THE PUPPET

 

I was on the verge of berserk, just a shade off of panic. The unimaginable lingered within the width of a fingertip. Mania gone full throttle. Something is very wrong. Someone is the matter. It’s a blind pledge I take with the unconscionable. Deaf to the chorus, deaf to the chatter.

What will mama think?, is not in the equation.

Mama keeps a clean house, a neat house, a tidy house, a meticulous house…You get? 

But Mama pissed me off one-too-many times and eventually, grown old together, your regret, it manifests - you resent, you despise, because she’s gone toxic…sadistic…dark as the storm, and ten times as fierce. As tamable as a hurricane hurled in off the coast. Not in a romantic way, more in a frantic, tragic…hopeless, way - you seek shelter and hope to ride it out. 

If any other but her life, it was a waste, … but awaited and expected, as it was, just another gruesome outcome, there was no alternative, it was time for her to go. 

You can rightfully call it homicide if one side is psychotic. But both? 

It didn’t register, the splay, until the room had cleared of the swirling demons, that I noticed and knew it was me. No need to explain. It falls on ears uncaring. It crashes the skull of the unthinking.

A puppet is driven away, and put back in the box where he belonged, unblinking.

V

LOOKING FOR LIPSKI

There was no reason for Lipski to wander off, but

wander off he did. At first no one noticed. A guy...a

summer's night...who knows, and who cares?

Then the chatter happened. Slowly at first, but

getting more frantic:

"Where's Lipski?"

"Lipski's missing!"

"Have you seen Louis?"

(Which threw me at first, because I only knew him as Lipski, and I've known him, his whole life).

Pretty soon the town was hunting for Lipski. All the volunteers in the Fire Department, they showed up. One of them brought a dog, thinking maybe they could detect a scent. His mother shared some underwear, it was all she could readily get her hands on, having done the laundry that very afternoon. The dog sniffed them, howled, and took off. We were all encouraged. But the dog stopped at the highway. He paced back and forth nose to the ground, but Lipski, it seemed, was in the wind.

By now it was almost dawning and folks were tired.

Someone had the notion that they needed a break,

so it was decided we take shifts in the search.

Dealing with limited resources, we really had no

choice. We decided to set three, twelve hour shifts,

staggered so one team rests, while two continue the

search. Handbills were handed out, news flashes

were generated, but the news is only news for a few

days. Two weeks was an eternity, and the news had

to move on. So, too, had people's lives, and most

returned to the necessary routine of their every day.

(There were a couple of investigators from the County, but they had a backlog, and 'how much time you going to spend...?' )

Only Lipski's most loyal friends remained.

It really didn't matter. We lost Louis Lipski that night.

It turns out, Lipski had had this 'thing' for a girl and he left the fair to pursue her. They had only met that afternoon at the Cyclone. Each of them addicted to the sharp, neck-wrenching, shifts in direction, the dizzying way  it makes you feel when you exited, you didn't want to stop, so you got back on...and again, and again...they coalesced in the centrifugal coincidence of the pairing, and partnered up in a chemical manner.

They were a great team, anticipating the 'snap' before it happened, laughing at the whip, daring it to whip harder. Finally the poor girl got sick and they both were covered in the results. They exited the ride as soon as it was over. She, so embarrassed, ran into the crowd. He followed, but lost her. He caught a glimpse of her being driven off in a black sedan. He ran after it, but to no avail. But he didn't give up...didn't come back where we could comfort him...commiserate with him...no, he impulsively caught a bus headed East, which is all he had to go on, so off he went. He never had a chance of finding her, but he took the excuse, and ran. Damn him.

V

HANKY PANKY

 

Rebecca would tell you the same thing. She and I were cohabiting that weekend. It was, what it was -  nothing serious.

(I mean, seriously, can you see me with her?)

