SCREAMING BATFISH BLUES - CONCLUSION

SCREAMING BATFISH BLUES

CONCLUSION

FRIENDS OF BATFISH TYING UP LOOSE ENDS FOR HIM -SOMEWHERE IN THE GOOD OLD USA

The Corvette handled like a dream. He had really missed it when he was stationed in Hawaii, but there hadn’t been an option. He just couldn’t stand the thought of shipping her over there. So many things could

happen to such a beautiful ride in the week it would have taken the freighter to get to Hawaii. Scratches, dents, even theft. He shuddered just thinking about it.

Well, that’s all over now. Back in the states and behind the wheel of his 1957 classic. Life was good. Shit, life was great. His career could have gone to hell in a hand basket if NIS hadn’t handled that situation the way they did. Just have to be more careful now. She had been such an incredible piece of ass that he just couldn’t resist it. Even if she was married and worse, enlisted. Just too bad the way things had worked out for her. But if her husband was so crazy that he could shoot up their house after finding out about something as minor as a little infidelity, she was probably lucky that she got out of that marriage when she did.

Maybe he could look her up sometime down the road.

The ‘vette slid in to his assigned space at the officer’s club. Early morning game of squash with the Captain and some breakfast and he’d be good to go. Probably be best to let the old fool win a game this time. With promotions coming up and all.

Luckily that incident in Pearl wasn’t on his official record. Still had a good chance to make Captain himself. He gathered up his gym bag and racket and slid out of the bucket seat and began to put the top down. It was suppose to be sunny today, as usual in Biloxi, and he liked to come out of the club after breakfast and get into a sun warmed car. It being a convertible was another reason he loved that car so much.

All he heard before the aluminum baseball connected with the side of his right knee was a slight whistling noise. The first blow blew out all the cartilage and severely ruptured his ACL. Before he could scream out, a large meaty paw covered his mouth and a huge hairy arm encircled his throat, at the same time turning him towards his bat wielding assailant.

The second blow shattered his knee cap into six pieces. The third shot went low and cracked his shin bone in half. He began to pass out from the incredible pain and barely could register in his mind the two huge men picking him up and sitting him on the trunk of his classic vehicle.

The second assailant, who was wearing mace filled leather gloves, wound up and punched the Commander directly in the middle of his face. Fracturing his nose, knocking out all of his front teeth, and breaking the orbital bone in his left eye.

He wouldn’t be found for over a half an hour lying in the parking lot of the officer’s club. The Captain he was scheduled to play squash with had stood him up. The Commander would never fully recover from his beating and was medically discharged from the service six months later due to his severely damaged knee and mental impairment. He eventually found work running a popcorn concession stand on Bourbon Street and would be killed in an armed holdup which netted the robber a grand total of $18.58 and a case of Dr. Pepper.

His beloved Corvette, which had been stolen the morning of his assault in Biloxi, had been painted a bright purple and the numbers professionally changed.

An exotic dancer, formerly a U. S. Navy sailor, in Los Angeles drives it now.

**

The Green Beret was no fool. You couldn’t do the shit he had done in his life and be an idiot. But he could not believe that a woman this gorgeous would ever be sitting across a table from him. She was blonde, beautiful, and built like a brick shithouse. Really built. Almost like she pumped iron.

When he saw her staring across the bar at him, he actually had turned around and looked behind him. He couldn’t understand why she was looking at him. He was in good shape. Had to be in his line of work. But he had to admit that he was not what most women would consider good looking. He was balding, had horrible acne scars from childhood, and a slight hairlip.

She had walked over and asked if that seat had been taken. They had been talking for almost three hours and drinking like it was their last night on earth. Gin and tonics.

It wasn’t his normal drink of choice, he was normally a beer man, but it was her choice and that was AOK with him.

But fuck! She could drink it like a stevedore. He was getting awfully fucked up. But not so fucked up that when she asked him if he had ever killed a man that he let the cat out of the bag. He had just acted coy and

gave her a sly wink.

He had killed a man. Actually, he had killed fourteen men. Three ragheads during the Gulf war, and eleven government contract hits. Even a special forces brother over in Pearl Harbor. That had rubbed him the wrong way, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The money was good and he didn’t have much choice in the matter anymore. Have to follow orders.

“Let’s go up to my room.” That got his attention back.

