His penis pulsated unexpectedly hard within the tight grip. It was cold but the determined firmness of the phantom grasp made it even harder. The fingers had settled along its rubbery shank. At first delicately then compressing in firmness as the embrace of the member became incrementally even stronger. That same old feeling of a heavy emotional displacement from below spread upward from his belly towards his heart. He could almost feel that same old vortex of building warmth rekindled from that now ancient youthful vitality. A companion tugging sensation encompassing the region around his anus. Like an old car too long in storage revived by spark of a new battery he felt feelings and emotions that were hard to recall since the last sign of their age old disappearance. It had seemed like ages since his organ has been touched by another. He felt as if it was being resurrected from a long period of death.The sharp edge of the scalpel caressed the base of his tight scrotum as the hand still in tight embrace of his shaft used it to lift the package of his testicles skywards tugging them tautly away from his pelvis. He could not seem to account for the occasion that had invited this renewal of a taste of forgotten sensation of anxious animal desire. The incision slowly commencing around its base with a long studied circumferential cut around the base of his sexual apparatus. As the blade cut deep he seemed to sink back into the stupor that he had been found in before this unanticipated episode. A deep and unchartable period of rest that he felt would be hard to awaken once again from. After much care and professional ceremony, the organ was fully detached and lifted away from the cadaver. It was laid carefully into a clear container of Formalin to be studied at a later time by the student for her examination of the male reproductive system the following week.
The old adage states that, “Women are cats and men are dogs!“, This can be taken a variety of ways depending on which side the ‘sitter’s‘ and ‘pointer’s‘ you happen to be on. And certainly the particular mores of the era that favors one or the other. For my money things are bit less complex and very less than genteel than this old maxim suggests. That is if you ARE on the receiving end. I am sure both sides have something in personal experience to bemoan. But in my own case it is that ever persistent general lack of regard that women so very often afford men. Men after all to this sisterhood of thought are a commodity. Consider that to many of them, their male counterpart is a conveyance. One that is expected to instantly provide many facets without reservation. An emotional Swiss army knife offering concern, sympathy, and protection. As well as a bestial tool of lust driven satisfaction to rub away that occasional animal itch down from further below the palpitations of the heart. This current era, as popularized by the quickly atrophying mass media, being an Armageddon for carefree males. One that, even for that noble much vaunted class of Lothario’s [AKA., known colloquially as ‘bad boys’] can just as easily earn a bill hook to an eternity of court ordered spousal support for their one night of irresponsible sexual transgression. But that, of course, is the playing field at the extreme of our hapless gender. The side that I am most concerned with, one that I myself hold a much faded time weary union card to, being that of the lowly goodhearted ‘dumb schmuck‘. The kind of guy that gets so easily loaded up with female histrionics like a fat drunken Santa Claus on the eve of December 24th. But then has that massive attack of delirium tremens promptly on the first of January when he busily launders the latest, her majesty’s shoe prints off the back of his shirt. Simply put, women have no real world sense of conscience when it comes to taking plunder from any willing male. Their own over generous self-forgiveness providing quick excuses for giving little, if anything, back in return. As if this behavior is a god-given right that has been handed down to them by Queen Isis herself. A blind spot in moral consciousness if there ever was one. Something that very quickly becomes tedious and tiresome to any rational male with his head on straight.
There seems no ability by any member of that far end of the species to identify or cure this flaw. A genetic implant that by its ability to get away Scot Free, runs through the same old sequence of steps from a brief virginal period. Of the proverbial mother goddess style of entrapment supposedly fulfilling every male fantasy [as much as any female mind can comprehend]. To the remainder of the duration of cohabitation where they become the center of attention as a metaphorical toaster consecutively popping out the next generation of offspring, slice after slice buttered up. Then the waters of the Red Sea between their legs becoming a much narrower Suez charging ever more exorbitant rates for passage to a much less enthusiastic land of faded epiphanies. The immediacy of the world as a whole in their midst expected to rotate around them as their smallest whim. Or swiftly suffer the mounting volcanic firestorm of an ever vengeful goddess Kali. If for any reason this potent potion of building estrogen unbounded is in any way interfered with, then their interest quickly wanes to paint a gray picture of their being some fatally wronged incarnation of Anna Karenina. That groveling ‘schmuck in waiting‘ usually growing sour despite that all too rapidly fading rusty invocation of his dear mother’s voice, “For everyone, there is someone!”
