Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Aphrodite Shuddered - Chapter 2



Chapter 2:
"Obviously a Major Malfunction"

January 28, 1986
In contrast to the first three weeks of January, this week had been pleasantly routine (so far). By now, I had mostly forgotten about Marta, and about her father's confrontation with A.J.. But Tina was still angry at A.J. for causing a scene with her next-door neighbor, and had barred him from her apartment indefinitely. What still bothered me were the two unidentified teenage girls I had seen on that video. A tiny voice in the back of my mind kept insisting that I go to the police.

I wished I had heeded that voice sooner because upon watching the local news that evening, one news story left me ice cold: “Outside a Boeing office complex in Everett this afternoon, an unknown gunman fired an automatic weapon near an employee parking lot at a Boeing aircrew training facility. A car exiting the parking lot was riddled by several bullets - fortunately none of the people in the car were injured. The gunman, who eyewitnesses described as an Afro-American male, escaped in dark red or purple late-70s Chevrolet or Oldsmobile, with tinted windows. We hope to have more on that story at the top of the hour, but now we switch to NBC News for an update on the tragic Challenger Disaster...”

For no other reason than an educated guess, I feared that Marta's father had been the one targeted by the shooter. With my hands trembling, I phoned Tina immediately: "Amazon, have you seen anything unusual going-on with Marta's parents today?"

"Hmm, well, when I got home an hour ago, Mr and Mrs E were rushin' outta their apartment with their suitcases. I said hi but they blew me off - that's not like them."

“Did you see their car?”

“I didn't notice, but what's that got to do with anything?”

"Oh, man! I don't know exactly why, but I think A.J. just tried to kill Marta's dad! There was a shooting near his workplace today, at about 3:30. I saw it on the news, but they didn't have much information - then they started talking about the space shuttle blowing up. The getaway car they described sounded nothing like his car, but that doesn't mean anything.”

“Aw, that's fuckin' crazy.”

He's the one who's crazy. I thought it had all blown-over by now, but you know how obsessed he was with Marta, and gangbangers aren't known to forgive getting clobbered with a golf club. Her dad really punked him.”

“Yeah but what's this gangbanger shit? He ain't in a gang.”

“Yes he is - the BWMs. At least, that's what Angie told me the other day.”

“Now there's a reliable source of rumors for ya!” Angie had picked up that information from girlfriends of gang members during A.J.'s New Year's Eve party. Tina asked, “What the hell's a B-W-whatchamacallit?”

“Uh, I'm not exactly sure. Blacks With Money - Blacks With Moola, whatever.”

She barked incredulous laughter. “With a name like that, they must be a very exclusive outfit! What's their colors – pink and yellow polka dots? HA!”

I cleared my throat and tersely replied, “Green, actually - green as in money.” Then it dawned on me: “And get this: he drives a green BMW. Coincidence?”

“Ooo – the plot thin-ens.”

“All right-all right, just be careful and watch your back. If he shows-up and even looks at you crossed-eyed, call 9-1-1.”

“I will – right after I knee 'im in the balls. He knows better than to fuck with me.”

“But whatever you do, don't tell Angie anything about this - she can't keep a secret to save her life.”

The news of the drive-by shooting incident got buried under the continuous coverage of the Challenger shuttle explosion and the death of the first school teacher to become an astronaut. A small article in next day's newspaper stated that the police had no suspects in custody, with the speculation that the shooting was gang related. As far as I could determine during the previous 18 hours, the person(s) occupying the bullet-riddled car remained unidentified by the media.

Days later, on February 1st , Mr and Mrs Eichenburger still hadn't returned to their apartment, and the story of the shooting was fading into obscurity, supplanted by fresh headlines of even worse gun mayhem in the region. Tina, by this time, was half-convinced that A.J. had indeed run her neighbors out of town, if not out of the country. Marta had told her that she and her parents would be living there until March, upon her father completing his flight training on the 767. Tina had had friendly relations with the family and was sure they would have told her well ahead of time that they were moving. And she had seen no indication of an emergency that demanded their immediate return to Germany (or to anywhere else for that matter).

I possessed no hard evidence that A.J. had been involved in the attack, but I did possess irrefutable video evidence of him committing equally serious crimes. Finally, I screwed up my courage enough to try to make contact with the relevant department within the King County Sheriff's Office. After obtaining the phone number of the Vice Division, I walked to a public phone several blocks away. Detective Dan Jameson took my call, and I asked him right off: “If I had proof that a guy I know was making sex videos with underage girls, would you be interested?”

A candy wrapper crackled in the background. “Sure, we would definitely look into that. What's your name, sir?”

“No names yet, okay? This guy I'm talking about - he's in a gang - he wouldn't hesitate to have me killed if he found out.”

“All right, sir. So, what do you got for me?”

“I got a videotape with these young chicks having sex with two men, right? This guy I know, Anthony Davis, he was the one operating the camera. And you can even see him in the video a few times, clear enough to identify him.”

“You sure the girls are underage?”

“I know for a fact that one of them is - the other two I never met but it's obvious they're, like, 14 or 15.”

“I'd like to see that tape as soon as possible.”

Within 24 hours, I went to Jameson's office in order to turn over the tape and supply him with all the background information I knew about A.J. and Marta. Then he and two other detectives then went into another room to view the 15-minute videotape, while I grew more apprehensive by the second: Why did I agree to come here? They'll probably throw ME in the clink!
 
