Part I: Picklebrawl
(Cleveland, Ohio)
“MOUTH ON THE CURB, MILDRED!” Beatrice Goldfarb commands while brandishing her pickleball paddle and staring down at Mildred Mendelbaum, who’s kneeling on the street with her back to Beatrice.
“What?” asks Mildred.
“I said put your fucking mouth on the fucking curb and do not make me have to ask you again!” shouts Beatrice.
“But why?” asks Mildred.
Beatrice glares down at Mildred while raising the pickleball paddle above her shoulder. “Don’t you remember that scene from American History X after the pickup basketball game? You don’t ask why, Mildred, you just do it!”
“Is that the new Woody Allen picture? Murray and Harriet just went to see it last week and they said—”
Beatrice’s paddle slices through the air like a laser beam and strikes Mildred’s eye socket, crushing her orbital bone. Mildred yelps in pain and collapses face first onto the street curb, breaking her nose and knocking out two of her front teeth upon impact.
“Now this can be quick and easy or it can be slow and painful, Mildred – you decide,” Beatrice says while she pulls Mildred’s head up by a fistful of hair and pushes her face against the curb. “Now open your goddamn yap and eat curb, you insolent fucking yenta!”
This time Mildred does as instructed and places her open mouth onto the concrete curb at the edge of the sidewalk facing the pickleball courts. About a dozen pickleballers have congregated behind the fence to watch the action unfold on the street in front of them.
Wasting no time, Beatrice steps forward and plants her left foot on the pavement next to Mildred, raises her right knee as high as she can, then stomps the sole of her Adidas Gamecourt sneaker down between Mildred’s shoulder blades with as much force as she can muster.
Mildred screams out in agony then turns over on the street, holding her chest and gasping for air through her bloodied nose and mouth.
“What the hell was that, Beatrice?” bellows out Sidney Goldfarb, Beatrice’s husband, while he kneels on the back of Sheldon Mendelbaum, Mildred’s husband, who’s lying face down on the street.
Beatrice looks over to Sidney and explains, “I curb-stomped the bitch, just like in the movie when Edward Norton—”
“Yes, I can see that, Beatrice, but you were supposed to stomp her at the base of her skull so that her head splits open, not on her back! I mean that’s the whole goddamn point of making her put her mouth on the curb! Good lord, Beatrice, can you do anything right today? First you lost a pickleball game for us and now you can’t even execute a simple fucking curb stomp!”
“OK, I’m sorry, I guess I should have watched the movie closer, but—”
“Forget it, Beatrice, just come over here and sit on Sheldon while I finish off Mildred.”
Sidney and Beatrice switch places on the street, Beatrice sitting on Sheldon while Sidney stands over Mildred. The crowd of onlookers has now doubled in size.
Mildred looks up at Sidney and pleads for her life. “Sid, please, I have five grandchildren. They need me to—”
The heel of Sidney’s Nike Zoom Challenge sneaker crashes squarely into Mildred’s face, rocking her head back violently and shattering her jaw. “Just shut the fuck up and put your mouth back on the curb, Mildred. You know the drill.”
Before Mildred can turn over on the street to face the curb, Sheldon cries out, “Sid, please stop! Can’t you just make this quick and painless so Milly doesn’t suffer? There must be some other way!”
Sidney thinks for a moment, then nods and says, “I have a loaded Glock 9 millimeter in my car that I keep for protection. We can use that.” Sidney tosses his car key fob to Beatrice and says, “Go get the gun, Bea, it’s under the driver’s seat. And please please please remember to hit the lock button twice from at least ten feet away when you leave the car to make sure that it’s locked.”
Beatrice stands up off of Sheldon and says, “Don’t try anything funny, Shel, we’ve got eyes on you.” She jogs over to Sidney’s sky-blue Mercedes SUV parked in the lot next to the pickleball courts, then hits the unlock button on the key fob. After opening the driver-side door and reaching beneath the seat, Beatrice jogs back onto the street holding Sidney’s gun, which she hands to him with the key fob and then sits back down on Sheldon.
As Sidney walks slowly up to Mildred with the gun pointed at her head, she looks over to Sheldon through swollen eyes with tears streaming down her bloodied face. “Shelly, please – isn’t there anything you can do to stop him?”
Sheldon shakes his head. ”Sorry, Mils, but he’s made up his mind and there’s nothing I can do about it. But don’t worry, hon, it’ll be quick and painless, you won’t feel a thing.”
Sidney stands on the street in front of Mildred with his gun still pointed at her head. She sits up against the curb facing him with blood and snot flowing down from her nose and mouth onto her chin. Sidney slides his forefinger onto the trigger while releasing the safety with his thumb. “Any last words, Mildred?”
Mildred wipes the tears from her eyes and sniffles quietly. Struggling to speak in excruciating pain through her broken jaw and teeth, she garbles, “I just wanted to talk smack like a badass baller. I’m so sorry it didn’t work. Just do what you have to do and—”
Sidney squeezes the trigger and the deafening sound of the gunshot rings out and reverberates through the street and pickleball courts. Mildred’s lifeless body slumps back on the sidewalk while a stream of blood spurts out from the fresh bullet hole in her forehead. Behind her on the pickleball courts, the bystanders shake their heads to each other and then disperse to return to their games. A pool of blood spreads across the sidewalk behind the back of Mildred’s blown-out skull, absorbing the brain matter and bone fragments strewn in its path.
Sidney looks over at Sheldon, who’s busy tapping out a text message on his cell phone while Beatrice continues to sit on his back. “I’m sorry, Shel, but at least she’s in a better place now.”
Sheldon raises a finger and says, “Just gimme a sec, Sid, I gotta reply to this text.” Sheldon finishes his text message and then thumbs the send button on his cell phone. After quickly re-reading his text, he raises his head to Sidney with a smile. “Sorry about that, Sid, I’m all yours now. What was that you said?”
“I was just saying that Mildred is probably in a better place now,” Sidney replies.
Sheldon shakes his head apologetically while placing a forefinger behind his earlobe. “Sorry, Sid, I left my hearing aid back on the pickleball court. What was that?”
“I SAID THAT MILDRED IS IN A BETTER PLACE NOW,” Sidney nearly shouts so that Sheldon can hear him.
Sheldon nods his head vigorously. “I totally agree, Sid, 100 percent. Better place for sure. I know it was difficult but you guys did the right thing, you had no choice.”
Beatrice stands up from Sheldon’s back and stretches her legs out, then looks down at her Apple watch. “We have a 7:00 p.m. dinner reservation at the Marble Room downtown, Sid, and I need time to shower and get ready so let’s get going. It’s almost impossible to get a reservation there this time of year so we can’t be late.” She looks down at Sheldon and says, “You’re welcome to join us, Shelly, but don’t feel obligated if you have other plans.”
