Before the child of whiteness will be
born, she will have been created from a violent and climatic act of passion.
From a mixture of sperm, her mother’s
egg and DNA, will come, as the Harlot Orchid, an enigma of a creature, stunning
of the physical, crippling rare of form, savage of the inner thinking world, a
white female Orchid mimic.
She will be frail, translucent, alluring
and deadly to mere mortals that often fall to the illusion of the rarity of
pure unmitigated flawlessness of the female form. Very much like the Orchid
Lithophytes, pungent of a lilac and citrus aura, within a transparent membrane
of skin that thrives as it clings to rock, open to attack from viruses, she
will be born stunning. Needing to be nurtured as an embryo, she will be
protected until she will be ready; ready to savage a world that will have no
anti- virus created to stop her.
Like the Saprophytes Orchid, struck of
gold, silver and purples of impossible structure and hues and is anchored to
soil and earth, she will be magnificence of perfection at its zenith. Her
appearance will be pallid white, hair, skin, all centered of blazing titanium
blue eyes and all connected by a brain of unfathomable intelligence. Crushed of
darkness, pain and pathos, she will be tolerated by parents, until their death,
which will release her violence to the world.
Mimicking the Epiphytes Orchid, strung
as a citrine, indigo moth-spun twine, tenuous, strident and powerful in all of
its appearance of fragility to the great roots of the Banyan tree of the rain
forests, she will become a white pearl flower. Thus, having been born of the
womb, she will be anchored in the roots of the safety of nurturing and loving
She will be an air breather, her
memory, thriving on her mother’s blood. Years will pass, many lifetimes for her
sisters of the petal world, which for Orchids, time is forever tenuous, an eye
blink of memory.
When finally she will be brought to
puberty, she will shed that umbilical cord of blood, thus freeing her to war.
Echoing the Orchid, which uses its scent to seduce, sedate and ultimately
survive, she will use an elegant structure of face and body of flawlessness.
Thus, she will bring carnage to an unprepared world which will have no warning
of her lethal and seductive ways, thus no defense for it.
Within a singular moment of rebirth,
will become a genius savant, an intruder bringing death within an ever-revolving
typhoon of madness, and she will leave trails of red blood behind her every
step, and it will be the blood of evil, the blood of insidious men.
She will be called the, “Death
Vegas PI/Bounty Hunter. I’m a 28-year-old warrior for my people, stick Nordic
blonde queer girl, killer green’s, I’m thin like a whiff of smoke spiraling out
of the tip of a hand gun barrel. I am a protector of animals, women, kids, that
is my mantra, fight hammer and anvil for the poor, the females, and the fragile
creatures, human, and other wise, to the death if need be.
think I’m a doll, love that, love sex, I am over sexed, can’t help it, it’s in
my Genome make up. I don’t take pretty seriously, didn’t earn it, it’s all
about the cerebral journey a twist takes, caring, loving the fragile abused
creatures of a violent planet, then fighting, blood knuckles, steel boots
against the men that hurt my lovelies, kids, animals and women.
want to hammer a stake into the beauty thing. You’re fucking born that way, you
had no choice. You can opt to sit around getting your nails done, reading
Cosmo, partying, looking in the mirror, using up men and women in a trash
disposal life, never read a book, or you can find your inner heart and soul.
no hero, no role model, I’m a freakin’ freak of nature. Nearly six
foot tall, too thin as a whisper
girl, I can eat ten cheese burgers a day and never gain an ounce. In my DNA,
early on, I wanted to be something else, besides some piece of arm candy.
Thankfully I am queer from birth, won’t lie, I have the sex drive of an Alabama
love me. I love girls; lucky me.
try to do good every day of my life, that’s why I became a PI/Bounty Hunter,
mastered guns and such, black belt, judo Karate, sometimes I get me small ass
kicked, don’t mind that either. Every penny I make being a gumshoe goes to the
homeless shelters, some local churches trying to fix the poor, and never pass a
homeless person, without putting twenty bucks in the cup.
doesn’t make me a saint, I know I’m complicated, can be a bitch sometimes, but
I work day and night trying to be a decent human being and often fail.
stop jabbering, just wanted to get right on that stuff.
