Anaideia 25

I threw Vic over my shoulder and carried his beaten and battered body back to the dirt road. Dale and Jim tried to keep up. I struggled to stay on my feet with Vic whimpering and only adrenaline kept me going. The small piece of civilization on the desert plain was only a couple miles ahead and when we reached it on swollen feet we discovered it was a one horse town. Down its main street, I went from store front to store front in a desperate search for medical attention. There was a small tin building off to the side that read the name “Dr. Lyle Lester” and I busted in through the front door.

“Help! My friend is dying!” I shout.

The lone doctor stood up from behind the reception desk and shrugged. “But I’m just a simple chiropractor,” he said.

“Goddamnit! You’re a doctor! Do something!”

“But I don’t have the medical training to help a wounded man!”

I laid Vic down on the stained corduroy couch and pulled out my Uzi. “You can do something and you WILL do something!” I said.

The doctor complied.

Dale and Jim caught up to me and we carried Vic into an operating room and laid him on the table. “All I have is this gauze to stop the bleeding,” the doctor said.

“Good enough,” I said. “What about some painkillers?”

The doctor stated to stammer. “Uh, all I got is some methadone,” he said.

“Do chiropractors usually carry methadone?” asked Dale.

The doctor said nothing.

Vic was pumped full of the medicine and his head was stitched up with the bleeding stopped. Within minutes he appeared to be in a daze. The doctor cleaned up his hands and gave us advice. “You need to take him to a hospital,” he said, “like, right now.”

I nodded and started to lift Vic’s body. But he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me close. “Don’t take me to the hospital,” he ordered.

“Vic, it’s alright…”

“No,” he interrupted, “I’m going after Penelope. Tonight!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I said. “We got out of there alive! No need to test fate!”

Then he pulled me closer. “If you take me to the hospital, I will KILL YOU!” he uttered. He gurgled a few more unintelligible words then passed out.

“Get him the fuck out of my office,” the doctor ordered.

“But doc,” I pleaded, “we’ve got nowhere to go…”

“Shut up and get out.”

Dale and I carried a limp Vic to a nearby no-tell motel and the receptionist looked at us sideways. “We don’t get too many of your kind,” he said.

“Just give us a goddamn room,” I said.

“Alright, that’ll be $39.99 an hour.”

“What?! I can find rent cheaper than that in Los Angeles!” I argued.

Dale took me aside and calmed me. “Relax,” he said, “let me handle this.” From under his trench coat, he pulled out the AK-47 and pointed it at the receptionist. “Will it be 39 bucks or 39 bullets bucko?” he asked.

The receptionist soiled himself and handed us a key. “Check out is at 11am,” he said.

I grabbed the key then picked up Vic by his feet while Dale took his arms and we dragged his body to the suite door. I unlocked it and inside reeked of bleach like old and crusted semen. “I feel right at home,” Dale said as he plopped down on the bed. I laid Vic next to him.

“I’ll stay here with Vic,” I said. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you Dale, but I need you to do one more thing. Find a way to get back to Los Angeles and take Old Jim with you. See if he has any family and…”

“I ain’t goin nowheres,” Old Jim declared.

“Jim, be reasonable…,” I said.

“If you’re gonna go huntin for Penelope, I’m goin with ya.”

“But it’s too dangerous…”

“I can handle my own out there. I know what I’m doin. I may be old but I can still shoot the pecker off a bull…”

“Alright, alright…,” I interrupted. “But we’re gonna need some supplies before we head back out there. Dale, what are you gonna do?”

Dale laid on the bed with arms folded behind his head. He contemplated for a moment before lifting his leg to release a massive ass fart. “Well, I reckon I don’t have much else to do since my wife left me and I got laid off at the toilet factory. I suppose I’ll go back out there with y’all.”

I shook my head and rubbed my face. “I guess that settles it then,” I said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 24

I was the first to rush out of the van and I sprinted 80 or so yards past the dirt road and took position. Next up was Dale and he posted up slightly behind me to the right on the other side of the road. Vic soon followed and escorted Jim as quickly as possible to the far right flank.

“I’ll take point,” offered Old Jim.

“Don’t be stupid! I’m an experienced hunter! I’ll take point!” said Vic.

“I’m an old man,” said Jim. “I know Penelope better than anyone.”

With little time to argue, Vic reluctantly agreed and took his position on the far right. Jim proceeded to the front in the middle of the dirt road and we pushed forward. In actuality, we were all on point. Our diamond or rugged ‘S’ shaped formation was designed specifically so that if one of us was jeopardized then each position would have an open shot without having to adjust. This was our “net” to catch and kill Penelope.

At least that was the theory.

As we slowly pushed through the darkness and towards the pass, Dale shouted from the rear. “Hey Jim! How big of a bitch is Penelope?!” he asked.

Jim casually strolled forward and nonchalantly answered. “Oh, about seven to nine feet,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Dale responded. “I once banged a seven foot whore in Tajikistan. She had a big ol pair…”

“Keep your voice down Dale!” I ordered.

Vic shouted from the right flank “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She knows we’re out here. She’s probably watching our every move.”

Despite this reasoning, we pushed forward silently. A few miles down the road we reached the pass. This was the pinch point. Our formation had little choice but to grow in tighter as the walls of a former river nearly engulfed us. It was as dark as dark could be. Not having laid eyes on the pass in daylight, I called out to Vic. “How high are the walls?” I shout.

“About 30 to 40 feet,” he said.

“Jim, how are your eyes?” I say.

“Good enough to see a gnats pecker,” he said.

“Keep your eyes open to the front,” I order. “Dale, you cover the rear. Vic and I will watch the top of the walls.”

