Chapter 26 "The American Dream"

The interesting thing about the cab ride into Englewood was the middle aged dude named Dan who was driving me. He had completely tricked out his cab to perform like a race car. He called his cab "The Nascab". Y'know, like Nascar? It had big twenty inch rims and the engine purred with the throaty growl of a classic muscle car. We bounded south down Washington St. like a yellow blur. My destiny in this cow town was waiting ahead of us.

Johnny had become very wasted by the time I had left, and was insisting on coming with me. I thought the idea sounded terrible as I watched him flail around the living room with one eye closed so he didn't tip over. He was bellowing about how it would be like old times, because I needed backup. Johnny as my back up in his current state was laughable, so I secretly called the cab and kept peering out the window as he continued to drink more scotch and pontificate grandiosely.

The cab arrived, and Johnny ran into his room to put on some clothes, and I quietly walked to my bags, stuck my .25 in my sock and the butterfly knife in my back pocket and slithered out the door, leaving Johnny at home.

I arrived a few minutes early and instructed Mr. "Nascab" Dan to drop me off about a half a block east of the place on Floyd St. I walked the rest of the way to observe the tiny little carriage house that was 3300 S Logan St.

It was a tiny little blue house with a small wooden front porch and a front yard that sloped down into the sidewalk's level. There seemed to be a light on in the center of the place, but otherwise it appeared pretty dark. The porch light wasn't even on. It hardly looked like a house that was expecting visitors. I was looking more for signs of police officers hiding in the shadows, but I saw not one sign of them.

So, I knocked on the door. I heard a woman's voice from inside say, "Come in!"

I did. As I crossed the threshold of the door the cuff of my jeans snagged on the pointy nails of the exposed carpet strip on the floor and I stumbled. I realized at this point that I had drank far too much scotch at Johnny's house.

Looking up, I could see that this room was completely stripped to the bare floor boards. They were old and distressed; there was nothing in the way of furnishings. Across from me was a doorway covered with a tapestry. That was the room where the light was coming from. The warm and inviting light was filtering through the thin tapestry that was emblazoned with a large sun, which might have looked like one of Willam Blake's illustrations. The sun was very mystical looking and had a human face.

"Hello?" I called out.

"Come in to us," said the same female voice.

"Okay, but this is creepy."

"Don't be frightened, Nelson is here," she said.

"Yeah. Come on in, Joe," said Nelson. His voice is somewhat memorable with a slightly raspy quality.

I pushed the tapestry aside and walked into this weird scene. The room's walls were completely covered with bookcases with lots of different sized books and there were at least a hundred lit candles placed around the room upon the shelves. The floor in here was stripped as well, but was covered with three rather large and thick looking Turkish carpets. Upon them were a plethora of large cushions and pillows. Nelson was sitting on the floor without a shirt. He was wearing some white or beige loose and flowing pants. Same slimy and thin looking hair, same dead front tooth, but Nelson looked really good. He appeared to be this tan, fat, and smooth Buddha in the candlelight with his necklace of wooden beads.

I arched an eyebrow as I cautiously entered the room thinking back to the Gruesome Buddha the night before.

Next to Nelson was one of the most beautiful looking creatures I have ever seen in my entire life. She was also sitting on the floor, Indian style, with very long light brown loosely curled hair with little blonde highlights. She was also wearing a beige or white loosely flowing dress that swirled all around her. She looked to be very young and elfin in appearance, and was petite and lithe with sharp angular features and huge shining blue eyes. Her voice, however, was very old, stern, and matriarchal.

She said, "I am Belle’. You must be Joe. What is your number, Joe?"

"My number is 05-10,999-8," I replied dutifully.

"Your tree is of 8? But that would be the case wouldn't it, Nelson, since that is your tree as well?" Nelson just nodded. "That is The Preacher's tree. You should be very proud. Don't worry about the 05 part of your number, that merely indicates the year, so when you have to say it again, just say 10,999 tree 8. That will be fine. Why don't you have a seat?"

She was indicating a place in front of her on the floor. I sat on the thick rug and pulled a cushion under my ass. Nelson was beaming at me. Between Belle’ and I there was a bottle of absinthe and a little contraption that hung over one of several generously proportioned cocktail glasses all on a silver tray, and a silver bowl of sugar cubes, a small silver spoon, a glass decanter of ice water that was sweating cool condensation, and a small silver lighter.

