After being mildy awed by Pike's Peak on Saturday, Sunday found us being wowed to death by the Garden of the Gods, a park between Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs.

 
Oh, please! You're acting like a tourist!

 I see faces and figures, all looking rightward

My wife climbed up there all by herself. Me so proud!

The Balancing Rock, just before this brat pushed it a little too far!

 
A Paraguayan folk harp, but you knew that already.

 
Not all the strange formations were mineral. His hair is a darker purple than this shot indicates


But we were all fascinated by this guy, who was teaching....

...this guy the ropes. And the pitons, and the placing of feet, hands, and fingers, in order to avoid.....

 
...this. He recovered nicely, and amused us with his purple language

From the valley, we went up onto Cheyenne Mountain, Holley's favorite place in the immediate vicinity of Earth

I led an army of one out onto a promontory, as I reached the summit, a raptor flew by, a hundred feet or so below me. It was awesome, and my camera was still in my pocket.

...So imagine a hawk/eagle/falcon flying right to left in this shot

At this altitude, one can see the tilt of the Earth on its axis, or I lost my balance as I snapped this photo.
Doesn't that rock formation look like a creature out of a Terry Gilliam movie?

A blue spruce, or, as we call them in Florida, a xmas tree

Colorado Springs from Cheyenne Mountain

The most ostentatious weather vane in the world.  These people had a metallic menagerie in their front yard.
As Holley said, they have lost the right to complain about gawkers blocking their driveway and road.

Thanks for agreeing to this.

I had a choice?

It'll be fun, just say the first thing that comes into your mind.

That's your job.

Not tonight. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get to sleep.

That's a winning argument! Don't get too heavy, though

We'll start out with an easy question, fair enough?

Yes. Golly, that was a softball!

Smart ass. Here's the question....Do you have a favorite rock lyric, one that resonates with you, one that made you say, "That perfectly sums up my life so far."?

"You got to roll with the punches to get to what's real"*

That doesn't make any sense.

(smiles)

Ok, got it. So tell me, what do you think happens when you die?

Aside from decomposition, I have no idea. The answer is completely unknowable, and not worth the bother.

C'mon! That's a cop-out answer.

No really, I have absolutely no idea what comes next. No one does, and belief isn't proof. The question that should be asked, you don't mind if I ask a question, do you?

Go ahead, I'm not making much headway here

Thanks, the real question is, why be good, if this life is all we get?

So what's the answer?

I'm asking you.

Then I will have to answer with a song lyric as well. "Be good for goodness sake"

Wait! I already gave a favorite lyric!

Yes, but you were talking bullshit, this resonates for real. Heard it my whole life, too.

Elaborate.

Could you state that as a question?

Screw you.

Anatomically impossible. no, really, I am a selfish bastard, and I like doing what makes me feel good. It just so happens that helping others, making them laugh or smile, making their day, and getting nothing in return but the pleasure of their reaction, makes me feel better than anything else.

So why don't you do it more often?

Because I am lazy as well as selfish. I save it for the ones who  are most in need of a lift. I thought I was asking the questions...

I've lost track. You want to ask a question?

Yes.

So ask.

If you were alone on Earth, except for one companion(cop out in the interest of familial harmony alert) after your wife, of course, who would you pick?

Real or imaginary?

Real.

Living or dead?

You know I mean either, answer the question!

Touchy, aren't I? I guess my old yaller dog, Amigo, provided he could live as long as I did.

A dog? Don't you think you'd go crazy, not having a person to talk to?

I guess I would miss conversation after awhile, and regret choosing Amigo. But after hearing the same stories a thousand times, I would regret Not choosing a dog.

Weird.

What did you want to hear, Aristotle? Jesus? Groucho?

Mark Twain.

(mulls)Mmm, yeah, you right. I would miss Amigo, but Twain could get real eloquent and funny about how we miss having a dog. Good answer. You know, you can be a pain in the you-know-what, but most of the time it's kinda nice having you around.

We should get together more often.

----------------------------------------

* from JUMP! by Van Halen

 

We travelled from Flatland to Colorado Springs, in order to visit our daughter, Holley. The goal was to find out why she moved a half a continent away from us. Was it something we said?

 We got the cheap seats, in sub-coach.The seats in the back of a plane are
 considered the safest. We managed the safe seats on both legs of the flight,
so I really didn't care when parts of the wing began coming apart, and I 
 noticed the the wingtip was curled upwards.

 
Luckily, we were on the ground by then. See the Rocky Mountains in the
background? Snow-covered and beautiful, but I had thought they were more
spread out than that. And taller

 
The first major difference between Florida and Colorado became evident at
the Denver airport. In Florida, restrooms are restrooms, and not tornado
shelters. But in both states, people react weird when you take their picture as
they exit a bathroom.

Saturday, after a good night's rest, we took the train to the
top of Pike's Peak.

 The foliage of the Quaking Aspen changes color before about every other tree. We got lucky, and had seats on the scenic side of the train. Also, our seats faced the incline. As the train backs down the mountain on the descent, the people facing us had to strain in order not to fall out of their seats coming and going. The people across the aisle had a view of rock walls for most of the trip.

Pike's Peak is one unprepossessing mountain. There were tiny patches of snow at the top. I was fatigued from the lack of oxygen at the top, and didn't take any pictures. But in Part II, I will more than make up for the lack of high-altitude shots. Wait and see.

On the way down, we saw some wildlife, such as this
mule deer, named for its big ears.

  
....and this critter, a marmot, soaking up rays and the warmth of a rock.

Some hikers use the train to get to the halfway point on the trail, or to take
the train back after admitting defeat. Pike's Peak is 14,300 ft high.

The architecture in manitou Springs, as well as most of the small towns around Colorado Springs, is worth a whole blog in itself.

We leave tomorrow; by Tuesday I should have the really good pictures up. Stay tuned! 

 

On my way to work this morning, I stopped at Morrison Springs, just south of Ponce de Leon, Florida.

The morning and the place look so full of promise....

Reluctantly, I left the springs and continued on to work. I was only a couple of hours late

 

We finished building the tow, and I steered us southbound out of Mobile harbor

My favorite winged subjects were unusually co-operative

Coming in for a landing

                                                                Headed home

"Pundit Puffs.", the Prince of Darkness answered my unasked question. "Popped, using their own hot air to do the deed. They go down smooth, provided you don't give a thought to the ingredients." He said with a cackle.

I concentrated on the game, contemplated the next move on the board. "See the green splotches?" He held up a shriveled, frightened soul of a woman whose calls for killing in MY name did enrage me to no end. "That," he stated with a Creator's pride, "is distilled  stink of filthy lucre." I waved away the offering and watched as, with a shrug, a lip-smacking sucking of  air, and a swallow, my host consigned the harpy to her fate.

Did I say My host? I did, and it sounds ironic on first hearing. But All that I see, all that IS, is mine, even the fiery pits beyond the barren mountains. A good landlord keeps an eye on things. Labor Day is as good a day to congress with tenants as any. Besides, both of our staffs have the day off, there is really no one else spend the holiday with. So here I am, after a seven-level tour of the facilities, a board game on the table between us, rolling the bones with my fallen-yet-still-useful archangel. I have to admit, he runs the place efficiently enough. I want him to put in more sound-proofing, though.

The bones tumbled out of the shaker, the ribs formed a '4' and the tibias a '3'. A seven; he avoided my wrath, landed on Hellbound or Heaven-sent? and drew a card.

"Gitmo Prison to Remain Open, advance 2 steps." That cackle again. "Those who raise no hand against me do my work."

I sighed, took the shaker and and threw them onto the unlevel playing field. Demons are such jokers. A pair of dice stopped rolling; six and a five, '11'.  Oh, I could have had cherubs appear, holding up cards with the correct numbers, but showy isn't my way. I passed The Beginning and collected my indulgences. My opponent looked at me with baleful eyes. He rattled the cup, eliciting groans from deep within, but showed no inclination to roll.

"Care to make a deal?"

"No deals, you know my rules."

"Laws 'a' mighty!" He put on his hurt face. "It's just a game, for Your sake!"

"Let's hear it, damn you!"

He laughed at the mention of our little joke (said at least once at each encounter; when He said it, my response is always 'got you first'), then his face expressed what a mortal would see as genuine concern. "Have you decided what to do about the polluters?"

I knew he meant the rig that sunk, the oily mess that was being dealt with so poorly. "Eons ago." I answered.

"I know I get the board of directors, the test-fakers, the government inspectors, and the ones who ginned up the disaster prep statement." These he counted off on his elongated, elegantly manicured fingers. "Now, how about the spokesman? If it was up to a vote, he'd be mine. And those who are falsely claiming to be hurt by the spill, and getting money for lying, at the same time diminishing the amount that honest people will receive?"

I mulled his offer as I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows. I had allowed him this extravagance, a chalet in Purgatory, as a meeting place for our thank-Me few face-to-faces. The view was fantastic, except for the mass of forlorn souls milling about, uncertain of their ultimate fate. The moans and cries of the tardily repentant were to Satan as the sound of water rushing over rocks is savored by a Japanese gardener. He arranged them by their vocal range, conducting them in a choir of regret, terror, pain, and all the vices which brought them here in the first place.

