Otto Hartmann drew stiffly on his cigarette. It tasted good, like bitter little kisses. He found himself thinking of Hilda. He could not help himself. Her cascade of red curls, the long, wistful days in the meadow, kissing and laughing together in the long grass. And the pumpernickel. Oh God, the pumpernickel.
Otto had always been a people person and that, he reflected upon with some irony, was his ultimate undoing.
“You want the blindfold?” said Captain Brukner, in a shrill, haughty tone not unlike a disdainful vole.
“No. I want to see.”
“Really? Finally some courage from you Otto huh? You face your death like a man at least.”
“Hmm. No, changed my mind. Give me the blindfold,” Said Otto, seeking to deny his former cohort the symmetry his comment implied.
“Very well. A coward to the last. How fitting.”
Brukner beckoned a subordinate who scurried towards Otto immediately, a worn and dirty length of cotton rag in his hand.
“No, I have changed my mind again. I do not want the blindfold. I do not fear death. It is merely a release from this…this madness. And these clothes. These terrible grey clothes.”
“You toy with me Otto. I will allow you this sport, as it will be your last.”
“I wrote a poem about your wife you know,” said Otto. “Her thighs are ridiculous.”
Brukner’s face stiffened then fell, turning grey with fury.
“You dare? You dare mention my Angel? You?”
“She’s like a fucking gargoyle Hans. A total dog. She’s so fat her parents raised her as twins.”
Bruckner’s fist clenched and released, a sneer returning to his lips.
“I will give you one last chance to save your life Otto. Where is the book?”
“You think I believe you will let me live now? That is beyond even you Hans.”
“Your honour then. Surely that is worth saving? Where is the book?”
“The book is safe.”
“Where is it?” spat Brukner, his composure waning once more.
“Safe.” Said Otto.
“One task. One task you were given and you failed even at that. I wash my hands of you.”
Brukner turned stiffly and marched away, hesitating for a second before striding mechanically on, like a staccato dancer, caught up in a ballet of tears.
The squadron raised their rifles.
“Nehmenziel!” called the sergeant. “Feuer!”
Sparks flew from the firing pins as the hammers fell. And Otto Hartmann’s life flashed before his eyes.
Chapter Five
Zak glided around his office/research lab/ chick magnet of a pad filing papers, trying to ignore the persistent knock on the door. He was exhausted from the wrangling with the University funding board and hoped it wasn’t one of his many bitches back for some more of his good, good lovin’. They never seemed to understand. Women to Zak were like scallops, fishy smelling treats you savour briefly and then never think about again. Except for Bonnie. There was something about that girl, but he could never let her know that. He was a loner, a free spirit as free as the sachets of sauce you get at restaurants who don’t charge for sauce, or other condiments. Besides, nothing could get in the way of his work.
“Mr Mathius!” called the voice from behind the door.
“I need to talk to you my brother, open up the goddam door huh?”
A man’s voice. A young man, maybe twenty. He could tell by the tone and the timbre that the owner of the voice had grown up hard, like he had.
Zak strode across the room, like a tiger prowling across a room to open a door, but elegantly, like a tiger. He opened the door, more or less just like a guy opening a door.
“What do you want man? I’m busy.” He said, grimacing at the young man who stood before him.
“I appreciate that Mr Mathius, I surely do, but I got to talk to you. I got a case!”
“What do you mean “a case”? Said Zak, a quizzical tone in his voice.
“I mean a case man! A case for you to investigate!” said the lad.
“You must have me confused with someone else young brother, I’m a scientist, not a policeman…”
“Aw man I know who you are, you the dude they call they The Infiltrator. You the man who took down The Calcium Crew, the dudes behind the biggest fresh milk heist this side of the civil war! You the man who blew the granny farm over seventies sex ring wide open! I know you man!”
Zak was impressed. This kid had done his research. He’d passed test number one. He had found The Infiltrator.
“Ok, say I am this Infiltrator cat you’re jawing about. What makes you think I’ll just be taking your crummy little case anyway? He don’t sound like the kind of guy who takes on bag snatchings or silly shit like that.”
