Squid Pulp Blues

by Jordan Krall

  And to top it off, Terry tried to get Harry into the Kabbalah, talking for hours about one mystical thing or another. Jesus Christ the goddamn guy thinks I’m a fucking Jew or something. Harry decided that after this whole situation was settled, he’d find a way out. He was a strong guy, big in all the right places and there were plenty of jobs around town he could get. I think Kreese’s is looking for a bouncer or something, I gotta check on that. It’d mean a cut in pay but I got savings.

  Harry drove down to see if Zip Comics was open but then saw the CLOSED sign and passed it by. He normally didn’t read comics but Mike had told him that there was such a thing as adult comics. “Full of sex, and not just normal sex, I mean sex with aliens and squid and shit, guys jacking off on car engines, two-headed hookers and donkeys. Crazy motherfuckin’ stuff,” Mike had said, so Harry decided he just had to check it out.

  I’ll go by there later. Got nothin’ better to do.

  Hoping that his day’s work was done, Harry stopped by the Thompson Diner for pancakes, sausage, and fried eggs: sunny side up. He knew the waitress, a woman who always flirted with him, making it quite clear that if he was so inclined, Harry could take her to his car and screw her brains out. He would’ve taken that horny broad up on her offer if not for his impotence. So Harry would just have to settle for glimpses of her ample cleavage and plump ass.

  When he was done eating his breakfast, he asked her for the check.

  She said, “Going so soon, hon?”

  “Got stuff to do, Stella. I’m a busy man, you know.” He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he really had nothing to do the rest of the day and he’d be happy to sit there at the diner, staring at her goodies. But if there was one thing he had learned in life, it’s that women don’t like a man who doesn’t do shit all day.

  Stella said, “Oh, I bet you are. I just wish you’d get busy with me.”

  “You’re a hellava waitress, Stella, you know that? That’s why I tip you so good.” He took out his wallet.

  Stella leaned over the table, her freckled cleavage on display. “Yeah but that’s not the kinda tip I want.”

  Harry stared unabashedly at her breasts. He had no shame in the matter. Being coy was for teenagers or romantics but it wasted time, Harry thought. So he licked his lips and imagined those milk-mounds slapping his face. In his fantasy his dick was hard and he was able to follow through with the act of love-making, something he wasn’t able to do in five years.

  “You’re terrible, Stella.” Harry laughed and took the check from her hand and looked at it. She didn’t charge him for the side of sausage as usual. I think that’s her way of saying I’m gonna owe her some of MY sausage.

  He took money out of his wallet and handed it to her with the check. Tipping her above and beyond the usual amount was something he was happy doing. She made his day pleasant and she deserved it.

  Stella said, “Thanks, cutie pie. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Well, maybe,” Harry said. “Remember, I’m a busy man.”

  She giggled. “Oh, don’t remind me.”

  Harry left the diner and sat in his car for a few minutes, smoking and wondering what the hell he was going to do for the rest of the day. The comic shop would kill a half hour tops but as for after that, he was clueless.

  He started the car and turned on the radio, scanning the radio stations until he found a song he liked.

  Yeah, Judas Priest. Now we’re talkin’.

  Harry drove away, tapping his fingers to “Ram It Down” and wishing he had stayed at the diner for a few minutes longer.

  * * *

  Chris woke up next to a dumpster.

  The first thing he saw was a chain-link fence, behind it a field made of dirt and the occasional patch of grass. He wondered why someone put a fence around that field, why someone would want to keep people out of it.

  He also wondered who he was. He couldn’t remember.

  Who am I?

  Chris hated that question; it sounded so existential, so cliché. But he asked it in all seriousness because he had no idea what his name was and how he ended up propped up against a dumpster. He checked the pockets of his dirty khaki pants but there was no wallet, only some loose money and a plastic baggie full of little crystals.

  Okay, okay. I took some of these drugs, and it just fried my brain a little bit. Everything’ll come back to me soon. I just need to wait it out.

  So Chris waited.

  After a half hour, he started to get worried. Though he lacked the memories of his identity, he remembered other things. An old movie he had seen with John Hodiak playing a guy who loses his memory. Shit. Why can I remember that but I can’t remember my own fucking name. And I remember walking up to Krauszer’s to get a lottery ticket and a coffee but the door was locked. I thought they opened at like six or something.

  But then the memories stopped. What happened to him between trying the door to when he woke up? He had no clue. But he did know that he had a baggie full of what he took to be crystal meth. He looked at it again, crushing some of it between his fingers. Another memory came back to him: arriving at a house that had a green van parked in the driveway. Chris knocking on the door, asking for some holiday meth, envisioning the green crystals as vividly as if they were right in front of him. He remembered the guy at the door saying he didn’t have any more but that he had something brand new and it was called Squid Ink, looked just like crystal meth but was twice as powerful. Chris remembered asking, “What’s in it?” and then guy responding with “You really want to know?” but then the memory stopped there.

  What the fuck is in this shit?

  If that’s what messed him up, Chris wanted to know the details. He could picture the guy’s face but no name. He could picture the house but no address. So he knew he was a drug addict, fine. But where did he live? Or did he even have a home? What if this was it?

