The 2000s were a strange time. We knew the music we were listening to sucked ass but we listened anyway.
Of course I have fond memories of it all. Whenever Shinedown, Hinder, or Three Doors Down come on the radio, I think back to the days of sitting on someone’s dirty floor in their shitty apartment while playing Halo. It was godawful music, I knew it, but it always held a special place in my heart.
Then there’s Nickelback. Obviously they’re a punchline nowadays, but it’s hard to believe just how big they were. It’s embarrassing to be honest. No one in their right mind…even then…would have considered them a great (or even GOOD) band, but somehow All the Right Reasons became one of the best selling albums of all time.
Upon reflection, it pisses me off. Because Nickelback is now considered “classic” rock, they’re still trying to shove this bullshit down our throats. No one wants to listen to this crap on their morning commute. We’d be better off sitting in rush hour traffic sulking in our own despair.
Just read these shitty lyrics from Rockstar:
I want a brand new house on an episode of Cribs And a bathroom I can play baseball in And a king-size tub, big enough for ten plus me (Uh, so what you need?)
I’ll need a credit card that’s got no limit And a big black jet with a bedroom in it Gonna join the mile high club at 37, 000 feet (Been there, done that)
I want a new tour bus full of old guitars My own star on Hollywood Boulevard Somewhere between Cher and James Dean is fine for me (So how you gonna do it?)
I’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame I’d even cut my hair and changed my name
‘Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars And live in hilltop houses, driving 15 cars The girls come easy, and the drugs come cheap We’ll all stay skinny, ’cause we just won’t eat
And we’ll hang out in the coolest bars In the V.I.P. with the movie stars Every good gold digger’s gonna wind up there Every Playboy Bunny with her bleached blond hair and, well
Hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar Hmm, hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar
I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes Sign a couple autographs, so I can eat my meals for free (I’ll have the quesadilla, haha!)
(Full credit, of course, goes to Nickelback for writing this monstrosity)
Did the trauma from 9/11 knock our shared belief in good taste? How was this possible?
We need answers before zoomers try to convince us that this was actually good music.
The border crossing station stuck out against the barren desert. The two guards laughed as they contemplated their easy assignments. “Lo tenemos hecho,” one said to the other.
Suddenly a lone figure barged in. The guards stared in awe at the ominous character. “Passport, please?” one asked in broken English.
The mysterious figure pulled out his .38.
“Jack Hardcock,” a guard gasped.
“Which way to Juarez?” Jack asked.
The guards silently pointed to the west.
“Gracias,” he said.
As Jack walked away, the guards watched as marched towards the horizon. “Dios ayudanos,” they uttered.
Gunshots and Mariachi music echoed through the streets of Juarez. Jack feared no evil as he walked through the valley of death. He knew the city would face the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah; God’s vengeance would soon reign.
If he himself was the one to deliver this vengeance, Jack did not know.
“I’m looking for La Casa de La Muerte,” Jack said to a random street vendor.
“Que?” the vendor replied.
“I’m an American,” Jack stated, “it’s my right to not speak Spanish. So you better answer me or answer to my .38!”
“sé lo que estás diciendo,” the vendor said, “pero no conozco este lugar.”
Jack pistol whipped the vendor and prepared to empty his revolver into the poor bastard. But Heaven granted the man a reprieve: at that moment, an angelic voice appeared. “Jack, no!” it ordered.
Jack’s hand began to shiver as he aimed the .38. He knew this voice.
“Maria,” he uttered.
Jack slowly turned around. Maria was as radiant as a bluebonnet under the Texas sun. He thought he’d never see her face again. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’ve been in Juarez for sometime,” she said, “why did you not respond to my letters?”
“Maria,” he pleaded, “I’m so sorry. I…”
That moment, Pablo Santora came marching up in his Wrangler jeans and snakeskin boots. He put his arm around Maria. “Jack,” Pablo smiled from underneath his mustache, “so pleasant to see you again.”
“Pablo,” Jack simply said. He had to restrain himself.
Pablo lifted a cigar to his mouth. “Jack, old friend,” he continued, “I am the proprietor of La Casa de La Muerte. Please, stop by and see us, yeah?”
“Thank you for the invitation, Pablo,” Jack said.
“Mi amigo,” Pablo chuckled, and he slowly strolled away.
For the last time, I will walk through those doors, pull down my pants, and take another 10 hour shit while on the clock.
I don’t like how things are ending. I gave that place so much of my blood, sweat, and tears (and so, so much shit). But this is the way it’s got to be.
Monday, I’ll embark on a new career working at the nut factory. God knows how that’s gonna pan out. Instead of shitting, I wonder what I’ll do in the bathroom for 10 hours? 🤔 😉
Anyway, my schedule’s changing. Hopefully the new job will give me a renewed sense of disdain for both my audience and life in general.
So the toilet factory is back to its same old shit. They tell me now that I need to stop taking extra long shit breaks. And I tell them that extra long shit breaks are good for the company because shitting is why we’re in business!
This is stressful. I am tired, depressed, and disappointed that I put this much effort into this shit business only to get treated like shit itself in return.
Sorry for playing the hits, but I’m still undergoing writer’s block. I’m trying to jog my creativity by starting shit on Instagram, but that takes time.
Honesty, I forgot about this story. I posted it a year ago and while it isn’t my best work there’s still a few good ass jokes.
So enjoy
Pennies for the Dead
So I was doing a seance during the middle of the night-in a cemetery-when a security guard approached me.
“The hell are you doing?” he asked.
“Conjuring the dead. What does it look like?”
“Well hurry up. Gates close in an hour.”
So I cranked up the spirit box and pulled out the Ouija board. I asked the spirit box, “is a Joe Morris present?”
The box scanned through the channels before saying “Beelzebub”. Oh shit, I thought. I probably just cursed myself.
“No no no,” I replied. “JOE Morris.”
The box continued to scan but I was receiving no answers. The Ouija board was no help either. It kept spelling out “anal sex” and “go fuck yourself”. This was getting me nowhere.
I packed everything up and took out my flashlight. Next to Joe Morris’ tombstone was the name “Jezebel Morris”.
Dorthy Morris neglected to tell me that name.
Joe was Dorthy’s father. He was allegedly poisoning in 1952. The autopsy, however, was inconclusive. Dorthy’s been wanting this case solved her entire life. Now, in her twilight years, she lived a reclusive life on her family’s estate while her brain slowly demented away.
In my opinion, Joe died by natural causes. You know how men lived in those days. But I hadn’t had a case in months.
Was it wrong of me to take this elderly lady’s money? Yes.
I immediately left the cemetery and stopped at the Voodoo shop. I had to do something to spurn any demonic curses, ya know? Afterwards I drove to Dorthy’s estate.
I pounded on the door. She was hard of hearing.
“Is that you Lyle?” she asked
“No ma’am. It’s Ty Carson, private detective,” I replied.
I opened the door and found Dorthy with a blanket covering her lap in front of the fireplace. She was playing checkers.
“Who are you playing checkers with?” I asked.
“I’m not playing checkers.”
I quickly moved on to the business at hand. “I did what you asked,” I said. “I went to the cemetery to talk to Joe. I found out that the dead aren’t too keen on talking.”
“But I talked to Joe this morning,” she replied.
I ignored that comment.
“Who’s Jezebel?” I asked.
Dorthy gave me a puzzled look. “Jez has been dead for years,” she said.
“I know. Who was she?”
“No. I can’t betray Joe like that.”
“But she might be key to understanding Joe’s death.”
“No. That matter is closed.”
I shrugged. I figured that I could just go through public records in the morning. As I began to leave, I turned around.
“Oh, by the way,” I said, “the spirit box and Ouija board came to about $150. That will be charged to your account.”
“$5,000 you said?” Dorthy asked as she pulled out her checkbook.
“Yes.”
***
I couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.
I had a hunch that it was the repo man coming to take the Geo Metro. I pulled out my .38 and shouted into the dark. “I have your filthy money!” I yelled. “Show yourself!”
Out of the shadows, I heard a thick Boston accent: “Are you Mista Cahson?” it asked.
“What’s it to ya PAL?!”
The figure stepped forth slowly from the shadows. He was tossing a baseball into the air.
“I’m Mista Pete Morris,” the figure said. “I’m son of Dorthy Morris, your client. I understand that you’ve been taking my mutha’s money.”
“She’s been giving it to me in larger amounts than I’ve been asking. That’s hardly stealing,” I replied.
“Hey ohhh, buddy! I ain’t said nuthin about stealing.”
“Then you better make your point. I have a .38 aiming between your eyeballs.”
Pete straightened up his jacket and began stammering nervously. “All I’m asking is that you let me in on the cut,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I work better alone. Besides, fuck the Red Sox.”
“I’m tellin ya,” Pete said, “there’s somethin goin on with Dorthy.”
“Yeah, it’s called dementia.”
“No. There’s something else goin on up there at that estate. Something that can’t be explained, not of this world. Some things just can’t be stopped by bullets, ya know?”
Pete then tossed the baseball again and I shot it out of the air.
“I haven’t found one yet,” I said.
“Look, I have all the answers you’re looking for,” Pete continued. “The death of Joe Morris is deeper than you think.”
I put the gun back into my holster. “Buddy,” I said, “if you’re trying to grift your rich elderly mother out of her money, you’re gonna have to find another angle.”
As I turned around to finish my walk home, Pete spoke up again. “I know about Jezebel,” he said.
“So do I pal,” I said as I continued walking, “she was Dorthy’s sister who died of pneumonia a year before Joe’s death. She was 20 years old.”
“That’s not the whole story,” Pete replied, “in fact, she wasn’t Dorthy’s sister.”
I stopped, turned around, and pulled out a cigarette. “Alright bucko,” I said, “now you’ve got my attention.”
***
“Sorry babe,” I said to Sheila. “I got the whiskey dick.”
“It’s alright, I’m used to it,” she replied. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink before sex.”
“I wouldn’t know. Never tried it.”
Sheila climbed out of bed and got dressed. As she put her shirt on, she noticed the crap on the floor. “What’s this stuff?” she asked.
“Don’t touch it,” I said, “that’s a spirit box and a Ouija board. You might awaken a demon from hell. Trust me, that’s one can of worms you can’t close.”
“What are you doing with that?”
“It’s some case that I’m scamming *ahem* I mean helping some old lady solve.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Oh yeah, totally.” I looked over to the clock and noticed it was 7:30pm. “Speaking of, gotta get to work.” I got out of bed and threw my pants on. “You can stay here for the night,” I told Sheila, “but remember: DO NOT touch that damn Ouija board.”
I was running late. I had to meet Pete at the Morris estate where he was going to shed some light on Jezebel’s identity.
I arrived 45 minutes later. It was nearly pitch black. I grabbed my flask and flashlight and got to work. “This better be worth my time,” I told Pete.
“I told you that you’re not gonna need that .38,” he said.
“You let me be the judge of that.”
We began venturing into the woods. There was allegedly a cellar back behind the mansion that contained the remains of Jezebel. “I’ve been told all my life that this is an old Indian burial ground,” Pete said.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before I pissed on that hedge?” I asked.
“There it is,” he said. I shinned my flashlight in that direction. The cellar was only a few yards ahead.
“How far down is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I never been down there.”
I lit up a cigarette. “You go first,” I said.
Pete gathered up his courage and proceeded towards the cellar. He took a deep breath before going down the stairs. The cellar was deep. Too deep for my liking.
I put one hand on the .38.