“Aw naw man, the shit I’m bringing you is fucked up. I wouldn’t bring you no penny ante case Mr Mathius. It’s about a friend of mine, well, not a friend really, a guy in my building. He’s kind of timid y’know, I guess I look out for him…”
Zak took another look at this kid. He was young, sure enough, and pug ugly with a squint like the victim of a gypsy curse but Zak could hear bravery, even compassion in his voice.
What’s your name kid?” asked Zak.
“Jesse sir, my name is Jesse.” The young man replied.
“Ok,” said Zak finally relenting, “Tell me about your friend.”
“Well sir, the guy has problems. I may be crazy, but I think someone is out to drive him plumb outta his mind!
“Go on…” said Zak, setting himself behind his desk, relaxed like a panther sitting behind a desk, chilling out after a hard day of being a panther.
“Well, all I’ll say is this,” the youth continued, standing in front of Zak unlike any particular jungle animal. “He came home last night and fainted right at his front door.”
“Fainted? Why would he do that?” said Zak.
“Cats man, cats is what done it. He had twenny some cats nailed to his door, spelling out the words “I love you”. Now I seen some crazy shit, in fact one time, me and my buddies we got this whore all high and shit? Oh, eh, anyway that’s another story. But you gotta say that is some fucked up shit man!” You gotta take the case!”
“Case? You ain’t got a case son. A practical joke, a cruel one mind you, but it ain’t a case. Now scram son, you’re wasting my time.” Said Zak.
Scuttled by Zak’s indifference Jesse’s bowed his head. His shoulders sank and he turned to walk away.
Suddenly the door opened and a burley man entered, striding into the room with a familiarity and contempt that could only mean one thing. He was fuzz, Johnny Law, the man, a copper, bent on one thing and one thing only, sending down perps to eat bread and water in the stony lonesome.
Zak froze.
“That’s not like you Mathius. Sounds to me exactly like the kind of damn fool case you’d be all over like a rash.” Said Orlando Villas, Police lieutenant and sworn foe of the man who called himself the Infiltrator. Who was Zak.
“Hey, you can’t talk to him that way!” said Jesse.
“Oh I can’t huh?” said Villas. “Who are you? Some ex junkie punk with one foot in the gutter one foot in the grave, spending his pocket full of dreams down easy street chasing a rainbow? I know kids like you. Knew a kid like you in ‘Nam. He was smart, cocky, just like you. Then Charlie got a hold of him. He ain’t so smart now. You look up to this guy; you think he can help you?”
“Yeah, I reckon. Who are you anyway?” said Jesse.
“Who am I? I’ll tell you who I am, I’m the guy you spit on when he’s walking down the street, the guy you cross the street to avoid, the guy you won’t drink with. Until something goes wrong. Until someone hurts you. Then you call me you ask me “Fix this for me Mr Lawman” “Make it all better.” “Chase the bad man away”. And you expect me to clean up your filth, all of your goddam dirty filth. So that’s who I am joyboy. I’m the law, that’s who the fuck I am. Any more questions?”
“Whiskey?” said Zak, over by the bar, pouring himself a drink like a hunky ocelot with a thirst on him.
“And by the way, kid, I’ll take the case.”
“Mr Mathius!” called the voice from behind the door.
“I need to talk to you my brother, open up the goddam door huh?”
A man’s voice. A young man, maybe twenty. He could tell by the tone and the timbre that the owner of the voice had grown up hard, like he had.
Zak strode across the room, like a tiger prowling across a room to open a door, but elegantly, like a tiger. He opened the door, more or less just like a guy opening a door.
“What do you want man? I’m busy.” He said, grimacing at the young man who stood before him.
“I appreciate that Mr Mathius, I surely do, but I got to talk to you. I got a case!”
“What do you mean “a case”? Said Zak, a quizzical tone in his voice.
“I mean a case man! A case for you to investigate!” said the lad.