Jameson opened the frosted glass door and bade me to join them. I then sat with the detectives and endured more questioning. I was answering, “...I don't know where the video was made...No, I have no idea who the guys in bed are, or who those other girls either. Like I just said, I only know guy behind the camera, Anthony Davis, and the blonde chick, Marta EIchenburger...No, she's in Frankfurt, Germany. Her dad - Johann - made her go back there a few weeks ago after I told him what Davis was doing with his daughter...Hell no, I never had sex with her or anybody else on the tape!...Okay, freeze the picture right there - that's Davis, he's working the camera. He lives in the airport area but I don't know exactly where...” We went 'round and 'round with questions and answers until a coherent story finally began to emerge. At this juncture, I suggested to Jameson that he should contact the Everett Police Department, since they may have had information about Davis too, in relation to a recent drive-by shooting in that area. He then said, “I heard about that incident, up near Boeing, correct?” I nodded. “What makes you think he was mixed-up in that?”

“I may be wrong, but I think that the intended victim was the father of blonde on the tape, Marta, and he moved out of his apartment immediately after the drive-by happened, like he was scared to death. See, not long after I told Mister Eichenburger that Davis was fucking around with his daughter, he assaulted him with a golf club outside his apartment - that was on January 15th . He phoned for a King County Deputy to come to his apartment that day, so you should have a report from that.”

Jameson turned to one of his colleagues and said, “Bill, run a computer check on a Johann Eichenburger, male Cauc - German citizen, and for an Anthony Davis, middle initial J, black male, age - approximately 35. And pull Davis' jacket if we've got one on him. If we don't, check with NCIC.” After five more minutes of repetitive questioning, Jameson finally got the gist of my convoluted story: “So, the drive-by shooting in Everett may have been in retaliation against the blonde girl's father. Okay, we'll look into it. Everett P.D. may have something useful for the investigation of your videotape. And we, in turn, may have some leads for their own investigation.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “Well, Denny, thanks for the help. Where can you be contacted if I need you?” During the interview, he had persuaded me to reveal my full name (Denton T. Smith) with the assurance that it would be kept secret.

“Call me only at work or leave a voice mail there, okay?” After giving him my work number, I reiterated, “Now, you'll keep my name out of it, right? At least until it goes to court?”

“No problem.”
 
Next day, at work, I got a call from Jameson, who informed me: “Denny, Everett P.D. tells me that the vehicle targeted in the drive-by shooting was rented by one Johann Eichenburger, and that their only suspect is Anthony Davis, who they can't locate. That case does seem to tie-in with Davis and the blonde girl in the video. Davis is the only one Everett P.D. believes had a motive to attack her father.

I had tried to keep Tina's name out of it, but for her own safety I told Jameson: “There's a friend of mine who happened to be the Eichenburger's next door neighbor. She witnessed Mister Eichenburger smacking Davis with a golf club that night – and I saw it too. Davis will think we ratted him out, if he gets arrested for that shooting.”

“Don't worry about it too much – he can only assume that Eichenburger was smart enough to figure out who might have shot at him. Now what's your friend's name and address?”

“Tina Kincaid.” Then I gave him the address.

“Okay, apartment 203.” He rustled some papers and said, “I see that the Eichenburgers stayed in 202.”

“If you can't find him anywhere else, you might look for him there. He's very tight with Tina - or was, until she threw him out.”

“I'll pass along the information to Everett P.D. They're searching for him on a warrant for suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon, but he recently moved and left no forwarding address. As for our videotape case, there's a long way to go before we can nail his ass for sexual exploitation of kids. First, we need the testimony of those girls – two of which we don't know their identities, and the other one isn't even in the United States anymore. Then we got to prove that Davis was one of the men in the video.”

Immediately after talking to Jameson, I phoned Tina's apartment. “Hi, Amazon – don't ask me how I found out, but it really was A.J. who was involved in that shooting, and Mister E had rented the car that got shot-up! Hey, are you there?”

After a prolonged pause, Tina said, “Huh? Naw man, you got the wrong number.”

“You're kidding – he's there right now? Call me right back - I'm at work”

“Okay, 'bye.”

When she called me back minutes later, after A.J. had left, I told her of my conversations about the drive-by shooting with the police, and the fact that they were going to stake-out her apartment complex. Tina replied, “A.J. thinks I know more than I let on. Before ya called, he was askin' me if I talked to Mister or Missus E on the day they moved, and if I knew where they were stayin' now, and askin' what things me 'n' Marta talked about. But I suspected that motherfucka from the beginning, ya know.”

Her last statement wasn't entirely true, but I didn't argue the point. “I don't think you should be alone over there. I'd feel better if you went somewhere for a few days, until they arrest him. You can stay with Angie and me if you want.”

“Me livin' in yer trashy trailer? I-don't-think-so. I was gonna go visit mama tomorrow anyway, so I might stay the whole weekend, who knows?”

When Angie came home from work that day, I finally told her everything I knew about A.J.'s attack on Mr E and the subsequent search for him by the police. She replied, “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Because I wanted you to act like nothing's wrong if you ran into him, that's all. But now it's just a matter of time until they catch him.”

“Oh, wow, I still can't believe he really tried to kill him! He stopped by the restaurant for lunch the other day and sat at my station. We talked for a few minutes - he didn't look worried.”

“The important thing is that you didn't look worried.”

“What's the big deal? We're not the only ones that know about it.”

“But there's more to it than that shooting. He made a video of Marta fucking some guys – I've seen it. After I found out that he attacked her dad, I turned a copy of the tape over to the cops.”

