Defensive Shield

The heat was a real thing. The way it distorted the landscape into floating lines – the heat alone was tangible, reducing all else to pre-apocalyptic chimera.

The white cobblestones glared at him, daring him to trespass. A doberman unleashed would have been as welcoming. The doorbell, when he finally reached it, performed the same wavy dance in front of his sweat-stung eyes; its post post-modern design mocking his fleshy finger’s attempt to operate it.

“Hold still”, he said out loud, poking wildly at the dancing apparition.

A bikini-clad girl answered the door. He at once cursed and blessed this heat, that made her so appealing, and him so hapless. His tie was too loud, the starched white shirt too itchy, and the suit, like his profession, held over from a previous era.

“Good day, Ma’am. You have a pool?” he asked, letting his duffel bag drop, narrowly missing her bare feet.

“No,” she said simply, then added “The Wannemakers do.” She assumed, naively, that he had knocked on the wrong door; which, in a way, he had.

“The Wannemakers?” he asked, looking at her kind of funny, as if perhaps he wasn’t sure where he’d heard the name before.

“They live next door.” Boredom kept her there, unable to slam the door on this clown.

“You must be on your way over there right now.” And, seeing her expression clouding over, he said “It being such a hot day and all.”

“All this is going somewhere?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t introduce myself.” The man introduced himself as Gary Wilson, offering up a mushy hand. From the bowels of the colossal bungalow, Gary could hear a male voice. “Who is it?”

“Its Gary Wilson,” the girl shouted into the hallway. No response. And, turning to Gary, “You were saying then?”

“Was that your Dad? I’d like to speak to him.”

“Daddy. Gary Wilson wants to talk to you,” she screamed, forgetting this time to turn her head towards the house.

An unkempt man in his fifties shuffled to the door. The heat was less kind to him, than to the girl, his off-white tank top nothing but a sweat stain.

“Alright then. What are you selling?”

“Are you safe, Mr - ?” But So-and-so would not fill in the blank.

“Come again?”

“Are you protected? Real protection – peace of mind, this is, is what I can offer you.”
Gary found himself wondering whether this man had chosen the tank top expressly to showcase his impressive outcroppings of armpit hair.

“You’re here to sell me something. So what is it?”

“Imagine, if you will, an intruder. How would you protect your daughter?”

The bikini girl began to giggle stupidly. “A device to ward off intruders. How ironic”.
Gary ignored her.

“We have an alarm,” the man said wearily, sounding embarrassed. The girl stretched onto her tippy-toes, leaned against his steaming chest and gave him a long sloppy kiss on the mouth.

A salesman should never allow himself to be surprised. But surprises, by definition, catch one off guard. The trick then, is not to let it show.

“We’re married actually,” the man said lamely. He clearly found the situation less bearable than she did. Then he clarified, “I mean to say, that I am not her father”.

But certainly old enough, Gary thought to himself. He had at least thirty years on her.

“He hates it when I call him Daddy,” the girl piped in, hanging on his arm now.

Gary knew the time for pleasantries had passed.
“An alarm is not enough.” Gary let this statement hang a while, before elaborating. “An alarm functions once the intruder has penetrated your defensive shield. It is ineffective as a deterrent.”

“It’s hot.” the girl said having become bored of the intercourse.

“How well do you know the Wannemakers?” Gary was on the offensive now.

“Gary and Sue-Ellen?” the man asked. Great, another “Gary”, thought Gary.
“They’re nice enough.”

“But do you really know them?” Gary Wilson pressed on. And then, in conspirational tones. “You do realize that the Wannemakers’ R-triple-O is installed and operational.”
Gary knew the effect this would have. He could see it confirmed in the sour contortions of Mr. So-and-so’s face.

“What is this triple R-thingy anyway?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“The R-triple-O?” Gary tried to let himself in. “Is there a place we could set it up?”
But the girl had stepped into his path, blocking him softly with her tits.

“How come you know so much about the Wannemakers’ defensive capabilities?”

“Why only last week – I installed it myself.” One lie more or less – it made no difference now.

“And they’ve got it pointed at us?” she wanted to know.

Gary clinched his teeth. Her rational side was getting on his nerves.

“The bastards,” the man with the off-white tank top stepped aside to let Gary into the house. Gary dragged his duffel bag over the doorstep, taking care to avoid contact with the wild tangle of armpit hair. Together, they strode off down the hallway.

The young wife, trailing behind them, was still not impressed.
“If it’s meant to work as a deterrent, how come the Wannemakers never told us they got one?”

Her hairy husband saved Gary the trouble of having to conjure an answer. “Obviously, the Wannemakers are not to be trusted,” he ejaculated into her ear.

I’ll have to remember that, Gary thought to himself.

The hallway led them straight through the house and into the yard, where Gary plunged into his duffel bag. He picked a suitably secluded corner of the yard and set up the device.

The unit itself hardly merits description. A rocket is a rocket, whether one calls it that, or one refers to it as a “shield”. The difference between an offensive and a defensive weapon lies primarily in its use, not its shape. The model Gary had brought looked in-offensive enough, appealing even, in beige with a pink cone on top.

“I doubt we would ever need such a powerful defensive weapon,” the girl purred, but the way she gently stroked the shaft told Gary that she wanted it.

“What does this button do?” Her index finger flicked ever so lightly across the knob, dancing a circle around it, teasing but not touching.

“Oh my Lord. Never ever…” Gary turned white as an unstained sheet.

But it was too late. The little knob was throbbing now, indicating that the anticipatory self-defense mechanism had already been activated.