heuristic (adj.)- encouraging a person to learn, discover, understand, or solve problems on his or her own by experimenting, evaluating, possible answers or solutions, or by trial and error
Becoming a man has been one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. So as I count up the stacks of money splayed out on the glass table in the living room before me with the hockey game on the television as background noise, I’m not embarrassed to admit my heuristic way of life may have been sloppy and reckless, but it works. It’s also nothing short of amazing. I mean I have Khloe sitting next to me looking like an angel in some black, boy shorts and topless. She is doing a number on her 9mm. Practicing putting it together and taking it apart as fast as possible.
“Must you do that shit over and over again? I’m counting money here,” I say. She grabs a handful of bullets and shakes them like dice.
“I’m gonna hit the jackpot tonight baby. Watch and wait. You got me all inspired and shit with all of this money. Looking like a damn ATM in here,” she says. I crook a grin. I reach a hand and grab a chip and dip it into the big bowl of dip on the table.
“Why hockey? Turn the basketball game on. I don’t want to hear this shit.” Knowing I wasn’t going to want to hear the NBA commentators either, I turn the stereo on and “Thank U, Next” by Ariana Grande is playing on the radio. Oh great.
“I love this song,” Khloe says. I sigh.
“I know.” She picks up the remote and turns the basketball game on. The Lakers are playing against the Clippers. Classic LA showdown.
“I don’t like the Lakers,” Khloe says.
“So you should be like me and pick the Clippers,” she says.
“Don’t be such a devil. You’d be the type to be an Angels fan aren’t you?”
“I love angels,” Khloe says. I finish counting another ten thousand and place it over on the right side of the table with the rest of the counted money. Should be 20k more to go.
“Baseball ain’t my thing. I just said it to see if you were one of those dumb ass women who loves the sport that’s barely a sport at all.”
“How dare you talk about baseball like that. It’s hard to hit that tiny ball coming at you that fast.”
“Oh goody. Learn one thing and I can play just fine. When you’re not hitting the ball, you’re standing around probably hoping the ball doesn’t come to you. That’s real difficult,” I say sarcastically.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Khloe says with a click. She had put a bullet in the chamber. I sit back in astonishment. Would she really shoot me? She stands up rather quickly.
“Take it back! I’m done putting up with your shit. That’s why I’m never marrying you. Take back this piece of shit diamond. I don’t want it anymore,” she says and throws the ring I gave her at my face. She misses barely.
“You ungrateful bitch. Get the–”
The door to the living room flies open and another gun comes from its mouth. It wastes no time. A shot rings out and Khloe falls to the ground.
“Holy shit! What the fuck was that Yovanna?!” A dark, long-haired beauty was standing there with the gun pointed at the pitiful thing bleeding on the floor.
“That bitch was threatening your life Dima. She had to be put down.” I look at Yovanna with wide eyes. More amazed at what she did to help me than the fact somebody was shot in front of my very eyes.
“Call the ambulance. And Yovanna…thank you.”
I look at her body spilling blood on the ground. She is already gone.