THE ICE TOMBS
Come to Vegas baby, you’ve
seen the pull, the
tube ads, Madison Ave spin run amok, gym rat dudes, road bump abs, all the
country club models dancing, stilettos, skin and mini-skirts, boogying the
night away, strobe light neon, Long Island Ice teas, Margarita Ville, shots,
hits and slammers, a hit of E, a line of coke, sniff a little H, fuck and suck
the night away. Morning like a black dwarf dead star, crash at the casino
swimming pool, tan, lithe bodies, banshee madness, it’s all there, just at the
tip of a girl’s fake fingernails. Hit up the casinos, Bellagio, MGM, Paris, the
green felt, stacks of black chips, Black Jack every time, hard eleven as the
cubes dance on the green felt, zing, zing, zing, bells, whistles, jack pot,
another fucking winner, why not you?
Why not you?
Because, it’s all
hideous bull shit and all
about the fucking Voodoo in the end.
Behind the hype, the pretty
neon, Vegas is a
fucking Warsaw Ghetto genocidal holocaust of pain, death, pulverized dreams, all
fueled by perversion, deviance, decadence, seduction, addiction, gambling, sex,
extortion, drugs and insidious big Wall Street money.
Oldest story ever told.
arrive in a 40 gees Benz with the rent money, your kids College dough, ya leave
in a pool of blood and vomit in a 250 grand Greyhound bus, that’s if you
fucking get out alive at all.
North Vegas is the worst,
gangs, junkie whores,
homeless, meth dealers, the end of the line, no pretty hype for that sewer. No
posters. No TV, no U Tube, Face book ads, no pretty colored posters exposing
that place. Just police chalk outlines on a slab of asphalt, red, blue, red,
blue coroner lights, exposing some teenager’s last exposure after a life of
They come like lemmings,
girls, gobbled up by the predator men as they get off the bus, Mickey Mouse
back pack, cheap shoes, a crap Walmart leather jacket, as they escaped a
drunken bourbon breath step-dad that sodomized them, out of Oklahoma City, or
Bangor, or Tampa Bay City they come.
Their fucking award escaping
nightmares, a life as a junkie, in-call whore,
nude dancer, drunk, some young girl, turned out, raped, murdered, final resting
place, The Ice Tombs over there at
North Vegas Metro Homicide.
I’m sitting here,
all 5 ft-11, 120 pounds of
me, in my tricked-out 59 turquoise and white convertible, flared tail-finned honey,
big chrome smiling grill, Buick, at another Dunkin Donuts on the final journey
searching for a 13-year-old abducted angel.
I am Jane, Vegas PI, bounty
hunter and that’s
what I do and I’m in a violent fucking mood.
As of yet, I don’t
have any blood on my black
leather hip huggers, or my Nordic buzz cut cropped white hair, but I figure
that’s gonna change at the drop of a peso. My eyes are blue/green, that turn
purple in rage, like they are at this moment.
I’m on a case, have
the scent and I’m just
about to nail-gun a dart into the last question left, of where this little
innocent princess has gone; gone missing from this tragic burning fucking
Anyhow, I’m a queer
girl, thank Jehovah, from
the moment I sluiced outta the womb.
I love fucking, sucking,
kissing girls, I’m so
lucky, and there’s no shortage of these goddesses in Vegas, thank the folks at
the K-Y Jelly factory for that.
I’m thin as a whippet,
Mensa smart, once had
eating disorders, no longer, not to mention moi being so bi-polar, so OCD
struck, IQ solar, like a meteor’s flaming tail whizzing by the rings of Saturn.
I have these martial arts
belts, which offset
my expertise with guns, have tons of them, also knives, hatchets, and my fave,
my steel-toed boots that I usually kick ass with. I love hand to hand combat,
no matter how big some puke is.
I get my ass kicked, so
what, it’s a part of
I’m considered beautiful,
feature, which means absolutely fucking nothing to me. Luck of the life dice,
beauty, more of a curse if you let the bitch grab you by the balls, rule your
life, not me.
If all you’ve ever
been is pretty, well you’re
fucked, cause that, like a vat of muriatic acid eating iron, changes in an eye-blink,
and then what do ya have? Nada, zilch, just a fading photo of you when you
thought you were ALL THAT, ya peek at, between serving the breakfast special at
Since my parents died almost
ten years ago,
drunk killed them and left me millions, well, I spent almost every waking
moment educating myself, helping others, trying to be the savior of the poor,
kids, girls and animals. I try to remember every day how lucky I am, and how so
many millions of good people struggle everyday to keep the heat going, put some
chow out for the kids, as the government continues to cut any food aid for the
poorest people in America.
I work the homeless shelters,
the food lines,
do what I can and trust me, I’m no Joan of Arc, no poster girl for an average
American PTA life, perfect, I ain’t, but I try and think I have a good heart
and that’s why I became a Vegas PI/Bounty hunter.
I can’t save the world,
but tonight, just maybe
I can save a lost little girl, that’s why I’m here, at the donut place, sipping
coffee, eating a donut, you know, the kind with a hole in the middle.
I’m chilling, earlier,
had a meeting with this
meth-addicted mom of the year in my office, Ginger was the bitch’s name, just
fucking perfect, a sit down at my 5000 sq. ft. loft I built over Chang’s
She gave up her 13-year-old
kid Missy to her
drug and gambling-addicted father, a scum fuck named Bobby O’Brien, you know,
just so she could get fucking high again.
I visited Bobby earlier,
uninvited, shoved my
silenced Beretta tip into his mouth, he tasted the gun oil, ya do that, a puke
always digs the truth out of the stucco. After, I was in a bad mood, so I put
two, psssst, psssst, Beretta caps into his knees.
He gave the kid up to a
real deviant, to pay
off a gambling debt. Apparently, he missed the spread on a B-ball Kansas State
game. He gave his daughter to a heavy metal rocker child molester, Eddie Jett.
You know the type, once
a power in acid rock,
now a casino whore, going through the motions, a 60-year-old burn-out, dyed
Elvis black-haired puke, turned to jump suits and suet, sucking up the big
hotel casino money for screaming women, tossing their bras and panties on the stage,
closer to the end now, than the beginning, one last conga line at the Caesar’s
Palace smorgasbord, before they die on the golf course from a fucking heart
My fucking blood is boiling
I gotta cool down.
