SAILING WITH EARDROP FISH copyright 2011 m.s.

      We built the boat, Archie and I, out of  one thousand tiny Eardrop fish. Each one we called to the shore with Archie's Uncle Gilbert's giant conch shell. The queen of the Ocean appeared,asking what we would do with the fish. Achie told her of the splendid boat we would build and sail the ocean of a million keys. She made us promise to never harm the fish intentionally. We agreed, and she held her ringed fingers in the air so the glimmer from the sun could hypnotize the Eardrop fish. She told us lead the fish where we wanted them to be placed by whistling happy tunes. Afterwards, my lips were sore and the happy tunes leveled off in favor of mindless noise. no matter, as long as our intentions were happy, they obeyed.

     We sailed the Ocean of keys to many far away places. All the adventures engulfed in sporadic haze.

      I awoke, looked at the clock. It read 3:25 A.M. I sat up in my bed, took a sip from a glass of water. I felt something hard jabbing me in hip. i reached into my pajama pocket and pulled out a golden skeleton key, shimmering in the moonlight.

DARK SKIES copyright2011 m.s.

Darren watched his wife dress for Tennis and immediately knew that they would not have dinner with Foreman’s tonight. After twenty years, he was still attracted to Lois. She hadn't aged much, even in her fifties. He stroked her short blond hair and kissed her neck. She turned to him and brushed him off.

“Darren! Knock it off! I'm going to be late, and you know how Mildred feels about tardiness.” She rose from the bed and slipped her short white Tennis skirt over her plump hips.

Darren touched her back with a finger, tracing her backbone. She wiggled away from him. She rushed to find her shoes.

“I'm off dear,” Lois grabbed her racquet and bag. “Will you be okay, lunch and all?”

“Of course,” He layed on the bed, tensed up. “I'm not a child. I can do things for myself.”

“Good. I'll see you in a few hours.” Lois exited the bedroom in three long strides, Darren chased after her.

“Lois, oh, Lois!” He called out in a panic.

She turned to him, nearly braining Darren with her racquet. “What, dear?”

“Let's stay in tonight....eh?” He raised his eyebrows, winked.

She stared at him stone faced, Darren repeated the actions a few more times.

“Is that all you think about—sex?” She went to the door, Darren grabbed her shoulder. “Darren, tonight I have a sneaky suspicion you will be taking a cold shower and I will have a headache. See you later.”

“Wait---” The door was slammed in his face, almost catching his nose. “It's not much to ask for.....really.”

Just then Darren heard something like a loud crackle., a pop. He thought it was one of those noisy jets cutting across the sky which is the norm around that area. He rushed to the window. Something definitely was slashing already darkened skies. Moving faster than anything he'd ever seen, it was leaving a trail of pink, green, and orange fire behind it. And when it fell, it shook his house and Ron Gorman's . Gorman lived side by side, so close, you couldn't squeeze a penny between the two. Darren also couldn't help watch Gorman's wife dress and undress from time to time.

Darren rushed outside. He met Gorman in the backyard. There was a hole in the ground just sitting on both yards, the hole as deep as a swimming pool. It looked like black pepper surrounded the hole, only the specks were glowing a little. The sky cleared up, bright sunshine came through dark clouds and the blue pallet returned.

“Weird,” Gorman rubbed his huge belly with a hand, then ran than hand through a thick helmet-shaped hair well styled with loads of hairspray. “I guess it was a comet of sort.”

Darren sighed. He shook his head. “All those years, going into space and dropping off all that damn trash.....Where is everybody? Didn't anybody else see this thing fall?”

“Trash?” Gorman challenged Darren. It was how all their conversations began and Darren hated that about Gorman, and that silly hair of his. “They really dumped trash out in space? The rest of the neighborhood went to that Greek festival, I think.”

“Didn't I just say that?”

“Yeah but I don't believe it.”

“You better believe it. You think your government is nice and pristine.”