In total darkness, all we could look out for was silhouettes against a night sky. As we penetrated deeper into the pass, it appeared our strategy was working. Despite the immense distance between the former Candyland tavern and the other side of the pass, the hours merely felt like minutes in a way that only the fear of death could provide. Sunup was nearing. The night skies were blueing and the opening of the pass was in sight.

“We made it!” Dale cheerfully declared.

This was the first time I had been on this side of the mountain range in over two months. The dirt road leading into the pass reappeared and gently sloped down into a small town in the faraway distance. We collectively breathed a sigh of relief as the morning sun illuminated the desert horizon.

“Unbelievable!” Vic shouted.

“I’ll be goddamned,” chimed in Dale. “Maybe there’s a god after all.”

Old Jim continued to lead the way forward to a small creek flowing down the slope. With the end in sight, the mood of the group shifted and we laid down our weapons. Vic knelt beside the creek to refill his canteen. When he topped it off, he stood up and did a panoramic view of his surroundings. “We should keep moving,” he said as he took a swig.

“I agree,” Dale said as he pissed a heavy stream into the creek.

“Don’t piss for too long,” Old Jim spoke. “Penelope might grab your pecker.”

“Nonsense,” said Vic. “Penelope is very territorial. She keeps a limited range. We almost certainly escaped her clutches. Besides she’s mostly nocturnal.” He then lifted his cattleman to wipe sweat from his brow. But without warning, a cool wind swept across the creek and a grayish blur latched itself onto Vic. The large creature pulled him to the ground and the two tussled with Penelope quickly gaining the upper hand. Painful grunting and piercing screeches filled the air as the rest of us scrambled to react. I emptied an entire Uzi clip into the ground as I struggled to gain aim and Dale pissed on himself then fell into the water. Only Jim maintained composure as he fired the Browning skillfully into Penelope’s hardened skin. But Vic seemingly fought futility as he was dwarfed by the enormous creature. Finally, blinded by a bloodied face, Vic resorted to his only proven method of defense against Penelope as he reached for his Bowie knife and plowed it into her neck and causing copious amount of yellowish blood to splatter on the ground. She loudly screeched before Dale climbed out of the water and fired his AK-47 indiscriminately into her direction. Penelope scampered away towards a nearby ridge as bullets flew.

“Welcome to earth WHORE!” Dale shouted thinking he saved the day.

But Vic was writhing on the ground and with Penelope well out of sight, I rush to his side. “Vic! Vic! Are you okay?” I screamed. I finally gained control of him and while he screamed in agony I noticed his right eyeball was pulled cleanly from its socket.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 23

Dale’s ass tormented us in the minutes after Karl’s fatal abduction. The van already reeked of sardine cans and discarded piss cups and his unceasing flatulence only compounded the issue. I couldn’t think straight. An unholy demon was stalking us and my judgement was clouded by the stench of funk ass.

“Dale have you ever considered getting on simethicone?” I ask.

“Poppycock,” he retorted. “God gave me this ass! And by golly! I plan to use it!”

But on more serious matters, in the front seat Vic and I concocted a plan of escape. It was once again a moonless sky and we were shrouded in deep and total darkness. “Are you certain that it’s Penelope you saw out there?” he asked me.

“Absolutely! It’s hard to mistake a bigass naked woman.”

“Christ,” Vic uttered the slammed the edge of his Bowie knife into the floorboard.

“What? You don’t believe me?” I ask.

“Oh I believe you mate,” he said. “I’ve seen her before. I thought I’d never see her again.”

“You’ve seen her before?”

“Aye. I was bear huntin’ near San Gabriel when I saw her standing on a ridge naked as the day she was born. I thought me eyes were deceiving me, mate. I was meters away but her eyes haunted me. They glowed like the fires of Antares and I knew she was fixin to kill me. I raised me rifle but like a flash she appeared in front of me and knocked me to the ground and tore into me flesh like a rabid wolf. Me mind knew I was as good as dead but my body didn’t give in. My arm lurched forward and grabbed her by the neck n’ with me knife in the other hand I stabbed her in the eye and she shrieked a noise I could never forget. She crawled away and ran off into the brush. And like that she was gone like a phantom in broad daylight. Gone as quickly as she appeared. I knew that I was the only man who lived to tell the tale. I swore from that day forth that I if I saw her again that I would kill her.”

“Vic, for all we know that could have been a different Penelope altogether. That was in California. This is Utah.”

“Nae mate,” he said. “Some things in this world cannot be explained. I’m the only man who ever ripped away certain death from her clutches. I know she’s coming for me.”

“I think we’re losing the thread here,” I said. “Our primary focus should be getting out of this basin alive. After that you can return and strangle Penelope til you’re blue in the face. But until then we need to make it through the pass.”

“Aye,” agreed Vic, “each man will need to carry a weapon.”

“What about Old Jim?”

I turn to Jim in the backseat who was still cool as a cucumber as he quietly hummed A Mighty Fortress is our God. I turn back to Vic. “Do you think we should leave Jim here and retrieve him in daylight hours after we make it into town?”

“Nae mate,” he said. “He’ll never survive the night.”

“Young pup,” Jim said in a rare moment of lucidity, “I may be an old man and shit my pants every night but I can still shoot the dick off a gnat. If you’re going up against Penelope, you’ll need every help you can get.”

“That’s settles it then,” I nodded. I shout to Dale in the back who was occupying himself with Pokémon on Gameboy. “Dale, have you ever shot a gun before?”

Dale looked up and thought. “No,” he said. “I’ve held one to my temple a few times but I never fired it.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I said.

Vic pulled a black duffel bag from under the passenger seat and unzipped it. Inside was Stewart Rhodes’ wet dream: mortar rounds, grenades, an AK, a few Uzis, and everything to fight off a small army.

“How do you find this shit, Vic?” I ask.

“One can never be too prepared,” he said.