Finally we reached the bottom. We were standing in a wide, musty corridor with multiple chambers. “What the hell was this place used for?” I asked Pete.
“Supposedly this was a torture chamber for runaway soldiers during the Civil War. Many slaves lost their lives down here.”
“Pete, I’m beginning to think that your family deserves to be cursed.”
“What’s this?” Pete asked. I shined the flashlight over to an old fire pit littered with ash and bones.
Then the cellar door slammed close.
I pulled out the 38. “Stay calm,” I said.
“I told you there’s something strange going on here!”
“Shut up Pete.”
“I can’t die down here! The Celtics are in the playoffs!”
“Pete, so help me god, if you don’t shut up I’ll shoot you myself!”
Suddenly my flashlight went out. Then something grabbed Pete. “Damn you Brad Stevens!!!!!!!” he screamed before disappearing into the dark.
I started firing indiscriminately into the shadows.
“Pete!” I screamed out.
There was only silence.
The flashlight kicked back on and I shined it all around the corridor. Pete was nowhere to be found. “Fuck this,” I said as I sprinted back up the stairs and to the car.
I floored the Geo Metro back to the apartment. I rushed in through the door and began frantically looking for the Ouija board. “Damn it Sheila!” I yelled. “What did you do with the Ouija board?”
Sheila stumbled out of the kitchen with a glass of wine. “The planchette began moving around,” she said as she slurred her words. “It started spelling out ‘You’re next’, ‘Hail Satan’, and ‘I heart ass’ I didn’t know what that meant so I threw it into the fireplace.”
“Sheila,” I said, “I might’ve opened a portal to hell.”
***
I quietly hoped that Pete lived a lonely, miserable life. He never mentioned anything about a spouse. His mother was barely cognizant of his existence. Honestly, he seemed to be a stupid sack of shit and nobody would have missed him.
But I didn’t want anyone reporting his disappearance. What would I have told the police? That he was sucked into some black hole in the middle of the woods?
I had to find Pete. And finding Pete probably led to solving the mystery of Joe Morris’ death.
Actually, I could have walked away from this entire thing and no one would have been the wiser. But I knew the spirits were listening in. I had to get to the bottom of this thing before they got to me.
I picked up the spirit box. “Listen here, damn you,” I said, “I know you can hear me. I want some answers! Where’s Pete? Who’s Jezebel?!”
The spirit box began scanning through the channels before spitting out “suck.my.penis.”
That’s it, I thought. I reloaded the .38 and went back to the Morris Estate.
It was 12:30am. I pounded on Dorthy’s door. “Is it the milk man?” I heard her ask. “Come in!”
I opened the door and there was Dorthy playing Trivial Pursuit alone. “Damn it Dorthy!” I said, “I need answers! Who’s Jezebel?!”
“Jezebel? She’s been dead for 20 years.”
“Records say she died in 1951. Stop jackin me around!” I pulled out the .38. I meant business.
The candles around the aged mansion began to flicker. Random objects started to move: books flipped open, mirrors were rattling, the record player was blasting Lionel Richie’s ‘Dancing on the Ceiling’. Dorthy meanwhile went into a trance. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she backed up into the shadows.
I turned on the spirit box. “Alright Jezebel! I know you’re on to me,” I said. “Talk to me! Let’s settle this thing!”
Suddenly the doors flew open. A woman floated into the room. Her eyes were as dark as night.
I lifted the .38.
But it was Sheila.
“Sheila, you’re drunk,” I said. “Go home!”
“I am not Sheila,” the demonic voice said. “I am Jezebel!”
“Try me, asswipe!” she replied. Then I pumped a few bullets into her chest.
Nothin
“Alright, so I guess you’re Jezebel,” I said. “Where’s Pete?”
“His soul resides in HELL for all eternity!!!!”
“Good, he’s a Boston sports fan,” I said, “he needs to know how that feels.”
“You will join him soon enough!”
“Sorry sister, I already live in Ohio.”
I pulled the trigger again but I already emptied the revolver. I threw the gun at her and started running down the hallway while screaming for my life.
I hid in the closet under the staircase. Of course, it didn’t take long for her to find me. Using her demonic powers, Jezebel began to eat my soul. I started praying. “God, I regret everything,” I said.
Then God responded. Thunderbolts began raining down on Jezebel from some unseen force and she retreated into the shadows. I was still alive.
I crawled out from the closet. In front of me stood a wizard-like figure dressed in white robes and holding a staff.
“Thank you Jesus,” I said.
“I’m not Jesus,” the figure replied. “I’m Joe Morris.”
I stood up. “Joe Morris? Shouldn’t you be 120 years old?”
“119 to be precise.”
Then Pete ran down the hallway. “Ty! I’m still alive!” he said.
“I thought you went to hell,” I replied.
“I did. It ain’t such a bad place. I got to meet Dave Cowens.”
“He’s still alive dumbass.”
“Are you sure? By the way, did you piss your pants?”
“I did. It’s a side effect of my elavil prescription. Where did Jezebel go?”
“She went back to hell to lick her wounds,” Joe Morris said. “We must go to the cellar, return to hell, and make sure she never returns.”
“Fuck that,” I said. “This ain’t my problem. I’ll just collect the money from Dorthy and be on my merry way.”
Right then, a possessed Dorthy flew down from the ceiling and attacked me. While I fought her off, Joe Morris released more thunderbolts from his staff. Finally, she flew off of me and began writhing on the ground before whatever cursed spirit that possessed her left her body. Dorthy was dead.
“Mother!” Pete screamed.
“She hasn’t been your mother for a long time,” Joe said.
I took a moment to gather myself.
“Alright,” I said, “I need to change my pants before we go to the cellar.”
***
“So you’ve been in hell for 70 years Joe?” I asked.
“Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
“Did you die first? Or did you go down there for shits and giggles?”
“Unbeknownst to me, my family has been guarding this portal to hell for 200 years. Jezebel was a maid at our estate and I went outside my marriage to be with her. But Jezebel was secretly the devil and she cast me into the portal.”
“So is your body buried in that cemetery or what? If so, how the hell are you standing here with a flesh and blood body?”
“Don’t worry about it. The point is there’s been a rebellion in hell. Spirits are escaping to this earth and if we don’t stop Jezebel, there will be hell on earth!”
“Relax Joe, you’re just describing Toledo,” I said.
“You already made that joke.”
“How can three flesh and blood men stop an army of evil spirits?” Pete asked.
“While in Hell, I learned the ancient dark arts of Mesopotamia,” Joe replied. “I’ve been made a priest in these ancient religions. All I have to do is bless your weapon of choosing, and voila.”
“Can you bless the bullets of my .38?” I asked.
“Sure can.”
“Hell yeah!”
“What about my pocket knife?” Pete asked.
“That’s a pretty lame weapon, Pete.”
“Grab as many weapons as you can carry,” Joe replied.
“What about this machete?” Pete asked.
“What about this IWI Tavor TS12 shotgun?” I asked.
“Yes, yes. I will bless them all. We must hurry though.”
“Thanks Joe!” I said. “By the way, I’ve always wondered: what’s it like having sex with Satan?”
***
“Just be warned,” Joe said to me, “Hell ain’t what you think it is.”
“How so?”
“You just have to see.”
Joe, Pete, and I gathered our divinely blessed weapons and proceeded to the cellar in the woods. Joe went into the portal first, then Pete. I hesitantly went in last.
I felt my body break down into its molecular and atomic parts while time and space melted down. Then reality reconstructed itself and the three of us were in a large theater.
On stage was a nude couple: one an elderly woman and the other an average-looking dude with an abnormally large dong. A horse was also on stage. It was a community theater production of Equus.
“Ah shit. Now I know what you mean,” I said.
We rushed out of the theater, side by side, weapons on ready. We were men on a mission, a mission to find…and kill…Jezebel. And more importantly, we had to stop the dead from invading the earthly realm.
Outside the theater, we hailed a cab. The driver stopped and we all piled into the back. “Does anyone want to sit up here with me?” the driver asked. “Son of a bitch,” I said then got in the front seat.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked. “Downtown” Joe replied.
The cab driver then blasted Jon and Vangelis from the radio and was humming along. I turned to the backseat.
“Hell seems more boring and mildly irritating,” I said, “much like Minneapolis.”
“Yeah, but imagine spending spending eternity here,” Joe replied.
He had a point.
The cap pulled up to a downtown bank. We all piled out of the car. “Are you sure that the Empress of Hell and all of Damnation is here?” I asked.
“Of course, with their ungodly interest rates, there’s nowhere else she could be!” Joe said.
So the three of us…a wizard, an idiot, and a guy with a shotgun…walked into the bank lobby. We went up to a loan officer.
“We’re here to see Jezebel,” I tell the man.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asks.
I cocked the shotgun and blasted a hole in his chest. “She’ll be with you shortly,” the loan officer replied.
Security guards rushed into the lobby and began firing indiscriminately. Pete became an absolute beast and started slicing away with his machete. Joe unleashed fire bolts from his staff. I unloaded shell after shell from my shotgun.
As we looked over the absolute slaughter of security guards, with blood and guts strewn about the lobby, Joe nodded his head. “I think our plan is working out pretty good,” he said.
“I’m out of shells,” I said and dropped the shotgun. Then I pulled out the .38 and kissed it. “But I still got six shots.”
We all went into the elevator and Joe hit the button for the 666th floor. “Holy shit!” I said. “How many floors are in this building?”
32 minutes later, we arrived. Jezebel was in a conference call with all of her minions. She was planning the final stages of her Hellish invasion of earth.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“Your slow ass elevator,” Pete said.
“You think your earthly powers can stop me?”
I lifted the .38. “Nothing can stop these bullets sister.”
***
I instantly wasted 5 bullets.
Sadly, I had to borrow a weapon from Pete. And let me tell you: it ain’t easy killing demons with a pocket knife.
In the midst of the mayhem, I lost track of Jezebel. “She escaped to the roof!” Pete yelled while decapitating a goblin.
I sprinted up the stairs to the very top of this 666-storied building. I was out of breath when I reached the roof. Jezebel was waiting.
“Your pathetic little weapon will do nothing to me,” she said.
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” I replied.
Above the roof, Jezebel was opening a portal to Earth where all the spirits of this evil domain could trespass. I was running out of time. So I rushed Jezebel with the knife.
As I leapt towards her heart, she blocked my movement, knocking loose the pocket knife.
I was on the ground. Powerless. Jezebel laughed. “What a weakling,” she said as she put her pitchfork up to my neck.
“If you kill me,” I asked Jezebel, “where am I gonna go? I’m already in hell!”
“If you think it’s bad here, wait till I send you to Bridgeport!”
I closed my eyes in preparation for eternity. Then thunderbolts rained down on Jezebel. While Joe unleashed his unholy powers from the staff, Pete went absolute apeshit on Jezebel with his machete. This severely damaged her powers, thus closing the portal.
With her powers nearly drained, Jezebel stood at the edge of the roof. “Halt!” I yelled before Joe could make the final kill shot. “Jezebel still possesses Sheila’s body.”
I looked deep into Jezebel’s eyes. I could still see Sheila. “Sheila,” I pleaded, “I know that we never had sex because of my undiagnosed ED. I know that I’d often disappear into the bathroom and leave you with the bill. I know that I’d also clog the toilet and blame it on the cat,” I said, “but I also know that I love you and you should probably attend AA.”
Right then, Jezebel began to spastically writhe on the ground. The evil spirit departed Sheila’s body, and there alone stood a defeated Jezebel.
