It All Started With a Seagull, a novelette (Part 2: No Bueno)

As Tristan and Mallory continued making their way down Isla Verde Avenue and trying their luck with the many hotels that lined the street, it was impossible for them to enjoy the rich culture they had come to Puerto Rico for. The festive reggaeton and salsa music seemed to be mocking them with its happiness, and they couldn’t even enjoy the food properly. Desperate to fill their stomachs with something, they grabbed some pastelillos de carne from a food truck, the cheapest thing they could find. The meal was delicious, but the anxiety and fear in their stomachs made the heavy meat and pastry sit in their guts like a rock.

They were also, however, encountering a much bigger dilemma, one that couldn’t be solved with Pepto-Bismol. Every hotel they asked for a room, both upscale and modest, was refusing to serve them. Apparently, they had gained a reputation around the area for the seagull incident, and word of their misconduct was spreading around the island like wildfire.

“Ugh, how the fuck is this even possible, Tristan?!” Mallory cried in distress after they had been rejected by their fifth hotel in a row. “Adolfo’s first thought is to just call every hotel on the street and blackball us? Really?”

“Apparently they really don’t fuck with tourists around here,” Tristan sighed, defeated. “What are we gonna do about this bill? Put it on the credit card and go into debt for this shit?”

“I mean, we’re only here for a few more days,” Mallory pointed out. “God knows where we’re staying, we’ll sleep on the streets if we have to. But we’re going back to Detroit. Do you really think the Führer back there is going to send some debt collector goons after us back to the States?”

“Maybe!” Tristan said. “It’s not like we’re crossing country lines. Puerto Rico's a U.S. territory, they’ll still have jurisdiction over us. Plus that bill is WAY over the limit of any of our credit cards. You should know that, Miss Finance Chick.”

“Oh, that stuff is very tangential to my field,” Mallory groaned with an eye roll. “And don’t talk to me about not knowing your field of expertise, Mr. Bird Man. You’re the one who let the little fucker into the room.”

“Well, EXCU-USE ME for not predicting that it would behave completely out of character for its species,” Tristan defended himself. “And you’re the one who let him into the lobby and let all hell break loose!”

“Oh, fuck off, dude!”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t be filing those divorce papers yet, you two!” cried an amiable-sounding male voice out of nowhere. 

The fighting couple turned around to see a tall, slender, striking man of around forty, donning slicked-back black hair similar to Adolfo’s, but with no mustache. He wore a big, flashy, red-and-white checkered suit, fish-decorated tie, and the smile of a used-car salesman, he carried an undeniably friendly tone in his voice.

“Raul Bueno, attorney at law,” he introduced himself, producing a sleek eggshell-white business card with raised lettering. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but sounds like you two are in a bit of a pickle, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll say,” Mallory said, crossing her arms and looking away from Tristan.

“Definitely,” Tristan agreed, engaging Raul in a hearty handshake. “Can you help us fight back against an unfair hotel damage bill?”

Raul scoffed and waved his hand. 

“You absolutely bet your ass I can,” he promised. “By the time I get done with those guys in court, they’ll be paying YOU damages. Come meet me in my office on Ponce de León Ave, the address is right on the card there. We’re gonna make these clowns wish they never dared to mess with you.”

“How do you think he was so confident right away?” Mallory asked Tristan as they entered Raul’s sleek corporate office building in San Juan's financial district, having taken their rental car there. “We didn’t even tell him any details of what’s going on.”

“The man’s a professional, I guess,” Tristan shrugged. “Sure has no shortage of confidence. If he’s faking it, he should be a professional actor.”

“He might be one, we don’t know.”

“Whatever.”

Tristan swung open the heavy glass door of Raul’s office, which had an engraving of his smiling mug carved into the glass.

“Hi, Raul.”

“Why, hello, my most wonderful clients,” Raul greeted them, stepping down from his desk to shake both of their hands. “Pop yourselves a little squat and let’s talk turkey. Can I get the lovely couple something to drink?”

“No thanks,” Mallory said nervously.

“Very well then,” Raul continued. “So tell me about your hotel issue you’re having and I’ll see how we can set these bastards straight.”

