? You're a natural."

"Ruby, why am I here?"

"You're here because I got you an amazing gig-a private birthday party on a millionaire's yacht. The job's in two weeks and pays five gees."

"Five grand? Holy s.h.i.t."

"There's a catch. The woman arranging everything wants to see your act first. She's a friend, but she's a hardcore feminist, so you need to revise your act accordingly."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't care, just do it. There'll be a lot of deep pockets at the party, including a few television producers, so take this seriously. No Helen Keller jokes."

"Yes, ma'am. When and where is the audition?"

"Friday at noon. I'll text you the address." Turning to face the target, she rapidly discharged eight more rounds until the gun's slide popped out.

Jacob nervously checked his watch. "I better go or I'll be late for work." Mindful of the gun, he offered her an awkward hug.

Ruby groped him through his Bermuda shorts. "Why Jacob, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Jacob ducked away from her advances and hurried out of the shooting area- -never seeing the muscular woman staring at him from her stall.

Jeanne Pratt watched Jacob disappear out the egress door before she turned and fired the two Glocks down range, one gun in each hand.

DOG TRAINING THE AMERICAN MALE.

LESSON NINE: SOCIAL ISSUES.

Nancy gripped the dog's leash tighter, half-leading, half-dragging Sam down the sidewalk, her sister Lana power-walking beside her. "What else did Jeanne say?"

"She said Ruby's advances seemed to make Jacob uncomfortable, but he definitely had a hard-on when he left the shooting range."

"That little s.h.i.t. Know what he said to me the first night we moved in together? He said he'd cut off his b.a.l.l.s if he was even tempted to cheat on me." She quickened the pace, tugging harder on the German Shepherd's choker collar.

"Want me to send Jeanne and her PMS crew after Ruby? Send a little message about moving in on another woman's man?"

"The b.i.t.c.h carries a gun, Lana. Besides, Jacob's the one that needs the warning."

They crossed the street, approaching an older black man walking a Golden Retriever.

Before she could react, the chain was torn from Nancy's hand as Sam went ballistic, growling and attacking the Golden Retriever. Screaming, "heel," she attempted to separate her enraged animal from the other canine, the retriever's owner yelling and dragging his dog away.

Finally managing to grab Sam's choker collar, Nancy pulled it tight, yelling, "bad dog! Bad!"

Lana's heart was racing. "G.o.d, that was scary."

"That was scary."

"Sam could've killed that dog. Then what? The owner sues you."

"Like I don't have enough problems. This is all Jacob's fault."

"Don't blame me," Lana said. "I specifically told your boyfriend to get you a Bichon."

"Can't trust a man to do anything right."

"I couldn't have been clearer."

"Maybe you should've pulled a Ruby Kleinhenz and grabbed him by the b.a.l.l.s."

"I did."

Nancy turned to her sister. "What do you mean, you did? You grabbed my boyfriend's b.a.l.l.s?"

"Not s.e.xually. You know . . . just to get his attention. Sort of like Sam's choker collar."

"Don't touch Jacob's b.a.l.l.s! Touch your own boyfriend . . . touch Jeanne's b.a.l.l.s. What is it with other women going after my boyfriends' private parts?"

"Take it easy, Nance-"

"Maybe I should castrate my men before I let them move in with me? Maybe that would keep them from cheating on me?"

". . . just breathe, little sister. Breathe and count to ten."

"Maybe I'll start with his d.a.m.n dog? Bet that would keep him from being so aggressive."

"Fix Sam? That would certainly get Jacob's attention."

"h.e.l.l, yeah." Nancy paused, a kernel of thought taking root in her brain. "Wait a second. Oh my G.o.d, that's it! That's why Jacob's mother refuses to give Mr. Cabot the time of day."

"What are you talking about?"

"Carmella's Jewish. She's dating Jewish men-circ.u.mcised Jewish men. Cabot's not circ.u.mcised; she must have seen his foreskin peeking through his Speedo bathing suit."

"Gross."

"It's not gross, Lana, in fact it makes perfect sense. What's gross is what Cabot will have to do if he really wants to be with Jacob's mother."

DISTEMPER ISSUES.

Jacob sat in his I.T. cubicle, agitated. His blood felt like it was flowing ten degrees too hot. His skin was annoying to be inside of, like it was wrapped too tight. His thoughts were helter-skelter, his problems popping up in his brain like a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.

My share of the rent's due again, I already owe Nancy from last month's expenses. And the van's transmission could go any time. I need this yacht gig, only Ruby won't let up until I sleep with her. Can't cheat on Nancy, but I need the money . . .

Jacob could feel the anxiety building, the blood vessels in his left arm tightening.

The iPhone on his desk vibrated again . . . RUBY CALLING. He turned the cursed machine off.

Sanjay Patel leaned into Jacob's cubby. "Take line fourteen please."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the headphones off his desktop, connecting the line. "Name?"

"Excuse me?"

"Can I have your name, please?"

"James."

"What's your problem, James?"

"My problem is my f.u.c.king internet won't work."

"Have you tried rebooting?"

"Three times."

"Close all of your programs, then click on START, then RUN, then type in-"

"Whoa, slow down, pal. I have to save a bunch of stuff."

Jacob's heart beat faster and harder. Do you want a career as a stand-up . . .?

"Okay. Do what now? h.e.l.lo?"

Jacob saw the squiggly line in his vision. Migraine coming. This is bad.