Squid Pulp Blues

by Jordan Krall

  I just gotta find a car, break into the trunk, drop the body, and let the poor fucker drive away with the body. Simple as shit.

  First he’d drag the body in the back, wait until the middle of the night to break into the trunk. But the woman was still alive. I don’t give a shit, the bitch is crazy, probably a meth-head who attacked her junky boyfriend or something and got what was coming to her. She’s sure as shit not a girl scout. I’ll be doing the world a favor by getting rid of her.

  Clark opened the door and stepped outside. He looked around but saw no one looking out their windows. They were probably all drunk or high. Clark jogged over to the woman who was only sobbing now, her stomach bleeding profusely.

  “It’s okay. I’m gonna help you,” he said, grabbing her under the armpits. The woman squealed in pain but Clark held her tight and dragged her towards the office. At first she resisted him but then surrendered to the movement. A trail of blood led from the middle of the parking lot to the office. Clark made a mental note to cover that up later.

  Once he got her in, he brought her into the back room. There was only a table, two chairs, and a cardboard box full of comic books. Clark put the woman in a chair and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  The woman said nothing in response but instead started to sob.

  Clark left the room and shut the door behind him. He looked around the office, looking for something that he could use to finish off the woman. Using his hands would be too personal for him. Not only that but he’s heard of guys who’ve strangled their girlfriends to death in a fit of anger only to find out that they weren’t really dead. That’s all I need, the bitch coming back from the dead to tell the cops that I did her. Fuck that shit.

  Clark wished his uncle let him keep a gun at the motel. You’d think with all the dirtbags that stayed at the motel, the guy would’ve let him keep some sort of weapon but no. He was cursing his uncle until he saw it.

  The ashtray.

  The five-pound squid ashtray.

  Perfect.

  Clark tossed it up in the air a few inches, appreciating its weight and imagining the sort of damage it was going to do to the woman’s head. He can imagine telling his buddies about it later on. You ever see what a squid ashtray can do to a woman’s head? That you should see. You should see what a squid ashtray can do to a woman’s head. He held it in his right hand and walked over to the backroom door.

  As he turned the doorknob he said, “Don’t worry, I called for help.”

  When the door opened, all Clark saw was a blur of teeth, throat, and tongue. He felt hot breath and spit as his jaw and throat were ripped open. The woman still used one hand to hold her bleeding gut but managed to kill Clark in less than fifteen seconds.

  Clark’s last thoughts were weak visions of being a captain of a ferry that was sinking while simultaneously being a pilot of an airplane that was crashing. He cursed his uncle for not keeping a gun onboard and then surrendered to death.

  Seconds later, the woman collapsed and grabbed the ashtray, holding it close to her like a teddy bear. She wished she was drowning in the Raritan River where the last thing she gazed upon would be the squid. Looking at the ash tray lovingly, she died.

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry said, “I wish we’d taken my car, I got guns in there.”

  “Yeah well, we didn’t,” Dix said, trying to keep the car under the speed limit. What they didn’t need now was one of the jerk-off Thompson cops pulling them over. I probably shouldn’t tell Henry what I got in the trunk.

  There were not a lot of cars on the road but they managed to get stuck behind a slow-moving Ford Taurus. Dix stayed close behind, fighting the urge to pass. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw headlights coming up fast.

  “Shit.”

  Henry turned around and saw the car, too. “That him you think?”

  Dix said, “Either him or a cop.” He sped up and passed the Taurus while Henry held up a hand to the other driver as if to say “Don’t take it personally, we’re in a hurry.” He got a middle-finger in response.

  The car behind them got so close that they could hear the roar of its engine. It pulled up behind them, inches between the bumpers. Henry told Dix to speed up but they were coming to a red light in a busy intersection. Dix eased the car to the right and then slammed on the brakes. The car behind them slowed but was too late and hit the corner of their bumper. It slid across the road and into the intersection. A pick-up truck slammed into it and Dix could see now that they had indeed been followed by the Haberdasher.

