Fiction: The Birthday Present by Gary Ponzo

“You’re here to kill me aren’t you?” Sheryl Janeck held open the front door with the demeanor of someone greeting the UPS man. She couldn’t have seen the gun, I had it tucked into the back of my jeans. Before I could respond, she stepped back into the mansion and left the door open behind her as she walked away. She wore a tight, knitted top and a short skirt that exposed her long, tan legs all the way down to the polished, wooden floors.

“C’mon in,” she said. At least that’s what I think she said. I was busy focusing on her wiggle. She seemed to be fresh out of the shower and I could’ve followed her sparkling scent with my eyes closed.

I sucked in shallow breaths while I hustled to keep up with her. I followed her right up to the kitchen counter where a large picture window overlooked a perfectly manicured backyard. She turned to face me with folded arms.

“Okay,” she said. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“You did something to Vince and now you owe him a favor, right?”

I said nothing.

She gestured toward the kitchen table. “I’d feel better if you sat down.”

Even though my heart was pounding, I sat. I needed to get focused. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Was she just stalling? She could have caused a scene at the front door, but she didn’t. How did she know why I was there?

She sat next to me and crossed her legs. I noticed because I was paying very close attention to those legs.

Her expression softened. She blinked her large, Bambi eyes and said, “So, have you ever killed anyone before?”

I shook my head.

“So you’re a virgin?”

I shrugged.

“How were you going to do it?”

“I . . . uh . . .have a gun.”

“Isn’t that kind of loud?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought it through. There wasn’t much time.”

“You have to kill me today?”

I nodded.

“You owe him money?”

I kept nodding.

“How much?”

“Eighty thousand.”

She blew a low whistle. “That’s an awful lot of bad bets.”

“I’m a compulsive gambler.”

“So he said he’d forgive everything you owe him if you killed me?”

“Yes.”

She looked me over. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“So you’re thirty-two and you’re eighty thousand in debt?”

“Yes.”

She glanced behind her and I reached for my gun.

“Relax,” she said. “I just wanted a last cup of coffee before I go. You know, usually the person gets a last cigarette, except I don’t smoke. Is that all right?”

I mulled it over.

“Listen,” she said, “I just push a button and the machine grinds the beans and brews a couple of cups in less than three minutes.”

“Okay. Just one cup, though.”

“Sure.” She got up and pushed a button on the coffee machine, then leaned back on the kitchen counter. “It’s his birthday, you know.”

“Vince?”

She nodded. “Fifty-six. He always makes a big deal about it. Looks forward to the present I give him each year.”

“What do you get him?

“The same thing every year. Marriage becomes routine after a while. You’ll find out one day.”

“I see.”

She examined my slump posture. “You really don’t want to do this do you?”

“I don’t have a choice, Mrs. Janeck.”

“Please, call me Sheryl.”

“Sheryl. I have to do this or I get killed. It’s not much of an option.”

“We’ll get to our options later,” she said, getting two ceramic cups from the cabinet. “Right now I want to you to tell me about yourself.”

When I didn’t respond, she looked back at me. “Look, I’m going to be dead in a few minutes, what difference does it make what you tell me? I’d just like to know a little about the person who ended my life.”

I had played out so many scenarios in my head about how it might happen, the killing. I’d anticipated begging, defiance, crying, maybe even some aggression, but I’d never considered this tactic.

“My name is Chris,” I said. “I started going to the horse track when I was sixteen and got the gambling bug. I guess I’ve never been able to shake it. The next bet is always the one that’s going to put me over the top and get me back on track. The problem is, even when I win I keep going and eventually it’s gone.”

She stirred some cream into her cup and asked me how I liked mine.

“Black,” I said. “With a couple of spoonfuls of sugar.”

She made our coffee and brought it back to the table.

“Thanks,” I said.

She sat down and crossed those legs again. Same way as last time, right over left. My favorite.

She placed her hand under her chin and smiled. “Go on.”

“About the gambling?”

“Tell me how you met my husband.”

Her eyes were a rich brown that blended wonderfully with her wet, black hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said.

“Sure.”

“How’d you know I was coming?”

“Oh, I knew someone would come eventually. Vince always warned me, if I ever gained any weight he would send someone over to put me down. The other day he caught me eating Doritos out of the bag. He gave me a look that told me to watch my back.”

I cocked my head. “Your own husband is going to send someone to kill you if you gain weight? Doesn’t that seem a little . . . severe?”

“Everything Vince does is severe, you know that. The guy loans money to people, then threatens to kill their children if they don’t pay on time. Nothing the guy does is gentle.” She caressed her arm and looked away. “Trust me, I know.”

I knew all about Janeck’s legendary temper. I’d seen him stick a fork into the eye of a bad payer. Everything with him was black and white. There were no shades of gray.

In a soft voice, she said, “You don’t think I’m fat, do you?”

