“Your license, please, ma’am . . . ”
“Ah, kiss my pussy!”
Norman stepped back.
“All right, everybody out of the car!”
“Ah shit,” said one of the fat men.
The other was on the telephone: “Hey, Bernie, we’re being busted. Any instructions? Yeah? Really? O.K.”
“Everybody out,” Norman repeated, “NOW!”
He walked back to his cycle to radio in for a squad car.
“HEY!”
It was one of the fat men, the heaviest one. He ran up as well as he could. He was dressed in an expensive green suit. The suit was neatly fitted to mold about each of his curves of fat.
“Officer! Look! You dropped something! Lucky I saw it! Here!”
He placed six crisp new one hundred dollar bills into Norman’s hand. Norman looked at the bills, hesitated a moment, then handed them back.
“For your sake, I’ll pretend you never tried to bribe me.”
The fat man rolled up the bills, jammed them into his pocket. He took out a cigar, lit it with a diamond-studded lighter. His eyes—what there were of them—narrowed.
“You know, you guys who always follow the book, you never get anywhere, it’s all dead-end. And I mean, dead-end.”
Meanwhile, back at the ivory Caddy, Blanche sat on the hood. She had lit a new cigarillo and was looking into the sky trying to locate the Milky Way.
The other fat man left the car and walked back toward the cycle. He was wearing an orange jump suit with kangaroo skin shoes. Around his neck was a huge silver cross, it was hollow inside but full, full of cocaine. An ugly film almost covered his entire left eye. But the right eye peered out, a specious but doom-filled green.
“Whatsa matter, Eddie, don’t he take?”
“We got a cub Scout here, Marvin.”
“That’s sad.”
“It’s worse than sad. And it’s too damned bad.”
Norman picked up the mike to make his call.
Eddie pulled out the snub-nose.
“Put down the mike, officer. Please.”
Norman did.
Marvin moved around behind him. Undid his holster. Took his gun. Then lifted his club.
Eddie motioned with the snub-nose.
“All right, officer, take the stroll back to the Caddy.”
Norman walked back toward the car thinking, “Doesn’t anybody see this?”
Where the hell is the citizenry when a cop really needs them?
For some reason he remembered the argument he had had with his wife before leaving for work. It had gotten pretty ugly. And had been over nothing. About where they would go on his vacation. She had wanted Hawaii. He had wanted Vegas.
“Hold it, Boy Scout.”
They stopped while Marvin opened the rear trunk.
They moved on toward the Caddy. Blanche saw them and leaped off the hood. Her breasts almost pulled her to the asphalt as they landed.
She laughed.
“Hey, shit, what we got there? Can we wind it up?”
“We can do anything we want with it,” said Eddie.
He pulled the rear door open, kneed Norman in the ass, shoved him in. Eddie got in on one side, Marvin the other. Blanche was at the wheel. The Caddy moved off.
Marvin whistled the opening bars of “God Bless America” and prepared himself a rum and soda from the bar.
“Care for a drink, officer?”
Norman didn’t answer.
“What’ll you have, Eddie?”
“Whiskey with just a splash of port.”
“Blanche?”
“I’ll have a sake. Hot.”
“We make great hot sake, officer,” said Marvin. “Sure you don’t want one?”
Norman didn’t answer.
“Hey, Eddie, ever noticed something?”
“Like what?”
“All traffic cops have asses shaped like Valentines.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I think that’s true. Wonder why that is?”
“God’s ways are mysterious.”
“Sure are.”
Marvin passed the hot sake up to Blanche who swirled it off in one suck. She flipped the glass out the window.
“You people had better release me,” Norman spoke.
“Oh, boy,” said Eddie, “listen to that.”
“It’s sad,” said Marvin.
“It’s worse than sad,” said Eddie.
“And too damned bad,” said Blanche.
“Release me and you still have a chance,” said Norman.
“You’re the one whose chance is limited,” said Marvin. “Officer, let me tell you something: you go by the book, you live poor and you die poor. And often, early.”