Gorman snarled. “Some one has to support the country.” Gorman picked up a shovel that had been laying beside a now defunct rose bush.

The specks of orange surrounding the hole began to sizzle, the dirt turned smoke.

“You mean a country that makes sure fat cats like you get all the benefits and the small guy gets a happy meal and a bus ride to his minimum wage job.” Darren said intensely. Gorman raised the shovel and swung at Darren, barely missing him. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“I can't stand you liberal panty-wearing shitheel! You turn everything good into a decrepit spin cycle to your own liking! I don't want to hear how bad things are because we are terrible people for working hard for what we have---” He swung again and caught Darren across the the bridge of his nose. Blood spurted out, ran down to his mouth, covering his chin. Darren fell hard on his back. He lay there trying to get his senses right, vision slightly blurred.

Gorman swung again, Darren rolled to the right, the shovel drove deep into the ground. “Look, Gorman, I'm sorry I upset you--”

“Screw you! Your a fat cat, too! You pinko! You live in this neighborhood with the rest of us so-called Robber-barons!” He came down again, the shovel sliced away flesh from Darren's left arm. Darren screamed out, a shrill cry that caused the birds in a nearby tree to take flight. Darren curled both legs in the air and kicked Gorman in the stomach.

Gorman dropped the shovel and fell to his knees. He began crying. “I don't know what's gotten into me.....” He sobbed.

Darren picked up the shovel. He stood behind Gorman, raised the shovel and swung like he was hitting a baseball. “I know what's coming off!” The shovel cut right through Gorman's neck, his head fell to the ground and rolled into the hole. Gorman's body was still sitting there teetering one to the other. Darren kicked him and Gorman too fell in the hole.

“Darren?” He heard Lois call out. She came out the backdoor. “You know I've been calling for you---the game has been canceled—no one showed up—what the hell happened here?”

She walked past Darren and approached the hole slowly.

“Just a meteorite of some kind, dear.” Darren said, gripping the handle of the shovel.

“Strange,” She said. “Hey it looks like George Washington.....” She looked further. “There's something else down there--” Her eyes became wild and her mouth formed an O, but Lois choked on her scream.

“You have always been a selfish bitch....” Darren lift the shovel high above him and came down hard on Lois' head. It split open like a over ripe melon.

The specks around the Meteorite hole lit up and glowed like a Brite-lite game. The ground sizzled and the specks turned into an orange ooze that spread quickly to Darren's feet. It enveloped his body and soon Darren had become a walking, glowing light fixture, walking across the lawn to the next house, still holding the blood stained shovel in his hands.

THE MOVIE copyright 2011 m.s.

     

           They  move in drones, single file like cattle to be butchered.

I followed them, these people on the street, walking in slow motion toward movie theater.
Each one with their blank stare, feeble minded, awaiting their next command by a higher control. Feelings are harvested as well as thoughts and ground into pillars of salt to be carried by the wind into the next void.

           At the ticket booth, no tickets are purchased. You show them your wrist and they tag you with irrelevant numbers. You are given a special pair of glasses by the usher. The lens on the glasses are blacked out, but no matter. You step onto a conveyer belt and taken to your seat, where you are strapped in.

          Mere minutes late, the film starts.

          The scenes move so quickly, your not sure what your seeing. The dark glasses reflect smaller scenes inside the ones that are already taken in by your brainwaves.

           The music is pulsating, your heart throbs, your ears deafen into a single white noise. Then you really start to focus.

          A woman kisses a man. Then begins eating the man's head, regurgitates him into several smaller beings that soon drill tiny holes into her bruised face. A white cloud rolls by, and a booming voice tells you the laws that humans are really suppose to abide by.


           Seen, not heard.

            I start to panic. Scream, curse. Kick the seat in front of me. Try as hard as I can to set myself free.

            The Ushers appear. Three of them with large talon hands grip my arms and drag me out of the theatre to a brightly lit room. they place me on a cold steel table and remove my retinas. They replace them with an orange liquid that gels up in my eyes.