It allowed me the shameless pleasure of observing her body as she held out her arms to expose her tight frame. Every molecule was perfectly placed and tanned to a rich, mocha blend. I knew I had to kill her and get my life back, but her situation intrigued me.

“No,” I said. “You’re not fat.”

She nodded, but my words didn’t seem to console her. She leaned back and brought the cup to her lap. “You wonder how I got involved with someone like Vince Janeck, don’t you?

“Yeah.”

“You see a pretty, thirty-year-old woman with some smarts and you wonder why I fell into this trap?” She looked around the kitchen at the giant, stainless steel refrigerator and the glistening granite countertops. “I was only twenty-one when it happened. I got sucked into the glamorous lifestyle right out of college. The nightly limos to expensive nightclubs. The private jet to Coronado Island. I was a leaf on the rapid current of the fast lane, only I never heard the waterfalls coming.”

She looked down into her coffee and seemed genuinely sad. “I guess I’m not much different than you.”

We sat in silence for a minute, each one working things out. I looked around at the opulence she was surrounded with.

“Is it all it’s cracked up to be?” I asked.

She looked confused.

“The wealth,” I said. “Is it worth it? I mean, I spend each day thinking I’m going to hit the jackpot and wind up in a place like this with Lamborghinis filling up the five-car garage. But now that I’m looking at you . . . well, you don’t seem too happy. You seem ready to accept your fate, as if you’re willing to give it up without a fight.”

“Everything comes with a price,” she said. “Every little trinket, every piece of jewelry has its cost. It seems that with every luxury, I lose a small piece of my soul. I’m tired of the darkness. I’ve wanted out for a while, but . . .” she glanced over at me with skepticism. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

She put her cup down and reached over to her purse on the table next to her. I went for the gun again and she froze.

“Take it,” she said, gesturing toward her purse.

When I didn’t move, she said, “Go ahead. See what’s inside.”

She slid the purse over for me to examine. Right on top was an envelope. I grabbed the envelope and waved it at her.

“This?” I said.

“Open it.”

It was an airline ticket to Heathrow Airport in London. One way. Her name was on the ticket.

“You were leaving?” I said.

“Check the date.”

I looked at my watch. “This flight is leaving this afternoon.”

“You want to go upstairs and see my packed suitcase?”

“Does he know?”

“No. I told you, I knew my days were numbered.” She had a distant stare with a hint of resignation. “I needed a new start.”

I felt the same way, only my new start came after her body ceased functioning.

“I spent the past ten years stashing money away,” she said. “He’s such an arrogant slob, he never kept tabs. I recently reached the two million dollar mark.” She looked up at me with those big eyes. “I guess my timing is just a fraction off.”

“There’s no way out of this, you know that,” I said.

She nodded. “I could offer you double the money and he wouldn’t take it.”

I didn’t have to respond to that. We both knew the guy too well.

“When he makes a decision,” she said, “he never backs off of it. I almost admire that part of his personality.”

“You do?”

“Almost.”

I looked down at the airline ticket while my coffee went cold. I was hoping for a way out, but I wouldn’t survive another day while she was still breathing.

As if she could sense my thoughts, she touched my hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand. You’ve got more to live for than me anyway.”

We stared at each other for a good minute running what-ifs through our collective minds.

Finally, she squeezed my hand and smiled, “We could both make new starts. I’ve got enough for both of us. Come with me to Europe. He’ll never find us.”

I got swallowed up in that smile and gave the notion a hard look. Me on the beach in Spain sipping cocktails with plastic toys sticking out of them.

Almost on cue, she said, “I look great in a bikini.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’ve got my mom and sister to think about. He’d kill them both just for something to do.”

She sighed. “What if I left? I mean just left and never came back? He’d never know I wasn’t dead, right?”

Boy I wanted this to work so bad, but Vince Janeck was no dummy. He took measures to eliminate any possible cons.

“That wouldn’t work either,” I said.

“Why not?’

“Because I have to bring him something to show him I really killed you.”

“Like what?”

“Your pinkie.”

She frowned. “You have to bring the bastard my pinkie to prove that you killed me?”

I nodded.

She got up and opened a cabinet door. This time I didn’t even bother going for the gun. She pulled out a cutting board, then reached into a drawer and returned with a large butchers knife.

She handed me the knife, then slapped her hand down on the cutting board. “Go ahead, Sweetie,” she said. “Cut it off. Then take it to Vince and tell him you did your job. You’ll have a fresh start and I’ll disappear into the Swiss Alps. We’ll both get what we want . . . Only you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

She smiled with those bedroom eyes and touched my arm with her free hand. “You have to come and meet up with me. I’ll give you the address of the hotel I’ll be at. Wait at least a week before you leave, just to be sure.”

I ran the scenario through my mind. It could work. It really could work.

I looked over at her standing there trying to act brave as I felt the weight of the knife in my hand. She leaned back and stretched out her arm to its fullest length, staying as far from the mutilation as possible. “Go ahead,” she said, turning her head. “Do it fast.”

