Pete Chambers 06: Chicken Scratch

By Pete Chambers

~1~

I was sitting at the Quarterpath bar and grill sucking down a lime Fizzy and Jack, when a man in a ripped Chex sport jacket asked if I had a bowl of kidneys. I thought I’d misheard him since that was my third Fizzy and Jack Daniels; and halfway through the first glass, I felt a beam of light from the heavens lift me thirty feet in the air above everyone else.  This old bastard sounded like he’d just swallowed a cigar box of marbles. We eyed each other in the large mirror that sat on the paisley blue wall behind the bar.

“I don’t eat meat,” I slurred. “Pig, cow, chicken,” I added to the lie. “Nor human…..if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The tattered man pushed a silver bowl across the bar counter. It slid toward me at the speed of sixty miles an hour but had the look of a worn-out old jalopy with a drunk behind the wheel. The bowl was slipping and sliding, wobbling, almost jumped off the edges of the counter several times. I looked down and saw kidneys from a human stomach lying in the bowl. Startled, I almost fell off the barstool.

When I gathered myself together, I saw the bowl was gone.

“How…how did you do that?” I asked the tattered man.

“I apologize,” was all he said. “I find it most amusing to screw with people I don’t know. Especially using powers that were bestowed upon me,” he sighed heavily. “Powers I did not want to begin with.”

“You should find another hobby, fella,” I sniffed, turned my back on him. “It might get you killed.”

“Apparently so. Next time you see me,” he shrugged. “I might be in a coffin.”

The bartender approached us, asked if we wanted another drink. I nodded. “Same thing, Chambers?”

“Yeah, Charlie. Thanks,” I handed him my glass.

The old tattered man stared at me. The look on his face was hard to read. A cross my pleasantly surprised and violently anxious.

“What?!” I screamed at him.

“Did that bartender just call you Chambers?”

“Oh, shit,” I whispered. Who knows what this will lead to, I thought. “Yeah,” I told him. “So what?”

“Pete Chambers?” The tattered man said as he sneered at me.

“Well, fucking obviously. How many people in this desperate town have the last name Chambers. Zero.  That’s my fucking curse.” The bartender sat my glass in front of me and I handed him a ten. We nodded to each other.

“I’d like to buy you a drink.” The tattered man informed me.

“Thanks,” I sipped my Fizzy and Jack. “I already have one.”

“I would also like to hire you to kill me.” The tattered man leered at me.

“I’m sorry,” I shook my head. “I don’t do assisted suicides.”

“You wouldn’t actually kill me,” he laughed, sounded a lot like a high-pitched cough after someone had smoked a pack of cigarettes. Then he pointed to a booth in the back of the bar, where a man who looked just like him, even down to the tattered clothes and strained look, sat drinking a gin and tonic. “You’d be killing him.”

I got up and sat in the booth next to the doppelganger. He kept smiling at me until I informed him that it made me nervous.

“I can’t myself,” he said. “It will finally be over.” Then he began to weep. Looking away from me, he apologized. “I’m so happy….I can finally die.”

I shook my head, started to leave. “I’ve seen a lot of weird things lately,” I told him and stood.

“This shit takes the cake. I’m sorry, buddy. I can’t help you.”

“No,” he waved a hand and my legs wouldn’t move. It felt like I was stuck in cement.

“Hey! What the fuck did you just do to me?” I screamed, tried in vain to move around, but no dice.

“Please…you came highly recommended.” He said. “I will remove the spell if you promise to sit and listen to me.”

I nodded in agreement and once again movement came back to my legs. I sat down and asked what his name was.

“My name is Brooks and I need your help badly. Look….you came highly recommended.”

“By who?”

“Maggie Connolly.”

I was stunned. I had to keep my emotions intact. But I struggled like a flopping fish caught in a net. “How do you know Maggie?”

“I’ve had banking business with her husband. I disappeared for ten years and reappeared in this city. I looked her up…..she told about you before…..” he let the sentence trail off. “She said you would help me.”

“I’m just agreeing to listen to you. That’s all.” I told him.

Brooks smiled again and began to tell his story.

~2~

Brooks popped another Adderall and laughed, as he entered the whorehouse in Rodjero, Mexico. Thompson and Farelly followed, bumping into the doorframe, nearly knocking each other down. They were far away from the bank in Austin and neither cared nor worried about anyone knowing about their exploits in this sleepy little village buried deep in the mountains.

~3~

The other day, Thompson flew into Brooks’ office, just about took the door off the hinges off. Brooks was on the phone with Debbie, talking about their impending marriage, the house her Uncle Roy was buying them, and how he was going to move the thousands of books he’d collected over the years into a storage unit.

“Whewwwwwwwwww!” Thompson crooned at the top of his lungs. “We’re going to Mexico, asshole!”

Thompson stiffened, threw a pen at him.

“What did he say?” Debbie asked.

“Look, I’ll have to call you back, honey,” Brooks told her.

“Ned,” She screamed. “You are not going to Mexico this weekend! My mother is expecting us—

“I’ll call you back.”  Brooks quickly hung up. He looked up at Thompson and yelled, “What the fuck is wrong with you! Shut the damn door, asshole!”

