Chapter 19 The Big Bad Love Machine

130.

‘Wake up.’ Said Suzi.

Bill felt the bucket of water hit his face, he woke up, spitting and choking on water. He was handcuffed to a radiator.

‘Now Bill.’ Said Suzi, flanked by body guards. ‘You have some very important questions to answer.’

‘Where am I?’

‘Your bedroom.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m your mother.’

‘Suzi! Why the hell am I handcuffed to a radiator?’  

‘I just have a few questions, that’s all.’

Bill patted down his own legs. His eyes clocked his phone sitting on the window sill on the other side of the room.

‘Shit.’ He cursed.

‘Soap his mouth would you Donald, he said a bad word.’

Donald squatted down next to Bill and punched the boy in the face, the word: SOAP written across his knuckles.

‘FUCK!’

‘Soap.’ Said Suzi.

The fist came back round and an incisor flew across the room, settling on the carpet. 

‘Would you be a sweet heart and answer the question.’ Said Suzi.

‘What question?’

‘You’re changing the subject. More soap.’

The fist crunched his nose, his skull hit the radiator and he saw stars.

His nose was bleeding, his mouth was bleeding, he spat red.

‘I don’t-‘ he choked. ‘I don’t-‘ he croaked. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Who can see me?’

‘What?’

‘Soap.’

A haymaker from the left and he felt his eye threaten to eject out its socket.

He was crying.

‘I said: who can see me?’ said Suzi.

‘I-I-I-‘ he gagged.

‘Donald get away from him, can’t you see your torturing the boy.’

Donald backed away.

‘I DON’T KNOW!’ he squealed.

‘Your ass, Bill.’ Said Suzi. ‘Tattooed across your backside are the words: “I can see you.” Care to explain?’

‘It was a stupid idea!’ he screamed. ‘I admit I shouldn’t have got a tattoo!’

‘Why is it there, Bill?’ said Suzi.

‘It was just a stupid idea!’

‘YOU’RE NOT ANSWERING ME MORE SOAP!’ yelled Suzi.

Donald lunged into action, beating his face up, until Bill’s mouth was a bloody mess, and both eyes were swollen shut.

‘Who can see me?’ said Suzi.

Bill was crying blood and was incapable of speech.

‘Do you think, he might have gotten the tattoo as a joke?’ asked Donald.

‘We can’t take that risk.’ Said Suzi. ‘I expect the answer in an hour though.’ She drove out of the room on her wheel chair. ‘Keep up the good work.’

132.

Mad dog and Missy were playing ping pong.

The ball skipped across the table and Missy missed it.

‘Dangit.’ She said.

‘Hey don’t sweat it.’

She picked up the ball, spanked it with the paddle, it went six feet wide of the table. Mad dog had to walk out and get it.  

‘Okay.’ Said Mad dog, he readied his paddle, over the ball. ‘This is what they call a killer shot. You ready?’

Missy held the paddle handle in both hands.

‘I’m gunna do it with my eyes closed.’ She said, shutting her eyes.

Gently, gently, ever so gently Mad dog spanked the ping pong ball, it was just enough to arc over the net and begin slowly trotting towards her.

Missy brought the paddle down like she was swinging an axe, trying to chop the ball in half. The ball went skidding left ways.

‘Did I win?’ asked Missy, creaking open her peepers.

‘Yes.’ Said Mad Dog.

‘Yey!’ She jumped and punched the sky.

‘Again?’ asked Mad dog.

‘Heck yeah.’

She readied the paddle.

They continued playing Ping pong this way for a long time.

133.

John had been leashed and was being walked out of the house.

‘Okay buddy,’ said the dog walker. ‘I want you to do your business right there. Right where I’m pointing.’

He pointed to a patch of grass, three feet in front of the machine gun from world war two.

Are they gunna execute me, while I’m taking a crap?

John mouthed the words: Can I speak?

‘Sorry, can’t hear ye.’ He cupped a hand to his ear and aimed his ear at John. ‘Speak up, dog.’

John got up onto his hind legs, pointed at the man casually drinking beer as he leaned over the gun barrel; John brought his hand back and three-times thumped his chest, to mime himself getting shot, sticking a tongue out and rolling his eyes up to the whites, as if suddenly deceased.

‘Speak English dammit.’ Said the dog walker.

John fondled his chin. While he thought about what he should do.  

‘Get to it.’

John sighed, then squatted.

‘NOPE!’ said the dog walker, ‘I don’t want to be in the line of fire.’

John began to sweat.

‘Do it over there, by the sand bags.’

John shook his head.

‘I said GET!’

John got up and walked in front of the machine gun. He squatted, and began to open up. Okay shit was happening.

The gun was aimed directly at his face.

He closed up.