“You must have me confused with someone else young brother, I’m a scientist, not a policeman…”
“Aw man I know who you are, you the dude they call they The Infiltrator. You the man who took down The Calcium Crew, the dudes behind the biggest fresh milk heist this side of the civil war! You the man who blew the granny farm over seventies sex ring wide open! I know you man!”
Zak was impressed. This kid had done his research. He’d passed test number one. He had found The Infiltrator.
“Ok, say I am this Infiltrator cat you’re jawing about. What makes you think I’ll just be taking your crummy little case anyway? He don’t sound like the kind of guy who takes on bag snatchings or silly shit like that.”
“Aw naw man, the shit I’m bringing you is fucked up. I wouldn’t bring you no penny ante case Mr Mathius. It’s about a friend of mine, well, not a friend really, a guy in my building. He’s kind of timid y’know, I guess I look out for him…”
Zak took another look at this kid. He was young, sure enough, and pug ugly with a squint like the victim of a gypsy curse but Zak could hear bravery, even compassion in his voice.
What’s your name kid?” asked Zak.
“Jesse sir, my name is Jesse.” The young man replied.
“Ok,” said Zak finally relenting, “Tell me about your friend.”
“Well sir, the guy has problems. I may be crazy, but I think someone is out to drive him plumb outta his mind!
“Go on…” said Zak, setting himself behind his desk, relaxed like a panther sitting behind a desk, chilling out after a hard day of being a panther.
“Well, all I’ll say is this,” the youth continued, standing in front of Zak unlike any particular jungle animal. “He came home last night and fainted right at his front door.”
“Fainted? Why would he do that?” said Zak.
“Cats man, cats is what done it. He had twenny some cats nailed to his door, spelling out the words “I love you”. Now I seen some crazy shit, in fact one time, me and my buddies we got this whore all high and shit? Oh, eh, anyway that’s another story. But you gotta say that is some fucked up shit man!” You gotta take the case!”
“Case? You ain’t got a case son. A practical joke, a cruel one mind you, but it ain’t a case. Now scram son, you’re wasting my time.” Said Zak.
Scuttled by Zak’s indifference Jesse’s bowed his head. His shoulders sank and he turned to walk away.
Suddenly the door opened and a burley man entered, striding into the room with a familiarity and contempt that could only mean one thing. He was fuzz, Johnny Law, the man, a copper, bent on one thing and one thing only, sending down perps to eat bread and water in the stony lonesome.
Zak froze.
“That’s not like you Mathius. Sounds to me exactly like the kind of damn fool case you’d be all over like a rash.” Said Orlando Villas, Police lieutenant and sworn foe of the man who called himself the Infiltrator. Who was Zak.
“Hey, you can’t talk to him that way!” said Jesse.
“Oh I can’t huh?” said Villas. “Who are you? Some ex junkie punk with one foot in the gutter one foot in the grave, spending his pocket full of dreams down easy street chasing a rainbow? I know kids like you. Knew a kid like you in ‘Nam. He was smart, cocky, just like you. Then Charlie got a hold of him. He ain’t so smart now. You look up to this guy; you think he can help you?”
“Yeah, I reckon. Who are you anyway?” said Jesse.
“Who am I? I’ll tell you who I am, I’m the guy you spit on when he’s walking down the street, the guy you cross the street to avoid, the guy you won’t drink with. Until something goes wrong. Until someone hurts you. Then you call me you ask me “Fix this for me Mr Lawman” “Make it all better.” “Chase the bad man away”. And you expect me to clean up your filth, all of your goddam dirty filth. So that’s who I am joyboy. I’m the law, that’s who the fuck I am. Any more questions?”
“Whiskey?” said Zak, over by the bar, pouring himself a drink like a hunky ocelot with a thirst on him.
“And by the way, kid, I’ll take the case.”
Chapter Four
“Mr Fernando will see you now Mayor Barnaby” said Ronda, the leather clad vision who stood for a receptionist in this, the most notorious office building in the city.
Barnaby gulped in apprehension.
This would be his first meeting with the infamous Ram Fernando, lawyer, property magnate and scourge of any who crossed him.
