Subrizi Michael D.

Lust Demented

Every man, when he is quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.

- Henry Miller

Sexus: The Rosy Crucifixion©

{I}

IT WASN’T EASY TO RECOGNIZE Percy. On first glance, somebody had stabbed him several times, stuffing him with what looked like ritualistically chosen snippets of absurd literature. Pages placed inside him similar to the way a grandmother cut slices into a ham roast and stuffed garlic. Blood dried in branches of rosemary. Body crushed and crumbled on the splattered step.

What really made me gag were the mutilated pages. Books on the floor reduced to binding. Shelves torn from the walls. I fell into a sneezing fit trying to blow the stench of death out of the room. The exposed brick came alive with sinister people trapped within frames. Spotted up snapshots of Percy’s hanger-ons. Their cavernous eyes. Their glimmering fangs. Percy always bragged that he had a lot of enemies. He never once mentioned a friend.

One picture stood out from the rest. It was of Percy and Missy lounging together on a deserted beach. Clear ocean swallowed up by a curtain of depraved sky. Missy occupied another dimension, deep off in the starlet pose with everything overflowing. Percy appeared ancient, a mere bystander next to the dime piece.

Now I was a mere bystander… outside of the frame… still waiting for Missy to come in and scream. Nausea in waves…

“Freeze!”

“Lava will turn us all to stone. A hundred times more terrible than what happened in Italy or Iceland.” Missy was beyond convinced that the world would end in the same place it began for her. A monk found her wandering the shores of Heaven’s Lake on Baekdu Mountain. He named her Eun Young.

“It means Missy in English.” It wasn’t true. It means one who always gets luck and protection from the king.

“On the ground! On the fucking ground!” Squinting through the charcoal haze, the officers closed in with their weapons drawn. A stomach of earth. I’m kissing the floor. Percy’s leaky corpse was staring me down. I couldn’t make out the blurry fuzz. The cuffs were cold and tight on my wrists.

“I didn’t do this.”

“Maybe you didn’t.”

“I did…”

“What?”

“I did know them.”

“Who’s them? I only see one body.”

Curiosity awoken, the neighbors watched my heels skid to the patrol car taking sips from their tulip glasses. Scandals were common in this part of town. Crimes were rare.

“Duck asshole!” They reminded me a second late. I crumbled in the fetal position. The pigs floored it, only to slam the breaks. A few more times, a few more bruises. A trickling stream of brutal stop and go. The city was a self-absorbed amoeba. The ride couldn’t have lasted shorter. No matter where you happened to be in NYC - a jail, hospital, or bank were only a few blocks away: The holy trinity of the modern age.

Down a hallway of echoes… the muffled chatter of the human zoo… not even placed in the cage for a hot second… the slavemasters take me out to look me over… not too interested… not too thrilled… a busy night in the neighborhood… I want to plead innocence… just can’t raise my voice over all the others doing the same… intimate confidants packing the pasture… their smudgy windows leading to cunning ways out… their sunken eyes accused… their savage intentions glorified…

A room opens up. A psycho exited grumbling, “So the fuck what… suck it…” incoherently possessed he tries to bite me… I don’t flinch… I doubt he can bite me into a coffin… go fuck yourself we make acquaintance… now to look the cops in the eyes… the two that led me into the cramped room… the pale redhead… cartoonish curves… kung-fu swagger… emerald marbles in the sockets… the dark man…slits squinting… shoulders that widen door frames… a warm inviting host of a voice.

“Take a seat.”

I closed my eyes letting them watch me reverberate in the echo of past voices. They knew I would rather listen to them talk. Missy was missing and maybe I knew and maybe I didn’t. Either way they’re shaking the wrong tree for coconuts.

{II}

DARKNESS WAS THE WORLD I was no longer a part of. Sgt. Bethany Powers had the light in my face with a glare of scrutiny

“Make any sense of this mess Farrow?” She waited for me to break the silence.

“You’re perfect except for the uniform.”

Sgt. Bethany Powers smashed my face off the table. The room trembled. I was back on Roosevelt Avenue in Queens watching the trains pass each other in the night. Jumbo jets swept down from above. Everything moved around me in immediacy, but I stayed frozen: Just another dissolving hologram.

“So Farrow… what made you come into the city tonight?” Her soothing voice took its sweet time slicing through the stale air.

“I came for A Greater Truth.” The severity of the situation was squandered. Squandered in years of writing rising from the concrete maze. Squandered in the mocking sky constantly caving in. Squandered in the sagging marshland bubbling to swallow me up.

“Did you get it out of Percy before you carved into him?” Their efforts to unwrap me, felt routine, unimportant.

“I heard you were more than familiar with Percy’s wife, Missy.”

“His wife? It’s been years.”

“Years?”

“Missy fucked me over. A year’s passed since I’ve seen her.”

“A year almost to the day. Nice anniversary you planned.” A dose of serum. I wondered where she got her information and how the hell it was so relevant and exact. After the fleecing Missy ran on me with the help of the lecherous high society literary czar Percy Featherton, I lost all concept of time. I had to lead the conversation into insignificance.

“It’s not my style to badmouth the black widow. None of this woulda ever happened if…”

“What woulda never happened, Farrow… Percy would still be alive?”

“We better not find Missy taking a dirt nap in your backyard.”

“I hope she’s okay. I hope she gets everything…”

“She deserves.” Det. Anderson grimaced, patient and methodical.

“I hope she gets everything she desires. Everything she thinks she needs.” I used Missy. She used me. It usually went that way in love. The idea that she was in danger made me cringe, but the cops would do little to help. If anything, clarifying what they didn’t know could only complicate the disaster.

“How did Missy fuck you over Farrow? It seems to me she found a more successful man. A gentleman that adored her. A successful man that helped her gain the recognition that she deserved.”

“It seems if anyone did anything to anyone… it was you Farrow. Tell me. Just how did Missy fuck you over?” Sgt. Powers went after my insecurities. It made my blood simmer. I couldn’t resist. I had to hear the words out loud.

“Missy fucked me over by…”

“Come with it.”

“Don’t keep us waiting.”

“By stealing my book… A Greater Truth!”

“Your book?”

“A Greater Truth?”

“Yeah. Did you read it?” An image of my book’s last passage brought a smile to my face. “Either of you?”

“Actually to be completely honest, I feel like I’m reading it as we speak.” Sgt. Powers humored me, attempting to turn me inside out. “But, I don’t believe you wrote it. Not a fucking chance.”

“I don’t believe you read it… not a fucking chance.” Our doubts appeared out of nowhere… threatening to spread into a local plague… popping up on the cankerous faces of the Grand Central commuter rush… splotching over the skin of the staggering tourists drunk on Times Square’s radioactive waves… climbing out the scabrous loudmouths of bluebeasts in riot gear ducking flaming bottles.

“Farrow, can you prove that you wrote it?” Detective Anderson ended on a long pause, listening intently as if his life, not mine depended on it.

“Do a mother’s eyes match her baby’s?”

“Sometimes they do match Farrow. Sometimes they do.” The only place that offered any escape from the morbid meditation was Sgt. Bethany Powers’ green eyes, where of course I found my reflection. Too bad she was against me. Too bad she only cared about the dead.

{III}

THE CHOKESMOKE NYC AIR HIT my lungs offering up a different lick of instinct. I had to watch my every impulse, as the people that would be doing the same were not to be trusted. Smooth survival was making sure to walk with purpose at all times. Detective Anderson followed me through Gramercy with the swiftness. He wasn’t undercover. He knew I knew he was watching me. He wanted me to know.

Percy’s designer clothes felt soft against my skin. I didn’t snatch them up today and I didn’t steal them. The old conniving bastard actually gave them to me. It was his idea. Absurd, that after all the years of trying to infiltrate the world Percy controlled, he was the one that approached me. At first I thought he was guilty about Missy choosing him over me. Then I came to my senses and realized he looked at her as more of a literary whore than myself. It was a competitive stable of a brothel: This incestual world of words. Percy, a writer himself, was under the same blessed curse. He wanted to give me a place to live. Give me clean clothes. Thing is: He forgot how he became what he was. I could live anywhere. I could wear anything. So I felt nothing about the Queens coffin he placed me in.

Detective Anderson slowed to my creep. Every time I caught his eyes a dozen ways to ditch him entered my mind. I wondered why he just didn’t cuff me to the scaffolding of Featherton Publishing. Was he nervous I would try to take the whole building down with me? Was he afraid I would wither away of starvation and heatstroke like a mangy hyena in the Serengeti? There are more convenient maneuvers to antagonize the grim reaper.

I didn’t have the key to Gramercy Park, but it was easy enough to hop that pathetic fence. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to keep people out or in. For some reason I expected Detective Anderson to do the same. Instead he just reached in his pocket and whipped it out, shutting the gate gently, so not to bring notice of his presence to the others patrons.

I was exhausted, overwhelmed. I collapsed in the first available spot that was more grass than dirt. Detective Anderson towered over me like a sentimental grizzly.

“Farrow most murderers return to the scene of the crime.” The statement made me want to lie down in the middle of the A-train’s tracks and chant doo-wop with the subway rats.

“This wasn’t the scene of the crime.”

“Close enough.” I could feel the Featherton townhouse radiating hellborn vapors beyond the gates. Shut your eyes and everything will go away. My head was a heavy shell. I was fading fast. Let the lids ease closed. A little bird was bouncing in front of me. They were all over the city. Easy not to notice. Squeaking and tweeting. Fade to inner silence… come easy dreams...

“I met someone that can help you.” Missy and I were on a rooftop somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen. It was summer, but not the summer of the current year. The buildings hanging in our shadows had a superficial incandescence. I already had my share of the conversation from the sharp breath of entry, but Missy wouldn’t let up.

“Oh yeah…”

“Featherton Publishing mean anything to you?”

“Who is it? An editor…? A mail clerk…? A family connection…? A friend of a friend of a friend…?”

“Featherton himself Farrow. He tried to pick me up. I didn’t realize who he was at first, until he told me, and when I did - I immediately thought of you. Percy Featherton…” I could feel her poking me as she moaned his name.

“Percy Featherton is de…” I woke up mid-sentence. The finger poking me belonged to Detective Anderson. He was standing over me with mysterious urgency. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were crossed in the most disturbing fashion.

{IV}

LIGHTS FLASHING, A BLACK UNMARKED Ford Explorer stopped short on Irving Place with all its windows down. Chaotic radio breaka breaka filled the air.

“Long time no see Farrow.” Sgt. Bethany Powers squeezed the pulp out of the wheel.

“The pleasure is mine.”

“Anderson, you didn’t tell him yet!”

“I didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Guy’s our number one suspect and he’s nodding out in rush hour.”

“Tell me what?” I figured I was being arrested. I’d be cuffed at the wrists and ankles, tossed around ragdoll, and dragged from sweaty cell to sweatier cell.

“Farrow they found Missy’s body.” Detective Anderson spoke slowly in a windy cemetery voice, laying his hands on me with the conman chi of a Reiki healer. My body slumped over… head curling into chest… lava skin… liquid pain… bones molting. Detective Anderson opened the back door of the squad car for me limo driver style. I could hear the engine’s purr and nothing else. It was more soothing than distracting. Sgt. Bethany Powers hit the sirens. Peeling out, she took a wild left onto 18th street. Memories bombarded me…

Missy showed up in full evening wear ready for confrontation. Featherton was at her side with his hand extended, waiting for me to shake it. Missy had a glowing, almost blinding smile, proud of her accomplishments. I turned my back on them both without saying a word.

“Fucking caldron.” Detective Anderson’s accent shifted guttural as his body twitched in preparation.

“Temperature’s rising.” Sgt. Bethany Powers’ eyes drilled inward as we weaved in and out of downtown traffic.

I could hear Missy’s heels clicking on marble museum floors. We were surrounded by valuable art. Then the sound of her heels disappeared. Then the art disappeared.

No more than another set of wheels click-clacking across the river: That’s all we were. The Brooklyn Bridge echoed with taunts. What the hell was Missy doing on the other side of the river in the first place? She always complained about the boroughs, the subways, the stoops, and anything New York that wasn’t Manhattan. Maybe she had some premonition that Brooklyn would be her final resting place.

Missy didn’t know I was choking on her perfume. It was the first time I followed anyone. Let alone a lover. The moment was romantically cinematic, except for the spy behind the invisible curtains. I didn’t have to hide. They couldn’t see me even if they wanted to. They couldn’t see anybody, but each other. When he kissed her, the flavor of his lips filled my mouth. It tasted like saying hello again to a dead relative at a wake.

A final tear rolled down my cheek. There was a commotion on Coffey Street. I always envisioned the confrontation with Missy differently. I would see her from across the room, slowly gravitating towards her, melting every step of the way in her incendiary gaze until I was a pool of truth at her feet and she would bathe in me… drink me, until we were one again.

This city keeps its cops busy. Sgt. Powers and Det. Anderson left me in the car while they mingled on the miniature lawn similar to a couple at an East Hampton benefit dinner. Something about the casualness of their gestures offended me. Both officers appeared to know everybody on the scene. From the backseat the sounds of their voices were distorted, struggling futilely to be heard over the rest.

“We need you to identify the body.” Det. Anderson offered up a polite invitation to the gore and emptiness waiting inside.

{V}

LITTLE STONES TRAPPED IN CONCRETE slabs forced into the grass. The path to the front door disintegrated before it materialized. With a somber greeting, Sgt. Bethany Powers quickly ushered us to the back of the house. Center of gravity shaken, it occurred to me the amount of time that passed since I stepped foot inside an actual house and not an apartment.

Stories hidden within stories. Trails of reality dosing dream logic. From the outside the three-story shell looked no different than the other dilapidated shitshacks that the longshoreman used to stain with sweat. But inside the ceilings were strangely arched. The second and third floors were completely removed and the walls reinforced. The three of us exchanged glances under slices of light. Gothic stone statues and heavily carved furniture were scattered everywhere allowing very little room to move.

The officers stopped short, releasing air from their constricted lungs. It was time. I looked down at the body and quickly looked away.

“That’s not Missy.” An unfathomable error. They must’ve already known. Fury built up inside of me. I felt stretched vertically as if the devil was kicking her high heel up my ass.

“What do you mean?”

“Who is it?” Sgt. Bethany Powers and Det. Anderson studied my reaction, all but taking notes.

Light through the stained glass ceiling divided the victim’s body into occult fractals. The dead writer lying on the ground, skull split, body thrashed by an evaporated predator was a polar opposite of Missy.

“Monika Gloom.” There was a strange silent understanding between the icy amazon and I. The sensation carried true into her death.

“It looks like her vocal chords were cut out with a pair of scissors.” Sgt. Bethany Powers traced an imaginary line centimeters above Monika’s throat, snipping away with long spindly fingers.

“Whoever did this tore the folds of flesh right through her neck after they were done peeling her open.” Detective Anderson’s intellectual tone conjured images of the scores of fatal wounds a person would have to examine before gaining such expertise.

“Pages thrown all over her. Once again all the books ripped off the shelves…”

“… separated from their binding.” I was turning into one of them. Finishing their sentences for them in the fashion they originally hoped.

“Okay… Farrow let’s get it over with now and not at the station. Tell us everything you know about her.” We were all playing the same game in different ways. Certain facts had to be left out to allow myself the greatest available freedom, which seemed to be diminishing in violent flashes of time. I had to give the cops something.

“She wrote the dark stuff. Her talent… her presence was intimidating.” The more I looked at Gloom, the more I zoned out. The place I entered, I didn’t want to go. I tried to drift back, but it wasn’t happening quickly enough.

“D.O.A. had a reading scheduled tonight on the Bowery.” A random cop appeared to be a fan of Gloom’s schlock. “It starts in a half hour.”

“Get moving then!” Red hair whipped me in the face, nearly stripping me of my unalienable rights.

“Farrow! Let’s get shaking, huh.” Detective Anderson nudged me away from Monika’s body.

“No chance. I’m done with you guys.” Bloody pages of A Greater Truth were stuck to my shoe. It took a few Radio City kicks and half the Harlem shuffle to shake them off.

“Have it your way.” Detective Anderson exaggerated his huffs, theatrically storming off, leaving me in the room alone with Sergeant Powers and Gloom.

“You artists are always broke, but usually can still lose yourself in a good fuck.” She grabbed my belt buckle pulling me close enough that I could smell the napalm on her breath. One hand slid between my underwear and my skin. The other she kept closed in a fist. Slowly she uncurled her fingers, revealing a crumbled twenty dollar bill in her palm. I took it and she pushed me away. Then something hit her. Her brain was storming. Lizardish oracle eyes locked on my belt buckle. Somehow she knew Percy kept my pants from falling around my ankles. Somehow she already knew.

“I don’t want to get involved.” Clearly writer genocide. Slit throats flooding, screaming vowels and owl eyes of frozen cadavers. Burn all books, drain all ink, smash all screens.

“We have nothing. Believe me when I tell you this. Remember you or someone you love will be next. Go to the reading. Just go and see if anything feels strange.” Damn sexy how she mixed her bullshit with sincerity as she found a better grip, stroking me.

{VI}

RUMBLING. A STORM WAS CREEPING up. Not bolts, but white flashes ready to blanket Brooklyn’s bellyland. The first drops sounded like the neighborhood kids were dumping pails off the deserted factory rooftops. Outside Gloom’s house a cop chatted up the driver of a yellow cab. I got in without bothering to say where I was going. It was a relief to be free of the dicks breathing down my neck. Anytime I tried to envision Percy’s ceremonious corpse, I could only see my own.

“Some writer’s bar on Bowery and Houston is where the cop told me to drop you. That okay with you?” The transsexual cabbie’s raspy Macy’s fragrance aisle accent shook with the cab as we rattled through the potholes. Long hair dangled on the divider.

“Yeah, but take your time. No rush.” I wanted to get back to it. I needed to write. Make sense of it all.

“I spit verse there sometimes.” The cabbie took both hands off the wheel, interlocking ten fingers and flexing both biceps.

“Oh…”

“Taxi-poems, I guess you’d call them.”

“Yeah…” My brain was leaking all over its empty page. The chaos crackling above felt right on target. All I needed was the rain.

“I saw you made the news.” The driver turned completely facing me in an effort to engage me. “Curiousity got the better of me and I took a spin to see for myself.”

A small flat screen television was pinned smack dab in the middle of the back of the front seat, strategically below the partition which had a little moveable drawer where you could slide the money through the bulletproof glass like a late night liquor store.

“TV repeats every fifteen minutes or so. Gives me a fucking migraine. Every time I turn the volume off, a fare turns it back on. I hear this city’s sickness in my sleep. It’s one thing to read the paper in the morning… another thing to listen to it for your entire shift.” The cabbie was really able to carry on a conversation with herself. Definitely a writer.

“Wait. This is it… here it comes.” The rain began to come down harder. A smooth layer of careening water covered the windows erasing the outside world. A hotel restaurant scene appeared and disappeared in a matter of seconds replaced by a pearly-smiled reporter who appeared a little too joyful to be reporting a murder. The little screen filled with images of Percy’s townhouse.

*****Today steps from Gramercy Park a typically peaceful street was the site of a vicious, cold-blooded homicide. It was here where publishing czar Percy Featherton was found savagely murdered in his lavish townhouse. The pages from his most recent success A Greater Truth were found torn and scattered over his dead body. The book was a stylish mystery written by his wife and protégé Missy Featherton. Police have taken into custody Michele Giacomo Aurelio Faro who was discovered at the scene in a state of confusion. Bizarrely he seems to be attempting to take credit for a book he didn’t write*****

“That’s some long name you got.” The driver looked back at me instead of the road, bulldozing forward.

“Yeah. I’m surprised they didn’t butcher it. Did it sound like I was guilty?”

“I don’t know I just met you. In this country…”

“She made me sound guilty. Didn’t she?”

“Mr. Farrow it made you sound like a man who’s seen better days.”

“Why didn’t they say I wrote the book? Why did they give Missy credit as the author?”

“I suppose because her name is on the cover.”

“I wrote it.”

“No shit?”

“The cops believed me.”

“You believe that they believed you? You wouldn’t be the first killer to ride in this car… this planet’s outside its head. Just when you let your guard down…. WA-BAM!” Electric sky followed by a thunderous boom.