‘Why aren’t you shitting are you nervous?’

‘Woof.’ Barked John.

‘I want to see a nice steaming pile, mutt.’

Okay, John thought, just pretend the gun isn’t there. Think of nice calm lakes, water falls, pigeons taking flight.

The dog walker spoke up.

‘Hey, Howie, how’s your trigger finger.’

‘Itchy.’ Said Howie.

‘You’re not gunna slip are you.’

‘I certainly hope not.’

John closed up.

‘Why aren’t you shittin?’ said Howie.

Open sesame, thought John. Open the fuck up!

‘Are you disobeying a direct order, bitch.’

John held up both hands, Just give me more time.

Howie pulled the trigger.

John shat everything.

‘That wasn’t that hard, was it dog?’ Said Dog walker.

John was shivering, scared out of his fucking mind. The bullet had detonated in the dirt between his feet. I could have died! He thought. I could have fucking died! 

‘Now clean up.’ Said Dog walker, throwing John a doggy bag.

‘Thank you.’ Said John.

‘WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!’

‘WOOF! WOOF-WOOF-WOOF! WOOF-WOOF!’

‘That’s what I thought.’

134.

‘What was that?’ asked Missy.

‘Gunshot.’ Said Mad Dog, looking over his shoulder at the window tilted outside, he put down his paddle. ‘Give me a second, while I sort this out.’

Mad dog went for the door, it took thirty seconds to unlock.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he shouted. The door slammed behind him.

Missy began playing ping pong with herself like Forest Gump in the movie Forest Gump except she kept missing.

Back outside:

Mad Dog was pinching the bridge of his nose, carrying on the second half of the conversation.

‘…So you threatened to shoot him, because he wouldn’t shit fast enough.’

‘Uh, that’s right. Was that unethical, sir?’

‘A bit, yeah.’ He looked over at John. ‘You okay?’

John was shivering on all fours.  

‘He’s not allowed to speak, sir; direct orders from Suzi.’

‘Is that so?’ Mad dog sighed. ‘Whatever I don’t care, just stop fucking around, you’re supposed to be prison guards not dickheads.’

‘We’re so sorry, sir, thank you sir.’

‘Don’t let it happen again.’  

‘Of course, sir.’

Mad dog went back inside.

‘Ready to get your butt whooped’ Missy said.

‘Yup indeedy.’ He said, picking up the paddle. ‘Let’s go.’

135.

Lady Rothschild and Robert were sheathed in pajamas, sitting down at the kitchen table, eating blue jelly for breakfast.

‘You didn’t have to use me as a vacuum cleaner.’ she said, before shanking the jelly with a spoon.

‘I thought you asked me to do it.’ He said nonchalantly, pinky erect as he sipped his orange juice.

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Your exact words were: “Ever since I was a slutty school girl, I’ve wanted to be used as a vacuum cleaner.”’

‘I don’t- what? No I didn’t.’

‘I have it on tape.’

‘Wait a second.’ She said, picking up her phone. ‘Got a text from my stupid fucking son.’

The text read: I am VERY safe. I love you mom.

‘Oh how sweet.’ She said. And texted back: I love you too xx.

At that point Robert entered the room wearing a bath towel skirt.

Robert who was already sat at the kitchen table, made a cut throat gesture with one hand, stabbed a finger at Lady Rothschild (still neck deep in her phone), then made shooing motions at the other Robert.

Robert Bath-towel, peered round the door, looked at Lady Rothschild and grinned. His eyes shifted to meet Robert’s and formed a loop with thumb and forefinger and plunged long skeletal finger inside, wiggling it around.

Robert Pajamas grinned in return and nodded his head.

‘What the fuck!’ said Lady Rothschild.

The door shut and Robert Bath-towel was gone.

‘What was what?’ said Robert.

‘There was two of you!’ she screamed.

‘No there wasn’t.’ he said calmly. ‘Are you okay?’  

‘No, I fucking saw you?’

‘Are you hallucinating?’

Lady Rothschild scraped back her seat, snapped open the door and swung her gaze down both sides of the hallway, she took a gamble and went left.

Robert followed.

‘What are you doing?’

Lady didn’t say anything, just started moving from room to room playing hide and seek, looking under the bed, in the closets, wardrobe, garage, etcetera, etcetera.

‘Do you want me to help?’ Robert asked.

‘Fuck off Robert, who was that man?’ she said running down the basement. ‘Is he… Is he your brother?’

‘Only child.’

‘Well, was he a fucking clone then?’

‘Human cloning is illegal.’

‘Then what the fuck was he?’

‘I don’t know, lets have sex.’

She opened the downstairs refrigerator, and found nothing but frozen meat, and frost coated pizza boxes.

Robert started speaking to himself.

