The Space Noir Bar by Michael Marino (readict books .TXT) 📖

and a cigarette...pained at seeing Asrini again..."Of all the bars and gin joints in the world, why did you have to walk into mine?"

 

Along with us in the bar were a group of Comred officers who were also in their cups. The Comred officers break into a guttural patriotic singing of Back in the USSR, while the Freedom Fighters at the bar, including Vector counter with  Led Zeppelin medley.

 

I excused myself early and went upstairs alone. I had the desk clerk send up a sex cyborg and had room service bring up a bottle of Soma and  a side order of  Tranqs.  Pleasure before business I always say….and finally  drifted off to sleep after I was spent. I set the damn cyborg to auto pilot after we  had sex and it quietly masturbated as I listened to an ongoing lullabye of mechanical orgasms.

 

Then...the dawn….We had a long way to go yet in our quest so imagine our surprise when I was rudely awakened earlier than planned by a knock at the door of our adjoining rooms. “Who the hell can this be at this goddamned hour of hell?”

I grabbed my cold alloy gun and cocked the trigger ready for anything. Half asleep I opened the door. It was a young kid, hotel bellhop with a look of panic and agitation permanently etched on his face. “Are you Doc Yucatan?” I did check in at the desk as Doc Yucatan. “Yeah, waddaya got?” The police are in the lobby and want to talk to you ..quick!” Confusion, panic, adrenalin...all emotions were colliding a once...what had I done...what did they want with me..maybe it was Asrini they were after..guilt by association. Only one way to find out. Face the music and do the dance…

 

 

Chapter Nine - Murder and Flying Monkeys

 

Head pounding, I lumbered half drunk hungover blind to the lobby to see what the police wanted with me. Can’t be too serious as they sent a scrawny bellboy with a bad complexion to roust me before my first drink and not a SWAT team of fast food workers with paper hats demanding my head or a raise in the minimum space wage.

“Ah, Mr. Yucatan. We appreciate your kind cooperation. Thanks for coming down.” The words were too gushy for my unsophisticated taste, but I felt cocky enough now to utter an acknowledging grunt “What can I do for you...uh..let’s see..Captain?” His shoes gave him away. Not worn like a working stiff who pounds a beat. Probably the ass on his pants was shiny from sitting on it all day delegating the real work to mindless subordinates. All the beat cops and enforcement cadre throughout Dystopia were cyborgs...the detectives were bi-peds from various planetary sub-jurisdictions.
“We have a murder on our hands and it seems according to witnesses it was committed by a female Retropolin..Your Kind” he managed to elongate the word with an air of contempt attached to it tighter than the grip of a bi-sexual drag queen Cassiopian cocksuckers mouth.

The perp was a female from Retropolis. I recognized her name,  named Dorothy. She had a rep back home as a tough case and had four arrests under her belt already for murder back home but no convictions. Smart girl. I managed to piece the case together as the Captain relayed what he knew about. She was under surveillance but managed to elude the cops who had her on a watch list, but no warrant to arrest or detain her.

 

Dorothy landed on Barbarella to have a sit down with the Wicked Butch Bitch Witch of Barbarellas Brighton Beach waterfront district. Instead of working out a deal to contract out as hired assassin, Dorothy’s main line of work,  there ws an attempt instead to enlist Dorothy into a life of prostitution and hypodermic needles. “Ever make it with a little person, my dear?” she asked as the Wicked Butch lifted Dorothy’s gingham space polymer dress to get a peek, which piqued Dorothy’s long suppressed libido. “First it was the Catholic nuns, then a priest, a cross-eyed altar boy and now this shit” she screamed!

It was at this point that confusion ran rampant. Witnesses say Dorothy pulled a Ruger ,44 mag auto pistol from her garter and pumped 6 rounds into the hideous hag, screaming red faced and in a blind fury “MAKE MY DAY BUTCH!” Munchkins dove for cover, but, later as witnesses, many reported that they heard three shots being fired from the Yellow Brick Road Sassy Knoll. It was also reported (perhaps erroneously) by the great great etc grandson of Brian Williams that Dorothy swiped the pair of ruby red pumps Butch was wearing at the time. NBC-EIEIO declined to comment. The ruby red pumps may have belonged to a David Bowie collection at one time or another, but that is a spider from Mars of a different color.

The neighborhood also included three escaped convicts from Neptune on the lam. A heartless traumatized tin man;, a salacious brain dead straw man on medication and a libidinous lion with lustful leanings...all with cavorting carnal desires and misdirected sexual intentions to “do” training bra Dorothy who just one month prior started having her periods, or as she said in later interviews, “I went from tampons to tornadoes overnight, then I met these three cheese omelette weirdos. Disgusting, rusting and dusty. Foul mouthed midgets and hot to trot horny hags. It was like being back in Catholic school with everyone trying to get a peek up my skirt to see if gingham has a G-spot.”

