Jailbait Read Online Free

woman’s responsibility?” she asked. “Why didn’t you wear a condom?”
    “Because everyone knows the birth control properties of condoms are an urban legend spread by feminists who don’t want men to ever be happy.” I walked over to my coat closet and pulled the door open.
    “Where the hell are you going?” Tangi demanded.
    “I’m looking for a coat hanger. I saw a video on YouTube how to fix this.”
    “I’m almost eight months pregnant, Harry.”
    “You’re right. What the hell was I thinking? I’ll need something bigger than a coat hanger.”
    I shut the closet door and turned back to face her. She was still pregnant.
    Damn.
    “I’m having this baby, Harry.
We’re
having the baby.”
    “No,
you’re
having it. I don’t have anything growing inside my body, making me look like the Buddha.”
    Tangi cradled her belly, and, son of a bitch, her lower lip began to tremble.
    Careful, McGlade. She’s a pickpocket and a thief and a liar. Don’t fall for her tricks.
    “I get it,” I said. “You want money. I’m a stand-up guy. I’ll pay for half the medical bills. But I get half the cash when we sell the kid on the black market.”
    “I’m not selling this baby. I’m keeping it.”
    “We could make a lot of dough, if it’s healthy. Is it healthy? Did you get one of those tests done to see if it’s a retard or has eleven toes? Or has one of those big waterheads? You can’t sell those waterhead babies. You can’t even give them away.”
    “Harry…”
    “Maybe they could drain the head at the hospital. Stick a little faucet in it or something.”
    “Harry… goddamnit…”And then the tears came. Waves of tears, followed by full body sobs.
    Being a sensitive guy, I left her alone until she finished. I went into the kitchen and made a sandwich, but in my irritated state, I went too heavy on the mustard, and it seared through my sinuses on the first bite. I ate it anyway. It was expensive mustard, and I didn’t want to waste it.
    After a few minutes, Tangi called to me. “Harry?”
    “I’m in the kitchen, eating a sandwich,” I answered, mouth full. “There’s none left so you can’t have any.”
    “Harry,” her voice wavered. “We really need to talk about this.”
    “Nothing to talk about. I’m not Jesus. I can’t multiply one sandwich into two.”
    She stopped in the arched doorway leading into the kitchen and peered at me with reddened eyes. “The baby, Harry. We need to talk about the baby.”
    “I’m listening,” I said, though it was tough to hear above the crunch of sourdough bread.
    She stroked her belly. “I can’t have this baby alone.”
    “You won’t be alone. There will be a doctor in there with you, probably some nurses.”
    She didn’t say anything. After a moment, she padded out of there.
    I opened the refrigerator and made myself a second sandwich, this one without so much mustard. I took a big bite and wandered back into the living room.
    Tangi was gone.
    During the next twenty-four hours, I thought a lot about what I’d done wrong. I should have followed the “less is more” rule, and gone easy on the mustard. If you slather too much on, it just overpowers everything.
    I also thought about Tangi for a little bit.
    If there were two people any less suited to having a child, I couldn’t name them. She was a criminal who knew how to bump locks and pick pockets. I was an aging, rich bachelor who didn’t want to get tied down. At least, not to a family. I didn’t mind the occasional kinky stuff.
    Having a child wasn’t on my list of things to do before I died. A kid would seriously cramp my style. I wouldn’t even make a good weekend father, because my weekends were spent doing something very important to me: sleeping in then drinking beer.
    I certainly couldn’t see having any kind of relationship with Tangi. Not when she gave up the punani so quickly. I mean, jeez, easy much?
    Like any new expectant father, I played the “can I murder her and