“Yes, mam.” He tried not to stagger as he stood up.

As soon as they walked into her room she pulled her dress up overhead, revealing a black bra, black panties, and a matching garter belt. Shit, she was even wearing high heels. Just like a Penthouse magazine model.

“I’ve got some great coke.” She smiled at him.

“I don’t do drugs.” Piss tests and all.

“I only fuck men who do coke with me. It makes it better.”

OK.” He didn’t care if she wanted him to smoke her used tampon, he couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Piss test or not.

She pulled out a silver vial and cut four long lines on a mirror for them with a razor blade. She handed the mirror and a rolled up fifty dollar bill to him.

“You first. Just plug one nostril and inhale the line. One for each side.”

He snorted up both lines like a good soldier. The effect was immediate. The room began to spin and his whole body felt like rubber. He felt like he had to throw up but when he stood up his legs gave out and he crashed head first into the wall. He barely could make out the woman getting dressed and walking by him.

“Where? Where are you going?” It sounded like he was talking in a tunnel. All he could see was her stiletto heels until she squatted down and her face came into his field of vision.

“You are a tough guy, aren’t you? You just snorted up a third of a gram of absolute pure China White heroin.”

Her face disappeared and down the long tunnel he thought he heard a door open and close. He slowly rolled over on to his back and fell into a long deep, deep sleep. He never felt the lubricated end of the silencer as it slid up into his anus.

The maid who had to clean the room after the body was removed had pissed and moaned for a week that she couldn’t get the stains out of the carpet.

 **

JUICE

MEXICO AND WYOMING - ABOUT ONE YEAR LATER.

They were bumping along the road in her beat to shit Mazda pickup. Heading for San Felipe to pick up mail, get supplies, and so Sophie could visit one of the local doctors. She hadn’t been feeling quite up to snuff lately, feeling very fatigued and nauseous in the mornings. Jake attributed it to the local food.

She had built up an incredible appetite for the fare of the area restaurants, and too much sun, and she had become obsessed with losing her northern skin tone. Sophie was attributing it to something else, but had kept her tongue so far.

Jake pulled into a parking spot, walked Sophie to the clinic, and then headed down to the post office. Dawn received a monthly disability check, Jake had been awarded an eighty percent disability from the government, and her father had been sending her a monthly check as well.

Between the three checks and the cash that Jake had stockpiled while he had been under the control of Jerry Banks, the three lived quite comfortably in the Baja economy.

The mail box was jammed. He only checked it when payday rolled around and then maybe again halfway through the month, if he was in the area. All three checks were there, some junk mail, and a letter from her mother and Jake's Sports Illustrated.

Jake leaned against a counter and fanned through the magazine, the NFL season was getting ready to start up, one of Jake's favorite times of the year. A good share of the local cantinas would be carrying the games on their satellite dishes. It was fun as hell to gather with the Baja locals and American expatriates on Sundays to eat good seafood, drink beer, and cheer on their teams.

There was a postcard stuck inside the magazine. The picture was of a beautiful topless woman with incredible tits. She was standing under a waterfall with her arms stretched up towards the heavens. Jake flipped the card over. The stamp was US. The message was hand printed with a feminine touch.

Jake,

Call me as soon as you get this. Collect if you have to. Urgent!

J.

The number was printed on the bottom of the card. It was a Las Vegas area code.

Glancing at his watch to see how long it had been since he had dropped off Sophie, he headed off to the downtown square and stopped in front of a bank of phones. He hadn’t picked up a telephone since he had been in Mexico. His hands were shaking so badly he slammed the receiver down and walked over to a cantina and bought a beer. It went down in three long gulps.

Jake bought another for the road and walked back to the phone. He picked it up and punched in the numbers. Collect.

Someone picked up on the second ring.

A woman. Very familiar. It had to be her.

The operator was Mexican.

“Collect call from Jake. Will you accept the charges, please.”

“Certainly.” There was a pause.

“Hello, Jake.”

“Jasmine?”

She laughed. “Who else would it be?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, Jake. Too long.”

It sounded like she might be sitting by a swimming pool.

“You never came back for me, Jake. You said you would.”

Jake took a swig of Corona and leaned his head against the phone.

“I know I did, but I couldn’t, Jasmine. You know that. They would have killed me. Or worse.”