He knew very little about the man he was about to meet. No one knew where he came from, his real name, his purpose in the city. All he knew was that his predecessor in the Mayor’s office had become embroiled in a sex scandal, caught abusing fish with a pepperami just days after asking about the scar which ran deep down the left side of Fernando’s face. He was later found dead in his car. There was no note.
“Right this way Mayor Barnaby” said Ronda, taking his arm.
The icy shiver of never-to-be fulfilled sexual desire coursed through him as her voluptuous bosom brushed against his arm. In the past, a woman like Ronda would not have been beyond him, but years of kickbacks and corporate lunches had taken their toll and now he would be happy just to crawl over broken glass to lick her piss off a cactus.
The heavy polished timber doors swung open as they neared. Beyond the doors lay a pleasure dome the likes of which had not been seen since the glory days of Kubla Kahn, or Pee Wee Herman.
There, on a leather sofa strewn with the pelts of the extinct lay Ram Fernando. Barnaby estimated that even prone he must have been at least seven feet tall, but then he was always rubbish at guessing a persons height. Even at school they had called him “…stupidy can’t tell heights” and forcibly removed his underpants and trousers whenever the opportunity arose.
Fernando was however, an imposing figure. His lengthy blonde hair hung like jellyfish tendrils, if the jellyfish tendrils had been made out of blonde hair and his toned physique was plainly visible beneath the black Armani. His shoulders were sturdy and his eyes glinted cobalt blue, deep pools of evil in the dead centre. His four foot robotic arm also made him stand out a bit.
He was dining on live larks, served on the back of a scented homeless while two disease ridden call girls licked ice cream from his nether regions like hungry starlings.
“Fancy a lark?” said Fernando, tossing a screeching live bird towards him, a flailing mass of claws and sharp, desperate beakage.
Barnaby picked himself back up off the floor.
“No…no thank you Mr Fernando…” he muttered.
“Call me Ram.” said Fernando, shooing the prostitutes from his crotch as if they were sexy, naked pigeons.
“Ok Ram…” said Barnaby.
“Nope, changed my mind, call me Mr Fernando, I like that. Now, to business. There is something I would like you to do for me Barnaby, something that will require your co-operation.”
“The Mayors office is at your disposal Mr Fernando.” said Barnaby, as obsequiously as possible.
“Please, call me Ram.” Said Fernando, idly scratching at himself with his long robotic fingers.
“What can I do for you Ram? Anything, you know that.” Barnaby said
“Call me Mr Fernando.” Said Fernando, obviously, alighting himself at his expansive pink whale skin desk.
“There is a building, a building I need to acquire. For a project you need know nothing about.”
An evil project Mr Fernando?” Barnaby said, before he could stop himself.
“A bit evil yes, but anyway, as I was saying, I need your help with someone who is being a little….difficult."
“Anything, you name it. We’ll be happy to help.”
“Good, good. Then you’ll help me ruin one Kerger Lipstead.”
Barnaby gulped in apprehension.
This would be his first meeting with the infamous Ram Fernando, lawyer, property magnate and scourge of any who crossed him.
He knew very little about the man he was about to meet. No one knew where he came from, his real name, his purpose in the city. All he knew was that his predecessor in the Mayor’s office had become embroiled in a sex scandal, caught abusing fish with a pepperami just days after asking about the scar which ran deep down the left side of Fernando’s face. He was later found dead in his car. There was no note.
“Right this way Mayor Barnaby” said Ronda, taking his arm.
The icy shiver of never-to-be fulfilled sexual desire coursed through him as her voluptuous bosom brushed against his arm. In the past, a woman like Ronda would not have been beyond him, but years of kickbacks and corporate lunches had taken their toll and now he would be happy just to crawl over broken glass to lick her piss off a cactus.
The heavy polished timber doors swung open as they neared. Beyond the doors lay a pleasure dome the likes of which had not been seen since the glory days of Kubla Kahn, or Pee Wee Herman.