Thompson laughed, closed the door to Brooks’s office. Brooks jumped from his chair, rushed to Thompson, ready to strike him. Thompson braced himself and Brooks swung gingerly, laughing.

“You dickhead! Couldn’t wait until I was off the phone with Debbie?”

“Nope. I want her to know about the romantic weekend you have planned with Pete. In case you give her Aids you catch from his stinky asshole.”

Farelly came into the office, feet sliding across the floor. He never wore shoes in the bank. Complained the required footwear bunched his toes together, five hundred dollar leather shoes the bank president and his execs always wore. Truth was, Pete Farelly liked to slide on the bank’s floor in his socks.

“I knew you fags would be in here talking about my asshole,” Farelly said.

Brooks smacked both his friends on the shoulder. “This weekend, no one sleeps. Get it?”

Thompson giggled. “I’ll be getting it. Don’t know about you two fags.”

Farelly tapped Thompson on the chin with a light smack. “Just leave the animal folk alone, buddy. Even dirt-poor Mexicans have standards.”

“Your Mom don’t,” Thompson said. “Speaking of which, I’m surprised she said yes, Pete.”

Thompson sighed. “Lori always says yes. Can’t get enough of this sausage. Oh, and Mom is okay with anything I do, as long as I make her mortgage payments.”

“Hey,” Brooks had a serious look on his face. “Shut up. Don’t talk….business at work.”

The three of them shot each other glances, nodded.

“Now,” Thompson said. “Let’s do some planning—“

“Whorehouse!” Brooks and Farelly chimed together.

~4~

The whorehouse was all reds and blacks. Carpet, wallpaper, furniture, even nude paintings of women in the most pornographic poses imagined, were prints drowned in those colors. But, there was one painting on black silk: Elvis Presley holding a rooster in his hands with a huge halo hanging over his head, Mother Mary groveling at the king’s feet.

Thompson laughed and shook his head, pointing a finger at the painting. “The whole time no one knew that Elvis was the new Messiah.”

Two old Mexican cowhands watched, fuming at the presence of gringos perhaps? Most likely unnerved by the loudmouths that entered their world.

Brooks jabbed Thompson in the ribs with his elbow. “Hey,” he whispered. “Cool it. We don’t want any trouble.”

“That’s right,” Farelly added. “Just some Tequila and cooze!” Farelly and Thompson laughed boisterously, high-fived each other.

“Shut up you two. I mean it,” Brooks scoffed, bit his lower lip. “Nothing worse than getting kicked out of a whorehouse in Mexico. Where’s Paco?”

“Who cares,” Thomson said, looking around the reception area. “Where’s the girls?”

“I agree with Thompson. Hey!” Farelly screamed at the old cowhands. “What do you have to do to get some pussy around here?”

The cowhands shifted their eyes nervously at each other. Neither answered Farelly. A door opened and a heavy set Mexican woman in a glitter-overkill dress stepped into the room. Her hair was frizzy, two tone silver and black, streaks, decorated by multi-colored beads that fell to her bosom.

“That one’s yours, Farelly,” Thompson snickered.

The woman began to speak Spanish and Brooks panicked. “Oh, shit. Somebody find Paco.”

Farelly rolled his eyes. “We don’t need him. I can speak—“

“Almost none of the language. Asshole, go get Paco!”

~5~

Brooks SUV pulled into the driveway of a rundown shack littered with trash and kegs. It looked like a riot in a flea market. Paco’s ’79 Chevy pickup sat in the yard, the only clean thing there.

“What the hell do we need him for?” Farelly asked.

“He knows how to get to this place, Pete,” Brooks said. “Besides, he’s your friend.”

“Not anymore,” Thompson said from the backseat. ELP was playing on the radio, much to Thompson’s dismay. “They had a fallen out about a little redhead going to Texas A&M.”

“That asshole doesn’t need any more women. He’s got half of Austin already.” Farelly sulked, curled his upper lip

“You don’t either,” Brooks laughed. “You’re married, remember?”

“Ah, shut up,” Farelly dismissed the comment with a wave.

A short man with curly black hair and a wife-beater exited the shack, trotted to the SUV.

“There he is,” Brooks said, starting the vehicle.

The front passenger door opened. Paco and Farelly locked eyes.

“Shotgun,” Paco said.

“What?” Farelly laughed. “You can’t call shotgun if the seat is already occupied.”

“Look, man, I called shotgun. Get in the back. I never ride in the back.”

“What are you guys, twelve years old?” Thompson scoffed.

“C’mon, Bro…..I called it,” Paco pressed the issue. “I’ll just—go back in my house….”

“Go back in, who cares…go back in.” Farelly said.

“You’ll never find that place,” Paco shrugged, took out a pack of cigarettes from his front trouser pocket. He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Your choice, homes.” He said to Brooks.

Brooks sighed. He nodded. “You heard the man, Pete,” Brooks motioned toward the backseat. “He called shotgun.”

Farelly was appalled at this betrayal. Thompson erupted into laughter, fell over, clapping his hands. Farelly was incensed. Still, he didn’t argue. He climbed in the backseat, pushed Thompson out of his path.

Paco got in, slammed the door. He took a drag from his cigarette, made a face. “What the hell are we listening to?” He exhaled smoke same time as he spoke.

“That’s what I was asking,” Thompson said.