            When I'm released, I see everything in a much brighter and happier episodes of television.

DEAD END FRIENDS copyright2011 m.s.

She walked by, the air was consumed by perfume. She was a tall brunette

with legs up to her neck. She dressed like she had money, only you never know when a broad has money or not. Many times I've sat at Nicky's and had a couple of drinks when a squeeze would pop in, only looking for a John. I was standing on the street corner reading the evening paper, when she caught my eye. Nothing but bad news in the city rag. So I folded the paper under my arm and strolled behind her. She was fast, those luscious legs pumping furiously. I kept up. Once in a while those big brown money-eyes would look behind her and see how close I would get.

She had her purse under arm, the damned thing was definitely worth more than what was in my bank account. At the moment, I was in between jobs. But she swung her arms in unison with her long strides. I followed her for about three blocks. Finally, the twist turned to me angrily.

“Why are you following me?” Her nose twitched as the steam rose from her forked tongue.

I tipped my hat, smiled sideways. “Mam, I don't know what your talking about.”

“Don't give me that 'aw, shucks' crap, bub. Your following me and I want to know why. Did Lonnie hire you?”

I didn't know a Lonnie. Something told me to play this hand. I shrugged. “Well.....it ain't much----”

“Look, I 'll give you double to go back to him and tell him you saw me go in the library and I was there for a few hours, reading. Okay?”

“Yeah...sure.”

“How much?” She was biting that plump lower lip that sported candy apple red lipstick. I wanted to bite those lips for her, have a taste.

I smiled sideways again. “Forty.” I lied. A talent I picked up from my old man, just one of many in a long line of champion liars in my god forsaken family—if that’s what you could call a family.

“Say,” steam rose from that forked tongue again. “This is not a con, is it? Because if it is----I know people who could hurt you real bad---”

“Lady, the con game is not my style.”

She looked me up and down. Then she reached into that designer purse and counted out four twenty's. She shoved the greenbacks into my chest.

“Gee, thanks. Maybe I could buy you drink now. We could go to Tumblin' Dice, afterward if you're feeling daffy, get a room.”

She smiled, stepped forward. I was ready, she parted her lips slightly, then puckered up. A large wad of phlegm sailed over and hit me square in the left eye and the bridge of my nose. She was stewing. I didn't even want to hit her, I just started laughing, wiped the glob away. Behind me, somebody else chimed in with laughter. Yeah, it was a riot, me and her act.

She stormed off, looked back at me, a glimmer in here eye. I made an impression. At my feet I noticed a small black cylinder with a cross engraved on it. It must have fallen out of her purse when she gave me the money. It fit into the palm of my hand, burned slightly.

I looked around and saw it was Little Jimmy, paper boy I've known since he was six, at the time the only black kid in my neighborhood. He was a good guy, especially for info on people he knew, and Jimmy knew a lot of marks out there. I quickly shoved the small cylinder in my coat pocket.

“Pete,” He tried to catch his breath, had a bad case of the giggles. I walked over to where he had his newspaper stand set up. I dwarfed him, and I tell you, I'm only five-six. “You know who that was?”

“Mary Magdalene?” I quipped.

“Close,” He shoved a stick of gum into his small mouth, chewed reverently. “That is Maggie Conolly.”

I did a double take. “You know her?”

“Sure I do,” He sat behind the stand on a stool too big for him. “She and Mr. Conolly employ me from time to time for errands.”

“They get you to get things from the top shelf for them,” I chuckled.

“Makin' fun of my height, ain't cool, Pete.”

“I'm sorry, Jimmy. Don't know what came over me.”

“I do,” He said. “ She belittled you, doin' the same to me makes you feel better. It's the way it is. No, I get things from the store for them. Go to drugstore, take messages for them to others.”

“Sounds like a spiffy job. He really owns half the city?”

“Yeah....I once took a letter to the Mayor explaining that he was to clear Dove street for that new highrise. You see the construction began two months ago.”