There, on a leather sofa strewn with the pelts of the extinct lay Ram Fernando. Barnaby estimated that even prone he must have been at least seven feet tall, but then he was always rubbish at guessing a persons height. Even at school they had called him “…stupidy can’t tell heights” and forcibly removed his underpants and trousers whenever the opportunity arose.
Fernando was however, an imposing figure. His lengthy blonde hair hung like jellyfish tendrils, if the jellyfish tendrils had been made out of blonde hair and his toned physique was plainly visible beneath the black Armani. His shoulders were sturdy and his eyes glinted cobalt blue, deep pools of evil in the dead centre. His four foot robotic arm also made him stand out a bit.
He was dining on live larks, served on the back of a scented homeless while two disease ridden call girls licked ice cream from his nether regions like hungry starlings.
“Fancy a lark?” said Fernando, tossing a screeching live bird towards him, a flailing mass of claws and sharp, desperate beakage.
Barnaby picked himself back up off the floor.
“No…no thank you Mr Fernando…” he muttered.
“Call me Ram.” said Fernando, shooing the prostitutes from his crotch as if they were sexy, naked pigeons.
“Ok Ram…” said Barnaby.
“Nope, changed my mind, call me Mr Fernando, I like that. Now, to business. There is something I would like you to do for me Barnaby, something that will require your co-operation.”
“The Mayors office is at your disposal Mr Fernando.” said Barnaby, as obsequiously as possible.
“Please, call me Ram.” Said Fernando, idly scratching at himself with his long robotic fingers.
“What can I do for you Ram? Anything, you know that.” Barnaby said
“Call me Mr Fernando.” Said Fernando, obviously, alighting himself at his expansive pink whale skin desk.
“There is a building, a building I need to acquire. For a project you need know nothing about.”
An evil project Mr Fernando?” Barnaby said, before he could stop himself.
“A bit evil yes, but anyway, as I was saying, I need your help with someone who is being a little….difficult."
“Anything, you name it. We’ll be happy to help.”
“Good, good. Then you’ll help me ruin one Kerger Lipstead.”
Chapter Three
It was perhaps two feet tall, a squat, pink skinned ape. Its fur was whiter than new snow and a single menacing horn protruded from its head. It stood before him, about ten feet away, barring his path, surveying him with every ounce of his dread and disappointment. It shuffled slightly, waiting for him, waiting for him to move. The ape was not for budging.
Kerger awoke with a start, bathed in sweat, unsure of his locus.
His crusted eyes took a while to focus on the figures standing over him, like standing stones, except they were people, who looked a bit like stones, stone people in the half light.
“Doctor?” he croaked.
“No, Kerger, not the doctor.” He heard.
It was Dahlia's family, the Rooknotherts. He could make out Isaac, the oldest brother, the head of the family since their father had died in mysterious circumstances.
A research scientist, Mandrake Rooknothert had been discovered dead in his empty lab on the day he was due to retire, clutching a picture of a laughing zebra, a half finished macramé bun cover cast to one side. No-one could establish a cause of death. His tombstone read “Let me out! There’s been a terrible mistake!” Kerger had liked him.
Isaac, with his flaxen hair and impenetrable eyes make Kerger feel uneasy, like there was a wasp in his sandwich. Otto was there as well, poor, dull Otto, picking at a wound on his forearm, no doubt self inflicted. He smiled when he saw Carla, Dahlia’s sweet little sister. She tried to smile back he thought, but a frown crept across her face instead, as if the friendly gesture had been strangled on the way to her face by some nameless, faceless smile-strangler. Dahlia’s mother moaned softly in the corner her head covered by what appeared to be an embroidered throw rug.
“Wha..what happened?” he managed.
“You are in hospital Kerger. You had a shock. You will be well treated here.” Said Isaac, his thick Montenegrin accent scraping Kerger’s ears like iron filings spat through a washcloth.
“It is alright. No-one is blaming you for what happened.” Carla said as Mother Rooknothert wailed a dry tromboney wail of anguish and scampered from the room, her head still completely obscured by her expansive tapestry.
