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OBS! Denna textfil ingår i ett arkiv som är dedikerat att bevara svensk undergroundkultur, med målsättningen att vara så heltäckande som möjligt. Flashback kan inte garantera att innehållet är korrekt, användbart eller baserat på fakta, och är inte heller ansvariga för eventuella skador som uppstår från användning av informationen.
### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## # ## # ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### #### #### ## ## ## ## ##### ## # ## # ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ####### ####### [ Saving Johnny ] [ By Max West ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ R.H. Pollette as Max West 1175 A Oak St. San Francisco, CA. 94117 SAVING JOHNNY By Max West Gritty. That was the way I felt, just coming out of a drunken stupor in the back of Jake's muscle car. Everybody else, except Jake at the wheel, and myself in the back seat was slouched over snoring. His chubby face, with a couple of days stubble on it was under lit in green from the instrument panel lights and when I looked up, he was trying to dig on the radio to some tune fading in and out. He nodded three or four times like one of those toy birds you fill with water that bob forever, till you get sick of watching them, before he pulled over to the side of the road. Lights from some passing cars filled the interior with long running shadows, while we sat there, motor idling, Jake hanging on the steering wheel, baggy and wasted. Slowly he took in the slack bodies all around him, until he got to me, owl-eyed, but more or less there. "You gotta drive Frank." Is all he said, real weary like one of those tired motherfuckers in the "Grapes of Wrath". "Man! I can't drive. I don't want to." This doesn't seem to make the required impression--I don't want to move. He takes another slow watery look, like he had a lot of options, stopping for a minute on Roy against the door, mouth open, half-empty beer between his legs. "Everybody's drunk " He had to gulp a couple of times, swallowing some vomit. " Your not as drunk as them ahhhgg!" he's out the door heaving his guts and I know if we're going to keep moving I had to drive. The cold, as I stood by the car waiting for him to finish, hit me like a frozen sledge hammer; it didn't improve my mood but it woke me up a little. I managed to bundle Jake into the back without getting any puke on my jeans, took the driver's seat and settled in for a lonely haul with nothing but miles of empty asphalt and radio static for company. We had to get Johnny, who was someplace in St. Louis with the creature known as, 'Ugly-Ugly' I guess she had a name but they all called her 'Ugly-Ugly' because she was supposed to be so bad looking. Another one of Jake's pals, Mike Riley, had picked her up somewhere and tagged her after he'd discovered he was still in her bed the next day. In the harsh reality of the morning light, minus the mellow glow of total drunkenness, the sight must have been stunning. Because she was available, her reputation hadn't stopped any of the other boys from taking a shot at her since they all worked on the principle that anything looks pretty if your drunk and horny enough. "Just don't be there in the morning" Jake confided. John was the latest victim to 'Ugly's' unsatisfied cravings for youthful alcoholics. That afternoon it was a Friday Jake had a call from a very toasted Johnny, who'd babbled and gargled his intention to marry, "The greatest little gal in the whole world!" He said we'd really be surprised when we found out who it was, but he wouldn't say at that time. All Jake could get out of him was the address of where the celebration party was going to be and it didn't take us long to do the math. Johnny, who was under Jake's special protection for reasons known only to themselves, " had to be saved, we owed him that much." (Jake again). I didn't really see how I fitted into this; John reminded me of a skinny weasel, though after a few beers and some joints, the idea of a little road trip sounded better than what I'd planned for the evening, which was nothing Between gulps of warm beer, I wrestled the big car up to about seventy-five, though the view through the windshield was less than ideal from all the dust and crap Jake wouldn't clean off before we left. I pushed the Auto-window cleaner button, but the spray must've screwed up cause it just went over the top of the car instead of on the window while the wipers made a nasty scraping, dragging dry, back and forth. I was not at my sparkling best and my ass was cold from the steady draft under the door. The thought of sitting in my warm apartment in front of the TV didn't sound all that bad If it hadn't been so much trouble I would've just left them by the side of the road and hitchhiked back Another car blasted by, headlights on bright, boring holes in my skull. It