  Is this where I sleep every night? Fuck, this is crazy. This can’t be happening. I gotta remember something.

  Chris hoped that slowly the details of his life would trickle back to him until the whole jigsaw puzzle was complete. Then he could go on.

  But what if my life isn’t worth remembering? What if I wanted to forget?

  He stood up and walked around to the front of the building. A trace of memory flashed through his mind because he recognized the strip mall and could see the sign for Krauszer’s. Another piece of the puzzle. He walked over and went inside.

  There were a few customers in the store and one guy behind the counter. Chris walked down the aisles for a few minutes, hoping to jog his memory again but nothing came. He walked up to the counter and looked at the middle-aged guy with a beer gut who was sitting on a stool looking grouchy.

  Chris said, “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah?” The guy didn’t look in the mood for questions.

  “Do you know me?”

  “What?”

  “Have I been here before?”

  “The fuck should I know?” the guy said, squinting and getting impatient.

  Chris was embarrassed. He said, “Sorry,” and walked out of the store, feeling like a complete jack-ass. That was stupid. If he knew me he would’ve said something when I walked in. So what the hell do I do now?

  He sat on the curb in front of the store. Another sliver of the past came back but this time in the form of a feeling and not an image. Chris had the distinct impression that he was supposed to be waiting for someone here, someone who was supposed to give him something.

  Guess I’ll just wait here and hopefully whoever it is will come by and give me whatever it is they’re supposed to give me. Shit, I hope it’s something good.

  Chapter Three

  Simon had seen enough movies to know that when a guy you don’t know hands you an envelope, it can’t be good. Most likely the guy mistook him for a hitman and inside the envelope was a picture of the target as well as half of the fee, the other half which would be delivered after the hit. He didn’t want to beli
eve this but the situation was so similar to a set up of a movie or a book that he couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all.

  Still, if it turned out that he was correct, he knew he was in deep shit. It ever ended well in the movies. The guy who was mistaken for a hitman would be hunted down by both the man paying for the hit as well as the real assassin. In the movies, the heroes were resourceful and destined to come out on top but this was real life. Simon knew he possessed no attributes that would help him in that situation. No strength. No special skills. No martial arts training. No military background. No real determination. He would be doomed.

  Here goes nothing.

  Simon tore open the envelope.

  The first thing he noticed was that there was no money inside. Part of him was disappointed. Even if the whole mistaken-for-a-hitman thing had happened, at least he’d have some extra cash in the meantime. It would be a short-lived fantasy, he knew that, but he was disappointed nonetheless.

  The second thing he noticed was that there were photographs, just like he had expected.

  Son of a bitch.

  Then he looked at them. There was a cold fist of dread in the pit of his stomach. His eyes bugged out of his head and he was aware of the sensation. He would have never thought it was possible for eyes to do such a thing but the shock of what he was looking at was too strong. His hands shook and the pictures fell to the ground.

  Simon quickly bent down to scoop them up but before he did, he looked at the position of the photographs and imagined them as tarot cards. If they were, he wondered, what the hell would they be telling me?

  They’d probably be telling me to get the fuck outta here.

  He didn’t want to think about it anymore and so he picked them up. Once they were back in the black envelope, he put them away in his pocket. Fear was slowly coming forward like a blood red tide.

  What the fuck am I gonna do now?

  Simon was sure that the guy who handed him the pictures would come back once he found out that he gave them to the wrong person. It was only a matter of time. But Simon didn’t live in town and if he left right after the book signing, what are the chances that the guy would find him?

  Okay, after I finish up at the comic shop, I get the fuck out. I throw the photos out or I drop them off at the police station or something and that’s it. I’m gone.

  While he planned his escape, Simon saw a child staring at him from across the parking lot. The child walked closer and Simon soon realized that it wasn’t a child but a dwarf.

  She was dressed in a tight, green dress and black cowboy boots. Simon watched as she made her way over to him, fixing her long blond hair in the process as if wanting to make sure she looked pretty for him.

  The dwarf said, “Hey sweetie, wanna date?”

  What the fuck is this?

  “Um, no thanks,” Simon said.

  “A blow is twenty, half-and-half is forty-five. I know it’s early but I’m real good,” she said as she tweaked her hardened nipple through her dress. “Really fuckin’ good.”

  Simon said, “Yeah, um, no thanks.”

  The dwarf’s face squinted in anger. “What the fuck is your problem? You a fuckin’ homo or somethin’?”

  “No, I just don’t want a date, okay.” Simon started walking away. The last thing he wanted was for her to make a scene or bite him in the thigh or something.

  The dwarf followed close behind but was now bald, her blond wig in her hand. She said, “How’s this? You like ‘em bald? I’m bald everywhere, you know.”

  “Jesus Christ, leave me alone,” Simon said, picking up the pace. He wanted to get into his car but imagined her jumping in with him, forcing him to fuck her. The thought made him sick not because she was a dwarf but because she was so goddamn aggressive.