“I’m no killer. I’m just a… just a friend of the dead.” Construction cranes hung above us. The overseers were forcing futuristic change. A neighborhood famous for its anonymity in the past was transformed see-through. All the buildings going up were all windows. You could see the new neighbors cozying in. You could hear them pop their corks.

“Afraid somebody’s after you in particular or just all the writers they can find?”

“Somebody’s exterminating writers and I’m heading to a room full of them. What are your plans for the night?”

“What do you want to take me out on the town or use me for a shield?”

“A shield from the shield.”

“Gotta keep the meter moving. I suggest the same to you.” The driver shrugged me off, pulling over across the street from the club. I placed the twenty in the partition’s pay slot only to be refused.

“Nothing disgusts me more than a bum scheming to take credit for someone else’s work. I hope you finally get picked out of the crowd.” The cabbie grilled me with a lippy smile through the rearview. I lifted the bill high like a hypnotist. Gently laying the green on the back seat followed with a middle finger.

It was always raining on the Bowery. The door slammed. The cab’s spinning wheels showered me. I was alone for the first time since I stumbled upon Percy’s cold cadaver. I found a seat on the curb. The entire city was just a fucking puddle to make a mess in. I became fixated on a paper coffee cup overflowing water from the storm. The soiled cup wouldn’t fall over no matter how hard the rain came down. I put the cup to my lips and sipped. I was drinking the city itself. The familiar taste of millions of overflowing dreams. It tasted natural, like licking your own blood to stop the bleeding.

{VII}

IT WAS AN ILLUSION THAT I was drinking anything more than air. I watched the drops build at the bottom of the empty cup, but didn’t have the patience to allow them to grow into something substantial. Crushing the cup, I placed it in the gutter, and booted it into the middle of the street. A few cars ran it over. I waited for the avenue to open up, making a point to step on the dirty flat cardboard before slipping through the doors of the poetry club.

Some people are ghosts… able to float aimlessly without ever truly compromising their ideals to the world of flesh. It was no secret that Monika Gloom chose a spectral image to boost her circulation. Nonetheless, her fans were the authentic living dead, feasting on one of their own. I scanned the room for Detective Anderson and found him talking up a thin woman with huge glasses that made her look like the human fly. There was a buzz in the room and the conversations seemed to blend together into some foul concoction of spirit.

“….who could’ve done this?… it doesn’t make sense… writers feign suicide … musicians get drained by love…. painters turn into vegetables…” The auditory select herd had some interesting philosophies on the final days of an artist. A hovering impatience called for an orator to stand above us and make sense of it all.

“What a bore.” Distinguished and distant, Lars Wildman gave off an air of self-destructive royalty. I should have smelled him coming.

“What’s a bore Lars?”

“This fucking senselessness. The easy ending is death. For once I want to see a story that ends with life.” Lars seemed heavily medicated as always.

“I’m sorry about your father.” I could already picture Percy’s body in the ground, maggots eating his skin.

“You hated his guts like everyone else. It was just a matter of time that somebody dealt with him the way he dealt with others.” Lars was Percy’s son. His real name was Clayton Featherton. He probably picked his last name so the day somebody decided to shade in his past with typeset font and pleasant exaggerations there was no chance the title would get fucked up.

“Now Gloom’s gone too.”

“Last time I saw the dark sorceress she attacked me with a steak knife at Peter Lugers. I splashed her eyes with gravy, but she managed to take a piece off the corner of my ear.” Recounting the story, Lars pulled back his hair so I could see the slight deformity the slain scribe marked him with. A questionable tale to say the least. Waiting for my reaction, his eyes became orbs that turned the world into a giant shadow that only he could navigate aimlessly. It was at that moment that Hawaii appeared wearing tiny pink shorts. I hadn’t seen her in some time. She looked pretty much the same as the last time we bumped into each other, except she was wearing shorter shorts. Every time we crossed paths I noticed that her shorts would get shorter. Shorter every time. Hawaii was the bridge between Lars and Gloom. A couple years ago, she dated them both simultaneously and the discovery blossomed into the scuffle over red meat that Lars had just finished lamenting. It made the papers and I remembered lining my kitchen cabinets with the newsprint.

“Farrow the transient outcast and Lars my bitter love.” Hawaii put her arms around both Lars and I. Hawaii had the habit of laughing after everything she said. It might have come off as an obnoxious or an ignorantly stoned gesture if it came from somebody else, but something about her ways was subliminally seductive. It was a gentle orgasmic giggle that forced you to picture her in scenarios reserved only for her.

“How are the girls?” For some reason it made me relax to see Lars cringe. Despite his open-minded demeanor, he struggled with the fact that Hawaii’s main duty outside of spoken word throwdowns was to help chicks rid themselves of unwanted pregnancies.

“They’re fine Farrow. Thanks for asking.” Hawaii smiled, affectionately massaging both of our shoulders. “Truth is I’ve shifted roles at the hospital. I got a transfer to the neonatal intensive care unit about a year or so ago.”

“That’s nice.” Lars stayed suspicious as Monika Gloom’s latest pet got up on the stage.

Kiko seemed to hover above us all, forcing the entire crowd to start at the pointy toes of her stilted blue leather boots and follow floral black lace leggings to her lunar skin mid-thigh, tangling our minds deep in a short black and white anime maid’s dress, slices of fabric missing which allowed her tattoos to burst through bleeding color. Her hair dyed deep blue where it was not jet black, short where it was not spiked up in a fuck the world typhonic wave.

“Why don’t you all shut up?” The room filled into an immediate hush as Kiko snarled, whipping her neck around jaw first.

“You… you just stand there waiting to hear me read the same words that you read to yourself. The same words that you make mean whatever you want them to mean. You think they’re written for you, but these are my words. Monika used to say… Kiko you’re my porcelain muse, stay near me so I can write. Never shatter.” Kiko licked her lips, fighting the endless desert in her mouth.

“I can’t do this.” Choking up with two fingers inserted past the knuckle, Kiko shook Gloom’s latest novel like it was an extension of her fist.

“Pale skin and pale words.” Lars rolled his eyes, twitching on account of the unwanted attention. The gawkers that weren’t wrapped up in Kiko’s trance were staring down Lars from all corners of the room.

“What do we do now?” I was getting restless, short-attention span and all.

“Listen.” Hawaii used a roguish whisper to undress Kiko on stage.

The crowd cynically dished out unintelligible jeers intended as support. Kiko inhaled deeply, opening the hardcover as she exhaled into the microphone, “This is an excerpt from Viscous by Monika Gloom…” Everyone started clapping like their favorite band finally sobered up enough to take stage. Kiko dramatically stared at a sky blocked by a black ceiling. When she was finally ready her eyes fell back on the page. “The uncivilized fathers of New Amsterdam cannot comprehend the biological clock of the immortal undead. I have seen more sunrises than the city’s bridges have been masturbated by river waves. I have tasted more necks than the soil has swallowed plague ridden bones… that’s it… she’s dead… I’m sorry…” Kiko and most of the Gloom groupies in the room seemed to have the passage memorized. Stomachs grumbled to be fed their idol. Heartbroken fans stormed the stage, prying the book from Kiko’s hands. Ripped pages filled the room, twisting and twirling through the air, landing on candles with poofs of smoke.

I noticed Lars shaking his head and found myself shaking mine in agreement. Whatever happened tonight was over and done with. Hawaii gazed in wonder at the strange man making his way across the room. Detective Anderson motioned to me and it seemed like a good time to get some fresh air.

“It was nice seeing you guys. Give Detective Anderson my regards.”

“Who?” Hawaii and Lars exchanged suspicious glances.

{VIII}

BLACK RAIN. WRITING IS A race against death. The only difference that the present moment had over the day to day was the assassin slicing up the competition and leaving my calling card behind in torn from the binding. Usually when I left a room of writers, a suspicion lingered that my delusions were justifiable.

Cloud sweat pounded my armor chest. I could only march on unashamed to ruin or fame. Delivery guys in their makeshift ponchos chugged forward through the honks. The city was mad with hunger and willing to pay dearly for her secret fetish. It had been a long time since I’d seen or been seen. Seasons had passed since the public success of my pilfered novel. It was no mystery to any of them that I was sitting around chanting obsessed curses of vengeance.

Nude in the dim lighting, Missy moved in a trance of summoned passion. The music was loud enough that she didn’t notice me at first. When she did catch my eye, it was with a gas chamber stare. A metaphoric blade at my throat.

“Practicing for the old man?”

I was staring lost into the East River. I didn’t remember exactly how I got there, but I could remember other things. Spend enough time in this town and every corner becomes stage for a memory. There was a bench at my side that I just couldn’t sit on. Last time I sat on that bench, Missy stood behind me with searing eyes.

“You’re not a man.” Her words were forever etched.

“You don’t even know what a man is.”

“You’re not a man, Farrow.”

“A man survives.”

“What?”

“A man survives. That’s all.”

Missy’s reasoning at the time was based on nothing more than what she wanted me to decide for her. I had already made my decision before I met her. Just the same, she had already made her decision before she met me.

“You’re no writer.” Engorged, her breasts shook as we waited on line at the supermarket. She was pregnant. Hormonal.

“What do you want?”

“I have no idea. I only know what I don’t want.”

“Then what don’t you want?”

“I don’t want you here. I don’t want your baby living inside me.”

“It’s our baby. Not only mine.”

“It’s nothing.”

Missy had room for a dozen razors under her tongue. She explained how she had no choice. We weren’t ready. She had to kill it. Now ghosts of dead publishers and overly ambitious writers were at my sides. I wondered if anything changed. The bench was still there. I wanted to rip it out of the ground and throw it in the fucking river. That’s just what I needed to do, so I did it.

{IX}

THE BENCH DIDN’T FLOAT AND neither did I. Rain arpeggiates the river’s surface helping along the three foot swells. Above the water the city is a shimmering miracle. A rough menstrual drain pouring from Gotham’s luscious lips. The entire planet was spotted with blood to drown in. I was more a part of it than it wanted me to be. The bench was sinking somewhere below me. I could no longer see her, but I knew she… I mean it…was still there.

“What do you want me to say?… um let me see Farrow… how about… I just give you more material for your book.”

“My book?”

“A Greater Truth… if it even exists! Not everything in life is material for your book. Please don’t make me material for my book.”

“Your book? What the fuck are you talking about?”

She called it her book. I was taking her serious up until that point. I should’ve taken her even more mysterious when she let that claim slip. If the night carried out in the direction it was heading, my last book would forever be credited to someone else. Motherfuck memories. Thoughts of the woman were electrocution. Unfortunately, the river made certain things far and others close. How strange to be alone anywhere in this city. Fighting the current would only tire me. Bobbing between silence and droning echoes… between the townhouse Percy’s life was taken and Gloom’s death-stained cave.

After the Williamsburg, there were two more bridges for me to pass under before I was out to sea. I too wanted to join in the killing, but I set my goals higher than one of my own. I wanted God dead by sunrise. The fantastical concept reflected itself illuminated. It would be a traditional crime of revenge, jealousy, and awe all in one. Such an overweight sacrilege bordered on immortal innocence. Somebody already discovered the nuclear bomb more than a half-century ago, but took their finger off the button too soon. Fuck it… maybe that’s how civilization began in the first place. Either way the almighty appeared to be immune from any technology our tumored brains could design in self-hate.

Enough deprecation. Save philosophy for the silhouette of a man ready to leap into the waters. I could just make him out in the downpour. Though I couldn’t see him clearly, I sensed where the figure would land before he even leapt. I wasn’t sure if it was a giant raindrop falling from a cold steel cloud or a human tear straight from the creator. Instinct on my shoulders, I took deep breaths preparing for the dive to make things right. Occasionally there are times in life when you know you’re standing or in this case floating in the right place. When life collides in order.

A brief flash of light, the body torpedoed past me. I followed the human form into oblivion. We were raindrops racing down a window. I shot through the glassy rain and slowly became the drop of water caught up in the race. A rare occasion of peace. I’m not sure he even knew I was there. He thought he was alone. That he found the only place among the eight million that he could die in silence.

{X}

HE WAS WRONG. EITHER WE would die together or live together. It wasn’t his choice. Next thing I knew I was back above the water. Under the last bit of strong light before a patch of darkness, I recognized the suicide diver as Lars Wildman. We passed the Brooklyn Bridge, floating out into New York harbor. The shock sent me unexpectedly underwater. He pulled me to the surface. I looked at him, then at the Statue of Liberty. I could see up freedom’s skirt and taste the bitch’s freshly fucked cunt.

There were more than a few shores to aim for. Effortless drifting could strand us on Governors Island and leave a lot of explaining to do. Harbor patrol was visible in the distance. So far the cops were useless and landing there would just bring more rubber badges and plastic pistols. In a strange way I never felt so free. I was too small for the big ships to see, while any small patrol vessels seemed to fly by at blurring speeds. It was as if I didn’t even exist.

Of all people to share this moment with, it made sense it was Lars. People coasted in and out of our lives, but somehow our friendship survived. Lars was born a success and I piled up scarcely read pages. We swam through this world, pulled by an invisible current. Then it was over as if it never happened.

“My lungs.” Blue skinned missing air.

“My head is burning up. My whole body aches.”

“Motherfucker pushed me off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” Lars fighting the spasms in his chest.

“Nobody.”

“Somebody. Farrow why the hell were you doing the backstroke in the East River anyway?”

“What the hell were you doing jumping... I mean… getting thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge, Lars?”

“You know as well as I do that everything that doesn’t end in orgasm or death is just a hustle to write more. Writing lately?”

“Lust Demented.”

“I dig it.”

“That’s not the title.”

“It should be.”

“It is. I was just testing it out on you. What the fuck do you want? I’m washed up. I traded my last book for a murder rap and an invisible woman.”

“Could’ve been worse… you could’ve traded it for love.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“I got a new book too Farrow.”

“What’s it about?”

“The usual. I found a sacred spot to write it this time. The roof of the library on Forty-Deuce. I know a few of the guards there. They used to do security at The Featherton building. When they’re not working, I sneak in jewel-thief style. Write my ass off.”

“The spot to get it done.”

“I sit out on the ledge and leave my body behind. I turn into a gargoyle on the side of the building. A stone statue that nothing can harm. Same as my old man was, except he was more on the lines of Michelangelo’s Moses. Sitting proud… unashamed. Not lurching no matter how many motherfuckers were bashing at his knees with hammers and chisels.”

“Lars… your father…”

“Got what was coming to him. We all will. Be it just in death. I know you were the first one to find him Farrow. The whole city knows. Probably the entire fucking country. Maybe the world. In a few days when another gorgeous slaughter takes the headlines they’ll forget… but I won’t. All I want to know is if it makes you angry that someone else managed to take revenge before you even showed up?” Lars vocalized with a creepy inflection that summoned the serpents hiding under the Red Hook docks.

“I didn’t want revenge.”

“We all breathe evil.” Merciless, the night indiscriminately pelted on, keeping most everyone off the street.

{XI}

“HAWAII TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED.” Lars dropped the hurt on me as we both stared at the factory wall. It was graffiti that some people could crawl into and find brightly colored love in a crumbling land.

“I don’t have anything to say about that Lars.”

“I’m sorry I never said anything. You were just sitting in Queens writing your new book Lust Demented or whatever the fuck it’s called… and…” Lar slunk back. The banshee harem got the best of him.

“I didn’t want to bring a kid into the world that the mother didn’t want. Honestly, it still tears through my heart.” Last I heard Missy had Hawaii end the pregnancy for her. The whole situation left me disabled for some time.

“Fucked that everybody knows, but you Farrow…” Lars took a deep breath and I figured that I better do the same. “A while back Hawaii told me that when Missy showed up for the abortion… she couldn’t go through with it. I guess Missy was crying buckets… she was only six weeks, but the hormones hit her already… you know all filled up with maternal emotions… and Hawaii isn’t good with that. As a rule she never operates on people she knows, but Missy kept pushing and pushing until she got her way. I think Hawaii was just trying to get Missy off the operating table and she said…” Lars looked authentically upset. We were both soaked from the river, but it was clear that his eyes were tearing up with mine.

“What… what could she have said that made a difference?”

“Hawaii told Missy to… Sorry Farrow I think you should talk to her yourself. She should tell you.”

“Lars I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t tell me.”

“Fuck you Farrow you don’t want to know… trust me.”

“Lars… sometimes I hate your fucking guts, but I got your back to the end.”

Lars fell into the mural, banging his head rhythmically against the wildstyle until the words leaked out of him. “Hawaii told Missy that she could have everything she ever dreamed of. All she would have to do is go to Percy and tell him it was his baby. So that’s what she did.”

“How? What? How could he be so stupid? He’d never believe that. That would never work.”

“Missy fucked his brains out that night and every day after that. She controlled the old man. It was only a matter of six weeks. So by the time she was showing: The truth didn’t matter anymore. Someone had to take care of your baby.”

“Do you think he knew?”

“You know my father. If he did, he wouldn’t let anyone know. Either way it was working out for both of them until Missy lost the baby. Shortly after the miscarriage… I ran into her in Union Square passing through the farmers market. Dumb to the fact, I congratulated her. The words barely left my mouth when I noticed her face drop. She didn’t have to say anything. You two would’ve made a good-looking kid. A cool little bastard.”

“What did she say?”

“She said… that’s just the way life goes sometimes. Then she told me that I look just like my father.”

“I don’t see that.”

“Farrow I’m sorry.”

{XII}

I COULD FEEL LARS WATCHING me walk away into the night. It reminded me of the soft, but obvious steps Detective Anderson took stalking me through Gramercy. Concerned with everyone else, but himself, Lars couldn’t resist poking his toes through his own plot of reincarnation. His old man was just abolished from mental and physical slavery. Everyone could make a fuss on the big green machine, but Percy was definitely unliving it up by now.

A street guerilla carrying a santa sack approached me speaking the city’s universal second language. Oblivious to anything other than his own plight, he was just hitting us up.

“Could you spare some change… so I could maybe get a coffee and a croissant?” He pronounced the breakfast treat with the accent of a French pastry chef.

I had a plan to have no plan. Some people measure a period in their lives by who they loved… where they lived… for Percy, Lars, Gloom, and I it was always measured by what we were writing. My head was light, glowing from the inside. The world recently opened up losing its limits. Lars hadn’t moved. Still standing just how I left him, the Brooklyn night shading over him.

The Coffey Street crime scene was nearly desolate, except for one parked car that stood out like a lonely watchtower in the Sahara. The woman behind the wheel was busy with a task that called for her complete attention. The way she turned at me when I was a mere couple steps away hinted towards the presence of a sixth-sense.

“Farrow?” Apparently the sergeant’s tone revolved around why the night was full of strange coincidences and why she didn’t buy into the existence of coincidences.

“Sgt. Bethany Powers.” I was close enough to see in the window. The silver gun was glistening against her pale freckled skin. She was in civilian clothes with her red hair tied up in a bun.

“Get in the front. You don’t have to ride in the back this time.” Sgt. Powers eyed me up and down as if I was giving off toxic radiation. I wondered how badly I stunk of the East River. It was strange cozying into the front seat next to her. Even more bizarre when I realized I was sitting on her 9mm’s clip. I picked it up and tried to hand it to her, but she wasn’t ready. I let her finish what she was doing and tried again. The second time she accepted it with a smile.

“Went to the range today. Fucking thing gums up sometimes. Way things are going...”

“Too many suspects or not enough?”

“We have a few.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Each and everyone you know personally.”

“I know a lot of people… me… myself and… I.”

“It’s good you know yourself.”

“oh yeah… and now I know you.” I leaned in close to her, hoping she’d loosen up and let go, but instead she pulled her head back, itching her chin with a hooked trigger finger.

“Farrow, this bonding time really warms my heart, but I’m on my way to pay Missy a visit.”

“So you found her?” I didn’t believe it for a second.

“Other way around. She found us. She’s scared of you Farrow. She called the precinct for protection. Someone let it slip that you want your name on A Greater Truth.” Sgt. Bethany Powers… if you count to one, she’s already on two.

“Her book?” While I didn’t believe her, I did fall beneath her eyes. There wasn’t much else to do, but wait and see what she was getting at.

“You live mysteries, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

{XIII}

“FARROW CHANGE SEATS WITH me.” Gun in hand, Sgt. Bethany Powers crawled from the driver’s seat into my lap, brushing my face with her ass. Death-pasture green eyes spray-painted to her face. Her legs, surprisingly muscular as they nudged me towards the wheel. I slid out from under her, wiggling into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition, sliding the car into drive. I stepped on the gas a little too hard, bracing myself as the engine kicked back before settling in.

