Though other Mexican songs are mentioned, this segment of Shark Fin Soup should be read to the accompaniment of: Marty Robbin’s ‘El Paso,’ Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire,’ and Jay and the American’s ‘Come a Little Bit Closer.’
It was 6 p.m. and the end of Bernie’s first day at the Interpol office in Los Angeles. His job at the agency was based on his ‘talent.’ Agent Benedict was hired by Interpol because he was not only able to see, but communicate with religious apparitions. This late afternoon, he felt beat. His 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 usual sweet self, looked down at Bernie through the splinters of his new desk and grinned with blood covered rack of 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!” he pleaded.
“Call me DOOOOOOOOOMMMM. Tomorrow, Mr. Benedict,” the Goddess of Destruction hissed, “you will thank me for beating this lesson into your sappy skull” “My गुंडापन Thuggee followers, who know me well, send me their children’s still-beating hearts in sweet little boxes on Saint Jack the Ripper’s Day. 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 the building TONIGHT! … By the way,” Kali said, grooming her fluttering eye lashes with her flaming jalapeño tongue, “This is hard for me to ask.”
“What? Anything! Anything! 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 wood dust, “do you think that you get set me up on a date with your friend, Frankie?”
Kali softened her voice. “I’m asking you as a friend.…Or else, Worm!”
Cinco de Mayo
Mariachi music danced through the office intercom.
Cinco de Mayo is the day that Mexico celebrates its 1862 army victory over the French in the State of Puebla. En los Estados Unidos, this special day is observed by wearing a baseball cap backward and grunting until 3 a.m.
On his way to the time clock, our humble and tired Interpol agent, Bernie Benedict, searched out his new locker. The coat room, today, was decorated en decoraciones festivas!
La música El Sinaloense de Mariachi Arriba Jalisco thrust out a temp rápida, con mucha energía! Agent Benedict looked toward the source of el tumulto only to see the creamy undulations of Daucina, the Shark Goddess, in her uber-human form as Dauna Robinson, grooving en su dirección.
Bernie was paralyzed by the forward movement of the Dauna’s audacious pezones. Her nipples took careful aim at Bernie while nodding their soft approval from beneath her thin gauze blouse,
Tetas! Un gran problema for his injured Bolas de su flunker-wagger which were still recuperating from the shark wound he’d gotten aboard the Vinnie Maru.
On this day, Bernie’s ‘flunker-wagger-bolas,’ had been healing nicely beneath his boxer shorts. They were encased in an impenetrable Chinese-finger-trap-chastity-belt that Dauna had designed to protect her sacred family line to which Bernie ‘held the keys.’ The ‘keys’ were not Bunji’s (Dauna’s filetted ex-shark-god-husband) gonads, but the shark god’s golden eyes, which were captured by Interpol Agent Frank Samidino as they rolled across the bloody deck of the Vinnie Maru. )
Now that that is clear as mud, we’ll move on with our thin story.
No. First, back to the vulgar smut…
Instinctively, Bernie knew that the “playful” Dauna was going to toy with him.
“Perdóneme, mi chorizo (sausage)…can I squeeze by?” When he should have been running for su mamá, our hero, Bernie, stood his ground. He could only think as far as…¡Ay, caramba!
Dauna dipped and turned, tossed her mane, unleashed her perfume and beamed her big mirones at Bernie. She passed her middle finger beneath his nose. Her picante salsa filled his schnoz nozzle. The finger, glistening sweetly, came to rest on Bernie’s lower lip. ““Taste, señor. ¿Delicioso, sí? Would the handsome hombre care to guess where my bebés have been playing peekaboo! for the last twenty minutes?”
“Did you say, ‘Ak!’?”
Bernie tried to ignore the pain. Dauna had turned and knelt down and spun her lock. She peered over her shoulder. “Venido. Vamos a hablar. (Come. Let us talk.)” Dauna was fully aware the enormous tension building in the foolish human.
“Kneel, Bernie.” She pulled him to his knees by pulling the slider on his zipper.
“Buen chico. Turn the dial. Slowly…despacio. Sí, Gently …suavemente. Now, If we work together…that’s it slowly.” Dauna turned and began to whisper the instrucciones numéricas into his ear. Though dizzy, the pain below caused him to jump to his feet.