With one bullet left, I pulled out the .38. “Back to where you belong Satan: Massachusetts.”
I pulled the trigger.
The flash from the barrel echoed throughout Hell. In a puff of smoke went Jezebel.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Is she gone for good?” I asked Joe.
He looked out to the horizon. “We defeated her for the time being,” Joe said. “But the devil is never really gone. Where Jezebel resides now is in a hell of her own making, a place so unfathomable that God himself wouldn’t dare set foot. So Norway probably.”
I walked over to an unconscious Sheila. I kneeled down to awaken her. “What happened?” she asked.
“Just a temporary demonic possession. Nothing to worry about,” I said.
Sheila stood up and looked down to the sprawling city below. “Where are we?”
People ask me all the time: what’s your worst story?
And the answer is the story you’re about to read…Dr. Si. It’s poorly written, the jokes don’t land, and the character motivations make zero fucking sense (much like an actual James Bond story).
Some background though: the last “Detective James from LA” story I posted was The Man with the Golden Eye, which was the second in the series. While Dr. Sí, for all intents and purposes, is a direct sequel to that story, it’s actually the fourth in the series. Magnum Enforcer, the third entry in the Detective James saga, is actually a banger that I might republish here at another time. But you really only need to know two things from Magnum Enforcer: it introduces the Korth .357 magnum WHICH James uses to senselessly kill the villain at a Chucky Cheese in the story’s conclusion, plus Mr. Ree is formally introduced (although he’s in the first two stories)
However, knowing that information prolly won’t change a thing because this story’s still a piece a shit.
Dr. Si
“I’m Amish now,” I said to Admiral Majors and Izzy. “I don’t believe in violence anymore.”
“You mean to tell me we drove all the way to Pennsylvania from Los Angeles just for you to say you’ve taken a vow to never kill again,” the Admiral asked.
“Yes. I killed a man in cold blood. Not out of justice,” I replied. “I felt pure hatred. And I hope to never feel that again. That’s not God’s way.”
“The man you killed was a bent cop AND a serial killer. Fuck that guy!”
“No,” I said. “You see this,” I pointed over to the wide green pastures. Off in the distance, Amish brethren were erecting a barn. “This is God’s way. Hard work and community. That’s what will get us to heaven.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this bullshit,” the Admiral replied. “So you wanna play hardball eh? Fine. $2 million. I am offering you $2 million of tax payer money to join my force. One of our top nuclear scientists have gone missing, and we have reason to suspect that the Ionian Liberation Front is behind it. You’ve dealt with those guys before. If you change your mind, you know where to reach me.”
The Admiral stormed off. Izzy bashfully stood around.
“What’s her name,” she asked.
“Miriam,” I replied. “She’s a good woman. She’ll make an excellent mother.”
“I’m happy for you,” she said. “I’m seeing someone too. I gave Admiral Majors a hand job on drive over here. He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
“I wish you two the best of luck.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Goodbye James.”
“Goodbye Izzy.”
After I finished tending to the cattle, I washed off the bull semen then went to the homestead for supper. Miriam served me up a plate of beans and cornbread.
Miriam was a plain and simple Amish woman. We married during the fall harvest. Her father was Ezekiel, one of the community leaders. He was generous enough to take me in.
“Didist thou havest a good day,” she asked.
“I did Miriam. This is a well-earned supper after an honest day’s work.”
“The Lord hath blessed us. I am pregnant with child.”
“This is swell news indeed. The community with rejoice at the announcement.”
We smiled and held hands while we sat around the fireplace. I was loading tobacco into my pipe when Ezekiel stopped by.
“The Lord has brought forth good news,” I told him. “Miriam is pregnant with child.”
“Praise the Lord indeed,” he replied. “I am going to be a grandfather.”
The two of us went to the porch to watch the sunset. I took a match to the pipe. “So what brings you by Ezekiel,” I asked.
“I’m afraid Brother Peter is not doing well,” he said. “He won’t likely survive through the night.”
“That’s a shame. Miriam and I shall pray on it.”
“Unfortunately, I bring more bad news. Bandits have returned and stole four more chickens. We don’t have the funds to replace them. I’m afraid that we are having trouble feeding the children and the harvest isn’t bringing what we need. Times are hard indeed.”
“The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away,” I said.
“I wish someone would do something about these bandits. They have drained all of our resources for the winter,” Ezekiel said.
I puffed on the pipe and rocked in the chair. “I’m sure the Lord will provide.”
That night I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I sat up and kissed Miriam on the forehead while she peacefully slept.
I grabbed a shovel and hid behind the chicken coup while I waited for the bandits. I heard twigs snapping and bushes rustling. They were close.
“Stop right there or I’ll bash your head in,” I told the two bandits.
They laughed. “You’re Amish,” they said. “You can’t hurt us.”
“Grab my cock and find out,” I replied, referring to the rooster.
We had a stare down. I waited for one of them to make a move. One went for his pistol and I smashed the shovel right on his dick.
“My dick,” he yelled.
The other one leapt at me and I knocked his clean off his shoulders. Blood sprayed all over the coup. I went over to the other man laying on the ground.
“Don’t kill me,” he yelled. But I smashed the shovel right into his guts.
I buried the bodies deep in the woods.
I took the shovel and began digging behind the barn. Out of the dirt I pulled out an old oak box.
Inside the box: the Korth 357 magnum.
***
“I’m sorry Miriam,” I said before I departed for Washington. “I’m doing this for the money. I must save our Amish community.”
We exchanged goodbyes and I rode my horse and buggy down to Washington DC to rendezvous with Admiral Majors at the Pentagon.
“I knew you couldn’t refuse my offer,” the Admiral said. “Now take off that Amish bullshit. You’re a colonel in the Army now.”
I donned my uniform and saluted the Admiral. “Welcome to the Kill Force,” he said.
We boarded a plane and flew to The Hague. “What’s this about,” I asked the Admiral.
“We’re going to meet with Angelika Antoluktokoloplos. She knows the whereabouts of our missing nuclear scientist. Right now, she’s standing trial for war crimes.”
Angelika: my former nemesis turned ally during the Franco De Werner case.
Izzy flew along with us. Her and the Admiral were now married. “The President married us. We had the wedding on the White House lawn. You should have been there,” she said. She was trying to make me jealous.
“I’m so happy for you Izzy,” I replied.
Also on the flight was none other than Mr. Ree. “Well as I live in breath,” I told him. “I thought you died back in Los Angeles.”
He laughed. “No, I had an increased blood flow from that massive erection while I was pretending to be a prostitute. That’s what saved me. Thank god for viagra,” he said as he was popping viagra. “Now I always walk around with a boner.”
Me and Mr. Ree shared a few drinks at the airplane bar. “Keep the martinis coming,” I told the bartender.
“I heard you turned Amish,” Mr. Ree said.
“I’m a new man now,” I replied. “I’m only doing this for the money.”
“You get paid to do this?”
We got rip roaring drunk at the bar. I couldn’t sleep on the flight. Mr. Ree gave me a Xanax.
That morning, the plane landed at The Hague. The Admiral, Izzy, Mr. Ree, and myself were escorted to the maximum security prison by a NATO officer, Maj. Jzerkov.
“Be warned,” Jzerkov said. “The prisoner is uncooperative, she hasn’t given up any information regarding the whereabouts of the Ionian Liberation Front.”
“Just take us to her,” the Admiral said.
Angelika was locked up in a 3×3 glass box, chained to a chair. “Why is she nude sir,” I asked Jzerkov. “To prevent suicide,” he replied. “These terrorists will stop at nothing to avoid answering for their crimes.”
“Well well well,” Angelika said. “If it isn’t the Admiral and his lap dog. It’s Private Detective James from Los Angeles, isn’t it?”
“It’s Colonel James now,” I replied.
“Where’s our missing nuclear scientist, Ms. Antelukolpolous,” the Admiral asked.
“Why should I tell you anything?”
The Admiral took me and Jzerkov aside. “Release her into my custody,” he told Jzerkov.
“This is highly irregular Admiral! She’s standing trial,” Jzerkov replied.
“Look, I need a bargaining chip.”
Jzerkov thought for a second. “Alright, Admiral,” he responded. “But you owe me one.”
The Admiral nodded and went back to interrogating Angelika. “Okay Ms. Anolupolokolopos,” he said. “We are prepared to cut you a deal: charges will be dropped and you will be released into my custody….IF…if….you provide us any information. Just a name will suffice.”
Angelika sat back in her seat and smiled. “If you plan on going after the Ionian Liberation Front, you better bring bigger guns.”
“Angelika, please cooperate,” I said.
“Alright,” she responded. “You want a name, here’s a name. The man who kidnapped your highly esteem scientist is none other than…,” she gave a long pause.
“Dr. Sí”
***
Angelika was loaded onto the plane, strapped to a dolly like she was Hannibal Lector. Maj. Jzerkov was generous enough to give her a jumpsuit.
This time, the plane was bound for Hawaii, the last known location of the nuclear scientist and Dr. Si.
“Are we getting drunk on the plane again,” Mr. Ree asked.
“Damn right we are!”
Admiral Majors joined us at the bar. He was to brief us on our mission.
“The rest of the Kill Squad will join us in Honolulu,” the Admiral said. “Sgt. Private, Captain Corporal, and Lieutenant Sargent have been fully briefed on the situation.”
“Maybe I’ve been too drunk to pay attention,” I said. “But what is our mission?”
“I thought it was obvious,” the Admiral replied. “Retrieve the scientist and kill all the bad guys. How complicated do you want this to get?”
“What about Dr. Sí? What will we do if we capture him?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
After drinks, I went to the cargo bay to talk with Angelika. I dismissed the guards and removed her mask.
“Can you remove the straps please,” she asked. “I need to use the bathroom.”
I unstrapped her from the dolly and watched her closely while she used the toilet.
“Does this turn you on,” she asked.
It kinda did but I played it cool. “Just making sure you don’t escape,” I replied.
“Where am I gonna go? We’re on a plane.”
I didn’t reply. She wiped and flushed the toilet. “Gonna wash your hands,” I asked.
“Why? I didn’t shit on my hands. So what do you want to talk to me about?”
“What’s the deal with Dr. Sí? Why is he so important?”
“This technology he possesses, you couldn’t possibly imagine its power.”
“A nuclear weapon?”
“No. Something more powerful.”
“What could be more powerful than a nuclear weapon?”
“You have a small imagination.”
I scratched my head. Maybe I was too drunk to have this conversation. “Well what does he want with a nuclear scientist,” I asked.
“Nuclear power can be used for other things than just weapons.”
“Care to divulge?”
“Set me free from this cargo bay and I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’ll have to discuss that with the Admiral. He’s particularly concerned about the….”
I turned around for a second and Angelika leapt at me with a makeshift knife (that she presumably snuck in up her ass (or vagina)). I was quick enough to grab her arm and throw her to the ground.
I laid on top of her for a brief moment. We stared into each other’s eyes while I restrained her, my mouth inches from hers. We were both aroused by the sudden burst of action.
The guards rushed in when they heard the commotion. “I got the situation under control,” I told them.
I stood up and ordered the guards to strap her back to the dolly. “Our conversation is done here,” I said. “I’m gonna go jack of…er, I mean, get a Jack. A Jack and Coke. I’m gonna go get drunk.”
But I didn’t go to the bar. I rushed to my cabin to beat off.
***
The Kill Squad met us at Honolulu Airport. While we were unloading in the hangar, Sgt. Private, Lt. Corporal, and Cpt. Sargent gawked at Angelika.