"A drink?" She asked indicating the absinthe. I just nodded, and she went to work smiling sweetly. I wouldn't have known anything about what she was about to do, except for the bottle in front of me was so green, and the label on the bottle said the word absinthe as big as life. The bottle looked 100 years old and the rest of the verbiage on the bottle appeared to be in French.

"Sugar?" She gazed at me, so demurely. Her smile was white and disarming with rounded and feminine looking teeth behind very small and soft lips. I glanced at Nelson. He was still smiling like an idiot and nodded at me. I shrugged and nodded at Belle’ who placed a sugar cube in the strainer contraption above my glass and poured a generous portion of the green fairy over my sugar cube, through the strainer and into the glass. Then she lit the sugar with the lighter and it combusted into a blue flame.

"You like it a little crunchy, don't you?" She asked. I shrugged and looked at Nelson who was not paying me any attention and gazing at Belle’. Ignoring me, she said, "I like it that way too." She waited as the sugar turned slightly brown on the edges and tapped the cube just once with the silver spoon and it disintegrated into a neat pile, still flaming. She then squeezed two little silver toggles together and the strainer opened like a clamshell and the sugar fell flaming into the glass, igniting the rest of the absinthe inside. "Ooooh!" She giggled, "That never happens; that's good luck! Usually the flame extinguishes because of the fall into the glass, but not yours."

Belle’ was inspecting my glass of absinthe and then she slightly blew into the glass and the flame extinguished. She poured in a tiny dribble of ice water from the decanter, stuck the spoon in and swirled it once. "Here. Drink."

I had never had absinthe before this moment, and I'm here to tell you that it is good. Very strong alcohol content with a bitter licorice flavor, it burns good, and the caramelized sugar at the end is a crunchy little sweet treat that extinguishes the burning on your tongue. My eyes watered slightly and I blew a breath out. "Wow!" The green fairy of absinthe has almost an instant intoxicating effect as it warms your innards and spreads to your extremities. Nelson and Belle’ were so happy to see my reaction.

Belle’ excitedly turned to Nelson and said, "Would you like one too, Nelson?"

He nodded and she went about the same process again, but this time instead of handing him the glass, she put it up to his lips and poured it down his gullet. Then she lightly kissed him on the cheek and stood up and began inspecting the bookcases that lined the wall of the room. She was utterly perfect. The candles showed her silhouette through that flimsy white dress revealing a beautiful woman's body, petite but with full breasts, a tiny waist, and an ample firm ass. Her nipples stood up proud through the sheer fabric of her dress. I couldn't believe it.

She turned to face me and said, "I'd like you to pick a book. Oh! You are SO quiet! Is he always like this, Nelson?"

"Practically never," said Nelson as he smirked at me.

"That's funny. What happened to your poor little head?" Belle’ asked as she bent her strong, young body over me. Her dress was loose and I stared down into her cleavage as her grapefruit breasts hung without the help of a brassiere. She took her hands and caressed my forehead and hair. Let me tell you boys, this girl's touch was electric with her fingernails cutting hot slices of hair and skin. Belle’ blew on my forehead bruise and her breath smelled like cinnamon. Then she kissed my forehead with these warm, ample soft lips that were like a shot of heroin.

I was in a very strange place, with very strange people, with very strange things happening, but Belle's touch was like a Valium IV drip. Smooth, intoxicating and calming was her way.

She took my face in her hands with her giddy and saintly smile and her huge blue eyes shining with the flame of a hundred candles. "Go ahead. Pick a book." She indicated the hundreds of books on the shelves around the room. "Pick something that speaks to you."

I got up, rather wobbly and faced her. She was short and looked up at me like a little white fairy. "Any book?" I asked. She was holding my fingers in her warm and tiny hands.

"Anything," she said, "But make sure you make at least one trip around the room. You don't want to miss anything. Take your time; I'll make you another drink."

"Dude. What did happen to your forehead?" Nelson asked.

"It's a long story, Nels."

"Shhhh! This is important, Nelson!" Belle’ admonished. "We have plenty of time to get to know the stories that will come." She emphasized the word 'come' and was not-so-subconsciously playing with the tie strings on the bosom of her dress. She then swished it as she twirled away from me and sat back down next to Nelson and started to work on another drink. Nelson lit a stick of incense with the silver lighter and handed it back to Belle’. I started to inspect the books that were lining the walls.