“Hah!” The adage quickly faded into mental exhaustion from the cagey feline’s never ending bag of self-serving tricks. That initial overt display of gentlemanly respect and judicious good behavior that was initially offered, now in hindsight mere foolishness on his part, after his prospective mate’s quick transformation into a Medusa. A self-imposed facial Psy-Op of the poor dumb fool that leaves him wondering why he was born without the tool set and inclination to turn the tables and make the other gender suffer? Something as ‘macho’ in line with his better endowed male rivals. Those poor dumb canines nursing their facial scratches while the most indifferent local kitty licks the blood off her claws. Without that constant emotional drumming of genetic based corporal lust captivating the psyche of the former to entrance the latter, the entire species would quickly die out. And in fact, current statistics now show just that! One need not wonder much why in former millennia, castles were routinely assaulted , women carried away to be raped ‘en masse‘ and men off on their merry way to the next prize to plunder. It was just simply much easier for all parties concerned! The women got new homes with more children to raise. And those most successful at invasion got their rocks off moving from town to town with nary a care! The ‘iron boot‘ in our present era being upon the other foot.
The experience of this author, in light of hindsight, being recalled as one disaster after another. Spilled milk and high hanging grapes far up the tree aside, the usual pattern being the usual semblance of possibility quickly brought crashing down to the cold lack of comfort of uncompromising realities. The emotional immaturity and self-centeredness of females seemingly an un-detachable built-in mechanism. Something incapable of having regard for sincerity or mutuality. “My way or the highway!“, the clarion call ever under wraps of the current romantic pretender who now has very quickly tired of passing out favors or attention and shared concern as their claws seem well set. Certainly not that faded picture long ago painted of someone faithful and true, that like every childhood fairy tale, quickly evaporated two steps beyond of infancy. If this assessment seems a bitter and childish? Then I might point to the abysmal statistics on the bilious sanctity of marriage. Something long freed from the carrot and stick approach of an adherence to religious dogma for life. Something that has resulted in a carefree lifestyle for females. And a corresponding ‘ball and chain‘ life experience for males. And God forbid that children show their unruly little heads in the game. The only thing that can be said for the human race combined as a whole being that we all to quickly live for the prolonged fantasy but eventually die off in the wake of its absence.
So many time I find after a particularly extensive internal drama spent under the covers in the dead of night that I find myself delivered back into the embrace of my bed once again several ours short of waking. Not any particularly random time but so very often, that exact time of 3:45 AM. On the same exact fraction of an hour being when some six years before my own beloved father drew his last breath on earth. No what makes me wonder is that my being a legacy of his genes and no doubt his eventual ailments of affliction of the heart that make it the most likely reason written on one’s toe tag. It seems curious that I should so naturally be brought to consciousness again and again at this exact time. Small tiny sharp stabs to stage left anterior just below my own thorax. Almost in some strange way as if I had been called back to that habitual place called waking reality. One in my shoes could easily speculate that this phenomena is not exclusive but shared with many others. So much so that after rising from the warmth of rumpled covers into the persistent reigning cloak of darkness I have resorted to the web to in much to some level of surprise that this precise time of night is said to be the hour when the devils come out to dance. A fact that has one’s inner self occasioning imagery from Disney’s classic of demonic ancient tribal rites, “Fantasia.”