“Jerry knew that I warned you, Jake. For me, it was worse.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you know what he made me do, Jake? He put me out on the Chicken Ranch to punish me. I must have had to suck off or fuck twenty

scumbags a day.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

He heard ice clinking in a glass.

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter anymore. The bastard is dead. I hope he rots in hell.”

“Are you free, Jasmine? Or is it Rachel?”

“I’m very free. And I stayed Jasmine. She’s more fun. The agent who replaced Banks really enjoys me in the sack. He’s got a little church going wife back in Wisconsin that doesn’t do the things that I can do. So ’m a one man woman now. He’s got me put up in a suite in town and everything. Even got a promotion.”

“What about your son? Do you have him?”

“Oh, Jake. I wanted to, but in the long run I decided that he’d be best off with his granny. I send him money every once in a while.”

“What about getting your husband out of Leavenworth. Banks is dead. Morgan is dead. The story was all over the fucking place. Now is the time to try to spring him.”

“And what good would that do, Jake? He lost his mind in there. The last I heard they had him locked up in some federal prison hospital out east.”

Jake finished his beer and grabbed a boy walking past him.

He handed him ten pesos and pointed to the cantina. He mouthed, “Corona.”

The boy scampered off with the money in hand.

“You sound a lot different than the last time I saw you, Jasmine.”

Jake felt a poke in his side. The boy was standing there with his cervaze. Jake took the beer and handed the boy five pesos and waved him away. He took a hard pull on the cold bottle of brew.

“Jasmine, why did you want me to call?”

“I could just say that I missed you and wanted to hear your voice. That I wanted to know if you missed those nights when you would come back after a hit all pumped up with adrenaline and would fuck me until dawn. Or if you realized that I almost told you I loved you that night in Las Vegas. That after Banks was killed, I did wait for you. That I thought you might keep your promise.”

“Why did you call, Jasmine?” The beer wasn’t working. It was just making him feel irritable. He just wanted to get this shit over and hang up. Go pick up Sophie. Get back to his life.

“Because your time is running out, Jake.”

“What the hell are you talking about? My time? I’m out. The stupid sons of bitches even send me a paycheck every month. I’ve got them by the balls. They’re not going to try shit with me.”

She laughed.

Jake shivered. It must have been close to ninety degrees out.

“Some little homo who had a lover that got whacked has been making waves, Jake. Writing congressmen, newspapers, magazines, anyone he can. He’s a regular little shitpot stirrer. And he’s been naming you, Jake. Personally. Said he saw you down in Mexico. And that you talked.”

“I didn’t fucking talk,” Jake yelled. “I met him while he was down here windsurfing. He recognized me from the article in Newsweek, he told me his sob story but I didn’t talk.”

“You broke your uncle out of prison.”

Oh fuck. He had never mentioned Billy to Jasmine.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jake. You broke your uncle out of prison in Minnesota. You paid a guard who was a member of the same biker gang as your uncle to give you the time and date that he was going to be transported to another facility.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because another prisoner in Stillwater talked when he got busted for smuggling drugs inside the joint. He used to be your uncle's cell mate.”

“Not that, Jasmine, goddamn it! How do you know all of this other government shit?”

He heard people splashing in the pool and the ice in her glass as she took another drink. Gin and tonics. She had always talked about drinking gin and tonics while lying by the pool.

“Because I’m the one they want to go down there to take you out, Jake. Because of our history together, they figured that it would be easy for me to get to you. That was my promotion that I was talking about. They figure that a good looking broad can get closer quicker and easier to her mark than a man can. I’ve even done a woman. Lot of kinky things go on in this business, Jake. I fit right in. I can see how you got so turned on doing it. They have me working another case now. It’s real cat and mouse. One of

your old ones. The guy that escaped from the asylum up in Minnesota. Do you remember that one? I’m working on some old leads right now but eventually his ass will turn up. He’s just like you. Weak.”

“Holy Christ,” Jake croaked.

“Don’t worry, Jake. So far they’ve been able to bury any negative information before it becomes too public. But if the shit keeps hitting the fan, they may want me to come pay you a little visit. You’ve become a major boil on their ass, a real hindrance.”

“I’m not talking. I swear to fucking God I’m not.”

