by B. L. Morgan
The uneven flames of the torches cast dancing shadows all around me. I checked the walls for exits and entrances. The only door I found was the one I came in through.
While I was checking the wall behind the elephant god, a weird high pitched hum started to gradually fill the chamber. Strange stroboscopic lights bounced around from in front of the statue. I came out and saw that the hieroglyphic symbols on the oval were glowing and pulsating.
Standing in front of the sacrificial alter I looked into the glowing oval. The air inside the oval looked like it was congealing. It was shimmering like jelly and the center of the oval was getting darker. The darkness spread out from the center of the oval until I was looking at a pure black void. The high pitched hum had now turned into a scream.
An intense feeling of vertigo seized me. I was dizzy. I couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. As I looked into the oval I realized that it was some sort of a gateway. I could see an enormous gulf of space through the oval. Stars blinked in the distance. The screaming sound was the shrill screaming of the never ending nothingness that waited beyond the door of the stone oval.
Something in the far distance of the vast emptiness was coming forward. Looking at that void, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I was falling from a great height. The doorway into the void was drawing me toward it. I could feel myself being pulled. It was not like wind at my back. It was like magnetism. It was as though my entire body was metal and the oval was a powerful magnet drawing me in.
The thing inside the void was looming larger. I could just make out the outline of it and I didn’t like what I saw.
Size was impossible to judge but it looked to have a woman’s body covered by gray flowing robes. The head was what was disturbing. It appeared to be a mass of squirming snakes. Looking at her made me feel chilled to the bone.
The thought passed through my slow moving mind that this is Medusa. To look in her face meant being turned to stone.
I tried to pull my gaze away but my mind seemed in a fog and my body refused my mind’s commands. A strange lethargy filled all of my limbs. It was like I was standing in rapidly solidifying cement.
To my right one of the torches suddenly flared high like it had burned down to a more volatile section of whatever fed its flame. Unconsciously, my eyes shifted in that direction.
With the unconscious shifting of my eyes, the spell was broken. I stumbled to the side and fell to my knees on the polished obsidian floor. My legs were stiff like I’d been outside in the freezing cold for a long time.
The screeching from the void beyond the stone oval was getting louder. It was vibrating into my bones. The thing that I’d seen on the other side of the gate must be getting closer now. I didn’t know if it was the Medusa that I’d heard about in grade school from Greek Mythology or if it was one of the Harpy’s from Hell. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be here when whatever it was came though that gateway.
I had two grenades on my belt. One of them should do the trick, I thought. With my back to the sacrificial alter that still held its final victim I pulled one of the grenades loose from my belt. Aiming more from memory than anything else, I pulled the pin and flung the grenade backward over my shoulder, hopefully into the oval. I took four steps to the side and dove for the ground.
The grenade exploded behind me and sent a shower of stones raining down. The shrill screaming hum coming from the oval stopped almost immediately.
I got up and ran to the door and flung it open, went through and slammed it shut behind me. I had never even taken a glance at the stone oval ever since the flaring up of the torch had distracted me on an animal level. Whatever had been on the other side of that gateway, I didn’t want to face it.
After climbing around fifteen of the stone stairs I stopped and pulled my remaining grenade off my belt. I pulled the pin and threw it at the door and ran for all I was worth up the stairs. The explosion below me came a few seconds later.
When I came out into the open air Sergeant Olson was waiting for me.
“All right Private Dark,” he said, “Report!”
“Nothing to report,” I told him. There was no way I was telling him the truth. “The tunnel came up in the jungle. No one was there.”
“Then what was that explosion we heard?”
“Just sealing the tunnel,” I told him. “I wouldn’t want anyone creeping up behind us when we leave.”
He considered this.
He said, “I think you’re lying.”
“Then go check it out yourself,” I told him, “If you’ve got the balls to do it.”
He never went down the stairs.
I didn’t figure he would.
I’ve tried to forget what I saw that night.
PART I
Not drunk is he, who from the floor
Can rise alone and still drink more.
-T.L. Peacock, The Misfortunes of Elphin
“This is the hurtin' game.
It's all about hurtin'.”
-George Foreman
Here's to you, as good as you are
And here's to me, as bad as I am.
-Old Scotch Toast
“I'm gonna hit you so hard and so fast
You're gonna think someone's pattin' for a dance.”
-Bob L. Morgan Sr.
CHAPTER 1
East St. Louis, Illinois
April 1st
April Fools
Well, here it is April Fool’s Day and I’m walking the streets again in the rain. If they were going to name a holiday for me, they should have at least thrown me a parade. I don’t see no damn parade, and I bet there’s no surprise party waiting for me at home.
Its eight o’clock, on Friday night and my woman Julia just kicked me out. Well, actually she just suggested I leave. But ain’t that the same damn thing.
Julia’s daughter Felicia, was going to be staying over at a friend’s house for the weekend, so I figured I’d go on over and tonight would be the night. For the last few months, I’d been hanging around Julia like a dog hangs around a lean steak.