Just as Sheldon opens his mouth to reply to Beatrice, an Avon Lake police cruiser barrels around the street corner and speeds toward them with its siren blasting and lights flashing.
Sidney discreetly places his Glock 9 into the elastic waistband of his pickleball shorts and covers the protruding gun butt with the untucked bottom of his Lacoste tennis polo. “Five-oh in the house!” he warns the others. “Bea, you may need to call the Marble Room and move our reservation back a bit,” he says coolly while nodding toward the police cruiser.
The cruiser pulls to an abrupt stop about ten feet in front of Sidney. Two uniformed officers step out while surveying the scene.
“Goddamn gangbangers,” Sergeant Felix Dixon mutters to his partner, Noah Garrison, while shaking his head and glancing over at Mildred’s dead body, her blood now congealed on the sidewalk while her vacant eyes stare up at the sky. “This used to be such a safe neighborhood before the city installed these fuckin’ pickleball courts. It was the kinda place where you could raise a family without having to worry about crime and all. Now look at it.”
Garrison nods in agreement as he looks over at the pickleball courts.
“I know how to deal with these punk-ass ballers so let me handle this, Noah,” Dixon says.
“Well, well, well, now what do we have here?” Dixon says as he approaches the Goldfarbs and Sheldon, shifting his gaze between the three of them. “Where y’all comin’ from today?” he demands.
“Beachwood,” Beatrice replies nervously.
“Pepper Pike,” adds Sheldon.
Dixon looks back at his partner with his eyebrows raised and a sarcastic smirk on his face. “Eastsiders,” he says, “Now ain’t that a shock.”
Garrison chuckles back at him. “I think I’d like to solve the puzzle, Pat.”
Dixon laughs as he turns back to the three. “And what about sleeping beauty over there soiling my lovely sidewalk with her nasty-ass head cheese?” Dixon asks, nodding towards Mildred’s corpse.
“That’s my ex-wife. She’s from Pepper Pike also,” replies Sheldon.
“Ex? So you two are divorced?” asks Dixon as he writes on his notepad.
“Well no, she’s dead,” explains Sheldon. “We were married up until she died a few minutes ago so I guess she’s technically my ex-wife since I can’t legally be married to a dead person. Sorry for the confusion, officer, I’ve just never been in this situation before and it’s a bit unnerving.”
“OK, roger that,” Dixon nods to Sheldon. Shifting gears, Dixon asks, “So what the hell brought you bangers over here to the west side? Ain’t there enough pickleball courts over in your ’hood where y’all can play without bringin’ your gangsta shit to Avon Lake?”
Sidney steps forward to answer Sergeant Dixon while Beatrice pulls her cell phone from the pocket of her Lululemon pickleball skirt to video-record their exchange. “We have friends in Avon who just got back from the Amalfi Coast and were showing us their photos over brunch, so we thought we’d try out a new court while we’re over this way.”
Dixon rolls his eyes while placing his notepad back into his pocket, then looks sternly at the Goldfarbs and Sheldon. “OK, so which one of you pickleballin’ punks wants to tell me what the fuck happened here today?”
“Well, we were playing mixed doubles …,” Beatrice begins, then tells the story.
Flashback to 30 minutes earlier:
“Wipe his ass all over the court, Sheldon!” Mildred shouts to her husband as she shifts her weight from foot to foot on the pickleball court, firmly gripping the handle of her paddle as she glares across the net at Sidney and Beatrice.
Sheldon looks back at Mildred in disgust. “Wipe his ass? Really, Mildred? That’s not trash talk, it’s just gross. And it would actually entail me getting toilet paper and wiping his butt, which is not exactly intimidating and he may even enjoy it.”
“OK, my bad – I’m still learning the smack talk part of this pickleball thing but you know what I meant. Just serve the goddamn ball, Sheldon,” says Mildred.
After a few rounds of volleying, the Goldfarbs take the lead after Sidney’s “dink” into the Mendelbaums’ “kitchen” hits the court just a foot behind the net and goes unreturned.
“Mildred hasn’t been in the kitchen in years so that’s always a safe place to hit the ball!” Sidney jokes.
Sheldon laughs and adds, “Take that back, Sid – Milly microwaves the meanest quiche lorraine in all of Cuyahoga County!”
Sidney and Beatrice both chuckle while looking empathetically at Mildred, who glares back at Sidney with fierce slitted eyes.
“Fuck you, Goldfarb! This is our house and we’re gonna burn your asses down like an LA wildfire, you fucking cocksucker!” Mildred screams at Sidney.
All goes silent on the pickleball court while Sheldon and the Goldfarbs look gape-mouthed at Mildred in utter shock and disbelief.
A trim middle-aged woman in a dark green Vuori pickleball dress and matching visor cap walks over from the neighboring court and speaks to Mildred. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but could you please watch what you say here. My sister and her husband live in Malibu and their house was just destroyed by the wildfires. It’s terrifying what’s happening over there now and I really don’t think it’s appropriate fodder for pickleball trash talk.”
Sheldon steps forward with an embarrassed look and says to the woman, “We’re so sorry, ma’am, my wife is new to pickleball and her trash talk could obviously use some fine tuning. We’re sorry to upset you and I promise we’ll keep it down over here.”
After the woman thanks Sheldon and walks back to her own court, he turns to Mildred with an angry scowl. “Damnit, Milly! Will you please just be quiet and leave the smack talk to me! We didn’t come here all the way from Pepper Pike to get kicked off the court because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut!”
Mildred apologizes and the pickleball game resumes. The Mendelbaums score a point after Beatrice returns Mildred’s serve into the net. Beatrice shakes her head and curses herself.
Exhilarated by the Goldfarbs’ fault, Mildred pumps her fist and taunts Beatrice. “Nice one, JonBenet, but isn’t the point of the game to hit the ball over the net and not into the net?”
Beatrice looks at Mildred with a puzzled expression and furrowed brow. “JonBenet?” she asks.
“Yep!” Mildred replies with a laugh, “Because you choke every time you have to perform, you stupid fucking cunt!” Mildred shouts at Beatrice while looking over at Sheldon for affirmation.
Sheldon just looks back at Mildred stone-faced while the Goldfarbs and neighboring pickleballers stare at her in pure unbridled disgust.
Mildred stammers uneasily while the others continue to stare at her. “I was just referring to JonBenet Ramsey. Remember how she got strangled by that garotte made from Patsy’s paint brush handle?” She adds, “It’s just pickleball trash talk – part of the game, right?”
