Dog Training The American Male (25 page)

Nancy smacked Jacob’s bare ass
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 assortment of handguns and
knives were displayed in locked glass cases; assault 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
earmuffs when you go in,
Honey-buns
.”

“Thanks.” Jacob opened the door
and entered a small alcove that led to a glass 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 assaulted 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 assholes who
force us to live in fear. Finally, there are sheepdogs, the ones who don’t take
shit 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 assigned 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 sophomore 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 cluster . . . punching holes over her target’s
groin.

“Impressive cluster, 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 ass 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 shit.”

“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 shit. Know what he
said to me the first night we moved in together? He said he’d cut off his balls
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 bitch 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. “God,
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 balls.”

“I did.”

Nancy turned to her sister. “What
do you mean, you did? You grabbed my boyfriend’s balls?”

“Not sexually. You know . . . just
to get his attention. Sort of like Sam’s choker collar.”

“Don’t touch Jacob’s balls! Touch
your own boyfriend . . . touch Jeanne’s balls. 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 damn
dog? Bet that would keep him from being so aggressive.”

“Fix Sam? That would certainly
get Jacob’s attention.”

“Hell, yeah.” Nancy paused, a
kernel of thought taking root in her brain. “Wait a second. Oh my God, 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—
circumcised
Jewish men. Cabot’s not circumcised; 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 snatched 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 fucking
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? Hello?”

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

“Yo dude, you still—”

“Click on START . . . then
RUN—”

“Where’s RUN? Oh, wait, I see it.
Now what?”

“Type in capital C, colon, then
capital R, T, forward slash—”

“Wait, what comes after the C?”

“Colon.”

“That’s the thing with two dots,
right? Hello? Yo, pal, you still there?”

Jacob was gone—the toggle
switches in his brain having flipped from down to up, all rational thought
drowning beneath a tidal wave of anxiety as he ripped the headphones from his
ears and tossed them at the cheerleader calendar hanging crooked on the cubby
wall.