“Fuck!” she said, only this time I didn’t join in.
“Honestly, if I were you, I’d be a little more concerned about the fact that we ran into a fucking pack of King Chalupa’s minions last night. That’s just a bit more life altering than awesome sex.”
“Not to me.”
“Then it should be. Experiencing a supernatural entity is a bit more important than four orgasms—well—unless, of course, you’ve never had that many at one time, in which case, I could see your point.”
“Goddammit, this is serious. I’m not the kind of person to cheat on someone.”
“I know, so let’s just try and move past it.”
“Agreed.”
That was the end of the conversation for the moment, as Alessandra turned and strolled out of the bathroom. I followed and discovered that she was headed to the roach coach. Perfect—I could use a little coffee at the moment. We both entered the truck, and soon she had a pot brewing, and the delightful smell was filling the confined space. If coffee were a drug consumed like marijuana, then the truck was like a giant bong, and I was inside literally getting high with every breath—or, in this case, more awake. Three and a half minutes later, the coffee was ready, and we filled two cups, added creamer, then took our beverage and sat at the same table from the night before.
I brought the cup to my nose, breathed in its heavenly aroma, and sighed. This was one of my moments of solace—other than the bathroom, of course—and I would use it to reboot my mind, put things in perspective, and be ready for the day ahead. No matter how frustrating my relationship with Alessandra might be, I refused to let her presence, or anything else for that matter, do anything to ruin my morning coffee. Or so I believed until the Kissing Bandito drove up in his black Range Rover at that very moment. He honked the horn, and we looked over to see him waving, though there was also another person in his vehicle that I assumed was Nate until they both stepped out and strolled over to the table.
The passenger, while resembling Nate, turned out to be just another late twenties or early thirties hipster dude with similar colored hair and facial scruff, though he was clad in city folk clothing consisting of skinny jeans and an untucked button up shirt. He was obviously Ernesto’s subordinate, as he hung back while the Kissing Bandito came forward and leaned down and kissed Alessandra on the lips while thankfully leaving mine unmolested.
“Good morning, friends, this strapping young lad with me is Michael Gently—my right hand man at Von Träger Pharmaceuticals and the reason I can leave the office and spend more time out here.”
“Nice to meet you, Michael,” I said.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said, with an obvious American accent, as we shook hands.
Michael then turned his attention to Professor Hot Sauce and looked at her with a lustful twinkle in his eyes that I imagined she received from most male strangers.
“It’s really nice to finally meet you, Alessandra, and now I know why they call you Professor Hot Sauce,” he said.
“Nice to meet you too, Michael, and thanks a lot for divulging my nickname, Ernesto,” she said, as she shot the Kissing Bandito a slightly annoyed look.
I had a moment to take a closer look at the young, good looking, and rather polished hipster, and a part of me secretly hoped that Gently was actually Ernesto’s long time companion. Such would probably not be the case, however, as both he and Ernesto noticed Alessandra’s lack of bra, and they spent a fair amount of time stealing glances at her prominent nipples—but, who could blame them? Men were men, and nipples were the epicenter of breasts—the fleshen mounds which served as a biological imperative in terms of our attraction to the opposite sex—even more so when the person behind those breasts was so damn attractive.
“I wasn’t sure you had breakfast, so Michael and I picked up some croissants on our trip into town. There is a lovely French bakery there called La Panaderia de Paris, and it’s the best I’ve ever had outside of France,” he said, before strolling over to his Range Rover to grab a white paper bag that he then brought over and handed to me.
“Bless you, Ernesto!” I said, as I opened it up to find two almond croissants.
Shit monkeys. The baked almond smell was enough to make my mouth water, and I realized that every time I thought I had a reason to dislike the Kissing Bandito, he did something incredibly nice. Perhaps it was time to grow the fuck up, let go of the jealousy, and admit that Ernesto was a nice guy. So what if he kissed Alessandra at every opportunity. Would I do the same if the roles were reversed? Absolutely, so why not give the fucker a break?
“Would either of you like some coffee? We just made a fresh pot,” I said.
“Oh, no, thank you, as we just had coffee in town.” Ernesto responded.
“Well, then at least have a seat and join us,” I said.
At that point, we all took a seat, and the Bandito, of course, sat beside Alessandra while Michael sat beside me. I handed a croissant to Alessandra, then we partook of our impromptu breakfast, and I realized Ernesto was correct in his summation of the croissants. They were delicious and served as the perfect accompaniment to our coffee.
“So, what brings you all the way out here?” I asked Michael.
“Just coming to pick up some of the latest lab reports.”
“Can’t you do that by email or fax?”
“Absolutely, but coming here means I get to leave the office and spend a day out here in the country.”
“I can understand that, as no one likes being cooped up in an office all day, and who wouldn’t want to come out here? It’s beautiful and peaceful, and there are ridiculously attractive archaeologists running around, though I suppose the downside is the presence of ghost kings and their evil minions.”
“Excuse me?” Gently said.
“Finn and Alessandra have been considering the possibility that King Chalupa and his minions are real and kidnapped the UCLA team,” Ernesto said.