Nobody says a word.
After another minute of awkward silence, a tall bearded man with a yellow Avon Lake Parks & Recreation shirt walks up to the group with a stern look. “I’m sorry, folks, but she’s gonna have to leave,” he says, nodding to Mildred. “You’re really starting to disturb a lot of the other players with your trash talk, ma’am. So please just leave quietly and don’t make this difficult for me.”
“Goddamnit!” shouts Beatrice while looking over at Sidney. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! We never should have brought this bitch to play with us, and I told you that, Sid! We have the best court here and now we have to give it up because of Mildred!”
Mildred interjects before Sidney can reply. “Fine! You guys keep playing and I’ll leave. But I’m not staying here. Let’s go, Sheldon.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Sheldon protests, “Sid and Bea drove us here so we need a ride home.” Sheldon looks to Sidney expectantly.
Beatrice steps forward while shaking her head at Sheldon, “No fucking way are we losing this court because of Mildred. You two can take an Uber home. Sidney and I aren’t leaving.”
Sheldon glares at Beatrice with bulging eyes and exclaims, “An Uber back to Pepper Pike will cost us over $100 now! No way we’re paying that!”
“Well, I’m not staying here!” Mildred shouts defiantly with her arms crossed in front of her.
Beatrice looks up to the sky with pursed lips, pinches her eyes closed and pauses for a moment, then lowers her head, grabs Mildred by the hair and starts to walk her off the pickleball court towards the street.
“What are you doing, Bea?” Sidney asks with concern.
Still holding Mildred by the hair, Beatrice turns back to Sidney and screams, “I’m doing what none of you pickle-pussies have the fucking balls to do! I’m taking care of this little bitch my way!”
Beatrice walks Mildred through the fence opening to the street while Sidney and Sheldon hurry after her.
Now on the street outside the pickleball courts, Beatrice takes a deep breath and then calmly instructs Sidney while pointing to Sheldon, “Get his ass on the ground and keep him there so he doesn’t try anything.” Looking to Sheldon, she adds, “Now’s not the time to be a hero, Shel.”
Sidney and Sheldon both nod to Beatrice, then Sheldon lies face down on the pavement and Sidney kneels on his back.
Still gripping Mildred by the hair, Beatrice throws her to the ground then looks at her with a snarl. “Now get the fuck down and put your mouth on the curb! Don’t fight this, Mildred.”
Flashforward to present:
After listening patiently to Beatrice’s recount of events, Sergeant Dixon nods and says, “OK, we get it. We know that you guys just got caught up in the game and Mildred over there got what she deserved. Nobody should have to play pickleball with that annoying bullshit. The game is stressful enough without someone like her fuckin’ it up for y’all. That said, we still have to maintain some law and order around here. We can’t just let every swingin’ paddle come waltzin’ on in here from the east side and disrespectin’ our shit.” Dixon glances over at Officer Garrison, and then looks back to the group. “Y’all just sit tight and stay put while my partner and I decide how we’re gonna handle this mess.”
The Goldfarbs and Sheldon wait anxiously on the street while the two officers walk back to their cruiser to discuss what to do.
After a few minutes of heated exchange with his partner, Sergeant Dixon walks back to the group. “OK,” he says sternly. “Today’s your lucky day so y’all better count your blessings. We’re gonna let you bangers off with a warning … this time. But if it ever happens again and we gotta come back out here to deal with your pickleballin’ bullshit, we’re gonna haul’ your lily white asses downtown for disturbing the peace. Now take your paddles and get the fuck outta here before we change our minds!”
Officer Garrison steps forward and chimes in, “And maybe it’s time for you thugs to get your lives together and go back to school.” He looks over at Dixon, who nods in agreement, then adds, “Pickleballin’ on the streets is no way to survive. You bangers are headin’ down a dangerous path that’ll leave you dead or in jail. Is that what you want?”
Sidney looks at Officer Garrison incredulously with his eyebrows raised. “Back to school? Officer, I graduated summa from Oberlin and have a PhD in applied physics from Northwestern. I’m a senior fellow at Case—”
Beatrice interrupts Sidney with a smirk. “And you got passed over for tenure more times than Pete Rose did for Cooperstown — why don’t you mention that part, professor?”
“Beatrice, please!” shouts Sidney. “You know goddamn well that I wasn’t able to publish without my research assistant during COVID, and then they made me teach that godawful undergraduate semin—”
“Hey, hey, hey now! You gangbangers just settle your asses down, y’aint back home in the ’hood!” belts out Sergeant Dixon. “And we just handed you a gift so don’t fuck it up!” he reminds them.
Without another word, the Goldfarbs and Sheldon hurry back to the parking lot with their heads down and pickleball gear in tow while the two officers walk back to their cruiser.
The shrill shouts and laughter of the pickleballers resonate through the courts behind them while, just twenty feet away, flies begin to swarm around Mildred’s open mouth.
Part II: Pickleswap
(Boca Raton, Florida – Two Years Later)
“NOT IN MY BUTT, CAPTAIN ROCKHARDT, YOU’RE TOO BIG FOR ME!” Beatrice Goldfarb reads from the typewritten script placed in front of her on the large oak desk where she leans face down with her bare breasts pressed against the desktop.
Beatrice waits a few seconds after reading her lines, then turns her head around. “Uh, Murray? Hello? You still back there?” she asks.
Standing behind the bent-over Beatrice with his stone gray Nazi Wehrmacht trousers pulled all the way down and bunched up at his ankles over his black leather jackboots, Murray Silverman stares down at the script with pinched eyes while shaking his head. “I need my reading glasses for this. I keep telling Harriett not to use 10-point font for these scripts, it’s way too small.”
Beatrice huffs impatiently while Murray reaches into the breast pocket of his unbuttoned light green Bundeswehr field shirt and pulls out his reading glasses. Beatrice is wearing a French milkmaid outfit with the long train of her light blue floral dress hiked up above her waist, exposing a white open-bottomed girdle strapped to black lace leggings that reach to her upper thighs. “You should get an annual eye exam to check for cataracts, Murray.”
“No shit, Marie Antoinette, I just haven’t had time lately. I’ll do it after tax season,” Murray replies.
Beatrice looks back at Murray’s erection and says, “C’mon Murray, hurry up and move this along so we don’t lose that boner of yours!” then adds, “God only knows when you’ll be able to dial up another one!”
Murray nods and looks down at the script through the reading glasses now perched on the bridge of his nose, and reads, “I have my orders directly from Berlin, Mademoiselle Dubois. You shall do as instructed and remove your knickers at once!”
