Wishes do come true.

This had been the worst week of Marty Underbridge’s life. He had been knocked down and kicked in the face more in the last few days than he had in his entire 40 years of life. He had come home Monday after a particularly busy day of work, he had told a record number of people that he couldn’t approve their loans, including an old woman who needed to purchase a proper grave stone for her deceased husband. He worked at a local credit union as a loan officer, recently the credit union had put a moratorium on personal loans due to “budgetary constraints and business shifts,” whatever that meant, greed most likely. He had arrived home Monday, dog-tired, wanting nothing more than to flip on the T.V. and zone out with a scotch in his hand. One of the few pleasures in his life was purchasing and savoring top-shelf scotch and whisky, he had a small collection in his office. The minute he walked in the door, however, he knew his day was going to get worse. He saw a suitcase, packed and ready, by the stairs. His wife came down from their bedroom and gave him a look of pure distain.

“Hi dear.” Said Marty wearily.

“I’m leaving.” Was her sharp reply.

“Why dear?” he asked, he just didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now, or ever.

“Why?! Why? Because I’m tired of being the housewife and coming home to sit and be bored to tears by your insipid stories of work and scratching by on your lousy check. I want more and have found it. So I am leaving and taking the car with me, you can have that mangy cat you love so much.” She snarled back. She grabbed her suitcase, the keys to the car and she pushed passed him and slammed the door. The small sign that said “Live, Live and Laugh,” fell and shattered on the floor as if to punctuate the situation.

Marty sensed this had been coming. His wife had been at her “weekly” book group almost every night for the past two weeks and she never took her book with her. Marty had tried to please her and fulfill her growing taste in lavishness but he simply didn’t understand. He liked simplicity, he liked routine, he liked sitting with his “mangy cat,” Robert, watching reruns of Star Trek. He was not the dinner party, social-butterfly his wife wanted hm to be. The last party he attended was that of a co-worker who retired, Marty spent the whole time hiding.

After his wife berated him and left, Marty went into his office and pulled opened his liquor cabinet, a repurposed, rusted-out file cabinet he had salvaged from the roadside. The top drawer held glasses of varying size and the bottom drawer held his “stash.” He slid open the top drawer and pulled out a pint glass, he was going to have a triple today, he pulled open the bottom drawer and found only one bottle remaining, his wife, well ex-wife had taken his top shelf bottles and left him some rotgut swill, typical. He poured a quadruple, basically he filled the glass to the rim, and instead of putting the bottle back he took it with him into the living room and dropped wearily into his faded recliner. His faithful cat quickly climber onto his lap.

Marty tossed back the rotgut, it burned his throat all the way down, he had gotten it as a “gift” from a client, Marty soon realized it had been pawned off on him, as a regift. Marty switched on the T.V. and found Star Trek. After finishing his final gulp of rotgut he passed out in his chair asleep, his last thought, “tomorrow is going to be better.”

The next morning Marty awoke in his chair, with the cat still sleeping soundly on his lap. Marty looked at the clock and realized he missed his alarm. He sprang up, dropping the bottle of rotgut on the floor and spilling into the carpet. He didn’t have time to clean it now. He raced around the house getting dressed and freshening himself up as much as possible. He ran outside only to remember that the car had been taken by his wife, well ex-wife, so he ran to the bus stop. The bus was just pulling away as he reached the door. The driver let him in and Marty produced a five dollar bill from his pocket and slipped it into the ticket machine. Instead of refunding him three fifty it dropped and old dirty quarter. Marty looked at the driver, who had a “not my problem”, look on his face. “Must be out of ones, guess you’ll have to call the admin office,” Said the driver as he pulled away, almost knocking Marty off his feet. Marty looked around and the only seat left was at the far back of the bus, he slipped down the row, still trying to make himself look presentable. The seat was next to a rough-looking fellow who smelled as bad as he looked. Marty sat down, ready to relax for a moment, before work. As soon as he sat down Marty felt the stare of the man sitting next to him. He looked over and the rough-looking man had a stare that would melt ice, “you’re sittin’ on my friend, ya rude bastard.” Marty had no idea what the man was talking about. “Get up er’ I’ll make you get up,” Snarled the man. Marty shot up out of his seat and looked behind him, as if he expected to see someone, of course no one was there. The rough-looking man, smiled at his “friend” and said “sorry bout that, some people are just assholes, I guess” and looked at Marty as he said “assholes.”