We distributed the weapons around to the four of us. “Remember,” I warned Dale when handing him the AK-47, “make sure it’s pointed away from you before firing.” I naturally took an Uzi and gave the Jim the Browning. Then we set out a game plan: we’d stagger out of the van and fan out a few meters away from the other to form a ‘net’. There was no guarantee of survival for everyone. But if Penelope snatched one of us up, she’d be caught in the line of fire.

Before opening the sliding door, I had one more line of encouragement. “Remember, she’s quick as lightening so keep your eyes sharp,” I said. “Also, thank you all for rescuing me. I didn’t think I had so many friend in the world.”

I looked into the eyes of the three: Vic was determined and ready; Old Jim was at peace with the situation; Dale couldn’t have given less of a shit.

I put my hand on the lever and pulled. “Good hunting gentlemen,” I said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 21

The stranger came in like a desert apparition and approached the bar in his faded brown duster and spurred boots; his face was concealed by a dark gaiter and folded cattleman shielding his eyes. Silence befell the saloon as patrons quietly clutched their drinks. Burl the barman stood statuesque as ever with arms remaining crossed waiting for the stranger to speak. The words never came.

“What can I do you for, friend?” Randy shouted from the other side of the bar.

All eyes were on the stranger. He removed his cattleman revealing a magnificent mane of hair then lowered the gaiter. His chiseled features awed the women and whores. “I’m looking for James,” Vic spoke. His Scottish accent was recognizable from anywhere.

“Well it seems like you found him,” Randy said, resting his hand on my shoulder.

Vic reached into his duster and placed a six inch .357 Colt Python on the bar. “He’s coming with me,” he ordered.

Randy nervously chuckled. “Sir, I should remind you that weapons aren’t allowed on the premises,” he said.

“Aye, I know,” said Vic, “let him go and we’ll walk out of this establishment peacefully.”

Eyes shifted to Randy. Knowing his hand has been called, he leaned his head back and smiled. “Sure thing stranger,” he says. “Far be it from me to hold someone against their will.”

I clutch the Browning pistol tightly. I back away from Randy and inch closer to Vic on the other side of the bar. As I did, I see the Madam exit her room and tightening her robe while watching the unfolding scene from the balcony. Vic notices her too. With eyes distracted, Randy silently signals to Burl. The barman reaches below and pulls out a 12 gauge and aims it at Vic. With milliseconds to spare, the agile Scotsman grabs the Colt Python from the bartop and drops to the ground. Burl unleashes the shotgun which resulted in an explosion of shattered glass and splintered wood. I lift the Browning at Burl and fired. The bullet struck the barman in the left arm and he shrieked as blood splattered on whiskey bottles behind him. Then, like a bolt of lightning, Vic leapt over the bar and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and deflected a second round. Vic pushed the shotgun back into Burl’s ribs then ripped the weapon away and smacked the butt onto the barman’s nose.

Burl lay pathetically on the ground with hands in front of his face and nose bloodied. Vic stood over him, dropped the 12 gauge, and took out the Colt. While staring down the barrel, Burl began to shake and cry. “Marka odpusť mi,” the barman uttered in a foreign tongue. Vic pulled the trigger and the bullet lodged into the artery of his neck and the Madam screamed an ungodly sound from the balcony as blood pooled around the Scotsman’s boots.

Randy was petrified in awe. Patrons rushed quickly out of the saloon and with the barman dead, Vic and I aim our guns at the beleaguered bar owner. Only Jim remained sitting in the back, blissfully unaware of the commotion surrounding him while the Madam wept uncontrollably above.

“Is this how this is gonna go?” asked Randy with hands in the air.

“It seems like you left us with little option,” I said.

Randy was seeming remorseful and he closed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re right,” he said. “I should have known it would end this way. I should have told you the truth sooner.”

“I suppose it’s a little late for truths now,” I say.

“Is it?” he asks, opening his eyes. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I’ve kept you close all these years?”

I did know. I’ve always known. “Because you’re my father,” I say.

Randy was flabbergasted. “Well shit,” he said. “I guess I have no more tricks up my sleeve. Sorry James. I know I could have been a better father to you. You probably think you’re a better person than me. But it would take a real sicko to shoot ME, your own flesh and blood.”

I could hear Vic cocking his Colt. “I guess that makes me a humanitarian,” the Scotsman said.

But before he could get a shot off, a rifle round whizzed from the balcony and grazed Vic on the shoulder. The three of us drop to the ground and I could hear Karl shouting from above. “Get some of this you cocksuckers!” he yelled and aimlessly fired another round.

“Are you okay Vic?!” I shout from the other side of the bar.

“Aye!” he yelled. “I’m only knicked!”

“Karl, so help me god, I’m gonna feed you to Penelope!” I threatened.

“Come and get me mother fucker!” he retorted. He fired another round and shattered glass fell all around. I crawled to the other end of the bar to catch a glimpse of Karl’s whereabouts and noticed Randy escaped to god knows where.

“Where’s he coming from?!” Vic shouts at me.

“He’s on the balcony but I can’t see him!” I say. The Madam’s constant weeping also stopped.

“I’m gonna smoke him out!” says Vic. I could hear the flick of a lighter and within seconds Molotov Cocktails were thrown from behind the bar.

“Jim, you better get the fuck out of here!” I shout.

Noticing the few scattered flames, Old Jim looks up from his cards and doesn’t bat an eye. “I’m comin’ home pa!” he says.

“Goddamnit,” I say from under my breath. I leap to my feet and rush past the burgeoning flames to grab the old man. But this blew my cover and shots rang out from Karl’s rifle.

“Gotcha asshole!” Karl shouted.