My own road to this awareness complete with palpitations of an aching chest beginning in the still cogent memory with some vague scenario commencing on a farm where I had been handed some vague assignment to work with a woman at what I might have described as an inmate of a ‘hen house’. The downtrodden collection of sheds and barns, stables and smithy all gathered around a central court focused upon a raised platform serving as stage. A convenient coven for the faithful of a small congregation of earthy looking females playing both main performers and primary attraction to the audience of themselves. Myself now outwardly the inescapably noticeable Caucasian male sticking out in naked view like a big red sore thumb before this aching distill crowd. And as such, my opinions considered as being completely unacceptable. But in that contemporary humble guise of as a simple respectful ‘cucked‘ male quiet mindful of their ire barely tolerated as spectator. I sat beside an old female friend named Sharon who in her own usual way seemed forever diplomatic in avoiding awareness of such obvious schisms. This universal war on the topic of male potency as heatedly conducted each tongue successively carrying equally sharp barbs dripping with venom. Time and again, the overzealous spittle of biting little speeches boiling over to outwardly condemn all things evil as being defaulted to a failure by that element of ‘man‘ within ‘mankind‘. It all seemed so silly to me in my silence. The presentations, one after another, evidencing an all too obvious inherent weakness of internal character within each of the speakers in their barely concealed lack of any internal self worth. “How odd?“, I thought on the fly sitting there. That this sort of mutual Achilles heel was so blatantly shared and evident within this group? And being so easily interchangeable among them like some form of emotional currency acceptable as a form of unquestionable communal wealth within their dogmatic Feminist realm? One particular verbal arrow loosed my way daring blood as the speaker expressed he venom in a particularly loud fashion. The spoken projectile striking home bringing forth an immediate knee jerk vocal response in kind from me. “RACIST!”, my own voice rang out loudly over the throng towards the speaker. Barely a murmur within the crowd was detectable for the next moment. But then a wave of expected mumbling struck like lightning through the entire crowd. One in a fashion that one would expect to evidence in a stormy wind cutting forcefully through the un-plucked sheaf’s of wheat. Its virulence disrupting the entire field in a wasteful shower of unharvested grain. It was now time for me to exist this farmyard in order to carry out this vague mission. The unspecified collaboration of a sort with another party involving the collection of facts on a topic that might be of possible interest to the general readership of an unnamed local publication in seeding an article of passing generic interest.
I didn’t look to see if another woman was parked on the the bench seat next to me as I exited in my big blur and white outdated sedan. Relieved to be away of such unwholesome irritations, I headed down the expected stretch of road that unexpectedly identified itself as a place and proximity not too unfamiliar to me at all? Some place claiming ownership in my own routine vernacular as not being, “so far from home.” The segment of highway just beyond the intersection offering a shock in the specter of a cathedral-like malevolent vision of several city blocks crammed full of old derelict buildings. Ones so hoary to my first glance as to judge the lot as being completely abandoned over centuries. A second cautionary glance affording a stark impression of their having collapsed upon each other in such a manner as one might expect of wax dripped haphazardly over an extended time by gravity onto tightly packed votive candles left too close over a long night. The red dirt street splitting into a matched set of lanes diverging to either side of an undefined median. Both completely unpaved inching upwards over a steeply inclined Hell of well-worn ruts and muddy potholes that seemed nu-navigable to the eye. Most incredibly of all in the midst of this inhospitable environment families of suburban tourists rambled about unperturbed as if amidst some form of holiday carnival attraction? My own course forward already plotted by inattention in crossing the intersection I carefully ambled my vehicle up through this gauntlet as carefully as possible. These roughly tumbled lanes betwixt derelict structures inhabited occasionally by boutiques of the sorts of barely stocked store one might expect to find serving as commercial way stations in those bleak economic deserts of inner city black ghetto neighborhoods. Large German shepherd dogs were in evidence everywhere. Their universal popularity within this marginal municipality possibly as a form of general warning. These quarrelsome looking beasts roaming about the streets with a brash arrogant independence suggesting a communal sense of barely contained menace. You could hear them constantly growling from within your car’s tightly closed windows. As if each was marking out its own territory vigilantly stalking some potential target to quickly harass. Their collective demeanor surpassed in belligerence only by an occasional uniformed thug sloppily attired in the threadbare trappings of law enforcement. Driving further into this mess seemed some form of unconscious death wish courting disaster.
A gray area of unconscious mist accompanied a transition to someplace not quite explicable. My next appearance being within the battered confines of a large mold ridden disabled structure that served as the lobby of the town’s main hotel. The reason for my foolishness in having allowed myself to be there only be explained as a tacit compliance to that unnamed female consort whose presence was more characteristic of some form of phantom sylph than a real life flesh and blood companion. Exhaustion taking the place of caution, I recall settling down on a patch of floor by a wall to lean back upon some bags and begin to fall into a snooze. My impulse being brought to an immediate hasty conclusion by the intercession of the probing of an adolescent shepherd dog that struck his its tooth bound nuzzle hard against my temple. The young demon snapping angrily at my ear for good measure. Where in any other place on earth the infamy such an interruption might have been a form of blame placed upon the head of the hound’s owner in this case it summoned the immediate antagonism of a local magistrate. Jumping over me like a canine. he solemnly warning me to quickly move along lest I be arrested on the ground of some minor infraction if I did not exit the vicinity immediately. He seemed to seethe from within from an inexhaustible wellspring of rage as it was the true inspiration behind his profession. Not needing any further hints I made my way out of range of his general locale and back towards my vehicle. The exact location of which now seeming to be playing hide and seek trickery with my foggy memory. My companion now an astral entity whose presence I could barely sense anymore at that point. The ceiling now above me cloistered in shadowy dark offering only speculation as to the underlying meaning of such a flighty episode. The connection of thoughts invading the inclination to fall back into sleep charting a direction to the inference that there might be the possibility of another source for this unpleasantness. One that had equal resonance with the notion of the hand of other realms interceding with the conduct of my own. And with those of my now long departed family members. The dance of demons at their high point at the most expected hour of their nightly revelries. The passport allowing their visitation upon a victim being the unhealthy lifestyle of the ready host accompanied by the possession of his long overburdened soul.