“What we had was real, Jake. Maybe I really did love you then. But now this is my life so I need you to tear up that postcard and forget you ever made this call.”

Sweat was pouring off Jake’s face and running down the phone. His legs felt like giving out.

“So this is it, Jake Morrow. I hope that thirty years from now, when your wife asks you what’s on your mind when she sees you sitting there smiling, that it’s been me that you’re thinking about. About that night in Vegas when we went to see Duran fight.”

The line went dead.

 **

Jake hated getting up in the morning when it was that cold. He padded into the kitchen and looked at the thermometer. Holy fuck! It was thirty degrees below zero. No wonder when the alarm went off, Sophie had rolled over and buried in her head under the blankets. Coffee was already half brewed. Thank God for automatic timers. He poured a cup as he finished getting dressed in the kitchen so he didn’t disturb Sophie getting those last precious moments of sleep.

Jacob Jr. was in the midst of the terrible twos and was wearing her ragged. She could use the extra sleep.

He walked into Jacob’s rooms to check his blankets. He was going to be a big kid that was for sure. He damn near filled the crib. Snoring like a little horse. Jake looked up over the crib at the big blown up picture of

Jacob being held by Dawn. That idiot Ozzie sitting next to them with a big shit eating grin on his face. Ozzie, his soon to be step uncle.

Five minutes after Jake had hung the phone up after talking to Jasmine, Sophie had told Jake that she was pregnant. They were married one week later and had stayed in Baja until Jacob was almost a year old.

Sophie had wanted him to be raised in the states though, so they had returned, and they had been in Story for just over a year.

Her father through the many connections that a minister has, had gotten Jake a county job on the road crew. It snowed like hell there, so Jake was up early in the mornings so he could get out and get the plow rolling early. He actually enjoyed racing through the mountains in the early morning darkness behind the wheel of that gigantic plow, the pine trees covered in snow flying past the truck as it screamed down the mountain road, sparks flying off the blade as it made contact with the pavement.

Jake walked back into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee.

He glanced over the letter from Dawn. She really seemed happy with life. Ozzie really loved her, in fact he worshipped the ground she rolled on. And she seemed to genuinely love him. Good for them, thought Jake.

Better go out and start that truck up. Jake hated getting into a cold vehicle and at thirty below that son of a bitch was going to be cold. He threw on his parka and walked out through the snow to the garage, the inside of the garage was like a refrigerator. The door on the truck groaned in agony when he pulled it open. The lights came on. Jake whirled around.

There was a man standing there dressed in a snowmobile suit and one of those hats you always see people in those sled dog races in Alaska wearing.

“What do you want? What the hell are you doing in my garage?"

The man slowly raced a pistol at Jake so that it was aimed at his chest. “I know it wasn’t you, but it was someone just like you,” the man said. “Someone has to pay.”

He sounded familiar. The man reached up with his free hand and pulled his hat off. It was Robert,the wind surfer from Michigan.

“Robert! What the fuck? Hey man, I’m sorry about what happened to your friend in the Navy, but I had nothing to do with that.”

“The bastards wouldn’t listen to me. Typical government bullshit.”

The shot caught Jake in his chest. Dead center.

 **

BATFISH

WHEN ROSE FINALLY GETS HER REVENGE

LEAVENWORTH

The voice was booming out of the speakers with extreme authority.

“Lock down. Lock down. All inmates are to report to their cells for a standing count. Lock down in five minutes.”

Inmate #3738592 was shuffling down the cell hall corridor, his face wrinkled in both thought and frustration. He had been down trying to make a phone call to his attorney but the son of a bitch wasn’t answering his calls and then an inmate had tried to throw a cup of urine at him as he passed by his cell. Heathens!!

Five minutes! How do they expect me to get to my cell in five minutes at my age? Especially in the winter. This cold is playing hell on my arthritis. How could they think that sending me to a prison in Kansas wouldn’t affect my health. I imagine that Portsmouth wouldn’t have been much better. And these other convicts! All these young punks pushing and shoving me, giving me no respect at all. Don’t they know who I am? I know it won’t be much longer though. My sweet wife will do anything to get me out of here. I couldn’t survive this if I didn’t know she was out there waiting for me. She is truly my rock.

The old inmate finally made it to his cell. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There was another inmate sitting on his bunk. Going through his property. He was even eating one of his Bit o’ Honeys. A Hershey bar

wrapper was lying on the floor. That was the last straw.