Beatrice looks back at Murray and says, “You’re supposed to be reading with a German accent, Murray. At least make an effort! And I’m a widow in this one so shouldn’t I be ‘Madame’ instead of ‘Mademoiselle’?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Beatrice, what do I look like, Marlene Dietrich? And the script says ‘Mademoiselle’ so I’m sticking with that!” Murray replies in frustration. “And is it really that important?”
“Sorry, you’re right,” Beatrice apologizes, then looks back down and reads from the script. “Do as you must, Kommandant, but please be gentle with me. I am but a poor country milkmaid.” Beatrice shakes her head with a smirk and says, “I mean who the fuck wrote this script? This is some of the most stilted, contrived dialog I’ve ever read! Next time, I’m editing the script before we go live.”
“You know damn well that Harriet wrote the script since we won the pickleball doubles match on Sunday,” Murray says defensively. “And she took a creative writing class at Brandeis so I think she knows how—”
“Was she a creative writing major?” Beatrice interrupts.
“No,” Murray admits. “I think she majored in psych with a minor in art history.”
Beatrice rolls her eyes back at Murray. “Well, she’s not exactly Jane Austen, but I guess I’ll have to work with it.” Beatrice looks back at the script and reads, “Remove my knickers, Kommandant, and there you will find my hidden treasure.” She shakes her head and mutters to herself.
“As you wish, Mademoiselle,” Murray reads while he places his hands down on Beatrice’s hips. Looking at her backside, Murray pauses and then looks up at Beatrice in confusion. “That’s a fucking girdle, Bea! You’re supposed to be wearing French knickers! It’ll take the entire goddamn Schutzstaffel to get this thing off you! Why aren’t you wearing knickers like the script says?”
Clearly embarrassed, Beatrice stammers, “I couldn’t find any French knickers on Amazon Prime. The only knickers I could find would have taken over a week to deliver with a $3.99 shipping fee, so I just ordered the girdle for free same-day delivery.”
“Good lord, Beatrice, you’re such a goddamn amateur!” Murray screams, then looks down at his shriveling penis with a scowl. “And now there goes my hard-on! I’m done with this pickleswap bullshit! Next time let’s just keep it simple and play pickleball for money. This whole role-playing schtick was Harriet’s idea. I just went along with it to avoid a fight.”
Murray reaches down and angrily pulls up his Wehrmacht trousers. Without bothering to zip his fly and button his trousers, he reaches over Beatrice and grabs his leather belt off the desktop where it’s rolled up next to his dark green Stahlhelm combat helmet and pickleball paddle. He storms off toward the office door with his belt in hand, leaving his helmet and paddle on the desk.
“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Beatrice yells after him. “Don’t even think about breaking the pickleswap rules, Captain Rockhardt!”
Murray looks back at her, his face contorted in fury. “Seriously, Beatrice? You’re the one who broke the rules when you decided to girdle up like Auntie fucking Mame! Now I have to go to the goddamn ‘badezimmer’ to finish myself off!” Murray replies while glancing down at his crotch. “Thanks for nothing, Madame Dubois!”
Murray yanks open the door to the hallway, pauses and then shouts back at Beatrice, “And you can tell Sidney and Harriett no more fucking pickleswap!” He rushes out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.
Shaking her head in resignation, Beatrice stands up and straightens out her milkmaid dress, then places her straw bergère back on her head. She walks over to the video camera set on a tripod next to the desk and hits the off switch with a disappointed sigh.
——————-
“I’m so sorry, guys, I really thought that pickleswap would be a fun game for us,” says Harriett Silverman after taking a sip of her club soda. “I just want us to be the premier pickleball swingers’ group in Florida. And if we want to get there we have to think outside the box and take some risks. Let’s face it, team, we’re getting old and boring. Aren’t you guys all sick of just putting on caddy outfits and screwing each other on the putting green or in the golf cart shed? I know I am. Let’s get creative!”
Harriett is sitting at a patio table on the outdoor terrace at the Boca Lago Country Club with her husband Murray, Sidney and Beatrice Goldfarb, and Sheldon Mendelbaum, where they’re finishing up their Sunday brunch. Her laptop is set in the middle of the table with its flip screen raised. They’ve just finished watching the video of Murray and Beatrice’s failed pickleswap episode from a few days earlier.
“Well it might have worked out the other day if Beatrice hadn’t worn a goddamn chastity belt,” Murray mutters.
“It was a girdle not a chastity belt, Calvin Klein,” Beatrice replies sarcastically. “And maybe if you’d have popped an extra Viagra that morning, you—”
“Stop bickering, you two!” Sidney interrupts. “Harriet has put a lot of time into pickleswap and is doing her best here, so we should all try to work together and help her out on this instead of fighting over it.”
“I have an idea,” Sheldon offers. ”How about next time we all join in on the pickleswap game instead of just one player from the winning team and one player from the losing team? That way we can switch off if we want to so that two people aren’t stuck with each other the way that Murray and Beatrice were this week.”
Harriet nods her head and smiles. “I love that idea, Shelly! And that way it’ll be a more inclusive, collaborative effort where we all have skin in the game.”
“No pun intended!” Murray pipes up with a smile.
They all laugh and raise their club sodas over the patio table in a group toast.
After a few minutes of idle chatter, Harriet gets back to business. “OK, so let’s make sure we all agree on the new pickleswap rules. The winning doubles team from the Sunday afternoon pickleball match will still write the pickleswap script but now everyone will have input on it before it goes final. And everyone will have a role to play. Maybe we’ll even have a dress rehearsal the night before to tie up any last-minute loose ends?”
They all look around the table at each other, nodding in agreement.
Harriett then looks to Sheldon sympathetically. “The new rules may also be good for you, Shelly. We know that you’ve been lonely and depressed since Mildred passed away in that horrible pickleball accident back in Cleveland two years ago. Maybe this new version of pickleswap will be therapeutic for you by getting you out more and forcing you to socialize in a group setting.” Harriet reaches across the patio table and places her hand on Sheldon’s forearm, rubbing and then gently squeezing it. “We’re all here for you, Shel.”
“Thank you so much, Harriet,” Sheldon says. “I do miss Mildred every now and then even though she was a lousy pickleballer.” He shoots a quick glance over at Sidney and Beatrice, who look nervously at each other then shift their eyes down to their mahi-mahi salads on the table in front of them.
Harriet stands up from the table with a wide grin. “OK, great! We have our new pickleswap rules that everyone agrees on … Now let’s get balling!”