I just returned a few moments ago from the movie that I should have seen yesterday with my relatives. Valerian. Directed by “Fifth Element” French director Luc Bession, it may be the answer why the French were excluded from the other current Hollywood Blockbuster, “Dunkirk.” Where the later is critically acclaimed and a total downer, Valerian promises the key element to pleasing and audience and leaving them hop, skip and jumping back intuit he light of day with a happy, hopeful chord. The journalistic critics who tried to say that it was incoherent were either listening to their parent marketing liaison’s who said push “Dunkirk” and pan “Valerian“. The irony being of course that both in their way push the idea of Globalism. One in the sense of future events to come full of horrific conflict, the other in a resolution of the most treasured of all human emotions, the love of a man and a woman. Albeit a bit adolescent at face value. But in fairness recounting in everyone that point in time when loving someone else is first consummated by the vow of a lifetime of commitment to them. It’s central characters embody the best genetic parts of the high European beauty from the high fashion runways of Paris infused into the graceful frames of Western Africa’s Masai somewhat stealing the thunder from the latest most preeminent Hollywood money-grosser “Avatar” living is the perfect sort of Utopia that only rich Southern Californian’s could only dream of.
The picture perfect lost Eden portrayed in what quickly becomes a paradise lost is more than made up for by the petulant innocence of its two main protagonists. Even my own scarred and stony heart seemed almost ready to revive at in many ways was much of the same old cliche trials and tribulations of male and female that have been handled in a similar manner in so many previous films over the history of Hollywood. The dialogue is smart and the asides clever enough to break a smile without being forced. The empathy building for finding out the meandering path of the heroes’ journey that the two embark upon keeping ones interest throughout its one hundred and thirty-seven minutes. The guest appearances employ the talents of invited star performers in particular being the best parts of Rihanna. A cult figure that in other venues only seems to produce great doubts in terms of clammy cultural context. Where “Avatar” as an experience has many wishing for impossible existence as part of another species, the conclusion of “Valerian” plays upon the retro of what in some ways was a kinder gentler less complex time when space travel was characterized by hopeful spirit enriching encounters with the unknown. Not, face hugging predatory monsters bent upon species extinction.
Sure this is the kinder part of the Illuminati’s wet dream of a genetically enhanced Kalergi approved ‘milk shake‘ world society. But it’s soldiering in the war for the quest of perfect Social Justice is made palatable. Not shoved done your throat at gunpoint. Maybe you are too old to bathe in the cleansing ‘pearls’ of youth culture shit out the behinds of Disneyesque cuddle toys but grounded in the hope that love does indeed conquer all! Fuck the critics! Go see this film!
So much for old fables! Let me share that dirty little secret with you. Sleeping beauty wasn’t dead after all. She was just faking it till she was sure that Prince Charming was on the hook. At that point all her cares and woes were behind her. She took the evil witch costume back to the shop the very next morning. From that point on the romance was over. Today’s iteration of women really don’t care about men when the final straw is counted. They just want to feel the security that her special he can provide her. The older they get the less the pretense involved. They always save the last best choice that has the biggest income for ‘the man’ of their dreams. Of course, Hollywood wants to keep the opposite narrative alive. It is better for business that way.