I’d only gotten some long kisses and feels of her ass through the fabric of her dress, so I was long overdue to be parking my Johnson where it would be snug and warm and well cared for.
I got a little bit too handy and Julia didn’t like it. She said I was going too fast.
That was when I asked her, “So when the fuck am I going to be fuckin' you anyway?”
Julia’s chocolate face went a bit darker and I didn’t have the good sense to shut up right then. I went on with, “You know, if you don’t use that pussy pretty soon, it just might dry up and clamp shut and you might not be able to get it open when you do want to put something in there.”
The expression on Julia’s face told me that I’d scored a direct hit.
I thought I was doing kinda good, until that slap of hers landed. I didn’t know Bruce Lee could move that fast, much less a well-built black woman. That slap rang my bells but good.
That was when Julia suggested I leave.
Since I figured I’d be wearing that hand print on my jaw till the next day and I didn’t want to be fist fighting with a woman that I was still hoping to be doing the horizontal tango with some day, I left.
* * *
The rain was cold and bitter. It felt like buck shot was being thrown into my face. The streets were wet and cold. My spirits were low. My bank account was lower.
Bank account, what back account?
I had a hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket and that was it.
I hadn’t taken any jobs for the last few months because I was trying to straighten myself out. I was going to walk the straight and narrow, and be a solid citizen, the kind of man that Julia could love and spend her life with. Not to mention the kind of guy she would spread her thighs for.
What’s that got me?
I’m sober, broke and pissed off. I got a hard-on that won’t go away and I got nowhere to put it. A car came down the street
from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder as it passed by. The car hit a puddle and showered me with dirty stinking water.
If I would have had my .38 with me that I haven’t carried for two months now, I would have shot that bastard through his back window.
Happy April Fool’s Day.
* * *
I went to Johnny’s Bar and Grill. I was just tired of wandering the streets, and staring at cracked sidewalks.
Johnny saw me as I came through the door. “Hey, speak of the devil,” he yelled. “Here’s his second cousin.”
“His first cousin,” I told Johnny and plopped down on a bar stool in front of him.
“You off the wagon?” He asked.
“I think it ran over me,” I told him.
He poured me a Schlitz from the tap.
I tasted it and grimaced. “This stuff tastes like piss water.” I told Johnny. “Man, you know I can’t stand Schlitz. Why you give me that shit for?”
“Cause you’re a sorry mother-fucker,” he answered. “I’m low on Bud and Schlitz is cheap. You came walkin’ in here like your dog died. Hell, you ain’t got no dog. A dog wouldn’t hang around you. Would it make you feel any better if I tell you I’ll give you that beer for free?”
“I get all my beer here for free,” I said.
“See, you feel better already, don’t you?” Johnny grinned at me.
That was my best friend trying to cheer me up.
There were about ten people in Johnny’s that night. Most were quiet drunks, hiding in the shadows. Drinking down the poison of their choice, they were trying to hide from themselves as much as anyone else.
Johnny waved at the air between us, “Woo!” He said. “Damn, you smell like the devil too.”
“I just got a sewage shower,” I told Johnny and the smell I was giving off did tell me that the heavy rains we’d been getting lately were making the sewers back up again into the streets.
“I told ya to quit hangin' around with those golden shower chicks,” Johnny said getting a Miller High Life for one of his customers.
“Why can’t you give me one of those?” I asked Johnny and pointed at the Miller that was going to a table in a dark corner.
“Cause you’re a cheap mother-fucker who don’t pay for shit,” he said and sat twelve ounces of Miller in a bottle in front of me.
I drained the glass of Schlitz in one drink and twisted off the cap from the Miller.
Laughter came from the corner table where the Miller had gone.
“You are off the wagon,” Johnny said.
“In a big way bro,” I told him.
Johnny looked at the TV mounted over the bar. A rerun of the Dukes of Hazard was on. The Duke boys were in another car chase where everybody’s car gets trashed but theirs.
“I didn’t know you were in to those southern country faggots,” I told Johnny. “Don’t you know Bo and Luke been given each other the sausage since they quit gigging frogs when they was about twelve.”
“I hope Bo and Luke are giving each other the business,” Johnny said. “About fifteen minutes ago, I became a lifelong fan when Daisy Duke bent over in front of the screen. Them shorts she’s got on are so small I think I saw Ohio through the crack in her ass.”
He went on about the Dukes of Hazard for a few more minutes, but Daisy wasn’t coming back.
“You low on money?” Johnny asked.
“You could say that,” I told him. “I think the cockroaches in this neighborhood got more cash than I do.”
Johnny went into his shirt pocket and produced a business card that he handed to me. It read: Sherman Oakes, Pugilistic Trainer. We Create Champions. There was a phone number and the address of a gym near downtown St Louis.
“The guy stopped in and said he wanted to get hold of you,” Johnny said. “He said it would be worth your trouble to call him.”
I put the card in my pocket. “You never know,” I told him.
“Another thing,” Johnny said. “Some cute little half Oriental, half Caucasian chic came in here a couple of times the last few days. She’s been asking about you.”