There were so many books here. There were hardcover, paperback, the size of a wallet, the size of an atlas, old, new, dog eared and limp, shiny and stiff. They ranged all genres, eras, subject matter. The only system that they seemed to be arranged by was convenience of shelf size. It was a very cool collection of books. I pulled one here and there and thumbed through them. Read title after title on the spines of them, but was wondering what might jump out at me, but hardly anything did. I was feeling numb and drunk; I thought that perhaps my picker was offline.

Belle’ made some more drinks for Nelson and herself that they sipped on and then finally attended to me. She gave me one more other-worldly shot o' the green goo and I just glugged it down unappreciatively and continued on with my search for a book that screamed out at me. This shot hit hard and I began to swirl around in the knowledge that I was trying to infiltrate and expose this weird ass cult and not join it. Inwardly, I cursed myself for already loving it.

Fuck.

Crap. If it's not one thing, it's another. I'm cursing myself for being drunk and dumb and disconnected, when it's totally my ass on the line. I need to go to rehab. I need to figure my life out. I'm such a fuck up.

Where in god's name is that feeling of contentment? Of purpose? Closeness? If you were to think about it too much, my life looks like a lonely parade through the streets that have no name. I truly am alone.

Am I this hideous person that is so self-centered and paranoid that I can't find some true connection with a single person? What the hell is wrong with me? I have been such a selfish and opportunistic prick.

I laugh when I think about the concept of The American Dream, because it's so linked to these things that money can buy, like a house, a car, life insurance, a sleep number bed, side-by-side burial plots, when in reality, anything that truly gives you contentment or comfort is a feeling brought about by genuine admiration, love, patience and perseverance and a little luck. This feeling or state of being that you could never buy with money like friendship, a trusted lover, a good family, mechanic or dentist. Trust.

I've seen a few people in my travels that appeared to me to glow with some kind of inner light. They radiated power, and oddly enough, contentment. They had purpose. They had friends. Somehow they had figured out this thing we like to call life. They annoyed the shit out of me.

Jesus, did I make some terrible mistakes?

So here I am. Before god and everyone else, cursing myself and crusading for forgiveness, a little redemption, playing secret agent, willing cult-member, blasted out of my head.

Fuck.

I snorted and laughed. I was holding a book in my hand. It was a large, but thin paperback that was titled War All the Time. The perfect synergy of those four words seemed to speak to me, as if they meant what nobody ever wanted to admit. To live life, and to truly love what and who you are, you must be prepared to fight battles. I surely loved myself to the point of unfortunate survival...but nobody really loved me.

I fight many battles only to end up congratulating myself. There are many battles to fight, and they are often. Luckily, I don't have high blood pressure, high cholesterol, or any mental instability, and this book's title summed it up neat and tidy for me. War all the time. Be a warrior. Be ready for the fight. Keep your muscles tense and your gaze sharp. Don't let your guard down. A constant state of readiness. It was perfect. No matter how proud and strong I was, it felt like this could be the reason that I haven't been close to anyone in years, and yet it could be the only reason that I was still alive.

It made me feel like I knew what I must learn...if not here, then in California. In a very decisive and perfect moment, I turned to Belle’ and began to speak, but she cut me off and said, "You have found it? Come over to me."

I did and once again sat in front of her and Nelson. She snatched the book from me and glanced at the cover. "OH! Interesting!" She said, and fanned her face with the book and made it seem, by her expression, that it was overly hot in the room, but she said, "This book has much history. You are not the first, and by what seems to be a strange popularity, I believe you won't be the last! Wow! I can't believe it, can you, Nelson?" He shrugged. "How many powerful souls have been so drawn to this very paperback?" She fanned her face with it again.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, I dunno, this just seems to be a favorite book, lately. Strange how that is the case with as many books that line these walls." She sipped some absinthe.

"Well, to be honest, I just..."

"It doesn't matter," said Belle’, smoothly. "I will hand it to you; I want you to open it up to what ever page you choose, and then read it to me."

She did so and I sat for a moment considering the book. It was by a dude called Charles Bukowski. I had never heard of him, and I was amazed to find that it appeared that I was holding a book of poetry. I had never been one for poetry, but was wondering how I could have chosen this very compilation like a few others apparently had done before me, out of a room filled with hundreds of books.

"So this book is...um...popular?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean? How popular?"