"The place looks nice, who keeps it up?"

"The rich ones who cannot enter heaven I employ as servants; toilet cleaners, some I turned into cockroaches, to nibble up spilled food." He leaned back in his chair, took a puff from a cigar he had stuck on one horn. He blew the smoke out as a series of perfect rings. His eyes glazed over, then cleared.

"Yes, it's my little corner of Heaven, you might say. So, about my offer?"

"The CEO you don't get, he is clueless, not evil. And the greedy parasites I will decide on a case-by-case basis. Some are suffering through hard times, and just want to feed their families."

"Stealing is stealing, is it not?" When he exhaled this time, smoke rings came first, followed by wispy shapes suggesting agonized faces that were squeezed by the rings before the display dissipated. 

"They all will get to see your horrid visage. The ones on which my mercy shines will join me in time. The Congressman who apologized to BP is yours; nothing he will do in the future will make up for that." I had spoken, discussion ended. With a sulphurous belch, he shook the cup and threw snake-eyes. Real snake's eyes. I smote him before he could move his marker.

"Do no harm to innocent creatures! Only with man may you perform mischief." I thundered. The ground outside shook, the temporary residents outside looked up at the house from where they milled about.

From the floor, holding his bleeding proboscis, I heard him mutter about me not taking a joke very well. He regained his feet, picked up the chair, and delicately tucked it under the table before sweeping the game off onto the floor with a swish of his tail. He actually tried to meet my gaze, but thought better of it, as I knew he would. A mis-shapened goblin I recognized as Stalin limped over and picked up the mess while his overlord composed himself.

"So, I guess we can work out the parameters concerning the mosque in NYC at a later date?"

"We can discuss it anytime. It has been worked out."

He rubbed his smitten nose, tried to push the cartilage back into shape, but I would not allow it to stay. "Just how long do I go around like this, Father?"

"For all time, vengeance is mine."

"Sheesh, you're judgmental." He waved the bag of Pundit Puffs in my face. "My 'people' are all over this, swaying minds and ramping up hate. America will look like the bigoted and violent country that it is." Turning, he kicked Josef down the stairs, then floated down behind the lost soul, fading away before he reached the door. Stupid parlor trick, but it impresses the idolators.

I took as my exit the door leading out onto the balcony. I looked out at those trapped in limbo, and made a light coughing sound. when the crowd looked up, I did show them my face for the barest of nano-seconds. The mass of recently deceased humanity backed away as one, as if recoiling from the light of a thousand suns, many were stampeded, and everyone who found their voice called my name, not his.

Who says I don't have a sense of humor?

 

Now that the temperatures have moderated somewhat, I agreed to accompany George on a mission to Shell island. The objective this time was transecting the widest point of the barrier island in search of an inland lake. George had it on good authority that the lake supported a population of alligators, and we both hoped to get some pictures of them. 

                                   Our epic journey, color-encoded and annotated. 
                                 The pink line is the path we took back to the boat.

 This shot, across the street from where George keeps his boat, just begged to be taken.

 

The first quarter of the trek was through marshy ground that supported a healthy population of sawgrass, and some other grass that had spearpoints on the ends. It sure looks pretty in a picture, though... 

And there were numerous clumps of cactus to contend with

 
                We thought we had found the lake, but this was near the pond that is visible on the map,
                                    one ridge of sand dunes from our true objective.

 
George never let me fall too far behind

 
We caught our first glimpse of the big lake.....

It was peaceful and pretty, and we saw no alligators. We did find several spots where one had
flattened the grass, but I was feeling the effects of the sun about then, and forgot about taking pictures.

When we returned to the boat, it was time to go for a swim. I had worn shorts, and the sawgrass had done a number on my shins, but I was barely aware of the pain until I waded out into the water. The salt water reacted with each cut, and the pain became sharply focused and intense.

We started at seven or so, and were back at George's house by noon-thirty. I had plenty of time to take a well-deserved nap when I got home.

 

I was looking for a place to stretch my legs, and walked up on this unique site in Milton, Florida....

The Santa Rosa County Veterans Memorial

 
People donated in veteran's names to provide a brick for each serviceman or woman from Santa Rosa County

 I had the place to myself, but I didn't feel alone

'Fallen, Not Forgotten', it says on the plaque

 
with a view like this...

...from the rear window of these apartments, just down the block from the memorial,
who wouldn't be happy to live here, and who wouldn't find the beauty of this side of Milton
uplifting to both mind and spirit?

Not everybody, I guess

 

I have managed to avoid this whole controversy up to now, but today I got caught up in the fracas on a message board:

 

"NormalKryptonian, that's me. Hey! I needed a name fast, so I could join Super-ManTalk, and inject some common sense into the undulating mass of hate and misdirection that passes for discussion on these boards.

Of course, the original subject was Superman's intention to move to Manhattan, in order "to be closer to the action" as he put it while dropping some meth dealers in front of a police sub-station in Peoria. "I'm tired of the Solitude at the Pole, and I don't need a fortress. I'm mother-eff'ing Superman, after all." He continued as he surprised some illegals attempting to cross the Rio Grande. "Any building should be happy to have me," he said seconds later in Metropolis, before picking up Lois Lane in his arms and flying off to give her another 'exclusive'.  "I'm quiet, I can find lost kids and car keys. I'll join Neighborhood Watch, hell, I'll BE the neighborhood watch."

We all know the story so far; no co-op board will approve him, and who can blame them? The memories of his epic battle with the Rain-Men from Planet X are still fresh in the minds of many New Yorkers; the hole in the UN building, the smoking battlefield that was Central Park, and the toppling of the statue of Liberty. Aside from worries that any attack on his proposed Super-loft might lead to collateral damage when the bullets or disintegrator rays bounce off his chest, where is the Man From Krypton's sensitivity? What if the mother of one the children in that plunging bus he Didn't catch sees him flying back from a mission. It would bring the pain back, you know it would. Isn't New Jersey close enough?

Yeah, right, he saved the day, drove off the Rain-Men, re-dug the Holland tunnel, yada yada. Well, maybe they would have left anyway, except for him starting a bunch of crap! History will note that the worst destruction came after he joined the fray, not before; not an unusual happenstance where the caped crusader is concerned. Besides, and this may sound paranoid, but what if he gets it in his head to run things? He's a bit of a control freak, and I've heard stories about critics vanishi....

 

Ugly Americans have rights, too. One they exercise all too often is freedom of speech. Now, the ugly I refer is in their hearts and/or minds but, in many cases the inner ugly manifests itself, sneaking onto a face in an unguarded moment, moments such as these....

Newt Gingrich
This bloated serial philanderer really thinks America has forgotten that he vacated his seat in Congress after leading the republicans to a disastrous loss in the '98 elections, and that we have been hoping he would run for President. Actually, I hope he does, he's a guaranteed loser for the republicans.

I almost forgot why Newt is being mentioned at all. Here he is this week expounding on the Cordoba House, the Islamic community Center slated to be built near the site of the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center...

[T]he Ground Zero mosque is all about conquest and thus an assertion of Islamist triumphalism which we should not tolerate. … It is simply grotesque to erect a mosque at the site of the most visible and powerful symbol of the horrible consequences of radical Islamist ideology.

 

The Moors ruled Cordoba for 700 years. During that time, interfaith harmony was the rule. There were Catholic churches and Jewish synagogues in Cordoba. Cordoba even had a jewish mayor for 30 years. When the Moors were driven out, the Jews were forced to convert to Christianity or leave the country. They sought and received refuge in Muslim countries. Does Newt really think the minds behind the Cordoba House picked the name to praise the terrorists as some secret message only Muslims and a zillion right-wing bloggers could decipher? Newt exemplifies one of the requirements for listing here; he leaves ugliness in his wake. Do us a favor, Newt, leave another wife (Hey, how hard can it be?), and run away to New Guinea* with....

 

Sharron Angle
seen here channeling whatever demon makes her spout barely intelligible fountains of stupidity and meanness, such as her disturbing campaign strategy in her bid against House Speaker Harry Reid. An' I quote....

This week, the candidate refused to take back a claim that there are 'Domestic enemies' in Congress. If she wins, there will be one more. Please, Nevada, don't elect an idiot who advocates killing elected officials, as that would make you even more batshit-crazy than....

Mel Gibson
I used to like this guy, and I still would had I not heard about him saying this to his ex-girlfriend and mother of his child, Oksana Grigorieva....

"...you go out in public and it's a f#@%ing embarrassment to me. You look like a f#@%ing bitch in heat, and if you get raped by a pack of niggers it'll be your fault. All right? Because you provoked it." (A 4th transcript full of evil rants was released this week, but these gems are from an earlier tape.)

Later, in the same phone call, Mel tries a little tenderness...

 Shut the f#%k up! You should just f%#&ing smile, and blow me! 'Cause I deserve it!

I don't think it's gonna happen, Mel. But you might try sweet-talking....