“I’d like to stick my penis into her vagina, if you know what I mean ,” said Sgt. Private.
I bashed him in the face with the butt of my rifle. “Watch your mouth. Ms. Antolonolupolopolos is under our protection. She is our guest and you will treat her as such.”
“Enough,” the Admiral said. He walked over to Sgt. Private, pulled out a 9mm, and shot him in the head.
“Jesus Christ,” I yelled.
“I will not tolerate insubordination in this unit,” the Admiral said. “Lt. Corporal, Cpt. Sargent…get rid of the body.”
I walked over to Mr. Ree. “Does the Admiral usually shoot people for insubordination,” I asked.
“Oh yeah! All the time. Don’t worry about it.”
Afterwards, the entire squad, plus Angelika and Izzy, was airlifted by helicopter to a remote location in the jungle…on the other side of Diamond Head. We set up headquarters in a small hut where we planned our excursion.
The Admiral laid out a map on the table. “Dr. Sí and the scientist were last seen at this location,” he said while pointing to a spot on the map. “I believe they’re now here,” he continued while pointing at a different spot. “Do you agree, Colonel?”
“Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”
“Good. We will head out at 0600 tomorrow morning. Load up on extra ammo,” he said to the group. “We’re bound to run into some resistance.”
The squad retreated to their huts around the camp. I ran into Izzy on my way out.
“The Admiral is a great guy, isn’t he,” she asked.
“He’s a crazy asshole. I’ll say that much.”
I noticed that she had a black eye. “You know Izzy,” I said. “If you ever need to talk about anything, you can come to me.”
“Oh, this black eye,” she asked. “This is nothing. We get a little carried away in the bedroom.”
“Well be careful,” I replied. “No choking stuff. I learned that one the hard way.”
Meanwhile, Cpt. Sargent was harassing Angelika in her hut. An explosive collar was placed around her neck in the event she tried to flee or attacked someone in the group.
“If you don’t leave Angelika alone,” I said to Cpt. Sargent, “I’m gonna place that collar around YOUR neck.”
He glared at me as he left her hut.
“I don’t need your protection James. I can take care of myself,” she said.
“I think you do. Any one of us can detonate that collar if you put up a fight. Some men here might take advantage of that.”
I took a seat while she sat up on her cot. I decided to take the first watch.
“The Admiral is gonna get you killed,” she said.
“Probably. But he’s paying me well. That money will help my wife and Amish community.”
“You have a wife? And you’re Amish?”
“You sound disappointed.”
“You’re not my type.”
“Is it because I’m Amish?”
“Just don’t get yourself killed on my behalf.”
We bantered for awhile. She fell asleep and unfortunately I did too.
Later that night, men snuck into the camp. They hooded, muzzled, and kidnapped Angelika and me. When the hood was lifted from my head, I was in a laboratory.
Angelika was nowhere to be found.
They placed me on my knees, hands bound behind me. Even worse, the explosive collar was now around my neck.
A man in a white lab coat walked in front me and lowered himself to my face.
“Hello James,” he said. “I’m Dr. Sí.”
***
“Well shits assholes,” I said to Dr. Sí. “We’ve been looking for you. I guess the search is over! Can I go now?”
“Not so fast,” he responded. “I need to know where your Kill Squad is going.”
“First I want to know what happened to Angelika,” I demanded.
“Fair enough,” he said. Then Dr. Sí turned to the corner of the laboratory. “Angelika, come join us.”
Angelika stepped out, all dolled up with her red hair flowing down to her shoulders. “Sorry James,” she said. “You’re not my type because Dr. Sí is my type.”
The two kissed passionately in front of me.
“I do want to thank you, Colonel James, for returning her to me,” Dr. Sí said.
“Hey, not a problem,” I replied. “Can you return the favor by removing this explosive collar from around my neck? Once when they realize Angelika’s missing, this thing will blow my head off.”
“First, where is the Kill Squad going?”
“They’re probably coming here!”
“We are certainly not at where they are going.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
The doctor turned around and looked at a computerized map of the Hawaiian islands. “I am a man of science, colonel. In order for my experiments to work, I need EXACT measurements. I cannot afford unpredictability. So again…where is the Kill Squad going?”
I was running out of time. The collar was going to detonate at any moment. Then I remembered…
“$2 million,” I said.
“$2 million?”
“Yes, $2 million and I give up the coordinates of the Kill Squad plus any other state secrets you want in order to sweeten the deal,“ I replied.
I was bluffing about the state secrets part. I didn’t know shit.
“$1 million,” Dr. Sí responded.
“Deal. The coordinates are 113.998N 737.746W. Now get this collar off of me!”
Dr. Sí laughed and ordered the guards to remove the collar. “Thank you for your cooperation colonel,” he said. “But as an insurance policy, I’ll place this collar on one of your acquaintances.”
The guards rolled in Mr. Ree, strapped to an upright gurney.
“They kidnapped me too,” Mr. Ree said. “Can you believe that bullshit?”
“Ohh come on,” I said. “Don’t kill Mr. Ree! He’s cool! Besides, that thing will detonate before the squad reaches its destination!”
“That’s just a chance I’m willing to take,” Dr. Sí replied.
“Look, I don’t give a damn about Admiral Majors or the Kill Squad. But there’s a woman that’s traveling with them: Izzy. Please don’t kill her,” I pleaded.
“Colonel, relax,” he said. “I’m not looking to kill anyone, except for Mr. Ree over there. I just want to see that thing go off.”
“I don’t understand.”
Dr. Sí put his arm around my shoulders and started walking me around the laboratory. “I understand your confusion. You see, has anyone told you the truth about that missing nuclear scientist?”
“To be honest doctor, for this entire mission, I’ve kinda been asleep at the wheel. I don’t even know that scientists’ name.”
“Ah, let me show you.”
Dr. Sí opened a door and out walked an old man in a lab coat. I think I was supposed to be impressed by this.
“I don’t know who this is,” I said.
“That’s J. Robert Oppenheimer.”
“Who?”
“J. Robert Op…the father of the atomic bomb?! What are you? Some kind of fucking moron?”
“You cloned him?”
“No asshole! I brought him from the past into the future! Don’t you get it yet? I invented time travel!!”
I walked up to Oppenheimer and looked him up and down. “Welcome to the future,” I told him. “We killed Hitler.”
“I know that, dumbass,” he replied. “We should have dropped the bomb on him!”
I looked back over to Dr. Sí. “So what? You invented time travel. Big whoop. How can you use that against the Kill Squad?”
“That’s why I brought my friend Oppenheimer to the present. You see, we created a new kind of weapon: a time weapon.”
“That sounds pretty fucking stupid, Dr. Sí,” I said. “How can you weaponize time?”
“Well you see, if you can triangulate the space time continuum, the quantum field fluctuations will…”
“Okay, sorry I asked,” I interrupted. “That science shit is boring. Cut to the chase. What’s gonna happen to the Kill Squad?”
“I will fire a plasma energy weapon at their coordinates. When the weapon reaches them, it will generate a quantum field around them and they will be transported to a different time and place.”
“My god,” I said. “A non-destructive weapon. You’re a genius Dr. Sí.”
“So you’re not a complete fucking idiot after all,” he replied. “It is far more humane than the nuclear weapons of the last 80 years. Imagine: no more nuclear fallout, no more mass death…we simply transport our enemies to a different time, different place.”
I looked around the laboratory…at all the scientists running around, to Oppenheimer, to Angelika, and then over to Mr. Ree.
“I cannot deny your genius, Dr. Si,” I said. “But it appears that the only one in danger here is Mr. Ree. If you’re really are humane, you’d remove that collar.”
Dr. Sí nodded. “I suppose you’re right, Colonel.” He looked to the guards. “Remove the collar.”
The guards walked over to the gurney and removed the collar. As they were about to dispose of it, it detonated, killing and maiming several of them.
Out of the confusion, Oppenheimer attacked one of the guards, grabbing his machine gun.
“Put down the gun Oppenheimer,” Dr. Sí said.
“No,” he replied. “You’ve been holding me hostage here. I’m not your puppet!”
“But Bob,” Dr. Sí pleaded. “We’ve been building something special here. Don’t you want to finish our work?”
“No! No more weapons!”
More guards rushed into the room, forcing Oppenheimer to drop his gun.
“Sorry Bob,” Dr. Sí said. “It appears your time is up.”
Mr. Ree was released from the gurney. The two of us were ordered to raise our hands and were rounded up with Oppenheimer.
“Lock these scum up,” Dr. Sí ordered.
***
“This is science gone haywire,” J. Robert Oppenheimer said. “I should have never agreed to help Dr. Sí.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said to him. “We’ll get you out of here and back to your own time.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” he replied.
“Sure it does. It’s science! Anything is possible.”
“We can’t just go ‘back in time’. Doing so would violate all sorts of Newton’s laws. When the quantum field is generated, the individual is transported to an alternate timeline. The laws of physics remain the same and the outcomes in these timelines might be similar to our own, but it’s not the same timeline. Am I making sense?”
“Nope,” I replied. “But we’ll get you as close to your timeline as humanly possible.”
“Forget it,” Oppenheimer replied. “Our best option is to disarm the weapon to prevent this from happening again.”
“How do we do that?”
“There’s a special property in the element of gold that penetrates through space and time. If the gold is removed from the nano chambers, the weapon would be powerless.”
“Sounds like a plan Bob.” I looked over to Mr. Ree. “Do you think the Kill Squad will alter course and find us?”
“I doubt it,” Mr. Ree said. “I don’t even know where we’re at.”
“We’re at the bottom of a dormant volcano,” Oppenheimer said. “They’ll never find us.”
“Shit,” I said. “Then we have to take matters into our own hands. We just need an opportunity.”
Angelika then peered through the opening of our cell door. “James,” she said, “just hold tight, I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“Angelika,” I replied, “I thought you were with Dr. Sí.”
She then reached her hand through the opening to touch my own. “Dr. Sí is no friend of the Ionian Liberation Front. He’s no friend of peace and justice. I don’t want this technology to fall into the wrong hands.”
“Get us out of here and we’ll destroy it,” I said.
“No! Think about it James. With this weapon, we can right all the wrongs. We can undo our violent past and create a better future.”
“I don’t know Angelika.”
“Please, I’ll get you out of here. But let me have the weapon.”
I thought for a second and agreed to her terms. Then she grasped my hand tightly.
“What’s your wife’s name?” she asked.
“Miriam”
“She’s a lucky woman. Perhaps in another time….”
She let go of my hand and closed the opening. I heard some rustling outside, then a few gunshots. After a few moments, the cell door blasted open.
Angelika walked across the rubble wearing a skintight leather suit and holding a Heckler & Koch M27.
“Alright boys,” she said. “Let’s blow the top off this volcano.”
***
We stole guns off some guards that Angelika brutally murdered and ran down the corridor.
“The time weapon is is being held three floors above us,” Angelika said.
We began to feel tremors all around us. I asked Angelika the last time this volcano erupted.
“About 25,000 years ago,” she said.
“Then this thing could go off at any moment. We better hurry.”
We went down the corridors and up the stairs in an attack formation. Angelika and I covered the front. Mr. Ree and Oppenheimer covered the rear.
When we reached the room holding the time weapon, the Kill Squad…along with Izzy….was there. They altered course and stormed into the volcano earlier in a bloody, devastating firefight. Not many survived.
“Thank goodness you’re alive,” the Admiral said. “And you found J. Robert Oppenheimer. Excellent work. Lt. Captain, please dispose of the scientist.”
