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- Words: 87,880
- Pages: 1,695
- Publisher: Clifford Benjamin
- Released Date: 2021-07-19
- Author: Clifford Benjamin
Copyright @ 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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Chapter Twenty-One
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Dedication Page:
THANKS TO MY BROTHER, Lewis F. Roberts, for his unwavering ability that keeps me focused, through the harsh and good times, cheering me, encouraging me, repeatedly pushing forward, never wavering, making me feel I am truly blessed. Furthermore, I’ll be remiss because I appreciate how much my niece Sonja has helped me and still helping me to get book projects off the ground and onto the market. So thank you, Lew, and thank, you Sonja as well; you both are a jewel.
Foreword Sucking the blood out of people was all fiction; those were dreadfully terrible times. But we have come many years from whence we came. Sadly, we have a president who did unimaginable things that would even make Alfred Hitchcock blush. Yes, it’s all about him, the president that is, that’s like a cancerous sore that never heals; it keeps him wanting more and more regardless of who he had to kill to get what he wants. Whether they’re king or Queen or gay or straight, it didn’t mean a hill of beans. He was in for the long haul, no one the wiser of his dastardly deeds. His thirst for blood was mind-bending. He didn’t discriminate as to who the victims were; he took them as they came. Once you read the story, I hope you agree that this guy was one badass crazy idiot that the world had ever seen and may never see again, and you may know why I chose the title of the book coined “ZOMBIE.” Basically and succinctly, Zombie is like the new kid on the block that can stretch one’s imagination toward the bizarre and can be a slight bit kinky at times. It can take one’s vision on a helluva ride. Lastly, yes, there is no biting on the neck or tooth marks. I hope you ENJOY and find the book a page-turner, especially on a thunderous stormy night with the rain pouring down in torrents and ominous lightning streaking across the pitchblack sky. In total, it’s about a mad white president that kills Kings and Queens and presidents, bar none, anyone in between, that gets in his way, in his lustful thirst for power, kidnapping women and holding them hostage. Zombie is the new type of monster in shirt and tie and smooth-talking, willing to kill to get his way with a deep-seated hatred for black folks, despite their level of intelligence.
Chapter
1
PRESIDENTS, I SUPPOSE, were children once. It had been a long journey into night in the City of Hope, the melting pot, and so the adventure begins. It was a dog day afternoon, a darn long era, and a wet hot American summer that two men sat at a desk, in a tomb with a view, with a nice pile of magazines near the edge, showing stacks, plural, fronted with the president’s name and image. “We have a problem, Sir,” said the blue-eyed Attorney General, always wearing a suit for his daily grind ... and for all intent and purpose had a neat way of memorizing information. The room was painted white. It appeared modern and antiquated and a tad smaller. As the room filled with smoke, the response was, “I thought the fence would settle everything, POTUS.” Sarcasm and irony are ingrained in his DNA; not knowing you combine self-deprecation with a dose of understated sarcasm is the ingredients of humor. Silence and no comment, the soft background music playing could make anybody sleepy. “Believe me, nothing could compare to this,” Ed said, the right arm to POTUS. He quickly and easily presented a large brown envelope, wearing a prim vested suit with necktie blocked primly against the collar button of his primly starched white suit.
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PRESIDENT ROBERT K. Outcome, often called POTUS, a regular embarrassment of riches, and a nose for revenge, priding himself to be a runaway Bonanza, huffed then took the item from Ed’s grasp and asked, “What’s this?” Most that knew him was aware he lay claim to being related to someone of notoriety. That person being Hitler. A distant cousin on his mother’s side. “Shrugging his board shoulders, Ed said, “I think you need to look at this,” said Ed, noticing POTUS was wearing the same Apple Watch as him. POTUS straightened his eyeglasses, clearly not Washington’s best, set with a foot upon the desk shining expanse of polished wood, just like back on Feb. 6, 1975, when President Gerald Ford and First Lady Betty Ford put their feet up in the White House’s living quarters. From its opening in 1800, through one nasty bit of arson and several renovations, the White House had been the home of every president but one: George Washington! POTUS’s nefarious bullish nature, signaled by his ‘dry’ and ‘dictatorial’ mouth and perverse and turbulent nature, was a kind of hollow person who only ever laughs for show. That often prompted him to roll his eyes and to open a package as if it was Kryptonite. After doing that, he breathed a sigh of relief. He then brushed the envelope aside with one wipe of his childlike hands. POTUS was a careless person, set adrift on memory bliss, smashing up things, and then retreating into his money or his vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept him together and let other people clean up the mess he had made.
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HE CONSIDERED HIMSELF one smooth operator and naughty by nature fixated on ruling the world and a stone rebel without a pause and insane in the brain, coupled with a dark, twisted fantasy consisting of fear of a black planet. The bottom line it was him against the world and to get rich or die trying, a staunch believer in the ‘Greatest Story Never Told,’ totally out of line with the Big Picture, with a stone-cold attitude, hot, calm, and vicious. Although he and Ed worked closely together, his best friends were Paul, Amanda, and Quinn, but their relationship had soured. POTUS then pulled a plate of salad in front of him and munched on it. It was sad that this man, some would say it was like the Kacken was released, was akin to the BLINDMAN’S BUFF. One other thing, it was a complete myth he had royal blood. In addition, he was what is known as a round character, complex, realistic, and unique. To put it differently, clearly, he was no Johan, said to be a member of a race of giants in Norse mythology, but could tell he had a bully platform. Too many, the question was, how did the myth get so firmly established in the popular consciousness? “Looks like you are on the path to becoming a vegetarian,” Ed surmised, needling him as usual, a bit flushed after scribbling at his desk, distressed having pored over a book on the train, and now staring intently at a computer screen. A stone-cold Wasp—white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, genuinely mystified by his success, a mind vitiated by prejudice, POTUS asked, “In the first place, not only ... but also, this is my way of counting fucking calories. Have you noticed?” He then bit into a blood orange, the juices covering his lips and dripping downward.
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MANY PEOPLE DON’T KNOW blood oranges are rich in antioxidants and help reduce oxidative stress and lower the risk of chronic health problems like cancer, heart disease, and diabetes. “Noticed what, POTUS?” Ed questioned, lively in temper, conduct, or spirit basically, known as a flat character, one-dimensional, with a single overarching trait and otherwise limited personality or individuality. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and hell’s bells, can’t you see what’s going on?” My stomach for Christ’s sake,” glancing at the imaginary mountain of work on his desk, taking the fork and stabbing at more victuals, then gulping it down, seeming upset but far from having a meltdown from fatigue or overstimulation. In effect, POTUS was looking for a financial windfall due to come soon. Trouble was his expectations were always on the high side, but not on edge, fortunately. He then said, “Today, I hit my job peak.” Taking a hell of things into , Ed said, “Sir, this is too important; just kick it to the curve.” Opening the envelope, he pulled out what looked to be a document stating ‘Top Secret.’ POTUS, a monosyllabic hunk of bark, stopped his munch and asked, “No problem. Hang on. Okay, go for it. What does it say? Let’s get down to it. Hurry up. You got my undivided attention.” The silence was apparent. It was evident, Ed, innocent, POTUS, jaded. “This takes the cake. Don’t keep me waiting. You know I’ve got to call my henchmen Chucheve Dosmitenoy, POTUS of Russia, in a bit.” It was funny how his plans of becoming an astronaut were a dead dream. Therefore, he knew he should be more realistic.
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“I KNOW, SIR; IT SAYS here that the extreme left has concluded that the extreme Right has become infected with a disease.” “Hold on. That shouldn’t ne’er be top secret. Wouldn’t you think I know what I’m talking—what kind of disease?” “Do you mean the top-secret or do you mean—” “God-dogged Ed, get on with it and get to the damn point.” “Oh—lighten up; I will just give me a second. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Well POTUS, it claims, America now has become infiltrated with people they call Zombies and that they are dead from the neck up.” Ed thought to himself, ‘POTUS seems to make sense when you talk to him at first, but the more you listen, the more it seems he’s a few cards short of a deck.’ “Shit,” cried POTUS, “I never figured this day would come.” He couldn’t imagine inclusion in that bunch. Ed said, “It does seem like it has come down to that particular day being upon us.” The phone ringed. “Let me get this. See, I do know how to get to the phone faster than you.” “Stop being critical, said POTUS, “but I must it I like how loud you play your music. And I do love it when the trains delay. Strangely, as it may seem, when that happens, I sometimes feel like I’m a knockout king of the world.” POTUS answered the call. It was his attorney. Ed’s back turned as he asked POTUS, “You got it?”
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POTUS: “YEP,” HE SAID to Ed and then said to the caller, “I’m a bit tired Marcus, had to hit the snooze button several times this morning. Put the thing is, there has been a paradigm shift. The shit has hit the fan, Marcus,” he said to his attorney and fellow student. But, of course, they didn’t have much money when they were students, and they got by on a frugal amount. Or, more precisely, the smell of an oily rag most days to keep from going off the deep end. “Don’t sweat it,” Marcus uttered. “More important than anything else, you should just keep on lying, giving the extreme right what they want. As they say, ‘In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.’” POTUS let out, “I guess you’re right. Thing is, even the whale is becoming extinct,” his voice broke off. “Have I steered you wrong yet? We’re not fucking white nationalist for nothing, and you know what else we are,” failing at filling in the blanks. Both broke out laughing heartily, laughing all honesty out of fashion, their laughter trailing off less and less to a temporary quiet. “You know I know that. Once America is taken, then we take over the world. Hitler had the right idea.” Then the strangest thing happened. Back in his mind, he heard a little birdie say: “Are your thoughts worthy of you? If not, now is the time to change them. You can begin right where you are. Nothing matters but this moment and what you are focusing your attention on.
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MOST PEOPLE DIRECT most of their thoughts in response to what they observe (bills in the mail, being late, having bad luck, etc.) Break that pattern.” One of POTUS Achilles’ Heels was his inability to free himself from the cumbersome impossibilities of needing to control the world, his friends, his mate, or his children, signifying nothing. Marcus broke up his thoughts by saying: “That’s my guy. Keep that in mind. I don’t think I ever told you my friend went on a murder weekend, killing three people, gutting them to boot with a twelve-inch bowie knife, and now doing life?”
POTUS: “Nah, you never did, but back to the conversation. As I was saying, once we do all that, I will put the blacks back into slavery. I can’t wait to get my hands on one of their light-skinned young bitches and make some pick ninnies and then sell them off into slavery. Well, enough on that. “Got to run,” said POTUS, placing the phone in its crater. Nevertheless, Marcus asked, “What did Ed have to say? I hope he quit snorting coke.” “I can’t rightly say if he has or not.” “That guy Ed seems nice,” said Marcus. On the contrary, POTUS said, “Oh, Ed’s the worst,” then winked at Ed. “He acts nice when you first meet him, but then he’ll ask you for money and never return it, and eat all your food without any offering anything in return, and I once saw him throw a rock at a puppy. Thank God he missed.” POTUS knew he was blowing things out of proportion but got a kick out of lying to Marcus. As to Marcus’s comment about Ed doing drugs, even he knew there’s not a snowball chance in hell Ed would still do that.”
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WELL AWARE THAT HOPES and positive feelings open energy pathways and create happier biochemistry and stress is a silent killer. So, everything considered, Ed leaned over and whispered in POTUS’s ear, saying, “That’s surprising Marcus would say I smoke coke. You know that’s not true. I use to but quit cold turkey years ago.” POTUS looked down his nose at him and then said oddly, “I tend not to trust people who live in tiny little houses.” Ed said, “What? Why on earth you feel that way?” Marcus broke into the conversation, letting Ed know he had heard every word. “Thanks for the update, Ed.” He then said to POTUS, “Now where were we? Marcus then hung up the phone. POTUS went back to do what he usually does, making phone calls and g bills into law.
Chapter
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AFTER HIS CONVERSATION with Marcus, POTUS dipped a spoon down into a cup of “fray” frozen yogurt and pulled it out and put it in his mouth, and started the process all over again. Just out of the blue, POTUS said, “Why is it that it rains all the time in D.C.?” Ed responded by saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll soon acclimatize.” After noticing the stick layer of dust had accumulated in the room, POTUS asked, “Tell me, Ed, what the ram said to his wife?” Keen on the ability to conclude something without making a mistake, Ed thought for a moment, then the answer popped into his mind, causing his answer right to the living end to crash land on “I love ewe.” “Good grief, you got it. Great.” Ed then said, “I got one for you, mister wise guy.” “What is it?” “What did the mayonnaise say when the girl opened the refrigerator?” POTUS put his finger to his mouth as if in deep thought, then said, “Close the door, I’m dressing!” They cracked up, laughing at each other and then laughing at themselves. Then there was a momentary silence, both thinking to their selves.
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POTUS WAS FIRST TO speak. “Damn that there Madonna Louise Ciccone is one cool dance musician, don’t you think?” “I’ll say that gal got oodles of talent, and all the Nasties Amazes me.” POTUS said, “The salvages in Las Vegas are wild over the Statue of Liberty built to stay free.” He then closed his eyes and visualized having what he already wanted—and the feeling of having it already. Ed chimed in, “How about that? Oh, how I like being the rainbow in someone’s cloud.” For some strange reason, he found himself wondering to himself: ‘how long will it take? There are no rules on time. You don’t need to know how the universe will rearrange itself just for you, but trust that it will. The more aligned you are with positive feelings, the quicker things happen.’ The silence was telling. After a time, the sound of someone moaning the words, “Give me that dick. That’s right. Give me all of it, every inch of it. Oh, God is good.” POTUS asked Ed, “Did you hear that?” He leaned over, slightly curious as a bed bug, his face filled with confusion. “No. What...” “Quiet.” “As I said—” “You must be silent. Then you will be able to hear it better.” Ed jerked his head in the direction of the door. “I just told you, POTUS, I did not hear any....” But, of course, it never entered his head; POTUS would lie to him at all.
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“BE QUIET.” POTUS STRAIGHTENED his shoulders. “Hear that?” He was anxious. “I tell you, there’s something funny going on in that room.” Ed lowered his head as if he was in a battle on the war front. Suddenly, without warning, a man’s voice grunted, “Dag gone girl, you know how to suck cock.” “You say that to all the girls,” she giggled—a laugh somewhere between a chuckle and a snort. “See, I told you,” said POTUS, raising the point. “This fucking house is a haven compared to mine.” Ed’s eyes squinted as he said, “You were right.” POTUS said, “Isn’t nothing like the real thing, baby. But, by the way, who the hell is that?” “Damn if I know.” “Go find out. And keep your eyes on the prize.” “Why would you want me to do that?” “Let’s say it is protocol. Anyway, I am POTUS and must know who in God’s name is screwing some pussy in a room next to my office.” Ed shook his head and then threw up his hands. “You’re right.” “Hell yeah, I’m right. It’s just a simple matter of doing as I say, for a change. Now get to it.” Without further ado, Ed said, “Well, I’d like to believe that,” then slumbered with haste out the room and looked through a cracked door and returned to the Oval Office. “Did you see who it is?”
“It’s just, ‘the ready for love character,’ Jake, the janitor.” “You mean Jack. Who’s the pussy?”
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“THAT’S MARGARET.” IT was a story as old as time, to what she was doing was like sleeping with the past, since Jack was just a janitor in status. “Margaret? Isn’t she Senator Gumption’s daughter?” “One hundred percent,” Ed mumbled. POTUS, with a black icy stare, said, “To my opinion, she would be better off dead than mess around with no nothing Jack. She needs to look at the big picture. On the other hand, though, you may already know, she’s one cauliflower, quite a looker with a nice piece of ass.” Ed said, “You’re right. Pretty hot and tempting that gal was PHAT! Hell, did I tell you, I can resist anything but temptation?” “You know what,” asked POTUS, furrowing his brow. “Skip that. What I need is for you to set things up so I can get that ass.” Ed said, “They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and you can get what you want if you work toward it. So, what you just asked of me is fine by me, POTUS. I wish I could you with that.” “Why is it?” Ed said, “I thought you knew.” “Knew what?” “Things have got so bad I can’t get it up. But besides that, I still love her, and before anyone else, she’s my new BAE.” In addition, backed up worse than the Hoover Dam.” “You mean constipated?” “That’s right, POTUS. Honest to God. I’m just about shooting blanks—like sterile.”
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POTUS DETECTED A TINGE of envy in his tone. It was like music to his ears, as he said, “Lucky me, my dick can still salute. Knowing that fuses blow if they are overloaded, his words were not evasive. It would be man-to-man. Plus, he was aware that Ed had a habit of being economical with the truth, like telling lies or wrong about Ed. “So you’re saying you’re not having any difficulty saluting a flag?” POTUS said, “That’s for sure. My wife likes it so much she can bust a nut every time. I’m so good in bed; she calls me Clock Man.” “Woo-lee,” Ed uttered, scratching his brushy chin, knowing that if he tried to have sex with another woman, it would be like bringing owls to Athens. In other words, it would be pointless. But, on the other hand, his wife would surely get back at him by going out and having sex with another woman. Oh, well, Ed will survive, I reckon. With any luck, he may get out of this deep web. POTUS said to Ed, “I forgot to tell you, got two tickets that my son gave me for the game this coming Friday. But he changed his mind decided to go to a basketball game to watch the Nets play. So, head over hills, he is for his pregnant fourteen-year-old girlfriend, and he twenty-three. I don’t know what’s with these kids these days. So, Ed, I wondered if you would go with me, so I won’t lose the money I put out. What do you think?” At one point, Ed told him, “Well, hell yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll be out of circulation when it comes to going to a game. I’ll do it. Appreciate you asking.” “Great,” said POTUS
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ED SAID, “BASED ON the fear of missing out, I’m only going with you because I have a major case of FOMO.” “FOMO,” said POTUS, “Oh, skip it, just that I’m behind the times anyway. So what’s the use of trying to keep up with things?” Ed muttered to POTUS, “You only live once; you better go on that trip. YOLO!” not expecting a reply back at all. POTUS just hummed to himself as if in another universe. Ed mumbled again as if to get POTUS’s attention, saying to him, “Keep it simple stupid you don’t have to reinvent the wheel, KISS, and then, laugh out loud you’re so funny, LOL!” He knew POTUS had a habit of pushing it to the limit. But as to him, when he was but a little, young and foolish, snot-nosed whippersnapper, he visualized himself counting money, carrying bags of cash and drugs, marrying a beautiful wife, and moving into a fabulously expensive home, a mansion perhaps. But he knew that for some just beginning to taste, success would ultimately claim their soul. And that would be the jump-off point if his dream were to occur. Even though POTUS had grown quiet, quieter than usual, Ed said, “I can’t believe it.” “What,” POTUS asked, seemingly brought out of his stupor. “It’s just sometimes you can have that, E.G., Evil Grin,” Ed said subsequently. Nevertheless, POTUS said, “Can’t rightly do much about that.” “You know what?” said Ed. “What?” “Have you ever thought about Singapore trying so hard to catch up with Japan when it comes to technological advancements? Fancy that...”
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ED RESPONDED BY SIMPLY saying, “I hope they do. I mean Singapore, that is.” “Tell me, Ed “What exactly is the sound of happy?” “For the rest of my life, I don’t have the slightest idea.” POTUS said, “I mean, is it hands clapping?” “As I said, I don’t have the slightest.” “Yeah, I know, you did say that. But could it be the thump of your heart in your chest? Or is it the zoom of the planes overhead? I mean, is it the absence of a good ha-ha or the lack of a boo-you-hoo-you-hoo? What is the sound of happiness to you? Fed up, Ed threw up his arms and said, “As I said before, I don’t rightly know. Don’t have any idea how to answer that question.” “Imagine you should, Ed. You’re old enough not to know.” To that outrageous insult, Ed snapped back at him, “Damn it, POTUS, I gave it to you straight, let’s drop it. Okay?” No reply, just extraordinary silence. Ed said, “One more thing before I leave. That is, I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. So I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time well.”
Zombie
GETTING NO RESPONSE, Ed realized that POTUS wasn’t concentrating on what he was saying and had disappeared into a brown study, a melancholy mood accompanied by deep thought. He paused a moment, then closed his mouth and walked out of the office, knowing POTUS wasn’t a good sort in his heart of hearts, outside the line, not sticking to the rules, anyway, he refocuses because he made his weekly appointment at the halfway house some blocks away. Also, knowing, all too well, there’s nothing worse than getting a worm in your apple. So whenever he mentioned the place to POTUS, he ranted on like a Dutch uncle for a whole hour, signifying nothing at all. So in light of that, he decided not to mention his attending the Halfway House. In other words, he paid lip service to the cause but hasn’t lent a hand yet. After all, it was not like he made millions and was king of the hill. Before it became a knotty problem, he was right to stop bringing up his itinerary, like where he goes and such things of that magnitude. Well, regardless, when life gives you, lemons make lemonade. Just complete the best out of the problematic situation. Anyway, his brother-in-law was having another one of his fancy parties on Saturday, time to go down the rabbit hole again. It was like mentally going somewhere surreal or strange. Another thing was that he suffered from dumb luck when he got a sore back due to the golf game a few days ago. Perhaps he might use that as an excuse not to attend his brother-in-law’s party. He would chew on it a bit.
Clifford Benjamin
SHORTLY, FULL OF VIM and vigor and not quite ready to buy the farm, he was now in his car, knowing all roads lead to Rome as fowls of the air fly nearby. He stepped on the gas headed to the Halfway House, knowing he could not compare to POTUS because the two were like apples and oranges and wondering if it would be a black day tomorrow. Regardless, he would fake it till making it, portraying himself as he had wanted to be, knowing that he would turn up at the location if going north or south, knowing six of one and half dozen of the other was against the grain to tackle dishonest people. One other thing he had learned and would guild him along through the good and evil is that faith is like a strenuous uphill climb: a single stumble might send you sprawling, but belief and steadfastness will see you to the very top.
Chapter
3
“NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO love anybody’s trouble.” There’s a calm surrender to the rush of the day as it eased in, signifying morning had broken POTUS, his abdominal muscle a bit stiff, then got up and said good morning to the night, then made breakfast, consisting of cereal, juice, and toast. He was overwhelmed with how beautiful an autumn day it was—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Then after working an entire week and keeping every nut and bolt screwed tight, Saturday rolled in and turned into a fantastic, wet afternoon. The hallway in the brick building on 338 Baldwin Street was quiet; the only sound was the patter of footsteps moving about. Then, all of a sudden, a giant brown furry rat scurried across the floor. Caught off guard, more by accident than design, and damned if you do and damned if you don’t, and positively depressing, he kicked at the rodent in disgust, hating it as he felt toward poor little rich girls, why, he could not explain. The rodent paused, looked back, and then kept right on going into a small hole in the wall, like vanishing into thin air.
Clifford Benjamin
THROWING UP HIS HANDS in despair and inhaling positivity, exhaling negativity, he exhaled negativity. He then continued till it was as if a fragment of light at the end of the tunnel suddenly appeared. A relatively small pale hand opened a door. The footsteps started moving downward as the light in the ceiling shone dimly. At the bottom, and after several steps and a key placed into a lock, a pale hand opened the door, and then quickly and firmly, he strode into a rather large room as the door closed behind. A bright light shone in the ceiling. What is clear is that either by chance or by design, there was a desk, a chair, no window, a simply furnished room. She was by all s pleasing to the eye and fed baked beans and fish fingers daily. As he began to walk toward the black woman, to which he had had mixed feelings again in seeing her, she flinched, jerking the chains that bind her arms. The chains were attached to a reasonably large bolt in the ceiling. He had developed a feeling for when not to disturb her. For now, he was as horny as could be. As he saw it, there would be no denying him. It seemed plausible it was the practical aspect of life that heightened his feelings of loneliness. Knowing no alternative scenario for her, he said, “Hello world. Hello gorgeous. Life is imperfectly perfect. Shit happens. Personal feelings don’t come into it— we have to do what’s right. It makes no difference to my feelings for you. He pushed her feelings aside. Although she did not reciprocate his feelings, she did not discourage him. No hard feelings. Someone has to lose. “So, it’s no hard feelings, eh, Lisa?”
Zombie
THE LONG AND SHORT of it, he knew he was her Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending hook line and sinker ninety-nine percent. His nose got a sniff of the sweet smell of perfume like he was in a flower garden. As their lips met, the sweet-scented taste fit for the gods captivated his thoughts. She smelled good, taste good, so much so, he could gobble up the sweet thing. Naturally, it was, clinging, toying, fondling, white and mahogany together; after liquidizing her vagina and getting a delightfully head job, he zipped up his pants, delighted with her all-around performance. Just before leaving, from behind the walls of doubt, a voice was crying out, “Stay beautiful, you’re worth it, sweetheart.” He left the room, smiling, sparkling, and shinning, and galumphing—that is to say, galloping triumphantly, his head held high, as the words from a song “Goodbye, my almost lover,” sprang from his feeble mind. As he chuckled, the talks continued, “Goodbye, my hopeless dream,” then vanished. In his altered state of reality, he could never have a black bitch on his sleeve, he thought to himself. Why would he, when he can, have all the black pussy for free without strings attached? He had to it, from experience, there was no comparison between the taste of a white and black woman’s pussy, none at all. He would know. The difference to him was the white woman’s pussy was too salty while the black woman had an enticing scent and aroma, a favor he could not quite describe precisely. All he knew was he couldn’t get enough of it, revisiting heaven, some might say. He wouldn’t dare let his wife know the difference between the two species from the human anatomy perspective.
Chapter
4
WHEN ALL WAS SAID AND done, he was in the Oval putting in a phone call sometime later, glancing outside at an airplane as it flew northwards across the sky. “Hey, Mr. Dictator,” said POTUS speaking to his nemeses, Chucheve Dosmitenoy, of Russia from the back of beyond, the one person he was fortunate enough to get to the bargaining table. They talked in a matter-of-factly way for hours from matters of business, their economies, and women. “Yeah,” said POTUS, “talking to you about pussy, makes me horny and wanting to grab me a piece of black pussy. On balance, Dosmitenoy replied, “I know it’s not my beeswax, but I have to say that’s just your ego talking to you.” “Oh, wait, my what?” “I said your ego. Don’t get me wrong. I ought to know as much pussy I get. Don’t give up. Miracles happen.” Though it was an awkward fact, POTUS said, “Yeah, bet your okey-doke got ’em coming and going.” “Of course, everyone understands that; that’s because they know I take good care of them,” Dosmitenoy chuckled. “When I’m eating pussy, life is a climb, but the view is great. Case closed.” “I believe that ... I must say, never got round to thanking you for setting me up with that wife of mine,” said POTUS.
Zombie
DOSMITENOY SAID, “TOLD you a prostitute would be a better wife than a straight-laced woman. The thing is, the straight ones are too high and mighty; a man can’t get a word in edgewise; they only want to fuck when ready and don’t give a damn. It’s their way or the highway. Oh, heck, you can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them. Can you imagine us men so struck by pussy? Let’s just put it this way, one half of me is yours, the other half yours. In other words, you have every inch of me. All that remains is no.” “You got that right, my friend,” said POTUS. “Is that all I am to you—a measly friend?” That was an age-old question, especially from a man with an ego as large as his, agreeing to differ. “What? What else should we be to each other?” “Why, lovers, my friend,” Dosmitenoy muttered, chuckling. “Are you kidding me?” Dosmitenoy stopped chuckling and said, “Let’s be for real. Can’t you take a joke when you see it?” “That’s more like it, my friend; I knew you were not at the least a fagot.” Dosmitenoy said, “Be back in a snap,” then zoned out. “As it’s said, no winner, winner, chicken dinner,” POTUS uttered. Ready-witted and carefree, Dosmitenoy had just returned and then replied, “You got that right,” loudly blowing his nose. “Damn cold, been around too long. Like I was saying, I love myself some women.
Chapter
5
THE MORE, THE BETTER, I always say. Just keep it away from the wife. She thinks I’m an angel. Can you imagine a man without that beautiful chaos we call women to nurse his thirst for pussy?” Then POTUS said, “No way in hell can I imagine my friend, so goodbye and stay tuned.” But, strange as it seemed, he often wondered if he spent most of his life behind a mask, being President by day, serial killer by night. The question being, would his mask start slipping, and his cover lifted. The monster within exposed? Or powers of thought revealed? A day later, and at the eleventh hour, POTUS dropped off the radar and flew on Air Force One to West of Nothing, Alabama, up in hillbilly country, heavy in lean two’s and dilapidated shacks. After munching on peas and beans mixed with some bits of chicken, he had his bodyguards stay back at the hotel while he went with some of the Khan. In time, the transparent night was quite dark when they arrived, the driver letting the van idle, and as the Union Jack flew high in the air, some thirty men stood at the ready round in a circle adorned in white sheets.
Zombie
AWARE HE WAS NOW IN the lion’s den, POTUS walked closer to them. He could see a black man with his hands tied behind his back, crying and mourning, “Please don’t kill me. I got a wife and five kids.” The thing was, he was as human as them, a point often overlooked in such situations. “Be still and shut the fuck up nigger,” said an authentic unlikable Klansman, significantly gripping the man by his collar to emphasize who was in control as the stream flowed through a garden nearby; finally, he paused and cleared his throat. He then resumed what was being said, “You aren’t supposed to speak until you are asked to, nigger.” Next, a man, not your Aunt Sally or laughing stock, then stepped out of the shack adorned in black from head to toe. The man’s role in the matter played like a cautionary tale. For one thing, POTUS quickly surmised the man hitched to an old-fashioned, middle-aged, broken-down woman with a part-time job skinning cows, had to be the Grand Wizard, head man of the Klan, obviously widely-recognized in that area. High-spirited to the tie, he had a long whip in his hands. He then held it up above his head and snapped it, sending a terrifying sound through the air. “Tie him up to that tree over yonder, and strip him bare,” he instructed, with authoritative candor, pointing to a stance of woods some distance away. By and large and at the same time, the poor man was so terrified, he involuntarily wet in his pants as they dragged him over to the tree and hurriedly tied him up. Suddenly, the sky lit up a fiery red, the equivalent of a barn fire, indicating things were about to become more heated.
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS MOVED TO GET a better look at what was about to happen. At the same time, the lion-hearted Grand Wizard handed a thingamajig to POTUS. “At your service, Mr. President, welcome to the club. It’s only right that you get a taste of what’s it like to whip some no-count niggers ass.” Unaware of POTUS’s disinterestedness, and with the line of communication now understood, the out-of-the-limelight like-minded crowd got a kick out of that last remark. It began chanting, “Whip that nigger’s ass, Mr. President. Make him bleed like the animal he is. Hell, he’s but three-fifths human. Not quite a full human. He’s just above the animals, not at the least above the times.” That raised a few eyebrows and got yet another roaring shemozzle from the crowd. It was clear they now were on the fringes of reality, some of them foaming at the mouth like a wild beast straining at the bit, thrusting a tight fist up in the air, their voice piercing through the night. POTUS had to it they were odd unimaginative moments he was sure never to forget. Wanting to worm himself into their love-hate affections, POTUS did not linger, and with incredible ion and with deliberate speed, he stepped forward with the whip in hand, not about to do an about-turn. He then raised it above his head; the whip sizzled through the air striking its target with a resounding thug, only to cause their captive to cry out a wretched god awful sound. He began to moan, struck again and again, till he was at the last gasp and reeked with blood, sending the poor man to an early grave.
Zombie
IF YOU WONDER IF HIS actions gratified POTUS, hell, it was bittersweet, knowing already that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue in New York and get away with it. There was no difference here. Another thing was he wanted to prove to these crazed men he was no chicken, no coward at least. The Grand Wizard, the fly in the ointment, walked over and patted him on the back, saying to him, “That was perfectly fabulous. Good grief, it got pretty ugly there for a time, but it was good and sure to be something to tell your grandkids. Welcome to the flower and floor show, POTUS. We must do this again sometime soon. Now come with me, I got just the nigger woman that’ll satisfy all your needs. Plus, she’s young and quite a looker. Just to think of her gets my pecker hard. Where we’re going will be wine, women, and song, buddy.”
Chapter
6
WITHOUT ONE WORD SPOKEN, they drove through the night about ten miles, each with a sphinx-like smile on their face. Before long, POTUS was in a one-room shack getting the blow job of his life. Damn, he thought to himself, wishing slavery could return to the nation. What a time he would have. So much freedom to do what one was capable of imagining white people could do, that is. Who knows, before he quit being President, it might happen. He breathed a sigh and continued to think. For that to happen, he knew one thing; for that to happen, he would have to put in every effort and start to kick the idea around; perhaps in time, there could be a shift in white’s way of thinking toward a more direct way of being racist. He knew a relatively large number of whites were prejudice primarily against blacks, with just a sprinkling hating Jews, Latinos, Native Americans, Asians, and a relatively small number of other less fortunate groups. He would have to place irons in the fire and continue to stoke up the flames of racism. He quickly decided that whites were the greater of the races to fall for the racist crap. He would continue to feed them a dose at a time until they were hooked line and sinker.
Clifford Benjamin
BEFORE HE FORGOT, HE had a bad habit of visiting his grandfather once in a blue moon. He lived in a remote farmhouse. That had to change, and it would be if he had anything to say about it, despite his wife Tatiana disliked visiting his family. The last time the two had visited, his wife threw a tantrum, lashing out and accusing of his family of trying to drive a wedge between her and her husband. So worked up, he had to drag her away from the situation before things became hostile. Tatiana said in a rage, “Here I am, trying to be a good wife and care for the kids and all. And here you are stabbing me in the back, telling people I’m messing around with this guy and that, staying out late bar hopping my ass off. Plus, taking care of my younger sister is no bed of roses; she is ridiculous.” She caught her breath, and threw up her hands, and stumped on her way to the car—opening and closing the door with a bang. He was speechless, knowing if he got a word in, she would have jumped on him also, and knowing she would keep quiet only when pigs fly. She had run so fast; it was as if Elvis had left the building. One of the family , a man of letters, was gaga and shouted out, “Hey Mr. President! You’re always playing devil’s advocate,” his voice and manner suggesting an aristocratic pedigree. That did it! The last remark ignited his D.N.A., causing POTUS to shout back, “Give it a rest, Jack and mind your own fucking business. You got that?” Just when things were about to escalate or erupt further, it started to rain cats and dogs, causing the rest of the family to fly back inside.
Zombie
ANOTHER FAMILY MEMBER started to say something but missed the boat as a streak of lightning lit up the sky. The thunderous noise caused the cockatoo, a cross between a cocker spaniel and a poodle, to run with his tail between his legs, pausing only to shake the rain away, obviously frightened to no end, and then continued to fly through the open door. As soon as POTUS entered the car, his wife barked peevishly, “Of all the cockamamie bullshit I’ve heard, your family—” “Uh-uh, Tatiana,” he said with a softly-softly approach, “Don’t you go getting yourself bent out of shape. We both know my two sisters always try to get in the last word. And have a habit of going around spearing cock-and-bull stories on most people in these parts.” She calmed down, running her finger through her hair. “You’re right, I guess. I’m never one to back down from a fight. It’s just the way of being raised, I guess.” She rolled her head around, perhaps to get the tension in her neck to relax. “All I know every kid in the world is the apple of their parent’s eye.” Her smile was faint. It was the type of smile that could change the world and make fascinating conversations. “You trying to say I am spoiled, aren’t you?” “No, just trying to get you to take your mind off what just went on just moments ago, Hon?” He reached over and pulled her closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, sniffling and wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She was now forty-two, with very shapely contours to her body.
Clifford Benjamin
HE LOVED THIS WOMAN and never really wanted to be with any other female, that was until another pussy came around. It was love at first sight, that is, if you wanted to believe that. She fifteen, he was just a month shy of fiftyfive. She swooned like butter in his hand when he first said he loved her. She looked at him with a massive smile on her face. “I was wondering did you feel the way I do.” She glanced down at her feet, pleased he had brought the lovely shoes at a flea market for a song and a dance. POTUS chuckled, “Damn girl, don’t you go telling people I cried on your shoulders.” They were now home. “Trust me. I won’t.” She took off her shoes and just stood there. “That’s my girl, all right.” “You still love me as you did before,” she asked. Love was a story as old as time. “Woman can’t you tell ... there’s no way my feelings for you will ever change. You are the apple of my eye. Rest assured, we still make quite a couple don’t you think?” “I’m with you on that.” “I know.” “You know?” “I will always love you till the last drop of life leaves my body.” “I know, but I can’t get your sisters out of my head.” “I done told you about that.” She stirred. “I tell you, I just can’t. They keep on crossing the line, behaving in a not acceptable way; it’s like a bitter pill. I’ll forgive them when all hell freezes
over, perhaps.”
Zombie
“WOMAN, I DON’T WANT to hear another sound out of you. Just zip your lip, will you?” “You’re right. I won’t let it get me down.” “That’s right. Keep focused, never for once giving in to the craving of wanting to bash heads. It won’t do any good. If you did, they would still be the same way and saying the same awful things about people. It’s like they are bewitched. And you, you must never to set the bar so high that it’s impossible to achieve anything.” “You’re right as rain. I can always count on you to lift me when I’m down. Thanks for being there for me.” “Not at all; just part of my nature to be there for anyone I care about, and that you can bet dollars on donuts, I will always be there for you. And as you know, we both don’t have to work long hours to keep the wolf from the door.” He paused, then looked at the thick pea soup gathering outside, then said, “Sounds like the devil is beating his wife in our city. It’s raining cats and dogs and the sun is also shinning. Oh, and grandmother advised me to be careful about making new friends because all that glitters is not gold.” “I hear you.” He responded, “As you also may know, I’m very straightforward. Never mind, just copy what I do. It’s easy peas as can be. I will always keep you in the loop.” “I’m sure you will.” He said, “I forgot to tell you, I felt snowed under with all the work thrown my way.” “No. You didn’t.”
Clifford Benjamin
“YES, IT’S TRUE. BUT I can and will keep hustling my butt. I got my ambition from my father, as you know. And as you know, the debate on whether man and woman were created equal has been long-lasting and significant.” “I concur. We women still have a ways to go before we get any chance of semblance of equal pay.” “You got that right. On another note, how’s that brother of yours coming along? Is he still under the radar after stealing all that money from your friends?” He chuckled. She rapped him on the shoulder. “You keep getting on him without giving him time to breathe.” “Hell, it’s his fault he stole that money. I’m just not too happy about that. And it would help if you were too. I realize he’s your only brother. It’s just that a person has to know when he should toss in the towel before it’s too late.” “I know. You’re right. It’s just I feel pity for that guy’s situation.” He said, “You’re right, I guess.” “What?” “Oh, I don’t know; maybe he can turn the tide.” She said, “And I don’t know, but can’t you just tell me, explain to me, describe to me why in God’s name you feel the way you do about him?” “I don’t know; I just do, I guess.” She sighed. “For your information, I think my brother can change, but thanks.” “Don’t thank me yet. Your brother has not got his feet out of the water yet. Maybe it might help if he changes up some of his associates.” “Sounds like you have been giving it some thought.”
