Headed back to Damnalot in Bathory’s Black Sapphire Challenger.
“There’s no place like homicide.”
Headed back to Damnalot in Bathory’s Black Sapphire Challenger.
“There’s no place like homicide.”
They had met in a head-on crash. Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been jettisoned through the front windshields of their respective cars, smashed into one another in midair and died face to face on the rough wet pavement.
Rather than die alone, they had reached out to one another. Their cooling hands intertwined, forever bonded on that lonely country road.
Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been speeding: Blame it on youth.
Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been texting: Blame it on technology.
Terry and Bobbi Jo had both been sipping beers: Blame it on the alcohol.
Both had been scanning their radio dials: Blame it on rock ‘n roll.
The roads were dark and slick: Blame it on the rainy night.
The head on crash: Blame it on love.
There was a ballet in midair when their bodies collided, mangled and tangled. They’d almost reached their goal, the perfect melding of bodies and souls that the two teens had been working toward. They were splayed out only a few yards north of the wreckage, among a field of glass and burning debris.
“We just have to stop running into each other this way,” said Terry, who was always the class clown.
“Hey, Terry, listen.”
“Sirens. Grab my hand, Bobbi Jo. The response time is much quicker today. I have to admit, I called in the crash ten minutes ago on my way over to Highway 95 and Cedar Lane.”
“Fucking with their heads. That sounds like you, Terry. Do you think that anyone will catch on to our routine?”
“Before the light fades from your beautiful eyes, Bobby Jo, I want to give you new flowers.”
Terry’s last act was to hand Bobby Jo the bloody bouquet.
“Awwww, thanks Terry.” Blood spilled from her lips onto the pavement as she mimed a kiss. (cough, cough) “You brought me white roses this time. They’re beautiful. I’ll …I’ll see you at the funeral. I hope that they can bury us closer this time.”
“Poor thing. The flowers are still in her hand. Love at last sight,” said Don, the older of the two Highway Patrol officers, walking around the wreckage in the rain. “The girl’s car engine is still running. There’s still smoke from the burning rubber. This just happened. About a minute ago.”
“I’m so tired of this spot,” said his young partner Christine. “Are they ever going to put some lights out here?”
Don shook his head. “Oh. No. Another one. I feel like God is a seven-year-old boy who can only get off by watching shit blow up.”
This is so wrong,” she said. “Someone called this accident in over ten minutes ago. The boy must have been bent on suicide.”
“This kid was hell bent on killing himself and someone else as well. There must be a registration in here.” Don said as he searched though the glove box.
“Maybe it was her idea,” said Christine. “They both had to be going over a hundred to do this.”
“I hate this Damned Dog Park Road,” said Don. “In less than five years we’ve had half-a-dozen bad accidents at this intersection. Each time, bodies were launched through windshields.”
“Her name is, was named Barbara Jo Murray. Poor thing,” said the young patrolwoman as she held the girl’s wallet taken from the spilled purse. “Those flowers. She must have been coming home from a date. What is it about the name Bobby Jo that bothers me, Don? Do you remember, a few months ago, when some creep was stealing flowers from the graves at Acadian? I was there when they found the pile of vases and stems on a grave of another Barbara Jo — Barbara Jo Massey.”
“At least a few of the young female victims on this road were named Barbara, Bobby or Bobby Jo. Our boy was Terrence Lazarus, age 18,” said the patrolman holding the boy’s registration.
“Lazarus?” said Christine.
Don studied the wet registration card.
“What? What are you thinking?”
He looked up at Christine through the rain. “Jesus told Mary of Bethany, ‘Your brother, Lazarus will rise again.’”
“Enough! You’re scaring me Don. This is one time that I hope you are full of shit.”
“I wish they’d scoop us up and get us out of here already,” said Bobby Jo.
“Maybe next time we can get really mixed up,” said Terry.
“Mixed up? You’re talking about more than just holding hands.”
“Yeah, totally splattered. A Terry and Bobby Jo smoothy.”
Bobby Jo laughed. “They won’t know what belongs to who!”