“What in the hell do you think you are doing, son.”

Glaring at the old man was a pimply faced young man, about twenty years old. He was tall but very lean, his forearms covered with poor quality naked lady tattoos. His body odor was overpowering.

“What’s it look like, fuckstick? I’m having a snack. They didn’t feed me on the bus.”

The old man was stunned.

“So you think you can just walk into my cell and steal my property.”

The younger man laughed uproariously with his mouth wide open. A disgusting display of chocolate covered, cigarette yellowed teeth.

“Fuck, Pops. We’re cellies now. What’s yours is mine.”

“Cellies?”

“Roommates! Cellmates! You dumb motherfucker!” The younginmate shook his head in disgust.

“That’s impossible. I’ll have to speak to the officers about this.”

“Oh, and you’re a snitch on top of everything else.” Yellow teeth waved one of the old man’s letters that he had been reading over his head.

“That’s from my wife! Why you no good bastard!”

“I know. Not a bad looking old broad for her age. I’d do her in a pinch. And she still calls you Admiral. How sweet.”

Yellow teeth stood up and walked over to the old man. Backed him up into a corner of the cell.

“I’m an enlisted man myself. Army. Infantry. Least I was until they busted me and sent me here. They said I raped and killed this little girl on Ft. Campbell. But you better never tell anyone in this shitbox that I said that. Got that? I wasn’t even supposed to be in this cell anyway. Suppose to be with the enlisted guys, but some honcho in a suit said I was going to be in this cell all special like.”

Yellow teeth backed up and stood by his bunk as he heard the guard doing the count approach.

He grinned at the Admiral. “But I been in the stockade and I been in county before, so I know my way around a jailhouse. And I tell you one thing there, Mr. Admiral. Tonight your scrawny old ass is gonna be in the barrel.”

 **

SCREAMING BATFISH BLUES

EPILOGUE

SOMEWHERE WARM AND SAFE

Chubby Checker was imploring everyone to get down and do The Twist. They had the poorest choice of music in the islands. I was just starting to doze off when the news announcer began babbling about the President of the United States getting caught in a sexual dalliance with an intern. I sat up on my beach mat and dug a Red Stripe out of the cooler and looked down the deserted beach for my wife.

There she was! Buck naked, playing in the surf with our dog, Mongol. He was going crazy. Running around in circles and dashing back into the surf.

I pulled another beer out for her and half of a crab meat sandwich for Mongol and headed on down to see what all the excitement was about. I walked slowly down the beach through the surf. Taking my time. I loved the warm water and its therapeutic value. The years had not been kind to my joints and there was nothing I liked to do more than to soak my knees and nuts in warm salt water.

I’m the harbor master on a small island in the Caribbean, and every so often we take a small skiff over to one of the smaller semi-deserted islands a few miles across the bay, so that my wife can work on her all over tan.

It’s a job I truly enjoy and take very seriously.

“What’s his problem?” Mongol ran up and jammed his bowling ball like head straight into my crotch. He was a pit bull, but had the temperament of a kitten.

“What do you think? A ray about as big around as a dinner plate swam by and spooked him. God, he’s a pussy.” Mongol despised stingrays for some reason and every time he saw one swimming by in the clear tropical water he went nuts.

“Speaking of pussy, I just heard on the radio that the President got caught getting a blow job from a government clerk.” I said laughing.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” She paused and looked out at bay. “I’m sure glad that we don’t live in a place like that anymore.”

“I first I thought I had dozed off and was dreaming it.”

She looked at me with some concern in her eyes. “You were kind of restless last night. You haven’t been dreaming about that screaming fish again. Have you?”

“No. Not for a long, long time now. Last night I was dreaming about that first time we got it on in that cold ass trailer in Montana when the heater wasn’t working. Do you remember that?”

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”. She smiled and ran off down the beach with Mongol hot on her heels. From a distance she almost looked like she was wearing a swimming suit with all those tattoos all over her body.Just like a comic book.

She never has told me her real name. Of all people, why should I care? I guess we all have to have our little secrets.

Scott L. Anderson in previous lives has been a prison guard, an attendant at a maximum security mental hospital for the criminally insane, a longshoreman, a soldier, a sailor, and marijuana trimmer.