C4 antho - Chamber Four

~32~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
screams, ‘Bitch! You’re dead bitch! Dead, you hear? Bitch,
you’re dead!’”
Mal gagged and tried to pull away from the plumber’s
chest.
“And he kept going on, like this, saying, ‘You’re so dead!
Bitch!’ And so I...” The plumber released the pressure around
Mal’s neck, and reversed the set-up by grabbing Mal’s arm so
that it went around the plumber’s own neck. “Here, pretend
you’re him and you’re strangling me. Come on, harder. Pull.”
His fingers prodded at Mal’s arm to get him to tighten his
grip. “Come on, harder...yeah, harder. So he’s trying to kill
me, right? So then I had to do this....” In one move the
plumber twisted around and spun out from the headlock into
a position where he had maneuvered Mal’s arm behind Mal’s
back and bent his own knee up Malchicken’s crotch. “To save
my life,” the plumber said, breathlessly. He grumbled about
how doing that move against the husband, who was much
larger than him, tore his knee a little. He wiggled the hurt
leg, shook his head, and then he farted.
The following morning, under a one-ply cover,
Malchicken discovered the plumber’s discarded pond of
man-flow in the bathroom trash. It was ripe, yellow and cautiously
seeping.
When the Chickens’ toilet finally ceased all activity, not
even a limp bloop or a minor glug, Mrs. Chicken grabbed her
keno pencil and skipped to the end of the plumbers’ section.
The minute Harold Zamcochyan’s boots struck across the living
room floor, Mal started perspiring with excitement. This
guy wasn’t going to fart around, literally. He didn’t blink at
the sight of the water damage stains on the floor, and didn’t
recoil when his steel-toed boot took a dip near the base of the
toilet. Most importantly, he told the puffy-faced and flirtatious
Mrs. Chicken that he was going to send in the camera