Lt. Captain cocked his pistol and raised it up to Oppenheimer’s head.
I raised my rifle to Lt. Captain.
“Pull that trigger and you’re dead,” I told him.
“But Colonel James,” the Admiral said, “this time travel stuff is against the laws of God. We must destroy all of the evidence.”
“No,” I said. “Oppenheimer has as much right to exist as the rest of us.”
Dr. Sí then rushed in with his guards. “Well well,” he said. “Glad you’re all here.”
We were surrounded. We dropped our weapons.
Dr. Sí walked up to the Admiral. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well Admiral,” he said.
“This ends today doctor,” the Admiral replied.
“I think not,” he replied.
Dr. Sí walked over to a control panel. In a corner across the room, the floor moved, revealing a lava pit.
“I’m sorry Admiral,” the doctor said. “But you can’t go where we’re going.”
The guards grabbed the Admiral and pushed him towards the pit. “You’ll never get away with this,” he yelled.
“Of course I will. I control time! Think about the possibilities Admiral! We could have taken over the world. You never understood that.”
“Izzy, don’t let them do this,” the Admiral screamed. She walked over to him and the guards.
“You’re one abusive son of a bitch,” she said. Izzy then roundhouse kicked him into the fiery pit. When the screams stopped and the flames died down, Izzy turned around.
“Can I go home now,” she asked. “I didn’t want to be here anyway.”
“I’m sorry madam,” Dr. Sí replied. “I cannot let anyone leave here alive.”
“So what happens now? This volcano will erupt at any moment,” I asked.
“Exactly Colonel. In a few moments, I will time travel out of here and this volcano will erupt, destroying the evidence.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Angelika said. Dr. Sí walked up to her, grabbed her hair and put his lips on her.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us,” he said. “I gotta go.”
He went back to the panel and a countdown started. A laser dropped down from the ceiling which would release a plasma field around its target, triggering a spacetime ripple that would permit time travel.
“Before I forget,” Dr. Sí said to me, “here’s the $1 million I owe you. Where I’m going, this money is no good.”
He threw a metal briefcase as my feet.
“Alright,” the doctor said, “let’s get this bullshit over with.”
The laser then fired out a beam, creating the field around Sí. While the guards were mesmerized by the sight, Oppenheimer ran into the field, pushing the doctor out.
There was a bright flash of light, then Oppenheimer was gone…lost somewhere in time.
“You fool!” Dr. Sí yelled.
Out of the confusion, Angelika attacked the guards and took a gun. She began spraying bullets across the room. I picked up the briefcase and ran for cover.
I grabbed a rifle from a dead guard and began shielding Izzy. Mr. Ree then engaged in the firefight.
When all the guards were dead, Angelika threw down her semi-automatic and grabbed Dr. Sí. He tried to put up a fight.
“Angelika!” he screamed. “This volcano will go off any second. We don’t have time for this!”
“Time’s up bitch!” she said. Then she threw him into the lava pit. A large flame shot up in the air.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ree was monitoring communications between guards over the radio. “Reinforcements will be here in a minute,” he said.
I handed the briefcase to Izzy. “Make sure Miriam gets this,” I told her.
We shared one last look. “Mr. Ree and I will give you cover while you escape,” I said. “Angelika, go with her.”
“But I didn’t get the weapon,” Angelika responded.
“Let it go,” I said. “You can save humanity without it.”
I reached out my hand to hers and we looked deep into each other’s eyes. “Goodbye Angelika.”
She gave a pause. “Goodbye James,” she said.
Izzy and Angelika, along with a few surviving members of the Kill Squad, ran back down the corridor. The tremors were beginning to pick up.
Mr. Ree and I stood behind the control panel, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. “Ready to go where no man’s gone before,” I asked him.
He put a cigar in his mouth. “You’re reading my mind.”
As guards were pouring into the room, Mr. Ree provided cover while I fiddled with the controls. The laser pointed in our direction and released a beam. The field surrounded us.
Where…or when…we were going, only God knew.
Then there was a brilliant flash of light….
*********
Izzy, Angelika, and the Kill Squad made it out of the volcano just as it erupted. As they watched the explosion from a safe distance, Izzy turned to Angelika.
“Do you think they’re dead?”
Angelika looked to the ash cloud hovering over the jungle. She thought for a moment.
“No,” she replied. “They’re out there…somewhere in time….”
But today’s kinda an emotional day for me. This was the first time I stood up against authority…and WON. But where there are victors, there are also losers. And it will take time for these wounds to heal.
Yet today’s a new day at the toilet factory. And you can rest assured that I will always stand up for your right to shit.
Shit’s got real. While the rest of you will be drinking and driving your way into the next year, I’ll be making battle plans.
You see, management at the toilet factory has declared war on its employees and the future of toilets hangs in the balance. Lines have been drawn, friends are now enemies, and enemies are now friends.
Not gonna lie, I may not survive.
So next time you pull down your pants and take a shit, think of me; think of all the workers that have made it possible for you to lay a turd in a bowl of water and then flush that shit water down into a sewer. A lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into making the modern world possible. Gone are the days where we throw our shit and piss onto the streets and cause the Bubonic plague.
So hug your families, celebrate with friends, and wipe your ass carefree knowing that there’s a thin brown line of workers standing between you and the bubonic plague.
This is the second short story I wrote for the blog, the first, of course, being my magnum opus A Shot At the Title.
Clearly I was going for a 50s pulp novel kind of feel. And I think I was partially successful there. Keep in mind, I put even less thought into these stories then than I do now.
So I’ll let you be the judge.
Shoot Me, Deadly
I burned the apartment complex down while making nachos. After the court cases were settled and 20 people were made homeless, I needed the money.
A strange man walked into my office. He laid his briefcase on the desk and pulled out his revolver.
“I’m here to offer you a shot at redemption,” he told me.
“What’s the case?” I asked.
“You’re the worst private dick in town,” he said. “I need a moron, a dipshit, a loser, a complete piece of shit that would be willing to take the fall when things go south.”
I took out a cigarette and thought for a moment. Fuck it, I thought. I needed the paycheck.
“Give it to me,” I said.
“A mafiosos daughter has gone missing. She was last seen in San Diego. Here’s her picture.”
She looked like a woman that could eat your heart out and save room for dessert.
“What’s the dame’s name,” I ask.
“Isabella Maria,” he replied. “She was a spoiled brat. She dropped out of law school to pursue a career in phlebotomy but got caught up in the wrong crowd if you know what I mean.”
“Drugs?”
“No, improv comedy. She was terrible.”
“Well,” I said. “I’ll need a $5,000 deposit and a list of references.”
“Just send me the bill. Everything you need to know is in this briefcase.”
The briefcase was a Boccio. Italian leather. Not sure why he bothered. A Manila folder would have worked just fine.
“I didn’t get your name sir,” I said.
“My name’s not important. But what I represent is.”
Fuckin weirdo.
The man left and I told my secretary to not take any calls. I went back into the office and pulled out a handle of Everclear. After popping my Zeldox and Zoloft, I lifted the glass up to a picture of my dead mother.
“Welp, things are shit and they ain’t getting any better,” I said.
And down the hatch she went.
***
I took the Sunday drive up to San Luis Obispo in my Chevy SSR to visit Isabella’s father, the mafioso Roberto Benigni Vittorio Stararo. Or “Vito”.
The county sheriff pulled me over.
“You don’t know what you’re getting into James,” the sheriff said.
“Just hand me the ticket so that I can be on my way,” I replied.
The sheriff wrote up the ticket and gave me another warning: “I better not see you or this piece of shit vehicle in my county again.”
Asshole.
I pulled up to Stararo’s estate. His wife came out to greet me.
“I’m Michaela Sabine Stararo,” she said. “Vito is fox hunting. He’ll be joining us shortly.”
She was wearing a white blouse tucked into her equestrian pants with boots. Her figure could make a man have a boner, if you know what I mean.
Michaela invited me in and offered a Chardonnay.
“Are you Isabella’s mother?” I asked.
“Her step-mother. Poor girl. She never got to know her real mother,” she replied.
I took a sip of the Chardonnay. It was Laguiche, ‘09.
“It must be rough being an LA detective,” Michaela said.
“If people quit disappearing and fucking around on their spouses, I’d be out of a job.”
Vito walked in with his Winchester. “È questo il detective idiota assunto dal mio socio?” he said.
“The fuck did he say?” I asked Michaela.
“Vito welcomes you into his home,” she replied.
Vito had to of been 90 if he was a day. Michaela was clearly a distraction from that fact. Still, tough old man. He pulled out a cigar and poured a Chardonnay.
“Quindi questo perdente pensa di poter trovare mia figlia?” he asked.
I looked over to Michaela.
“Vito is prepared to give you all the information you need to find his daughter,” she said.
“I need to know her entire background. Who her friends are. Her lovers. Her enemies. And any enemies that you might have, Mr. Stararo,” I said.
“Chiamami Vito,” he replied.
We talked for hours discussing the case. We went through the bottle of Chardonnay. Then another. Then came the brandy.
As I prepared to leave, Michaela came up to me. “LA is a long drive,” she said. “Why don’t you stay in the guest house. I’ll have the servants prepare it.”
Why not, I thought. It sure beats sleeping in a burned down apartment building.
As I was laying in bed, Michaela came in wearing a silk robe. She slowly walked towards the bedside.
“Stanotte siamo solo io e te,” she said.
Michaela dropped the robe and climbed into bed.
***
I woke up in Vito’s guest house. I was alone. Except for the large bald man standing over me.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked
“Luigi. Michaela wants to talk to you.”
“Can you give me a minute? I still got morning wood.”
“Now”
Luigi escorted me through the garden to the large chateau. There, standing in the kitchen, was Michaela holding a glass of brandy.
“Vito died”, she said.
Luigi punched me in the stomach and I fell to the ground. While on my knees, I tried to catch my breath.
“My condolences, Mrs. Stararo,” I said.
“Don’t give me that shit. What happened to Vito? Where were you?” She asked.
“I think you know where I was.”
Luigi then socked me in the face. I got up and wiped the blood from my nose.
“Does it look like foul play? The man was 90 years old and drunk as hell last night,” I said.
Michaela downed the brandy.
“No,” she replied. “I need to know if I can trust you.”
For good measure, Luigi kicked me in the dick.
“I don’t know who any of you are! I was just hired by some man with a leather briefcase to find Isabella!” I said.
She waved Luigi out of the room and handed me a towel.
“Is this how you treat all your guests?” I asked.
“Sorry, a lot of people have wanted Vito dead for a long time. With him gone, I don’t know if they will come after me,” she said.
Michaela grabbed an ice pack and put it over my eye. “I’m going to need protection,” she said longingly.
“I just got my ass kicked. Are you sure you’re asking the right person?” I replied.
“Don’t go back to LA. Stay here with me.”
“I gotta find Isabella.”
“I don’t know where she is. But as long as she stays away from here, she’ll be safe.”
“I can’t take that chance.”
I grabbed my bowler hat and coat. “I’ll check on you soon. If things get tough, come to LA,” I said.
I took a shot of brandy and departed.
It was clear that Michaela was behind the death of Vito. I’ve seen these cases hundreds of times: wife gets jealous of husband, wife kills husband, wife takes husband’s place as head of a crime family. It’s a tale as old as time.
But one thing was clear: Isabella was certainly in trouble.
I arrived at the LA office. The secretary said that the strange man looking for Isabella was sitting in my office. I walked in and hung up my coat.