Anyhow, Eddie Jett knows
me, I bump a rub into
him sometimes when I’m out at the clubs, on Case, hunting, and mostly at this
fab private club called Jason’s, owned by this stunning blond doll named
Mandal. She’s the only woman I’ve ever feared, rumor is she’s killed before,
like me, killed insidious men.
More on her later, another
time, a better time.
I’m still waiting
for a return ring-a-ding-ling
from my best friend, Lieutenant Victor Garcia (Lou the cops call their
lieutenants) from N. Vegas Metro Homicide.
He’s running paper
on this Ginger over there at
Most a my friends are cops,
or hard and
beautiful people, criminals, super thieves, like my friend King, a black super
guy, who runs the biggest Gang in N. Vegas. All of us one-percenter’s have something
in common. We never lie to each other and we see the world as it is, like it
was washed in an acid bath. We have a bond of loyalty, speak to truth and know
sometimes the truth comes from a bullet, when all else fails.
I’m a stick blonde, actually kind of pre-pubescent type, Eddie Jett’s forever
hitting on me.
doll, come for a visit, my crib, some Dom, dinner, Crystal, some toot, I love
eat my own puke than roll in the sack with a bag of sick, sagging degenerate
No thank you very much. I’d rather fuck a Zebra over there
at the N. Vegas Zoo.
said that to him, kind of tortured him, always leaving the sex door open.
have an open invitation to his crib. That’s good for my play, and I have his
cell number. I’m certain it will just a take a ring a ding ling to get an
invite to a night of debauchery. Which
is exactly what I am going to do, the phone thing that is, right after I get a
cup of black java right there at Dunkin Donuts, just there.
“Blink, blink, blink.”
into Dunkin Donuts, kill the 357 power house engine. I Check my lips in the
side mirror, (vanity again) I find my cherry Chap Stick in that little pocket
in my jeans. Slapping some on, I feel better. I then begin to move.
hurts my blues, but gotta have some caffeine or my head’s going to boil off of
my long neck. I hit the kid up for a jumbo, tip him 5 bucks, and get a smile
filled with braces back. Out the door I go.
to leap the door, when I see two bulls
from Vegas Metro, in a Blue and
White. They’re eating the usual vitamin-enriched breakfast of donuts and
coffee. I know them, smile at them and get waves, smiles back.
cops. They’re underpaid, no respect and misunderstood. Could you imagine a
world without them? The fucking deviants would be lined up eight blocks long, at
your house, raping your wife and daughters, even your dog and your fucking goldfish.
Not my Gumbo, Stella though. There would be pure chaos without cops holding the
Thin Blue Line.
sip some coffee out of that little hole in the Styrofoam lid. I am about to
fire her up when my cell buzzes on the seat next to me.
her, and see its Lieutenant Garcia. Good. I was hoping to get a shout out from
him before I visited Eddie Jett.
something in his voice that sets anti-freeze in my veins, none of it in my
tired brain is any good.
sorry, can ya get to Metro quick like, meet you in the parking lot.”
be right there.” I shoot back at him.
questions asked, none needed, as I read the dire meaning in his voice.
none of it is any good. I could tell just from the dark gravel spilling from
his quivering, hard voice that bad news is coming.
tinsel steel world, Vegas. No one has to tell me that. Anything ever happens
good in Vegas, is usually a mistake.
As I drive into the bowels of N. Vegas, I feel
like one of those dudes on Death Row, days, hours, minutes spitting away. Next
stop an Alcatraz Electric Chair or a gurney with a needle. You get it, just
before a last meal of pork chops and eggs.
minutes later, I pull into Metro. As promised, there is Lou, looking the usual
tired and stressed out. He’s wearing his usual rumpled-paper-bag brown suit,
which he probably slept in. Cops have long hours, desperate hours, hard lives
and bent Id’s. That’s why so many eat their guns when they retire over there in
that ex-cop grave yard, Coeur de Leane, Idaho.
walk, face him off. He looks at me, and you know, that look when a cop shows up
at your front door, is hesitant to tell a mark the bad news.
you want this, Jane?’
nods and tilts his head at the precinct. We turn and begin to stroll. I follow
him as we walk into the three-story building. I feel like I have an iceberg
shoved up my ass.
our way through the various precinct rooms, Homicide, Gang Unit, Bunco, Fraud
and Missing Persons. Everywhere there are guys, girls, plain clothes, gold
badges, shoulder rigs, hip holsters, hand guns and blue uniforms. They’re doing
what they do best. They’re trying to keep a tidal wave of vomit from breaking
apart a city already on the edge of a moral-less abyss.
faded green walls, we move down the stairs, one floor, an open door and, then
we move. We are silent as we walk along a cold hall, way past flickering neon,
mimicking my dead, dying heart. We pass the CSI
kids, geeks, smart, microscopes, telescopes, DNA, blood, semen, hair and fiber
analysis machines humming. They’re mesmerized with electronic gizmos,
computers, lots of computers, state of the art snoop machines.
These are the medical sleuth ghouls.
someone, leave a toenail, a hair follicle, they will get YA. Normally, I’m
fascinated by all of it, usually, but not now. I have a sweet little girl on my
ICE Tombs, Crypts, The Ice House,
cops have a lot of cool names for the place at the END OF THE HALL.
dig hip lingo, smart talk, but not today, not now, not this day. I hate smart,
hip words at the moment. The innocent never deserve the big sleep along a stainless
steel slab, especially some little bird
that never had a bad tweet one day of
her short life.
out at a massive, stainless, hermetically sealed door. Garcia stalls out, looks
at me, my head ticks as I seethe. “Do it.”
he hits the big lever.
“Swoosh” the door
and follow him into the other name the cops gave the morgue, Blue Moon Heaven,
for the entire place
is bathed in blue neon. I don’t know why. Maybe because blood looks blue under
a full moon, don’t know.
I also feel like vomiting.
across the room, center cut, see the Doc, know him a little, from Jason’s. Doc
Reynolds is his name, Danny.
Jake guy, straight shooter, smart, coroner by trade. He’s decked out in blue
too, neoprene gloves, space suit, booties, apron. He’s standing right next to a
stainless bed that has a blue tarp on it. Blue seems to be the fucking color of
the day. When I get home, I’m going to burn every piece of blue togs I own,
including my Levi jeans.
up, my eyes roam, I see a tiny toe tag on a miniature toe. Exactly like the one
I’m going to put on Bobby O’Brien, most likely after I visit Eddie Jett and put
one on him, too.
at the doc, looks at me, I look at Reynolds. He nods, understands, says.
some time, you a part of this?”
