Saturday, February 6, 2016

Alternate Violet, part 3: Flushing the John





 Flushing the John

“Now the thing about this Pineapple, Honey, is that it’s a talking pineapple.”

“Totally, stark, raving, howling, pig biting mad,” Violet thought, and smiled sweetly.

“And that is where Father Muldoon comes into the picture. Now Muldoon and I go back quite a few years, which is why Ah was surprised to hear that he had taken Holy vows because when Ah knew him, he was an electronics expert. Muldoon always loved children and on the side he’d make special toys for them and what he really liked to make was talking dolls. You remember those Ah expect, you’d pull the ring on their back and those cute little things would say: “Hi my name is Kathy Ah LOVE you!” Pull it again and it’s: “Do you want to play with me?” Again and it’s “Oh eff me Ah just pissed myself!”

“Yes, YES! I remember. Foul Mouthed Kathy they were all the rage! Do go on.”

“Well Muldoon made the same kind of dolls but with thousands of phrases. He used memory chips and interactive software and the dam things could practically carry on a conversation. He still does this for the children of the Parish, but now he works in a little moral lesson along the way. First little Lisa is talking about a tea party and the doll is doing its part, and next she’s being admonished not to biff her brother on the head with a brick bat. It’s very spiritual. Muldoon stays with the pull cord because it reminds him of his own sweet childhood. He’s such a good man.”

“He sounds like he is; but this concerns us how exactly?” Violet said.

“Well, you remember John’s criminal record? I met up with Father Muldoon and he brought out one of his voice boxes and I, as you, recorded all we know about his background and listed all the agencies and jurisdictions that want a chunk of him. I told him that I was going straight to a telephone and calling the FBI, and have a nice day, sucker.”

“Wait wait wait! You recorded it as me? You sound nothing like me! I don’t sound like, like…”

“Alabama trailer trash? I only sound that way when I’m playing, Violet. And this particular job is pretty dam dull, I have to keep myself amused somehow. Anyway you are going to blow Yearly’s mind with your hooker skirt, your stripper stank and your titties wobbling all over the place. Do you really think he’s going to know who he’s listening to? Particularly as heard through an inch and a half of marzipan?

“Where did you get all that information anyway?”

“I, or should I say Ah, tried to tell you the story but you didn’t want to hear it. You were quite rude about it too as a matter of fact. As it happens I still have contacts in the MP’s, the MP’s are plugged into Military Intelligence, and Military Intelligence has contacts everywhere. It wasn’t that difficult.”

“MP’s? Military Intelligence?” Violet thought. “Is she actually that delusional? Or am I reading her wrong? Or both? But now that I think about it, she looks and carries herself like a soldier…that’s why I was thinking cop…”

“So, Violet, I recorded all that, took the voice box to Barkmann, Barkmann sculpted the pineapple around the voice box – see that little green ring? That’s the voice activator – and now all you have ahead of you are 4 minutes of bad acting, just like a high school play. You know your lines, there’s been a change in the weather, you’re going to make all his dreams come true, here’s a nice present, pull the ring after you’ve gone there is a personal message from you, call you later because tonight is the night you make his every wish become reality and then some. Don’t get in a conversation with him, don’t let him touch you, and don’t let him listen to the pineapple recording while you are there he’s apt to be quite upset when he does. Got it?”

“Got it. Do they often do things like this in military intelligence?”

“You have no idea,” Delacroix said.

“My tax dollars at work,” Violet said.

Delacroix grinned.

The Jeep surprised Violet; she had expected a rat's nest filled with half eaten Tasty Cream donuts, food containers, water bottles, paper products, clothing, mysterious crystallized spilled liquids and possibly, a grinning skeleton but she was wrong. The interior was immaculate. There was a cooler on the back seat, and although the vehicle reeked of cigarette smoke there was not so much as a gum wrapper in sight.

“Okay,” said Delacroix. “Hold that pineapple on your lap very carefully and do not drop it. It’s marzipan after all and we don’t want to spoil John’s surprise. Its 9 minutes out by the back road, say 6 minutes tops at Yearly’s, and then 9 minutes back. Say 25 minutes give or take and Yearly is on the run, and I’m history. That is what you want, right?

“More than world peace, a chicken in every pot, and a loving home for all lost puppies.” Violet said, fervently.”

Delacroix’s mouth twitched. “Then let’s roll.”

Seven minutes later Delacroix turned the Jeep onto a narrow side road called Wild Cherry Lane. A minute later, they came to a fork in the road. To the left was a wide gravel street, to the right, a narrow paved one. There was a sign pointing to the left hand fork. It read: “Catalpa Municipal Dump”. A mailbox at the foot of the paved road to the right read: “J. Yearly.”

“Appropriate,” Violet said.

“Fitting,” said Delacroix.

Two minutes later the jeep stopped in front of Yearly’s ramshackle two story colonial. A pathway led to a formal entrance on the right. Another pathway in the opposite direction led to a back door. A small sign with an arrow pointed to the left. It said, Office.