Belle’ just smiled at me and said, "It doesn't matter, silly boy." Then she reached over to me and caressed my face. Unbelievable how electric her touch was, and how it found every unshaved piece of stubble on my jaw line with perfectly sharp and manicured fingernails.

I shuttered and sneered at her slightly. I caught her hand on my face with a quick and unexpected violent move and pushed it back towards her. My eyes apologized to hers, and she looked at me as if my apology was accepted. Dutifully, I looked down at the book and began to shuffle the pages for a random opening. To what? I wasn't sure yet.

The Miracle Was the Shortest Time by Charles Bukowski.

you know
it was very good
it was
better than
anything

it was like
something
we could
pick up
hold
look at
and then laugh
about.

we were on the
moon
we were in the
god damned moon,
we had it

we were in the garden
we were in the
endless pit

never such a place
as that

it was deep
and
it was light
and
it was high

it got so near
to insanity
we laughed so
hard

your laughter
and
mine

I remember when
your eyes
said love
loudly

now
as these walls
so quietly
shift.

"Oh. That is a lonely poem," Belle’ blinked sympathetically. "Yes, you are the second person to read this very poem. Considering the sheer number of pages in this room, that is of note. Nelson!" She turned to him and snapped. Nelson jolted. "Note that!" For a moment, Nelson looked at me very confused and began to pat himself down for something to write with. Belle’ squealed with delight and exclaimed, "Oh Nelson, you are such a literal and loyal young man. Never mind. Do you wonder what his power is, Nelson?" Nelson shrugged again. "I do too."

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"Everyone has a power all their own, Joe. What would you say is yours?"

"Hmmf." I replied intelligently and pointed to the absinthe bottle.

"No more for you," Belle’ chided. I was intensely drunk and was aware of it. It's a funny thing regarding my drug of choice, alcohol, you remember and experience everything so vividly and beastially right up until you blackout, and then you chug along for another hour or so. Those of you that have the same problems I have are nodding in agreement as you read this. Addiction is a bitch.

I adore listening to Loveline. Dr Drew is so cut and dry about addiction and abuse. He's almost like a crazy psychic when he pegs a problem from a 14 year old girl after talking to her for 9 seconds. He says something to the effect of, "Daddy left you didn't he? At about age 8? You have abandonment issues. You're in this relationship because you are re-enacting the same trauma that you felt at age 8."

The 14 year-old invariably admits to this amazing prediction, has no life experience and tries to explain a story even further to make the larger issue special and quantify why she is particularly special. Dr Drew will bring her back to the larger issue, and it will normally fall on deaf ears while he prescribes his medication in the form of therapy, or some other thing. It's amazing. Dr. Drew has special powers. I do not. Right?

But then I mumble this: "I can slow down time with my mind."

God damn it.

"Pardon me?" says Belle’, her eyes wide. Even Nelson swallows and grunts.

"I can slow down time with my mind." I leveled my gaze at Belle’, who, to her credit, actually looked as if she believed me.

"I gotta see that," she said.

"Me too," Nelson scoffed.

"I'm not sure if you could ever experience it like I do, guys," I admitted.

"Do you have control over it?" Belle’ asked.

I shrugged, "Sometimes."

"You are quite an interesting boy."

"You are an interesting woman, Belle’." I'm sure I was leering at her in a very retarded looking way.

"No doubt." Her eyes were probing me and I was leaning closer towards her involuntarily. My eyes were undressing her and kneading her softest parts. It made her even more beautiful and swelled her presence. Nelson was shrinking away in my soddened mind. Belle’ and I were the only two people in the room. Our eyes were swirling between each other. I had forgotten why I had come to this place. I was hungry for Belle's skin and she was returning my obvious desire with an openness I could only mistake for love at first sight. But, as I stated, I was hammered at this point.

"But that is not why we are here, silly boy. I am so interested in you, but..." She paused for dramatic effect. "I think you will need to show me how this works, your power, but first..." Belle’ nodded at Nelson who took a small silver box out of the front pocket of his poofy pants and opened it on the tray. There were three large white capsules in there. Belle’ took one for her and handed another to me. Nelson picked out his own.

"Belle’," I implored. "Sometimes I can't just turn it on. Sometimes it just happens on its own. I'm not sure if I can show how I do it. It just is."

"Do you think you are special?"

"Um.."

"How many times do you think I have done this very thing?" She said regarding her pill in the candlelight.

"Honestly, I don't know, baby," I said.