Danny, I’m a part of this.”
want to see her, yeah?”
want to see my girl.”
at Garcia, they exchange something. Lou nods. I exhale my grief. Off comes the
tarp in one swoosh.
Cobalt, Rhodium, they are the hardest elements on earth and at the moment, like
me. But, there’s nothing tinsel hard about me, no. I’m a female looking at a
waif-like, blond hair, white, almost translucent and transparent skin. There
are purple, blue autopsy scars, I think, in a “V” trailing from her
larynx. Uninterrupted, they are running down
to her sternum, ending up at her hips. The cuts are all sewn together by purple
twine that matches the color of her lifeless lips. Right near where her womb
would be, I see red catgut. I fight bile in my throat. The catgut looks odd,
don’t know why. Hair is bristling on my arms. That’s my usual TELL,
letting me know that something is
out of whack here. Way out of whack.
step back; want to vomit, fight it, fighting my tears. I am stunned as I stare
at a little girl, ninety-five pounds of her and now a dead slab of white chalk
as silence thunders through the room.
stutter, mumble, can’t get my mind right, wrapped around this mortal sin. My
eyes are watering as Lou takes my arm, rears me in, whispers.
Jane, what did you say?”
back in to my nose, brain, jaw clenches, I’m coming back now, back to life.
There is a:
wait attitude blow torched in my mind now.
Garcia, whisper back at him. “Nothing Lou, nothing at all.”
happened here Doc? Talk to us, Danny.” Garcia asked.
Really, in his heart, I knew he didn’t want to
“Sure Lou, sure.”
exchange glances, me and the doc. I nod. He nods back.
you know, detective over there in homicide, found her under the underpass, over
there by 6th and Northern. You know the place Lou, homeless, card
board houses, drugs, the end of the road, for most, that is.”
nods, and tries to swallow his grief back into his stomach.
sewer; don’t want to go there. I shut up, as Doc continues.
her, CSI found a baggie on her, cocaine. Blood
tox came up clean, stuff lasts for a month in the blood stream, still
trying to figure that out.”
looks at me, I look at him. Doc is almost hesitant about continuing. The
lieutenant nods for him to go on.
gonna like this, Lou.”
takes a deep breath, looks at me
doc to get on with it.
she was pregnant. Figure from her uterus size, about seven months.”
jolt it out.
draw blood from my bottom lip, I don’t feel it.
ABC’s now put together in my head.
Mother fucker. They’ve been pimping the kid out for months.
That’s what this is all about.
bellows as Garcia twists me around, gets hard in my eyes, asks.
for small talk, he sees it in my eyes. I feel it in my temples. I sorta snap at
him, turn to Reynolds, and ask.
you got more Danny, I’m guessing?”
Jane, there’s more, all bad.”
starts pointing that blue rubber finger, this way and that, up and down at the
blue, purple ski trails stitching up my angel.
what killed her, Jane, Lou. Ya know the arteries pump bout 50 pints of blood a
day. Hepatic arteries carry
oxygenated blood to the liver. They missed that. Portal veins, big guys, feeding
the fetus, also intestines to the
liver, missed that too. What killed her, my opinion, we’ll know a little better
later, was that whoever cut her, my guess was to snag the baby, hit the Umbilical
arteries. Those lead along the
umbilical cord to the baby’s heart. So, she bled out.”
Well that’s just fucking great.
My brain seethes, as Reynolds scratches his head for a
sec and continues.
at the crime scene, so they, though premature, I guess got the kid, seems
that’s what they were after. It’s fucked up, LOU. Don’t know how much longer I
can do this shit.”
groans, as I stay silent. All of it made sense now, way too much sense. All I’m
doing is hoping I have enough bullets to take care of all of it after we’re
done counting sutures here.
ain’t all. It gets sicker. We CAT-scanned her head. You see the blue around her
swollen eye sockets and forehead, her eyeballs ruptured. We’ll know more once
we get inside, but to me, it’s real clear. They cut her Thalamus away from
her frontal lobes. They gave her a lobotomy.
Lou, my fucking God.”
moved to a stainless steel door, hiding another crypt, another victim in it.
Smashing my fist into it, big dent. I felt nothing. I jerked back to Reynolds,
leered at him like I wanted him dead.
the messenger, Jane, just the messenger.”
Yeah, a fucking messenger of doom. What else is new in
felt like one of those fucked-up reactors in Japan, melting, and I tried to calm,
but not really. It wasn’t Doc’s fault, as I calmed, for real, pulse down, mind
whispered to him to continue. “Go on.”
the fad, turn of the century, later even. Old way was to cut the forehead, and snip,
snip, snip, you’re a vegetable,
well to some degrees anyways. Body stays alive, mind dead, guess they were
makin’ a sex doll, don’t know. Any ways, later in the century they used an adrenaline
solution, real, real
primitive stuff. Who ever cut her, knew their stuff. They went through the eye
socket, used a Lucoton, kinda sharp spoon gadget, and after a clip, you have a
passive human being.
They call it “Trans Orbital Inclusion,
very technical. I see it going
down this way.”
closed, imagining all of it, eyes open, looking at Garcia, Doc, he then pointed
at two red dots on her small breasts.
they Tasered her, lobotomized her and then went for the baby with a simple
C-Section. They botched that, hit an artery, she bled out. If he wasn’t
a doctor, then close to it, lotsa deviant
ex-doctors in Vegas. Real sick stuff, Jane, but what’s new about that.”
Dan…Fucking nothing is never new.” Garcia, pain in his voice, whispered.
more Doc?” Lou asked.
her, time stops. I look at her blue painted finger nails, gasp inside. Fuck, she
just wanted to be pretty. I
see a missing nail, move to her, take her cold hand, look again, look back at
about this, where’s her fucking fingernail?”
almost forgot. Kids at CSI saw that,
no sign at the perp’s scene. Just guessing, maybe she fought before she died,
I forgot one thing. When Detective Carol found her, she was still frozen stiff.
Homicide thinks they kept her in a freezer for a while, don’t know, found ice
in her tissue, blood, urine, that looks right to me.”
you mean like a popsicle.”
