That Fucking Bitch Will Pay by Chris Rhatigan

THAT FUCKING BITCH WILL PAY - CHRIS RHATIGAN

 

Ginny’s doorbell rang. She took a last look in the full-length mirror, admiring her tiny, red cocktail dress—the one with the little candy hearts on it that had sayings like “Be Mine” and “Do Me.”

 

Which guy had she invited out tonight? Was it Growler? Yardo?

 

Hmm…

 

Whatever, it was one of those dudes. Either way, she’d be smashed and screwed before the night was out.

 

Her stilettos click-clacked on the tile.

 

She opened the door.

 

Two dudes.

 

Growler and Yardo.

 

Both carried a bottle of champagne and a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

 

Both did not seem happy to see the other one there.

 

“Oh, shit,” she said. She went with her first instinct—play the adorable dumb blonde card—giggling and bobbing her head. “Well this is awkward!”

 

Yardo spoke first. “Who the fuck is he?”

 

“Hey,” Growler said, “who the fuck are you?”

 

“Hold on, hold on,” Ginny said. She closed her eyes, all two gears in her miniature mind working a double-shift to find a solution. She’d kept the two men away from each other for a month, but she should’ve known she’d royally fuck things up sooner or later.

 

“This is bullshit,” Yardo said.

 

“You’re bullshit!” Growler said.

 

Growler chucked his gifts into the bushes. Drew a handgun.

 

Yardo did the same.

 

Both men pointed barrels at the other’s head.

 

Ginny screamed because she was scared or thrilled or something.

 

Growler said, “How long you been seeing him?”

 

Ginny said, “What is wrong with you two? Put those guns away—someone could get hurt!”

 

Yardo said, “I’ll put my gun away as soon as he does.”

 

Growler said, “Sure you will.”

 

Ginny sighed. Why did she always date these morons? She couldn’t remember now. All she knew was that she did not want to get blood on her dress.

 

“How about this?” Ginny said, pleased that she had stumbled on what she deemed a perfectly simple solution. “Why don’t you both fuck me? How’s that sound?”

 

“At the same time?” Growler said. “I don’t know, sounds kinda gay.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be at the same time,” she said, trying to be flexible.

 

Yardo shook his head. “Nah, you don’t get it. This is about pride.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes at their silly standoff. “You boys and your pride. Why don’t you just get it over with and see whose is bigger?”

 

“Ginny,” Yardo said, “first of all, I would win that contest. Second of all, you are one cold bitch. Once I deal with this asshole, you’re going to pay for this.”

 

Growler said, “You shut the fuck up you—”

 

Someone set off a firecracker down the street.

 

Both men thought the other had fired and responded in kind.

 

Bang.

 

Bang.

 

Ginny shrieked as blood sprayed all over her dress. Her fuck buddies dropped to the ground, their brains scattered across the pavement.

 

She turned circles like a confused puppy, then sat on the doorstep and shivered, trying not to look at the corpses. She thought she should call 911, but then they’d want to talk to her and ask her questions, blah blah blah—it would ruin the whole night.

 

After a couple of minutes, she went over to the bushes and collected her discarded gifts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said under her breath. 

 

She went inside, dropped the gifts on the kitchen counter, and uncorked a bottle of champagne. Bubbles flowed over the top and tickled her hands. She drank straight from the bottle. Took the edge off. She ripped the shrink wrap off the box of chocolates, used the pictures on the inside to find the ones she liked.

 

Just as she was lamenting her bad fortune, she got an idea.

 

Picked up the cell on the counter and punched in a number she had scribbled on a napkin last Friday night.

 

“Heeeeyyyy Daggitt. It’s Ginny, from the club?” She bit into one of the chocolates—coconut, her favorite. “Yeah, of course you remember me. Sounds like you’re all alone. How about we go get a drink?”

 

She’d lost a new dress and two decent lays, but maybe this Valentine’s Day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

BIO: Chris Rhatigan is the editor of All Due Respect and that publication’s upcoming anthology, which will be released by Full Dark City Press. His novel, The Kind of Friends Who Murder Each Other, will be released in April by KUBOA Press. He blogs about short fiction at Death by Killing.