It all started
close to a decade back, after
my parents died in an East Coast car accident, left me millions, and a brutal
hole staked in my heart that could never be plugged. I still weep, missing them
every morning when I wake. I found myself engulfed in a darkness, swathed in
black wings of grief, pain and hopelessness.
a lost human being, soaring within the opaque darkness of space, being sucked
in to a Black Hole, no light, no future, simply disappearing within the
dangerous death of a mind, a girl that had lost everything she loved, or ever
year passed, already thin, I became emaciated, wept, screamed and howled within
those nights in my Chelsea loft. I woke one day and I felt ashamed. Life,
death, they are what makes living as a human being so remarkable. I woke even
further, felt more shame, I had so much, what would I do with a life that until
the moment held no rudder to its keel.
realized that I could be an angel, neither white, nor black, but a benevolent
flying-winged wind-whisper warrior, that rights wrongs, and help others less
fortunate than I.
years would pass and then, I ended up In N. Vegas, of all places.
can jibber-jabber way too much, so let’s crack it.
years back my spirit and élan had been reborn, therefore, still insane, I
decided my way in life, and still so confused, I spun the lotto wheel, would
try everything and anything, until I found my way.
have this Mensa IQ, 170 or so. I thought I would try Parsons, NY art school. I
hated that, tried to be an artist. I had some talent, but Monet was an artist,
not me. I had a huge ego, bombed out of that gig. Hit up Wharton Business School,
did a year in
that wood chipper of peoples’ dreams.
to Goldman Sachs, wore this skin tight black power dress. I kinda looked like
Charlize Theron meets Janet Yellen the fed Chairwoman.
filled out their standard job application that went like this:
Would you be willing to
be a heartless, ruthless, sociopathic
habitual liar? Checked the box “YES”…Gold
Would you be willing
to steal every fucking schilling away from
widows and orphans? Checked the box “YES”…Gold
Would you be willing
to take a machete and cut the head off
another broker so Goldman Sachs could have another fucking billion-dollar day?
Checked the box “YES”…Gold Star.
Would you be willing to sell your own grandmother to white
slavers if she got in the way of career advancement? Checked the box “YES”…Gold
Would you be willing
to drive your Lamborghini to CEO Lloyd
Blankfeins billion dollar palatial mansion in the Hamptons, go yachting, play
polo and snort cocaine off of the tits of eighteen-year-old idiot super models?
Checked the box “YES YES” Gold Star.
I checked that box twice
it went on and on, and because I didn’t wear any panties that day, and checked
all the right answers in the “YES”
box, they were ready to sign me on the spot.
even offered me a huge bonus. Of course, that is, if I sucked the guy’s cock in
the cloak room later.
the end, I said “Naw.”
I’d rather be a
serial killer, because
at least I could work with purpose, respect, dignity and be able to sleep at
a real American life made no sense to me, marriage, kids, mortgages, PTA’s,
lies, deceit, marrying some fuck-wad tired of fucking you.
banging the gal at the bowling alley, bad ratted hair like Sarah Palin.
click, click on
three inch heels, man-made tits, bee hive and too much eye liner and mascara on
MO, some bimbo outta Perth Amboy serving drinks on a little round tray.
her legs are thrown to the air at the Paradise Motel, neon sign, missing some
light bulbs, as some husband butt-fucks her and buys her a cheap gold-plated
locket with a picture of himself in it. It’s the oldest story in the book and
always leads to a one-way street to nowhere.
heard that only Snow Geese mate for life. Why? Because they’re fucking dumb
birds, that’s why.
was tough being cosmetic to others, beautiful, so young, having this brain, IQ,
north of WHAMMO. What’s a girl to do, especially if they’re stone ice berg
was looking, looking hard for something.