was while I was searching for a match among the old French fries, loose change and packs of rubbers on the dashboard that I noticed the gas gauge sitting on empty. This wasn't good, this was inconvenient. I'd just gotten myself into the driving thing, my thoughts settling someplace between avoiding staring at the white lines on the road, and pondering various girls I had almost fucked. The whole process of getting gas etc., after midnight in a car full of dead drunks is a lonely and irritating feeling. I didn't want to stop either, I just wanted to go. My eyes felt like somebody was rubbing ground glass in them every time I blinked I probably needed to stop, but the highway had me, I was in the groove, if you know how it is, and I didn't want think about much else. A billboard popped up on the shoulder advertising hot coffee and gasoline, three miles ahead. I had to admit, that painted cup of coffee with it's little wisp of steam curling off the top, somehow suggesting fried eggs and bacon, looked pretty good. The yellow and green tower, lit up like a beacon was by an off ramp to some little town, population five hundred and twelve. There was a big wooden arrow by an entrance to a truck stop where a bunch of fuel pumps squatted, surrounded by about ten or fifteen grimy tractor-trailers. When I stopped the car by one of the islands, everyone except Jake woke up. "Let's go over to that restaurant and get some chow!" Roy suggested, craning his neck for a better look at the cinder block building on our right. There were a couple of double-wide trailers put together to make an addition at one end and the entire effect under the light from a single mercury vapor lamp was not encouraging. "That ain't a restaurant asshole," Al corrected him, "that is a truck stop." "Who gives a shit! They got food; I'm starving!" Roy threw back, already out of the car, leaving the door open to stagger in the only direction that mattered. The cold breeze, probably the same one that'd frozen my butt previously, blowing into the boozy smelling car was pissing me off. Al caught up with Roy, both tucking in shirts and smoothing their hair in some misguided effort to look good for all the classy babes you find in truck stops. I managed to park near the end of a line of cars in front, between a four wheel drive pick-up with a full gun rack and a Dodge station wagon with a 'I Love Dixie' decal on the bumper. Reluctantly I followed them in. The place was jammed with customers and as far as I could tell, they were all Rednecks. The mixed aromas of fried food, coffee, cigarettes, cheap perfume and sweat along with the droning conversation to some crappy country music hit me as soon as I opened the door. I caught a psychic whiff of dread and almost backed out I'd wait in the car-- but then I heard Al slurring a question about toilets and I spotted Roy in one of the padded corner booths in the back he looked far gone. After the inevitable soured bleach blond waitress shoved glasses of water at us along with some greasy menus, we just sat there, forgotten as a week old fart. Roy tried to get her attention by waving his knife, but she always seemed to be at someone else's table or talking with the cook and generally far too busy to mess with us. I noticed that Al hadn't come back and immediately a vision of him passed out on the piss soaked floor, Pinesol and the lingering smell of a million shits his only companion, played in my imagination, real and undeniable. I decided to get him and Roy told me he'd order my "Country Breakfast" if our waitress came back. I wasn't real worried about missing my order, a glacier moved faster than she did. I guess I was getting the once over and coming up short, I could feel hostility, thick as toxic waste at my back while I made my way to the Gent's pisser. Personally I didn't think I looked any worse than some of the jerk-offs in cowboy hats, smoking butts sticking out of the corners of their sneering mouths, but I could've been wrong--must've been . When I went into the toilet the first thing I saw was Al passed out, face down on the floor just like I'd suspected. One of the good ol' boys was squatting by his side, going through his pockets. I considered his back for a short moment, taking in the boots, jeans and plaid shirt topped with a beefy pocked marked neck and thin blond hair sticking out of his sweaty hat. It was when the trucker reached down between Al's legs and grabbed him that I moved. The guy was so eager he didn't even hear me behind him where I slugged him double fisted in the back of his skull. I connected with a really loud, meaty noise that sort of surprised me, knocking his cowboy hat off and him on his ass, where his head hit the edge of the long urinal. Blood spurted out into the rusty trough like red piss! I laughed. I laughed like I wanted to beat the living shit out of the guy: Half tanked up, oblivious to pain, you know, I