When the bolt was released, cheerful trumpets of Los Reyes Del Norte filled the air. Still kneeling, she embraced the sweating and unsteady Bernie around his waist. She nudged my nether nozzle! Was that a nuzzle or a nestle? Daunita looked up and gaped at her héroe with a look of deep admiration on her moist labios rojos. “Don Bernardo, my triumphant picador! Gracias.”
The lights dimmed. Todos — everyone had gone home.
Ten cuidado (Be careful!) the voice of काली whispered to him in his head. Bernie backed away from Dauna to avoid further torment. He needed to think. I must approach the señorita with caution and with respect as if I were a Don of the old Spanish Court. He bowed before la condesa like a true caballero.
“I know that you are new in town, Bernardo,” she said. “If you get lonely, you can visit my hacienda, Adobe Gillis. You will find the portal warm and welcoming and there will always be a meal waiting for you. You are welcome to come often and there is additional parking en la parte trasera.”
“Your generosity is most inviting, mi señora…”
“It is Señorita.”
“¡Sí!” Bernie hung his head, knowing that he would never be more than a common peón. “As you see by my ragged clothes, I am just a poor simple muchacho, too estúpido to find my lowly locker.”
“Your fine manners, in contrast, reveal a man of breeding, Don Benardo.” Dauna had opened her locker, but continued to 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. “¡Salud! Do you feel warm, Bernardo?” She used her thick hair to fan the silver droplets that she wore like the finest diamonds around her delicious neck.”
“Soy, Mi nombre es Bernardo?” He took a sip of the strange liquor that was never intended for mortals.
“Do you mind if I cool down?” Dauna stepped back and unbuttoned three buttons the front of her jeans and so that she could fan her tan belly. There was a tattoo above the waistband of her silk panties. It said: “Property of the Big Man José.”
Aching, Bernardo asked, “Should I be worried about this ‘Big Man José?’”
She smiled at Bernardo like the hungry shark that had attacked him on the Vinnie Maru. He shuddered with excitement.
“No te preocupes. There is no need to worry. Forget about José, even if he 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 or I will have to change my mind and go to confession.” 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 arms extended, the enchanted Bernardo would leap into the wind and glide like an eagle above the pink clouds, toward el sol mexicano caliente, and into the cauldron of the voracious Popocatépetl 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.
“¡Sí! Eso es todo (That’s it), my brave warrior. ”
La canción El Tigre De Tijuana paused…
as Daunita’s Tourettes interrupted, “¡Yo quiero un hickey!”
La música resumed as the ‘real’ Daunita pleaded, “Oh, Señor. Look! My lengerie. Only you …you can help me fix it.”
“¿Qué?” He took a deep breath. Uh-oh, estoy jodido (Uh-oh, I’m fucked).
There was creamy white skin peeking out south of her tan line. The goddess intimated with her tongue in his ear, “My panties are riding halfway hasta mi pequeño culo, Señor.”
He wasn’t sure what the señorita had said but he was sure that it was indecente and that it was going to hurt. “¿Qué?”
Chimi was jumping like a mad frijole within the trap beneath Bernardo’s pantalones. Chimi understood perfectly. There was a sharp shock.
Daunita ‘adjusted’ the waistband of her flame red panties outward. Ignoring Bernardo’s discomfort, she looked down, and spoke to her dulce amigo peludo (sweet downy friend). Bernardo had seen far more than he could take. Now, Daunita was going to make the hombre’s ears burn.
“Gatito? Are you there? I believe that Señor Benedict would like to meet you, my little ‘purr buddy.’” She looked down again. “Gatito! Say hola to Señor Benedict!”
“¡Hola, Señor Benedict. Te amo (I love you)!” her ‘purr buddy,’ a mousy voice whispered from below.
Is the señorita a ventriloquist?
“Is everything alright, Gatito?” Daunita asked her panties.
“¡Sí! S‘all right,” a voice replied. “Es muy húmedo, señorita. El vapor!”
“Gatito says it’s humid,” said Dauna.
Bernardo had to look. When he dared to peek, he saw his name tattooed below that of the name José. There was a puff of pink vapor from su pequeño Gatito as she pulsed the red neon words ‘TORO!’ from beneath the thin fabric. Dauna snapped the elastic waistband, bonking his honker. The man-bull snorted out loud and stomped his dung caked boots!
