Here Today, Guam Tomorrow
Thursday, September 7, 1972 - NYPD Ninth Pct. - 2300 hours
“So tell me again, this time like you’re explaining it to a five year old,” Patrolman Lorenzo De Frenzo, Shield # 13077 said, staring at the man sitting on a broken chair in the 124 Clerical Room of the NYPD’s Ninth Pct. Station House.
Quinten Bialy started to explain his story again, as slowly and as methodically as he possibly could. Patrolman De Frenzo’s initial, professional and correct decision stood: “The missing person, a male caucasian, 30 years old, Bella Berousky, was not Quinten’s relative, but was his roommate, even so, Quinten could not report him missing.” That fact was already explained during the first minute of their encounter, re: NYPD Policy.
“Even if youse guys are roommates and even if youse, and I’m not sayin’ youse are, rectal rangers, you still can’t report Bella missing, only a relative can,” Patrolman De Frenzo added.
“But it ain’t enough that he’s missing, it’s how he’s missing, even though I know where he is now and he knows where he is now,” Quinten insisted. “And me and Bella ain’t no homosexuals!” he added under his breath with mild contempt.
“So let me get this straight, one more time. Bella’s missing, but you know where he is, but you really don’t know how he got to where he is, and Bella don’t know how he got to where he is, but he knows where he is. He don’t remember who, when or how he was snatched. So, then how is he missing?” Patrolman De Frenzo queried.
“Yea, but as I sez before, the problem is - He’s in Guam” Quinten emphasized.
“Again with Guam?” Patrolman De Frenzo exasperatingly said.
“That’s the mystery!!!!” Quinten raised his voice and was immediately afraid and sorry he did. He received a stern look from Patrolman De Frenzo. It accompanied an angry, but softly spoken tightlipped response: “Do I look like Christopher Fuckin’ Columbus or Sherlock Fuckin’ Holmes?” Patrolman De Frenzo then stood up from behind his desk and pointed to the door and said: “This is the Ninth Pct.- The Station House with a Message - Tonight’s message: GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Quinten knew if he told the cops all he really knew, he’d wind up at Bellevue Hospital in a straight jacket. Or worse, his persistence in bringing to light what extra knowledge he had to other individuals would be deadly. It might make those other individuals believe Quinten would make an immediate candidate to become a “floater” in the East River. He was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.
The following is an unintentional urban conspiracy of stupidity -or- living off the fat of the land as a result of economic prosperity and a dilution of the gene pool.
Thursday, December 2, 1971: Before Quinten Baily and his friend Bella Berousky knew Guam was an island in the Pacific Ocean and not an exotic Chinese vegetable in Chef Lee’s Mo Goo Gai Pan:
Quinten Bialy was a barber and a perfect example of the expression: “Those that can, do, those that can’t, teach.” For the past few years he held a job as an instructor at the “The Third Avenue College of Barbership Knowledge.” That’s where he met Bella Berousky, another barber instructor extraordinaire. These guys were not the sharpest razors in that barber shop.
The college was located on Third Avenue off of East Ninth Street in Manhattan. The students practiced on people looking for free haircuts and were willing to sacrifice the result of same.
The winos and other assorted lost souls from The Bowery (NYC’s Skid Row) were given free hair cuts. They would sometimes get a shave for no cost as well.
The Winos wanted to look good when they trekked uptown to sell their blood at their favorite blood bank: The questionably sterile but open 24 hours a day, Acme Blood Bank. The storefront facility was located on West Forty Second Street and Eight Avenue. It was run by Carlos aka “The Vampire” and his step-sister Luz. The siblings and their facility fit the harshly neon lit tawdry environs of the infamous Times Square area with its abundance of sex shops and porno movie houses. A magnet for street scum.
Some of the younger winos chose this place because of Luz. She was a heavily made up chunky thirty year old woman. Luz always had an smoldering unfiltered Pall Mall hanging from her ruby red lips. She intentionally wore an tight fitting nurse outfit.
That well worn, low cut uniform was white but yellowing, sporting old stubborn blood stains with pronounced perspiration stains under her arm pits. Her ample but still firm and nutty jugs were uplifted and exposed like a sexy temptress wench from Olde European days.
When Luz liked a wino, in addition to his blood, he could willingly donate semen. His semen would be deposited directly into Luz either orally, vaginally or anally, the wino’s choice. Of course, the wino’s all got extra cookies and apple juice for their extra deposits.