was in the right mood. The trucker was up on one knee, eyes squeezed shut, when I kicked him with everything I had, right in the face. That was a funny feeling, like kicking a pillow full of mud; kind of gave me the creeps but the deed was done, he was out cold. I felt satisfied the way his head sounded like a coconut on the cement floor when it hit. Maneuvering Al, I splashed some cold water on him, coaxing him up to comatose then hustled him out of there before any other asshole buddies showed up. "Let's get the fuck outta here!" I said to Roy who still hadn't been waited on yet. To his credit he didn't ask questions, I guess the look on my face and the way Al was leaning on me was enough for him. Just as he got up our gal showed right on cue, pad and pencil in hand. "Aren't you gonna order any food?" I watched the lines around her mouth while it twisted like she'd been sucking on a half a pound of Alum. "Thanks, we changed our minds.." I started to say but she'd already turned her skinny back on us and I was glad it wasn't more complicated. We'd almost made it through the door when over by the toilets I heard, "Don' let em get away Charlene, them two with the nigger, they beat Cleetus up, real bad!" I turned in time to see a fat guy in a red DECALB' hat, talking to Charlene, pointing in my direction. For just a second we made eye contact over the heads of the rednecks beginning to turn in our direction, and his steel piggy eyes were the color of anvils. By osmosis a new mood was on the room; I thought of Saurian swamp dwellers on a bad day and then I thought about 'Cleatus' and all of his friends two or three bulky plaid shapes were already moving toward us. I did not miss the details before we ran, like how some of them were pulling their metal watch bands over their fists. Outside, we were already rolling when I turned to catch Roy plant a right hook into an anonymous shape running along side of us as he hung onto the open front door and then we were burning rubber. In the rearview mirror I saw the parking lot fill with a murky pack of hopping mad truckers purple under the overhead lights, their angry yodeling punctuated by the rumble of big pickup engines revving. Stainless steel tankers, black asphalt, chain link fences and neon lights blurred into the snarling distance, as we lost them. Al, still dazed but defiant, stuck his head out screaming, "Eat shit, you pussies!" I thought it was unoriginal and his timing was off, and he was starting to argue when the distant pop of firearms and the whine of bullets flying past us, shut everybody up. I looked at the speedometer for a second one hundred and five we had to get away; there was no pleasant alternative. I was off the freeway at the next ramp tearing down any road that looked good. Soon we were traveling between barren, snow blown corn fields on a backstretch that didn't even have a real name; The road was called something like, EEE or YY-- weird. "Man! I'm still hungry " Roy complained Peeing on my boots in the dark. We were just outside of the suburbs and everyone had to go. I stood behind a tree looking up at the night sky where the stars still blazed, clean and bright up there and I wasn't at all sure what I was doing with these guys. Al was the only one I knew and he was an acquaintance. My hands throbbed dully, but for a few seconds I couldn't figure out why until I looked at the backs of them, slightly red and puffy, where I'd hit the trucker. Dimly I hoped I hadn't done too much damage though the part where I'd kicked the guy flashed on me in nauseating detail... The high that always follows a good piss after you've held it for too long was upon us and now that we were so close to the city another sign loomed by us: Glen Park, a major suburb--we speculated recklessly. Jake's plan was not brilliant but it was direct: Go to Ugly's hideout and snatch Johnny, whither he was willing or not. John, the youngest member of the group, was a man of limited experience, his condition was so obvious in his present determination to marry somebody who'd fucked almost everyone he knew. The more I thought about it the more idiotic he seemed to be my feelings at four thirty A.M. were mixed. I needed beer. I guess the monotonous drone of the car's engine and the heater blowing must have lulled me back to sleep. I woke up alone, stretched out in the backseat, mouth dry as desert sand and cotton packed. I rubbed my cheek where I could feel the imprint of the vinyl seat covers as I checked our location in front of a monstrous, sooty brick apartment building. In the snow-patched street, no one was in sight and except for a couple of birds on a pipe handrail I fixed on for a minute, nothing moved. Squinting, I checked my watch--it was almost six o'clock Saturday morning my mood is of the scratchy and irritated variety. I was thinking I'd had about enough of these idiots, and was wondering how much trouble