  “You look like you’re into squid. I can get squid if that’s what you like. Only cost you seventy-five, best price on the street. How about it?”

  Simon said, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He walked faster and decided that getting into his car would be the best thing. Once he reached it, the dwarf stopped following him and walked away muttering under her breath.

  The relief was short lived once Simon remembered the envelope in his pocket. I just need to make sure that I can get out of town after the book signing without the guy seeing me. He thought about the photographs again and instinctively shook his head in disgust and denial. How can anyone take pictures like that? Where would anyone even get the idea to do those things let alone grab a camera and document it? He asked those questions but didn’t really want to know the answers.

  Simon started the car and went on his way to the comic shop, hoping that maybe Chaps would get there early but he knew that was unlikely. Maybe one of the guys at Zip Comics was there early and would let Simon in. He hoped so or he’d have to sit in his car, hoping another dwarf hooker didn’t accost him in the parking lot.

  When he got to the comic shop, he saw that the lights were off but walked up and knocked on the door anyway. There was no answer. Simon went back to his car and put the seat back, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep and dream of the photographs. As if to protect himself from their influence, he put the photographs in the glove compartment.

  Chaps better be here by 9:30 or I’m gonna beat his ass.

  Chapter Four

  Having enough to worry about, Chris tried to ignore the stomach pains.

  He didn’t know his name or anything else specific about himself so having diarrhea would just have to wait. The pains came in waves, sharp knives one minute and then dormant the next. He walked away from the strip mall, hoping to find something that would help him regain his past or at least lead him on the right path.

  His stomach started gurgling. It was like someone was boiling water but in this case the water was in danger of erupting out of his ass. Chris stopped walking and bent over, holding his stomach. He thought if he could withstand the pains and hold it in, it’d go away. Once he felt the spasm in his colon, he knew he was wrong.

  Chris was now on a main road and there was cars passing him, making it impossible for him to just take down his pants and get it over with. He ran across the street to a gas station. The man working there was a tall Sikh with a nametag that said his name was JIMBO.

  Chris said, “Can I use your bathroom please?”

  “Customers only.”

  “Oh come on, please. Here,” Chris said, pulling out money from his pockets. “I’ll pay you, please, just let me use it.”

  Jimbo said, “It’s out of order.”

  “Fuck!” Chris walked over to the side of the gas station with Jimbo slowly following him asking him what he thought he was doing. Without any other option available, Chris pulled his pants down. He crouched down and leaned against the wall and relaxed his sphincter muscles.

  Jimbo was a few feet away but stopped when he saw what was happening. He watched in disgust and gross fascination as Chris’s ass emptied itself on the ground, quickly forming a greenish black pile of shit. For ten years, Jimbo had worked at the gas station and had dealt with junkies and longheads but never did he ever see anything like this.

  Chris was feeling faint and tried to keep himself from falling into his own shit. His stomach kept churning and Chris felt like his ass had become an assembly line that would never stop producing. With a grunt, he pushed out what he hoped would be the last of what was festering in his bowels.

  For Jimbo, there was no way to stop staring; the sight of it was hypnotic. The thick curls of feces started to tremble and lift off the ground like tentacles. He was surprised to see the man stand up and run off after shitting. Jimbo wanted to go after him, make him clean it up. However, the sight of the living-shit tentacles kept him cemented in place.

  The wet sounds of shit-hitting-cement got louder. The tentacles got closer and before they wrapped around his leg, Jimbo thought he saw the hypnotic and crystalline eyes of a squid. He blinked, thinking it was his imagination but when he looked again, th
ey were still there.

  Jimbo’s body was wrapped in tentacles. A car pulled up to the gas station for gas and after thirty seconds, the driver got out and said, “Anybody here?” Jimbo tried to answer but could only manage a faint cough as his mouth was filled with the warm tip of a tentacle.

  The car drove away and Jimbo lied down. He wanted to feel the soothing cold of the cement and not the burning stink that was now gripping him like a family of pythons. Jimbo felt himself loosing consciousness which he didn’t think was possible. He always thought it was a sudden blink into la-la land rather than a gradual descent into sleep. It was not as unpleasant as he had imagined. He finally succumbed to it, falling into dreams of squid and debauchery.

  Several streets over, Chris was running away. Of all the things that he had forgotten and couldn’t remember, he wished he could get rid of the memory of shitting against a gas station wall. That guy watching him do it made it even worse.

  Why the hell was he just standing there watching? Must be a pervert or something, getting off on me taking a shit.

  Chris stopped running and realized how uncomfortable he now was. He had run off without wiping his ass and his ass now felt sloppy and wet. There had to be somewhere that he could clean himself off. He walked two more blocks and saw something promising: a carnival. It was closed and there didn’t seem to be anyone around so Chris hopped the fence and looked around for a portable toilet.

  He found at Johnny-On-The-Spot in the corner next to a hotdog stand and a place that sold fried Oreos. Chris went into the portable toilet and locked the door. The carnival wasn’t open yet so the toilet was clean and smelt like disinfectant. Chris pulled down his pants and realized that these sort of portable toilets don’t have sinks.