But Vic sprang up from behind the bar to find Karl knelt down sniper-wise on the balcony. He fired one shot into his shin which caused him to drop the weapon and scream out. “Fuck me!” he cried. Then he fell forward through the frail wooden railings and onto Old Jim’s table. While he writhed in pain, I give an order to Vic.

“Grab him!” I say.

The inferno engulfed the once proud Candyland Saloon. It was safe to assume that both whores and Johns, along with Madam Joelle and Randy, safely escaped the fire with the parking area deserted. Vic and I watched from a safe distance, along with Old Jim and an injured Karl in tow, as the hellish flames overran the compound and we marveled. Then an old friend appeared from the shadows; the stem of a lolly pop jutting from his mouth.

“Hey guys!” said Dale. “Did something happen?”

“Dale, you’ve been here the entire time?” I say.

“Of course,” he replied nonchalantly. “How else would Vic have found this place?“

“Did you not hear the gunshots?”

“Oh, is that what that was?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 20

After sex, I’d leap up from the bed with cock swinging to look out the Madam’s second floor window. Though the horizon was clear blue and the dull orange meridian was hovering over the mountains, I knew calvary was coming. But the Madam would lay in bed naked as a mole rat and mock my good cheer.

“Well I’m glad YOU’RE satisfied,” she’d tell me.

I turned around bare assed and grabbed my sun-faded britches. “If I don’t satisfy you,” I said, “there are dozens of paying customers downstairs that would be willing to try.”

She sits up in bed and pulls a cigarette from an old wooden box. “Don’t give me any ideas,” she says as she lights a match.

“Well here’s another idea: I’m sure Karl would like a piece of ass too,” I said.

The Madam exhales a puff of smoke and glares at me. “What’s with you lately?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I say coyly as I button my shirt.

“You don’t seem so…,” she trails off to find the right word.

“Suicidal?” I suggest.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I decided that the best way to accept my life here is to not let you win by being miserable all the time. Randy was right; I have everything a man needs here at Candyland. So fuck it. I’m gonna be happy!”

The Madam dismissively puffs away. “Maybe I SHOULD start fucking Karl,” she said.

I wave her off and exit the room. Nightfall was approaching and I needed to prep for the evening ahead. Dale left two days earlier. He clogged the saloon toilet before his departure and the bathroom still reeked of his wretched shit. I proceed down the balcony steps to behind the bar. Inside the utility closet, I grab a mop and various smell-goods in my certain futile attempt to make the toilet presentable.

In the saloon, Old Jim was sitting in his usual spot shuffling the same deck of playing cards. I grab a Natty from behind the bar, drop a few coins in the register, and join Jim for a few moments of banter. “How are you doing Jim?” I ask.

His eyes were glazed and his stringy grey hair was unkempt. He struggled to place me as I took a seat. “When I was just a young-un,” he said, “there was a bridge we crossed to look for bullfrogs on the prairie. We’d find em and stick firecrackers up their ass and watch em blow up. Anyway, we’d walk across and piss over the edge into the Pawnee River. It was burned down in nineteen hundred and thirty seven by Pretty Boy Floyd when he was on the run from Hoover for the Valentine’s Day massacre. Those were rough times. No one knew right from wrong in them days. I sure do miss my pa. He was shot dead tryin to cross that bridge ya know? He was caught fuckin the pig farmer’s wife and they blew his brains out right then and there. I was born two years later. My pa would say to me ‘son, if you’re gonna fuck a pig farmer’s wife, fuck the pig instead.’ I never forgot that. Too bad that bridge ain’t there no more. I’d sure like to cross it.”

Karl strolled up in his spurs and shit kickers and joined us. He flipped the chair around and sat down in it backwards like he was about to drop some wisdom 90s-style. “How ya doin Jim?” he asked.

“I’d rather be dead, Karl,” he said without looking up.

Karl looked at me and grinned like he always does when there’s bad news. “You better finish cleaning up that shit,” he said. “Randy’s upstairs fuckin one of them whores. If he comes down and sees a turd floatin around he’ll be fixin to shoot ya.”

“Randy’s here?!” I exclaimed.

“You better believe it.”

Fuck, I thought. I scrambled to my feet with all the cleaning goods. But before I could move an inch, Randy was shouting from the top of the stairs. “James!” he said. He was wearing his usual grey and bluish blazer without a shirt underneath. His gut jutted out over his unbuttoned pants. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to see you,” he continued as he marched down the steps.

“Likewise,” I lied.

“I would have figured you would run off long ago.”

“I had a change of heart.”

“Good,” he said. He reached the bottom of the staircase and placed his hand on my shoulder. “I have a proposal for you.”

“What that?” I ask.

“I want you to join me on a new business venture in Reno.”

“Reno?”

“Absolutely. It’s a wide open world out there. There’s money to be made by any sucker willing to reach his hand out and take it! But I’m gonna need some muscle.”

“Now’s not a good time Randy.”

“Not a good time?” he asks. He stretches his arms out and looks around the saloon. “What do you mean now is not a good time? What the hell else do you have to do?”

“I’m starting to enjoy my time here,” I said, struggling to find a satisfying answer.

“Yeah, okay pal,” Randy said sardonically.

Burl from behind the bar slings him another tequila sunrise. Randy picks up the glass and swishes it around. “I’m gonna need you to be a tough SOB out there,” he tells me. “I need to know your heart is in it.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to do,” I say.

Randy leans in and lowers his voice. “Old Jim there,” he whispers, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but his mind is – well – slipping.”

“So?”

“So…,” Randy reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out a small 1931 Baby Browning and sets it on the bar. “Do it quietly,” he says.

“Randy, I may be clinically insane but I’m not a monster.”

“A monster?!” he indigently says. “James, I need you to be a cold-hearted savage in Reno. You’re an apex predator. You have what it takes.” He places the pistol in my hand and wraps my fingers around the butt. “Do whats necessary,” he says.