 I was taken aback by Angie's physical reaction - her face suddenly blanched into a ghostly white of shock. “What, how, how could you see something like that? I, I don't understand.”

“It was recorded on that party video you got from Tina, and I made a copy of it. If you or Tina had bothered to watch the last few minutes of the tape, you would have seen it for yourself. Angie, why do you look like I just told you your mom just died. Do you happen to know anything about what Marta was up to?”

“Uh, um, well she did tell me that she was going out with A.J. behind her parents' back, but I never imagined - this,” she replied with increasing hesitation.

“You knew he was banging a 16-year old but kept it to yourself?”

“I didn't think it was all that terrible, at the time. I remember when I was 16.”

“So do I. Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately - I was in no position to do anything about it.”
 
* * *
As the days passed without incident, and having had no further contact by the police, a sense of normalcy returned to our lives (whether justified or not).

On Valentine's Day I drove to my mother's house to deliver a bouquet of somewhat wilted red roses, which she gushed over nonetheless. Mother was a divorcee in her late 40s and currently living alone. She had a shadowy boyfriend whom I had met only on occasion, as she took a dim view of “living in sin”. As we sat talking at her kitchen table and eating homemade pecan pie, my mother said, “...So, you're back with Angie again? I just love her - she's darlin'. Wish y'all would get married,” she drawled in her strong Mississippi accent. While I hemmed and hawed in reply, she informed me, “Honey, a little birdie told me you've been datin' a pretty-lil'-black-girl."

I thought: Susan, you rat! Susan, my younger sister, had informed our mother just to make me squirm, no doubt. I replied as casually as I could: "Oh, she's just a friend of Angie's that hangs-out at the trailer all the time."

"Not that I disapprove, necessarily. It's taken me awhile to get used to the way things are these days."

"Yeah, I know - “

"Down home, they used to call it miscegenation." She had grown up in Biloxi, Mississippi. "One could go to jail fo' race-mixin' back they-en."

I grinned at her and unmercifully teased, "Have you ever dated a black guy?"

After choking on a chunk of pecan, she sputtered, "Oh, go on with you! You've always had such a wicked tongue, honey."



Copyright 2014 by K.D. Bishop

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Aphrodite Shuddered - Chapter 1




Chapter 1
What's Mom Going to Think?

All the trouble started in the summer of 1985, after my girlfriend Angie and I moved into a double-wide trailer near the airport, south of Seattle. Although I made a good enough salary at the Xeno Corporation to afford to buy a house, I was (and still am) a dreadful penny pincher. It really wasn't all that bad, though - tacky yet comfortable.

Angie was a waitress at the local Denny’s Restaurant and spent all her tips on cocaine. She was a prototypical Denny’s front-counter girl: a short-lovable-white-blonde, with a self-destructive streak compensated by an eternally cheerful and kindly disposition. She liked to joke that the only reason she started going out with me was because of my name: Denny. We didn’t have much in common aside from our mutual enjoyment of getting loaded, sleeping and screwing - usually in that order of frequency. Sometimes, in looking back, I cringe thinking about my lifestyle in the mid-1980s. But in that era, and in that particular place, it all seemed perfectly normal.

A few months later we met an extremely attractive neighbor of ours, Tina, who lived in an apartment building on the corner. Tina, a young black woman possessing a hard and wiry body like an aerobics instructor, worked as a check-in clerk at a Hilton hotel close to the airport. She was tough minded except for having allowed abusive men to treat her like a doormat. But she, in turn, treated chumps like me like a doormat. She reminded me of one of those junior-high school she-devils who terrorizes all the boys.

Angie and Tina became fast friends after Tina began frequenting the Denny’s Restaurant where Angie worked, which was located right across the street from the Hilton. Soon Tina was visiting our home several times a week, playing cards with Angie and me for hours on end. I had no idea that Angie and Tina were playing much more than Hearts or Spades while I was working the swing shift.
Immediately captivated by Tina’s brash personality and exotic dark beauty, I developed a secret crush on her. I had never fantasized about another woman while making love to Angie, but now when I closed my eyes, l vividly pictured Tina’s bright, confident smile and smoothly muscled cocoa-brown body.

About a month after meeting Tina, my fantasies boiled over during a particularly intense sex session with Angie, and I hissed into her ear as she moaned at the approach of her climax: "How'd you like to watch me with Tina, huh? I bet she fucks like a beast. Would that be hot, huh?"

"You bastard!" she cried as her body trembled under my furious thrusts.

Immediately afterward, reality set in and I said, slightly embarrassed, “Um, I'm sorry, Angie. I just got a little carried away. You know I love you.” After a moment of silence, I said, “Hey, are you really mad at me? It’s just a dumb fantasy. Damn, I'm so stupid - ”
“I ain’t mad…” Her voice faded, like she was drifting off to sleep. But just as I was about to fall asleep, she jostled me and then haltingly said, “Uh, Denny, I was gonna tell you, but I thought, I thought you’d get pissed.”
“Huh? Tell me what?” I mumbled in confusion.
“Me and Tina. We, we’ve been together. Together in bed. I never thought I would get involved in something like that - ”
“Whoa. No shit?” Now I was wide awake. The thought of them naked together made my blood pressure rise in excitement, but then I started wondering why Angie would do such a thing in the first place. “Are you happy with me, Angie? Sex-wise, I mean.”
Holding me tightly, she laughed against my chest. “Sex-wise you are just fine, Den. Sometimes, I don’t even need to fake it.”
“You’re doing wonders for my ego.”
Sliding her slim right leg around my hip, she reached for my groin. “Are you serious about it? I mean about Tina. She doesn't show it but she's attracted to you. She joked around with me and said that we oughta make a sandwich out of you - HA!. You know how crazy she gets when she drinks, but maybe she wasn’t kidding.”
I laughed incredulously and said, “She really said that?”
“Heh-heh - you dirty boy, it’s turning you on.” Then she ducked under the covers and started sucking.
“Yeah...ah, yeah it is,” I sighed.

