Shit Weasels

Two men were driving towards the city of Las Vegas. The man driving was named Micheal, a large, dark skin gentleman who was the more well-mannered of the duo. The man in the passenger seat went by the name John, a pale, skinny man with too good a face for his twig of a body. Both gentlemen are dressed in all-black suits, collar included. Though they were visiting the city for business, John insisted on dressing more casually, thus losing his tie. Micheal didn't agree at first, but after John made the point that it's more suspicious to see a man wear a tie in Vegas than without, he reluctantly agreed.

 John and Michael had been in the car for three hours now, and in that time, it had become apparent to John that something was on his partner's mind.  

"Shit weasel," John said, releasing the words like a child would let go of a balloon. 

"What?"

"Shit weasel," John repeated. 

"What the fuck's a shit weasel?" 

"It's from that Stephen King book. You know, the one with the aliens."

Micheal was trying to look at the road ahead, but the absurdity of conversation forced his head to turn and look at John.

Despite his friend's reluctance, John continued. "The name's not important. What is important is what a shit weasel is: a little slug creature that climbs up your bum and burrows in there." 

"Man, what the hell are you talking about?" 

"You, my friend, have shit weasel."

"What?" 

"You've had something up your butt for this entire ride. So, out with it," John chuckled, trying his hardest to open a bag of chips.

Micheal was taken aback, he knew his friend had a roundabout way of doing things, but this took the cake.

"Okay, first thing, you're a freak. Second, you may be on to something. I may have a shit weasel."

"Go on…" John said, stuffing his face with yellow salted chips. John ate his chips as if he had been starving, swallowing his food more than chewing, showering his side of the car in salt like a torrential downpour. 

"It's my new girl, Angela." Micheal continued, stopping at a red light.

"The Jimmy Hendricks fan or the one that makes a mean clam chowder?"

"The latter. Angela and I may be having some… difficulties, to say the least."

"Ah, the greatest shit weasel of them all! Lady troubles! Do go on, my friend!"

Micheal knew where this was going, John was the type of person to give advice even when not asked, but John had learned to be more polite with Micheal, allowing Micheal to open the door for advice rather than John. 

"She doesn't respect my personal space. We're living together, and so do we share a private space. But does that give her the right to go through my phone, my office? Jesus, what happens when she finds my cash stash?"

 John nodded along with Micheal's explanation. John had the same problem a year ago. It was to be expected in their line of work.

Micheal pulled into the parking lot of Flower Heights Apartments. The two men exited the car, walked to the trunk, and opened it. In the trunk were three sawed-off double-barrel shotguns and two .9 mm, courtesy of good old Colt. Both men paused their conversation to talk business for a minute. 

"What do you want to take?" Micheal asked.

"I'll take one of the shotguns, and it'll be scarier to see than the .9 mm," John explained. 

"Okay then. I'll take the .9 mm and be the good cop for this one." 

The two men climb up the stairs to apartment number twenty-two. John and Micheal were polite and knocked. They then knocked again. By the third time, they had run out of politeness. 

"You see, Micheal, this is what you need to do with Angela." 

"Break down her door and threaten her at gunpoint?"

"What? No! You need confrontation! You need to lay down what's been bugging you and try to overcome it together. With that, John kicked down the door.

The apartment was lovely for being so small, but Micheal and John were too preoccupied with their target. The man they were after was in the middle of the room, though his appearance was perverse. Their target was a small chubby man wearing a diaper covered head to toe in toothpaste while holding an ice cream scooper. In a twisted way, the man looked like a cupid after losing his job and falling off the wagon. 

"Who are you?" the Target asked. 

John was too mesmerized by the whole scene to speak, leaving Micheal to do the talking. "We're here to collect the money you owe."

Silence fell over the room, allowing time for the Target to think of a response.

"Oh…" the Target said.

The man proceeded to run straight out a second-story window. The sounds of metal denting and glass breaking indicated the man had just landed on John and Micheal's car. Upon hearing the sound of the man crashing, John snapped back to reality. 

"Oh no, he didn't," John whispered, speedwalking over to the window, still dazed from the whole ordeal. 

Micheal had begun laughing. He had never seen a man dressed like that willingly throw himself out a window. At the same time, John ran his fingers through his hair, losing his temper. 

"Fuck! Fuck you! You piece of shit! You FairyOddparents dropout!" 

Micheal strolled over to his friend, still chuckling from before.

"Whoa, man! What happened to you all of a sudden?" Micheal asked

"That car was my grandma's. I borrowed it because my ride is in the shop." 

"Oh shit, man. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"She's going to kill me for this," John said, looking down at his toes like a sad child.

Micheal and John quickly grabbed the most valuable items before leaving to check the damages. The duo had no idea what make and model the car was. John and Michael are more gun guys than car guys, after all. But the car was so old that it didn't have an alarm, allowing them time to remove any trace of themselves. 

"You know what?" Micheal asked, looking at Target's mangled body. "I think Target and I are the same."

"What?" John asked, confused and slightly frightened. 

"I'm afraid that if I let Angela in, she won't accept the toothpaste version of me that's my true self!" 

John was not in the mood for Micheal's epiphany and decided to stay silent to avoid any arguments.

"Come on, let's hit up a casino before we leave," Micheal said, walking away from the soon-to-be crime scene.

John sighed and turned towards the car, seeing it now crushed and bloody. He took an even longer sign before turning away and walking after Michael.