She giggled and pushed her perfect tits together and leaned towards me. "What is your number again?"

"10,999."

"What if I told you that my number was 62, and that I have held every new member in my hand since then?"

"Sounds like you're an old slut, then. Look at you Nelson, you're a man whore, what do you think about that?" Nelson and Belle’ both rolled their eyes at me and basically said in unison:

"Take your pill, asshole."

"You guys first," I said. Then I reached over and took Belle's pill from her fingertips and handed her mine. She accepted it, and put it on her tongue, and took a tug from the absinthe bottle. What an awesome bitch.

Nelson, untwisted his capsule and snorted both sides up each nostril with a loud snort and grimaced and stuck his tongue out at me like Gene Simmons would.

"So what the fuck is this shit, ecstasy?"

"Sort of," Belle’ giggled. "I have an idea. It will help with your fears."

"Ok. Lay it on me, baby."

"I like when a man calls me baby. It implies intimacy, and strangely enough, a submissiveness, for what exactly do you care for more than a baby? What exactly would you give your life so willingly for?" I smirked at her words. She continued, "We are going to throw books at you, and I want you to catch them."

I snorted a laugh. "Okay, then. Fire away, crazy lady."

Belle’, with inhuman speed grabbed War All The Time and flung it at my head. It bounced unceremoniously off of my Jazzy bruise and thumped to the floor.

"NO FAIR!" I shouted. Nelson laughed maniacally.

"Oh yes, you are the master of time."

"Apparently."

"Would you like to try again?"

"Fuck this."

"I'll make a deal with you. Nelson and I will throw a book at you at the same time. You must catch them both, but you must steady yourself so that we can see the extent of your awesomeness. Win or lose...you will take your pill."

"Oh. Whatever." I stood up and readied myself for the coming onslaught of literature. Belle’ picked the paperback, War All The Time back up and prepared. She was a lefty. Nelson seemed to be enjoying this moment and looked at the shelf behind him for the largest volume he could find. Whatever he found it was the size of a small dictionary and hardbound. That fuckstick.

"Are you ready?" Belle’ asked. I had backed up a little and was standing against the other wall of the room across from them eagerly holding their book projectiles.

"OK. Give me a sec..." I ran my hands over my face, and took a deep breath. I almost consider the feeling of conjuring slow time like pressing inwards while expelling outwards. It's a strange feeling, like pushing to shit out your chi and yet reveling in its expulsion. It's like riding a surfboard on the outer tendrils of methane on one of your own farts, if that makes any sense. Time began to ice down. A frozen breath had escaped my lips as it happened. I said, "WAIT!"

They had already wound up and both had flung literature at my waiting and tender dome. Belle’ had flung hers like a knife and it cart wheeled through the air at an amazing velocity. Nelson shot putted his massive book and it tumbled towards me and began to open in midair, the pages shuffling like a deck of cards.

My hands rose in defense at first and then became taut and massively slow. I recognized the feeling of full control and easily watched Belle’s book into my right hand as I pinched it with two fingers and my thumb near my right shoulder. Funny, though, the sheer velocity at which Belle’ had thrown War All The Time caused my right hand to be flung backwards to compensate. That is a strange feeling in slow time...being overpowered by something that appears to be slow moving.

Nelson's large ass book presented an entirely different problem. It was thrown lower and slower and was going to hit me near my left hip. It had also opened in midair and was tumbling towards me like a ten pound butterfly. I began to strike with my left hand like an uppercut judging its spin and timing. I had to grab the spine. It was hard to do.

I grabbed the spine and pushed hard against the will of my muscles and more impressively, the fabric of time, and snatched it perfectly snapping the large book shut as I did so.

A warm rush filtered through my body from the skin on into my guts and I found myself in an impossibly awkward position with one high velocity book behind my right ear and another heavy one snatched out of the air with my left and most of my momentum devoted to that hulking mass. As time collapsed, my muscle tone and weight had feathered and faltered my knees and I crumpled to the ground, and yet, I was holding both books firmly in my grasp!

I smiled broadly, and got to my feet again.

Nelson and Belle’ just stared with their mouths open. Belle’ was the first to speak.

"That was fuckin’ cool."

"Jeez. I shouldn't be able to do that as drunk as I am."

"Oh, you are a neat boy," Belle’ said.

"Yeah, that was pretty fucking cool, Red," said Nelson. Belle’ picked up my pill from the tray.