About an hour later on the Boca Lago pickleball courts, the Goldfarbs face the Silvermans in a mixed doubles match. The match stands tied at 1-1 and the Goldfarbs lead the third and final game by 10-7.
“Pick it up, Harriet!” Murray shouts at his wife. “This is for all the marbles. We can’t let Beatrice and Sidney control that pickleswap script!”
Beatrice laughs from across the court. “Be thankful that Harriet can return a ‘dink’ shot better that you can keep up a boner, Captain Rockhardt! Otherwise this match would be over by now!”
Murray growls while looking down and shaking his head. “I’m not losing to that loudmouth bitch, Harriet!”
Harriet serves to Beatrice, then the two sides volley for nearly a minute. After Murray is forced to the back of his court to return Sidney’s volley, Beatrice is able to catch Harriet on her heels and land a perfect cross-court dropshot into the Silvermans’ “kitchen” that Murray is unable to return. With that final point to make the score 11-8, the Goldfarbs win the game and match.
“Game, set, match, bitches!” shouts Beatrice as she drops her pickleball paddle in the middle of the court and glares at Murray across the net. “Who’s the milkmaid now, Silverman?”
“Beatrice!” Sheldon shouts out from his chair on the sideline. “I thought we all agreed that we’d tone down the trash talk after Mildred’s accident? We’re not in Cleveland anymore. We have a good thing going down here in Florida and I don’t want us to fuck it up.”
Sidney steps forward and replies to Sheldon. “Relax, Shel, it’s just harmless pickleball trash talk. Never hurt anybody.”
“Fine,” Sheldon says. “Just write a good role for me in your pickleswap script. I need some real action this time!”
“Oh don’t worry about that, Shelly,” Beatrice laughs.
——————-
“For Chrissakes, Beatrice, you’re gonna drown him!” Sidney shouts at his wife, who’s leaning over the edge of the Boca Lago indoor jacuzzi, pushing Sheldon underwater by kneeling down on her pickleball paddle that’s pressed flat atop his bald head.
Beatrice is dressed in a half-suit of plated metal armor covering her entire torso, a studded metal combat helmet, knee-high black leather cavalry boots and red lace panties. Sheldon wears nothing but adult diapers.
After holding Sheldon down for another 30 seconds, Beatrice stands up and releases her weight off the pickleball paddle, allowing Sheldon to come up for air.
“My God, Beatrice!” Sheldon gasps after he coughs water out of his lungs and collapses onto the jacuzzi steps. “Are you sure that Joan of Arc actually stripped and drowned British soldiers during the Siege of Orleans? I don’t remember that from my undergrad medieval history class.”
Beatrice rolls her eyes. “Stop whining, Sheldon. Sid and I won the doubles match on Sunday so we got to write the pickleswap script however we chose. Those are the rules. If you don’t like them, then why don’t you try winning a match for once so that you can write the script?” Beatrice then adds with a sarcastic smirk, “Oh, that’s right, you can’t even play doubles without Mildred alive so you’ll just have to live with whatever role we decide to write in for you.”
“That was low, Bea,” Sheldon says quietly. “That’s my dead wife you’re talking about.”
“Oh please, Sheldon!” Beatrice exclaims. “Nobody including you actually misses that little piece of schmutz!”
“Hey now, let’s stick to the script, guys!” Harriet bellows out as she walks over to the jacuzzi and pulls down the hood of her brown wool battle tunic. “I know you were drowning, Shelly, but you simply cannot break character like that again. I need you to take pickleswap as seriously as the rest of us do!”
Sheldon clenches his jaw and blurts out. “But I almost drowned, Harriet! What could be more serious than that?”
“Give it a rest, Sheldon,” Beatrice says in exasperation. “I spent two summers lifeguarding at Berkshire Hills Eisenberg sleepaway camp so I know what it takes to drown. Trust me, you weren’t even close.”
“Lifeguarding, my ass!” laughs Sidney. “You were too busy letting Moshe Steinberg finger-bang you in the boathouse to do any lifeguarding!”
“Fuck you, Sidney!” Beatrice shouts.
“Guys, please!” yells Harriet while looking down at her watch. “We’re wasting valuable time here and need to get back to the pickleswap script!” She looks over at Sheldon and screams, “Back in the jacuzzi, Sheldon!”
Sheldon mutters something to himself and steps back into the jacuzzi. He pauses and then looks up at Beatrice without speaking.
“Forget your lines again, Shel?” Harriet asks while tossing a copy of the script to him.
Sheldon looks down at the script and reads to Beatrice in an annoyed grumble, “You will never take me alive, Joan of Arc, I am an Englishman and you are just a lowly peasant from Le Bois Chenu!” Sheldon shakes his head and mutters, “This pickleswap game is such bullsh—”
Before Sheldon can finish his sentence, Beatrice screams out in anger and kicks up her cavalry boot, swinging its hard steel toe squarely up into Sheldon’s nose – crushing it upon impact and driving bone fragments into his brain, killing him instantly. Sheldon’s eyes roll back in his head while his limp, lifeless body collapses backward into the jacuzzi. He sinks to the bottom with his mouth open.
While Sheldon lies dead at the bottom of the jacuzzi, Harriet flips the pages of her script in confusion. “That wasn’t in the script was it, Bea?”
“No, I just ad-libbed it,” Beatrice says proudly. “What did you guys think?”
“Great work, Bea! I never saw that coming!” Murray exclaims with genuine praise.
“Ditto for me!” gushes Sidney. “I mean that really caught me off guard, Bea. I was expecting more drowning like the script said, but then ka-pow!”
“Great improv, Bea!” Harriet chimes in. “Now that’s exactly what I was talking about the other day. If we want to be the very best, we need to keep pushing our limits to go places where no other pickleball swingers have gone before us. And now here we are actually doing it! Bravo, guys!”
After exchanging congratulatory bro hugs and fist-bumps, Murray unbuckles his leg armor plates then looks up with a mischievous grin. “Well, so long as we’re going off script now, are any of you pickleswappers up for a little romp in the sauna?”
“I’m a step ahead of you, Mur!” says Sidney as he sheds his armor underpadding, strips off his boxer shorts and hurries naked toward the sauna door.
The others quickly undress and follow Sidney into the sauna while giggling like schoolchildren. Minutes later, loud moans, groans, grunts, yelps, howls and flesh-slapping noises begin to emanate through the sauna door while Sheldon’s waterlogged corpse floats up to the surface of the jacuzzi.
PART III: PICKLESMACK
(Las Vegas, Nevada – One Year Later)
“ASS TO ASS, HARRIET!” Murray Silverman shouts to his wife over the crowd of screaming pickleballers packed into the Fontainebleau Las Vegas luxury suite.