“We’ll be totally together, babe! A tragic teenage romance!”
She loved how Terry always made her laugh.
“They’ll have to hose down the street.”
“Wipe off lamp posts for a mile,” she said. “Oh, Terry! That was sooo hot.”
“Just wait. I’ll get us faster cars, next time.”
Interpol Agent Bernie “Eggs” Benedict’s first day on the job ended with a short but action-packed interview in his office with the Hindu goddess काली (Kali).
A few minutes earlier, Kali, being her sweet self, looked down at Bernie through the splinters of his desk and grinned with blood covered 14K gold teeth. “I AM THE GREAT KALI!!!!” She circled the desk and castrated its four legs with a swipe of the Jambiya घुमावदार चाकू (curved daggers) in her four hands, pinning Bernie to the floor in the middle of the rubble.
“Please, stop, काली!” Bernie pleaded.
“Call me dooooooooom. Tomorrow, Mr. Benedict, you will thank me for beating this lesson into your sappy skull,” the Goddess of Destruction hissed. “My गुंडापन Thuggee followers, who know me well, send me their children’s still-beating hearts in sweet little boxes on Valentine’s Days. I just want you to know that what, I, THE GREAT KALI!!!!, am capable of. What I can do to you…is NOTHING…Mwahahahaha…Nothing, compared to what that HUSSY Dauna Robinson will do to you before you leave here TONIGHT! … By the way,” Kali said, grooming her fluttering eye lashes with a flaming jalapeño tongue, “This is hard for me to ask.”
“Spare me, oh, great Kali! Your wish is my command, oh fearsome goddess!” said the fetal, quivering loogie named Bernie.
“Mr. Benedict,” Kali said while brushing off the dust, “do you think that you get me a date with your friend, Frankie?”
“I’m asking you as a friend.…Or else, Worm!”
Scene: The offices of Interpol, Los Angeles. It is quitting time at the time clock. Agent Bernie Benedict, again meets the sultry Goddess Daucina. Though Bernie deals with religious ‘visions’ on a daily basis, Dauna humbles the depressed man.
Bernie knew that he must be careful. He decided to approach the graceful señorita with caution and with respect as if he were a Don of the old Spanish Court. He reared back and bowed before la condesa like a true caballero.
“Háblame. I know that you are new in town. If you get lonely, Bernardo, you can always visit my hacienda, Adobe Gillis. It is always open and there will always be a hot meal waiting for you. You are welcome to come often and there is additional parking en la parte trasera.”
“Your hacienda? Your generosity is most inviting, but as you see by my ragged clothes, I am just a poor simple muchacho.” Aware of his true social standing, he knew that he would always be the simple Don Bernardo from Bolsa Chico. “And I am too estúpido find my lowly locker.”
“Your manners reveal a man of fine breeding.” Dauna had removed the combination lock behind her but continued to unconsciously and rhythmically slide the handle of the locker up and down. “We must celebrate su primer día!” she said. “¡Vayamos de fiesta mi amigo!” Señorita Robinson grabbed, what she thought was a bottle of Tequila, but was a wedding gift bottle of Dionysus’ Ambrosia directly from Mount Olympus. She took the bottle from el casillero, took a swig and handed it to Bernie. “I feel … so warm, Bernardo.” She fanned the droplets on her delicious neck with her thick hair.”
“Soy, I mean, I am Bernardo??” He took a sip of the strange liquor that was never intended for mortals.
“Do you mind if I cool down? ¡Mira!” She leaned back upon the lockers and unbuttoned three buttons the front of her jeans and fanned her tan belly. There was a tattoo above the waistband of her silk panties. It said: “The Big Man José.”
“Should I be worried about this ‘Big Man José?’” asked Bernardo.
She smiled at Bernardo like the hungry shark that had attacked him on the Vinnie Maru. He shuddered.