Zombie
“I HAVE, SWEETNESS, that and a ham sandwich won’t get him to land a job. It takes determination and a little bit of luck. He has to get his ass in gear and go after whatever it is he’s seeking to fine.” After sighing, he continued his train of thought. And that was, he felt the brother had the weirdest opinions and was a real piece of work. He clucked his tongue then said, “One other thing may help, if he gets off before five o’clock, the traffic will not be as bad, and since this will be a project, I suggest he start with the low-hanging fruit.” “As I said, it sounds promising.” “It is just that.” She uttered, “Have you seen his beautiful new bags? He must have paid a fortune for them.” “Really,” he said, with a big evil grin. I think they’re phony as can be. I do.” She looked at him, pretty, hot, and straightforward. “In my opinion, the stitching of the original bags is blue. Not green.” With a shake of her head, she said, “Of course. Guess the devil is in the details.” She smiled as if she won the conversation. He chuckled—then smiled. The one thing he learned is that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. So, being between a rock and a hard place, he wished her brother all the best, considering the shifting sands in the economy. The fact was he had to work. After all, nothing in life was free. He got a kick out of her brother, always telling them how he met so-and-so on his travels. Everyone knew he made it up, except his wife. He even hoped her brother would meet Ms. Right sometime. Of course, he disagreed with his take on heart matters, but he respected his choice.
Clifford Benjamin
HE WISHED HIS FATHER was here. He was very impressive, a great man, larger than life. The two would often attend a movie at the theatre that would have everyone in stitches. “So you’re with me on helping him,” Tatiana asked. “I think so.” He yawned. “I know, I know, you think I can’t get him out of my memory.” She said, “Correction. I think you mean obliterate; I think you meant don’t you love not illiterate.” “Did I? Oh, well, I’m not perfect. But I have to give your brother one credit.” “Yeah, can you tell me how so?” “Well, haven’t you noticed he is the very pineapple of politeness? What about all that bubbler? That cat’s getting so big—people might just call him the International House of Pancakes.” She said, “There you go again, using those cotton-picking huge words.” “What? Did I say something wrong?” “Yes, you did.” “For Christ’s sakes, what did I do now?” “You used the word pineapple instead of the pinnacle. I know what.” “What?” She sighed, words rolling around in her head. “You are playing with me, deliberately using the wrong words.” He smiled. “Guilty as charged, I was just funning with you. I like it when you are confused.” “Okay, okay, I forgive you.”
“You women won’t it you are as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.”
Zombie
“THERE YOU GO AGAIN. Can’t you lay off the language?” “Okay, I didn’t know that was one of your soft spots. So let’s say using words like I just used is much ado about nothing—would you agree. How bout we get some shut-eye? Oh, I almost forgot to mention.” She looked at him with half-closed eyes. “What?” “I am glad you are enjoying your holiday; the best is yet to come.” “Why, thank you. And I, too, almost forgot something.” “What’s that?” She smiled then said, “I have never eaten sushi, but I will give it a shot if you want me to.” “Why, of course, can’t wait to get a taste of it.” “Did I tell you?” “What?” “My brother knows how to wind me up,” she sounded like she’s lost in darkness. “Did I tell you Mr. Grumps doesn’t want to listen to anyone and doesn’t want to help anyone but himself?” He pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. “No, you didn’t, but I do know now.” I never told you what else I am into doing. It’s a literary term called antimetabole.” “Oh?” “Yes, it goes like this: Woe unto them that call evil good and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!” “How cute,” she mumbled, “and thoughtful with great meaning and dept and a lot of force behind it.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THANK YOU; IT’S A CHARMING way to put it. The expression does have a way of keeping me grounded. Oh, I would be remiss not to tell you, you did an excellent job at making the pastry fluffy, sweet, and delicate at dinner this evening.” “Now, I thank you likewise for being so considerate. You have a way with words.” “Thanks. So do you. I might add, perch are inexpensive code is cheap; trout are abundant, but salmon are best.” “I see. So what are you now, a chef?” “No, but I wanted to be one.” He smiled. “As they say, I came, I saw, I conquered.” “Well, do tell. It looks like I lucked up and got myself a smart one.” He said to her, “I never told you my motto was to be classy because it annoys other people. Careful now, you don’t want to go opening Pandora’s Box.” “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re a regular Einstein?” “No, but I like the ring of it.” He knew it was over the rainbow. But he knew you only live once, and this is not a rehearsal, enjoy it every day. “But I do hope your brother lands something pretty soon, or he just might suffer a nervous shakedown.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, there you go again. The word is—” “I know—the breakdown is the correct word—it’s me alter ego just playing games with you, sweetheart. I told you how much I like playing with your mind. But I also know when I’m overstepping my bounds like I just did. So I have to know when not to give into you a few well-frozen worms. Oh, oh, Correction, well-chosen words. But, see, I am getting better already.”
Zombie
“I agree.”
Chapter
7
SO TATANIA HAD AGREED with him, which didn’t come often. Heck, he thought, former world Heavyweight Champion boxer Mike Tyson, when asked about his following plans moments after losing in a world title fight with Lennox Lewis, declared ‘I might fade into Bolivian,’ meaning oblivion. Or, like, the doctor istered the anecdote. No one is perfect. They may purposefully use the wrong words. Since they first met, they planned on a brief coffee date but then decided to get dinner, too. Hours later, they were still talking and planning on their next date! He was pleased with his choice of a woman. Tatiana held her tongue with a trendy asymmetric haircut and shook her head, slipping between the covers, stretching and yawning as she did so. She kissed him on the lips, then laid her head on the pillow, then snuggled up next to him, asking the question, “Is there anything more beautiful than a cuddle, ring true?” She had an atom of sense to know that the atmosphere was romantic. Before they knew it, a curly, sweet, blonde, tiny, fun, funny puppy jumped up on the bed and sat down, wagging his tail. She patted him lightly on his head. “Hi there Rusty, you are indeed a sweet, gentle pup.” The puppy then jumped off the bed and ran into another room.
Zombie
STARRY-EYED, SHE GOT his attention and said to him, “I have nipples. Hon, how about you milk me?” That was the punch-line to them having sex eventually. Furthermore, the phrase has unfortunately co-opted by misogynist online communities. It also means that men have simplistic ideas about how the world works, and they lack the self-awareness to know they sound like idiots. Let us get one thing straight, that particular phrase stands the test of time, shouldering most of its lasting greatness. Then with macho gravitas at his exposure, POTUS smiled and got right to accommodating her request, making sure not a spot was missed. Soon they had pretty wild sizzling sex, achieving a universality you’d expect from someone their age, resulting in arguably one of the most memorable moments of their lives. With satisfaction over and done, and with blue eyes and dimples, her head on his chest, and although at times she seemed like a dingbat, she was pretty clever. Although they would have a real ding-dong off and on, she said to him, “Thank you for putting pussy on a pedestal. I don’t care what anyone thinks. The fact is you’re no deadbeat.” After kissing her, he said, “You’re every bit welcome, sweetheart.”
Chapter
8
THE VERY NEXT DAY, although it would gild the lily, Tatiana added a scarf to her jacket. Shortly, she was at a local overstocked farmer’s market, standing at a fruit stand with her puppy Rusty in the shopping cart, when a man walked up showing no signs of overt unhappiness. “Wow,” the man said, “Those are some huge melons you’ve got there. Did you grow them yourself? Can I see one?” “Excuse me?” she asked, looking at him with her gimlet eyes, looking at him very carefully, not missing anything. The man points to a pile of too ripe watermelons behind her. “The watermelons, can I see one?” “Oh, yes, of course. Here you go.” Uncomfortable with the man’s sudden approach, she had thought he was saying something inappropriate! She thought perhaps her instincts would give her a heads up about him. But, instead, she gave him the once over and moved on. Suddenly, it went zip when it moved and bop when it stopped, and whirr when it stood still; she never knew what it was and frankly didn’t give a damn.
Zombie
BEFORE SHE GOT EVERYTHING she came for, an older adult came to buy a TV, asked the shopkeeper if they had colored TVs. When told that they are available, he asked to purchase a purple one. He then said to the Cash agent, “My father was in the Navy; I grew up on a cruise. As a young boy, I saw things beyond anyone's imagination. I often wondered, what is the purpose of our existence?” She shook her head, smiled, and then finished shopping. And as a lone blowfly flew by, she noticed it was raining outside. She then heard the swish, swoosh, whiff, whoosh, hiss, the sound of the wind whispering in her ear through an open window, coupled with the moan of doves in immemorial elms. Then, finally, she heard a woman say to someone, “I’m getting married in the morning! Ding dong! The bells are going to ring.” She then sneezed without covering her mouth, causing Tatiana to give her a disparaging glance in her direction. Tatiana then paid for the items and schlepped them out to her car. She was unaware not just feet away in the brush, the animal reaching down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom and trailed its yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough and rested its throat upon the stone bottom. Where the water had dropped from the tap, in a small clearness, it sipped with its straight mouth.
Clifford Benjamin
THOUGH SHE FELT IT in her bones, the coast was clear. Her nerves were no longer at breaking point; she was ready to roll. After putting the items in the trunk, she got in the car, drove onto the overtaking lane nearest the center of the road, and left for home. In the scheme of things, happy that in the real world, she was not found dead from the prospect that her assailant had been on the scent of something big, especially since hospitals overstretched and patients are not getting treatment. Moments later, she drove past a charabanc and, a sizable old-fashioned bus filled to the brim with a group visiting places of interest, sunlight gilding their faces, an adventure as a teen she would have given her eyeteeth. Despite her irritatingly tricky to understand and troublesome what might have been an encounter, she continued driving homeward, with her face turned toward the sun, weight on her shoulders like she had eyes in the back of her head.
Chapter
9
“BELIEVE IN NOTHING but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination.” The one thing Ed needed was to get his priorities in order. After glancing at the colors of the spectrum—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet—as seen in a rainbow, he munched on roasted vegetables on a bed of rice and without ixture or dilution: straight, his hair combed back neat —Ed left home, taking off so quickly that his tires screeched, then drove on the highway with the radio on. He couldn’t help being overwhelmed with the beautiful autumn day—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Yes, it was inevitable; he needed to get his priorities in order. Added to that, his favorite pastime, needlepoint, surprise some people. And his wife’s horse, Arabian, was her pride and joy. The bottom line was that you couldn’t control what a person thinks. After all, he couldn’t please everyone. Regardless, his wife, his flower princess, had been his best friend. Skip the rest. What those others thought undoubtedly did not matter. Anyway, his idea, a recycling bin for the office, was accepted by POTUS.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ONE GUY HE NEEDED to please. Although the Florida panthers, the state animal of Florida, were an endangered species, it did not matter to him. All that mattered was POTUS was the one that kept the cash flowing to him. Right now, it mattered little he disagreed with him, although POTUS had a habit of spinning out of control. As he continued spanking along in his car, he spotted a rootless old adult without a home to return to wearing a surgical shoe on his left foot. Ed surmised the man was a so-and-so that didn’t have a word to say about anyone and dared not tumble to anyone’s plan. No one knew he had been trapped in a collapsed building but managed to tunnel his way out. Many that crossed his path thought of him as a bit lame. Ed then saw a big red hexagon and knew the big red hexagon meant to stop the car. So he tromped on the brake. Then, with the course clear, he continued. He reached to retrieve his cell phone but quickly realized he mistakenly washed his clothes with his phone, and it no longer worked. So he would purchase another one. Having arrived at the destination and after switching the radio off, he got out and looked up at the ether. He stood there a moment or two, soaking up the atmosphere. He then took about ten steps, then walked through a yielding mire of wet leaves, opened the door to the bender, then stepped over the threshold. Knowing what he knew now, his one regret was he wished he had never come.
Zombie
THE PLACE WAS QUITE packed, not like sardines, but packed, noticing right off, of all the men, he was the neatest and well-groomed, which was the common denominator that speaks to his having once walked and crawled on six crooked highways when he was a broke young man, getting in-and-out-of trouble. It was no surprise that a relatively large pitcher of margaritas was waiting awkwardly and elegantly along with other drinks such as beverages. He couldn’t believe so many people had convened in massive numbers for some crazy things, from rolling cheese down a hill or covering themselves in mud from head to toe, even taking it to the limit and engaging in exhibitionism. Then gradually and reluctantly maneuvering through the crowd, he grabbed a drink and melted back in, bowing his head to this person and that. At one point, he stopped to chat with a doctor, not caring if he responded or not, then moved on to speak with a senator’s wife, friendly and attractive and pleasant. Soon afterward, excusing himself, he moved on until he drifted to the balcony outside. He stood alone for what seemed like hours but only minutes. Tiring the outside, he went back in and strolled toward the bathroom but stopped when his ears picked up a familiar sound. “Oh, baby, you feel good,” a man’s voice said. His vision was blurry as he leaned near the doorway and saw Senator Wright fucking Renegade Angel. She was straight out of a bedroom community. In her early childhood, she had screwed every boy in the neighborhood until it got her kicked out of the Debutant Ball. “Aaaaaaaa, oopsie whoopsie, give me that dick,” Renegade moaned, her bode every bit crazy beautiful and beautiful chaos.
Clifford Benjamin
“OH, FUCK YEAH, SPREAD it. Just keep giving me that pussy. Close to finishing and uttering, “God, you’re a sweet sensational piece of ass. Damn, woman, we need to do this more.” “As I see it, we will, for real, if I can get some more time away from my husband, with any luck, we can do this for the rest of our lives.” Though what he was witnessing was appalling, surprisingly, Ed could feel his dick hardening and couldn’t believe it. Why just last night, he couldn’t even get it up for his wife. Wonder never ceases. Senator Wright took a moment to stop his body movements, and said to her, “I’ll be right back, got to check on something.” By-and-by, Ed moved away from the door and hid behind another open door at a dangerously safe distance, making it so Senator Wright could not see him. Senator Wright went out of the room to check on his wife. Ed heard the senator’s wife say, “There you are,” looking at him with a frown on her face either by chance or design. “What’s up,” he asked. “I’ve got a splitting headache that’s killing me. Take me home.” “Sorry, you feel that way, Hon. Are you sure ...” “Did you hear me?” He knew she was serious and knew it was better not to object. But, on the other hand, he didn’t want her to make a scene or go on the warpath. They left together, arm and arm. Ed watched them leave and went back to peep in at Renegade. He quickly noticed she had not moved an inch. She was still on the bed with her legs spread. He directly viewed her pussy as she started to finger herself, moaning with her
eyes closed.
Zombie
WITHOUT THINKING IF his actions are ethically questionable, Ed found himself in the room and up on the bed, positioning him above her in one fell swoop. “What took you so long, sweetheart,” taking hold of his dick and guiding it inside her, moaning with her eyes still closed tight. He drove his rigidness straight to the hilt, feeling her deep softness. Try as he might, he couldn’t describe the thrill of being inside the ethereal beauty as she groaned and moaned, screaming in silence, beginning moving up and down on his thick rock-hard dick in response to his aggressively plunging up and down motions. Not long after, he climaxed heavily deep inside her; he collapsed utterly on top of her, exhausted from his colorless kaleidoscope yum yummy yawning orgasm. There was a partial silence. Moments later, she cried out, “Oh, my, you are somewhat bigger than ever. I like the way my body responded to your dick deep inside me.” She was dead right, so he replied, “It was my pleasure; our lovemaking is the result of delicate, thoughtful alchemy.” She opened her come-hither eyes in shook and said, “What? Hold on. Get off me, you creep.” Though he thought it cruel how she dallies with his affection, he said to her, “Hello gorgeous.” Then, he got off her and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. “What happened to Wright?” To put it more simply, he said, “Went home with his wife.” She made a desultory attempt at conversation by asking, “How did you know I
was in here? Did you follow me?”
Clifford Benjamin
“NO.” “You had to. Otherwise, there is no way you would be here.” “I was on the way to go to the bathroom, and I heard you talking to someone.” “Oh, so that’s how you found me.” “Under those circumstances, I say yes; I wouldn’t lie to you.” “Don’t concern yourself; it’s a fact, guys only want one thing, and it’s fucking disgusting.” In effect, Ed shrugged and said, “I understand.” “Well, anyway, I must say though, you are quite different than Wright.” “I have a habit of sipping a ton of decaffeinated Espresso, but to your question, how much difference?” “It’s much bigger and assuredly a bit longer. I would say your screwing is near to being imperfectly perfect, opening a range of inhale-exhale infinite possibilities, which increases your lovemaking power. Just saying you are not a limited edition. You are a shining example of Miracles do happen.” “Oh snap, is that a compliment?” “Generally speaking, what do you think? You’re so good you could be my daily special.” He spent a few moments talking to his inner soul and listening to his heart, letting it engulf him. He then asked, “Is that a definite maybe? But seriously, now that you asked, I must it you have what most men call damn good snapping pussy.” As she started to straighten out her clothes, she said, “I never heard that before.” “Well, you did now.”
“Is that good or bad?” “I would venture to say well, especially since you let me.”
Zombie
SHE STOPPED. “I MUST it, you do have a way with causing a girl to feel good inside and all that good shit.” “Thank you, my lady, of the night.” “We must do this again sometime when it’s convenient.” “That’s okay by me.” Before he knew it, she reached down and took hold of his still rigid penis and put it deep inside of her mouth, and started a delicate assault, going up and down on it, with deliberate speed, taking more and more of it with each gulp. Ed found himself moaning and groaning, his body getting closer to a possible solution—climax. “Damn, you sure know how to suck a dick. But, no, don’t stop. Keep right on doing what you’re doing.” She paused and threw her head back as if in ecstasy. And then nearly finished, she kept doing it until he reached the only conclusion, the ultimate climax deep inside her throat and not stopping until his movements cease. Her performance under such conditions was estimable. In the aftermath between breaths, he managed, “Truth to powder, before I came into this room, I thought I was making a deliberate mistake. Now I’m wondering whether I am wrong or right, or maybe I am out here shooting nothing but blanks at a moving target.” He wasn’t his usual ebullient self. “No lover. I wasn’t born dead. So I see you’re no natural phony or boring court jester.” “You think so?” “Yes, you have done right ... I am happy you did. It’s to my benefit you were deliberately thoughtless to enter this room and fuck me as you did.” “Was I that good?”
Clifford Benjamin
“BELIEVE ME, AND IT was no boring orgasm. Not by a long shot.” “Fantastic.” She said, “Thanks for the delightfully brief journey.” “It was my pleasure,” he itted, his face etched in satisfaction. “The sensation was like burning ice burning hot through my veins,” she itted. “My how your description of my virility is stimulation,” he replied. She said, “What more can we girls ask? I dare not butt heads with you on that. I assure you, our union together was no way in hell a calculated error. It was nothing short of destiny and every bit akin to a calm storm if you ask me. I’m not cheerfully cynical, just being cautiously optimistic and pretty about it. That’s coming from a nice casual chic, mind you. As you can probably tell, I’m old enough to know I am no backseat driver in this situation. We must do this sometime very soon, lover.” Ed said, “I’d be eternally grateful if you can arrange it.” As they say, “Hope springs eternal,” she said with a smile. Disgustingly good and blindingly apparent better strangers with ironic similarities, coupled with not one lousy goodbye, they agreed to do it again— possibly beyond infinity—whenever it was expedient. That way, they would be able to see what kind of persons they’re blossoming into, between him and the “manic pixie dream girl. But, instead, she identified with the sense of privileged malaise and vague sadness that runs through most cases of infidelity that, to most, harbored a fantasy that love could cure.
Zombie
COULD IT BE THE EARTH angel and man-child were on the wings of a bluebird of happiness contingent on a lifetime guarantee? Maybe so, maybe not; it was an Educated guess. The relative Truth both were laid-back compulsive known strangers with limited freedom. The fact was you wouldn’t learn anything new unless you make a mistake. It’s okay to make mistakes and learn from them. Although Ed would later learn during the day, she was just a school teacher; the simple, quiet book-lover that most people overlooked. But by night, she was notorious for bar-hopping going from bar to bar searching for what she considered Mr. Right while her husband was home babysitting. In his view, one would guess this proves the rebel identity was her secret identity that only comes out at night. Nevertheless, she was not alone in living this different lavish lifestyle. Ed, himself, believe it or not, often wondered if he could wake up in another place, at an additional time, could he wake up as a different person. You would think Ed would go on thinking about her from time to time. After all, she was a good-looking woman, on the sexy side. But, he knew when a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly reviews every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it. Nobody is sure why, but what is clear is that a person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin, and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts, it will shine out of your face like sunbeams, and you will always feel lovely and look lovely.
Clifford Benjamin
AS THE CLOUDS ROLLED back and the stars filled the night, he would continue to think about the impressionable tried and true splendid pretty kettle of fish repeatedly. He had to it. She was wild and crazy! Bizarre! The most fantastic thing! Too much to handle! Wow! Maybe so, maybe not, I think. The bottom line was he knew the knobby in dribs and drabs sudden earthshaking relationship was bereft of hope—hopeless, but still hoped she would stay beautiful, stay focused, stay strong, stay faithful, and most of all, stay tuned. As to him, at the moment, he was tickled pink. He opened his eyes to think differently, think twice, treasure today. And as to what if’s, and why not’s, woohoo! Despite the hurdles you may encounter, what counts is you can, you matter, and you sparkle and live another day to fight again. One thing was for sure, he usually felt rather ropey the morning after a party, and sometimes he could be an S.O.B. It’s a given; humanity lives in a theater of the absurd where the only thing constant is change and where absolute does not exist. Meaning that, by definition, how you filter what you see, hear, feel, and taste is a personal viewpoint. It’s my opinion, “But why?” is an invitation not to take anything at face value and use your heavenly given gift of free will and independent thinking. In the final analysis, don’t be a follower, be a student, but not stand for being stomped upon, wild, but true. There was a full strawberry moon when Ed left the party and headed home.
Chapter
10
SUNLIGHT ENTOMBED THE face of the earth, as a big burly ripped white guy named Mountain, with chubby cheeks, dimple chin, and hair dapple gray, and a player with several girlfriends, stepped out the house, in Blind Man’s Bluff. Amazingly, his hair seemed to change color; the orange light of the lowering sun reflected off strands of red, brown, blonde, and even a few white. He then walked half of a block and entered a building. After darkness had set in, he found himself saying, “He-Who-Must-Not-BeNamed,” scanning the small crowd of eager beavers, and Grannies and Grandpas, standing around pots of Green Peas and Mutton Pies, coupled with half a pound of Mandy Rice, Mountain was a staunch racist since age seventeen. “High Hitler,” shouted a tall guy named Killer-D of The Devil May Dare Party, sporting a gray beard, holding a clenched fist in the air as more and more ed. They were in an abandoned rundown old church; the entire room smelt of skunk beer. On his arm was the number 5, the number of blacks he claimed to have killed. They were a small group, not more than twenty , mostly middleaged, but aggressive and willing to kill if need be.
Clifford Benjamin
SUDDENLY, A CURTAIN-raiser began when the front door bust open. An oversized brown-haired guy with curly locks named Whistle walked in wearing Grandma’s spectacles. He was known as a couch potato and a real live dork. He found himself fumbling for the right words and shouting the alarm: “I just saw one. Imma go hit him up,” his wiener no larger than a needle, obviously a weakling, obviously why his party animal ex-girlfriend dumped him, with his clothes thrown in the street. She yelled at him, shouting: Didn’t anybody tell you, lousy cologne is a turnoff?” He was a man in the body of a snort-nosed kid, address unknown. “Calm down,” said Mountain, full of himself and in a blistered rough and gruff tone of voice, “and tell us who and what did you see. Sit down, man, take the load off. We’re with you. That’s why we’re all here. Isn’t that right, fellows.” The air splintered with a roar when they shouted, “Hell yeah.” Then Whistle said, “Well, to be candid, I was walking along the path, you know up by Hollow Road. “That’s when I spotted him.” “Who do you mean?” “Oh, just some guy, I mean.” Keeping a steady eye on the guy, Mountain asked, “What guy. Does he have a name?” “Ah, I think his name is Toes. Yeah, that’s right, Toes. Quite a bit of a big fellow if you ask me.” Mountain was now standing in front of Whistle. At first, he thought Whistle a little flaky and might flip out or lose control. But found him to be goofy and thought he was gross with no guts, with a lot of hang-ups.
Zombie
MOUNTAIN THOUGHT HIM gentle, Jesus meek and mild but nowhere near to being a regular Georgia Porgy. Still, a riot and rather than reaming him out, or scolding him severely, he said, “Take us to him,” rowdy and ruthless, moody and stern in his manner, word had it he had a hand in lynching several blacks in the area. His forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, mouth, and chin contorted; Whistle said, “Far out ... I’m down ... I’m game ... I’m in ... sounds every bit like it’s going to be a blast.” They all followed in lockstep, jumping in cars and trucks, speeding away. Shortly after, they caught up with the easy mark lounging on the side of the road. He climbed to his feet and started to walk in the opposite direction wanting no parts of what might happen. The cars and trucks cut him off. Mountain then jumped from his car and shouted, causing the man to stop. He said, to his men, “Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” He then said to the black man, “Where you headed, Toes, I mean nigger?” The man with two short thumbs that wriggled up and down seemed nervous. “Home, sir,” said, being respectful. “I don’t want any trouble.” Just the sight of them ate away at his confidence, bothering the heck out of him, trying his most damn not to freak out; it would play right into their hands. So now he was in the dog house feeling every bit like a Klutz. “As I see it, you’re off the grid. We got you now. Now, did I say there’s going to be any trouble?” Mountain barked, getting up in the man’s grill. “What’s your name, boy?”
Clifford Benjamin
THE MAN HAD NOT FLINCHED or made a single move as he looked around at the angry faces. “Jesus,” he uttered, fidgeting somewhat, feeling in a state of irritability and tension. He was acutely aware of the clear and present danger he was in and knew he had to try to be non-aggressive as possible cause the chance of getting out of this was razor-thin. Nevertheless, another lug nicknamed Greedy Ben said, “Give him your knife, Mountain.” After five-ten fifteen-twenty seconds, Mountain arrogantly replied, “What for?” Then Greedy Ben said, “It appears to me he has a knife.” Mountain looked closer at the captive and saw the knife stuck in his belt bucket. “That’s not a knife,” he then pulled out a huge knife, “now that’s a knife,” questioning the captives knife to point out how small, and therefore making the captive feel small and even more scared. He then was grabbed from behind and roughly driven to the ground. The men then used jackbooted force, kicking him all over his head, shoulders, knees, and toes. It was a brutal assault; he couldn’t help but hope something or someone would intervene and stop the attack on his aching body. His overall feeling was he felt for sure if they continued much longer, he wouldn’t survive. After inhaling, a thought rushed through his head, prompting him to want to say: “You have but mistook me. I live with bread like you, feel want, and taste grief,” but held his tongue for fear of aggravating them further. Finally, Greedy Ben maneuvered round and started kicking him persistently, viciously, brutally, without an ounce of pity on the head, then shouting their captive, “Hello, Mr. Bunny Rabbit, how you like it now?”
Zombie
THE INJURED MAN COULD feel himself losing consciousness. He looked at the blood on his shirt. Can you imagine it? Have you ever— Mountain was so psyched he kicked the terrified man in the stomach and said, “Oops! Did that hurt?” He then kicked him again but somewhat harder. “Tell me, how can you call yourself a man, crying over a little bitty stain? Look at you. You run around here calling yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you’re terrified somebody’s going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself.” Eventually, at one point, and between grunts, their captive cried, “Lighten up. Cut it out. Stop doing that. Can’t you see you’re hurting me?” I’m not an animal; I’m as human as you are.” He knew if they kept attacking him, his situation would crumble. Then, suddenly, the lights from a car lit up the scene, stopping several feet away. Curiously, the car stood idling, windows on the vehicle tinted. For a time, it was as if it was a grand old standoff. Suddenly, a man’s voice asked, “What’s going on here?” The car door opened, and the man got out, walked over, and stopped a few feet away. It was a white man. Mountain stepped forward and asked in a harsh tone, “What’s it to you?” It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
Clifford Benjamin
THEN KNOWING THAT SLOW and steady wins the race, the stranger said in a calm voice, “You’re wrong there limey, why not we start again? As you can see, this poor guy isn’t family. My name is Ed, and I’m asking you politely, what the hell is happening here or about to happen? Cause the way this black fellow is looking now smells a bit funny, don’t you think?” He did his business to looking Mountain straight in the eye without a hint of backing down. He noticed he was at a disadvantage. He opened the door then stepped out of the set of wheels. Mountain noticed right-off, the schmuck’s hair was windswept and hobbitcurled, his skin a healthy, kelp off-white and eyes of the deepest, Atlantis-blue, carrying his self with effortless grace. He considered him to be a square, a bit old-fashioned. He then looked around at some of his followers, hunching their shoulders and looking away into the night. “What did you say your name—” Standing perfectly balanced, he realized he might be about to spoil the sticky situation and thought that it might be better to veg out—doing nothing for the time being. However, he said instead, “Ed” cutting in, still sounding aggressive, not batting an eye, determined to save the poor guy’s life if it was at all possible. Ed had to give it a try. Hell, wouldn’t he want someone to come to his rescue were he in a similar situation? And even more so, by coming face-to-face with this group of thugs, he had crossed the Rubicon, one that, when crossed, commits a person irrevocably. He thought to himself: ‘YOLO—you only live once.’ “Got a last ....” “See here, bud ... my momma always said, life’s like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” Mountain held up one of his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I’m just checking because it’s only fair if you live around here.”
Zombie
ED SIGHED, SHIFTING his weight from one foot to the other. “To tell you the truth, it’s like this, you would never believe me, anyway, I’m Attorney General,” he said bluntly with an ounce of caution; this was not the time to be chivalrous, just convincing. Mountain asked, “Give me a break. But wait, did you say—” Ed threw shade-giving him a dirty look, then said, “Yes, that’s exactly correct. By the way, what’s it to you?” That last statement was a slap in the face to Mountain. His face now red, he waved his right hand, saying, “That’s all we need to know. All I can say now is, have a good one, sir, I mean attorney general.” Gradually, feeling Ed was legit, Mountain then glanced around at the rubble of men. In a hesitant, undecided, or hesitating manner, he did not shilly-shally, spitting out the words, “Us has done here boys, let’s roll.” The jackals, with absolutely no scruples, instinctively jumped into their machinery. But then, they did Skidoo without a word, speeding away in the direction they came from, forgetting to stop to smell the roses. Just the sight of seeing them leave in a hurry lifted Ed’s spirit sky-high. He then rushed over to the injured young man. The man looked as if beaten within an inch of his life, so bad that he turned his head away. Just several feet away lay a set of skulls and crossbones, a representation of a human skull. Somehow, Ed knew the place was a warning of danger to life.
Clifford Benjamin
PLACING HIS HAND ON the man’s shoulder, Ed asked him, “Looks like the skullduggery from them shitty imbeciles nearly finished you off, young fellow. They are the type that does not recognize that there’s some truth in the shibboleth that crime does not pay. It indeed was a close shave if there ever was one. Did anybody ever tell you are a child of light, a true vessel of the Lord? Thank goodness you stayed close to home. It’s a crazy world out here.” The man shook his head, indicating no, and then turned his head from side to side, opening and closing his eyes, trying to clear his head. Finally, he asked, “I’m feeling blue,” then quickly asked, “Are those devils gone?”
Chapter
11
ED, CURSING, AND SWEARING looked in the direction the men went in and answered, “Looks like it. Thinking they might return with a vengeance,” he asked, “Think you can walk? Look, you can’t let that get under your skin, despite what happened.” At first, zip—nothing, no response, he then said, “I think so,” making every effort to regain his footing, feeling like a loser and maxed out—every bit exhausted. With Ed’s accommodation and some painful struggling, the man was upright and eventually seated shotgun-wise in the car. After a fashion, Ed cranked the motor and began driving. “What’s up? Got a name, young fellow?” As he went, he would look at the guy and then back at the road, feeling angry and disappointed with people like that. “I’ll it, I goofed and should’ve been more careful if there’s a next time. It’s Tex, by the way,” he managed. “I’m originally from Texas. Born there, raised there. So, I realize the name is a reflection of where I once lived. But, it’s OK. I’ve learned to live with it.” “Hi, I’m Ed; as to your pain, I feel you. You might say from the looks of things; I’m your guardian angel. I hope you don’t mind my suggesting you watch your back. So you’re Tex. I would’ve thought it would’ve been Cowboy Dave.”
Clifford Benjamin
“I GOT YOU,” HE BIT out; my bad, should’ve known better,” he tried to laugh but stopped as the pain zipped throughout his body, not to mention the amount of drying blood caked on his body from head to toe. Ed said to him, “My young friend, the grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace,” attempting to convince him to seize the day and enjoy life while he still can. He said, “It might help if you suck up, bear with it.” He was also trying to imply that there is no one to love while in a grave. “Want to get some grub tonight?” Ed asked. “Heck, just a buck or two.” Tex said, “No biggie—it’s not a problem.” Ed did it anyway, stopping at a McDonald’s and got sodas and beef hamburgers. Then, he asked, “Do you want some fries with that?” “Thank you, I would,” said Tex, feeling the crumble in his belly. A pretty young woman currently assisting them said, “My milkshake brings all the boys in here.” She smiled and turned to finish their order. Like clockwork without giving it a thought, Ed said, “Anyone who says he can see through women is missing a lot,” implying that it’s futile looking through women when it is pleasurable to look at them instead. Tex gracefully added, “My take is one should love thy neighbor. If that cat happens to be tall, debonair, and devastating, it would be that much easier,” saying it with a distinctive sense of humor, saying it like it is. He had a habit of adding a real-world twist to a rather sad Biblical Commandment. “Sweet!” said Tex, “the food was bomb ... it was fire ... delicious, the greatest of all times g.o.a.t.”
Zombie
AFTER A TIME, THEY wrapped up things, then got back on the road and continued driving. Some forty minutes later, Ed brought the car to a stop at a gullied shirttail ranch in the hills. Ed got out, went around, opened the enger side door, and helped Mathew up to the house. After accomplishing that, and as they stood there, Tex managed a smile and said, “As you know, when you rescued me, I was salty, feeling hurt and blue. Thank you for the pig out at McDonald’s. Did anybody ever tell you are a blessing in disguise?” “No, I have now. Are you going to be OK? I mean, the house is dark and all. I just thought—” “I’ll be OK,” he politely cut in. “My folks are away visiting family. I guess you know what I’m talking about now. I have a bed, my very own, just my size— sometimes me, myself, and I like to sleep alone with dreams inside my eyes.” “I understand. You’re not alone on that, Tex. I understand. Sometimes I sleep alone too.” He rifled in his pocket and brought out a card with his name and address on it. He handed it to him. “Don’t be shy. If you ever need some help or some advice, I mean it, get in touch with me. Some people call me Johnny on the spot. I have to it it’s kind of cute. But I hope you .” Tex, his mindset filled to the brim, nodded his head gracefully and said, “They say sometimes dreams are dark and wild and creepy, and I wake and am afraid, though I don’t know why.” He paused.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN SAID, ‘I’M no longer sleepy, and too slowly, the hours go by. So I climb up on the bed where the light of the moon is shining on my face. And most times, I know—as sure as God is my witness—it will be morning soon. Tex put the key in the door, opened it, and turned to Ed. “What can I say? I can’t thank you enough, my friend. You went beyond the pale, beyond what normal people seldom do. You put your life on the line—for little old me. God, that’s so beyond great—it’s fantastic. There’s no other way to describe it.” Both men entered the house; upon seeing a filing cabinet that supposedly holds information about Tex’s entire life, Ed jokes, “Wow, a whole drawer just for me?” Tex smiled, but his plight tore at his heart. So hurt he was. There is no actual biblical mention of tears in heaven. Heaven will be a place of comfort, rest, fellowship, glory, praise, and joy. If there are tears, they will all be wiped away in the eternal state. His expression calm, almost detached, Ed said, “Believe me, I know what you are going through. But, the bottom line is, you care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.” Tex said, “I feel you, but again, I thank you.” “You bet—I mean certainly; you’re welcome. I’m sorry I have to bail abruptly. Have to get home—the wife is climbing walls. That’s one thing I cannot afford to ditch. You’ll see what I mean, later on, once hitched.”
Zombie
THEY SHOOK HANDS, AN epic handshake. Ed then turned and walked back to his car, uttering the words, “You’re welcome young fellow. Don’t forget me if you ever need a lawyer sometimes. You can rest assured; I’m at your disposal. In case you wondering, I live just down south of here.” “Again, that was such a bummer. I’m sorry that happened. Now, if you don’t mind, I say good night to you.” Tex pointed down at his feet and said, “Forgot to tell you, your shoes are sick— awesome! See you,” bobbing his god-awful head, happy and content but still in a world of pain. With a sudden faraway look in his eyes, Ed got into the ride, shiny and chrome, and zipped away, honking his horn. He was a little angry indeed. But, a few minutes later, his face was red. An hour later, he was fuming, wanting to rid the world of all social evil. Tex then went inside, locking the door behind him, lucky to be alive. It would take a lifetime for him to get past what those wretches did to him possibly. He prayed they all get what’s coming to them. He found it hard to phantom why on God’s green earth because of the color of their skin. Why it was demoniacal, and why it just didn’t make one iota of sense. Tex bent down and picked up his pet as the rat huddled in the hollow of his palms squeaked glumly. Then, delighted, he hugged him to his chest. “Oh, poor baby,” he crooned, almost as if he were a pet. “Poor Simon, it’ll be fine, I promise.”
Clifford Benjamin
FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE dark corners, a voice whispered, “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him,” said the voice from somewhere in the dark corners of the room. “That’s probably the closest he got to second base. Oh, and dare not sing to me of silent souls rising to heaven above us.” “Shut up!” Tex glared furiously, but he did not loosen his grip on Simon, as Tex was soon to return to a playful, laid-back personality come morning. Instead, he shook off his being embarrassed by the voice in the dark sexual joke. Tex then put in a call to Ed. Ed, chokingly, said, “Oh, hi, guy. Glad you decided to look me up. I can’t talk long; my wife is on the horny side.” “Gotcha, I wanted to thank you, Ed, for saving my bacon.” “You mean your ass, don’t you?” “Yeah, that’s right, my ass. I can’t thank you enough.” “You’re more than welcome, son. But, I do believe, were I you and you me, you would’ve done the same by me.” “Of course I would’ve.” “Are you coming back to bed, sweetheart?” said a soft voice. Ed said, “Be right there, babe.” He then said to Tex in a louder voice, “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather, and I’ll have to miss work tomorrow. So Whadda, you say, I get someone else to watch the sheep tonight?” “Gotcha, partner,” Tex replied, knowing what Ed meant precisely. “See you on the other side,” Ed mumbled. Then, as he was about to hang up, his wife said, “Hmm. It would seem strange if you missed work on yet another Friday, of all days, Hon. So it looks like we’ve got a bit of trouble on our hands, huh?”