 

Ken Mehlman
..who this week made official what Bill Maher told us in 2008, namely, that he is gay. Ken led Bush' second re-election campaign, one of the themes of which was that allowing gays to marry would destroy the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman. In answer, I refer you to Newt Gingrich. Ken, as do most self-loathing, republican-voting homosexuals, fought hard for the Republican positions  vis a vis gays, including support of the ridiculous 'don't ask, don't tell' policy for handling gays in the military. Now he wants to see gay marriage become the law of the land, a concept which he vigorously fought against from the safety of the closet. Mehlman is the one I least dislike here, at least his talking about his gayness will make it easier for others to come out. So I would be willing to introduce him to someone....

Governor Jan Brewer (R. Az)
What? Not a man? Are you sure? Yeah I see the dress, the hair, but I thought that lacking any other feminine qualities, Brewer was a cross-dresser. After all, Jan is a man's name in Scandinavian countries, and I know the governor has no problem with vistors from THAT portion of the world. The bill Mr. Brewer pushed that requires the police to become immigration officers is needed because, you know, police have so little else to do. That 11-80 (accident-major injuries) can wait while the officers check out those suspicious guys with the lunch buckets and rope belts. This week, Brewer is upset that the bill is mentioned in a US report on civil rights submitted to the UN. Too late, Jan, the world knows you signed another bill that bans Mexican-American studies in Arizona schools. Youse ugly, inside and out, and so is the bill.

Illegal immigration is down, it peaked in 2007, and seizures at the border are way up. Legal Mexican immigrants have increased in number, so maybe the Governor is just seeing too much brown skin for her taste. What else? The bill was written by a white supremacist, pushed by the company who manages the facility in which the illegal immigrants who are apprehended will be processed... there was something else... Oh yeah, on a per capita basis, Arizonans of Mexican descent commit less crime than do whites.

Now, if Brewer was to craft a bill to keep out....

Gerard Depardieu
 ...Who made news a few years ago, not for his reputed acting abilities, but for this comment:

"I don't understand why rape is seen as bad in this country. In [France], I've raped several women."  

What the hell, the first one's the hardest, right, Gerard? It has been dismissed as a translation problem, but what could he have really meant? Foot-rubbing? Just in case a little rape doesn't make him ugly enough, this week he had this to say about..... 

  Juliette Binoche, (Not ugly, not even a little)
  "I would really like to know why she has been so esteemed for so many years. She has nothing. Absolutely nothing!"

Juliette has been in 50 films, and has won acclaim on both sides of the Atlantic. She won an Oscar, was nominated for another, and has won numerous other awards over the years. Why Depardieu disses her is a mystery. Maybe she didn't succumb to his charms.

 

* They still have cannibals, right?

 

Here are some pictures I took on the way to work last Wednesday, plus some taken since then. Wishing everybody a happy 24th of August!

   A Wild Hibiscus, growing along the Florida Trail

 
Remember the group A Flock of Seagulls? Me neither

 

            Been sittin' here awhile, why do you ask?

     This is how I see the world most days, through a blue sunscreen

The channel leads out to the Chipola River, but watch out for the snags

  Coral Mushroom (Ramaria something-or-other) On the Florida Trail.
They are supposed to be edible, but the specimens are always filled with sand

                                            "Man, I hate these no-fly zones!"

Yeah, I know. But this story is complete; all the chapters are on line. Enjoy

 

Chapter One

PROLOGUE

The woman tapped her wedding ring on the steering wheel as she waited on the drivers ahead of her.  One by one they responded to the change in the light, and finally her turn came to slosh forward through axle-high water. The rain was a fraction of its volume a few minutes earlier, but the storm drains on this, the lesser tax-producing side of the commercial district, had stopped flowing long before the current line of spring storms started.

"Damn it!", The car coasted to a stop as the engine sputtered and died. She twisted the key; the engine caught on the third try. The Audi progressed 20 yards before catching up to the line of cars. One more block, she thought. One more block, do my business, and get home before Tony knows I'm gone.

A lightning flash illuminated the Baker St./Pulaski Ave. sign on the corner. Angie Liussa put two wheels on the curb, and her sideview mirror barely made it past the delivery truck's bumper. People really should consider that the driver behind them just might not be a goddamned sight-seer who'd never seen either neon or street-walkers before, that they might need to hurry before their bastard of a husband recovered from the dilaudid dissolved in his Brandy Alexander.

She double-parked in the street abreast of a shingle hanging in front of a two-story standalone shop. The business to the left of her objective was the Hahn Phuc Massage Parlor.  On the other side of  Jack Moonlight, Investigative Services, was a storefront which catered to its special late-night clientele. The biggest sellers were metal scrubbing pads, beer, empty blunts, unless you knew what to ask for, first aid kits, and sanitary products for the working ladies on the corner. She couldn't read the sign, as all the lights framing the name were burned out. Both businesses were ostensibly open, and both were silent.

A vehicle turned onto the street behind her. Angie quickly gathered her robe around her and splashed her way to the sidewalk, soaking her bedroom slippers in the process. She wondered how she must look, but there had been no time to search for proper footwear. The security grate was in place, and Angie noticed that it wasn't locked. No matter, she had no time to talk now, as much as she wanted to know what the hell was going on. She fed the card into the mail slot. The vehicle, a van, stopped behind her car. There was room to get by, Angie was sure. Well, she would be gone in less than a minute anyway, headed back home...

Her plans changed suddenly, Angie suddenly felt it necessary to lie down and rest. She wasn't sure why; the loud noise and the pain in her breast had her disoriented. She faced the sidewalk as she slid down to a sitting position. A bright flash from the street, and Angie was dead before she heard the second shot. Two more shots sounded, and any hopes of an open casket at Angie Liussa's wake were shattered.

The van sped down the street. Two men in long dark coats got out of a late-model black sedan four cars west of the storefront. They walked up to the body on the steps. Angie's final throes had somehow caused the security grate to swing open, pausing above where her inert body lay.

"That wasn't in my notes. Did I miss a meeting?" Said the taller man.

"You think someone just had it with double-parkers?" Not-so-Tall looked east as the door to the Hahn Phuc  opened. A man scurried out, looked at the dead woman, the two tall guys with bland expressions. An oriental face disappeared behind the closing door. The customer walked faster, then ran around the corner. A siren wailed in the distance, coming closer.

"Oh dear, look at the time." Real Tall opined that Not-so-Tall had a point, and the two went back to the sedan and got in. As they drove past the crime scene, they saw the crack of light in the window of the convenience store. Real Tall recited the tag number on the Audi to someone on the phone. He listened to the answer, then ended the call.

"Just got interesting, partner. That's The Louse's wife." The siren's wail reached a peak, then faded.

"Too many unknowns here. I'm calling Krentz; time we heard the rest of the story."

"Well, whatever it is, we still should get rid of this car."

"Two tall guys, that's all people remember about us."

"Our greatest asset. Forgetability."

"As long as we don't use our real names. Isn't that so, Oscar?" Asked the shorter of the pair.

"Right as rain, Felix." Then the taller one suggested they go to ground, get a few hours sleep. "Mr Moonlight should be safe, now that the shooting's over."

And Jack was safe and unharmed until he tripped over the body on his front steps just after dawn. Not knowing of her departed status, Jack landed awkwardly as he tried to avoid causing injury. He looked up from where his face had met the sidewalk; red nightgown, silk chemise, nice legs. Then he took in the blood, the stillness. "We'd both be better off if you had rung the bell, hon."

-----------------------------------

"What were you doing in your office all night, Moonlight?"  Detective Hadlock queried Jack from his right, It hurt to turn his head in either direction.

"How is it that you didn't hear the shots?" Jack wheeled the cubicle chair to his left. Detective Hadlock and Kent were playing bad-cop/bad-cop on him, and it was working. Jack was convinced that they were bad cops.

"I live upsthairs, Hadlock. And you may have heard we had a hell of a thundersthtorm, Detective. I didn't hear either, becauth, like Marilyn Monroe, all I had on wath the radio, turned up loud." Jack's voice was slightly muffled by the bandage that crossed his broken nose and split cheek. He wiped another drop of blood from his lip, the cut on his tongue was still bleeding, and it was swelling up. Soon Jack would be answering the questions in writing.

The third man coughed, then spoke. "To what station was your radio tuned, Moonlight?" Jack saw that Ernie Hall was all ready to jot down Jack's reply to this ever-so-pertinent question.

"K-Jazzth, Am 980, Detective Hall. Ever heard of it?"

"Yeah, my dipshit roommate at the Academy played it day and night."

Kent moved between the two men. "So you never saw Mrs. Liussa before this morning." 

"Nope, Thaid that a couple of timeth."

"And you had no connection to her husband, Anthony Liussa? No outstanding loans, favors owed, anything?"

"Well, yeah, actually." Jack straightened up. The two detectives who'd caught the case leaned towards Jack; Hall answered his cell-phone's unheard ring.

"Thince you athsked me that thame quethtion three, maybe five minutesth ago, Tony the Louthe made me his consigliere."

Hall pretended that he was laughing at something his caller said. Hadlock stared at him hard, Hall gave it back. Hadlock looked at his watch. "Okay, wise-ass. You have my number, if you think of anything that might actually help the force catch a crook..."

Jack interrupted him. "When do you retire, Detective?"

"Asshole, C'mon, Kent, let's go." Hadlock looked at Moonlight, sitting behind his desk. "We're headed to Carmody's for a porterhouse. We'll think about you, sucking lunch through a straw."