“Well Mother blames you, but no-one else.” Said Isaac.
“No-one blames me? No-one blames me for what?” Kerger asked, pulling himself up to a sitting position.
The Rooknotherts glanced uneasily at one another and said nothing.
“It…doesn’t matter right now. You need your rest.” Said Carla, motioning to pat his arm. Isaac stopped her and pulled her away.
“I remember coming home and then…the cats! My God, the cats! I passed out!” said Kerger, becoming agitated.
“Yes.” Said Isaac.
“But why? I thought she understood! Why would Dahlia do something like that?”
Kerger’s mind was swirling now as he tried to get up out of bed only to find his legs as weak as overcooked egg noodles. He collapsed on the floor with a thud.
“Dahlia didn’t do it Kerger. She couldn’t have.” Said Isaac.
"Dahila was killed dead two days ago.”
Kerger awoke with a start, bathed in sweat, unsure of his locus.
His crusted eyes took a while to focus on the figures standing over him, like standing stones, except they were people, who looked a bit like stones, stone people in the half light.
“Doctor?” he croaked.
“No, Kerger, not the doctor.” He heard.
It was Dahlia's family, the Rooknotherts. He could make out Isaac, the oldest brother, the head of the family since their father had died in mysterious circumstances.
A research scientist, Mandrake Rooknothert had been discovered dead in his empty lab on the day he was due to retire, clutching a picture of a laughing zebra, a half finished macramé bun cover cast to one side. No-one could establish a cause of death. His tombstone read “Let me out! There’s been a terrible mistake!” Kerger had liked him.
Isaac, with his flaxen hair and impenetrable eyes make Kerger feel uneasy, like there was a wasp in his sandwich. Otto was there as well, poor, dull Otto, picking at a wound on his forearm, no doubt self inflicted. He smiled when he saw Carla, Dahlia’s sweet little sister. She tried to smile back he thought, but a frown crept across her face instead, as if the friendly gesture had been strangled on the way to her face by some nameless, faceless smile-strangler. Dahlia’s mother moaned softly in the corner her head covered by what appeared to be an embroidered throw rug.
“Wha..what happened?” he managed.
“You are in hospital Kerger. You had a shock. You will be well treated here.” Said Isaac, his thick Montenegrin accent scraping Kerger’s ears like iron filings spat through a washcloth.
“It is alright. No-one is blaming you for what happened.” Carla said as Mother Rooknothert wailed a dry tromboney wail of anguish and scampered from the room, her head still completely obscured by her expansive tapestry.
“Well Mother blames you, but no-one else.” Said Isaac.
“No-one blames me? No-one blames me for what?” Kerger asked, pulling himself up to a sitting position.
The Rooknotherts glanced uneasily at one another and said nothing.
“It…doesn’t matter right now. You need your rest.” Said Carla, motioning to pat his arm. Isaac stopped her and pulled her away.
“I remember coming home and then…the cats! My God, the cats! I passed out!” said Kerger, becoming agitated.
“Yes.” Said Isaac.
“But why? I thought she understood! Why would Dahlia do something like that?”
Kerger’s mind was swirling now as he tried to get up out of bed only to find his legs as weak as overcooked egg noodles. He collapsed on the floor with a thud.
“Dahlia didn’t do it Kerger. She couldn’t have.” Said Isaac.
"Dahila was killed dead two days ago.”
Chapter Two
“Zak!, Zak!, Come back, he didn’t mean what he said! You have to go back in there!” cried Bonny as she chased along after the tall, elegant man who was striding just as quickly away from her in the same direction she was going only faster, like a gazelle.
Zak Mathius never broke his stride.
“Ah Bonny…” he though, continuing not to break his stride. She meant well and was a great little piece of ass, but how could he ever make her understand?
“Zak wait! You can still convince them!”
“Can I Bonny? Can I? Listen honey, I know you want me to get that funding, but if those candy-ass blue bloods on the University Funding board can’t see where my work is going then to hell with them, I’ll continue research on my own, using my own independent wealth if I have to!”