I held the pistol in paralyzing fear. I was unable to declutter my mind and make a clear decision. One way or another, I knew a shot would be fired. I just didn’t know who would take the bullet: Old Tom or Randy or myself.

Then a flutter of breeze filled the saloon. From behind me I could hear the entrance doors swing open and boots clatter on the old wooden floor. I turn around and my heart leapt. The Calvary had arrived.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 19

2 Months Later

I was dead in every way except physically. And in these dark days my dreams became the only place of solace. I’d make love to a beautiful woman and she’d tell me everything would be okay and that we’d find that small corner of heaven that was just for us. Then I’d wake up. There was no Vic; no bustling sounds of Los Angeles to greet me. It was only the small dingy quarters of a brothel in a desert that had no name. Out of this cursed saloon, a girl would go missing in the night only to be replaced by another who spoke a tongue no one understood. This was the loneliest of all possible worlds. Only the insipid interactions with Karl, Old Jim, and the Madam kept me company. But they, like me, were spiritually dead. We lived only in the decaying and depraved dream of Randal J Furie.

Each night bled into the next. A John overburdened with whisky and a crumbling life would refuse to pay and only Karl would take joy in altercation. The diminutive bumblefuck had one John beaten and bloodied and chained in a shack out back for days on end. When I found the John, he was severely dehydrated, lacking money, and begging for his release. I confronted Karl about this. “I completely forgot about leaving him out there,” Karl explained.

“He’s in dire need of medical attention,” I said.

“What do you suggest we do?”

I didn’t have the heart to put a bullet in his brain. One night, I escorted the John to the foot of the mountain range in a UTV and sat him right outside of the pass. “Follow the light flutter,” I told him. “And don’t come back.”

He was never seen again.

I’d sit at the bar, emptying my paycheck into the cash register of the Candyland Saloon. Money was meaningless out here. Burl would sling me one beer after another and I’d drink hoping that this night would be my last. Yet each morning I’d wake up still begging for death. Sometimes I’d pray to the 3am god then look out the window to that mountain pass and wonder if I should follow the path of that fateful John. My life was over. And even if I did escape, I’d never escape the clutches of Randy.

“How long have you been out here?” I’d ask the Madam.

“You should never ask a woman her true age,” she’d say.

“But what does he have on you? How can you stay happy living like this?”

She wouldn’t answer.

This was life from now on. No cable TV. No long walks on the beach. No late night beer runs to the gas station. No belligerent driving down Sunset Boulevard. No antagonistic conversations with baristas. This was it.

I was dead.

Then one night like any other night, I was sipping on a Natty at the bar when I heard a familiar voice. He was yapping away ceaselessly at Burl who stood silently with arms crossed. It was all the shit I’ve heard countless times before: a cheating wife, bosses making unreasonable requests, and threatening to bring a loaded firearm into a federal building and ending it all.

It was Dale.

While drunk on cheap beer, I crawled off my stool and stumbled towards him. I reached my arms around him in a loving embrace. “Dale, I’m glad to see you!” I say.

Without acknowledging the wild coincidence of meeting in a place like this, Dale rambles on. “James, I’ll tell you what!” he said. “I finally had enough of that bitch once and for all! After they laid me off at the toilet factory, I told my wife that she better get the fuck out of Los Angeles or else I would light this trailer on fire! Did she want that on her conscience? She cried and cried before getting a restraining order and I told her that I ain’t afraid to die! So she better meet me by the railroad tracks or else I’d be ran over by a train! But that bitch never showed up! Goddamn I miss her.”

“Dale, will you shut the fuck up?!” I said. “I’m trapped out here against my will! Can you do me a favor? Can you find a man named Vic Weathers and send him out here to rescue me? Tell him to arm himself to the teeth!”

“Ya know, I was trapped in a whore house in Vietnam. That’s where I lost two inches off my cock for…”

I slap him across the face. “Goddamnit, will you listen to me?! This is serious! Tell Vic that I’m trapped in the desert in what is probably Nevada…”

“Nevada?!” Dale exclaimed. “I thought we were in Utah!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Utah? I should have known that Mormons were somehow involved in this. Anyway, find Vic Weathers in Los Angeles. Give him this location. Tell him to bring guns, machetes, explosives, any and all weapons he can find….”

There was a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Karl flashing his yellowed and grimy teeth. “You’re not supposed to be conversing with the customers,” he warned.

Emboldened by my drunkenness, I tell him to fuck off. “I’m gonna tell the Madam you said that,” he told me.

“What’s she gonna do?” I ask. “I’ve been fucking her every night since I’ve got here. So do me a favor you ugly rat shit, go take a long walk in the desert!”

Karl cried and walked off the I looked back to Dale. “Quick! Go back to LA,” I said. “Time is of the essence!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 18

I could barely hold a coffee cup to my lips due to trembling hands. There was a blanket draped over my shoulders as I recovered from intense shock from the night’s events. I sat only in my underwear while clothes dried from washing in the intense desert heat after I shat and pissed them. The Madam sat on the other end of the table with a disapproving expression. She held a cigarette between her fingertips.

“You are a stupid, stupid man,” she told me.

“True,” I said as I slowly sipped.

Old Jim finished packing tobacco into his half bent pipe and lit a match. With the tobacco alit, a plume of smoke exited his nostrils and he nodded his head. “You know, old folks used to say you should flush quarters down the toilet for good luck,” he said. “But when I clogged the toilet, the plumber found $276.50 in the drain. That was a good day.”