It was a fling…a ‘thing’, nothing more. In fact, let me check my calendar. I think that weekend was a seminar, and, if so, I always take note. I’ll bet it puts us in the same proximity. Be happy to check. Of course, before I do so, I’ll need one thing from you – a good reason to do so.

Dorothy.

Good lord, you wouldn’t go tattling on me for such a ‘minor occurrence’? Hell’s-bells she barely registered on the "meat-meter". That can’t count! If it’s going to count then why not name the Countess, or Savannah, or the ‘nun-with-no-name’… but, not Rebecca!

I see…

You see what you want, but Dorothy can’t be a part of this matter.

Oh, but she is. She is the crux of the matter.

Oh? Well, what about Val?

What? What about Val?

Seems you have your own crux to bear.

You wouldn’t dare…

Oh, most certainly.

Val was only a temp…

As if that matters. Plump little thing…

I disagree.

Does she always laugh with that annoying giggle…

I found it charming…contagious, even.

Each to their own, but you get my point?

There are children involved...twelve years! You can’t drudge up some whizbang tussle I had in the coat room…

If that’s what it was, it must have been special for you both.

It was a ‘moment’…an alarming spark…it was clumsy, verging on grotesque.

I would imagine, with all the ‘coats’, and scarves, and… rubbers…

You keep shut about Val and I’ll not mention it to Dorothy.

Deal. Now let’s wash up and get back to our desks or they’ll be accusing us of hanky panky!

Good Lord!

V

THE CREASE

V

The Details

 

I would not be so crude as to ask you to screw, but if a lewd interlude is what you had in mind, then may I be of service, Madam?

Pardon?

Oh, I think you heard me the first time. But just in case, allow me to repeat…

I don’t… No.

And?

I heard you the first time.

...and?

There is no “…and” in that regard.

I’m afraid you have me confused with someone who takes a refusal, casually. I do not.

Oh, Do.

If by chance you should show me to your boudoir…

Not a chance.

… I will open the Doors Of Passion…

Doors of Passion…?

The Windows of Ecstasy…

You going to clean my house while you’re at it?

I don’t understand?

You got the doors and windows covered, so I just wondered if you do the whole house.

Oh, I can do the whole house, alright!

Hands and knees...

If it pleases you...

Down to the details?

Of course.

The devil is in the details, I hear.

This devil will be in your every-detail, Madam.

Excellent. Take this, and report to my Maid first thing Monday morning. She needs help, she’s injured her hip. She will fill you in on 'the details'. 

V

f'

V

SIN IS A BITCH

 

Why me? Why come bothering me? I’m too old for this shit, and shits too old for me. Colon cancer. Nothing I can do about it, too late in the game…fourth quarter’s almost over. It’s a blowout.

So I tend to my books, so my records are clean…clear…I meant to say ‘clear’.

( Let me know if you should ever find a human being with a “clean record”, will you? I’ll call you a liar, if I still can. But I’m afraid I don’t have much time to give you, for your search. ) 

As for that record...I doubt it reflected well on me. But the crimes, they were all crimes of passion. There was never anything physical, that is, no physical distress. There was a lot of ‘physical’, to be sure, but never harm. Emotional is another matter. I tried to keep everyone happy, but I couldn’t arrange it. Got complicated…got sloppy…three times got sloppy, and, boy, did it cost me. 

You want the litany, I got all day. I have to assume so anyway…

Young women, two employees and an associate…impressionable, too damn impressionable. They shouldn’t have fallen for my bullshit, but they did. It was just like shooting fish in a barrel, and I held the gun. But eventually the barrel split…shot to hell, and there was a terrible spill. Floundering everywhere. I still held the gun, but it was empty. Spent.

Sonofabitch, the trouble I caused…

So I die alone. Everyone does. Said my goodbyes years ago, but no one listened then, and no one hears me now. Don’t go writing this down. It doesn’t matter. The same mistakes are being made as we speak; Sin is bitch, and she’s ready for anything. Wish I could give it one more ride, but Sin lives on, while those that perpetrate it, perish. 

V