Blanche turned her head.
“Ah, stop buggin’ the poor creep! Guys like that, first time he jacked-off he ran to the confession box.”
“Ah, said Marvin, “this guy’s too dumb to even jack off.”
“Shit, that’s dumb . . . ” said Blanche.
“Things get dumber and dumber in this Nuke age. It’s sad,” said Marvin.
“Worse than sad,” said Eddie.
Then the ivory Caddy was back on the 405, winging through the night . . .
They pulled into a long circling drive, loomed in the silent darkness by trees with long branch arms like octopi; a bit of moon dripped through, but not much, and there were cages, some filled with birds, others with strange animals. All those—the birds, the animals were silent; they seemed contented in a kind of eternal waiting.
Then, there was a gate. Blanche touched a button in the car. The gate opened. It had long teeth, top and bottom. And as the car passed through there was a giant flash of light. The car and all its occupants were transferred to a Space Age security screen.
The flash made Norman sit upright suddenly.
“Relax, copper,” said Eddie, “you are about to become part of the history of this place. Some dump. It’s had many strange owners and visitors.”
“Yeah,” said Marvin, “like Winston Churchill paid a secret visit here, long ago, of course.”
“And like,” said Eddie, “they found out when Winston drank he never went to the bathroom. He just sat there and gulped down quarts of booze and just pissed and shit in his pants.”
“Some stinking drunk,” said Marvin.
“This fucking joint is many decades old,” said Eddie. “Babe Ruth, one night he went on a binge and ripped out every toilet in the place, then gave one of the maids a thousand dollars just to suck the hair under his armpits. Some drinker, that Babe.”
The car pulled up and stopped.
“Bogart once knocked out a butler who said he thought Casablanca was an ineffective film,” said Marvin.
“They say Hitler came here after World War II,” Eddie said, “and demanded rattlesnake meat for breakfast.”
“Hitler died in the bunker,” said Norman.
“That was a rigged scene,” stated Eddie. “Hitler died in Argentina, April 3rd, 1972. Now, get out of the car!”
They all climbed out.
It was a warm night, a perfect night. As they moved toward the front door of the huge mansion, Marvin said, “You know, officer, it’s too late now to take that 600. But I’ve got an idea that you damned well wish you had . . . right?”
“Right,” said Norman, surprised that the words had come out of his mouth . . .
After they passed through a line of security guards, there he was: in front of the fireplace. With just a gentle burning of the logs. The fattest man of them all, Big Bernie. Bernie was on the couch. Bernie almost never left the couch. He did all his business there, he fucked there, he got sucked there, he ate there, he dealt there (right off the phone), and he even slept there sometimes. There were 32 other rooms, 27 of which he hardly ever saw or wanted to see, many of them just stations of the security guards.
Big Bernie was 322, he had no children, no friends. He was on the meth and only interested in his work and income, of which most of said inc
ome was largely against the intent of the law. These resources were diverted and hidden in branches of legal business, covered and guided by some of the best lawyers and accountants in the world.
There was something almost Buddha-like about Big Bernie. And he was almost likeable. As great power sometimes makes men likeable. Because they tend to be so decently relaxed about matters major and minor.
Big Bernie watched from the couch as the group moved toward him, then stopped.
“Ah hah, what have we got here?”
“We got a cop, boss. The one we phoned in about.”
Big Bernie sighed, “Damn, I hate this sort of thing! Well, I’m a fair man. Might as well send him to his grave happy. Never let it be said I had no compassion!”
Big Bernie looked over at Blanche.
“You give him a blow job now, Blanche.”
“What? He’s a COP! A cop killed my sister last night in that shootout in Cleveland!”
“My child, that saddened me just as much as it did you. But we must carry on. Now, unzip him and get to it!”
“Ah, shit! Do I have ta?”
“You do as I tell you, Blanche!”
Blanche got down on her knees and unzipped Norman.
“Shit, I hate this!”