The rays of morning sun gleamed through the wavy vintage glass and lit up the saloon. It was an hour past sunup and patrons were shuffling out of the whore quarters and to the bar where Burl would serve beers like an oafish and silent brute. I was somewhat despondent. Jim, the Madam, and myself sat around the old square table quietly lost in our own worlds. My world, of course, was shattered by the appearance of a fiendish ghoul who guarded a mountain pass like Cerberus of Hades. I realized then that this was the reality of folks like Old Jim and the Madam; they were trapped in this barren basin as prisoners.

Randy stepped in through the front door of the saloon and approached the bar. He was wearing a bluish grey suit with a yellow tie and a straw boater hat and he looked like a depression era Bible salesman. Burl mixed what appeared to be a tequila sunrise and handed to Randy. We might’ve been friends for a long time. But today I felt like I might swallow a bullet. He sipped on the cocktail and slowly crept towards our table while he jingled change in his pocket. He placed his hand gently on my shoulder.

“Jim, how are ya?” he asked.

“Fair,” said Jim.

“Madam Joelle, I don’t suspect much has changed since last night?”

“That’s a fair assessment,” said the Madam.

“Young chili pepper,” Randy said, referring to me, “can I speak to you outside?”

I swallowed hard and followed him outside. We stood underneath the shotily put together awning that counted as a porch in the front while my blanket swayed in the wind. The skies were clear. Randy pointed to that far off mountain range I failed to traverse the night before. “Do you know how far away that range is?” he asks.

“No sir. I do not.”

“It’s 5.62 miles away,” he explained. “Far enough away to feel safe from life’s uncertainties but close enough to look out the window and wonder. Now what you saw last night might not be of this world. But the terror it brings is no different than what any man faces when he walks the streets. Every two minutes a man is shot dead in Los Angeles County and that’s your home. Just minutes away from where you eat and drink and make love is an unspeakable tragedy.”

“What are you getting at Randy?”

Randy takes a bigger drink from his cocktail and continues. “My point is, why tempt fate? You have all the niceties that a young chili pepper should kill for. You are surrounded by beautiful women from all around the world while unbridled from the laws of government. This is paradise compared to the godless land you used to dwell in. So why escape?”

“But it seems pretty godless out here.”

“Yet that’s where you’re wrong!” he exclaimed. He grew more animated with each breath. “Soon this whole lake bed will be filled with commerce and industry. People from miles around will come and find their wildest fantasies come to life. It will be a hedonistic dream!”

“That’s what Las Vegas is for,” I said.

“I’m trying to tell you that you’re on the frontier of a new world! I was halfway to Riverside County when I heard you tried to leave this place! I want you to be a part of this dream! That’s how important you are to me!”

Randy threw his arms around me with drink in hand and slightly spilling the cocktail onto my blanket. “Don’t leave,” he said. “You’re too important to this operation.”

“Randy, I just want to make sure I can leave whenever I want.”

Randy removed the boater hat and placed it to his chest. “I understand,” he said. “But that thing, out there,” he explained, referring to Penelope, “I just don’t know if she can permit that.”

He placed the hat back on his head and poured the nearly a full glass of tequila sunrises onto the dry ground and waltzed back to his Cadillac. As he opened the driver’s side door he shot me one last glance. “You’re not the first to try to escape,” he said, “and you probably won’t be the last. But those mountains are littered with the bones of curious kittens. I don’t feel the need to warn you again.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 17

In retrospect I shouldn’t have been so hasty in leaving the Candyland saloon. When traversing a large desert, even in nightfall, it behooves one to be prepared. Things like water and a flashlight would have been extraordinarily helpful while walking across this plain of death. But it was too late now. All I had was a Smith & Wesson revolver and the clothes on my back.

C’est la vie.

It wasn’t the time to lose my nerve. The canyon I entered appeared as a labyrinth of darkness and tribulation. It was silence. The only sound I heard was the thumping of my own chest. Out of caution I pressed forward with eyes wide open and the revolver in hand.

The dirt road reverted to its innate form and my senses attained an acuity not felt by any man since the days of Adam. This was the most primal of all fears; the fear of darkness and the unknown. I knew the road would return to its manmade form on the other side of the ridge. How far that was I did not know. I crept forward, always present of the unseen reality in front of me.

Occasionally there was a sound; a rock tumbling down a crevasse or the sporadic creeping of a wondering nocturn. Yet I maintained my composure. But a little further into the labyrinth there was an alien clicking. I didn’t want to get excited so I slowed my pace and scanned the gun in all directions. A little deeper and the foreign sound was more intense. I aimed the pistol in its direction and called out. “Who goes there?!” I shout.

For a few moments there was nothing. The clicking ceased. Then, like a silent wave, the mood of the canyon shifted. Any creeping thing that was left there stopped in its tracks. I heard the gnawing of flesh and bone and the growling from a hellish hound. “Show yourself!” I demand. Yet there was no reply from the shadows.

Whatever was out there needed a deterrence so I fire one shot into the darkness. From the brief flash of a Smith & Wesson, the canyon lit up and I saw what I had hoped to never see again; a rakish creature of grey flesh on all fours with blood dripping from the jaws. Though the long black hair concealed the face, small glowing eyes glared back at me.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelped. I fire several more shots in its direction and sprint back in the direction I came. I trampled over rocks both big and small which caused me to lose my footing. In a panic, I fire the remaining bullets in the creature’s direction. With the cylinder empty, I hurl the pistol at the galloping beast.

Before I knew it, I cleared the canyon and was back on the desert basin. I could see the faint glow of the Candyland Saloon several miles ahead but I wasn’t going to make it. Like Tom before me, I would be swallowed up by the desert and never be heard from again. Though adrenaline got me this far, it wasn’t enough. I started to soil my pants in preparation for death.

But right when hope was lost, the roaring of a turbo UTV came to my defense. Rifle shots rang out, striking the creature and it screamed out an ungodly sound. The blinding lights emitted from the UTV provided a brief glimpse of the monster’s true form: it was humanoid with large breasts hanging from its chest and long legs indicating its formidable size. It was Penelope.