I stretched her pinkie away from the rest of her hand. Her fingers were like soft sticks of butter that would melt if I held them too long. Looking at her flawless figure, I felt like I was about to paint a moustache on the Mona Lisa.

Just as I pulled up on the cleaver, she turned toward me and said, “There is one other option.”

Vince Janeck kept an office in the back of a sports bar that offered off-track betting. If you were smart, you bet the horses in the front of the house. If you were broke and still needed to place bets, you saw Janeck in the back of the house. A gamblers paradise. Until you couldn’t pay.

Janeck was on the phone when I got there and he waved me in with a smile. I sat while he leaned back in his black, leather chair.

“Listen,” he said into the receiver, “I’ve gotta go. My birthday present just got here.”

Janeck hung up the phone and pointed to the envelope in my hand.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

My hand was trembling, so I kept it in my lap. “Yes.”

“You look a little shaken up?”

“You’d be a little shaken up too, if you just did what I did.”

He seemed concerned. He looked at the envelope, then at me. “So you actually did it?”

“I’m not stupid, Mr. Janeck. I know what happens to me if I don’t follow orders.”

His leather chair squeaked as he leaned back and clasped his hand behind his head.

“Tell me something,” he said. “What’d you do with the body?”

“I buried it out in the desert. It’ll never be found.”

He seemed satisfied with that one.

“She’s got quite a body, huh?” he said conspiratorially.

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean those legs just go on forever, huh?”

“Yes, sir. She’s very pretty.”

“You mean she was very pretty?”

“Of course.”

Janeck leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. “You think I’m a real bastard don’t you?”

“No, sir.”

He forced a smile, then came to his feet and paced behind his desk. “You see all the men who work for me, they’re all fit. Every one of them.” He patted his flat stomach. “I’m fifty-six today and I’ll bet I can do twice as many push-ups as you. Ten times as many sit-ups.”

I didn’t need to reply.

“It’s something I require from everyone on my team.” He pointed to his temple. “A fit body is a fit mind. So if I let my wife run around with a pot-belly, what do you think would happen?”

He raised his eyebrows as if he really wanted an answer to this one.

“You’d lose respect?”

He extended his arm and pointed an index finger right at me. “Exactly! I lose the respect of my men, and I can’t afford to let that happen. You understand that, right?”

What was I supposed to say? “Absolutely.”

He smiled at that, but it didn’t stop my hand from trembling.

He curled the tips of his fingers with his palm up and gestured for me to give him the envelope. “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind.”

My mouth lacked enough moisture to respond. I quickly handed him the envelope to mask the quivering. He kept the envelope in his hand as he maintained a tight oval pace.

“You see, my wife is a representation of me. She goes shopping and sees someone I know, she has to look her best. I can’t afford to have someone making me look bad.”

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes from that envelope.

“So every year on my birthday I send someone over to the house to kill her.”

What did he just say?

“And every year for ten years, she finds a way out.”

Now the trembling moved from my hands up to my shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t send a hired killer, that wouldn’t work. They’d accept her offer to have their way with her, but after it was over, she’d be dead. No that wouldn’t be right. So I send over some shmoe,” he nodded at me, “who owes me money and needs to save his own skin. Someone who never thought about killing a fly, but was forced into it by the situation. And as long as she keeps that body intact, she’ll always find a soft spot and wiggle out of it.”

He turned to face me straight on. “Tell me, where did she tell you she’d meet you afterward. The Caribbean? The Mediterranean? Huh?”

I was paralyzed. Thoughts of running occurred. Thoughts of leaping headfirst through his window and never looking back.

Janeck looked at my hands and frowned. “By the way, what’s with the gloves?”

I’d rehearsed this one. “I didn’t want to leave any prints behind. You know. . . uh . . . just being safe.” It sounded better in Sheryl’s bathroom mirror.

Janeck’s face brightened. He seemed pleased with my jumpy behavior and my fidgety movements.

“Don’t feel bad, kid. You’re not the first.” He motioned me over to his side of the desk and opened the top drawer. Inside was a cigar box with the lid cut off. Inside the cigar box, sealed in clear plastic, were nine human pinkies of varying stages of decay.

A surge of vomit spiked up into my mouth.

Janeck’s laughter filled the room, while my head spun with terror.

“You see,” he said. “No one wants to ruin even one little digit of that body of hers, so she convinces her killer to cut off their own pinkie to save themselves. It’s my birthday present. I get one every year.”

Janeck’s laughter followed me out the door. He said something about paying off my bet soon, but I couldn’t hear anything too well. My left pinkie was throbbing. I suppose it was just a phantom pain, but it sure felt real.

***

Gary Ponzo’s short stories have been published in Eureka Literary Magazine, Evansville Review, Potpourri, Amazing Journeys Magazine, and others. Two stories were nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and a novel, A Touch of Deceit, won the Thriller category of the Southwest Writers Novel Contest. Ponzo lives in Arizona with his wife and two children.