parents, outside of the Hamptons, were pulverized by some drunk-thug rich kid
in a Mercedes, snorting cocaine, meth off a the tits of some Bryn Mayr sorority
car accident murdered my father instantly. Mom was thrown through the
windshield, one leg, one arm severed from her body, her stunning face lacerated
beyond description, to the bone, she lived for three weeks, died one night when
I was holding her hand.
was a weird night.
now sure that was the moment the savage in me woke.
waited a few months, got a black wig, one night pedaled my bike down to Beth
Sturtevant, bad part of town, went into a biker bar, wore sunglasses. I hung
around in my usual Amazon guy-magnet loveliness, sipping Wild Turkey. Saw this
hard-core biker guy, tats everywhere, had a chain holding his wallet in his
sat down, said, “What’s sup Doll.”
him I needed a gun, a silencer, lots O bullets, could he hook me up?
me if I was a cop. Told him, NAW, was a cheer leader at NYU.
laughed, like my vibe, said, sure doll. Two grand for the heater. Another grand
for the silencer.
when, where, how ‘bout now. I was all bidness.
liked my straight way, no bull shit. Said, he’d be back in an hour, I said
hour passed, the juke box was puking how Johnny Cash, liked that.
walked through the door, winked at me. I followed him into the John.
cemented it, right there and then. A twelve in the clip Beretta, a black snout
silencer, gave him 4 grand, a tip, he smiled, asked if he could fuck me.
no, maybe later, cupcake.
was my first gun buy.
would not be the last.
laughed, I scooted, peddled back to my massive loft in Chelsea.
spent a week on my laptop, doing my thing, research and such. Spent a lot a
time mussing out Harvard, bars, clubs, got it all right. I was ready.
The Art of WAR, I was way ready.
whiz kid with computers, I photo shopped some stuff, made a false ID, New
England Driver’s license. Betty Smith, cool name, got my back pack, Beretta,
leather hip huggers, steel-toed boots, lots a Money, got a black-banged wig,
some sunglasses, took three taxis to Boston. A girl can never be too careful,
ended up in a dirt-bag cheapo motel outside a the city.
was ready-Betty to go.
all dolled up, you know, lots of mascara, lip gloss, stuff I never use, mini
skirt, three inch heels, low cut blouse, bimbo stuff, grabbed a gypsy cab, went
to THE CLUB along The Common.
in and the crowd of college trash were frantic. I figured E was the drug of
hung at the bar, miles of legs, sipped Ginger Ale, shined on about a dozen hits
from college frat boys. Then this real player hit on me, rich college boy,
spoiled from birth until he squirted outta the womb. One a those privileged
fucks, never wanting anything in life, except to please himself, self-gratification
his life major, born with a platinum spoon in his asshole. Probably marry some
vapid princess from Vassar or Holy Oak, sire kids just as sick, rich, cold and
disgusting as he and his parents were and will be just like him and his
wife will end up fucking some tennis pro at the country Club, while he lawyers
up, keeping and fucking some bimbo idiot model at some City crib his parents
own, never realizing that the rest of the world was fighting poverty, living
desperate lives just to put a hot dog on the table.
was perfect, felt right to me.
made it easy for him, batted my eyelashes, pouted, talked kinda trailer trash
stupid, you know the kinda doll these college pukes loved to get drunk, take
back to the frat house, then jettison before the moon died in the morning.
hooked up, went back to this flashy crib he had downtown. I did my Mae West
seductress thing, he never saw me coming, and then we were inside and I was
ready to roll.
made us Martinis, Moi, eagle-eyed saw him drop something in mine. I smiled
inside, a fucking roofie, really. That for me was the cherry on top of the
stripped naked, did a twirl in my heels, saw that in a porn movie once. He
liked that. I told him drinks later, Mr. Man, why don’t ya slip into your
velvet robe or somethin’, let’s get to it, the fucking.
peeled off his LL Bean plaid shirt and khakis and boat Dockers, grinned at me.