Zombie
ED WHISPERED TO HIM, “Women ... always yapping about this or that. That’s why sometimes I think I would lose my mind if I had to listen to the yap, yap of their gossip any longer. All I hear on cable news is the same yap, yap, and yap about some political scandal or another. They never cover actual news stories anymore! Oh, excuse me, I got off track. Anyway, even though I could say to her, I’m never going to agree with you! I wouldn’t be so sure about this.” He paused to catch his breath. He then continued, “I say to you, Tex, don’t be too concerned about what she’s saying. I don’t know about your love life, but the whale is not very thin for me. “Oh, hell, when it comes down to it, she’s my best friend. She’s the love of my life. She’s my wife. The truth is, in the middle of a typical row with my wife, I realize I have been the one causing every single argument and that to keep my marriage, I must stop being such an ass.” Although he could say to Ed, “I think we have different opinions on this subject,” he elected to say instead, “I understand your wife’s concern, and you are implying your wife’s on the plump side. Bye Ed.” He then hung up the phone feeling great about the horrible incident ending on a good note. He then got a call from Ed. Ed said, “Just wanted you to know, weird as it sounds, someone called to say, phone books were in Thomas Jefferson’s library. Can you believe it? Oh, and I forgot to tell you, for the record, on my birthdays, I eat pizza.” “Oh?” “Yes.” Tex said, “Rarely do I eat pizza.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WHY IS THAT?” “There’s no place near.” Ed said, “On good days, I eat pizza. And on bad days, I eat pizza. I got to run, bye.” Tex absentmindedly touched his jaw, where he had a tooth extracted a few days before. Remnants of pain remained. But the real pain lasted just until he found a note in scribble handwriting and a Sacagawea dollar under his pillow in place of the tooth. Shakespeare entered his mind, although not often but occasionally. He imagined the bard is sitting in a café in Brooklyn, typing out Macbeth on his laptop. Of course, he knew it was false since everyone knows Shakespeare never owned a computer. But the thought was cute and funny. He then turned to his father, who he adored. Soon his father, Felix, a semi-retired art dealer and jet-setting gadabout, will return to town just in time to be the devil on his shoulder. As he slumps his head down onto the pillow, another strange thing happened. He found himself imagining Sir Lancelot, hearing the ring of his trusty iPhone, knowing it was Abraham Lincoln calling and that POTUS needed his help. Soon as that was over, yet another thought rushed into his mind. The most astounding fact is that the atoms comprise life on earth; he was sure the atoms that make up the human body were traceable to the crucibles that have cooked light elements into heavy elements in their core under extreme temperatures and pressures.
Zombie
THESE STARS, THE HIGH-mass ones among them, are said to went unstable later on and collapsed and exploded, then scattering their enriched guts across the galaxy, with cores made of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and just about all the fundamental ingredients of life itself. Furthermore, these ingredients become part of gas clouds that condense, collapse, and then form the next generation of many solar systems, stars with orbiting planets. Those planets now have components for life itself. So that, when someone looks up at the night sky and knows that yes, they are part of this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us. I think weird, yes, but cute? Yes. He wondered about the unexcitable embellished, undreamt thoughts. He was too tired to take things further and decided to give it a go first thing the next day. So beat was he; he yawned and then stretched and uttered the Ave Maria. Then, not long after sandman arrived, he crashed.
Chapter
12
THE MOON, THE STARS, and the sun appeared in the sky, only to shy away until the next day when April showers brought May flowers. It was late afternoon when a security expert whispered in POTUS’s ear, “One got away, Mr. President.” There was a matter of urgency that the woman’s escape had put the kibosh on his plans. “Have any idea which one?” “Yes.” Well aware of POTUS’s largesse, rendering him accommodating. “Well, tell me who?” “Margaret, Mr. President.” “See to it that the matter, I mean it, is taken care of with the deepest discretion, do you read me?” Usually, he wouldn’t be upset if it was another one of their captures. The thing was, Margret was an hourglass figured museum piece, a JAP, as pretty as a Jewish American Princess. She was a woman after his own heart, having the same opinions or interests as him. She had once lived in a housing estate. “Yes, Sir, I’ll get on it right away. Someone motioned to him to come over. He talked to the individual for a time, finishing by saying, “I never told you Christmas trees, cozy sweaters, and warm hot chocolate are three of my favorite things about December.”
Chapter
13
BY-AND-BY AND REASONABLY confident, the security expert left the Oval Office, moving swiftly, not looking back, leaving the Oval Office. Around ten-thirty that night, a couple of black SUVs pulled into the hotel parking lot all of a sudden. The place looked neglected and with not much lighting. In-room 34B, Margaret, pretty and ultrathin and slender in height, was lying in bed with her boyfriend with the lithe, athletic body of a ballet dancer, having sex. Having been lonely and aching for love, Tim said, damn, girl. “I sure missed this. I can’t tell just how glad I am you managed to get away from that Capitol building. It wasn’t right for them holding you hostage all that time.” But, of course, having only a nodding acquaintance with this sort of thing, they did not know they would come within an ace of escaping. Suddenly, the front door, the only door, burst open. “What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed, jumping to his feet naked as a Jaybird coming into the world. There was no ing for taste as numerous men in black suits rushed into the room with weapons drawn, aiming at Margaret and Tim. They bomb rushed him, handcuffing him in one fell swoop. “Easy there, what do I owe you for your breaking into my palace?” He was trying to be brave but knowing it was futile.
Clifford Benjamin
WITHOUT ACCUSING THEM of anything, they then cuffed Margaret with her jangly earrings, rushing both out the room and out into their van, and sped off at mark speed down the highway. Tall Oaks’ eight miles of collective pavement were recently topped and completed with a green road mixture that includes recycled asphalt. Not long after and after riding on the paved highway, they turned onto a dark dirt road called Old Town Road without any lights or cars. After a world of winding turns, they stopped and hustled their captives back off the road a tad into the brush, where tree branches intertwined to form an even darker roof over the path, affording them further isolation. Tim spurted out, “OK, you guys, I get you mean business, but there must be some way we can make a deal. How about if I know about a murder? That should be something to get us off.” A tall, stout man positioned himself right in Tim’s face. “I don’t think you have one hint about what you got yourself into.” “Then tell us,” Tim spat out. The man looked around at the rest of the men, looking from faces and hands to voices, eyes, and arms then looked back at Tim. “The worse is, you will never believe it, but this is a matter of a woman breaking a high-security risk. Can you imagine it?” “What the fuck are you are talking about,” Tim cried, his voice fading in the wind. The man shouted, “Apparently, you’re not aware what this woman just did.” “I don’t. So, why don’t you enlighten me?” He was a wiz at playing games, but he knew that this was not nearly the kind of game he was used to playing.
Zombie
SUBSEQUENTLY, ONE OF the men stepped forward and took Margaret to one of the vans and put her inside, getting in alongside her, closing the door behind them. Tim knew what the man was about to do to her and then pleaded with them. “Look, you don’t need to do this. Look, I got five thousand bucks in my pocket. Why don’t you take it and call it square? OK,” glancing around from face to face but getting no sympathy. Now he just hoped they would eventually just let them go. But he had a gut feeling that was not what it was to be. “Just keep your yap shut.” The man then took control of the situation, punching Tim in the gut, causing him to fall on his back. Tim got up and dusted himself off. “Look, fellows, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I know a lot of things about people in high places doing horrible things. Surely you would be interested enough to let us go free. I won’t rat on you. You got my word on it, honest to God. All the trouble I’ve been in, I know how to keep my mouth shut. You get me?” He noticed one of the men put a silencer onto a daily special. He knew then that there was no way to talk him out of this situation. Suddenly, a little voice within whispered, “Consider your physiological needs. If a character’s life’s threatened, fight-or-flight responses will kick in, and you do whatever it takes to stay alive.” Then a traumatic event he once experienced rushed through his mind about his best friend getting jumped by a gang for messing around with one of their girlfriends. Feared for his friend’s safety, he interceded to protect his friend but was targeted and beaten severely.
Clifford Benjamin
THE THING WAS, AT THAT time, he was a weak—and easy target. He had learned only constant vigilance would keep him safe. He couldn’t trust people of a certain race or ethnicity and that the authorities cannot protect anyone. Getting involved is never worth the pain. People have to solve their problems. If they get involved, they’ll just let other people down. But, he also was aware sometimes a good run was better than a bad stand. So, he ran for his life through the brush. The question was: would he manage his escape from sheer terror?
Chapter
14
AS THE MAN RAN, NOT looking back, the lovely lilies shaded him as he tore through the soft and dewy flower beds and into the covering of more trees. He knew one thing, one thing only, if a body catches a body coming through the rye, the gig was up. Even stranger, words of a poem cruised through his mind saying, “Should a body meet a body coming, coming, through the rye, should a body kiss a body, need anybody to cry?—poor body. He’s dragging all his clothes coming through the rye. Meanwhile, the man in charge said to the men, “Get that sucker. Don’t you all dare let him get away, or all our asses are out on a limb?” After a minute, the men took off giving chase, hurrying at a breakneck pace, knowing that all their lives might be on the line if their quarry got away. Following that, the van door opened, “What the fuck is going on?” The man said, pulling up his pants, zipping up his fly, turning his head from side to side. Next, the leader said, “He’s trying to get away.” “Shit, I’ll go help them.” “Good idea, do just that.” As the man gave chase, the leader got inside the van and closed the door. He had an itch and yearned for her the first time he laid eyes on her.
Clifford Benjamin
SHE WAS LYING ON THE bed naked with the covers pulled up beneath her chin with her itsy-bitsy hands. “Please let me go,” she sobbed, her mascara streaking a path down her face. “You’re old enough to know that’s not happening,” he said, with his kamikaze attitude; just the sight of her nakedness tempted his jaded palate, making his enlarged penis revealing, as the rush of emotions took hold inside him. “Please, Mister, don’t hurt me,” she cried reluctantly to have sex with him. “Who said I would hurt you?” “I don’t know. I cannot help but feel the way I do.” “You can trust me, sweetness.” She shifted her weight from one side to the other. “All I know is since I was little; guys would come to my home when my mother was at work.” “What are you trying to say? They got fresh with you?” She nodded her head, sniffled, keeping her eyes trained on him. He had enough of her crying and whining and reached over and slapped her hard across the face, then jumped on top of her, forcing her legs apart. One-tenth of a second later, he shelved his dick deep inside of her, making her cry out. Then, he began driving his penis in and outgoing deeper with each plunge. The strange thing was her body started to move counter to his appearance; it was beyond her control. Before they knew it, they climaxed around the same time, both gasping for air, as their bodies shook, beads of sweat running down their face, glancing at each other. He said, “The lady solemnly declares too much, I think.”
Zombie
AFTER A WHILE, THE men caught up to Tim on the exterior, hiding behind a bush, out of breath. They took him back to the God-awful scene. Before long, the door to the van opened. The leader stepped out, zipping his pants. He looked at Tim, and put his hand to his mouth, then bit and flicked his thumb towards him, which was an offensive and insulting gesture. At this point, the leader spat, “Do you dick heads realize,” he then looked at the captive and then grunted, then in a stern tone of voice, said, “Give me that trash, and I’ll throw it; out! Well, don’t just stand on ceremony; kill that rotten, dirty, terrible, trudging, stupid dude!”
Chapter
15
IN THE DARKNESS, At that very minute, there was the sputter of a car engine, as old badass Martin, a true Khan’s man driving an old, grumbling Cadillac which had a crumpled bumper and honking horn. Slobbering and screaming, he let out, “Kill the bastard,” and then, “Beware the Jabberwocky! It’s the jaws that bite, the claws, yes those jaws that catch! So, beware the Jubjub bird, and you best shun the Bandersnatch!” To some music lovers, the recalcitrant peacock Old man Martin’s strident voice was like the performing group STOMP, a prime example of the joy of cacophony at work, making musical noise with metallic pots and pans, broomsticks, and basketballs among other percussive devices, and so too, coupled with playful clapping, stomping, la’s, and booming percussion, Sigur Rós’s “Gobbledygook” of fun and energetic cacophony in the form of music. Just the sight of him, one easily read between the lines, that he was as he was, tough as shoe leather, rough and tough, ready to make-up, set-up a hanging at the drop of a hat in any foggy, murky, smoky situation, an absolute, unyielding rarity. The man that was said to have survived surfing beside sharks, crashing through rugged surf fleeing dangerous bites, was taken with none of that spiffedup and perpetual razzle-dazzle. None of it disturbed older man Martin, as he kept right on driving down the road, never looking back, once.
Zombie
FROM THE LOOKS OF IT, he had seen and was involved in killings before. In addition, he was known to have a reputation for being cold-hearted, lean, and mean as they come. The scuttlebutt was, his having murdered his wife and daughter whistled through the taverns, often at night, but. Now, he was old and frail. As a result, not many paid much attention to him any longer. He was just kinetic energy, peering in the kinescope or picture tube and sipping decaffeinated tea, dozing off and on. He would awaken and then slip back into a slumber, all over again, as pesky rats scurried about all over the cramped shack roasting in the scorching sunlight that burned through floor-to-ceiling windows. And, so too, if there was anything more oppressive than the heat, it had to be the constant din that bubbling up from the city street like steam from a putrid stew. So, he had but one friend, if you want to call it that. When he visited, old Martin had a habit of telling tall tale narratives that depict North American folk heroes’ extravagantly exaggerated wild adventures. Before his only visitor departed, he said to him, “Ay, I’ll fetch to coo in I’ good time; there’s no call to bang us that gait.” When he died, the whole town went to the funeral, many still not knowing he worshiped the Lord privately. The thing with him was no one quite knew how and when he might enter heaven’s gate, the doorway to the physical kingdom. The other kicker was, barely anyone would have imagined organized religions are killers of souls and UFOs and extraterrestrials—sorting the good from the bad. Tim held up his hands, and cried “Now fellows, you don’t want to get involved in what you’re thinking on, do you?”
Clifford Benjamin
WITHOUT A WORD, THE man with the silencer shot Tim right between the eyes, causing his body to crash to the ground, stone-cold DOA. From a running heartbeat to greater peace of mind, Margaret screamed then hopped off the van, trying to make haste when shot in the back of the head, the force of the bullet causing her lifeless body to crash to the ground. Suddenly, one of them shouted, pointing a finger up in the air at something. The men looked up at the fiery crash of two jumbo jet airplanes in midair. “I can’t believe that shit; everybody no doubt gone to all hell.” “I’m with you, partner,” said yet another man, standing stark still looking at the pillow of smoke blackening the sky. Following that, the leader then shouted, “Get some gas, then burn both bodies and get the hell out of Dodge. No one knows about this but POTUS. As we all know, it was did on his orders. He got our back, but do we have his.” After the bodies were ablaze, they got into their vans and high-tailed it, going back the same way they came, not a word said between them, all to the tee every bit expressionless and cold as Jack Frost, knowing they won’t need a jailhouse lawyer. They failed to know there was a storm a-brewing. Shortly, the white-nose of nature began and was not the least off-putting. No doubt it was because we all have a memory buried deep down in our psyches. This memory is of the billion-fold flip and plop of rain dripping just outside of a cave. It is a memory of moss and so many wet cave floors, the musty smell of bears, and the Jurassic green of ferns. It is also, fair to say, a memory of crackling fires, sooty faces, laughter, and safety.
Zombie
AROUND THIS TIME, THE rain sounded faint. At around a half-hour, they stopped at a Gas Station. The leader looked out the van’s window at a pitched tar-black sky and the large clouds moving towards them. The leader then heard a tapping on the window, and then it became a pitterpatter. People ran for cover outside and opened umbrellas as the clouds spat out huge beads of water. The puddles began to plink as rainfall came down harder, as roofs of the cars danced with spray, and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees struggling for survival in Antarctica. The leader got out, marched to a phone booth, and put in a call, turning his head to look outside. Like a witch’s oils, the water, burnt green, blue, and white, was pinging against the glass. “Hello.” “The moon hit rock bottom,” said the leader to the antichrist, ankle-deep in a mess. “Wonderful, I’ll see you in the a.m. And thank you for not being analytical this time. Oh, and case you’re wondering, spaghetti, pizza, and hotdogs are my favorite foods.” The leader was aware the woman would list as a Jane Doe. Therefore, there would not be further use for any other on-target advice or burden of proof: any further obligation or disagreeable necessity. They handedly continued their journey, with their heart out on their chest, keeping their eyes on their angle of vision high-tailing it down the highway.
Chapter
16
“THE MOTIONS OF GRACE, the hardness of the heart; external circumstances was kosher.” Weeks later, the evening was enjoyable, albeit a little quiet. Although it was not a joyful Fourth of July, it was now Mary Time, the month of May to see Niagara Falls, abounding in history, was mind-boggling. After enjoying the spectacle views and having abandoned themselves to their emotions, Ed and his wife, full of the joys of spring, got back to their abode. After munching on some delightful food and trying to keep abreast of any new developments, he switched on the news and all of a sudden heard a reporter say, “A corpse was floating in the bay. Also, the man worked for the capital. But, unfortunately, there is no indication of what happened, how it got there, and who may have killed him. But, wait, just in, there was someone near the scene and that it may have looked like our very own president.” Ed decided not to tell his wife what he just heard and decided he turn in only to rise at the crack of dawn. Feeling the pesky abscess on his gum, he swallowed a dab of absinthe then kissed his wife. As he walked outside, he marveled as a butterfly alighted gently on a flower. He then drove to work.
Zombie
BEFORE LONG AND AWARE one cannot choose to absent himself from work, he was now in the Oval and said to POTUS, “It’s called the road to a solution. Not everyone can handle that, do you agree?” POTUS was sitting at his paltry desk chunking on a hamburger that one security man brought from a local restaurant nearby. “It’s just one of the things going around in the Republican Party.” “What do you mean everyone now is chewing on burgers, Ed said. “Looks like you have abandoned the vegetarian bit.” “I have. Glad you noticed, said POTUS, continuing to bite on the burger, thinking about his joyful alfresco lunch on the patio with his wife, chatting with her about before they met and her having traveled under an alias. “Oh, well, beggars can’t be choosey,” Ed said, smiling. “Let’s continue. It’s anybody’s guess right now, but we’re stepping in lies POTUS,” aware there is the word he was in bed and enslaved to the president, willing to do any and everything for him. “I don’t believe in such big lies,” feeling to act on this world-famous stage is undoubtedly the acme of any president’s career. “I don’t know either, POTUS,” Ed said, giving lip service to being willing to rush like lemmings as his lapdog without thinking, but feeling otherwise, nowhere near to being that of a leprechaun. “You know what?” “What’s that POTUS?” “They’re putting themselves between a rock and a hard place,” said the A-list celebrity. “You can’t be more right, POTUS.” “We want to be the party of democracy.”
Ed said, “It’s going to be fascinating to watch.”
Clifford Benjamin
“NOTHING IS EVERYTHING,” POTUS said, shrugging his shoulders. He wanted to be a football player, injured his back, and then became a cook, managing to turn the most ordinary ingredients into the most delicious dishes. After a time, he went into politics; the rest was history. POTUS leaned forward in his chair. “Can’t believe I’m saying this—just can’t. Where did I put my glasses?” Ed chuckled. “They’re on you.” “What did you say?—where?” “Would you believe I’m looking right at them as I speak?” POTUS automatically put his hand to his face. “I’ll be damn, and I do have them on. But, how was I to know?” “That’s because you’re getting young.” POTUS asked, “Did anyone ever tell you you are a clown?” “I can’t rightly say that they did, but maybe at an awkward age, I had no ax to grind back then.” “Well, you do now,” itted POTUS, having had the knack to acquaint him with the rules. He was mentioning the incident about the capital and a guy looking like POTUS just the other day. “Let me get this straight,” said Ed, wanting not to believe POTUS was going down a path of falsehood, big lies. “What? Get what—” “So, you saying you weren’t there?” POTUS sat back in his chair. “That’s a question for the next generation. I’m afraid I don’t have a nodding acquaintance of any along that line. But, look, loony lies and conspiracies are not my cups of tea. Can you tell me what you are
getting at?” Dead silence. “Speak, I’m all ears.”
Zombie
“I WOULD LIKE TO INFORM you that I’m not getting at anything, POTUS. Can’t you just answer the question?” “What’s the point? For Christ’s sake, Ed, do I have to remind you, you’re talking to the president of these United States?” At daggers drawn and nearly at flashpoint, he took umbrage at his remarks. He was actually at sea, acting like if he got much more hassle, he might decide it wasn’t worth it. “I know that,” Ed said, his voice more even keel, glancing out the window at an albino with pure white skin and hair and pink eyes. “It’s just that.” “I done told you, Ed.” “I’m just asking, that’s all.” “Well, you don’t need to.” Ed got up and said, “I would like to ... skip that ... there’s been word bandied about that you—” You? What is Ed claiming to happened?
Chapter
17
SLAMMING HIS HAND DOWN on the desk and near the boiling point, and just an arm’s length away, POTUS barked, “What are you now, some round-theclock armchair critic? Tell me, do I have to say arrivederci to you now?—hell, I don’t know what’s gotten into you treating me like I was drunk as a skunk and just ran over a child in the street,” he said, tiring of Ed’s questions, feeling as if it was a Sisyphean task, like rolling a heavy rock up a hill only to have it roll down again as it nears the top. Ed thought to himself, ‘maybe POTUS was right. After all, it was too substantial of a jump to conclude he had out-and-out kilt someone.’ With a wrinkle in his forehead and arrogant as they come, POTUS schooled himself in patience. “Look, partner, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you believe what that reporter claims, it’s like being a caretaker at a graveyard.” Ed looked at him within seconds, “How’s that?” “Haven’t listened to a word I just said?” “Stop playing with me,” POTUS.
Zombie
“NOBODY’S LISTENING. Don’t you get it?” POTUS said, adamantly in disagreement, his Adam’s apple in his throat sticking out and moving up and down as he spoke. “The thing is, right now, your mind is running so fast, it’s like you’re in a race against time. You have to let go, Ed. You know, I know, I could kill someone on Wall Street in broad daylight and—” Was it he the one that was off, after all, he was the one who was talking about selling his house and buying an old castle in Ireland. It all sounded a bit airy-fairy. Silence as a lamb “Yes, you got it. Say I’m right, any old how,” said Ed, reluctantly acquiescing, not wanting to get involved in an apple of discord that may lead to Armageddon. He was well aware he was not the apple of POTUS’s eye but willing to adapt his plan to POTUS’s timetable if need be. Silence again. No doubt neither knew traditional jazz was still alive and kicking in New Orleans. As the sun was setting, Ed shook his head, accepting his point. “You’re right,” acquitting him irably, well aware that we all live in a society that views success primarily in of material possessions. Standing with arms akimbo with hands on his hips, POTUS said, “Now you’re talking. Welcome back to reality and the club,” ing the adage ‘Look before you leap.’ Some might say back to basics at some point. A while later, Ed received notice from his real estate broker that his shop, a veritable Aladdin’s cave of antiques, had been sold. Now happy as a lark, he was walking down the hallway when he overheard someone say, “I tell you that guy is getting stranger and stranger.”
Clifford Benjamin
CURIOUS, ED WALKED over to the door ajar and stood there, straining his ears to listen more acutely. “I wouldn’t recommend it. I tell you, that guy’s chances boil down to none, the guy’s deeper and deeper into what may be called clear-cut madness,” the man spat. Confused, Ed went back and told POTUS about what he had just heard. “What? It’s not me he’s referring to,” he explained, wanting to absent him to the absolute abysmal end. “Look, according to plan, you know I can’t hurt a fly. that day at the beach when we were just ten, a bee landed on you, and you were screaming, “Get it off.” And I just stood there, transfixed and looking perplexed. You were so mad at me for letting you suffer. ?” All in all, Ed shook his head. “Yeah, I , but that was then, now is now.” Almost at the end of his rope, POTUS said, “Damn it, Ed, why can’t you let it alone?”—sounding like all hell might break loose. Don’t you just hate people who are always right? Especially, those ers that saw him as an albatross that could lose reelection, that's “I have to it, POTUS, and it’s not like I’m on the Edge of reality stockpiling ideas; believe me, I am trying to do as you say.” He knew he had been to too many circuses to know when something wasn’t right. “Good. I have to tell you, what you were thinking about so intently is a mindbender; that’s what it was exactly, an absolute game-changer,” said POTUS. In a flash, Ed said, “You’re right about that.”
Zombie
“YOU CAN BELIEVE,” POTUS said, “it’s unbelievably easy for things to get complicated and awkward. You do the math. But, as I said, you can’t let it get the best of you. You can’t go around thinking your president had a hand in the murder. You got to be in the moment; it’s only then you can see how dangerous it was walking into an illusion. Over the long term, you will thank me for sure and come to know that I wasn’t just playing pussy with you. Trust me. It’s a way to win hands down.” After due thought, Ed said, “All things considered, I’ve got to say you’re right, and it’s not quite Chrystal clear, but I’m working on it.” “I know,” POTUS said, “kudos to you. Isn’t that what you told me a little while ago? Glad to be afoot with you,” all of a doodad, glancing out the window at the hawk as it swooped low over the buildings, then thinking how the fog played havoc with flight schedules. He flipped the script then visualized city gates adorned with severed heads. In contrast, Ed asked, “Should I be worried?”—all thumbs. “Don’t want to add insult to injury and be aground. But, on the other hand, it’s not like I’ve got all the time in the world. Better yet, should I batten down the hatches and prepare for the storm?” There would be no more mumble jumbo, only disconnected silence somewhere in the age of enlightenment and age-old afterworld, among those all up with and the all-wise.
Chapter
18
POTUS, A ONCE ALKY, who wants to be an absolute Monarch, said to Ed, “That shit-head Napoleon once said, ‘I am part of the power which forever wills evil and forever works well.’ Don’t you think that’s poppycock,” glancing at his Attorney General. “Fancy that, don’t you think?” Ed said zilch, and kept walking along the tarmac, Tatiana trotting like her shit didn’t stink, all powered up smelling like ten rose bushes, her long black hair cascading in the wind, her eyes glancing down and then up again. They now were at an undisclosed location, away from prying eyes, looking and checking on the goods. POTUS said, “Have you ever thought about this? It starts here in Afghanistan, then flown to Nigeria, packaged in a delightful wrapping, and zoomed with haste to America.” Ed ensured him, “Don’t worry, as you know, I’m in charge. I will see to it all paperwork is done, on the money transfer and the transfer license, to keep the government off our backs.” POTUS said to Ed, “Are you too tired to finished?” “No way,” he said, willing to go a mile even if it would equate to accessory before the fact, meaning someone who helps in the preparation of a crime.
Chapter
19
BACK IN AMERICA, ACCORDING to plan, and back at the White House, they shook hands. Ed got in his car and jacked it, driving, as the crow flies, home, seemingly unaware POTUS was the architect behind the murders that occurred lately. As he got out of his car, acutely aware people who are knowledgeable or are hyper-aware of being tracked by someone will catch glimpses of the person. But, on the other hand, he knew some amateur people about following would make mistakes and act nervous. Seeing no one following him, he noticed the feeling of unease and creepiness that had gotten a shot of adrenaline and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise vanished. Feeling relieved, he placed the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, locking the door behind him. “You’re home,” Freckles said, embracing and kissing him. He breathed a sigh of relief; her approval was the highest accolade he could have received. She would do it of her own accord. No one would ask her to do it. She noticed right off something was eating at him. “Is there something wrong, Hon?” He shrugged his broad shoulders, walked over, and sat down. “I don’t know.” “I wonder why not?” “I just don’t.”
Clifford Benjamin
FRECKLES SAT DOWN NEXT to him. “Hon, most people know when something isn’t copacetic, so go on lay it on the line.” “The truth is I’m worried about it; strangely, I think someone is following me,” there he let the cat out of the bag. He was glad he was home safe. Her eyes stretched, she asked, “Do you have any idea who it may be?” He climbed to his feet, went over to the cabinet, took out his gun. “As I see it—” She cut him off, saying, “Oh, Hon, it can’t be that bad. Don’t you —” He blasted, cutting her off, “I don’t know who in God’s name it was.” “Hon, why don’t you put that thing back? Like I said, maybe it isn’t that bad at all. But, on the other hand, it may just be too soon to tell,” Don’t you think?” A tear crept down his face; he uttered, “All I know is I must protect my family.” “You do.” “Am I?” “Yes, Hon, there’s no other person I would rather be with; thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how you go out of your way to see that I get special attention. What more can I ask for?” “You’re right,” he agreed, the thought running through his mind, like a pack of wolves after their prey, knowing wolves usually form masses of around six to ten individuals but can vary from anywhere between two and 36 wolves depending on birth and survival rates.
Zombie
AND THAT AT THE HEAD of the pack hierarchy are the breeding pair, who lead their offspring, and occasionally other unrelated wolves, as a pack. “I know I’m right, Hon,” she said convincingly. “Have I steered you wrong?” He sighed. “No. Got to hand it to you; you’ve been there for me, at my beckoning call 24/7.” “Thank you, Hon, for that.” His mind was still troubled anyway. Right, then, he decided to go to the police. As he drove, as the crow flies, listening to the study vibration of the engine, he felt a tickle on the back of his neck. Once there, and after the introductions, the detective said, “Before we get started, I must tell you about inconsistency. We tend to think that liars are the ones who can’t keep their stories straight, but we’ll list this—” He cut in. “If you don’t mind, Detective Hammer.” “Wait,” the detective said; he was a kind soul without one whisk of a heart of marble. “It’s important we go over some steps.” “Oh, okay?” “Thank you, Sir,” so far, there were not any suspicious expressions. However, Detective Hammer knew tales could suggest a lack of integrity: blushing, blinking, and flared nostrils. “I understand, detective.” “So, strap yourself in and make yourself comfortable, Sir. So, can you run that back by me?” “What.” “About you followed by someone, I believe.”
“Oh, that.”
Clifford Benjamin
HE WAS STILL FEELING uneasy. Nothing like this had happened before. The detective leaned back in his chair, not aware there was not enough substance to what the man would be claiming. “Let me get right to the point. Unfortunately, we’ve all encountered someone who’s tried to con, lie, deceive, hoodwink, mislead, dupe, scam, bilk, or fleece us at one time or another in our lives. “Are you following me?” “I am,” Ed said, still uneasy. “So tell me what’s actually on your mind.”
Chapter
12
AFTER MORE THAN AN hour, Ed told the detective, “I’m going home now— I’m all in.” Shortly Ed was driving past a lone wolf lollipop man, not long for this world, helping kids cross the road, and after an utterly futile struggle for justice, and then with a long face, Ed had made it back home with no real answers but troubled like a throne in his side. However, Detective Hammer did tell him that, “Following you or showing up wherever you are: They may or may not make with you, but it doesn’t matter. According to law, watching someone too much is a form of harassment.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO love anybody’s trouble.” POTUS smiled like he had gotten a kick out of his statement. But, unfortunately, he wasn’t that erudite; too many thought he was just someone that cheated his way through school, and college included paying for it under the table. In fact, besides his dad, college was the parameter that got him off on the path of forging a scheme that would cause the money to run in, taking him over the top, landing him in millions, making incredible deals. His dad had taught him the ropes on how to lie, steal, hell, how to kill if it came down to it. It had been a long hard road with uttered mind-like pitfalls and minefields. But the central fact was survival while many colleagues floundered. Some lost it all, some taking their own life, some wasting away on alcohol, on drugs, not just marijuana, but cold hard cocaine, not to mention crack, some others spending all their fortune on drugs. If it was not for his dad, he might have gone down that road. Love?—It was a no-nothing word, an empty way of thinking. But, unfortunately, his dad was also the most brutal. He would never forget the day that he had broken the screen and glass back door, only to find just how ruthless his dad could be. He was the only one who knew the truth. And try, as he might, he couldn’t forget that fateful day, even when he desperately wanted to. What happened was his dad had come out of the house as he was playing on the swing going back and forward, something that gave flight to his imagination. His dad had a belt in his hand, so mad that he snatched him out of the swing and proceeded to slash him across the face and then continued to lay into him, striking him over his entire body. That was the day his dad died. Well, not actually, but he no longer loved him or respected him.
Zombie
WHENEVER HIS DAD WOULD call him to get his attention, he screamed and ran and hide. “I am your father, boy.” That went on for some time, practically till he was of age to take care of him. Now he knew that it was because his dad lost his mother at the hands of his very own dad, who had choked the living daylight out of her, took her body, and buried it in a crop of trees some hundred miles as the crow flies. A farmer found her remains while out hunting for deer. Some animals had stumbled upon her body buried just inches from the surface. After scratching the surface, some of the remains popped up. A day later, some kids out playing in the woods stumbled upon the remains. As faith would have it, evidence of his guilt surfaced one late stormy night, the shutters were banging against the house, and lightning streaking across the sky. He heard his dad in his sleep mumbling to himself, “Inconceivable! I don’t need a drink,” he muttered through clenched teeth, sporting a neat ginger mustache, with fire in his eyes. “I done told you, woman, don’t go behind my back.” He made little flapping motions with his arms, which was certainly out of character. In the meantime, the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, noise of the dryer sounded as it violently spun the wet clothes around as his dad and his mom not paying the noise any attention. “In his stupor, his dad said to his mom, I know you did that,” his mother enjoyed walking in the mountains that rose to well over 2000m. She even knew what type of goat lives high up in the mountains. In addition, as corny as it may seem, she deliberately did not reveal she had a solution to reduce Europe’s butter mountain.
Clifford Benjamin
COUPLED WITH THAT, she was proud to raise four children as a lone mother because her husband was not there for her. Suffering a lack of motivation and as a distraught mother, she spent all night waiting by the phone, hoping he will call. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight,” her husband shouted, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. Before this was happening, he had intended to take a holiday in New York. His dad went on to say, “You haven’t heard a word I said. See what happens when you don’t listen.” He knew she had inherited the urge to travel from her mother. But he put a stop to it the moment he found out by cutting back on funds he unwillingly gave to her. “You’re the one not listening,” noticing his boots caked in mud and swatting the mosquito with a newspaper, knowing that strain of insect carried malaria and yellow fever. “I was awake all night scratching my mosquito bit.” Before this happened, she found herself crippled with anxiety, too scared even to leave her room. Now, a tight mouth was the only sign of her nerves, as her mouth compressed into a thin, hard-line. “Get out!” she shouted, her mouth contorted by emotion. Then, strangely, her mouth curved into a smile but still with lines of tension. Secretly, she tried to stay within her sight, knowing even the eyes of predators are susceptible to the slightest movement. Crying hysterically and filled with horror, then gathering the courage, she said, “Couldn’t you just leave me alone?” It was clear to most; they were not happily married.
Zombie
NO SENSE OF PRIDE, he heard it, he saw it, but did not deter, and spat, “Damn you deceitful backstabbing bitch, spreading your legs for that Henderson boy. Hell, he was but fifteen,” he bit out, not caring about her lame excuses. He paused momentarily, covering his mouth to hide his yawn, the poor lame dog beside him foaming at the mouth and near death. Then after wiping his greasy mouth on his sleeve, his dad cleared his throat and said, “And you, damn near thirty. If I found out with him, I told you wouldn’t see the light of day come morning. That’s right, damn straight, I’ll do it. Say if I didn’t do it here and now, where will you go? You’re old enough to know life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death! Your best sleep with one eye open. Like they say, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Oh, my God, POTUS thought to himself, all the time thinking maybe his dad didn’t do it. Now he knew for sure why his dad had a strong motivation to want her dead. The thing was, his daddy kicked the very next day, which pleased him. Then a little voice said inside his head said, “You’re lucky. You had a front-row seat, buddy. Quiet, now! Don’t make a scene.”
Chapter
21
FROM THEN ON, THINGS would never be the same. That was the time he changed, not for the better but enough to know no one cared about him. He had learned a way to beat them at their game. It worked up till now. For the longest time, he had wondered why his dad didn’t attend church. Now he knew. Guilt his ally, on such days, he walked the length of his adequate property, his hands knotted together, glancing up at the heavens then down at the ground. A much-troubled man he was. Depression is a natural feeling if your problems seem intractable. It is interesting to observe the reaction of the children to these changes. There was the probability that it would snow that night. It’s not possible keeping this phenomenon directly; its effects are evident in the rise in global temperatures. Compulsory schooling ended at sixteen, even though skeptics argue that no such scheme has ever proved successful. As time drifted by, his favorite uncle ed away from a heart attack, leaving a small virtual fortune to him. Although suffering from many pangs of regrets and no angel in paradise, he, his father’s son, had managed to finish college and worked toward building an empire. After going through life enjoying a paradise of golden beaches, he drew on an interesting parallel with religious practices in Japan, only to later kick it to the curve and go on to something else.
Zombie
THE ICING ON THE CAKE, his ion for cleanliness bordering on paranoia, he would, as time went on, become a grotesque parody of his former elegant self. People he had trusted turned out to be only fair-weather friends. Often he would seem detached, almost bored, but perfectly friendly. Ed broke into his thoughts, saying, “The temperature dropped below freezing point this afternoon.” POTUS replied, “Prices have been frozen at this level for over a year now.” Smiling at him like a benevolent uncle, Ed said, “Oh, yeah, and living without war is a fundamental freedom, so it’s said,” phoning home at frequent intervals. After a sigh, POTUS said, “The protest movement has evolved into a wellorganized political party.” “I know.” “Did you also know the silence of the forest was made evident by the occasional snap of a twig?” “No, and what does it have to with the price of tea in China?” POTUS responded, “Oh, all I say to that is this sort of job is a lesser evil than unemployment.” Knowing that Saint Augustine’s ‘City of God’ is an allegory of the triumph of Good over Evil, Ed asked, “Forgot to ask you, how you made out having to evict that tenant?” POTUS said, “Hallelujah got rid of him. That nigger put dog food under the kitchen sink and caused a pack of rats to take up residence or refuge.” Realizing POTUS’s mindset was deeply rooted in racism, Ed said, “Why do you have to disparage someone because of the color of their skin?”
Clifford Benjamin
“THAT’S JUST MY DAD showing his unbidden love for those nappy head lazy suckers we call niggers.” It was something he had difficulty with; even more so, he had lost his belief in God. “What I want to know,” Ed breathed, “How can you inflict such cruelty on a child too?” “Look, I don’t want to go into all the technicalities just now, but I done told you, it’s—” “I know,” he said, cutting him off. “It’s your dad coming out of you.” It was now a fact there was no change in the patient’s condition overnight, the patient meaning POTUS.