“Left.” “Right.” “Stay straight.” She kept it simple fondling her gun, occasionally looking at the rear-view mirror. Whether I stared or not, I knew the gun was there. Just as I knew the slightest graze of hot flesh under thin layers of fabric could change the way I came to terms with my entire existence.

At some point in our relationship the way Missy made love to me changed. I remembered specifically the different ways she would lock her legs around me and force me to finish inside of her. The way she would seem insulted if my cum ended up anywhere, but inside as she demanded. On many levels it seemed more natural than any other way of making love. It was dangerous and simply beautiful. And danger mixed with beauty creates more life - it seems.

Distant eyes reached past the endless night. Images of Missy temporarily dissolved. Streets, boulevards, and alleys intruded on us from all directions.

“You’re thinking of her.”

“An assassin hovers over me in my sleep. She’s gone when I wake.”

“You’re too insignificant. Nobody wants to kill you. Believe in other things.”

Sgt. Bethany Powers motioned for me to park along an illuminated strip of housing projects verging on the beach. Hooded shadows limping laps in the darkness took immediate notice of our presence, sinking back into the night. They seemed to sense we were not customers, standing their ground, just in case.

“Police issue.” Sgt. Bethany Powers handed me her Smith and Wesson. It weighed in heavier than it looked and in return made the earth feel lighter, more conquerable. I ran my hands along the smooth cold body of the gun, settling on the grip. It felt right. Wrong no longer existed.

“Should I keep it in my pocket?”

“Do what you want.”

Fresh air in the city was an illusion. Beach air was new life. Sgt. Bethany Powers walked me out past the dunes. The sand was heavy and kept us moving a few steps slower than when on concrete.

“Shooting a gun is a meditation. It’s relaxing.”

“I’ve never shot one before.”

“I know. You’re more of the knife across the throat type.”

“I’m more of the pen on the paper type.”

“Farrow, keep your hand off the trigger and lift the pistol.”

“What do I aim at?”

“Doesn’t make sense to shoot at random things. Pick something…”

“How about the jetties?”

“How about something alive? How about the seagulls on the jetties?”

“I can’t see them.”

“Neither can I, but I know they’re there.” The seagulls cackled raucously as the waves battered the rocks.

“Keep your feet shoulder width apart. Lean forward slightly. Put your finger on the trigger and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Ooooh… shoot!” She grabbed my elbow straightening it, but I balked at pulling the trigger until she whipped a snubnose from an ankle holster and lit off a couple rounds of her own. Together we blasted off into the night, until both our guns were empty.

“Go check the jetties.” Sgt. Bethany Powers reloaded her gun, one bullet at a time. I figured it was best to put a little distance between us. I could hear the clinking metal, the squawking gulls, and the dismal waves. I could hear my shoes in the sand, which is a sound you can feel. The rotten apple soldier turned to a mere outline as I approached the jetty. Just enough moonlight hit the rocks to show me the two dead birds. One had both wings blown off. The other had no head. I leaned over wondering if one of the shots I fired killed these birds. I picked up the one with no wings, since it still had a head. I felt sorry for the creature. It was still breathing. Pop! A shot rang out in the night air. I felt it whizz over my head by at least a couple feet.

“Farrow… I’m sick of aiming off into the darkness.” I heard her call out before she fired off yet another round. I didn’t say anything.

“Give me a target.” Blam! Blam! The sergeant’s tone was playful. Every sentence followed by a bullet or two. I did my all to blend into the beach’s soft slopes. I pointed the gun at the moon directly above me. I had no bullets and an out of range target. Raising the burner to the heavens, I pulled the trigger. The slight click from my weapon led to another pair of bullets striking the sand beside me. Then a click of her own. Her gun was empty. I felt the darkness around me… the suffocating summer air didn’t let up even in the middle night… it just kept choking you… tearing you open… I could feel my heart fighting to escape my chest… I was about to attempt one last mad dash when a pair of woman’s nails dug into my skin. Pale as the moon, Kiko held onto me, aggression surging. Her body wrapped over mine. Programmed gallant, I rolled over on top of the strange woman. The tide slowly made its way up our legs. We stayed this way listening closely for a sign that death was closing in on us. I was still holding the gun. The tide continued to approach until it was at our necks.

{XIV}

“I DREAMT OF A KNIFE Farrow. I dreamt of a knife!” Seized by demons, Kiko woke up in a frenzy. We were lying in the dunes. She was trembling, sweating out her nightmares at sunrise. I quickly scanned the apocalyptic beach for Sgt. Bethany Powers, but it was deserted. The empty gun was at my side.

“Why’d she set her sights on you?”

“How do I know?”

“She wants you dead.”

“It seems that way, but then why’d she leave me alive.”

“She probably thinks you know Percy and Monika’s killer.”

“You don’t think she thinks I’m the one?”

“If it’s not you… it’s definitely someone you know.”

“It’s not me. I’ve been chipping away at my new book. I haven’t seen anyone I know for the past year.”

“Only person I really spent time with was Gloom.”

“How’d you run into her?”

“I worked for a men’s magazine in Shinjuku. We were both featured in the same article. Her story shared the same page as my breasts squeezed purple in a rope dress.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think anything of it, until I saw it in print. I felt like somehow her words covered me… protected me… kept me warm. Or maybe they just immobilized me.” Kiko turned her back on me as we made our way off the beach and back onto the barren Rockaway streets.

“So you like to read?”

“I love books. I often imagine that I am nothing more than a character within a book… my fate controlled by an anonymous writer.

“And now you’re in New York.”

“Wasn’t easy. Each time I tried to leave they begged and bribed me for one more shoot. Paid me this, gave me that, until they finally lit me on fire. Dousing me with pesticide, the cocksuckers laughed like children, calling me a whore, a bedbug, an insect. They threw cigars and candles at me. I woke up in a hospital and left immediately, without waiting for some bullshit doctor to tell me if I was okay or not. Emptied my savings full speed and bought my way into America.” Kiko rolled down her tights, grabbing my hand to slide it over the scarred flesh of her thigh.

Too far to make a bandit’s run for the Mexican border, our only viable options see-sawed between confrontation and chameleon.

“Take a look from the outside Farrow. Nobody has a better reason to kill Featherton than you. The guy really fucked your life up. If I were standing where you are right now: Revenge wouldn’t be out of the question.”

“He didn’t fuck my life up. I did.”

“Farrow don’t take all the blame. It’s just the way it goes. Sometimes people make you into what you are. You might not like it, but that’s what they do.”

“Nobody made me into anything.” I fell into her trap, inhaling the second-hand smoke of her abstruse cancer stick.

“People kill each other for nothing in this world. It’s definitely cheaper to hire a hitman than it is to take a cab from here back to the village.” Kiko’s eyes looked mad and deranged. Her small size seemed to amplify the effect as she got more and more worked up.

“I didn’t kill Percy.” It was crucial to be clear and concise. Nowadays, I was always on the stand.

Burly brick buildings made way for rows of boarded-up bungalows. We spotted a yellow cab parked in a driveway overrun by tall weeds. With a look of madness in her eyes, Kiko marched right up to the door, banging until the owner came out in a red velvet robe with a matching towel head wrap.

“That your cab in the driveway?” Kiko got right in the scruffy cabbie’s face, half-flirting, half-demanding.

“Yeah. Whose do you think it is?” My stomach dropped when I got a good look at the madame of the taxi, who did a silent double-take when he saw me leaning on her cab.

“We’re going to 6th Avenue and Minetta Lane. Take the Williamsburg Bridge.”

“You know what time it is? I just got home a couple hours ago.” Five borough fortuity, I guessed the cabbie spent his life moving in circles. Covering the same ground many times over. Maybe we all did.

“Hundred bucks even.”

“Whatever the meter says we’ll pay.” Kiko attempted to barter mid-yawn.

“Meter stays off.”

“Taxi Poems.” I tried to catch the cabbie’s eye, but only got a weird look from Kiko.

{XV}

“NOW THE ONLY WAY I can relax is to fill my mouth with your cock.” Kiko rubbed the bulge in my pants, slowly unzipping my fly. Reality defiled. I wasn’t sure if I was hearing things. Rewind. “That’s no cabbie. That’s a cop.”

“Say what?”

Rain strafed Cross Bay Boulevard. A dragstrip through the weeds. My face fell onto the back of Kiko’s head. She was already unfastening my jeans with her teeth. Giant drops piercing Jamaica Bay. Kisses landing below. Leaning over, her skirt ran up to the very top of her thighs, ass bulging at the sides. The cabbie gazed in the rear view, swerving a little, and looking away. Kiko kept eye contact as she gently pecked at me. Moving with an illusion of love that for the moment I needed to believe in. The slobbering became louder. I reached into her shirt pulling her breasts out. We stopped short at a red light. The driver blew us kisses through the rearview. Kiko took me down to the bottom of her throat. The sound of her slight gags made me sink deeper in the weathered seat.

“Who is she?” Hysterical, Missy shook the laptop a few times before flinging it against the wall.

“What’s your problem?” I had clean hands, so the accusation disintegrated on impact.

“The girl in your book. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

“Which one?”

“Which one? The slut that’s which one, you son of a bitch. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill them all. Whores!”

System shocked, I dragged my face out of her hair. Time was advancing. All three of us were waiting for the same thing. Kiko pulled herself to the surface. Her presence was a relief… not as much as an ocean liner into an iceberg… or a concord into the sun… I guess if it was a space shuttle I would just hope it would keep going. Face painted, her lips were dripping and she wanted me to take a good look before she stuck her tongue down my throat.

Out the side window, a big-rig was having a hard time staying in its lane, skidding and swerving in and out of control. Its trailer painted with circus animals and a vintage logo. Traffic spread at its sides attempting to make room where there was none. Time slowed to a thousand blinking frames.

I felt the sky squint when the big-rig finally rolled over. The massive truck slid like a poached grizzly across a frozen river. The entire expressway slammed on their brakes as a reflex. An avalanche swallowed the wolfpack. Whatever didn’t smash into solid stone hydroplaned into twisted steel. Metal mangled with flesh.

We were more prey than predators, out in the middle of the L.I.E. with the others. People were holding each other up. I’m running forward with the cabbie, tripping over the injured, not sure what to do. I lost sight of Kiko, but felt her close in a different way. The circus truck was lying on its side burning. There was no sign of life from the driver who was still gripping the wheel. In worse shape was the passenger who was thrown a couple hundred feet down the black tar path. The trailer in back was busted open and shaking as if the truck was having a final orgasm of its own.

{XVI}

GET COMFORTABLE WITH THE INFERNO at your sides. A huge paw emerged first, followed by another. Smoke was pouring from the circus truck. Sparks flying in our minds. The driver in the front seat regained consciousness.

“What the fuck happened?” A dazed puppet in the human show climbs from the window out onto the expressway. The lion was already out sniffing around. Time moved into ethereal territory. Loose limbs flying in our direction helped get us moving. The lion had four legs which never seemed to hit the ground. Four legs floating. Four legs that didn’t belong here in New York. Four legs that belonged to a different jungle. A different jungle with different laws… and dif… or maybe it was the same… maybe it was all the same.

Hell’s poets chanted in my ears. The city’s skyline was in the distance. The heavy stench of burning gasoline lingered in my throat, clogging my nose. The cabbie left his robe in the lion’s teeth, but he still managed to enter the gates of the hilled cemetery first. He was faster than me. The lion was faster than us all, but seemed to be bouncing around with wracked nerves. It seemed to have no direction. It seemed to understand that the world was at its mercy. Especially this world of soft skin mocking nature.

The lion tore through the cemetery’s maze focusing in on no particular target, ripping heads off the stone statues, trampling flowers, bushes, and trees. It was at that moment I lost sight of everything. The land was trails of regal echoes. Heavy footsteps hunting the panic of man. In-between growls and sounds of destruction I heard the cabbie’s soft voice calling me.

“In here. In here. In here.” I heard the voice, but couldn’t find its source. My heart was pounding atomic. The feeble voice was a trickling stream of desperation.

“Nice place to be buried alive.” All I could see was the lion’s open mouth. It was the first time the giant cat, acknowledged me.

“In here. In here. In here.” The cabbie’s hand waved at me from the steel grates of a mossy tomb. He found a place to hide. The cabbie was safe and I was exposed. Maybe he wanted to save me or maybe he just didn’t want to watch me die. It would be a terrible death for him to know. I would probably feel nothing after the first strike. I was already frozen, not welcoming, but waiting for it.

A muscular soiled man burst from the gates of the tomb waving a rake. He grabbed me with a force I had yet to feel. The lion was just watching us chewing on a gravestone bouquet. It looked like roses. Just then, I noticed the lion had no mane… no cock… no balls. The lion was a lioness wanting nothing more than blood and flesh on her breath.

“Motherfucker… motherfucker… motherfucker…” Wearing only lace panties, a bulletproof vest, and his pistol, the cabbie stayed useless, hyperventilating. Kiko was right: The taxi madame was a cop. I should have realized it the second Sgt. Bethany Powers put me in his car back in Red Hook.

“Trust me this is not a bad place to end up. You guys know who’s buried here in Calvary?” The groundskeeper eyed the lioness, trying to control his chattering teeth. “Calvary is a cemetery of cops, crooks, and crazies. Lucchese, Petrosino, not to mention the great Steve Brodie.”

“Who…?” The lioness almost seemed to be listening, patiently waiting outside the tomb’s cast iron gates.

“My moms named me after the man himself. Steve Brodie, the man who in 1886 jumped from the Brooklyn Bridge and lived. Crazy bastard did it to win a $100 bet. People say it was a con. Over a hundred foot plunge… near impossible to survive even in water… East River is pretty rough as it is… might as well dive off a fifteen story building into asphalt.” Brodie kept going. “I mow his grave every day and for some reason… I know without a doubt Steve Brodie was no joke. He really did it. I even figured the calculations to prove myself wrong, but numbers can make too much sense.” Brodie produced a scrap of paper from his pocket which had a mix of calculus and physics scribbled haphazardly all over it. The cabbie and I both looked down at his calculations. It was serious math as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t sure what it proved, but it made my mind go in different directions. I pictured Lars falling in slow motion from the great bridge, a cloud of pages fluttering around him in a literary force field. A cloud not of numbers, but songs to the city.

“There is no greater spiritual victory than the conquer of human logic.”

“Who were the two others you spoke of?” The cabbie finally gained control of his breath again, fighting his fear, swallowing equations that weren’t there.

“One was a gangster. The other was a gangster of the state.” A hawk flew over the cemetery swooping down to get a closer look at the lioness. A little too close, the lioness jumped in the air and the hawk disappeared as fast as it appeared.

“Seeing a hawk is good luck.”

{XVII}

IT WAS AN IMPOSSIBLE DASH. The lioness was on my heels, still prancing around like we were playing. I was Steve Brodie going for the hundred bucks. I was Lars suicide diving anytime he felt the altitude buzz his brain the wrong way. I was Mikey Farrow writing my next book to be shredded at first sight.

Queens Boulevard had enough moving steel to kill us all. I could have kept going only to let her blindside me and though it made no sense I got holy. On my knees, I dropped in the middle of the four lanes heading to the sacred offices and so special dungeons, but the cars missed and kept missing. The lioness roared. I was shaking. She moved in closer. I stopped shaking. I was kneeling in the middle of the boulevard of death. The pavement consumed my skin. The lioness had me in her clutches. I could only wait to feel her teeth. I didn’t have to. Her jaws were open and oh so close. But instead of tearing me open, she licked me. She licked me once. She licked me again. People leaned out their car windows taking pictures and videos with their phones as the lioness went to town with her tongue on my face. She had healing saliva. I was ready for anything, but really one thing in particular. I closed my eyes letting her fill in the blanks for me. I felt the rain coming down as it had yesterday and maybe the day before.

Missy passed me on the street, but I was the one that kept walking. She followed me for a block through midtown until I stopped, silently waiting for her to tell whatever she felt the need to tell me.

“I’m sorry, but I need you not to worry about me. When you were with me and working on A Greater Truth, I was jealous of the time you spent away from me. Even if you were in the room with me there was this intense distance. At times you look so sick, stricken with some strange disease that only you had. Other times I was certain it was someone else coming between us. It was so confusing. Every day we lived together, I expected you to tell me that you were finished writing and ready to come back to me, but that day never came… you just kept writing and writing and writing…”

“……”

“Farrow… even before you finished the book you deserted me… even before you finished the book you were already talking about the next one and the next one and the one after that. I realized that the book you were writing was as much mine as anyone else’s. The book was more mine than yours.”

“A Greater Truth…” I didn’t know what else to do, so I went for her lips, but she moved away. The women always decides.

I opened my eyes only to look into the eyes of the lioness, twice my size. She looked angry again like she had no choice in the matter. There were only a few more blocks to go. My life as everyone else’s in the city was only measured by a few blocks. I wasn’t sure whether to sprint or walk home, so I stayed somewhere in-between. The rain blessed the lioness with a slight transparency and mystique. I could see my square brick apartment. I could see my chipped brick landlord waiting at the door, dead drunk, seeing three of me and at least a dozen beasts on my tail.

“Farrow is everything okay?” He wobbled and the lioness wobbled too.

“Yeah… everything’s fine.”

“Farrow, is everything okay?” My landlord rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to change something that he just couldn’t change.

“King of the jungle.”

{XVIII}

ANY NOTION OF PASSIVITY HAD drained with the blood of a dead writer into the soil of this Algonquin swamp. I lay in the hot stone sauna of a greasy kitchen, bed next to the stove, secret novels of the future scattered across the floor… counting the seconds between thunder and godly skyshine… the more level I attempted to stay… the more my lungs heaved out of control. Signs of life outside of the passing mechanized iron on its rattling tracks were few and far between. At this hour the lack of distractions kept me in my head. New York’s geometric prism was just a speck, an heir to the time’s trampling.

I dropped the pen in the ink and pressed it to the page. The words were waiting for a destination. I knew where to put them. I knew which ones to ignore. I forgot where I was. I forgot what I was missing. I forgot who I was supposed to be. The words showed up and I placed them… tracing outlines of people I knew… filling in their flesh as if it all melted together. It was a world overlooked by everyone, but myself. The feather pen tore through the paper snapping at the end. The bottle of ink fell on its side soaking the desk and page of writing. I could see the black void.

It was the closest I’ve approached getting my name back on the cover of the book Missy adopted as her own, snatching it away deep into the cavernous venus man-trap between her legs. Done lugging around the guilt of pimping her out for my own ambitions. She didn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe it was in her nature. Missy was an expert of putting an idea in your head and methodically making you believe that it materialized within you. She, the subconscious nurturer, left even the most oblivious passerby with a destructive obsession. Wildfire, I collapsed to the floor reaching for a pen and paper with enough room to scribble on like a soldier back from the war who only knew how to be a soldier, I could only write. I was writing this as I was thinking this.

Water dripped down. All the dead roses except one were resting on a bed of glass at my feet. The one lonely one held on with its thorns, stuck to Missy’s palm. I gently stepped towards her.

“Farrow. Please.” Missy told me a thousand ways on the same tongue, but I stayed in the morning dew of a distant galaxy. A book I never started…

“You hate me because I live by different rules. You couldn’t own me - so you used me.”

“I’m sorry I was selfish. All I ever want to do is write.”

“Isn’t that what writers are supposed to do: Write.”

The past could no longer be forgotten out of convenience as it had been before the war. Dishonor before death. Suicide mission through the irreparable city. Lorem ipsolem inculare. Not sure if I disowned humanity or the ant farm disowned me.

With an ear-splitting crash, the ceiling came down onto the studio’s floor. The rain seemed to have weakened an already mooshy three generation decayed rooftop. Light shot in. I stood revealed to the night sky. The electrical storm showed no sign of weakening, until the entire borough succumbed to a jittery seizure, bruised from rolling around their cramped digs in drool. Squinting through the blur, I watched the clock reading high noon on the dot fade into dreams of crumbling teeth and invincible strangers sneaking along fire escapes. Lars was in pitch perfect tune: Writers are hustlers by default. I was always buying time to finish up another book. Every decision I made was with the next story in mind.

{XIX}

THE SUN WAS HIDING FROM me. I lost a day. Slept one afternoon to the next night. Jet lag without the jet. Returning from the opposite of a vacation. A knock at the door. Then another. And one more. The 7 train rattled the window frames.

