The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Title Page

  Chapter One - Prelude to a Kiss of Death

  Chapter Two - Rehearsal Disaster

  Chapter Three - Dante's Eleventh Ring of Hell: The Luau

  Chapter Four - Bachelor Party

  Chapter Five - Wedding Blues

  Chapter Six - The Proof is in the Pudding

  Chapter Seven - My So Called Secret Life

  Chapter Eight - Lunch Date

  Chapter Nine - Damage Control

  Chapter Ten - Partners in Fornication

  Chapter Eleven - Rudy the Rohypnolist

  Chapter Twelve - Leave it to Beeber

  Chapter Thirteen - Death Race

  Chapter Fourteen - Beach Blanket Babylon

  Chapter Fifteen - The Tip of the Spear

  Chapter Sixteen - Pulled Pork and Other Sordid Tales

  Chapter Seventeen - Return to Nerd Island

  Chapter Eighteen - Robin's Nest

  Chapter Nineteen - Meet the Parents

  Chapter Twenty - A Plot so Thick You Could Eat It With a Fork

  Chapter Twenty-One - A River Runs Through It

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Damage Control Part Deux

  Chapter Twenty-Three - The Sand Man and the Boner

  Chapter Twenty-Four - The Last Breakfast

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Resident Evil

  Chapter Twenty-Six - The Orc Lord

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Scavenger Hunt

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Did You See the Sun Rise? Part III

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Arousal Release Resolution

  Chapter Thirty - Holy Fucking Matrimony

  Book 7: The Chalupa Conundrum

  Chapter Thirty-One - The Mantasy Series

  Acknowledgements

  Origin of the Tag Finn Series

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to all who have faced adversity in terms of health, work, relationships, or even a really disgusting public restroom, and now desperately need a FUCKING literary, if not FUCKING literal, break from this crazy thing we call

  life.

  •Please excuse the use of profanity and be warned that there will be more to follow, as well as some bathroom humor and sex, though it will all be delivered tastefully and with the intent of conveying a deep, rewarding, and soulful catharsis.

  The Poi Predicament

  © 2018 Lyle Christie

  1st Edition

  All Rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review; nor may any part of this book be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the author.

  Mantasy Inc.

  www.lylechristie.com

  lyle@lylechristie.com

  Book Design and Layout: Christopher Imlay

  Cover design: Lyle Christie

  Editor: Katherine Gundling • Thomas Rainweather

  Proofreaders: Kris Christie • Eminence Tupple • Lord Samual Swiftbuttocks

  First published in 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-949386-10-3

  POI PREDICAMENT

  by LYLE CHRISTIE

  BOOK 6 IN THE MANTASY SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  Prelude to a Kiss of Death

  THE MAN LOOKING at himself in the bathroom mirror was named Rudy Mahelona, and he was feeling a bit apprehensive as he got ready to work a private party at the Kuilimi Bay Resort on Oahu. Normally, he would be excited, as these kinds of events tended to be packed with an abundance of beautiful young female tourists, and, more often than not, Rudy would end up in one of their beds. He was the kind of guy that the young women traveling to the islands dreamed of meeting, as he was charming and, more importantly, particularly good looking with his tan skin, square jaw, and tall athletic frame. Unfortunately for Rudy, he had a second job tonight, and, while it paid a lot more than his primary job, it came with some consequences. Rudy, while being a typical young college student and part-time model, also had a criminal record and had served six months in Halawa Prison for burglary. It could have been a lot worse, for the original charges included second degree assault for drugging his victims with rohypnol, which came with the potential of serving up to ten years in prison. Rudy was lucky, however, in that he had been a starving student with no criminal record, and, because he didn’t rape or physically assault the people he robbed, his charges were plea bargained down to felony burglary.

  Rudy, however, didn’t actually see himself as a criminal, and having grown up particularly poor in Waianae, he saw himself more as a Hawaiian version of Robin Hood. His victims had been wealthy tourists with more money than they could ever spend, and he thought that taking their cash and a few of their trinkets was fair payment for them being able to enjoy his island home. Needless to say, the authorities felt differently, and, while they cut Rudy a break with the plea deal, he still had a felony on his record, which all but ended any serious job prospects, regardless of the fact he was about to graduate from college.

  So, when the man in the business suit came knocking on his door a week ago with an unusual offer, Rudy couldn’t help but take the job. He didn’t learn the man’s name or his actual profession, but he suspected he was some kind of lawyer or government bureaucrat, because he had serious money, and, more importantly, serious connections. He was willing to pay Rudy fifty thousand dollars and have his felony expunged from his record, but, ironically, Rudy needed to revert to his old ways for one night. Rudy agreed, though, now that the actual day was here, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a huge mistake. It had been hard to get the job at the resort, and he didn’t want to jeopardize his only income, but fifty grand and a clean slate was just too good to pass up. Still, the man was pretty intimidating, and there was something about him that scared the shit out of Rudy.