“No te preocupes. There is no need to worry, Bernardo. Forget about him, even if José is big enough to have his own postal code. The Big Man is merely a jealous, heavily armed, violent, and brutish bandido. I pity poor José. He hasn’t seen a genuine woman in six years. He will be released from jail later today, but It will be at least fifteen minutes before he arrives. Bernardo, this is our momento especial. Vamos a bailar — Dance with me, vaquero.” She leaned forward. “¿Ves?”
Her soft body radiated the warmth of the golden Aztec sun. Bernardo’s heart soared like the great bird Quetzalcoatl. He felt invincible. I will snap the península off that Big Man José’s postal code! In Bernardo’s mind he was a bronzed warrior bounding up the stone steps of Templo Mayor toward heaven, aware, damas y caballeros, that once he reached the golden crown of the pyramid, he’d draw his deepest breath, a gift for the god Huitzilopochtli. Then, with eyes wide open, he would prove his fearless love to the goddess, Daunita.
At the Apex of the temple with his arms extended, Bernardo would leap into the wind and glide like an eagle above the pink clouds, toward el sol mexicano caliente, and into the voracious volcano below.
Bernardo stood with his eyes closed, prepared to plunge. If he must, he was prepared to plunge again and again. Daunita woke him from his fantasy world with her smokey voice.
“Señor. If you are going to climb Templo Mayor, you must not be afraid to look down.” He opened one eye and peeked.
Isla de Cosas Pérdida
From: Amok (The mad scientist)
At a Princeton University science forum in 1933, Albert Einstein, who had explained the mechanics of the universe, threw down his chalk, fell back into his chair and stared into the faces of his twenty male colleagues. Exhausted, bordering on tears, he wrung his tired hands. “Ach! Mein Himmel! Gentlemen, look up at the board. See? It iss impossible! We have failed miserably. Vee vill neffer understand vimmen.”
Clueless to the idea of inviting an actual female to their discussions, the science department nerds remained baffled until the day that the two-time Nobel prize winning Madame Marie Curie briefly visited the campus to see her friend chemist and DNA pioneer Rosalind Franklin. For an entire hour, Madame sat down with the physics department while Ms. Franklin, suppressing laughter, sat and observed her friend. With the aid of diagrams, formulas and her ‘radiant’ personality, Madame Curie patiently unravelled, analyzed and defined the nature of women.
From that day on, the male scientists were left only more befuddled.
Dr. Einstein, himself, could no longer find his way home from the Campus without the aid of one of his students.
Killing Her Softly, Again. An excerpt From: Fred Barnett’s “Bats.” on iBooks.
“Open the trunk, Jonny!”
Elizabeth threw Jonathan the keys. He jumped out, and stood back as he flipped open the trunk. Elizabeth reached for her pistol from beneath the front seat and got out. The rest followed. The light from the trunk shone on Mina as she stood guard with a hammer, a machete, a wooden stake, and a small round hand mirror in case there was any funny business with the zombie, Penelope, in the trunk.
“Son of a bitch!” said Jonathan. “Elizabeth! A gun? I thought the miserable woman was dead.”
“She is, kiddo,” said Elizabeth, firing three shots into Penelope’s wormy cadaver.
“Well, you just killed her again!” said Lupta.
Elizabeth took a breath, relaxed her shoulders, and lifted the pistol again. “Like Vlad says, ‘It’s only murder if they stay dead!’ Right? Remember when we had to do this to Billie Bats?”
Jonathan grabbed her wrist. “Wait! Don’t shoot the face! She’s got a big date with Huthbert.”
“Let her rest in peace. She’s dead enough,” said Vlad. “Do you feel better now? Ve need to get back before sunup.”
Willowy Mina gently removed the gun from Elizabeth’s hand and took out a hand mirror. The radio was playing “Killing Me Softly” by Roberta Flack.
“Mina darling, you can still see your reflection?” asked Elizabeth who was trying to catch whatever she called breath.
“No. But I can see Penelope.” Mina faced away from the trunk and held up the small mirror, took aim at Penelope, and continued to empty two more rounds into the dismal rotting thing.”
Excerpt From: Fred Barnett. “Bats.” iBooks.