No other sane option, than to pull myself up into the sky. A quick hop from the kitchen sink. Up through the hole in the ceiling. The city let her gown down, along with the intruders below.

“The place is flooded.” Sgt. Bethany Powers shook the rain off her boots. I could smell the gunpowder in her crimson locks.

“There’s nothing here.” Wasting no time, Detective Anderson nonchalantly picked through my trash with his baton.

“Looks like he’s working on a new book.” Sgt. Powers picked Lust Demented off the bed. Flipping through it she got a little excited, vaguely aware of the power concealed in what she was holding. “It’s all written by hand. Illegible and on ragged scraps of paper. Parking tickets. Job applications. Court summons. Sample sale fliers. Looks like Farrow wanders the city writing this drivel, picking up scraps of paper whenever the muse hits him.”

“Leave it. Guy’s had enough...” Detective Anderson seemed to sense that I was listening.

“Finally some leverage. How far do you think Farrow will go to get it back?”

Hidden in the backup rice cooker, I found the unused ticket to Sri Lanka dated for the same week we met. She was planning an escape from her escape. I was in awe by the fact what we shared between us kept her here. I’m sure it was more complex than that, but simple at the core: A love overwhelmed us both. A blizzard without snow. War without boundaries. A storm of beauty and destruction that would take prisoners, end lives, and above all make new life.

The jakes got what they needed and were off, slamming the door behind them. Seems they were sick of chasing me and instead wanted me to chase them. The old rusted iron skeleton of a fire escape took me down to Roosevelt Avenue. The sidewalks were packed under the shadowy tracks of the 7 making it easy enough to stay hidden in the crowd.

Since Sgt. Powers and Detective Anderson stayed in sight, I moved with them. The redhead was saying something the big man didn’t appreciate. The way he kept scratching his eyebrow sent chills down my spine. Then she went for him with the taser. He looked surprised, but maybe it was just how it felt to catch a jolting. Detective Anderson twitched and spasmed as he hit the concrete. I found him in a sad shape, eyes rolled to the back of his head, foaming at the mouth.

“What’s wrong with him?” A woman cradled his head answering her own question. “A seizure. He’s having a seizure.”

“Relax. An ambulance will be here shortly.”

“Who is he? What happened to him?” The first wave of paramedics find his gun. They find badge. They find his strong grip.

“I’m a detective with the 13th precinct. I’m fine. It’s a health condition.” The way he grabbed the paramedic’s shirt by the collar, dragging him in for a close look was more a threat than promise.

“Still. We’re bringing you down to the hospital to have you checked out. Just to rule out…”

“Rule out bringing me anywhere. I’m in the middle of an investigation.” The big man was back on his feet. Leading me down an alley with a familiar fury through the back entrance of a building marked with an obscure sign.

{XX}

THE ENTIRE CITY WAS SINISTER, full of secret worlds. We were already halfway down the curling stairs. Past the non-descript sign. Past the doorman who let us in with a wink. I wasn’t sure exactly where the sleeze was oozing from, but it was oozing.

“Farrow this may not be easy for you to hear: We know where Missy is.” Detective Anderson looked twice as menacing and massive in the red-lighting.

Together we allowed ourselves to be swallowed by the giant velvet labia with mirrored ceilings and walls. In a backless dress, black lace cut diamonds of soft skin on her thighs. She wasn’t facing me yet. She teased us with glimpses of improvisation. Even the women in the audience got excited twirling the thin straws dangling in their drinks. She was something else, dancing the same old feather boa routing as if nothing’s on the line. Whipping her body with a quick turn and a look of suspense, she fell back when she saw my face. Already on her hands and knees, she called me to her, hand outstretched, hooking her finger to the slappy upright bass. The entire lair was sure she was summoning them. I blinked and her stockings were off, balled up and flying through the air. Hypnotically, I gravitated as close as possible to her scent, until my nose was resting on the stage with the others. Hysteria got the better of us as we grabbed for her uncontrollably. She taunted us ripping a cane out of an older gentleman’s hand, sliding it across her skin, pumping it between her legs, mockingly attempting to deep throat it, only to twirl it like a schoolgirl at a pep rally.

“Hey you.” She whispered breathily leaning in towards me, blowing a kiss.

“What baby what?” I mouthed at her, shaking my head instinctively. She tightened her lips, raising an eyebrow.

“You better learn to read a lady’s mind.” The music stopped momentarily so the whole room could hear her.

“I will.” All the men mouthed in unison.

“What gives you the right to look at me like that?” She held her stare for as long as I could take it. Squeezing her breasts together, she stood above me, brave and unashamed, commanding the dive with a whimsical smirk.

“You look like someone I know. Someone I once knew.” I looked and looked away. She grabbed me violently and kissed me gently. It was another last kiss that I waited for without admitting. She tasted of Christmas tree gin and subway tunnel perfume. It was theatrical and anonymous. It was a soft spark. Static electricity.

Calm moments pass fast in this land. The bloated fellows packing the joint lost their brotherhood and resorted to simpler times. A scuffle broke out. Two desperadoes that didn’t forget to bring their brimmed hats when they crossed the border. The space was so cramped that we were all connected at the hips. The band tried to hold it together as the percussion intensified knuckles striking bone. Violent men with looks of insatiable hunger multiplied spawning from each other. Strange how they focused on each other with such hate, forgetting the one woman left the room. She punched and kneed the air playfully. Biting into nothingness like a newborn going for a missing breast. There was a certain freedom to the madness. I saw beauty, but had no hold on her.

{XXI}

STUPOR INTERRUPTED, I FOUND MYSELF in a chokehold being dragged up the backstairs. The world was moving in reverse. Bouncers usually threw people down the stairs, not up. Gradually breath left me. The throat was a vulnerable spot.

Detective Anderson picked me up with one hand, jerking me onto my feet. Rhythmically patting my face until I opened my eyes…

“Say something Farrow. Say something.”

“What’s the point of it all?”

“Didn’t you notice the resemblance?”

“It’s all how you look at it.”

“Out of all the tips that came in. That dancer was Missy’s lost twin sister.”

“It wasn’t her.”

“I know, but the resemblance.”

“She was hardly a shell of what Missy was.”

“Farrow. Dig deeper. Don’t give in to exhaustion yet. Hold it together.” Detective Anderson put his arm around me. He spoke closely, trying to join my family through presence alone.

It was clear by the way Sgt. Bethany Powers closed in on me she meant business.

“With the way pieces are disappearing from the chess board, you’re in some position.” Seagull feathers falling from her mouth. The nozzle of her gun was at my throat.

“Are you listening Farrow?” All I could see were her green green eyes. “Give me Lars and I’ll give you my book.”

“Your book? Wait… Lars? Why Lars?”

“There are two perps, not one. Gloom was dead for 18 hours before Percy turned up. There was a huge difference in the amount of force used to stab the life out of the two victims.”

“How much do you know?”

“We know everything. Just remember you’re lucky to be walking the streets. You better hold onto this.” She was handing me the gun again. I knew better not to take it.

“For once in your life Farrow, take what you deserve.” I turned my back on her.

“Farrow, we did our part. Now you do yours.” The butt of the pistol smashed into my head. The world faded.

{XXII}

I WAS AN ARROW SHOT from the beach towards the sun only to drop into the ocean. The ocean in this case is an ocean of books. The sky I was staring at was a fresco on the ceiling of the New York Public Library’s reading room. I rubbed the bruise on the back of my head. Kind of ’em to place me face first into a hardcover copy of A Greater Truth. I rubbed my eyes with both fingers, standing up, and moving to the main staircase. I kept rubbing my eyes until I was staring at the door leading out onto the roof, which was left open a crack, similar to the way Percy’s apartment invited me in. I kept rubbing my eyes until Lars appeared in front of me. He didn’t turn around, just kept writing in the fat notebook. He knew I was there, but took his time finishing up his last thought.

Lars popped the pencap back on, sword in its sheath, momentarily leaning inward like he was disemboweling himself. I knew the words were still coming.

“You came here to trade confessions, I assume.” Lars peeked out of his black sunglasses.

“Lars, I knew about the baby. One day your old man hunted me down. Percy told me he wanted to raise the baby as if it was his own. He wanted to never let the baby know I was the father. I froze in anger. I could hardly react. He said he’d take care of me. Rent an apartment for me where I could write and be left alone. He said he’d publish every book that I’d put out for the rest of my life. A few weeks later I sent him A Greater Truth. He seemed to truly like it, but said if we were going to sell it, I’d have to change the ending. I flew into a rage and disappeared on a never-ending bender. Somewhere, in the middle of the haze, Percy approached me one last time. This time he had a better plan he said. He looked devious, but even before he explained what he was up to, I knew it would work. Percy still wanted to change the ending, but instead of publishing it under my name. He wanted to publish it under Missy’s name… but only until it was success. Which is when he promised to reveal I was the true writer. Percy told me he wanted to sell a scandal. He said he not only planned to put out a profitable book twice, but he wanted to create a legend. It was best for the baby. It was best for me. It was best for your father. It was best for everyone, but Missy. I wanted to tear his throat out, then and there, but there was some truth in what he said. No matter how evil or manipulative, there was truth in his plan. And words are words, right Lars. Words are words.”

“Words are words Farrow. Words are words.” Lars continued to scribble without looking up.

“Lars, I knew about the baby. I was in on A Greater Truth. And I went to Gramercy Park to kill your father that night…”

“But he was already dead.” It was a tough call. I couldn’t pinpoint if Lars lost his mind recently or he never possessed it in the first place

“He was, but I wanted to do it. There was no satisfaction, only more pain when I saw him there.”

“Farrow you couldn’t kill anyone.”

“How do you know? We’re all beastly. The instinct is in all of us. Some can kill for a few dollars or a foul glare. I had a great reason to kill Percy Featherton. I could’ve killed him.”

Pissing me off, Lars just kept nodding his head, rejecting my claim.

“I could. I would’ve.”

Brimming with arrogance, Lars kept nodding.

“How do you know that I couldn’t kill?”

“You know Farrow: Anyone can write a fucking book. Even when my father was coming up and half the country was illiterate, they fought through it to the last page. Nowadays teenagers can thumb-type a fucking novella on their phones. Are you aware that there are more writers in New York City than in any other spot in the world. Now there are a little less.” A cemetery silence filled the terrace. Two lions and the white steps of the New York Public Library were below us. Lars became stone. The buildings became flesh.

“Farrow, same as you I showed up that night for revenge. A different type of revenge.”

I didn’t know what to say… a thousand more scenarios of death and destruction blossomed within my head of flames. An acre of wilting flowers slowly burned, only to be born again.

“I killed my father. Percy Featherton. I stabbed him dead. One less writer clogging the shelves.” It was strange the way Lars said his father’s name as if he was standing in front of a captivated jury or behind a glass window of family and friends while settling into the electric chair. Lars morphed inhuman. His breaths became large demanding everything from his chest.

“I have no honor. The world is filled with people who everyday go places and do things in order to create a better life around them. And what do I do? I write about it. While people live and people die: I write. Write myself to fucking death. Farrow…” The words left Lars mouth with a strange croak. “Sell me to the cops and get your book back. I know they’ve already asked you.”

I could see Lars goring his own father to death. I could see Percy not bothering to struggle. I could see Lars insatiable, needing to kill him over and over again.

“I saw my father kill Gloom. He literally exterminated the competition like one of his biblically tainted psychopaths. He manipulated you, Missy, me, and a thousand others. He is… was the top publisher in New York and I am the only heir to his legacy.”

“Nobody needs to know the truth.”

“I dishonored myself. What kind of man am I?”

“A man survives Lars. A man survives.”

“Right now would be a good time to be a bird instead of a man.” Pigeons and sapsuckers stuck to the stone lions out front.

“Shut up Lars. Shut the fuck up. Choose the middle ground.”

“Writing… art… life… is confrontation. The middle ground is for pussies. You have to be willing to die for…” And with that Lars vaulted over the ledge.

“Better to live for it.” I shouted at him on the way down.

It was a closed parachute leap for the faithless. The wingless bird flew forward ignoring the violent spasms attacking its lungs. The sickly grin stayed carved on his face, until it exploded on the library steps. Live street theater, I could see the red paint the white stone. Squirming side to side in pain, his sunglasses stayed strapped to his face.

{XXIII}

LANGUAGE FAILED LARS. GUARDED BY two lions of the same stone. The words were most likely trapped inside. The words were the true prisoners. Caged lions exploding from the burning trucks. Handcuffed writers scribbling behind their backs.

I had to find a better way off the roof. The door leading back to the reading room was jammed. I knew exactly who was on the other side by the sound of her boots. I kicked the door a few times for good measure. She kicked back. The heavy door knocked the wind out of me.

“You’re always wearing other people’s clothes.” Sgt. Bethany Powers swooped down on me, rolling me back towards the ledge facing 5th Avenue.

“I guess I am.” I backpedaled until I could feel the open air behind me.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Quit while you’re behind. Farrow…” Balls in her palm, she slowly squeezed. Any hesitation would lead me to an early end. More than a couple stories to the ground. The second set of screams let me know I was airborne. I saw the redhead’s emotionless face study my fall.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Maybe.”

{XXIV}

SACRILEGE WAS USELESS AGAINST THE immune. I woke up in a hospital bed with IV’s in my arms and the stains of leaky pipes above me. There was no sign of Kiko, instead Hawaii stood over me in her turquoise scrubs.

“I fell with him. I’m still falling.”

“You’re not falling.”

“From the library with the lions.” Everything ached.

“You’re in Bellevue Farrow. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you… waiting here for you to wake up.”

“I’m tied to you. I have to get back to Queens. I feel sick. I need to write. Finish my new book.”

“You need to rest. Farrow…” Hawaii wanted to tell me more. I thought she was going to say I was dying of a terminal disease. I tried to stop her before she did.

“Hawaii it’s okay. Some things are better off not knowing.” I raised my hand gently caressing her face. Everything felt soft. The world was tickling my skin from the other side. I could tell by her stare that Hawaii had to get it off her chest. I grabbed her collar for mercy, but she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Missy never even considered getting rid of the baby. Instead, she asked me to create the illusion to everyone outside the hospital that I performed the abortion. Only Missy, Percy, and myself knew the truth. We devised a plan with Percy’s funds preparing for the birth. A few well-placed bribes and I swung a transfer to the NICU months in advance. We were going to fake an illness, but it ended up coming true. Sepsis. I admitted your daughter. She stayed in the NICU for six weeks. I watched over her like she was my own. I watched over her just as I watched over you, but you’ve only been here for a few days.” Lacking strength to speak, the tears ran down my cheeks, until I could taste them.

“When your daughter was finally better, Missy showed up alone disappearing with the baby down a smoky alley. I didn’t take the money Percy offered to me. I told him to give it to the hospital and to my surprise he did just that.”

“How much?” Tripping Hawaii up on insignificant details would be the best way to figure out what and what not to believe.

“It was a lot.”

“Where’s Chiara?”

“How’d you know her name? I’ll take you to her. C’mon let’s go.”

I ripped the IV’s out of my arms and hopped back on my feet. Fresh pages went flying out from under my pillow. A melancholy breeze took the heavily medicated confetti to the streets. Halfway between two worlds, I expected my legs to crumble, but I hardly felt them. Down a few hallways and a packed elevator, we floated through a purgatorial abyss of patients.

Baby babble slid from the realm of forgotten dreams. Imagination turned to words. I was going to meet my daughter for the first time. I couldn’t stop wondering what she was like. In the lobby, Hawaii quickly slipped through the revolving door, leaving me in the compartment behind her. The silver dollar vixen went haywire when she hit the mosaic pavement, ruthlessly dumping a sick old man out of his wheelchair, only to shove it into the revolving door, jamming it up. I was stuck behind the glass staring at the faces studying me a sea lion in the aquarium.

“Leave!” Missy’s screams shrunk the night’s sirens. I could hear neighbors unlocking their deadbolts to peek out into the hallways. I opened our apartment door only to hear theirs shut. The hallway and steps went fast. The street came easy. I crossed in traffic and sat down in Father Demo Square. I watched Missy run down Bleeker in tears. It hurt being impaled on a spear. I couldn’t move. Only let her run. I hated seeing such pain. I knew if I was the one running, I would need her to take off after me. In spite, I stayed on the bench until she was out of sight. Getting up like a spy I slinked to the A train.

Baffled, Kiko stopped in her tracks, looking me up and down. She dropped the flowers and a teddy bear to the ground.

“Every time, your heart feels more pure.”

“I have a daughter now.”

“You should be holding her then.”

“I want that more than anything.” My head barely moved, slightly swinging back and forth in the small space of the invisible iron maiden, sharper than steel nails.

{XXV}

HAPHAZARD FOCUS DAWNED UPON US. Kiko and I stood in the middle of Times Square looking up with the others. I expected to see a friendly conglomerate mothership landing, but instead… I could only see words… words dripping metaphysically from wounds scarred over… chasing each other compulsively on a giant LED ticker… reminders that best friends died in the same hospital daughters were born… wait and see them again… accept that language is only a sleight of tongue… Yankees ace blows save in extra innings… MTA raises price of monthly metrocard due to increasingly emaciated citizens squeezing through turnstiles together… Lars Wildman, son of recently murdered Featherton publishing czar, dies at Bellevue Hospital after swandiving from the roof of the NYPL … Freedom tower to be renamed because of trademark infringement…

The buildings had their own words. Logistical. Warnings. Words that tell you what already happened while making you feel like you were present when the shit truly went down.

“It’s already out.” Kiko was staring up at a billboard advertising Lars’ new book.

“The Girl In The Elevator.”

Bricks and brownstones, a silent life story, a half smile that wanted to explode whole. We shared the same stride. Far from unconscious, every few steps Kiko’s body would brush against mine. It dawned on me that she was leading me to the closest bookstore expecting Lars to make sense of it all for us. I didn’t have to wonder much if I made it under the covers. He cold-jacked the title from me and I understood how people were torn apart, scrambled up, and put back together as new. Most everyone that ended up in the pages had no idea they were even there. Others tried to get placed inside. Similar to the way they fell into this world, they were trying to fall into another.

“It’s just a block away if I remember right.” Excitement filled Kiko like a kid in a teen mystery who fell in a cave and figured why not explore it. Except this was surreal grit. All hands and minds are dirty. No punches pulled. Kiko was leading us to a place that had special meaning to me and she didn’t even know it. She was guiding me to the spot that changed my life forever.

Sometimes empty is better. The bookstore was losing customers. I wasn’t sure where they went.

“Oh I thought I was alone.”

“No such thing.” Her celestial eyes came at me like a tsunami wave almost knocking the book loose.

“I’m Missy.” Her face sculpted from secluded rocks found inside a holy waterfall.

“Farrow.”

“You give a good first impression Farrow, standing there with that book in your hand as if it was a treasure that only fits you.” The woman could have said anything and I would have agreed.

“Thanks.” Little did she know the book I was holding wasn’t actually a book that was ordered and sold in this particular store. It was a book I wrote myself and printed by mail order in a Canadian milltown. I smuggled a copy or two into every bookstore and library in New York. They could keep the profits and I would keep the readers. At least that was how the plan originated. After I left the copies on the shelves, I would stop by periodically to see if anyone took them home. Inspecting if the binding or pages were creased. More often than not the copies were still there untouched. It was at that very moment I decided that my next book would have Missy on the cover. That way it would be irresistible. Wait! Even better…

“Missy my next book will be about you.”

“What do you mean?” She seemed creeped out and flattered at the same time.

“I mean… I don’t know you yet, but the feelings you evoke in me are enough to fill an entire book.”

“A poem maybe. An epic poem full of exaggerations.”

“At least a novella full of truths, but when you go that far, you might as well keep going.”

“Sounds like a mystery.”

“Yeah a mystery about you Missy.”

“If you write it, I’ll read it.” Missy tried to read the book’s title in my hand, but I was careful to shield it.

Of course the bookstore was no longer. Now we had little choice, but to stare emptily at the banker in the ceiling high window

“Fish in a tank.” Kiko was thorough with her due diligence.

“Don’t make eye-contact or…” A streetlady covered in lesions grumbled, picking half a burning cigarette off the cement before making her way for the nearest alley. It was too late for us all. The banker exited the fishbowl, adjusting to the natural light.