‘Yes, Doctor she’s been struggling to separate reality and fiction for a while. Said she didn’t want to be a vacuum cleaner, possibly she’s on her period, but I thought I’d be safe and check her into a mental hospital.’

‘Robert, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to slap you.’ Pause. ‘Hard!’

Robert zipped his lips, locked them shut and threw away the key, following her through the house while she failed and failed and failed to find the other Robert, if there ever had been another Robert.   

136.

‘I’m a Russian spy.” Said Bill two days later.

Donald smirked, arms folded across his chest. ‘Mhmm.’ He said. ‘Vy russiky schpion?’

‘Is that Russian?’ asked Bill.

Donald nodded.

‘Fuck.’ Bill felt the gap in his teeth with one tongue. His vision was practically non existent due to his swollen eyelids but he thought he saw the blurry shadow of a man. ‘How about: I’m a Chinese spy?’

‘Say something Chinese.’

‘How the fuck am I supposed to do that?’

‘Then I’m gunna have to keep hitting you.’

‘Why though?’

Donald shrugged.

Bill continued: ‘Look, what do you want me to say? I got the tattoo as a fucking joke, that’s it; but I’m still handcuffed to a radiator for some reason.’

‘I don’t know.’ Said Donald scratching the back of his head, lips fluttering like a horse.  ‘Want some spaghetti ‘oops?’

‘Why would I want spaghetti hoops?’

‘We ‘ave lots of spaghetti ‘oops.’

‘Uh… sure, sure, yeah I’ll have some spaghetti hoops.’

Donald left the room, came back with a bowl of spaghetti hoops.

‘Thank you.’ said Bill.

Donald chucked the scalding hoops in his face and Bill screamed.

137.

The glass was tea-stained, and rippled, as the pudgy Suzanite, Thing 1, stared through it. He wore no shirt, and suspenders. He was smoking a pipe, forearm pressed against top of the window frame, armpit hair flaring from his greasy places. He watched ships, crawl into port, beneath the sideways-smile of a crescent moon.

The sun was supposed to be here, ten minutes ago, according to his pocket watch.

Behind him his room mate, Thing 2, read from the Super Testament, the All-Mother’s bible. He was leaning back in a chair, his boots on the desk. In his other hand, he was shuffling a pair of glass eyes big as golf balls.

‘And Suzi shall dump the specimen from her holy sandwich bag, as it was foretold. She shall mutate, shapeshift and EVOLVE! As-it-was-foretold. She shall forfeit the body of the glass-eyed, kinkster. She shall be made of glimmer-in-the-sunlight steel. Her voice will be that of a hundred snapping bear traps. Her face will be black mirror, like staring into an oil spill. Her name shall be Hole Maximiser. The terror and the glory. Amen.’

Thing 1 sent curls of smoke out his nostrils.

On the ship was two hundred thousand dollars of spaghetti hoops.

They could have built a hospital, with that amount of money.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were now in the truck, driving the spaghetti hoops across the country.

‘You know I’ve been having dreams, about being turned into spaghetti hoops.’ Said Thing 1.

‘Yeah, me too.’ Said Thing 2. ‘It’s one of the side effects of spending too much time with Suzi. It only affects you, if you spend more than eight hours a day, every day, for months speaking to her though. You should probably stop using her website so much.’

‘I’ll try, but…’ Thing 1 scrolled through the website. ‘She makes me feel so special.’

‘That she does.’

They emptied the spaghetti hoops into the warehouse. A massive flood of pasta came flooding down the conveyer belts, they were, weighed, scanned, x-rayed. On the board above the catwalks, was the number of Spaghetti hoops they had counted: two hundred million, three hundred thousand, six hundred and… the last two numbers were constantly blurring upwards.

They were then all loaded into barrels that were then welded shut, before being driven to a maximum security facility, deep, deep underground, where nobody could steal from Suzi’s precious hoard. 

138.

Mr Fulcrum poked the sharp end of his spoon into the bowl of cheerios, and scooped out a mouthful of the lovely gunk, before devouring the contents. He napkin-wiped away the beans juices. He’d set up several jugs full of the proteins and sugar or whatever (for redundancy in case he knocked one over by mistake) and two out of six of them had turned a translucent shade of green. Some sort of algae must have been forming he supposed.

He did not notice the microscopic motes of dust glinting in the shaft of sunlight.

But his eye caught sight of the doubling effect.

Every couple seconds he saw the dust particles double, it seemed to be breeding in the air. The particles danced in their Brownian motion. Then a cloud masked the sun and all the motes of dust vanished.  

Mr Fulcrum blinked, the eyelids closed one at a time, a semi second out of sync, almost froglike.

Must have been his imagination.

He dug into his cheerios.

***

Chapter 20