Strips
Tall Tank Tales
Bingo
Bingo is not the sort of game one plays often - or ever, if one can help it - unless you have a gun to your head.
"B - 8," called the announcer as he began to spin the small cage of plastic balls.
The room was filled with all walks of life, which meant the room was dingy and filled with smelly people whose hygiene was not helped by the stifling heat. No one looked like they enjoyed playing Bingo, but none of them looked like they had anything better to do. Our heroine in particular had much better things to do. Well... maybe not "much better", but things she’d rather be doing than playing Bingo with a gun to her head.
Without too much boring detail, Tank Girl had been gathering supplies (stealing) from a quiet part of town, when Rolly Carver caught her stealing three bottles of Chardonnay from his garage. Rolly was not a smart man, but he did have a .45 on hand at the time he found a girl stealing his wine. He was furious that she had dared sneak into his garage and try to make off with his belongings, not to mention his wine. But Rolly was running late. He had to pick his wife up from the bingo game. As much as he wanted to shoot the girl he’d found, he also didn’t want to be too late. Killing would make him "too late". Hence, Tank Girl wound up at the Bingo game with a fat man named Rolly and his .45.
She grimaced as each number and letter were called out over the crackly PA system, hoping one of these clods would scream Bingo and just fucking be done with it. The smell in the room was growing more unbearable. She wished she had just killed Rolly and gone about her business, but she opted for the easy route.
Rolly was an easy mark and she could take him out whenever she pleased, but she had seen something in that garage that she couldn’t let go of. An American-made, 1973 Charger. It was bright yellow and shined to perfection under a tarp in Rolly’s garage.
Plain and simple: She just wanted the key!
She thought of hotwiring it - that would be easy - but it’s much nicer to have the damn key. That way it would make a much nicer gift for Booga - although a stolen gift. The problem at hand was Rolly had the key on his key ring buried deep in his front pocket. As with most folks, Tanky was not about to try and pick pocket the key - not from the front pocket of a smelly fat man, at least. The gun and the trip to the Bingo joint were not part of the anticipated plan. "And weren’t we just getting his wife?" she thought to herself.
"Where’s your wife in this sea of misfortune?" she asked the fat man.
"Shut up," was his only reply.
"Not one for chit-chat are ya, Lunchbox?" she smirked.
He pressed the gun barrel harder against her head.
"OK, this is the last straw. Either we get outta here now and you give me the key to the Charger or I’m gonna knock you on your fat ass and take it," she muttered in a harsh, but audible tone.
Rolly just smiled thinking he had her in control, that silly little girl.
Tanky Girl stretched her arms in front of her, hunkered down a bit and then slammed her bony elbow into Rolly’s cheek. The sound of teeth falling out was muffled by his loud cry followed by Tank Girl’s boot connecting with his chest. The fat man stumbled backwards onto his rear, wheezing and trying to catch his breath. With Rolly’s .45 now aimed at his chest, Tank Girl hopped on top of the nearest table and yelled:
"Who amongst you is married to this fat hunk of shit?"
The crowded room fell silent... almost.
"What does he look like?" called an aging female voice.
"Like a hunk of shit who really shouldn’t have fucked with me," Tanky replied, hopping down from the table.
She made certain to give Rolly a good kick in the head as she passed.
"Get over here lady. I’ve got a dirty job fer ya!"
The small woman, in her late fifties who had spoken up before, sauntered over with a worried, wide-eyed look about her.
"First off," Tanky said, "I’m sorry you’re married to such a big piece of shit. That’s unfortunate, but not nearly as unfortunate as the way I’ve been treated lately. But that’s not the important issue right now."
Looking more confused and worried the woman opened her mouth.
"Oh don’t do that!" Tanky warned with her fist shaking at the woman, "I’ve heard enough from YOUR family to last me quite some time. You have work to do. Dirty work! Filthy work! Despicable, horrible things that will make your skin craw!!"
Finally leaning in toward the cowering old woman, Tanky reviled her wicked plot.
"Ma’am, You have to reach into his fowl pocket and get me his car keys... all of ’em!"
"I don’t understand," the woman replied in a whimpering voice.
"C’mon Sweetie, it’s like a handjob without the mess. Gimme his fuckin’ keys!" she explained in not so delicate terms.
With the keys in her hand and several boot-prints on Rolly’s body, Tank Girl strolled out the door quite pleased with the smashing new gift she had for Booga. Possibly the best she’d ever found!
She drove Rolly’s ramshackle pickup truck back to his house and went promptly into the garage. She pulled the tarp off of Booga’s surprise and was thrilled that she had the key as she listened to the V8 roar. Back at camp - next to the tank - she pulled up and shouted for Booga to "Get his ass over here!"
His mouth fell open and he asked how she got. OK, he knew she had stolen it, but he wanted to hear the details.
"I was looking for engine oil in this garage," she started, "When this tubby bastard comes outta nowhere with a fuckin’ pistol. I’m standing there with a couple jugs of oil, that turned out to be Chardonnay, and he’s bitchin’ about his wife, bingo and all sorts of shit. I just wanted to steal his car. So before kicking his ass I played some Bingo, made this old goat scam the car keys and I headed home to you!"
"Where’s the Chardonnay?" Booga inquired.
"In your trunk", she winked.
"Nicely done, my sweet."