“He’ll be in the office now,” Delacroix said. “He has a little home business running Paraguayan love slaves and Peruvian crack into Elizabeth, New Jersey. Friday is when he straightens out his books.”

“Now put these on.” Delacroix handed Violet an elegant pair of extremely thin black cotton gloves. It’s show time. Remember, 4 minutes max or I’m in after you, don’t let him listen to the message. Walk straight back here and get immediately in the jeep.”

John Yearly sat at his desk, scanning a notebook partially filled with coded entries. Occasionally he ran a few figures on a calculator. Now and then he made a note.

He heard a car outside. He cursed under his breath. “NOW what the eff?”

He lurched to his feet, a loutish unshaven man, badly in need of a shower. He went to the window. A Jeep he did not recognize was parked right up against his building, he was looking at the rear panel. The windows were tinted; he could not see the occupants. He cursed again and was about to move to the door when the passenger door on the Jeep swung open. A bare leg wearing glittering 5” spiked heels extended gracefully. It was a fabulous leg, and it just kept coming.

Yearly was no longer thinking of driving the strangers away with a barrage of epithets.

A second leg joined the first and then the woman stepped out of the Jeep, her skirt, what there was of it, revealing black panties and a fabulous ass. She wore a transparent blouse and “Gulp!” no bra and she looked somehow familiar.

The woman reached back inside and whoever was driving handed something to her. She re-emerged holding an object of some sort. She walked the few feet to the office door. Yearly already had the inner door open.

“Hello John,” The voice positively purred, “May I come in?”

The door flew open, Violet entered. John recognized her at last, but his mind could not wrap itself around what he was clearly seeing, hearing, hell, smelling.

“Violet? What…?” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Hushhhh…” Violet said, and extended both arms. She held out her gift.”This is for you.”

“Puh...” Yearly said, “Pineapple?”

“Shssssh John, don’t speak” Violet said. “I have an apology to offer to you, and a confession to make as well. And a proposition too if you’ll listen.”

Violet raised her hands expressively. Things shifted in fascinating ways inside the transparent blouse. Other things, less fascinating, began to stir in Yearly’s khakis. Little if anything stirred in his brain.

“I know I was wrong to treat you the way I have been, John. It was wrong, very, very wrong of me.  And I am so sorry. And I was doubly wrong because you were right all along John. I do want you, you big luscious hunk of man. I yearn for you day and night with an aching passion.”

John remembered to breath, and tried to speak. Nothing came out.

“Passion, John. Did you know that the pineapple used to be called the passion fruit? That’s why I had this one made especially for you. Look at the pineapple John. It symbolizes the passion I’ve always truly felt for you”

John tore his eyes from the lovely hallucination – it HAD to be a hallucination, did it not? This could not be real? He looked at the pineapple. He recognized a familiar smell underlying the essence of Jungle Rape perfume that Violet had doused herself with. My God he loved that scent. But the other odor…marzipan? Yes.

Violet was speaking: “See the little green ring, John?”

John nodded.

“The pineapple is like an old talking Chatty Kathy doll, John. You pull the ring, and it will talk to you. It will give you a special message from me that I’m too shy to deliver just yet. Perhaps later tonight, when we know each other better, then I’ll be able to speak more openly.”

“I’m going now John, wait t’ill I’ve left, and then listen to my message. I’ll call you when I get home and then, well later I’m going to make you a very happy man, John Yearly, if you will still have me that is”

Violet twirled once, her tiny skirt rose instantly, eau d’ stripper permeated the air. She slipped through the door and strode quickly to the Jeep, eased into the passenger seat. Delacroix had the vehicle rolling before she could close the door.

“You’re good Sugah,” Delacroix said, evidently back in Bayou mode. “Four minutes 15 seconds, your first time out. Did he say anythin’?”

“Puh. Pineapple. I don’t think there was any blood left in his head.”

They were 50 yards down the driveway. Delacroix brought the Jeep to a halt.

 “Honey you might want to keep an eye on the house back there. I do believe Mr. Yearly may have a violent reaction to our little message.”

Delacroix twisted around to watch as well.

John Yearly stood at his window. He watched Violet get in the jeep, watched it roll away. There was something heavy in his hands. He looked at it. It was the pineapple. He shook his head, walked to his desk and placed Violets gift in the center of it. Violets gift? Impossible. But there it was. A symbol of passion, a message just for him.

He placed one hand lightly on top of the marzipan sculpture, grasped the green ring, pulled gently. Nothing happened. He pulled a little harder and the ring came loose in his hand.

No one spoke to him.

He looked at the ring. There was no pull cord attached. Instead, the ring connected to an inch of flexible wire, which in turn connected to a smaller ring, which connected to a short steel shaft. It looked vaguely familiar and yet, not.

Shaking his head he looked at the sculpture and froze. It was moving! Ever so slowly one side was beginning to bulge. Yearly took a step back. Something was alive in there, and it wanted to get out.

Out in the Jeep, Violet knelt on the seat looking out the back window, oblivious to the fact that her nearly naked butt was deliciously framed by the windshield. She looked questioningly at Delacroix but the woman just shrugged, eyes glued to the hovel.