“Do you have an account with us?”

“What happened to the bookstore?” Kiko dwelled within rage.

“What do you mean?”

“There was a great bookstore here.” I explained to him, but it didn’t register.

“Our bank has more branches than any other financial institution in the world. There’s one every two and three-quarter blocks and what’s even better is…” His voice trailed off only when we managed to put enough distance between us.

{XXVI}

“ABSURD HOW SOMEBODY CAN TAKE credit for something as large as finding the new world.” Kiko was staring up at the monument in Columbus Circle as if she was watching a fleet of ships enter the harbor.

“Nobody finds a new world alone.” Pitch black night dissolves into the foggy glow of midtown. Somehow my little girl would have to lead me to her. I didn’t know where to start. The world felt huge and we were just ants on the steps of a marble tomb.

“Don’t take it the wrong way Farrow, but Hawaii’s story sounds like bullshit. I’m not sure any of this even happened.” Fountains percussively pour onto marble. Skaters grind their trucks and slide their tails. Strollers roll and nannies squawk.

“It’s overwhelming.” The fountains paused for a brief silence.

The vase shattered. Roses and shards of glass all over the floor. Missy swung what was left of it at me. The top, uneven and jagged. She hadn’t committed to doing any real harm with the first few swings. Just trying to back me off into the bottomless pit.

“Missy there’s a baby inside you.” I held my ground. Hands up defensively.

“You do this to me.”

“This fucking weather…” Shoes off in the shallow fountain, Kiko read me up and down. Cyanide in my eyes, I wanted to believe it was true. I couldn’t believe anything, but.

“Whether it’s true or not, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Just the fact that it may be true...” Nobody handed me a tissue for my tears. Their faces were all glowing in their electronic tablets. The world around them muted and sonically replaced by pairs upon pairs of ear bud headphones.

“That’s the upgrade. Can I see…” Kiko charmed a tablet into her hands. The scruffy techie was initially reluctant, but too disembodied in possession to fight back. He pulled at it a few times turned off by the physical action, fidgeting impatiently.

“Take it easy! I won’t drop your baby.” And she started reading. By the way the words seized her eyes, I knew it was necromancy. Kiko mouthed the unreal into the absurd and then she just came out with it. “Farrow, you won’t believe this.”

“Lars.” The lucky bastard’s writing was never hard to find. If someone was reading something - anything - my first guess was that Wildman channeled it. The arcane beauty was the fact that Lars fell frenzy to the same mystic voice that we all did.

“It’s good Farrow. It may be his best yet.” Kiko wisely chose to stay in the netherworld.

The techie made a grab for the tablet forcing Kiko to take off through the fountains. I stood at the steps of the monument watching them circle around me.

“It’s not waterproof.” The techie mutated ablaze with anger. Wrath got the better of him. His screams vehemently rose to the peak of the Time Warner Center. Fearing for her life, Kiko tugged her weight up the stone angel’s body, grasping the globe while waving the tablet.

“I’m a fast reader.” Kiko pleaded while climbing the vine of brass reliefs, naming each ship as she fought her way up to Cristoforo’s granite shoes. “Nina…Pinta…Santa Maria.” Kiko hugged the totem pole. Her legs seemed strong enough to straddle an ancient pharaoh for a thousand hours as mother earth got slurped up by metafictional quicksand.

“Kiko is it the same as his other stuff or did Lars finally transce…?” I had to know if it was possible, but she wouldn’t tell me. Her eyes popped from their sockets. Her body language had to mean something, but I couldn’t settle on what. A bit of drool dropped down on the techie’s feathered fedora.

“Kiko. Kiko.” Her ears just didn’t wanna hear me. The best way for the techie to deal with his loss was to blame it on yours truly. Forsaken blue marble burnt through my soul. I started climbing Columbus reaching for Kiko’s flexing pasty thighs. Up and over the grey angel with the matching planet tugging down on her robe. As I was making it to the top, Kiko was already on her way down. We passed each other in silence similar to what we shared in the Rockaway sand with bullets flying over our heads. I didn’t watch Kiko hit the ground, but I could hear that her footsteps weren’t only hers. Every step was as much Percy’s, Gloom’s, Lars’s, or even Missy’s. A lion’s feet sounds the same, whether tearing through Columbus Circle, Queens Boulevard, or Calvary Cemetery.

{XXVII}

THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN being alone: Is to never be alone. Columbus Circle lit up with squad cars, firetrucks, and ambulances. I hung on for life at the top of the sculptor’s solid nationalist erection.

“Get off of me!” A Taino spirit was screaming at Columbus.

“I never liked Percy.” Missy admitted rubbing my back in an attempt to coax some sort of agreement out of me.

“Uh.” I said. It wasn’t uh-huh or uh-no. Nothing more than the slight recognition that I heard what she said: The grunt of a caveman that spent his life painting on walls while society was off on their hunt.

“Asshole what’s your name?” An officer was already on the megaphone.

“People usually call me Farrow.”

“The sociopath? The writer?”

“Yeah?” Nobody clapped. I kept waiting, just in case.

“Everybody move away from the area.” The police got organized, pushing people off to the side, but there was nowhere to go. They just all stood around circling the fountain: Staring up at the crackpot writer, drinking their cocoaccinos, yapping on their plastic phones. Cars honking. Sirens whirling. Lips smacking.

“I’m coming down.” My grip was slipping. The drop was enough to maim me, but probably wouldn’t do me in. Lars had to be paying detailed attention from the other realm. Most likely he wrote this scene sipping on milk from a goddess’s breast while scarfing down tarts filled with ambrosia.

“Sir, don’t move. Stay right where you are.”

“Help me.” Not even the three steel boats could stop the slide. I hit each one with an ascending grunt missing NYPD’s finest trampoline by a couple feet. Concrete I knew better than dirt. Somewhere along the line I learned the right way to take a fall.

{XXVIII}

“KEEP THE ICE ON YOUR head.” A woman was leaning over me with an ice pack. Her voice was a honey sweet purr that could reveal the most sadistic crimes against humanity as nothing more than nature’s empty-headiness. Her voluptuousness threatened to escape the trappings of her white blouse and formal skirt.

“What happened?”

“You fell off the Columbus monument.” She steadied herself in brown boots with matching big brown eyes kept growing until she swallowed me with her smile.

“From the top?”

“No from the bottom, but you didn’t land right.”

“Everybody died.”

“Nobody died.”

“Not even me?”

“No. Not yet.”

“…hmmm…” My mind was always deserting me. I was always falling. It couldn’t be healthy, but I wasn’t the only one. People were dropping all over. Their markets were crashing. Their parachutes weren’t opening. They were listening to mp3s instead of the cab blowing the red light. They were reading the pill bottles upside down and forgetting how to wake up. They were telling the guy jabbing their spine with the pistol to “Fuck off.” Giving up minutes before the grim reaper realized she couldn’t hold it in any longer and had to piss on everything in sight.

“Are you Michele Giacomo Aurelio Faro?” A smooth diversion. It sounded too official. A funny way for a girl with such heaving boobs to talk. She pronounced the Italian name with a Medellin accent, but it felt nice to have another identity. So close, yet so far from my penname.

“Yeah by birth, but I go by Mikey or Farrow, that’s what most people seem to call me.”

“I’ve been seeking you out. I’m Adelora Rosario, Mr. Wildman’s lawyer and the executor of his estate. Mr. Wildman wanted me to contact you immediately.” Adelora stayed a whispers distance from me. I suspected the good news only lingered to soften me up for the creeping horrors.

“You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes. I’m here as a provision of his will. Lars inherited Featherton publishing from his father and in turn left it to you. He told me that he could forsee his own demise.”

“Ahh… yes… demise.” I gargled, spitting up the East River. Veins overflowed ink. Ears whirled in an empirical pool of psychosis. Heart gushed ocular. The city emptied, snorting the entire stash of sewer steam until it was frozen wasteland falling back into its own echo.

{XXIX}

A DRAPE OF SILENCE DESCENDED upon us. There was more she wanted to divulge. Adelora stopped traffic leading me across Central Park South into the lobby of a time portal to a classier era.

“Miss Rosario you have a package.” The porter couldn’t help, but be pleased to see her.

“Oh I do Diego?”

Adelora balanced the package between her melons, jabbing at the translucent circle until the elevator light lit up. She seemed to be going through a to-do list in her mind.

“There used to be an elevator guy, but the building’s cutting back lately. Touch economic waters we’re wading through.” Adelora mumbled dressed in a hodge-podge of Dior, D&G, and Yamamoto.

“I wade through them regardless. Once you get used to it.”

“Don’t get too used to it. Already slipped your mind what you inherited?”

“A punji pit of paperwork. I don’t forsee myself sitting in the boardroom anytime soon.”

“With that attitude it’s hard to believe you didn’t experience success much sooner.” Adelora rolled her eyes at me as the elevator opened to an empty hallway. Once again balancing the package in her bosom, she fished a magnetic card key out of her purse, and unlocked the door. The apartment door opened to a breathtaking southern view of Central Park and a minimalist modern décor.

“Now that’s something to wake up to.” I stared in her big brown eyes forgetting the park.

“You should see it at night. This is my favorite direction to look at the park from. It makes you feel like you own the entire city.” Adelora motioned to a painting on the wall. “Lars also left me something priceless that Percy Featherton once owned.” The painting was of a woman dressed only in a white blouse sitting on the floor. You had a better view of the hair on her pussy than her face. She was leaning against a bed that was blocking an unlit fireplace. A rectangle of light was on the floor. She apparently chose not to sit in the light, although a few of her toes seemed to sneak into it.

“It’s called Summer Inferior by Ed Hopper. Something about the woman’s isolation makes me uneasy.”

“Yeah. I usually have that effect on women. As soon as I leave she’ll feel better.”

“But I’ll miss you.” Adelora stretched and crinkled her toes, letting down her hair.

“Lars was one of the few that understood me. It really fucks me up that he’s gone.”

“I feel the same way. Despite his primitive womanizing, crazy artist bullshit, and the fact he was only a tad bit older than me… Lars played a fatherly role in my life. Strange thing is I don’t even have anything from my own father after he passed. My uncle tells me that he was so proud that I was going to be a lawyer until he realized that I was practicing corporate law. Supposedly, he always introduced himself to everyone as a communist. Second thing I heard he did was show off his Patek Phillipe watch. One of the richest communists you’ll ever meet. Your best friend and I had similar feelings about our fathers, except my mother never allowed me to meet mine.”

A buzz at the door. Diego seems stressed. Something’s wrong.

“Excuse me Ms. Rosario. The police are waiting downstairs for your friend.”

“Farrow. Be a good father.” Teflon for the gunfight. Adelora pulled me close, laying a deep kiss on me, before sending me down with Diego.

“I hate that look on you face like a dog searching for food.”

“It’s all in your imagination.”

“Am I in your imagination? Is our baby growing inside just a dream?”

“The girl in the elevator.”

“The girl in the elevator?”

The elevator had a strong chemical smell. I felt a panic coming on, wondering what would happen if the elevator got stuck between floors and how long it would take before the toxic fumes dropped us on the floor.

“I saw you on the news.”

“Did I look guilty?”

“Yes. To me you look very guilty. What does it feel like to kill someone?”

“I don’t know who you are anymore.” Missy seemed to really believe in the words.

The elevator opened to Sgt. Bethany Powers putting on a last touch of lipstick. Twisting the cap closed, she retrieved a plastic bag clenched between her legs.

“We found Missy.”

“I’ve heard you say that before.”

“Don’t miss your last chance to look her in the eyes and say goodbye.”

“I’m not going this time. Let me have my book back.”

“Which one…” My book dangled in the evidence bag like a squid she just reeled up from a pier.

“The one you stole from my apartment. The one in your hands.” I grabbed my book in the evidence bag allowing Sgt. Bethany Powers to use it as a leash to steer me outside.

“Hop on Farrow. We’re burning daylight.” Detective Anderson posed ten feet above the ground sitting on solid brown muscle. The giant cop waved his pistol, saving every bullet. The police horse neighed raising his snout at me, both nostrils flaring.

{XXX}

HOOVES ON COBBLESTONES OR MAYBE just cracked cement and torn road. Bucking up a cruel storm, Detective Anderson and his trusty steer locked in on the 6th Avenue entrance leading into Central Park. I was just a tick on their back. A tick they didn’t care to tear off until it was goddamn certain the fangs wouldn’t stay in their skin.

“Sometimes I’m convinced that it was you, Farrow.”

“Percy or Gloom?”

“Percy, Gloom, Missy, Lars, and sooner or later… yourself.”

“It’s odd they hired me in the first place.”

“What’s so odd about that?”

“Finally I’m getting paid for writing.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I have a job that has nothing to do with writing, but I knock out a couple pages a day and still get a decent salary.

“They’re going to fire you.”

“I’m almost finished anyway.”

“It’s always the same story with you.”

Emptied of everything, we trotted deep into the urban oasis peacefully hooking around the pond. The ducks made trails in the water. They seemed for the most part to move together in their little crews. A few were off doing their own thing, but before they knew it they were swept up by the others. Mindlessly dragged along in their clan’s foraging.

Swaying in the midnight breeze, two cops were guarding the entrance to the zoo. One of them had such a troubled look on his face that it leapt from his body into mine. My stomach instantly began to constrict with nausea. My head felt lightwired spliced into frizzing ends.

“I hear we’re going to the lion’s cave.” Detective Anderson’s deep voice bellowed through the zoo shrinking even the polar bear’s testicles.

Out of the zoo’s darkness a man in a labcoat approached. “There’s no lion’s cave here detective. Actually, I found her in the snow monkeys’ enclosure.”

“You found her?” Detective Anderson hopped off the horse, gesturing for me to follow without helping me down.

“Right, I’m Vivek, a monkey psychologist here at the zoo. I studied biology at Hunter…”

“A zookeeper?”

“Correct a zookeeper.”

“You sticking around to give us a tour?”

Vivek nodded. He seemed to be searching for an answer. I wanted to tell him he wouldn’t find one here. Eager to get on with it, the zookeeper helped us tie up the horse and get moving. Patches of darkness where lights failed to reach. Together we climbed over a fence into a rocky island surrounded by hot springs. High pitched monkey calls filled the air.

“Walk where I walk. The monkeys are used to people. Just don’t do anything to scare them. They’re strong and their teeth are sharp.”

Detective Anderson gave me an exasperated look as we followed Vivek along the rocks stopping under a grotto. Char marks moved up the walls like demons claws. Shells were scattered on the ground. Snow monkeys eyed us up and down trying to discern friend or foe.

“Divided in the way her executioner saw fit.” Detective Anderson squinted, vice-like lids trapping his pupils.

“Seems she was lit on fire. That’s how I realized… when I saw the flames.” Vivek was disturbed, but curious.

“What’s on your mind Farrow?”

The body dissected in front of me lost all its former beauty. I was no expert biologist, serial killer, or surrealistic painter. Fingers had to be attached to hands. Heads to necks. Knees to legs, and so forth. I didn’t know how to take them apart, nor put them back together. The unlucky lunch meat in front of me had to be somebody at one point, but it no longer mattered. Endings were always ugly. The only way I could bear the world’s ugliness was to scribble over it.

“Darkness blocking you in?” Sgt. Bethany Powers’ voice was there before her body.

“You can tell us where Missy is Farrow.” Detective Anderson gave the signal and Vivek made haste.

“If I knew where she was, you’d have to rip her from my grasp.”

“Squeeze her so she comes back to life.”

“Missy’s only a memory. She’s only a fantasy. The past doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“But what about her lips? You can still taste them.” Penetrating, Sgt. Bethany Powers’ stare was more sexual than accusative.

“You led me here.”

“You take the words out of my mouth.”

“Percy killed Monika Gloom.” It was a hostage situation. I didn’t want to be their source of truth, but I had to do something to prevent a bigger tragedy.

“Don’t get distracted Farrow. You’ve been a suspect the whole time. We let you run a little wild hoping you would lead us in the right direction.”

“Whose body do you think this is?”

“Why is she dead? Do you know who…?”

“I don’t… it’s impossible to tell.”

The monkeys started chattering uneasily. A mounting attack felt imminent. Sgt. Bethany Powers beckoned for my new book back.

“It’s not ready.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Sgt. Powers had her gun out, so it was her call… her world. I stayed on my knees and begrudgingly forked over my writing.

Sgt. Bethany Powers let the pages fall to the rocks. The maniac cop was more interested in the plastic evidence bag, which she promptly put over my head. Wrapped up as evidence myself, I watched the snow monkeys scrutinize me, slightly distorted. I tried not to gasp, when she pulled out the large sharpened scissors. I knew it was the murder weapon by the way she held it.

The air was going and all I could think about was my daughter. I was at a crossroads where I welcomed death’s supposed tranquility. The last conversation I had with Hawaii haunted me. A father had to live, in case he was needed.

The suffocation came on with every choke snatching up more air that wasn’t there. I lost control of my neural capacities. My head gently swung back and forth. Sgt. Bethany Powers readied herself with the blade. I expected it across my throat, instead she popped the bag, jabbing me ever so gently with the sharp edge of the scissors. I could breathe again. I felt the cobra’s fangs just by hearing her hiss. Detective Anderson grimaced chewing on a piece of .44 caliber evidence, careful not to chip any teeth.

{XXXI}

DARK LAND OF SHADOWS. I couldn’t see what was tracking me, but I could hear her exquisite gallop.

“You miss out on the whole world to make your own.” Missy was angry again. Infuriated that I was writing instead of doing what she conceived I was supposed to be doing. My family was giving me the benefit of the doubt for what would turn out to be last time. This was the moment I was disowned. The word alone was too weak and I suspected the compulsion was layered deep in splinters of family history or frayed genetics.

“Writing controls you. Everything you try to do is interrupted with ideas. I’m surprised you can even make love to me without working on your book.” Little did Missy know that sometimes I was fleshing it out when I was fleshing it out. It was always to create more vibrant sketches of the muse.

A hand showed up to wipe the sweat from my face. Kiko left some human salt on my lips. Kissing me with her entire body. “I’m going to bring you to see the last person to speak to Missy.”

Stroboscopic city speeding within our zoetrope. The neon was flashing, but the world stayed murky. Police cars flew by, diseased bats through the caverns. Somewhere west of Broadway, there was a small staircase between a kebab joint and a porn emporium. The first set of steep stairs were labeled in yellow and black with the various services offered in the building: Employment Agency. Massage. Bodywork. English School. Sauna.

The hallways had bizarre tiled patterns on the floors and dents in the walls from rowdy old bruisers. The stairs seemed to get steeper every flight we walked. Kiko ran her hands along the uneven walls absorbing their stories. A powder white woman was waiting for us on the top of the stairs.

“Farrow this is my mother Kuroneko. You’ll be safe here.” Kuroneko had the lightest eyes I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure what color they were since they kept changing.

“Only women inside. No problem for you.” I doubted that made it any safer. Kuroneko was eager to get me out of sight. In a low voice she seemed to be giving Kiko instructions on how to handle the situation. Kiko just kept nodding, but her face told a different story. The way she looked into my eyes put me at ease. Let me know she was doing things her way.

Kuroneko and Kiko led me into to a time warp. A tunnel system of wood-paneled walls. Strangely desolate and completely foreign, I couldn’t place where we could be. The air felt filtered. Tasted cleaner than it should ever be inside a building. I closed my eyes, enjoying every long breath.

“What’s going o…”

“Shhhh… secret.” I could feel Kuroneko’s pinkie wrap around mine. Forcing me to swear on it. “No English. No words.” I could feel the heat escape as the next door opened. Low visibility. Too much steam. They sat me down on the smooth wood slats. There were other women in the room. Their eyes popped from the artificial fog. Their aroma blended into the herbal haze. Outlines to live and die by. The girls pulled me up to a sitting position and walked away.

I saw three hexagons of light in the ceiling. The shapes were coming from the passing traffic outside. The hexagons turned to squares than rectangles. The room was otherwise dark. Missy lay next to me in bed. Though we were on opposite ends of the same bed, under the cover I could feel her foot graze against mine. Her body was always warm. Maybe just a genetic gift for surviving an unforgiving climate. Missy’s mind may have had enough of me, but her body had yet to follow orders.

Kiko and Kuroneko were whispering in the other’s ears. Whatever they were saying took a little convincing. An agreement was finally reached. Five women approached me. They seemed to disapprove of my clothes, since they had none of their own. A blur of white towels, steam, and skin.

