Anaideia 38

Time was a tickin. Between throwing the sign in the air and doing the splits like a goddamn madman, I kept radioing to Dale and Jim. “Do you see anything?” I asked them.

“That’s a negative good buddy,” Dale responded. I could see him munching on pistachios in an air conditioned Porsche.

Jim didn’t understand what was going on. “Who is this?” he would say.

I was growing desperate so I squinted my eyes and scanned my surroundings. There was a yellowish car sitting curiously across the street and I thought I recognized it. I radio to Dale. “Do you see that shitty yellow Pontiac Aztec?” I asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he radioed back.

“For fuck sake Dale! It’s right next to you!”

From the corner of my eye, I could see him turn his head left. “Oh yeah, that thing,” he said. “It’s been sitting there for awhile.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“It didn’t look suspicious to me,” he shrugged.

I put down the sign and leave my post in front of the mattress store. I sneak up on the Aztec and noticed a woman sitting in the driver’s seat with sunglasses and reading a newspaper. “Susan fuckin Brucetti!” I uttered.

I pulled out the Colt Python from inside my track pants and climbed into the passenger’s seat. This sudden movement startled her and she jumped and dropped the newspaper.

“JAMES!” she exclaimed.

“Busted!” I said.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I should ask you the same question!”

With the engine running, she shifted the car into drive and slammed on the gas. I flew back in my seat and dropped the Python onto the floorboard. When I tried to reach for it she swerved the vehicle and tossed me to and fro. “You can’t have my organs!” I shouted to her as I attempted to wrestle the steering wheel from her hands. But she grabbed the back of my head and slammed it against the dashboard which caused my fake dreads to fall off. While in a daze, I turned around to see Dale in a hot pursuit.

“You can’t outrun us,” I said to her half concussed.

She weaved in and out of traffic causing other motorists to brake or crash into one another. I fought through my impending CTE and grabbed the wheel but she karate chopped my throat and I feared she broke my larynx. Dale was still in pursuit.

“James, can you hear me?!” he radioed through.

Blood spewed from my mouth as I tried to respond. “I’m being abducted!” I gurgled.

Susan grabbed the walkie talkie from my hands and threw it out the window and then she swerved onto the interstate on-ramp. Dale was on her tail and attempted a t-bone. This worked and the Aztec spun wildly out of control and out of the way of Dale’s Porsche. But Dale, now moving at a tremendous speed, hit a guardrail and launched his car several feet in the air before landing upside down in the middle of the interstate. Susan regained control of the vehicle was headed 90 miles per hour eastbound outside of Reno.

“You killed Dale!” I shouted while holding my neck.

“Where have you been for months?! And why are you now in Reno?!”

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” I said and I reached for her neck. But she did another jujitsu move and knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, I was tied to a bed with my arms and legs splayed out. I was inside yet another motel in the middle of the desert and my head hurt and could feel my brain bleeding on the inside. I tried lifting my head and shouted for Susan. “If you’re gonna kill me then let’s get this over with!” I said.

I could hear her fumbling inside the bathroom and I presumed that she was preparing the bathtub to harvest my organs. It was agony to lay there while I awaited my death. But moments later, she opened the door and gave me a long hard look. “What were you doing outside of that UPS store?” she asked me.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said.

“Were you following me?”

“Following you? Hell! I forgot you existed!”

“Were you going after Madam Joelle?”

I paused. “What’s it to you?” I ask.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m a dead man regardless. I saw you stalking me in Los Angeles. There’s only one reason why someone would stalk me: they want my organs.”

She was genuinely perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think I disappeared for so long eh? I knew you were onto me!”

Susan chuckled and rubbed her forehead. “No. No, James, I was following you because you were connected to Randy.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 13

Through the eyes of Susan Brucetti I felt like nothing more than a bag of meat. I could imagine her licking her chops like a lioness stalking her prey in the Serengeti. It made no sense. Of all the men strolling mindlessly like cattle through Los Angeles, why my organs? Then a chill ran down my spine; perhaps it wasn’t her who wanted my lungs, kidneys, and testicles. Maybe she was under the thumb of someone else; maybe someone very, very close to me. With that realization, there was only one man to turn to.

Through the middle of a clear day, the blinds were closed. I peered through a small crack overlooking the street below like a drug-addled schizophrenic clutching to a small caliber pistol. I knew she’d be coming through that door and when she did she’d be met with six rounds from my P32.

While I sat in the cold darkness of my second floor apartment, I hear the crunching of busted lightbulbs outside the front door that I placed as an early-warning alarm. The knob turned and I lowered my pistol with finger on the trigger. The door swung open and I prepared to fire.

“Oy mate!” the voice shouted. “Me feet are bleedin worse than Bruce Willis’!”

“Jesus Christ Vic!” I shouted. “I could have killed you!”

“With all the lead and mercury in those bulbs, you might still!”

I lowered the pistol and Vic headed towards the kitchen, leaving bloodied foot prints behind him. Vic was hunting that day, and he didn’t believe in wearing shoes while he stalked various wildlife in the Hollywood Hills. He came out minutes later with raccoon skins wrapped around his feet. “I dunno what’s gotten into ya mate, but you have this place fortified like the Bank of England!” he said.

“My apologies,” I told him. “It’s just that someone wants my organs. And it’s not the first time either!”

“Mate, I told ye a hundred times to not to talk to street salesmen.”

“Why not?” I ask. “Are you afraid of a little competition?”

Vic squints his eyes and leans his head back. “What are you insinuating mate?”

“Susan Brushetti found out where I live. Someone had to of told her.”

“And you think it’s me?”

I instantly regretted my words. In my heart, I knew that Vic would never betray me like that. “No,” I said bashfully. “My apologies Vic. I’ve been a little paranoid lately. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

“Aye,” Vic said. “You need to tread carefully mate. I’ve killed men for lesser words.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “I’m gonna have to lay low for awhile,” I said. “I gotta get out of the city until all of this blows over.”

Vic was perplexed. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“No YOU don’t understand,” I retorted. “This town is a dungeon of thieves! Hell has crept up from below the surface and mocks us by masquerading as the city of angels. A man loses his soul a second every hour in this town. The devil has already taken mine and now wants my organs to boot. There’s nothing more I can give. I have little choice but to seek the solace of one Mr. Randall J. Furie.”

“You’re talking crazy mate…”

“That is correct. I am talking crazy because crazy is the only logical path.”

“Have you sought a doctor lately?”

“Vic,” I calmly said. I approached him and rested my hands on his shoulders. “You’ve been a good friend to me,” I told him. “I promise that I won’t be gone long. I promise to send you the money for my half of the rent every month no matter where I am. You gotta trust me.”

“It ain’t about trust mate,” he said. “It’s about your psychological stability.”

TO BE CONTINUED…