Jane, like a Popsicle.”
deranged, I throw my head back, begin to laugh, maniacal, crazed.
I don’t know how many people are going to die tonight, but
the list is growing.
Finally, and mercifully, Garcia wraps his bear
of an arm around me, draws me in close. Instantly I morph, begin to sob
uncontrollably. Seconds pass, tear ducts Spackle
up. Molten lava eats water, I move away, as Vic begins to pull me towards the
away, no more tears, there will be more later, as I leer at Doc, as my voice
trembles, not a weak kind of sound, but that kind when you feel fury ripping
apart every cell in your body.
moment with her, alone.”
get it, nod, walk to the door, scram out of it.
breath back in my nostrils, my head jilts. I look at the kid, walk over, and
stare down at her. Her eyes were once blue, now they’re opaque, almost white,
death, no one gets out alive in the end, but, not this. Not now.
hand. It’s cold, as cold as mine. I don’t mind, and, then see her blue finger
nail polish, the broken nail. My heart explodes. Tears, drip, drip, dripping on
her finger tips, the ones she had painted,
so she could be a pretty little girl. That’s all she wanted in life, was just a
chance. One chance just to be a little kid, a child with a teddy bear.
forward, close her eyes, they’re cold too. Draping the tarp over her naked body
to her chin, I want to give her dignity back to her. I just want her to know
someone loves her.
sick, cheap, no glib, no smart remarks and no vanity in the revolver any more.
I feel ashamed, more tears, bouncing off her dead skin, stretched like plastic
over her lifeless corpse. I cut the tears right out of my face, for the moment.
No more tears, not just yet. I lean down, close to her tiny ears, she smells
like embalming fluid. My nose wrinkles, the odor clarifies my mind. My lips
move close and then I whisper as softly as I have ever spoken any words in my
baby…you rest now…the white angels are waiting for you, you did your best…it’s
not your fault…” My throat constricts.
like it has concrete packed in it. “There, there sweetie, you let Jane take
care of it now…I’m going to make everything right. I love you doll…I really
straighten up, get right and look at her one last time. Pulling the tarp over
her face, I smile, swallow and then look one last time at her. Moving to the crypts
door, I look back, nod once and
“OH, POWERS from Hell, grant me Nero’s wish, that all women
have but one head and that head belongs to the screw who tyrannizes me: then
grant me the pleasure of chopping it off!”
Paris, 1700’s, DeSade wrote that, in his own blood. It seems reasonable to me.
I’m in a head-chopping-off kind of mood.
out of The Tombs, Garcia cornered me.
I could see stark concern on his brown, Pudge
Rodriguez of a face. He knows me, and he also knows I sometimes can nudge
my toes over the Blue Line, well, sometimes way over that line.
went like this.
Come on Jane, you know something. Naw Vic, it’s just the
kid upset me. I know you Jane, let me and the boys help. Naw, it’s all good.
Don’t fuck up Jane, blah, blah, blah, and blah, blah, blah, back and forth.
blew him off, not like me, I felt bad about it.
understands, but I had other things on my mind, more important things.
where Eddie Jett lives, once went to a bash he had going down there. Like I
told ya, he’s hit on me, more times than I can call up right now. I’m going to
use that now. Yes, I am.
entombed over there at The Lakes. You know, super-rich planned community,
gated, keeping the poor at bay. It’s laid out with palatial mansions, man-made
lake, oldsters whacking a white ball around and a boat marina.
The Lakes Club is super private, exclusive,
old widowed broads fucking the tennis pros over by the ball machines. You know,
a living graveyard, a place to hang, just until they kick dirt in your mouth.
everything I need. Mossberg in the trunk, loaded, my walk-around chrome 38 in
the glove box and my Beretta, extra clips. I figured I might need those.
still in my boot, a load of melting bb’s
in my brain, dry mouth, lips, mood, dusk is coming, soon night following. I
like night, that’s where this shadow girl
works best, does her thing, a beautiful thing.
down Tropicana, could a taken I-15, no hurry, it’s building, death, blind fury,
life, it’s really not about me. It’s about the kid.
eaten really solid food for two days. I like that. I like the hungry wolf
feeling, sharpens me, tightens me, an hour til midnight. Seeing a Winchell’s
donut shop, smooth like, I drive in, park and sidle over the door. I need a cup
of coffee, maybe a donut with some pink sprinkles on it. That should set
everything strung tight. You know, like a cue ball melting the black eight into
the corner pocket, game over. Except my game is just about to begin and it
involves guns; lots of guns.
over and night time is here. I take the cell, scroll and hit the button.
Why make it hard, when it can be so easy?
guy thinks with his dick, many invites to party with him. Let’s take him up on
it. Man, I am so ready to fucking party with him.
doll, it’s Jane, what ya doin’? You been dreamin’ about me?”
cranked, voice all a-stutter, molars grinding, coked out, loud music, voices,
tinkle, tinkle of glasses, he’s real happy to hear my voice. We flirt back and
forth, you know me. It goes like this.
thinking about ya a lot, Eddie baby, heard you’re dropping them dead over there
at The Venetian. What ya doin’ big boy?” Mae West, why the fuck not?
thinkin’ about you, Jane,” I can hear
his dick getting hard. “Geesh Jane, ya want to come over?”
baby doll, in the neighborhood buying donuts, where are ya?”
Voo Doo Lounge Jane, be home later. I’ll call the guard, at the gate, go on in,
you know where my crib is, don’t ya?”
sweetie, I’ll just make myself at home, till rock boy gets home to mama.”
He bellows, I giggle, fight dry vomiting.
rock star, see ya.”
dies as I am certain that something else is going to die tonight. Maybe me,
just don’t care.
easy. It’s always easy when cranked hormones battle testosterone. Every bitch
worth their salt knows that.
minutes later, I cruise up to the guard gate, see a LVPD cop I know. He’s just
one more cop working the night shift, trying to keep his kid in Kobe tennis
sneakers. He grins, I smile back, we chit-chat back and forth. He got the
message from Eddie, it’s all good.
red and white striped elevates. In my calm mind, I know it might be a good
thing a cop’s at the wall, might need that later. I make a mental note of it.