it'd be to take a bus back when Jake and Al, towing a very despondent John between them, showed up in the doorway. Directly behind them fluttered, what had to be the scraggly 'Ugly', dressed in a shapeless Baby doll night dress, despite the weather, and those kind of open toed slippers you always see prostitutes wearing in 'B' movies, with the fake pink feathers on top. From the cover of the back seat I finally had a chance to examine her but apart from the fact that she had breasts, and was known for her willingness to screw anything that moved, she was unremarkable. Her willingness to fuck anything was probably her best trait. Surprisingly, she wasn't even remarkably ugly, it was just that most of the elements of so-called feminine beauty seemed to be missing. John struggled feebly, but his system, weakened by the vampiric demands of his 'fiancee?' was no match for his friend's determination to save him. Behind her I heard a woman's voice, "Sarah?! what's going on?" Jesus! I thought, her name's Sarah? Somehow this humanizing factor to the legend of 'Ugly-Ugly' was ruining the whole idea of the trip. For one irrational millisecond, I was forced to view 'Sarah' doing stuff like washing her dishes, pulling up her underpants, paying the rent and yes, the ultimate equalizer, taking a shit--basically the same kinds of stuff we all did and the connection was troublesome, a downer, but I didn't want to go into it. Jake hustled ol' Johnny into the back with me, muttering, "Fer yer own Goddamned good, I told him.." He oozed in unresisting, human Jello spreading over the seat. "Let's get some food?" I asked hopefully. Al grinned, dangling a little bag full of white powder by his face. "Here's breakfast dudes!" I looked through the windshield, past Al's hand holding up the bag and true to her alleged, blood sucking nature, 'Sarah' stood in the shadow of the doorway, shy in the cold silver sunlight for a moment, then faded back out of sight like a ghost. They must've gotten it from her. I think that was her occupation: Speed queen. "Where's Roy?" I asked, watching Al chop up some chalky grains of speed on a little mirror. "He's staying. With Ugly-Ugly" Jake informed us. I heard a groan beside me. "Don' call Sarah that!" protested John, but real weak. "We'll get him later." Jake continued, "Tonight. Don't worry Johnny, when you straighten out you'll see it was the right thing, the only thing we could do." He was all business. "Let's get booze." "What's with John?" Al asked, sticking a rolled ten dollar bill up his nose while he eye-balled his friend on the nod. Jake seemed to feel that John had no problems apart from almost being fucked to death. We pulled out of the parking lot, floating down the city streets, miles above it all. When I pushed John up against the seat, (he was sagging all over the place), I saw fresh needle tracks. "Man! I see what he was getting married to " No response up front, too busy looking for a liquor store open at seven thirty in the morning. Johnny groped with unfocused, happy eyes at everything we drove by. The lift caught me and then the burn. I was waiting for my eyes to quit watering when I fixed on John's profile against the winter sky in the frame of the window. The speed burn made his goofy expression behind the steel rim glasses even more lurid if that was possible. Jake and Al were tripping heavily on obscure baseball games that happened when dinosaurs ruled the Earth. They had all the statistics, they had the dates, they knew the numbers. They had so many numbers and so little time, they had to eliminate all parts of the conversation that wasn't either some ballplayer's name and team, a number or the words, 'shit' and 'fuck', tossing percentages back and forth as fast as they could get them off their drooling lips. Seven Eleven, open twenty four hours: We got beer and liquor, pretzels, candy bars, beef jerky. We were keeping it together but the clerk was unimpressed suspicious--kept glancing down at something behind the counter, probably a gun. Soon we're back in the car, John over against the door in a slump. Lots of beer, shots of Four Roses on an empty stomach, almost took my head off worse than the Meth. I let the others rush on, we're just joy riding, flying low, looking for someplace to land till it was dark, everyone was getting nervous. Up front, they're jabbering behind the red light in city streets that are suddenly wide awake. Cars everywhere, people eating lunch through the reflection of the city buses on the plate glass going by, the reflections of the riders watch their own reflections the need to get to chillier ground is upon us heavy like neurotic dread. "Gaslight Square, man!" Al said out of nowhere. "That's the ticket. We could go there. I think there's a whorehouse close by! I've lived in this town for fifteen years and I know where it is at! Johnny too " He sounded kind of stupid and I suppose he