Harriet Silverman is stark naked, kneeling with her palms placed down on a large folding metal table set up in the middle of the suite. Drugged up and stony-eyed, her pupils are dilated while her face is covered in a thin film of cold junk sweat. The inside of her right forearm is rife with track marks, and a large area of flesh around the inside of her elbow has turned a bluish-brownish-green color, swollen and infected with thick yellowish puss oozing out. Her amputated left arm ends in a sewn-off stump above the elbow. A trail of fresh semen runs down her chin from her bottom lip.
Beatrice Goldfarb kneels on all fours on the table beside Harriet, facing the opposite direction. She’s wearing no shirt, just a black lace bra with one shoulder strap ripped and hanging down over her bruised arm. Her pink Lululemon pickleball skirt is hiked up above her waist and she’s wearing no panties. Her ass cheeks are dotted with cigar burns while blood trickles down her right cheek from a set of human teeth marks that punctured her skin. A pickleball paddle lies next to her on the table, its broken-off handle smeared with blood, feces, vaseline and buffalo wing sauce.
Sidney Goldfarb, Beatrice’s husband and pickleball mixed doubles partner, is standing behind the table between the two women, holding a thick black double-headed silicone dildo above his head and shaking it wildly for the crowd of pickleballers who are thrusting their fists into the air and chanting “ass to ass!” in perfect synchronized harmony.
Sidney looks down at Harriet and Beatrice, and says, “OK, ladies, time for the grand finale – now let’s bring it on home for these hungry ballers!”
“But Sidney, it’s huuurting me,” Beatrice slurs as a fresh stream of pinkish blood-infused piss runs down the inside of her thigh. She gulps, hiccups then vomits up a combination of vodka, semen, stale cheetos and moldy lasagna onto the table in front of her.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Beatrice!” Sidney bellows out and then looks back at Murray, waving his arm forward furiously.
Shaking his head and cursing loudly, Murray storms his way forward, pushing his way through the crowd of cheering pickleballers until he reaches the table where Harriet now lies on her stomach, face down in her own puke. He grabs the back of Harriet’s long filthy disheveled gray hair and wraps it tightly around his fist. With a quick strong snap of his wrist, he violently yanks and twists Harriet’s head up and around so that her sweat-drenched face is just inches from his own.
“Listen to me, goddamnit!” Murray screams at Harriet. “The national senior pickleball tournament starts in two fucking days and we need – I repeat need – this money to pay the entry fees!” Murray clenches and twists his fist harder around Harriet’s hair while his face contorts into a psychotic scowl. “So you’re going ass to ass with Beatrice or you’re getting tossed off that fucking balcony onto the Las Vegas fucking Strip! Now pick it the fuck up and get back on your goddamn knees, Harriet!”
With a quick hard downward shoulder pivot and forearm thrust, Murray slams Harriet’s face into the metal table, crushing her cheekbone and breaking three of her front teeth, then jerks her head back up just as quickly. With his free hand, he grabs an open plastic bottle of cold water from the table and raises it to Harriet’s dried cracked lips – allowing her to take a long pull – then splashes the rest of the water into her face. “Hopefully that’ll wake your ass up,” he mutters as he throws the bottle to the floor.
Refreshed by the cold water, Harriet rises back up to her knees and nods slowly at Murray while spitting a tooth out. “OK, peaches,” she mumbles through her broken teeth. “You know I want that pickleball title just as bad as you do, and I’ll do whatever it takes. But I need my fix first, Murray, I need it now! Please please please go get Roach!”
Murray nods his head to Harriet then looks over to a large muscle-bound black man standing at the end of the table five feet away and watching them closely. The man is wearing red leather pants, a pair of Air Jordan 4 “Cactus Jack” Retros, and an open red leather vest over a six-pack stomach and chiseled pecs, with bulging tattooed biceps crossed over his chest. He wears a wide-brim black fedora on his head with a black mink scarf wrapped around his neck.
“Yo, Roach!” Murray shouts to the man over the crowd noise and waves him over.
Roach walks over to Murray with raised eyebrows while Sidney joins them with the black dildo still in his hand. “What the fuck’s goin’ on here, Silverman?” Roach asks. “I got me some high-payin’ clients gettin’ impatient here, dog! So you better jump start that skanky-ass ho and get her ass back to work, mothafucka!”
“Don’t sweat it, homeboy,” Murray says to Roach. “My girl’s all good, she just needs some more of the he-ro. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“What the fuck, Murray!” Roach exclaims, shaking his head and then nodding toward Harriett, who’s staring at them from the table through vacant zoned-out eyes and hooded eyelids. “That nasty-ass bitch already shot up so much of my junk she nearly put my black ass outta business! An’ you pickleballin’ niggas already owe me big, man! So how the fuck am I gonna get paid for givin’ her flaccid white ass mo’ my junk. Murray?”
“We got you, brotha’,” Murray says. “We ballin’ hard this week at the senior natties, bringin’ home some fat stacks, yo. We payin’ you back plus interest, a’ight?”
Roach turns his head and looks at his cousin, Poptart, who now stands next to Roach after walking over from the back of the suite. “What you think, Pops? Should I trust these pickleballin’ fools with mo’ my skag?”
Poptart studies Murray closely and then glances over at Harriet. He looks back to Roach, shrugs his shoulders and says, “These niggas can ball, cuz. My brotha’ Curtis saw ’em play up in Pepper Pike back when he was hustlin’ up around that way. Said they f’real. I say give that pickleballin’ ho some mo’ smack, then her’n the other bitch can go ass to ass, then they make us some green at the senior natties.”
Roach nods his head in agreement, then looks over to Murray and Sidney. “A’ight boys. We’ll tune yo’ bitches up with the H, but then we better be gettin’ some ass to ass. No mo’ ’scuses, dig?”
Murray nods to Roach and extends his closed fist. “We good, dog. Just hit ’em between the toes, those stems can’t take any more of the beast.”
Roach bumps Murray’s fist and then leans over and whispers something into Poptart’s ear. Poptart nods and walks over to the bedroom door, opens it and walks through, then closes it behind him. About a minute later, Poptart emerges from the bedroom, walks over and hands a plastic zip-lock bag to Roach.
Roach turns to Harriet, then leans down to the table and whispers gently into her ear. “Shhh, just lay down and relax, baby girl, papa bear got just what you need.”