POTUS said, “Can’t you see; I can’t gaze into a crystal ball and tell you what will happen,” ice crystals forming on the windows. “Tell me, have you sampled the local cuisine lately?” He saw religion as a psychological crutch, and that odd as it seemed, they got a lot of power cuts because they had overhead wires. After glancing out at the canal bank thickly overgrown with last year’s bramble, Ed said, “Not really. Are you saying you are hungry? Land-sakes, man, get a life; you just ate one and a half hours ago. You keep that up; you’re sure to tip the scale at an eye-popping three hundred.” POTUS said, “Oh, stop the exaggeration, there’s no way in hell I’m on the path of going overboard weight-wise, and you know it—anyway, I get tired of educating people. And did I tell you I’d like to go sailing? And you must to take medicine when you get gripes. And those mental scars will take time to heal.
A slight question mark against POTUS remaining and noticing a small cut on his finger, Ed said, “You’re not listening, my friend,” not knowing an exceptionally violent cyclone hit the town last night. “I hope I don’t sound unduly cynical.”
Zombie
POTUS YAWNED AND STRETCHED, then said, “Looks like it’s that bewitching hour.” Their conversation ended in a cymbal crash just as the annual cycle of church festivals began, by a quirk of fate. “Catch you later,” said POTUS. “And don’t forget the wife and I have tickets to see an exhibition of Viking jewelry, you klutz,” laughing as if wishing Ed would drop into a deep ravine. He then quickly added, “Please don’t be mad at me. It’s too late to start complaining now. Did I tell you, you are in danger of being robbed? And that thing about your favorite airport is crowded with stranded travelers, or that Professor Samson attributes the painting to Leonardo.” Dead silence, only the sound of footsteps along the hollow hallways sounded. “Were you talking to me,” said Ed sticking his head in the door. “Was I? I don’t saying anything.” “Oh, just checking. I just thought you wanted to say something else,” doing a jig with feet, loving dancing, having not been to an all-night party since college days, dancing with alluring sexy beauties. An all-around sportsman, he liked films full of allusions to Hitchcock. “Nah!—Come to think, it just may have been my alter ego. It is that way sometimes. You know what I mean?” “Oh, yeah, for sure, I get that way too.” POTUS said, “I won’t keep you. That way, you can continue with finding that new job.” He smiled. Ed was about to say something. “Just kidding, you know how I get.” Ed said, “That’s for sure. You said a mouth full.”
Clifford Benjamin
“COME TO THINK, ED, and you never finished telling me about—” “My wife is, well, MAH WIFE!” POTUS shook his head then said, “Please contribute to the fund for the needy on the way out,” smiling again. “Funny,” Ed said, “Forgot to mention, I don’t have friends. I got family.” “Oh, and I’ll try to keep in mind birthday coincides with a national holiday, am I right?” Ed smiled and then said, “Right as rain. You aren’t whispering, Dixie.” POTUS asked, “Tell me, did you know that in the realm of food, as a rule, the door often swings both ways. For example, American food has borrowed many influences from Japan, but America also has.” “Nah got to run, hasta la vista.” He then broke wind and left the building, avoiding getting too close to someone.
Chapter
23
SHORTLY CONGRESSMAN Edwards entered the Oval and sat down in a chair but was disappointed when met with strong opposition to his plan. The meeting terminated, he left heated, not saying a word. He probably thought it was hard to distinguish one twin from the other. It was all a fabrication in the congressman’s mind. There was no such thing as “I got a letter today. I finally heard from him. There was no such twin. If there were, the world would have to pay even more dearly. As to POTUS, he hoped that this would result in the police finding his car. He had gotten word that Congressman Edwards may be the one that absconded with his car trying to get back at POTUS for privately screwing his wife. Though he could not prove it, he decided to get back at him regardless, seeing that he never really liked POTUS. As some would say, they were now both even. The two were now avoiding keeping sight of each other as much as humanly possible. And the situation would resolve to the two being slightly polite, saying things like, “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the beg-bugs bit,” and then him replying, “After a while, crocodile.” The truth was they hated each other. So, both kept their distance.
Chapter
24
“COME THEN, AND LET us a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes.” Those lazy-hazy-crazy days of summer came and went as Ed stared at her, staring at him. And in the blink of an eye, an insatiable fury seemed to paint the sky blood red as Ed walked away from her in a slight daze that often happened to him, another secret relationship gone. He had just finished working overtime at the job. As he walked through the empty parking lot towards his car, it’s eerily silent, and he can’t help but feel like someone is watching him. The hairs on his arms start to stand up, even though it’s a relatively warm night. He quickly jumped into his car, starts the engine, and was about to drive home when he looked into the rearview mirror and saw a sinister face with incredulous eyes staring back at him. Ed pressed his foot on the gas, causing the car to speed off. Not thinking clearly, he pushed down hard on the brake, causing the person in the back seat to go over the enger seat and plow through the windshield. Ed jumped out of the car and ran back to the Capital building, entering and calling for help. Bouncing from room to room and getting no answer, he phoned the cops for assistance. In a matter of minutes, the same detective that he had recently spoken to about someone following him was now at the scene.
Zombie
THEY BOTH WERE SITTING in the foyer. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. Looking directly into Ed’s eyes, the detective said, “As I was saying, Ed, when I got here, there was not a soul around, but the officers are here now. So you say you couldn’t recognize the assailant because he had on a mask, is that right?” “Yes, that’s right, detective,” a bead of sweat trickling down over his face, willing himself to be calm. “Incomprehensible as it may seem, I would say, the moment I opened that car door, I guess I was shut out of luck and don’t have the slightest idea who were pulling strings. Look detective, and if you were to ask me who in hell it was, I’d be just grasping at straws. So I’m just trying to be above board with you.” “I understand,” said the detective, getting more comfortable in his seat. Ed continued, to say, “The way I see it, it’s neither whimsical, nonsensical, impractical Airy Fairy, nor Christ almighty rock around the clock, we’re talking about here, you feel me, detective?” He was acutely aware with each attempt on his life, the problems multiplied. “I most certainly do.” “And as you may know, back in the day, I would take care of the situation all my lonesome. But normally, I’m no longer into borrowing trouble. I leave it all up to you folks to get the guilty to shit it in or carry a pig and face the music and come clean if at all possible. Detective, I don’t have much time these days due to my being so diligent. At first, my weaving was just a side project, but it’s taken on a life of its own—people have been buying my blankets. Something I’m grateful of.”
Clifford Benjamin
“GOT TO HAND IT TO YOU; you set your sight high and most certainly know how to go after what you aim for.” “I sure do, detective, you being a man of the law, seeing many unfortunate circumstances. Furthermore, I hope you have a long weekend with your parents and hope you see that elusive rainbow,” knowing the detective looks as if he hadn’t slept all night. “Why, thank you, sir; I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” Ed said, “You’re welcome, bye,” sitting by the window watching real lookers walk past and seeing an Elvis Presley look-alike as dark storm clouds loomed on the horizon. He then saw a child’s face bedaubed with chocolate. He even got a chuckle from the thought of George Bush bugging Gore Campaign for president. After a time, he slipped under the soft bed sheets and tumbled off to sleep, his bedmate at the gambling casino. He shifted his weight slightly and felt a familiar sensation. Ever since he started playing tennis, back pains have been a problem. He didn’t know how true it was that he was a descendant of an Arab tribe living in or near the desert, walking around on a beech floor, using a bedpan as a toilet to relieve himself. His take was between you, me, and the bedpost because it was wet, dirty, and untidy. It was worse for his 93-year-old bedridden grandma plagued by bedsores. She never stopped talking about dieting—she had a real bee in her bonnet about it. He felt sorry for his siblings, too—they had a hard time.
Zombie
SOME PEOPLE BELIEVED the family is the bedrock of society, but he didn’t, except the lovely bedside doctor that visited on occasion. Upon seeing her, he would say to her, “Ooh, you’re a hard woman, Aaliyah.” The doctor would say to him, “She so funny—she really makes me laugh, so funny you’ve got to laugh,” the long journey nearly draining him. “She’s phenomenal.” He told the doctor, “I’d like to discuss my feelings with her, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. She would say to me, ‘You think I’m lazy—you’re a fine one to talk.’ “She would talk a blue streak all through the day up into the night just going on talking to some invisible force in her head, or talking the hind legs off a donkey.” After a sigh, the doctor patted him on the shoulder and left. Once she had died, and that both his mother and father having ed awhile ago, he left home for good not long after.
Chapter
25
TODAY IS THE DAY YOU realize your entire life will change forever because, well, not exactly. But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Wanting to make amends for the trouble he had caused his wife Tatiana, and it was now the day and time he promised he would go with her to the Bronx zoo up in Harlem, New York, something he wouldn’t dare alter the plan, it would equate to Clark Kent is Superman’s alter ego. So the second option is they go to the Indian restaurant or try that new Italian place. POTUS had just gotten off from work as he entered the house. “Why hey good looking, what you got here cooking. Just to see you, I hold my glass aloft.” She appeared not to have aged that much. He guessed that scientists were spot on that parts of our bodies are replaced every day, every week, etc. Within a few years, we have a brand new body. “Hi, Hon,” said Tatiana, standing close to a window that looked out on a beautiful Alpine scene, a step or two away from POTUS’S collection of prehistoric insects preserved in amber. “Did you see my perfume? I mean, the new Edition?” He was brushing off his shoes from walking in the rain. “I think it’s on the kitchen counter, honey bun.” God, she was lovely, he thought. Tatiana broke into his thoughts by saying, “A penny for your thoughts.” She caught him off-guard. “I caught you.”
Zombie
“WHAT?” SHE PUT HIM in an awkward position. He tried to play it off by saying, “Did you see my tie?” “It’s on the doorknob like always, “she said, pointing her finger. “Oh, yeah, thanks.” “I told you, I caught you looking at me.” He did not respond and kept right on thinking about her to himself, ‘Although she was not known for her altruism, he was lucky to have gotten that piece of ass. He had met her in Russia, at an outside party in a showroom. She was sitting alone, her and with her extraordinary beauty, in the public eye, at a table with some young women trying to strike it rich by hooking up with a man out of a litany of wealthy ass millionaires and billionaires. Most of the women hailed from extreme poverty. The rules of the day were said to be, he could take his pick of the ladies, or in the eyes of the law, prostitutes or, better yet, call girls. It was as if he had extrasensory perception. Once he caught her eye, it wasn’t a hard decision; she fit the bill perfectly, with her long black hair down to her waist, green eyes, and adorable long and wellproportioned legs, with a devious ass, knowing right away, he had to have her. It was like she went on an extreme diet before their meeting; the notion of being a lady of the night was out the window. After mountain biking down steep slopes and snowboarding, dining at expensive restaurants, and although she was ambivalent about leaving home, they jumped on a flight back to the grand old country and land of the brave and free. No one had to know or would know what her profession had been. ‘Screw them,’ he thought.
Clifford Benjamin
THE KICKER WAS RUSSIA had an outworn social system, the advantages outweighing the disadvantages. The facts were he was a wiz at disentangling fact from friction. So much he could outwit most. He noticed something when she made a big fuss about not having a window seat on the plane, but what did he care? He just looked at it as a woman throwing a temper tantrum. Tatiana, ‘Miss Goodie Two Shoes,’ would be his trophy with a four-digit IQ, and what an award indeed. She didn’t know he had a steel-trap mind and was used to lording it over women. If need be, he will stand in the way if anyone would try to spoil it. Those who would try would be made to jump off a mile-high bridge, her equating to be a part of his inheritance that augmented his fortune.
Chapter
26
NO ONE COULD BE HAPPY or as proud as he once the plane touched down, on the outskirts of town, the crowd on the tarmac numbering 10,000 at the outside. If it sounded like Alice and Wonderland, it was okay by him. He had lived in a bubble throughout his entire life. But, overall, the trip was a success. A week later, he gave what she did crave. “Did you hear that?” he said, putting his hand to his ear and walking her outside in the front and onto a richly carved driveway, watched over by a crudely carved wooden figure. “I got to tell you; it’s lovely in the spring when the cherry blossom is out.” Then she saw it. Holding her hands to her mouth, she cried, “Oh, my God, I can’t believe you bought me my very own ride, looking at something that lit her fire. “I didn’t expect to get the red carpet treatment.” No doubt she had thought there would be nothing worthy of the mark. Now, through her eyes, he would stand out as a person of—importance. “New car, I do say,” he exclaimed, hugging her and clapping his hand. “GOT 31 miles to a gallon, enjoy,” he said, born with the implicit assumption of knowing the way to a woman’s heart. By satisfying her wishes, his one hope, she would not do a number on him and do a Houdini and disappear or be successful at doing him out of his inheritance. In addition, he wouldn’t let on to her that as a double agent, he worked for the Americans and the Russians.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ONE THING HE HAD hoped, there would be no issues of a disordered imagination with all his heart. “I like my steak done rare,” he divulged, marking the date in his mind, “along with other dos and don’ts. Wait till you see the living room; it’s in Early American. In addition, there is a rose bush near the fence, and it blooms.” In addition, he told himself, he must to stock up on can goods, beans, wine, etc. She hugged him profusely, letting him know he did her well. So there was no indication she did drugs, so she might be concerned with what’s happening across the street. “Just want you to know it won’t do to be late; furthermore, imagine having to pay some of my hard-earned cash on a parking ticket.” Despite a number of his colleagues envying the enormous wealth he had amassed, within a month, the words, “Do by bequeathing,” echoed to the rafters of the chapel in Disturbia, Washington, DC, sounding throughout on what would be a memorable, beautiful windswept day. Two is better than one, toxic accidentally, in-love sweethearts, arms wide open, kissed and shook their tail feather, dropping it like it’s hot on Honey Moon Heaven, the equivalence of a mischievous “What a Girl Want Affair,” thanking God they had found each other. POTUS then cracked a bottle, feeling there would be no second time around, as they cherished the rhythm of the night, not taking time to take their clothes off, and captive to the chains of love, their future so bright, they had to wear shades, living in the high life on the freeway of love. To him, with her in his life, beauty was everywhere, and it was a source of joy, both promising to grow old together.
Chapter
27
YEARS LATER, AND HAVING lived in perfect amity, they had two smarts as whip kids, a boy, and a girl, who, by the way, was attending University. And that he was proud of them. Their names were: Tim and Martina. He loved it when Tatiana would go bareheaded with long hair blowing in the wind, strutting like a peacock-like her shit didn’t stink. “These slums have to go, Hon,” he said, still looking at her through the mirror, feeling his erection growing larger, relishing the best of times. “Why?” she asked. “They just need to,” he answered, hating it when she would disagree. “Look at it this way, despite their condition, and considering the neighborhood, they are sure to go for a good price.” “I asked you why,” she snapped, totally aware his bad behavior provided plenty of ammunition for his enemies, and knowing his arguments are amoral and what guides them is not any sense of morality but survival. “I done told you. What are you, hard a hearing? Or is your hearing about to go?” Everything was going well, and here she was, giving him a hard-ass time.
Clifford Benjamin
HE ED THE FIRST time she disagreed with him; he went to work on the problem, going at her fast and with fury. By the time he got through, she was fast asleep. He was insulted to the core and chalked it up to her just being a woman. To him, all women were hard-headed and disagreeable, like their asses don’t stink. He refused to go to court to recover damages; despite their discord, they were still going strong up to now. She had gone as an alias when he first met her, but that didn’t matter to him. Other than her looks, she didn’t have a lot going for her, his knowledge of her failing to go very deep. But, as things are, even leaves go from green to red, so why can’t a woman change her identity? After glancing out the window at two dogs running amok in a school’s playground, he came close to her and asked, “What do you think?” “Very nice,” she said; the tie goes with the suit.” “It goes to show you. We, men, have a taste.” But, he quickly added, “I know the rule goes for you, too.” She asked him, “You don’t have to wear that suit if you don’t want to. You’re not a gold digger yet.” “Are you forgetting as president? It goes with the turf, right?” “Got it—it was silly of me to think otherwise.” After a time, they left and went the conventional route, driving on a divided highway past a joss house, a Chinese temple, or shrine, straight to the Zoo without stopping. Opera popularly associated with high society, and they were going to the Zoo? By the time they would get out and finished eyeing the animals and jostling through crowds, he would be going for a drink.
Halfway there, he said to her, “Bet a dollar on the outcome.”
Zombie
SHE SMILED. “OKAY. But I must say you hardly ever win.” “I know, but don’t betray me and go telling everyone.” She bobbed her head, “perhaps I should say, go fly a kite, loser.” “That’s not what you had to say when you went for me in a big way when we first met, honey bun ... God, and you’re so hot, I can’t help but it, you exude charm. And I got an eye for beauty,” so much so that he even kept an eye on his valuables. Fingering the amulet dangling from her neck believed to protect against evil, Tatiana said, “Don’t you mean to say you were so hot in the pants you went for broke and ate my pussy the minute we were alone.” POTUS laughed. His ideas marshaling neatly and relating what he observed to what he already knew, and he said to her, “And you would go one better. There you were, gobble, gobbledygook. As five goes into 60 12 times, the minute I finished, you kept going to town, out-and-out sucking my johnson, again and again, encouraging me to bust a good nut in your red hot mouth.” It was a practice alien to her nature. She went along with it anyway, not caring if she has hitched to a marriage of convenience or not. She married into a prominent family and married wealth—so what, even seafood marries with other favors. He cracked up, laughing profusely, taking stock of the situation, then, only to turn his head to look at a ship dividing the waves a short distance away from the waterfront. Then he looked at a woman marshaling her little group of children down the street, with a stock dog on a leach.
Clifford Benjamin
HE CONTINUED, “CAUSING my mind to zip all the way to goldbrick road, and certainly I’m not joshing and not a godforsaken stinking lowdown Johnny Reb. I’d rather be in the nuthouse than to be anyone of that measure.”
Chapter
28
AS THE SUN LOOKED BLOOD orange and in the process of lifting off the horizon, he knew the time had come. Happy that his social circle was positive, Ed sat on a butt table with an incredible appetite; he polished off a towering plate of food, dessert included. Chronologically challenged—Ed left the restaurant late, got into his car, and drove south on the freeway. Just as he was about to turn on the radio, a man’s head popped up, and before Ed could respond, a gun was against his temple. “Hi there, Big Daddy,” said the man with a stern tone of voice, sounding like he was out of the loop and had just escaped a loony bin, then glancing round to see if anyone saw what was taking place. Ed also wouldn’t have doubted if the joker had left the crazy house and started mixing with drug dealers, pimps, and other low life. Coming in with his contagious energy, the man spat, “Oh, oh, better let your glasses up. It’s fixing to come up a cloud.” Ed asked, ‘What do you mean?” The man chuckled then said, “Roll the car windows up, you idiot, a thunderstorm is happening soon.” “Oh,” said Ed doing as the man instructed. The man then said, “To begin with and to put it more simply, what do you say we go for a little stroll?”
Clifford Benjamin
IT WAS THEN THE TINGLE became a chill as Ed kicked out some ill line he dared utter and said, “How in God’s name do you know my name?” not knowing he was about to clone the mammoth ... make a futile effort. On the whole, the man was so thin that his skin hung loose. He then laughed a crazy laugh with a lordly air and with a terrifying lopsided grin, apparently gone loopy to do what he was about to do. “Better the devil you know; than the devil, you don’t know. In other words, something bad and familiar is better than something bad and unknown. Now let’s get back to business. Would you believe I got friends in high places?” “Oh, Lord, I’ve got five on it; you never would’ve guessed,” Ed said, trying his best to stay loose, to keep the loose cannon from letting loose, not knowing if he would be shot and left alone to die. He knew he must not lose confidence and wondered what time it was but knew his watch lost 20 minutes every day. But he wouldn’t dare look in his eye; he didn’t want to make any sudden moves and further escalate the situation. “Well, now you know Big Daddy,” the man said in a loud whisper. “Do I now?” said Ed, trying his best to be not lost for words and keep the situation low-key. He felt it might help to keep the idiot talking to distract him. He knew that drugs make one tired and confused, but there are times when one’s pretty lucid, this was one of the times, and Lucifer was hard at work. “Yeah, you do, partner.” After a silent listens, and after raising his chin an inch embittered over the sudden badass night thing, Ed said, “Let’s get something straight here and now,” for clearly, the man was not elegant and a gentleman.
Zombie
WITH AN INADEQUATE response, the stranger asked, “What?” “By being your partner is inconceivable. So, in essence, you’re a one-manband,” Ed kicked out the words, so easy, kinda like walking on water. “What in all hell are you talking about?” “Good Lord, there’s no way in hell I could be your partner.” “Look,” the man screamed, with scalding coolness, shouting like it was a scene from out of a Clint Eastwood old West action flick. “Luckily, you’re still breathing. But this thing can get pretty ugly. So listen up, I’ll do the talking here, you dig,” pressing the gun harder against his temple. Keep your trap shut, or you’ll get a clip round the lughole. I’ve seen a few black eyes in my time, but that’s a lulu. You savvy?” “I got you,” Ed said to the lug, feeling the frustration in his lumbago and thinking how ludicrous he looked in his pink suit, out of a Ronald Reagan a darn long era peace of garbage. “That’s better.” His eyes they see, Ed desperately trying to use common sense to find a way to fight the power, said in a soft voice, “Look, I don’t know why you are mad at me or harassing me. You can believe I don’t have a clue.” “You don’t?” “That’s what I said.” “You’re not thinking hard enough.” “I tell you, I’ve skimmed my mind but keep coming up empty again, and again, nothing comes up.” “Big fucking deal, first of all, you are saying you didn’t do anything to me?” he said with shrew dumbness.
“Right on.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WELL—RIGHT TO THE BITTER end, you’re wrong ... they say the truth is a bitter pill to swallow.” “How can I be?” Ed asked, with a frowning black as thunder. “Did you hear what I just said, asshole? You got wax in your ears?” sounding like Elvis lives. “Last time I checked, I didn’t,” his logic paper-thin, careful of his mind playing tricks on him. “What are you now, playing games with me over that night thing?” “No, not at the least, just trying to talk you out of wasting an innocent man, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that, at least the last time I checked.” “Quit all the la di da, and pull the fuck over!” the man shouted in his ear, with a deadening tone as mean as some Las Vegas salvages, obvious not a snake charmer. Try anything because each dawn, I die drinking acid head wine. I’m tough as nails. Tough as they come, one bloody old boy, one deep roads desperado, it’s as if I’m a sad idiot enthused, I died a thousand times. Some think I’m the excellent, humble type the public enemy. Some consider me renowned okay drug filth king of the underworld, natural live rolling stone that gathers no moss.” Ed’s mind was never so troubled as it was now. The thing was, once he stopped the car, would the idiot get straight to the point and kill him?
Chapter
29
ED PULLED OFF THE ROAD onto a dark dirt road with no houses in sight. As he continued driving at a slow rate of speed, he couldn’t help, but wonder would the guy go so far as to pop him off? If he did, there was the possibility of his body not being discovered for days or maybe months. By that time, the animals would have a hand at the spoils. It was something not to fathom a body in a doubtful state. About a mile in, and after twists and turns, the man with his itchy ego commanded, “Pull over.” With his staunch moral values indelible as the Statue of Liberty built to stay free, Ed did as instructed, stopping the car along the side of the road. “Get the fuck out now and no half-stepping,” he said, his ego-tripping.” Ed was slow at getting out and was struck upside his head with the butt of the gun, causing him to see stars temporarily. He shook his head to clear his head. Once the two had gotten out, the doll’s character still had the gun trained directly on him. Ed thought, ‘I guess this is it where he was going to die,’ as horrible that it seemed he could not imagine dying. He found the entire idea abhorrent.
Clifford Benjamin
THINGS DIDN’T STACK up. He had never done anything to anyone. He was always kinder than kind down to a butterfly. He couldn’t imagine going out of the way to out-and-out kill someone, no matter the circumstance. He had a wife and kids. Furthermore, there were never any stumbling blocks thrown in his path along the way. He stopped his introspection and tried looking into the man’s glassy eyes. Shit, they were dull and lifeless—then it hit him. He now ed dating a lovely but corny young lady a dozen or so years ago. He also recognized the two being together and breaking it off with her because she wanted a child, but there was a misunderstanding. And that was, he wanted to be the master of his destiny, not to be in a cage in wedlock. At some point, she pleaded with him with all her heart, but he stood his ground, further separating from her by removing every last bit of his things. Finally, she was down in the dump so deep that she hung herself right in her bathroom— naked, leaving a note stating why she had done it. To this day, he still can’t quite fathom what made her do it. He agreed anyone who hanged themselves was the wrong way to go. Once you put the rope around your neck and jumped, it would be curtains. There was the drop-off point for him and made it known not to date women relatively narrow in outlook. How in the devil would he have known she would commit suicide on her birthday? He was such a dork, and knowing the Wright Brothers made their first flight in the Kitty Hawk in 1903, he flew into London on the last flight from Frankfurt, only to return a month later with a much clearer head. The strange thing was, the Captain said over the intercom, “This will be the last flight of the vintage aircraft before being installed in the museum, folks.”
Zombie
“DID YOU HEAR ME, ASSHOLE,” said his abductor, “God, whatcha hard at hearing or something? I think you’re the reason our kids are so ugly.” “I hear you.” He was now in the present. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and felt like he could turn things around and be the one to pull strings but couldn’t help but feel the man was the type that hates when his friends became successful. At this point, the man looked around and said, “I need to take a leak. You stay right here. I’ll be right back. I’m telling you now I will shoot you if you move a muscle. You read me?” “Yeah, I got you.” The man walked a ways off into the brushes, looking back time and again, disappearing. Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Ed knew he had to do something, but what? One thing he did learn things were not going very well. Then he got an idea, leaned down, and picked up a rock of proportion, enough to severely damage someone. He hid it in his shirt. Minutes later, the man returned with the gun still trained on Ed. He took out a cigarette package, pulled out one, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a match he got from his pocket. As he puffed enormously on it, his eyes were flicking this way and that way, like he was a robot out of control. Ed just stood motionless. “I’m telling you now, pucker-head, when finished, you are going to find it’s over. I'm going to put a bullet straight through your fucking brain. Don’t worry. It’s sure to be quick. If you are wondering how I know, it’s because you’re not the first asshole I wasted.”
Clifford Benjamin
“LOOK ... TERRY, ISN’T it? Ed said, noticing his shirt was too small for him and cut into the tender flesh at his armpit. “You got it.” The fatal attraction total fanatic rat just stood there as Ed said to him, “Yeah, I do. But, look, I don’t blame you love your sister so much, and so forth, and then some, now back at you.” “Like, I loved her, but as to you breaking girl’s hearts, the way I see it, you can’t have your Kate and Edith too.” Ed said, “Believe me, I can dig it.” “Then you know my sister didn’t kill herself.” “What? Do I hear right?” “Yes, you’re hearing me. Now see here; it looks like you got the best of both worlds. I’m not about to follow in your footsteps. That’s okay by me. Hell no,” pausing. After taking another hefty crag, he said, “The sad part is, I wasn’t going to kill you, but I have no choice now. The thing is, you saw what I look like now. So, I tell you, there are not XYZ reasons why I should let you go. I’m pulling your chain, you feel me? I’ll just tell you, flat out, it’s going to be quick. I tell you, even Peregrine falcons usually pluck the feathers and strip the flesh off their bird prey.” “What’ve birds got to do with it,” noticing the man’s skin painted in blues, reds, and flesh tones. He wasn’t a ghost. He was flesh and blood with a living body with thoughts and feelings and with already distinctive personalities. The only one except for the doctor, he had physiotherapy to restore the flexibility of his muscles.
Zombie
THE MAN SMILED AND said, “Don’t you mean ‘what’s love got to do with it?’ Hell, I’m a liberal-conservative, going round with them liberal ideas. You ought to know just how that goes you being a Democrat conservative.” The scary story made his flesh creep, making him feel even more afraid, with his eyes flickering nervously in anticipation. “You know what?” “What?” Ed said, “You can believe it took me a long time to find the flaw in your logic.” “Would mine my asking you how so, Luv? Hurry up,” he shouted, pointing short and thick unattractive stubby fingers at Ed, wanting to get the deadly affair over and done. “So I can finish taking care of this nonsense. It’s said, when danger threatens, collect your possessions and flee like the wind. That, my friend, is something you won’t be allowed to do.” It sounded like something between them was about to begin, a no-holds-barred, perhaps, or could it be he would end up getting the short end of the stick? All of a sudden, a car flashed its headlights at them. “Shit,” the man said, with the back of his hand, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Then turning his head to look in the direction of the car approaching, he said, “What the fuck is that crazy driver up to, in this place of all places?” Right then and there, his reaction was purely instinctive, as Ed managed to get behind the man and struck him upside his noggin and watched as he slumped to the ground, dropping the gun. Ed said to the lug, “You take medicine; I’ll take the nurse.” The sight brought a lump to Ed’s throat. But, surprisingly, that didn’t affect the man at all that much.
Clifford Benjamin
THE LUMPISH MAN THEN jumped to his feet and lurched forward at Ed. Ed decided it was now or never as they went about bobbing and weaving, here a slap, there a slap, till the man went down in a hail of blows, busting a blood vessel in a fit of coughing, and lay motionless. The big-skinny lummox did not move a muscle like he had been knocked dead from the looks of it. Ceasing the chance, Ed ran toward the car, his arms flailing wildly, wanting so desperately his captor would be flushed from the bathroom of his soul.
Chapter
30
AN HOUR OR SO LATER, orange flares burned in the distance as he was being questioned by what was now his favorite detective, the one he spoke to at the police compound. On a night like tonight, it wasn’t easy to comprehend how far the stars are. After going over things in detail, Ed paused, having to blink back the tears, his tears, before he continued his story. “I can’t begin to tell how lucky I feel that I was able to dropkick that sonofabitch through the goal post of life. It’s like I got the Gold Mine, and he got the shaft. So, I thank you, detective,” happy he did not cross over to the other side to be collateral damage and wanting the detective to believe him and not b—tell a lie. “I must say detective, “If my nose were running money, I’d blow it all on you. So thanks again.” “Don’t thank me. The way I see it, to listen to someone is the greatest compliment you can pay. So, I have to say thank you, Ed.” Then in a backhanded compliment, he said he looked pretty good for his age. The detective then said, “Please don’t misunderstand me—I meant it as a compliment.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED BLINKED HARD AND forced a smile, acknowledging his compliment. He had no qualms to suffer fools gladly, be kind or rude, or trekking in an economically depressed neighborhood. It was always his nature to go with the territory. He figured when the Romans do, and so too, he was far from being financially challenged. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said the detective. “I’m rather used to that because my wife’s always fishing for compliments about her looks.” “Please give my compliment to your wife,” said Ed. The detective climbed to his feet and said, “Gad to have been of service. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. What delightful thing to say about my getting your compliment to her.” Ed looked at his watch. “My, my, how time does fly. I had forgotten to take my dose of antibiotics. So we finished here, detective?” “Most certainly we are, Ed. Oh, about that painting—” “What about it?” “We have established beyond all reasonable doubt that the painting was indeed by Rembrandt,” his honesty open to doubt. “I like that sound, indeed,” said Ed. Oh, just one more thing, detective, that guy I just wasted would be best ed for his chilling portrayal of Norman Bates in Psycho. If he had had the chance, that is.” “That’s interesting if I have to say so, myself. I want to find a woman that’ll hold my big toe till I have to go.” Ed laughed and then said, “Thanks to the Cathouse Detective, I’m in the doghouse with you,” They both chuckled.
Zombie
“EVERY LITTLE STEP, to the point of no return, freedom is sweet, detective, got to run,” Ed said, lost in emotion, still feeling the same niggling doubt about what had happened just hours before?
Chapter
31
“HOW CAN I LIVE MY LIFE without committing an act with a giant scissor?” Ding dong. Ed ran to get the door, and when he looked through the eyehole, as was his habit before unlocking it, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The thought that the impossibility is only the figment of an insufficient imagination rushed through his mind. Then a little birdie in the back of his mind assured him: ‘Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.’ Standing on the other side of the door was no different than POTUS’s wife Tatiana, all dolled up and feeling tipsy, alone with all her jingle, jangle. “Come in,” he drawled softly. After entering and closing the door, he smelt the tantalizing sweet fragrance. “So what do I owe you the pleasure of this visit?” She took a seat and said, “Meow!—Can you believe it? It’s like I won the lottery.” “Moo!” he joked and then said, “How so?” She looked straight at him. “Can’t you get it?” “I won’t know till you tell me.” “One, two, go round the berry brush and—” It was as if a light clicked on in his brain. He found it hard to believe there was any money. From the start, doubts surrounded the claim to be the missing heiress. She purred like a kitten, “Hello, don’t dare keep me waiting.”
Zombie
“THAT’S WONDERFUL. I can’t believe you finally got that off your back, something that’s been off the burner for too long.” She jumped to her feet. “Tickled pink, I tell you. Let’s celebrate. Where’s your wife? ... Is she sick? ... Is she here?—at the hair salon, I mean? Better still, is she visiting a relative?” “Yes, that’s it?” She stopped bouncing around and said, “What do you mean?” “That she’s out visiting her sick mother.” “Is her mother sick?” “Yes, indeed.” “What? Does she have a stomach ache, a headache?” “It’s more serious than either one of those.” “What do you mean by those?” He said, “I mean, she is down with the flu.” “Good graces, where does she live. I’ll beat a fast path to her doorstep. It’s not right for a woman her age to be alone.” “No, no, calm down.” “She spread her open arms and said, “How calm do you want me to be, lover?” He looked at her sumptuous breast and then imagined the brushy black hair between her legs and felt the urge beginning to build up, thinking and wondering what he should do; something of this magnitude had not happened before. She broke into his thoughts by saying to him, “I just want to help. Is there something wrong with that?”
Ed said, “Why don’t you just sit back down so we can chat about the missing heiress thing.” She did as told and plopped down on the sofa facing Ed sitting on a chair opposite her.
Clifford Benjamin
“AS YOU KNOW, ED, FROM the start, doubts surrounded my claim to be the missing heiress. Fortunately, we were able to get a local judge to straighten things out by awarding me access to the money and land and the house.” “That’s great,” he said, knowing if it were true, she would be richer than one can shake a stick at it. Although he would it he was happy for her, and so too, he was rather doubtful about the wisdom of eating the two-day-old food, but hopefully, for her, her greed won’t eventually be her downfall. Ed excused himself and slipped away to the bathroom, finding it hard to believe Tatiana would drop by tipsy and all giddy. He wondered what else might be on her mind. Returning minutes later, he entered the living room and found her butt naked lying on the floor with a pillow under her head, and he like a child frightened by a bad dream and a prophetic dream about a train crash before the rail disaster. She opened her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. Holding her finger to her mouth, she uttered, “Shhh!” She then stretched out her arms and said to him, “Poor thing! You look dreadful! Come, come, and come to momma. Come my dashing knight in shining armor, and take all of me. I promise you momma won’t bite, at least not that thing down there. Don’t you know, sweetheart, a merry heart does good like a medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones. And through the looking glass, it’s not like I’m one hundred and one, five months and a day, not to know when a man wants a woman.”
Zombie
HIS NATURAL CHARM AND wit made him very popular, and he could certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to. Though he was uncomfortable, he had to it she did look enticing, and it was already affecting his restraint. Nevertheless, he was unable to resist her charms. Ed’s possessed many charms, and as she was an arrogant woman with a massive ego, she looked small and gentle. Before he knew it, he was naked and on top of her pushing his tool into her vagina as she groaned and moaned. He had to it he dreaded singled out. He found himself saying, “I do declare, you have bewitched me, body and soul,” he managed to say in the tear-inducing monologue. “In addition, you bring a touch of obsessed pulpy, cathartic pleasure with you.” Right now, he had almost more than he could handle with her scratching his back and giving him a blow job for the road. Despite the thrill, and before they finished, he had planned to tell her, “So be prepared, be enthusiastic, and leave your bullshit attitude and baggage at the door because, frankly, I don’t need it!” Soon after and practically dosing off, he faintly heard her voice and faintly listened to the rustle of clothes as she whispered, “Sweet dreams,” turning off the light, and then Poof! She was gone. His plans to travel the world now seemed like a distant dream, and she had this romantic dream of living in a windmill. In contrast, people have long dreamt of an egalitarian society, the kind of trip most of us can only dream about, from the drift of people away from rural areas into urban slums as voices drifted up through the floorboards.
Clifford Benjamin
AS ED SLEPT, A SMALL flag was raised over the building to muted applause in his dreams. The applause died down as the curtain closed, as his wife sat there munching on an apple. The thing was, no one had to know about the deeply buried secret if he had anything to do with it. As things stood, the king was dead and lay buried at Jed burgh Abbey. So not many know what secrets lie buried in the past. Sadly he was none the wiser of the fact, all the while making love in their home, while his wife hid in the bushes at the side of the lane, dwarfed by hills that had become a wasteland after removing native bush. The place looked calm in the golden evening light. Some cars already had their lights on.
Chapter
32
AFTER A TIME, HIS WIFE moved with effortless grace, her hair looking limp and lifeless. She had taken the Bakerloo line and then changed at Piccadilly, which got her home earlier than expected. She managed to see where the door was by the light of the moon. She paused to light another cigarette. After placing the key in the lock, she entered the house and went to the bedroom. Suddenly, she felt a monster of a headache coming on and walked to the bedroom. What she just witnessed was exhausting, and she wanted answers. Her experience of seeing what just occurred had taxed her emotionally. But, although there had been carnage at the airport screaming the tabloid headlines, she had one thing in mind only. The smell of lavender faintly lingered in the room as she rubbed her hands together, cracking her knuckles as she tried to control her anger over her husband in liaison with POTUS’s wife. Her thoughts trailed off. Then her thoughts were back onboard, thinking how she could swallow such a blatant lie? A little white lie is undoubtedly excusable. But this was beyond a web of elaborate lies. She was unaware her husband lived a lie for twenty years, pretending to be the faithful husband of two different women living in two other towns. If she knew, she would know where to begin at leaving him.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER A COUPLE OF LAST puffs, she put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the night table by the bedside. She had to it she was mad as hell at him but didn’t want to label him a liar. So too, she acknowledged, there was a distinct lack of urgency in her manner, she had to it, making her have a complete lack of confidence, coupled with her abysmal lack of knowledge. The situation worsened by a lack of communication, causing her to feel that she lacked direction and purpose. Right now, if she were to confront him face-to-face, her remarks might curiously be lacking in perception. So, as things stood, she was between a rock and a hard place. She needed time to think things through and decided to keep things under wrap for now. She was surprised at how tired she was. She wondered if it was because she had only a fleeting glimpse of the sun all day. She then caught a glint of blue and asked what it was. It was common sense to let it out in the office that she was about to leave her husband. She then decided not to tell them about it for fear of seeing it in the gossip column of the local newspaper. But the one thing she knew, she’d have a gossip with Ed. But first, she had to grab a couple of hours of shut-eye. She was aware he would hardly likely get home before ten. Tonight she would talk to Ed; she would give him a gentle nudge in the ribs to tell him to shut up and listen for once. For the time being, she would nurse her wound. Someone once told her a trip down a mind has excellent novelty value for most people and quickly dispensed that idea. She cared about him too much for that to materialize.
