by Kirk Alex
“I was fuckin’ a pickle jar for a long time, filled it wiff hamburger and fucked it. Was hungry for tang, me. I ain’t no fag.”
“Heard of dudes fuckin’ doughnuts, but I ain’t never heard of nobody fuckin’ pickles. How about you, Felix?”
“I never fucked no pickle. Jar didn’t have no pickle in it. It was hamburger. Sometime it be a liver, meat chunk’. Whatever work’.”
“Hamburger, huh? Ain’t tried it. How about you, Felix? Ever stuff a pickle jar with hamburger and bang it?”
“I don’t trust him. Guy’s mental. Retarded.”
Ace was grinning. “I trust Marvin. Know how come I trust Marvin? ’Cause we’re taking Marvin with us. He goes in first–right through that door—”
“You don’t want to do that, brother. I can’t go in there wiff you, not like that.”
“Sure you can, Marvin. Gonna be our insurance, the way I figure it.”
“Bigg’ gonna know I crossed him now. I can’t cross that dude. That be a bad dude.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“Look at him, Ace. Scared shitless. I don’t think we ought to go in there. He’s scareder of Biggs than he is of that piece, man.”
Rudy reminded them that Olivia was in there.
“We gotta go in and get her out.”
“You gotta show balls if you want to hang with me.” Ortiz was talking. It was directed at Felix Monk. “Got a score to settle with Bishop Cecil Omar Biggs. Ain’t no motherfucker so bad in this world he can stop a cap popped point blank in his face.”
Marvin was shaking his head. Insisted the best thing to do now was not go in. “You don’t know Cecil, brother. He got them crazy mofo in there; got them trained to do what he want’, even take a cap was meant for him. You don’t know Trusty, brother. Dude be crazy.”
“Let’s get to know this badass then, butt-lick.”
Rudy suggested setting off the alarm. “Maybe Biggs will come out if he hears it again.”
“I say we just go in right now and use the soul brother for cover. Biggs ain’t gonna shoot his sweetheart—and even if he did—I fill him fulla holes soon as he drops Marvin here.”
“You don’t be gettin’ it. The man took me and my buddy in, my homie Snagglepuss; give us food to eat. There was nothin’ but the street’ for me and him, no place to sleep or take a shit wiffout sweatin’ some fool might jump me from behind and do a number on my pet. Bigg’ help me. I can’t cross him.”
“My asshole bleeds for this Oreo.”
“You ain’t got no right to call me that. I ain’t no Oreo, man.”
“Shut your hole, faggot. I got all the right in the world.”
CHAPTER 439
They moved toward the Cadillac. Remained back in the shadows, as Marvin bent over, walked, and shook it hard enough to set the alarm off, then stepped back toward Ortiz at the side of the house. Rudy glanced to his left and noticed Harold Crust peeking through his living room curtains and shaking his head. After a moment, he left the window.
The car alarm wailed, although there was no raising the owner. Biggs wasn’t going for it. Ortiz didn’t like it.
“You gonna wake up the neighborhood. Kill it. He knows we’re out here, and we know the pendejo knows. We just go in. Stop the alarm.”
Marvin did that. Clicked the clicker. And the four made their way back to the rear of the house.
CHAPTER 440
Biggs’s rear door had a couple of signs on it.
BEWARE OF DOG
PELIGRO - DANGER
NO TRESPASSING
“Yo. Ain’t no dog no more. Rutherford run off. Bigg’ was messin’ wiff him, that be why. Made some of them hoe’ do the German shepherd.”
“What?”
“I ain’t lyin’, Ace. Some of them street hoe’ do anything for crack and cash, booze and blow.”
Ortiz stared at him. “There better not be no perro named Rockford, or whatever you call him, runnin’ around in there. ’Cause even if there is, I’ll smoke the mutt’s ass for sure.” Makes no difference, thought Ortiz. Ball of heroin and a bag of spikes was on his mind. Getting some good shit. Monkey was on his ass. Always wantin’ more.
“There don’t be no K-9, Glassy. That ain’t what you want to be sweatin’. Brotha Trusty be the one gonna ice us. Me, you, everybody. He don’t care. I know the dude. I keep tellin’ you, but you don’t be gettin’ it.”
