Simmy The Clown

“911, where’s the nature of your emergency located?”

“9134 Apple Loop.”

“What’s the nature of your emergency?”

“Please come as quick as possible. Thank you.”

Jack was calm on the phone. Irrially calm. He hung it up intentionally, not giving details. It happened so fast that he wasn't sure what had happened. He also knew they recorded those calls. He saw enough crime dramas to realize they recorded it, and they can be used against you. He wanted to be cautious. This was the most bizarre situation he had ever encountered. There had to be more to this story, he thought. This couldn't be a coincidence. Intrigued or applauded, whatever the case may be, Jack needed to know more.

He grabbed a towel from the oven rack on his way toward the living room.

“Are they on their way?” Jack heard from the other room.

“Yeah, they're on their way. We’re about 20 miles out, so it might take a while, but I gave them the address.”

“Thank you for that. I know it may have been hard for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe a little. Can I ask you something personal?... What the hell were you doing?”

"Excuse me?"

"What the hell were you thinking?"

“Truth?”

Given the circumstances, Jack was disgusted by the young man’s easy-going tone. His playful banter, which only a 12-year-old would recite, was so juvenile that it made him sick. He hated the dialogue but played along.

“Truth.”

“You were supposed to be my first.” The man said proudly, sitting on the couch across from Jack.

“Your first? Your first what?”

“My first kill. I’m a serial killer, or that’s what I wanted to be, before this!" The man points to the top of his bald domehead. An axe is stuck on the front of it, wiggling to his nods and shakes. "I can tell now that, one, I’m probably going to die, and 2, since you called the ambulance for me, I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“First off, of course, you’re going to die. You have an axe in your head. There's no cure for that.”

“You put it there!” The man screamed.

Jack retorts, “I said I was sorry! With all due respect...with all due respect, you shouldn't run up on somebody holding an axe? I'm just saying. I'm just saying...not even if their backs are turned, okay? Make sense? Instincts take over; that's just a human fact of life. They go nuts with adrenaline and freak out, maybe throwing an axe at your head. Just saying." Jack continues to scold, "That’s probably serial killer 101, if we want to be honest! Honest with each other? With the Situation? The victim shouldn't be holding a lethal weapon. Rule number 1. I'm putting it out there. I'm just saying. No offense to you. I'm sure you tried your best.”

“Ah, great! Here comes the jokes. I was waiting for these to start up.” The man coughs up blood abruptly, "How many people does it take to screw in a light bulb with an axe in their head, right? You people disgust me if I'm being honest. You people with your rules or whatever."

Jack throws the towel in the man's face out of anger. The towel hits the axe stuck in the man's head. He thinks momentarily, “Anyway, I thought I could take you, if we want to be honest. If that's what you want to hear? Us being honest and all.” He grabs the towel.

“Take me!” Jack looks at his body and flops his arms, flexing in and out. In a huff, “Hey! I work out, I’ve just been busy...with stuff. It gets hard, okay?”

The man mocking Jack, “Yeah, me too. Really busy. Probably more busy than you, right?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me, okay? Let’s not forget who has the axe in their head. Okay? I'm not trying to be a jerk or make the situation worse, but you're the one who attacked me. How do you think I would feel if I had an axe in my head, huh? Now you know. Wouldn't feel good. Ever think about that?"

"Yeah!...maybe a little! That's why I brought an axe! I didn't bring a freakin' butter knife, okay? I could have, but I didn't, so...you're welcome or whatever."

"So, you'd have a butter knife sticking out of your head instead of an axe? Good for you?"

"No! You would..."

Both were done with the conversation, and the awkwardness remained. They sat back, dejected. The man raises the towel and dots around his scalp, trying to soak up the blood slowly oozing out. His face squirms with every touch.

Jack crossed his arms, leaned back into the couch across from the man, trying to avoid eye contact. The silence was deafening. The sound of the clock ticking seconds away above Simmy rang like church bells on every tick.

Jack regretfully said, “Sorry about your head. I didn’t mean to hit you.” Out of nowhere, Jack pulls out a can of Lysol. He sprays it around. A little here, a little there. He looks over at the man. He is staring at Jack in disbelief.

“You didn’t mean to hit me? Where were you aiming? For my neck?”

“You know what I mean...I wanted to scare you, not... ultimately, well... kill you... You came at me, I didn't come at you, just so you know.”

The man ignores Jack, continuing his rant while rubbing his temples, “I could probably sue. I could sue for sure if I live through this, just so you know. This isn't fun for me. This isn't a good thing, just saying.”