  While Dix was looking, he didn’t see the car in front of them brake also and they slammed into it.

  * * *

  Robert enjoyed the chase, enjoyed keeping his eyes on their taillights and getting up close to their shitty car. He was about to speed up some more and bump them into oncoming traffic when they moved to the right and stepped on the brake. Robert’s Dodge Super Bee hit the corner of their back bumper and spun around into the intersection.

  If it wasn’t for the damage to his car and the potential danger, Robert would have enjoyed spinning around like that. In the few seconds in between spinning and getting hit by the pick-up truck, he said, “Whew, that was fucking awesome.”

  The pick-up couldn’t have been going more than twenty or thirty miles an hour but it hit the Super Bee on the driver’s side, sending Robert into the passenger side window. He wished he had worn his seatbelt.

  From the force of the crash, the glove compartment opened and a pair of high heels fell on the floor next to Robert’s 1966 Colt Anaconda Revolver that he had shot that crazy bitch with. His right arm felt broken so he tried using his left to make a grab for the weapon. He couldn’t reach it. Instinctively he made a move for one of the shoes. A week ago he had picked them up from Peggy and he knew they were well worn. He wanted to put his face to them, inhale the smell that he knew would make him feel at ease.

  The driver of the pick-up was coming out now. Robert could see him, a young guy dressed in flannel and jeans. No style at all. Doesn’t the guy own a mirror?

  The guy said, “Hey, you okay?”

  The fuck he’s talking about? Am I okay? Do I fucking look okay?

  “No, goddamnit, open the fucking door.”

  Flannel and jeans guy came around to the passenger side. “I don’t think you’re supposed to move until the ambulance comes.”

  Robert said, “Get me the fuck out now.”

  The guy walked away and started talking with another driver who was drinking a coffee while staring at the crashed cars. Robert wanted to get out of the car and beat the shit out of them both. Or better yet use the Anaconda to blow some big holes in their heads. He screamed and tried to reach the gun again. This time, he touched it but still wasn’t able to grab it. He tried again and got his hand around it but not without excruciating pain.

  He stretched his left hand towards the door handle and opened it. The door didn’t move at first. Robert pushed against it with his shoulder and pulled the handle again. It opened with a loud creak.

  Robert fell to the asphalt, landing on his right arm which he now knew must be broken. He heard the driver of the pick-up who was telling the other guy that it wasn’t his fault and that Robert had come out of nowhere.

  He looked around, trying to see if Dix’s car was still there. It was painful but he turned his body around and saw their car about a hundred feet to the right, the front bumper smashed into another car. Dix was standing outside of his car now with another guy. That guy looks familiar. Where do I know him from? Yeah, I know him. Henry something. Susie’s husband.

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  Robert said, “Son of a bitch,” and then raised his gun.

  * * *

  Both Henry and Dix cursed as they got out of the car. Henry was about to tell Dix about what he saw in the motel bathroom when they crashed. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. I just imagined it, that’s it. I’m just going fucking crazy.

  They looked o
ver at the Haberdasher’s car which was smashed up pretty good. Then the passenger door opened and Robert Hapertas fell out with a gun in his hand.

  Dix said, “You believe that shit?”

  Then they heard the sirens. They were fucked.

  “We gotta get the fuck out,” Henry said.

  “I leave my car here, they’ll get me eventually. What’s the fucking point?”

  A cop car pulled up followed by an ambulance. Two officers got out and walked over to the Haberdasher’s car.

  Someone said, “He’s got a gun!”

  The police officer closest to the Haberdasher went for his weapon but was struck by a bullet to the kneecap which sent him down immediately. A bullet ripped through the second officer’s shoulder while another went through his eye.

  On the ground next to his car, Robert aimed again and shot an EMT in the stomach. The driver of the ambulance came out and a bullet hit her in the neck, sending a fountain of blood backwards towards a petrified bystander.