“We got to the asshole’s secret stash out there in the graveyard. What I gotta do is get my hands on the rest of what he’s got inside.”
“Why Bigg’ make me sit in back of the Meat Wagon all the time. Don’t want me to know.”
“Get your pimp ass in there. We’re wasting time.”
“Man, I ain’t no real pimp. But that be the plan. Sho nuff. Plan B.”
“Shut your butthole, motherfucker, and get your pimp ass inside.”
Marvin was shoved in through the rear door. Used as the trio’s human shield. Beads of sweat rolled down the deacon’s face and neck.
CHAPTER 441
They reached the kitchen door on the left. Walked in with caution. Staff and board members were there at the long table, with the exception of Miss Betty Rutterschmidt and Olin Goodfellow, eating that stew that Norbert Fimple was so fond of. Fimple reached inside his shirt pocket for his choppers, and jammed them in his mouth. He wrapped his fat fingers around the wooden spoon that hung from a black shoelace around his neck. He shoveled the slop in this way without looking up. Only trouble was his dentures wouldn’t stay in place and kept dropping into the bowl.
He scooped the bothersome dentures up with a couple of fingers, licked the stew off, and stuck the dentures back in his shirt pocket. He would do without them; his gums were tough enough. He didn’t need his false teeth to chow down with.
Over in the corner, to their immediate left, leaning against the kitchen counter, Lawrence Sassounian attired in a soiled print dress with a hard-to-miss sizable blood stain inches below the waist, and a dry, blond female scalp on his head, was the one individual eating on his feet. He stared blankly at the visitors, while working away at the bowl of stew in his hand. He paused long enough to wipe blue eye shadow and blush-on out of his left eye. Seemed to be having some minor, although irritating trouble with the false eyelash. He let it go. He ate. Stared at Rudy Perez, Meth Mouth, and Felix Monk without blinking, it seemed, or his eyes revealing any genuine sign of intelligence or awareness of his surroundings.
“Holy shit.” Felix Monk tried hard not to stare. Took in some of the others there. “Holy shit.”
CHAPTER 442
Julian Ionesco was munching on what looked like a Polish sausage. Rose to greet them. Big Tex, in jockstrap that had rhinestones on it, did likewise. Touched the brim of his sweat-stained, worn Stetson to give them a real, down home, Old West hello. Then both men sat back down. Resumed eating.
Mildred Elizabeth rubbed her thumb against her little finger. Stroked the gray strands on her chin that made up a goatee, from time to time. Patience Rose McDaniel, as usual, sat there, said nothing, did nothing—but shivered. Next to her sat Greta Otto. In a blood and gravy-stained negligee with a ratty black sweater over that, Nazi military jackboots on her feet, Cupid mask on her face. She was sucking soup through a straw. Not always successfully, due to the mask and the restrictions and challenges it very often burdened her with come meal time. Some of the soup dribbled past the mouth opening in the mask that further stained the front of her sweater.
Although she did not move her head much, always self-conscious—when she did, large bald areas and patches of frizzy blond hair were visible across her scalp. There were scars. Shrunken and misshapen ears.
Muck thought he ought to give them fair warning about her and that she didn’t go for dudes.
“That be Greta over there: one wiff the big ass and nasty nightgown. Ho be so ugly she look’ like she got hoof-and-mouf, why she wear the mask. Dick-hatin’ ho.”
“This is worse than I expected
.”
Ortiz was spooked enough himself. Here was a disturbed bunch. No two ways about it. But they were inside the house and the ache in his psyche and system for the junk he couldn’t live without wouldn’t let him turn around, like common sense told him to, and leave. He would follow through. Had to. Monkey on his back didn’t give a damn that these people were messed up big time.
Big Tex cleared his throat, shook his head. “You don’t want to be makin’ light of that, not hoof-and-mouth.”
The far wall was lined with pennies and Ace’s eyes lit up when he realized this. “We got to get the coins before we leave, Felix. Put them in a box or sack before we bone out.” There was a white sign with black lettering on the wall, framed.
“Chance favors the prepared mind.”