* * *
A few days later, after Angie informed Tina what I had suggested, Tina hinted to her that she would not mind it. Thus began our torrid three-way affair. I didn’t brag about it - or even mention it - to the few friends I had made since moving to the airport area. For one thing, I didn’t want sex-starved guys constantly hanging around trying to soak up the “surplus”, as it were, something I would have done had I been in their unfortunate shoes.

 Soon I heard a rumor from one of Tina's co-workers that the clean-living Tina was also going out with A.J. Davis, a local drug dealer . Davis was a familiar character in the neighborhood. I had seen him many times at the restaurant where Angie worked, and at the hotel bars near the airport, not far from home. Ever since Tina had brought him over to our place, one month ago, Davis began coming over regularly to make small talk and sell Angie trivial amounts of cocaine. Having my own drug "problem" with marijuana, I thought nothing of it at first. But I began to feel put-out because he then got presumptuous, dropping by the trailer unannounced late one night, interrupting a good fuck. Fortunately it wasn’t a total loss: after Angie got her coke from him and returned to bed with a snoot-full of nose candy, it was a great fuck.

* * *
November 1985, two months later:
Angie was intently snorting a line of coke in the living room when I came home from work one evening. Still in a lousy mood from a hectic day at the office, I flared-up at her: "Why do you still buy that garbage, Angie? You quit your damned job, so how the hell can you afford to - “

"I didn’t buy it. A.J. gave it to me, Denny," Angie said. "I can't afford it, that's for sure," she added in an feeble attempt to mollify me.

I said, "Don't encourage him to hang around anymore. I already told you that I don’t appreciate the dude coming over at odd hours, or when I'm not home.”

"Do you still remember what you told me when we met? That we don't own each other? Well, A.J. is my friend - I like him a lot.” Her voice sounded almost hopeful as she ventured to ask, ”You're actually jealous?"

"No. You should know me well enough by now.” But no matter how I tried to suppress it, I did feel a twinge of unjustified sexual jealousy. “It’s just that, how much do you really know about that dude, anyway? He's probably in a gang, like the Crips. Wait - Crips wear red. Or is it blue?"

Laughing at my ignorance, she then said, “I’m starting to think that you don’t like him just because he’s black.”

“That’s just stupid. Tina's black too, remember?” However, in the back of my mind, I felt insecure, thinking, “His cock is probably twice as big as mine”. “...I'm just tired of worrying that the police will kick-in the door whenever he shows up - he's a bust. So if you wanna snort that shit, do it somewhere else from now on.”

"And what about all that weed you smoke? It's illegal too - duh! You're being hypocritical, as usual. Do you get paranoid about the cops when Rick comes over to sell you weed?“

“It’s not the same thing - “
“Don't I have a fuckin' say about what I do here or who visits me? I pay half the rent on this place, y'know."

My annoyance quickly turned into petty cruelty: the thought occurred that Angie - now amongst the unemployed - was at my financial mercy, as I knew she hardly had two nickels to rub together. Then I began speaking without thinking. "Well, you can pay all of the rent, as far as I'm concerned. I make decent money - I can afford a much better place than this dump whenever I feel like it. I could even buy a house - "

She seemed unimpressed. "Oh phht - don’t bother! Anyway, I don’t believe you, because yer so cheap. And yer an asshole for threatening to move out because I don't have a job. Hell, I could be back at my old job tomorrow if I wanted to.” With false cheeriness, she dropped a bombshell on me, “Oh, and has Tina told you that she asked me to move in with her?”

I laughed at the idea. "Tina won’t put up with living with you for long. She ain't a druggie like us, and hell, she doesn’t even drink a lot. But at least you won't have to worry that she'll snort-up your stash. You know, I bet A.J. is already dealing dope out of her apartment when she's at work. He’s just a user, Angie. Guys like him'll take over your life every time."

“You’re trying to do the same damned thing! You pretend you’re a caring person, but actually you’re the most selfish person I ever met!" I owned most of Ayn Rand's books and naively tried to live up the Rand philosophy. To my disappointment, she had never shown an interest in reading them. She was more into the books of James Michener and Stephen King.

"Selfish? If you had been more selfish and took better care of yourself, you wouldn’t be reduced to couch-surfing now.”
“Up yours - I’m leaving!”
“Well, have a nice life, Angie. But if you end-up a coke whore living in the gutter, don't come begging to move back in."

Angry, red-faced Angie went for the jugular, spewing mindlessly, "You unfeeling phony! Sleazy pervert! Sick fuck! You need porn videos to get-off!"

Her words stung me like a wasp attack, but I managed to put up a last-ditch defense. “That was below the belt, especially considering the fact that you were watching them with me. Doesn’t that make you a sick fuck too?” Angie favorite porn video in my collection featured Johnny “The Human Tripod” Wilcox, whose nickname is self-explanatory. As Angie stormed out of the living room, I idly wondered if Ayn Rand had ever seen a pornographic film. Then I called after her: “Well, grab all your pathetic belongings and go, then! I’ll live like a fucking king with you gone!”