The legend was true.

With the creature in retreat, the UTV pulls closer and I could see the driver. “Boy, you’re crazy!” Karl shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I lean forward with hands on my knees to catch my breath and then I vomited. Karl laughed. “Goddamn your puke smells like shit!” he says.

I stand up straight and wipe my mouth. “Yeah,” I said. But I didn’t want him to know the truth: I had completely shit my britches.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 16

It was a frenzied evening of gratuitous sex in the Madam’s garish and glittering quarters. Sure I came. A lot, in fact, and perhaps prematurely. But the whole time I was distracted by my innermost concerns, specifically my monetary situation. When we finished, I laid there naked and sweaty on the soft pink and silk sheets waiting for the shoe to drop.

“So do I pay you?” I ask. “I’m not sure how this works.”

She sits up in bed, also naked, with her large bosoms exposed and she lights a cigarette. “This one’s on the house,” she explains. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex for pleasure. I just wish it lasted longer.”

“Sorry about that,” I said. “So anyways, do I sleep here?”

She aggressively shakes her head. “Fuck no. You have a room downstairs.”

“With the rest of the whores? Won’t it get a little loud at night?”

“First off, they’re not whores. They’re paid companions. And secondly, you get used to it.”

“Alright,” I shrugged. “Do I at least get free booze at the bar?”

“No. That comes out of your paycheck.”

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed. “This is bullshit. Randy said…”

“Randy might own the place but this is my show,” the Madam interjected. “He’s barely here anyway. So I’m the ultimate authority at this joint! You got that BUSTER?!”

“Yeah yeah, I got that,” I said. I climbed out of bed, found my pants, and put them on.

“Are you going to your room?” she asks.

“Hell no,” I said as I buttoned up my ragged denim shirt. “This wasn’t the deal I made with Randy. I’m walking out of here, going to the nearest town, and I’m heading home.”

The Madam sat up in bed and grabbed my hand. “Don’t do that!” she said. “Penelope will get you!”

“Shit,” I said dismissively. “A naked woman wondering the desert? I might as well be in Palm Springs.”

“She’ll eat you!” the Madam shouted.

“Yeah okay,”’ I said and finished putting on my boots. I checked myself in the mirror one last time before departing the Madam’s quarters. “Thanks for the fuck,” I said, “thank god I didn’t cry this time,” and I slam the door shut.

I walk out to the creaky wooden balcony and downstairs into the saloon where the night’s revelry was dying down. Old Jim was still shuffling his cards when I approached. “Hey Jim,” I said, “mind if I have your Smith & Wesson?”

“What for?” he asks.

“I’m headed out of here,” I say. “I figured I’d follow the light pollution to find the nearest town but I might need some protection from the coyotes and whatnot. I’ll give the gun to Randy when I see him in LA.”

“Coyotes?” Jim said. “There ain’t no coyotes out there. Penelope is the only creature roaming that desert this time of night.”

“Whatever. I’m still gonna need some protection.”

Old Jim shakes his head and lays the pistol on the table. “You can have my Smith & Wesson,” he says, “but it ain’t gonna do you no good.”

I pick up the pistol and check the cylinder. “Thanks for the advice,” I tell him. I stuff the gun into the back of my pants and tip my hat. “Been nice knowing ya Jim.” I proceed to the front of the saloon and push open the door into the silent darkness.

The dirt road leading to the Candyland compound extended beyond the dry basin and into the mountain range beyond. It was plain to see in daylight but near invisible at night. I had to rely on the glow of city lights from the other side of the range for guidance. The moon was nowhere in sight and the stars glittered like pixie dust on a black canvas. The land, I thought, possessed a serenity of a surreal dream but the uneasiness of a concealed graveyard. I proceed a few miles down the dirt road. What little wildlife remained in these parts cried out like ghosts in the night. Intellectually I knew the legend of Penelope was false, but walking into this dark chasm I understood the fear.

It was maybe five miles into the trek that I reached a valley in this unnamed range. The light flutter on the horizon no longer guided me and the darkness swarmed me like a minacious cloud. Not even the sounds of critters would accompany me into this miscreated canyon. Here nature seemingly stopped; the laws of sense and possibility broke down. Only the rules of an accursed imagination seemed germane to these parts.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 14

The flash of midday sun blinded me as Randy opened the boot of his 98 Cadillac DeVille. I sat up in the trunk and noticed we were surrounded by a sea of desert and golden sands and open skies in every direction. It was a seven hour drive in total blackness. Randy recommended a cocktail of Ambien and Benadryl along with an oxygen mask and a jug of water to accompany me. As my eyes adjusted to this environment, I noticed that we were parked in front of a hastily cobbled together compound that resembled a shanty town. On one building scrolled above the entrance read “Candyland”.

“Welcome to my kingdom,” Randy told me as I climbed out of the back of the Cadillac. This couldn’t be real, I thought . This was hell.

We walked through the front entrance of the forward building and inside it was near total darkness except for the glowing red neon lights illuminating the displayed liquor bottles and a beat-up bar in front. Behind the bar was a large bartender with a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he wiped down a beer glass. “Let me introduce you to Burl,” Randy told me. Burl, the bartender, looked up and glared. “He doesn’t speak good English,” Randy explained, “so you’ll have to excuse his silence.”

“What the fuck is this place?” I ask him.

“Oh it’s nothing to worry about,” Randy assured me. “I have all my licenses in order. Health inspections usually clear.”

“That’s not what I asked…”

The lights suddenly brighten and a large-bossomed woman sauntered down the stairs and into the bar with her flowing silk robe and long legs. She towered over every man in her high heels and though she was easily 30 years my senior, I felt a bizarre attraction to her. “Good afternoon Randy,” she spoke in a slow and exaggerated southern accent. “Who’s this tall glass of water?”