He went back up the steps to his big brown cocobolo desk, which sat about ten feet off the ground, and kicked his feet up on the desk as he looked down at his clients. As Tristan and Mallory explained the situation to Raul from their lowly chairs, they watched his face contort into many different ponderous expressions, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. The more they explained, the more he started to nod his head and smile, looking increasingly sure of himself.

“Very good, very good,” Raul chirped enthusiastically when they were done. “Well, it certainly seems to me like you two are up a creek without a paddle. You’re looking at an absolutely crushing, life-changing level of debt right now. But the good news is, I can resolve this completely for you and get all of that malarkey off your plate. I will file a motion with the San Juan Judicial Center today to protest these charges, and we will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the entirety of the damage was the seagull’s fault and not yours.”

He laid back in his chair and smiled with his arms crossed, looking pleased with himself.

“I mean, they know that, though,” Tristan pointed out. “But they can’t charge the seagull. It’s whoever let the seagull in that’s responsible.”

"The bird does not have a bank account," Mallory said with an eye roll.

“So … we frame someone else for letting the seagull in, and they pay! Boom! It’s that simple!” Raul cried, gesturing with his hands to his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway, we’re just going to go ahead and get your credit card on file for one small deposit of $9,999.99, and then I’ll go down to the courthouse tomorrow and get that motion filed.”

Tristan and Mallory looked at each other in fear, then gazed back at Raul. It was a gamble, but if they could avoid having to face an even more crushing level of debt, it would all be worth it.

“Okay,” Mallory said with a deep breath, standing up and handing Raul her credit card as he grinned like a kid in a candy store. “Thank you, Raul.”

“You’re telling me we didn’t even get the guy’s goddamn PHONE NUMBER?!” Tristan screamed, red in the face, as he paced around the kitchen counter in their apartment. They were mercifully back home in Detroit after spending a few near-sleepless nights on the streets of San Juan, but had just realized they had no way of getting in touch with Raul for an update on their case.

“I mean, we have his business card,” Mallory sighed in exasperation. “But there’s no phone number or email or anything. Only his address in Puerto Rico, where we’re not anymore!”

“Fuck, Mal, I thought you were supposed to be the one to pay attention to detail,” he groaned.

“Oh, why is it all my fault all of a sudden?” she argued. “We both got ourselves into this bullshit.”

“You’re the one who handed the man your credit card and paid him! That card is maxed out now! We can’t use it for the big debt!”

“Well, YOU’RE the one who was SO convinced he was a legit professional! We’re never seeing that fucking money again!”

Mallory left the kitchen and stormed to their bedroom in tears, slamming the door behind her. In a near-catatonic state of shock, Tristan sat at the kitchen counter and just stared into space for a little while. Finally, he pulled out his phone, Googled “Raul Bueno, attorney at law,” and read the first few reviews he found on Yelp, each carrying a one-star rating:

“SCAM ARTIST! STAY AWAY!!!!!” 

“Reporting this man to the Supreme Court of Puerto Rico. Took my initial deposit and never contacted me back.”

“Got his services free for many years, thx to my many talents ;) but lost my kidnapping suit to my stupid ex and he made me start paying again wtffff :(“

Tristan slammed his phone down, put his head on the counter, and started silently sobbing. They really were never seeing that fucking money again, and now their marriage was starting to show serious cracks. How had it come to this?

That night, for the first time since they had moved in together five years ago, Tristan slept on the couch.

“Mallory, we need to speak for a moment. Please come to my office,” read the Microsoft Teams message from Mallory’s boss, Julie Pelota, on her first day back in the office at J&P Sphere Accounting.

Mallory rolled her eyes, then gulped. She wasn’t sure what she had done — at least to Julie — but Julie had seemed to increasingly have a stick up her ass lately. It hadn’t gone over particularly well when she’d told Julie she was taking a week off. I can’t get fired for going on my honeymoon, right? she wondered. Right? 

“Hello, Mallory,” Julie said sternly as she approached. A severe woman in her mid-sixties, Julie wore a navy blue pantsuit, short gray hair pulled up in a tight bun, and small round spectacles held to her face by an old-fashioned wire. She had been a senior partner at J&P for the past three-plus decades.