I cooed something like, jest a sec handsome, dug into my back pack, got my
Beretta, tightened the silencer, strolled up to him all sexy and such, then in
full fury, pistol whipped him in the temple.
fell to the floor like a sack of shit, which he was.
about a head ache or somethin’, he leered up at naked me, stared at my laser
beamed cunt, saw the magic neon coming out of her, then at the gun in my hand,
show you what the fuck.”
leaned down, crawled on top of him, ripped off my black wig, so he could see
the full blond experience, ripped the silencer past his teeth, breaking all of
his front teeth, shoving it down his throat.
the blood he moaned and bitched about something. I could see some kind of
recognition, you know since every fucking day in court, my green eyes drilled a
bullet hole through his head.
was Bobby Van DeMeer, son of a billionaire Wall Street Banker. Two times arrested
for Under The Influence and driving stoned. His wealthy parents had used their
influence with the judge, who was a frat brother of his billionaire father,
which allowed perfect little Bobby to slip free, a slap on the wrist his only
window to reality.
3rd time, drunk, and tripping on E, coked up, he had crossed lanes and had
driven my parents into an Oak Tree, killing them forever.
even walked from that, getting probation, cause you know, poor, poor Bobby was
too rich, too fucked up to know better.
at him, I heard him gurgle something through the sinew and blood in his mouth.
heard him ask.
it’s you….ahhhhh, why.
stomach acid in my mouth, I simply whispered.
am Jane Blake, you murdered my parents, and now I am going to murder you.”
took him a few seconds to digest the info, I waited, you know, just for the
drama of it. He got it, then his eyes lit up like glow sticks and I saw that he
knew exactly who I was as terror struck his eyes as the last thing he heard was…
put one down his throat, two in his heart, arterial spray splashed my body
crimson in blood as I breathed in the smell of cordite.
exhaled, pleased, just simple business, erasing a killer of a girl’s dreams
from the Earth.
would never hurt another human being again.
my life as an avenger had started.
never touched a single thing since I entered, I took a shower, watched his
blood spiral down the drain.
dried off, took the towel, dressed, got back to NYC, threw my gun, towel, wig,
slut get-up in the river and never thought about it again.
was 19 years old, my life was a mess, and now it was about to begin anew.
fate, well, you have to grab the bitches by the throat or you don’t when they
show up. I did.
opted, to another way, a harder way, a more honest way.
educated myself, learned Spanish, German, French and Italian, working on
Chinese, since the little yellow guys are going to get all the loot anyways.
I have this rad, monstrous artist’s loft
in N. Vegas, Fuck, the Chang’s down stairs at the laundry got tons of coin
cemented in the walls. Thought I would learn Chinese, you know to point out
spots of blood on my clothes and you know; they just may inherit the earth.
until my eyes closed, learned a lot.
about a year in Europe, saw a lot of old stuff. I fucked a girl who poled the
boat around Venice, played my cunt like a viola, she was a real stud.
whistled “Ole sola Mia” while she did
it, had about a zillion orgasms, rare thing those.
woke up to find my jewelry gone, didn’t mind, the kid had shown me a Jake time.
I’ve never bought another bauble since.
the French Rivera, St Tropez, Cannes, got a million invites to ride around on
motor boats, munch on caviar and sip champagne, me being so young, beautiful
and all. I hung on yachts old guys owned, you know, Euro Trash types, tons of
naked crazed Euro babes frolicking everywhere.
a lot of pretty dolls, danced all night, did drugs, all of them and partied
till dawn. I felt pretty good for people seemed to like me, especially old men
with limp dicks.
the fuck did I know, I was stoned all the time.
ended up in Ibiza, an island off
Spain, hedonistic, bacchanal party place and a drug nirvana.
sex station was over flowing with models, gorgeous girls, boys, Medellin Cartel
super tankers off-loading cargo containers of E, coke and shrooms.
nights I ended up in this amphitheater club. An insane place where guys on the
balconies we’re shooting foam on your naked body. Everyone dancing and
drug-induced love was
up my E-ticket book of girl fantasies, fell for a French model on vacay. Gigi
was her name.