Bernardo’s own little amigo, Chimi, in a deep Barry White voice spoke to Daunita’s Gatito: “¡Hey, Bebé!”
Was Bernardo’s pequeño amigo speaking to the welcoming Gatito?
Bernie spoke sharply to his pantalones. “Silencio! Idiota!”
“¿Qué?” asked Daunita.
“I was not speaking rudely to your pequeño amiguita velloso, Señorita Robinson. I was speaking to mi chimichanga gigante. Ow! I believe that it is dying of loneliness in its tiny prison.”
The music of Su Dolorosa Erección paused, as did the sultry mood in the cloak room.
“Lo siento (I’m sorry),” said Daunita. “I forgot about your injury, Bernardo. I need to change into something cool.” She tied on a silk wrap-around skirt andpeeled off her jeans from beneath.
Poor Bernardo could not watch. Instead, he looked at his shoes in self-pity.
After three long seconds Bernardo finally spoke, “Señorita, there is great sadness en la Casa de Wiener. ¿Entiende usted? (Do you understand?)”
“Sí, señor,” said Daunita. “Mi pequeño amigo velloso está babeando (My downy little purr buddy is drooling). Here. Hold my things, señor campesino (peasant),” she said, while nudging Bernardo with her hips. “My things are delicate. They require special handling, ” The ‘things’ in her locker were kept in a long box labeled “The Love Train— It Glows!” The clumsy peasant managed to spill the contents onto the floor.
Daunita’s eyes flashed. “¡Aye yay yay! You clumsy fool! She bent over to pick up her things. Way over —
No, I mean way waaaaay over — yeah, like “that”…
and stumbled backward into Bernardo’s coarse hands. This time he promised himself “I will not let go of ‘the señorita’s delicate things.”
Bernie was remembering his college days when he studied in an Indian restaurant for three days. He remembered the teachings of the dishwasher, Ram Alama Dingdong: “If you aspire to wisdom seek and utilize all of gods divine gifts. When god places a fresh hot supple culata in your hands, you are obliged to squeeze — lest you commit a mortal sin, young locust. At least until it toots.”
“Nice firm handshake,” she said looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, surprised at his boldness. “Peligro.”
“Peligro means danger, señor. Either I backed into an octopus or your hand is crazy-glued to mi culo apretado (tight).” And it was.
Bernardo was holding onto the señorita because he was dizzy, unable to remember his name. “Lo siento. I’d should go.” His palms, tightening their hold on her poco culo caliente began to sizzle and curl like bacon.
Daunita rubbed her ample breast against the thick cable of Bernardo’s upper arm. “Alto, Bernardo. Share another sip with me. I have a deep darrrrrrrrk secret to share with you. ¿Ves?” Daunita poured the liquor between her swelling cachorros while the mad vaquero encircled her narrow waist. “Sip! ¿Eres una giraffe?” asked Daunita, as Bernardo’s big sloppy tongue followed the rivers of tequila across her jutting bluse with the grace of a decked flounder.
“No! No! Not here, Bernardo.” She held his arm. “Escucha! Listen!” Bernie paused his pastry taster.
“Esto es importante,” she said. “El futuro está en sus bolas.”
” Senorita,” said Bernardo, “did you just tell me that ‘the future is in my balls?”
“Your calabazas,” said Daunita, “carry the seeds of our childr…wait…just a little to the left. Oh, yeah, mi hombre…”
¿Qué? Bernie resumed his rack snacking.
“Las bolas de su wagger flunker.”
(SCENE BREAK) —CRIME SCENE—Plot resumes soon. Maybe.
“What I am trying to tell you, estúpido, is that your cojones are protecting the seeds—the future of my dynasty. They will be your pups, too. The trap protects our nueva familia.” She wrapped her hand around the trap. Oops. Bad idea.
Bernardo’s felt the ‘pups’ struggle to breach. Then, the pain. He doubled over. Agggggghhhhhhh! I’m a fool! Por favor, el Niño Jesús! he thought as he blindly grabbed at her with his rough gargantilla de pollo (chicken choker’s) hands.
“No Bernardo! Parar! Not here!” She pulled Bernardo away from the swell of her breasts and held his face firm. “Are you listening, loco? Not here!”
There was tension in the air as the goddess searched his tortured eyes to make sure that he was listening.
Bernardo, stared back, desesperado, begging her for a clue — what the goddess wanted.