“Obviously, you’re joking,” Gently said, as he turned his gaze to me.
“Well, two days ago, I would have said yes, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why, what’s happened since I last saw you?” Ernesto asked, sounding concerned.
Alessandra and I looked at each other, as we were unsure how to answer, which was partially because we still hadn’t really discussed last night’s harrowing chase in any detail yet. How in the fuck do you rectify being chased by mythological beings and not think you’re going totally fucking bonzo.
“A lot, actually,” I said, sheepishly.
“What does that mean? Did you have some kind of trouble after leaving the lab last night?”
I decided to lay our cards on the table.
“This is going to sound a little crazy, but I think Alessandra and I had an encounter with King Chalupa’s evil minions last night after we left the lab.”
Ernesto and Michael both looked at us as though we were crazy.
“I assume you’re kidding,” Ernesto finally said.
“Afraid not,” I responded.
“What did they look like?” Michael asked, sounding intrigued.
“Not sure, it was dark. All I can say for sure is that they smelled bad and had glowing red eyes—pretty much identical to all the other accounts we’ve heard.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought an entire bottle of Cacique Guaro. Clearly, the alcohol went to your heads,” Ernesto said.
“I wish that were true, but what we experienced was quite real and defied all logic and reason.”
“It’s true, we both saw them, and I can tell you right now I’ve never been so scared in all my life.”
“If you really encountered supernatural beings, then how did you get away?” Ernesto asked.
“I shot a few of them, then we ran into the jungle and managed to lose them by jumping in the river.”
“I hate to even acknowledge it, but, if you actually encountered supernatural entities, then wouldn’t it be unlikely that bullets could hurt them?
” Michael said.
“Well, Alessandra postulated that it’s possible they become vulnerable when they materialize on our plane of existence, and yes, I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” I responded.
“Yes, I’m afraid you did, unfortunately,” Ernesto said.
“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but Finn and I experienced something very real out there last night,” Alessandra said.
Both Ernesto and Michael looked skeptical, but who could blame them? I experienced it first hand and was still having a hard time believing it.
“Why don’t we go look at where this all took place. Perhaps there is some kind of evidence as to what actually happened,” Ernesto suggested.
Alessandra and I looked at each other then nodded to Ernesto.
“What the hell—it couldn’t hurt,” I responded.
We stood up from the table and went over and climbed up into Ernesto’s Range Rover then drove to the approximate site of our encounter. There, we exited the vehicle, and I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of unease as we were returning to the place where I had experienced my first encounter with supernatural beings. I decided to clear my head by getting to work, and I began walking around until I found our tracks leading from the lab.
“We were walking right here, and you can see where we stopped when we saw the things,” I said.
Michael looked down and nodded.
“Yeah, I can see your tracks, but where are theirs?” he asked.
“Not sure, actually. I fired six shots, two at each of the three creatures in that direction, then we ran into the jungle after they scattered,” I said.
Michael scoured the ground then retraced his steps back to where I was standing.
“I might have missed something, but I can’t find any tracks, animal, evil minion, or other,” he said.
I walked along the same path and stared at the ground and realized he was correct. The ground was devoid of any tracks but our own. Regardless, I knew what we had experienced was real, so I got down on all fours and looked sideways at the ground and saw something unusual. The ground had subtle striations, kind of like the area near the pyramid. Interesting.
“What do you see?” Ernesto asked.
“Nothing,” I said, deciding to keep it to myself for the moment.
I went back to the spot where I imagined the three creatures to have been standing and searched the surrounding ground. Just as I was about to give up, I found a bullet in the soft dirt on the side of the road, and I examined it closely and determined it was definitely one of the shots I’d fired. The lead was distorted into an accordion kind of shape, and that meant it had hit something, but, for some reason, it had bounced off. That wasn’t exactly comforting, as bullets penetrated both human and animal skin alike, so whatever I shot was apparently neither.
“What is it?” Michael asked.
“One of my bullets.”
Michael looked at it, and his eyes went wide.
“Holy shit! It looks like it hit something but bounced off,” he said, with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Yeah, it would appear so.”
“Perhaps it hit a tree or root. The jungle is very different at night and can easily confuse the senses. Believe me, I know,” Ernesto said.
“True,” I said, though I didn’t believe it for a second.
We had experienced something very real last night, and I was damned if I was going to blame it on excessive booze and the tricky shadows of a dark jungle.
“Did anything else strange happen last night?” Ernesto asked.
Alessandra and I looked at each other once again and shared a little unspoken communication.
“No,” we both said, at the exact same time.
I wasn’t sure if he believed us, but that was our story for the moment, and we were sticking to it. We loaded up in the Range Rover, and they drove us back to the camp. We said goodbye, and the Kissing Bandito managed to lay yet another kiss on Alessandra’s beautiful lips. Fucker. If only I had been born with some hot Latin blood in my body, I’d have gotten a shitload more kissing action throughout my life. We grabbed some more coffee from the roach coach, and retreated to our guest cabin to get ready for the day. I picked out some fresh clothes then took another sip of java and realized it was time to hit the ol’ baño.
“I’m going to go shit, shower, and shave,” I said.