Zombie
INSTEAD, GRABBING A pill off the night table, she flushed it with water down her throat. The tablet brought temporary respite from the excruciating pain. She could rest easy knowing she was safely home. She would restrain herself from having a shouting match. Eventually, she dozed off, sprawled out on the bed, her thoughts in total limbo. Some hours later, Ed approached her in the bedroom. She unloaded on what was on her mind. “How dare you!” he retorted, unable to tell a lie convincingly, his arms hanging by his side. “I had to know, Ed,” she cried, wiping at the tears starting to form. “Just don’t lie to me. We’ve been together much too long for us not to share secrets.” In whole light, you could see she was well over fifty. She couldn’t help but notice the smell of liquor on his breath and doubted he could walk in a straight line, a line of latitude and longitude. Deep lines ran from his nose to his mouth. In addition, he had stripes on his forehead. “I tell you, it’s wrong.” “Why?” “Oh, I don’t know how to put it, but I do know it’s not just something for the world to know.” He was a bucket of nerves, then got up and began pacing back and forth. She had never seen him like this and felt a bit of slight pity but knew this was something that should not be a secret in the heart of hearts. “Why, didn’t you come to me first, Hon?” “I don’t know, she moaned. All I know is we have to get to the root of this or—” “What?” he snapped at her; he was almost a ticking time bomb, and for marriage’s sake, had to be defused.
Clifford Benjamin
THE HEATED CONVERSATION and histrionics went on through the balance of the night, his strident voice frequently going up to the rafters; there was no doubt the neighbors heard it, in fact, every last drop. It was something now that even Ed could care less. To him, it all was just a row of infidelity only for husband and wife only. He was emphatic about it. Then after sitting in the kitchen among the dirty pots and pans, talking and considering things, they reached the point of differentiation that stopped them in their tracks. Both concluded it would be a stupid decision that completely defied logic for them to live apart and figured you couldn’t use the same reason in dealing with children. Given that odds were slightly loaded against them, they found themselves kissing and caressing each other and whispering words of deep affection. After her eyes had lingered on his face, for a time, they made love. Both agreed it was just what the doctor ordered, indeed a quintessentially exceptional performance. They then drifted off to sleep to noontime the next day only to awake and repeat what they did the night before, the salt of patience seasoning everything. The feelings of hurt and resentment would linger on for years. At their age, they were not aware that scientists had established possible links between cancer and diet. The common link between the two was their age. Because of his infidelity, his wife had severed ties with her family. Her family disapproves of unmarried couples living together. It was a known fact women live longer than men. Does no one want to live forever? She was never romantically linked with anyone before their marriage.
Zombie
HE WAS DELIGHTED THEIR relationship had come back to life, thereby negating the specter of him having to go down that road that links Cairo with Alexandria. Another thing that happened was they both were on the waiting list for hip at the golf club. As to the club captain being on the transfer list, they sadden. Since elementary, he and the Captain had known each other and had forged a close commonality; the two had engaged in endless litigation against the media. Later, before Ed went back to work and steamed at Tatiana, he called her and told her in no specific to stay the hell away, or there would be consequences, to which she got the point, and ended with her slamming down the phone on him. For the rest of that day, all was well. Nothing was ever mentioned, at least not between the two women; the only remaining thing was for the two titans to butt heads. The stickler was POTUS never got word of his wife’s cheating with his attorney general at that. There was nothing said about it; things swept under the rug. That was just fine by Ed. With no restrictions in the breach, he went right on having affairs behind his wife’s back, taking care no one on God’s Green Earth knew about his deceitful and ionate matters. Can we get a Hallelujah?
Chapter
33
HAVING LEARNED COURAGE from Buddha, Jesus, Lincoln, Einstein, and Cary Grant, POTUS, a staunch believer in salvaging the bones, looked out the window. The sky was tar-black, and the large clouds were moving towards him. He heard a tapping on the window, and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside, and umbrellas opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray, and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees. He got a rap on the door. “Come in,” he instructed. In walked Betsy Maria, his Secretary of State, all dolled up looking mighty young and pretty for a woman in her mid-thirties. “You want to see me? POTUS,” she asked, smiling, revealing her perfect white teeth, then sitting down on the velvety divan, leaving her sumptuous enticing thighs partly open. POTUS got up from his chair, walked, and closed the door, locking it as he strolled across the tiled floor to sit down next to her.
Zombie
“SO, WHAT EXACTLY DO you want to talk about?” her pretty blue eyes peering into his brown eyes through to his soul. “Come here now!” she growled through her teeth. Damn, she was some hot mom’s, he thought to himself, taking time to run his fingers down her tight ass dress to push her panties aside and slid a finger inside her cunt, her beautiful eyes closing at half-mast, hearing her moan. Before they both knew it, he went down on her, sticking his tongue as far as it would go, then gently caressing her clitoris, again and again, hearing her pleas, and then whispered, “Take it...” she broke off what she was saying, clamping her teeth together. And then to say, “Fuck me to death with that rock-hard dick and don’t miss a spot.” He stopped what he was doing and smiled, saying to her, “Oh, I must say you do know what to say to get a man hungry for some pussy. Then, in one fell swoop, he stabbed his rigid penis all the way causing her to cry out. “Oh, daddy, I dare say you know how to please a lady, you and your hardcore horizontal gymnastics.” “You got what I need, sweetheart,” he huffed and puffed, fighting for every ounce of breath. “Bet you your wife loves it too.” “Well, I’m very well aware that’s our secret just between you and me ... daddy never lies.” “Oh, you’re perfect today; I bet you tell that to all the girls.” “Let’s just say, daddy sure tries his best to please, hot momma,” his teeth flashed as he smiled. “Furthermore, I love some in between the ears and above the neck type women. There’s nothing wrong with intelligence, baby girl.”
Clifford Benjamin
SHE SAID, “YOU ARE well-endowed in between the ears, and above the neck, that’s just how I like it. I’m willing to bet you make all women cry, masturbating your ass off all the while,” she crooned, sticking her sexy tongue out, then licking it around on the outside of her mouth. She shook her head. Then went on to say, “I bet you before you hit gold, you were on the streets waging your tail at just about any woman crossing your path. And I can tell you’re not postmenopausal over the hill and picking up speed strutting round on a reverse floor like a slithery tube guy. Now give me some of that long big hot dick that’d surely light my fire.” They both found themselves grabbing and hugging and kissing to nightfall, taking their emotions to incredible heights, finding themselves in a perfect situation for two lovebirds. When they were through, he said, “Did I tell you, Hummingbirds like flowers?” “No, but you can take my word for it, my friend; my dog likes to go on long walks. Getting started was his goal. To begin with, he is too young. He is wise enough to make the right decision for himself—after all, we’re not going to dote over him for the rest of his life, right?” “Did you say dog? To be honest with you, it sounds to me like a two-legged creator, with mile-high ideas, to boot.” Then skyscrapers rose like jagged teeth, as she left him, stroking his dick, saying to him teasingly, “We didn’t climb to the very top of the mountain, but close enough, and by the way, I’m going to clean the house from top to bottom this weekend. And did I forget to tell you, you can now do your shopping at the touch of a button.” “Oh?”
Zombie
SHE ASKED, “CAN YOU tell me what time do we have to attend the meeting tomorrow?” “Well, speaking of the meeting—pretty sure it’s at 2 o’clock!” She pressed on, saying, “Is there anything, in particular, I should know when printing out sales invoices?” “Simple, when it comes to printing out invoices, the most important thing to is—” “I see,” she said, cutting him off. “Have you done your homework yet?” “To tell you the truth,” he answered, “I didn’t do it because I didn’t have much time!” “Can you tell me if wages transferred to your bank ? I take that as a no. Well, to be honest with you, I haven’t even checked my bank yet!” she said. “Is there any chance you’d come to the movies with me?” “Well, frankly speaking, I’m not that into movies; I’d rather stay at home and watch something on Netflix!” “Can you tell me how to use this software, please?” she said. I’ve never used it before!” “All right, I’m going to try to give you some idea about Photoshop! So, first of all, I tell you what? I’ll get back to that later.” And then she tossed back her hair and growled and puckered her lips back at him, closing and locking the door behind her, leaving behind a perfectly new calling card.
Chapter
34
HE HAD TO IT BETSY Maria, his Secretary of State, fierce loving was near to being the equivalence to that of her giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and heart massage that gave him goosebumps every time he broke into a trance. Even at his age, there would be no retirement from sex, that is to say. As to the secretary, mink has razor-sharp teeth, and he was willing to go all the way at helping her retreat to the fantasy world of her own. Perhaps, that is why she rose to the top of her profession within ten years. Ed entered the office and said, “I don’t know where Bjorg is today; he never showed up at work!” POTUS said, “As a matter of fact, I hadn’t even noticed he’s not in; thanks for telling me! So, can you tell us how you built your blog, Ed?” “Well, speaking of the specifics of my blog. Let me start with describing the actual platform it’s built on—” “I hate to say this, but I have to go, sorry about that!” POTUS left hastily.
Chapter
35
“WHAT PROFIT HATH A man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun? One generation eth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth forever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose...” In the early part of the day, at an ad hoc meeting on the first day of the week comprising Congressmen and state representatives, they discussed many issues. They started with Congressman Hailey Thomas from Detroit, Michigan. He began saying, “The unemployment rates in our region are hitting an all-time high! In perspective, there’s a 50% unemployment among young people of 25 years of age and younger, so—there you go!” Republican Senators went on the attack, trying to drive a wedge between the doubters and the believers. It went on all through the evening up into the night, one after one, and then the Democrats got in their two-cent, not whistling Dixie. Then-Senator Degrassi got a word in by saying, “If you think about it, you’ll realize that our workload has almost doubled over the last couple of years while our wages have stayed the same!” Senator Jerry Spangler got into it, actually auguring his point, till the house’s speaker banged down the Gabel on the desk. Then it went on one after another, each making their point, trying to stay on the issue.
Clifford Benjamin
“THERE’S NO DENYING that the crime rates have dropped this year, but if you look into the statistics, you’ll realize that the figures are at a peak.” The question was, “Why did you leave Jimmy at the workstation all by himself? You could have asked someone whether he was fully trained or not?” “I’m fully aware of the fact that he’s not fully trained—but I could never have imagined that—” Once the night drew to a close, all called it a night, and the chair banged the Gabel down and left for home. Shortly, and back in the Oval, Ed asked, “So, you think most will be in agreement.” POTUS sat back in his chair, putting his hand to his hair, and began stroking it. “I do. Tell me, what do you think?” “I don’t want to sound like bragging, but I do think there’s a chance they will just about vote unanimously.” “Speaking of the wedding, there’s one thing I can say for sure – brown shoes are the latest trend, so you can’t go wrong with that!” Ed then leaned back in his chair, mimicking POTUS and stroking the hair on his head, bald spot included. “Like you say—” “Can’t go wrong with that,” POTUS cut in. “That’s exactly what I just—” “I know,” Ed cut in this time, determined not to get the short end of the stick and be in full swing of everything and so forth. POTUS said, “Wish we had a crystal ball, it would go smoother without all he said this, and she said that.” “You like it that way too, huh?” “It is what it is.”
“That way, they can get at the bumps faster.”
Zombie
ED SMILED. “SO YOU like bumps!” “Yeah, why the hell not—I do?” “Make you want to go out and bump and grind.” POTUS looked at him. “Why you got to be so rude?” “Rude? I don’t see myself being that way. But I will it I’m for the good and bad side of life.” “Ah, you’re just a pussy.” “What about POTUS?” “What about me?” “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” “I heard you.” “Then why do you go making like you didn’t hear what I said?” “Ah, as the Italians say—” “Forget about it,” Ed added, cutting in, beating him to the punch. “ that song?” “What song,” POTUS said, “The one that goes, ‘you beat me to the—” “Punch,” Ed marked it, cutting him off. “Ah, what’s the matter, Ed? You keep cutting me off?” Ed confessed, “Maybe I’m not getting enough—”
“Pussy,” POTUS cut in, proud about his quick wit. “See, now you owe me one.” “Never in your wildest would I dare to pay you for that.” He sounded like he was standing his ground.” “What, I can’t say a thing without you cutting me off?” “You keep this up, partner, and I promise I’ll rip your fucking—” “Dick off,” said Ed, deliberately cutting him off. “I rest my case. Why not we talk about something else?”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS SAID, “FROM ONE prick to another, that sounds like a pretty damn good idea.” They both laughed, unaware laughter balances blood pressure. And that the relaxation of the muscles in conjunction with the increased heart rate allows the blood to flow more freely throughout the body. At the same time, if the blood pressure is low, it can be increased over time due to aerobic exercise. Eventually, they stopped laughing. Ed said, “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of it?” “Because you’ve been sucking too much, peter,” POTUS said, then laughed an excellent hefty laugh. Ed didn’t know if he was laughing at the joke or laughing at him. Time would tell, as they say. POTUS said, “It feels good to your heart’s content. I wish I can say the same when I’m with Tatiana.” “Are you saying you both don’t laugh together much?” POTUS shook his head sadly. “God, where did the fun go?” Ed said, “Perhaps you should try more at buttering her up from time to time more often.” “You think so?” “I do. Freckles and I go through the same thing then and again. I wouldn’t doubt if all couples go through it now and again. Don’t you?” POTUS frowned and then said, “Now that you mentioned it, you got the point.” Looking out through the window at the man in the moon, POTUS yawned then said, “I want you to know I just screwed the heck out of—” “Betsy Maria, your Secretary of State,” Ed cut in. “I know just who you mean.
How in the fuck was she?”
Zombie
“I’LL TELL YOU ONE THING—” “What?” Ed asked, curiosity about to slew the cat. “That bitch is one hot momma. I tell you, she knows how to please a guy.” “She does, huh?” “Yeah, and I’ll tell you one other thing.” “What?” “Would you believe I went down on her eating her like I like blueberry pie?” “You mean a pie in your eye, so to speak, eh POTUS?” “Damn straight. And I can’t wait to do it all over again.” “It’s like watching a raunchy and trashy movie theater, huh POTUS.” “Right on. The more I think about it, the harder my dick gets. What say you?” “Nah, I need to knock off a bit.” “Hell, I’m no cripple. My dick can get hard as a rocket,” said POTUS, “do tell, Ed, tell that to the preacher.” “So he can drive past our houses to see if he can screw both of our wives? I tell you, there’s something hilarious about that man. You can take my word for it, old friend.” POTUS said, “It just means we should keep an eye on him.” Ed said, “Yeah, you’re right. But, to be honest, I heard he’s been sticking it to his 13-year-old stepdaughter.” “Do tell,” said POTUS, “one shouldn’t be so lucky,” shifting in his chair, maybe not because he was getting horny, to help scratch his itch. Regardless, just the thought made POTUS chuckle.
Clifford Benjamin
ED SCRATCHED HIS CHIN and then squinted his eyes like old Captain AHave; he then said, “So, you say he’s screwing his stepdaughter?” “Thirteen, she weighs in at.” “Damn, that man is mighty fortunate, more brains than a Gorilla in heat.” It was Ed’s nature to make every effort to please a woman and never wanted to end up feeling as if it sucked, and made every effort to try a simple strategy for a change. He had to hand it to himself; his system worked. It was just a simple matter of enabling yourself to START. Ed saw just what POTUS was getting at and were willing to conspire to get a piece of her; he knew he had to be cautious; something like that could ruin reputations and cause a man to serve some hard time. But he had to it; he wanted a piece of that young thing. Perhaps it may serve his purpose to hook up with POTUS and see about concocting a plan. Yeah, the more he thought about it, the more determined he became. But, for now, it’s best both of them lay low and plan their strategy. He felt for sure once they got started, there’s no stopping them. POTUS said, “Well, speaking of no worry, things happen. Frankly speaking, there’s that possibility that you can get that 13 years old. As they say, things do happen.” “Well, I’d like to believe that,” Ed said, expressing his hopes and expectations towards a specific person—that 13-year-old. It would be like the best of both worlds, despite it being like borrowing trouble. Perhaps, they could do a dry run before it comes to fruition. And if they were to get caught, they would fall prey to having to face the music.
Zombie
IN ADDITION, HE HOPED POTUS wasn’t giving him the run around to do a hatchet job. If he were, he would have to get with the program and get back at him, but willing to go along with things despite the difficulties involved and was ready to face the chance of everything going down in flames. It was now night. Ed looked up at the black, velvety sky studded with tiny, twinkling stars and left work, and like that, poof, he’s gone. It so happens, whenever he looked up at the stars at night, he feels like he’s big and small at the same time. With a good view of the night sky on a cloudless, moonless night, far away from city lights, he likes to stand there and soak it all in. Allow those celestial photons to end their journey on his retinas.
Chapter
36
“THE HEART OF THE WISE is the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is the house of mirth.” Saturday became a fantastic, wet evening as two men of importance sat around in the Oval. “ we’re on an unrecorded line,” POTUS stated, waiting for the rain to stop and eager to eat dinner, then taking his dog Pebbles for a jog along the beach, only to end with eating ice cream at a local variety shop. Stupefied by tiredness, he sighed and then continued, “I have spectacular news. I’m fast at stockpiling ideas on what can and will surely work and as to what will go down. As of this minute, it’s not actually down to a science yet, but I’m still at seizing the moment, as you will.” The caller breathed heavily. “Yeah, it makes all the difference, for all bases are covered, no one the wiser.” “Except you and me, isn’t that what you meant to say?” The caller breathed heavily again, then whispered, “If this were to go down, it’s sure to be nothing sort of out and out treason, and the perpetrators damned for all eternity, with a stew here and abroad. Can you believe the nations it would affect?” POTUS sighed. “I know, can’t you see my point?” “Oh, yeah, I got it. Just the sound of it rings in my ears.” “I hear you.” “Do you?”
Zombie
“SURE.” “Just to think of all the pie schemes, and you bring this into my very own personal living room.” “So?” “Don’t believe you’re reading me quite enough, Mr. President. What we have here is a dream of smoke and mirrors. Something that never happened in the history of the world, mine you. Have you considered the cost?” POTUS said, “Less than you can imagine, mark my word. A staunch White Supremacist should be hog wild about this.” “See?” “See, what?” There was more silence. I’m waiting, see what?” “I done told you, Mr. President, to cover all bases.” “I know you did. I am waiting to see what you meant?” “Please, Sir, dispense with calling out names; that is what I’m implying. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” “I got you.” “I hope you do. What you and I are working toward has no boundaries. We’re both after the same thing. If I bleed, you bleed. Connected like elbow and bone.” The fact of the matter was if things were to happen as planned, the hypothesis was, it would be one Killer Diller on all fronts. The caller then, in an even lower voice, whispered something of an even greater magnitude, something that would even be more far-reaching,
“What?” said POTUS, “Oh, okay, I got you; he has to go to.”
Clifford Benjamin
“SIR, I HAVE TO IT, I do think this whole thing would be catastrophic were that to happen, not for America, but the world over.” POTUS ended by saying, “There’s sure to be medicine customized to fit all their needs.” Sir, that kind of service makes the specter of what was due to happen all the more chilling if it was true.
Chapter
37
LATER THAT FATEFUL night, the party started at the White House, dignitaries coming from the world that ended in the death of fifteen democratic senators at odds with POTUS and two republican senators. One more was the president of Russia. It was like the entire world had sprung a leak to the extent it even caught the globe as a whole off guard. None had a clue their lives were hanging in the balance. There was no way this was expected to occur, not in a million years. But it did, under POTUS of this United Stated watch. It was far from being a thriller in Manila that wound up left with trillions of calls about the catastrophic loss at the highest level. Right away, the news splashed across news networks here and aboard, stating: “A bone chiller chills the bones of people the world over. What happened was sheer madness to many across the globe. Yet, as of now, no one has been apprehended to face some level of ability for their reprehensible actions.” Ed left home and drove straight to the Capital to sit down with POTUS, not believing his ears. “So, you say, there was that possibility nothing would stop what just happened, POTUS?” To him, it was kind of murder’s row. “God, just think what just happened is out of this world.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WELL, ED, MURDERERS Row was coined back in 1918 to describe an especially intimidating section of the New York Yankees’ batting lineup and reprised in the late 1920s to describe the lineup that included Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Today, murderers’ row is for an exceptionally intimidating group of people or things.” Bewildered, Ed asked, “Let’s get this straight. Are you saying the people killed were exceptionally intimidating?” “That’s what I am implying.” “Do you mind my asking what exactly did the ones killed do for someone to classify them as such?” POTUS bowed his head, then looked up at him and said, “Look, now is not the time to belong mouth describing something of this magnitude, you get my meaning.” Ed shook his shoulders and said, Yeah, I’ll go along with that. It’s not a rugged stretch to the imagination for someone to feel as you do about what takes place at the Capital.” “I do think it could’ve happened a different way,” said POTUS, “but as you so well know, once the wheels get to turn, normally practically the entire world is at a standstill. It’s not like everyone’s blessed with a tank full of resilience, like you, Ed.” ‘Is that so?” “Yeah, have you noticed just how things are becoming more marginalized, dayby-day? Did you notice how the smartest of individuals starting to relegate to an unimportant or powerless position within our society?” “Sort of, I have.” “That’s what I’m eluding to, Ed. It’s to the point that we smart ones have to take control of the less fortunate in line.”
Silence, and then there was more silence. “You have to have noticed, Ed.”
Zombie
“I JUST SAID SORT OF.” “Look, Ed, it’s no dog and pony show we’re talking about here. Hell, even the Virgin Mary would’ve known. Heck, things are occurring right before us, and all we do is stand with our hands in our pocket like we are nothing but plastic dolls lining the shelves in a no-win situation. Come on, Ed, what if you had known that there was the possibility that something like this would happen?” Ed said, “You go round using anachronisms, taking something from a past era and placing it in the present.” “Ah, come on, Ed, you’re smart enough to know I’m right. But, hell, don’t you think even dear Old George might have known?” “Well, when you put it like that, I can see your point. But I have to tell you whoever did this must’ve lacked intelligence.” “Why do you say that, Ed?” “Heck, even a weasel would have known before the fire broke; it had to get the hell out of Dodge.” POTUS slapped his bare palm against his head. “Look, we must be about getting ourselves back on base. The whole world is watching our every move.” “That certainly does have merit.” “Merit?—Why can’t you see exactly where I’m going with this, Ed.” Ed squirmed in the chair and then looked back at POTUS, wondering where in hell this was all going. POTUS said, “I have to believe you are on point with me.” “You’re right,” said Ed, “it certainly wouldn’t pay for the both of us to be standoffish and at loggerheads bumping our heads together.” He was a true wiz at knowing about the meat and marginalia of American politics.
Clifford Benjamin
THAT LAST STATEMENT produced a smile on POTUS’s face. “Sound great,” then turned his head to look at the flag at the half mask, waving in the wind, happy Ed was now on base with him. Ed pointed at POTUS, then said, “You’re the man now, dog!” knowing that what he was intending on doing could be considered a semi-embarrassing speed bump on the way to more experimental, riskier terrain, a behemoth, and a catastrophic failure. Later, word got out; similar chemicals used in the Jim Jones incident in Guyana had killed the Senators and President of Russia. It was a story as old as time, the equivalence to a long and winding road. It then explained how on November 18, 1978, cult leader Jim Jones orchestrated a suicide of 918 followers in the jungles of Guyana at their settlement, Jonestown. The mass death relied heavily on cyanide-laced Flavor Aid, with followers lining up to drink the lethal poison. As the world watched with bated breath, both incidents would be sad commentaries for years to come.
Chapter
38
AFTER SEVERAL YEARS, existing under a paper moon and a handful of dust, POTUS got a call from someone familiar and at times strange. “Hi, Dad, I miss you.” “Well, hello baby doll, how are you?” Almost everyone knew she was his heart and soul, sense of pride blessed with sublime and substantial beauty. “Pretty well,” she told him, failing to tell him she had intended to take a holiday in New York, fully aware, deciding this was not the time to get to it. “So, what’s cooking?” “Only if you take a guess, I will tell you,” she said, looking around at her room painted a subtle shade of pint. “Hold on,” he said, “don’t tell me I’m about to have a hard time mixed with difficulty. Because before I do, I won’t guess till you tell me what’s shaking, right away,” iring her profoundly traditional core values, and knowing how headstrong she really could be, at times. Don’t get me wrong. I have no intentions to judge harshly, no way. In case you’re wondering. I haven’t entirely lost my faith in God yet. Before I forget, I will be remiss if I didn’t congratulate you on your new job.” “Thanks, dad, but as I said, I don’t want to get you upset. You being president and all and my dad to, get my meaning?” “You are blessed with many talents.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THANKS AGAIN, DAD.” “So, tell me, what’s exactly going on?” “Oh, Dad, I don’t want to get you involved.” “Involved?” She sighed. “Hello, are you still there?” “I’m here. Just that it is a thing that I’m not enthusiastic about, and it’s something I’m not comfortable with talking about—something I wouldn’t want you to be concerned over. Something I’m not too happy about it. You know I am bad at this particular sort of thing or keen on handling it, and something I’m terrible at.” “Let me worry about it; it’s sure to take some weight off you. It’s nothing you should feel guilty about at all. So, tell me, what’s happening?” “Dad, oh, my God, it’s something awful. But, of course, it depends on how you see it, though.” “Why not take a breath and tell me. Is it something that might anger me? Sweetheart, you know your dad is tough as nails.” “I know. Okay, you know I’m in my final year at—” “Yale,” he said, cutting her off. “Yeah, that’s right, Yale.” “You know me,” her dad said, “I have a bad habit at keeping up with my young ones and what you all are into and up to.” “Thanks, Dad; it’s always been a stickler for you keeping up with our schooling.”
“So, tell me.” She told him everything. “It’s like this. My Professor refused to give me an A in Physics.” “That doesn’t sound all that bad.” “Dad, I don’t think you are listening.”
Zombie
“WELL, THEN TELL ME.” “The fact is he raped me.” It was something that someone might say is “The stuff that dreams are made of,” in an ironic way. “What did you say?” “He raped—” “I got it,” he said, cutting her off again, and knowing that four years ago, he had raped her, his daughter, and made her pregnant, and that child had lived for a year and a half before accidentally drowning in their pool outback of the house. No one was the wiser, and he was the one that knew what had happened and never had the nerve to tell her about it. He knew that it would be a hot mess, the end of him and all he had worked to achieve if exposed. The thing was, it was still hard to come to grips with it all. As of this moment, there was no way of letting the genie out of the bottle. Not now! Especially that he got his family up on a pedestal of living large. What a mess. The fact of the matter is, told to make his mark, to his shame, all he was doing was making waves. After it happened, he smacked himself hard in the face, to the extent he went to get a bite at the cherry and not give a fig. “He did, Dad. There was no chance at keeping him at bay.” “Houston, we have a problem,” he said. Then silence. “Are you still there, Dad?” She knew he had an unerring instinct when someone was lying to him. He believed in what she claimed had occurred. He always followed his instinct. “I’m here, Priscilla. Tell me just how it happened?” “Oh, dad, it makes me sick just to talk about it.”
Clifford Benjamin
“I KNOW, SWEETHEART, but I’m your dad. I’m someone you should always feel comfortable relaying your trials and tribulations too.” “Well, it started when I went to an Alfa Beta reunion at a frat house. I went to great lengths to prepare myself for the occasion. I even took the time to go over the list many times. It was like, do pregame the party, especially if you hate beer. Nine times out of 10, the only drink that the party will have up for grabs is beer. Not only that but cheap, crappy beer. Don’t take a drink from anyone. And dad, you know I get this lecture from you every time I head back to school, but even though it’s annoying, it’s always worth repeating.” “That’s great you listened. So, tell me more.” “Well, as you told me, do drink with a friend, or two, or three, and the safest way to experience college nightlife is with a friend, or two, or as many as you want, to be backing you up in case something goes wrong. Don’t fill your cup so much that you spill on everyone. No one wants to go home or to the next party smelling like Natty Light and dripping with your drink. As I said, I’m leveling with you as to exactly what happened that faithful night. Dad, I did think the occasion was going to be peaches and cream. Now I see just how wrong I was.” “Okay,” said her dad, “now we’re getting somewhere. And then what happened?” “He spiked my drink, dad. And I ended up at his apartment in his bed naked.” “Oh, did you ask him about it?” “Yeah, I asked him what had happened. He said I left the party under my own volition, and the rest was history.” “That does sound suspicious if you ask me.”
Zombie
“OH, DAD, I FEEL SO awful. Honestly, I nearly killed myself, but my boyfriend got to me in time and hauled my ass to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.” “Damn, you were lucky. Trouble has a way to rear its ugly head and face a problem, especially of that magnitude, and could have been irreparable damage. Of course, some people would have a fit when something like that happens to them. They would be filled with horror and cry hysterically, baby girl. But, the fact is the ones that it happens is no one to judge harshly.” “I know, Dad, you’re right. But, you see, I’m not misleading you.” “Look, you had my curiosity. But now you have my attention. Just for the record, my dear, why don’t you just give me the address so that I can have an honest-to-goodness chat? But unfortunately, I have to say, sweetheart, I can’t make heads or tails about why he went to such great lengths to do what he did. As you well know, I know something backward and forward, but this is something I can’t make heads or tails of or wrap my head around it. So, it’s best to give enough time to do a little homework on this character. I promise I will get back to you. Meantime, try not to let yourself get bent out of shape over this. Don’t worry; I won’t dare give the Professor a piece of my mind. You can rest easy on that for sure. And no, I’m not on the warpath; you can count on that. Furthermore, I won’t rake him over the coals, or throw elbows, no way, no how, on God’s green earth, sweetheart. The fact of the matter is there’ll not be a witch hunt, not now, not ever. You got my word on it. However, I must it it does tend to put a bad taste in my mouth. I tell you one thing, mark my word, it won’t be a banner year for him.”
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT HE WAS ABOUT TO do was sure to be off the beaten path. But he felt what the Professor did was totally out of line and reprehensible. He then wanted the tables to turn and make the Professor shit out of luck, so he won’t do the same thing to any other young girls trying to get ahead in life. Indeed, what the Professor did was totally out of order. The thing was, he loved his daughter and figured two heads are better than one and adored how eager she was to pick his brain. After all, to the best of your belief or knowledge, great minds think alike. He then told her, “Don’t worry; I won’t lift one finger to him. I promise you, what your dad is going to do will be highly effective. You can take that to the bank. And to keep your fingers crossed. You can say that’s my Achilles’ heel, doing the talking, just this minute. I have to say the story has legs. Lastly, with his superb shingles on the wall, your Professor is dumb as a bag of hammers. As I said, there is no bad blood between us. I realize it may sound like a blue promise from the sky and that it’s a promise that is sometimes not filled, but you know I will never lead you on. You know I stick to my word. So how about the information? I hope you’re comfortable with it.” He was pleased she recognized the extreme gravity of what had happened to her at the hands of a man filled with lust. In addition, he enjoyed her exercising her intellect in analyzing the controversies of her day.
Zombie
SHE GAVE HIM THE INFORMATION, then said, “C-c-can I go now?” she stuttered. “I’ve got a test tomorrow. Thanks, dad, you are a lifesaver.” She had no clue the extent of his interest in her Professor. She decided it was best she concentrates on getting education under her belt. For the first time in months, she felt calm and at peace with the world and peaked her popularity. She was happy that she showed her pedigree now and adopted more socially acceptable behavior among her peers. Before she hung up, he said to her, “Got to hand it to you; you have a way of talking with someone. I work so hard, and I don’t have someone to say to me: have a bath, have a drink, have a good time, have a haircut, have a holiday, have a problem, have a relationship, and rest, have lunch, have sympathy. “Hope I do not sound too off.” She said to him, “Got to it, you can be hilarious at times.” “Oh? We should talk more,” he said, “I’ll make myself available for you anytime. Even if just to say to me, “Break a leg, break a habit, break a record, break a promise, break a window, break someone’s heart, break the ice, break the law, break the news, break the rule.” She cracked up, laughing her head off. Then, finally, she stopped laughing; she said, “I tell you, you are one funny dad, but I love it.” Just before both phones clicked off, he said to her in perhaps a flippant way, “And don’t ever forget, when E.T. phones home, I’ll answer to you, like I always have.” He then asked her, “Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?” “Me,” she said with the cutest of a chuckle.
Clifford Benjamin
IT WAS HIS TIME TO speak. “My final word: ‘Just keep swimming, my precious.’” The call ended. He had every confidence his daughter’s graduation would be a rare success story. The cathedral bells rang out their peel off at a distance as the line of limousines carried essential people. She owed her dad a deep debt of gratitude for being there for her and rescuing her from a watery grave when she was but two. Before going to bed, later that night, a little voice whispered: ‘step stop, step, step, stop, ‘take a break, take a chance, take a look, take a rest, take a seat, take a taxi, take notes, or take someone’s place.’ POTUS’ thoughts were odd. It was as if the alter ego came alive and was trying to message him in code.
Chapter
39
A FOURTH NIGHT LATER, Professor Haley was home alone asleep in his bed when he awoke with a guy dressed in all black with a hood covering his face standing at his bedside. The man stabbed him in his left arm and was about to finish him off when the Professor strong-armed him, pushing him off causing the perpetrator to tumble to the floor, at which time, giving the Professor time to leap off the bed onto the floor and beat a fast path out of the room and out of the house. The Professor reached under the front door mat to get a spare key. He then ran and jumped into his car and sped away. He looked in his rearview mirror about a mile away and saw that the assailant was out of the picture but suddenly realized he was sadly mistaken. It took a moment or two for him to adjust his side-view mirror on the enger side. That was when he spotted him driving in his direction at a rate of speed of the exact equivalence, fast on his tail. He found himself screaming, “What do you want?” A sense of terror was in the air, enough to be a page-turner to even Stephen Spielberg. He stepped on the gas, trying to create some distance, but as he crossed an intersection, a car ran out in front of him, causing his vehicle to sway against a truck parked on the roadside. He managed to regain control and continued till the same guy in his apartment sideswiped him; the damaging impact caused the Professor’s vehicle to lose control and crash into a tree.
Clifford Benjamin
BEFORE HE KNEW IT, and out of the blue, the assailant was at the driver’s side of the car and shot him through the head. The Professor was stone cold dead. The man then took a gun from his coat pocket and rub the weapon on the Professor’s hand and then dropped it in the seat next to him, then hurried back to his car to retrieve a half-gallon of gas and poured some in the man’s mouth. Shortly, he pulled in at a gas station and did a little of spending the penny and squeeze the lemon. Ten minutes later, and after hearing a clink-clink-clink and then a loud clicking sound, he left the washroom, and then tore the hell out of there, on wheels going ka-ching ka-chink, and crying like a baby with wet diapers, the sounds riward, upward then fading in midair. Not long after, he was resting at a ramshackle bombed-out stinking ass motel, with one light and a broken mangy toilet seat. It was a place only visited by a one-legged blind-eyed sweetheart living the life married to an old lame-ass named Jojo, looking every bit like the living dead. When morning arrived, he tore all hell out of there to an address unknown.
Chapter
40
“NEVER AGAIN WILL A single story be told as though it’s the only one.” Weeks later, Ed shouted to his wife, his voice ringing throughout the house, saying, “You’ve got to check this out, Hon.” Noting the urgency in her husband’s tone of voice, she entered the room and sat down next to him on the sofa. “What’s going on?” “Look,” he said, pointing the finger at the T.V., seeing POTUS of this nation adorned in full regal in a Klan’s outfit from head to toe, the only exception being was the visibility of his face, with apparent delight. Realizing what was taking place, she said, “I don’t know, Hon.” He looked at her sideways, in total disbelief, saying to her, “What in the hell do you mean I don’t know?” “That’s what I said, that’s all.” “Can’t you see it?” “See what?” That,” he said, pointing again at the T.V. “For Christ Sake, this guy, our president, mind you, is trying his damnedest to send what’s sure to be a clear message as to which side he’s on, can you believe it?” She said, “Is it rectified?” “Rectified?”
Clifford Benjamin
“YEAH, RECTIFIED, LIKE impeached, thrown out of office. So it’s not hard to imagine.” Ed calmed down, his pulses racing then, managed to say, “To be honest, I don’t know, Hon.” She said, “You don’t know? You should. You’re the attorney general, and you doubt impeachment?” She threw up her hands in frustration, got up to walk to the kitchen, on the way saying to him, “I’ve got to start putting dinner together. I don’t have the least idea what it will be.” She stormed off, saying, “Keep me posted, will you, okay?” Ed just sat there mummified, his tongue now stuck to the root of his mouth. He was having difficulty trying to unravel the disturbing charade. To think his president had taken things to an entirely new level, something that was sure to get a ton of criticism not only in America but around the entire cotton-picking world. To think, with violence taking place, police killing hoards of innocent citizens, undeniably primarily blacks, and for this to happen was well beyond the pale, something no American president would dare dream to happen. What was occurring in its intensity was sheer madness, to even slow thinking beings. He knew he still struggled daily with discipline, but he liked habit more than punishment. A pattern is something you do without thinking. You don’t have to be discipline to have an addiction. You do. As he continued to think, an element of fear cruised through his troubling brain.