“Fuck you guys,” Brooks said. “My car, my music. Nothing wrong with Emmerson, Lake, and Palmer. They composed some complicated music.”

“Who needs complications when you’re just looking for a hard on?” Paco said. With his thumb and forefinger, he rolled the knob until he came on to a song with a woman crooning in between guitars and mandolin with upbeat drum patterns. “Yeah!” Paco whooped. “Kelly Willis. That’s what I’m talking about!”

~6~

“This is what I’m talking about,” Paco said, slapped down a photograph of three naked women in an erotic pose with a man on the table. He was sitting across from Brooks in a booth of an upscale bar, nursing a Heineken. Brooks never trusted Paco. He thought he was the most dangerous of all of Pete’s friends that sometimes hovered over the circle. He watched Paco carefully, trying to read the tattoos on his forearm whenever possible. Brooks thought it was odd Paco picked an upscale joint to meet, even odder that he was drinking a Heineken. “We get to have a good time…plus make some money.”

“Why come to me? Aren’t you and Pete friends?” Brooks drained the last of his bud from his glass, waved it around for the waitress to see.

“I’ll get you another one, sir,” She called out from the next table she was serving.

Paco looked around, sighed. “Yeah, Pete and me,” he said slowly. “We’re momentarily on the outs. Whenever we’ve had our business,” Paco flashed a quick smile. “I notice you were the smart one of the three.”

True, Brooks thought. On both accounts. He wasn’t as emotional as Farelly, nor as immature as Thompson. He also loved the Adderall Paco sold him.

“Is that what we’re picking up?” Brooks asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Paco said, amused by the question. “And fuck you, I’m not telling you what we’re picking up. It’s my concern. Better off not knowing anything if we get stopped.”

“I wasn’t hinting at—“

“Yes you were. All of my family is here. We’ve been here in Texas longer than your family, Mr. Maple leaf.”

“So,” Brooks rubbed his bloodshot eyes, let the waitress deliver the beer and move on before saying another word. “Why should I do this? I need convincing.”

Paco looked around, then removed a dusty satchel from the seat beside him, handed it off to Brooks. Brooks peaked inside. A smile crossed Brooks’ face. “That’s a lot of money,” he said.

“Yeah. That’s just for renting that super smooth SUV you got.”

“We have to use my car?”

“Yeah, homes,” Paco chugged the left over Heineken, slamming the bottle on the table. “I can’t be embarrassed. Gotta look sharp.”

~7~

Six girls were led by the fat lady into another room with red and black checkered wallpaper and furniture. All the girls were golden-skinned, light brown or red-tinged hair, wearing white camisole and stockings. All six girls were young, how young, none of the guys knew, and none of them didn’t know for legal reasons. 

Thompson sat next to Farelly, they kept elbowing each other and giggling like teenage boys, an inside joke that Paco and Brooks were not privy to.

“Are they always like this?” Paco said, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Brooks answered with an embarrassed sigh. “Pretty much.”

“How can you put up with it?”

Brooks shrugged. “It’s painful at times. They were the first ones to accept me when I moved down here from Toronto.”

“Yeah? That’s sick if they were the only friends you got. Lucky you got me. I make the whole group cool, like Reggie in Archie’s gang.”

Brooks was surprised by the comment. Paco wanted to be in their circle of friends, and he thought he was the leader. Never mind, they would dump him once this episode was over.

“You know that Reggie was the bad guy in Archie’s group, right?”

Paco stood up, took two girls by the hand, kissed both of them seductively, smiled at Brooks. “What’s your point?” He said.

“You’re taking two girls?” Thompson asked Paco.

“So,” Paco slipped some tongue to the girl on his left. “You and Farelly sharing a girl?”

Thompson and Farelly went white. They exchanged looks. They were both pissed at the suggestion they might experiment in such a way.

“No!” Farelly yelled.

“Fuck you, Paco,” Thompson whispered, grabbed a thin girl with no bust and extremely short hair.

“Hey, C’mon guys…what happens here…stays here…no lies…no truths will be told.”

Farelly laughed. “He’s messin’ with us,” Farelly took the hand of a bigger girl with lots of curves and curly hair in a bun.

Walking to his room, arms around the girl he’d chosen, Brooks saw two figures in black hanging from their doorway. He just caught them from the corner of his eye. He turned, saw it was a very tall woman and a large hunched man in a golden mask that only covered part of his face. Brooks stopped, stared at them. They were wearing chicken claws made of silver hooked to a chain around their necks, which sparkled under the lights in the hallway.

The man and woman watched Brooks cautiously.

The girl he’d chosen opened the door to the room. She said something in Spanish, urging him to go inside. For some reason, Brooks felt drowsy. Even after he’d taken an Adderall just as they entered the whorehouse. He rubbed his eyes, took the clear brown bottle from his jacket, and extracted another pill. He laughed, placed it between his teeth, and bit down. “Coming darling!” He screamed and laughed again. He went inside, the door slammed shut on its own.

~8~

Brooks suddenly awoke. He heard passing cars and laughing from Thompson and Farelly. It took him a few seconds to realize he was in the backseat of his SUV, and Thompson was driving. Some kind of hair-metal was playing on the radio and Thompson and Farelly were singing along with the song, having a grand old time. In the floorboard was a red and black speckled rooster clucking and scratching at the carpet.

