“God damn it, Death!” I said to the hooded asshole in front of me, escorting in three young women (or, more specifically, their eternal souls), “Who the Hell are they?”
Death blinked, “These- these the three lady you ask me-” Death stammered in his broken English.
“No, Death, those are not the three ladies I asked you for, these are three completely different girls.”
“You ask me for three lady in Brownveal, these three lady from Brownveal,” defended Death.
“Yes, Death, I did ask you for three women from Brownsville, but not any three women! I was very specific about who was to come home. I wanted the baker’s wife Gloria to have a heart attack, I wanted the real estate agent Tammie to have an accident in the South Street property, and I wanted to release Estelle from the pain of her cancer. You brought me Katie, Sarah and Jenn, three best friends since middle school-” and that’s when it hit Me, “You just grabbed three random girls at the bar, didn’t you?”
“Wha-? Nooo, no, no,” Death looked guilty.
“Yes, you did, you went to the bar, got hammered, realized you were late and grabbed the three closest girls you could find, probably made them drive drunk and crash. Just admit it, man, you’ve been drinking again.” (J’ACCUSE!)
“No, man, I not.” Death looked offended.
“Death, come on, man, I’m God, you can’t lie to Me. I can see the tequila on your breath and in your stomach.”
“No, no, I only have like, one tequila. Come on man, I am Death, you know, I can drink a lot. I not drunk,” Death looked like I was arguing something stupid and offensive to him.
“Death, how many times do I have to tell you man, you can not lie to Me, I know you had six tequila shots, five beers, and spilled most of a sixth beer, all within three hours and eighteen minutes. You fell off your bar stool at 10:38 PM. They nearly kicked you out, man, you almost got in a fight with the manager.”
Death was angry now, “Okay, man, whatever, I go do it again, shit, just say me what you want,” Throwing his hands up in the air like he was fed up with My bullshit. Like I hadn’t been clear about what I wanted from him. (Dick.)
“No, Death, don’t go do it again, just go sleep it off. We can talk about this in the morning,” I waved him away. Then, as he left, I muttered quieter and more to Myself (though loud enough for him to hear), “For Christ’s sake, poor Estelle, they pulled the life support four days ago, she was supposed to only last a few hours after that. Jesus, the pain she’s in…”