“Farrow, put your legs up and relax?” Kuroneko lifted my feet higher on the bench.

“Oh… okay.” I did as I was told. They were both staring under my towel. The more they stared, the more they had to stare at.

“Bodies need to disappear. Do you know how you do that, Mr. Michael?” Kuroneko was only eyes.

“No.”

“Very tiny. Lose the tip of your toe. Next slowly forget the whole toe. Then the rest of your foot. Move up your leg. Do the same continuing until your body is gone.” The words were coming directly out of the steam with a strange echo.

“Now you understand. One small section at a time. Little pieces until there is no pain left to feel. No pain left to know.”

“I like that.”

“You do, don’t you? The only problem is now that your body is gone: Do you know how to bring it back? Very dangerous if you can’t.” Kuroneko added a grin to her light chameleon eyes. I was kissing her without even knowing why. Another set of hands. Then another.

“It’s okay Farrow. It’s okay.” Kiko’s gentle seraphic hum. My inhibitions evaporated. The steam swallowed me. I didn’t know who was who. My body didn’t care. My only compulsion became to soak whatever was dry. “Missy.” It was a vision of sorts. I knew she wasn’t there. Her warm curves were replaced with Kuroneko’s gasping pleas, “Secret Farrow. Secret.” The skin on her face was as soft as the inside of her thighs. Kiko stayed buried below fusing us with fervent nibbles. Thin arms spreading through the steam braced both of my shoulders, guiding me along each thrust with a giggle or grunt. Another pair hugged my neck, covering my face with two sets of wispy shoulder length hair. Silken chests suction-cupped to my sides. Their hooking fingers rhythmically coasted in and out of us all.

An infernal growl disrupted the orgy. If I hadn’t heard it for days upon end, I wouldn’t have believed it to be true. I was alone following the roar, moving through the tunnels again. The sight of her stopped me in my tracks. It was absurd that this woman could keep a lion in the sauna without someone reporting it. The creature was relaxed, chewing on a sauna bench. Beasts just like this were eating my past. When a lioness is devouring something you can’t complain, only stare and watch in awe.

“Farrow…” Kiko stood behind me comforting me.

“I expected her to at least be in a cage.” I kept my body between Kiko and the lioness, in case the beast got the wrong idea.

“Farrow there’s nothing there.” Kiko breathed uneasily.

Nude Kuroneko approached her hands filled with books.

“I keep her fed. It isn’t easy, but I keep her fed with what I can scavenge.” Kuroneko’s ivory flesh shook in ripples as she tossed the stories at the beast. One at a time, the lioness caught the waning tales in her jaws before the pages hit the ground.

{XXXII}

STEAM VANISHED. DARKNESS TO LIGHT. The bedroom was jam-packed with books. Books on the floor. Books on the walls. Books on the shelves. Books on the big king bed that filled the middle room wall to wall. A blanket of books half-burying Hawaii’s naked body tied to the bedposts with white lace.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m reading?”

I tried to slide out of the knotted lace, but I was tied in too tight. Hawaii made an awkward grab for my hand, trying to comfort me. It was the best she could do in her position.

“Farrow what’s your earliest memory?”

“My grandmother always had Featherton dime mysteries scattered around her house. The skull on the binding… I can picture it so clearly.”

“Books. I should’ve seen that coming.”

“Not just books.”

“Of course, there’s no such thing.”

“What about you Hawaii? What’s your first memory?”

“It might sound crazy, but I remember being in my mother’s womb. I remember the warmth. The loud whirring sound. The shadows.”

“I need to know what happened.”

“Yeah, you know Farrow I just approach my job as I would any other. If I give it too much thought, then I can’t focus on the task at hand. Without people like me these girls would be in tough spot. But I never let it become personal. I can’t do it for people I’m close to. They have to be strangers, beginning to end. If they give me a reason of why they are doing it, I don’t listen. I shut my head off and later make my own reason. I visualize them talking to me. Their mouths moving in the same way they moved when they first excused themselves to me, except with my words. My story.”

“Your story?”

“It’s always the same one. The setting… the characters… may change, but at the core it’s always the same.”

“Life and death.”

“Life. It’s always life - even if death casts a wide shadow.”

“You’re scaring me Farrow with those bulging eyes.”

“Do you have a new book?”

“I do…”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m close. Really close.”

“You always say that, but you never finish.” It never got any easier for Missy to understand. From the day I first started, I was always close to finishing.

“Farrow do you know there’s an art to taking a prisoner?” Kiko leaned over me, gently exhaling as the tip of her breast hit my mouth. With finesse, she adjusted the knot creating some slack, which she used in another loop tightened around my crotch.

“There’s no reason to take me prisoner. You know I’d come willingly. I think real highly of you.”

“And I of you. Oh, but there is a reason?”

“Oh a reason?”

“I can’t tell what’s more beautiful my knots or you.” Kiko nodded with mischief taking a step back to admire her work.

“You see Farrow if you tied up your girlfriends on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be so hard to escape right now?” Kuroneko burst in toppling over. Bent over in laughter, her long black hair whipped around, veiling her face. Taking pleasure at the sight of me, she bum rushed me, only to wildly massage my head. I could feel her nails in my scalp. More words which I didn’t understand. The powder white woman grabbed me by the rope around my crotch. Kiko took hold higher up on my chest. They didn’t bring me far.

{XXXIII}

“IS THIS HER?” A CHARCOAL drawing of Missy hung crooked over the fireplace in Percy’s den. Kiko studied her body, taken aback by how Missy fit the obscene pose.

“Yeah...” In a trance, I traced her outline with my fingers.

“I know this woman.” Something was getting under Kiko’s skin.

“You what?”

“I met her the same day I last saw Percy Featherton, but he introduced her with a different name.”

“Evelina?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“She was the seductress from his bestselling novel.”

“Hmmm. Anyway, Percy had some half-baked proposition that Monika likened more to the effect of standing in front of the firing squad than the Nobel foundation. He never really let on clearly what he was asking her to do. Instead, he spent more time explaining how the plan was foolproof. He had every angle covered. Bribes to company boardmembers were set in place. A team of Hitler youth propagandists were standing by ready to social network their cockrings off. He showed us these miniature ads that he would use for skyscraper wraps, challenging us to guess what subliminal messages were hidden inside.”

“What did Monika say?”

“Monika barely heard him out. It was everything she wrote against. With her cult following she could afford this lone wolf philosophy. She was about to go out on her own anyway. Start her own publishing house.”

“She was? So that’s why…”

“That’s why what?”

“Huh… nothing.”

“Who knows if it would’ve worked? Her fan base was so loyal, that if she endorsed anything, the vampire bats would come out in legions.”

“Or covens. What did you think of Missy? What was she wearing? Did she make any mention of the baby? How about…”

“Woooh. Farrow slow down. She didn’t say anything. She just looked around the house like she was taking notes. Casing the place. She made no mention of the baby. She only asked if we read her new book.”

“She’s not even a fucking writer.”

“That’s how she struck me. Writers usually have this extra-terrestrial outerwordliness about them, which she had, but she showed no signs of the pathetic desperation. From the second I saw her I felt she was occupying two realms at the same time. One with us and the other where she had the dark master at the bottom of her Ponzi.”

“That’s just her personality.”

“Mystically sexy, but it seemed more than that. So this deal you had going with Percy?” Kiko’s face contorted.

“I didn’t have a deal going with him?” The sinister insinuation lingered in my ears.

“Oh you didn’t. I thought you said…”

“I was just…” I didn’t remember what I told her. If I didn’t, someone else did or Kiko could see right through me. “…that’s how it goes… wait what was Gloom’s take?” I leaned forward attempting to swallow back the words.

“When Percy and Missy left, Gloom went over how it might play out with me at least a hundred times over. I was sick of hearing her talk about work all the time, so I suggested we get some fresh air. We went for a walk and we passed Percy staring at our house. I wasn’t sure why at the time, but instinctively my stomach convulsed in fear. Monika thought nothing of it and told me not to worry. If I only…” Kiko was sinking in despair.

“Untie me.”

{XXXIV}

A SERVANT TO THE HOT spirit, Kiko coerced me up the spiral staircase to the third floor. We twisted a couple times. Then out of the corner of my eye - I saw it. The door at the end of the hallway was left open just wide enough to see Chiara’s crib.

“Farrow… are you telling me everything?” Kiko’s voice trailed off as I slid past the cracked door. I didn’t want to touch anything. This was the real crime scene. The place where another man stole my daughter.

Her room was in perfect order. Instead of making me jealous or angry, it made me calm. Overwhelming joy in every hanging star of her mobile. I could feel her close. It was a good start for her, because it was a start - and that is all you could ask for. She would soon forget it as are the benefits of that age. Other things are impossible to forget.

“That’s why it’s so serious. From the first day I found out I was going to be a father, you’ve threatened to strip me of the miracle. From the first second I always had to worry about her being taken away from me.”

“She needs you.”

“I won’t lose her.”

“You’ll probably write that in your book.”

“Farrow, what are you doing in there?” Kiko cautiously pushed the door open.

“She haunts every crevice.”

“So while you were in here being haunted…” Kiko closed in on me with Percy’s pulp trash masterpiece. The binding of the book worn like the sampietrini of Rome. Most importantly the pages were still in place. I could picture Percy flipping soiled wax-thin pages, spitting out a few lines, attempting to drop a little wisdom on Missy.

“Ever make your way through this?”

“Ghost piss.”

“What?”

“Forget it.” Kiko cracked the book open a little too wide and the fifty year spine finally split. A neatly folded page fell to the ground.

“What’s that?” Something about the paper was unsettling.

“That’s not from the book.” Kiko bent over to pick up the loose paper. “It’s something new.” She had it in her hands. “It looks official…” Then she stopped in her tracks.

“What is it?” I could tell by her face it was something worth knowing about.

“Uh Farrow…”

“Kiko…”

“It’s your daughter’s birth certificate. It says Chiara was born on January 6th at Bellevue Hospital.”

“She was born exactly on the due date. Does she have a middle name?”

“No it just says… Chiara… Chiara Featherton. Farrow it says Percy is her father. Legally, I mean.”

“Motherfucker.”

Kiko handed me the birth certificate. I couldn’t even touch it. Somehow, the document was alive. Replete with a hex of manipulation that became both my venom of paralysis and vein-bursting shot of pure revenge.

{XXXV}

I STARED AT THE BACK of Chiara’s birth certificate letting Kiko block her face with it. She was absorbed. A one page life story for her to read and me to feel.

“She’s out there somewhere. Kiko help me find her. I can’t think anymore. My mind is empty. My heart is so full, but my mind is empty.”

“Look who the signed witness is…”

“Hawaii.” My voice hung in the air just long enough for whoever opened the front door to discover that the company had made it home before them.

“Farrow.” Kiko’s mouth moved without a sound, stretching in slow motion, so I caught the drift of her air breaking.

The door latched with a sound loud enough to make it clear that we were all locked in together. Only a faint shuffling followed. There weren’t any sirens in the air. No voices on the sidewalks. No construction, banging, clacking. No trucks idling or horns honking. NYC wasn’t even here anymore. We were in America I guess after all. It was a dead man’s apartment that resembled a colonial house. My daughter’s birth certificate missing my name was balled-up flying out the window. The cops were tip-toeing up the stairs.

Sgt. Bethany Powers stared me down with a joker’s grin, keeping a hand on the gun in her holster for effect. Kiko seemed to wish she had longer nails. The type that could skin alligator scales.

“Hey Farrow, you got your book back.” The cop moved in on me shifting my dick with a carnivorous lick of her lips.

“I’d rather have Chiara back.” Saying her name felt powerful. A new strength was building inside me that should have always lived there.

“Chiara. Funny this must be her bedroom. Strange it never came up in conversation when we first met.” Sgt. Bethany Powers stood over the crib, spinning the soft cartoon stars attached to the mobile. “But I guess your heart isn’t aching for Percy, her legal father. And the mother… Hmmm… what I would do to meet Missy Featherton. Think she’ll come back for her share of the inheritance? Did you know he left her this townhouse? Think it’s worth twenty million in this market?” Sgt. Bethany Powers drew her gun, jabbing me in the belly with it.

“If you cops are so fucking smart, where’s Missy? Where?”

“Answering questions with questions, are we? It must annoy you that we figure out so many things before you. When you do something day in and day out, you get good at it. Just like writing Farrow. Except for us somebody already wrote it, but we can’t see the whole story. We have to play with what’s missing until it makes sense.”

“Sounds the same to me. Maybe you should become a writer and I should become a cop.”

“Farrow you’re more than a writer. The con you pulled with Percy was no less than criminal genius.” Sgt. Bethany Powers pursed her lips with yearning.

“You’re sitting on a fortune now, time to invest in some new shoes.” Detective Anderson stepped on my dirty sneaks with his combat boots.

“What did you do Farrow?” Kiko tugged on the neck of my shirt pulling me into her ribs.

“Tell us or we’ll write it ourselves.” Detective Anderson had both hands in fists, but didn’t seem aware of it in the least bit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want is to see my daughter. I can’t get my friends back. Please help me. I don’t want to lose her.”

“Help yourself Farrow. We’re taking her with us.” Sgt. Bethany Powers grabbed Kiko, twisting her arms behind her back.

“Someone’s got to take the fall. No way around it.”

“It’s okay Farrow. I’ll go with them.” Kiko’s loyalty gave me chills.

“Take me not her.”

“Farrow you’re not here. I don’t hear you. I definitely don’t see you.”

“She’s innocent.”

“Nobody’s innocent.”

{XXXVI}

FADED DEVIL IN MY POCKET, I stood lonesome squeezing the carved oak of Chiara’s crib. I flicked the mobile’s dangling stars one more time. It was still spinning as I stuck my head out the window facing the street.

Kiko kicked her legs wildly knocking trash into the street as the two cops shook her around like a vending machine that ate their money. I didn’t have to say much to get their attention. The three of them looked up at me in anticipation.

“It was a fucking hoax. A false flag attack. A marketing ploy. I’d known Percy a long time. He was overdue to put something out for me. He could afford the patience due for the perfect moment to arrive. He told me that my technique finally caught up with my passion in A Greater Truth. I wrote two different endings. He liked them equally and we figured out a way to use them both. We hustled Missy because of her charisma. She breathed sex. She wanted to be a writer and took the credit. We set her up to be the thief and for me to be the victim. Percy put enough money behind it to turn it into a best-seller and while I was waiting for the scandal to break: I got restless. Somebody else got homicidal.”

“Who’s that somebody Farrow?” Sgt. Bethany Powers yelled up to me filled with satisfaction.

“You already know don’t you?”

“When will you ever learn that life’s only a mystery if you want it to be?”

A new look I had never seen before. The pages were in Missy’s hands. Haphazard scribbles and stains. I went out to wander away from my edit. I returned to catch her in the act. She saw me writing, but never asked to read. Now she was deciphering it. Connecting pages to a man. She might as well chew on all my pens until the ink runs down her chin.

Sgt. Bethany Powers played with Kiko’s hair a little before she took the cuffs off. Furious Kiko’s spit flew everywhere. Sgt. Bethany Powers wiped it off her eyebrow and flung it back at the inconsolable girl. Then she threw Kiko on her ass and hopped in the passenger side door. Detective Anderson looked up at me, chuckling behind the steering wheel. Embodying heartbreak, Kiko hammered her fist into the cement swallowing fumes to the sound of squealing tires.

{XXXVII}

“YOUR LIES ARE SO NATURAL they’re dangerous.” I guess the details were easy to obsess over. Kiko and I were standing in the same spot I found Percy’s body. Bookshelves from the floor to the ceilings, filled with classics, closed in on us by design.

“As fucked up as it sounds… the deal I had with Percy was one of the greatest successes of my writing career… the career, but not the writing… when it was happening… it was just happening… you know what I’m talking about?”

“No. I don’t know. Monika’s dead. Percy’s dead. Lars’s dead. Books are ruined. Lives are ruined. You don’t even care about your daughter. I understand how Missy felt. She must have found out. Everyone is just a pawn in your grand strategy to make writing worth something in a time when it’s worthless. In a time when everyone can write their own stories. We don’t need writers anymore. We don’t need you.”

“I made you need me.”

“You did you bastard you did.” Kiko stretched both her arms out in a martyr’s stance grabbing an encyclopedic hardcover from each wall. Howling with anguish, she clapped both books together on my head. It was all adrenaline. My brain rattled as I dropped to kiss a familiar floor.

I couldn’t believe how angry the truth made her. Kiko went ballistic. Books rained down on me as she emptied the bookshelves. I got flashes of Percy’s corpse. He was long removed, but I was his chalk outline. Gritting her teeth, Kiko jabbed her bony knee, pinning me where my repugnant idol finally made sense of it all. I didn’t take it serious enough while I still had a chance. The beating didn’t stop. Her anger turned the lights out.

“Da-da. Da-da.” It was a voice I’ve never heard before. Just hanging in the air. The words lifted me up. I looked down at her. My daughter. Could she look like that? Was she even that old already?

{XXXVIII}

“YOU KNOW FARROW I HAVE a confession of my own to make.” Kiko was on her knees caressing my face. I was lying flat on the floor of the sauna in the same spot I saw the lioness. Beside us, Kuroneko was digging up the floorboards. Her eyes had a luminous clutch as she manipulated the crowbar seeping rapture.

“Keep it to yourself.”

“Hawaii’s not dead. She vaporized same as Missy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m blackmailing Hawaii. She doesn’t know it’s me, but I’m blackmailing her.”

“Huh? Wait… what?”

“Everyone has something private that if exposed will ruin them. It didn’t take long to figure out the ghost in Hawaii’s closet. I charged her weekly installments. I did it all through Kuroneko. She’s not my birth mother. She sponsored me for a visa and helped me out when I first came to New York. She needs money to keep the sauna up and running. I am forever indebted to her, so I took an interest in it.”

“Hawaii didn’t resist?”

“I didn’t even think she’d make the first payment, but she just kept on paying. I wasn’t sure how she got the money. I could only guess that she was taking it from Percy. Somehow she was shaking him down for much more than I was taking. Hawaii and Percy both thought Monika was behind this. I had Kuroneko drop hints to help them figure it out. For some reason, I was invisible to them. I’d be lying if I didn’t realize this from the beginning. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use this to my advantage. Farrow I’m starting to fall for you and I’ve already hurt you so much. You can never love me after what I did. How will you be able to love me now that you know the truth?” The sound of the sewer water boiling was faint and recognizable.

A giant monogrammed Louis Vuitton duffle bag led to the stench of a million or so in cash that was stashed away dreaming with the rats and roaches. Kuroneko stared at Kiko hoping she could psychically guide her mind to a more narcissistic scheme.

{XXXIX}

HOPPING ONTO THE MOPED, KURONEKO pulled up the back of her reformatory school skirt to flash me a little fur.

“Forget something?” I tied and twisted the leather strap of the overloaded bag around my arm several times, settling in behind her.

“Don’t worry Farrow I won’t be the only naked pussy on the road.” The bike kicked as we blasted out of the alley, her skirt fluttering up and down, teasing the cars beside us with the powder white lines of her thighs. From what I understood the plan was to wave the money in front of Hawaii’s nose until she gave up Missy’s location. Nobody said much about it. It was hard to believe the girls would risk losing that kind of money, but Kiko was calling the shots and by some crazy fortune: I fell into her palm

Streaks of reckless acceleration through the sunshower, Kuroneko took her hands from the handlebars one at a time, grabbing mine, and sliding them below her skirt. Her hips were familiar territory.

“Hold my purse. Don’t let go.” Kuroneko slid a little, repositioning and I squeezed tight enough to make her body jerk.

“Find some honesty in the world you created.” Kuroneko leaned back on me as Queensboro Plaza closed in on us.

“If money was my thing…” Rusty limbs on the scratch paper sky.

“If money was your thing you could take off running.”

“But I won’t.”

“And that’s why I suspect you’re a slow runner.”

“Farrow something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I mean with my body. I can’t stop coming.” Missy was crying and laughing at the same time. “It feels good, but I’m scared. I’m scared to feel so good.”