“It sure don't look like a highrise.”

“Whatever it is,” Little Jimmy said. “It's a building.”

I said my goodbye to Jimmy and turned on my heels, walked south on Ventura. I was headed to the drugstore, lunch sounded great at the moment. When I opened the door, everyone yelled my name. Gina was the waitress, none too happy to see me. Last week I had to stand her up, too many people were looking for me, wanted some money. She walked over to the lunch counter with loads of attitude resting on those ample breasts. Other than those perky girls, Gina’s red hair and green eyes had an effect on me. She always gave me a rise when I sitting on the curb.

“Look everybody, a freeloader just stumbled through the door,” She through a menu in my face.

“Why hello, Gina, dear . Hows tricks these days?” I pushed the menu on the counter, looked to my right and an old cowhand had his long white beard in his tomato soup. I nodded to him, he looked the other direction.

“You got a lot of nerve showing up here, you cretin!” Gina thrust her breasts into my neck, almost cutting off my air.

“I missed you, baby----” She grabbed me by my white tie and jerked me forward. That's when I really did choke.

“Gina!” I heard Ray's voice from behind the counter. She let go of my tie. “Go clear booth thirteen, now!”

“Hey, thanks, Ray.” I smiled at him, but his sour look kept me from saying anything else. Suddenly I was a bum without friends.

I looked around, saw dirty looks from others at their booths, and more from people at the counter. I slipped off my stool slowly and made way for the door as quietly as possible. Out on the sidewalk my shoes motored down the alley and out back of the playground. I was heading back to two-bit room on the lower side. Hoping like hell nobody else hassled me on the way.

I saw Maggie Conolly hanging around the building I rented my room. She was talking to Sledge, my Landlord. I felt for my smokes, touched that cylinder. As I walked up on them I lit a cig. Sledge turned to me. He looked guilty, so I blew smoke in his face.

“Hows your hammer hanging,Sledge?” I moved in closer with the intent to do harm.

“You better stay where you are, Chambers! I didn't tell her nothin', cept your a bum! Everybody knows that!” He ran with his tail between his legs. Sledge disappeared into his office, peeking through the blinds at us.

Maggie turned to me, still steaming. “I want it back!” She screamed in my face. I saw those brown eyes turn pitch black. Goosebumps rose up on my arms. I backpedaled away from her.

“I don't know what your talking about ,sister. Just back off,” I held up my hands, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“It chose you when you took that black cylinder,” She whispered. “You have the mark of the inverted cross.”

“What chose me?” I said rolling my eyes.

“G'nal, a demon. You give it five souls a year, for as long as your alive, it will keep you from harm's way.”

“You been reading the funny papers, haven’t you?”

She seemed to calm down. “Is there anywhere we can go to talk privately, Mr. Chambers?” She flashed a nervous smile.

I looked at her incredulously. “Yeah...my room, I suppose.”

I turned the key to unlock my front door, when I saw Hemlock, the Police chief with Ragdale searching my room with three blues. I came in, laughed. Mrs. Conolly followed, then tried to leave, I slammed the door in her face and pulled her front and center.

“Boys, boys....you should have called first. You see I have brought a lady friend.” I took my coat off, threw it on Ragdale's face. He pushed it off, threw it to the floor.

“You wanna get rough, Jerk off!” He took his billy club out and moved closer to me. The police chief put his hand on Ragdale's shoulder. He stayed put like the well trained dog he was. I hated Ragdale. Never a concern for the constitution, and all citizens were criminals to him. Every time I've been busted, he was the arresting officer. In county lockup I would sit in my cell nursing a new injury courtesy of that rat bastard.

“We're here on business, Mrs. Conolly. It's none of our---” Hemlock tried to speak as if he'd went to college, but the only school he'd been to was obedience school.

“Your right, chief, it isn't your business why I'm here. My husband would be interested in knowing why your harassing our employee.” She and I exchanged looks. I smiled sideways and shrugged at the chief.