  Henry and Dix were both on the ground and quickly crawling away from the scene, hoping to make it down the side street and over the hill towards the woods. Henry felt like he was in one of those old war movies, crawling in the jungles of the Pacific islands, dodging the bullets of the Japanese. He listened for another gunshot and then turned around when he heard Dix.

  “Henry, let’s get up and run.”

  “You crazy? You see the aim that guy had?”

  “No way could he hit us from that far away. Let’s go.”

  The Haberdasher was aiming again. He had already hit two cops, two EMTs, and the driver of the pick-up. Now he was aiming at Dix’s foot. He could see him crawling along with his friend and thought he’d be able to hit his ankle at least making it hard for him to run away.

  He aimed and then smiled because Dix stood up and started running.

  Perfect timing.

  The Haberdasher fired and Dix went down with a bullet in his back. Henry turned around and then dropped to the ground.

  Then the sound of more sirens tore at Robert’s ears.

  * * *

  Officer Freddy Fernandez jumped out of his squad car.

  “Drop your weapon!” He had his gun aimed on Robert Hapertas. Freddy watched as the guy did as he was told and then walked over and kicked the thing away. What a beauty of a weapon the guy had. Had to be, what, at least thirty years old. Shit, they don’t make guns like that anymore.

  Freddy cuffed him making sure to pull on the guy’s arms hard because he knew one of them was broken.

  The guy said, “Son of a bitch.”

  Once seated in the back of Freddy’s patrol car, the guy started babbling. Something about a woman with no feet and a naked woman. Freddy heard this kind of shit before. Sick of these crazy fucking assholes with guns.

  Another ambulance arrived a minute later and an EMT took her time getting to Robert who was trembling in the backseat. He looked over at the EMT: a woman, probably in her mid-thirties, cute and wearing well-worn sneakers.

  Wonder what those smell like.

  Chapter Twelve

  Henry looked over at Dix who was lying on his stomach convulsing.

  “Dix, can you hear me? There’s help coming.”

  He could see an EMT coming over quickly and wanted to tell his friend what he had seen before it was too late. Though he wasn’t sure if any of his words were being heard, he told Dix what he saw in the bathroom.

  Dix didn’t seem to hear. Slowly he stopped shaking and just as the EMT got over to him, he died.

  Henry put his forehead down on the asphalt. He felt like crying but knew that the tears wouldn’t come, not after all the shit he’d been through in his life. After this, he’d try to go back to a normal life or as normal as he was accustomed to having. He knew he’d be arrested and probably would go back to Rahway for a few years but hopefully the evidence would show that he wasn’t the one who killed Eddie Ford.

  Eddie Ford, his parole officer.

  Eddie Ford, the crab-thing in the bathroom with its throat slit.

  From behind him an authoritative voice said, “You Henry Hooper?” and then he felt the cuffs tighten around his wrists. He thought of Peggy the bartender spitting in his beer, telling him it was good luck.

  Henry looked over at Dix. Good luck. Yeah right.

  * * *

  Marie woke up to an empty room. She felt a draft and saw that the door to the motel room was open, the doorknob broken off. What the fuck happened?

  It wasn’t a dream; she really didn’t have any feet. It wasn’t a drug-induced a hallucination though she couldn’t be sure about the naked woman and her machine.

  Marie picked herself up, wondering if she could perhaps walk on the bottoms of her calves. As she put pressure on them, she fell face first into the corner of television stand, the wood piercing her eyeball and sending it straight into her brain.

  Her last living thoughts were of Japanese spider crabs, of a man being eviscerated by them. She instinctively knew that the man had a grandson somewhere who was witnessing the same thing she was and for that, she felt sad.

  In the next room, Grant finished another beer and continued to watch television. I wonder when the guys are coming back. I’m gettin’ hungry. Horny, too.

  He got up from the bed and with slow, deliberate steps walked to the bathroom. Shit, what a mess. Grant looked at the butchered mass of flesh and shell in the bathroom. He saw the image of Blanche Devereaux on the back of the body and walked over to it.

