Lust Demented

by Michael D. Subrizi

  “What do you want me to say?… um let me see Farrow… how about… I just give you more material for your book.”

  “My book?”

  “A Greater Truth… if it even exists! Not everything in life is material for your book. Please don’t make me material for my book.”

  “Your book? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  She called it her book. I was taking her serious up until that point. I should’ve taken her even more mysterious when she let that claim slip. If the night carried out in the direction it was heading, my last book would forever be credited to someone else. Motherfuck memories. Thoughts of the woman were electrocution. Unfortunately, the river made certain things far and others close. How strange to be alone anywhere in this city. Fighting the current would only tire me. Bobbing between silence and droning echoes… between the townhouse Percy’s life was taken and Gloom’s death-stained cave.

  After the Williamsburg, there were two more bridges for me to pass under before I was out to sea. I too wanted to join in the killing, but I set my goals higher than one of my own. I wanted God dead by sunrise. The fantastical concept reflected itself illuminated. It would be a traditional crime of revenge, jealousy, and awe all in one. Such an overweight sacrilege bordered on immortal innocence. Somebody already discovered the nuclear bomb more than a half-century ago, but took their finger off the button too soon. Fuck it… maybe that’s how civilization began in the first place. Either way the almighty appeared to be immune from any technology our tumored brains could design in self-hate.

  Enough deprecation. Save philosophy for the silhouette of a man ready to leap into the waters. I could just make him out in the downpour. Though I couldn’t see him clearly, I sensed where the figure would land before he even leapt. I wasn’t sure if it was a giant raindrop falling from a cold steel cloud or a human tear straight from the creator. Instinct on my shoulders, I took deep breaths preparing for the dive to make things right. Occasionally there are times in life when you know you’re standing or in this case floating in the right place. When life collides in order.

  A brief flash of light, the body torpedoed past me. I followed the human form into oblivion. We were raindrops racing down a window. I shot through the glassy rain and slowly became the drop of water caught up in the race. A rare occasion of peace. I’m not sure he even knew I was there. He thought he was alone. That he found the only place among the eight million that he could die in silence.

  {X}

  HE WAS WRONG. EITHER WE would die together or live together. It wasn’t his choice. Next thing I knew I was back above the water. Under the last bit of strong light before a patch of darkness, I recognized the suicide diver as Lars Wildman. We passed the Brooklyn Bridge, floating out into New York harbor. The shock sent me unexpectedly underwater. He pulled me to the surface. I looked at him, then at the Statue of Liberty. I could see up freedom’s skirt and taste the bitch’s freshly fucked cunt.

  There were more than a few shores to aim for. Effortless drifting could strand us on Governors Island and leave a lot of explaining to do. Harbor patrol was visible in the distance. So far the cops were useless and landing there would just bring more rubber badges and plastic pistols. In a strange way I never felt so free. I was too small for the big ships to see, while any small patrol vessels seemed to fly by at blurring speeds. It was as if I didn’t even exist.

  Of all people to share this moment with, it made sense it was Lars. People coasted in and out of our lives, but somehow our friendship survived. Lars was born a success and I piled up scarcely read pages. We swam through this world, pulled by an invisible current. Then it was over as if it never happened.

  “My lungs.” Blue skinned missing air.

  “My head is burning up. My whole body aches.”

  “Motherfucker pushed me off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.” Lars fighting the spasms in his chest.

  “Nobody.”

  “Somebody. Farrow why the hell were you doing the backstroke in the East River anyway?”

  “What the hell were you doing jumping... I mean… getting thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge, Lars?”

  “You know as well as I do that everything that doesn’t end in orgasm or death is just a hustle to write more. Writing lately?”

  “Lust Demented.”

  “I dig it.”

  “That’s not the title.”

  “It should be.”

  “It is. I was just testing it out on you. What the fuck do you want? I’m washed up. I traded my last book for a murder rap and an invisible woman.”

  “Could’ve been worse… you could’ve traded it for love.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “I got a new book too Farrow.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “The usual. I found a sacred spot to write it this time. The roof of the library on Forty-Deuce. I know a few of the guards there. They used to do security at The Featherton building. When they’re not working, I sneak in jewel-thief style. Write my ass off.”

  “The spot to get it done.”

  “I sit out on the ledge and leave my body behind. I turn into a gargoyle on the side of the building. A stone statue that nothing can harm. Same as my old man was, except he was more on the lines of Michelangelo’s Moses. Sitting proud… unashamed. Not lurching no matter how many motherfuckers were bashing at his knees with hammers and chisels.”

  “Lars… your father…”

  “Got what was coming to him. We all will. Be it just in death. I know you were the first one to find him Farrow. The whole city knows. Probably the entire fucking country. Maybe the world. In a few days when another gorgeous slaughter takes the headlines they’ll forget… but I won’t. All I want to know is if it makes you angry that someone else managed to take revenge before you even showed up?” Lars vocalized with a creepy inflection that summoned the serpents hiding under the Red Hook docks.

  “I didn’t want revenge.”

  “We all breathe evil.” Merciless, the night indiscriminately pelted on, keeping most everyone off the street.