  He finished up by brushing his teeth then headed down to his white Ford Fiesta and plugged in his phone and brought up a playlist. Listening to music always relaxed him, and, now, with the music blasting, he headed off to the resort, which resided up on the Northern end of the island. From the H1 he turned onto the H2, and it eventually became a smaller two lane highway that wound along the shore and led to the entrance of the resort. Instead of going out to the main hotel, he made a left and pulled into the parking lot of the golf course. There, he waited until a white Chevy Malibu pulled up and parked alongside him, at which point, Rudy got out of his car and took a seat in the other vehicle.

  The man in the drivers seat slid on a pair of rubber gloves then reached down and pulled a manilla envelope out from under the seat.

  “Aren’t you being a little overly cautious?” Rudy asked.

  The man smiled.

  “You can never be overly cautious, nor should you ever take advice from the guy who got caught and went to prison,” he responded.

  Rudy shrugged in response.

  The man reached into the envelope and brought out the contents. First was the fifty thousand dollars in cash, which the man showed to Rudy before placing it back in the envelope. Next, he pulled out two vials filled with clear liquid.

  “As you can see, this vial has a P written on the side of it because it’s for the party. The other vial has a B on it, because it’s for the bar,” he said, before placing them back in the envelope.

  “Now, here is your target for the bar,” the man said, as he pulled out his phone and brought up a picture.

  Rudy scrutinized the picture.

  “She will be there shortly after the party, which should be around nine.” />
  “Are you going to text it to me?”

  “No, put it to memory.”

  Rudy continued looking for a bit longer then nodded.

  “OK, I’ve got it.”

  “Good, now, considering your past, I’m pretty sure you should be able to get this done properly.”

  “Yeah, I can get it done no problem, but how soon will my record be cleared?”

  “If you don’t fuck up this job tonight, then by the middle of this coming week, you’ll no longer be a convicted felon, and you’ll be fifty thousand dollars richer.”

  Rudy couldn’t help but smile as he pondered that thought.

  “All right then, assuming everything goes to plan, we’ll never be seeing each other again, and you can go live happily ever after. If there is a problem, we’ll definitely be seeing each other again—and you won’t be living happily ever after. Got it?”

  The man hadn’t used this kind of language on their first meeting, and it wasn’t doing much to quell Rudy’s nagging unease. Still, this was his shot to get his life back, so he tried to appear confident.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” Rudy said.

  “Good.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence, then Rudy climbed out and took a seat in his own vehicle and nodded before starting his engine and driving off to the resort. The man in the Malibu waited until Rudy was a short distance away before pulling out and following him at a safe distance. After Rudy parked, the man in the Malibu watched him as he put the contents of the envelope in his backpack then walked into the resort’s employee entrance. At that point the man in the Malibu smiled and pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Two rings later, his call was answered.

  “Well?” the other person asked.

  “Rudy’s a little nervous, but I put the fear of God into him, so I’m confident he’ll get the job done.”

  “Good, then everything is in motion, and, by tomorrow morning, it will be clear that John Matheson will never be the president of the United States.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rehearsal Disaster

  THE ESKIMOS HAD a hundred words for snow while I had only about eleven for diarrhea. Beyond its official medical name, were a number of more colorful euphemisms such as the scudders, the runs, the squirts, Montezuma’s revenge, the green apple splatters, rocket ass, the Havana omelet, liquid fire, the trots, or quite simply—the shits, and any one of these colorful descriptions could have accurately described the building pressure I was feeling in my abdomen at this particular moment in time. I wiped the sweat from my forehead then gazed at my watch. It was currently seven thirty-six p.m. local time on a beautiful Saturday evening on the island of Oahu, and I was attending a luau to celebrate the engagement of two very close friends. One of the people in question just happened to be John Matheson, the current vice president of the United States, while the other was Jessica Thurman—a friend and former client of sorts. Coincidentally, I was also the reason that these two found each other, and I was at last seeing the fruits of my labors rewarded with holy matrimony. Love was in the air, but so too were the tepid odors of a public restroom, which, for the moment, was thankfully empty.

  My stomach grumbled, and I looked down at the toilet before me and felt a great deal of trepidation, which was basically pointless, because I was only moments away from painting a masterpiece in my pants. I desperately needed to spill my innards but feared and abhorred public restrooms, so this was my only salvation—my only hope of containing the situation. Mind you, I was in a fine hotel, and the bathroom was relatively clean, though other problems were now plaguing my mind—namely the infrared sensor that automatically flushed the toilet. While it made sure that all manner of waste was sent on its way in a timely manner, its sensitivity often caused it to flush prematurely. That might occur when someone leaned to one side to wipe his or her ass, and it would bring about an accidental flush, with the unfortunate result being a fine toilet water mist spraying all over the dumper’s backside, cock, and balls—assuming that the person was, like me, a male of the species. So, right now, I needed to think rationally and call upon my unique expertise forged by a lifetime in the special operations, clandestine services, and, more recently, my work as a private investigator.