“Well well well Mr. Italian Leather, perhaps you have answers for me,” I said.
“That’s what we’re paying you for Jimmy,” he replied.
I sat down at the desk and put my feet up. “Who’s ‘we’? Vito’s dead,” I said.
“I know. I see that Luigi paid you a visit,” Mr. Leather said referring to my bruises. “She’s dangerous you know?”
“You don’t say?” I said sarcastically. “Do you really think this is my first rodeo?”
“I know that you’re a busy man, so I don’t want to take up too much of your time. But I want you to meet me on the campus of UC Irvine on Thursday,” Mr. Leather told me.
“You could have told me this by email,” I replied.
“I just wanted to make sure you got the message.”
Mr. Leather stood up and as he was walking towards the door, I said: “if you’re gonna make me drive all over SoCal, I’m gonna start charging by the mile.”
“Keep sending me the bill,” he said. Then he shut the door.
I told the secretary that I didn’t want any interruptions. I popped open a beer and a Vicodin and took a nap.
***
I put a hurtin’ on the whisky bottle, hoping that it would clear my head. Nothing about this case made sense.
I met Mr. Leather at UC Irvine. He was sitting alone in an empty theater.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“Take a seat. I’m about to make your life a little easier,” he replied.
Two other people entered the theater. The lights dimmed and the curtains opened. Entering stage left was Isabella, all alone.
“I guess I owe you a refund,” I told Mr. Leather.
“Forget it,” he said.
Isabella began her solo performance with a vaguely racist monologue. Then she stripped to her underwear and two nude men flanked her on both sides and they began rolling around on the floor.
“The fuck is going on?” I asked Mr. Leather.
“It’s art.”
The two men then turned around, spread their ass cheeks, and took a squat while Isabella pissed all over the stage. The performance ended with her reciting the lyrics to Motownphilly. When the curtains lowered, no one clapped.
“That was godawful,” I said to Mr. Leather. “I’ve never seen anything more disgusting in my life.”
But when I looked over, Mr. Leather was nowhere to be found.
I went back stage. Isabella was in her dressing room removing the clown makeup.
“Keep trying kid,” I told her as I lit up a cigarette. “You’ll get em next time.”
“Did you enjoy it?” she asked.
“No, my mother was Canadian so I’m partly offended. But keep your head up.”
“Oh,” she replied and slumped back in her chair. I walked over to cheer her up.
“Look,” I said. “If you’ve got a passion, you gotta keep chasing it. Sure you’re gonna hit some potholes in the road, but keep going. You’ll get there eventually.”
“There’s just nothing that I’m good at.”
“That’s not true. You’ve got talent. It just needs some finessing,” I said.
“Yeah I guess,” Isabella said while she was packing her things. “Say, who are you mister?”
I took a big hit off the flask and offered it to Isabella. “I got some bad news kid,” I told her.
She took the flask and waited for the news.
“Your father is dead,” I said.
A blank look came over her face. Then she took a drink. “Was it Michaela?” she asked.
“I suspect it was.”
Isabella sat back down and looked at the floor. “I knew this would happen.”
“Your life is probably in danger,” I said. I took out the wad of cash that Mr. Leather paid me and I handed it over. “You need to get out of town.”
“But there is nowhere I can go where they can’t find me.”
I took out a pin and paper and wrote down an address. “This is my father’s old cabin up in Big Bear. Lay low there and I’ll come and get you in a few days.”
“But who are you?” Isabella asked.
“I’m James, Private Detective.” I handed her a business card. “Also, one other thing.” Then I handed her a .38 special.
“You may need it.”
She packed the items into her purse.
“Go now,” I said. “There’s some things I got to take care of here. I’ll see you in a couple of days when I have more information.”
I drove back to the office for the night. The apartment was still burned to shit. I walked in the office, removed my coat and holster, turned on the light, and there was Michaela and Luigi.
“Sorry, business hours are over,” I said.
Luigi picked up a phone book and ripped it in half. Michaela stood up from the couch, again with a glass of brandy in her hand, and walked towards me in her form fitting gown.
“But darling,” she said. “We’re just here to check in on a case.”
When she got close, Michaela head butted me and I fell backwards into the filing cabinets. While dazed, I tried to stand up and reach for my holster. Luigi grabbed my hand and threw me over the desk.
“Couldn’t this have waited until morning?” I asked.
“You need to tell us where Isabella is going,” Michaela said.
Luigi picked me up by the shirt and held me to the wall. I thought that this was the end until Mr. Leather busted in with his Tommy Gun.
“Let him go,” he said to Luigi. “Or I’ll blow you ten new assholes.”
***
“What’s it gonna be Luigi?” Mr. Leather said with his tommy gun.
Luigi paused and slowly lowered me to the ground. Leather pointed his tommy at Michaela.
“You’re not gonna get away with this,” she said.
“Beat it bitch,” he replied.
Luigi quickly reached for his sidearm. Mr. Leather unleashed his machine gun, blasting holes and blood everywhere. Luigi smashed through the window, falling five stories to the ground.
If the bullets didn’t kill him, the fall certainly did.
Michaela pulled a single shot derringer out of the bosom of her dress, hitting Mr. Leather in the stomach. She ran out the room. I ran over to him.
“We gotta get you to the hospital,” I said.
“Can’t. They’ll take me to prison.”
“I was a medic in the Army, I can probably stop the bleeding,” I replied.
“I’d rather go to prison.”
I helped the blood soaked Mr. Leather to the car. As we sped out of there, he took out a cigarette.
“Where you taking me?” he asked.
“The only place we can go.”
We arrived at the Big Bear cabin early in the morning. Isabella helped carry the wounded man inside.
“Who is this guy?” she asked.
“You know,” I thought for a moment. “That’s a good question.”
As Mr. Leather began fading in and out of consciousness, he began speaking to Isabella.
“Am fost îngerul păzitor al tatălui tău. Și sunt și a ta. Dar timpul meu este aproape terminat. Ai încredere în acest om prost,” he said.
“Am știut întotdeauna,” she replied.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“It’s not important,” Isabella said. “He doesn’t have long.”
“Obviously!”
“Just let me die,” Mr. Leather said. “It’s time.”
“Are you ever going to tell me who you are?” I asked.
“Fuck off,” he replied.
I shrugged and did what I could to stop the bleeding. I stayed by his side all morning.
“What’s the deal with Isabella?” I asked him.
“Poor girl,” he said. “Vito had her mother killed when she was just a little girl. Vito never understood his daughter. She grew up lonely, neglected by her own family.”
“Why did Vito kill her mother?” I replied.
“I’ll never tell.”
“Did you kill her?”
There was no reply. The mysterious man was no more.
I buried him that evening.
Isabella joined me outside over his shallow grave. I took out another cigarette.
“I don’t know if this guy was a pervert or your guardian angel. But either way, I think he was your biggest fan,” I told her.
“Michaela will find us,” she replied. “We gotta move.”
I handed her the money out of Mr. Leather’s wallet, then I emptied out my own.
“Take this,” I said. “Go to New York. Go do Broadway. Go do stand up. Go do something with your life. That’s what our mystery man would have wanted.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“My father buried an entire arsenal from his time in Korea under this land. I outta put it to use.”
***
If Michaela and her army wanted to lay siege to this cabin, I was fully prepared.
After Isabella said her final goodbye, I began work on a defensive attack. Booby traps, trip wires, and explosives were scattered around the perimeter. Thanks to my father’s arsenal, I had RPGs, M16s, M4 Carbines, AKs, AR-15s, Uzis, and all the usual weapons you’d find in these stories.
I climbed up into a deer stand, and watched. Waited. I stared down the scope of my rifle. A caravan of black SUVs was rolling down the dirt road.
The first vehicle struck a trip wire, causing a massive explosion. It obliterated the SUV and the one behind it. Eight people were killed immediately.
Men in the vehicles behind began fanning out into the woods, but they kept triggering the C-4, causing more explosions and death. The unlucky ones got caught in bear traps where they became easy prey for the mountain lions.
I realized that I created a horrible, if not tragic, death trap.
I climbed down from the deer stand and ran back to the cabin. I knew that the men who survived the initial barrage would eventually breach the defensive perimeter. So I armed myself with multiple automatic weapons.
Meanwhile, explosions kept going off. I grabbed the RPG-7.
I knew Michaela was getting close. One of her men yelled “you fucking bitch! You told us that we’d only be facing three people! Not the threshold of hell!”
Her men started to retreat. So my defensive campaign suddenly became an offensive one. I fired an RPG right at her gaggle of men, killing or maiming all 20 of them.
The few survivors that weren’t screaming in agony began to fire back. So I let loose another RPG.
I looked out into the woods. Fires were emanating from the charred remains of hundreds of dead bodies. It was lighting up the night sky. Yet none of the bodies were Michaela.
I slowly paced through the woods. Then a bullet went right through my left kidney. I fell to the ground and Michaela popped out from behind a tree, doing all kinds of strange martial arts.
She round house kicked my face. She broke one of my arms, both legs and my eyes were nearly swollen shut. I was helplessly crawling on the ground.
“Where’s Isabella?!” Michaela kept asking while punching me in the face.
“If she was up your butt you’d know where she was,” I replied.
Out of frustration, Michaela stood up and pointed her Glock 19 at me. “Goodbye, private dick!”
Luckily, I had dozens of sidearms on me. So I managed to rip a clip into Michaela before she got off a shot.
With fire all around me, I managed to craw back into the cabin. I might’ve been a fuck up my entire life, but at least I’d go out the way I wanted.
I lit up a cigarette and looked over to a picture of mom and dad.
“I’ll be with you soon Ma and Pa!”
And I closed my eyes.
….
Unfortunately I woke up in the San Bernardino Community Hospital. Isabella and an FBI agent were in the room.
“I couldn’t leave you there mister,” Isabella said. “You were sitting in a pool of your own blood with all your limbs broken.”
“Despite the horrendous injuries and the state we found you in, you’re expected to make a full recovery!” the doctor said.
I didn’t have health insurance.
“You somehow managed to slaughter the entire west coast mafia. There will be a federal investigation into this,” the FBI agent said.
“Do I need to lawyer up?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, BIG TIME,” the agent replied.
“Aren’t you so happy to be alive?!” Isabella asked.
Sometimes I wonder: “as a writer, have I lost a step?” Then I read my old stuff and conclude it’s an unambiguous “yes”.
When I started this blog, I initially posted random thoughts and stories about my literary alter ego “James”. Before I abandoned that project, this was how that story ended (without resolution, I might add).
Now the story you’re about to read may be a little confusing, so let me provide some clarity. “Dick” was my Scottish roommate who was also a private detective. Nicky Wallz was my “father”. Dale was a coworker and reoccurring character. And Randy was my comical arch nemesis (later revealed to be my real father).
I dunno, I thought it was pretty funny.
****
RANDY RETURNS
I was hopping up and down to the sounds of 80s pop phenom Human League when there was a pound on the door.
“Open up! It’s LAPD!”
It was Randy. I wasn’t fooled.
“What can I do for you Randy?” I asked.
“Can you believe they let me out on bail?! I mean, seven vehicular manslaughter charges!! That’s crazy!” Randy said.
He was flanked by his two female henchmen, Anthrax and Honda. As Randy hoot and hollered, the ladies just stood there, arms crossed.
“So Jimmy, wanna do some drugs? I gotta speedball here,” he asked.
“Gee, I don’t know Randy. Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not at all! Everyone’s doing it.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.