  {XI}

  “HAWAII TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED.” Lars dropped the hurt on me as we both stared at the factory wall. It was graffiti that some people could crawl into and find brightly colored love in a crumbling land.

  “I don’t have anything to say about that Lars.”

  “I’m sorry I never said anything. You were just sitting in Queens writing your new book Lust Demented or whatever the fuck it’s called… and…” Lar slunk back. The banshee harem got the best of him.

  “I didn’t want to bring a kid into the world that the mother didn’t want. Honestly, it still tears through my heart.” Last I heard Missy had Hawaii end the pregnancy for her. The whole situation left me disabled for some time.

  “Fucked that everybody knows, but you Farrow…” Lars took a deep breath and I figured that I better do the same. “A while back Hawaii told me that when Missy showed up for the abortion… she couldn’t go through with it. I guess Missy was crying buckets… she was only six weeks, but the hormones hit her already… you know all filled up with maternal emotions… and Hawaii isn’t good with that. As a rule she never operates on people she knows, but Missy kept pushing and pushing until she got her way. I think Hawaii was just trying to get Missy off the operating table and she said…” Lars looked authentically upset. We were both soaked from the river, but it was clear that his eyes were tearing up with mine.

  “What… what could she have said that made a difference?”

  “Hawaii told Missy to… Sorry Farrow I think you should talk to her yourself. She should tell you.”

  “Lars I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t tell me.”

  “Fuck you Farrow you don’t want to know… trust me.”

  “Lars… sometimes I hate your fucking guts, but I got your back to the end.”

  Lars fell into the mural, banging his head rhythmically against
the wildstyle until the words leaked out of him. “Hawaii told Missy that she could have everything she ever dreamed of. All she would have to do is go to Percy and tell him it was his baby. So that’s what she did.”

  “How? What? How could he be so stupid? He’d never believe that. That would never work.”

  “Missy fucked his brains out that night and every day after that. She controlled the old man. It was only a matter of six weeks. So by the time she was showing: The truth didn’t matter anymore. Someone had to take care of your baby.”

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “You know my father. If he did, he wouldn’t let anyone know. Either way it was working out for both of them until Missy lost the baby. Shortly after the miscarriage… I ran into her in Union Square passing through the farmers market. Dumb to the fact, I congratulated her. The words barely left my mouth when I noticed her face drop. She didn’t have to say anything. You two would’ve made a good-looking kid. A cool little bastard.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said… that’s just the way life goes sometimes. Then she told me that I look just like my father.”

  “I don’t see that.”

  “Farrow I’m sorry.”

  {XII}

  I COULD FEEL LARS WATCHING me walk away into the night. It reminded me of the soft, but obvious steps Detective Anderson took stalking me through Gramercy. Concerned with everyone else, but himself, Lars couldn’t resist poking his toes through his own plot of reincarnation. His old man was just abolished from mental and physical slavery. Everyone could make a fuss on the big green machine, but Percy was definitely unliving it up by now.

  A street guerilla carrying a santa sack approached me speaking the city’s universal second language. Oblivious to anything other than his own plight, he was just hitting us up.

  “Could you spare some change… so I could maybe get a coffee and a croissant?” He pronounced the breakfast treat with the accent of a French pastry chef.

  I had a plan to have no plan. Some people measure a period in their lives by who they loved… where they lived… for Percy, Lars, Gloom, and I it was always measured by what we were writing. My head was light, glowing from the inside. The world recently opened up losing its limits. Lars hadn’t moved. Still standing just how I left him, the Brooklyn night shading over him.

  The Coffey Street crime scene was nearly desolate, except for one parked car that stood out like a lonely watchtower in the Sahara. The woman behind the wheel was busy with a task that called for her complete attention. The way she turned at me when I was a mere couple steps away hinted towards the presence of a sixth-sense.

  “Farrow?” Apparently the sergeant’s tone revolved around why the night was full of strange coincidences and why she didn’t buy into the existence of coincidences.

  “Sgt. Bethany Powers.” I was close enough to see in the window. The silver gun was glistening against her pale freckled skin. She was in civilian clothes with her red hair tied up in a bun.

  “Get in the front. You don’t have to ride in the back this time.” Sgt. Powers eyed me up and down as if I was giving off toxic radiation. I wondered how badly I stunk of the East River. It was strange cozying into the front seat next to her. Even more bizarre when I realized I was sitting on her 9mm’s clip. I picked it up and tried to hand it to her, but she wasn’t ready. I let her finish what she was doing and tried again. The second time she accepted it with a smile.

  “Went to the range today. Fucking thing gums up sometimes. Way things are going...”

  “Too many suspects or not enough?”

  “We have a few.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Each and everyone you know personally.”

  “I know a lot of people… me… myself and… I.”

  “It’s good you know yourself.”

  “oh yeah… and now I know you.” I leaned in close to her, hoping she’d loosen up and let go, but instead she pulled her head back, itching her chin with a hooked trigger finger.

  “Farrow, this bonding time really warms my heart, but I’m on my way to pay Missy a visit.”

  “So you found her?” I didn’t believe it for a second.