You don’t realize when you are young that you are both equal parts of your mother and your father. Now on the other end of the slope heading downward I realize how very true that is. Yet how does one pass this on when it is too late in terms of an ability to do so. The current era wants to push me into an early grave. They use all their resources to tell me my time is over. But I am not ready to go. In fact I am just getting started. There are two worlds within me. The world my father knew and used as a yardstick that I have not come near to fulfilling. And may never even get close. Yet that gives me a future even though the proposed of world of womanhood does not. It is a cold dead hive of useless vainglorious creatures that have abandoned their best feature in procreation. They think that their appearance is more important than your opinion of them. And yet they have the audacity to ask me to sacrifice to buy them a drink? True love is too long under the bus and I am no longer ready to should the unwarranted responsibility for having driven a stake into its heart. No longer ready to lay down my coat in the puddle’s midst to have to fit in with all the other muddy headed males who seem incapable of any sort of courage beyond that of memorizing the latest sports statistics. And then to be told to wash the dirt off my coat by myself. How sad to watch my own culture die because it was betrayed from within? And all for so many useless piles of paper that you are no longer supposed to carry around in large numbers within your wallet!
The world and the keys to navigating it are in your head. You can let others convince you that only they can turn on the ignition or you can tell them to buzz of and get their own car. Opportunity by way of induced starvation is simply genocide deferred till tomorrow. If you find yourself in that position it means that they really don’t want you on their team. And you are a fool if you want or accept them on your own. It’s not about hate or envy. It is simply about discovering that long absented real you. If you don’t look good to anyone when you are poor and old beyond what you can buy them then forget it! Pass on by! There is always a younger more gullible model down the road, it that is your thing I mean. But why would one want to sleep with snakes? Is the animal sensation that good? Really? Or are you just collecting scalps and STD’s for your lodge polls? Moral equivalency and Socialist Justices only want to hang you cause you’re smart enough to know that number one always counts as first and all else is a distant twenty-six. Mumble that next time you have an intimate interaction. Demand that the secretary new a decent cup of coffee rather than just go down to Starbuck’s! The Federal Government is too busy plotting a coup to care! This land is lost because it let itself be taken over by those who have always dreamed of reinstalling slavery. Those pretenders that cajole others to do their dirty work while wagging their forked tongues. It is time to take the world back! “Do you want to live forever?”
It was after six o-clock and Jenner was a couple beers past finishing his burger. Somewhat past his general state of paranoia as to the unexpected events that had transpired earlier in the day. Whatever had occasioned his being questioned that morning by the police was now no longer seeming so nefarious. “A lot of people get questioned on a daily basis.“, he reckoned out loud to himself. It was no different than every once in a while getting a speeding ticket or a parking violation. Sooner or later your luck would fall short and you’d receive a citation. Just your tough luck! He grabbed at the morsel of a tiny cold French fry on his plate. It was the bit about the old record player that was the part that was bugging him. Was it stolen? Taken out the back door in the night from one of the sixth street antique stores? Or maybe some little old ladies garage? It certainly didn’t rate as the crime of the century! There hadn’t been much crime of a serious nature in this town since he lived here, if any at all? Sure, the usual stuff like shoplifting or theft when some holiday vacation residents went back home. Maybe a fist fight that occasionally got out of hand? Or domestic dispute that ended up with an abused wife going off to a shelter? Murders? Not more than the two that he had read about in the Kenosha News had written about in a poorer part of town. At least not since nineteen-eighty one by ‘murder alley’ by 65th street. But that was really something! Four murders almost in a row at housed on either side ore a period of a couple of weeks. Each with no convincing explanation? They finally found someone to pin it on some months later. But he was already in jail. Overall not the sort of statistic that one would expect of a backwater Wisconsin minor metropolis like Kenosha! Something more in the line of what one would expect from that big neighboring city to the south.
The area in general had suffered some hard blows since Chrysler Corporation had filed bankruptcy ten years previous. The old Rambler factory that had been making engines for AMC had finally run out of gas as far as the foreign accountants of that international mega-corporation were concerned. A lot of people had pulled in their belts an extra notch. Some of the younger residents had moved their families further north to Milwaukee. Better job prospects. There were of course worse places to be. Thank heavens he wan’t living in Zion on the opposite side of the state line down in Illinois. It had become a haven for big trouble. Drugs, gangs, assaults on the street, you name it. Jenner took another swig from his mostly emptied glass. It was warm now and had lost all its flavor. Its ‘Zazz’ as his father used to say when he used to go along with his younger brother to Hogan’s Goat, one of the old local taps in Delavan. his face seemed to sour. That was something he didn’t like to recall a lot. His brother Luke. Jenner had gone to the community college straight out from Delavan Darien High School. Their old man had worked for years making auto clocks at the Borg plant just a mile or two down where they lived just outside of town. Somehow he had expected that both of two sons would come up with something better than he had in terms of a career? Luke had joined the army that first year but had been killed unexpectedly in what they had been told was an accident overseas just below the 33rd parallel in South Korea. Bad rotten luck to have as a rookie on his first deployment. The resultant pall of his brother’s death casting a shadow over everything. Jenner had made the daily drive to the shores of Lake Michigan to earn a college degree at Carthage College. But due to low grades in too many of his classes he had dropped out much to the consternation of his emotionally father. Now he was part time as a pizza driver on the weekends picking up any odd job that he could. Ten years of drifting through life hadn’t left him very optimistic. The future of the family as one might say was a total loss?