“Morning, Julie,” Mallory said nervously, sitting down. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Julie said. “I just wanted to bring up something I had seen in the news the other day regarding you and your husband.”

Startled, Mallory almost did a double take. “Wh-what?”

“I think you know what I’m referring to,” Julie said, speaking like she was a misbehaving child.

“No, I don’t? We were in the news?”

“Yes, my husband and I watch Telemundo Puerto Rico to keep up with the news down on the island. There was a story of a very problematic couple who just … absolutely wreaked havoc on an entire beautiful hotel building. I mean, we’re talking … hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damages. I can’t even begin to imagine.” Julie put her head in her hands and leaned over the desk, taking a deep breath as she empathized with the hotel owner. “And I saw you and your husband on the news. I know it was you, Mallory. I know it was you.”

“Julie, I’m as shocked as you are. I didn’t even know that ended up on TV,” Mallory choked out in disbelief. “I can explain. There was a seagull that flew into our hotel room just … out of nowhere from the balcony. We were trying to get rid of it, and it got into the halls and everywhere. All over the place. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone or anything. It was a complete and total disaster, and we’re deep, deep in the hole with debt now, and I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Her eyes started welling up with tears.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can believe you and Tristan were being anything but completely and utterly reckless and irresponsible,” Julie insisted. “Isn’t he a bird scientist? How could you two be so foolish as to allow a bird into that establishment and cause so much property damage? And then it gets even worse with the security camera footage. You two were running around the halls in your underwear? At least have the decency to put on some clothing instead of prancing around in public like a shameless little hussy! You are representing our company everywhere you go, and I expect you to dress like a respectable woman.”

Mallory groaned and rolled her eyes. “Julie, we were just trying to hurry and catch the bird before it did more damage. I apologize for any harm to the company's reputation.”

“Well, I accept your apology, but unfortunately, it’s come a little bit too late,” Julie said sternly. “I have already written your notice of termination, and I expect you to clean out your desk, effective immediately. We cannot have valuable clients coming into this office and expecting someone who has displayed this type of behavior to effectively perform their taxes. I’m afraid this is the end, Mallory.”

As casually as anything she had ever done, Julie slid a small pink slip of paper across the desk. Across the top, it read NOTICE OF TERMINATION, with her employee ID number. Mallory couldn’t hold it in any longer. She broke down into full-on sobs.

“Now, it is also this type of conduct that makes you a poor fit here at J&P Sphere,” Julie said icily, getting up and opening the door for her. “You need to learn to better control your emotions. This is unprofessional behavior.”

“FUCK YOU, JULIE!” Mallory barked in her face between tears, and this could not have been more satisfying. As Julie recoiled in shock, Mallory stormed out into the main cubicle farm, hastily packed her belongings, and strode out of the J&P Sphere office, never to be seen or heard from again.

Dr. Eugene Sheldon’s bald, sweaty forehead glistened in the fluorescent lights of his office at the Dalton College Lab of Ornithology, an office decorated nearly from ceiling to floor with his numerous degrees from esteemed scientific institutions. Dr. Sheldon was a highly acclaimed figure in the ornithology world. With his tall, gawky physique and craggy facial features, he rather resembled a bird himself, and he had been devoting his life to studying them for decades now. His lengthy eyebrows, which nearly combined to form a unibrow, furrowed as he squinted at his assistant Tristan across the desk and tried to process what had just been asked of him.

“You don’t think I’m paying you enough?” he questioned, slowly and deliberately.

“I didn’t say that, sir,” Tristan nervously clarified. “I’m just saying that my wife and I have run into some financial problems, and we’re in a very difficult place right now. I think I’ve been consistently putting together valuable research for you since I’ve gotten here. I just wanted to see if there is any possible flexibility when it comes to my level of compensation.”