  The sensor was infrared and therefore triggered by a heat signature, and it would activate the moment it sensed a warm body then wait until that person left before flushing. That was the theory, anyway. The reality was very different, however, but I refused to be beaten by my little porcelain and chrome nemesis. Looking around the stall, I realized that my only tools were my wits, some seat covers, and a roll of toilet paper. Bingo! I had an idea. I needed to defeat the sensor, which could be achieved by simply blocking it with a swath of toilet paper. Simple, stupid, and effective. I tore off a good sized piece, folded it in half, and laid it over the sensor, thereby placating the mechanical monster. I grabbed a sanitary toilet seat cover, placed it on the seat, and dropped down, ready to do battle with my most fearsome of enemies—the public toilet. I wasn’t happy, but I would survive.

  I tried to relax by taking a minute to reflect on my current situation, and my thoughts turned to trying to figure out what in the hell I had eaten to end up in this particular predicament. I was also fairly buzzed, but the alcohol was at least giving me the temporary bravado I needed to endure this indignity. I needed to keep my eye on the prize, which meant shitting and getting the hell out of here before someone else came in. It seemed like a good plan until the door opened, and in walked a number of strangers. Worse still, they were obviously drunk and talking incessantly. The only thing worse than a public restroom was a crowded public restroom, and now I had to contend with both. Wait a minute—the voices were female. What in the hell were these women doing in the men’s room Goddammit?

  Two of the offenders walked into the adjoining stalls and literally trapped me in the middle, though their conversation was almost worse than their proximity. The woman to my right was complaining that her husband was a little light in the foreplay department, and that he considered taking off his pants to be more than enough to get her in the mood. The woman on my left, however, was more concerned with the odor emanating from her husband’s balls, and if he truly wanted that blowjob, then he might try showering before bed. What in the hell did I do to deserve this? At least I could take a small amount of solace in knowing that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Wrong again. The woman to my right started peeing then let loose a long, terrible fart followed by a massive movement which, judging by the sound, was mostly liquid fire.

  “Jesus, Sharon! I guess you had the poi as well,” the woman to my left said.

  “I did. You think that’s what upset our stomachs?”

  “I think so. I got a funny feeling after I finished mine.”

  “Well, it’s a luau, so I figured I should try a little of everything.”

  Wait a minute. There was only one luau going on at the hotel, and it was a private affair, which meant these women were guests at the same party. Wonderful—there would be witnesses to my indignity. Suddenly the woman to my left started peeing and, like her friend, let loose a fart, though the gas soon turned into solid, or, more accurately, liquid, though it was hard to tell from the sound alone. A sharp pain in my stomach made me remember the fact that I too had a similar feeling after finishing my poi—the feeling in fact, which led me in here.

  “Nice one, Liz! I see the poi is having an effect.”

  “Wow, it is, and it doesn’t smell good.”

  She was, of course, correct in her assessment. It did not smell good, and in fact it smelled like shit—if you could make shit smell even worse than shit. Sharon, the woman to my right, let loose another salvo, and her odors started heading my way and mixing with Liz’s to create a vortex of unpleasantness so vile that I was on the verge of retching. Stifling the tiniest of gags, I accidentally let loose a pretty good sized fart that quickly turned to liquid and rocketed from my ass and hit the waters of my
toilet with the intensity of a fire hose. Sweet mother of God, I had unleashed the Kraken, and soon another wave of waste was leaving my body in an expeditious and noisy manner.

  “I guess someone else had the poi as well,” Liz, the woman to my left, said, with a small chuckle.

  Here it was—the entirety of my life’s nightmares all rolled into one horrific moment. I looked around my small cell of torment and wondered how I might get free of this particular predicament—this veritable poi predicament, but nothing came to mind. I was trapped, and the only actual way out would probably entail suicide, though there would be no dignity in that either. I had to soldier on, hold true to myself, and muster through this time of great despair.

  Another explosion rocked my backside, and I prayed the toilet could endure this much punishment and not crumble and send me and my waste spilling onto the floor. Sharon responded in kind, as did Liz, and the air grew so thick with fecal scent that my eyes were beginning to water. The door to the bathroom opened yet again, and more people filed in, probably because of the very same food item that Liz, Sharon, and I had eaten. By their voices, I realized that they too were women, and I had to wonder why in the hell they kept coming into the men’s room. Perhaps the women’s was out of order, or the universe had just randomly decided it was time to decimate any sense of self-esteem that remained after high school.

  A great pain came to my lower abdomen, and I let out what was easily the largest fart thus far, and the entire bathroom became deathly quiet.

  “Are you still alive in there?” Liz asked.

  “Yeah, are you OK?” Sharon added.

  I stayed quiet, hoping to hide the fact that I was a rooster in the presence of so many hens.

  “Hello? You OK?”