Blood on Celluloid

by B. L. Morgan

  Inside lights were blinking, music was pounding and women were gyrating like snakes on speed on the stages. I looked around the room and saw a lot of familiar faces from some of the regulars at Patty’s Kitten House.

  The majority of the men here were lonely guys who worked hard all week long just to go home to an empty house. Most of them didn’t have a chance in hell of ever scoring with the women they were staring at. They’d go home later and think about these women and beat their meat. I guess whatever gets you through the night is what you’ve got to do.

  We went and sat at a table and I realized that I didn’t want to be at Roxie’s. My woman’s body was being prepared to be put in the ground in a day and a half. When I looked at the women on the stages bending over in front of guys, spreading their legs, giving them a peek, it all seemed so unimportant, so trivial. None of this meant anything.

  Johnny waved at a waitress who let him know that she’d be over pretty soon. He saw the look on my face.

  “We need to get you something to drink,” he said.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I told him. “This ain’t working for me.”

  “Maybe not,” Johnny answered. “But what the fuck else you gonna do?”

  The waitress came over and told me how sorry she was about Sherry and took our order. I was certain I was going to be hearing a lot of sorry’s tonight.

  When we went to pay for the drinks the waitress waved at the bartender who waved back.

  “For you guys, it’s on the house tonight,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I told her.

  We changed our order and I had her bring me four shots of Jack Daniels and a Budweiser. Johnny had four shots and a Jack and Coke.

  The drinks came.

  The waitress gave me a hug.

  I picked up a shot.

  Johnny picked up a shot. We clinked glasses and knocked it back.

  It tasted like molten lava going down my throat. Just the way I wanted it to.

  Music played.

  Dancers danced.

  People wandered by our table one by one and paid their respects each one telling me how much they liked Sherry and would miss her. I didn’t know how much more of that I could take. It was like having a knife shoved in and twisted.

  I downed two more shots. Johnny matched me. He probably wouldn’t have any problem keeping up with me tonight. Johnny was in practice and I wasn’t.

  Drinking hard liquor is like any other sport. If you don’t train for it, you don’t do it too well.

  The music changed to some kind of Congo sounding shit and the D.J. barked out over the PA system, “Gentlemen, start your engines, and if you can’t get ‘em started, here’s the Amazon Queen. She’s here to get you all revved up and ready to roar just like the king of the jungle. From deepest darkest Africa, put your hands together for Candi Divine!”

  The D.J. was playing up that African angle real good. A little fantasy never hurt a sales pitch one bit. Candi was from Chicago, but nobody wanted to hear that.

  The guys in the place gave Candi a decent round of applause.

  Johnny turned to me and said, “Shit! I’ve seen this show one time too many.”

  Candi Divine was tall, long legged, had deep coffee brown skin and large breasts. Candi had muscles on top of muscles. Shit, that girl had been working out. She was strong! Candi was scary as a mother-fucker, too, because she had a man’s package between her legs.

  The guys around this place must have gotten used to Candi because the last time I’d been here most of them were even afraid to look in her direction. Now she actually got a few of them to wander up and stick bills in her G-string. She’d pat them on the head and mouth, “Thank-you,” back at them.

  She was doing body building poses and slow motion martial arts strikes to the beat of the music. Candi wasn’t my type of woman but she was impressive as hell.

  When Candi was dancing to the last song in her set a guy walked in. He waved at us, and strode directly to the stage where Candi was doing her thing.

  It was that big corn-fed, blond-haired, country boy, ex-pro football player that worked at Patty’s Kitten House, Ron Martin.

  Ron pulled a bill from his pocket and folded it lengthwise a few times until it looked like a long green cigarette. Then he stuck it in his mouth. He leaned his face forward and Candi squatted down and pressed her breasts to both sides of Ron’s face.

  “Shit,” Johnny said. “Does he know what the fuck he’s getting into?”

  “I really don’t know,” I answered him, “And I don’t give a fuck either.”

  Ron looked like he was having a real good time. When Candi pulled back a little bit to take the bill from between his teeth he let the bill go then grabbed Candi by both tits (one in each hand) and kissed the nipples on both of them.

  Candi stood up with an expression of open-mouthed surprise on her face. Then she smiled a big smile, squatted down in front of Ron again, wrapped her arms around his head, and gave him a big tongue dancing, open mouthed kiss.

  “Shit,” Johnny said. “That’s fucking disgusting,”

  “He doesn’t seem to mind,” I said, and Ron did seem to be having fun.

  After they broke off the embrace and Candi continued dancing while fanning herself to cool down, Ron Martin left the stage area and came over and pulled up a chair at our table.

  “How are you holding up John?” He asked me and we shook hands.

  “I’ll never be the same,” I told him. “But I’ll survive.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I can’t believe anybody would do that to Sherry.”

  Johnny said to Ron, “Man, I got to ask you, you do know that Candi has got balls right?”

  Ron laughed. “Candi impressed me right off the bat as being a woman that’s got a whole lot of spunk.”

  “You could say that,” Johnny told him. “What I’m trying to tell you is that that woman ain’t no woman. You go hunting for beaver with her, you gonna feel nuts.”