Eventually I found myself in a daze sitting in the backseat of Randy’s Pontiac between Anthrax and Honda. Randy was driving like a maniac down the streets of West Hollywood when he looked to the backseat. “You see! I told you everything will be alright!” he said.
I didn’t think anything was suspicious.
Finally Anthrax and Honda carried me out of the car and into the back of an abandoned warehouse. I recognized the place. I survived a stabbing there a month earlier. They laid me down in a tub of ice and an overweight German doctor wearing a lab coat and nipple piercings tried to load me up with barbiturates.
However the joke was on them. I was always loaded up on barbiturates.
But then it occurred to me.
“Fuck, they’re gonna harvest my organs.” I thought.
Now, like most people, I’ve had to talk my way out of an organ harvesting attempt before. But this one was different.
It was going to take some skill.
“You know, there’s other ways of making a quick buck,” I said to Anthrax. “You can humiliate yourself in front of complete strangers on the internet like I do.”
But she stood there motionless. So I tried a different tactic: the art of seduction.
“It’s a shame I’m about to die. I wish we’ve gotten to know one another more. But, I guess I should count myself lucky. At least the last thing I’ll ever see is your beautiful face,” I said.
Finally Anthrax uncrossed her arms and adjusted her posture. Clearly she was responding to what I was saying.
“I have a confession to make. That time when you and Randy cornered me behind Dick’s Sporting Goods, pulled down my pants and shoved golf balls up my ass, I thought: ‘I could spend the rest of my life with this woman.’ Well it appears I’ll get that chance,” I told her.
Finally she removed her black Gargoyle sunglasses so I could see her eyes.
“I believe it’s customary to grant a dying man his last request,” I said.
“What’s that?” Anthrax replied. “A kiss? How lame.”
“No. I just want to cop a feel.”
She stood there and thought for a second. Finally she moved in closer, removed the handcuffs from my left wrist and placed my hand down her low cut tank. I then grasped as hard as I could on to her tit.
“Ow my titty!” Anthrax screamed.
I then leapt out of the bathtub and kicked Honda in the coot as she moved in closer. I grabbed her nickel plated .45 and pistol whipped Anthrax unconscious. With both henchwomen neutralized, I moved over to the doctor.
“Nein nein nein!” the man screamed. “Ich spreche kein Englisch. Ich weiß nicht wo ich bin!”
“I don’t want to hear that shit!” I yelled while he stared down my .45. “Where’s Randy?!”
I took the doctor by gunpoint into Randy’s lair. There were computer monitors everywhere with live feeds from CCTV cameras all over the world. Mostly in women’s bathrooms.
There were also scientists everywhere and a shit ton of beakers.
“Well well well,” Randy said menacingly. “It appears that you foiled my plan.”
“This ends now, Randy.”
“No, you can’t stop me. The LAPD can’t stop me. INTERPOL can’t stop me. Not even unadulterated black tar heroin can stop me! You will never catch me Jimmy, so help me GOD!”
At that moment, men in black shirts began pouring out of every dark corner, firing their AK-47s indiscriminately at me. I used the doctor as a shield while I fired back.
In the mayhem, Randy disappeared while a timer began a countdown to 0 before 200 tons of dynamite exploded. As the clock ticked down, I jumped through the glass window, falling 14 stories into a dumpster while the warehouse exploded into a magnificent fireball, lighting up the Los Angeles skyline.
When the police and fire department arrived, I chastised the New York police officer with the LAPD for releasing Randy on bail.
“We didn’t let Randy out on bail. Dat man is dangerous! He escaped weeks ago!” the officer said while shoveling a hot dog into his mouth.
Then a junior officer came running out of the wreckage, claiming they didn’t find the bodies of Randy or anyone else.
“Say, are you sure that you were kidnapped and held against your will and did not just blow up 16 square blocks of West Hollywood because you were high on methamphetamine?” the New York officer asked.
I knew it.
Randy escaped.
We faced off once. But I knew that he’d come back for vengeance.
***
Dick was a Hall of Fame stalker.
Or “private eye”, as he called himself.
I shot up on some ‘roids to help with my low T when I got pissed off.
“That mother fucker,” I though. “He borrowed $15 from me ten years ago and never paid me back.”
I was of course thinking of Nicky Wallz, a bouncer at a strip club I once frequented. I lost touch with him after the joint got shot up in a disastrous FBI raid.
“I’m gonna beat his ass,” I thought. But I didn’t know where to find him.
Dick was sitting there, cutting away a slice of deer meat with his sawtooth Bowie, when I asked him: “I need you to find me a Nicky Wallz.”
“Aye mate,” he replied. “The price es steep though lad. Ya donnae have a penny to yur name. I just a might be callin n a favour from ya.”
“Just find him.”
Weeks went by. In my restlessness, I began bulking and sculpting. I fought every shit heel in the bar that wanted some, smashing glass and busting heads…all in preparation for my showdown with Nicky Wallz. But Dick was dragging his ass.
“Hey Dick!” I yelled. “What’s the word on Nicky? I told you to find him seven weeks ago. You better not be cruising the the rest stops again.”
“Oy mate, I see ya lookin’ fit lad. But donnae talk to me like tha again. Or else I’ll stab ya in the scrote,” he replied.
“Oh you want some of this?”
“Aye I do.”
We both removed our shirts, displaying our perfectly sculpted abs and chest. Before we fought, we rubbed each other in oil…down our arms, down our legs…before removing our underwear, where I used the oil to rub his magnificent c—…..
Anyways, after venting my frustrations, Dick asked me, “Aye mate, why you bein such a snoot lately? What is it with this Nicky fella?”
I didn’t know how to answer.
“Perhaps I just haven’t noticed how the time has passed,” I said. “I’m getting older. I’m losing friends, acquaintances. Maybe they’ve moved on and I haven’t. I just feel like I’ve learned nothing. Nothing of importance. Nothing about myself.”
We sat in silence for a few moments.
Dick spoke up. “Well lad, I found him weeks ago but didnae wanna tell ya. Maybe let sleepin’ dogs lie yeah?”
Maybe he was right. Nevertheless…
“Where is he?” I asked.
Dick and I went down to the Los Angeles County Hospital, Psych Ward B. The doctor warned us to handle Nicky with utmost care. The nurses were handing out meals to the patients when I walked up to Nicky and slapped the trey out of his hands.
“Recognize me asshole!” I said.
Amazed, Nicky said, “James, you’re alive old friend?”
“Still?! Old friend?!” I said. “Where’s my $15 you piece of shit?”
“Is that what this is about? Money? Nothing else?” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“James, when I was 15, I was homeless and sleeping under a car. An older woman found me and took me in. She fed me. Clothed me. And gave me an education. We were close. Too close. We began a forbidden love affair. It was wrong, we both knew that. We tried to hide it, but the authorities found out. They took her away but not before we sired a child. That woman was Jenny, your mother.”
“Horseshit,” I said.
“Not horseshit. My only regret is never having the heart to tell you. After that strip club got shot up to absolute shreds, I never recovered. That’s why I’m here, because I just can’t bear the guilt of knowing who I am.”
Dick and me left the hospital in quiet contemplation. Could it be true? How could my mother have hid this from me?
We wandered back to the car then I pulled out a cigarette. I said to Dick:
“Damn, I should have asked for more than $15.”
***
I’m gonna slap those chilli fries right out your mouth,” Jenny, my mother, said.
“Jenny, I’m just asking you if Nicky Wallz is my father,” I replied.
“I don’t know who da fuck dis Nicky is, but he can suck my lef nut,” she said. My mother never explained how she got a Brooklyn accent.
“Ma, did you ever take in a homeless kid 30 some years ago?”
“It was da 80s, everybody was doin wacky shit then,” Jenny replied as she took a drag off her cigarette through her stoma.
I couldn’t stand to be around her when she was like this. I started to walk away.
“Where are you goin?” she asked.
“I gotta take a shit Ma!”
Later I was browsing the porno mags in Safeway when a strange woman bumped her cart into me.
“Watch it lady!” I yelled.
It was Anthrax. I haven’t seen her since I escaped from that exploding warehouse.
“Hello James,” she said.
“Anthrax”
“I just thought I should tell you that I am three months sober. I am attending AA and I am currently seeking to make amends to those I have harmed. Therefore, I apologize for drugging and kidnapping you, and putting objects up your rectum.”
I was shocked.
“Well, you are forgiven. And I am sorry for squeezing your tit and pistol whipping you unconscious,” I replied.
“I forgive you as well,” she said.
We both stood there in awkward silence. Finally I spoke up.
“Say, can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Yes. I would like that,” Anthrax replied stoically.
We didn’t have much to say at the coffee shop. I was still hyped up on the MDMA I took earlier, so I just drank water.
“So what happened to Honda after that deadly explosion that nearly destroyed West Hollywood? Is she okay?” I asked.
“Her face was ripped off and her arms and legs were mangled beyond repair. She survived though, whisked off by the black shirt men to an undisclosed location,” Anthrax replied.
“Well that sucks. Weren’t you two close?”
“Yes. We were sisters in the crime syndicate known as TOILET: Terrorism Or the International League that Engages in Terrorism. Honda rescued me as a small child off the streets of Stockholm and trained me in the ways thievery, extortion, and deception. I owe her my life. I would do anything to find her.”
“But how did you survive that explosion?” I asked.
“I have my ways”
Anthrax continued to sip on her coffee. I took one last gulp of my water.
“Welp, care to have sex?” I asked.
“Yes. I’d like that.”
***
“Dick, you’re gonna have to hide your Ruger collection until dad’s suicidal tendencies go away,” I told my roommate.
Nicky Wallz was recently released from the psych ward. To help get him back on his feet, I agreed to let him stay with Dick and me.
“Aye lad are you sure Nicky’s yer da and wasn’t just trying to get out of paying you $15?” Dick asked.
“I’ve never known Nicky to lie.”
There was a knock on the door. Nicky waddled in completely disheveled and reeking of skid row.
“It’s swell of you guys to take me in. I sure do appreciate it. I’ll try not to be a burden,” Nicky said.
“You just let us know if you need anything.”
Dick called for me into the kitchen. “Aye mate, how long is he gonna be stayin’ with us? The man’s still walkin aroond in his shittee underwear,” he said.
I turned around and Nicky was pissing into an air vent.
“No no dad, the bathroom’s over here.”
Dick was right. I had to find another option.
So I went back to work at the toilet factory and in walked Dale, fresh out of the hospital after taking a sniper round to the leg during a hostage situation weeks earlier.
“Dale how’ve you been you lunatic bastard! Long time, no see,” I tell him.
He was all smiles.
“Boy I tell ya,” Dale said. “This new medication is working out great! I have absolutely no urge to walk in here with my Mossberg 12 Gauge and shoot the place up. Life’s been great!”
“I’m happy for you Dale. But how are you doing living out in the woods all by yourself?Without your family? Without friends?Completely ostracized from society? Not permitted to be within 500 yards of any school or church due to your shameful, shameful deeds?”
“Come to think of it, it is quite lonely out there,” Dale said.
“Well shit Dale, why didn’t you say something?! My father is looking for a place to stay. You two would get along great!”
I’m always happy to play matchmaker.
So I had that problem solved. Now I just had to take my dad out to Riverside County
***
I haven’t been to Norco since I was mugged behind that high school in 95.
But I was taking Nicky, my dad, to Dale’s house in my mom’s Saturn Ion. It was a pleasant drive down I-10.
“You know,” Nicky said. “I haven’t been to Norco since I mugged a guy behind that high school in 95.”