Carlos knew she was a skank, but attracted lots of blood donors by “word of mouth” so he didn’t care, he was raking in the pesos.
Luz maintained an occasional and no strings relationship with Bella. He was a downtown person and never traveled above Fourteenth Street. Bella’s life revolved around his downtown neighborhood. When uptown pinga pickin’s were scarce and she got juicy, Luz traveled downtown in the dingy NYC subway to visit Bella in the two bedroom apartment he shared with Quinten.
Located on East 12th Street, over by Avenue A, their walk up apartment was on the sixth floor of a typical nineteenth century old law tenement building. Allen Ginsberg, the Beat Generation Poet and his male lover lived on the fourth floor.
Quinten and Bella’s apartment had a bathtub in the kitchen. All the apartments in the building lacked private bathrooms. The tenants had access to a closet sized hallway communal bathroom on each floor.
The hallways had that distinctive neighborhood smell: A NYC combination of various ethnic foods, scented natural gas used to heat the place, the lingering mark of the exterminator and other unknown sources. This distinctive odor permeated inside the building’s apartments as well. Quinten and Bella also shared their space with various types of vermin.
While on a visit to Quinten, Luz ran into an interesting guy while on her way from the apartment to take a dump in the hallway bathroom. She decided to orally sodimized him. After she finished, she stood against the wall of the closet bathroom awaiting anal entry. The stranger just wiped his ass and pulled up his pants and left without a word, taking Bella’s toilet paper.
When returning to the apartment, she causally mentioned the encounter to Bella. He said he knew who that guy was: “He don’t even live here - That’s the skell who uses our bathroom and steals our toilet paper!” Bella was apparently more concerned about the toilet paper theft than the fact that Luz had just given a stranger pipeski in his hallway bathroom.
Bella adapted his philosophy on women from reading some insightful graffiti scrawled years ago on a public bathroom wall: “Broads, After You Come, Who Needs Them?”
His immediate reasoning was influenced by the fact that, a few hours before that same evening, he had already successfully achieved three input penetration on Luz. Bella made his self-satisfying seminal deposits so, now he didn't give a shit who Luz blew. His concern was just about where it happened and his missing toilet paper.
Obviously Luz and the lucky stranger literately did give a shit. They didn’t even think of extending a courtesy flush. It really stunk and the smell eventually lofted into Quinten’s apartment. The stranger definitely had Indian food for dinner.
The stranger was happy, scoring unexpected head and some toilet paper. He left with the satisfaction of taking a nice, healthy dump and shooting his load as well. That really pissed Bella off. ”I hate sitting down, taking a dump and then seeing there’s no toilet paper!” Bella fumed as he summed up his one way lecture to Luz by turning and looking her in the eye - “Mouthwash - Kitchen - NOW,” he barked along with a dismissive wave.
So encapsulates the present status of the Bella-Luz relationship. Functional but dysfunctional. Luz is lost every morning she falls out of bed, and remains so for the rest of the day.
Friday, September 1, 1972 - 1800 hours:
Quinten, Bella and Luz were eating dinner at Leshko’s, a Polack restaurant over by Tompkins Square Park. They were interrupted by Rat Bastard. He was always uncontrollably and inadvertently spreading gossip on someone or something, hence the name.
Rat Bastard was increasingly finding it quite difficult to avoid beatings by those whom he angered. The problem was his uncontrollable snooping, leading to his ultimate diarrhea of the mouth. The offended parties usually were able to track the shit stains back to Rat Bastard.
The neighborhood was rapidly changing demographically for the worse: Hells Angels Bikers and assorted violent drug dealing pseudo hippies, to name just a few, were moving in. Soon Rat Bastard may be found dead sporting a dead rat in his mouth, if he remained so careless. The original neighborhood residents were becoming fodder for the new arrivals.
Rat Bastard was dying to tell someone his new gossip. Unfortunately for Quinten et al, they were sitting at a table by the window facing the street. Rat Bastard immediately noticed them. Uninvited, he entered and squeezed into their booth.
This weaselly looking man with terrible bad breath carefully looked around. He then lowered his head and nonverbally with a big yellowish toothed smile instructed the others to follow him into his imaginary “Cone of Silence.”