Kent pointed at the large black man. "And Hall, don't discuss our case with your friend here. And if you learn anything when you don't, I'd better hear it from you soon after." 

"I'm just helping a friend in need; Kent. The 112th's jurisdiction ends two blocks over."

The door closed behind Kent's wide frame. From his coat pocket, Jack pulled out the card he had picked off the floor before tripping over the unfortunate Angie Liussa. He handed it to Ernie.

"I'm hurt. You changed cards without giving me a new one." Ernie read aloud:

I help   men find their wives
            wives find the truth
            siblings find siblings
I take    markers for a fee,
             be it money or jewelry
Gal friend a bother? I'll take her for free!

Squeaky doors and windows fixed;
price negotiable

Across the printed words, written in a hasty hand:

Be near your phone noon today. $2000 just to listen .

Hall rubbed his chin. "My old lady had that kinda money, I might listen to her."

"She woulda had me with those legsth, sthtanding in my doorway in a red nightie." 

"Why didn't you show this to Hadlock? It really is their case, even though.."

"..They're idiotths. And Tony the Louse hath hith fingersth in every prethinct..."

Ernie cut him off. "Yeah, Jack, I get it. Just shut up until your tongue shrinks." Hall went to the window, and looked out at the street.
"The reporters are gone, but you should disable the doorbell, you want to get any rest." He dropped the blind, looked back at Jack, whose eyes were drooping in reaction to the extra pain pill that the M.E, at Ernie's request, had slipped him. "Go get some rest, son. I'll stick around for a while. Sooner than later, Tony the Louse will want to talk to you. Word is, he beat his wife from time to time, but I doubt that he will tolerate anyone else's hurting what's his."

"I thought of that. Tony will want to talk to me, no middle men."

"Yeah, I hope we have some answers before he jumps to the conclusion that you and Angie were delicting flagrantly."

"Not guilty, but a fact or two would help him to know that I am on the up and up."

"Are you mending that fast, Moonlight?" 

"No, but I am running out of wordsth without etheths."

Ernie made sure Jack was resting comfortably, then satisfied himself that the windows were secured. He called the duty sergeant, and argued for a few minutes before getting a patrol car to check out the block every half-hour or so. Then he left. Ernie drove in the general direction of the112th. He caught the light at Jefferson and Monroe. Two tall men were buying a newspaper from Mossy Peters. Ernie was six-six, and he had enough trouble buying suits; he wondered where these guys, the shorter one had to be 6-foot-nine, did their shopping. One way to find out. Ernie put the car in Park, leaned over, and rolled down the passenger-side window.

"I doubt the story is in the paper yet." Felix remarked to his co-worker, but  Oscar was already turning to look at the car that had stopped behind the pair.

"Can I ask you gentleman a question?" Both men recognized the man to whose house they had followed Moonlight last Saturday evening. After hearing the sounds of alcohol-fueled merry-making, including some off-key two-part harmonies, they returned to their original post. The next day Ernest Chambliss Hall's complete life story was delivered to their car along with two pastrami on rye.

Hall saw the flash of recognition, but the feeling wasn't mutual. Taller than average people like Ernie Hall remember people even taller than themselves. He was sure these guys weren't local. "You didn't buy those dusters around here, did you?"

The one in Hall's window fingered his overcoat. "Oh these aren't dusters. They're drover's oilskin coats, from Australia."

"So you're from Australia, then?" A horn sounded behind Hall's car. Hall grabbed the portable siren, put in on the roof.

"No, we had a job down there. Consulting."

Hall could see the one on the curb reaching into his jacket. "So where do you find clothes that fit?"

"We use a tailor. Just about have to."

It was a cell-phone, Hall could see the green LED's indicating an incoming call. He chuckled, "Yeah, you right."

"I could give you his number, if you like."

"Nah, I can't afford a tailor just yet." The car behind Hall's managed to squeeze past him. Hall answered a barely-heard curse with a casual salute of the three-fingered variety."Consulting, huh? Must pay good." The taller guy nodded his head and pointed at his shoes. Hall guessed they were Italian, and expensive. He reached in his pocket, pulled out two business cards, and handed them to the more height-challenged of the pair.

"I'm tired of this butt-crack of a job. Maybe if you guys get the time, we can get together for a drink, talk about this consulting gig. Otherwise, you have any trouble, gimme a call."

"Sure thing, sheriff."

Hall laughed as he drove off. He gave the men a wave, then pulled the siren back into the car. "Nice guys, gotta get me one of them coats."

Oscar watched until the policeman turned left a block down the street. "Do you suppose he made us?" He inquired of his partner.

"I didn't get that vibe."

"Still, not good."

No, we can't let him see us again. Was that the call?"

"Yeah,  he said be at the warehouse in twenty."

"We could just make it in time if we skip lunch."

"Just what I was thinking. So, are we having Chinese or Thai?"

 

                             Chapter Two starts here

------------------------------------------

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Ernie's pills staved off the throbbing ache until about one that afternoon. Jack pulled himself upright a few minutes later. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth. "Thit!"

Not wanting to even think about brushing his teeth, Jack walked into the bathroom, where he unscrewed the top of  a bottle of mouthwash. He drank some straight from the bottle. "Thit, thit, oh thit! Bad idea". But now at least he could stand his own breath. He pulled on yesterday's clothes, thus completing the picture of an alkie on a two-day bender. In this neighborhood, the less you looked like a cop, the better the chances of getting whatever it is you came looking for. Jack was looking for eyewitnesses to Mrs. Liussa's final moments. 

Once on the sidewalk, Jack looked down Baker Street to the intersection with Pulaski. The same storm that last night failed to clean the street of trash would have ruined the streewalkers' business, and Jack's chance of getting an eyewitness from that quarter.  

"Mistah Moonlight! What happen face?"

Madame Chao was smoking a brown cigarette as she swept the walk in front of the Hahn Phuc. 

She and Jack were on friendly terms since he helped install some clotheslines that ran from the second floor of the parlor to Jack's building. Jack got the idea after watching Junie, Madame Chao's maid, lugging sacks of dirty linen to the laundromat a block away. The breeze channeled down the alley dried the sheets in about the same time a trip to the laundromat and back would take. It saved Junie's back, and saved Madame Chao money. The act had garnered Jack good relations with the neighbors, and a discount at the parlor, an advantage of which he had yet to make use.

"Had to thlap thom thenth into the thidewalk." Jack winced; it hurt to talk now, probably be worse tomorrow.

"Who woman?" Madame Chao winked as she continued, "Friend of yours?"

"Never met her. Did you or the girlth thee anything last night?"

"Nothing." Jack was impressed by her ability to lie straight to his face. She continued,"Girls, they see nothing. Busy night."

"Really? A sthtorm like we had brought out the cuthtomerth? Well, I am happy for your good fortune, Madame Chao."

"And I sorry for your face." Madame Chao grabbed his arm and guided him back towards his doorstep. "You go back in, rest. I send Junie with soup. Make all bettah."

Jack surrendered. He wanted to get out, but in truth he was feeling a little off center, and his face and tongue hurt horribly. 
"Okay, you win." It was the height of hubris anyway, thinking he was going to solve this case. A racketeer's wife? The cops would be all over this one, bumping up on each other's jurisdictions.

Twenty minutes after Madame Chao pushed Jack through his own door, he let in an asian-looking woman thirty or so years of age carrying a tureen of soup and a bowl.

"Junie, good to thee you."

"No talk. Eat soup. Good for you."

"Clothe the door and talk normal, girl."

"Oh cool." She turned back to the tray, poured some soup. Jack watched the bowl fill with watery broth, lemon-grass, and tofu. Junie spoke again. "I get tired of pretending, but the other girls distrust any Vietnamese who tries to assimilate."

"They thould be embrathing asthimilation". Jack was painfully aware that he sounded like a Warner Brothers character.

"Still, don't talk, Jack. I want to laugh when you do." She put the bowl in front of him. "Eat." As he did, she told him what she had seen.

"I was up late, reading. I'm almost ready to take the citizenship test. Anyway, I heard shots, then a car door closed. I looked out the window and saw a black SUV, the plate may have started with 93, hauling butt toward's the tracks. It turned right on Sumerall." She shushed Jack and answered his unvoiced question.

"I saw three figures; two in the front, one in the back. I think the backseat guy did the shooting. I got the impression he was settling into his seat as they took off. "

Jack spooned the soup as fast as he could swallow it. Not too hot, the soup seemed to ease the pain as it washed over his swollen tongue. He pulled a pen and pad from his pocket. He wrote "Good eyes", then "ethnicity?"

"Sorry. Not Asian is the best I can say for certain. These guys had  some shoulders on them."

"And then I ran downstairs. Madame Chao was telling a customer not to go out yet, but he was more scared of being found out than he was of death."  Junie chuckled, remembering that the guy was still zipping up as he went out the door. "There were two guys standing over the woman, Jack. They walked up from the west. Both tall; one was real tall, close to seven feet."

Jack wrote, "The other?"

"Not so tall, six-seven, six-eight. They both wore identical coats, like dusters, but different."

"Description?"