—Louis Pasteur
“I don’t know who this Louis P. punk is or what he done exactly, but it sure looks like Biggs was prepared and flew the coop.” Ace looked up at the cage hanging from the ceiling and could spot the chicken in it, clucking. “And left his yardbird behind.” He aimed his gun at the chicken.
“Preacher don’t like for nobody to bother with his cluck-clucks.”
“Where’s this preacher of yours, cowboy?”
“Ain’t here.”
“Got his hoopties parked in the front yard. Both of them.”
“Took a cab. Does that now and then. Keeps his enemies on their toes.”
“We been watching the house and didn’t see no cab pull up.”
“Pulled up in the back alley. Keeps his foes guessing that way.”
Ortiz lowered his gun. Had nothing against the chicken to begin with. “Right now I’m guessing you’re full of Texas steer manure.” He jammed a few Chuckles in his mouth.
“Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
“Does a puta fuck for pesos?”
“Depends. Don’t it? The one I married never took a dime. She give it away.”
CHAPTER 443
Ace eyed the chains that had been wound around the large refrigerators. Looked at Muck. “What’s in there?”
“Food.”
“No shit. Any Chuckles?”
Marvin shook his head. “Twinkie’ and Ding Dong; Three Musketeer’. No Chuckle’.”
“Anything else in there?”
“Like what?”
“Like what? Like dental gold, like cash and stash.”
Marvin said there wasn’t. Ace gestured in Felix’s direction to go over and take the chains off. Felix made the effort, tried to slide them up. First the one refrigerator, then the other. It was no use. Chains had been looped through the handles, wrapped around them, and all other ways. They were too tight to budge.
“And there?” Ace pointed at the five-foot-long freezer on the floor by the wall of pennies.
“Yardbird’. What ain’t got no head’.”
“Take a look, Felix.”
Felix attempted to lift the lid on the freezer. Nothing doing. It was locked. He was unwilling to let go, though. Ace told him to forget it.
Greta Otto suddenly rose to her feet, kicking her chair back. “Pleasure was all yours, gentlemen. I’m certain of it.”
Ortiz didn’t care for it.
“Where you goin’?”
“Shit house. You are welcome to come with and help me wipe.”
“Been waitin’ my whole life for an invitation like that.”
“I’m sure you have been.”
“Know what, lady? There ain’t nothin’ more disgusting than a pug ugly pendeja with a dirty mouth.”
Rudy thought that maybe she should be allowed. Where was the harm in it?
“Let her.”
“Let her? Nobody goes no place. Until we figure what the fuck is going on. Ain’t that what we here for?”
Ace’s companions said nothing.
“Sit your big culo back down, bitch.”
Greta hesitated. Eventually did as told.
“We here on a mission.” Ace was addressing his buddies. “Ain’t we? Well, ain’t we?”
“You get better cooperation when you’re nice to people.” Rudy Perez turned to the woman in the Cupid mask. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Woman decided she didn’t feel like talking. Was back sucking her soup through that straw.
“It’s a fucking scam. They got it all worked out, to ambush us. Only I ain’t buying; ain’t going for it. Stay on your toes, motherfuckers.”
Big Tex adjusted his Stetson. His eyes on Rudy, then his companions. They were back on Perez.
“Downstairs. There’s one on this floor. Bishop don’t like for us to use it. Keeps it locked. There’s one on the second floor, too. Kept locked. It’s mainly there for parishioners and the like to use, when church is open to outsiders—upon special invite only.”
Ortiz didn’t like it.
“That’s it. Nobody goes downstairs, upstairs—nowhere. Nobody moves, nobody farts. If any of you bitches gotta go, go on the floor. I don’t care.”
The diners remained at their respective places at the table, as before: some ate, others, like Patience, sat there staring at nothing in particular.
“Where’s Biggs?”
“Where’s he keeping Olivia? What’s he done with her?”