The door swung open just behind him as Gabby hurriedly pushed through. “For Christsakes Gabby!“, Jim carped, “It’s already a quarter after!” “How long do I have to hold down the fort?” Gabby’s heels clattered upon the hard linoleum in the direction of the gap leading to behind the bar. She pushed by the old sour puss giving him her best casual smile. “Why Jim, you’re such a sugarplum today, aren’t you sweetheart?”, she smiled as she bumped him a bit with her hip. “That and everyday!“, another boozy voice rang out from an anonymous local down at the other end of the bar. Gabby picking up the small knife used to cut bar fruit shaking her head at the empty tray. “Leave our poor sugarplum alone!“, she mockingly cooed back to the shadows. Jim looking back past her in the direction of the comment growling, “So everyone is a comedian today!” “See ay all later I’m out of here!” Gabby still at the center of the bar’s back aisle with her hands on her hips looking down, “You better run mon ami, you didn’t bother to finish the setups for tonight!” Jenner couldn’t help letting out a snicker at the floorshow that was lit up by the ‘stagelights‘ illuminating the bar. “Mind your manners, I see you over there darling!”, Gabby said in her usual playfully disparaging tone. At five foot five inches tall, cutting an extraordinary female figure even for a movie star, Gabby had the ability to direct traffic from across the room with simple look back in one’s direction. The impression she left was part old French film star Brigit Bardot pleasantly mixed with a somewhat “Desperado” movie Mexican version of Selma Hyack. Small, beautiful but sassy and tough. She was the type of lady bartender that expected her customers to mid their manners. And woe betide those who did not. Rumor had it that she carried a .32 cal hidden somewhere nobody could see or would be allowed to unless they got really violent. An ’86’ in her book was a hard stare and no more drinks coming your way until she announced closing time by turning up the house’s work light. Since it was a regular stop by the local constabulary who would simply park outside the portholes with a flashing Mar’s light thrown in for good measure not one ever thought to object. Gabby knew everyone.
Jim had gone out the back and Jenner watched Gabby catching up on the chores that the afternoon Milwaukee Journal news edition had precluded Jim from completing. She wielded the knife chopping limes and oranges like an iron chef. “Don’t worry honey pie!, she tossed over to Jenner between cuts,”I’ll attend to you an a second!” Jenner was one of her favorites. Probably because when he first started hanging here two years back he was one of the few that ignored her. Not staring down her cleavage like so many others. Or watching her pear shaped ass as she traversed back and forth up and down the old wooden trellis never hitting an in-between empty spot with her medium set of high heels. “That girl’s got gravity all figured out!“, one of he customers declared one night some months back. He didn’t last long at the bar. She seemed to like Jenner as someone to roll around that general level of mundane conversation that regular people had stored up during a day’s existence to share with someone that they could trust. Someone who didn’t carry it around to others behind her back and twist it into something dirty and mean spirited. Sure she occasionally caught Jenner looking admiringly at her now and again. But in a polite kind of way that didn’t make her feel like an object. That was OK. Jenner got up from the table carrying the empty plate and beer glass and setting them down on the side of the bar. “Thanks honey.“, she said as she pumped some dirty beer glasses over the soapy sponge device in the sink. “Anything new with you?”, she added after a couple of fresh ones sat upon the rack drying. “Not really.“, Jenner lied really wanting to say exactly the opposite. It seemed to be disrespectful and sort of dumb to be asking what she new about a dumb old record player down at Police headquarters. She brought over a fresh glass of beer from the tap and looked at him. “Something on your mind besides crime?“, she chuckled innocently. “Now why do you say that?“, Jenner said defensively somewhat startled. He never figured her for a mind reader but he played on like he was innocent. “No reason!“, she turned and casually walked over to a customer who had just newly arrived. What in the hell was going on, Jenner thought to himself? Is this my day to play the most guilty looking party.
