Lust Demented Part 3

I COULD FEEL LARS WATCHING me walk away into the night. It reminded me of the soft, but obvious steps Detective Anderson took stalking me through Gramercy. Concerned with everyone else, but himself, Lars couldn't resist poking his toes through his own plot of reincarnation. His old man was just abolished from mental and physical slavery. Everyone could make a fuss on the big green machine, but Percy was definitely unliving it up by now.

A street guerilla carrying a santa sack approached me speaking the city's universal second language. Oblivious to anything other than his own plight, he was just hitting us up.

"Could you spare some change... so I could maybe get a coffee and a croissant?" He p.r.o.nounced the breakfast treat with the accent of a French pastry chef.

I had a plan to have no plan. Some people measure a period in their lives by who they loved... where they lived... for Percy, Lars, Gloom, and I it was always measured by what we were writing. My head was light, glowing from the inside. The world recently opened up losing its limits. Lars hadn't moved. Still standing just how I left him, the Brooklyn night shading over him.

The Coffey Street crime scene was nearly desolate, except for one parked car that stood out like a lonely watchtower in the Sahara. The woman behind the wheel was busy with a task that called for her complete attention. The way she turned at me when I was a mere couple steps away hinted towards the presence of a sixth-sense.

"Farrow?" Apparently the sergeant's tone revolved around why the night was full of strange coincidences and why she didn't buy into the existence of coincidences.

"Sgt. Bethany Powers." I was close enough to see in the window. The silver gun was glistening against her pale freckled skin. She was in civilian clothes with her red hair tied up in a bun.

"Get in the front. You don't have to ride in the back this time." Sgt. Powers eyed me up and down as if I was giving off toxic radiation. I wondered how badly I stunk of the East River. It was strange cozying into the front seat next to her. Even more bizarre when I realized I was sitting on her 9mm's clip. I picked it up and tried to hand it to her, but she wasn't ready. I let her finish what she was doing and tried again. The second time she accepted it with a smile.

"Went to the range today. f.u.c.king thing gums up sometimes. Way things are going..."

"Too many suspects or not enough?"

"We have a few."

"Anyone I know?"

"Each and everyone you know personally."

"I know a lot of people... me... myself and... I."

"It's good you know yourself."

"oh yeah... and now I know you." I leaned in close to her, hoping she'd loosen up and let go, but instead she pulled her head back, itching her chin with a hooked trigger finger.

"Farrow, this bonding time really warms my heart, but I'm on my way to pay Missy a visit."

"So you found her?" I didn't believe it for a second.

"Other way around. She found us. She's scared of you Farrow. She called the precinct for protection. Someone let it slip that you want your name on A Greater Truth." Sgt. Bethany Powers... if you count to one, she's already on two.

"Her book?" While I didn't believe her, I did fall beneath her eyes. There wasn't much else to do, but wait and see what she was getting at.

"You live mysteries, don't you?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

{XIII}.

"FARROW CHANGE SEATS WITH me." Gun in hand, Sgt. Bethany Powers crawled from the driver's seat into my lap, brushing my face with her a.s.s. Death-pasture green eyes spray-painted to her face. Her legs, surprisingly muscular as they nudged me towards the wheel. I slid out from under her, wiggling into the driver's seat. She turned the key in the ignition, sliding the car into drive. I stepped on the gas a little too hard, bracing myself as the engine kicked back before settling in.

"Left." "Right." "Stay straight." She kept it simple fondling her gun, occasionally looking at the rear-view mirror. Whether I stared or not, I knew the gun was there. Just as I knew the slightest graze of hot flesh under thin layers of fabric could change the way I came to terms with my entire existence.

At some point in our relationship the way Missy made love to me changed. I remembered specifically the different ways she would lock her legs around me and force me to finish inside of her. The way she would seem insulted if my c.u.m ended up anywhere, but inside as she demanded. On many levels it seemed more natural than any other way of making love. It was dangerous and simply beautiful. And danger mixed with beauty creates more life - it seems.