 “Keep watchin’ Honey, wait for it…”

Yearly’s pulse was racing but reason was beginning to take over. So that was the bitches game, he should have known. What could be in there, he wondered. A corral snake? A giant venomous spider? A huge scorpion? Whatever it was he would deal with it, and then by God he’d deal with Violet.

The side of the sculpture let go all at once. Something leaped out, struck the wall, ricocheted from the ceiling and dropped to the desk. Yearly stared at in horrified recognition. He leaped…

Violet saw, for just a fraction of a second, brilliant light flare in the windows of John’s office.  All the windows in the house blew out at once, there was loud, but not deafening, WHOOMP!  Glass and other debris flew in all directions; some of it pinged harmlessly off the Jeep. Something struck the rear window with an audible splat. It looked a lot like marzipan.

“Jesus Christ!” Violet said. “What happened?”

Delacroix put the car in gear and drove away slowly, but said nothing.

Violet stared at her for a long minute. Then, she leaned back in her seat, laid her head back, and closed her eyes.

A few seconds later she said, very softly, “shit.”

“Shit, shit SHIT! That was a bomb! I just blew up John Yearly!” Violet looked stunned. “I killed John Yearly! He’s dead.”

“Probably is,” Delacroix agreed, “How does that make you feel?”

Violet stared at her for a long time.

“Actually”, she said. “not that bad, considering, I mean what he is and all. Was, I mean. But dam it you tricked me into that you lying BITCH and I’m the one going to prison!”

“No,” said Delacroix gently, “you are not.”

“Why not? Even in Catalpa you can’t go around blowing up Yearlys every time you feel like it!”

“Ah don’t see why not but Violet, you were never there. You were home all day. You never left the house. You won’t know anything about this until somebody tells you and then you only know what they tell you, and after that you only know what gets reported in the news, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nobody saw you leave, nobody saw you at Yearlys, and there isn’t a neighbor within 300 yards of him and its all woods in between. Hell if anybody heard the grenade at that distance they’ll just think it was a hunter. They might not find the creep for days if that blast doesn’t start a fire. I mean, who is gonna miss him after all?”

“You wore gloves so there are no fingerprints. There are prints on the pineapple, but there is no pineapple any more. There is no DNA, no witnesses and no reason to suspect you at all. Honey would reach back there in that cooler and grab me one of those can’s? Take one for yourself you earned it.”

Violet didn’t move for perhaps 10 seconds, then muttered something Delacroix, fortunately,  did not catch and leaned over the seat, popped the cooler.

“Schlitz. Isn’t that just effing fabulous? I just loves me a cold Schlitz after a hot murder.”

But when she turned back, Violet had a can for each of them. She popped one, handed it to Delacroix and then popped hers. The two women looked at each other. Delacroix extended her can. Violet shook her head, but then clinked hers to Delacroix’s.”

“Here’s lookin’ up your record!” said the older woman. They both drank. “Well Honey here we are, safe and sound at your own little crib, and its time for me to be long gone. Is there anything you want to know before I move out?”

“Yes! Where did you really get that bomb?”

“Well Violet Ah told you! Father Muldoon. Father Patrick, Paddy, Three Fingers Muldoon, known to his friends as Boom Boom Muldoon. Electronics wizard and former top IRA bomb man, he just happened to have a few M67HE Frags in the basement and that is what Barkmann stuffed the pineapple with.”

“He really does love children; the good Father does bless his heart. Now you ought to get to know the dear man when all of this blows over, if you ever need to get in touch with me he will know how.”

Violet snorted at that. “One thing you didn’t think of. Everybody knows I had trouble with Yearly. I’ll be the first one they look at.”

Delacroix shook her head. “First thing that will come out is who he really was, and then there will be lists of hardened criminals or vengeful victims or relatives of victims with good reason to off the bastard. Everybody knows little ol’ Violet wouldn’t fart in church let alone drop a frag on someone. And where would you get one anyway?”

“Now you get inside, burn everything you have on and that strip of skirt in your bedroom as well. Give me back the shoes though I like those shoes.”

“Violet slid out of the Jeep, walked around to the drivers side. The window was down. Violet drank more beer.

“It really is not that awful.” She said. She removed the shoes one at a time and passed them over. I’ve got to get inside I’m nearly naked and my C’s are starting to freeze in the breeze.”

Delacroix chuckled. “Good luck, Violet.” She offered her hand through the window.

“Stay the hell away from me, you freakin’ maniac.” replied Violet, and took it.

The Jeep slowly circled the house, turned left and rolled on into the deepening twilight.

Violet shook her head, looked at the beer in her hand and drained it. She shivered and entered the kitchen. She had clothing to burn, brownies to make. She had a conscience to wrestle with and she had a feeling that would be a tough fight.

There was also the perpetual problem of Vic and Dick to be brought to some kind of conclusion. At some point during the course of the day, that problem had become much less daunting.


©2013 Mac Pike All Rights Reserved

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