“OK, I’ll be right behind you,” she said.
I grabbed my things and headed for the bathroom and again picked the same stall. I stepped inside then closed the door, placed the sanitary cover over the seat, and dropped my backside upon the cool plastic throne. It was comforting to be on some familiar ground, and, after last night’s evil minion encounter and the wild sex, I needed something normal and familiar to get my body and mind back on track. The coffee helped, but a dump and shower would provide the icing on my cake of psychological homeostasis. At least I thought so until the door to the bathroom opened, and I heard what was presumably Alessandra walk over and enter the stall beside me. What the fuck?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Man who Would be King
I LEANED DOWN and looked under the divider wall between our stalls and saw Alessandra’s pretty painted toes. They were curled up, and each foot was pointed slightly inward in a pigeon toed kind of configuration that was a very common pooing position, and one that I’d seen from a number of the females with whom I’d been able to reach the comfort with our bodily functions stage.
“Seriously, you need to use the bathroom right now? You couldn’t wait five minutes?” I asked.
“No, so deal with it.”
“You deal with it.”
“I am dealing with it.”
Shit, she was correct and metaphorically had me by the balls, or, more accurately, the sphincter.
“You remember what happened the last time you interrupted my dump?” I asked.
“Yeah, I somehow ended up having sex with you. Terrible isn’t it.”
“That’s not the part I’m talking about. Obviously, I’m referring to the army of red eyed minions that chased us around the jungle last night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they sensed that I interrupted one of your dumps and decided that was enough reason to rise from the dead and attack us.”
“It wasn’t those red eyed pricks punishing us. It was fate—my fate, and I told you something bad would happen.”
“I need you to be quiet so I can focus.”
“On shitting?”
“No, I’m reading the camp’s daily log.”
“I thought you were creating it,” I joked.
“Potty humor. How original. Now if you could be quiet, I’d like to conclude my business in peace.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Well, you’re going to have man-up, because I’m not leaving until I’m done.”
Fuck it. If she wanted to tempt fate, then it was her business. I was going to have a damn good dump then take a damn good shower, and afterward I’d have a pretty damn good day as well. I refocused on the task at hand and set about releasing my waste product unto the bowl, but none would come. Shit, I was experiencing poo anxiety. Suddenly, a massively loud fart echoed from the stall beside me, and it was followed by two more then total silence.
“Well now, good morning and good farts to you, Professor Hot Sauce.”
I listened intently for a response, and a second later I heard a tiny little fart that was almost cute—especially in comparison to its larger siblings that had just thundered from her backside. That was it—the straw that broke the camel’s back, or, more accurately, the fart that broke the idiots resolve, for I suddenly had a horrible case of the giggles. I did my best to stifle it, but that only made it even more funny.
“Seriously now, you need to grow up. That wasn’t that funny!” Alessandra said, very seriously.
“You’re right—it wasn’t—as a couple of farts that big could have seriously damaged your butthole,” I said, still d
oing my best not to laugh.
“You are so childish,” she said, as another fart escaped her butthole and echoed off the bowl.
There was no holding back, and, regardless how childish it might be, I could not stop laughing. In fact, I was laughing so hard that my stomach was actually starting to ache, and my laughter led to some unintended consequences—namely, my own anal symphony. A massive fart echoed off my own bowl, and it was followed by a nice healthy helping of solid matter. Oops, I hadn’t counted on that, but shit happened when you were perched on a toilet for the propose of taking a shit and also were being overwhelmed by a bout of uncontrollable laughter. I suppose I was now joining in the embarrassment, but at least Alessandra was also laughing.
“How does it feel?” she said, between giggles.
“The laughter or the great feeling of emptiness inside?”
“Both.”
“Better, oddly.”
“I bet, as it sounded as though you dropped an entire Tres Leches cake in the bowl.”
“I wouldn’t say dropped—more like propelled.”
“At least we can agree about that.”
“Yes, as well as the fact that the Kissing Bandito probably did not soak those fucking beans.”
We both continued with our business, though she, of course, managed to finish up well before I did, but that was just one of the many benefits of being female—namely, super fast pooing ability. As I’ve concluded in my scientific hypothesis called the Dump Time Continuum, women take the same amount of time in the bathroom to either poo or pee, as it equals out the fact that men can pee quickly and easily but need enough time taking a dump that they’ll likely step off the pot with a fucking beard. The average man enters a bathroom looking clean shaven and young, but he emerges minutes, hours, or even days later looking like Rip Van Winkle. So, by the time I reached the sink, she had already stripped down and was in the shower. I washed my hands and took up residence in the adjacent stall and instantly felt better the moment I stepped under the flow of hot water. By the time I rinsed off, Alessandra had stepped out of her shower, and she was standing in the middle of the dressing area, gloriously naked and busily drying her hair. I stepped out, grabbed my towel, and did the same, though I could hardly take my eyes off of her incredible figure. She was either very uninhibited or very intent on torturing me—probably the latter. Needless to say, blood flowed south, and I developed a semi pretty quickly, and now she was the one with the staring problem.
The Chalupa Conundrum Page 25