The lanes of traffic spread out as they courted the parking lots surrounding the maritime museum along side Kenosha’s harbor. The day was pleasant being summer somewhere between sun up and dusk. Jenner rode his bicycle down along these lanes courting disaster weaving back and forth beside the occasional passenger auto that impatiently whisked past. Somehow in the back of his mind he was courting a confrontation. Something that awaited just ahead. But as to whatever it was, he was in a mood not to be dissuaded to enjoy the day in a manner of his own choosing. They say the kid inside never dies and the exhilaration of swooping across the intersection pedaling fast felt too good to be interfered with. The car in the turn lane not being too appreciative in a manner that was reminiscent of modern drivers in general. They also said there was something about the experience of driving that turned one from a Dr. Jekyll into a very impatient Mr. Hyde. Behind the wheel one could vivisect a single instant into overlong fractions of a section waiting for a driver ahead posing an obstacle providing the possibility of enduring a missed opportunity. Though the driver of the Ford SUV just to the side of Jenner minded his manners, the wrath generated by the stranger felt palpably like a storm cloud advancing a foot or two just behind his rear wheel. It was just a feeling of course. And with another lazy curving arc he pulled the own Schwinn racer up to the curb promptly planting his foot down upon it for balance.
The officer seemed to appear from just out of sight of his right shoulder. The policeman’s greeting was customarily curt. A sense of destiny or maybe the approach of fate behind his best attempt at an easy but forced manner. “I’m sorry to bother you but I must ask you but would you please come with me?”, asked the tall hulking anonymous entity supporting the uniform before him. Jenner seemed at a loss. The helpless feeling of some unexpected drama was congealing about him that he could not escape had arrived. He peered back unable to dodge the expression of his head nodding within the mirror of twin lenses drawing a bead on him from under the precipice of a khaki brown campaign hat’s brim. Jenner to his amazement found himself sitting behind a steel desk as a portable vintage record player was set down before him. The clunky artifact was of the sort that he might have seen at his grandparents on holidays. “Can you tell me anything about this?“, the cop sternly asked. Jenner stared at it totally perplexed as much by the context of the nature question or as to how this object had required his specific presence. The officer’s dead stare seemed substantially no different than the mirrored glasses. Two dead orbs a further response before the dusty cast metal Bakelite appointed antique. “If you are asking if I have ever seen this thing then no.“, Jenner said quietly. The two of them on either side each out waiting the other for a pregnant pause waiting for the baby to drop. A minute of climbing intensities of tiny infinities passing Jenner interrupted the silence with a, “Is that all?” “Can I go!” The enigma of an answer to solved the dilemma of this particular why not as important as making a swift and unheralded departure. “Sure!“, the cop sharply barked in marked disappointment. “But if you recall something familiar I would appreciate a call!” Jenner pulled the extended business card from the concrete grip that had been extended forward towards him. Ten minutes later he was on his bike pedaling once again. This time his mood not nearly so light. The storm clouds were overhead though he had yet to feel the first drop of rain from the otherwise absolutely clear blue sky.
He pedaled hard and fast along a lazy arc at the edge of the roadway that belted the front of the museum. Only coming to a near halt to jump the curb and a small section of grass until he was upon the asphalt of the pedestrian pathway that paralleled the long canal to the small sailboat marina. The mystery of the cop’s questioning him about a thing that he had no connection to seemed to totally preoccupy him. What sort of unsuspected relation was there to occasion unofficially official information. Did the authorities think that he or someone like him had stolen it? Of possibly that it might have at some point belonged to him or someone he knew? Someone he knew? Who could he muster in his memory that might have had the thing in their apartment? Or maybe, garage? Something to think about for sure. Especially for a nobody that worked part time at a body shop driving back and forth around town running errands. By this point Jenner was off the seat of his bike which was leaning up against a park bench while he slowly paced rubbing the increasing stiffness from the back of his neck. Who? Who could it be? His mouth was getting dry and he got back on his Schwinn to pedal back to 6th street to one of his favorite hangouts, Captain Mike’s. That old familiar sign upon the building’s side chiming, “Eat like a king, drink like and idiot“, seemed to strike a chord. He sure felt like an idiot! Something so simple as recollecting a single item that now was beginning to seem familiar though he had never cast eyes upon it before. What was it that seemed so familiar to him now but was impossible to place. “Gabby would know!?“, he thought.