Tristan had never asked for a raise before — or even negotiated his salary. This kind of thing wasn’t normally in his DNA. He specialized in the hard skills, not the soft skills. But things were so grim with the heaping mountain of debt they had accumulated — owed mostly to the Malsuerte since they had long since maxed out their credit cards — that Mallory had all but made him promise to ask. Judging by the expressions on Dr. Sheldon’s face, however, his request wasn’t going over all too well. The head honcho sighed, wiped sweat from his brow, and sat back in his chair, arms folded.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Tristan, and I’m going to be brutally honest,” Dr. Sheldon said. “Your level of scientific and ornithological expertise does not come remotely close to meriting such a request. In fact, out of the all assistants I have worked with over the years, you have proven the least knowledgeable in multiple facets of bird studies — including but not limited to anatomy and physiology, migration habits, and identifying a specimen's behavioral traits, such as level of aggression.”

He gave Tristan a sideways eye. Does he know? Tristan wondered.

“Okay, I’ll keep studying those areas and try to get better,” Tristan said meekly. “Just thought I would ask.”

Dr. Sheldon let out a spiteful laugh. “Well, there’s not much purpose in asking questions to which you already know the answers,” he said. “You, as a scientist, should know that. I find your request unreasonable and, quite honestly, insulting.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Tristan said, quickly and nervously. How dare this pompous prick talk to me like this, he thought. He now knew how he would be spending his night — browsing job boards on LinkedIn for his next gig. Dr. Sheldon shook his head sadly.

“I’m afraid sorry isn’t going to cut it, Tristan,” the good doctor said. “You know money is tight in the department here. I think you should be more concerned with putting the Lab of Ornithology first when asking these questions. For that reason, I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.”

“WHAT?!” Tristan was shellshocked, and the word burst out of him. His head suddenly felt like it was spinning at a million miles an hour. “It’s okay that you can’t give me a raise, I get it!”

“Your understanding has come too late, Mr. Devlin,” Dr. Sheldon said sternly. “Now please clean out your desk and leave our laboratory. You are no longer a part of our Dalton family.”

Tristan sat there and stared into space for a moment in disbelief, almost in a catatonic state, losing track of time and where he was. Finally, Dr. Sheldon intervened.

“TRISTAN. NOW.”

Head down in shame, Tristan took the long, slow walk out of the lab. He had a feeling he would be sleeping on the couch again tonight.

“What the fuck?! You got fired too?!” Mallory cried in disbelief.

“Wait, huh? You got fired?!” Tristan yelped back.

“Yes, I got fired! That’s why I’ve barely said a word to you all night!”

“I thought that was because you were mad at me.”

They were both silent as they looked down at the living-room floor in a reflective moment of sadness.

“No, I was just trying to figure out how to tell you,” Mallory explained. “But now I know you have the same problem. What the hell happened?”

“Well, I had the nerve — the absolute fucking gall — to ask for that raise you asked me to ask for. And Dr. Sheldon’s crusty ass decided to can me. Un-fucking-believable.”

“Oh, hell to the no!” Mallory cried. “You can’t blame me! And it can’t be legal for him to do that. You should sue for wrongful termination.”

“I wasn’t blaming you, don’t jump to conclusions,” Tristan said in annoyance. “And I looked it up. Firing someone for that is a bad business practice, but it’s completely legal. We won’t have a case. And I don’t think we can afford to hire another damn lawyer for anything after what Raul stole from us.”

“You’re probably right,” Mallory sighed. “Oh my god, what are we gonna do about this fucking debt? We literally just don’t have the money. The interest will keep on stacking up forever.”

“Mal, try to stay positive here,” Tristan implored her. “We’ll chip away at it little by little with what we have, and eventually it’ll go away. It’s not like they’re gonna send collectors after us or anything.” He scoffed.

“I guess not.” Mallory didn’t quite seem convinced.

“So what happened with your job?”

Mallory rolled her eyes and sighed again. “Apparently Julie was watching the Puerto Rican news and saw coverage of our little incident. I didn’t realize it was unprofessional to be victimized by a big fucking crazy bird, but she couldn’t have me tarnishing the good J&P name any more.”

“Wait, we were on the Puerto Rican news?” Tristan had to laugh so he wouldn’t cry. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, not as ridiculous as getting fired for asking for a raise, but still pretty damn ridiculous. Does no one understand that this wasn’t our fault?”

“The world’s not waiting,” Mallory said blankly, staring into space as she slumped onto the couch in defeat. “The world doesn’t give a fuck if it was your fault or not. It only gives a fuck about the consequences. It chews you up and spits you right back out.”