“Thank you, daddy,” Harriet whimpers in a soft voice as she turns over onto her stomach. She bends her right knee and raises her foot to where Roach can hold it with one hand. Using his free hand, Roach places a hypodermic needle between two of Harriet’s toes. After looking closely for a usable vein, Roach drives the sharp needle through the web of her toes and presses his thumb down on the plunger, slowly injecting a clear fluid into her foot. Almost immediately, Harriet turns over and rolls her head back while closing her eyes. She opens her mouth halfway and smiles up at the ceiling in pure dope euphoria.
Roach gently pets Harriet’s damp matted hair back while planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “Now that’s my baby girl,” he whispers as he checks her pulse and gazes into her cold empty eyes.
After injecting Beatrice the same way as Harriet, Roach looks over to Murray and Sidney with Poptart at his side. “OK, fellas, we got your pickle-bitches nice and warmed up, now let’s get ‘em back to–”
“Oh fuck!” Poptart shouts, cutting off Roach while looking back at the table.
Roach, Murray and Sidney all look over and follow Poptart’s startled gaze.
Harriet and Beatrice are both convulsing violently on the table while scratching furiously at their faces with their mouths foaming. Behind them, the “ass to ass” crowd chant stops and the room goes completely silent.
Sidney looks at the two women curiously and asks, “Why are they doing that?”
“Bitches be codin’!” screams Poptart.
“Coding?” asks Sidney.
“OD’ing!” shouts Roach. “They’re overdosing, man!”
Roach scowls at Poptart and asks, “Which fuckin’ needle you give me, nigga?”
Poptart grabs the needle out of Roach’s hand and looks closely at a marking on the barrel. He opens his mouth and raises his eyebrows. “Oh snap!” he says. “We gave those bitches the fetty by accident!”
“Fetty?” Murray and Sidney ask in unison.
“Fentanyl,” Roach answers while shaking his head at Poptart. “Pure grade A fuckin’ fentanyl.”
“Well don’t you have one of those adrenaline needles, like in Pulp Fiction?” asks Sidney.
Roach and Poptart look at each other and laugh. “No, dumbass!” Roach exclaims between laughs. “They only got that shit in the movies.”
After reading from his smartphone, Murray looks up and says, “It says here that you can use something called Narcan. You guys got any of that?”
Poptart nods his head and replies, “Yeah but we only got like two spray bottles left, an’ that shit expensive as fuck now with inflation an’ all.”
Murray nods back to Poptart and says, “No worries, we understand. Goddamn inflation is killing us all. Fuckin’ Bidenomics!”
Roach nods and says, “Tell me about it, yo. Fuckin’ loaf of bread at WinCo cost me like $5.99 now. I used to pay $2 tops for that shit!”
Poptart chimes in, “Costed me $65 to fill up my gas tank yes’day! I mean what the fuck!”
Sidney nods and says, “I hear you, man. What the hell did they think was gonna happen with the feds printing money as fast as they could cut down trees the past four years!”
Roach and Poptart both nod their heads. “Amen to that, brotha’,” Roach mutters.
Back on the table, Harriet has gone completely still while Beatrice is choking on her tongue with her eyes bulging out and hands desperately throttling her throat as her mouth continues to foam.
“Y’all think Trump’ll be any better, though?” Poptart asks.
“He ain’t Biden!” Roach pipes up with a quick chuckle.
“True ’dat,” Sidney says, fist-bumping Roach while Murray nods in agreement.
“I’m worried about those 25% tariffs on Canada and Mexico he be talkin’ ’bout though,” Poptart says, shaking his head.
“He just tryna’ protect American industry, yo,” Murray replies.
“Yeah, I hear ya’,” Roach says thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “But the macro effects could be catastrophic in the long term, know what I’m sayin’?”
“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Sidney replies, shrugging his shoulders.
“Still can’t believe a convicted felon got elected president, yo,” Poptart quips.
“Wasn’t for nothin’ bad – just payin’ off a ho,” Roach replies.
They all look at each other, nodding in agreement.
Roach and Poptart glance back at the table, where Beatrice has just gasped her last breath after choking on her vomit. She and Harriet both lie on their backs, gape-mouthed with their dead eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Roach shakes his head and then looks out to the crowd of pickleballers, shouting, “Sorry folks, bitches croaked, party’s over. Y’all gotta bounce so we can clean up the mess over here.” He adds, “An’ y’all ain’t gettin’ yo’ money back, neitha’, so don’t even ask. Not our fault these pickleballin’ hos flaked on us.”
“What about ass to ass?” a voice shouts out from the crowd.
“Sorry, not tonight, boys,” Roach replies.
“At least not with these stiff-ass bitches!” Poptart adds with a laugh.
Roach and Poptart both laugh while Murray and Sidney shake their heads with a chuckle.
“You guys are baaad!” Murray says with a sly grin.
“All kidding aside, guys,” Sidney says, nodding his head back to the table. “This Harriet and Beatrice situation poses a real logistical problem for us.”
“How so?” Poptart asks with a puzzled expression.
“Yeah, Sid, do tell,” Murray chimes in.
Sidney looks at them sternly and says, “We have a mixed doubles pickleball tournament in two days, but now we have no mixed doubles. Harriet and Beatrice may’ve turned themselves into hopeless junkies over the past few months to raise money to feed their pickleball habits, but they were damn good doubles partners. Even playing with only one arm after Roach was forced to amputate the other one, Harriet could pickleball circles around every other woman on the court.” He shakes his head and sighs. “And now we have no one.”
“Sorry for your loss, man,” Poptart says, putting his hand on Sidney’s shoulder and giving it a sympathetic squeeze.
“Damnit!” screams Murray, turning to Poptart. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Poptart! How the hell could you confuse the two needles? They could not have been more clearly marked! I mean did they seriously not teach your dope smokin’ grape koolaid sippin’ ass how to read in whatever inner city metal detectin’ free lunch voucherin’ teen pregnancyin’ gangsta rappin’ straightouttacomptonin’ motherfuckin’ public school—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, Murray!” Roach interjects. “Don’t blame Poptart for what happened. And besides, I got an idea.”
Everyone looks at Roach and, after a pause, Sidney speaks up. “Well? Enlighten us, Einstein.”
Roach smiles, then walks back to the bedroom and returns about thirty seconds later holding a small bag in his hand. He pulls out two blond wigs and throws one to Poptart. Roach puts his wig on and motions for Poptart to do the same.
Roach looks over at Sidney and Murray with a wide grin. “Looks like you two mothafuckas just found your new mixed doubles partners!”
Sidney, Murray, Roach and Poptart all clench their fists, raise their arms and extend their hands in unison for a group fist-bump. Sidney looks to each of them with a smile while nodding his head and says, “Let’s go ballin’, boys.”