“But you get so touchy when anyone questions your work honey! “said Bonny, having finally caught him up, striding alongside him, the two of them like two gazelles, gazelles who walked together and occasionally had no strings sex.
“Professor Antomime just asked you a question baby…”
“Yeah but it was the way he asked it, like he doesn’t take cryobionics seriously at all…”
“Well tell it to me honey, just what is using cyborg technology to re-animate the dead going to do to solve the world’s problems?”
He cast her an icy glance that cut her like ice would, if it had been really sharp or maybe serrated.
“You too?” he said as he pushed her away, taking out the keys to his Maserati DeLorean.
“I need some time alone baby, don’t call me. If I’m in the mood to eat me some pussy later, I might give you a call. Or maybe I’ll call your mama.” he said as he drove away.
“That bastard,” Bonny thought to herself and sighed. She loved that bastard, with all her heart.
Zak Mathius never broke his stride.
“Ah Bonny…” he though, continuing not to break his stride. She meant well and was a great little piece of ass, but how could he ever make her understand?
“Zak wait! You can still convince them!”
“Can I Bonny? Can I? Listen honey, I know you want me to get that funding, but if those candy-ass blue bloods on the University Funding board can’t see where my work is going then to hell with them, I’ll continue research on my own, using my own independent wealth if I have to!”
“But you get so touchy when anyone questions your work honey! “said Bonny, having finally caught him up, striding alongside him, the two of them like two gazelles, gazelles who walked together and occasionally had no strings sex.
“Professor Antomime just asked you a question baby…”
“Yeah but it was the way he asked it, like he doesn’t take cryobionics seriously at all…”
“Well tell it to me honey, just what is using cyborg technology to re-animate the dead going to do to solve the world’s problems?”
He cast her an icy glance that cut her like ice would, if it had been really sharp or maybe serrated.
“You too?” he said as he pushed her away, taking out the keys to his Maserati DeLorean.
“I need some time alone baby, don’t call me. If I’m in the mood to eat me some pussy later, I might give you a call. Or maybe I’ll call your mama.” he said as he drove away.
“That bastard,” Bonny thought to herself and sighed. She loved that bastard, with all her heart.
Chapter One
How he dreaded the daily gauntlet, the elbows, the arms, the handbags, the forced communication, the icy glances, the phoney apologies. There was hate here; he could feel it, burning the back of his neck as he continued to force himself past his fellow bedraggled commuters. At last he cleared the omnibus door and was free, into the air and the night and the enveloping darkness. He sighed; cold relief sweeping over him, making him bristle with contentment.
Then he remembered what he had done, her face, the tears. But he could stand no more. The cloying reliance, the cats, those goddam cats.
Kerger Lipstead shook his head and walked on, even forcing himself to smile.
People break up all the time, he told himself, what he had done was no bad thing. Christ, he was a mess. He was doing her a favour. Women like Dahlia needed strength, devotion, the kind of square jawed old-fashioned love he just couldn’t give her. She would come to realise that, someday.
But his troubles didn’t end with lost love. Stabbing, insistent jabs of memory, perforating his resistance like pins prodded by tiny malevolent elves overwhelmed him. The package still lay unopened on his desk at work where it had lain for days, taunting him like a box of spiteful children. He still couldn’t fathom the slithering sense of dread that stopped him from opening it.
He struggled briefly with the heavy storm door, a daily battle that took a little more effort every day.
Those bastards. How many times had he asked them to fix this thing? He shook his head as the rain began to splatter the landing window. He clambered the stairs, fumbling for his keys when an icy finger seemed to tap his shoulder. He stopped with a start. Just a leak from the ceiling. It dripped again as he gathered himself and continued to strive upwards. The wind blew hard against the window. Memories of the lake suddenly consumed him. He had loved her, once.
“Hey Kerger, d’you take my paper this morning? Did You? Did you take it?” exclaimed Jesse, the guy from across the hall.
“No, I…”
“ ’Cos if you did and I ain’t saying that you did, but that’s the third time this week. That shit is ignant.