It’s the little things that can keep a girl from the silver table with a
syringe duct taped to her arm.
pal a wave, I drive through the gate and cruise past the last-ditch palaces of
the elite. Blocks later, manicured lawns, opulence, Mexican guys with rakes,
leaf blowers, lawn mowers have made the place pretty. You know the hard working
campesinos these white folks detest
and whose privileged lives would be totally fucked without them.
left, stall out before the gate. Eddie gave me the code and I stab the numbers
into the little box. The gate swings open, up the long drive I go. See a black
Bentley, ditto on the color Escalade parked in the circle drive. No Ferrari,
guess he’s not home yet, that’s a good thing.
thinking about all of this and I have a plan. I don’t think I will need the 16
Gauge, so I grab my .38 from the glove box, stuff it into my back waistband.
Not needing my shoulder holster, I stuff my silenced Beretta into my front
waist band, stiletto in my boot. I feel pretty good. I open the door, real
lady-like. I’m practicing for later, step to the bricks and look at the moon.
Umber yellow comes to mind. It’s full, and I’m feeling like I want to bay at
it. Move along girl, I do the stroll in.
out in the entry way, peek up, way up about thirty feet, nod, then look
straight ahead. I’ve been here before, remember most of it. The whorehouse
looks like you could land a B-17 in it, huge, a real mausoleum of bad taste.
It’s obvious that some crazed Peyote strung-out interior decorator pulled out
all the stops decorating it. You know, nothing personal, warm, everything
expensive, no style and no heart. There are loungers, couches, tables, lamps,
chairs, desks, nothing with a pulse to it, everything new and nothing old. The
place makes me want to vomit, again.
figure he will be home for a while, so it’s time to snoop around, my favorite
thing. I’ve got this one word in my head, blinking on and off like red neon,
and that word is:
obvious fucking reasons.
had a donut for dinner, I’m not hungry. So, let’s see, where do people keep
stuff frozen? It’s not like they got an ice house back there near the Jacuzzi.
Oh yeah, the kitchen.
my Beretta, I dangle it by my side. I sleuth to the edge of his vast living
room and groan, for bad taste run
amok is everywhere. Money can’t buy style, class or friends. It can only buy
people that pretend to be your friends.
is huge, all kindsa crap as my eyes fly across the room. There’s an
entertainment center, massive flat screens, two of them, CD, DVD players,
gadgets, racks of CD’s, DVD’s, popcorn machine. I see bowls of nuts on the bar
top, draft beer, bottles of booze everywhere. I’m not here to see a movie, but
I might have a martini later if everything grifts out OK.
down the white tiles, find the kitchen, big chopping block and think of DeSade
again. Good place to chop off a head, or some guy’s fingers, if that’s what gets
ya off. The place looks sterile, bags of Doritos, Fritos, couple a bags of Ho
Ho’s on the counter tops. The guy likes sweets. I see a big stainless steel
fridge, freezer, GE I think. I got
one too, though I can barely boil water. Cooking
is not my thing.
the fridge, pry open the door, usual suspects, beer and an apple.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but not this time. There’s Tupperware, old food, a couple of bottles of
wine, red, white, pink, nothing there. So, I jack the freezer open, a few
steaks, frozen TV dinners, too small of a place to freeze an angel in, never
thought it would be. There’s got to be another freezer, I’m certain. So, I turn
and walk into the pantry, sans utility room.
the left, floor to ceiling, are these blue ceramic washer and dryer machines,
GE again, and there’s that color blue again. It matches the color of the blood
pumping, raging, screaming torrents of my own blood through my Sapphire, hard
veins, directly into my head.
left, there it is, I thought it would be. One of those floor freezers, eight
feet long, four feet high, planted to the white tiles. I really don’t want to
open it. I really don’t want that. What if there’s another kid in it? Don’t
think I could handle that, would have to go berserk. That would never do, just
not yet, that is.
choices sometimes are easy, this one was not. I move to the freezer, lay my
hand on the chrome, open it, take a step back, cold kissing my cheek, face,
lips. It feels like a radiator, cooling down the burning nuclear reactor that I
empty, cold, like her hands. Going to close it, I see something in a corner,
the color indigo these days, so I bang my forehead with my silencers tip, just
to stop from going completely nuts, my heart thumping. I calm, exhale, reach
down, and pry my baby’s fingernail from the ice. Swallowing my own bile, I lift
it to my eyes, focus and, then my bod begins to shudder, shake and vibrate out
of its pinions. I go down in a crouch, whack my face in my hands,
hyperventilating. I’m trying to get it together, for good times are coming. I
am positive about that.
Hammers my brain.
a watch, but I can hear the Tick, Tick,
Tick of my violence clock. It’s counting down, thundering in my temples,
throbbing in my neck that is so filled with blood, it just might detonate
before I do.
call Lou; tell him what’s what, and then what?
uniforms, homicide dicks, swat, crime scene kids, tweezers, hair, particle,
fibers, DNA, Luminol, vacuum cleaners, maybe an eyelash left over from the kid.
Maybe they would find traces of her blood, too, and a blue finger nail.
Bull horns blasting.
JETT, WE GOT THE PLACE SURROUNDED, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP.”
Sure, right, OJ all over again.
it, big money lawyers, graphs, charts, DNA
guys and spin doctors pointing at charts with pointers.
down. Down is up, pathologists and maybe get Alan Dershowitz, maybe that Jap
If the glove don’t fit, you can’t convict.
Yeah, she was just visitin’, sellin’ Girl Scout cookies, a
dirty little whore. Tole me she was eighteen. Who me? She slipped on a banana
peel. I bought her a ice cream cone. Weren’t my fault, drugs, never touch them,
And on and on it would go.
that’s not the way I see it going down, that is if I’m not violently snuffed
tonight. Anything can happen, it usually does, there’s no delusion left in my
life. I guess ya know why. It’s better for me to fight for the kid then to wimp
out like a pussy, not doing my thing for her. I do know that.
I’ve figured out the Eddie Jett play, how it will go down. If it all goes down
like I’m figuring, then I will send Lou a post card, you know.