“Well hopefully this will be your first steps towards a new beginning,” I said. “Say, when was the last time you’ve seen Jenny?”
“Not since you were born. I’m sure your mother is as beautiful as the day I met her.”
I didn’t reply.
Nicky looked out the window, taking all the sights that Riverside County had to offer. After several minutes of silence, Nicky said:
“You know, I’ve fucked everything up. I’m just a total disaster, a loser, a piece of shit, totally worthless, absolute garbage, just trash, deserve to be castrated, impaled, burned alive, and dumped into the sea. But if I’ve done one thing right in this life, it’s having a son like you. It’s made it all worthwhile.”
We continued to enjoy our drive as father and son.
We arrived at Dale’s cabin outside of town. Dale was outside, firing his rifle aimlessly into the air.
“Now Dale,” I said. “Dad gets depressed and suicidal frequently. So you might have to give him some of your unused medications from time to time.”
Dad went inside to take a nap while I went to the car to get his bags. Something glistened across the horizon out of the corner of my eye. I looked again at the eerie apparition.
“Fuckin Norco,” I thought.
Then the howling of hell echoed across the valley. A legion of bikers, renegades, outcasts, mohawks, and cenobites filled the prairie, ripping up the fields with their choppers, dirt bikes, and jacked up Dodges. Their storm cloud of dirt and smoke moved ever closer.
“Could it be?” I thought.
Dale stood in awe of the ungodly sight, paralyzed by fear.
“Dale,” I said. “Grab your G36.”
But it was too late. The ragtag army had us surrounded. The leather cladded gang bound both Dale and me and took us to an undisclosed desert location.
We were forced to our knees and the shrouds were lifted from our faces. A hooded figure, decked in black robes appeared before us. The figure slowly began to remove their coverings, revealing a face that neither resembled man nor earthly creature.
I instantly recognized this devilish being.
“Honda,” I gasped. Her face was no longer human. She was more machine than man.
She walked up to Dale and looked him up and down. “You. I don’t know you,” she said.
“But you, I never forget a face. James.”
“Honda,” I said. “What’s the meaning of this attack? If it’s money you want, then I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“SILENCE!” she yelled. She moved closer to us. “You know how I got this face. You know that you kicked my uterus into sterility. You’ve cursed me to wonder this earth as a nomad, as a castoff. Unwanted by the syndicate. Unwanted by society. This crew you see, we seek not money, or acts of deception, or extortion. We have one aim that unites us all: Revenge.”
“Okay, I’m sorry for kicking your poonan beyond repair,” I said. “But it wasn’t me that detonated all that dynamite. Randy did that. He was trying to cover his tracks. He never cared about you and Anthrax. You were both cannon fodder to whatever his deranged plan was. Come on, Honda! You know that’s true! It’s Randy you want, not me!”
Honda turned around in contemplation. After a long pause, she slammed her hands into the table in front of her, smashing it to bits. After standing over the wreckage, she directed her attention towards me.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “But you and I have some unfinished business.”
Honda then slowly lifted me off the ground, gazing into my eyes, and kneed me square in the dong.
***
“Your dick don’t work,” the doctor said.
“Thank you doctor,” I replied.
Dale and I were found outside of Palm Springs buck naked. We were bound together and gagged. It took awhile for the police to realize we were victims and not nudists.
We were taken to the hospital where I was treated for massive scrotal damage. Dale was alright.
“Aye, don’t worry lad. We’ll get your wee workin again. You watch,” Dick (my Scottish roommate) said.
“Never mind that. I need you to find Honda. It isn’t over between us,” I instructed Dick.
“Aye”
Dick quickly left the hospital room to begin work. Dale spoke up.
“I’m just glad that we all made it out alive,” he said.
“No one asked you anything,” I said.
Anthrax also came to visit. After Dale and Dick exited, she came to my bedside.
“I need you to tell me everything you know about Honda,” she inquired.
“She seems to possess extraordinary strength. I don’t think she’s human anymore, Anthrax. I think she’s a cyborg. Who the fuck would do that to her? Randy’s a dumbass, there’s no way he could’ve done something like that,” I told her.
“I think I know who.”
“Who? That stupid ass crime syndicate? Honda said that they didn’t want her anymore. That’s why she’s riding around with those dorks like she’s Peter fuckin Fonda,” I replied.
“It’s not Randy. It’s not the syndicate,” Anthrax said.
“Alright. This is getting too complicated and contrived. But if you or Dick find Honda, tell her I’m coming after her,” I said.
“I’ll find her. But please, before you do anything, I need to know if there’s at least an ounce of humanity in her. If there is, I know that I can save her. Please James.”
I agreed.
As Anthrax began to leave, I grabbed her by the hand.
“I learned from a James Bond movie that before one seeks vengeance, they must first dig two graves,” I said.
“But I’m not seeking vengeance,” Anthrax replied.
“Oh yeah, I am. I mean….please be careful.”
Anthrax gave a faint smile then departed. I laid in the hospital bed bored and feeling awkward for not feeling like I have to compulsively masturbate.
“Your mother is on the phone,” a nurse told me.
I reluctantly took the call.
“Ohh my poor Tony,” mom said. “I heard that you were in the hospital!”
“This is James, ma. Who the hell is Tony?”
“What do you mean? I don’t have dementia,” she said. “How’s my sweetheart doing?”
“I’m alright. Is something wrong? I’ve been to the hospital hundreds of times and you’ve never called.”
“I’m just checking up on my favorite son. What are you, a moron?”
“I’m your only son Ma,” I said. “Anyway, are you sure Nicky is not my father?”
“Did you not read your birth certificate?”
“You put down Lou Diamond Phillips. Is there anything you can tell me about my father?”
“He was a tall glass of water. He could send shivers up and down my body with one touch. He was smooth, suave, with a voice of gold like Sinatra in a younger day. You don’t remind me of him at all,” Ma replied.
That definitely didn’t sound like Nicky.
***
You know, I lost a testicle too in a savage kidnapping plot,” Dale said to me while we were setting up C-4 explosives.
“Did you get it back?” I asked.
Dale and I were putting up booby traps around his cabin outside of Norco. We knew Honda was going to strike again so we wanted to establish home field advantage.
Nicky (my alleged father) was sitting around the campfire staring down the barrel of his .44.
“No no dad,” I said as I took the gun out of his hands.
All three of us sat around the campfire under the Norco moonlight. The air reeked of cow shit.
“What a god forsaken place,” I said.
Dale took in a deep breath of shit stained air.
“I was born here. I grew up here. I lost my virginity here. I got married here. I got divorced here. Got married again. Got divorced again. Lost everything I had. And never gained it back. I’ll probably die here,” Dale said.
“Probably so,” I replied.
Nicky spoke up. “You know, I’m just glad that you boys are out here to protect me. When the FBI shot up that strip joint, I remember that I completely blew out my pants. Shit got everywhere. When they arrested me, they made me sit in my shitty underwear. Then I cried.”
“Don’t worry about it dad,” I said. “Dale and I have faced Honda before. We know what to expect.”
“By the way,” Dale chimed in. “Who the fuck is Honda and why are we in this mess?”
We all looked at each other and shrugged.
“It’s important to not think too much on this,” I said. “The important thing is that we are family, except for Dale, and that we are all going to help each other out this train wreck we find ourselves in.”
We nodded and started to enjoy the campfire.
Finally I asked Nicky, “So what do you remember about mom?”
He smiled and said, “what a lovely woman. Legs, ass, tits. The whole package. Eyes as blue as the sky. But a warm heart. She knew how to brighten up my day.”
I looked back at the fire and thought that doesn’t describe mom at all.
Finally Dick called.
“Aye lad, I’ve been tailin’ Anthrax all dee. I’m watching her outside a trap hoose n Pasadena,” Dick said. “I donnae think you’ll like who she’s with mate.”
“Randy,” I said.
“Aye”
That bitch, I thought. I knew she was going to double cross me and I fell into her trap. Instead of a battle, we were now facing a war on two fronts.
“Then you might get your M2s, M4s, AKs, AR-15s, 44s, 94, and 22s,” I told Dick. “We’re headed for a Mexican standoff.”
***
While sitting around the fire, Dale was free style rapping like a shitty 90s PSA.
Then the first explosions went off. A booby trap was tripped. Dale and I threw on our bandoliers, our machetes, and our AKs.
I tossed an AR-15 over to Nicky. “When in doubt, just spray bullets indiscriminately across that tree line,” I told him. “If they catch you, go ahead and use the weapon on yourself.”
Both Dale and I penetrated deep into the woods, deep into the cold of night. Another explosive went off. Someone, somewhere was close.
“Drop your weapons,” we heard.
We dropped them.
We obviously made shitty commandos.
Dale and I were surrounded by men in black uniforms and state of the art technology. They patted us down and escorted us through the dense woods to a large, portable, tank-like structure that resembled something out of Avatar.
How this structure moved undetected through Southern California is a mystery.
We were brought up to the bridge of this mega tank, and just like when Dale and I faced Honda, we were placed on our knees and presented with a series of theatrics that culminated in a villain presenting himself.
“Cut the bullshit, Randy,” I said. “We know it’s you.”
“Damn,” he replied. “But this tank is pretty cool, huh?”
“What are you and the dumb syndicate up to now?” I asked. “Poison the world’s food supply? Creating a race of super humans for world domination?”
“How did you know?” Randy replied.
“Just leave me out of it,” I said.
Then the black shirts brought in Nicky and placed him in front of Randy.
“We found this asshole with a rifle in his mouth. He didn’t even put up a fight,” one of the soldiers said.
“Damn it dad!” I said. “You were supposed to at least get off ONE shot before you offed yourself!”
“Sorry son,” Nicky replied. “I’m just not very good in firefights.”
Randy spoke up.
“Son? Dad? What’s this about?” he asked.
“Nicky’s my dad,” I replied. “I may die today, but at least I’ll die knowing who my family is.”
“Nicky’s not your dad,” Randy said. “I am your dad.”
“Bullshit,” I replied.
“It’s true! I thought I told you. Guess I forgot . Anyhow, your mom and me were partners in another syndicate before we joined TOILET (Terrorism Or the International League that Engages in Terrorism). Unfortunately it was the 80s, so we were coked up and fucked, then you were born. So she left the syndicate.
Years later, the syndicate wanted to cover up its tracks, so I deployed my other son, Nicky, to kill you and your mother. But then the FBI shot the fuck out that strip club and Nicky got amnesia. After realizing that you were just some loser, the syndicate decided it wasn’t worth spending resources to kill you.
So Nicky, I’m also your father.”
I felt the world disappear beneath my feet. My heart sunk. I knew it was true.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “I know the truth.”
“Excellent question,” Randy said.
Out of the shadows appeared Anthrax in full battle rattle. “I say we finish the job,” she said.
“Great idea!” Randy said.
“Traitor,” I said to Anthrax.
The soldiers grabbed Dale and placed him up against the wall. Randy took out his flame thrower and began taunting us.
“This has been quite a reunion,” Randy said. “You thought that Anthrax was your friend. You thought that you could stop me. But your plans just went up in flames.”
Randy then unleashed the full wrath of hell onto Dale. There were no screams. Dale just danced around as a gigantic flame before falling to the ground. What was once a man was now just charred, smoldering, remains.
“Was that supposed to scare me? Because I just shit my pants,” I said.
Just then the structure began to violently shake. Then there was a massive explosion and soldiers began to man their stations.
The Internet Ruined Everything 