"So. Now you'll take this?"

"Only if you show me your power, Belle’." I arched an eyebrow at her. She blanched and turned away from me.

Nelson looked intrigued and stared at her for a response. She waited and sighed.

Finally she said, "Nelson. Go get the car. Tell him we are going to the club. Go."

Nelson was visibly disappointed but exited out the back door quickly. Belle’ turned to me and indicated a stool in the corner and ran her fingers uncomfortably through her curly, long and sandy hair. There was a light like an artist or engineer would use that was attached to a movable armature so you could move it about and position it to light a scene or surface. It was attached to one of the book shelves next to the stool, but it was currently off. I sat on the stool facing her and she walked up to me.

She whispered, "It's something about fire, or something like that. Only light bulbs. The sun is okay, but it's best with fire. She pulled the strings of the bosom of her dress down and revealed more breast flesh and she put a leg over mine and straddled me on the stool. She pressed herself close to me and I felt the softness of her pressing up against very live and sensitive areas.

She grabbed the light and positioned it above our heads like a halo and pressed closer to me, breathing on my lips, an absinthe soaked sugar cube cinnamon smell. I was intoxicated by her. My mind was devolving. I made an animalistic sound and grabbed under her dress and rested my hand on her naked hip and the top of her bunched up ass. No under panties. What a whore. Grinding. I bit her neck and she shuttered and pulled away. Belle’ put her finger across my lips and said, "You need to see this. My power may be a blessing, but it is most certainly a curse. You don't know how fortunate that you are." She began to whisper, "We need you. I do not reveal this often...um...there is something about the fire." Belle’ swept her hand across the room. Candles upon candles.

She put her hands on my shoulders, and squared me up. Reaching up, she turned on the light and her face took on deep crevasses and the wrinkles and liver spots of an old haggard woman. Belle’, in the light of this single light bulb, had jowls. Her earlobes hung and sagged and her neck sagged away her sleek jaw line! I recoiled.

She still sat with those same eyes staring at me. Those same crystalline eyes, yet now rimmed and bagged. Sagging. She had seen this reaction before, in probably many initiates in her creepy club and she sat there patiently watching me work through my horror. The light had changed her into a wretch. A succubus of a beast, she was old and craggily.

I stammered, "HOW OLD ARE YOU?!" She was still on top of me. We were still somewhat embracing. She flung her arms into the air and smashed the light so that the armature flung against the wall and broke the light bulb. Her face returned to beautiful and graceful.

"I don't know!" Belle’ flung her arms around me and sobbed heavily. "I don't know how old I am, Joe."

She looked at me and gave the pill. I took it. I had never felt so alive and so close to someone in a very long time. She had revealed a part of herself that she most likely hadn’t to someone so new to her funky cult. I felt special. I took it. Swallowed it right there. It is the last thing that I remember doing until....

I am in bed. Naked. Face full of hair and pillows. Her hair. Curly and sandy. So long.

What's her name?

....Belle’.

She's getting up and walking across the room, and what's this? Another sweet smelling girl rolls into me from where Belle’ had left. She was short, dark haired, naked, and round and soft all over.

She flings a leg over me and buries her head in my chest. What the fuck?

Where am I and what time is it? Do I even care? My eyelids are heavy but Belle’ has lit a candle and there is more light.

What the fuck happened?

Belle’ climbs back into bed and spoons the girl that is wrapped all over me.

Oh, Belle’. You need the candles.

What is wrong with me. The pill? God, who cares?

Just then, somebody behind me farted. I flung my head backwards and clonked it on someone else's skull. Holy crap!

Much to my dismay Belle’ said, "Oh Nelson, that's just nasty." A hairy forearm flopped over my shoulder and I heard Nelson snort.

Chapter 25 "Johnny"

My histrionics were short-lived. I began to formulate an idea that began as an itch in the back of my brain. This wasn't as hopeless and terrible as I had originally and selfishly thought. There were still a few outs. Wiping my eyes and gingerly tapping on my bruised forehead, I looked across the room at my phone. I gathered up my stuff, looked at the number from my pager and dialed Johnny.

"What?!"

"Johnny?"

He belched as a reply.

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah, man! I thought you guys were coming over yesterday!"

"Sweet. I'll be there in a bit."

I checked outside again. The Shabby Detective was still there smoking in his nondescript police cruiser. I prepared to jump through my shower window again.