“Dear Lou, on vacay, the lakes, been kayaking, eating
donuts, having a great time, wish you were here, check the freezer out at Eddie
Jetts, I think he left a blue popsicle for you, lotsa love, smooches, Janie.”
could do that, because I’m not gonna kill Eddie, I mean the hard way, the easy
way. Why? Because I need to get the docs name, you know. I need to get the
fucking savage who sluiced out my little sweetheart’s lobes like he needed them
to make a pizza.
that’s later, if there is a later.
move, and a minute later, I’m in the living room, sneaking around, Beretta
banging my knee. I’m hanging around the entertainment center, that’s what they
call them over there at Wal Mart. All the guys have them. You know, flip flops,
pizza, Tom Brady jerseys, big guts, case or two of Bud, NFL Sundays, with the
guys. Ego-centric, done-nothing mucks, with massive snout egos, no lives, no
futures, no reason to be anything.
cause their mommy’s been telling them from the time they squirted outta the
womb, that little Jimmy is fucking perfect.
Then they moan that no bitch will give them play, which one eventually
will, because she’s stone cold desperate. That’s another tragic American story.
brain is basically an OCD hard drive, I see stuff, in the margins. As me and my
silencer move down the rack of DVD’s, CD’s my silencer click, click, clicking
on them. I see he’s a porn guy, a Disney
flick guy, too.
Little Mermaid, Snow White, Dumbo, kid’s stuff, why am I not surprised. I
fucking cringe, thinking about Missy.
showed her a flick, just before, you know, he cut the fucking life outta her
head hoping to make a human Barbie doll out of her.
tip stops, some custom CD’s, black marker scribbles on them, some kinda code on
them. There’s a about a dozen or so. I get it. I get it real fast because
that’s how my fucked-up brain works.
YSSIM, clever, know exactly what it
is. My blood runs cold. I pull it out and it feels like a slab of ice as I
violently inhale a hit of oxygen through my nose.
open the DVD machine, I slot it in, fire her up. Then, the big screen stutters
to life. It’s shadowy in Eddie’s tomb, most of the lights dead in the room. I
grab the remote, stab the button, step back, knowing some horror movie, don’t
like them, is about to debut. It’s one I really don’t want anything to do with.
comes on. It’s a home production. All I can feel is the flickering lights
burning on my eyeballs, my face, lips twitching, as I watch, watch it all.
is, the kid, on his bed. Uncle Eddie is there too. She’s holding a doll, blond
like her, you figure it all out. I can’t talk about it as I feel my donuts
my knees, vomit and dry vomit again and then, fingers pressed to my eyeballs,
peeking through them. I see horror, pain, agony blow-torched to my screaming
eyes. Standing, I have to support myself
against a sedan as then:
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
blink, blink, blink again.
Turning, there’s Eddie standing there, 6ft 2,
faded jeans, all sinewy and such, cosmetic surgery run amok. He’s bare chested,
bare foot, gut, dyed black hair, holding a plastic bag in his hand. Maybe he
bought me some donuts, don’t know?
Keith Richards on a bad day, a very bad day. I reflex, just a little, still
stunned, as my Beretta, on its own accord begins to lift and, then a PISSST”
whistles through the room.
literally can see the tiny wires as they rake towards me. The Taser darts, two
of them spit into one
of my breasts, two red dots appearing; Missy kinda dots.
yelp, vibrate, shake, my eyes go static,
my brain too, white lights, pain, lots of it and I fall, KO’ed, count of ten.
Then, there is only darkness.
“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you
Anything your heart desires will come true.
If your heart is in your dreams, no request is too extreme.
When you wish upon a star as dreamers do.”
music, sounds familiar, like from that Pinocchio flick.
that puppet stick kid with the long schnoz, had big dreams, you know like the
kind Missy probably had.
I liked that fairy tale, I guess most kids do. Life lessons, we all need them.
Lying gets you Zinc. I always try to
tell the truth, learned that lesson long time ago.
feel that good and then my eyes blink open and take a sec to focus. The TV is
on, a Disney film, liked most of them too when I was a youngling.
sitting naked, in a chair, wrists, ankles duct taped to it. My bare feet are
dancing a little. I’m already enraged, doesn’t take long for me, as I’m all coy
and such, peek straight ahead through these little slits on my frosted eyes.
Eddie, near the table, pacing back and forth like a lab rat. He’s edgy,
completely cranked, mumbling to himself, my Beretta in his white knuckles,
plastic bag on the table top. There’s my .38, stilletto, Taser pistol, a
mound of coke, I think, on a mirror, a teaspoon is
sitting next to some DVD’s. Guess we were going to watch a video later, kinda
sweet that. You know, after he sodomized me, fucked the neon outta my eye
sockets, could of been a hoot, I
be prepared, so I spread my thighs, so he can see the star light exuding out of
my cunt. That usually works, as I kinda clear my throat. He jerks his head to
me, and I purr all demure and such.
what’s up, sweetness?”
pacing, bolts his eyes on me. His jaw is grinding, licking his lips, eyes
stark, wild and wired. His eyes dance all around naked moi, especially that
special place that a man spends nine months trying to get out of, and the rest
of his fucking life trying to get back in.
Eddie, chill, what, you mad at me? Thought we were going to play some tonight,
do some kissing, fucking. What you don’t like me no more?”
he’s really confused, flipping back and forth between hatred, love, anger and a
dick that in the end will make the final decision for him.
over to me, leers at me, reaches back.
viciously slaps me in the face, cutting my lip.
whips to the side, I see stars and clarity. I whip it back, blood in my mouth.
Grinning, I like the taste of it in my mouth. I need that taste and then purr
baby, now don’t go teasing a girl, handsome.”
real wide-like at me.
back, slams my stomach with his fist.
ribs break, I fight moaning, no one likes a moaner. I smile, wet my lips with
my tongue, purr.
get it right, he may beat me to death. So, I chuckle, just a little, tilt my
head, then real cute-like, wink my right eye at him. You know, blink, blink, blink
telling him that’s
where I want it next.
a little fist action, you big super star stud?”
out several times, giggles. I know he thinks I’m a doll, then:
me in the eye, no bone cracks, I’m glad about that. My head rams to the side,
my chin falls to my tiny breasts, and I see red balloons, 4th of
July fire works, sparklers and a blue
finger nail in a floor freezer.
blood, it’s warm, straight out of the vein, spilling down my eye, cheek, melon
ball time. I’ve had worse. I actually feel pretty good, but know I, even me,
can’t take much more. So, I lift my chinny chin chin, give him my best blood
stained smile and, then go to work.
think I’m in love…Come on Eddie, I’ve been dreamin about this, you going to
fuck me, or what? I thought you we’re The Candy Man? Come on, my cunt feels
like it could bake a tray a chocolate chip cookies in it. I want it Eddie, I
want it real bad. I think I love you.”
word, the lie always gets the diamond ring, as his brow crinkles, and I see
love in his cranked-out blues. I make sure my knees are spread wide, as he
kneels, puts the Beretta next to my vibrating feet, leers into my eyes and
touches some blood from my lips.