  He loosened his belt.

  What the hell. I’m not picky.

  THE END

  THE LONGHEADS

  CHAPTER 1

  The donkey on the hill laughed loudly through its Halloween mask.

  It stomped its feet, shaking the snow off its fur, and let out a small, deep-throated giggle as well as a squeaky fart. The donkey turned toward the sunset, its eyes filling with pure light, and then dropped dead in the same way it had lived: joyful and filled with gas.

  At the bottom of the hill, the city of Thompson, New Jersey bustled, despite the heavy snow and bitter cold. It acted out its routine like an oversized ant colony. Each man, woman, and child went through the motions of good citizens, despite the underlying hum of several factories that pumped noxious smoke into the air, adding cancerous spice to the falling snow.

  Tommy Pingpong sat in his car with the engine running. Jake should’ve been out ten minutes ago. What the hell’s taking him so long? Tommy knew he was taking a risk idling in front of the building like that. Sure, the cops didn’t patrol often but when they did, they were a bitch to get rid of. Despite that worry, he stayed, looking at his watch every thirty seconds and glancing up to see if Jake was on his way.

  Fifteen minutes. Shit, where the hell is he?

  Finally, through the snow flurries, he saw Jake run out of the building, almost tripping over his own feet. Opening the passenger door with a frantic pull, Jake plopped down in the seat, out of breath. “Just drive,” he coughed.

  Tommy put the car into gear and stepped on the gas. The car’s tires lost traction for two seconds but then regained control and moved quickly down the block. Jake turned his head and kept his eyes on the back windshield. A thin blanket of snow covered most of the window. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “What happened? Who’s following us?” Tommy’s voice was calm though inside he was as frantic as his friend. He knew that he had to balance out Jake’s emotional outbursts with a good amount of composure.

  Jake kept looking though he could barely see through the snow. “I don’t know. Everything got fucked up. It wasn’t my fault, no fucking way.”

  “Yeah, okay, calm down. What happened?”

  Turning to the front, Jake moved the rearview so he could keep an eye out. “Everything was going great. I was telling Aaron the whole plan and he seemed into it or at least that’s what I thought just by the way he was acting. But then Peachy walked in and everything got fucked up.”

&nb
sp; “Christ almighty,” Tommy whispered. Okay, I’m not going to freak out. I know damn well Jake’s a paranoid motherfucker. Stay calm…stay calm.

  “How the fuck was I supposed to know Peachy would be out already? He was supposed to do at least half of his time.”

  Tommy nodded his head. “Yeah, well, apparently he got out early. So go on, what else?”

  “I was nervous to begin with, then he walks in and just stares at me, fucking smiling at me. I lost it. I don’t even remember what the fuck I said. I just ran out.” He ran his hands through his hair.

  “What’d Aaron do?”

  “He looked at Peachy and then he said something like ‘I’ll have to think about it’. That was it. They smiled at each other and I just fucking ran out.”

  Tommy threw his hands up. The car jerked to the right. He put his hands back on the wheel. “And you RAN out? Jesus Christ…”

  “I’ve been in those situations before, I know what that fucking means. I’m not a complete idiot, you know. Trust me on this, will ya?” Jake looked at Tommy, waiting for an acknowledgement. Tommy kept his eyes on the road, careful not to get into an accident on the snowy, congested streets.

  “Jake, I trust you.” As it came out of his mouth, he realized that his tone betrayed the message even though he believed that statement whole-heartedly. “All I’m saying is that you might have, MIGHT HAVE, over-reacted. Look, is Peachy a back-stabbing prick? Yes, but that still doesn’t mean that he’ll cause problems at every step of the way. You could’ve stayed cool, kept talking to Aaron. Now they both know you’re fucking freaked out. There’s no doubt now that someone’s coming after us. Even if it’s just to ask why the fuck you ran out.”