“Billy’s Room Blues”-Flash Fiction Challenge

This story is written for Chuck Wendig’s current Flash Fiction challenge.  It’s an X meets Y challenge, and I used a random number generator to choose two well known properties to mesh together.  I got ‘Dirty Harry’ meets ‘Toy Story’.  here it goes–

Billy’s Room Blues

 Detective Pete Policeman rested his head against the driver’s window of his cruiser and cracked the seal on a bottle of whisky.  Two good glugs down and his anger began to dissipate.  It wasn’t real whisky of course.  It was one of those wax bottles full of sickly sweet colored syrup that Billy, his kid owner, had dropped behind the toy box years ago.  Despite that fact, it was still satisfying.  Breathing heavily, Pete used the rearview to wipe the blue blood off his face.  He’d interrupted a mushroom home-invasion just a few minutes before the end of his shift.  Stupid fucking Smurf refused to back down and Pete was forced to put a round in him.  The thing was, being a toy and not really dying meant the little blue bastard would be back at it again tomorrow.  Pete’s work was never done.  It was almost too much to take.

Billy hadn’t played with him in quite some time, like, two years or something, but he still had duties to perform.  Still had a criminal element to keep off the streets of Billy’s room, and so his daily struggle went on.  In fact, it was a bit easier to get his work done without being interrupted by various oddball adventures around the house.  The last time Billy played with Detective Policeman, he was forced to drop his real duties to play bodyguard to He-Man and a couple of G.I. Joes as they hit a strip club.  If Billy’s mother found out that he knew what a strip club even was, or if his sister found out that her Surgeon Barbie had hit the skids and was peeling down for drunken, raucous military guys and a closeted homosexual barbarian, they would have strung his little ass up.  But, all things considered, if he hadn’t been forced to play bodyguard that time, he never would have met and fallen in love with Barbie.  It wasn’t long after that the two started their life together, forgotten, behind the toybox.

When he was first opened on Christmas day seven years ago, he’d been the favorite toy, generic as he was.  Billy, in his six year old voice, had dubbed him Detective Pete Policeman and gave him more attention than any of the other toys he received.  Now, the kid was more into the skin mags hidden under his bed and some kind of nails-on-the-chalkboard bullshit music played from the ridiculously sub-par sound system he’d gotten for Christmas this past year.  Pete took another swig from his wax bottle, slid it back into place under the passenger seat, and got out of the car.  Muscles sore, joints popping, he headed around the side of the toybox and nearly fainted when he saw it.  A fuzzy purple ass was bouncing up and down between Barbie’s legs.  He knew right away who the perpetrator was, even before Barbie called out his name in that high pitched whine she only used when she came.  It was Funny Bunny.  What Barbie saw in a generic purple rabbit with crooked eyes, probably sewn on in a rush by some dehydrated Taiwanese kid with rickets, was beyond Pete.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Barbie.  Funny Bunny?”  Pete flopped down onto the yellow plastic chair next the pile of folded over tissues that made their bed.  Funny Bunny rolled off Barbie and tore a stretch of tissue off the bed to cover himself as he backed himself up to the baseboard.  “You could have at least  had the decency to cheat on me with one of the brand name toys.  Why this cheap carnival prize?”

“Pete, I, it isn’t what…”

“Can the bullshit, Barbie.  Do you really think I’m gonna believe anything you can come up with?  I mean, look at this.  You’re naked together and his bunny dong is flapping around everywhere.  The whole place smells like rabbit sex.”  Funny looked down at himself and realized his torn strip of tissue was doing nothing to cover his erection.  He tried shifting the tissue around, but only succeeded in making himself a little tent that didn’t help matters.

“Alright,” Barbie said.  “It is totally what it looks like.  Totally.”  She pulled herself into a sitting position, not even attempting to cover her nippleless plastic breasts.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Funny Bunny said.  “I just wanted…”

“You just wanted a piece of my wife is what you wanted, you giant purple asshole.  Shut your mouth before I slap the stuffing out of you.”  The purple bunny did as he was told.  Pete turned his attention back to Barbie.  “So why him?  Why would you pass up the entire Marvel universe of superheroes, or all the military machoness of the G.I. Joe guys for this ridiculous, retarded, cock-eyed piece of state fair trash?”  Pete remained sitting, but slid his ass forward and rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for the answer to his question.  It took a moment to come out, but when it did, it was like a hurricane of tears and spit.