Her road less traveled began after touchdown from a black and white tornado from the opium fields of the rectangular Retropolin district of Oh My Kansas to a technicolor tenderloin district of of the Ninth Gate of Barbarella in a neighborhood of hoodlums, gangsters and pimps all controlled by a crime syndicate of snarky syncophants known as the Lollipop Guild which made the notorious Westies mob of old NYC look more like the singing Beastie Boys fighting for their right to party.

After the gun smoke cleared Dorothy was as dazed and confused as a Led Zeppelin song and kept calling for her mob contact Auntie Em, Auntie Em when out of the clear blue a rather fetching witch known as Cabaret Dietrich, a real manly Marlene who was the dead Butch’s sister emerged. She was simply smashing with a fabulous fedora fetish and an unappeased appetite for marijuana smoking farm girls. Ding dong the Butch was as dead as a doornail and Dietrich wondered what kind of a whack job would kill with a gun and not the obligatory rural black and white farmhouse! It was time for revenge and Dorothy was called to a sit-down by Dietrich  and was told she had to get out of Dodge by sundown and to return the ruby red pumps she kept as a kill trophy.

She promises, but, later in a dark dank beer joint she meets Glinda the Bukowski barfly who kept waving a swizzle stick she drunkenly referred to has her magic wand. She sees the enticing piece of jailbait enter the Yellow Brick Dive which was part of the truckstop complex where she plied her trade. Dorothy wanted a ride, to anywhere  extradition safe, and Glinda was only too happy to take her for the ride of her life, but not to safety. Instead, Glinda runs a tab she never intends to pay buying the young killer a Plutonian burger and a plutonium brew. Then she pumps her full of a few laced drinks, a snort of cocaine  and soon Dorothy ends up in the back seat of a hot space rod with real hot “hey can I watch” Glinda with a real hot space dildo strap on. In exchange for her sexual favors Glinda offers Dorothy a hiding place in a place called the Warhol Black  Hole in the Wall where she can fence the pumps for a few space bucks to Butch Cassidy and the Ru Paul Kid.

However, all that glinders is not gold, Dietrich is sulking and lurking in the shadows and at one time had also claimed Glinda as one of her cabaret conquests! She bursts into the car catching them in the back seat with there pants down, all the while screaming s stream of filth and threatening Dorothy with penetration by 100 Flying Monkey Dildos!

In her quest to escape her erotic escapade, Dorothy runs slam bang into a rusting bulk of a hulk of a Tinman who confesses he is actually the William Burroughs Steely Dan Dildo and by the simple act of squirting a little lubrication to him and to her, in appropriate places, they can be off , running and cumming to the races down that quarter mile estros fueled Yellow Brick Road dragstrip for that wonderful wiz jizz that was jazz.

Steely Dan takes Dorothy by the hand to a seedy back alley bar to meet some friends, two more losers, you know the kind that still haven’t scored at the mall by closing time.

The dive was loud and brassy and sassy.“I guess I’m not in Retropolis anymore!” she screamed orgasmically. “Seems more like a jumpin’ jive juke joint on Planet  Harlem on a Saturday night…” It was a real weird Andy Warthog  experience. Dig the scarecrow dude with the day-glo jacket and velvet hat in the corner blasting powder up his nose with a lion doing Lenny Bruce imitations while finger poppin’ beatnik midgets are flying higher than Judy Garland with an arm full of junkie juice. The scarecrow cat is howling like a Ginsberg ginsu knife slicing through the night, while the lion blushes as he touches himself in an impure manner..”forgive me father for I have sinned, but hot damn it felt good! And don’t tell me you don’t diddle under your cassock you perverted Cossack!”

The lion is cowardly inwardly and outwardly, and no longer king of the forrrressssttt he said in a loud leering Lahr voice. “I’m a queen now and no animal is safe!” So the tin dildo, the straw pimp and the lion with tender loins began to blaze a stairway to heaven in an opium field of dreams where they were greeted by a wizend old Chinese wizard dressed in a colorful hanfu with embroidered dragons and yes, Flying Monkeys!!! As the old Kong Fuzi confused them with more Confusion confusion handed them of them each an intricately carved pipe of curious dreams and vivid visions Dorothy realized she had come up against the gatekeeper of the Flying Monkey Dildos.

Fully loaded and Orientally disoriented they hit the road for Warhol Wall that lay just over yonder, at least according to the magic talking Chinese Tao dog known as Wild Blue pointing with his blue point tail to an obscenely beautiful twin towered structure glowing a brilliant pulsating emerald green, it was either Hole or Humboldt County in old California, same thing... Dorothy had managed to lift one of the flying monkey dildos for research purposes only. Gratifying self gratification or Newton’s Law of Self-Gratifying Gravity, what goes in must come out!

As they entered Hole they were taken to the Wizard of Warhol himself who promised to help them escape the clutches of the law in exchange for the