It was the day after the day I fucked Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister that the letter arrived. A registered letter informing me that Aunt Racine had passed, and I was to receive seventeen million dollars inheritance. Oh, I was excited all right, and who wouldn’t be? I could now afford to quit my job as night cook at the Pioneer Take-Out in Compton.

"I quit, man," I told Raul, the smelly little troll who passed himself off as shift supervisor. "I just inherited seventeen million dollars."

"Good," he said.

"I no longer have to eat shit from crappy ass little Mexican pricks like you," I said.

"Good," he said.

"I’m leaving right fucking now, man," I said.

"Good," he said.

I went home to find 11 messages on my answering machine. Seven were from Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister, Heidi I think her name is, and the rest were from various friends, associates, and collection agencies, with the last being from Mother, begging me to watch a live documentary about man-eating sharks on Public TV. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped it open. Pabst Blue Ribbon, man! The nectar of the Gods! I sank into my orange La-Z-Boy recliner and flipped on the tube. As luck would have it, the shark documentary was on. I sucked down half the can in one long delicious swallow, and settled down to watch the killers of the deep. That’s when the phone began to ring. I plucked the receiver from the hook.

"Harvey’s Pool Hall," I said.

"Lamar?"

Oh, Christ! It was Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister! I lowered my voice an octave.

"He’s not here."

Silence, breathing on the other end.

"Do you know when he’ll be back?"

The television showed a large tiger shark taking a huge bite out of a fat young seal. It then veered off, masticating furiously. The blue water clouded up with blood.

"He’s dead," I said.

"Dead!"

"Shark attack at the beach. Are you a close relative?"

The shark returned, taking another large bite out of the thrashing hapless seal.

"I know it’s you, Lamar! Why haven’t you returned my calls?"

The narrator came on, speaking in a soft, almost soothing voice. "That seal’s had it," he said.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"You little shit!" said Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister.

"Because of the high fat content, an adult tiger shark can survive up to three weeks after eating a seal," the narrator said. "Providing, of course, that the seal weighs at least 300lbs."

"Who is this?" I repeated.

Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister slammed the phone down in my ear. No sooner had I set the receiver back on the hook when the phone began to ring once again. I hit the mute button on the TV and yanked the receiver off the hook.

"He’s fucking dead!" I shouted.

"Lamar?"

It was Mother!

"Oh, hello, Mother," I said. "How are you?"

"Never mind about me, Lamar. How are you?"

"Fine."

Another shark appeared, a huge shadow circling slowly through the bloody water.

"You sound angry."

"I’m watching a shark dismantle a goddamn seal! The endorphins must be kicking in."

The newcomer, a good-sized mako, tore off a huge chunk of the seal’s backside.

"You watch your tongue, young man! I didn’t raise you that way."

"Sorry, Mother."

"That’s better...now I’m calling to tell you that the lawyer just got in touch with me."

"Lawyer?"

"The one handling Racine’s estate."

"Fine."

"Well, it seems that Racine was one of those 22 unfortunate souls gunned down at that Stuckey’s restaurant last week."

"Really? I didn’t think Racine would eat at a Stuckey’s. Will this affect my inheritance?"

"Because of the violent nature of her death, all assets are to be frozen until further notice."

"Fuck!"

"What did I tell you about your language?"

"Sorry, but I just quit my goddamn job at the chicken place!"

A third shark appeared. Another tiger. It swerved towards the mako, then quickly veered back towards what was left of the seal.

"Do you ever think of anyone but yourself, Lamar? Some people, your poor cousin Elmo for example, are eating TV dinners! You were the only one even mentioned in Racine’s will!"

"We had a very special relationship," I said, reflecting back on Racine’s jiggling tits.

"I suspected as much. Are you watching that shark documentary?"

"Yes, Mother. I already told you that!"

"You don’t have to snap at me!"

Several more sharks, a Great White included, now joined the excitement.

"Mother, I’m a bit busy right now. I’ll talk to you later."

"But Lamar! I-"

I set the receiver gently on the hook and took another big swallow of Pabst. That sure is good beer, man! I turned the volume back up.

"Look at ‘em go!" said the narrator. "It’s a genuine frenzy! Chewing and ripping at the seal’s soft flesh and...oh, my God!" I sat up suddenly. My eyes wide, glued to the television. The camera began to shake, then waver this way and that. A fresh surge of blood clouded the water. "My God!" shouted the frantic narrator. "They’re...oh, my God!" The picture filled with hectic bubbles, large teeth, unidentifiable thrashing movement, more blood, and then the camera, now facing towards the surface, began to sink slowly to the bottom. The last image was of a huge shark gliding overhead, a mangled human arm gripped tightly in its jaws.

The phone rang a third time.

"Hello?" I said.

"I hate you!" said Brenda Gruenaugen’s sister.

"Good," I said.

She hung up.