“Well, we better figure out a way to get back in the world’s fuckin’ mouth real quick,” Tristan said. “Rent’s coming up, and it’s not gonna pay itself.”

He crashed onto the couch and tried to snuggle up to Mallory, only for her to scoot away. Right at that moment, they heard a sharp, urgent knock on the apartment door.

“Oh God, what now?” Mallory groaned.

Tristan got up and looked out through the peephole. “What the fuck?”

“DPD! Open up!”

They looked at each other with fear in their eyes before Tristan opened the door in a panic.

“Yes, how can we help you?” Tristan asked nervously, trying to sound professional.

The two people at the door were not exactly who they had expected. One of them — as expected — was a cop, a hefty middle-aged black woman. The other was a gangly black-haired man with a mustache who looked almost like Adolfo the hotel tyrant, but not quite. Something was oddly familiar about him, but Tristan and Mallory couldn’t quite place where they had seen him. He wore a plain blue polo shirt and khakis and, most jarringly, was being held in handcuffs by the policewoman, hands behind his back. The man was the first to speak.

“Yes, my name is Salvatore James with the Shamoa Collections Agency of Michigan,” he said, sounding just a little too Midwestern. “I was told you two have an outstanding debt to take care of with the Malsuerte Hotel. I don’t want to be the bad guy, but as you can see, the police have gotten involved here, and I’m about to be up a creek without a paddle if I can’t get you guys to cough it up.” He chuckled nervously.

“You bet your sweet ass you will be, boy,” the officer said, cracking Salvatore on the backside with a wooden baton before turning to Tristan and Mallory. “I’m officer Rhonda Reese with the Detroit Police Department. You see what happened to Sal here. He wasn’t able to collect your debt owed to the Malsuerte on time, and now he has to pay the price. $300,000 is an unacceptable amount of debt to be left outstanding. Now, we have a card reader right here.” She produced it from her uniform pocket. “I’m going to need you two to solve this little problem of yours, or you will be placed under federal arrest.”

Tristan and Mallory looked at each other and tried not to laugh. What the actual fuck?

“Um, I don’t think this is how debt collection normally works,” Mallory ventured.

“Well, the city of Detroit doesn’t pay me to be normal, ma’am,” Rhonda snapped back sassily. 

“We literally do not have $300,000,” Tristan explained. “It is not in our bank accounts. We only have like, $8,000 in there. Total.”

The collector and the lady cop looked at each other for a second, then out of nowhere, Rhonda pulled her Glock 19 from its holster and pointed it directly at Tristan’s head. An alarmed Tristan and Mallory put their hands up in a panic.

“Smells like some bullshit to me, boy,” Rhonda said venomously, digging the gun into his skull. “We’re going to charge that card for whatever is on there right now, and we don’t plan to forget about the rest. Now you best be handing over that debit card, or we’re gonna have a serious problem.”

Hands trembling in fear, Tristan fumbled for his wallet before handing over the card, which she placed in the chip reader.

“Enter that motherfuckin’ PIN before I break this bullet off in your head!”

A few seconds later, the remainder of his bank account was history.

“Guys, I promise I didn’t want to make you do this,” Salvatore sputtered pathetically. “I tried to hold out for as long as possible, then she came after me.”

“You too, blondie! Gimme that card!” Rhonda cried as she pointed the Glock at Mallory, who rolled her eyes in exasperation as she coughed it up.

After a few more brief moments, the menacing duo was out of their hair, but their problems were growing worse by the second. With rent due the next day, Tristan and Mallory knew they were in serious trouble.

“What kind of corrupt, fuck-ass-backwards cop would do something like that?!” Mallory cried, beside herself as she facepalmed at the kitchen table. “I mean, I know the criminal justice system is fucked, but this is just out of control. Our lives are actually being destroyed here, and they just GLEEFULLY partake in the corruption! It’s like there’s some kind of conspiracy against us.”