Brooks gasped. He instinctively moved his body closer to the seat. “What the fuck is that?!” He screamed.

“Oh, good,” Thompson peered in the rearview mirror at him. “You’re awake. Man, what a trip this has been!”

“I have to admit,” Farelly giggled. “Best time I’ve had in a long time, buddy!”

“Where did this chicken come from?” Brooks breathed heavily. 

“It’s not a chicken,” Farelly said. “It’s a rooster.”

“Whatever! Where did it come from?!”

“You won it,” Thompson laughed. “Boy, you were like some sort of…party animal in Mexico.”

“I don’t remember…much….”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t. Dude, I don’t know how much mescal and peyote you took, but you oughtta be non-coherent from now on.” Farelly passed a beer to Brooks. “Whew! We rocked!”

Brooks opened the beer, guzzled it down. He felt a headache coming on. Then he made another realization. “Where’s Paco?”

They didn’t answer right away. Both shrugged simultaneously. 

“We don’t know,” Farelly said, pained by the question. “After that first night, he disappeared. So did the two girls he was with.”

“Yeah,” Thompson confirmed. “Weird. Just up….and disappeared without a trace.”

Brooks sighed. Oh, no, he thought. Paco got caught stealing the goods whatever it was from whoever he was supposed to be smuggling for. He’s probably dead. Brooks finished off the can of beer and dropped it beside the rooster. The rooster clucked, didn’t even flinch. 

“Brave fucker hanging around us,” Brooks snickered. “We can stop at the border and get rid of this chicken.”

“It’s not a chicken,” Farelly corrected him.

“Whatever the fuck, Farelly! Just get rid of it.”

“We’re past the border. We’re almost in Austin,” Thompson said.

“What? How did you get this past the border cops?”

“They just laughed,” Farelly said. “They mentioned we must have had a good time.”

“Well,” Thompson added. “The one border cop was scared to death. He kept screaming: ‘Go across! Go across, asshole!’ Ma, never seen anyone more afraid of a chicken—“

“It’s not a chicken—“

“Whatever, Farelly!” Thompson and Brooks said at the same time.

~9~

Weeks had gone by, and Paco still had not shown up. Brooks wondered about him, whether he’d gotten across the border with the contraband and decided to keep the rest of the money for himself. Or maybe he got caught at the border and was in custody. Brooks tried to forget the fact Paco still owed him the other half of thirty grand. It didn’t matter. In a week he and Debbie would be married. Brooks had already bought the house her Uncle was going to buy. 

Oh God, Brooks thought. Now I’m going to have to field questions from her Uncle Roy about how he was able to buy the house, where he got the cash. Suddenly, the whole wedding seemed like an awful punishment. I better start making up a lie right now, he told himself. 

Debbie, on the other hand, never asked where he got the money. She was thrilled with the house and considered it their first wedding anniversary. She moved in immediately. But she wasn’t happy about the rooster, which Brooks had taken to naming Rufus.

“That chicken has to go,” Debbie said, one night while they were watching the latest episode of the Bachelor. “I can’t live with a chicken scratching at my feet when I’m not wearing shoes.”

“It’s a sign of affection,” Brooks said.

“No,” Debbie retorted. “That chicken is a keepsake of a dirty disgusting weekend you had.”

“Yep,” Brooks grabbed the remote and switched the channel to the NBA finals. “Wow. Golden State is up by twenty. By the way, it’s a rooster.

“I can see that!” Debbie snuggled up to Brooks, kissed his earlobe. Are you going to tell me about Mexico?” She looked at him suspiciously. 

“No,” Brooks said 

“Why not? How do you know I might laugh at your little adventure?”

“You won’t. It was boring.”

“How…do you know…I might get turned on?” Debbie purred.

“You won’t. You’re too jealous.”

“Ha! You admit something happened!” She poked him in the face.”

“Yeah,” Brooks shrugged nonchalantly. “Farelly puked on Thompson.”

“Oh!” Debbie smacked the sofa. “You are hopeless!”

“Yep,” Brooks agreed, clued in to the game to care if Debbie had stomped upstairs to bed.

~10~

Brooks was in his office waiting for texts from Thompson and Farelly about lunch. Neither of those assholes answered him, which made him think they were not at their branches of the bank. They were out doing something childish and stupid, letting their underlings run the banks. Brooks often wished he hadn’t gone to bat for those idiots, begging Uncle Roy to make them presidents of the banks that were tied in with Brooks bank. 

The office door flew open and Paco walked in. He acted nervous and agitated. His voice was weak, and at times, seemed like it didn’t match his lips when words were spoken.

“Paco! Where the hell have you been?” Brooks was shocked to see him.

“It was a big mistake,” he said, pacing the room. “Man, if only I knew what I was getting into…” he shook his head.

Brooks jumped up from his chair, came from behind his desk. “What are you talking about, Paco? What about the money?”

“Fuck the money,” he started to sob as he closed his eyes. “There’s…there’s more at stake here than fucking money…..”

Brooks sighed.

“Come on man,” Brooks threw his hands up. “What happened? You disappeared—“

“Listen to me, there are things you would never believe….if I told you….damn it to hell…all of us are damned!” Paco screamed, beat the sides of his forehead with both hands repeatedly. Damned! You understand?!”

