Tagged: bonus points

“Don’t Patronize Me”

  • k-avatarOr Jack Kerouac?
  • simulates the roar
  • so soft and so elegant
  • severe attack of vomiting
  • “Don’t patronize me.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Stacie glared up at Derek. “Just hold my hair.”

Derek’s few memories of the previous night included more than enough drinking to account for Stacie’s severe attack of vomiting. They both had way too many cocktails, something with a kooky name and blended with shaved ice to a creamy texture and topped with an orange-peel origami swan. The drinks were so soft and so elegant it had been hard to decline as the next one was offered. And then the next. And the next, until inside your head their cumulative effect simulates the roar of the ocean in a seashell, drowning any coherent thoughts and drowning out the voice of reason.

Derek liked to go to parties so he could feel like his heroes. Like Fitzgerald, or Hemmingway. Or Jack Kerouac? But his taste in drinks was more like Patricia Highsmith.

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“Hey!” I Shouted to Tessa

  • k-avatarI was thunderstruck
  • from a 72-year-old American woman
  • she was in love with him
  • looked first at the money
  • in an effort to stop the bleeding

Tune In Next Time Part 22                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey!” I shouted to Tessa, “look what I found!”

I knew she’d sit in that inflatable boat and let the sharks get her as long as she thought John was due to surface with the treasure any second. He should have spotted the digging machine and my hasty excavations and known immediately what happened. He should have come back up already, which made me suspect he wasn’t going to.

I shouted for Tessa again, waving the box over my head so rusty seawater drizzled from it into my eyes. I heard her start the zodiac’s motor, and I heard it grow louder and climb in pitch. Whew! She was headed for shore. Wiping my eyes, I saw the boat barreling straight at me. I was thunderstruck that she apparently meant to ram me. I didn’t want to be zodiac-struck as well, so I jumped to the side and then ran up the beach.

I stopped and turned in time to see Tessa leap from the beached boat. She pulled out the snub-nosed revolver she stole from a 72-year-old American woman at the Oscars several years ago. That woman had stolen it from Joseph Gordon Levitt, because she was in love with him and didn’t want him to be near any guns. Tessa looked like she wanted me to be near some bullets.

“We can still be partners,” I said. “I know you have the combination for this. And I have, well, I have this.” I jiggled the box, watching her eyes wobble to follow its movements.

The pistol in her hand went off. The box sprang open. Her shot had struck it instead of me. Whew again! But then I slumped onto the sand, which was already soaked with my blood. The ricochet had sent the slug into my leg.

Tessa ran up as the people from the film set ran in all directions.

She stood over me and the open box. She looked first at the money in the box, wads of carefully shrink-wrapped bills in large denominations. Then she squeezed my thigh. It was probably in an effort to stop the bleeding. I wanted to make a flirty wisecrack, but despite the horrendous pain in my leg I was suddenly too sleepy to fight it. I laid my head back on the dry sand and let myself spiral down.

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As I Watched My Former Lover Face Near-Certain Death

  • by jenmazes of winding passageways
  • a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?
  • seizing the black bottle
  • the Lyudmila who was not his sister
  • her mother bought it in Germany

Tune In Next Time Part 21                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I watched my former lover face near-certain death by shark attack, I turned the metal box over in my hands. Tessa alone knew the combination. Should I save her? Offer to share the treasure with her in exchange for her help? Demand the digits as the price for her life, keeping the box’s contents for myself?

The fins sliced through the waves, stalking her. It reminded me of when I first met her, years ago at a party. She strode in wearing nothing but a sharkskin minidress. I found out later her mother bought it in Germany. I was drawn to her immediately, and asked her to dance. That’s when John strode in with a couple of girls, both named Lyudmila. He kissed the Lyudmila who was not his sister, and then noticed me dancing with the delectable Tessa. He discarded Lyudmila rather rudely and tried to cut between me and Tessa, but she turned her back on him, seizing the black bottle of our host’s inky homebrew liquor in one hand and me in the other.

To John and his shabby treatment of his Russian date she said, “Nothing like a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?”

Before he could even formulate a reply she dragged me out of the party and through mazes of winding passageways to her own apartment where we spent the rest of the night downing the bitter black alcohol and screwing.

Could I let a girl like that be eaten by sharks? I could not.

 

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“We Head Back To The Pier”

  • k-avatarmost likely had a perfect tan
  • Lazy Canadians
  • try another flavor
  • “You’re worth it.”
  • with segmented metal fins

Tune In Next Time Part 11                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We head back to the pier,” I said, my mind suddenly connecting the dots. Tessa scowled at me, nodding bitterly.