Chapter
41
SOMETIME LATER AND back at the Capital, Ed said to POTUS, “It’s fullblown outlandish, I tell you?” POTUS asked him, “What in God’s name are you implying, Ed?” “I’m just saying that not only people that are democrats but the Goddamn white supremacist riled up.” “Tell me how so knuckle-brain?” Ed ignored the comment and instead said, “As to the news, just yesterday, a white supremacist had the gall to walk into a local supermarket and stabbed and shot 15 people, mostly blacks.” POTUS’s eyes opened wider. “You kidding, it’s got to be.” “What I’m talking about is no Tomfoolery is how I see it.” Months later, and with the democrats in a stir, POTUS was facing impeachment. Sadly, the republicans got in lockstep behind him and ruled him not guilty. Now he had dodged a bullet; the very notion ricocheted around the world in total disbelief over the fact that he was not held liable. Granted a clean slate, it rendered him close to being a god. Ed clapped his hands. “Interesting, it is exciting.” POTUS eyes were squint, and then said, “Burn, baby, burn, is how I see it.” Ed said, “Think about it, POTUS. And moms and dads were too?” “I accepted the off, but everyone was there except me.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED MANAGED TO SAY, “I it, we are opposites, POTUS.” Like POTUS was in another world, he said, “I please, I satisfy, that’s about it.” Ed just stood there, thinking, ‘From dirge to the flatterer, it wasn’t too big of a leap.’ POTUS then said, “I harm, I hurt,” as if smiling at the moon. “So that’s how it is?” “Look, the man is not the man who has lost his reason. The man is the man who has lost everything except his reason. That’s it and rests my case. Got any other thing I need to resolve?” “Come to think, yeah.” “What is it now?” “The horrible fact is, just yesterday, a staunch white supremacist entered a local supermarket and stabbed and shot 15 people, mostly black, just as I told you before.” “My God, I think that's awful.” “Exactly, thirteen were black, the rest white.” “That’s sad, but what do you want from me? Neither should I have to point out that I’m no president Johnson nor a Kennedy by any stretch?” “I know—know you’re not.” POTUS asked, “So what exactly are you saying?” “I done told you, already.” “Look, Ed, obviously most Democrats are enemies of the state. I get that.” Ed agreed but replied, “What are we going to do to stop the violence by a white
supremacist. Just slap them on the wrist and say that we understand and that we love you bit.” “You tell me, Ed.”
Zombie
ED WENT ON FURTHER to say, “I’ve seen Amish people around the country standing with blacks speaking on what has occurred. Now, it’s ironic that white supremacists use poison to fan the flames of resistance and went out their way to do it.” “Don’t look at me,” said POTUS, “I wasn’t even there. I was home trying to be the best father, with daughter and my son.” Ed said, “The thing is, I think you should settle down before you have a heart attack. We both are not getting any younger. I’m willing to shoulder the burden with you to help you see things from a different perspective. All you have to do is ask.” POTUS said, “I hear you. But, now that I thought about it, I do feel a little beat.” “Yeah,” said Ed, “then go home, go home now, this minute. I’ll keep an eye on things and keep the ship tidy; you and I’ve been at it much, much too long.” He watched POTUS leave.
Chapter
42
THE VERY NEXT DAY, at first light, POTUS, a natural-born Hun, full of huff and puff with a heart of darkness, was sitting on his hunkers, sporting a five o’clock shadow. After sipping on some mild hurricane, he said, “There’s something I’ve been contemplating for a while,” disinterestedness keeping him interesting one hundred percent, hunching his back to retrieve a document that had fallen onto the floor. Ed said to him, “I hope it’s not blowing your brains out.” “Oh, you can be a joke sometimes, Ed. “I’m impressed you’re not saying I am a total wreck.” They both laughed. “The thing is, I’m working on putting a squad together,” said POTUS. “Interesting, exactly, what kind of squad?” “What?” “Did you hear? What kind of squad?” With a perplexed look, POTUS said, “How do I know.” “You don’t?” “What am I, some talking parrot? Next, you’ve been asking me to jump up and fly to the Havens.” “You are not answering my question.” “What?” “I’m still waiting.” POTUS said, “Why don’t we change the subject?”
Zombie
“I DON’T THINK YOU’RE straight,” Ed said, “I asked you a simple question. I want a simple answer. That shouldn’t be hard at all.” POTUS finally threw up his hands and said, “I get it we’re not talking about cowboys and Indians, am I right?” “Now we’re getting somewhere. For a time there, I couldn’t help but think you were losing it.” As he was in a trance, POTUS said, “It’s good to be big, Ed. I’m talking humongous,” he said, fishing for compliments. “We’re talking about the squad, am I right? What will be the task or tasks at hand? Are we fighting gorillas or alligators in the wild? It’s just something I need to know before going forward, that’s all.” “If we do, do what you are implying you’re sure to be the first to know.” “Great.” POTUS leaned closer to him and whispered ever so softly, “Killing the Pop, for one.” “Do you mean the one in—?” “The Vatican,” said POTUS, looking back at him in the eye. “Mother of God,” Ed said, wondering if he heard correctly. “I know what you’re thinking. And I tell you, this thing is as real as it comes. I’m not just blowing smoke. It’s sure to be something to tell your grandkids around a fire on a cold winter’s night.” “I got you. It sure sounds like it is going to be something.” “You got that right, partner, that’s for sure ... something to stump your feet and holler to the wolves from a steep mountaintop.” “Woo wee,” it's going to be something once you get cracking.”
POTUS said, “That’s for sure, real as diamonds in a hock shop.”
Clifford Benjamin
“IS THAT SO?” “Right on, like straight out of Hollywood, it’ll be” POTUS said, “All I need is for some leaders of some unclosed countries to be gone.” “You mean like wiped out?” “You damn straight. In time you will see, I’m not whispering Dixie.” “So, you’re saying just a matter of time, huh?” “You said it; I didn’t.” They cackled, laughing their heads off, winking back at one another, imagining the flowing windfall about to come to fruition, like two, not long ago, chattering windbags, wanting not to let go, no thought for others, no thought for self. Once things settled, Ed asked POTUS, “What else or who else will be involved?” “I can tell you this; not for once have I imagined how it would feel. I wasn’t born yesterday. What I’m talking about is no damn dream; it’s real. Right now, I can tell you, and it’s not a few; not a soul knows about it other than the ones just approved. I tell you, this is something to be not at home with.” Ed said, “Hooked to fellow travelers on the money.” “See, that’s one of the keywords floating around.” “You say money.” “Exactly, you see, there’s no middle point we’re talking about; the gem here is the possibility we all involved can become rich beyond our means. The thing is, it’s no rhubarb, rhubarb, no empty talk; the challenge is, we must keep getting things to another level, you feel me?” “Sure.”
Zombie
“FANTASTIC, STICK WITH me; I’ll get you out that chalet you reside. Hold up, hold up. My intentions are not to insult you. It’s to help you and your wife.” Ed told him, “I must tell you, my wife and I are not lazybones, but more of a leading light. Just part of our human nature, I guess.” “I understand. So, Ed, my piece of advice is to keep your chalice handy because you never know when the greens will land in your direction. By the way, you’re not yourself today.” “Thanks—I think I’m getting sick—I’ve been experiencing terrible headaches and drainage, and I’ve just begun to develop a sore throat as well.” POTUS looked at him curiously and then said, “Oh, you’ll be all right. You need some rest. That usually gets you back and running; why don’t you go home and get that rest. I’m alright.” Ed said, “I think you’re right; I can use some downtime; it’s sure to do me just fine. So look, I do like your idea and ready to work at it when you’re ready.” POTUS dwelled in possibility. No one knew better than him that his life had stood—a loaded gun, guided by a certain slant of light, having fears that he might cease to be. “Thank you, Ed. I tell you, it’s going to be an easy thing. The good thing is, as of now, you’re on the payroll. I remind you, this thing is not a chameleon; the chain of reasoning is that it’s real, real as you can imagine. So, we should stop the chatter and get real. Trust me; not one involved is in the business of misbehaving at no time. We all are devoted to a cause, and that is liberty—freedom. No misbehavior will be allowed. Mark my word, that’s something you can count on, no matter how you split the apple.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED KNEW POTUS HAD NERVE talking like that. “What are you now, a philosopher?” “I think not.” “Sound like it. I know sounding like it doesn’t make it so.” “Maybe so, maybe not, I think,” said POTUS. Leaving, Ed said to him, “Got to run see you in the morn.” He left the office, looking beat; he was acquainted with the night, as a noiseless patient spider crept alone, after shipping from Africa to America by freight in a howling storm hidden in the baggage of a crooked man without a dream, whose nerves sat like Tombs. They say, beware of the wolf at a rundown dark-lit Laundromat, also aware when something terrible happens to us; we go numb, and our heart stops functioning normally. A strange hollowness inhabits our mind and body, and we start to dig out that something has occurred most recently, or that of a century ago. Although we catch the regular pace of life, yet that strange feeling steals the absolute joy of life, leaving us in a state of despair. We try our level best to be strong and unshakeable, but all goes in vain. As humans, we through the stages of grief. In the beginning, the hard blow of tragedy gets on our nerves, and everything around us seems frozen in time. Later, with time, that incident becomes a memory.
Chapter
43
AS HUMAN BEINGS, WE begin to lose all sense of rationality when emotions drive us. Furthermore, as human beings, we have this innate desire to fit in. It’s a kind of follow-the-herd mentality. It’s about creating an urge amongst people to become a part of the “in-crowd.” Ed’s days became a blur of meaningless events—wake up, brush teeth, make the coffee, get the mail, fix dinner, watch T.V. It was hard to keep depression at bay. Meanwhile, across the waters, at the crack of dawn, in one part of town, the Vatican, that is, the code-breakers are getting ready to pull off the most extraordinary feat of their lives. At the same time, on the other side of town, the police are getting ready for the sting operation to bring the mob to its knees. Perhaps, in the third part of town, the kingpin’s wife gives birth to their first child in a hospital. Of course, the viewer could not “be” in all those places at once; but by cutting quickly from one scene to another, one can get an idea of the actual hard facts taking place. To begin with, the Pope, along with his motorcade, stopped at a Café on the north side of town. The Pope’s traveling church flock included about 30 people, such as the Vatican clergy and employees of the Vatican press office, in addition to agents hired to watch his back.
Clifford Benjamin
ONCE INSIDE, AND COBBLED together, but sitting at different tables at arm’s length, as the agents sat with their hands on their flintlocks, common as apple pie, they were the machinery necessary to keep the Pope alive. The Pope said to one of his constituents, “We celebrated my birthday here,” pausing a moment to gulp down some delicious seafood. He then said, “I adore this place because of the variety of cuisines such as Contemporary, European, Italian, Mediterranean, and lastly Seafood, some of which, as you can see, we’re consuming now.” Just tables away sat a young man, commonly known as a lothario, and a bit of fluff, loose-limbed woman. Within moments, the woman confusingly thought her boyfriend was about to break up with her because he had been acting, distracted, and distant. He bought her an engagement ring and was nervous that she wouldn’t say yes. So, he calls her one afternoon and says, “I need to see you. Meet me at the Café at six o’clock.” She’s sure he’s going to break up with her. But when she arrived, he’s set up a beautiful proposal with a string quartet, dozens of roses, and a colossal sparkler of a diamond. Knowing it was Lord’s Day, the Pope watched the young lovebirds lord it over each other as they celebrated their occasion at great length. He also noticed there were no loose morals between the two. It was evident to him the two were in the loop and not just looking for kicks. Soon the two would take in the silver screen just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Their relationship was Simon Pure. It was true; they would have their silver wedding—special day, or this, that or the other, right to the bitter end.
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AFTER AN HOUR, GIVE or take, the Pope sipping on a soft drink, and his flock’s bellies were full, they left out, getting back into ten or more designated cars, as the floating population, consisting of fools and cowards, asylum seekers, drifted along the streets. Once on the road, and nothing out of the obvious, the Pope settled in and began looking at the scenery, something he always found comforting. As they rode along, he thought of the geography of Vatican City, which was unique due to the country’s position as an urban, landlocked enclave of Rome, Italy, with an area of 49 ha 121 acres, or 0.19 sq mi, that was the world’s smallest independent state. His wary ancient eyes noted that Outside Vatican Cities were thirteen buildings in Rome and Castel Gandolfo, his summer residence, enjoying extraterritorial rights. Just the sight warmed the cockles of his heart; something he knew was there since the cobwebs of history. His territorial mind then ed walking around the area near Saint Peter’s Square and the Vatican Museums, seeing one place after another. Some were setdown restaurants; others were just coffee bars. Most of these were either poor quality or a rip-off. Suddenly, ten masked men appeared on motorcycles in line of sight of the pop’s entourage. To add more irons to the fire, each of the men bore automatic weapons and wore cartoon masks covering their entire face, depicting the face of Ab Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, and several other nobles, followed by a black armored truck for backup.
Clifford Benjamin
JUST THE SIGHT BROUGHT a chill to some of the member’s bones. There was a point that was indicative of something evil. But, as things stood, there was no way of knowing the gang of cyclist authenticity. Within moments, the cyclist made it clear of their intention and open fire, bullets bouncing off windows, doors, and vehicles outside. Without a moment to lose, the lead vehicle’s wheels peeled off, the rest following suit, with the cyclist and armored vehicle giving chase. After plowing down streets after streets, the Pope’s group of vehicles came to a screeching halt at a brick and mortar building, commonly known as the Vatican Museums. They then jumped out and pussyfooted into the building ducking and dodging a barrage of bullets, their pursuer on their heels, losing five agents at the drop of a hat. They eventually ended up in the auditorium hiding behind seats, affording them minimal cover, as bullets penetrated the atmosphere, and then stopped at the sound of a baby’s cry. A worshiper had elected to stay behind to pray; without knowing the church would be in a push-button war, causing her life to be in danger. It was not the time to be exuberant or merry or there to be a fig leaf to one’s imagination. The parishioner, realizing she would have the devil to pay if she did not get herself together quickly, without a moment to lose, grabbed her pocketbook, and with baby in hand, she ran from the building, not once looking back.
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ONCE SHE HAD MADE THE great escape, the back and forth shooting resumed; during this time, the Pope, along with several other persons, managed to make their way outside Vatican City into someone’s home. The Pope quickly made it clear they had been under fire and could use some help. The man of the house bowed his head and told them he would call the authorities. Then, feeling relieved, the Pope assured his followers they were okay and safer once the police arrive. Excepting the Pope of the group, there was no dry eye; they stood there shaking and mumbling for God to come to save them. None were the wiser as to what was about to occur. The fact of the matter was they were about to be sadly mistaken.
Chapter
44
AFTER A SHORT PERIOD, and with not one chance in a million, they were napping when there was an authoritative knock on the door. The man of the house went and opened the door, jumping back just as some impertinent beast of burden dressed in white budged their way inside with guns drawn and quickly made short thrift of the Pope’s situation, saying aloud, “And gets down on the floor you bastards.” It was clear these men were no crème de la crème or persons of repute. The scene was about to be crimson. Within minutes, and without any detailed instruction, the Pope was willing to comply. Without one word said, all were shot right there and then, killing them instantly. Many had known that the men and women would have a shot at Celestial City. The shooters then deliberated for a moment or two. Then having made up their minds, they shot the rest of the residents of the home. Guess they figured ‘Dead Men Can’t Talk.’ Sadly, the destroyer of reputations devised a plan of action that had worked— chapter and verse. About an hour later, on the other side of town, the news flash was terrorist killed the Pope. The authorities shut down their sting, only to go at again. On that day, police were a success raking in a ton of cash and drugs.
Clifford Benjamin
THE KINGPIN’S WIFE gave birth to a healthy baby girl in another town a mile away on a different front. The police were not about kicking the scheme to the curb to bring down the mob; it would take much more time. As things stand, things were quiet on the home front, without any mystery attached, that is to say, except in the case of their Pope vanquished completely. But, regardless, it was sure to be the crown mystery of all times for quite a long time.
Chapter
45
IT WAS A WILD AND WINDY unruly night as lightning streaked across the sky, while threatening clouds lingered, when around 4:45 am and pitch black without the light of the moon, POTUS slipped past his security, standing watch out front of his building. The men pulled the collar on their coats up around their head as the roaring storm, winds so furious, the gusts, struck high buildings in town, stripping off their roofs, as violent blasts of rain accompanying the rages of scolding wind, played hide-and-go-seek among the trees. It is known, all too well, that air hates crowdedness, and, when compressed, it will try to escape to an area of lower pressure. If it’s true, well, that’s more than reasonable. But let us move on with the narrative. We carry on with: the road was devoid of motion, and there wouldn’t be any stranger danger than what was about to be discovered. Before POTUS left to go out, his favorite jeans, bitter after years of overuse, finally and spitefully ripped down the middle. So, he wore a pair of one of his suits. Now, he was hiding behind a tree that looked like it was worried. He then glanced up at a sparrow talking to him, as just two arms lengths away, an obscure bird clamored the livelong night, above droop-headed flowers below. With weeping clouds all around, some say the earth was feverous and did shake.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN GLANCED OVER at a happy brook flowing ever so slowly. As he stood there, the low clouds darkened his mood. But he was determined not to let anything interfere with the task ahead. He breathed deeply and then exhaled, knowing he had purposely positioned himself where the chalk wall falls to the foam and its tall ledges. He had to use every bit of caution because he knew “what you own ends up owning you.” POTUS had an itch to out-and-out kill a black person. But never till tonight, never till now, did he planned on actually going through with it. After watching Sarah Cynthia Stout taking her garbage out, he wandered lonely as a cloud for several blocks. POTUS then ducked into an overgrowth behind an apartment complex; he then surreptitiously began checking for unlocked access and unlashed windows; he then smashed his way into the back of an apartment, then deftly and lightly, he entered the dark apartment undetected. He then crawled inside and stabbed the man in his bed in the abdomen and chest. A neighbor heard the commotion and went to investigate. Upon seeing the man approaching, POTUS ran off. The victim ended at the Medical Centre for surgery, where he was “fighting for his life.” Once POTUS returned home, he clicked on the TV. A Detective who was leading the investigation said, “This is a horrific incident which has left a man fighting for his life, and his family who was upstairs at the time are incredibly shocked and upset by the ordeal. The victim is in the intensive care unit and is currently in a serious but stable condition. Detectives are working hard to establish the circumstances and process the investigation quickly as possible.”
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“FURTHERMORE, WE ARE continuing to make inquiries and are determined to bring those responsible to justice, and we would reassure the public that reports such as this taken seriously.” “Oh, I forgot to mention that the assailant dressed in all black with a hood and dark shades. And according to our findings so far, the attacker was white. Since this was an attack consisting of white on black, it’s too soon to call it is a racist affair. We will keep you posted as the investigation ensues further. We have hoped the suspect will be apprehended. Some people may consider what happened and believe they can’t if the victim was bored. I have no comment on that. One thing I will say, although it’s a bit speculation, some may glean an angel may have saved this man’s life or that it’s either stressed or desserts. I say if the atmosphere is silent, then listen. Furthermore, as to this situation, take it as the eyes, they see, or that you know a gentleman, you see an elegant man, or you see a funeral, you see real fun. It’s never really about that. Or eleven plus two is the same as twelve plus one. Anyway, may the Fourth of July be happy. Well, folks, that’ll be all for now. Thank you.” Alone, at last, POTUS smiled and felt no malice; he then taped his frontal lobes, closed his eyes, and held his breath. Then shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he beat upon himself for not finishing the job as the situation loomed like a guillotine. He then drank a large glass of swill and smoked a poorly rolled t of hashish. Then he sipped on a plastic bottle filled with vodka and coke.
Clifford Benjamin
AND DESPITE THE DONNYBROOK and threat of reinventing the wheel, he was determined to return to the Hospital. Just before leaving, his cat princess looked at him. At that moment, it struck him that one of those cats thinks devious thoughts. He shook his head to shake off the idea.
Chapter
46
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, and the situation a night thing, he was warm and buzzing when he arrived at the designated location. It didn’t take long for him to hide in a dressing room for staff only, fully aware of what was happening. It’s believed that doctors can be the scruffiest people in hospitals, often wearing jeans and sweatshirts. And that was the state of clothing within the profession that is a complete mess. While people walked around wearing all sorts of seriously non-professionalizing outfits. But others without regret the white coat had vanished. So, knowing this fact, he just put on the usual, with one exception, adding a mask to cover the lower parts of his face. Although there would be nine nice night nurses nursing nicely, equating to a teeming womb of royal kings, groomed, and perfumed, working hour to hour, he would manage to evade their noticing his presence. With the words “this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine,” ringing in his head, and after ing a girl with a pearl earring, satisfied, he then made his way into the elevator and took it to the top floor. Once he got to the designated level, he exited with a clipboard in his hands to look doctor-like, strolling from room to room until he saw a cop sitting in a chair next to the victim’s room.
Clifford Benjamin
AS IF TO HAVE A HEART-to-heart chat, POTUS then approached the officer and asked for a light. POTUS stuck him with a hypodermic needle as the officer turned to get his lighter out of his carrying case. At hand in hand combat, the officer, true to his nature, increased the odds by striking POTUS below the elbow and then threw another blow missing his chin by an inch. From the looks of things, the cop was about to make a comeback, but it was not to be. As the drug took effect, the officer’s body drew limp and was about to fall to the floor; at that very second, POTUS caught him. And thinking all for one and one for all, and it is what it is, he then dragged him into a nearby utility room, placing the cop in a closet, mumbling to himself: “Sorry, not sorry, and boys will be boys.” It was over, so fast that the officer had no time to taste the state of his injury. On the flip side, POTUS hadn’t enough time to brag or fully grab onto the moment. But he won; it was all that count. He returned to the room, took another needle, and injected the officer, rendering him a lost cause. Subsequently, he staggered to the bathroom cubicle, sat down on the toilet, and rested his head against the tiles during the interlude of calm. He woke up when a thruster banged on the toilet door. “If there’s anyone in here, I must tell you I’m on a schedule and must clean this restroom. I will be back in ten minutes.” While leaving the flibbertigibbet inside of the restroom, she left hastily.
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HE LOST NO TIME GETTING himself together, tidying his clothes, making himself more personable. He then opened the door, and with the alarms sounding, televisions blasting, rattling trolleys, phones ringing, he took the elevator to the Main Lobby, getting out of Dodge as fast as possible. He would still squirm at times, thinking of that night and considered it was time he met his inner demon. He had often confronted the dark parts of himself and worked to banish them with illumination and forgiveness, but it was to no avail. He was aware his willingness to wrestle with his demons would cause his angels to sing. He had tried using the pain as fuel, as a reminder of his strength, sadly none of it worked. He did note that one of the sad truths of life is that there’s only one person in this vale of tears that we ever really know, and it’s ourselves. We’re essentially and forever alone. Yet, the truth is we are all far more alike than we are different. We are all human. That’s something he begged to differ because he did not believe black people were equal to white people. It was something that would stay intact throughout the cobwebs of antiquity. Another sad part was, he didn’t give a damn whether anyone agreed or disagreed with what he felt about people below the salt and didn’t give one damn if he drifted out of the mainstream of society or that his exploits become hugely magnified by the silent majority. The thing was, he had no time for that. Most of all, he loved it when his victim’s voice sounded like a castrated cat.
Clifford Benjamin
OFTEN WHEN HIS INNER demon appeared, he would go rat on them, loudly screaming, “Shut the hell up! I got work to do,” then threw a cup against the wall. He also knew every hero possesses a flaw. Superman was vulnerable to kryptonite. Han Solo is brave to the point of recklessness. Trouble was what’s his? He even asked why. He couldn’t answer, if even if he asked why again, he couldn’t answer. Whether it was justice or injustice, freedom or imprisonment, honesty or deception, love or indifference, and so on, he was determined not to compromise on what he believed in and didn’t give a damn if his life crumbled because of it. After a time, he even abandoned logic. So damaged was he, he stated one time, “Would you believe it, Ernest Hemingway and I, we go way back. Heck, I would also believe it if I told you while in college, I got an Aminus on a 300-word composition about the Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway. On another note: Today, I dealt with 147 emails, 37 what are App messages, five 21 text messages, and three missed calls. Today was a good day. Did I tell you, when I was young, I gave my girlfriend my first draft to read. She told me she hated it. So I burnt down her house. And to poke fun at some prevailing wisdom, I once read Oscar Wilde said, “When I was young, I thought that money was the most important thing in life. Now that I’m old—I know it is.” To top that, Homer Simpson once said, “Bart, a woman is like a beer. They look good, smell good, and you’d step over your mother just to get one! And to inject some self-deprecation into things, while being an amateur writer, a fellow writer told me, “I think writers should get paid what they’re worth.
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SO I WROTE MYSELF A check for a dollar, then said, ‘after spending a day writing, I love nothing more than unwinding at a good book burning.’ I couldn’t help but chuckle.”
Chapter
47
IT WAS A RAINY DAY, a stormy day, raining in the morning. It rained through the evening. It rained doing the night, till many wet souls cries came from the south-west and sat in during April, meeting the qualifications to put in that category of monsoon, the equivalence to being a virtual monster of a storm. Then the next day, Ed went with POTUS to upstate New York to go Bungee jumping. Upon arriving, Ed said, “I need a beer to calm my nerves.” He crouched down on the ground, and while the bungee instructor undid the cord, he pressed his shaking hands onto the wet concrete. “God, it’s good to be back down here with you,” he said to POTUS. POTUS slapped him on the back. “I didn’t think you’d jump,” he said. “I too,” said Ed. To say ‘jump’ was a bit of a stretch. He knew he’d just fallen through the air like a white egg on a string, and although his plunge lasted just a few seconds, he hated every moment. Still, he felt good about proving his hecklers wrong. But that night, he told POTUS, “I’ll never climb up a crane or jump off one like that again. We’re not supposed to fall through the air at such speed. And besides, I just realized I hate heights.” “Who knew?” said my friend. “Me. Or at least, I do now. But, no, that’s not the sound of my oversized ego banging off the ceiling.” POTUS asked, “Ego. What do you know about it?”
Clifford Benjamin
“I KNOW SOMETHING.” “Something like what?” “Like I said—” “Something,” POTUS said, cutting him off.” “Ed said, “The English word ‘ego’ is the Latin word for “I.” Translated ego means “I.” “Bravo,” POTUS said, clapping his hands. “You do have something upstairs, don’t you?” “Ah, sort of, you can say.” “Since you know that,” said POTUS, “I guess you know the other two parts of the mind. So there are three in total.” “Nah, I did at one time, though.” POTUS said, “I won’t stress you any further.” “So, what are the other two?” “The superego and id, they are.” “I see.” POTUS just looked away, his demons returning. Lately, he has been a bit on the low just thinking about his mother. Whenever he thought of her, it brought about sorrow. He was aware excessive sorrow impairs the lungs. He knew just what he had to do. POTUS said to Ed as they were going to separate apartments, “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I will say good night till it is tomorrow.” POTUS bristled at the thought that the clock stopped and the phone cut off. He would have to look into it.
Chapter
48
THAT NIGHT WAS, IN actuality, a daily night; POTUS was able to give his secret service the slip. He then hid behind a large shed entered and didn’t leave until a little over an hour. The next day was bright and sunny. POTUS said to Ed, “I have a feeling today is going to be a spectacular day.” “You think that?” “Sure, sure, I do. Don’t look at me like that.” “What?” “You know damn well what I meant. You are acting like I can’t look ahead.” Ed said, “You’re reading me wrong, my friend.” “I have you to know whenever I get a feeling like this, and I’m mostly never wrong—” “Right on the money, as they say, huh?” “Exactly—I see you got my meaning.” “I have, thank you. Now, let’s get breakfast. I’m starving.” “That makes for the two of us.” They went to the cafeteria and noticed right off the big black fellow sitting at the table with four white women, along with a real silver fox, meaning an attractive older muscled white guy.
Clifford Benjamin
“SO, TELL ME, HERCULES,” the pretty brown-haired woman asked, her enormous dangle earrings dragged on her lobes like terrified bungee jumpers too heavy for their cords. “What were you doing before coming here?”—it was easy to see just how obsessed she was with him. Hercules smiled at her and flexed his board shoulders, looking from one to the other, assured of himself. “I attended Santa Monica’s “Muscle Beach” that landmark derives its name from the growing local and national reputation of gymnastics and strength athletes who congregated at what was first known simply as the Santa Monica Beach Playground, with the ‘muscle’ term gaining momentum by 1940.” Another one of the women with bright green eyes and flawless complexion suited her heart-shaped face and drew attention wherever she went and, sitting reasonably close to him, asked, “Do you mind?” He smiled and said, “Do I mind what?” Her face went flush, apparently not wanting to overstep her bounds. She pointed at the muscled bicep. “Yes, that’s okay. I am used to people touching me.” She licked her oral muscle over her lips and then reached over and touched his bicep. “God, how long did it take for you to get this big, or should I say humongous, or should I say muscle-bound and Super Fitness.” “Yes, you’re quite accurate.” Leaning over closer, she said to him, “Lend me your ear.” He leaned over closer as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was said, it caused his face to break out in a profuse smile. Hercules told her, “Used to work at Armonk.”
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“IBM?” SHE COMMENTED. “My, my, you do have a head on your shoulders.” Hercules, the forever ladies man, said to her, “I, also, once entered in Muscleman Competition in Beijing, and later stayed in Beverly Hills for a stint and then moved to Foggy Bottom in Washington, DC.” “How nice,” she said, winking her eye at him. It sounds like you’ve been everywhere to Timbuktu.” POTUS had had enough. “Let’s get out of this dump,” he said to Ed, more like a command, thinking of walking over and basking Hercules but knowing it could get pretty ugly him with his prominent little lies. “What?” Ed said, looking down at his plate. “I haven’t finished loading my gut yet. This dish is delicious, of chicken wings, coleslaw, and green beans.” POTUS said, “You can make it up at dinner,” smiling a sad smile. Ed dropped his head then looked at POTUS. “Okay, don’t forget you owe me one,” absently thinking of his garage as an organized mess. POTUS cut his eyes over at Hercules and then looked at Ed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, let’s go, will you? I don’t want to ruin this wonderful, beautiful day. We haven’t taken in the scenery that much.” Before they got up to leave, POTUS heard that same woman gazing at Hercules, asking him another question. But POTUS had had too much of it. So, they got up and strolled out of the building, POTUS glancing on and off back at Hercules as his security brought up the rear.
Chapter
49
SHORTLY, THE TWO WERE sitting on a bench next to the Bungee Jump. POTUS said, “When we get back, I’ll see you in the West Wing. I’ll make sure the Vice-President, and Cabinet, and senior officials are present. Oh, yeah, I’ll make sure the press is there. As they say, you can’t have more types of fake news than real news. I—I Know I never tell the truth. Oh, well, when it comes down to it, I sketch my world precisely as it goes. One other thing, I have arranged for the Al Capone to be there.” Ed looked at how rot had eaten the core of the oak stump, leaving a mossy hollow for forest creatures to nest in. He then said to POTUS, “Aren’t they the White Supremacist who is said to have kidnapped a six-year-old black child from his bed and out-and-out killed him by boiling him in scolding water then hanged his body from a rope?” POTUS said, “It was never proven, even though there was a trial by jury. So they got off without being found guilty.” “If you asked me,” said Ed, I figure under the auspicious of a rigged jury. I know you don’t see it that way; I can respect that. But—” “Look, Ed, why don’t we just shelve that in the corner for now, okay?” said POTUS, feeling or displaying indifference, indecision, or an inability to do something.
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ED MADE A GESTURE RAISING and dropping his shoulders, which often means that one does not know something. He then said, “Fine by me. I certainly don’t have any other way to tamp on the discussion.” POTUS said, “Look, why don’t we just skip that and think about something pleasant. That’s if it’s alright with you.” “I have no problem with that.” “I was just thinking.” “About what are you thinking?” POTUS sighed, “What’s freedom worth to you? What would you pay to be free?” “Ed said, “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” “It’s not easy to answer that question, I know,” said POTUS, looking around. “The thing is some people spend their whole lives chasing an idea of freedom, without considering its costs... so they spend far too much, to achieve far less than they wanted.” “I see,” feeling as if POTUS had manufactured the idea himself. “What, do you see?” POTUS said, feeling as if he was essential. He went on to say, “Would you feel free if you had a million dollars?” “Hell yeah,” said Ed, his eyes becoming more alert. POTUS said, “Would you work full time for 40-plus years to build a milliondollar nest egg? Many people do. Most people never get there. If you’re even a tenth of the way there right now, you’re ahead of most folks—the median American household only has $65,000 saved for retirement.” “Okay, please go on.” POTUS then said, “And let’s be honest with each other... $65,000 isn’t a lot of
money.
Clifford Benjamin
“MAYBE NOT A LOT, BUT I could use something like that right about now.” “You can’t retire on $65,000, POTUS said. “You can retire with a million dollars ... if you know how to manage your investments and expenses so you’ll never run out of money. Never worrying that you’ll run out of money truly feels like freedom to me; I haven’t worried about it for a long, long time. And I’m not pinching pennies over here, Ed.” “I see that.” “Give me a great steak over Hamburger Helper any day. Of course, I’ll keep my vacations, and I’ll keep spending on the occasional splurge. But, hey, I’ve got grandchildren to spoil!” “Yeah, I know; they are quite the looker.” POTUS smiled and then said, “After all, what’s the point of having money if you can’t enjoy it, Ed? But let’s be honest again you’ll probably need more than a million dollars if you don’t want to pinch your pennies in retirement. Never worrying while still enjoying your money however you like; that is freedom. Freedom might cost a million dollars, or two million, or five million. Because freedom isn’t a hard target with a dollar sign attached to it.” “Sounds every bit like freedom can be something else, Ed said. “Damn straight. It’s simply a matter of being able to enjoy doing whatever you want, without ever worrying about how you’re going to pay for it. But you won’t be free with just $65,000.” “Oh?” “As I said, “$65,000 isn’t a lifesaver.” “Oh?”
Zombie
“YES—THERE ARE A FEW ways to turn your nest egg into a million dollars, or two, or five, whether you’re starting with $65,000, $650,000, or even just $6,500. You could put it all in an index fund, contribute some money every month till you retire, and otherwise try not to think about your nest egg at all. If you do that for 20 years—adding $500 a month to an that starts with $65,000—and your index fund grows at about the same rate indexes have evolved in the past, you’ll wind up with almost a million dollars. “I say,” said Ed, “that’s quite a lot of dough.” “I’ll say it is ... about $967,000, to be exact. Would you feel free with $967,000?” “I say definitely.” “Now ... would you feel free with $15.5 million?” Ed’s eyes stretched wide to spot a germ on the floor. “Hell yeah, it is,” seeing the relevance now more transparent than ever, as opposed to times when he wasn’t well. He wasn’t aggressive. He was not focused. What a wonderful world the mine can be if you let it. POTUS continued, saying, “That’s oddly specific ... not to mention much larger ... amount is what you’d have if you used half of a $65,000 nest egg to trade options.” “Woo! My God, that was something.” POTUS said, “Can’t you tell? I am a deeply superficial person. The thing is, freedom frees you from having to say, I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you— nobody—too? I am now so free that cruel kindness drew me near and held me close. He paused.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN CONTINUED BY saying, “As they say, ‘ordinary riches normally are stolen,’ but natural riches cannot. The best way to make money is to spend money. Added to that is that it’s fancy terrible to know that yesterday’s gone on down the river. Once you’re free, you’re in a position to be the rainbow in someone’s cloud. And to know, life is a climb, but the view is excellent. And when there’s a mountain of work on my desk, I still feel free. So, now sometimes, I am indeed a good egg. Can you imagine that?” “Yes, I can do that, especially after my being poor and having had only my dreams.” POTUS smiled, “That’s why I know you know just what I’m referring to, my partner in crime, further making the chance of our lives to be a train wreck possible.”
Chapter
50
ED AND POTUS WERE STILL Bungie jumping when suddenly the air split when a woman in anguish screamed aloud, drawing people to rush toward the cry of desperation. In moments POTUS and Ed were standing over Hercules lying sprawled on the ground looking every bit damaged with his neck entangled in the bungee cord, almost lifeless. The same woman POTUS had seen in the cafeteria was cradling his neck with tears running down her face, crying out, and “Can someone please help him. He needs assistance; can’t you see?” At that very moment, a scream streaked through the atmosphere with a woman crying, “Help me, I’m seven months pregnant, and my husband is trying to kill me.” Considering it was a woman—and very pregnant at that— everyone ran to her rescue, everyone but POTUS. Only to see her in a car with her husband aiming a .357 magnum at her head, crying as he said, “I told you what would happen if I find out you’re messing around on me. It wouldn’t be too bad if it were some other guy, but it was my very own flesh and blood, my brother, for God’s sake. How could you sink so low as to do what you did? You know I’m a staunch Catholic. But despite that, you just had to go and get knocked up by him. You left me with no choice but to get redemption. I can’t see it any other way. Oh, God, once I kill you, I’m going to shoot myself.”
Clifford Benjamin
BETWEEN SOBS, THE WOMAN pleaded, “Please, Hon, you’re not thinking straight. Think about your mother, your father, and Little Joe. If you do this, they will be all alone. Please, Hon.” During this time, POTUS was standing over Hercules, still down on the ground. Taking advantage of the element of disguise and on the brink of madness, he became malicious and considered slapping him in the face but decided not to do it. Instead, he said, “Take this pussy,” then pressed his foot down hard on Hercule’s neck, but Hercules stopped struggling and just lay there with his eyes staring up at the sky. It was clear he was lifeless without a breath within his body. Sadly, a Secret Service Agent noticed what was happening and looked away, staring in the abyss, across the pond. So, too, the privilege and entitlement he felt were eerily disgusting. Even more so, he was not shocked how the encounter revealed the actual person, as the little birdie from the depth of his mind whispered, “Don’t tell me you’re still on the fence, asshole?” He didn’t know then, but he was just a world away from being mad, sure to be the around-the-clock epitome. Till now, no one was the wiser; it was his strong suit to be hard and cold wrestling with the forces of evil. Far, far, out was the new kid on the block. Till now, and at this point, he was unsurprisingly mysterious. It was to be just the tip of the iceberg. It was corny how the evil in his mind never failed to make him smile. Strangely, it was the jolt of joy he needed. Sadly the unprecedented details were sure to surface at some point. It was nighttime, and with the pregnant woman rescued, POTUS eyes fixed on a group of baby stars quadrillions of miles away. He was pleased that he had a knack for taking care of business on a one-to-one basis.
Zombie
THE PURE FACT WAS HE was a horrible human. But the more he thought about Hercule’s murder, the more he couldn’t get out of the staggering moment. As he tried to capture the moment, the cold hard facts reared their ugly head. If at all possible, it was to be a wake-up call. Regardless of how he tried, he couldn’t break free. Then gaining in confidence, his resilience took hold, every facet of his game tough as nails. It was now time to head back into the forest; it was the end game. Of all the fool’s gold, he chose this to be president. Soon it would be revenge day or day for vengeance. It was top-shelf for him to fight against blacks ever taking a sizable amount of control over their destiny. At least, it was his job; at least, he thought to keep his foot on their necks at every turn of the card. He was determined to make their lives terrifying, with no handouts. That would be too kind. He didn’t believe in the notion two hearts are better than one. No way, no how, Jack. Wait a minute, wasn’t it a crime against decency? To him, Cupid called it quits on that point. Then a little tiny voice whispered, “Have you met father brown yet?” No, he had not. But after entertaining the thought, he decided if he would see him, it may be a great awakening, not knowing it was his weakest link. The very next day, and going to church, he stood in a line waiting to see Father Brown. As he stood there, he glanced at the intricate shards of stained glass depicting The Last Supper in St. Bernadine’s Church humbling him.
