STORY TEASER (in progress):
Working title: "Girl Scout Kooky"
Whoever was ringing the doorbell was insistent. Himple switched the baby from his right hip to his left and picked up the pistol that was lying on the cutting board. He’d just gotten off the phone with the Chinese delivery place, so he knew it couldn’t already be them. Whoever it was, they were having a shit-fit more deserving of a coming apocalypse than eggroll delivery.
“I’m coming, coming,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to agitate Jitsy, but she started crying anyhow. It was the hip change: for some reason, Himple’s right hip was heaven and his left was hell. Maybe the way he held her on each side was different.
The doorbell continued, and since Jitsy was crying anyhow, he let ‘em have it: “I’m coming! Lay off the goddamn button!”
Still, the doorbell continued. Still Jitsy cried.
Himple turned the lock and pulled the door open, pistol in his free hand. “Jesus!” he said. “What’s the fucking—?!”
It was a Girl Scout.
Someone peddling religious pamphlets, he might have been able to go off on.
But it was a Girl Scout.
She had the unmistakable vest covered in patches. Himple tried to read a few of them, but the writing was too small.
And then he noticed that she was smoking. And pregnant.
Jitsy cried even harder now.
. . .