"White, but I don't remember their features. Just the tall thing." Junie thought for a moment. "They took off in a black car, an Accord, I think."

Junie waited while Jack finished the soup. He held up his hand when she went to take the tray. He wrote on the pad:

"Find Father yet?"

Junie nodded. "I sent him a letter and a picture. I told him what happened to Mom, in case he cared. No answer yet. Two weeks."

"Still time. Suddenly having daughter a shock."

"Yeah, I guess. Still, all my studying is for nothing, Jack, if he doesn't acknowledge me as family. Back to frigging Saigon I go. At least here Eurasians aren't ostracized. Oh well, let me change that dressing while I'm here. No, don't write a protest, it's a few more minutes of not talking pidgin English to roundeyes. No offense."

"None taken."

 

The pair ducked to clear the door leading into the conference room. Krentz welcomed them.

"Fashionably late, as usual. Well, I started late, so you haven't missed much. Sit down."

The look he received wasn't menacing, it wasn't anything. Krentz added, "Please".

Both men sauntered over to the rows of unfolded chairs that faced the screen. Each turned a chair around and straddled it. A man sitting in front of them turned and gave a slight nod.

"Oscar and Felix. I didn't know I was in such esteemed company."

"You aren't. You never saw us." said Felix. "So, Rikshi, did we miss all the bullshit?"

"Most of it. You see the TV." The TV referred to was off to one side of the screen. A man on the screen was extolling a wonder drug of some sort.

"....I worked my entire life to make this a reality...." The man on the screen was interrupted by Krentz.

"The security tapes were delivered to us last Thursday. The lab has been doing frame-by-frame enhancing round-the-clock ever since."

The screen brightened; A black and white hallway came into focus. There was a bank of vending machines where the corridor made a right turn. A man was servicing a drink dispenser, refilling the slots exposed by the open front of the appliance..

"...my unique expertise makes replication without my lab notes impossible..."

Krentz spoke. "This shows the corridor the afternoon of the twentieth, several hours before Professor Nix' presentation. At this point the only security on premises were uniformed guards, one at the lobby entrance, and one at the service entrance, which is around the corner from the camera's view."

"...Gentlemen, I promised you a powerful new product, and I have succeeded beyond your mild, if not completely atrophied imaginations..." Felix looked at the TV. One could hear coughing and murmers in the background. Nix's audience was slowly realizing that all was not well.

"....Nano-Bionics wanted a product that would make headlines and profits. I have invented such a product, one that embodies the two disciplines implied by our company's name..."

He turned back to Krentz; maybe the fart had something new for a change.

He did. "Now we see Nix, he talks to the vendor. They are both smiling. The recorder was set to take 3-second snapshots, so some action is missed." The vendor turned to his cart. The next frame showed Nix, unseen by the vendor, reaching into the drink machine.

Krentz punched a button, backed up a frame. The view changed to a blow-up. Nix was reaching into his jacket. 

"Nano-bots identify damage to a living system, they analyze tissues, and dictate to the embryonic stem cells what sort of cells to mutate into....."

Another punch of the button sent Nix and the vendor on their way.

"Seven people bought drinks from that machine before the security detail showed up. Five bought drinks other than Strawberry Yoo-Hoo. It was unclear in two cases what was purchased..."

Felix and Oscar both looked at the TV. They knew what was coming, but it had a train-wreck quality that discouraged averting one's eyes.

"I made this elixir, for that is what it is, an alchemic creation, ladies and gentlemen. An elixir which could reduce death to the rarity of an asteroid strike, which I would rather see than our repellent race continue to foul this planet with our filth and garbage. our waste and sperm dancing down drains, swirling into oceans of dead ...."

A man who shared the dais with Nix appeared in the frame, gently trying to take the researcher's arm. The digital read-out in the corner of the screen read 6:09.

"At 5:45, the security details were in place." Suddenly appearing next to the candy machine was none other than Jack Moonlight. The tall men watched the screen carefully, for now ignoring the unfolding scene on the television.

Krentz unnecessarily described the action on the screen as it was happening. "Here, we see Moonlight doing his job, looking down each corridor, checking the stairs. Another video shows him checking each door to see if it's locked."

Felix whispered to his taller partner. "Oscar, Krentz will keep us all day. Do something."

"You're the people person, Felix."

"Yeah." Felix  walked up to Krentz, put his hand on Krentz' shoulder and his mouth close to the bureaucrat's ear. Krentz nodded, and sat down hard, rubbing his neck.

"Thank you, Mr. Krentz. You did a bang-up job, don't you people agree."  Several in attendance snickered. No one there liked Krentz much; he had never killed anyone.

"Ok, let's allow Mr. Moonlight to catch up with the Professor." Felix backed the tape up a few seconds, Nix put his gun back in his lab coat.

On screen, Jack was looking intently at the drink machine. In three frames he had jerkily pulled some bills from his wallet. Oscar joined Felix at the front of the room, blocking Krentz's view. He said nothing.

Jack had fed a dollar into the machine and was picking a drink out of the tray at the bottom. The tape missed him opening the bottle, but caught him with the drink to his lips. It was gone in two frames. The audience watched as Jack fed more money into the machine, lining up the bottles next to him on a candy machine.  Then he was gathering them up in his arms

From 17:48:24 to 17:49:39, Jack was offscreen, then he was back, with another handful of bills.

"He likes his Yoo-Hoo." Oscar remarked.

Jack bent to remove another bottle from the droptray. 17:50:12 showed him about to twist the cap, 17:50:21, he was putting it in his inner coat pocket. By 17:50:57, Jack was drinking another Yoo-Hoo. Professor Nix held onto the gun under his labcoat.

"Back that up." Felix did so. They watched Jack consider, then reject the bottle he had bought. Back and forth several times, they watched the series of frames.

"Look there, he touched the bottle with his other hand, then pockets it."

"It was warm!" Both men said in unison. "That's the one with the formula."

"He's bound to have drunk it by now." They looked at Krentz.

"If he had drunk the bottle, his face would have healed before the cops arrived."

"You sure about that?"

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Krentz got up, thought better of pushing between the two, and walked around and over to the table. he pulled the cover off a box that turned out to be a hamster cage. "We found this in his lab, along with a goldfish in a dry tank. He is doing well, but we sure as hell don't know why. Nor does this make any sense." He said, as he pointed to the cage. Both of the tall men had already dropped to one knee, the better to see what could not be.

The front half of a white rat was playing on an exercise wheel, front legs working furiously, the belly bouncing off the spokes as they rolled past. In the corner of the cage was its rear half, the cut end facing the cage interior, the tail snapping like a worm on a hot sidewalk. The truncated ends of each half-rodent had what appeared to be vestigial legs, wrigglng pink things that clawed the air, seeking some foothold.

"They have been doing that non-stop since we found them last week." Krentz said. "The back half has formed a mouth and two nerve clusters that may become eyes."

"So no," Krentz continued. "I would say that he has not drunk it yet."

"How many did he get?" The tall men straightened up from their crouch. Oscar wiped imaginary dust off his knee.

Krentz took the control back. "Let's just see what he got. Sit, please." They did as Krentz asked. Felix looked over his shoulder at the cage as he headed for his chair.

Jack had put another dollar in the machine. A woman walked up to him. Jack tipped his hat. The lady was Angela Liussa, there for a fashion show in another part of the auditorium. Apparently, she was a Yoo-Hoo fan as well, and Jack gave her one.

"We know she didn't get the elixir." Oscar said.

Felix turned to the man behind them. "Liussa was yours to tail, right Erik?"

"Yeah, but that was before we knew whose wife she was. Easy to tail, but hell trying to get a man inside."

"Not so easy, you lost her."

"She shook hubby's guys too."

"So who murdered her? And why?"

Oscar nudged Felix. He motioned to the screen.

Felix watched Jack as he pounded on the drink machine. "It gave change, but no drink."

At 18:06:27, Jack pushed his arm down into the drop tray. Krentz fiddled with a dial, and zoomed in on a fuzzy hand reaching for a fuzzy bottle stuck up inside a fuzzy chute.

18:06:36- Jack is pulling at his coat sleeve.

"Moonlight has gotten stuck in the machine."Krentz said needlessly. "He struggles to get his jacket off, but his wrist is caught too."

Jack is almost upside down, trying to wriggle out of the jacket. At 18:08:30, he seems to give up, and the next two frames show him getting his cell phone out. Felix still has the TV remote, and backs the action up until both screens are at 18:08:45.

The Professor pulls his gun once more as his associate tries one more time to change his fate.

Jack drops the phone when he hears the shot. Professor Nix continues his rant, ignoring the man he has just shot in the chest.

"No, gentlemen, planning has led us to mass murder and famine. I choose to randomize my miracle. My gift goes to one, the many do not deserve it.  Who gets the gift? The rich? The butcher, the candlestick maker, a child molester? No, not even my angel!  Now Jack is pulling out his own gun. A cop appears in the screen, his gun trained on Jack.

The audience is gasping. Nix is waving the gun around, keeping everyone at bay. Jack is trying to tell the cop that he can't fucking get on the fucking ground, but he does drop the gun. Another cop kicks it away. Two plainclothes security types run up; both have drawn their weapons.