I did boat loads of “E”, a lot.
out the bitch was insane. We had sex for a week, went through a gallon of K-Y
at least. She was fucking nuts.
snuck out one morning, tip toes, cunt needing a retread. Hung in Barcelona, saw
Gaudi Park, a living hallucination to genius. Caught a jet to Madrid, went to
the Prado, had an orgasm checking out Raphael, blasted to Tokyo, still hoping
the crazed slut Gigi wasn’t going to shadow me there.
I liked Japan, cool people, not very
tall. Folks there eat a lot of fish, something wrong with their eyes. They eat
their food with these little sticks. Jello never caught on with these polite
people. The folks there bowed a lot, loved that too.
found a dojo outside of Kyoto, signed up for Judo, Karate, Kimbo lessons. Was
taught by this small guy, wore white pajamas and got my ass handed to me on a
chop stick every day for 6 months. It was well-needed and a real beat down.
guy could put his fingers through a plate of stainless steel. He called me
daughter at the end, dug my vibe. I never cried, bitched, no boo hoo’s,
gritted through it, stood, got slapped down, stood up
and took more.
the Dojo, scrubbed the floors, made the fish heads. Got to play Uma Thurman in
Kill Bill, liked that a-lot.
my black belts in Judo, Karate, jetted off.
out of Japan, Asia, India, Africa, the Middle East for a year or two and, then
that was it.
Vegas, can you believe it?
all the gin joints in all the world to hang a girl’s sombrero, I hung it here.
Go fucking figure.
a while I got my pilot’s license and bought me a sweet blue, twin prop white
King Air flying machine.
stud has dual props, long range, rad flying machine, named her Betty. Keep her
over there at Nellis Air Force Base.
Vegas drew me in, moth to the comet tail, don’t know why. I found it a perfect
know hard, decadent, criminal element, evil, dangerous and beautiful, me
nuts-o, and all. Why not?
my PI license, Bounty Hunter license, concealed gun permit, I was ready.
said in Unforgiven:
a strange thing, killin’ a man, kid. You take away everything he was, and
everything he is ever gonna be.”
what guns do, and while we’re on the subject, well.
is a country of guns, don’t know why, the excuse is that Wyatt Earp had one,
why can’t I. The fact he was a homicidal maniac killer, well, you know, in the
USA ya got two choices. Read books, get an education, make something of
yourself, work hard, feel good about yourself because you got off the Lazy Boy,
and actually did something special in your life.
around your entire life, skip school, work at Burger King, order Pizza hut on
Sunday, cheering for your fav team, work at I-Hop serving the breakfast
special, then moan and bitch how unfair life is, cause yer an uneducated asshole.
gun in the wrong hands evens out life, you buy one, fill it full of ego, then
yer even in life and you did nothing at
all to deserve those odds.
girlfriend leaves ya because you’re a lazy, abusive fuck-wad, well, you shoot
once I had chosen to become a Vegas PI, I learned to love my guns.
name is spelled J A N E not F U C K I N G V I C T I M.
I bought a Glock, a Colt, a Mossberg shotgun, an AK-47, and a M-16 and would
went to a gun range, looking all leather hip-hugger hip and all, and lolly
gagged around in my usual natural splendor.
saw this 6ft 4 studly guy, looked as hard as a bar of platinum handling an M-16
like she was some doll he was in love with. I figured he was ex-military, he
being so proficient handling the fire-breathing dragon he had in his muscled
walked up to him, gave him my full green eyes, smiled.
was not surprised.
don’t lie as a rule, unless I’m on a case, then I become a pathological liar
him straight up, I was a queer girl, a PI, would pay him a grand if he’d take
some time along a few days and teach me how to handle my guns, love my guns and
be proficient with them.
could see in his iron ore eyes, he was a man in pain as he kept staring at my
exposed belly. He said too bad I was gay.
said, since birth, fella.
punched him in the arm.
laughed, his name was Mike, turned out he was Ex-Seal, used his guns to kill
all those fellas in Iraq, Syria, you know the guys that buy their pajamas from
the JC Penny catalogue, on line.