“Ja ja. My beloved Rumania call to me. I was engineer in Rumania. . . . In America, I am taxi driver. . . . I am nothing taxi driver. . . . In America taxi driver is like people who clean the toilet for the living. Worse. Taxi driver?” Ionesco spit on the floor. “There. Taxi driver. Shit. Like dog doo-doo on sidewalk. Garbage. But before me and my wife come I hear, we hear all the time: Go to America, be success. From engineer, to taxi driver. You call this success? Everything is computer. I don’t understand computer. Why everything have to be this way? I work like this.” He held up his hands, open. Palms out/palms in. He wiggled his fingers. Then pointed to his temple. “And this. The Big Computer. Upstairs. Brain. I have good brain. I do my way—and do very good job. In Rumania, in Europe. America fuck me up. You call this success?” He was looking at Perez and the duo with him. “How you can call this success? I don’t call this success.”
Rudy had no idea what triggered the rant.
“I’m looking for my girlfriend Olivia Duarte. Tell me where she is.”
Ace Ortiz thought Rudy Perez was wasting his time and told him so. Had something far more important on his mind and thought he’d ask the loons about it. “Where’s the stash? Where’s the asshole got it hid? Where’s the dental gold? That fucking shit is worth money.”
“I was engineer. Rumania call to me: Come back, Julian. . . . Come back to your country. . . . You and Anastasia. . . . Come back. America don’t love you; America don’t need you, Julian. . . .”
CHAPTER 444
Rudy Perez held up a photo of Olivia Duarte for the Rumanian to take a look at. Then he flashed it around for the others’ benefit.
“That’s her. Right there. Anybody seen her in here? Cecil Biggs hiding her someplace? Please help me.”
Marvin Muck was of the opinion that homie Ace was right. Pointed it out. “You wasting yo time, Rudy.”
Norbert continued to slobber. Stew oozed from his lower jaw. Mildred Elizabeth poked at the wart above her chin with the wooden spoon, while her other hand stayed busy: the nervous habit, thumb rubbed against the pinkie. She had been at this for so long now that blood had begun to appear on the little finger.
She sucked her own blood, and liked the taste.
“Hear that?” Ortiz’s good eye was on Biggs’s people. “Marvin here is sayin’ your elevator don’t go to the top. I say you can help us. Which is it? You help us—and we help you.”
Big Tex mumbled something about going back to Texas, the Dallas Cowboys, Lone Star beer, and Billy Bob’s.
“Palomino ain’t shit.”
Rudy took some bills out. Held them in front of the members at the table. “Where is she? That’s all you have to tell me. Where?”
Nobody said a word.
“Please. I
can have more, a lot more. Give you all the money me and my brother saved up for the shop we was planning to open.”
“My wife and me, before she was dead from cancer, we was butler and cook for three years for rich ones in Beverly Hills. Hard work. My wife always tired. Rich ones give to us clothing. They was movie star and television actor. Pay not so good. I don’t want to be taxi driver in America. I can take no more. . . . No, sir. Life in America is good if you are millionaire. If you are like we was, life is not good.”
“She could be anywhere.” Seeing that his money wouldn’t do much good, Rudy put it away. “House has two floors, basement; not to mention attic, probably. Too many rooms. All you gotta do is point us in the general direction. That’s all I ask. You don’t even have to say anything, not a word—only point.” He waited, hoping someone would volunteer something, anything. “I’ve done work for Cecil. Washed his cars. I’m a friend. No harm will come to you, not from us. We’re not here to harm you, if that’s what you’re nervous about. I’m no criminal.”
“No. We’re the criminals. He’s a fucking saint; him and his brother. Come from a family of saints.” Ace spit on the floor to drive the point home.
“Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this place.”
“I ain’t gettin’ out ’till I get what I come here for, Felix. He owes big time for what he done to me.”
“You ain’t the only one he done it to.”
CHAPTER 445
Ortiz wanted to leave the kitchen, look around. Thought to let Rudy Perez hold the switchblade, who turned it down. Ortiz insisted. “Now’s not the time to punk out. For your own protection. Want your girl found? Me and Felix gonna take a look around. Keep the blade until we get back.”
He stepped into the hallway. Felix followed. First door on Ace’s left was to a bathroom. He looked in. Nothing. Some chicken feathers in and around the tub. Chicken feathers. Traces of blood. Dry. Dark. Made him wonder what the fuck had taken place in the john? Punk had poultry in the kitchen, and now they were seeing feathers here in the john. What else could they expect?