“¿Entiende usted?” she repeated, unblinking.
Time and la música del Tostadas Mejillas stood still, then loitered.
A dim light bulb nearly appeared over his blood-drained cabeza. Bernardo thought that he had finally figured Daunita out. She gets her pleasure by driving me loco!
The voice of the wise-beyond-his-years Chimi, spoke in Bernie’s brain. “With a woman things are never that simple, señor.”
The music of Amor a la Mexicana began to build. By placing his hands on her hips he could feel Daunita surge with the rhythm. Her skin went flush and her eyes went wide, telling Bernie that sus jugos were flowing like el gran Río Grande.
His will had evaporated into the sultry night as Bernardo’s choices in life became as narrow as the menu at Taco Bell.
When the song ended, the Mexican maiden (;-D) spoke. “Mi amado, mi nombre es peligro! (My beloved, my name is danger!) We must say buenas natchos. I am afraid that Big Man Jose may show up soon and dance La Cucaracha upon your albóndigas with his silver spurs. Careful with tus manos my handsome Bernardo,” She poured more Ambrosia on her tongue and let it funnel into his mouth. “Aye …¡Cuidado! I cannot take it, mi hombre?” she said collapsing onto Bernardo’s oiled and hairless-as-a-Xoloitzcuintle-puppy chest. In his ojos she realized that the foolish boy is willing to risk pain, even death! “Idiota!” Being probealicious, his large powerful hand reached below and engulfed her…
…sombrero. (“Where the gol-derned %^%$#$@ did a fucking sombrero come from?”)
“You are mad, Bernarrrrrdo like el toro loco!” Daunita spun into the shadows in a non-hearted attempt to save her innocence (Ha!) and the life of her foolhardy querido (lover). Her dark eyes cast a wicked spell as she swayed, waving her steaming red …Usted diablo!…beckoning Bernardo to his destrucción with her torn bragas rojas. “A little bit closer, you handsome man.” Bernardo the bull bellowed, smashing tables while he hurtled toward the target. There was terrible pain, but “Ha!” He laughed it away! The evil señorita found herself facing the intense heat of his imprisoned pantalones lanza (pants lance). Her pezones ignited beneath her shredded blusa. Daunita backed up, pressing her steamy bollos into the blissful table. (Sí, la mesa estaba muy feliz!) When she saw the wild look in Bernardo’s eyes, she smashed the I’m-more-than-happy-and-willing-to-die-now table behind her, into the adobe wall.
The bloodied Bernardo snorted, kicked up his heels and charged. Damn that burnin’ ring of fire. His brutish arms were locked around the demon women’s haunches when his enormes bolas began to rattle like rattlesnake’s maracas. Bernardo was determined to break free his raging pequeño amigo from its bonds as he took careful aim. The doomed Bernardo bellowed regardless of the intense pain that would shut him down …in 5, 4, 3, 2, .…
…If “that Big Man Jose or a bullet deep in his chest” didn’t kill him first —
“One little kiss,” The intercom sang, “and Daunita goooood byyyyyyyeee…”
Another workaholic, thought the passing night janitor, eighty-year-old Bob, of the sleeping Bernie, snoring beneath the time clock. Dauna stood over Bernie with one foot on the poor hombre’s chest. Her pheromones still peppered in the air. Bob the custodian sighed, She’ll tear him apart, shook his head and resumed mopping.
‘Ding!’ went the time clock. And the new guy is dowwwwwn for the count, thought Bob.
Dauna could not let Bernie nap. MacHeath was out there looking to kill all of them. “That was quite a fiesta, huh, Cupcake?” said Dauna nudging the unconscious Bernie’s throbbing trap with her foot while she rearranged her unruly lady parts within her grateful clothes. “Hola. It’s time to get your ass up and go home, Señor.” She lit a cigarette, and walked out. “Buenos natchos, la Cupcake.”
Bernie’s eyes snapped open with the feeling that his frijoles were being refried. He was still in the coat room, but now beneath the frío stare of Mrs. ‘G’ — Mrs. God — the Messiah’s madre. Today, Mrs. ‘G’ was the vision of Our Lady of Guadalupe decorating the wall above the time clock. She was wagging her antiseptic, judgmental finger at Bernie.
When it came to judging her son Jesus’ new trouble-maker friend, Bernie, Mother Mary would not simply ‘Let It Be.’