“I didn’t…”
“No-one saying you did motherfucker. I just lettin’ you know. This brother ain’t down with no cracker stealing his daily motherfucking news, you dig?”
“I didn’t take it. I read the free paper, the one you get on the bus…”
“Tha’s cool brother, tha’s cool. You say you didn’t, I’m down wit that. We still homey’s. Hey listen, what the fuck is up with yo’ door man?”
“Nothing, what do you mean?”
“There is some fucked up shit on yo’ front door man. Don’t tell me you ain’t seen it?”
“I’ve been at work…”
“Well you have got to see this shit.”
Jesse led him to the end of the hall, to his door, his sanctum, where he hid from the world, and sometimes, himself.
What he saw shook him like a parent would a child when a parent caught a child being really bad, like maybe stealing or putting their hands in a blender.
There, nailed to his door in a macabre menage of mog-u-horror were 21 dead cats arranged to spell out the words “I love you”.
“You ain’t tellin’ me that shit ain’t fucked up,” said Jesse, the last thing Kerger would recall before passing out.
Kerger man, you a’right?” said Jesse, gently slapping his face, trying to bring his neighbour round.
“Oooh wee, this cracker is out for the motherfucking count. I better make a call…” He said, leaving his prostrate neighbour alone on the cold, grey floor.
Then he remembered what he had done, her face, the tears. But he could stand no more. The cloying reliance, the cats, those goddam cats.
Kerger Lipstead shook his head and walked on, even forcing himself to smile.
People break up all the time, he told himself, what he had done was no bad thing. Christ, he was a mess. He was doing her a favour. Women like Dahlia needed strength, devotion, the kind of square jawed old-fashioned love he just couldn’t give her. She would come to realise that, someday.
But his troubles didn’t end with lost love. Stabbing, insistent jabs of memory, perforating his resistance like pins prodded by tiny malevolent elves overwhelmed him. The package still lay unopened on his desk at work where it had lain for days, taunting him like a box of spiteful children. He still couldn’t fathom the slithering sense of dread that stopped him from opening it.
He struggled briefly with the heavy storm door, a daily battle that took a little more effort every day.
Those bastards. How many times had he asked them to fix this thing? He shook his head as the rain began to splatter the landing window. He clambered the stairs, fumbling for his keys when an icy finger seemed to tap his shoulder. He stopped with a start. Just a leak from the ceiling. It dripped again as he gathered himself and continued to strive upwards. The wind blew hard against the window. Memories of the lake suddenly consumed him. He had loved her, once.
“Hey Kerger, d’you take my paper this morning? Did You? Did you take it?” exclaimed Jesse, the guy from across the hall.
“No, I…”
“ ’Cos if you did and I ain’t saying that you did, but that’s the third time this week. That shit is ignant.
“I didn’t…”
“No-one saying you did motherfucker. I just lettin’ you know. This brother ain’t down with no cracker stealing his daily motherfucking news, you dig?”
“I didn’t take it. I read the free paper, the one you get on the bus…”
“Tha’s cool brother, tha’s cool. You say you didn’t, I’m down wit that. We still homey’s. Hey listen, what the fuck is up with yo’ door man?”
“Nothing, what do you mean?”
“There is some fucked up shit on yo’ front door man. Don’t tell me you ain’t seen it?”
“I’ve been at work…”
“Well you have got to see this shit.”
Jesse led him to the end of the hall, to his door, his sanctum, where he hid from the world, and sometimes, himself.
What he saw shook him like a parent would a child when a parent caught a child being really bad, like maybe stealing or putting their hands in a blender.
There, nailed to his door in a macabre menage of mog-u-horror were 21 dead cats arranged to spell out the words “I love you”.
“You ain’t tellin’ me that shit ain’t fucked up,” said Jesse, the last thing Kerger would recall before passing out.
Kerger man, you a’right?” said Jesse, gently slapping his face, trying to bring his neighbour round.
“Oooh wee, this cracker is out for the motherfucking count. I better make a call…” He said, leaving his prostrate neighbour alone on the cold, grey floor.
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