“King Shit, you mean!”
* * *

Having never been in a long-term relationship before, and not used to being separated from Angie for any extended time, I was unprepared for the pain I endured in her absence. To make matters worse, Tina sympathized with her, of course, so she was off-limits to me now as well, a situation that I, cursing myself, had not foreseen. The first few sleepless nights were filled with tortured fantasizes about Angie, Tina and A.J. Davis performing the raunchiest sex acts imaginable with each other. Finally, after two weeks of lonely boredom, I called Tina apartment and talked to Angie. After the tentative exchange of greetings, I found myself begging her to come home. To my utter surprise and relief, she began blubbering about how much she missed me.

Once we had kissed and made-up, life at home became more-or-less blissful again, particularly since Tina stayed overnight with us on occasion. I was also pleased that Angie had returned to her old waitress job, though it meant she would be indulging in cocaine more often than ever. My attitude about that, however, was ambivalent, as many of our friends and acquaintances used a various assortment of illegal drugs.

Late one night around Thanksgiving Day, Angie and I were relaxing in our bedroom, drinking cocktails. Looking for a good movie to watch, Angie rummaged through the stack of video tapes I had rented recently. She joked, “No new X-rated movies, Denny? Your old ones are so worn-out you can hardly tell what's going-on anymore, you've watched them so many times.”

“Yeah, right, blame all the voyeurism on me. But with you and Tina, I feel like I'm living in a porn movie, so why bother watching it anymore?”

In mock fury, she replied, “Oooh, so it wasn't until Tina got involved with us that you felt that way! You must not think I'm hot enough to make porn!” Then she affected a pouting disappointment

“Hey, don't start a fight right now. I feel too good. And don't be so down on yourself - you'd make a damned sexy-looking porn actress.”

“You'd better say that,” she replied while sliding Ghostbusters into the VCR. “Hey, Tina was telling me the other day that A.J just spent, like, five thousand bucks on video equipment. How much you wanna bet that he'll use it to make porn?”

“What else would he use it for? It's hard to imagine that thug earning a living making wedding videos.” I slowly shook my head. “Tsk - I can't believe that Tina's still going out with that dude. He treats her like shit, and she's definitely not the masochistic type. That's what I can't figure out.”

“Those two have a long history together. Can you keep a secret?”

“Yeah, but I don't think I wanna know what it is.”

“A.J. used to be her mom's boyfriend.”

“Whoa – that's way too much information.” Taking her by the hand and pulling her into bed, I said, “Let's drop the whole sordid subject and enjoy the movie - or something.”

“Yeah, lots of something.”

* * *
December 31, 1985 - early morning
Angie tried talking me into accompanying her to a New Year's Eve party at A.J.'s apartment. But I begged off, having a previous engagement to attend that evening's NBA game between the Seattle Sonics and Los Angeles Lakers. She had no interest in basketball whatsoever, and nagged, "Aw c'mon, Denny, it'll be fun. A.J. told me to tell you that you're invited, so there's no excuse for you to be unsociable this time."

"Bah - I'm not unsociable - he really invited me? I didn't think he even liked me.”

"Whatever gave you the idea that he doesn't like you?" Teasing me, she added, "Did I mention that Marta will be there too?" Marta Eichenburger was an appallingly sexy blonde German girl - age 16 - who lived in the apartment next door to Tina, and who was a casual friend of Angie’s. She was living in Seattle only because her father - a Lufthansa Airline pilot based in Frankfurt, Germany - was undergoing training on the new 767 airliner, at a Boeing facility north of town. Angie was amused by Marta's obvious attraction to me and by my subsequent awkward behavior every time she came near me.

After a moment of hesitation, I shook my head and said, “Naw, Angie, I’m going to the game. Some of my co-workers will be there too - that's sociable enough for me." I added in jest, as I departed for work then, “Have fun tonight but not too much.”

Angie didn't relate anything of particular interest to me about the party, other than that she and Tina had nearly come to blows during a drunken, screaming argument, the cause of which Angie couldn't remember. Seven days later, at around 6pm, I came home from work to an empty trailer - not an infrequent occurrence of late. A Post-it note stuck on the living room phone read: “Back soon xoxo”. Then I poured myself a double shot of rum and turned the TV on in the bedroom. Finding nothing of great import on the network news, I hit the power button on VCR, which then ejected a tape that Angie had neglected to remove from it. The handwritten label on the tape read: New Year's. Mildly curious, I shoved it back into the VCR and watched the remaining minutes of the goings-on from A.J.'s party.

Dozens of guests were crammed into his large, expensively furnished apartment, and many of them took the opportunity to act-out for the camera: boisterous young black men guzzling 40-ounce bottles of beer and flashing what appeared to be gang signs, intoxicated young women of various races displaying a naked thigh (such as Angie), or a boob, or (such as Tina and a gorgeous oriental chick) playfully tongue-kissing each other. The last example may explain what had precipitated the drunken fight between Angie and Tina that night.

After about 10 minutes, the tape seemingly ended, since the TV screen suddenly filled with static. But just before I was about the stop the tape, the picture on the screen slowly began to clear again, revealing a completely different recording. Evidently the party antics had been recorded-over the previous contents, although not over its entirety.