  Ron was smiling but he sounded serious to me when he said, “Don’t be talking about my girlfriend. I know everything there is to know about her.”

  “Evidently not enough,” Johnny started.

  Ron stopped him from talking by asking, “You ever seen Spartacus?”

  “Shit, we met that mother-fucker,” Johnny said.

  “No,” Ron said. “I’m talking about the movie. There’s a scene where this Roman General comes on to a slave played by Tony Curtis. He asks him, ‘Do you like oysters or clams?’ Well, I like them both.”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” Johnny said. “So what the fuck does sea food got to do with this?”

  “Let me put it like this,” Ron Martin said, “so someone even as thick as you can get it. I’d have fucked them both.”

  Johnny gave Ron a strange look. “You ain’t saying…” He couldn’t finish the statement.

  Ron laughed. “Candi’s got exactly what I need.” He said. “With her, I get the bonus plan.”

  “Shit,” Johnny said. “And a big strapping white boy like you, too. Ain’t that a bitch.”

  Ron laughed.

  Fur Elise began playing in my jacket pocket. The cell phone was ringing. I pulled it out and flipped it open.

  “Saved by the bell,” I told Ron and Johnny.

  CHAPTER 16

  It was Joe Briggs on the telephone. “Something’s come up,” Joe told me. “I need you to meet me somewhere right now.”

  “Is this about William Po?” I asked. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Nothing to do with Po,” Briggs answered. “Come out to where Bunkum Road intersects Highway 157. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “What’d you find out?” I asked again.

  “Can’t say over the phone,” Joe answered. “Just get out here.”

  He hung up.

  I stood up and told Johnny, “Time to go.”

  “Good,” Johnny said. “This shit was getting boring anyway.”

  Candi had finished her
set and came over, draped her arms around Ron’s shoulders, and kissed him on the neck.

  They made a cute couple: the all American Football Hero and the Jet Black African Amazon Queen with color coordinated dicks and balls. Hey, whatever works for them is all right. The way my relationships go I’ll probably never want to care about anyone ever again.

  Ron stood up and we shook hands one more time. “If you need anything,” he said. “Especially taking care of whoever hurt Sherry, you let me know. I want a piece of that meat too.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I told him and me and Johnny left.

  * * *

  On the way over to where 157 crosses Bunkum Road, which is just outside of Washington Park and Caseyville, I filled Johnny in on what I knew, which was that I didn’t know anything.

  Joe wouldn’t say anything over the phone so we’d have to wait until we got there to find out anything at all.

  It was dark outside and the snow was coming down heavier than when we’d entered Roxie’s. It wasn’t anywhere close to a blizzard yet, but with as cold as it was, all the snow that was falling would stick to the ground and make everything slick.

  My Olds Delta 88 started up quicker than it had earlier in the day and the motor warmed up faster. Maybe it was loosening up a bit after sitting for so long. As we turned onto Bunkum Road the defroster got warm enough to actually do a little bit of good.

  The heater still wouldn’t do shit but blow out cold air. I left it off and cruised through the falling snow.

  The white flakes drifting down from the black sky made it seem peaceful and quiet out in the world. Too bad that’s not the way it really was.

  We cruised over the frozen road mostly in silence. I got to admit I wasn’t much for conversation lately. Life was weighing me down. It wasn’t easy to make light chit chat when you feel like you’re swimming in the ice cold muddy Mississippi wearing a lead overcoat.

  Where 157 crossed Bunkum Road was a fenced in Park-N-Ride lit by yellow fluorescent lights. It was the only thing out here. That’s where I pulled into.

  The yellow lights made the falling snow look like tiny flames falling down from heaven. Too bad it didn’t make the place any warmer.

  Joe Briggs recognized my car when I pulled into the lot. He got out and waved me over. The Park-N-Ride was pretty much deserted, only a few empty cars in spots waiting for their owners to drive them home after work.

  I pulled into the parking spot beside Joe Briggs car and got out. Johnny got out.

  Before I even got to Joe’s open window he said to the two of us, “Follow me.”

  “What’s this about?” I asked him again.

  “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  We got back in the car.

  Joe slowly rolled on ahead of us crunching the snow beneath his tires. He left the Park-N-Ride and went East on Bunkum Road. I followed the red dots of his tail lights.

  * * *

  After about ten miles on Bunkum Road, Joe turned off onto another smaller road that was dark and lined on both sides by trees. After a mile on that one he turned off again onto a gravel road.

  I don’t remember the names of those last two roads and even if I did I wouldn’t name them here. There are some places that have to always remain a secret.

  The red tail lights on Joe’s car bounced ahead of us for about a mile more, then he pulled onto a driveway and after fifty yards he pulled up to an old looking small cinderblock house.

  We pulled up beside his car and got out. Another car, a late model sedan was already parked out front.

  A few lights were shining out through windows with drawn curtains.

  Joe Briggs got out of his car and came to the front of it, and with snow swirling around his head he sat down on the hood.

  “All right man,” I said to Joe. “It’s time you told us what the hell’s going on here.”

