The Beef Bombay

Few things in life ever meet expectations—life is full of surprises, yet never consistent. There are no guarantees in life except for death and taxes and Beef Bombay, where a person is guaranteed to have gas for several hours after eating there.

Getting gas was such a part of the experience that customers joked about it, and whenever they entered the restaurant, they’d say, “Beef Bombay, bombs away!” and make a farting sound with their mouths: Pffrrrt!

But flatulence never kept the customers away—not more than a few days anyway. It’s hard to stay away from something so delicious, and with six locations in Sheffield, their food’s reputation got around, particularly their specialty sandwich called The Colon Clogger.

The Colon Clogger had ten inches of sliced pastrami, corned beef, and roast beef. It was held together by a gluey-gooey mire of melted cheese, and it all sat between two slices of rye bread cut so thin they could have easily been called a tortilla. The brave people who dared to devour the monster sandwich were guaranteed constipation for the next three days.

The Colon Clogger came lathered in various sauces, from the typical catsup and mustard to Thousand Islands dressing; and there was also the house special called Bombay Sauce that looked—well—um—rather questionable if you know what I mean, but despite its obscene mayo appearance, the customers always shouted, “Extra Bombay Sauce please!” or “Don’t be stingy with the Bombay Sauce neither!” and the all-time favorite, “Can I just get a glass of Bombay Sauce to go?”

There was a long line at the Beef Bombay restaurant in the Sheffield Mall, but there was an even bigger line going into the Bailey, Banks, and Biddle Jewelry store. The line went outside the mall and down two blocks.

The Sheffield Mall was packed with thousands of people from all over the world. Gleeful voices cheered, and curious eyes looked over shoulders in hopes of seeing the Winchester Diamond. The diamond was the size of a softball and in the shape of a football and it glistened like a disco ball. The diamond looked so much like an eye ball that it was nicknamed the God’s Eye.

Old Man Winchester had found the diamond on an excursion to Africa. Winchester, who’d been in a wheelchair his whole life, said a miracle happened the moment that he found the diamond. Those who had witnessed the finding had all jumped back in shock and awe as Old Man Winchester rose out of his wheelchair and began to walk.

Word quickly got out of the healing powers of the God’s Eye Diamond, and soon sick people from all over the world were flocking to London to see it. More stories began to circulate, like that of a sixty-seven-year-old woman who’d become pregnant after seeing the diamond. Soon, women desperate to start families came from all over to see the diamond.

Even those who had nothing wrong with them came to see the God’s Eye in hopes of getting their wishes granted. People asked for cars, homes, and vacations. Some people wanted to go to the moon, and others simply wanted to find love. Still, some wicked people even had to gall to asked the God’s Eye Diamond to kill their enemies, yes they did.

Old Man Winchester had loaned the God’s Eye to the world, well to Bailey Banks and Biddle Jewelers, for he was grateful to be able to walk again and he wanted the world to experience the miracle for themselves. But Winchester’s generosity lasted only two years before he decided to take back the diamond and lock up it up in his vault. He said he would only bring it out on a special occasion. The special occasion was when anyone paid him ten thousand dollars to see it.

As Winchester saw it, doctors made millions doing what the God’s Eye did for free and with better results, so why shouldn’t he get a piece of the pie.

Michael Hutchens stood in the long line going into Bailey, Banks, and Biddle Jewelry store. He was there to see the Winchester Diamond. He’d heard great things about it. He was curious if the diamond dubbed the God’s Eye would really give him a blessing.

At the moment, Michael Hutchens was busy mauling a Colon Clogger sandwich with the voraciousness of a lion eating a gazelle. So hungry he was, and with each bite, he tore into the wall of meat that was slowly slipping out of the pocket of soggy paper thin rye.

The sandwich dripped heavily, like a melting candle, with Bombay Sauce and mustard, and he was forced to keep it slightly above his mouth to catch the drippings in order to keep his pressed white Oxford shirt and brown Guanashina slacks clean.

Anyone looking at Michael would have thought he was just an average guy, perhaps a worker at one of the stores in the Sheffield Mall. But no one looked at him, so no one thought anything of him; but little did they know they were about to witness the creation of a superhero.

Much like Spiderman and the Incredible Hulk that had been created from disastrous events, so too was Michael Hutchens about to meet a misfortune that would forever change his life.