Brooks stood back. “Yeah…okay…I get it.”

“No,” he continued to sob. “You don’t understand…you…of all people….I have my sins….yes…but you…my friend…you committed the worst sin of all……they are coming for you…..”

Brooks laughed nervously.  His head began to ache. Brooks squinted at the surging pain and then a flash of events entered his mind. A woman’s hand was holding a metal chicken claw, jabbed it into his chest, and carved squiggly shaped lines with thee dots. The image flashed twice more and was gone. Brooks recovered momentarily, shook it off.

“Coming….? Who is coming for me., Paco” Brooks barely managed.

“I make this final warning….because I respect you…..You are damned!” Paco gurgled, his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fell to his knees before disappearing completely.

Now Brooks was afraid. A man had just come into his office, spouted out some silly nonsense, then disappeared. Brooks stumbled back to his desk, sat down clumsily. He sighed, fixed his tie. “What the fuck just happened. He opened the desk drawer, frantically searched it. “Where is it?!” He screamed. The Adderall was gone. He’d just found a bottle he hid in the safe in his den at home so Debbie couldn’t find it. He knew for a fact he brought it with him. He knew for a fact he put it in his desk drawer at the office.

The image of the woman slicing his chest with a metal chicken claw flashed again and Brooks groaned. The image left. He regrouped, looked up, and saw Connie standing in the doorway, staring at him. She leaned against the doorframe and taped her heels on the floor. She was looking at Brooks from overtop of her glasses, clucking her tongue.

“What?” He asked her.

“As my duty as your secretary, I think you should go home.”

“As my duty as your boss, you should come over here and give me a handjob.” Brooks sniffed.

“I can’t do that anymore, Mr. Brooks. You’re getting married.” Connie said.

“It sure as hell would cure this headache,” Brooks told her.

“You men think that sex is the cure for everything.” Connie scoffed.

“I wasn’t talking about sex, Connie. I was talking about release.”

 Connie stepped inside, closed the door. She walked over, holding a brown bottle of pills, her heels tapping all the way. She sat them on in front of Brooks. “Looking for these?”

“Yeah,” Brooks said, relieved. He took the bottle, knocked the top off, and hurriedly downed a few. “Where did you find these?”

“You walked in the office in a daze, dropped them on my desk.”

“I don’t remember that,” Brooks said concerned.

Connie sighed, came around the desk. “You don’t look good, Boss. Why were you talking to yourself? “

“I wasn’t…didn’t you see a man come into my office…? Brooks stopped, thought about things.

She looked at him with tender sweetness and all the compassion in the world. “Sit back, undo your fly,” Connie got n her knees and smiled. “This is the last handshake before your wedding,” She slid her hand inside his underwear. “You just might get a licking too.

~11~

When Brooks came home, there was chicken feed everywhere in small piles. Rufus was crowing as if to let Debbie know he was home. She came running from the kitchen, her hair tangled and her face and dress covered in flour. She stopped Brooks from passing by, both hands on his chest.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Brooks said. Rufus walked by, still crowing. “The fuck is he crowing for?”

“Did you get it?” Debbie said, out of breath. Her eyeliner had run down her cheeks, mingling with perseveration.

“Get what?” Brooks said, irritably.

“Chicken feed. Remember, I called you about it,” Debbie sighed, rolled her eyes.

“I remember you called. We don’t need any….”

“Yes, we do!”

“No, we don’t, Debbie. Look around, it’s all over the place!”

“But Rufus doesn’t like that brand! And…I –I was trying to cook some tortillas for him….”

“For a rooster?”

“Yes….he told me he likes them….why?”

Brooks winced as the shooting pain in his stomach rose to his chest and morphed into a hot searing pain. That feeling that he had retained a ton of water came and went when he was driving home, had returned as well.

“Honey, I need to use the bathroom,” he shot past Debbie. “You need to get out of the house,” he called out. “It’s driving you insane!”

~12~

The three of them were standing at Paco’s front door. Thompson was rifling through a box of toys. He found a G.I. Joe, saw that an arm was missing, and tossed it on the ground.

“I don’t believe it,” Farelly said.

“Yeah, Brooks, that sounds far-fetched.” Thompson added.

“A lie, if you ask me,” Farelly cut his eyes at Thompson.

“No one is asking you, dickheads.,” Brooks knocked on the door. “Hey! Paco!” He called out. He knocked again, pounding on the thin wood that may have come from another house or shed. “Paco! You home?!”

The door swung open. They looked at each other, hesitant to pass through the doorway. A horrible smell distributed through the air. All three of them gagged, forced their faces into handkerchiefs before entering. Brooks led the way, with Farelly and Thompson fighting to be second as usual, making a path through garbage and unwashed clothes, and a swarm of flies.

“Jesus!” Farelly exclaimed. “Does the man ever clean in here?”

They came upon the bedroom with the door barely hanging on the hinges. Something didn’t feel right to Brooks. He heard rustling inside the room. Voices whispering. Brooks held up his hand for Farelly and Thompson to stop moving around. He peered inside the room and caught a glimpse of a person in a long flowing gown trying to hide. Brooks gasped, threw himself from view against a wall.

The three of them gave each other frightened glances.