“He is a suspect in murders, mam,” Ragdale said dryly. “Mass murders.”

“What murders?” I snarled.

“At the drugstore, wiseguy! You were the last one seen inside Harley's drugstore at around noon today. When a customer entered right after you, thirteen people were dead!”

“I can't believe it....Ray is dead.....Gina?” I staggered a little. It had to be a cruel joke. I sat in my chair by the TV., slumping down. They were good people. I didn't get it. Who and why? I must have been talking out loud, because Hemlock spoke in a growl.

“Believe it, Chambers. We just can't see how you carried it off.....thirteen people mauled to death...torn to ribbons.....the blood....so much blood.....”

“He had accomplices!” Ragdale barked. He grabbed me and pulled my arms behind my back. He had a pair of handcuffs ready to slap them on when my room was filled smoke so thick the person next to you disappeared in it. When the smoke cleared, G'nal appeared. The demon was just as tall as I was, about six foot, but it was stocky, boils all over it's sickly green skin. His two large hands were really just long extended claws. His legs were bent and deformed as if he'd had polio, he had no feet, just hooves like a Clydesdale. His face was long and pointed, eyes wide and bulging out of it's sockets, the nostril was just a slit and his mouth had several small sharp teeth that rested inside large black gums. The color of it's eyes were a burnt umber. He had no horns, which if you'd said a demon was going to visit me, I would have had a vision of a creature with horns like the devils.

Everyone froze where they were, awaiting the worst. Mrs. Conolly clung to me, crying.

Ragdale lay on his big belly, praying to God. The two beat cops were dead. G'nal had slaughtered them, both had been split in half, their torso's laying on top of each other like in a trash heap. Hemlock stood like a statue, eyes wild, grimacing.

G'nal spoke, I thought the walls were going to cave in, the whole building shook. “Master...” He was inches from my face. I immediately puked. The smell from his breath was a mixture of death and too much perfume. “Shall I continue the carnage....or as I read your thoughts...spare the lowest of the low?”

I got myself together. Wiped vomit from my mouth, spoke slowly. “Do as I thought...the way you read them.”

“As you wish....it is my gift...only I hoped our first meeting would had been...in calmer times.”

“Let's try to keep all of our future meetings calmer, eh, bub?”

“Of course, Master. Per our agreement, you provide the stated amount of souls a year, I will provide the protection.”

I nodded. He asked if that was all for now, and you bet your ass I said it was all, and quickly pointed out that I may never need him again. G'nal laughed. The windows in my room shattered, glass fell to the floor like raindrops.

As the smoke enveloped G'nal, he said: “That, Master, is an impossibility.”

After several moments of silence, the rest took time to get themselves together. Hemlock and Ragdale helped each other toward the door.

“Chambers,” Hemlock said, composing himself, still grimacing. “We will arrange for some one to pick up the deceased. And if you'd like to, file a report of some kind, if not, then fine.”

“I don't think so,” I said.

Hemlock nodded. He took Ragdale by the arm, led him out the room. I heard Ragdale say, “I think it's a good idea to stop in and see Father Craig, don't you, sir?”

“Sure thing, Ragdale. Sure thing.”

I looked over at Mrs. Conolly, she huffing a cigarette. “Looks like things are looking up for you, Chambers.” She said.

“I doubt that,” I helped her to the door, and in the hallway. “Especially in the afterlife.”

In the morning I saw Little Jimmy, hawking the morning paper. He called my name, I went to him.

“Want a paper, Chambers?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.” I threw some money down, but he gave it back.

“It's on the house,” He said.

That was when I noticed that Little Jimmy's eyes were a burnt umber.

D.B. DUCKcopyright 2011 m.s.

On the eve of Thanksgiving in 1971, a Duck carrying a black attache case, purchased a one way ticket from Northwest Orient Airlines. He boarded flight 305, a thirty minute trip from Portland to Seattle, Washington. He went directly to the rear cabin and lit a cigarette. The stewardess approached the Duck with big smiles and even bigger busts saying hello.