“Fuck me. I don’t fucking believe this,” Michael said loudly as the mustard and Bombay sauce dripped all over his white Oxford shirt. His outburst got the attention of all those around him, especially a short, robust older woman standing in front of him wearing a heavy wool jacket and a red scarf around her head. She had a rugged face with a permanent scowl. She looked like she could have been a nanny or even someone’s grandmother, and perhaps she was, since both of her hands were occupied with children—a boy and a girl of about six and seven years old—a brother and sister, no doubt, from the similarities in appearances and the dirty looks they were shooting at each other.

The robust woman turned around with eyes so sharp that they would have cut right through Michael had he been looking, but he wasn’t. He was too busy dealing with his sandwich.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” repeated Michael, cleaning a glob of yellow mustard off his white shirt with a napkin that glistened with grease. Were you supposed to wipe side to side or round and round? He couldn’t remember, so he tried both—neither did any good.

“No wipe, pet,” said the robust woman in front of Michael. She had a heavy accent. Michael traveled the world for a living, and he recognized the woman’s accent as Russian. The sticker name tag on the woman’s coat said, “Olga.”

“Excuse me?” Michael said, not understanding.

“Yes ... pet ... no side-to side,” Olga said. “Like this.” Olga took Michael’s hand, holding the napkin, and patted the stain. “Pet.”

“Oh, pat ... pat the stain. I get it now,” said Michael, nodding at Olga.

“Yes, pet,” Olga said.

Michael smiled a thank you. He patted the stain, which helped a bit, but he’d already made a mess of things with the side-to-side and the round-and-round techniques that he was left with a big, ugly yellow stain on the center of his chest.

The more Michael wiped, the more the stain took shape and form, like a cumulus cloud forming an image. Slowly, it took on a solid form. It was a very distinct image—something easily noticed and recognized at first glance.

When Michael realized what the stain on his shirt looked like, he eyes went big and he accidentally dropped his Colon Clogger sandwich on the ground just outside the door to Bailey, Banks, and Biddle Jewelers.

“Oh great, I got a fucking penis on my shirt!” Michael said. He looked around slightly embarrassed. He didn’t have a jacket or anything else to cover up the stain. He didn’t know what to do. He wondered if he should leave but having gone to so much trouble to see the God’s Eye, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him.

Michael then looked down at his half-eaten sandwich on the floor, feeling disappointed. “Damn it, I was really that sandwich,” he said. Despite being messy, the Colon Clogger sandwich was delicious, and Michael was still hungry. He thought about picking it up(the three-second rule), but the sandwich was in such a disastrous state that it was beyond salvaging. It looked like one of those modern art expressionistic paintings that had paint splattered all over the canvas.

Michael was about to clean up his mess, his art, but he heard the voice of reason in his head. The voice had a unique way of seeing the world, and most of the time, it was right about things—though it did tend to have a mind of its own and a sinister wit that was as sharp as switch blade knife.

—Fuck it, Mike! Let some other fucker clean up that mess; you’re gonna lose your spot in line and you’ll never get to see the God’s Eye Diamond.

Michael heeded the words of his voice of reason, and he stepped over the mess on the floor. He looked again at the stain on his shirt and shook his head, not believing his rotten luck. “Shit, some people see the image of the Holy Mother in a wine stain; I get fucking St. Peter on my shirt. This just ain’t my fucking day,” said Michael.

Olga turned around again and gave Michael an evil stare to keep his salty tongue at bay—after all, there were children present. But when Olga saw the large yellow stain Michael’s shirt that looked like a penis, her eyes bulged, and she quickly looked away in horror.

—Ha Ha! Probably the first piece of male machinery she’s seen in a long time, eh Mike, said the voice of reason.

Michael chuckled. The children started to look back , but Olga shouted a command like a drill sergeant, “Ste-phanie, Ste-phen, eyes for-ward!” and the children obeyed like a pair well-trained Dobermans.

The line going into Bailey, Banks, and Biddle finally started to move. Michael was happy. He’d been waiting for eight hours to see the diamond. He’d gotten up at the crack of dawn. He’d taken three trains to get to the Sheffield Mall, and then he’d gone two blocks away from the store just to get to the back of the line. But he’d finally made it to the door, and he couldn’t wait to see the diamond. He wondered what the God’s Eye would give him. He had no clue what to even ask for. Micheal thought that perhaps the eye already knew what was in his heart, and it would surprise him. Michael liked beautiful things.