wasn't very bright but that didn't stop a note of pride from creeping into his voice. We left John under a blanket in the back seat. Gaslight Square: We'd seen it and it was Historic'. Brick streets, coffee houses, shops. Midwestern tourists, College Joe's with white and blond city girls in fringe boots and love beads small clusters of military types got their civvies on trying to look regular, failing miserably, hustle by us in clouds of cigarette smoke, beer fumes, Jade East, you could smell the Testosterone leaking out of them like a Musk Ox herd; they have spied the young girls weaving through the crowd, leggy colts in knee socks and private school uniforms, got their skirts pulled up too high. James Taylor in the boutiques moaning about 'Fire and Rain' sort of made me want to puke but then we moved on. The atmosphere wasn't really coming through for me... I was getting these sort of messages or vibrations from what could've been extraterrestrial or possibly extra-dimensional sources, (though I hadn't nailed it down), telling me that nothing was conclusive. Their voice was a high stutter in the top of my brain; I was really getting the message. Tonight! Screamin' Jay Hawkins Jack's or Better One night only!' We read this over to ourselves, not sure how to react. There was a slightly green fog creeping up the streets, across the low piles of melting snow and the long windows on every side of us blazed a poisonous liquid Cadmium Yellow in a wired sunset. The sign was by an open door right in front of us, with steps leading down into what looked like a subterranean vault. It was back in a dark corner, over steins of cold beer that the deep space Aliens attempted contact directly into my brain, plasma transmission, a backdoor to the deep end of the Human thing. I sipped my beer; they scoured my brain. A little later, I'm sight groping around in a surge of music off the stage now bathed in red and blue spots like a scene out of Hell, and all I can take in is asses, eyeballs and colored light bouncing off my beer glass the faces are all pale smudges with holes in them. I was feeling pretty abstract and Alien myself, maybe the transfer had been complete and I'd become something less or more than human. This went on for hours until I get to the point, where I think I have temporary amnesia and I was sure it was from the brain drain I'd been fighting off. I gazed at the others sitting around the table, actually seeing them for the first time and my conclusion was that they were a bunch of Assholes. Those guys were nothing but trouble. Three-thirty a.m., Like a wall of irresistible meat, the club bouncers kicked us out, blowing our cover. We hit the frozen sidewalk on the jump, peeling off down the ally where the car was parked, our razor sharp shadows racing ahead, black Post Modern cut-outs. Behind us I heard an outraged voice: False alarm folks " but didn't know if that was aimed at something we did or not. "Why'd you have to do it, man?" I gargled at Al; I was babbling by this time, cranked up with chain saw intensity. Al had that bag out again flicking at it, knocking the white stuff clinging to the sides down to the mother load at the bottom. "A guy's gotta go for the gold." He smirked. We were talking about him taking a shit under one of the tables back at the club; he'd called it a gesture of Existential futilely, but I'd seen him at work too many times it was just something he liked to do, and he was supposed to be from a good family too. Johnny was barely conscious but jerked a couple of times when we jumped in. Jake chewed his lips around a cigarette but looked more like his old self behind the wheel, which I was beginning to understand was the only place he ever really felt comfortable. When our eyes met in the rearview mirror, his held the light of impending insanity. "We gotta get women." He pronounced. "And I know just the place " John perked up at that, feeling better. "Yeah! Women." a man of few words. "Where we get 'em?" like he was talking about groceries. He probably didn't even know where he was. "Just watch out boys, and don' get in my Goddamned way " Jake growled making a U-turn in the ally before charging out onto the main street. Jake drove at top speed oblivious to traffic lights or insult; he was on the Poontang trail. About fifteen minutes into some seriously suspicious territory we ran through yet another red light, finally stopping in front of an apartment house about midway down the block in what looked like an all Black, middle-class neighborhood sort of an upscale ghetto. From out of nowhere we were suddenly swamped by hookers. "Hey Whiteboys! We got what yo' lookin' fo', oooh YEAH!" scoping us out. Jake kept repeating "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!" to anything they said. "I get yo' nut fo' twenty dolla'," a pouty one at Jake's window, cackled; The fully recovered John had one arm out and was