  “Other way around. She found us. She’s scared of you Farrow. She called the precinct for protection. Someone let it slip that you want your name on A Greater Truth.” Sgt. Bethany Powers… if you count to one, she’s already on two.

  “Her book?” While I didn’t believe her, I did fall beneath her eyes. There wasn’t much else to do, but wait and see what she was getting at.

  “You live mysteries, don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  {XIII}

  “FARROW CHANGE SEATS WITH me.” Gun in hand, Sgt. Bethany Powers crawled from the driver’s seat into my lap, brushing my face with her ass. Death-pasture green eyes spray-painted to her face. Her legs, surprisingly muscular as they nudged me towards the wheel. I slid out from under her, wiggling into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition, sliding the car into drive. I stepped on the gas a little too hard, bracing myself as the engine kicked back before settling in.

  “Left.” “Right.” “Stay straight.” She kept it simple fondling her gun, occasionally looking at the rear-view mirror. Whether I stared or not, I knew the gun was there. Just as I knew the slightest graze of hot flesh under thin layers of fabric could change the way I came to terms with my entire existence.

  At some point in our relationship the way Missy made love to me changed. I remembered specifically the different ways she would lock her legs around me and force me to finish inside of her. The way she would seem insulted if my cum ended up anywhere, but inside as she demanded. On many levels it seemed more natural than any other way of making love. It was dangerous and simply beautiful. And danger mixed with beauty creates more life - it seems.

  Distant eyes reached past the endless night. Images of Missy temporarily dissolved. Streets, boulevards, and alleys intruded on us from all directions.

  “You’re thinking of her.”

  “An assassin hovers over me in my sleep. She’s gone when I wake.”

  “You’re too insignificant. Nobody wants to kill you. Believe in other things.”

  Sgt. Bethany Powers motioned for me to park along an illuminated strip of housing projects verging on the beach. Hooded shadows limping laps in the darkness took immediate notice of our presence, sinking back into the night. They seemed to sense we were not customers, standing their ground, just in case.

  “Police issue.” Sgt. Bethany Powers handed me her Smith and Wesson. It weighed in heavier than it looked and in return made the earth feel lighter, more conquerable. I ran my hands along the smooth cold body of the gun, settling on the grip. It felt right. Wrong no longer existed.

  “Should I keep it in my pocket?”

  “Do what you want.”

  Fresh air in the city was an illusion. Beach air was new life. Sgt. Bethany Powers walked me out past the dunes. The sand was heavy and kept us moving a few steps slower than when on concrete.

  “Shooting a gun is a meditation. It’s relaxing.”

  “I’ve never shot one before.”

  “I know. You’re more of the knife across the throat type.”

  “I’m more of the pen on the paper type.”

  “Farrow, keep your hand off the trigger and lift the pistol.”

  “What do I aim at?”

  “Doesn’t make sense to shoot at random things. Pick something…”

  “How about the jetties?”

  “How about something alive? How about the seagulls on the jetties?”

  “I can’t see them.”

  “Neither can I, but I know they’re there.” The seagulls cackled raucously as the waves battered the rocks.

  “Keep your feet shoulder width apart. Lean forward slightly. Put your finger on the trigger and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ooooh… shoot!” She grabbed my elbow straightening it, but I balked at pulling th
e trigger until she whipped a snubnose from an ankle holster and lit off a couple rounds of her own. Together we blasted off into the night, until both our guns were empty.

  “Go check the jetties.” Sgt. Bethany Powers reloaded her gun, one bullet at a time. I figured it was best to put a little distance between us. I could hear the clinking metal, the squawking gulls, and the dismal waves. I could hear my shoes in the sand, which is a sound you can feel. The rotten apple soldier turned to a mere outline as I approached the jetty. Just enough moonlight hit the rocks to show me the two dead birds. One had both wings blown off. The other had no head. I leaned over wondering if one of the shots I fired killed these birds. I picked up the one with no wings, since it still had a head. I felt sorry for the creature. It was still breathing. Pop! A shot rang out in the night air. I felt it whizz over my head by at least a couple feet.

  “Farrow… I’m sick of aiming off into the darkness.” I heard her call out before she fired off yet another round. I didn’t say anything.

  “Give me a target.” Blam! Blam! The sergeant’s tone was playful. Every sentence followed by a bullet or two. I did my all to blend into the beach’s soft slopes. I pointed the gun at the moon directly above me. I had no bullets and an out of range target. Raising the burner to the heavens, I pulled the trigger. The slight click from my weapon led to another pair of bullets striking the sand beside me. Then a click of her own. Her gun was empty. I felt the darkness around me… the suffocating summer air didn’t let up even in the middle night… it just kept choking you… tearing you open… I could feel my heart fighting to escape my chest… I was about to attempt one last mad dash when a pair of woman’s nails dug into my skin. Pale as the moon, Kiko held onto me, aggression surging. Her body wrapped over mine. Programmed gallant, I rolled over on top of the strange woman. The tide slowly made its way up our legs. We stayed this way listening closely for a sign that death was closing in on us. I was still holding the gun. The tide continued to approach until it was at our necks.