“Okay, mister smarty-pants, what’s the next step in my plan?” She still had her arms crossed, carrying her plentiful bosom like a coed’s textbooks. Even in this awful light, even just minutes after being drugged into unconsciousness, she was radiant, most likely had a perfect tan, probably sans tan lines. My train of thought toppled comically off its tracks.

She laughed at me, but the ice in her gaze was melting. “This is just like that song by Lazy Canadians.”

“You mean ‘Try Another Flavor’?” I asked. It was about boobs.

“No, silly! I mean ‘Pirate Booty,’ the one about treasure buried in the sand.”

My mental derailment reversed itself. That was it! Everything started with the map, and with whatever lay buried amid that dead forest of pilings. But we couldn’t forget that John had the briefcase, and that he’d get it open eventually. Tessa’s smile grew warmer yet, reminding me of when things were better.

“Sorry for all the kerfuffle,” I muttered, not sure I wanted her to hear it.

“You’re worth it.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “Before we go running off to the pier, we have to think about what we’ll need when we get there. Some way of excavating the sand, underwater, without being seen. I don’t even know what that would look like.”

I did. It was my own invention, a submersible digging machine with segmented metal fins. John didn’t know about it, no one did. Was I ready to show it to Tessa? It seemed I would have no choice.

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“I Don’t Trust Your Ideas”

  • by jenground patrol had proved ineffective
  • arrested in London
  • You think your great big husband will protect you?
  • Six hours after injection
  • you’re never going to win the lottery

Tune In Next Time Part 10                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I don’t trust your ideas,” Tessa spat. “Not after London.”

I winced, remembering how my idea for ground patrol had proved ineffective during the Barclay’s bank heist, leading to Tessa being arrested in London, and John and me in Birmingham. The charges hadn’t stuck, but it had been an unpleasant couple of weeks for the three of us and apparently Tessa held a grudge.

“Things are different now,” I said.

“I should have listened to John all those years ago when he tried to warn me about you. He was there at our wedding you know, trying to talk me out of it. He said, ‘You think your great big husband will protect you? That asshole only wants to get into your pants. You don’t believe me? Go ahead and marry him. Six hours after injection, or ejaculation, or whatever you want to call it, he’ll be out the door. Girls always want to be lucky in love, but you Tessa, you’re never going to win the lottery.'” She turned back to glare daggers at me. “And he was right.”

“That wasn’t a real wedding, babe. You know that! It was all part of the plan.”

“Your plans suck. This time it’s my turn to be in charge. Now here’s what we’ll do…”

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The Himalayas Were Breathtaking

  • by jenwarm my numb fingers
  • to meet a yeti
  • “Don’t you appreciate my cuisine?”
  • — all those beautiful bullfrogs
  • threatening face of a Doberman

The Himalayas were breathtaking in the moonlight, but even colder than I anticipated. I rubbed my hands together over the fire to warm my numb fingers. This was the vacation of a lifetime, and while many in my group were here to climb Everest, I had a different objective: to meet a yeti. Tomorrow we would hike to base camp, after which we would go our separate ways. That meant a celebratory feast this evening, with plenty of food prepared by the tour company’s French chef.

“Don’t you appreciate my cuisine?” grumbled Henrí. “I brought the ingredients all the way from Marseilles packed in dry ice.”

I, along with my fellow hikers, stared at the display of grisly drumsticks, the webbed feet still intact. I don’t know what the rest of them were thinking, but I could not get rid of the image of the frogs they’d come from — all those beautiful bullfrogs slaughtered for their meaty little thighs.

I was hungry though, so I grabbed one of the frog legs and took a tentative bite. Before the flavor could register, a creature bounded into our camp. It was a large, hairy white biped with the threatening face of a Doberman. Well, the teeth of a Doberman anyway.

It could only be the yeti I’d come to see!

It plucked the frog leg from my hand and sniffed it, then shoved the whole thing in its mouth, bones and all. Such a majestic creature! I managed to get my camera out and begin filming as it gorged itself on the rest of Henrí’s feast. When it loped off into the night I had to make a quick decision. Would I return home to sell my footage, or would I follow the beast into its forbidding mountain home?

