Suckers - J.A. Konrath

face too, like Richard Dreyfuss in that Spielberg movie about aliens. The one where he got
sunburned on only the left side of his face. I think it was Star Wars.
Unlike his wife, George didn’t smell like sweaty feet. He smelled more like ham. Honey
baked ham. So much so that I wondered if he had any ham on him. I’ve been known to stuff my
pockets with ham whenever I visited an all-you-can-eat buffet. After all, ham is pricey.
I restrained myself from asking if he indeed had any pocket ham, but couldn’t help
humming the Elton John song “Rocketman” and changing the lyrics in my head.
“Pocket ham... And I think I’m gonna eat a long, long time...”
I didn’t know the rest of the song, so I kept think-singing that line over and over. After a few
stops George stood up and left the bus. I followed him, keeping my distance so I didn’t make
him nervous. But after walking for a block I realized I could stand on the guy’s shoulders and
piss on his head and he still wouldn’t notice me. George Drawbridge was seriously preoccupied.
We went into an Ace Hardware Store, and George bought twenty feet of nylon clothesline
He also bought something called a magnetron. I knew that there was something I needed to buy,
but I couldn’t remember what it was, and I hadn’t written it down because I needed to buy a
pencil. So I got one of those super large cans of mega energy drink. It contained three times the
recommended daily allowance of taurine, whatever the hell taurine was.
After the hardware store it was back to the bus stop. We were the only two people there.
George didn’t pay any attention to me, but I was worried all of this close contact might get him a
little suspicious. So I made sure I stood behind him, where he couldn’t see me. Then I popped
open my mega can and took a sip.
The flavor on the can said “Super Berry Mix.” The berries must have been mixed with
battery acid and diarrhea juice, but with a slightly worse taste. It burned my nose drinking it, to
the point where I may have lost some nostril hair. Plus it was a shade of blue only found in
nature as part of neon beer signs. I could barely choke down the last forty-six ounces.
The bus came. Again, the only seat available was next to George. I took it, and pulled my
shirt up over my mouth and nose to disguise myself.
“Goddamn germs on public transportation,” I said, loud enough for most of the bus to hear.
This provided a clever reason for my conspicuous face-hiding behavior. I said it seven more
times, just to be sure.
We took the bus to Jefferson Park, a northwest side neighborhood named after that famous
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