Distant eyes reached past the endless night. Images of Missy temporarily dissolved. Streets, boulevards, and alleys intruded on us from all directions.

"You're thinking of her."

"An a.s.sa.s.sin hovers over me in my sleep. She's gone when I wake."

"You're too insignificant. n.o.body wants to kill you. Believe in other things."

Sgt. Bethany Powers motioned for me to park along an illuminated strip of housing projects verging on the beach. Hooded shadows limping laps in the darkness took immediate notice of our presence, sinking back into the night. They seemed to sense we were not customers, standing their ground, just in case.

"Police issue." Sgt. Bethany Powers handed me her Smith and Wesson. It weighed in heavier than it looked and in return made the earth feel lighter, more conquerable. I ran my hands along the smooth cold body of the gun, settling on the grip. It felt right. Wrong no longer existed.

"Should I keep it in my pocket?"

"Do what you want."

Fresh air in the city was an illusion. Beach air was new life. Sgt. Bethany Powers walked me out past the dunes. The sand was heavy and kept us moving a few steps slower than when on concrete.

"Shooting a gun is a meditation. It's relaxing."

"I've never shot one before."

"I know. You're more of the knife across the throat type."

"I'm more of the pen on the paper type."

"Farrow, keep your hand off the trigger and lift the pistol."

"What do I aim at?"

"Doesn't make sense to shoot at random things. Pick something..."

"How about the jetties?"

"How about something alive? How about the seagulls on the jetties?"

"I can't see them."

"Neither can I, but I know they're there." The seagulls cackled raucously as the waves battered the rocks.

"Keep your feet shoulder width apart. Lean forward slightly. Put your finger on the trigger and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ooooh... shoot!" She grabbed my elbow straightening it, but I balked at pulling the trigger until she whipped a snubnose from an ankle holster and lit off a couple rounds of her own. Together we blasted off into the night, until both our guns were empty.

"Go check the jetties." Sgt. Bethany Powers reloaded her gun, one bullet at a time. I figured it was best to put a little distance between us. I could hear the clinking metal, the squawking gulls, and the dismal waves. I could hear my shoes in the sand, which is a sound you can feel. The rotten apple soldier turned to a mere outline as I approached the jetty. Just enough moonlight hit the rocks to show me the two dead birds. One had both wings blown off. The other had no head. I leaned over wondering if one of the shots I fired killed these birds. I picked up the one with no wings, since it still had a head. I felt sorry for the creature. It was still breathing. Pop! A shot rang out in the night air. I felt it whizz over my head by at least a couple feet.

"Farrow... I'm sick of aiming off into the darkness." I heard her call out before she fired off yet another round. I didn't say anything.

"Give me a target." Blam! Blam! The sergeant's tone was playful. Every sentence followed by a bullet or two. I did my all to blend into the beach's soft slopes. I pointed the gun at the moon directly above me. I had no bullets and an out of range target. Raising the burner to the heavens, I pulled the trigger. The slight click from my weapon led to another pair of bullets striking the sand beside me. Then a click of her own. Her gun was empty. I felt the darkness around me... the suffocating summer air didn't let up even in the middle night... it just kept choking you... tearing you open... I could feel my heart fighting to escape my chest... I was about to attempt one last mad dash when a pair of woman's nails dug into my skin. Pale as the moon, Kiko held onto me, aggression surging. Her body wrapped over mine. Programmed gallant, I rolled over on top of the strange woman. The tide slowly made its way up our legs. We stayed this way listening closely for a sign that death was closing in on us. I was still holding the gun. The tide continued to approach until it was at our necks.

{XIV}.

"I DREAMT OF A KNIFE Farrow. I dreamt of a knife!" Seized by demons, Kiko woke up in a frenzy. We were lying in the dunes. She was trembling, sweating out her nightmares at sunrise. I quickly scanned the apocalyptic beach for Sgt. Bethany Powers, but it was deserted. The empty gun was at my side.

