Existential Errands

Barbara had a high I.Q. and a low-cut dress and both made Lucky flair his nostrils like a three to one favorite thoroughbred at the starting gate of the Kentucky Derby. Every time he saw her he wanted to knock her over and consume her. He hated her as much as he loved her and she felt just about the same. They’d had a real wild romance; a kind of lovers death match, one he knew he couldn’t win. The only way she could find out how high she got him was to watch how far he’d fall when she’d put the knife in and twist it to watch his pain which he tried to hide but couldn’t, so what came out was always anger. Then just when he’d manage to get her out of his head she’d reappear, glide right up to him like some avenging angel and say; “Baby, let’s try again”.

He had no defense for her intoxication, no muscle to flex to defeat her or conquer her or arrest the thought of losing her. As much as Lucky tried to pull away she always came crashing back into his door like she’d never even gone away. He couldn’t stop loving her, couldn’t stop falling in and out of her arms again and again. It was their spiraling dance, their great figure eight; their tiny infinity circle.  

Barbara knew just what Lucky needed and when she gave it to him he always surrendered to her. She played on his mannish arrogance and boyish charm. She projected all her dark sexuality into him like an erotic witch. They made a kind of violent love that night with each one, as they almost always did, trying to dominate the other, and when it was over Lucky lay awake shattered, watching her sleep like a child. Barbara  was the war of his life but tonight he had to crush the thought of her. There was a real beast out there tonight, one he had to face; one that could not only take his heart like Barbara; but one that could take from him everything. He’d lost all his pride to Barbara and tonight he’d lose all his innocence. 

He’d borrowed a car the guard at the door wouldn’t recognize so he could arrive unnoticed. Inside lazing half zonked out on sumptuous beds sucking on opium pipes lay his nemeses; the Dwarf and the Jew. They’d be easy prey now if he could get close enough to push the button. They’d just gotten a fresh shipment and it was that new Taliban dope, uncut, the stuff Osama gives his guys just before they take their trip to paradise.

The Dwarf had recently married and his new lover had made him fat and slow, fatter and slower than when he was dangerous. The Jew was the real treacherous one of the two, shrewd and merciless, but he too had become consumed with a woman and his constant desire for her mound of Venus juices had made him weak. They were together tonight and they were slipping. The thought passed through Lucky’s mind that with all of this trying he’d still end up dying. So he thought he’d just as well have that moment on his terms. He wondered if tonight would be his time.

His breathing slowed and a serene calm came over him but there was a silent scream inside his throbbing head. He was wired and tired. His mind and the streets of Oakland were full of blood from the war that had raged now for almost an ugly year. He would end it tonight. He pulled into the parking lot a good distance from the entrance where he would not be detected and silently listened as car tires sang on the highway all around him.

The Clown had paid a pretty penny for the Croatian demolition experts to wire the place with enough C-4 to blow their comfy beds to paradise. He checked his gold Rolex wristwatch. It was five minutes to midnight when the white van pulled in; right on time, it circled the parking lot and slid up to the entrance about 20-0 feet from the door. The guard approached the Van and Lucky heard the muffled sounds the silencer made of the pistol shots. When it was over the men would enter the clubhouse and abscond with the valuable contents. Lucky clicked off the toggle switch safety just like they told him to and pushed the little red button.

The muffled sound of the explosion masked the hum of his engine as he turned the key. He put the car in drive and gave it some gas. As he turned from the parking lot onto I-880 he glanced in his rear view mirror and watched the flames shoot up through the skylights all tangerine red and Halloween orange.  Lucky headed back to his apartment knowing Barbara would still be in his bed where he imagined he’d slide in next to her and once again feel her warmth and safety; where he knew he’d never feel innocence again.  

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About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and Culture.net and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

3 Responses to Existential Errands

  1. James Mcfarland says:

    Wow. Intense, in-depth and sensual. Deep process to obtain visceral message. 9.6 on publisher critique scale.

    • James Mcfarland says:

      Outstanding, well worth reading again. Combination of 50’s detective with a 90’s searing thriller twist. A timeless Masesso quality worthy of any decade, past or present. Thanks for resending.

  2. Reblogged this on Nick Masesso, Jr..

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