we liked each other instantly for you know, killers come in all shapes and
spent weeks blowing holes in cardboard, checking stances, gun grips, gun buck
ratios, fire suppression reflexes, and such, and in the end we became pals.
told him I was a fucked-up human girl, told him I got his pain, knew what he
had done servicing a lie of a war, had to be a butt-fuck experience and I
thanked him for his service.
a girl that tries to save lost causes, dogs, cats, and especially females. Knew
this ex 22 year-old “In Hotel” hooker, her name was Beverly. She stumbled into
my life when I was on a case. A real-doll blonde Biloxi runaway, been fucked
senseless since she could remember by her daddy.
a lost cause, my favorite, so I slapped her around, literally, and one night
after I found out she was being terrorized by her vicious pimp, well Me, Jane
The Avenger took care of him.
met the dude in an alley, and with steel toed boots, fists, head butts, teeth,
I nearly killed him, sending him into a wheelchair for life.
problem solved, I got Bev an apartment, cleaned her up, she was a smart little
whippet, drop dead gorgeous to boot.
her into nursing school, then because I am the match maker from Hell…LOL…I
fixed her up with Mike, two lost and injured human beings, well, finding their
mate at the hands of some crazy blonde queer girl.
fell in love.
love to have been a fly on the wall in their bedroom for that bronco ride,
seeing they were both so damn gorgeous.
one last thing on guns.
get me wrong, lot’s a good people do the gun thing, millions of them, cause
they have the same MO as me. Respect guns, think of them as an insurance
policy, what for?
fucking continuation of your life, that’s what for.
I ended up in Vegas, fuck, I could a ended up in Beirut. I didn’t.
hated the glitz and pompous shit of The Strip, found depraved N. Vegas and
bought my 7000 sq. ft. upstairs loft from Chang’s laundry, once was a bakery,
think I mentioned that.
became a Private Dick/People Hunter, taking cases almost always concerning
abducted girls, kids and bidness was exploding, since the depravity of Vegas
had no boundaries, and business boomed.
my amigos are either cops, stunning girls, this is Mecca to them, or fringe,
dangerous, brilliant, compassionate, complicated folks, muck like Moi.
immediately got to work on my new digs. Did some drawings, I’m handy with the
lead, bullets and pencils.
my birthday, I dropped 25 grand on a new shotgun, a Holland & Holland, over
and under, side lock action, coil-spring ejector system, 20 bore, coined real
pretty and all.
slept with her for a week.
these legions of cool Mexican artisans, carpenters, tile guys, electricians,
paid them twice what they were worth, and made my loft all comfy and such,
including this cool bathroom, black and grey tiles, tub sunk into the floor. I
love taking baths after I have some torrid sex circus with another vixen like Moi.
had these cool gun cabinets built, heavy locks, for my twenty guns or so.
Respect guns, use guns, love guns, anyhow, that’s the skinny up to the moment.
Vegas is tuff turf, meaning lots O gun shots, hookers, cop sirens, homeless,
gang bangers, drug addicts.
mentioned I like to help the homeless.
LOL, I am a river to my people.
Quinn said that in Lawrence of Arabia.
best friend, besides Lieutenant Victor Garcia of N. Vegas Metro, is an almost
ex-Gang Lord of N. Vegas, King.
needs my smarts, tonight, my mojo, me a girl with a gun, cause he’s having a
sit down with some gabacho killers, Zeta Cartel, from Ciudad Obregon.
to boogie, need to buy some flash clothes for my protection gig with King
manana. I’m so butch, I live in Nike and leather hip huggers and my work boots.
all there on the strip. Cardin, Manolo, Givenchy, Betsy, etc.
can never get the makeup right when I get dolled up, so will stop by the beauty
parlor, get my hair washed, fuzzed, make sure I look all seductive and such, my
looks have gotten me outta some tough jams before.
know, look at me, oops, no panties, LOL, Psssst, Psssst, bullets always end
nothing I like about King’s sit-down with the Mexican mobsters, but, ya know,
King’s my buddy, whatever.
that’s it, 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
write next. Contact info: firstname.lastname@example.org