Now, a naked girl, her pale blonde hair obscuring her face, was sensuously swaying her lithe body in a room that looked vaguely familiar to me. I assumed this footage was just part a commercial porn video that A.J. had taped-over. That is, until the young lady turned and smiled beautifully for the camera. “Holy fuck - Marta!” I exclaimed in bewilderment. I also recognized A.J.'s distinctive baritone voice now giving her direction in the background.

I will refrain from describing the acts which this 16-year old performed with the two adult men who entered the picture a minute later. Suffice it to say that the recording certainly qualified as being child pornography (ironically, although it is legal in most states to have sexual relations with a 16-year old, it is very much illegal to photograph, film, or videotape it). Before I could recover from the shock of seeing all that, a different sex scene began. In the same room, the same two men who had been screwing Marta were now naked in bed with two other girls, who didn't appear to be a day over 15. When the illicit action began to get X-rated, the tape abruptly ended and began to rewind.

A surreal feeling came over me, as if I had merely imagined what I just saw. Then I watched the sex segments again, not from prurient interest but to try to identify the location where they had taken place. Upon viewing it again, it struck me: it was videotaped in a room at a Hilton Hotel, perhaps the same hotel where Tina was employed. Being the lead night-shift desk clerk, she had once given me an informal tour of the hotel, not long after we first met.
What the hell am I gonna do NOW – Christ! I debated with myself what should be done with the tape, whether I should ignore it, destroy it, hide it, give it to the police or what have you. I couldn't decide what to do with it as yet, being hesitant of going to the police for fear of retribution from whichever street gang A.J. was affiliated with. Because of that distinct possibility, I would keep everything secret for the time being, even from Angie. One thing I could do, and as soon as possible, was to inform Marta's parents about their daughter's ill-advised relationship with a known cocaine dealer/aspiring porn producer. Then I got the idea of taping a copy of the offending video footage. This I easily accomplished, before Angie came home, by cabling both of my VCRs together. Twenty minutes later I stashed the copy in the tool box in the trunk of my car. If I ever had a run-in with A.J. or his gang pals, I figured I could turn it over to the police - A.J. had made the mistake of showing his face on camera

After Angie returned that evening, I casually mentioned viewing the party tape. She replied, “Good, I need to give it back to Tina tomorrow. She borrowed it from A.J.. So, what did you think of the party? Sorry you missed it now?”

“Not really. I hate parties where I hardly know anybody. And some of those guys I saw there, I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.”

“For gawd's sake, Denny, you can be so paranoid sometimes. It was fun - I didn't have any problems with anyone.”

“All the same, I don't want you going over there anymore.”

Starting to get irritated with me, she brusquely replied, “Oh don't worry about it - I didn't plan on going back!”

Next morning, after Angie had left for her shift at Denny's Restaurant, I looked through her address book in order to get Marta's phone number, but I didn't see it there. Nor did I find a likely “Eichenburger” listed in the local phone book. A 4-1-1 phone call inquiring on new listings under that name turned up nothing as well. I did know their home address, though, as they lived in the apartment next door to Tina. So I typed an anonymous letter to Marta's father, in which I revealed just enough about his daughter's activities with A.J. to rouse his paternal anger, as well as giving him A.J.'s general description and his full name: Anthony J. Davis. To ensure that he read it, I made the business-size envelope look as official as possible, typing a real return address of The Boeing Company, though using a fictitious contact name: “Mr Harold B. Katz, Airline Personnel Training Liaison”.

Five days after I mailed the letter, Angie informed me, “Well, Den, your little girlfriend is gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

You know - Marta. Her folks sent her back to Germany. Are you heartbroken?”

I was swept with a sense of relief. “Merely devastated. But I'll get over it, eventually.”

“She really had a mad crush on you. Hey, Tina's expecting us for dinner tonight, you know.”

An hour later we walked to Tina's apartment. After dinner, Tina showed me some new wrestling holds she had learned from her step-brother years ago. I secretly enjoyed getting her angry at me and listening to her insulting responses, so, as we stood face-to-face and grappled with our hands and feet, I told Tina: “I know what you’re thinking, Amazon. You think you can knock me out, huh. Don’t even try it. You’ve haven’t seen my bad side yet, which is the only side I ever see of you.
“Yer yellow, Hercules - I can see it in yer eyes.”
“My God! I got hepatitis!”
Shaking her head, Tina laughed, “Damned fool!” While she was thus distracted, I twisted her left hand around behind her back in a wristlock.
“You taught me well, Amazon.” My stiffening cock was tight against her shapely, muscular ass.
“I’m gonna kill ya for sneakin’ up on me like that!” Before I knew what happened, she had reversed the wristlock. The doorbell rang just then, so Tina released the hold and then hip-tossed me to the orange shag carpet as if I were a sack of potatoes, melting my erection. "Take five, Hercules," Tina breezily said, striding to the front door while I rubbed my sore tailbone.

A.J. Davis strolled through the doorway and acknowledge Angie and me with a casual wave. He was a stocky black man in his early thirties, dressed in a pastel green shirt and white sport coat, looking like a villain on Miami Vice. He and Tina huddled near the door. I overheard Davis asking her, "You seen Marta today? When I called her place, her mama hung up on me."

"She went back to Germany," Tina said.

Davis sneered, "You're a damned liar, she said she ain't leavin’ till next month!"
“What’s up? You hung-up on a 16-year old? What are ya, some kinda child molester?”
"Aw fuck-off, bitch." Evidently upset that his beautiful Teutonic Ice Princess had fled the country, Davis stormed out of the apartment, rapped on the Eichenberger's door, and then he called out, "Marta! Hey, Marta!"