Michael entered the jewelry store and was immediately overwhelmed by the jewelry in the glass cases, gleaming like treasure. Everywhere he looked, there was silver and gold, diamonds and gemstones, and pearls. It was the kind of treasure that was usually in a tomb and guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, or better yet, the Devil himself. It is well known that the devil loves two things: treasure and children. An idle mind is the devil’s plaything, and when children are idle the devil gets them to do mischievous things.

It wasn’t long before the devil had cast a spell on one of the children Olga was holding. Little Stephanie, who looked as sweet as the Swiss Miss Girl on the box of hot cocoa, had found a quarter on the floor. She scrutinized it, wondering what could be done with it. Then her eyes glared, and she turned and looked over at her brother, who was busy playing a hand-held video game.

—Watch her, Mike. She’s up to no good; I can’t feel it. She’s got the devil inside.

The voice was right. Little Stephanie placed the quarter between her thumb and index finger so that it stuck out like the blade on a utility knife. Then she reached around Olga and slammed the hard edge of the coin into her brother’s head. The blow made a sound like a rock hitting a tin can. Little Stephanie quickly went back to her side and looked away, looking innocent.

Her brother, little Stephen, winced in pain, but he did not make a sound. He rubbed his head and stood dumbfounded for a moment. He looked over at his sister, and he saw her looking elsewhere, and he convinced himself that she was innocent of any foul play.

—That little cunt! Can you believe that shit? She’s the spawn of Satan, Mike, said the voice of reason.

This went on for some time, and each time the boy winced in pain, and though he looked as if he wanted to cry, he just held it in. He rubbed his head and looked around stupidly, as if he were looking at a bug flying across the room.

By the seventh try, little Stephen had finally wised up. He saw what his sister was doing so he curled up his fist and leaned over, ready to punch her. Little Stephanie, ever vigilante, saw the blow coming and began to cry. Olga saw little Stephen in the act of hitting his sister and swatted his hand firmly, and the boy recoiled with an “Ouch!”

“Hit-ting bad, hit-ting bad, no hit sis-ter,” said Olga, all the while Stephanie watched with the biggest grin.

Michael saw the boy’s face flush red, not from the pain of being hit, as he’d taken seven blows to the head and had never uttered a cry, but the boy’s face was red from sheer frustration—an anger buried deep inside.

—You gotta help the boy, Mike. Between Olga, the drill sergeant, and his cunt sister they’re going to break him. The boy will wind up wearing maxi-pads, for sure. I mean, you got that big dick on your chest like some fucking superhero ... Super-Prick ... that’s who you are, Mike. So be a prick and show the lad how it’s done.

Michael looked down at his chest and smiled. Super Prick. He’d always wanted to be a superhero.

Olga reclaimed the hands of Stephanie and Stephen and was on red alert. Any sudden moves would trip her alarm, and the culprit would get a hand smack for sure.

Sister Stephanie looked up at the ceiling and waved into the video surveillance camera; then she began to blow kisses at it as if she were a movie star. She held her quarter up to the camera, then began flipping it in the air and catching it.

—Do it, Mike! Now’s your chance, said the voice of reason.

Michael lifted his leg, and when the quarter was up in the air, he kicked the back of Stephanie’s leg, distracting her, and the quarter fell to the ground. It rolled away like a runaway hubcap, all the way to under Michael’s right shoe.

—Ata boy, Mike! Kick-ass!

Michael smirked. Little Stephanie looked at her brother, who was busy with his video game and had a complete air of innocence. The girl knew her brother was not the evil type, for evil can always recognize evil.

Stephanie looked around the floor for the quarter and not finding it, she looked all the way back at Michael. She looked up at Michael and saw his devilish grin. She immediately knew that he’d kicked her. She stared at the yellow stain on Michael’s chest, too young to understand what it was—too young to understand that he was a superhero—Super Prick. Then she met his eyes and stared angrily.

—The little cunt wants a staring contest, Mike. But she can’t beat Super-Prick.

Michael’s gaze scared Stephanie. She felt like Hansel and Gretel when they realized that they were dealing with a wicked witch. Little Stephanie turned away but looked back a few times,r and each time meeting Michae’s devlish grin, which made her stop looking back.

The line began to move again, and Michael could see the end of the line where two security guards stood. They had guns and belts adorned with a regal display of brass bullets. The men were tall and muscular, with mean, scrunched-up faces.