Voodoo drums in the rainforest, the wheels were still spinning when I hopped off the moped. I could hear Kuroneko quickly pull over and drop the bike. I didn’t look back, but an image of her stressed out greedy face cracked me up as I sprinted up the stairs leading to the elevated station. The crowd got thick in the tunnel bridge. No room to run. Kuroneko blatantly tugged at the bag like a gypsy pickpocket in front of a tour bus. We moved prehistoric, mostly with shoulders and hips. Way beyond the imagination of the everyday suckers caught up in their daily struggle, they were all getting smacked with a million in cash without knowing it.

{XL}

SKYLINE AT OUR BACKS, THE platform was shaking. All the trains were coming in at the same time. The sun cut through our eyelids. I didn’t realize until I bent over…

Missy fainted here. Smashed her skull on the concrete with a hollow thud. She had a slight seizure. Blood ran from her head like a kicked over bucket of red paint. I begged for someone to get an ambulance. In the back I knew every answer to the paramedics questions. At the emergency room I got the third degree. They assumed I knocked her out. I waited in the lobby for six hours. They finally let me see her, minutes before she was released. She was talking on the phone to somebody. I didn’t know she had her phone with her. I tried calling it several times from the waiting room, but just got the voicemail.

“I’ll try Percy. I’ll try.” She whispered in a soft voice that I pretended not to hear.

“Money Farrow. Money.” I followed the pasty legs up to the short shorts until I was damn sure it was Hawaii.

“This is my little girl we’re talking about.” I was screaming at Hawaii. Studying her neck to know just where I would place my thumbs, if it came to that.

“Chill Farrow chill.” Kuroneko patted down her face with a handkerchief, trying not to let the sweat mix with the thin layer of powder. Everyone else around us tried not to act shocked, but it was bothering them. Like it or not, we were packed together. The exhausted workers in their dirty clothes scrunched up at the sound of a man lashing a woman in broad daylight. The words “money” and “little girl” hung in the air. A spray that everyone could understand. A mist that transforms a situation into a disaster. A grumbling that elevates a disaster into a tragedy. A hoard of rats started rising from the tracks. They seemed bothered. Like they knew something we didn’t. Just as the family dog can smell the storm before the first drop hits.

“Farrow I’m sorry. Farrow I know.”

“What do you know?”

Kuroneko took off running. Of course she did. Hawaii went next. And I was standing there staring at the faces of strangers as the possibilities faded. Fuck that, like hell I was.

{XLI}

SCREAMS OF AWE AND HORROR, Kuroneko’s feet hit the open tracks completely blowing minds. She ran so hard with her skirt stuck up in the back, ass exposed, pushing her body to the limit like an angel-dusted thoroughbred. The crazy powder white mare with the black mane took the curve towards Astoria trying to make it to 39th Ave before the next N or Q to Manhattan. It was a fucked up gamble.

Kill the brain. I wanted to throw up a lifetime of meals when my feet hit the stilted tracks. Mandatory perfection found its infancy. Every step of the sprint had to bless the slats. I heard Hawaii’s voice yell back, “Farrow focus.”

Kuroneko already made her way around the curve leaving the plaza. Northern turned into 31st Street. It was a straight shot to the next station. A few blocks away.

“Faster.” Hawaii panted, frozen with fear. Another train heading into the city chugged dead into us. It was rare to get two so close back to back. It just wasn’t our day.

Anyone could turn spider for the right price. First in line to get smacked, Kuroneko chanced it dangling her body over the street as the train passed. Demonically possessed she prepared herself to drop in Lucifer’s palm. The sight of her exposed caused the nauseating heights to grab hold of me.

Smell the sparks, the conductor hit the brakes. Somehow Hawaii was now in front of me, scrunched up, holding her hand outstretched as if trying to block a bright light from her eyes. She pivoted back at me with a look of regret, panting, frozen with fear.

“It was me.” Mangled, Hawaii’s face lost its form as the squealing steel burst in with remorseless momentum. Splashed by an exploding balloon of blood. The train came to a halt. Inches. Milliseconds. I could stick my tongue out and lick it.

“It’s alright Farrow. Whenever I lose something, it’s impossible for me to believe I’d truly get it back. I’m cool with it. Once something’s gone. It’s gone.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Missy…Missy…”

Close enough to see over the border to the afterlife, Kuroneko methodically pulled her body back on the tracks. Unscathed, she didn’t have time to think about what just happened, hustling off to the next station. Awe struck as I watched her pull herself up onto the platform at 39th Avenue. The reckless cat calmly adjusted the bag of cash on her shoulder, walking off down the street as if she just picked up a bag of Sunday bagels.

{XLII}

“DON’T LET HER GET AWAY.” My words were muffled. Detective Anderson was wiping Hawaii’s blood off my face with my own shirt. The heavy summer air stuck to my bare chest. I felt covered in omnipotent honey. Stuck in a beehive with the bees stinging everyone, but me. They knew I was watching. They liked it that way.

“You live in a fucking dream world Farrow. I’m going get your head checked out. Cunt dropped like a penny from the Empire State Building.” Sgt. Bethany Powers flew up in my face.

“More like a silver dollar. Monsters always leave a big mess.” Detective Anderson kicked back filling out the tag team.

“I’m sorry about Hawaii. Had nothing against her, but maybe you did?”

“I thought you guys know everything.”

“We know Missy’s in mainland China and she didn’t leave with a baby. Crossed the border on her lonesome, under the name Eun Young.”

“Wait what... no baby?” Detective Anderson’s words hit me as a decaying hum.

Smoke through her nose. Cigarette dangling from her mouth. Missy was always destroying pages. I shouldn’t have left them around to curl up and turn to ash.

“You don’t want me to finish.”

“You can’t finish. Everything you start blossoms into life, then slowly gets sick.” It was a few straight weeks of insults. It wasn’t like this in the beginning. My girlfriend was fucking another man to help get my book published and she was the one that was insecure. There was nothing to do, but ignore her and that of course was why the snakes rolled around in their pit biting at the air.

“Seoul. Farrow, don’t tell me you never thought about it.”

“Missy overstayed her visa by six years. What did you expect to run into her sunning in Sheep’s Meadow?”

Another woman’s arms were around me. Sgt. Bethany Powers’ eyes blasted lasers. Adelora’s opals deflected them into the crooked cop’s screw face.

“Officers please give me a moment with my client, Mr. Faro.” Adelora wrapped me up in her serenity, leading me away.

“Watch out Chica. Guy’s born under a bad sign.” Sgt. Bethany Powers unsnapped the cover on her holster and anxiously resnapped it several times.

“We’re bored of him already.” Detective Anderson touched his tongue to his upper lip, eyeing Adelora.

Adelora shook the envelope in her hands. She was having a conversation with herself inside her own head. Both Anderson’s and Powers’ eyes weighed down on us as we walked away. Soon enough their feet would most likely follow their eyes. The tracks overhead started shaking again. The first trains since the accident approached the plaza. Adelora glanced back to see if they were still behind us. I could tell by her face that they were. She seemed to go over it a little longer.

“You know I was sitting at home with this envelope in my hands and all I could think of was my father. What it would be like if we didn’t meet for the first time at his gravestone.” Adelora nonchalantly slid through an opening in the fence and hopped down onto an embankment dropping steeply into the Sunnyside Yards. I followed in the same fashion beachkids jump from the boardwalk, hit the sand, and race to the sea.

“I always dreamed that my dad would bring me to the circus. I dreamed he would walk across the tightrope with me.” Rocks and overgrown weeds, we walked down a lonely abandoned rail line caught in the tangle of dozens others that were ready for action. We didn’t have to look back to remember our abandoned overgrown shadows.

{XLIII}

THE ENVELOPE WAS THIN AND could only hold paper. It had an address on it...

Missy Featherton

219 Madison Street Apt 5E

NY, NY 10002

I didn’t think Adelora knew how hard she was chewing on the bottom of her lip as I carefully peeled the envelope open. The sight inside gave me chills. I looked back at Sgt. Bethany Powers. She was moving in on me with the baton.

“Get on the ground Farrow. Let us take a look at that.” Detective Anderson pulled his gun on me for the first time. I dropped to the ground staring up at a spiderweb of high voltage cables and the first royalty check I’d ever seen or held. It was made out to Missy Featherton for A Greater Truth.

“These cops have something against you?” Adelora lay next to me, anxious and twitching. Ignoring her, I chewed the envelope to pieces careful to keep the address engrained in my head. I started next on the paystub, but Sgt. Bethany Powers jammed the thick baton between my teeth before I got half of it down. Detective Anderson shoved his fingers in my mouth to pull out what was left.

“Got anything Anderson?”

“Only scraps. Fucking animal devoured it.” Detective Anderson nonchalantly palmed the address. Arms twisted behind me, cuffs clicked on my wrists.

“We’re bringing you in. Destruction of evidence.”

“Where is she Farrow? Spit it out and we’ll let you go.”

“Tell us and we’ll race you there.”

“We know you know. Don’t waste our time.”

The sun stayed in our faces. The air just kind of hung there. Adelora was breathing heavily. I could tell she was trying to calm herself down, but it backfired. I tried to grab her hand, but she pushed it away. This wasn’t a courtroom. Nobody even pretended there were rules out here. Then there was a long silence. The kind that could only be followed by brutal violence. Gun butts, boots, batons, and fists. The two detectives did what they had to do to get the truth. Years of practice and training. Sgt. Bethany Powers kicked Adelora so hard, her boot shot out into the open air. The black thigh high soared towards me. Maybe I could’ve ducked in time. Maybe I just had to know how the black leather felt against my skin.

{XLIV}

MISSY POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND the door startling me. She had sliced cucumbers stuck to her face. Uninhibited, she was laughing the way most people can only laugh in the company of family. People you’ve known your whole life. People that will put up with you and even more stand behind you, blindly.

“Farrow let me put them on you too.”

“It’s okay… you enjoy… I’m cool…”

“Get over here.” Missy grabbed me, wiping the cucumber paste off her face, and smearing it on mine.

Fading back onto the planet below the steel skeleton of the Williamsburg Bridge, I woke up aching in Adelora’s warm lap. The lawyer had a bruised forehead and two determined bloodshot black eyes that no one in their right mind would contest. It hurt me to see her that way. I wish my beating was enough, but the shields couldn’t help, but double their pleasure. We spilled onto Delancey. Two pairs of eyes watched us in the same little mirror. Grinding their teeth. Wrinkling their tense faces. They were at another career moment. Wondering if they were showing up to a raging pulse or melting block of ice. The traffic was the same as always, but their minds had no space left for patience. Sgt. Bethany Powers leaned down and put the portable siren on the dash, driving over the median, and the wrong way down Norfolk Street. Something hit the side window.

“Sounded like a pebble.” Sgt. Bethany Powers pounded the gas. I looked up imagining the shadowy kids on the top of the tower across from the temple. They were all out of fresh piss for the unmarked cars. Instead a shower of stones followed by bricks and bottles. Broken glass fell on us like icy windblown ashes from Thor’s coolie. Die machine.

“Go Farrow go.” Adelora hoisted me with her legs, out back window. I hit the pavement with a bone-jarring thud, sinking into a quicksand mattress.

{XLV}

A BEATEN BODY IN PAIN. Almost past Grand. Didn’t remember getting back on my feet. I felt my teeth sharpen. Eyes zoom microscopic. A straight shot in the dark through Seward Park. No sign of the heat on my back. Maybe my favorite cops were finally out of commission. Down for the count.

“Special olympics ain’t ’til next month.” Mayor’s orders, a patrolman let loose an innocent fart. No chance I would hang around to grab a whiff. Still it followed me through the trees and sprayshowers, marking his spot with his scent.

A block or so to go. Jefferson Street. A crafty skel in the shadows takes an interest my cuffs. His lip was swollen retarded. His shirt was stretched down exposing a shoulder.

“You didn’t see anything.” The mural glowed beside us.

“… give a shit…” He had cuffs of his own.

Turn the corner. Madison Street. The numbers are going down. Less than a block to go. Paralysis enacts its ploy for mental siege. Recognizable voices begin to harmonize nefariously. Distinct pin-dots of light grow together to form a forgotten smudge on the city’s canvas. Illuminated, the somber streets between the bridges seemed to grow fuzzy.

Kids on the stoop, parents off finding new adventures. 219 Madison Street. Missy’s breathing above it all. The towers exploding from across the river. The jet engine shaking the island bungalows. The jungle lioness waking up to find a metropolis planted on top of her tail.

I’m staring at a red door.

“Our first date, huh…” Missy whispered through the coming attractions at the Ziegfield.

“Missy, I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Farrow. I’m sorry. Don’t put that in your book.” Missy smiled teasing me.

“What?”

“That I’m always late.”

“Oh you remembered that I write. Don’t worry beauty is always worth waiting for.”

“I respect that about you.” It was the only time she said that. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the writing or the waiting.

{XLVI}

FIGHT THE MEMORIES. A FADED crimson cage of thin iron to keep out yesterday’s demons. Slide through the crack, propped open with a cement block and a jade statue of Buddha. The dim bulbs in the hallway lamps didn’t seem to get enough power. Floors and walls trapped in time. The old door shut at my back killing the street.

“Chiara.” I whispered to myself. Stomach in my throat, trudging up the timeworn stairs. Senses pushed beyond their peaks. Infantile whines and wails. Cantonese and Spanish resonated through the walls. The building was panting.

Each step taken was to be totally absorbed by the floor. Creaks kept to a minimum. Apt 5E was at the top of the walk-up facing the street. A pair of black leather boots were jammed in the door to keep it open. She was waiting for me.

Immediate sweat covered my forehead. The brick oven was filled with tenement ghosts that life painted over. The overhead lights were off. Large candles burnt a third down were placed haphazardly. The flames were trying to escape the wax, but the breeze cutting through the windows wasn’t strong enough. A large claw foot bathtub was arm’s distance from the stove and small dinner table. Terrible orange linoleum tiles with brown diamonds blighted the kitchen. There were two other small narrow rooms lined up in a rectangle. It was the type of place that would always be dirty. The apartment was missing furniture. It didn’t appear to be a place that was recently lived in.

“Missy?” She sat there cross-legged and silent in the murky bedroom.

“I was going to tell you Farrow.” Kiko, the imposter was waiting for me in an almost meditative stance on the bed by the window. Indestructible, Chiara bounced up and down in her lap. Keeping her body stiff, Kiko’s eyes examined my pummeled face, ending on my handcuffs, shaking her head in disbelief as if her revelations came true.

“I was going to tell you Farrow.”

“I heard you the first time. What is it Kiko?” I shook the cuffs to keep the quiet from conquering us all.

“Missy wasn’t into being a mom. She disappeared even before Chiara was out of the NICU. You picked the wrong girl Farrow. Wish I knew you sooner.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. Percy was going to put the baby up for adoption. It wasn’t blood. I told him to give her to you, but he said you’re too fucked up.”

“I’ll find him in the afterlife.”

“Hawaii threatened the old man. Saying she was going to tell you. Percy fearing for his life worked out a deal with Hawaii letting her collect Missy’s royalties.”

“Missy never popped up?”

“She went ghost and nobody’s seen her since. I found all this out from Gloom, who was planning to write her next book about it.”

“Capitalistic bitch.”

“Hawaii dangled this in front of Percy’s face coaxing a generous offer.”

“And you?”

“I threatened to turn Hawaii in and took what I could for myself. I’ve been raising Chiara, so we could be a family. I wasn’t sure why I wanted it so badly, until I got to know you.” A wariness floated in Kiko’s voice. I took a few steps closer trying to get a good look at Chiara, but all I got was the shadow of a baby and the moon outside reflecting off a large rectangular cleaver.

“A family?”

“Mr. Michael. It’s true.” Kuroneko’s voice echoed from the closet.

“I wasn’t seeing things?” Except the cleaver that wasn’t there.

“I tried to make you love me. I know it’s fast and love is only a word created by a poet.” Kiko had to know she lost me. Some acts were unforgiveable.

“The money’s in your apartment in Queens.” Kuroneko burst of the closet. “You can’t go home Farrow, they’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Why don’t you fucking say something? If not to me say something to our daughter?” Kiko was in a panic. She was confused that the baby was born from inside her. She was confused how love could creep up on you quickly and slip away even faster.

“Please don’t make me fucking cry.”

“You can’t die from crying.”

“You can die from lots of things.” Kiko carefully rested Chiara on the middle of the bed and stood up. Insane laughter preceded the windmill of her stick thin arms.

{XLVII}

PURE LOVE. BLESSED WITHIN THE laws of nature for the first time I stared in my daughter’s eyes. Organically they channeled Missy. The look behind them was somehow mine. The little girl showed up on the planet just in time, challenging the scribe’s code I lived by. Chiara was an explosion of bliss. Time slowed. The apartment was small and there was little room to maneuver. The three of us stared at each other eyes bulging from our faces. She couldn’t inflict any pain. I was immune. Stunned, Kuroneko kept her distance.

“Kiko. Thank you.”

“Fuck you Farrow.”

“Fuck me? You kept my daughter safe. Thank you.”

“I did. I did it for you. The whole world is a false flag attack Farrow, but it’s okay. I was listening to you before you even said a word. There’s no room for guilt. I did it for you. I did.”

“And I will forever appreciate that.”

With the worst possible timing, Detective Anderson entered the room, deer caught in headlights. Kiko screamed trying to claw out his eyes. Kuroneko pounced on his back. All three ended up on the floor. The scuffle resembled a grindhouse pinky violence flick more than a modern day L.E.S. beatdown. In the struggle, Detective Anderson lost his baton, gun, and the keys to his handcuffs.

Carefully I stepped around them, kicking the keys my way and shoving them into my backpocket. Staying out of reach, I sat down next to Chiara who was lying on the bed without a care in the world. The sounds of the psychopaths menacing each other didn’t seem to upset her. Sirens, horns, death, and destruction were all blowing in our ears, but that wasn’t for her yet. She had her whole life to make sense out of that nonsense. Now was just time for her to chill her father. I wanted to hug her until the galaxy combusted, but my hands were still cuffed and behind me. I turned my back to her. I stretched out my pinkie finger. Chiara grabbed it and didn’t let go.

{XLVIII}

HEELS CLANGING ON THE FIRE escape. An outline of a woman. Two hands popped in the open window. Chiara’s grip slid from my pinkie as she was snatched out of the bed. She wasn’t scared in the least bit. No wails. No tears. Her mother came to retrieve her. The little girl was waiting for the very moment. Without a doubt in her mind, she knew it would happen, and it did.

The brick towers across the street lit up the block. The Manhattan Bridge sat a little south. The Williamsburg Bridge stretched slightly north. Missy was already on the second floor, holding her heels like a pair of daggers in her hand. Chiara babbled musically, wrapped snug in a baby sling on her back. Heels dropped to the sidewalk below.

“Missy...” I called down to her, but she played diva, lowering herself to the pavement with a gymnast’s grace.

It was strange seeing a species thought extinct. Even more baffling how she took her time to bend over. Slithering to pick up her heels. Missy knew the pregnancy only put more sand in her hourglass. Chiara smiled up at me, waving like a canvassing presidential candidate.

Slide down the ladder and drop. Soles hit the cement. The body follows. A seagull without wings. Knees bent. Force transfers accordingly. Missy could only be steps away. I cut across the street through the gauntlet of towering housing projects.

A sliver of the Manhattan Bridge was visible between the towers. Women’s footsteps trailed behind.

“Farrow wait…” Adelora’s voice hung in the gallows of the night.

“Adelora in my pocket… the keys.”

“Stay still Farrow.” She fumbled a little before slipping the keys in and releasing the lock. The handcuffs clanged hitting a pile of trash bags and old furniture. Even with them gone, I could still feel the reinforced steel on my wrists.

“Which way?” Adelora lost her bearings. She spoke a little loud. Missy turned her head out of the shadows, staring me down in the grainy light of the Manhattan Bridge.

“Don’t say anything. All I ever hear are words.” Missy spit out orders as such on occasion, but for the first time - it felt like it may be the last. There was very little that could soothe us from the moment’s bleakness. She just kept running her mouth as people do when they finally lose all hope. “Well Farrow. You were warned. You said don’t worry something good will happen. Don’t be so serious. If we’re patient we’ll get some luck. You’re too fucking patient. I can’t believe this. How am I going to get my things out of there? Of course you don’t care because you own nothing. You can go anywhere at any time and that is why I was a complete idiot to think there was ever any future in you.” The officially stamped City of New York Marshall’s eviction notice helped distinguish what was dead from what was alive.

