The Devil Made Me Do It
There he sat, I saw him from a distance, perfectly at ease while vaping on his Red Hot Chili Pepper flavored e-cigarette. The noticeable difference was it’s glowing red tip. Otherwise, Mr. Jones naturally blended into the crowd of Brooklyn millennials that filled this Micro-Brewery in trendy Williamsburg. Sauhok Shikkusu had selected this site in Brooklyn for our first meeting with him. I must admit I was a bit skeptical; well, really I was more frightened at the possibilities of this meeting. But I couldn’t give up this apparently once in a lifetime opportunity. I really didn’t totally comprehend that guaranteed success and recognition would soon easily follow.
Sauhok Shikkusu ran a small Public Relations/Branding start up firm: Seniozesseis, LLC. She knew me back from our college days ten years ago and easily tracked me down. I am an unknown freelance writer who has been sporadically published. I guess she must have seen my work?
Then again, to easily track someone down, there’s always Facebook. I checked out her Facebook page; she was still the same hot chick I knew from college, hardly aging, but still probably well out of my reach. Her Eurasian beauty and eclectic fusion of styles always fascinated me. She needed a creative writer with an “open mind.” I needed the work, so I accepted her business invitation. The bonus of being near her excited me.
Anyway, the following is what brought me to this millennial Billiesburg meeting with Mr. Jones:
After contacting me, Sauhok and I met at her small Downtown Brooklyn loft space she shared with Rempaco, an aging, leftover hippie, liberal, New Age Mystic douche bag Psychic. My first impression after meeting him: He kept the “funk in funky,” that being applicable to both meanings of funky listed in the Urban Dictionary. Her part of the loft was neat and corporate orderly, but with a bit of flair. His area was a way bit “bohemian” for my taste, but obviously not for hers. Sauhok still being eclectic as she ever was in environment, friends and all other things.
Sauhok and I exchanged small talk pleasantries and then departed to meet the first part of my assignment. As we settled into our Uber for the ride to somewhere in Brighton Beach she started to give me the 411 as the driver put on his headphones and listened to some loud Turkish music.
We were going to see Shlomo Klein. Mr. Klein was a ninety year old Nazi Holocaust survivor. The cruel SS Guards referred to him as a “Doppel Loser” (Double Loser.) This because he was not only a “Schmutzigen Jew” (Dirty Jew,) but a “Der Schwulea” (homosexual) as well. They made him wear the Star of David (identifying him as Jewish) on his right arm and a Lavender Triangle (identifying him as gay) on his left arm. This meant more dirty backbreaking work, more severe beatings and way less food to survive on.
But, in spite of their efforts, he did survive the Nazi Death Camps.
I felt like I was being drawn into something bizarre and of course, she being deliberately and coquettishly enigmatic, Sauhok somehow knew that I would just eagerly follow along.
We met Mr. Klein in his small sixth floor apartment that faced the Atlantic Ocean in Brighton Beach. He has lived in this apartment since coming to the United States in the late 1940’s. It is quite austere. There are no stacks of papers, pictures, or mementoes. The place is quite tidy and clean. It lacks that “old people odor” one would expect. He amazingly looked more like he was in his sixties, not his nineties. He was quite lucid and engaging.
Mr. Klein has no relatives, no “people,” they were all lost in the Nazi Death Camps. He is alone and has purposely avoided personal relationships over the years. His chosen profession, a lonely one, that of an international traveling salesman fit his purpose. All his energy and all his funds went for one thing and one thing only: Justice for those who expired in the Nazi Death Camps.
Mr. Klein offers us tea and homemade Mandelbrodt as we sit in his living room facing the Ocean. It is a bright sunny day as he turns towards the sunshines warmth from the large clear windows and closes his eyes. He then faces us and starts to tell his incredible story. I couldn’t help but notice the tattooed numbers on his forearm from his Nazi tormentors. I tried not to stare.
In 1946 Berlin he made his decision. To hunt down and kill ALL those involved in running the Nazi Death Camps. He frequented many meetings, mostly clandestine, run by other young former Nazi Death Camp prisoners seeking revenge. Nothing he heard appealed to him. There was way too much politics, ego and testosterone going on there.
Then he met the American, Richard Jones. Mr. Jones had the amazing ability to know exactly where some of these Nazis were hiding out. Mr. Jones also had the money to finance Mr. Klein’s desire to personally terminate the existence of those identified Nazi Criminals.
The relationship remained at this level for about two years. The total number of kills Mr. Klein committed was fifteen. Nothing dramatic, two shots from a twenty two caliber pistol in the head behind the left ear. That way there’s really no mess, the bullets remain in the brain, very little blood.
But Mr. Jones knew Mr. Klein naturally wanted to accelerate the pace and increase the pain administered in these assassinations.