making lazy scoops in the air at her for no particular reason. "Oh mama! You got class " Jake crooned, getting a shot of the whore's round tits when she deliberately leaned into the open window. Get your nut, get your nut,' never heard that one before but it was right! I dug it. Back over on my side I catch a husky, "Sniff this baby." She lifted her already nearly non-existent blue skirt in a bazaar dainty gesture. She was naked, and against her dark skin her pussy was as pink and fat as a piece of raw pork. Without dropping her dress she turned, spreading her cheeks wide so we could get a shot at the bull's eye winking back. She eyeballed us over one shoulder, sort of barking, "All ways " Johnny was fully operational--the crotch of his jeans swollen and in motion; his eyes bulged like a couple of blue grapes. Moments later, he was out of the car and nearly up the stairs leading into the apartments, prostitute in hand. Jake, with a cigarette butt still hanging off his lip was making arraignments himself. While his date' watched us from the sidewalk, he steered his car, with a cool macho flip of the wheel, to the curb and shut off the ignition. "What about you guys?" he challenged over the front seat. I wasn't digging this scene and neither was Al; He shook his head, "Nothin' doing." Besides I was too sensitive, with possible Alien Intelligence watching my every move and so on, I was not dropping my pants any place strange. "Thanks, you go ahead. We prefer Free-range chicken. Let me have the keys and we'll be back in half an hour " I knew he wouldn't go for it that fucking car was his wife but it was worth a shot. "Oh no you don't!" He made a big deal about putting the keys in his pants pocket. "Nobody drives my baby without me in the car" We'd heard it. "Fuck you." Al told him in a bored voice, "We'll go find a bar." Jake waved in our direction taking off after Johnny. That was the first time I noticed that there were hardly any lights on in the house. Indistinct male shapes wearing what could have been Zoot suits, lurked, watching, up on the porch. Al and I both got the same feeling observing this scene and it did not put my mind at ease. A couple of blocks down we could see the garish blue-white neon of a Phillips 66 gas station and some traffic in an intersection on the other side--without a word we headed for it. ..The two of us worked that bag over pretty good while we walked, getting more and more frisky as we went along. At about this time, an enormous white 1960 Caddy blew by, big as a parade float we were both sure that the two girls inside were smiling at us Al yelled at them to come back and they did, in reverse, from half a block down. We could hardly believe our luck. Denise and Doreen. Denise driving, she's really good looking with long blond hair, dark eyes and big wet lips; she was giving Al the once over and he had her number too. I got the one riding shotgun: A cute brunet in bright pink lipstick, leather dress and fishnet stockings. I couldn't stop looking at her legs as she sort of squirmed around messing with the radio. Something wasn't exactly right up there in front but we were rolling, we were pumped and my main concern was velocity. Al had the crank out again hanging over Denis' shoulder, whispering away while she's firing a reefer on the car's lighter. Something about the size and shape of Denis foot in her high-heels resting on the accelerator kept dragging my attention away from the boner I was sporting, a result of the tantalizing shots up her skirt of Doreen's black underpants. I was getting this idea that Denise was not all she seemed. When the two girls were busy mixing gin and tonics I pulled Al aside, so I could tell him that his gal wasn't one. His response was typical: "fuck off. She's mine." Doreen grinned handing me the bottle. Her dark hair was in her face and she had white powder all over her upper lip, looking sleazy, but after a few more shots and lines, it didn't matter. We cruised down more streets, then we're suddenly out of the car reeling up wooden stairs in the dim light from Art Deco style lamps on the walls. Falling against Doreen, I I'm fighting gravity but she put my arm around her and she smelt like dove soap. My hand slid down her back, lazy and familiar where I maneuvered it so I can feel the side of her round right breast through her mohair sweater. A door closes and we're in their flat: It's another one of those buildings put up in St. Louis in the 20's--they really dig brick. There was dark wood around an elaborate mantle and ceiling with plaster walls giving the place a sense of old fashioned insulation. The smell of those Mid-western buildings never changes--varnish, dusty carpets, old plaster. The two 'girls' were busy doing stuff: making more drinks, taking off coats and shoes etc. but then Al and Denise, giggling, go into what must've been a bedroom, and close the door. I'm left