"Who knows, maybe no one gets it..." Nix brought the gun up to his temple. "God damn you, God damn you all!"

Everyone by the drink machine looked down the corridor when the Professor fired his last shot. The men defending the world from Jack disappeared from the frame before the picture refreshed, even before the Professor had slumped completely out of the camera's view, replaced by a swarm of bodies that obscured the action.

Jack looked down the corridor, down at his arm. He looked up at the security camera. In the next frame Jack was shooting a bird at his observers. There was an odd noise from Felix' left. Krentz turned around.

"What was that? Krentz asked.

Felix replied, "Something you won't ever hear again, I wager." Beside him, Oscar was laughing.

 

                                 CHAPTER THREE  starts here

------------------------------------------------

 

Chapter Three

 

"I waited bareback until a custodian pried the clamp off the thleeve."

Ernie snickered.  He had watched the whole tape less than an hour ago. "You sound better already. Madame's soup must be a miracle cure."

"Clothe." Jack picked up the pad and pen, and wrote, "Still hurts. Hadlock thinks I lied about Mrs. Liussa?"

Ernie didn't answer right away. He picked up his glass, then Jack's, took them to the desk where Old Grand-Dad sat. One more drink should make the traffic tolerable.  He brought the drinks back to the table by the window. "I mentioned to the dim-bulb that maybe being shot in the face had altered her features. I think he understood the implications, that the lady you saw for thirty seconds in formal wear might have looked different on your doorstep, with being in a nightie and the facial deconstruction and all."

"Doesn't explain why she sought my help. I did give her my name, but not that I was a PI."

Ernie finished his drink. He stood up, went to grab his coat from the wall hangar. He stopped, looked at his old Lakin-Merky, still serviceable, but aging. It was what, a fifth wedding anniversary present? And Horace was in college now.

"Jack, you think I'd look good in a duster?"

"Might make your ass look big." 

"Asshole. No, I was talking to two tall guys wearing something like dusters, some Australian shepherd thing.  I like the way it hung off the shoulders; you could carry a howitzer under the damn thing, and still look stylish. Oh well, try talking style to Mr. Thrift Store here." He pulled on his coat.  "You coming over Saturday for ribs? Mouth oughtta be healed enough by then."

"Maybe. Always deviled eggs."

Ernie laughed. "Right, partner. See you tomorrow." He threw down a folder on the desk. "Some info in there. Might be pertinent."

Jack locked the door behind him. He stopped at the desk long enough to cap the bottle, and headed upstairs. 

Funny thing, hearing about dusters twice in one day.

Jack's sleep was fitful. His tongue felt like an egg about to hatch, some scaly thing clawing its way out of the shell and into his mouth. His neck hurt. His shoulders felt like they were being gripped by meathooks, pulling him upright in bed.

"Mr. Moonlight, we need to talk."

Jack could see the wall clock over Anthony 'Tony the Louse' Liussa's shoulder. Two-fifteen, a good time to die.

"Jack, I know you neither screwed nor killed my wife, rest her soul."

Jack found part of his voice. Thorry for your loth Mr. Liutha."

"Don't talk, Moonlight. Use that pad, if I tell you."

Jack nodded, and the local crime impresario continued.

"Write, Jack. Write why my wife's name and yours are linked to this murder-suicide thing at the Civic Center?"

The meathook on his left handed Jack a pen. He wrote: "I bought her a drink." Turned the page so Liussa could read it.

"Where? When?" The mobster's face darkened.

Jack took back the pad, and wrote quickly about the Yoo-hoo incident. "I love the drink, but it is hard to find. I went crazy when I saw it in the machine. Took two armloads out to car. Mrs. Liussa had no change. I gave her one, is all I meant."

Liussa read the explanation."Nix was crazy, you know that?"

Jack did. Ernie had told him last night that Nix had battled schizophrenia most of his adult life, that he did better work when he was off his meds. Nix had not filled his psychotropic drug scrips in a year and a half. After the shooting, there had been a clampdown on information by Nano-Bionics, who insisted that their security chief fire Jack as soon as he was freed from the drink machine.

"You met my wife in the hall. she said she was there for a fashion show?" Jack wrote yes, that was what he understood.

Liussa read his reply. He studied Jack for a while. Jack studied Liussa's big diamond ring and his 'look at me, ma! I'm a gangster' pin-striped suit and pink shirt. Finally The Louse spoke. "My fair lady was screwing the professor. She left the house that morning at eight. The friggin' show was at four o'clock." She'd been a wreck since Nix shot himself, and I got that maid to tell me why."

Liussa paced Jack's bedroom, looked at his framed license and diploma from the Police Academy. He turned back to Jack. "I can't do business until the feds get off my case and outta town."

Jack started to write. Liussa made a motion to the meathook on the right, who tapped Jack's shoulder with a sap. He yelped.

"I said no writing unless I say write." Liussa was cool, even-voiced. Jack bet that was the wife-beating tone he was hearing. He imagined Liussa calmly telling Angie that she had brought this on herself as he pulled his heavy belt free of the loops in his pinstriped pants.

"Find out who killed my wife, Jack. Find out before they get arrested, and are safe from me." He motioned for left meathook to pass over a cell phone. Tony punched up the phone's number, turned it so Jack could read it. "Memorize this. Call when you know something."

Liussa threw a roll of bills on the bed. "An advance. Earn it." Right Meathook walked over to the door and opened it for the departing Don. A minute later, Jack heard several car doors slam shut. Two minutes later, and two thousand dollars richer, he was snoring.

Two shadows peeled away from the wall of the convenience store as Liussa's Caddy rolled down the street. The longer shadow opened the trunk on an '87 Caprice. There was a rustle as shotguns were stuffed into sawed-off rifle cases. There was a clatter as handguns were dropped into a bag, a clink as knives were added to the mix. The reloaders made a satisfyingly solid thump. The Airsoft™ stun grenades made no sound as Felix laid them atop the bag full of armaments.

"Who was assigned to watch The Louse?" Oscar asked

"Erik, the East German. The one who let Liussa' wife slip him. He had our number."

"He coulda called." The tall men had been caught unawares when three men with guns ran up to Jack's door as a black Cadillac stopped abreast of the office. Liussa's presence wasn't mollifying, as he was reputed to at least have been on scene for several recent murders and maimings. Some bosses like to visit the factory floor, think it helps keep them grounded.

"Well, let's go kill the dumb son a bitch." Oscar got into the driver's seat. He waited until Felix had his seat belt fastened before driving off.

"Oscar, you have a deep-seated belief, possibly ingrained at the cellular level, if not encoded in your very DNA, in the efficacy of assassination to solve any and all problems."

"And you love that about me."

"It's what makes you... You." Felix screwed a silencer on a Walther PPK as he talked.  "Me, I'm just in the mood."

 

The phone woke Jack just after nine. As he reached to answer the call, his shoulder gave him a painful reminder of Tony's etiquette lesson.

"You okay up there?" Ernie's voice, talking low.

"More or lesth, got sthome good sleep." Then he caught on. "The door wath jimmied, wasn't it?"

There was a click as Ernie hung up. "Yeah!" Ernie shouted up the stairs. "I'm making coffee. Get dressed."

"I'm taking a shower first. Bring me a cup, we can chat through the curtains." His tongue had shrunk to about half again normal size, and Jack could form the occasional 'S' without tearing up.

Over coffee, downstairs, as Ernie did not take up Jack's offer,  Jack told Ernie about Tony Liussa's visit. He left out Tony's hiring of him for the time being.

Ernie wasn't buying it. "Tony came here to tell you he knew you and Angie weren't bumping uglies. Did he talk about his feelings, too?"

"He wanted to know why our names got linked, I told him about the video."

"Ah yes, the video." Ernie told Jack then how he had gone by the precinct first. Nano-Bionics filmed the presentation, caught the shooting on tape. Something went wrong with the sound, but a lip-reader was transcribing what she could. "I'd like to know what is going on over there. Nano-Bionics has some jerk-off security-types hanging around. Close-mouthed bastards, a guy named Krentz is the chief obfuscator."

Jack sipped the coffee carefully; his tongue was sore enough. "Were they watching me?"

"Probably. You get a vibe?"

"Junie, next door. The maid? She saw two tall guys walk up to Angie after the shooting." He looked at Ernie, who was looking at him. "They wore dusters, or something like them."

"Australian drover's coats, oilskin."

"Gotta be the thame guysth." Jack's tongue swelling back up from too much talking. He picked up the pad. "That tall, and you got a description. Should be easy to find."

Ernie shook his head. "Weirdest thing. I can't picture their faces. Dark eyes, I think. Bland features.

"Perfect killers except for the height thing."

"Stand out in any crowd not shooting hoops." Ernie agreed. "Oh yeah, got a break on the Liussa murder. The van was found out at the quarry, a spent shell on the floor. They wiped it down, but we got some prints anyway."

Jack waited a beat. When Ernie didn't continue, Jack spoke aloud. "What did they find?"

Ernie was somber; Jack hated Somber Ernie; he always had bad news.

"Ever heard of Los Stremos, Jack?"

"Guatemalan gang, making inroads."