Brooks knew of only one thing to do: rush whoever was in there. He motioned for Farelly and Thompson to follow his lead. They heard glass breaking. A tall woman in black had knocked the glass out of the window and was climbing out. A short round man in black wearing a mask rushed Brooks, pushing him into Farelly and Thompson. Trampling Farelly, the man was fast, out of Paco’s house, leaving the door wide open. Farelly tried to catch up to the man but fell at the door.

 “You son of a bitch!” Farelly yelled, waving a fist.

“What the fuck is going on?” Thompson screamed, pushing Brooks off of him. Brooks scurried inside the room. He stood there, eyes bulging out and mouth gaping. “Why those people in Paco’s warehouse, huh, Brooks?!” Thompson was annoyed that Brooks didn’t answer him. He sighed and decided to enter the room to push the argument further. Farelly followed. “Hey! Brooks! Answer my fucking question—“   He stopped. The same expression crossed his face. 

They were looking up at a body hanging upside down, chest cavity split open. A large puddle of blood was underneath the body and had dried on the wooden floor. Flies were examining the naked corpse, possibly searching for the missing organs.

Farelly stepped back and whispered, ”Ohhhh, shit…..Paco, man……”

~13~

“You sure you’re telling us everything?” Thompson asked.

“Yes,” Brooks became defensive. “I told you everything.”

Farelly ordered another cup of coffee. The diner was around the corner from Paco’s house was run down on the outside, exterior weather-beaten. On the inside, it was a nice fresh coat of pale green paint and clean tables and floors. It was almost as if the owners had run out of money when they decided to fix the place up.

“I don’t know man,” Farelly shook his head. “You don’t know what he was supposed to smuggle into the country?”

“He never told me,” Brooks said. “He even said, better if you don’t know. I’m sorry he lost his life for that.”

“I’m sure he tried to steal the contraband for more profit. So he paid you and you two were going to cut us out?” Thompson was getting steamed. But he and Farelly kept looking at each other. Giving odd glances, keeping smiles down. That much Brooks could see. They were idiots, acting like teenage boys pulling pranks, even when their lives were in danger.

“You need to tell Uncle Roy,” Farelly said.

“No,” Brooks shook his head. “I’m not telling him that. Why should I? He’s just going to give me a lecture on how stupid I was for getting involved.”

“What about the two weirdos that killed Paco? They will definitely be coming for us!” Thompson shouted.

Farelly patted Thompson on the shoulder.  “Calm down, man.” The waitress brought another cup of coffee and left quickly. She didn’t waste any time with small talk but watched the three of them suspiciously as she sat behind the counter. “Look,” Farelly leaned in, lowered his voice. “Uncle Roy can help. He has friends in high places. They can protect us. He can make Paco’s murder a priority. Besides, in a week, he’s going to be your Uncle too.”

“No,” Brooks said. “Uh-uh…I don’t want to hear it from him. We can take care of this on our own. Paco stole that shit from those two….I just don’t know what he’d stolen. Look…ever since we came back from Mexico….I-I haven’t been feeling like myself.”

Farelly and Thompson glanced at each other. “Like…how?” Thompson asked.

“My life feels out of place… Debbie’s been acting weird….at first, she hated Rufus, then she’s…taking care of it…almost obsessively. My body…my insides feel warm…hard to explain…but…” Brooks sighed. “Like I’ve got a lot of liquid between my ribs…at night I feel like I’m on fire. I can’t sleep…in the day…I fall asleep at my desk.”

“Man,” Farelly chuckled, tried to keep from smiling. “You need to go to a doctor.”

“Yeah,” Thompson agreed. “Never know what those Mexican whores gave you.”

“Okay, assholes! What’s the joke?” Brooks lit into them. He’d grown tired of the jokey-high school shit those two were always playing at.

“There’s no joke, Brooks,” Farelly said. “We can’t help it if we know how to have a good time.” Farelly stood up, tossed a twenty on the table. “We’re outta here.”

Thompson stood slowly. “Seriously, Brooks,” he said. “Stop being so serious all the time.” The two ambled out of the café.

Brooks lowered his head in his hands, closed his eyes. A flash of two Mexican girls kissing him, drawing that strange symbol on his chest, with his own blood. Brooks screamed, jolted upright. The café was dead quiet, everyone was staring at Brooks. He eased himself to his feet. Walked to the door. Smiling, he waved to the café’s patrons.

~14~

Brooks opened the front door and stepped into his house. There was a moment of silence, everything was frozen in time. Debbie was on her knees in a circle drawn with blood four lit candles sat at different points. She was only in her bra and no panties, straddling a naked, lifeless woman. Rufus stood in front of her, his feathers ruffled, his neck outstretched and the cowl on his head slightly ballooned.  She knew Brooks was there, but never looked up at him, just kept staring at Rufus. His eyes glowed red, somehow reflected in Debbie’s.

Debbie was holding a knife with both hands, which moved on their own. The blade was buried deep into the chest of the naked woman, carving away at the flesh, in spite of the blood splattering her face and neck.

Brooks recoiled. He realized the dead naked woman was Connie. Brooks gagged, fell forward, but caught his fall by bracing himself on the wall. However, this action helped instead of stopping his stomach from emitting or pushing out the remains of food. The action of vomiting brought Brooks to his knees. Anything else that happened in the minute and thirty-second process, Brooks would not be conscious of it at all.