Jane...."I…I didn’t mean to hurt ya…Ahh…I’m sorry…Th…The TV…it…was an
accident…We was playing, things got outta hand…You believe me don’t ya Jane.
Bobby said, you was pissed…real pissed…You ain’t mad at me Jane…You really like
me…I…I mean really.” He pathetically spiels me like Sally Field at the fucking
baby, I’ve been dreamin’ about this, long time. I believe ya, I know, the
little shit balls never shut their yaps, probably got what she deserved. No
problema, are we going to party, or not?”
vomit, but I’m close. Queen takes king every time, if a girl is clever.
not lying Jane, you really love me?
Blah, blah, blah.
on earth I told I loved were my fucking gold fishes Gumbo and Stella, and I
force a tear from my eyeball. You know, just for effect. Guys are saps for
A, I’m ready, shit happens. Hey baby, (I am so into talking street) you gonna
Bogart that coke? Who’s a girl gotta fuck around here to get a toot?”
brightens up, nods manically, slaps his thigh and kisses me on the blue bruise
and blood on my balloon eye. He forgets my Beretta.
Fuck, I wish I could
shoot it with my toes as he stands and says gaily, “Sheesh, where are my
manners, be right back.”
over to the coke, stabs a teaspoon in it, takes a snort, punches his static
finger into it and pushes it all around his gums. I watch as he seems to
vibrate all over, leers at me, walks over and kneels.
the powder to my nose as he shuts down my other nostril with a finger. I
inhale, jolt, jolt, jolt, perfect, a
little pick me up, I needed that. He does the other. I’m feeling better by the
minute, let’s get it over. Falling on his bare heels, he lifts my Beretta,
looks of a honey moon soon to come in
his bleached eye balls.
honey bunny, let’s do it. Let’s fuck. I gotta go see my sick sister at the
trailer park over there in Barstow manana. I think she ate some bad donuts. You
know Eddie, wash cloth on her forehead, hand holding, some chicken soup.”
his brain and dick are warring, me knowing which will finally win. He looks at
me long, hard, then grins.
lyin’ Jane, ya ain’t mad at me…Promise.”
him in shock.
Moi lie, never. I’d tell him GWB was a fucking genius if
that would get the goddamn duct tape off my purple feet and wrists.
Tarzan, me Jane.” I say real sweet. “Let’s party, mister man. Let’s fuck.”
Baby, if you cross your heart and hope to die and Boy Scout me you won’t pull
the trigger, I’ll let you fuck my ass with that Beretta, maybe some plastic bag
action too. Come on, let’s rough it up. You just tippy toe over there, get
my knife, hit that little button, and
let’s do it, pleeeeease, I’m melting here.” I whine, more tears as I start to
Jane, you’re just the best.”
shucks on him, giggle and tilt my head at the table at my stiletto. He kisses
me on the lips, I smooch back. He stands, moves to the table, picks up my
stiletto, looks at me. I toss him an air kiss with my cut-to-shit lips. Simply
adoring cute me, he catches it.
Love will fuck you every time.
sweetheart knows that rule so very well, as the tune Love is in the air, air conditions
thru my cabasa.
Mating time is soon. I can hardly wait.
hate coke, it was the right thing to do. For I have to remember, he is a man,
sorta a big man, fueled by drugs, a hard dick, and I feel super duper alert. I
smile, as he kneels before me and cuts the tape from my wrists and ankles that
Fucking free at last, thank god, free at last. A great
black dude once said that.
may be Dracula reincarnate, but he’s no dummy. So he stands, backs up, fondling
my baby in his hand as I let the blood COD
back into my feet and hands.
or two pass and there, I’m set, ready.
I hope he remembers that I said I like it rough.
the Full Monte, stretch real high and hands thrown above my head. I do a little
spineroo so he can see the whole
package. Facing him, I purse my lips. Little girl time, he likes it, a
over to him on my tip toes, press my package
against his junk and touch his face and that hideous black painted hair. I then
give him one of Jane’s blue light special
kisses, which pretty much sets everything perfect.
tastes like ashes from a barbecue, don’t mind, a street fighter needs to know,
as my fingers do a cop pat down checking out his muscle structure. I can feel
his cock pressed against my cunt, as his free hand finds my bump of an ass.
Men, girls just love it.
burnt-out bag of guts, good. I back up, just a bit, smile, blood on my teeth,
cheeks and, then purr like the kitten I am.
to party, mister rock star?”
so fucking adorable, like I mean what could possibly go wrong? He grins at me,
and then wheezes, all happy now and such.
rear my head back and skull fuck his
nose with my forehead.
everywhere, as he shrieks, throws his hand to his face, blood everywhere, slams
back into the wall, moaning and weeping. Of course, I simply watch because I
have a secret.
hurry, for I’m a gal with a plan, a sweet plan. So, I wait for the weeping to
stop. Dropping his bloody hands, he leers at me all rabid and so on. I look at
the blood on his hand and I feel hurt, for all the love is gone from his face.
He snarls at me, lifts the Beretta and points it at my nose and seethes.
fucking bitch, you broke my nose.” He evilly grins, payback in his face.
you.” I giggle, cause I have this little safety secret button on my Beretta.
in case some kid like Glenda, a Goth girl friend of mine, is playing with my
gun, don’t want her to blow a cute little toe off.
he’s not happy. I just wish I had a little red flag sticking out of my
Beretta’s snout, saying “Bang.” That woulda been perfect.
you said you liked it rough, honey bunny.” I chirp.
“CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.” I moan
as he keeps pressing the trigger.
a beautiful thing. It’s all about pressure points, joints, and such. I have a
third-degree black belt in Judo, and can take one of those NFL walruses down by
bending his pinkie back.