Clifford Benjamin
THE HOURS AND DEDICATION to create such a work of art! His eyes followed the facets of colors to where they lifted into the window’s peak, and the sun hit the glass, drenching him in deep warmth. He could not help ing his love and sacrifice. Sixty minutes drifted by; he had to keep it together. It was apparent he did not measure up to being an American idol, especially not now. Soon, and with the church devoid of parishioners, he pulled the curtain aside, stepped in, and sat down. After an hour, he was more confused than ever. So much so that he walked around to the other side and strangled Father Brown with his own two hands and said to him, “Did anybody tell you to mess with the devil you get fucked?” It had sounded like it was the devil doing this awful deed. And with madness ringing in his ears, he then spat on his face and then left, no one the wiser to whom may have killed the priest. Later, there would be tons and tons of blue blood at the White House. Something that made him confident he had the chance to getting out of the shark tank. He was pleased his blown ego had not walloped out the door, looking back at him with sad eyes, but thinking instead, how like a runaway train he climbed the hill of his dreams, only to recognize there are more oceans to travel. It had been a tall task, but he got it done. At that point, it was then, his steadfast-blown ego went to work, turning the pages of destiny, only to find the wheels of justice to crawl into his life. Suddenly, muscle against brain, a finger of madness streaked across his troubling soul, racketing up the possibility of being caught to face justice’s forever turning wheel.
Zombie
HE SOON TIRED AND FELL off to sleep in his condescending bed. The massive wing stood high on his list. If at all possible, it was sure to be a new dawn, a new day. But you know how life goes. One can never tell what tomorrow brings. All in all, the prospects of him being the last man standing were too far away to tell. Meanwhile, he would try to make it his business to do his best to put it all together, piece it together. Later, no one brought it to light that Hercules had lost his life due to strangulation; nothing ever mentioned. The coroner was satisfied with the actual fundamental reason for his death. On the way back home to Washington, both POTUS and Ed were silent, thinking about what had occurred perhaps. Ed looked out the window of the 747 30,000 up in flight at the waning moon that hung in the night sky like the top of a shepherd’s crook, keeping watch over the world. He dozed off.
Chapter
51
“I’M WELL AWARE IT IS Operation Bigfoot ... get it done!” “Roger—over and out!” There was nothing more said. It was a direct order made by none other than POTUS at his behest. The implications were significant to the extent to mean a range of things such as killing a king, killing a foreign diplomat, or even dropping it to a lower level and kill a flea.
Chapter
52
OVER AT THE CAPITAL, POTUS sat brainstorming. His mind ran against time and knowing all holds barred, and his troubled mind was deeply aware there would be no jump-off point of differentiation. The fix was in for the taking. The ball was now rolling. All ducks were in a row; there was very little chance of stopping. Deep within, he knew if he were to fail, it would be cheer terror rendering him helpless at the highest level. He had to it just the thought of that happening was gut-wrenching. He was also aware it was particular to seal the deal, hoping with all his heart, he was not barking up the wrong tree, pitifully, for it was sure to be sheer skullduggery. It was too soon to tell if the horses had left the stable. It was clear he was pushing himself, the top of the moment coming through very low. But deep down, he knew it could be a good hustle that had elements to being a twister to some but not him, of course, because deep down, he was ready. He knew his plans in mind would be the longest ride ever but had to stay the course to bring down the house. POTUS, his under-eyeballs telling what time it was, said, “I hope to see you there.” He was in a one-bedroom apartment, with a fold-away door, a fold-away bed, and a table.
Clifford Benjamin
“I’LL BE THERE,” DENISE said, batting her Lafabs Magnetic Lashes, having won ‘Woman of The Year’ for the first time but planned to participate again the year following; plus, she was a drop-dead raving heart-stopper, dating men that fit her script. She was no money-grubber. She was all-natural, not one strain of fakeness in her. As soon as POTUS flicked on the TV, a news bulletin stated there had been an explosion at an Art Expedition, the Queen was fine. Denise raised her head and said to POTUS, “My God, who would do such a thing to the Queen.” POTUS responded, saying, “I don’t have the slightest, honey bun.” “Wait for a second,” she said, “I’m not blaming you, but didn’t you tell me—” POTUS intruded by saying, “Hold up, I don’t like where this is going.” “What?” “I don’t think you heard a word I said.” “I did too.” “No, no way.” “I done told you, I did.” POTUS sighed and then told her, “That conversation last night, and due to my level of alcohol consumption, I it I might have said something off the mark and was a bit infamous; the truth is, I was tipsy, half out of my mind. “Yeah, but—” “For Christ’s sake, Can’t you just drop it?” “How can I do it? Especially after you told me you planned to kill the Queen. I realize you were a bit drunk as you put it, but—”
Zombie
BEFORE SHE KNEW IT, he threw the covers back and climbed on top of her, and started choking her. His grip was so forceful, the muscles in his neck materialized, his facial features changing from a mass of evil and back again until she was lifeless. With that done, he then climbed off of her dead body and stood up splay-footed like his foot was deformed. He then stumped his foot to the point that it had straightened out. He stood discontented; his ego splintered and brittle. Then like a tiny brat, he cleaned up the crime scene, taking care to clean every nook and cranny. Fortunately, it all happened under the watchful eye of 4:45 am on a thunderous rainy night when there weren’t many folks moving about. After winding things up, he slipped out of the motel, hopped in his rental car, and drove away, his pulse racing, his lack of wonder refusing to be impressed. After all, he had just killed someone, someone once dear to him, someone so beautiful that made a man hold his breath and gasp with iration, and beggars all description, a regular dream girl. Now all that was lost, but the fact was he did it with an absence of intellect, something of an inanimate nature without instinct with unreasonable brute force, no association of ideas or reasoning. The cold hard truth was he had killed her. There would be no giving back, no reenthronement, indemnification, no recovery.
Chapter
53
THERE HE WAS, DRIVING in a hurry-scurry, agitated, fidgeting, his face as long as a fiddle, flushed with gloom and doom. There would be no selfcongratulation. Just then, the little birdie in the back of his mind whispered, “If you put a duck on a lake among swans, you will see that it will long for its pond and in the end will go back there.” When all was said and done, he stopped dead in the middle of the road, turned around, went back to the motel. Within minutes, whey-faced, his eyes red from crying, he held her close, weeping like the young creature he was now but in a state of mind only, wailing at intervals, every second, every minute, and every hour till almost the light of day. Finally, after a duration, he pulled himself together and managed to disappear like the fugitive he had become on a lousy day in time. For he knew all too well, what just happened was no chronological error, or disregard of time and unpunctuality, or unfortunate wrong moment. However, his ego wide as a church door still, in the coal-black night, gave him a flying start without anyone noticing his uncharacteristic misdeed. “It was my bad,” POTUS said to the secret caller with a heavy sigh. “Okay.” With the knowledge he was a prima donna, vain and undisciplined, POTUS told him, “And you can believe it was.”
Zombie
“LOOK, I PROMISE YOU, next time, I will finish it.” “Look, you know what’s at stake. That I’m sure of, don’t you?” “I got you all the way.” “Just don’t let it be all to kingdom come, do you read me?” not only annoyed at the caller but annoyed with his prickly disposition. “Got you, that’s for sure.” “Just make sure you do. Now get to stumping. I need this job done and over with, now.” The caller said, “I told you, I got the message. If it makes you feel any better, I will tell you all safety nets are in place. I hope you got that, Sir.” POTUS said, “Don’t worry, I got it.” “Good.” “I can believe that,” said POTUS. “Just see that everyone else sees it too. Over and out,” he said, slamming down the phone, boiling mad.
Chapter
54
LATER ON, THAT NIGHT, several men dressed in military gear flew in a helicopter. To the last man, not one was pinheads, nor had a thirst for ping-pongs of absurdist dialogue. They did around-the-clock reconnaissance after shouting “Height-ho,” for encouragement and feeling at the height of their powers. Finally, they decided to execute the mission and set a course of action on their way to Buckingham Palace, where the Queen was said to be, on their path to what might be helter-skelter, utter turmoil. The thing was, except the USA, no country in the world was up to speed on the latest helicopters in existence. And that made this mission more promising with a great prospect of success. The primary difference was that this particular machine had an array of goods, all the nuts, bolts required to cause a virtual unlimited Nuclear War; it had invisibility, the ability to be undetected, under the radar or above it. With wisps of clouds above, it was a horrible, windy night, some heads throbbing, some stomachs churning, as the rain lashed against the windows. Once the helicopter had landed, the Agents then bomb rushed the Palace. Stealthily and quietly, their minds racing, their hearts hammering in their chest, in their eyes, all persons they ran into considered to be slobbering idiots or downright evil folks. The agents pulled down a piece of equipment attached to their helmets to shield their eyes.
Zombie
THE TEAM MANAGED TO shoot and kill people floor after floor as they advanced, searching for their appointed goal—the Queen! These men had killed many times before, as they were merciless, sort of like mischief-makers or evildoers, if you will. Though their ally fought back, firing back at them with automatic weapons, the team kept their wits about them, knocking over tables, breaking through walls, just about every nook and cranny they encountered. There was no misinterpretation, the fact was it was their appointed duty to carry out a mission, and they were now doing just that, and only that. Under such adverse circumstances, the Palace turned into a pitiful sight, cynical, by men determined to bring an end to a rein, some chop off the head kind of thing, filled with continual struggle, hard life, tough time, absolutely no bed of roses, hell upon the earth, a virtual vale of sorrow, a bitter pill, and a blow between the eyes. They were fighting as if their lives depended upon it in search of a Queen. Things were quiet for a time, but at that very moment, a piercing scream struck the air, ending with their main adversary with a raw deal. To the man, they had tried to hang on to their sanity, clinging desperately to the hope that they would find their way out alive. But fate would have it otherwise. The end game was not a one cracked under strain, but there was something different here the team standing around looking at a body on the ceramic-tiled floor with a bullet hole directly between the eyes. The over-sided room was tongueless; the elements took a keen interest in the going on or what had happened there.
Clifford Benjamin
THE QUEEN LAY SPRAWLED out with a po-faced expression, still with that Big Brother look, with delegated authority and power behind the throne, and surprisingly kingly, coupled with financial control, with sea power, with the oneperson rule. In the far corner on the other side of the room sat a black virginals; seeing it, one of the agents commented, “What do you say, Jack, how bouts you give us a taste of you stroking the ivories.” Just about all the men chuckled. All except one, the lead man who then said, “Put the lid on it,” the confines of the room getting a snatch of their conversation. Jack shrugged his youthful intimidating broad shoulders. Now the men would be free to have fun, make a cake, and take a deep breath. Each knew the spoils were theirs to do whatever they wanted to, almost anything their dear little hearts could even imagine. In truth, they had a renewed zest for the game. With muscle and might, the man in charge said over his dog and bone, “Operation Bigfoot Mission Accomplished, sir.” “Fantastic, the greatest news I’ve heard lately. You and your men have my thanks and blessings. The checks will fly through the mail. Thanks again. Oh, I almost forgot, my attorney Ed is with me, and he thanks you too. Thanks, I’ll tell him you said hello. Again, I look forward to doing more business with you.” He was thinking about his image and how the focus group, a small group of people whose response to him, is studied to determine the answer expected from a larger population, which hasn’t fared too well. Dog and bone went silent at both ends.
Zombie
AS TO THE INCIDENT in England, local officials were still parsing out details from the incident. After that, they continued with other prickly issues, such as a flood in the country’s southern region and a strong-armed robbery by a prig and thief at a department store in Brisbane. “So, it looks like you got rid of her.” POTUS sat back in his chair and said, “You mean that bitch the fucking ass hold whatever. Fact is, I never actually liked the old piece of shit.” Ed said, “I have to be fair with you. The truth is I always liked the way she was the woman in charge instead of the regular all-powerful godforsaken viral hot so-in-so man of all times splashed across the pages the world over.” POTUS looked up to the ceiling and then lowered his gaze to look at Ed. “So, what are you saying exactly.” “I just told you—” “Hold tight,” POTUS said, interrupting him. “Am I to understand that you are not on the same page with me about what happened to that stinking behind bitch, the Queen?” “Hold up. You know well, and well I would agree with whatever your actions may be or cause.” “So, you’re saying—” “As I said, I what you did even though I disagree.” “Oh, you’re right; we should agree to disagree.” “Correct.” “That’s more like it.” “Exactly, I agree.” POTUS said, “For a minute there, you had me thinking I had to keep an eye on
you in case you were planning on stabbing me in the back.”
Clifford Benjamin
“STAB YOU IN THE BACK? But, you know well, I’m there for you 24/7, ready at your beckoning call. Heck, there’s been a time when I was screwing my wife or some other piece of ass and had to put everything on ice.” “I get your point—well taken, my friend.” “Okay. You, of all people, should know, if I have to, I will crawl through the belly of the beast to help you in whatever situation you may be facing at any given time in the equation. “I told you, I am aware of your dedication to both our cause, to which I must it can be humbling at times. It’s just that lately, I’ve been under a heap of stress. Sometimes I have trouble coping; sometimes, I feel like I’m losing it or no one cares. It can be difficult wearing the hat I am wearing every second, every minute, every hour of every day.” But he wasn’t worried; he was confident all would be coming to him on hands and knees, begging to be at his beckoning call. He could even imagine the streets foaming with life just to get a look at him, and him with a fly whisk in hand, brushing away flies, meaning the peoples, to be more specific. Ed sighed, then said, “On the upswing, how are things going with that thirteenyear-old?” POTUS smiled, lifting his veil of suspicion to say, “Still working on it, but if I were you, I would set sights on someone easier to screw. But, as I told you, that preacher got her almost around the clock. Getting so, even his flock is wondering why every time church is in session he’s so tired.” “Damn, she’s that good. Sounds like one hot gal we got there ripe as a peace. I love some young pussy, but as you know, when we’re our age, we don’t have a large amount of pussy to pick from, the young especially.”
Zombie
POTUS SAID, “OKAY, buddy, I’m too fit to be tired. How bout we threw in the towel and scat.” “I’m with you on that partner.” They left together only to go separate ways to get to their homes, respectively.
Chapter
55
“GOT IT,” THE COLD, stern voice said, hearing organic sounds like crashing waves or pulsing rain particularly therapeutic, offering a moment of recovery on a busy day, preventing that overwhelming feeling of burnout. Then another commanding voice said, “Do as I say and not what I do, then all will be well. Our actions are sure to turn back the pages of history, bringing us to a new level of distinction, far from the past, that’s for sure.” That night, all was well, as men of supposed goodwill begun entering the Capital of South Africa to the man with the knowledge it would be a hard-fought battle at the highest. Having done their surveillance and knowing exactly where the president was, they forged onward. Then as the sirens rang, putting the country on full alert, all hell broke loose. The American fleets fired away at will, at appointed targets, bombarding the Capital, tanks racing, shooting, persons falling wounded or lifeless on the ground, babies wailing, kids screaming, even mice sculling. It was no time to sip on a rim of Vodka or dash to get a gallon of ice cream; no, this was akin to either life or death. As the team continued their assault, killing as much as it took, they slowly, skillfully, wormed their way toward their appointed target. It was now a fullblown attack, filled with a man shot through the eye and crumble to the ground. No Johnny comes lately, just killers on the hunt for not Red October, but their designated adversary.
Zombie
AS THE BARRAGE RANG through the night, the team managed to force their way into the Capital, leaving no stone unturned, only to stumble unto a president lying face down in a pool of blood, his blood. It was clear he had taken a bullet to the brain, shutting down his lifeline immediately. It was a sight for sore eyes. As they checked the victims, a small child crept along the floor with a pistol in his hand, his face troubled, pointing the gun to this one, and that one, only to stop. It was apparent the child was almost cuckoo. The men’s hearts went out to him. “Rot! Now hold on, young fellow,” said the leader in command, interjectionally. “We are not your enemy; we had an assignment, and we did just that. If you know where your mom is, you can tell us to help you further. Now tell me, but do it slowly so we can all know what’s going in that wee bit you call a brain. You must we are not here to harm you or your family. Now speak, young one.” They managed to get hold of the gun. The boy just stood there like a statue, urine running down his pants leg, his body shaking like he was having an out-of-body experience or something to that effect, weeping tears he could not smother. “I can’t tell you where she might be, now.” “Hold on; you can if you just try.” “Last time I saw her, she was lying face down on the floor over my baby brother.” “Tell me, was she dead?” “I don’t know.” “Is your brother dead?” “Yes, I can tell you that.”
Clifford Benjamin
“COME ON AND SHOW US where exactly.” They fell in line behind the little one, following him from room to room, down on one, then down another, then this room and that room, till the men were beginning to feel suckered. The leader said, “Okay, let’s stop here a moment. I want you to think hard on as to where it was last you saw her, your mother, I mean.” Pointing to a closet, he said, “She was it there.” They raced to the closet, opened the door, and saw his mother crumbled up in a fetal position. The leader touched her gently on the shoulder and moved back when she moved as if the terror was still there. The leader asked, “Tell me, and are you hurt?” She bowed her head, indicating yes. “Where were you injured? She pointed to the bullet still lodged in her side. There was blood, but it had thickened, perhaps saving her life. One of the men with some medical training stepped forth and started to render her aid. Soon after, they were able to get her to move. They then carried her out and put both her and the child into a helicopter, the child waving with his eyes staring from face-to-face and then stopped to look at the team leader. The kid held up a piece of paper against the window with powerful words scribbled on it that read: You!—my twin—my brother! They were off, hopefully to a new world, a world of promise and decency. Significantly, after all the mountains they had climbed and all the misery they had endured.
Zombie
THE LEADER PUT IN A call. Then, after holding on for several minutes, he said, “I’m delighted to say, Sir, mission accomplished. Did you hear me, Sir?” “Great. Hope there were not many casualties,” said POTUS, glancing at a still unravished bride of quietness perched on his desk. “No, Sir, though we suffered 20 losses, we still are standing tall. As you know, we are Marines. We know how much our actions are appreciated. Thank you, Sir, for giving us the right to have a shot at extending America’s might across the world.” “You are most welcome,” said POTUS, taking his eyes away from the statue to look out the window at the battalion of birds sweeping through the air, then guiding ever so smoothly. “Sir, before I forget, there was a little boy we rescued.” “Is he okay?” “Yes, before he and the mother got on the helicopter, he just talked and talked and talked. So much so, we had to get him to stop. But it was done gracefully, Sir. He then hugged every one of us, hopped on the helicopter, and was off. So, as you can tell, we brought light to the dark, Sir. So, again, we thank you. Now I will say so long for now.” “Thank you all once again.” Both phones clicked off.
Chapter
56
BACK ACROSS THE WATERS, and after taking a swig of wine and smacking his lips, POTUS said to Ed, “Aaaaaaaa, this wine has a rich, fruity, full-bodied quality.” “I know what you mean.” POTUS took another swig, then said, “What do you say, Ed? Don’t you think this is a happy time? A carefree time. A period of our lives which we will never forget?” “You’re right, Sir. After he took another swig, he said, “Right on, partner.” POTUS then took another swig. “It sort of looks like it, but a thought just crossed my mind.” Ed asked, “Is it a naked thought?” “I always liked what Big Ben once said.” “Oh, and what might that be?” POTUS said, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.” Ed said, “Those words are still powerful to this day, but I thought Martin Luther King said that?” POTUS said, “Yeah, you’re right. Ah, karma is a Bitch. And like they say, ‘Our doubt is our ion, and our ion is our task.’” They both chuckled. POTUS asked him jokingly, and the question is: “Why don’t you ever get hungry at the beach?” Ed thought for a moment or two; then, a light bulb had switched on; with a smile, he answered, “Because of the sand which is there.” They roared, “Ha, Ha, Ha!” out loud high fiving each other.
Zombie
BEFORE LEAVING, ED said, “did I say, my wife keeps leaving magazines lying around with the jewelry ads circled. I got the hint. For Valentine’s Day, she’s getting a magazine rack.” They burst out laughing again. POTUS said, “Maybe you might try to imply to her that you can’t always get what you want. That may help take the load off.” “You got the point. I’ll do that. I’ll keep you posted.” POTUS then told him, “Did I tell you.” “What?” “I had a dream last night.” “What was it about?” POTUS said, “Has not a Black’s hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, ions fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, we bleed; if you tickle us, we laugh; if you poison us, we die; if you wrong us, we will seek revenge. If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.” “Woo, that was strange, leaning toward the weird side.” “Got that right ... still trying to figure what in hell it meant? Was it trying to tell me something?” “You got me. That’s something for you and the dream to figure out. That’s how I see it.” POTUS eyes were transfixed as if staring off into oblivion. Then, not at all able —able to fully digest it all, POTUS just shrugged his shoulders and rolled with it, saying to Ed, “Ah, you’re right. It may hit me dab in the face.”
“Now you’re talking. I knew you wouldn’t let it worry you. Worry is not worth a hill of beans.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THERE YOU GO GETTING philosophic on me,” Ed. “You know how that upsets me.” Ed said, “That is not ... what I meant at all; that is not it, at all.” “Ah, come on, buddy, don’t get bent out of shape on me.” “Why do you go and distort everything I say?” “I wasn’t aware I was doing that. Are you sure?” “Hell yeah, I am.” “Then I apologize. I’ll try to be more up to par as to what I say to you.” “If you do, I would appreciate it.” POTUS said, “What you said took me back.” “Back where?” “My teens ... back then I was unruly.” “You never mentioned it.” POTUS said, “Sorry about it.” “What’s there to be sorry about?” “It’s a long story,” POTUS said. “Is it that long?” “Trust me; it’s long.” “Well, just spit it out.” “I can’t.”
Ed asked, “Why not?” “Don’t want to bore you.” “Look at me.” He looked at him.” Ed squirmed around slowly in his chair and said, “Do I look like I’m the type of guy bored with someone telling me about their childhood? Well, do I?” “No, you don’t,” said POTUS, looking off into the abyss.
Zombie
“NOW THAT WE GOT THAT straight, now you can just tell me about your abominable childhood.” With his stream of consciousness clicking, POTUS wondered if it would have been worthwhile to have bitten off the matter with a smile. And aware he could not squeeze the universe into a ball to roll it towards some overwhelming question, he thought, then sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Then told Ed all about his forbidden and prohibited childhood, being sure to note his having played cricket in the thunder and the rain. Soon after, they left for home. HOME ... don’t you just love the ring of that?
Chapter
57
“HELLO,” SAID TATIANA, “Who is speaking? “Is this Tatiana?” asked a woman with a Russian accent. “Yes, this is she. What can I help with?” “It’s Natalya.” “Oh, hi,” said Tatiana, happy to hear from her but slightly on the sad side due to a loved one’s suicide. Her youngest sibling had hanged herself over her husband, kicking her to the curve to be with another man. She loved her dearly and found it to be a problematic wound to process. So she turned inward, searching for how she could have prevented it as if she failed her by missing the signs or not trying hard enough to help. She was unaware the depth of her wound depended on how well she coped and the amount to which she bore responsibility in her mind. “Are you still there? So, you do me.” “I’m here. I was distracted, that’s all. Unfortunately, however, I think I’m getting sick—I’ve been experiencing terrible headaches and drainage, and I’ve just begun to develop a sore throat as well. I do have a consolation that seems to soothe the ache. And that is, I was overwhelmed with how beautiful an autumn day it was—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Enough said about that, so, what’s on your mind, Natalya?”
Zombie
“I MISS YOU. I CAN’T forget how you doodled on toilet paper every time you visited the Ladies’ room and had a fear of flying, a fear of clouds, and a fear of overdosing. I thought you were crazy back then. “Oh, you do know how to get a girl’s dander up. Oh, and of course. I miss you too; you are a distant cousin. You’re family. Why wouldn’t I you? You were that Duffy girl that had a fear of pregnancy, a fear of the stars, and a fear of food. Then you topped it all by marrying into wealth, hitching your wagon up with Lord Baron Williamson.” Natalya said, “That was then.” “What do you mean? Is everything all right?” “Baron was killed months ago by some of a drug cartel.” Tatiana said, “Sorry to hear that. Are you okay?” “Not really. I found out that baron was into drug trafficking. So after his death, they cleaned out his bank s.” Tatiana said, “That’s dreadful.” “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Now I am penniless.” “I’m so sorry,” said Tatiana. “I had no way of knowing about this.” Natalya said, “Do you my saving your life after a bear attacked you and I hit him with a rock, and I ran to get his attention. But, unfortunately, when he caught me, he bit me on my shoulder, causing me to blackout. I nearly died trying to save you.” Tatiana said, “That was a godawful thing to have happened. I can’t thank you enough. I the girls who had brown eyes, reddish eyes, and many different shades.”
Clifford Benjamin
“AND THAT DOESN’T TAKE into the fact the other thing I did on your behalf. Do you what it was?” asked Natalya.” Tatiana asked, “What other thing?” “Don’t play coy,” said Natalya, becoming aggressive, her words laced with biting criticism and belittlement. “I’m—” “Yes, you are.” “I done told you, I—” “Stop it, Tatiana,” she screamed, speaking through the teeth with forced restraint, “you damn well know what I’m saying. But, come to think; you’re the one going through life completely composed and unruffled.” ‘Aside from that, I haven’t a clue,” Tatiana itted, realizing that refusing to accept she was wrong is worse than being wrong in the first place since it inhibits growth and prevents change. “Incredible isn’t it. Let’s face it. I was talking about all that I did for you. So, listen up, baby, girl, you and I were in a whore house working our butts off a pleasing man after man. That is until I got a good idea for a way for us to escape. You got to it I saved both our asses.” “Oh, that?” “Yes, that. It’s now coming back to you. But, it doesn’t stop there either. Do you follow me so far? You how I looked out for you. We were like sisters. Damn near blood. The point is, I treated you with the greatest respect. What I’m saying is, I loved you more than I loved my mother. I would’ve taken a bullet for you. My whole world evolved around you.” With the realization Natalya was incapable of true intimacy, Tatiana said, “So, what are you getting at? So, that is why you’re here to tell me how pissed you are with my achievements.”
Zombie
NATALYA SAID, “YOU’LL be glad to know it’s like this; first off, don’t try to deceive me. Secondly, You’re just a rich broad with anger issues and too much time on your hands,” Natalya said, struggling to find her breath. “So, like I asked ... can’t you get to the point?” Natalya shouted through the phone, “More important than that. Before we go any further, I want to set something straight. I need a cool million by tomorrow or—” “A what? Or what?” “Make no mistakes about it. The good news is, I go to the newspapers and spill the beans. All of it. But, do you hear me bitch? You live in that mansion on the hill, driving round in fancy cars and I’m cramped in a Homeless Shelter fed once a day some Godawful stinking crap, not fit for animals.” “Are you serious?” asked Tatiana, not believing what she had just heard. She felt that this woman has lost touch with reality and was now nondescript, lacking distinctive or attractive qualities. Furthermore, she was now dead set on shipwrecking her situation and further damaging her shitload of confidence. Natalya said, “Did you get that bitch?” “My God, we’re family for God shake.” “So what? That won’t buy me a slice of bread. If there’s one thing I learned is people are good enough when life is easy, but when things get tough, that same person will not turn to you.” “Don’t you think I know that?”
Clifford Benjamin
“GOOD, YOU’RE AWAKE. You need to get me the money by midnight tomorrow at the Beach House in Central Park. A word of caution. No funny business; you go to the cops. The deal is off. I’ll take it to the newspaper. Just think what a bombshell that would make. Think about all your friends in high places who will know the real deal about you, Tatiana. Come to think, people like you are the reason I am withdrawing from family and friends. You’re a backstabber, plain and simple. Added to that, it’s not uncommon for others in your position to do what I’m doing, leveling the playing field, or moving the goal post, nonetheless. In addition, I’ve learned some people want it to happen; some wish it would happen; others make it happen. That’s me. I make it happen. And yes, I do have a gun. So what?” Two-thirds of the nation has at least one gun in its household. So, I Iie once or twice. Guess what? Allison Komet from the Psychology Today magazine that people lie in every one out of five conversations that last for at least 10 minutes.” Feeling overwrought and self-conscious due to confusion, uncertainty, or frustration, Tatiana said, “Screw you bitch. Thanks for wasting my time,” she shouted, her barb coming away as ive-aggressive. Natalya yelled, “Screw you to whore,” then hung up the phone, and Tatiana did likewise. Tatiana stood there, motionless; her head began to throb, but aware Natalya was deliberately using speech disfluencies, such as um’ and ahs, to stall while trying to salvage the conversation
Zombie
THEN HER MIND BEGAN leafing through the pages of her life, trying to understand why the sudden decay in their relationship, and why in God’s name Natalya was so willing to destroy all that they shared. Granted, they were prostitutes and given, they went through some horrific times, but it all failed to equate to ripping off a best friend. She should have known better. She always felt Natalya was wild and crazy! Bizarre! The most fantastic thing! Too much to handle! Wow! Plus, she had wit, a biting or insightful kind of humor, which included sharp comebacks, clever banter, and dry, one-line jokes. Unfortunately, it made her often cynical or insulting. That was one of the characteristics of Natalya that made her stay on her P’s and Q’s when she was around Natalya. Suddenly, Tatiana’s mind became invaded with a massive amount of doubt mixed with fear. She felt then that Natalya was unaware that there was some truth in the shibboleth that crime does not pay. The question now was, if she didn’t come up with the goods, would Natalya still go through with her plan? Was there some way of preventing it all from occurring? If only there could be a way to keep Natalya from getting what she so desperately wanted. There had to be some way. The entire situation taxed Tatiana to the extent she was tired to no end. She was furious at Natalya and disappointed she had not a smidgen of common sense, so much that she could strangle the living daylights out of her. Though that thought cut across her grain, she was at the point of no return. So furious was she, her inner nerd had to pinch herself. One thing she was sure of, if Natalya were there now, she would do it and let the chips fall where they may.
Chapter
59
WITH SAGGING JOWLS hanging downward, it was a minute after midnight when Natalya was sitting on a bench at Beach House in Central Park. Strangely, the place was devoid of people. But that did not matter to her. She had but one aim, that was to get her hand on the million. It would get her back on track. She was tired of living a pathetic life. That all was about to end tonight. All she had to do is keep her head about her. After all, the million wouldn’t phase Tatiana, all the tons of money she has in her coffers. She can snap her pretty little fingers, and that’s all, folks. She doesn’t have to fret about anything. And that fact ate at Natalya through and through, so bad she would want to scream. She could not define a sudden noise but trained her eyes on where she first heard the noise. After a couple of minutes, she shook her head and closed her eyes for a bit. Then a figure dressed in black with a hood on and dark shades appeared and cut Natalya’s throat. It was all over in an instant. The figure faded back into the night as quiet as a furry cat. The only sound was that of a dog barking. The question was, who was responsible for the brutal attack. Could it have been Tatiana? If it was, it certainly was not her style to sink so low.
Chapter
60
ONE OF NEW YORK’S FINEST, a salty-haired Captain Martin, climbed up on the platform and adjusted the microphone to his heightened level. He looked over the sea of faces, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, this particular lady wowed us with her quirks and scared us with her ferocity. But, it so happens from our s from Russia, Natalya was married to Baron Aminoff, who held the most frequently granted Imperial Russia.” Before the Captain could get another word out, one of the reporters asked, “Can you give us a bit of info on her?” Captain Martin said, “Okay, it so happens that she was living with a silver spoon in her life, living right within her means.” “Captain,” asked another reporter, “So, if she was living at about her means, then what in God’s name made her do what she is said to have done?” “I see you’ve done your homework,” said Captain Martin. “What we were told, by a reliable source, I might add, that she stabbed the Baron three times in the chest, then shot him five times and cut his body in three parts, and buried him under a flower bed in their backyard, all because she caught him having sex with her best friend in their house, in their bed.” A chorus of mixed voices splintered the air, each with a different comment. Captain Martin held up his hand, then said, “I have to ask you to try to remain calm. We all can’t talk at once.”
Clifford Benjamin
ONE REPORTER ASKED, “So who discovered his remains?” “It was a landscaper.” “Did the landscaper have anything else to say about what he found or the way the body parts looked at the time?” “No. It so happens, the landscaper was so shaken by what he found he’s in the hospital under treatment for over-reactive stress.” “So, are you saying she managed to escape to America?” “Yes, that’s right. But, upon arriving, it’s said Natalya then went around threatening people from Russians living here with bribery. There’s also evidence she killed two of them and was threatening a third individual.” “Do your department have any idea of who might that person be Captain?” “So you’re saying you don’t have a suspect as to the one involved in murdering Natalya?” Captain Martin looked at the report straight in the eye and said, “That’s about all we have at this time. On speculation, one might say, it could have been a hit by the mob or someone with a grudge. But, to speak truth to power, we as officers of the law don’t have time for speculation. It all amounts to a hill of beans.” The captain looked throughout the crowd and said, “That’s about it. Thank you all for coming.” He then left. Tatiana was home and saw the news report on her TV and was surprised. Never in her wildest imagination would she have believed her friend Natalya would sink so low and do what she did, but, couldn’t help but be relieved that she no longer had to worry about her reputation. She thanked God for looking out for her and reducing Natalya to what is known to be a nonentity, a thing of little consequence or significance.
Zombie
TATIANA BREATHED FREELY, content she was not on anybody’s radar. Then a voice inside her head whispered, “Minds, like parachutes, only open when they are open. So she decided to lie down for a spell. Perhaps rest would soothe her limbo. Upon rising, she would continue contemplating the matter concerning Natalya. After all, patience is the greatest of all shock absorbers. In her world, there was no ‘leave it to Beaver.’ Therefore, she should handle the matter herself. The least people knowing about it would be all the better.
Chapter
61
IT WAS EARLY, AROUND 10:00 in the morning when, POTUS and Ed were in the office at the Capital looking at some photos. After repeatedly looking from one after the other, POTUS looked at Ed and said, “Looks like it is curtains for me.” “Why on earth would you say that?” “Why do you think I shouldn’t?” “You can’t just trash everything.” “How ironic that is.” “What do you mean?” “You used the word trash, did you not?” “What I’m implying is she is the trash.” “I’ve seen women do worse.” “You’re kidding me?” “No, I’m not. But look, some women spread their legs for a drop of a hat. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “I do, but they’re not my Tatiana.” “I know that.” POTUS rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Oh, you saw the evidence brought out in the open.” “Yeah, tell me more.” “What a bitch she is, Ed.” “I’ve known guys to call their wives worse things than that.”
“I don’t know, Ed. Think what people would think were this to get out in the open.”
Zombie
“YOU ARE ACTING LIKE she’s the only one woman that thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, but then again, she could’ve found out apparently.” POTUS shoulders dropped slightly. “I know one thing.” “And what’s that?” “She has got to go,” said POTUS, “she’s not staying in my house.” Ed stood up. “What? Are you out of your mind?” “I’ve never been saner. At least last time I checked,” as I said, got to go; the traps will be sitting along the roadside. I tell you, Ed, this is not a figment of my imagination, either.” “You got your kids, for Christ’s sake.” “I do, but they are old enough to understand once I break the news to them.” “Break, you can’t be serious. Look, before this, been at your beckoning call, playing the good wife, keeping her nose clean.” “I know all about that. But that does not change anything.” “Why shouldn't it?” “The way I see it, a wife does not stab her man in the back by going out and cheating on him.” “I can respect that, but if you consider everything I just told you, I would think you go out and get her some candy wrapped nicely in a box and a bottle of wine and am sure to spread red roses from the bedroom door to the love-nest. Then take her upstairs to the love-nest and screw the hell out of her. When it’s over, run bathwater in the tub and let her sit down in it.
Zombie
THEN YOU BREAK OUT skin cream and start to rub down, beginning at her shoulders. I’m willing to bet, by the time your hands get to that snatch, she’ll beg you to do the thing all over again. With me, it’s like, “when you love, love with all your heart. But, to be honest, it is a bit different than that. The thing is, once you change your philosophy, you change your thought pattern. Once you change your thought pattern, you change your attitude. Once you change your attitude, it changes your behavior pattern, and then you go on into some action.” POTUS said, “But still, I am upset with her; I got to it you laid things out nicely, though.” Ed smiled. “Thank you. I try my best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” “Sounds to me it’s not your first rodeo.” “You got that right. But don’t get me wrong, because I’m just a sentimentalist at heart, but when it comes to love, I wither on the vine.” “Oh?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “Thanks for being candid.” They both laughed heartedly then went about their day, POTUS hopping on air force One then jetted to Georgia to a meeting of Governors, Ed off to run errands for PHOTOS, both aware of the skeletons in their closet. POTUS failed to let on just how much Tatiana’s affair is eating away at him. The question was could he deal with the trouble in their marriage?
Chapter
62
TWO WEEKS LATER, WITHOUT aircraft in sight, POTUS let Tatiana go it alone on a boat ride with her secret service escorting her. Still, there was one exception, POTUS had unfinished business that needed his attention. As he stood at the dock waving his goodbye, he noticed the new captain, named Teddy that would be in charge, a rather large and rough around the edges. POTUS shook his and dismissed the oddity. Once out about fifteen miles, the boat stopped. The captain glanced around and noticed the lake was abuzz with outboards. So, he drove ten miles more where there were but sea animals. He then let down the anchor. Within an hour, and tired of being asked academic questions, the agents were knocked out sound asleep due to the captain’s surreptitious finagling, such as spiking their drinks. He even did Tatiana likewise, who at the time was not aware of cruel kindness. She was currently sunbathing in and out of consciousness in comfortable misery, but happy that it was terrific, POTUS was willing to let go alone. As Tatiana lay prone in her bathing suit, the captain walked over to her as she lay on the front end of the yacht. He stood there, his eyes looking her over from head to toe, and then stopped at her crotch. He sat down next to her and began to kiss her on her mouth.