Finally, Debbie said something. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered monotone, still not looking away from Rufus, the knife was busy carving more flesh, not even breaking stride. “I brought Connie here, as a surprise.”

“I’m definitely surprised,” Brooks said shakily. “I feel very sick…..but I’m starving.

“Connie and I had discussed this before. We’d talked of having her join us on our wedding night. We decided to give it a go. I…we…decided to start without you in hopes that you would walk in…then join,” Debbie began to sob, not taking her eyes off Rufus, nor stopping the knife from cutting away Connie’s organs. “But…” she swallowed hard. “Rufus…he was offended. So much so…he had me kill her….then we realized…even killing Connie, was still for your benefit.”

Brooks wasn’t sure what was happening to him. What Debbie had said made sense to him. Somehow….someway….it made complete sense.

Brooks crawled to her, kissed her neck and her back.  Then he stared at the flesh and heart and lungs that Debbie’s knife was steadily carving up. “I’m so hungry….Ravenous!” He declared.

Brooks dove in with both hands and started his feast, eating Connie’s heart wildly.

~15~

Brooks didn’t feel well. He crawled out of bed, leaving the Mexican whore soundly sleeping. He had no idea what he had taken earlier. On the nightstand, there had been a glass jar with several squishy, green cactus-like buttons inside. The girl he’d been with opened the jar and placed one of those squishy buttons in her mouth. She then retrieved another out of the jar and shoved it in Brook’s mouth. Before he knew it, he’d swallowed almost the whole thing after biting it in two.

The room began to take a life on its own. The shadows emerged larger than life, as the girl climbed on top of Brooks, eased his shaft inside her, and began riding him like she was on a mechanical bull. She shrieked over and over, and convulsed, flailing her arms about, as if someone was stabbing her in multiple places. When she was done screaming, her facial expression returned to normal, rolled off of Brooks. She turned her back to him and lift her ass in the air, motioning for him to take her behind.

Brooks did so. As he entered the girl, her body transformed into three girls from his past, still connected by smoldering flesh. The three women were Delores Stable, a girl he dated in high school when he lived in Toronto. The second woman was Connie, his secretary. And she kept whispering, “Come and get it, Cowboy,” in a sultry voice that sounded like Marylyn Monroe. The third woman was Debbie, while in the throes of passion, who was giving him lessons in how hard to thrust, where to thrust, and making sure he didn’t shoot his load too quickly.

Brooks finally did ejaculate, and all three women said simultaneously: “Now. That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

Brooks fell back on the soft pillows on the bed and calmed down from a short hyperventilating episode. Once he felt and heard his heartbeats return to normal, that’s when he crawled out of bed, opened the door to the bedroom, and crawled out into the hallway. The girl was fast asleep, bringing the ceiling down with her snoring.

Something was happening in the room across the hall. A woman was screaming, and there were voices echoing in a language Brooks didn’t recognize. He was more than interested, he was hoping for a glimpse of Paco or Thompson or Farelly being caught in some sort of shady deviance. That way he could use whatever info as leverage for bargaining, gaining, or just hurtful jokes.

The door opened slowly and there was Paco, standing behind four people whose faces were darkened by shadows. Paco looked uncomfortable, fidgety. He kept looking away, shaking his head, pacing in a circle. On a large mattress was a young girl, naked, writhing on bloody sheets. The skin on her midsection ruffled, moved around in tiny circles. She screamed, clung to the sheets, as a man in a long black robe wearing a paper Mache mask of a rooster over his face. His eyes lit up red as he chanted in that strange language. He held a charm attached to a red and black feather. A stream of light blazed from the charm and covered the girl’s abdomen.

At their feet was a red and black speckled rooster, repeating the man’s chants, eyes lit up red.

Brooks didn’t know why, but he wanted that rooster. Brooks burst into the room, announcing loudly that the rooster was his and he had a hankering for fried chicken. Running toward the rooster, Brooks tripped over his feet and fell on top of the girl, catching the light on the right side of his stomach.

Brooks screamed, his body frozen in an odd position, face contorted. The man continued chanting.

~16~

“Why did you two bring me back to Paco’s place—-wait…..” Brooks said, looking around the bedroom where they had found Paco dead, hanging upside down with his chest slit open. The house—or shack—was clean, covered in plastic. Brooks walked from room to room inspecting the place. No junk, no boxes of junk, no food or roaches around the house. “What’s going on?”

“We cleaned up the house,” Farelly said, smiling hugely at Brooks.

“I can see that,” Brooks said. “But why?”

“Why indeed?” A voice came from behind Brooks.

Heavy footsteps shuffled from the kitchen, the only room Brooks did not look inside. Brooks turned and saw Uncle Roy, holding hands with Debbie, whose hair was tangled, ratty, and her makeup still smudged. She smelled awful and had not bathed in days. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. She wasn’t looking at Brooks, nor anyone in particular—she was looking right through them. Her lips were moving, teeth grinding together, but no words were forthcoming.

“Uncle Roy?” Brooks cleared his throat, straightened his tie. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Uncle Roy laughed heartily, patted Debbie’s hand. “I’m here for a wedding….” He laughed again and urged Farelly and Thompson to do the same. “…And a birth!”

