My Very Own Reservoir Dog

“Watch it, man, or you’ll lose an ear.”

I hatched my plan to get even with the foreman while sitting on the unfinished patio and watching the kids and the dog run around the sandy lot of our new home.

The plan won’t be easy or too salubrious. But it’ll sure do the trick in stopping him from filching again like he did with our project to push us into a mountain of debt. Indeed, the plan will take the pick out his pick pocketing.

Here’s how it’ll go:

First, I’ll invite the tosspot over to celebrate the new house and a job well done, or so he’ll think. “Looks like you’re settling right in,” he’ll say, ignoring the unfinished floors and closets and the ceiling with a watermark from a leaky toilet, and the unconnected gas water-heater. “Yeah,” I’ll say. Then I’ll open a bottle of red wine and slip a sleeping pill in his drink, and when he’s well zonked out I’ll strap him to his chair with thick rope and stuff socks in his mouth.

Then I’ll saw each of his fingers off and drag his sorry ass to one of the six-foot-deep holes left on the sandy lot by his builders and toss him in.

Bye, bye tosspot.

Man, the thought of it all makes me shudder.

So I grab another beer and sit back down on the patio with my wife as we mellow out to Marley’s “Get Up, Stand Up.” We watch the kids race around underneath the blue skies and pine trees, with summer nearly upon us.

“Geronimo…” my daughter shouts out as she jumps and disappears into one of the six-foot-deep holes.

Maybe an email of complaint to the foreman will suffice, I think.

Or maybe I’ll just put the whole affair of the pilfering tosspot out of my mind and focus on the good that I have. A lovely family and a house in a pine forest that’s but a short walk from the beach and good surfing – a pine tree paradise.

My face brightened.

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