“Half the world is run on hatred, the other half on fear. Proceed.”
Blanche got going. She was a hard worker.
“Where were you born?” Big Bernie asked Norman.
Norman didn’t answer.
“Answer me or you’re dead with a stiff dick!”
“Pasadena, California.”
“Well, you won’t die there. You got any children?”
“No.”
“That’s good. That’s real good.”
Blanche kept working.
“Whatever made you want to become a cop?”
“The salary is good.”
“Yeah? Compared to what? Being a dog catcher?”
“Oh,” said Norman, “oh, oh, OH . . . !”
Blanche began bobbing wildly.
Norman ejaculated. Blanched zipped him up, spat on the rug, walked over to the bar, and mixed herself a whiskey sour.
Big Bernie rose from the couch and walked over to Norman. If Buddha ever walked then Big Bernie was Buddha. He looked at Marvin, shook his head sadly.
“Two things now. We’ve got to destroy the Caddy, even though the plates are fake. We don’t take chances here. And we’ve got to destroy you. It’s the only way. You have to realize that.”
“We gotta do it,” said Eddie.
“We gotta,” said Marvin.
“I’m sorry,” said Big Bernie.
“Fuck him!,” said Blanche, gulping her drink, “he’s just a cop.”
“No Blanche,” said Big Bernie, “cops have feelings, fears, desires, just like the rest of us.”
“Fuck him!”
“Listen,” said Norman, “let me go. I won’t talk. I’ll cover the whole thing.”
“I’d like to, boy, but I can’t chance it. You can ruin a 20-million-a-year business. I have 232 people working for me. You can destroy all their lives. They have families, sons and daughters in college, at Harvard, at Yale, at Stanford. I even have a man in the Senate and four in Congress. I control the mayor and the city council. I just can’t chance your WORD, you understand that, don’t you?”
“All right,” said Norman, “but one thing I want to know. You’re so smart, you’re so in control of things, you know so much about what the hell you’re doing, then how come you keep a dumb CUNT like Blanche around? I’ve met some bimbos but she’s tops! Running around in public with bare breasts and dirty panties! And she can’t even give decent head!”
“Blanche,” said Big Bernie, “is my daughter.”
“WHAT? And you had her give me head?”
“I know she gives lousy head, that’s why I keep her practicing, so maybe one day she can give me better head.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“It’s straight.”
“You’re crazy!”
“You mean because I want better head?”
“You’re some mad freak! What are you on anyhow?”
“Life,” said Big Bernie.
Then he nodded toward Eddie and Marvin.
“All right, take care of him.”
They grabbed Norman and pulled him through a doorway.
Big Bernie moved back to the couch, sat down. He turned his head a bit toward Blanche.
“Listen, baby, fix me a double whiskey.”
“Whiskey and water, Dad?”
“Straight.”
Big Bernie sat looking at the last burning of the logs in the fireplace. He was going to miss the ivory Caddy. But then he had four Rolls. Or was it five? It was just that the ivory Caddy made him feel like some kind of hot-shot pimp. He felt a bit tired. Running an empire was rewarding yet wearing. Each day for each man was filled with little problems that needed settling. Fail to attend to those and the walls came down. A monotonous attention to trivial detail was the secret of the grandest victories. Fail at small things, when the large ones arrived you’d lose your ass.
Blanche brought him his drink. He smiled, said, “Thank you.”
A double whiskey was good for the soul.
He slammed it down and winter came to an end.
A Dirty Trick on God
Harry was in the bathtub and there was a bottle of beer on the ledge behind him. It was a bad place, an awkward place, but it was the only place to set it down. He reached around, grabbed the bottle, had a hit, and put it back down behind him.
Harry liked to drink beer in the tub. He never told anybody about it. Not that he knew too many people or even fucking wanted to. He saw enough people down at the factory every day. He was a packer. The crap came off the assembly line and he packed it. It came off the assembly line all day long and he packed it all day long. He guessed he could drink beer in the tub if he wanted to and it wasn’t anybody’s fucking business. He liked to get the water hot, quite hot, and then he got in and it burned a bit and he ran the cold beer down himself and it was really a relaxer—the factory dropped away and he felt almost real again.