“Here, here!” Farelly cheered.

“Yeah! Hooray!” Thompson added.

“I thought Debbie and I were getting married in Dallas?” Brooks was feeling weak, the ferocious stomach cramps quickly emerged. That warm, hot sensation extended to his chest. He felt as if he was carrying a ton of bricks inside of him.

“There’s been a change of plans. But first,” Uncle Roy said, welling up. He fought back a controlled sob. “You did a great deed for me….I am returning the favor….”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Brooks barely managed, the pain was the worst it had ever been. He was extremely hungry, just like when he ate Connie’s main organs.

“Well,” Uncle Roy chuckled. “Farelly. Thompson. Help Brooks into the kitchen, so he can see my gracious present to him.”

There were two bodies hanging upside down, their chests split open, blood dripping onto plastic that covered the floor. Brooks couldn’t really see who it was, but he instinctively knew it was the man and woman who had followed them from Mexico. They were still wearing those black outfits and the small man still had that strange mask on.

“Why?” Brooks struggled to speak. He felt a burning sensation on his chest. It was so uncomfortable, he tore his shirt open. Buttons fell to the floor, making tiny indentures on the plastic covering. That strange symbol was forming just below his nipples. The flesh was being seared as if someone was using a laser.

“Ah,” Uncle Roy slithered in, leading Debbie into the kitchen. Debbie was now holding Rufus in her arms, whispering to him. The rooster tilted his head to one side, eyes glowing red, listening to her every word. “Why, you ask?” Uncle Roy shook his head in disbelief the question was asked. “They were a nuisance, my dear Brooks. They were going to murder you…thinking you were in cahoots with Paco to steal my family and ransom them for money. Bah! Why do humans care for that sort of thing, I’ll never know! They did their job, killing Paco. Farelly and Thompson took care of them for me…to show you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me.I am repaying you for your kindness. I am overwhelmed… wait….you have no idea what is going on? Nor what you have…done?” He turned to Farelly, anger crossed his face. “You didn’t tell him!”

Farelly looked at his feet. Embarrassed his shook his head no. “No sir. We thought it would be more fun….”

“You thought?” Uncle Roy scolded Farelly. “You thought? The two of you thinking is a frightening aspect. It’s a wonder this did not turn out worse!” Uncle Roy sighed, meditated a few seconds to calm down. He turned to Brooks and smiled. “Yes, my boy. You are going to marry my niece, be part of the family. You have no idea where I am from, do you?”

“Yeah…I-I think….so….Newport News, Virginia…from a family of thirteen, very poor….”

Uncle Roy laughed.  His eyes lit up red. At that moment, Brooks realized that the man in the robe, wearing the rooster face-mask was Uncle Roy.

“That’s my official bio, my boy,” Uncle Roy said.  “You see, I am really from a village called Roderjo, in Mexico. That is where my people ended up when we came from this world. Fleeing torment for our religious ideals….it as not easy crossing dimensions, my boy. My father, mother, and wife, all died. But the rest family survived. Many, many brothers and sisters! I eventually left to make it on my own here in this country. Sadly, I’ve had to leave my family behind in that village. My poor son, I have not seen in decades…” He reached over and gently patted the rooster on the head. “Alas, my son had family as well…..children….my lovely grandchildren….”

Brooks fell on the plastic, screeching in pain. Farelly and Thompson laid him on his back to monitor the ongoing cesarean section in progress. The flesh on Brooks’s chest peeled back with no medical instruments involved. There was another strange, milky residue surrounding another yellow fleshy lining. In the middle of that lining were thousands of tiny feathered heads with red glowing eyes and beaks, all chirping simultaneously.

Debbie and Rufus chanted, their voices monotone, hollow.

Uncle Roy began to weep. “I am so happy,” he broke down. “Finally….. My family is…… all together now!”

~17~

“Inside me, are two more eggs…..I have kept them inside me for ten years. Now you understand why you must kill me?”  Brooks said.

I didn’t answer him. I too busy watching two men sitting in a booth across from us.

“Why don’t you just disappear again?” I asked him.

Brooks sighed. “I’m tired. Too tired to keep running.”

“Who are those two guys?” I asked.

“Farelly and Thompson,” Brooks said. “They’re here to take me back and give birth to more heirs to Rufus.”

“Unless…..”  I let my sentence trail off.

“Yes,” Brooks unbuttoned his tattered, dirt-stained shirt and exposed his chest. He was just as dirty underneath his clothes and just as rank smelling. A huge, purplish-red, pulsating, egg sack was attached to his mid-section.

I saw Farelly and Thompson leave their booth and make their way to ours. They were anxious, but careful not to draw attention. Farelly removed a .38 from his left blazer pocket and motioned for Thompson to follow him.

This was it. I knew it.  I had to make a choice to either help Brooks, or let them take him.

I reached over and gripped the pulsating sack with my right hand. Brooks leaned back, closed his eyes, and exhaled. I squeezed as hard as I could, breaking the skin on the sack. A yellow, milky substance dripped down my hand and formed a puddle on the table.

“No!” Farelly and Thompson screamed in unison.

I let go of the sack, which by now, was flat and mushy.

The babies were dead. So was Brooks.

Rest in peace.