“I'd like a bourbon,” He said. “With soda.”

The stewardess, giggled and shook her gray fuzzy tail. “Sure thing, Doc,” She said. D.B. Watched her wiggle down the aisle. She sure looks familiar, he thought to himself.

A woman looked at the Duck from across the aisle, noticing he was wearing dark sunglasses, loafers, a dark suit, a lightweight raincoat. On his tie was a Mother of Pearl pen. The stewardess returned with his bourbon. “Here you go, Doc,” She smiled big.

In exchange for the bourbon, D.B. Handed her a note. She placed the small piece of paper down her bra and said, “Fresh.”

D.B. Looked bewildered. “Say,” He said, “Miss, you better look at that note. I have a bomb.”

“Oh,” The smile disappeared, her posture became rigid when she realized what D.B. Said.

The stewardess read the note aloud. “I have a bomb in my briefcase....i will use it if I have to. You are being hijacked.....Say, Doc, I think you misspelled hijacked...it's h-i-j-a-c-k-e-d...not h-i-g-h----”

“Just sit down,toots! Your despicable.” D.B. Tore the note from her hands. She sat beside him.

“Can I see the bomb, Doc,” She whispered.

D.B. Opened the briefcase just long enough to show eight red cylinders attached to wires. Then he closed it, laughing diabolically.

“I want 200,000 dollars unmarked in 20's. Two back parachutes and two front parachutes. When we land, I want a fuel truck ready to refuel. No funny stuff, toots, or I'll finish the job.”

The stewardess let the cockpit know of the orders. Everything was in place. Plane refueled. Money given to D.B. Many of the passengers were aloud to leave. The plane was in air again. Now it was pitch black. He told the cockpit he wanted to go to Mexico City. At 8:00 P.M., the aft light flashed in cockpit, showing that the AFT door was open. The stewardess heard D.B. Say, “So long, suckers!” And he began to laugh.

D.B. Was out the plane, hovering in the air, mere seconds later he pulled one rip cord. No parachute engaged, only pots and pans flew into the clouds above him. D.B. Was bewildered. He pulled another rip cord, and more pots and pans and now a kitchen sink flew into the clouds. His drop was steady. He pulled the other two rip cords and more of the same blew past him, including a cow that mooed.

D.B. Held up a sign that showed a picture of a jack-ass and an arrow pointing at him.

He screamed as his peril became more dire, hitting the earth at speed his mind could not compute. He was flattened like a pancake.

The stewardess watched the whole thing. She removed her blonde wig and revealed long bunny ears. “Ain't I a stinker,” She said.

TWO OF A KIND copyright 2011 m.s.

They were sitting in Smokey's having coffee, not saying word, staring at each other like staring at their own reflection. Jeff and Kyle had grown up twenty miles from each other, different parents, different friends, owning the same face. They were dressed similar, blue suits, white ties. Jeff had gold cufflinks, a present from the Insurance company for most sales in a year,  that was the only difference.

“I guess I should break the ice,” Kyle said after a lengthy silence.

Jeff smiled. “ I guess you should,” He took a sip of his coffee and waited. When Kyle didn't continues, Jeff held his hand up, asking kyle to continue.

Kyle laughed, shrugged. “It was a little strange when you called.”

“It was stranger when I passed you on the sidewalk two weeks ago. It's not everyday you see someone with your FACE attached to their body.”

Their waitress showed up again, arms folded. “Can I get you two anything else?” She looked unhappy, even though there was a forced smile on her face. Actually it was a strain. She looked as if she'd lived a hard life, but Kyle didn't want to jump to conclusions. He still thought maybe she'd been a junkie at one time.

“I do believe I would like a piece of cherry pie,” Jeff spoke up.