...

“That's the shittiest story I ever heard," Johnny sighed and got up from a papasan chair in the corner of his living room. He was wearing a short kimono robe and boxer shorts. His bare white legs strode across the room purposefully to the small table that had a decanter and ice set up. He put a few more fingers of Glenlivet in his glass and swirled it around. "You are right about one thing. You have to go check out this cult before you blow town. Might find out something that's useful. Might be able to give the cops something other than you."

I nodded. "Nelson's cult may be the key to this whole thing. It's at 9 tonight."

"Really, dude? Jaime, from Kitty Mistress? She's hot but not as hot as that singer!" His eyebrows went up and down, leering while subconsciously pumping his pelvis. It didn't surprise me when Johnny knew exactly who the bass player from Kitty Mistress was. He knew just about everyone in Denver in some way.

"What's with the scotch, Johnny?" I regarded my own glass with a little disdain. He just looked at me, grinned broadly and shrugged rather grandiosely. Johnny was a pretty boy. Not in the way that you'd call effeminate but pretty. He was youthful looking and well featured. He looked like Billy Cruddup, or Jim Kaviezel, or maybe a little like Tom Cruise from Top Gun with his short cropped haircut. His smile was infectious and dirty, with small flat pearly white square teeth. His smile made you want to think dirty thoughts.

Johnny lived in a house in Washington Park with two other dudes. Will, was in a band, and Demetrius was a black dude, he was a rapper, neither of them ever seemed to have any money and they were always fucked up. Currently, they were playing video games in Demetrius' bedroom. Johnny had the run of the upstairs dining room and front room of their charming little bungalow on York St. I was sitting on the couch watching him pace back and forth in his Kimono.

Johnny was agitated. After he got the gist of most of my story, he instructed Will to move his car and to move mine into the carriage house style garage on the south end of the house and to close the barn doors. Will shrugged and did it while catching my keys as he walked out the door. Apparently the boys at 461 S York St. weren't too adverse to harboring friends on the run. I was grateful. Will came back in and asked me if I wanted to sell my car. I told him I'd get back to him on that, and wondered where he'd find the money.

Pacing the dining room, Johnny laughed. "You serious? He had a dick the size of a Dustbuster?! In width, or length?"

"Both!" I choked on my scotch.

We both laughed.

Will came out of the bedroom with an empty Gatorade bottle. "Shut up assholes. You guys are being way TOOOOO LOUD!" He had a sly grin on his face. Will was a big lumbering dude that could have been a brother of mine because we both looked Irish and gorilla-ish. He had a head that looked too small for his body with a chinstrap beard and short dirty blonde hair. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't skinny either.

"Fuck off, Will," Johnny said. Will walked up and put his arm around Johnny.

"Scotch me, dude," Will said and held up his Gatorade bottle.

"Fuck you, get a proper glass," Johnny said with a little malice in his voice.

You never knew when Johnny was going to switch on, but when he did, he was an evil pirate of a man. A little violent, a little disturbing, yet always entertaining. We used to call him One-Eyed-Johnny. I sensed the scotch was doing a number on him. I glugged at mine, anticipating another interesting night.

Will just narrowed his eyes at him, looked over at me and said, "You see what I put up with?" And he slouched into the kitchen in bare feet, wife beater and Chongler shorts.

"How did Faith look?"

"Oh, Johnny, dude, cracked out as usual. I don't understand your infatuation there, buddy. Dade would freak if you ever got near that mess. Don't even."

He was already dismissing me by waving his hands in the air and pacing faster. Will was done crashing around in the kitchen and reemerged with a cocktail glass. "What's it like to fight a naked man?" Johnny asked honestly.

"HELLA DISTURBING, YO!"

Will looked at me in amazement. His giant eyebrows were pegged to his hairline. "Dude, you fought a naked man?"

"Yeah.".

"How Greek of you," Johnny interjected, in an English accent. "His new little girlfriend decided to get one last 'pop' from her ex. (When Johnny popped his cheek it made a sound like a wine bottle uncorking...I winced when he did it.) She's the bassist Betty Page lookin’ bitch from Kitty Mistress."

Will's face contorted and he fell to his knees. He kept holding the glass up to Johnny while he covered his mouth and let out a not-so-secretive stifled laugh. Johnny relented and took his glass over to the decanter and went to work.