“At least we don’t have a kid. Nothing too serious.” Frustration. Anger. I shouldn’t have let it slip.

“I hate writers. I wish you all horrible deaths. Painful. Gruesome. Humbling. Deaths.” Missy turned her back on me and walked off. It was the last time I would see her until this very night. No way I was going to go after her. I learned restraint a second late. Enough harm was inflicted. I waited until I heard her heels hit the lobby steps before ripping the eviction notice off the door and taking a seat in the hallway. I flipped the page, pulled a pen from my pocket, and got started on filling the empty space.

Missy stopped underneath the Cherry Street tunnel that sliced a path below the Manhattan Bridge. She was waiting for me. I had to know what she would say after all this time. I needed to hold Chiara and help her understand that she would always be safe. I couldn’t wait any longer for the words she withheld. The closer I got to Missy, the more she looked and felt the same, as time had never changed. I didn’t even realize what I was doing… when I went into lock lips.

Missy’s wetness made perfect sense, but the blade of the scissors opening my neck was a bizarre sensation - A flash of desolation. The blade entered my skin. Smooth red velvet. I could taste my tongue frosting over. Pupils filled with snow. I couldn’t believe she did it. So this is how it felt. Shock shook me inside out. Cold cold world.

The world went blurry. I was on the ground looking up.

“Writer… Lava will turn us all into stone.” The words left her mouth like a phantom baby’s first words. It was the only thing Missy said to me in over a year.

Detective Anderson took aim. He was oblivious to the fact that Chiara was strapped to Missy’s back. I wasn’t convinced that I was still alive, but somehow I stood up again. Flap of skin dangling from my sliced neck. Blood emptying on the street like an open hydrant. Detective Anderson fired and I lurched into the bullet with my hand up like I was hailing a cab.

Empty streets. Two feet of snow under the streetlamps. Missy finally kissed me on the steps of her building. Covered head to toe in warmth. The front door slipped from her hands. I wasn’t sure where she was leading me. Either way I had no choice, but to go.

The blizzard hijacked the city. Buses stuck, wheels spinning in the middle of the street. Subways frozen underground indefinitely delayed.

“What do you say when you meet someone that changes the entire course of your life?”

{XLIX}

DEAD AIR BELOW THE BYGONE bridge, I was street level staring at the tires of the parked cars. Missy and Chiara were nowhere to be found. The gouged tunnel exposed her blue steel underbelly filling with carnival echoes. Distorted voices multiplied. The decipherable few were all too familiar.

“It’s a hundred-degree day and you’re shivering.”

“Does that hole in your throat make you cold Farrow?”

“I got some gashes in the past, but that beauty is unreal.”

“It’s time to give her up Farrow.”

“Don’t nod. Don’t say a word.”

“We inked your statement already.” Sgt. Bethany Powers chewed on her words. She seemed to be missing a couple of teeth from the car accident.

“All you need to do is sign Farrow.” Detective Anderson had a bandage around his head like a bandana. He placed the pen in my hand. It rolled out of my grasp onto the sidewalk.

“Missy… Missy… are you there?” At first, I could only hear my own voice.

“…Aksa jo zwyiecslizon…” I couldn’t make out what she was saying through the static.

“Missy…” I squinted down at her photo on the lcd cellphone screen.

“…faskl asdfil diljasfzi…” She was so close to being there: But just wasn’t.

Sgt. Powers’ hands around my throat brought me out of the shock. My blood was all over her green leather gloves. Her fingers dug into the wound, pressing the loose flaps of skin together. “I can’t give you any more of my time. I got spacecases, nihilists, and the working man trying to do each other in so they can all wake up and shop another day away.” She was talking crazy. I grabbed at her neck forgetting my left hand was half missing after Detective Anderson blew a hole in it. Unleashing a cruel chop, the redhead smacked my stump away, quickly pinning it down with a black boot heel. Agony surged through me. I grabbed at Sgt. Powers with my right hand, but only got a pointy tit. I squeezed as you would squeeze one of those stress balls. I could feel her nipple harden below her blouse. It relaxed me until she jammed an open hand into my teeth. My head jerk backed. The wound on my neck spread.

Pop! Detective Anderson cracked Sgt. Powers in the back of the head with his nightstick. The blow was so hard her face went blank a few seconds. Detective Anderson seemed to be still deciding if he should hit her again as she came to. Dazed, Sgt. Powers tried to hand Detective Anderson the pen, but he wouldn’t take it. Instead he motioned for her to give it to me personally. She pressed the tip of the pen in the center of my right palm until I was able to handle it. Detective Anderson pulled the statement out of his pocket and held it steady for me. The world was fading in and out. Breaths were hard to come by. Wheezes came easy.

“Don’t nod. Don’t say a word. Write it Farrow. Write it.”

{L}

THE COPS LEFT ME ALONE to die on the street. I couldn’t remember if I signed the statement or not. The pen was still in the gutter, which I guess could be a good sign. I tried speaking. Nothing came out. It was strange to have no voice. I held my hand up and stared through the hole in my palm. The top half of my body had lost most feeling. I could only move my legs. I kicked my legs up, bouncing my feet on the pavement as they passed. The tunnel was a chamber of sound.

I could hear footsteps and gossip blend together. A couple’s outline flashed down the sidewalk across the street. I could hear them cough and shuffle along. They were coming closer. I flopped wildly like a fish in the sand. Our eyes met. I pleaded for an ambulance. They looked away wishing their eyes were playing tricks on them. Wishing they were blind and belonged to a different world.

“Farrow will you stop leaving these fucking pages everywhere.” Missy rolled the vacuum over the pages I left on the floor.

“I’ll write them again. Next time they’ll be even better.” I was lying sideways. Exhausted after a long night’s voodoo possession. Watching the vacuum gag on the pages, should’ve made me sick, but instead brought me pleasure.

“You’re a demented child scribbling on everything you see. Look at me. Don’t you like women anymore? You used to want me. Now all you love are books. All you lust for. Sober up Farrow. You exist here. Streets aren’t paper. Skies aren’t computer screens. People’s hearts don’t beat to the rhythm of typewriters.”

Missy’s fingers stayed perfectly still as she held the needle under the plastic lighter’s blue flame. Gently, she pressed the tip of the needle against my skin. It fell below leading the thread to follow in loops. After a rapid barrage of stitches, her whole body tensed up theatrically, leaving the job half done.

Scanning the area, Missy gravitated towards the pen until it was in her hand. She placed it in her mouth, loosening the tip with her teeth. With a flick, she tossed the vial of ink in the street. Resting the empty pen on my chest Missy began feeling around below my wounded throat, stopping in the soft valley of skin below my Adam’s apple. She jabbed the scissors in, quickly throwing them to the side. Next she held it the empty pen up, carefully positioning herself. I was lost in the pen’s beauty.

Air returned into my lungs. As it spread blissfully through my body, I noticed Chiara still on Missy’s back. She didn’t seem bothered by the sight of me. Just the opposite she reached out towards me with a silly smile as Missy tied the remaining stitches to close the wound on my neck.

{LI}

THE RISING SUN BLED THROUGH the two small windows of the ambulance. The stretcher and cabinets filled with medical supplies rattled bouncing its way through the bumpy streets.

“What do you make of that pen in his neck?” A thick woman spoke in a loud voice that could send a rabid bear back into the brush. Her tattooed partner shrugged jabbing me with a needle. “You’re feeling good now. Aren’t you?”

I tried to motion to them that the pen stuck in me was the only way I could breathe, but my body was completely paralyzed. Whatever they used to sedate me had the stopping power to freeze a lioness mid-growl. The garbage came on to me as a faux spiritual revelation. Some kind of pharmaceutical soft passage not worth knowing. My mind was stalling. The world that started spinning so fast, slowed down warping words. Whether they were meant directly for me or not - the words hung in the air. Naked skydivers sucked the wrong way from gravity… propelled towards far away planets… when they were only planning to come back home.

“Those stiches creep me out.”

The driver came around to swing the doors open. They hopped out of the back of the ambulance almost spilling me out on the curb. People stared, eyes widening and faces contorting as the paramedics rushed me into the hospital.

Observing for a second before pouncing, a triage nurse hung over me like a knockoff bag salesman on a Canal Street.

“What’s his deal?”

“Throat was slit. Lost a lot of blood. Need to bring him right in.” The freckled paramedic talked tough expecting resistance.

“Take him in.” The triage nurse left my stretcher heading back over to the door to bum-rush the next one. The sound of the gurney’s wheels spinning strangely put me at ease.

A rainbow of volcanic ash. The clear sky turns to smoke. A death died a thousand times. Alone on Baekdu mountain on the shores of Heaven lake: The picture perfect place to turn to stone.

A few more nurse and doctors types surrounded me. I could see up all their noses. Count the hairs in their nostrils. Feel the warmth of their hands. Tell you what they’d had for lunch. “He’s already stitched up?”

“Is this your Dr. Frankenstein work?”

“What kind of sedation is he under?”

“Looks like he’s barely there.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to jump off the pushcart and run away. I wanted my mind to shut off, but wouldn’t let it because maybe that would mean death. No body justifies paralysis. No mind equates shock. I started the simple exercises in my head. It wasn’t enough. If only I could remember how to apply chemistry to everyday life. The current moment of doubt called for a concise interpretation. Quantum physics would merge into the surroundings, united.

A musty draft travelled the emergency room. Orbs danced in my mindsight. A cacophony of curtains yanked open and shut. Patients peered out, flooding the room with fear and hopelessness, relieved when they were in better shape than their neighbor. There was moaning, but not the screams we were waiting for. I wanted to be the one to let loose, but my moment had yet to arrive. My throat felt unbearably sore like my entire head was trapped in the gap between the 3 train and the platform.

“I know you can’t talk back, but just try to relax.”

“What’s your take on it nurse?”

“Missed the carotid arteries and internal jugular. Luckiest guy in here all night. What’s with the stupor? Either he’s like that all the time or someone gave him too much Morphine or Fentanyl.

“Pupils aren’t constricted. Breathing is still rapid. It’s something else What happened to his hand?”

“Cop shot a chunk of it off.”

“Blood levels?”

“Amazingly under control.”

Another poor sucker gets wheeled in. He looks at me sympathetically like he knows me. I think I recognize him, but I recognize everyone now.

“Hey buddy what the hell are you doing here?” Brodie was bleeding from a head wound. Both his hands were bandaged at the knuckles. He was piss drunk.

“You know this man?” The nurse immediately cut in.

“I do. This guy saved my life. A lion tracked me and tried to do me in. Thanks to him I’m still ticking.”

“A lion? What’s his name?”

My body began jerking around with no control. Stitches threatening to burst. The air was inside me, but it wasn’t travelling right.

“He’s convulsing.”

“It’s shock.” A team rushed around me again.

“Pulse is weakening.”

“Close the window. Bugs are getting in.” It was the first beautiful day since winter killed everything alive and Missy was trying to shut us in.

“Go kill some mosquitoes then. That’s what you’re good at.”

“If you want some air. Why don’t you go outside?”

I left on her command… returning a few hours later. Missy was waiting for me like only seconds passed. She left the dead mosquito on both palms. Smudged against her skin to make her point.

“You have to know when to quit Farrow.”

“Six thirty-eight.” The doctor stated my time of death and left the room.

{LII}

THERE WASN’T ENOUGHT ROOM FOR me in the morgue. Nude under the half-zipped body bag, I waited on a gurney in the hallway. Bodies were quadrupled up on the trays. The heat wave was doing us in. A cloud of flies travelled in a swarm. An itchy feeling slowly brought sensation back to my skin. I couldn’t move to scratch it. The chemical paralysis was wearing off. I was beyond dehydration. The two lonely workers chipped away at their duties. Speed metal and merengue poured out of their headphones. The last thing they would expect is for one of their cadavers to get up and stumble out of the joint. I was sure they fantasized about it. I highly doubted they would notice me gone.

“NYPD. I’m looking for a John Doe.” Sgt. Bethany Powers dropped in like a regular at a local dive.

“We got a few dozen. Take your pick.” The guy working didn’t give a shit, but enjoyed the relatively warm female company.

“Male. Early thirties. Throat slit. Decrepit.”

Decrepit. I would remember that. Take that to my grave. Sgt. Bethany Powers rolled my gurney behind the largest stack of bodies she could find.

“Farrow, I know you’re still with me. See your mind works, but your body doesn’t. You know why you’re in a waking coma? A pharmacist I brought in traded me this for skipping a court date. Evil genius.” Sgt. Bethany Powers waved a cloudy ampule labeled Evil Genius in front of my face.

“We brought Missy in. She filled me in on everything. I’m on her side Farrow. You’re not even human. You’re just a book. Paper and lines. A recluse losing his mind. And some books are better off not existing. They’re better burned.” Sgt. Bethany Powers shook the hair out of her face, looking back over at the two workers.

“Make sure he gets picked up for cremation. I’m paying for it personally. That was his last request.” Then she leaned over and gave me her lips. It was a long kiss. The kind that wakes up every nerve in your body. The kind that ends in a bite so vicious you have no choice, but to fall in love with the black widow.

{LIII}

ALIVE AMONG THE ROTTING. THE morgue workers shook off the chills and got back to work. The waking coma drug seemed far-fetched. Science made perfect sense and for that fact alone was light years behind this town. Life was floating in and out of consciousness regardless.

“I’m here for a pick up. A guy with a slit throat.” I couldn’t make out the voice and it bugged me out how I was more popular dead than alive.

“You got a coffin? No corpses leave without a coffin.”

“In the hearse.” The voice became almost recognizable, but I’d heard so many.

“Alright sign for him and he’s all yours.” Something familiar. A pen scratching paper. The body bag zipped over my head. The wheels were rolling again.

“Humans are flawed Farrow. You desert people when they need you most.”

The world saw me as dead. The inside of the body bag left a whole lot of nothing to be desired. I could feel the car cruising down what felt to be an expressway. I wondered if it was really a hearse. Dodging the definite possibility, I visualized a red Ferrari cliff hanging through the Swiss Alps, an orange Super Bee blowing dust past the Laredo border. I wondered who was driving. A land of too many faces. Why could I only see my own? An ancestral scream, no longer repressed tries. I felt the wound on my neck start oozing. No sound comes out to find the future.

“I’ve never deserted writing Percy.”

Covered in fireflies, I sunk into the casket’s mattress somewhere within the stone maze of Calvary Cemetery’s arrogant tombs. Gotham’s peaks appeared to be in arms reach. A lunge towards the skyline beaming through the sinister opacity. Clenching my free hand around the Empire State Building. Trembling and twitching - more insect-like than human.

Brodie was shoveling into the dirt a few feet away from me. A beaten up hearse idled at his back. Its headlights carved light out of darkness. I flexed the muscles in my abdomen. I was beyond hungry. Beyond disfigured. Almost beyond life itself.

“Writing never deserted you Farrow.”

I regained consciousness staring up from a claustrophobic grave. Dirt was dropping from eight or ten feet above. My legs were nearly covered. The soil splattered on me. The coffin was missing. It couldn’t have fit anyway, which I guess is why I was planted here without it. Brodie’s loyal obsession to bury me alongside heroes and villains was unnerving. He grunted laboriously refusing to catch his breath. More dirt fell. There was no fight. It caked inside my mouth.

“It’s a world you had to enter Mikey.” Featherton patted my back with such force that I ended up in the shallow fountain. My hands immediately filled with pennies.

“Angel of the waters… you know Farrow. The fountain’s sculptress was the first woman commissioned for a major work of art in NYC. I published a lot of writers under the Featherton label, but Missy will be the first woman I’ve sold.” Percy stared emptily into the tunnel with pillared arches.

{LIV}

REENTER FLESH. ENERGY PULSATES BELOW the crust. Night sky cuts into the grave. The sound of paws digging up chunks of Earth. The sky was the other direction. The great cat was clawing the wrong way. The lioness pulled me out of the dirt only to gently drop me in a patch of grass encircled by homes for the rich. I fall out into the grass dry heaving. It takes supreme focus to bring the air back in my lungs.

Wasting no time, the lioness tramples the “No Pets” sign, before taking a quick piss on it. Sitting, stretching, digging up gravel - she can’t seem to get comfortable. Restlessly pounding her hips into the pole flying old glory. I can hear her heart beating through her chest. She’s taking fervid breathes.

Birds are chirping on the grotesque trees. Footsteps blend with the wheels and engines outside the fences. Squirrels poke their heads out of the bushes spying on the lioness squatting. The sweet smell of flowers gets me soaring. I see the cubs head emerge from the great cat. I can’t fucking believe it. Here in the middle of New York City where anything can happen and routinely does. The lioness begins cleaning the cub with her tongue. She checks on me while purring, concerned with my presence. I don’t want to move. An echoing roar designed to wake up the whole insomniac town gets me on my feet squeezing the leather strap of the duffle bag.

I gently close the iron door behind me. I’m facing the townhouse where I first stared into Percy Featherton’s lifeless eyes. I cross the narrow street. The waist-high gate swings open with a squeak. I stumble up the stoop. Somebody left the door open for me a crack. I give it a slight push with my bandaged stub of a hand coming to grips that I am entering the center of my soul.

{LV}

A BREEZE OF PURITY DRIFTS through the townhouse. A peace I’ve never known. Shoes are lined up at the door. Next to Missy’s boots are Chiara’s sneakers. I put down the heavy bag and bend over to pick up the tiny shoes. I cup them in my palm. Sparkling white and clean, only a baby’s shoes could look like they’ve never been worn.

Placing the shoes gently back where I found them, I spread open the Louis Vuitton bag at the teeth marks. The money is missing. All I can smell is mold. Something of obscene value replaces the government’s secret dirty green recipe. I dump the bag upside down. Paperbacks of A Greater Truth spill out onto the floor. I wonder what happened to Missy out of habit realizing the woman herself is upstairs in the flesh. As far as she knew I vanished to the land of no return, so why wouldn’t she come home?

Keeping a copy with me, I stand up, immediately captured by the photos on the wall. Percy is missing from the shots. I stand there in his place. Whether I like it or not: I am living his life.

Light fills the first floor of the townhouse. There’s no volcano erupting. Lava fails to rush in. It’s the same sun that rises every day. The sun that is so fucking hard to ignore when it’s blaring in your eyes. The sun that is just as easy to forget, overlook, and even resent.

A pair of scissors sparkle on the kitchen table. They are the same ones that sliced into my neck. I pick up the scissors, snipping at the air. Dry blood falls as the blades lock. A little more drops when they reopen. The wound on my neck itches ruthlessly. I wish I could take my whole neck off. Somehow the murder weapon metamorphisizes into a pen. A pen that is already moving. A pen that can do damage on empty space. A pen that can create boundless worlds. The page fills in front of me with characters who question the possibility of my success with the same tenacity they welcome my descent. The pen was never there. I’m carving into the oak table with a pair of scissors. In a flash the table turns to flesh. In a blink it returns to oak.

I put the scissors down, walking up the spiral stairs leading to the second floor and then the next set up to the top floor. The third floor smells of fragrant lotion and soap. I let loose a sneeze that could wake a sleeping lioness. I wasn’t sure how Missy would react to the realization that I was so hard to kill off.

Reaching the sanctuary in the high clouds. Missy is sprawled in bed nude sleeping. Chiara seems to expect me. Bobbing up and down, full of energy, she’s banging a paperback against a glowing tablet. I slide into the covers next to her. I want to get to know what she’s all about, but she just wants to show me her books. Chiara starts with the tablet, flicking her hand back and forth, pausing at the title: A Greater Truth by Missy Featherton.

One day you wake up in a new world. A new world that didn’t form while you were sleeping. A new world that was always there. A bright sunrise blazes through every window. Missy and Chiara are sleeping at my side. I run my hand over my throat searching for the scar, but can’t find it. I clench both hands into a fist, fanning them out to find ten fingers. I look at the apartment floor impressed by the lack of cemetery dirt.

Somehow love crawled into my arms and that’s all that matters. I hold Chiara over my head, but she begs for the paperback that is lying next to her. She’s too young to read, but just the right age to chew on the corners. Every few bites, she takes a break to laugh in joy. Slapping down at the cover. Laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. She can say it better without words. She’s new to the world and already knows… there is something greater than the truth.

“I love you.” I tell them both with the same breath.

“I love you too Percy.” Missy whispers lost in a deep dream.

Content

Subrizi Michael D. Lust Demented