Congratulations on Remembering the Password!

You won’t know where Sookie got the gun (it was from a trade show at the Expo center) or how she got into your apartment (you left the window open) but you’ll know you that, even though she has you at barrel’s end on your toilet, she’s totally in the right here.

She’ll have the hammer back and she’ll look dead serious. Rightly so. She ruined her life for half of that take, and you tried to cheat her out of it. She might just be a stripper, after all (not a whore, just a stripper) but without her the job wouldn’t have happened at all and she’ll never be able to go back now that all’s done.

But her most immediate request won’t be reasonable.

“Make it stay down,” she’ll say, eyes set on your.

You won’t know what she’s talking about until she gestures down and you look at your exposed genitals, which have now become erect. You’ll be kind of embarassed, but the erection is a really good one so part of you will wonder if she’s impressed.

She won’t be.

“Sorry,” you’ll say, blushing. “This whole thing with the gun is just really turning me on.”

She’ll hit you in the face with her gun and the erection will vanish almost instantly.

“Better,” she’ll say, and you’ll smile sheepishly.

“Sorry,” you’ll say again. It won’t be clear as to what, but it won’t matter.

“Shut the fuck up,” she’ll say, drawing the hammer back once more and training the gun on your face. “What is Wade waiting to hear?”

You’ll shake your head. “It’s not a what. He knows me. I’m the only way you’ll see a cent.”

Every word of it will be a lie, of course. You’ve never met Wade in your life. He’s just the fence. He wanted to meet in the last speakeasy in the United States, located in Eugene, Oregon, for that very reason. You’d be the only two customers in the whole place, so there’d be no need for him to know anything about you. There’s also no reason the police would ever be there, drinking having been legal for some time now.

“Bullshit,” will be her response, and she’ll clap you on the head with the butt of her gun once more.

The world will flare and your mind will go white for a few heartbeats. When it comes back you’ll have trouble thinking straight. You’ll think you might have a concussion, but you won’t want to complain. She’ll look angry, and she’ll still be talking.

“Password. Now.”

She’ll have the gun cocked and she’ll look extra serious. You won’t be able to get out of this one without taking a bullet, you know. But you won’t, for the life of you, be able to remember the password. The concussion will make you blunt and retarded, so you’ll just blurt out with it.

“I can’t remember the password.”

She’ll shift the gun down and shoot through one of your knees. It will exit cleanly and imbed itself in the linoleum of your bathroom. You’ll scream and blood will spurt everywhere.

“Glad I did this in the bathroom,” Sookie will say, smiling. She’ll wait for you to stop screaming, then she’ll ask again. “Password,” she’ll say, smile fading from her lips.

You’ll be kind of angry by now. “I can’t fucking remember!” you’ll shout back. “You fucking gave me a concussion, bitch!”

That won’t be the right thing to say, and she’ll put a bullet through your other leg. It’ll be very, very different from the sensation and image of the round passing through the other knee, but it’ll still hurt a lot, and she’ll still smile after.

“Wrong answer,” she’ll say again, smile gone almost immediately. Then she’ll cock the gun and put it to your head again. “Last chance.”

Your mind will go violet with fear. Adrenaline will surge within you and the whole world will slow down. Your mind will turn wildly, spinning, frozen in that instant as it claws, desperately trying to recall the password. Just as Sookie gives off a reluctant sigh you’ll get it.

“Applesauce!” you’ll shout, weeping a little.

“Thank god,” Sookie said. “I really didn’t want to have to clean this up myself.”

She’ll lower the gun and walk out, leaving you there on the toilet, weeping, surrounded by pools of your own blood. You’ll just sit there wondering how you’re going to call 9-11, until you remember the cell phone in your bundled, blood soaked pants around your ankles.

Congratulations on remembering the password. You’ll really help that girl out today, and that’s a nice thing to do. She’s had a rough life, and she really deserves her take.