Will yelled hysterically and flopped on the floor, pointing at me and now was fully laughing. "OOOOOHHHH SHIT! Jaime?! No shit?! Jaime?! AHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Did he do that to your head, bro?! AHHHH HAHAHAHAHHA!? Jazzy strikes again!"

I was rubbing the bridge of my nose and part of my silly looking egg shaped forehead bruise when Johnny came over and dribbled another snort of scotch into my glass. "So you know these two, Will," I asked politely but was glaring two holes into his head.

"Yep," He looked at me and composed himself and got up from the floor. Johnny handed him his scotch. Will took me in for a second and sort of sensed that he was being an ass and then said, "So you fought Jazzy, naked?" He had taken on a more empathic tone and nervously took a hit of scotch. "Yeah. I know Jazzy and Jaime. I went to college with Jazzy. He was my roommate." Then he laughed again, "What'd he do to your head? Hit you with his cock?"

"So you've seen it?" I muttered.

"I've heard stories," Will nodded.

"You went up to Greeley too, right? How come I never ran into you assholes?"

"Dunno, man. Jazzy got arrested for those Bronco riots. You had to be there, man."

"I was, I got tear gassed."

"We all did, bro. You remember the mad cow riots?" Will asked.

"Oh shit yes."

"That was Jazzy."

"Really? How did we never meet? …You remember the Greeley Vampire?"

"Heh. Yep. How bout the hostage crisis? With the sniper?" I nodded and laughed. Then Will asked me, "Ever heard of the Ft. Collins Ninja?"

"Yeah."

"I know that guy."

"Yeah?" I scoffed. "I'd for sure like to meet him"

Will shrugged, "It's possible, great story." He sighed, "So what happened with Jazzy?"

"I walked in on them, he threw a punch, forehead," I pointed to my goose egg. "I threw him, broke a closet. Jaime was just sitting there, mortified."

"She's a psycho," Will said. "As a matter of fact, I thought that they were patching things up last time I saw them. Did you sleep with her?"

Johnny said, "The story is much more complex than just that, Will." I nodded in agreement and glanced over at my two duffle bags which were sitting next to the front door.

Will arched an eyebrow at me and shrugged a little, "Bitches, bro."

"Bitches," I said. I hoisted my glass to him and we both took a tug. He turned around and lumbered back into Demetrius' room.

"Here's the thing," Johnny said. "This is a zero-sum situation. You're already going to cut bait. You don't have much to lose. You gotta go to this thing and see what the cult is all about. You may get it quick, you may not, but don't linger here. I'd much rather have you in town, because if you ever decide to use me again for one of your capers, I'm in, you know that."

He was referring to a little con job I had set up with him where we purposefully skimmed credit card numbers from repeat customers at different retail stores in the Cherry Creek area. We had nearly twenty accomplices that knew Johnny. They all took one or two targeted credit card numbers each. We placed phone orders. We also set up a robbery from a willing accomplice that nabbed nearly all of the same credit card numbers that we skimmed. Every one of the customers that we targeted went to the same place everyday. We nabbed the card unit from a Starbucks worker that worked at a store in the same neighborhood of all the rest of these stores.

We made it obvious and it looked as if the theft of the unit recalled all the credit card info and we were sophisticated hacker types, but really we had got the numbers the old fashioned way. The Starbucks worker was Johnny himself. It was brilliant. Net money after we fenced all the shit we bought was about four-thousand dollars each, the accomplices got anywhere from 100 to 500 dollars and were so loyal to Johnny that it was going to go without a hitch, except things got violent.

Johnny was exceptionally fucked up one night as we tried to sell some jewelry to a shady guy in Five Points. He decided he wanted to keep Johnny as collateral as I got the rest of the shit. That got weird and Johnny ended up hitting the guy in the head with an iron. He yelled at me, "RUN!" So we did. I decided Johnny was not the best partner in crime, but a valued connection since he apparently knew everyone.

He was right, though, confirming my suspicions. I needed to see what this cult was all about. It may be nothing; it may be coincidence the Gruesome Buddha had a chevron headband. It may be something to go on. It didn't take long for the cops to find me, I, most likely, am suspect number one.

"OK. I'm going. I have to see."

"That's my boy," Johnny said. "You may wanna roll around in a different car."

"Yep."

"You got a few hours. Cab?"

"Cab," I said.

"Scotch?"

"Yep. Scotch me." He poured me another and leered at me.