——————-
“Beatrice Goldfarb?” asks the man sitting behind the pickleball tournament registration desk outside the Caesars Palace conference room after looking up at Lester “Roach” Crenshaw. Roach is wearing a blond wig, a pink nylon pickleball dress and a matching pink satin polo shirt.
The man stares closely at Roach for a few seconds, then asks with a suspicious smirk, “Is that your real name?”
“Uh, yes,” Roach replies nervously, averting his eyes to the floor.
“OK, ma’am,” the man says with a flirtatious smile. “I’m only asking because I don’t think I know anyone under age 70 with that name. You look way too young to be a Beatrice.”
“Oh, it’s a family name,” Roach explains with a coy giggle and hair flip. “My grandmama was Beatrice.”
The man nods back at Roach with a wink. “Good luck at the pickleball tournament, ma’am, I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Looks like you might be gettin’ lucky tonight, Beatrice!” Sidney says to Roach with a sarcastic chuckle and playful elbow shove as they walk away from the table.
“Fuck off, Sidney,” Roach says, shaking his head with a dry laugh.
“So where we ballin’, yo? These pickleball tights be crawlin’ up my ass!” Poptart asks the group after they’ve all registered. Poptart is wearing his blond wig while decked out in bright green spandex pickleball leggings and a matching cropped tank top.
“Chill out, Harriet,” Roach says. “At least you ain’t gotta wear a fuckin’ dress.”
“Well,” Murray replies to Poptart, looking down at his registration card, “It looks like you and I are on Court 3, and Sidney and Roach – whoops, I mean Sidney and Beatrice – are on Court—”
Before he can finish, Murray is cut off by Sidney tugging at his sleeve.
“I think we may have a problem here, Mur,” Sidney says, nodding his head in front of him.
Murray turns his head toward where Sidney is looking.
Walking toward them with a large smile is none other than Sergeant Felix Dixon, Avon Lake Police Department.
“Well, well, well, if it ain’t my favorite baller!” Dixon bellows out as he stops five feet in front of Sidney. “I knew I’d find you here!”
Sidney smiles back uneasily. “Uh, long way from Cleveland, aren’t you, officer?”
Dixon looks Sidney over for a moment while his smile vanishes. “I’m not an officer anymore. Now I’m just Felix, thanks to you and your pickleballin’ gangbangers. Turns out you and your crew were playin’ with 18-inch paddles, in violation of Avon Lake city ordinance. Me and my partner never caught it – we let you bangers off with a warning when we should’ve brought your asses in. One of the other ballers from a different court found a paddle on that flea-ridden piece of meat you left on the sidewalk. We measured it – came in a full inch over regulation. Forensics was able to trace it back to a group of four pickleball paddles purchased on the dark web about a year earlier – by one Sidney Goldfarb. Ring a bell, mothafucka?”
Before Sidney can respond, Dixon continues, “So me and Noah – Officer Garrison – got fired from the force and lost our pensions. No police department in the country would touch us after that. We couldn’t even get jobs as school crossing guards, man. I started drinkin’ heavy – real heavy – and was livin’ in my Volkswagen Beetle after my wife left me and took the house and the kids.”
“What color Volkswagen Beetle?” asks Poptart.
“Red,” replies Dixon.
“Punchbuggy red, nigga!” Poptart yells out while slugging Roach in the arm.
“Damnit, negro!” shouts Roach, rubbing his arm. “You always get me on that one!”
“Anyway,” continues Dixon, “Noah took it much worse than I did. Being a cop was all he ever wanted, and when he got fired he went off the deep end … spiraled outta control, man. Drinkin’ led to druggin’ led to—”
Dixon stops and puts his hands to his face as tears begin to stream down his cheeks and his head shakes with sobs. After a minute, he collects himself and wipes away his tears. “I can’t even talk about it without chokin’ up! Goddamnit, man!”
Sidney and Murray look at each other uneasily while Roach and Poptart just stare at Dixon with wide bulging eyes.
Sidney finally speaks up. “It’s OK, Felix, if this is difficult for you, we under—,”
Dixon waves him off, clears his throat and continues, “Anyway, Noah disappeared and nobody – not even his wife – had heard from him in days. Turns out he emptied out what was left in their bank account and bought Cleveland Browns season tickets. They found him a few months later in some abandoned flophouse in Collinwood with a bunch of junkies and crackheads, lyin’ in a corner holdin’ a shotgun with his brains blown all over the fuckin’ wall … poor kid just couldn’t take livin’ no more.”
“Felix, we are so sorry to hear about—,” Murray says before Dixon cuts him off.
Shaking his head, Dixon glares at Murray and then Sidney. “So you bangers wanna know what the fuck I’m doin’ here?”
Nobody speaks.
Dixon pauses as a smile forms on his mouth. “Revenge,” he says, “I’m here to get me some fuckin’ revenge!”
Before anyone has time to react, Dixon reaches around and pulls a small Staccato CS handgun out of his rear waistband, points it at Murray and puts a bullet through his forehead. Murray’s dead body collapses to the ground with a loud thud.
Sidney turns to run, but it’s too late. The bullet hits the back of his skull and he drops next to Murray, his brains splattering on the ground in front of him.
Dixon now turns to Roach and Poptart with his gun raised. “Y’all the wives, right?”
Roach and Poptart, terrified and speechless, both nod their heads at Dixon.
“I’m gonna let you both live, but y’all gotta make me just one promise,” Dixon says.
Roach, finally able to speak, nods at Dixon and says, “Of course, my brotha’, just tell us what you want.”
Dixon points his gun toward the pickleball courts outside. “Get out there and ball, bitches! And bring home that trophy.”
Roach and Poptart look at each other and then nod back to Dixon.
“And ladies?” Dixon says to them.
“Yeah, man?” Poptart asks.
“Do it the right way,” Dixon says. He then closes his eyes and puts the gun into his mouth. He pulls the trigger but the gun just makes an empty clicking sound.
Dixon pulls the gun from his mouth and looks down at it in bewilderment. After a moment, he drops the gun to the ground, tilts his head back and looks straight up into the air. He nods his head with a smile. “OK, man,” he says, then turns and walks away.
Roach and Poptart look at each other, raise their arms and touch their pickleball paddles together.
Roach smiles and says, “Let’s ball, cuz!”
Nate Mancuso is a practicing attorney, history buff, fiction writer, and lover of free speech and civil liberties who lives in South Florida with his wife and cat (and daughter when home from college). Nate’s work has appeared in several literary magazines including PULP, Disturb the Universe, and Horror Sleaze Trash. Nate is currently working on his first collection of short stories and other works in progress.