Eddie doesn’t know that, not just yet anyhoooo. I haven’t erupted yet, because
what I am about to do is going to take a long time. It is going to take a very
simply reach out, grab the silencer connected to my heater. His finger is still
in the lock as I violently rip down, multiple fracturing his finger, taking him
to the ground. He shrieks in very
cool pain and, then begins to whimper like the bitch that he is.
gun and head-bang him with the butt, very controlled. I don’t want him out. Not
just yet. Splitting skull is fun as he shrieks
again, yips and yelps, gawking at his
finger that now looks like a pretzel.
everywhere. I intended that, mop time later. I do a little dance backwards and
whirl with my hands thrown into the air, teeth grinding, eyes screaming,
feeling wild and crazed. Facing him off as he finally stands, and I lift his
head with my gun barrel tip.
My goodness, if looks could kill I would be a dead bitch,
but they don’t, yet still my feelings are hurt.
his eyes darting at my walk-around .38, then back at me.
silencer back and forth at him, reminding him not to be hasty. I figure
decision making has never been his strong point. He gets it as I do one of
those little backhand finger curl
invites to him. I’m a stylist after all, can’t help myself. Drama, I love it.
He snorts in his rage, blood too, remember I’m a pixie. I mean how hard could
it be to choke the life out of a skinny fairy? I see it in his plate eyes.
finger curl again, you know, Bruce Lee style, which enrages him. He screams,
shrieks, and rips towards me, enraged.
me and I do a little steparoo to the side. With controlled force, I fist him
three times in the chest, once in the nose as I Judo chop him in the larynx. He
instantly coughs, sputters, wails, or tries to as I grab his wrist, twist, break
it in half and violently flip him up and around smashing his back into the
plate glass of this nifty coffee table his interior decorator got him.
explodes, shatters, as he bellows in pain. The throat shot was perfect. It always
is, as he’s trying to suck O-2 in, wheezing,
weeping, moaning, mumbling, wining
about something again. I hate whiners.
I’m doing one of those The Rock WWF
struts. You know, you see those Hulk Hogan dudes do in the ring, as I watch him
hyperventilating, for my throat chop was controlled and perfect.
Heck, I coulda crushed his wind pipe, killing him
instantly. But where would of been the fun in that?
power-packed fuel, and I watch as he struggles out of the glass. There are
bloody shards staked in his arms, chest, feet, forehead and I can see he’s not
that happy with me.
Well, join the fucking list, buckaroo.
air kiss him again and feel sorta shunned. He doesn’t grab it this time, which
hurts my feelings. He then roars, I mean it’s prime evil and there he goes
again, bull-rushing me.
Oh, me oh my, I’m so scared, tee hee, hee.
me, arms extended, hands like claws, which I move between like a shadow. Feet planted,
I take my palm, and ram it into his nose again. He screams, as I then, fingers
pointed into a Judo wedge, give him a liver
pleasant thing, for if you’ve ever gotten one, well you know, it feels like a
branding iron is melting your liver. Ask Oscar De LaHoya about that.
lots of shrieking, spasms, screaming and
moaning as he goes down. I straddle his arm, take his arm and snap it
completely in half at the elbow, which blasts a bellow of pain from him. I step
back, smiling as I do. So far, so good.
he’s done, but I am surprised that he’s not. Maybe he’s been trippin’
on TCP. That would be an unexpected gift. I hope so.
amigos have told me that they’ve put six
into a guy’s bod usin’ TCP, just kept coming. They finally had to unleash the
big artillery on the dude to finally put, lights
know how long it took for his liver to smile again, but he stood, looking
really bad. He still looked angry with me, and in truth, I was getting a little
bored with it all.
gotten something off the table, so I had to let it out. All of it.
the color blue, I then lost it, shrieked, as my heart, mind finally blew up.
as then I ran completely insane at him, screaming as I leaped on him, wrapping
my legs around his waist, glass digging into me. I didn’t mind that at all.
butted him again, just because I could and tried to eat his nose off his face
with my teeth. He went down as my legs spread-eagled on his waist.
instantly bellowed to the moon, wrapped the plastic bag around his head, snuck
around to his back, wrapped my legs around his waist. I then slashed the
plastic tight, real tight, as I calmed, and his body bucked. He flailed with
his one good arm, slapping at the bag as I seethed into his ear.
little girl, you fucking puke, for Missy.”
out, like I said, I didn’t want him dead, just yet that is. Because I still
needed a name, which I was certain when me and my pals were finished with him,
he would give up.
I duct taped him like a Xmas present, I took a shower.
lips, body and eye hurt, a lot. But it was a good hurt. As I sat there on the
teak bench, just letting the hot water soothe my aches, every ache in my body,
except my mind, of course, ached.
and boots felt good, white gym socks, too, I like being naked, but only when
I’m trysting between the sheets eating pussy with some gorgeous vixen.
dolly in the garage, loaded Eddie onto it like a sack of turnips. I grabbed my
stuff, and a few other things, loaded him into the Buick’s trunk. I lit up a
smoke, ouch, my lip hurt, didn’t
the door, I stared at some stars. They looked pretty.
my Boston Red Sox hat on, some shades, I fired up my “Betty.” I drove to the
barber poles. I smiled at my cop buddy, he smiled back. Giving him a wave, I
drove away a happy girl.
gone, my mission still not completed. Next stop, a little desert hideaway I
know about, where a man’s secrets can and always are exposed.
the night finally done, I felt pretty good about everything, except my dead
girl sleeping in the Tombs, now and forever.
that post card to Lou, as well as a CD,
and everything went down pretty much like I expected it too.
the bulls, CRIME SCENE too, swept
down on Eddies crib, snooped around, picked up some of the kid’s hair, a drop
of blood, too. They matched them to Eddie’s semen in her, had the CD, it was a
real feather in Lou’s cap.
got a merit badge for it, gold star on his cop
jacket, too. You know, super cop of the
speech, kissed some babies, shook the mayor’s hand, and of course never let out
a peep about moi.
sent along ten grand, fat envelop, c-notes
for my cop buddy at the gate.
Lou chatted him up, guy was glad to be mum. US
cops stick together. Hope it kept his kids in sneakers for a long time. That’s
the least I could do for the hard-working dicks
What about Eddie Jett?
Well, that’s another story, a better story, mostly
involving a blow torch, tin snips, copper wire cutters, and a 6ft 6 black
mountain of a man, a dude named Earl, my gangster friend, King’s number one as
an enforcer, and it was fucking beautiful.
Stay frosty, over and out.
Jane, Vegas PI.
brooke is a writer with over 100 credits, and never lists them. It's simple for
j, for it’s never what you have already written, but what you are going to
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