“You wanna know why, Pete?  Honestly?  I’ll fucking tell you why.  You’re always on the job!  I get to hang out back here behind the toybox alone,” she slapped the wooden panel of the box to emphasize her words.  “You’re gone all the time.  Days go by with me not seeing you.  And even when you’re here, you’re not really here, Pete!  You’re always thinking about your next move, your next case.  It’s like I don’t exist in your world unless you want something from me.  You leave your hat on when you make love to me, Pete.”

“That’s not fair,” Pete said straightening up and pointing at his wife.  “You know my hat is attached.”

“I give two shits your hat is attached!  The point is I’m second in your life!  Your work comes first, and I come second.  You hurt me, Pete.  You hurt me, and Funny makes me feel special.  He wants me for who I am.  He appreciates me in a way you don’t.  Or can’t.”  Barbie flopped back down on the tissue bed, tears rolling from her painted eyes.

“Funny Bunny doesn’t appreciate you anymore than he appreciates the dust bunnies under Billy’s bed.  Do you know how many times I’ve caught him going to town on one of those things?  His fuzzy purple ass pumping away, dust flying everywhere?”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t bring that up, Pete.”  Funny leaned forward, cupping his mouth with one hand.

“Shut up, you purple dickhead.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Pete.  It’s how he makes me feel at the time.  When we’re together, he focuses on me.  That’s something you’ve never done and obviously can’t understand.”

Barbie was right.  Detective Pete Policeman was exactly what his name suggested.  He was a cop through and through and nothing would ever change that.  Not even a woman as beautiful and mass produced as Barbie.

Silence hung like a curtain between them.  Barbie lay flat, tears wetting the tissue underneath her.  Pete sat with his head in his hands.  Funny leaned against the wall, ass parked precariously on the lip of the baseboard, tissue tent still high in his lap.

“Come on, Funny.  I’ll take you home.”  Pete stood and walked softly around the corner of the toybox.  Funny caught Barbie’s eye, gave her a shy wave and ducked around the corner with Pete.

It took some effort to stuff Funny in the cruiser, but he eventually got in and they were off.

“You know, Funny, I’m not mad at you.”

“Really, Pete?  Because you were kind of mean back there.  I may have been fucking your wife, but I’m not retarded.  That’s a very hurtful word.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.  She’s right.  I am one-hundred percent entombed in my police work.  It was just a matter time before this happened, and it happened to be with you.  I can’t be mad at you.  I’m mad at myself.”

The cruiser bumped and jolted over the carpet fibers as they headed for Billy’s bed, and Funny’s home under it.

“That said, though, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna fuck you up.”  The cruiser pulled to a stop in the shade of Billy’s bedspread.  Pete brought his gun up from between the seats.  It wasn’t really his gun, but one from another action figure that was too big.  Pete’s hand had become misshapen through the years of carrying it, but he wouldn’t have chosen any other firearm.  He’d become fond of saying: “When you absolutely, positively got to kill every action figure in the room, accept no substitutes,” before letting a criminal have it.

“Jesus Christ, Pete!”  Funny scrambled at the door handle, rocking the cruiser with his efforts to get out before a bullet sizzled its way up his overstuffed ass.  The purple rabbit hit the floor and bounded away into the safety of darkness and under-boy’s-bed clutter.  Normally, Pete would have laughed at such a sight.  Today, though, knowing how the love of his life really felt about him, he stayed silent.  Images of that pumping purple ass, memories of his wife’s high pitched orgasm, shame from his spousal neglect tore him apart like a sensory grenade.  He turned the gun, stared down the barrel for a moment, and put it in his mouth.

Shaking, tears streaming, Pete sat like that for a long time.  He remembered the feelings he had upon seeing Barbie for the first time.  He-Man slid a dollar into her g-sting and she blew him a kiss and smiled.  Pete thought it was the most beautiful smile he had ever, or would ever, see, and chatted her up after her set.  There was nothing wrong with being dedicated to your work, but what made it all really worth something was having someone to share the spoils of your hard work with.  He had that, but his focus and dedication to the work had taken it away.  Maybe it wasn’t too late.  Pete put the gun back between the seats, pulled the passenger door shut and drove away from the bed.  He would make things right again.


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