Many of the Nazi rats were now scattering all over the world. That was the next step, go after bigger fish, move up the food chain. Mr. Jones identified a few more Nazi Camp Commanders and their underlings, a few more Nazi Bureaucrats as well as other Nazis deserving of elimination. They were in the process of escaping capture in Europe. Mr. Jones’ sources were impeccable.
Like a drug dealer giving children free samples to get them addicted, that’s exactly what Mr. Jones was doing with the young and impressionable Mr. Klein. Ultimately, Mr. Jones laid out his plans. They were quite impressive and included international travel along with sophisticated methods of tracking and creatively painful elimination techniques.
There was only one stipulation.
Mr. Jones sat Mr. Klein down one morning in 1948 and told him he had some sobering news. Mr. Jones just came straight out with it.
“Shlomo, look, I’m the Devil.” Mr. Jones said. “I know your people believe in some other form of Hell, I think it’s called “Gehinnom,” but I have to tell you, it does not exist for you. And your three part heaven “Shamayim” is not an option now for you as well, They really don’t exist.”
“I’m a non-practicing Jew anyway” Shlomo cautiously said, not wanting to offend Mr. Jones, his benefactor, though he believed Mr. Jones might not be exactly telling the truth. “The Devil? this guy is probably a bit mshuge.” Shlomo silently said to himself.
To be sure, Shlomo was baffled and really didn’t know how to react. And then, without another word, Mr. Jones just snapped his fingers and they were suddenly in New York City on the Staten Island Ferry, Shlomo amazed by the nighttime Manhattan skyline when Mr. Jones snapped again and they were on sunny Waikiki Beach in Hawaii. Shlomo gawked at the beautiful women in bathing suits and Mr. Jones snapped again and they were back in Shlomo’s tiny bombed out apartment in Berlin. All in the span of three minutes.
“Well?” Mr. Jones smilingly said.
“Can you get me up to Heaven to see my parents?” Shlomo begged.
“Sorry, the powers that be won’t have you, you’ve committed one of their silly “sins” fifteen times by killing those Nazis. That forgiveness stuff only works sometimes for somethings, but definitely not for murder and it’s all quite “iffy” especially for Jews.” Mr. Jones said with faux, but convincing regret. “And, Jesus does not want too many reminders of his past religion.” Mr. Jones added, “And they call me hypocrite!”
“Jesus wants people to accept him as their Savior while they’re on Earth, if you don’t, he does not really forgive everything after you die, you know.” Mr. Jones went on to explain, “He would definitely not accept you now.” He continued, “That being sorry in your heart is just a line of shit in the confessional, I eventually get the really bad ones anyway, no matter how many Hail Mary’s they say.”
“That Purgatory is highly overrated.” Mr. Jones whispered. “I get quite a bit from there as well.”
“Your parents and the other Nazi victim millions are up there, a deal was cut, special consideration for the Holocaust stuff, but you’ll never get in now with these Nazi murders you’ve committed.” Mr. Jones said in a mater of fact tone.
“That Jesus fellow is some tough negotiator, believe me! You’d be surprised at who he turns away!” Mr. Jones said. “I usually get them all, I even got Adolf, that was an easy one, I took Eva as well, collateral damage.”
“Now I have a deal for you, I will give you eternal life as long as there are World War II Nazi criminals alive on the earth for you to track down and kill.” Mr. Jones then continued, “as long as you sign your soul over to me and I get it when the last World War II Nazi criminal has been exterminated.”
Mr. Jones added, “Don’t be a Schmuck, you’re going to Hell anyway, why not take advantage and expedite more Nazis and YOU get to kill them anyway YOU want!” He added, “You know you’d loose your appeal to join your parents anyway, a murdering Faggala Jew? Forgetabout it!”
“Does not the idea of just one of these Nazi Criminals dying of old age in his own bed at his own comfortable home just disgust you?” Mr. Jones asked the pensive Shlomo.
“OK, Mr. Jones, I mean, what else am I going to do?” said a resigned Shlomo. The deal was to be signed as tradition dictates, using Shlomo’s blood on an ancient parchment.
“Just to keep things Kosher,” Mr. Jones smiled as he directed Mr. Klein where to sign.
With a snap of his fingers, Mr. Jones made it so Shlomo could understand and speak any language in the world and make it sound as if it were his native tongue. Shlomo also lost the need for his glasses and now had 20/20 vision including night vision. He also now had encyclopedic knowledge and a photographic memory. All to make his hunt more successful. Shlomo relished instantly knowing all the medieval torture techniques and how to use them for the maximum and longest lasting application of agonizing pain. The Nazi criminals would also be living in fear when the rumor of the ultimate sadistic Nazi hunter spreads worldwide.
I was fascinated to know how Mr. Klein went about administering a tortuous death. I asked and Mr. Klein humored me: “Pick a Month and a Year,” he said.