Harry shared the apartment with Adolph, a very old man. Adolph just sat around talking about the WAR with this slight German accent. Fuck Adolph. But with the two of them paying rent Harry could have a nice apartment. Harry was tired of rooming houses. And the few times Harry picked up a woman, say in a bar, and brought her on in, Adolph understood: he vanished for a couple of hours. He’d met Adolph at a racetrack urinal. He’d pissed on one of Adolph’s shoes. Adolph had been very gracious about it.
“Forget it,” he had said, “it’s nothing from what I’ve been through.”
Harry had suggested a drink to make amends for his error and Adolph had accepted.
“I’m Harry Greb,” he had said.
“Adolph Hitler,” Adolph had said.
One drink led to another and then Adolph had mentioned the vacancy at his apartment. His buddy had died and he needed another to share the rent. And Harry had gone to see the apartment and it looked like a deal for his share of $195 and that had been it . . .
Harry washed under the armpits and under the balls, had another hit of beer. Adolph was in the other room watching cable TV. He always played it too loud. And he always watched the newscasts. The only other thing he liked was the Archie Bunker re-runs.
“HEY DOLPH! TURN THAT FUCKING THING DOWN!”
“Oh, ya, sorry . . . ”
Adolph turned it down. Harry stretched out in the water. Maybe he’d get another fucking job. That fucking job was killing him. The next job would too but at least it would be a change.
Then Harry felt a fart coming on. He loved to fart in the bathtub. The bubbles would rise up and really stink. It gave him a great sense of accomplishment. Strange and good things sometimes happened in life. He remembered the morning after the big beer drunk he had shit a turd that seemed to be about two and one half fee
t long. Nothing like that ever. He had looked at it for some minutes. He had to take a butcher knife and cut it up so it would flush down.
The fart was too much. The bubbles shook and rattled. Harry reached around and took a good pull of beer to celebrate. Then a curious thing happened: the spot on the water where the fart had risen—that spot was becoming a brown-grey area.
“I’ve shit myself,” thought Harry.
But it wasn’t so. As Harry watched, the area began to rise slowly. It poked upward. It began to take form.
Harry was fascinated. Then fascination altered into fear—as out of the rising moil the forming became more definite. Harry’s fear accelerated as a small head formed. Then arms. Little spindly arms. Then legs.
The thing bobbed up and down in the water looking at Harry. It was brown grey with tiny blue eyes and dirty blond hair.
Harry and the thing stared at each other. “I’m crazy,” Harry thought. “Too many factory days, too many drunken nights. This thing isn’t real. It’s a spin-off from my mind. It’s not real.”
Harry reached his right hand out to push it through the vision. He got closer and closer to the thing with his hand. Then he extended his index finger and pushed it toward the face of the thing.
He felt a slash of pain.
The thing had bitten him!
Harry looked at his finger. The blood dripped into the water.
“You son of a bitch!” Harry yelled.
He didn’t like being bitten by his own fart. He doubled his fist and swung. The thing saw it coming, leaped into the air, and Harry missed. Then the thing flipped into the water, swam around behind Harry and bit him on the ass.
Harry jumped out of the tub.
The thing was swimming about the tub on its back. Its little blue eyes seemed to be merry. Then it settled, relaxed in the center of the tub. It had a little cock and balls.
Suddenly it sent a thin spiral of water out of its mouth.
It hit Harry in the face.
“ADOLPH!” Harry yelled.
“What is it?”
“Come in here!”
The door opened and Adolph was there.
“Look,” said Harry, “My goddamned fart has turned on me! LOOK AT IT!”
Adolph dropped to his knees. He looked at the thing in the tub and began weeping a rather joyful weeping.
“Oh my God, mine gut . . . ”