Randy hemmed and hawed at her flattery. “Well I wouldn’t say he’s THAT tall,” he said, “he’s still three inches shorter than me. His name is James.”

“James,” the woman said, extending her hand to mine, “I’m Madam Joelle.”

I look to Randy. “Randy,” I said, “I know a whore house when I see one.”

“Will you shut your mouth?” he snapped. “This is a male fantasy house of ill-repute. Lots of distinguished gentlemen visit these illustrious halls every year. We provide a valuable service here and I will not have my business ventures besmirched by foul words.”

“Okay Randy,” I surrendered.

“Now,” he continued, “let me introduce you to the girls. Madam Joelle, please call the ladies front and center.”

The Madam clapped her hands and women came filing out from all corners. It was like an international buffet at an Oklahoman casino. There were Chinese ladies, Persian ladies, African ladies, Brazilian, Laotian, Norwegian, Russian, Mongolian, Argentinian, Japanese, Siamese, Arabian, and places left untold. “Ladies, allow me to introduce you to our newest employee, James,” the Madam announced.

The women looked confused.

“Let me guess, they don’t speak English either,” I say. Randy appeared shocked that I figured it out.

“Please be kind to James as you show him the ropes,” the Madam continued. She gave a faint mischievous smile. Then she clapped twice as if giving an order. “Now back to work ladies!”

“So what the fuck do you want me to do here Randy?” I ask.

“It’s nothing complicated,” he explained. “When male customers get a little rowdy you simply kick them out.”

“Like a bouncer?”

“There’s a little bit more to it. You see, sometimes the customers like to haggle down the price for our services. Of course, it’s quite reasonable to have questions and concerns. But our prices are set in stone. Most customers are perfectly happy with our terms. But when they continue to haggle, particularly after services are rendered, it is your responsibility to ‘take it out of their ass’, if you will.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t like this arrangement at all. “Randy, what makes you think I could kick someone’s ass?”

“Oh don’t worry,” he assured me, “most men will find you quite reasonable when you carry a Louisville Slugger.”

I pissed myself a little. “Is that all I’ll be doing?” I ask.

“Just other odds and ends stuff. You may have to extract money from the girls from time to time.”

“Extract? You mean rough them up?”

Randy was offended. “Jesus James! What kind of place do you think this is?! Don’t rough them up! Just use some scare tactics, ya know?”

A Japanese woman interrupts and hands Randy a martini. He throws his arm around her and they go gallivanting up the stairs. I badly needed a drink so I go to Burl. “Miller High Life,” I tell him. He glared at me then grabbed a dirty ass glass, pulled a beer tap, and piss-looking liquid flows out. I was about to cry when the Madam throws her arm around me. “Howdy sailor,” she says, “come around here often?”

“No,” I say. I look in the opposite direction to hide my watery eyes. The Madam puts her finger under my chin and turns my head around. “Hey, don’t cry,” she says. “Things could always be worse. This could be a Turkish whore house. Don’t get me started on that!”

I wrap my arms around her and I loudly cry. “You poor angel,” the Madam whispers. She placed my head on her ample bosom and shushes me. “There there,” she says, “do you cry in arms of prostitutes often?”

“Yes.”

Meanwhile, a gang of roughians were playing high stakes poker at the other end of the bar. One of the players, already six sheets to the wind, slaps his cards on the table in an act of jubilation. “Blackjack fool!” he yelled. The player in front of him was irate and holding a large jackknife. “I ain’t takin this shit!” the angry player was yelling, “you’re a liar and a cheat!”

“I ain’t no cheat!

“You are too! Tell him Jim!”

Jim was the elder statesman of the table. His small grey eyes thoughtfully pondered the situation like a renowned sensei. In one hand he held a pipe. In the other he was stroking his long gangly white beard. “Now now Tom,” Jim said to the irate man, “we all agreed to abide by the rules of this table. Bill won this hand fair and square. If you can’t pay, I’m sure we can work out an arrangement…”

“I ain’t payin!” Tom protested. While wielding the knife, he grabs a whiskey bottle and guzzles it down. When he was finished, he smashed the bottle against the bar, leaving only the neck with jagged edges on the end. He then waved the two edged weapons around. “I’m leaving and if any son of a bitch tries to stop me, I’ll kill em!” he warned.

Jim laid the pipe down and placed a Smith and Wesson on the table. “Tom, you know we won’t stand for this riff raff,” the elder man warned.

Tom grabbed a prostitute, the African one, and placed the jackknife against her throat and began shouting like a rabid dog. “I can’t be stopped! I won’t be stopped!”

It occurred to me that I was getting paid to handle these situations. My eyes might’ve been tear-crusted and my pants soaked, but I felt that special element bestowed to few people which allows them to rise to the occasion. With few options available, I picked up an empty beer bottle and hurled it at Tom. By the grace of god, the bottle avoided the prostitute and nailed Tom square in the eye causing him to drop both knives while blood squirted out of his head. “Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

The prostitute ducked behind a nearby table and before Jim could get a shot off, Burl had a shotgun ready. The bartender fired and Tom’s head exploded into a million pieces, leaving bits of brain and blood scattered across the bar. The corpse collapsed limply and what remained of the skull splattered on the ground.

The seconds afterwards felt like hours before anyone uttered a word. “Get Karl!” the Madam ordered. Burl goes behind the bar and moments later a scrawny leprechaun-like man with rotted teeth and a flat-brimmed cowboy hat pops out. This thing called Karl approached Tom’s headless corpse and kneels down. “Gee golly!” he hollers. Then he looks at me and grins. “Time to earn our paychecks!” he says.

TO BE CONTINUED…