“OK, September, 1967” I quickly responded.
“In September of 1967, I tracked this Nazi Camp Commander down to a little village in Peru. I kidnapped him to an isolated area in the mountains. Before I started to work on him, I force fed him tons of laxatives and he shit up a storm. I saved his shit and baked it along with other deadly toxins into what you now call “Ass Hash.” Mr. Klein said without any real emotion.
“Then I used the accent procedure of Frigging: Taking some ginger, I skinned and carved it into the shape of a ass plug, it causes an intense burning sensation and often intolerable discomfort upon insertion. The effect builds up to the maximum within about the first two to five minutes and lasts about thirty minutes or so. It worked quite well because his asshole was raw and sore from the bodily elimination response to the laxatives. I then inserted a glass bottle up his ass and smashed it. I flushed his ass with alcohol and gasoline. Then reinserted a fresh plug. I also inserted a thin glass rod into his penis, I proceeded to slam his penis with a sledge hammer. By the way, the ginger plug also works wonders on vaginas.” Mr. Klein added.
“While he was tied down to a table, in agony from the ass plug and penis insertion, I slowly and methodically started to pull his teeth, and used alcohol and gasoline to wash away the blood. I made sure to replace the ginger ass plug every half hour or so, all this while slowly burning his feet with fire and removing a finger nail or toe nail at some interval between working on his teeth and cleaning all areas with gasoline or alcohol."
“I got bored so I slit his throat and he started to choke on his own blood, I had a flight to catch anyway.” Mr. Klein noted. “I immediately feed him to the wild boars I captured before he actually died.”
“I saved the“Ass Hash”and made my next subject smoke all of it before starting another totally different torturous routine on her.” He finally ended.
‘And that’s just what I did. I hunted the Nazis down and eliminated them with the aid and guidance of Mr. Jones. Now there are no Nazis left to hunt.” Mr. Klein told us.
“After a few years, I finally realized It was a win win deal for Mr. Jones. He got more Nazis that were going to hell much quicker. And in the end he'd get me as well.” Mr. Klein said while shaking his head with an ironic laugh. “Hey I was young, Mr. Jones so enjoyed the suffering I inflicted on those Nazi bastards, and I must admit, looking back now, so did I.”
“Nevertheless…….Mr. Jones is the one who had the“Yidisha Kup” (Smart Jewish head.) Mr. Klein said, pointing to his forehead with self-deprecating amusement. “But I don’t want to go to his hell, so I met with Mr. Jones to negotiate and he was surprisingly quite agreeable, suggesting Miss Shikkusu here get involved.”
“I believed him when he said there was no welcoming Jewish Heaven, but back then I was so bent on revenge, I didn’t care. I’m now willing to take my chances and want out of the blood contract I signed back in 1948.” Mr. Klein said. “I’ll take my chances like everyone else, if there’s a God, he will know I did a valuable service. I deserve and will get eternal peace and rest.”
“Let’s see what we can do.” Sauhok said in a reassuring voice.
Sauhok and I left Brighton Beach in another Uber Taxi. Incredulity was overloading my senses. “The Devil? I am supposed to believe that facakta story?” I thought. (Pardon my Yiddish).
I told Sauhok I’d follow through and meet with Mr. Jones, but asked what her involvement exactly was. She hemmed and hawed. When we returned to her loft space, Rempaco was gone so instead of going out for dinner we ordered Mexican take out delivery. She then spun her tale of Mr. Jones.
Sauhok started by informing me that The Devil or Mr. Jones as we now know him has always kept up with the times. The end of the twentieth century with the predictable rise of the millennials has finally caught his attention. The shared economy, the independence, the changing roles, the fall of religion and traditional values all have had an affect on Mr. Jones’ overall operation.
Example: Wimpy White Males. The feminization and emasculation of young American white males over the past thirty years has led to the recruitment of more women to take on more involved traditionally Devil oriented male roles. “An Affirmative Action Program for Hell.” Mr. Jones calls it. This has transversed into the Devil’s operational playbook. “Mr. Jones despises video games and the effects of political correctness,” Sauhok adds to the story. He’s even said to me: “Men are turning into such pussies, I’m getting more and more women in Hell.”
“Mr. Jones has come to me because the time is right to update public relations of his brand; “The Devil.” I’ve decided the story of the Devil and how he’s helped bring the Nazi’s to justice through his deal with Mr. Klein would be the best way to kick off the campaign.” Sauhok informed me as she ate her Mexican dinner and washed it down with icy cold Sangria.
“So you buy into this, that there really is a devil and Mr. Jones is him?” I asked her.
“I’ve seen his powers, and you will as well, he is evil but he is good.” She robotically said as if directed to by some other controlling authority. Somewhat like the manner in which those brainwashed soldiers spoke about Laurence Harvey’s character Raymond Shaw in the classic 1962 film The Manchurian Candidate.