  Joe looked at Johnny, “Are you ready to be involved in some ugly shit?” he asked. “What I got here isn’t going to be pretty.”

  Johnny answered. “Sherry was my friend. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make the people who killed her pay.”

  “Just wanted to get that clear,” Joe said. He looked from Johnny to me. “The man we got inside, we’ve been following for a long time. He runs video tapes of kiddy porn between East St. Louis and Kansas City. We got his name from a pedophile in exchange for a lighter sentence. We don’t know who he makes his pickups from or who he delivers to. On a routine traffic stop tonight, the officer inside this house searched his car without reading this piece of shit his rights. So he’ll walk if he makes it to court.”

  “What’s this got to do with us?” I asked Joe.

  Joe looked hard into my eyes. He said, “While we were holding him we went through the tapes he has, one of them is a tape of Sherry’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I went through the front door of the small cinder block house with my head buzzing. The cold and snow seemed to be on another plane of existence from the rest of my body. I didn’t feel anything. I was like a machine, a machine of destruction.

  The inside of the house had blank white walls and uncovered cement floors. There was only one large central room to the place. A young cop sat on a folding chair in front of a small table that had a TV/VCR combo set up on it. He was watching Wheel of Fortune.

  I wasn’t here for any games.

  Across the room was a large cage. It was a portable cell. I knew what this place was. This was a secluded location where the cops brought criminals to beat information out of them.

  Inside the cage was a stocky middle aged white man in a business suit. He reminded me of Donald Trump only not quite as self-confident. He was looking very nervous. He had every right to be.

  Against the large white wall were two large card board boxes. The tops of the boxes were open. The boxes were filled with video tapes.

  Joe Briggs told the young cop to go home and to never tell anyone about where he had been tonight.

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” the young cop said. “Whatever this asshole gets, he deserves.”

  The young cop left.

  The guy inside the cage was sitting on the floor leaning his back against the bars.

  Joe Briggs walked directly to him. He said through the bars, “Are you ready to talk yet? If not, I got someone I’m going to introduce you to.”

  “Anything I’ve got to say, I’ll say to my lawyer,” the guy answered him.

  “Let me see the video tape,” I said to Joe.

  He walked over to the boxes of tapes and took one sitting on top. On the white label was written “S. St. Claire”.

  Johnny walked up to the bars of the cage and took one in each hand. “You are in a world of hurt,” he told the guy inside. “I advise you to tell us everything we want to know.”

  “Speak to my lawyer,” the man said.

  “Shit,” Johnny told the man. “Ain’t no lawyer on Earth gonna help you tonight.”

  I popped the tape in the TV/VCR combo. It instantly went to play.

  Johnny spoke again. “You were carrying a snuff film. That man over there,” Johnny pointed at me, “Is the meanest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. He was going to marry the woman in that movie.”

  I heard the man suck in his breath. He was scared. Good! I wanted him to be frightened.

  Why is it that a man feels the need to experience pain? I knew what was on that tape was going to tear the guts out of me, but I had to see it anyway. Maybe, that’s exactly why I had to see it.

  Sherry was carried in naked and unconscious over the shoulder of a guy in a black rubber mask and rain coat. She was sat down onto a wooden chair and her arms were bound behind her back.

  There was a table beside the chair with all kinds of shop tools. These tools were never designed to be used on living flesh.

  The guy in the rubber mask picked up something small off the table and appeared to snap it in half under Sherry’s nose. It must have been smelling
salts.

  Sherry coughed and wheezed and her eyes flew open. The man in the mask leaned over and looked in Sherry’s face. “You are a beautiful woman,” he said. “I will not destroy your beauty.” His voice was low and raspy. It sounded like it came from the lower pits of hell.

  “Where is William Po?” the man asked.

  “I do not know a William Po,” Sherry answered. “Is this someone I should know?”

  The man picked up a ball peen hammer from the table and slammed it down upon Sherry’s unprotected thigh.

  Sherry screamed and it tore through my brain. My stomach tightened and the coppery taste of blood came into my mouth.

  When the sound of pain stopped echoing from the speakers the man spoke again. “Where is William Po?”

  “I don’t know!” Sherry screamed back at him.

  He picked up a pair of pliers and with them grasped a piece of skin on Sherry’s side and twisted.

  The shriek that Sherry let out was blood curdling.

  “No one will hear you,” the man told her. “Tell us and we’ll let you go. You don’t know who we are. But I can keep doing this for hours.” To demonstrate he grabbed one of her nipples with the pliers and twisted it savagely ripping the skin.

  This was the same nipple that I had taken in my mouth more times than I could count. I felt sick to my stomach but couldn’t stop watching.

  Sherry screamed and passed out.

  The man crushed another tablet of smelling salts under her nose and began again.

  The same question was asked over and over and it always got the same answer. Sherry kept saying that she didn’t know who they were talking about.

  After about an hour another man entered the room.

  This man was small and Asian. He was dressed in a Hawaiian style shirt and white slacks.

  He went to Sherry and leaned over in front of her and looked into her pained eyes. She was barely conscious. Sherry had passed out from the pain five times. She now had all the wounds that I had seen on her at the morgue, except for one.