Gabriela Magdalena LaFollette, though not directly related to one of this state’s more illustrious statesman, Governor and Congressman Bob, she had achieved her own kind of local fame. A hot mix of Spanish Dona on her mother’s side and pure French Canadian by her father, her looks were reputed to wound if not literally kill. More than one fistfight had spontaneously started over some trivial rivalry for her attentions when she served up drinks behind the bar on Friday.Perhaps she might have been described best in the corollary of some epic ‘femme fatale‘? A flesh and blood version of the mix of what the animators had in mind when they devised the cartoon character of Jessica Rabbit. A uncle of her’s had had worked at he old Warner Bros. studios with its premiere artist, Tex Avery, back in the heyday of three minute long cel vinyl based acid wit. Her demeanor had all the sass of a “Have”, but more probably, “Have Not”. A Humphery Bogart’s snappy Betty Becall tight packed into the legendary body of a Rita Hayworth in her role as Gilda! This old joint itself had all the verve and vinegar of an old Great Lakes fisherman’s joint. A fully stocked bar where once could get almost any variation of mixed drink and the best burgers in the area. Jenner felt his legs quiver as he realized his blood sugar was now waning that he needed to replace those extra ‘carb’s’ lost earlier through too much recent worry. It was getting to be late afternoon and Gabby wouldn’t arrive to be on call until seven that night. Saturday being one of the two nights that she was regularly assigned. He sat himself at a small table across from the end of the bar near the back entrance. Jim, the steady afternoon guy, waved at him as he passed from his perch behind the bar pointing silently at the tap. Steely Dan blaring out a little louder than usual proclaiming innocence of any current wrongdoing despite some well-vocalized past transgressions. Jim had the look of someone who could fully commiserate with that message. Old, gray and scrappy to a fault his lanky frame looked like it could waste a troublemaker with a single punch. Nobody had ever asked him about his past, but it was rumored that he had done some minor time served years back up in Waupun State Prison. Something about assault with a deadly weapon. The details were as hazy as the brains of the regulars who engaged in such gossip off the cuff now and again. Who could tell if it was local urban legend or actually had some credence? As far as Jim was concerned the Ojibwa translation of the town’s name, “dawn of another day“, said all that needed to be said. The beer was cold and not watered with that old hops rich taste so characteristic of the product of the old beer barons in Milwaukee. That was good enough for Jenner. A Cheeseburger Walrus smothered in mushrooms and onions ordered and on the way.
The joints interior itself had little to say beyond the brightly decor behind the bar. It’s primary source of light. Several four-seater tables stood opposite lined along the wall. Each with its own porthole looking out to the street. Most of the crowd were eating outside and Jenner had the bar nearly all to himself. His hands supporting both sides of his face as he studied the foam collapsing back along the inside of his partially emptied beer glass. His mind though temporarily derailed now began to ponder the events earlier int he day. It seemed so odd that the police had been tipped onto him specifically? Was it as a result of some insidious mischief by his old flame? She had left town the year before heading back out to her old hometown of San Diego. Jenner stared at the bubbles going dead and flat on the beer’s surface. Who did her know who has a big vintage 45RPM record collection? “Anything New?“, he hollered over to Jim whose graying temples were buried in the newsprint pages of the local digest. “Naw“, Jim responded with an irritated rustle. “No local break-ins or tourist fender benders down by the museum or nothing?“, Jenner quipped in passing. The paper rustled again a little louder. “How the fuck should I know?” “I only read the sports section!” “Wise man!“, Jenner replied as he scanned emptily along the bar’s backstop. The music track just above switched over to Journey’s, “Forever Your’s“. Jenner looked over at Gabby’s framed picture on the wall. “Isn’t Mikey a big audio buff of something?” “Used to be!”, Jim’s voice sounded from behind the journal hovering before him. “Say, how’s about another beer?“, he added, “I think your food order is just about up!” Jim coming around the bar minutes later with plate and brew in hand, “Why don’t you bite on this instead of chewing off my ears?” “I want finish my article in peace before a big crowd comes in!” Jenner took a chomp out his burger chasing it with a long cold swallow of brew. “I bet they don’t serve nothing more that American cheese sandwiches down at the jail?“, he thought to himself. He knew that he wasn’t too eager to find out.