"Worse than the El Salvadorans, Colombians, Russians, all of 'em combined. They got to be, to scare the competition."

"They wanna war with Liussa?"

"Initiates have to kill to be made. And to make it worse, it has to be a civilian, not connected."

Jack connected the dots. "So Angie's murderer has to do another, is my guess."

"Assuming these creeps can read, they know who they shot. Might be laying low, but these guys could just as easily advertise what they did, for the street cred."

"What are they into?"

"The usual. They own the corners in McTavish Heights." Ernie grabbed his hat, placed it on his head.

"Got more coffee."

"Too fresh for me. I'll come back this evening. Keep it hot." They settled on nine or so that evening. Jack promised bad coffee and good whiskey.

After Detective Hall left, Jack put on a jacket. His coat was still at the tailor's, getting the rip in the sleeve repaired. He stepped onto the street and made his way towards the corner where the working girls fought over the occasional, pre-lunch hour customer.

He knew one by name. Luckily, Sharla was there. "Girl, you lookin' fine!"

"Bullshit!" Sharla tugged at her garter, getting the seam straight. Jack remembered last year, when she first showed up. Back then she wore fishnet stockings; but dark hose covered up the bruises and tracks better.  "What happened to your face?"

"Fell head over heelsth for a girl." Then he pulled out the pad and wrote, "I need to ask you a couple of questions. Pay for your time."

"You know the price." Sharla said. Jack took her arm and walked her away from the other girls.

In the shadows of the alley, Jack pulled a hundred out of Tony's roll. "What do you know about the Stremos?"

She folded the hundred, dropped in her sweater. "Too much. Too damn much."

Jack waited for her to go on. "They are on the move, Jack. soon we will all be working for them."

"They come around here?"

"Not so much, yet. They kill a civilian in every neighborhood that they plan on muscling in..." Sharla was not a dumb hooker. "The woman on your doorstep, Jack, she..."

"Stremos. Sure of it. Can you help?"

Sharla thought for a minute. "Willie Cucuta. He steals cars for them. I heard he wanted in. Could be your shooter."

"You're worth your weight in gold, Hon."

"Pay it don't say it." She looked back at the corner. "I gotta go, Jack. That bitch Delilah will take my spot if I don't."

Jack walked back to his office, sat at his desk. He dialed the number Liussa had made him memorize. The phone rang twice, then Jack heard breathing on the other end.

"Tell Mr Liussa I have the information he requested. The breathing stopped, replaced by a dial-tone. Jack picked up the folder that Ernie had left. He opened it. A report on the Nix affair at Duncan Auditorium was on top. Jack leafed through it until the phone rang. It was Tony himself.

"You're line's clear. We swept your place this morning. Now talk." Jack looked at the next file in the folder as he told tony about the Stremos and their initiation follies.

"McTavish, huh? Used to be white, now it's all brown and black." Jack was looking at a police report concerning a domestic disturbance charge three years ago. 'wife, A. Liussa, suffered ligament damage in both arms, head contusion, multiple bruises, bleeding from eyebrow cut. refused hospital. Husband treated for skinned knuckles.'

"Well, it's gonna be red by daylight." There was a picture of Angie, from a different incident. Jack almost missed what Tony the Louse was saying. "...his name again?"

Cucuta, Willie. And Mr. Liuthsa, he knowsth who he killed. My informant said his chest puffed out when he found out who he had chosen. He hoped you would take it persthonal, and come heavy."

"Your voice sounds better. We're even." It wasn't a question, and sucked as a goodbye. Made what Jack had in mind even easier to do. He put the phone down, and picked up his hat and keys.

--------------------------------------------

Go to Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"There he goes." Felix and Oscar watched Jack's old Le Mans peel out as he drove away.

Oscar started the engine of their latest ride, a Charger. Felix got out of the car, opened the trunk, and picked up a case of cold Yoo-Hoo's. "Meet me at the lab around four. We'll have the elixir or a Yoo-hoo orgy."

"Both, if we find the potion in one of the first bottles we test."

Oscar drove off, Felix walked to Jack's door. He picked the lock with one hand, disabled the alarm, and walked in. That was the nice thing about a neighborhood like this, broad daylight was when everyone was sleeping.

Jack ended up being gone all day. He watched the slingers work the corners, selling dreams to white college kids who drove up, and to junkies, who walked up. He bought one of the junkies, Screw-ball, lunch, a new pair of jeans, and a belt. In return, Screw-ball filled him in on the Stremos hierarchy, and the club where they held court through the night. "Cucuta, he's a bad one. Thinks hitting junkies and kids makes him more of a Stremo. Sad fact, he's right."

"Where can I find Cucuta, and what does he look like?"

"Short, broad-shouldered. Spider-web tatted on his neck. Shaved head, scar on his cheek, runs up across his eye."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Does he have any distinguishing characteristics?"

Screw-ball laughed, then looked around. "Man I gotta change this bill 'fore I score."

Jack motioned him on his way. "Thanks for the info. Hope you live."

Now, as the sun dropped behind the skyline of the city, Jack watched the front door of Mi Corazon Espana, which was down the block and across the street from where he was parked. Half the time he was watching the rear view mirror, knowing that in this neighborhood he was as conspicuous as a stripper at a church social. Several young Latinos had strolled by; each time, they looked at the magnetic "Child Services dept.." sign Jack had slapped on the driver's door, and ignored him.  Social workers, unless they did their jobs conscientiously, were not to be hassled. In return, they rubber-stamped banger's requests for food stamps and rent subsidies for their wives and baby-mommas.

Jack hit paydirt at twilight. The Honda Odyssey EX-L double-parked across and one car forward from Jack's. Cucuta, or his most ardent admirer, got out and locked the car. His face was puffy, and there was a scratch on his head, a bandage on his arm. He had been initiated, recently, Jack surmised. Good, that means his homies would listen to what Jack told him. He got out of his car, walked quickly to where the newest Stremo was wiping an invisible speck off his hood.

"Nice ride. You steal it from a doctor, or a lawyer?"

Cucuta went for his piece, but Jack was faster. He put his gun in Cucuta's mouth, grabbed the gun in his waist, pocketed it.

He looked at the man's eyes. No fear, hell, he looked like he was gonna fight back, regardless of the inevitable messy consequence.

"Look, Cucuta. Yeah, I know who you are. Listen and live for awhile. Entiende?

Cucuta nodded, looked down at the gun in his mouth, shrugged his shoulders.

"No, the gun stays. You want a tonsilectomy, do anything but listen for one damn minute." Jack felt the man relax, but Jack did not.

"You killed a woman the other morning. The wrong woman. Her husband wants revenge."

Cucuta grunted, looked at the gun again. Jack moved back, out of arm's reach.

"So let him come. I know who he is. We are not afraid."

"No, Cucuta, you are a brave man, I see that. But Liussa is coming tonight, soon. How brave are your women, your kids, su abuelas y abuelos?" Jack let that sink in. "You need to get them out of here, and soon." Jack walked backwards to his car.

"Can I have my gun back?"

"No. One more thing, Liussa will be coming, and he knows your name."

"He will know how it is to be killed by me, too."

"Go tell your friends. Move!" As Jack knew he would, Cucuta walked, ever so slowly, towards the club, spanish-tinged hip-hop spilling out of the doors. He got in the car, his work finished here.

His phone rang before he had gotten a block. " Yes, Mr. Chen. My coat is ready? Great! I am out and about now, give me 20 minutes. How's my credit?"

-----------------------------------

 

"Maybe he drank it since the shooting."

"Maybe it has a short shelf life."

Krentz had just informed them that none of the Yoo-Hoo's tested were going to save a hamster, much less the world.

If he drank it, he is practically immortal. Krentz motioned the pair to follow him. "By the way, did you see Erik on your way in? he's late for a briefing."

"Erik the Invisible"? Felix queried. "He could be in here and not be seen unless he wanted to be seen."

"A master." Oscar added.

"You killed him", Krentz thought. He sighed as he reached for the door of the walk-in freezer.

When the mists cleared, Krentz pulled the casket on a gurney out into the main room. he opened the lid to reveal a frosty professor Nix.

"Apparently," Krentz talked as he pulled down the sheet covering the corpse. "Nix tried the formula on himself." He pointed to the dead man's chest. there were small circles, four of them, each potentially fatal, yet healed bullet-holes. "These wounds, as near as we can determine, are a few days apart, the last of them occurring the morning of the symposium."

Felix and Oscar looked at each other; they had seen the Professor on the video, laughing and joking with the Yoo-Hoo vendor the morning of the shooting. Three hours or less from heartshot to robust health. Krentz was happy to have impressed the bland-faced pair.

"We hoped to get some of the ingredients back from Nix here, but there is no sign of the elixir in his body. Yet.." Krentz stabbed Nix in the arm with a knife. They watched as the cut simply disappeared within a few minutes.

"There are limits to the potion's efficacy. The brain recovered from the shot in the temple, but it does nothing now. No electrical current, no synapse activity." Nix pulled the cover back over Nix. "It can restore a body, but can't do much for the mind."

"Always a catch." Oscar said.

"Maybe a living specimen would have salvageable ingredients." Felix said.

Krentz spoke. "That is what we are hoping for now. Go shoot him, see what happens."