alone, Doreen is in the toilet. I stare around the room with bloodshot eyes till I fix on some photos on the mantle of two little kids, boy and girl who look like brother and sister and this stirs something unexpectedly sharp in me; I can't get over the little kid expressions on their faces. Behind them I can see someone's arm, probably Mom. I'd just finished my drink when Doreen came back, taking my hand, leading me into the bathroom asking, "What do you want?" When I didn't reply right away, she asked, "How do you want it..?" She slow stripped down to a cut-out bra, black nylon pants, garter belt and stockings, her nipples were very red and large poking through the triangular openings. She led me to the sink by my hard-on, so she can wipe me off with a warm washcloth while I finally cop to the idea that these two are working girls and somewhere along the line we must've made some deal but I was fucked if I could recall where or when just about everything before I ended up in that place was a blur really shaky. She was on her knees trying to give me the 'blow job of my life', she mumbled around mouthfuls and I wondered how Al was getting along. Too scrambled to keep my mind on what she was doing so we sat on the stool, she's on my lap, back to me, pumping away, her clipped pubic hairs, like steel wool rubbing me raw. From the other side of the door we both heard a loud: "Goddamn it! " "Al must've discovered Denise's little secret." I said to her moving back. "How'd you know?" "The hands, for one thing " "It's my brother," she said matter-of-factly, without stopping her motion. "We do tricks together sometimes. It's fun." I was feeling too hot and clammy, I had to get to Al before he did something that'd get us jailed. The headlines were starting to reel up in my mind .I pushed Doreen off me. Without another word she grabbed a Terry cloth robe lying on the sink and ran out of the room, giving me a chance to pour what was left in the Gin bottle I'd stuck in my back pocket, over my giblets with some bogus idea concerning VD prevention. I hoped I didn't get anything man! If I'd wanted a case of clap I could have gotten it for free from at least two girls I knew. I came into the living room as 'Denise' in a red bra, ran by, one of the biggest cocks I'd ever seen outside of a porno flick, bobbing, with Al dressed but unzipped, on his tail ready to kick some butt. Doreen's brother hid behind the sofa squealing incoherently while I hustled Al to the door. We were almost into the hall when Doreen asked, "What about our money you said you could do ten each. Al who was making doggy noises in the back of his throat, finally growled over my shoulder at her, "Kill ya! I'm gonna kill ya!.." I snatched what I had in my pockets--about six bucks--tossed them at her through the open door then maneuvered Al back down the stairs where he pissed on the potted plant in the lobby; This cracked him up. I guessed it just didn't get any funnier than that for him but at least he was in a better mood. Out on the snow covered sidewalk, apart from a rare car gliding by silent as a UFO, our crunching boots were the only sound. We were blasted and in no danger of becoming otherwise any time soon. I had no thoughts, listening to our footsteps, not really caring where we went, though the possibility of getting knifed or shot drifted in and out of my head at odd intervals. I was hollow, no chance of Alien encroachment there no mind to get Death-wind 2000 was where I was at, breathing in the frigid air straight out of the crystal vacuum of space. Our shadows revealed us for what we actually were: Shambling mutants, distorted, tweaked, rippling. "Damn! If she hadn't had a Dick she would've been beautiful." With just a hint of regret he summed it all up. " I should've fucked him anyway. Yeah." He'd forgotten about me, lost in his own world. A cold winter sky, beginning to streak with lighter traces, hung over us with depressing monotony. We were finally heading out of the city, me driving. Everyone was crashed hard. In the back seat, Jake and Al were huddles under blue Air force issue blankets. Roy was against the door in front and John was missing. When we'd finally found our way back to the car, we'd asked Jake where Johnny was, he'd just shrugged. Pushed for details, all we could get out of him was, "He left!" Listening to the windy heater fan--it was blowing hot metal scented air in my face--I examined the interior of the car imagining that it was really the day before; The time was about the same, the setting was right. I toyed with the idea until I'd almost fooled myself but then I remembered that John wasn't with us; we never saw him again. I wonder where he went? --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #433 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #433 Call tHE MiCROLiNKS WHQ -> +32-16-356019 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------