Running after him, Tina angrily shouted, "Hey, what're ya doin', you dumb muthafucka!"

I peeked outside. Then the Eichenburger's front door opened. Marta's father was wielding a golf club as he came out on the landing. “Is your name Anthony?”

A.J. gave him a friendly grin. “Yes sir.”

“Filthy svinehoont! This instant the polizei I am calling- you shtupped my Marta!" .

"Yo, dad, watch what yer doin' with that putter!" A second later, Mr E’s putter connected with Davis' right kneecap. He howled, "RAH! You cocksucka!" Retreating in pain, Davis limped/skipped to the parking lot. “Big mistake, dad! Big mistake!” he hollered from a safe distance.

A short time later, a King County Deputy Sheriff knocked on the Eichenburger's door as Angie and I left Tina's place, but I played dumb with the cop, since I wasn't keen to explain to my involvement with Marta, not with her father standing right there - he probably would have knee-capped me, too.

Copyright 2014 by K.D. Bishop

Saturday, April 12, 2014

The Official Whisky of the NHL

BREAKING NEWS: The world is full of hypocrites...I'm watching a liquor commercial on Hockey Night in Canada right now.  Why does the National Hockey League need an "official" liquor sponsor? And why is hard liquor advertising allowed on television anyway?  Oops, I forgot - it's on a cable/satellite TV channel, so the federal regulations against liquor advertising don't apply! I won't give the whisky brand any free advertising on this blog (let's called it "Clown Loyal", which trumpets the fact that it is "The Official Whisky Partner of the NHL"). Don't forget, kiddies, while you watch your sports heroes: Cigarettes are horrible, but booze isn't so bad, after all. In fact, a cigarette taste so good after a few belts of Clown Loyal!

Monday, April 07, 2014

The Last Link to Old Hollywood is Gone

With the recent deaths of Mickey Rooney and Shirley Temple, the last of the old time Hollywood stars are gone forever. Being so young during their heyday, virtually all of the people associated with their movies died long ago, including their child-star contemporaries like Freddie Bartholemew, Elizabeth Taylor and Judy Garland. Other child performers from that era undoubtedly are still living, but the only conceivable "star" still alive from back then is Margaret O'Brien, who was born in 1937 and began her movie career in 1941. She's best known as Judy Garland's little sister in Meet Me in St. Louis. When she was seven years old, she won the Academy Juvenile Award as the best child actor of 1944.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Amazing FREE Wireless System!

I recently came across the technology of wireless "radio" and cannot believe that this technology hasn't caught on yet (see photo below). Yes, it's true: unlimited free music, sports and news at your fingertips, with NO MONTHLY BILL AND NO BANDWIDTH LIMITS! Get total wireless mobility with "radio"! (available at a Second Hand store near you)



Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Lying to Younger Generations About JFK Assassination

As expected, the TV airwaves are being inundated with programs commemorating the 50th anniversary of the murder of President John F. Kennedy. Also as expected, virtually all of them laugh the idea of a conspiracy right out of court.  With most Americans who were around in 1963 now safely dead, and with newer generations who don't remember it or never gave it much thought, the powers-that-be now feel free to whitewash the facts with a broad brush, making bald statements as if they were axiomatic - "The Warren Report is the ultimate authority pertaining to the assassination"..."The Warren Commission was not co-opted by the CIA"..."There's no evidence that Oswald ever worked for the CIA"..."Jack Ruby had nothing to do with the Chicago/Dallas Mafia"..."Ruby murdered Oswald because he felt sorry for Jackie Kennedy"... "There's no evidence that Oswald had ties to the Louisiana Mafia"..."New Orleans' District Attorney Jim Garrison accepted political bribes from the Louisiana Mafia"... "Witnesses who alleged seeing shooters behind the picket fence are mistaken."... "The autopsy photos were not faked"..."Only three shots were fired"..."The police audio of four rifle shots at Dealy Plaza  was actually recorded blocks away from there, two minutes after Kennedy was killed"..."The two policemen who swore in writing that they found a Mauser sniper rifle at the Texas School Book Depository were lying"..."Deaths of eyewitnesses were purely coincidental"..."The ballistic evidence proves that Oswald did it"..."The undamaged bullet found on an empty stretcher at Parkland Hospital is the same bullet that killed Kennedy and severely wounded John Connelly"..."Connelly was mistaken when he swore that he was hit by a different bullet"..."Kennedy's throat wound was caused by a shot from behind"..."Oswald was able to hit Kennedy and/or Connelly twice in three attempts in just 6.5 seconds, using his mail-order bolt-action Italian rifle"..."Oswald had an unobstructed view of Kennedy on Elm Street"

Saturday, April 20, 2013

West, Texas Blast Equal to Low-Yield Atom Bomb?

As far as I can ascertain, using simple geometry, the West Fertilizer plant explosion was approximately equal in explosive force to a 1.2 kiloton nuclear blast.  The nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki completely leveled those cities to an extent of a 1-mile radius.  The authorities in West, Texas have consistently reported that everything within a 4-block radius of the fertilizer plant was completely leveled. Four city blocks are about 1/4 of a mile.

Using the formula to calculate the area of a circle (pi multiplied by the square of the radius), about 3.14 square miles of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were completely destroyed.  In the West blast, about 1/5 of a square mile was flattened, which is about 6 percent of the area wiped-out by the nuclear bombs dropped on Japan.