"That's pretty cold-blooded."

"It is. Cold as Hell, in fact." Oscar clapped Krentz on the shoulder. "There's hope for you yet."

"If he resists, that is, " Krentz belatedly added. "otherwise, just get a blood and skin sample."

 

Jack got home just after eight. Chen had stayed open an extra ten minutes for Jack, who tipped him generously. Chen accepted the gratuity with blessing on Jack's children.

"Thanks, Chen, but I have no kids." Jack wrote. His tongue hurt after all the tough guy talk with Cucuta.

"Oh, then drink is for you?"

"Drink?" And Chen opened the coat. The neck of a bottle full of pink liquid stuck out of the inner pocket

"We put drink in fridge until we fix coat, then put back in pocket. Honest Chen, that's me."

"Honest Chen", Jack chuckled as he hung up his good-as-new coat. He took it off the hangar, slipped it on. When he turned to check himself in the mirror, the bottle bumped the wall through the coat's material. Jack pulled it out, started to walk to the refrigerator.

There was a knock at the door; Jack put the drink back in the pocket and went to let Ernie in.

 

The black sedans rolled down Westlake towards the Mctavish Garden Arms. In the second car, Tony stared at the police printout of a mugshot. Ernesto Guillermo "Willie" Cucuta, the man who killed his wife, for no good reason. Tony knew they would all have to go to ground after this, this necessary action. He was considering Antigua, Dominican Republic, whatever. As long as they had a lotta whores.

He leaned forward. "Marco! Everyone got this Cucuta blowhole's picture?"

"Everybody, boss."

"And they know he's mine, right? Wound him if you gotta, but don't kill him."

"Okay, boss, got it"

I mean it. Anyone kills him but me, they lose whatever position they got. I'll put 'em dealing weed to the queers by the lake."

"We're here, boss."

Tony looked out the window; the Corazon Espana's sign flickered, lighting up sparkles on the ground. The cars rolled forward, crunching broken glass under the wheels.

Marco looked up at the streetlights. They were all out. He looked at the sidewalk; the sparkles came off broken streetlight globes. That was the glass they were running over. Recently broken glass.

Marco yelled, "Boss! It's a trap! We gotta move!" Through the rear window, Marco saw a delivery truck come out of an alley, blocking a retreat. He turned to see what he knew would be there; another truck rolled into place. Tony was already grabbing an Ak-47 and rolling out of the door onto the sidewalk, then under the car. There was a sound like an old-fashioned beer can being punctured. A ray of light came through a new hole in the Lincoln's roof, and a round red hole bloomed on Jamie the Wheel's forehead. Both holes soon had a row of  siblings...

 

Jack opened the door, whatever clever quip he had ready was blown out along with the rest of the air in his lungs. He fell backward on the floor, The two men who stooped to enter the office were empty-handed.

"That was a fist?" Jack could barely form the words, much less force them out. He was answered with a jolt from a cattle prod one the men had produced.

"Ernie wath right, Thothe are nithe coatsth." He wheezed. The two men looked down at Jack from on high.

"Look at his face. Unhealed." The one on the right said.

The one on the left nodded. "Take his blood anyway."

Jack had enough oxygen to pull away from the two. "Hey! Blood? What is going on, fellaths?"

Felix hit him again with the cattle prod. 5000 volts ran up Jack's leg. He stiffened, then passed out.

Oscar watched the door as Felix found a vein in Jack's arm. He quickly drew a vial, then another. The wound still bled as he got ready to take skin samples. Krentz had suggested three; one from the torso, one from a thigh, one from the arm. Jack stirred, Felix pinched his neck, hard. Jack's eyes rolled up in his head and he was still.

Felix ripped Jack's shirt open. The coat fell heavily to one side, and a bottle of Yoo-Hoo rolled out onto the floor. The pair looked at it. Felix picked it up, then stood up next to Oscar. They touched the bottle hesitantly, Oscar touched the cap.

"This is a twist-top. The others, all of the other bottles had flanged bottlenecks."

"This is it!" both yelled in unison. Oscar grabbed the bottle and prepared to twist off the cap. His hands were suddenly red and slick; the bottle slipped from his hands. He heard a voice, saw Felix screaming something, but could not understand why he could make out no words. Then he gave up trying.

Liussa fired again, and the shorter sonuvabitch dropped to one knee. He whipped out a gun, and Tony felt the piledriver force of a .38 magnum hitting him in the chest. He managed  another shot, and Felix's gun slipped from his fingers. Liussa staggered over to Jack. His breath was coming back. Thank the Lord for Kevlar, Liussa thought. Saved his life twice in one night.

"I got Cucuta, Moonlight. Thanks for the tip."  Jack started to get up, and Tony the Louse shot him in the leg. Jack fell back to the floor, moaning.

"Funny about a dying man, he wants to clear the air. He will even talk to the man who is ending his life." Liussa kicked a handgun out of Felix's reach. The gun bumped up against the taller body; no threat from that one. Tony continued his monologue. "He told me that at least we didn't get their women. Now that had bothered me, how empty the street was. " I asked him how he knew to get the families to safety, and that's when he described you. Police-looking, but too much hair, ratty jacket. I see you changed coats. Found you anyway, you slimeball!" Liussa's voice grew louder as he talked. When his pitch started rising, he shot Jack again, this time in the gut. He aimed for Jack's chest, but a shot from Jack's right went up through his chin. Liussa fell on top of Oscar, then slid off to his left. Jack grabbed for the gun, but he was too weak and slow.

Felix climbed on top of Jack, and groped behind the dying detective until he found the bottle where it had fallen. Jack saw tears in the man's eyes as he unscrewed the cap.

"Drink up, Oscar." Felix put the bottle to the dead man's face, he let some wet the Oscar's lips, then tried to pry open his best friend's mouth. He felt Jack move; he looked, Jack had the gun in a wavering unsteady hand. Felix and Jack wrestled for the gun, the bottle fell to the ground, half of its contents spilling on the linoleum. Oscars lips began quivering.

Felix got the gun away from Jack. He turned it on Jack. They had never indulged in unnecessary killing, but neither had one been without the other since first grade in Rhodesia.  He aimed at Jack's face. Jack stuck out his distended tongue.

Felix almost smiled at the defiant gesture. "Oscar liked you. He didn't like many people."

"Hoo'th Othcar?"

The noise was louder than Felix expected. The gun fell from his hands as a second shot resounded in the room. Jack put up his hands as Felix fell forward. A shadow fell across them both, and the weight of the tall man was lifted from his chest.

"Jack! No, my God, Jack!" Ernie still had his gun out. his hand shook as he put it away.

"Drinksth will be a little late, friend." Jack managed to whisper.

"Don't talk, Jack, now you have two reasons not to talk, buddy. Oh Jeez, oh Hell!" Ernie ran to the phone and dialed 911.

Jack's vision was blackening, narrowing. His head fell to one side, and there was the bottle of Yoo-Hoo, on its side, the opening staring him in the eye.

Jack heard Ernie giving his badge number, urging the dispatcher to order the ambulance or order another for her. He leaned left, grabbed the bottle, and lifted it to his mouth. It tasted funny, and warm. "Coulda wrote a better ending, Ernie. But I don't feel so bad."

Ernie stopped yelling into the phone when he saw Jack had sat up, his back against the red-splattered wall. "Jack, lay still! Help will be here in....." Ernie's next words were caught in his throat; Jack was getting to his feet, sipping a bottle of that damned kid's drink, licking his lips with a normal-sized tongue.

 

The End? 

Hey, glad you could drop by. Tea? Splendid, let's go pick some leaves....

This is Yaupon Holly(Ilex vomitoria), identifiable by being the only holly with serrated leaves.
It makes a tasty tea, and is loaded with caffeine if you release it from the leaves by...

...placing the leaves in a dry cast-iron skillet and drying them in a warm (200°) oven until ...

...they look like this in comparison to the fresh-picked leaves. 1-2 hours, turning occasionally should do it.
That should give us time to check out some pictures from the past week or so......

 
Canal Graffiti in the Industrial Lock Forebay

 
My latest picture, taken just before sundown. The Custom Fuel barge also carries lube oil and 
provides a tank for disposal of used filters and waste oil.

 
This ship is carrying 30 barges down to Argentina. Each barge is 195' long by 35' wide by 18-foot tall

 
See in front of the barges? That is a towboat big enough to push all these barges once they are working the Rio Plata

 
Morrison Springs, on a misty summer afternoon

Divers talking about diver stuff

THE PROUD POETASTER*

I write pithy,
oh so pithy;
so pithy and witty and wry
I say tough titty
If you've less concinnitty** than I

I wax poetic
in the odd ode and epic
I'm exacting when waxing my verse
about family topics
and subject matter much worse

I'm as erudite as a man can be
my irony's finally-tuned
I've got a jaded tone
and depressing themes
heroes that are creeps
I'm a modern writer dude!

My insights are incisive
No poet alive is 
more insightful
or incisor than I
For I've become
quite the sensitive poetry guy!!

 

*A derogatory term for one who writes doggerel***

**harmony or elegance of design especially of literary style in adaptation of parts to a whole or to each other

***Look it up