“Guess what’s going on at The Royal Rags Costume Bazar?” Rat Bastard eagerly whispered. Quinten and Bella had a bored look of disinterest. But Luz excitedly said: “Tell Us Alphonse,” as she gulped down another Periogi. Luz was one of the few people who called Rat Bastard by his given name.
“That Hippie dump on St. Marks ‘cross from The Electric Circus?” Bella finally said to quicken Rat Bastard’s screed. Luz’s mouth now filled with Red Cabbage was momentarily silent. “What’s the deal with those hippie pinko perverts?” Quinten chimed in. Then he looked at Bella and said, “Some of those hippie broads ain’t so bad.”
Rat Bastard continued: “There’s a guy over there, “Mystic Mike the Magical Kike,” they say he’s an Israeli Hippie or as they say in Israel: Hippum. He has some strange power to get rid of people. But not by killing them. He wishes them away to a special place. He’s like that kid in the Twilight Zone Cornfield episode.” Rat Bastard grabbed Bella’s ice tea, took a long swig and then continued: “All the kid had to do is point to you and say You’re a Bad Man, You’re a Very Bad Man. And then, bada bing, bada boom… You’re gone.”
Bella disgustingly pushed away his Rat Bastard violated ice tea glass with a single finger.
“When did you start snorting it or are you taking it through the arm?” Luz said as she was starting on the cucumber salad. “Israeli Hippies? People disappearing? Alphonse, are you now doing LSD just to get some hippie pussy?” she laughingly asked.
Mystic Mike the Magical Kike was a handsome, well built thirty year old. With his swarthy good looks, long hair and a beard. He fit right in to the East Village scene. Mike spoke with an slight Israeli accent and was a gregarious man. But there’s just bit more about Mystic Mike……
Mike is a former Israeli Special Forces Soldier and is currently in America on a highly unorthodox mission for a highly unorthodox organization. The organization has no name and is not affiliated with any government. It boasts a small secret influential international membership. They desperately want peace in the Mideast.
The organization does not believe in the use of military force or capital punishment and abhors the Israeli Mossad’s assassination methods. Mike is the secret weapon they’ve been developing. He is the product of twenty years of research and experimentation. This former soldier was sent here to learn more from the clueless, but inventive Americans to enhance the “process.”
The organization has nearly perfected this “process.”
This process only works on Mike. Mike is only one of thousands tested to have a brain that can be successfully engineered as a specialized brain that is a weaponization for peace.
Mike is perfecting the ability to control the movements of terrorists and governmental leaders. This would absolutely mandate, expedite and enforce a Mideast peace accord. Example: Yasser Arafat would hate waking up in a different place every morning. Uncontrollably alone and unprotected. No despot or his family would be secure.
Mike has gained this ability to transport human test subjects by employing a combination of telepathy, self administered drugs and other unorthodox methods. The organization ethics insist that all test subjects are volunteers. This process does not work on animals.
The short fall is, the test subject can uncontrollably wind up anywhere. To date: Three in the Atlantic Ocean, two in North Korea, all DOA. This process is meant to be a negotiation tool, not a weapon to kill.
Recently, somehow Mike has tenuously narrowed it down to Guam. Why Guam? He can’t explain. The test subjects now will hopefully all wind up in Guam. But so far it is still a hit and miss technique.
Guam is only 30 miles long and 9 miles wide, consisting of 212 square miles. A small target. If perfected, that may really not be good enough for the organization. Because there is another major problem to tackle.
Mike can only perform his transport from random locations. Therefore, Mike has to determine how to be able to turn any location into a starting transport spot via telepathic methods.
Then it’s “Here Today, Guam Tomorrow” for their subjects.
Rat Bastard is known to be unscrupulous, unprincipled and unsanitary. He accidentally witnessed this amazing feat and actually, for a short time, kept the information to himself. But he couldn’t resist. He only let on to Quinten, Bella and Luz because Luz was always “nice” to him and occasionally gave him sympathy sex.
Bella and Quinten decided to check out Rat Bastard’s story. They only really wanted to ogle Hippie Pussy at the Royal Rags Costume Bazar anyway without paying the cover charge. They reached out to Rat Bastard the next day. They all decided to hook up late on the evening of September 6, 1972.
Mike was beside himself. He has run into many a dead end trying to perfect the transport/location problem. “Maybe it’s all environmental or even genetic or a combination of these two problems with food and lifestyle?” He was racking his brain but had mostly negative results.