Sauhok then snapped right back into the normal free flow of the conversation. I dismissed that strange authority type out of body answer while starring into her beautiful dark eyes thinking about how cool it would be to go south of the border on her Fish Taco by adding some squirts of my organic home made sour cream from my bulging Burrito.
“So you believe the world is ready to accept there is a “good”devil?” I asked by brining the conversation back to what I considered reality.
“I think this story will generate a better understanding of Satin and devil worship, this is the start on a long journey and WE can be the founders of acceptance by manipulating the media to the nuances of the brand.” She said as she starred at me longingly and touched my inner thigh. “Mr. Klein’s story is a natural” she whispered. “We need people to accept and approve before they believe.” She added, “Who doesn’t like and respect a Nazi killer?”
“But why you?, why did he come to you?” I asked. She just looked at me and softly put her left index finger over my lips.
Before I knew it we were kissing, she was slowly removing her cloths and revealed the most luscious of breasts. Remembering that line from one of my favorite 1969 cult movies,“Putney Swope”. I TOTALLY disagree with Antonio Vargas’ character A-Rab when he said “Just ‘cause you got a set of jugs, don’t mean you rule the world!” Yes it DOES!!!!! Sauhok had a lovely set of nutty jugs! Right now she ruled the world.
I quickly removed my clothing as well, we walked hand and hand into the other room where there was a mattress. After a while, she started to go down on me, it was ecstasy as I moaned and put my hands through her long straight dark hair. I looked down to watch her head undulating on my throbbing Johnson and as I swirled her hair I saw the scalp tattoo of “666.” I had a “malignancy in my prostate, but she was going to make it benign” (Putney Swope, 1969). And I really did not care about the legitimacy of Mr. Jones as the devil as I uncontrollably exploded inside her with waves and waves of my pearly juice of life containing millions of little tailed darting devils.
So here I am now in Williamsburg, we are meeting with Mr. Jones. This is strange, this is weird, this is unnatural. But I am so intrigued.
“I see Sauhok has convinced you to join my Public Relations team.” Mr. Jones said as he kisses Sauhok on he left cheek as we join his table.
“You two make such a handsome couple!” He says as he gives with the big grin. His eyes seem so dark, so inviting, so deep, so alluring, so agreeably telling. I am uncontrollably being drawn into his domain. I don’t even realize that this guy should be at least 120 years old, but looks like a fit and trim 35 year old. He might even be a reincarnation of Dick Clark!
“Does my amazement show?” I asked myself.
Mr. Jones spoke with such concern for Mr. Klein’s future and how his benevolence might be in order for negotiation. He made sure to distance himself from anything to do with the Nazi Criminal rise to power in Germany and Europe, both today and yesterday. “Misguided evil, giving me a bad name!” He actually said! My skepticism wained as Sauhok had her hand under the table on my reawakened by not totally drained throbbing swensenbender, that’s all that mattered for now. That malignancy in my prostrate is starting to grow again.
As he talked he spun a golden web of our (mine and Sauhok’s) future and of Seniozesseis LLC’s meteoric growth. My mind wandered from the “666” tattoo on Sauhok’s scalp to the name of her firm, Senio-zes-seis. “Let’s see senio is six in Latin, zes is six in Dutch and seis is six in Spanish. So that’s, Six Six Six?”
“Wait, did Sauhok seduce me into entering into a bargain with the devil? But, Shit, if Mr. Jones is right, what do I have to lose?” Sauhok started slowly manipulating my Johnson under the table to make that malignancy in my prostate benign.
Wait, doesn’t “seduce” have six letters?”
“Fuck it.” Hey, “Fuck it”.. that’s six letters again.”
“The Devil Made Me Do it?” That’s six words!
**S e d u c e** Fuck it** The Devil Made Me Do it**
That’s 6 6 6!!!!!
“Did I mention, upon further investigation Sauhok’s name is composed of Sau which is six in Vietnamese and Hok is six in Korean. Her last name Shikkusu is six in Japanese. That’s six, six, six again.
I’m not surprised at anything anymore.
Nevertheless, everyday I’m learning something new about my “association” with Mr. Jones. It’s sum and substance translates into this saying: “Success, Power and Adulation” are better than “Failure, Impotency and Rejection.”
Mr. Klein eventually died of natural causes. I do not know his final destination but Mr. Jones assured me their blood contract was now null and void. There are some things Mr. Jones still does not share with me. Though, I do believe Mr. Klein’s death took him on its natural course.
After all, “the devil is in the details,” that’s six words.
“Everything’s open to negotiation with Satin,” six again
“Mr. Klein did a good thing” that’s six GREAT words.
Published 11/01/16 www.short-story.me