The top of the waitresses head opened up like the trunk of a car. Out of the pitch black inside, two hands rose up holding a pen and a notepad, immediately wrote down Jeff's order. “How about you, doll?” She said to kyle.

“Oh...sure. Cherry pie is fine.” He nodded.

The hands wrote down the order and disappeared in the in the dark corners of her mind. The top of her head closed slowly. “Okay. Two cherry pie slices coming up,” She said as her salt shaker shape body walked away.

Kyle spied a group of Mimes sitting at a table across from them. They all sported fur coats and rings on every finger. One Mime had a steak knife cleaning his fingernails, while the another was cleaning his .45. The conversation from the group turned very loud and intense regarding their “stable” of women that earn their living on the streets.

Kyle looked away. Jeff tapped the table with a finger. “Have you been listening to me?” He said.

“Oh! Yes,” Kyle cleared his voice. “You, uh, said your Father was a pharmacist?”

“Yeah,” Jeff sipped his coffee. “My mother drove a bus. What did your Father do?”

“He owns Newspaper companies. Print is dead is sacrilegious to him.”

“And your Mother?”

“Mothers.”

The salt and pepper shakers levitated and floated around their heads.

“Oh,” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“My Father was married four times. This last one has lasted ten years, she's only six years older than me.”

Jeff snickered. Soon the waitress brought the slices of pie. She set the plates down gingerly, waddled away.

“What do you do?” Kyle took a bite of his pie, chewed, then made a sour face. He put his fork down and pushed his plate away.

“I'm a salesman.” Jeff broke off huge chunks of pie with his fork.

He was pleased with his pie and it showed in the enthusiastic way he was eating.

“What is it you sell?” Kyle so wanted a cigarette, but would not risk being shot on sight by a policeman if he lit up in a restaurant.

In the corner of the restaurant, in a booth, a woman and a wolf were making love very loudly.

“Body parts,” Jeff said nonchalantly. “You know, mostly kidneys, arms, livers. The occasional brain, but I don't think those transplants really work.”

“Yes,” Kyle sighed. “I suppose they don't.”

“What about you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh come on. A person has to do something.”

Kyle shook his head. “Not me.”

“How do you live? You need---”

“Money. I live off my Father. He has plenty. And I found out recently, that if you have influence, you can do whatever you want.”

Outside on the street, a gang of headless thugs chased a man down and tore him to pieces. They took the pieces of flesh and stapled it to the restaurant’s door, wrote graffiti with his blood.

“What do you mean by that?” Jeff had a sheepish smile on his face.

The wall's began to breathe in and out, leaving a low moan as mood music.

“Well. I was driving through a sleepy desert town at two in the morning last year and I swerved into someones yard, a ratty place, full of old tires stacked to heaven and broken down cars everywhere. I swerved and killed a young boy. I wrote a check out to the parents for ten thousand dollars. Then I called the family lawyer and he called the town mayor and the family was moved out of their home that they'd lived in for twenty years. The place was condemned. Bulldozed over, and land sold for a shopping center.”

“That wasn't very nice. They got to keep the money though.”

“No,” Kyle said, “I had the father arrested for forgery.”

“You are a rotten bastard.” Jeff proclaimed.

“So I am told very often.” Kyle admitted.

“Well, I must be off. Meeting my girl outside.” Jeff stood, looked out the restaurant’s window. A woman and her Siamese twin attached at the shoulder was waving at him. Jeff waved back.

“Is that her?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff nodded. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

“More often than you know,” Kyle replied. Jeff turned and was out the door. He took his girl's arm and headed down the street. Kyle began to laugh, everyone in the restaurant joined in.

Kyle closed his eyes. When he reopened them he was alone, leaning against the wall of his white room, trying to get comfortable in his straight jacket.

CANARY copyright 2011 m.s.

Known as the Jezebel of Jazz, Anita O' Day was a jazz vocalist from the mid 1930's till the 1960's that took Bee bop to a new height. She wasn't without her problems, though. Nearly abandoned by parents who saw her as excess baggage, she fled her home to become a marathon dancer at the age of twelve and began singing for tips. She changed her name from Colton to O' Day which came from the Pig Latin for dough, of course the slang meaning for money.