—Check out those two, Mike. They look backed up.T must have had a couple of them, Colon Clogger sandwiches... he-he, said the voice of reason.

Michael chuckled. Behind the security guards was a glass case where the God’s Eye was displayed, but Michael was still too far away to see it.

The line began to move faster and Michael stepped forward. Little Stephanie, so keen and observant, had noticed that Michael wasn’t lifting his right foot; he was simply sliding it across the ground.

Ah, the quarter, her eyes told her. She’d found it. She looked up at Michael, and her eyes told him that she wasn’t scared of him, for she knew the story of Hansel and Gretel very well, and she knew that in the end, the children killed the evil witch. They’d murdered her with glee, and if little Stephanie had it her way, she would do that to Michael.

Each time the line moved forward, Stephanie looked back at Michael’s sliding shoe, where the quarter hid; all the while she was making a plan to get it back.

—Oh, oh, Mike, seems the little cunt has cooked up a plan. I think you’re fucked.

Then Stephanie began to cry, and Olga leaned down, and Stephanie whispered something in her ear. When Stephanie finished, Olga turned around and gave Michael the evil eye.

Olga’s look told Michael that he should be ashamed of himself for teasing and toying with children. Stephanie looked back at Michael with a menacing grin and gave him the middle finger.

—You see that? What a little cunt! Her brother must live in misery, Mike. Poor kid.

There was only one person ahead of Stephanie, Stephen, and Olga, and one of the guards called them to approach the glass case to see the Winchester diamond.

—Okay, Super-Prick, time for you to save the day. Get busy, Mike.

Michael, seeing this as the perfect opportunity, kicked the quarter towards the glass case. Stephanie, ever vigilant, saw the quarter sliding across the floor, and she yanked away free from Olga’s grip.

The girl ran after the quarter—past the ropes and stanchions—unseen by the preoccupied guards that were dull from boredom. Stephanie bent over to pick up the quarter, and Michael leaned down and whispered into her brother Stephen’s ear.

“Go head, mate—kick her in the arse,” said Michael. The boy looked up at him, surprised. Michael nodded. Stephen looked over at his sister bent over, and a devilish grin came over his face. His hollow, vacant eyes gleamed; he realized his opportunity had finally come—revenge.

The boy quickly did the honors and kicked his sister in the bazoom, sending her face first to the floor, and this triggered an alarm.

—SCORE! Super-Prick saves the day! said the voice of reason.

Little Stephen looked back at Michael with the biggest grin. Life had come back to the boy—the ruddiness of youth had returned to his cheeks. He looked as if he’d been freed from a nightmare—a torture and misery he’d suffered long—Olga and Stephanie.

As the alarm sounded, a mechanical arm came down with a large steel cage, trapping Stephanie inside with the Winchester Diamond. Stephanie began to cry. Olga looked at Michael as if her dreaded female intuition had told her that he was responsible, and she flung back her purse and smacked Michael in the head.

The purse was heavy, and Michael fell over and hit his head on one of the rope stanchions, and then he crashed onto the floor. All the while, little Stephen stood looking at his sister through the iron bars of the cage with a big smile on his face.

The girl, who’d probably tortured him for years, looked at him with a fire in her eyes. Then, perhaps realizing all her sins, she looked down in shame in the face of her brother’s victorious stare.

Olga screamed at the guards, saying that Michael was responsible for all of this, and that she was a good person, and that she needed to see the God’s Eye Diamond, and that she needed to see it because she had arthritis and her sister had gout, and that she was hoping to get a blessing for the children. Flustered, Olga had said it all in Russian, so no one had understood a word.

Olga, Stephanie, and Stephen were quickly taken by the guards and escorted to the door.

Michael stood up with a slight bump on his head. In the midst of all the commotion, he’d finally gotten to see the God’s Eye Diamond. It had even blinked at him. He soon began to feel strange. He felt something come over him, and he felt dizzy. He wondered if the God’s Eye was starting to work.Was he sensing a divine presence? Was a miracle happening? Was he about to see God?

—No you, asshole! It’s the fucking blow to your head, Mike. Snap out of it! You probably have a concussion, said the voice of reason.

A pain shot through Michael’s head, and he rubbed his temple. A guard came up and asked him if he was alright. Michael looked at the penis-looking stain on his shirt. He stood tall and erect, sticking out his chest. He smiled and said, “I’m Super!”