In the interim, he had to engage the seedier elements of the community to gain access to various undergrounds. Liz, somehow this time was quicker on the uptake than the boys. Immediately after their dinner at Leshko’s she scoped Mike out. Of course, she was infatuated with Mike. Luz told Mike about the blood bank and all the skell people she comes across.
Mercenary Mike decided to use her as another resource. Typical American dolt, she wouldn’t ask questions about anything. Mike would have access to a cross sampling of blood for testing. Anything it could possibly produce may help him.
He decided to ignore the ethical bounds. Now a supply of test subjects (Bowery winos). would be available. They would not be missed if lost at sea or North Korea. Liz and cheap wine could charm them into cooperation. Mike knew street people come and go, like the wind. No questions asked.
Luz also wanted something from this way above her standard type of stud. She was surprised he was interested in her. Of course, he sexually complied. A small price to pay.
Wednesday, September 6th 1972:
An intuitive Hells Angels Biker named “The Brain” was sniffing around the neighborhood and heard Mike was up to something highly secretive and really big. He decided to violently confronted Mike, thinking Mike was a liberal, hippie pervert pussy and would be easily intimidated. The confrontation took place in an empty dressing room at the Royal Rags.
That same night, Rat Bastard took Quinten and Bella on one of his peeping tom hippy pussy patrols, which included the Royal Rags. Now they’ll be able to see what the deal is with Rat Bastard’s stupid story.
Rat Bastard had previously crafted a few hidden self-made peeping holes from the back alley at the Royal Rags. Comfortably fashioned including space to indulge in self abuse, that they were.
Then they just happen to witness the Mike/Brain confrontation and saw“The Brain” disappear. Just like that, into thin air. Just like that! “See I told Ya!” Rat Bastard proudly whispered. Quieten added: “Fuckin’ Hells Angels?”
Mike made The Brain disappear in haste because The Brain knew too much and some serious shit was going down. Earlier that day, The Munich Olympics Massacre made the organizations goals immediately unpopular with its supporters.
Mike was called back to Active Duty immediately, assigned to the Israeli Special Forces. As for The Brain, Mike couldn’t leave a body and did not have time to dispose of one. So The Brain was whisked off to Guam awaiting immediate kidnapping by the organization. Unfortunately for The Brain, he wound up at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea, forty miles off the European coast.
His unknown legacy: “The Brain missed Spain and wound up under the bounty main.”
Immediately after The Brain was gone, and hopefully forgotten, Rat Bastard and Quinten ran for their lives. But Bella was not scared. More stupid than scared, he calmly remained and opened the back door.
“I just saw what you did and I’m just here because I’d like to help market this gimmick, my name is Bella.”
Mike knew he had to immediately split. The Israeli consulate had a ticket on El Al awaiting at JFK. So Mike just hastily transported Bella as well. Mike then departed. He left everything behind, having destroyed any and all documents and incriminating evidence.
Rat Bastard’s harried escape from the alley ended on on Second Avenue. He was hit by a bus and pronounced DOA at the scene.
Thursday, September 7th 1972 - 1600 hours
Quinten made it back to the apartment. Luz continued to be MIA since starting to exclusively pop Mike. Bella and Quinten were not aware that was the reason for her recent absence. They thought Luz was just being Luz. Anyway, she didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Never had and never will.
The paranoia from the slightest possibly of having the Hells Angels looking for Quinten as a suspect into The Brain’s disappearance was quite unnerving. In addition, how is Quinten going to explain Bella’s status? Maybe the cops can help? Bella is now a missing person. Is he dead? Did Mike kill him? What happen to Rat Bastard?
The phone rang, it was Bella calling collect from, of all places Guam? “They ain’t got no Travelers Aid Society here in Guam and I ain’t got no money!” Bella protested. Quinten reasoned: “If Bella was OFFICIALLY REPORTED MISING to the cops, maybe they can get him back?” Quinten didn’t want to face the Hells Angels or any of this mess alone.
Quinten awaited for the cover of darkness and made his way over to the Ninth Pct. and the start of his encounter with Patrolman Lorenzo De Frenzo, Shield 13077, NYPD. It’s close to 2300 hours Thursday, September 7, 1972 as Quinten Bialy enters the 124 Room.
Published 05/21/17 www.short-story.me