“What’s her name?”
Johnny thought hard and with his California Raisin face, he looked like he was either contemplating the mysteries of the universe or he was just constipated. “Hell, I can’t quite remember. Sherry, Teri, Mary,” he said. “One of those -ery names. Anyway, she wants to talk to you.”
“Get her name if she stops in again,” I told Johnny.
“Do I look like your fuckin' secretary?” Johnny asked.
“You look like my bitch,” I told him.
“Fuck you,” he said. “If she stops in, I’ll give her your address and phone number. But, I do want to warn you about black women that get cheated on. Cause I know you got something with Julia.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“If a black woman loves ya, she’ll cut your nuts off.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told Johnny.
“You do that,” Johnny said. “Cause we only get one set and you can't glue them back on.”
* * *
It was about midnight when I decided it was time for me to go. I’d spent the last couple of hours staring at the bubbles in my beer, staring at Johnny, staring at the TV then starting the circle of staring all over again.
I couldn’t even remember what was on the TV it was so lame. Johnny was telling me some joke I wasn’t listening to. He finished up with, “So she told the young guy, well honey, I’ll keep an eye out for you.” He slapped the bar and laughed like a wild man.
I didn’t laugh. I didn’t know what the hell the joke had been about. Johnny saw me looking at him with my sober expression.
“God damn man,” he said. “The joke wasn’t that fuckin' bad.”
I looked at Johnny, then at the TV.
Johnny said, “You are one sorry-ass son of a bitch.”
“Thanks bro, I needed that,” I told him.
“Damn man,” he said to me, “What the fuck is wrong with you. You ought to at least tell me to go fuck myself.”
“All right,” I said. “Go fuck yourself.”
Johnny made a dismissive gesture with his hand and snorted in disgust. He said, “That’s just words bro. Ya got no passion!” When he said the "P" in passion, spit flew from his mouth that I had to duck away from.
“What’s the matter?” Johnny asked. “Julia got ya by the balls.”
I thought about that one for a second.
“The problem is,” I told Johnny in a genuine buddy to buddy moment of pure male bonding, “Is that Julia doesn’t get me by the balls at all. If you know what I mean.”
Johnny looked serious. He leaned forward over the bar and whispered, “You mean you ain’t fucked that broad yet.”
“No,” I answered.
Johnny slapped the bar and cut loose with high pitched loud laughing that had everyone in the bar looking at us.
“I should come over this goddamned bar and jerk all the fuckin' hair out of your head,” I told Johnny, who was doubled over laughing.
“I’d still get more pussy than you,” Johnny said in between laughs, “Even if I was bald and ugly.”
I got off the bar stool. “I’m getting the fuck out of here,” I told him. “You already got the ugly part down pat.” I walked to the door.
Johnny yelled after me, “Sorry man, but I just couldn’t help myself. That is some sorry shit.”
I opened the door and gave Johnny the finger.
“Oh yeah,” Johnny yelled. “One other thing, don’t spank that monkey too hard. He ain’t done nothing to you.”
I stepped out into the rain with the sound of his and a few other people's laughter ringing behind me. That’s my best friend, Johnny. He really knows how to cheer me up.
CHAPTER 2
Julio
There was an all-night liquor store about two blocks from Johnny’s Bar and Grill. I walked in that direction. It was after midnight on a Friday night. I shoul
d have been playing Hop-along Cassidy with some neighborhood Pocahontas about this time. But I was just out walking along in the rain because I couldn't think of anything better to do.
This rain was cold as hell, too. It seems like when it rains hard, even I have enough sense to stay out of it as much as possible. But this drizzly, drowsy type shit that was coming down tends to fool you into believing it ain’t as cold as it is.
You walk outside. A couple of drops hit you. It’s no big deal. Hell, it ain’t no monsoon we're talking about here. It’s just a light shower.
So, you figure you can walk around for a while and be none the worse for it.
Then a drop hits you on the back of the neck. That’s the first sign you get that you should have just stayed home. Before you know it, you step in a puddle and your left foot’s soaked inside your shoe. You squish every time you take a step, like you’re wearing a sponge instead of a shoe on that foot.
The drops keep hitting the back of your neck and keep running down your back until your shirt is soaked and you have a river of water running right down your back and into the crack of your ass. That water don’t get no warmer either on its journey from your neck to your asshole.
I stepped through the door to Quicker Liquor.
This was a small liquor store with only three aisles of assorted mind wasters. Without so much as a glance behind the cash register I headed for the middle aisle, the one where the whiskey was.
Cheap whiskey was what I was after. I only had around one hundred and fifty dollars to my name. I figured I better make it last for at least a couple days.
On the middle shelf were Walkers and Southern Comfort and Jim Beam. I like those brands, but tonight they were a bit too expensive for my budget. I needed cheap, with a capital C.
On the bottom shelf, the one where you have to bend all the way down, practically to the floor, were the cheapest brands. McCormick's whiskey was the cheapest at three-fifty a quart. I knew McCormick's tasted like shit, but if you drink it fast enough, you never even notice the taste.