“You attacked me with an axe, Simmy. You don't have much of a defense.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You were charging me singing, 'Simmy the clown has come to put you down! Simmy the clown has come to put you down!'' Simmy looks more defeated. Jack chuckled to himself. "I figured your name was Simmy from sheer wit."

“You really know how to rub it in, don't you? Take it easy, alright? It was my first time. You have to start somewhere.”

“From the way it looks, this was your last where...”

“Thanks.” Simmy is almost in tears. He looks at Jack, “Does it really look that bad?”

Jack takes a hard look, “I don’t think it’s about looking good or bad, Simmy. I think you have an axe in your head, and I have no clue if anyone can help with that. I mean, I think I know how life works, and I don’t think life works like that, you understand? Can't walk around with an axe in your head for life, you know?”

Silence.

Jack looked to the ceiling and around. Simmy looked to the ground. They both looked for relief. Simmy licks his lips.

“Can I get something to drink? Maybe some juice or a glass of water?”

“You're a sad, sad man.”

“So, you do have something to drink? Or should I drink out of the hose on the front lawn?” Simmy was triumphant in his resolve.

Jack considered, “I do, yes. But, in your situation, I suggest something stronger than juice or water.”

“What do you suggest?” Simmy is smug.

“There’s bourbon over at the corner along with some glasses. You can help yourself.”

“Are you serious? I'm sorry, but I have an axe in my head and you're telling me I need to do it myself? That's pretty low.”

“Listen, Simmy, everyone helps themselves in this house. We don't do anything special for anyone.”

“I have an axe in my head, sir. I really don’t think it’s too much to ask under the circumstances.”

“I feel like you keep harping on that! It’s not like it’s my fault, now is it?” Jack sighs, gets up, and walks to the corner of the room to mix drinks.

“Nice house, by the way.” Simmy was proud of himself for the proper, gentlemanly observation. Jack looks back at Simmy in disgust, watching the axe bob up and down with his nods.

Jack replies angrily, “What are you doing here anyway? We must be 20 miles from town. How did you find me? And what in the hell were you planning on doing?”

“I followed you!" Simmy exclaims. "You were at the town fair, walking around. That’s where I acquire my targets, or where I was going to acquire my targets before this happened...also why I dress like a clown. To blend in.”

“Acquire?” Jack laughs to himself.

“What were you doing there anyway? You didn’t buy anything.”

Jack looks up in attention like he saw a ghost. His momentary laughter stops. Simmy triggered something within him, gaining his full attention.

“How much did you see of me, Simmy?” Jack nonchalantly finishes mixing the drinks. It consisted of two shots of bourbon in each with a splash of lemon and lime, accompanied by two cubes of ice. He threw the two glasses on a tray, then turned, walking toward Simmy methodically. Jack hands one glass to Simmy. He raises the glass in thanks. Simmy joins him. Jack swirls his glass, watching the butterscotch color glide in the glass. He swallows. Simmy joins him.

“I mean, I caught everything to be honest. I’m pretty good at surveillance. Once I got into the fair, I watched the ticket takers. I looked for my first victim there. And lo and behold, there you were coming in. You paid in cash...who pays in cash anymore...Anyway, I know the moment because the girls that came before you were my friends, Ronnie and Julie.

Simmy swallowed the rest.

Jack lamented him for that. That quick gulp was for ametures. He loathed him. It wasn’t that kind of bourbon you just swallowed, he thought. It was to be observed, revered, taken in like a passing woman’s perfume, not washed down like a bottom-shelf bourbon.

Jack's fake smile shook Simmy at first, but the bourbon was kicking in, so he moved on.

“Thanks!” Simmy takes another big gulp, downing the rest. Jack watched him, grew tired of him, then grabbed the empty glass out of his hands in an instant.

Jack walked over to the corner again to mix another round. Intrigued, he pressed, “Impressive. It sounds like you watched very closely.”

Simmy, drunk, “I did. I’m calculating. I’m like a cat...or a cheetah, or NO! Maybe a tiger? Yeah, I’m a tiger.” He licks his lips. Jack finished making the drinks, walked over to Simmy, handing him one.

“Ronnie and Julie? Those are their names? They live over on Old Mills Drive, right? They'll be alone tonight because their roommate is out for the night. You're their roommate, aren't you?”

Simmy smirks, “Yeah? I guess so... but how did you know that?” Simmy begins to feel faint. His eyes are heavy. He tries to shake it off. He looks up and sees Jack, above him, handing him another drink. Simmy looks down into the drink. It has white powder at the bottom of the glass. “How did you know that, though?”

Jack puts his mouth close to Simmy's ear and whispers, “Because, while you were watching your target, Simmy...” Jack pulls back and grabs the axe, ripping it out of Simmy's head. “...I was watching mine.”