"Why'd she set her sights on you?"

"How do I know?"

"She wants you dead."

"It seems that way, but then why'd she leave me alive."

"She probably thinks you know Percy and Monika's killer."

"You don't think she thinks I'm the one?"

"If it's not you... it's definitely someone you know."

"It's not me. I've been chipping away at my new book. I haven't seen anyone I know for the past year."

"Only person I really spent time with was Gloom."

"How'd you run into her?"

"I worked for a men's magazine in Shinjuku. We were both featured in the same article. Her story shared the same page as my b.r.e.a.s.t.s squeezed purple in a rope dress."

"What?"

"I didn't think anything of it, until I saw it in print. I felt like somehow her words covered me... protected me... kept me warm. Or maybe they just immobilized me." Kiko turned her back on me as we made our way off the beach and back onto the barren Rockaway streets.

"So you like to read?"

"I love books. I often imagine that I am nothing more than a character within a book... my fate controlled by an anonymous writer.

"And now you're in New York."

"Wasn't easy. Each time I tried to leave they begged and bribed me for one more shoot. Paid me this, gave me that, until they finally lit me on fire. Dousing me with pesticide, the c.o.c.ksuckers laughed like children, calling me a wh.o.r.e, a bedbug, an insect. They threw cigars and candles at me. I woke up in a hospital and left immediately, without waiting for some bulls.h.i.t doctor to tell me if I was okay or not. Emptied my savings full speed and bought my way into America." Kiko rolled down her tights, grabbing my hand to slide it over the scarred flesh of her thigh.

Too far to make a bandit's run for the Mexican border, our only viable options see-sawed between confrontation and chameleon.

"Take a look from the outside Farrow. n.o.body has a better reason to kill Featherton than you. The guy really f.u.c.ked your life up. If I were standing where you are right now: Revenge wouldn't be out of the question."

"He didn't f.u.c.k my life up. I did."

"Farrow don't take all the blame. It's just the way it goes. Sometimes people make you into what you are. You might not like it, but that's what they do."

"n.o.body made me into anything." I fell into her trap, inhaling the second-hand smoke of her abstruse cancer stick.

"People kill each other for nothing in this world. It's definitely cheaper to hire a hitman than it is to take a cab from here back to the village." Kiko's eyes looked mad and deranged. Her small size seemed to amplify the effect as she got more and more worked up.

"I didn't kill Percy." It was crucial to be clear and concise. Nowadays, I was always on the stand.

Burly brick buildings made way for rows of boarded-up bungalows. We spotted a yellow cab parked in a driveway overrun by tall weeds. With a look of madness in her eyes, Kiko marched right up to the door, banging until the owner came out in a red velvet robe with a matching towel head wrap.

"That your cab in the driveway?" Kiko got right in the scruffy cabbie's face, half-flirting, half-demanding.

"Yeah. Whose do you think it is?" My stomach dropped when I got a good look at the madame of the taxi, who did a silent double-take when he saw me leaning on her cab.

"We're going to 6th Avenue and Minetta Lane. Take the Williamsburg Bridge."

"You know what time it is? I just got home a couple hours ago." Five borough fortuity, I guessed the cabbie spent his life moving in circles. Covering the same ground many times over. Maybe we all did.

"Hundred bucks even."

"Whatever the meter says we'll pay." Kiko attempted to barter mid-yawn.

"Meter stays off."

"Taxi Poems." I tried to catch the cabbie's eye, but only got a weird look from Kiko.

{XV}.

"NOW THE ONLY WAY I can relax is to fill my mouth with your c.o.c.k." Kiko rubbed the bulge in my pants, slowly unzipping my fly. Reality defiled. I wasn't sure if I was hearing things. Rewind. "That's no cabbie. That's a cop."