As a child she had a botched surgery on her tonsils which resulted in the removal of her Uvula, that  left her incapable of vibrato, unable to hold long phrases. Anita had to develop a more percussive style based on shorter notes and rhythmic drive. She was admired for sense of rhythm and Improvisation. She often worked into  the act, “Four” by Miles Davis, taking one of the parts of the saxophone, vocalizing what sound the instrument would make.

Her first real gig was at the Off-beat club, backed by Max Miller quartet. She became Vocalist for Gene Krupa, cutting thirty-four sides. Anita had a novelty hit duet with Roy Elderidge in 1941, “Let me off uptown”.

She had another hit with Krupa, “Thanks for the boogie ride”. After Krupa was busted for a possession of pot in 1943, the band broke up. Anita found herself with Woody Herman band. She did a month long gig at the Palladium, but was unwilling to tour with another big band. She finished the year out as solo. Soon, Anita joined Stan Kenton in 1944. With Kenton she recorded twenty-one sides and appeared in Universal short film Artistry in Rhythms. Anita had a huge hit with “And her tears flowed like wine”, which put Kenton on the map. She rejoined Krupa in 1945, but left again in 1946.

What secured Anita in Jazz history are her seventeen albums she recorded for Verve and Norgran labels between 1952 and 1962. Anita O' Day sings Jazz was a critical success and boosted her popularity.

This was also the year that her life changed in a strange way. Her troubles were always there, two bad marriages, a backstage rape and a couple of pot busts. But it's this event that led to a harder drug.

After a two night stint at the Call of the Wild club in San Francisco she went back to her hotel, Sunrise. She had sent word she wanted her bags and trunk ready for her leave, back on the road for another show in New York. She received a call from her Drummer John Poole to meet her for dinner as a group of Jazz writers were tagging along. Anita decided to retrieve a dress from her trunk. It was then she recognized the trunk as not hers. The trunk was a faded green, not her usual green and tan. Anita was curious as always, opened the trunk.

Inside, she found a woman holding child. They had been mummified, preserved almost exact, only their eyes were hollow, and the child most certainly still nursing. The look on the Mother's face was one of horror and sadness.

Anita dropped the trunk from her hands and screamed. The trunk fell on it's back, the top still open. Anita tried to look away, but could not take her eyes from them. She was drawn to the Mother and child. The child pulled it's lips from the Mother's dried up nipple, and cried out for Anita. She screamed once again., picked herself up from the floor and ran out of her room.

She caught a cab and directed the driver to the Blue belle cafe. In the back of the place she found the writers all sitting around smoking cigars and drinking hooch.

“You missed dinner, Anita,” One of them said.

Anita spoke from across the room with urgency. “Where's John?”

Another writer laughed, pointed to the bathroom. “Bastard's been in there for awhile.”

Anita ran, her heels clicking on the tile floors. She burst in the Men's room with such a force, John thought it was the cops making a bust.

He was in the corner stall, trying to get a vein up for a taste of Heroin.

“Jesus Anita, what are you doing? I almost broke a needle off in my arm,” John said, giving up on finding a good vein.

“I want some,” Anita tried to control her breathing.

He began to argue with her, but decided it was time for Anita to experience what he had been feeling. He untied the rope from his right arm and tied it around her left. A pretty vein popped up in no time. He readied the needle and slowly approached Anita who was now sitting on the toilet.

“Are you ready, Canary?” He whispered, his shadow overpowering her best features. She nodded, sighed.

“I was born ready,” She said. “I've got a lot to forget.”

A couple of months later, Anita O' Day was arrested for possession of Heroin. Fourteen years later, she almost overdosed in a bathroom in an office building in Los Angles, in 1966. She quit for good after that, and lived to the old age eighty-seven.