Three months had passed since Salvatore and Rhonda’s visit, and the outlook hadn’t gotten any rosier for the once-happy couple. With all of their savings drained by the Malsuerte and a mountain of debt still to cover, they needed income like a fish needed water. Unfortunately, they were still suffocating. Neither of them had been able to land a new job despite numerous interviews, nor had they been approved for unemployment benefits. They were barely scraping by on food and necessities thanks to marginal help from friends and family, but no one in their lives was well off enough to really make a difference. Plus, they anticipated the return of the collector and the cop any day to snatch away anything they might manage to save. Adding insult to injury, tensions between the two of them had only continued to grow, and Mallory was starting to feel sicker and sicker every morning.

“Oh, there’s no conspiracy,” Tristan brushed her off. “It’s just a ton of bad luck, one thing after another. You gotta keep your head up and stay positive.”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of your ‘stay positive’ bullshit!” she clapped back. “I’ve been trying to stay positive for four fuckin’ months, and … barely a single good thing has happened! I’m sick of this shit!” 

She stormed to the kitchen and started mixing some ham, cucumber, and grape jelly into a sandwich — a few of the items they’d picked up at the local homeless shelter.

“Believe me, I’m sick of this shit too,” Tristan agreed. “But getting all emotional and up in arms and negative isn’t going to help anything. I don’t want to be that guy, but … is it getting to be that time of month? You weren’t acting like this last week.”

“Really? You’re gonna play that card?” Mallory folded her arms across her chest as she rolled her eyes. “Typical man question to ask.”

“Well, is it? I think it’s a valid question and could explain why you’re feeling this way.” She glared at him. “Tristan, I’m two weeks late. You should know that.”

“Oh, sorry for not having your schedule memorized," Tristan apologized sarcastically. “Does that mean …?”

“I don’t know, Tristan,” she said, sounding full of dread. “I don’t know.”

All of a sudden, they heard a loud pounding on the apartment door. They both jumped in anticipation of Salvatore and Rhonda’s return, but when Tristan looked through the peephole, he didn’t see anyone. He did, however, see a pink slip that had been left on the door handle, the second pink slip they each had seen in the past few months. If possible, this one was even more unwelcome than the first. It read:

EVICTION NOTICE

You are hereby required to vacate. Failure to vacate will result in legal proceedings, attorney fees, court costs, and penalty damages.

“What is that?” Mallory cried in distress. “What the hell is that, Tristan?!”

Sheepishly, he put his head down and handed her the paper. Mallory was so stunned, she started smiling and nodding her head in a sarcastic display of “excitement.”

“Nice,” she said. “Really fucking nice. Three months of unpaid rent and this is how they treat us?! What the fuck is wrong with this place?”

“We had to know it was coming eventually,” Tristan said solemnly. “Now let’s grab our stuff and get the fuck out of here before they send some other goons after us.”

"And go where?” Mallory pointed out. “We could ask Lauren and Tyler to crash there, but they don’t have room for two extra people! We’re going to be on the street. We’re homeless, Tristan! Do you understand that? HOMELESS!”

“What about your parents? They have some extra space until we get back on our feet, don’t they?”

“They do, but I don’t think they’re going to be too keen on having us stay after your little incident with Aunt Belinda. Maybe next time, don’t bring up politics at Thanksgiving dinner!”

“Maybe next time, don’t have problematic family members with bad opinions!” Tristan was fed up. “What is with all this venom directed at me lately anyway? This is just as much your fault as mine. You let the bird out into the lobby. We could’ve gotten out of there!”

“Motherfucker …” Mallory put her hands to her head and groaned, completely done. “You’re the one who let him into the goddamn room to begin with. And you’re the man, you’re supposed to be the provider!”

“Mallory, you got fired just like I did!” he cried, getting defensive. “I thought we agreed this marriage would be fifty-fifty, and now you’re shaming me and acting like it’s all my fault! I don’t even know if I want to be the father of your child!”

The words hit Mallory like cinder blocks, and Tristan instantly felt bad. After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, both of them looking down at the ground, Mallory got up and started packing her belongings.

“Fuck this,” she muttered. “I don’t want you to be the father of my child either. This is not what I want. I can do better. I’m going to go out on the streets and fend for myself.”

A few minutes later, she was out the door, leaving Tristan lying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He tossed a foam baseball up in the air over and over again, trying to process what had just happened. Seriously, how has it come to this?

To be continued ...

Part 1: Gulliver's Travesty