Marty grabbed the swinging hand hold next to where he was standing; it was very sticky. The bus finally arrived and Marty jumped off and ran into work. He saw his boss, Jim, standing there at the front desk. As Marty wheeled in Jim looked at his watch disapprovingly. Marty quickly went into his office, a grey cubicle, and sat down. He gave a glance to the two pictures he had on his desk, one of he and his wife, well ex-wife, he flipped it face down, and the other of he and Jim at Marty’s bachelors party. He and Jim were great friends and had worked together for a long time. Marty keyed up his computer, just as he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see Jim. “I need to talk to you buddy,” Said Jim. Marty followed Jim into his large office and sat down. “I heard about Jill. Sorry she left you. That sucks.” Said Jim, his chair swiveled so Marty was looking at the back.

“How did you hear about Jill, I just found out last night?” Questioned Marty.

“Well…you see, Jill is living with me now. Sorry you have to find out like this.” Said Jim. Marty’s jaw about fell on the floor.

“You’re the other guy?” Questioned Marty.

“Yep. For a couple of months now.” Said Jim unapologetically. “Also the real reason I pulled you in here is that the company has to downsize, budget concerns and the economy you know? Soooo I am going to have to cut your position. I’m sorry this is happening at this time.” Jim said, still facing away from Marty. “You will get three weeks pay and your insurance will carry for two months. Henry the Security Guard will escort you out. Let me know if you need a reference.”

Marty felt someone standing behind him, it was Henry the security guard. Henry let Marty pick-up his pictures from his desk and escorted him to the door. Marty stood at the bus stop; the bus had pulled away just as he had gotten there. Instead Marty decided to walk. He walked until he saw a small bar on the corner. It looked shady but he didn’t care. He had a twenty in his wallet. He dumped the box from work into the dumpster next the bar and went inside. It was seedy and dark. He stood at the bar and ordered a triple house whisky. The man next to him, looked over, “I think you dropped this fella.” Said the man. He slid a small black book over to Marty.

“Not mine.” Said Marty.

“Weird it has your name inside.” Said the man, flipping open the book to a page which clearly showed Marty’s name. Marty took the book and looked up, the man smiled. “Trust me, you need this.” Said the man, “it will solve all your problems.” Marty took the little black book. As he put his hand on the book the man put his hand on Marty’s; the man’s fingernail scratched Marty and a drop of blood spilled onto the book cover. The blood seemed to be swallowed by the book. Marty pulled his hand back only to look up and see the man was gone. He looked at the bartender; who seemed oblivious to what had just happened.

Marty opened the book. The pages were worn and yellowed, there were names written on many of the lines, his had a phone number next to it. Marty took out his phone and called.

“Welcome! You are now in control. You have three wishes, write them in the book and they will come true.” A recorded voice said. Marty was dumfounded. “But remember all actions have consequences dear friend.” The line went dead. Marty tried to redial but the number was no longer in service.

Marty went back to the bar and asked for a pen. He wrote in the book, “Two shots of Pappy Van Winkle Old Rip Bourbon.” These retailed at around $4,600. The bartender came over and dropped two shot glasses on the bar in front of Marty. Marty sipped the Bourbon, it was smooth and tasted expensive. Finally his luck had turned. Marty tossed back the glasses. In his now drunken state Marty had an idea, something he had never thought before, revenge. He opened the book and wrote, almost illegibly, “Jim and Jill bite the dust.” No sooner had he written it then his phone rang. It was Lou from work. Lou was annoying.

“Oh my God, Marty, Jim and Jill are dead! They walked outside for lunch together and a bus hit them. I’m so sorry.” Lou burst out in tears. At first Marty was shocked, then the shock subsided.

“Wow that sucks.” Is all he could reply. Marty had one last “wish” left. He considered it. After thinking for a minute Marty scribbled down, “Lots of money.” No sooner had the pen left the page then an armored truck plowed through the front of the bar; crushing Marty in an instant, the doors popped open and bags of cash spilled on the floor.

Marty opened his eyes. He was in his chair at home; his “mangy cat” was curled in his lap. He switched on the T.V. and the man from the bar sneered back. The screen switched to a video, it was Marty’s wedding video. Marty tried to switch the channel but nothing happened. He tried to stand up but the cat on his lap weighed him down. He was stuck in the chair, he tried everything he could to get up but he was stuck. His phone rang. Marty picked it up. “Consequences Marty, every decision has consequences.” Said the recording and the voice laughed.

Walter Harryman sat at the bar. He was having the worst day ever. The man next to him slid over a small black book. “I think you dropped this mister,” he said. Walter opened the book and saw his name written inside. Above his name were several names written in red, the one directly above his said, “Marty Underbridge.”