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It Was a Muggy August Night

  • k-avatarshe’s not your typical Russian.
  • fishing on the banks of a river in Delaware
  • flitted from the gloom into the light
  • use Pavlovian conditioning for sex
  • large enough for a man to pass through

It was a muggy August night much like tonight when I was fishing on the banks of a river in Delaware and she flitted from the gloom into the light of my lantern, showing me a smile like a croc and a tunnel in the riverbank large enough for a man to pass through, which led to her den, where she taught me how to use Pavlovian conditioning for sex, and that’s why I disagree with anyone who says she’s not your typical Russian.

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In The Utility Tunnels

  • by jenranged themselves in front of a small apple tree
  • flying swiftly and steadily
  • ended up eating mostly side dishes
  • very intricate evolutions
  • an abandoned bomb shelter deep beneath the city

In the utility tunnels that emerge from an abandoned bomb shelter deep beneath the city lives a strange race of creatures that, before radiation caused very intricate evolutions in their DNA, were once the sort of lower-teir relatives who ended up eating mostly side dishes at Thanksgiving because they lacked the nimbleness and fortitude that led to their dominant cousins flying swiftly and steadily up the buffet line, gorging themselves on the turkey and the various pies, and when these creatures finally found their way to the surface they ranged themselves in front of a small apple tree and scratched their heads, for they had never seen its like before.

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At That Moment

  • by jendo not leave a trace
  • the best-looking guy in the room
  • the adults took turns
  • “That was a game, wasn’t it?”
  • I know you’re part Indian!

Tune In Next Time Part 8                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

At that moment Tessa’s eyes rolled back and she slumped to the floor, the giraffe-hide briefcase slipping from her grip. She should have remembered that I’m quite partial to contact-tranquilizers (especially the kinds that do not leave a trace on a tox screen), and always smeared them liberally on the handles of all of my briefcases.

I pulled a pair of soggy gloves from my pocket and wrung the seawater out of them. I may not be the best-looking guy in the room, but I’m usually the cleverest. When I was young and the only child in the cult, the adults took turns teaching me the many skills they used to evade the authorities. No matter how challenging the lesson I always laughed and said, “That was a game, wasn’t it?” That attitude got me far in life.

But enough about me.

John still stood just inside the doorway, eyeing Tessa on the floor. Or, more likely, eyeing the briefcase.

“I can’t let you have it,” he said without looking at me. “I know you’re part Indian! I know you’ll sell it to your cohorts back in Mumbai!”

I chuckled at his total misapprehension of my motives, and that’s when he pounced.

 

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“This Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Still Kill You Later”

  • k-avatarplanning to take the bus
  • , mostly prostitutes
  • No one knew whose they were
  • regarding an unnatural sex act
  • up through the asphalt

Tune In Next Time Part 5                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“This doesn’t mean I won’t still kill you later,” John said as he helped me move up the beach. He unlocked the chains from my ankles, freeing me from the concrete weights.

“Tessa has a huge head start,” I pointed out. John said nothing as we jogged up to the boardwalk. He paused at the edge of the street, watching the oncoming traffic. I wondered if he was planning to take the bus.

“This is 13th,” he said. “It’s 40 blocks to the place. We need wheels, man!”

I was still out of breath from my near-drowning. We were both dripping seawater. No way a cab would pick us up. Scanning the people around us, mostly prostitutes, I hoped to find some kind of transportation inspiration. I did, in the form of two bicycles laying beside the fortune teller’s kiosk. We asked if they belonged to anyone, we even asked the fortune teller. No one knew whose they were.

John said, “After the things we’ve done, you’re worried about stealing a bike?”

“Borrowing,” I corrected as I threw a leg over the red one and started pedaling. “After the things we’ve done, we really need to do better.”

John caught up and passed me, forcing me to pedal harder. I wanted to get in front again, to get to Tessa first. Also, the view from behind, of John pumping furiously on the undersized bike, was like a pantomime performance regarding an unnatural sex act.

By the time we reached the 50th Street Overpass, it was well past midnight and we were both gasping for breath. The only traffic I saw was a single taxi that swung into the avenue a couple of blocks ahead of us. It pulled up to the curb at the place, and the rear door flew open. “It’s her!” John yelled, his absurd exertions increasing as he poured on speed.

I shifted gears and started gaining. I couldn’t allow those two to be alone together, and I hated to think what John might resort to as a way of stopping Tessa. Suddenly John’s bike wobbled to a stop, both tires flat. I veered around the small cluster of nails poking up through the asphalt and leapt from my bike without stopping, dashing straight in through the revolving door in time to see Tessa in the elevator as it closed.

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