If the explosive yield of the Hiroshima bomb was equal to 20 kilotons of TNT, then the fertilizer plant explosion would be 6 percent of that figure, 1.2 kilotons of TNT.  Even if that figure is too high, it does give an indication of a huge amount of explosive material being stored inside the plant, perhaps more than the 270 tons of ammonium nitrate and 24,000 gallons of anhydrous ammonia reported by the company to the EPA in 2012.

Sunday, March 03, 2013

Legislators Propose "Breathing Tax" on Bicyclists

Those ever-loony Washington State Legislators in Olympia are at it again.  In order to unearth new sources of tax revenue, Representative Ed Orcutt supports a state law to impose a $25-dollar tax on every new bicycle costing over $500 (need I mention that he is a Republican? I thought not).  This, of course, has caused a stir in biking community, as well as with the public at-large. In response to the claims that bicycles have little impact on streets and also take excess cars off the road, Mr Orcutt said that because carbon dioxide is a greenhouse gas, bicyclists are contributing to global warming and should be taxed accordingly!  I can't believe the complete drooling idiocy of politicians in this country these days, saying things that 10 years ago would have made them a national joke. Why not impose a $5 tax on every pair of new shoes while you're at it? Why should taxpayers have to fund millions for sidewalks for freeloaders who refuse to drive cars?  Of course, car owners wouldn't be adversely affected, as they do very little walking and rarely need new shoes. And the poor can always avoid the tax by buying used shoes at thrift stores!

Source: KING-TV, Seattle. 3/3/13

Monday, December 24, 2012

Senator Scrooge Refuses to Back Down

Senate Minority Leader Ebenezer J. Scrooge (R-Kentucky) today continues his refusal to support increased taxes on the rich without massive budget cuts.  Asked whether the middle class and the poor will suffer because of increased taxes and cuts to entitlement programs, Senator Scrooge responded, "Are there no prisons?  Are there no workhouses?" When asked about the potential of children dying of diseases or starvation due to his party's stonewalling of President Obama's economic policies, Scrooge replied, "Better that they be quick about it, so as to decrease the surplus population." On the subject of gun control, the senator proposed an assault weapons ban for anyone earning less than $250,000 per year.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

"Flying Saucers" Over Nevada Nuclear Test Site



Nevada Test Site, Operation Tumbler/Snapper, May 1,1952. This clip (in black-and-white) has been used as stock footage in many movies, and I've always wondered about the 4 or more "clouds" on the right side - I've seen many hours of footage from other nuclear tests but have never observed a similar phenomenon. They could be detection devices but they always had them on parachutes, and you can see that the objects are not descending as if on parachutes (see youtube video "Declassified Nuclear Test Film #18 on that subject). How does one explain the cloud-like appearance of the objects, unless the objects were much warmer than the surrounding air, similar to how contrails are created from jet engine exhaust... The streaks of smoke on the left side were left by small rockets, carrying scientific instruments, launched an instant before bomb detonation. If you stop the video randomly you can see other white objects moving so fast that they left streaks of light on the film negative. Others appear as white blobs, very similar in appearance to the group of stationary "clouds" easily visible on the right side of the screen. Of course, many of the "objects" can be attributed to normal wear-and-tear on the film print. Other people have posted videos on this alleged UFO event but this is the best quality footage available.

Monday, May 07, 2012

A Printer That Needs NO Electricity or Batteries!

Here's a wonderful new invention:

Totally portable and needs no power source! It's terrific for African Safaris, Antarctic expeditions, or any other place that lacks electricity.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Drunken Rant: What's the Point of Paying For Cable Anymore?

I'm sick of how cable/satellite TV has been ruined by so-called reality shows. It's bad enough that local free TV is chock-full of that reality garbage, but now virtually all cable channels consist all day marathons of that hokey shit. The History Channel, Discovery, and A & E used to be my favorite cable channels but now look at them: American (nose) Pickers, Ax Men, Swamp People, Storage Wars, ad nauseum. There are literally a hundred of them. All that junk is the same: greedy bastards bragging about how much money they are making - who cares? Or a group of Neandrethals acting-out for the camera, talking about how tough they supposedly are and having fake fights with fellow cast members - wake me when it's over. So what it amounts to is that I'm paying 40 bucks per month for ESPN, CNN and Turner Classic Movies..and 200 channels of fucking horse shit!  

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Why Detroit Hates Small Electric Cars

Ever notice that most electric cars are large and overweight?  To be fair, not just in Detroit but in foreign automakers as well. We got all kinds of electric/gasoline/CNG hybrids from which to choose. Not by coincidence, these cars cost over $30,000. At the other extreme, there is the new Toyota ONE PASSENGER electric run-about (and it lacks doors to save weight). That's rather ridiculous - one passenger? You can't even take your girl for a spin! Not only that, but its top speed is only 37mph and has a scanty range of 31 miles.

The automakers mutter about the safety of tiny electric cars, yet they make the same size gas powered cars! What the world needs is a two-passenger, 50mph, 80 mile range electric with at least a bare minimum of comfort. The only problem is that this car would undercut the sales of low-price gas powered vehicles. Many people would rather pay $10,000 for the electric mini-car instead of $15-20,000 for a similar gas powered vehicle that has only slightly better performance and costs more to operate. Hopefully, the automakers will find some way to make some money off small electric vehicles. In China, small companies are making affordable two-passenger electric cars for a niche market, much to the displeasure of the large state-subsidized Chinese automakers.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012