Knockout by John Jodzio Read Free Book Online Page B

beer and then he reeled back and punched Caruso in the mouth. Caruso tumbled into the radiator.
    â€œGive you what back?” Jayhole asked.
    Caruso stood up and bull-rushed Jayhole. Caruso was ugly enough not to care what happened to his face, which was a lucky thing because Jayhole’s next punch smashed into Caruso’s nose and sent him sprawling back into the wall.
    â€œThere was a Tupperware container in my fridge,” Caruso said, spitting a rope of blood out onto our linoleum. “And there was a piece of tape with the word ‘Aphrodisiac’ written on the container. I paid good money for it and I want it back.”
    I was actually the one who’d stolen Caruso’s aphrodisiac. A few days ago, I went upstairs to borrow an egg and found Caruso’s apartment door wide open. When I walked inside, I found him passed out on the couch. He didn’t have any eggs in his refrigerator so I took the Tupperware container instead. Right now it was hidden in the mini fridge in my room. The aphrodisiac was dark red—it looked like it was mostly made of beets. I knew I should ration it for when I finally found a girlfriend, but I’d started to eat spoonfuls of it before I went to bed because I loved the sex dreams it gave me.
    â€œWhat do you need it for?” I asked Caruso.
    â€œThere’s a girl staying with me,” he said. “And she likes that sort of thing.”
    I had a hard time imagining what kind of woman would date pig-nosed Caruso, with his pasty skin and his English accent that kept disappearing and reappearing. I was wondering why I couldn’t ever find a woman at any of the bars or apartment buildings where I sold my steaks or why the women who I chatted with online never actually showed up for our dates. As I watched Caruso and Jayhole circle each other, I heard a women’s voice call down.
    â€œCaruso,” the voice whined. “Hurry up already.”
    Jayhole stood with his fists raised waiting for Caruso to charge him again, but instead Caruso just shrugged his shoulders, turned, and walked back upstairs.
    I n July I had a great month selling steaks. I sold them as quickly as I stole them. Some of my regular customers began to make requests for specific cuts of meat and I was more than happy to oblige.
    Unfortunately July was also the month that Jayhole lost his job at the office supply warehouse. After an argument with his boss, Jayhole drove his forklift out to the parking lot and gored the side of his boss’s car. The cops were called, but Jayhole knew all of them from his bounty hunting days and they let him off with a warning.
    â€œEveryone at work knows when I’m drinking tequila you should keep your distance,” Jayhole told me, “but I guess my boss didn’t get that memo, did he?”
    Jayhole didn’t start looking for a new job right away and so he had plenty of time on his hands. Mostly he filled up his hours by seeing which hard lemonades mixed best with which flavored vodkas, but he also spent a lot of free time playing practical jokes on me.
    One night he unscrewed the top of our saltshaker and I dumped a mountain of salt all over my chicken salad sandwich.On my birthday, he hid my wallet underneath the cedar chips in Stabby’s cage and I didn’t find it for three days. One time Jayhole spread cellophane over our toilet bowl and when I took a piss, the piss bounced right back up onto my jean shorts. Jayhole’s laugh was loud, and sometimes after one of his practical jokes he’d slap me hard on the back and shoulders and the next day my back and shoulders would be sore.
    â€œCould you take it easy on the jokes?” I asked.
    Jayhole pinched his eyes together, incredulous. He looked shocked I wasn’t enjoying his pranks as much as he was.
    â€œSure,” he told me. “I had no idea they were bothering you.”
    I went to bed that night hopeful Jayhole would stop his practical