Zombie
“WHAT?” SHE SAID, HER eyes opened slowly to look at him. “Oh, it’s you, Teddy.” “Who else were you expecting?” he shouted. Then, he started to touch all over. “Stop it. I thought I made myself clear.” “You didn’t mean it, considering my age compared to your husband.” “Go away. Let me be. I—” said Tatiana and then dozed off again. He tried to take advantage of her and put his hand down between her legs.” She slapped hard in the face. “Can’t you hear? I said stop. Leave me the hell alone. Go screw the fish.” She dosed off again. He had never been slapped before by anybody, especially a woman. Suddenly, the rage within him took control of his senses; he walked up behind her, struck her across the head with a 30-pound barbell killing her instantly. Then with deliberate speed and abysmal ignorance, he set about tidying things up, wrapping a rope around her, and tying it to two 30 pound barbells. He then picked her up, threw her lifeless body over the side, and watched her sink until he could no longer see her. He thought things to the end, paying attention to this and that, cleaning up this and that. Within the hour, he drove the yacht back, parked it, and got out of dodge. He knew once the agents came too, they would be a lot of things to be considered. Also, he was aware it was too soon to do cartwheels.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER THE AFTERMATH and the sound of silence, the family, the size of a small crowd, their hearts filled with sweet sorrow. The last thing POTUS expected at the wake was to see Sarah working for the masses, playing the part of the heartbroken first cousin. When he noticed the twin jade globes dangling from his estranged cousin’s ears, his hand twitched with the urge to slap her. Not only had she found Tatiana’s spare key, but she’d gotten into her antique jewelry collection as well. An hour later, they all gathered at the gravesite. At that time, there was not one dry eye, only loud whispers. But, POTUS was aware, once the sad smiles and roomer-mill got started, it would take a minor miracle to stifle it, making them inaccessible to new ideas, causing their actions to accentuate his feeling of despair. For they knew Tatiana and POTUS met by accident rather than by design. That made it all the worse. Even, more so, POTUS lacked the wisdom that accrues with age, and Tatiana was a babe in the woods, the equivalence of a naïve, inexperienced person, hailing from the baby boomer in the 90’s, with her innocent face and warm smiles, hog-tied to a brittle selfish person. They dare not approach her on it, seeing how enthralled she was about him, especially him showering her with countless luxurious gifts and huge rocks on her fingers. As to POTUS, every night he fell asleep with her, he woke up alone, causing her to sit quietly and thoughtfully alone in her very own world of fantasy. He had her hook line and sinker; no one could tell her better.
Zombie
NOW WHAT WAS AT STAKE is a significant decision or vow. For example: would POTUS swear to revenge her murder. The inherent question is: How would he go about it? Will he succeed? Or would her killer get away with the Great Escape! On the other hand, POTUS didn’t wanna mope over Tatiana’s murder, the universe had other plans for him.
Chapter
63
SOME MONTHS LATER, Ed and POTUS were at work in the Oval. Ed ushered in, saying, “So realistically, we know that we either must end the war or face the prospect that war will end us.” POTUS broke into Ed’s thoughts, saying, “First off, I thank you again for helping me get through the ordeal with my wife.” Ed said, “You’re more than welcome. You have a great capacity to bounce back. I ire you for that.” “Thank you, Ed,” said POTUS, “did I tell you that word has it, a fleet of ships of unknown origin is at the Russia–United States maritime boundary?” Ed looked toward the ceiling and then said, “It is times like these I congratulate myself speaking only English; it somehow keeps me rooted to the land in which I love.” The very next day, POTUS and Ed were at their destination. POTUS was getting briefed on the situation. “Yes, Sir,” said General Notap, the watchdog of the operation, looking through binoculars to get a more accurate reading on the situation at hand. He said to POTUS, “According to the latest finds by our expert reconnaissance, the mask of ships and tanks is an indication the ally is ready and threatening to strike.” POTUS asked the General, “The question is at what?” “At us, Sir,” he said blankly, right off the bat without one hesitation in his armor. He had been in countless battles before and won many medals for bravery. He was hard-nosed but fair.
Zombie
“QUESTION IS WHERE? Where will they be aiming their weapons at?” The General said, “That is difficult to tell at this moment, Mr. President.” POTUS looked around at ship after ship and then at the battalion of tanks facing them. He had to give it to the ones in charge of the opposing forces. What he saw was equivalent to Hannibal’s attempt at bringing Rome to its knees. He felt the power was the only way to handle the situation. And without a moment to lose, he gave the order to attack. Within seconds the US forces began to fire, shooting at will, real live red hot bullets, rocket-like shells at their alleged ally. But the victory was not soon to be because their partner didn’t blink as they cut loose a ton of firepower, shooting over the heads of the US Forces. POTUS said to his General, “What the hell are they shooting at?” The General said with a sad look, “I can’t tell exactly, Sir, but there’s an indication they are going for the jugular.” “The jugular?—tell me, where the hell is that?” The General got a call. After talking on the phone, he said to POTUS, “Word has it, the Pentagon is gone.” “What do you mean gone.” “Exactly what I said, Sir; there’s no other way to put it’s now down to cinders or at least somewhere near to being that.” “What? How? Why? How the hell did they acquire enough muscle or power to do something of that magnitude?” That moment, the ally lowered their sights and began shooting away directly at them.
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS COULD NOT BELIEVE the once ally audacity to commit such atrocious and devastating acts of force. Knowing his boss was a wallflower and amoral, when it comes to matters of war, the General then told POTUS, “Word is the Our losses are increasing by the hour, Sir.” “How many are we up to now?” “Twenty-five hundred, Sir, at least that’s what I heard, which is generally quite accurate considering the situation at the moment.” “Unbelievable. There must be some way to turn the tide on these bitching rainmakers.” “Yes, Sir, those are my sentiments too.” POTUS said, “Tell them to increase the power,” looking over the situation through four eyes. “Are you sure, Sir, you want to do that?” “Why not? We got to stop the slaughter. We can’t let them think we’re about to throw in the towel. America—” The General picked up the phone and listened. Finally, he clicked off the phone. He then said, “Capital may be under fire, Sir.” POTUS was like in his world waiting to see if the situation would tank. Then be back in the game. But, he had to it, he would never have thought the problem could ever be this bad. He needed a minute to process things. But instead, said to the General, “But I thought you said they are now firing at us directly hereabout?” “Some of their firepower’s is closer than we thought, Sir.” “There must be something we can do.”
“I’m afraid there is, Sir.” “And that is what, General?” “Throw in the towel, Sir.”
Zombie
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” ‘No, Sir, I’m not.” POTUS couldn’t help but look at the General with a different look. And that was, the General has seen the ravages of war, he has known natural catastrophes, he has been to singles bars. If asked, he could give you a description of pistols, bullets, powder, bayonets, retreats, attacks, bombardments, sea fights, and ships sunk with a thousand men. Of the twenty thousand killed on each side, dying groans, limbs flying in the air, smoke, noise, confusion, trampling to death under feet, flight, pursuit, victory, fields sprinkled with carcasses, left for food to dogs and wolves and birds of prey; plundering, stripping, beautiful, burning, and destroying. Some say he lost his family, his job, and his house plants. The General then broke into his thoughts. “From the looks of things, sir, we have to call a halt before there’s the chance of the Fat Lady singing,” said the General. Practically on the warpath and POTUS upset over the ally’s overabundance of firepower, tired of the jigsaw horseplay in the limelight, then got off his highchair and threw the binoculars down onto the ground saying, “You’re just all pussies. If it’s one thing I can’t stand, I can’t stand pussies. I had enough of this patchwork crap; I’ll take a rain check and be out of here. Do what you will. I’m leaving.” The General just stood shaking his head. POTUS left. Ed was busy trying to fluff up his boss injured ego. POTUS was upset like a king without a crown. The General shouted to him, “Casualties have increased tenfold, Mr. President.”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS HAD LEFT IT UP to the General to make the strategic withdrawal. The fact was he was never a man for battle. The truth was he was the actual pussy if there ever was. When they got back to the Capital, it was more intact than previously thought. POTUS said to Ed, “a splash of Vodka should do the trick. It works every time. Can you believe those flea-bitten weaklings had the nerve to do it?” Ed shook his head. “I have to say, and it was a constant battle, I give you that.” “You’re right. Got to it it was simply smart. It was very intuitive, very wise. I guess you can say you get rapid results with things done a certain way. Their actions were earth-shattering that strikes at the heart. I tried to do it convincingly, but as you know, it didn’t work.” Ed added, “Have to it not only the loss of our forces was tremendous, but it was also a huge, a huge waste of ammunition and a waste of time. My heart went out to you, thinking we would be winning on all fronts. That’s why you must be careful not to bruise your ego; it happens every time.” POTUS said, “it’s ironic how life can sometimes be half a world away; just need to go for it one step at a time.” Ed added his two cents by saying, “Yeah, but, whether good or bad, life can take you to the edge if you’re not careful. So, will you not fret about it?” On the inside, POTUS had wanted to throw his whole heart into the world. “Pan Cakes make me happy. Are you hungry?” “Slightly, but not ravenously,” said Ed, looking at him sulking. “It’s not like you kissed the sky and said goodbye.”
Zombie
POTUS COULD NOT GET over how laser-focused Ed was. “I’m thrilled you’re still here, Ed.” To defeat the sound-filled silence in the room, Ed said, “I still can make a meaningful interpretation of a trumpet.” Contrary to what Ed had just said, POTUS said, “We’re men. We’re supposed to be tough.” He knew whether it was a weekday, weekend, weeknight, or whatever, Ed would somehow find a way to be there for him, despite the difficulty he had to face. “You make a valid point. But, I must say, I agree with you.” POTUS said kiddingly, “Did anyone ever tell you I’m working with someone that’s exhausting?” They chuckled a bit. Ed told him, “The thing is, it was always you that fan the flames...” “I agree.” “Ed said, “You were always like I’ll take a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a little bit of this, along with something else I won’t speak of now.” POTUS said, “What, tell me? I’m dying to know.” “Nah, to change the subject, I have always wondered what it would be like to have a sister.” “You mean a pussy, don’t you?” “Don’t be so crass. You got to be gentle like.” POTUS kidded, “I’m willing to take the risk.” “What?—having a sister?” “I would hope for your sake; if you were to have a sister, she would be beauty.
But, as you know, I like them like that.” “That’s your fresh side coming out.” POTUS said, “Statistically, there’s not a chance in hell you could have a sister.”
Clifford Benjamin
“TELL ME WHY NOT? “Last time you told me you have problems getting a hard-on.” They looked at each other and broke out. “Thank you for that, Mr. President; you do have a way with getting back on the same page, fast. You break my heart with that.” POTUS said, “I told you I’m not a know it all at least that’s how Frankie Lemon put it back in the sixties.” “You mean the fifties. But, damn, I always loved that song, a big difference from what’s been coming out lately, don’t you think.” “Right now, my friend, I love it more than before.” Ed yawned, “Well, looks like it’s about that time.” They left the building, ambling, walking at a brisk pace, and going home. A place considered their remotely famous Chinese Dessert castle in the sky, their rumble in the jungle.
Chapter
64
AFTER MAKING LOVE, POTUS said, “So, Penelope, I take it you can’t bear this place.” She set up, most of her upper body weight distributed on her elbow. “What do you think?” Then a sudden wave of nostalgia hit her. “I know every nook and cranny in here. It’s boring. There’s simply no place to go. I’m a nothing, a low down, useless nobody.” “I’m just asking.” “What a question,” she said, rolling pretty eyes and shaking her head. “So are you?” “Am I what?” POTUS said, “I just wanted to—” She cut him off by saying, “I’m not commenting on anything that sounds ridiculous.” “So, you think what I’m asking is silly.” “It’s not only silly—ludicrous at best.” “So, you’re not going to comment on that.” “If I’m lying, I’m flying.” “That’s cute.” “If you asked me, there’s nothing cute about it.” “Do I sense a bit of malice in your tone?” “I hear you, but why not?” “I’m just saying. You are my captive. I just thought—”
Clifford Benjamin
“THAT’S THE TROUBLE with you white folks.” “What do you mean?” “You all go around with your head in the air as if your shit doesn’t stink.” “Not all of us, Penelope.” “Enough if you ask me.” “Sounds to me, you may have had a run-in with that drug dealer.” “Why you got to do that?” “POTUS said, “I mean he would work you night and day rain or shine, never for once caring one iota about you. All he wanted was to keep the bucks rolling in.” “I know. But you think you’re better than us.” As the sound of a lion roared in his mind, a rush of emotions clouded his thoughts, but he managed to say, “What do you mean by us?” “Me and my pimp, I mean. There I said it.” “Yes, you did. You should see it like that.” “Oh, yeah, I see where you’re going with it.” “You do? Good.” Penelope said, “You don’t have to tell me; I know it’s good. Living off the streets is a hell of a lot better than living in this shit hole.” Soon the cragged edge of tenderness would play its part, to roll over, picking up piece after piece of wounded ambitions. He said to her, “Now there you go?” “What?”
“I said just where you are at now.” “She looked at him. “You must not like women.” “What makes you say that?”
Zombie
“JUST THE WAY YOU ARE with me.” “Tell me, in what way?” “When you make love, you act like I’m your slave and you the master. I get the feeling that you act like that with all the women.” “I will it sometimes I can be rough a little.” “Are you kidding me?” “You asked me, and I just answered? “You know that a man shouldn’t violate a woman while having sex.” With the veins in his neck visible, POTUS then blasted out, “You want to know the truth, and then I’ll tell you. It turns me on to have rough sex. It’s a fantasy I had since early childhood.” “How early—I’m just asking.” “Sixteen,” he said, “It was when the world was young, and all the girls wanted a piece of me.” “What an ego you got upstairs. Are you telling me you’ve been like that till now?” “Exactly,” said POTUS, a bead of sweat materializing on his forehead. “You know what?” Inhaling then exhaling, she rants, “What dissolution of the soul you demanded to get through one day, what lies, and scrapings and some other things I can’t think of at this moment. How you chained me to one spot, one hour, one chair, and sat down opposite, whenever you like.
Clifford Benjamin
AND YOU KEEP ME BOTTLE-necked down here for your pleasure anytime, rain or shine, day in and day out, at your beckoning call, with no phone, only silence, and no window even to get a whiff of fresh air, mind you. Another thing cops have been killing black people for eons. Tell me, how can anyone kill someone when he is empty-handed? And you”... she drew silent, “you’re like, ‘She asked for it, and I gave it to her—wham, bam, thank you, ma’am!” A lone tear crept slowly down her face. “Your race isn’t perfect, significantly when a man cuts out a man’s heart and tries to eat it. He was white. It was his uncle, for Christ’s sake. It’s like white folks relegated to being junkyard dogs. And you, you got fireworks written all over you. And you come in here with the attitude, are we going to be transparent or dirty? That’s crazy talk. You’re like out to prove you’re no pushover, all that hatred bottled up in—” POTUS intruded, saying, “Wait a minute. Never was I lame. I have good characteristics, don’t you think?” Focused, she laughed in his face and responded, “Look at me. I’m still your slave.” “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” “What do you want to tell me?” “I’ll tell you. Just give me a moment to clear my head, all right.” She said, “Okay, I wouldn’t have it any other way; you feel me?” “I do. The thing I wanted to tell you is you are free to go.” She sat up with a look of surprise. “Are you saying you knew what you wanted to say to me about my leaving all the time since you got here today?” she said, imposing her will on him, anticipating his rebuttal. He bowed his head, looking at her.
Zombie
THEN HER ENTIRE FACE broke out in a huge smile. “I’m going home!” “Yes, you can leave now. I’ll have my man drop you where ever. Once you are free, you must understand that you do not have anyone know what happened here. I must warn you. That if you do, there will be serious consequences. If you do, you will end up losing your life. I hope you understand fully.” She got up and started to put on the clothes he had gone out and purchased for her. “I hope my family is okay. It’s been six months since I last seem high tail of them.” “I’m sure they will be glad to see you and that you are safe.” He dug into his pocket and drew out his wallet, and handed her five thousand dollars. “You don’t have to thank me. I understand. Plus, I now understand more about myself than ever before. So I’ll sketch the world precisely as it goes, despite the bad, bad, and worse. Plus, I now understand more about myself than ever before. So I’ll sketch the world as it goes, despite the good, the bad, and all.” When she motioned toward him, she gestured toward him; he halted her progress by saying, “Keep it; you won’t know trouble if it kicked you right in the face. And —don’t drop a dime for a nickel. Furthermore, I am aware I’m no Hailey’s Comet, coming round every generation, but I now know the difference between right and wrong.” She said, “Did you ever have a hint of comion for my situation?” He said, “Frankly, my dear, from the moment I laid eyes on you, you look like a solar eclipse I could hardly open my eyes to; now it’s the ripple that never rests. I understand you may have hesitations, but—”
Clifford Benjamin
AT THAT MOMENT, HIS agent, named Shrek, slowly entered the room at a slow pace to help with the transfer. With an ironic spot of humor, she said, “Talk about cutting it close to the wire.” Then, she looked at POTUS and started to speak again, and was cut off by him saying, “Go, I’ll catch up with you sometime. Good luck,” his words were final. With no rhyme or reason, POTUS then said, “Believe me, I dread coming to work many times or more.” She told him, “Frankly, I don’t know what to trust or what to believe.” POTUS said, “What can I say? It’s all glad, give or takes.” Shrek said to her, “Looks like we’re all set, miss.” She said to Shrek, “And you are someone I hardly know is coming through— how ironic, just when it was turning out to be a perfect adventure.” This day POTUS could not have foreseen as he said oddly, “Say hello to the world for it can be your oyster if you want it that much, and will also it, due to time constraints, I can’t apologize.” She left the room sobbing, saying back at him, “Believe me, I want something real ... this hellhole doesn’t come close.”
Chapter
65
IT WAS AROUND TEN THAT night when news hit the networks. In a slumber but fully awake, Ed heard about white supremacists killing blacks in ten different states. He immediately got on the phone to POTUS. “I just heard it.” Dainty, not clumsy, POTUS said, “Are you sure?” “I figure it must be; why would they spread a lie of that magnitude?” POTUS said, “I don’t know.” “I can’t believe there are whites that still feel that way.” “Way like how?” “You know.” No, I don’t,” said POTUS. “I mean, look, it’s like cancer entered their brain.” “I wouldn’t go that far.” Ed said, “Why not?” “Because there are people out there who are okay, despite hating all blacks,” said POTUS, trying every attempt to get Ed to flock together, even if it took the full Monty. “That’s madness, don’t you think?” “Not if you look on the bright side.” “What side may that be?” “I mean, for God’s sake Ed, can’t you see there is a hell of a lot of blacks that shouldn’t exist?”
“I don’t know.”
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY that?” “As I said, it doesn’t sound the way it should be.” “And what way is that?” Ed sighed and then said, “There ought to be more respect for mankind on both sides of the equation.” “I disagree.” “I talked about the hate,” said Ed. “What about it? The hate, as you put it.” Ed said, “Look like a great man once said, we all have to work together, or we will hang together.” “I agree, but the right side is not pulling their weight toward justice getting better in this nation.” “I told you, I disagree.” “I know; they should try, but killing innocent people because their skin color and are different doesn’t make sense.” “I disagree.” “Damn you,” said Ed working up steam. “Why can’t you see what’s going on across this country, cops killing innocent kids at the drop of a hat, just because of their skin color. You have to know I have a point.” “You do, but that doesn’t make it right. The way I see it, the white man was in power then and will be that way always. It’s just that there are blacks here that don’t belong.” “My God, do you realize what you are implying?” “I know, Just that there are a lot of whites that are weak and fail to see the point
that you are making.” “Damn, that sounds negative.”
Zombie
POTUS TRIED TO TURN the conversation by saying, “Did I tell you my best friends Paul, Amanda, and Quinn are back in touch with me? How you my telling you that lately, our relationship had soured?” Ed said, “I just told you—to some maybe—but not to a great many of us. I look at it this way; we open-minded whites are the backbone to getting this country back to where it should be. But wait, are you saying you are willing for things to return to the dastard days of slavery?” “What do you think?” “Look, we both have been through a hell of a lot, this I can’t go along with.” POTUS said, “That’s just what you’re saying now, but just wait.” “Wait for what? For more and more whites to break into homes and out-and-out rape and kill blacks and kids included, then I have to say, no thank you.” “Ah, Ed, you’re just saying that because you’re upset with what you just heard, which is sure to fad from your mind in time.” “I doubt it.” “I told you to need more time.” Ed said, “I have to tell you, I’m going to feel like this till the cows come home and then for sometimes after. I’m out to help to make this world a better place for all.” “I tell you, Ed, and I can’t wait for whites to be in total power.” “What, so they can bang together and break into churches and kill black parishioners, and then burn everything to the ground?” POTUS said, “Yeah, that and more.” “What do you have to say about the police killing blacks and the whistle, DIXIE?”
Clifford Benjamin
“I HAVE NO COMMENT ABOUT that.” “For Christ’s sake, the idiot cops are aiding and abetting those whites that feel like you seem to be feeling now. So, the question is, “When the chips are down, which side are you on?” POTUS spoke clearly and determinately, “With the whites, my friend, I can’t think of another way to put it.” “Which whites?” “The ones that want slavery to return to this great nation.” Ed said, oh, my God, can’t you see, if those whites gain control, there will be no nation, at least not one of our forefathers or land of the free, which thousands of whites and blacks gave their lives to preserve.” “I don’t know. I just don’t.” Ed said, “Looks like you’re the one that needs some time to mull things over and come to reality.” “Nah, I’m okay with the way things are.” “Come on now, sounds like you’re about digging your own grave with that high mountain attitude that whites should reign supreme for all time.” “Oh, I’ll be okay. Let it rain, let it rain.” “Are you sure about that?” “I am, never could have felt better about things than I am at this point.” Ed said, “Did you know, just yesterday, some Republican Senators got together, went to a department store, and started shooting and killing every black they saw just because they wanted to get you reelected. But I think they are using that as an excuse because the bottom line is they hate blacks with a deep ion, which defies all reality. I find it hard to believe there are those among us with deep-
seated racist attitudes.”
Zombie
“WHAT CAN I SAY? IT’S just a sign of the times. Things are sure to get worse before they get better.” “I do know one thing.” “And what is that?” “The excellent thinking people need to come out in full force and let not only people of this nation know that the arch ought to lean toward justice and the right for all people in America to live in peace and harmony. But, moreover, I feel those republicans that hate should be fired and thrown out of office; that way, they begin to see the cost of hatred.” POTUS said, “As I said, I disagree.” Despite what POTUS just itted, Ed pressed on, “I have concluded, those idiots are not worth the effort. And lastly, I must say your unblinking imagination, an imagination breaking all speed limits, taking you on the path to ten thousand globes, will never exist, and my friend.” POTUS said, “I’m impressed.” “Can you tell me about what?” “It’s all about trust. Despite our disagreement, I am inclined to say, and there’s no one I trust more than you.” Ed knew what he was talking about followed a familiar pattern to opening the door to a paradox that would gallop the instant the devil within him returned to eat away at him. It was because for this guy was a touching story out the door that would bring a chill to the bones of Stephen Spielberg. Suddenly, deep within his soul, POTUS’s inner voice said, ‘I know Ed, but I must say, that from the hills of Georgia to the rooftops, my name will echo in the minds of every living soul on this planet.’
Clifford Benjamin
AND THAT FACT BROUGHT about the clarity that helped to define the extent of their relationship. He knew then; he could no longer trust this man he had worked with so much. There was a slight period of silence, the drop the needle type. POTUS said, “Ed, are you all right?” Ed shook off what he had heard and said, “I’m okay, just was in deep thought about something.” “Oh, really—care to share it?” “Nah, if you don’t mind, I’d rather keep it to myself for now.” POTUS shrugged his shoulders, then lingered on fleeting wings of the moment and said. “If it’s okay with you, it’s alright with me.” “What do you say if we just call it a day?” “It's okay by me.” POTUS said, “Why does it always have to that way?” “How do you mean?” “That fine by me crap.” “Don’t know exactly; it’s something just off the top of my head. What? Don’t tell me you have a problem what that, do you?” “Maybe so, maybe not,” said POTUS. “Well, it can’t be both.” “What do you mean?” “It’s either one or the other. That’s the general way things are said.”
POTUS said, “That’s a whole lot of thought if you ask me.” “Why do you have to be so disagreeable? Don’t tell me you were born like that,” said Ed, shaking his troubled head. “Sort of ... never thought about it, and that’s for sure.” “Why do you got to be right all the time? Is it in your brain, is it in your upbringing, or what? Got to be something, I would think.”
Zombie
POTUS JUST SHOOK HIS head and then preceded walking toward the door with Ed following close behind. It looked like they had called it a day. As to the conversation, both were dead even. That is till the next time.
Chapter
66
SOMETIMES BOTH WOULD draw straws or do a finger thing, a one, two, three, I win sort of thing, with POTUS usually winning, further deepening the cataclysm between them, thereby deepening the depth of their case history between them. But, usually, with him having a cast-iron stomach, Ed was the one to be more discrete and better at discretion, thereby chipping away at POTUS Casanova’s castle in the airframe of mind. In time, it would all come to a head and help bring down the lion in their mist and end up being a complete mess of all meshes. That night, the moon was full, looking down on the patience of nightfall. The moon was so bloated it was about to tip over. Imagine awakening to find the moon flat on its face on the bathroom floor, like the late Elvis Presley, poisoned by banana splits, a moon that could stir wild ions in a moo cow, and a moon that could bring out the devil in a bunny rabbit. A moon that could turn lug nuts into moonstones turns Little Red Riding Hood into the big bad wolf. On that night, a mysterious figure appeared walking off the street onto bent grass onto property owned by the President of the Chicken-Lovers’ Club. The first thing he noticed was that flat number five sounded very loud.
Zombie
HE LISTENED TO TWO toothsome blond neighbors, with conflicting ideologies, chitchatting in generalities. They were unaware someone impracticable was nearby, just right under their nose. “I tell you, s,” said Clover, one utterly repulsive brood bitch, in a cotton shirt, bent out of shape, suckled on pulp magazines, with a faraway look in her beady eyes, “I never could stand the sight of that guy.” She had the nerve to speak like that about the guy without him there. The other broadly similar one, in cotton shorts, with a mindset practically in fantasyland, with shades of having been a total knock-out, chimed in saying, “Who do you think you’re fooling Clover. You never could keep your panties on whenever he was around.” After tinkling with the dazzling array of climbing rose next to her, Clover said, “For Chris’s sakes, hold on, there girl, what about you.” “What about me?” Margery asked, holding her breath. “Lay off, now. I’m not that naïve; you ought to know that. I’m no namby-pamby.” “What?” said Clover, “You think I’m stupid? Not in a coon’s age. I tell you, I’m no naked mole-rat. Every time he would come around, you made it your best to keep your fast behind up in his face.” Suddenly, Margery asked, “What’s that?” There was a qualified stillness. Margery said to Clover, “Oh, I thought it was something. Now, as I was about to ask, “What the devil is a mole rat?”
Clifford Benjamin
COMMON SENSE HAS PREVAILED, Clover said, “Oh, about that ... you thought you heard, way I see it, better the devil you know. But as I was saying, I thought you knew; we educated and all. Well, anyway, it’s a rat found in Ethiopia, Somalia, and Kenya with nearly hairless skin; wrinkled skin is practically blind. So, what I said shouldn’t amount to a hill of beans to you, especially when we both are smarter than a Jackrabbit.” “Are you saying I fit that description?” Clover said, “Hell no, girl,” she said bluntly, not timid, meek, or bold, “guess you can tell, I was trying to be cute with my words; that’s all. I thought you knew which side of the tracks I was on. I don’t want to get into a row; I need you very much nowadays.” Margery changed the subject, not vague but clear. “I’m with you. A brawl is not a pleasant act. Oh, yeah, haven’t you heard? He thinks I’m talented,’ she said dryly. “I thought you did, too. Oh, well, I don’t particularly appreciate taking things to another level. Didn’t I tell you, I do not dare to climb the highest mountain in the world?” Clover said, “Girl, don’t you know clime has changed a lot now? Well, it’s about time we turn in,” she said, calm but troubled, leading the way with the other nearby, their relationship from hot to cold, as they entered into a place with no attic or cellar, a home with hope and despair and cramped at times. Margery commented, “Oh, poor, poor Mr. Blake, did you hear what happened to him? I heard he had tripped at the top of the stairs, fell down the whole flight, banged his head, and was died as a doornail.” “Did you say dead?” Clover was shocked by the word.
Zombie
“YES, DEAD!” MARGERY repeated with emphasis. “Broke his damn toenail, too,” if I’m lying, I’m flying. I will never forget his big and colorful eyes. Even his gait is severe, I tell you.” “Did I tell you,” said Clover, “my favorite duo is mussels and beer? And that tomorrow it will be raining so you should take that broken down umbrella with you? Lastly, I hope this fight between us ends immediately.” Then Margery said, “Thank God for this is a holy place for us.” “I hear you, sweetheart. The whole ingredients have been here for two weeks. So please don’t dare wring what is said to you.” Though there was a circle of confusion between them, they both cackled like two overgrown hens in a chicken coop. They had seen many a day and were now retired school teachers, both husbands dying from some kind of rare poisoning. After listening to the crabby old front-line teachers and their gnarled mass of incoherent, old as the hills, conversation, he eased toward the back of the building, upon finding an unlocked door and entering slowly, like walking on eggshells. He took care not to disturb anything, his aim to locate his subject. He got right into searching the first floor, first noticing the expensive watch on the kitchen table thinking that thieves often stead valuable items but did the opposite, and then noticed all of the pots used in the kitchen were steel. So he paused to listen to them a bit. Moments later, he then checked his watch and saw that time was running fast like water. He then felt the scent in the room and noticed a familiar odor, but the smell of a palooka was not the thing that made him more curious about where the awful reek originated.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER SEARCHING THE main floor, he crept upstairs, ever so softly, ever so quietly as a mouse, his emotions ebbing and flowing; this had to be a clean kill, whatever that meant. He was no hunter, just believed in keeping his feet planted flat on solid ground. Moreover, he was no waif, no homeless person, or the kind to shout “Wahoo” if they had the good fortune to have won fifty bucks on a scratch-off at a nearby local fee-bitten department store. He spotted a cat up on the sofa trying to get at the bird in a cage. To turn the tables on the cat, and seeing the certainty of the situation, he grabbed it and wrung its neck, killing it instantly. After rescuing the bird, he continued his search, taking note of everything he came across. As he continued walking in dappled light, he paused a second or two to look at the mirror on the wall. As he gazed at himself, he silently chuckled to himself, giving himself credit for wearing all black from head-to-toe with dark shades. If anyone were to see him now, it would be impossible to recognize him. To him, that was all the better. Now, he must do what he came to do and get the hell of Dodge if at all possible. Upon entering a room, he noticed two red eyes shining in the dark. No one had to tell him it was a dog. No one had to say to him it was a dog. The strange thing was he was of a different kind of beast, the type that waited until you were upon him and then would gobble you up. After several minutes, he reached in his bag and pulled out some night goggles and a can of spray. Putting on the goggles, he aimed it, spraying the dog over his face, the effect so effective, the dog left the room with his tail between its legs, whining.
Zombie
HE WAS ABLE TO SPOT what he was there for and moved forward, entering further into the room until he was but inches away; even though the room was not well lit, it was still blindingly obvious it was his guy. Moving slowly, he reached into the bag again and took out a hammer, the tool of his trade. He bent his body over slightly to get a more accurate position. He waited to listen for any sound or movement. As he continued to observe the situation, it was then that Ed popped into his mind saying, ‘Don’t do it. Fight it. If you do, you’ll have to live with it till your dying day. So I say stop—now!’ Despite Ed’s warning, and as the seconds ticked away, he closed his eyes and struck the victim with malice, with force so powerful and so violent that it cracked the sinews and caked the brain, crushing the victim’s skull like an eggshell. His victim lay still relegated to a doubtful good, a gloss, and a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, and dead within seconds. After killing the shrew, he just stood there, almost lifeless, like a lost child, not a bone in his body moved, not even a twit. He continued the motionlessness as the slight wind from a cracked window flowed east and west. Not discouraged, bold-hearted, and bolstered confidence, realizing how easily tricky it had been, he shrugged, exhaled a crippled sigh, then body and soul leaped frog out of there. He receded, departing, wickedly and wretchedly, furring himself warm with poor men’s hearts, in the end, the devil getting their due. He paused for a moment, looking sincere on the stage of life. He was now outside. He then looked to the sky and noticed that the stars sprinkled all the heavens seemed to twinkle with crystalline delight.
Clifford Benjamin
HE SMILED AND THEN continued walking off into the night till his entire configuration was almost out of sight. He slipped further into darkness, gone like the wind, dressed in black, his stick fingers clicking with a snicker, and, chuckling to himself; he took the keys in his hand, his ego pumped, ready to slide through any cellar door. He failed to notice that a bird fearlessly came down the walk, that same walk he had just walked. Guess he realized how bittersweet the situation had been, and how lucky he was not to have bombed out, and how bone-chilling and how tantalizingly close it had come to be a catastrophic failure, ending with an approximation of justice. Guess it can be an example of many criminals that never get caught. Even odder, POTUS woke up at a truck stop with no memory of how he got there. Nevertheless, he managed to brush himself off and made himself scarce. Lucky for him, most of the rigs were out on assignments.
Chapter
67
ANYWAY, IT WAS TO BE not the end but the beginning; he would remain sturdy, strong, powerful, but not the least feeble, for the time being. Ed had no knowledge POTUS was addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world known as “The Devil’s Breath” LSD, which produces unpredictable psychological effects, with “Trips” lasting about twelve hours, with large enough doses, s experience delusions and hallucinations. Back in the Oval, Ed said, “I respect you, POTUS, but we have a president that has a comprehensive hold on us, with a picayune mindset, still doing things with pick and shovel, classified as a peccadillo or slight offense to us all.” POTUS just sat there spaced out, like he was the only one in the room. Vice President Durban said to POTUS, “Think I’m afraid Ed is on the mark, Sir. We should not get away from the hypocrisy taking place. We’re still feeling the effects of all that has happened since this istration took office. I think I know how you feel, Mr. President, but this is no time to be fiddling around with things, not only in this country but over the world.” POTUS said, flat out, “Looks to me, you guys have made up your minds, won’t give an inch on my continuing to run this business at being president.”
Zombie
Clifford Benjamin
BOTH ED AND VICE PRESIDENT Durban looked incredulously at him, not believing what they were hearing from this man, who was now all-powerful, not thinking he wouldn’t see things like them. Ed retook the reins, saying to POTUS, “In case you are unaware what the situation is now, we suggest you not only listen to what the Democrats are saying but the people of this great nation. I mean, my God, can’t you see they want America to change not in the way you see it should, but the way our forefathers intended. It’s obvious America is on the wrong path, Sir.” POTUS said, “Do you know what?” Ed asked, “What, Sir?” “It’s obvious, both of you are confused and need to come to grips with the way we are going. Right now, I think you two motor mouths need to back off and let me run the show.” Ed then said, “Bottom-line, it doesn’t matter how deflating it may sound, but the fact is you need to step down, now, Sir.” At that junction, “Speaker of the House entered the room saying, “I’m here, Mr. President, to let you know the time has come to throw in the towel. Wait a minute, listen to me, it must be done and done expeditiously, the country is spitting at the seams, and I can’t keep my folks—” POTUS cut in, stating, “Your folks? I thought they were my folks too. Do I hear right? Maybe I’m hard at hearing. Are you— all that I have accomplished—you now request that I let you take it all away and just kick me to the goddamn curve. I have you to know; I’m not just some garbage, some piece of trash!”
Zombie
THE SPEAKER TRIED TO put some sense into the conversation by saying to POTUS, “Not exactly, Mr. President, some of what we claim is actual. Republicans have had your back from the jump; that, backing you at every turn of the dial, never rolling over on you.” POTUS chuckled, then said, tell me guys, am I right?” “Right about what, Sir,” asked Ed, the one person that could stand up to him without repercussions. “You all know damn well what I’m implying. The truth is you all want to sever the umbilical cord; throw me to the wind. If that’s what you have in mind, I say go the fuck ahead and give it a shot. But, before doing that, I tell you better look at the republicans at my beckoning, just waiting to jump all over you. I’m sure you know the hell I am talking about.” Ed stepped forward and spat, “My God, are you hearing yourself? Are you hearing us?” “From this moment, I am doing just that.” Vice President Durban scratched his noggin, then said, Sir, I doubt you are hearing us.” POTUS said in rebuttal, “Oh, I’m getting the point all right,” readily aroused into action. “You numb skulls want to get rid of me so you can run the show as you see fit. To which, to my estimate, is terrible. Right now, I need you all to get the hell out of my office before I say something that certainly won’t be nice. Now go! I have a hell of a lot of work to do.” Ed said to others, “Right now, I need you to wait outside; I need to talk to the president a moment or two.” Once only POTUS and Ed remained in the room, and though he was tired of POTUS’s verbal diarrhea, he said, “There is one more thing I think we should talk about.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WHAT MAY THAT BE?” said POTUS, looking at him suspiciously. “I just heard something.” “What for Christ’s sake? Go ahead, spit it out. You never were the type to stand on ceremony.” “It’s about the drug thing?” “I don’t have the slightest what you mean.” “Look, Sir, you and I have been around the brush and back again, right?” He could not bear shaking his head and smiling a little at his ignorance. POTUS said, “Yeah, so what are you saying?” “The grapevine just revealed you are and have been using the most dangerous drug in the world. If that’s so, you must stop the foolishness immediately.” “First off, I’m not using. Second, if I were, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Third, you are not talking to some twelve-year-old snort-nosed child. So, I say to you, back the fuck off.” After making a rude remark, POTUS snapped her fingers and rolled his neck. Just outside, from girder into the street, noon leaked a rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene as time just kept on ticking. Ed left the room shaking his head, pausing momentarily to look back at him repeatedly, knowing that in a moment of panicked hallucination, POTUS had lost it and had even found his tone of voice to be cacophonous or displeasing. He then continued to walk out of the room, closing the door behind.
Zombie
ED SAID TO THE ONES waiting for him, “If we don’t stop his subtle, warm, and golden breath, it’ll come down to what will grow is reeds that look like him. My God, it is awful that this man, our President has a death-like grip on the republicans is preposterous. Look how the GOP is in lock-step with their Fuehrer, virtually and practically, literarily eating out of his hands, prepared to do anything to appease his ravenous ego despite the upheaval to a country that was great before this evil ushered in. It’s axiomatic or self-evident this man has to go before we clear-thinkers no more live in a democracy, at least the one we once knew.” The rest standing there said in unity, “Aye, aye, sir.” To the last, they all saw where the country was headed and were now willing to fight tooth and nail to keep it from further decline. All were disappointed with the President. All were totally against the ponderous self-fulfilling urges he was seeking. Yet, they felt he had access to the churning wheels of mass media. He was willing to doctor the data to help his cause, a man ready to exhaust all possibilities to have a shot at his running again for the highest office, a man unwilling to recuse himself from being a leader over his stomping ground. The thing was, no one would dare throw the baby out with the bathwater, for he was a man who refused to accept that “In war, there are rules of engagement, collateral damage, casualties, and friendly fire! But, most importantly, there is no winner!”
Clifford Benjamin
AND THAT NOTION ATE at him throughout his presidency. He was taught not to waver, not to give in, not to lose on all fronts, even though he was now losing on all fronts, his situation spiraling out of control in every way, each day. On the whole, as experts would say or crumbling odds would indicate, under his reign, even the White House is becoming a nowhere town, his career heading towards nowheresville, a place denoting failure or relative obscurity. Did anyone mention it was time to desert the sinking ship and get the hell out of Dodge? What from the land of the brave and free? That’s preposterous, at least not from a dying regime led by a one-horse psyche with the mindset of living in the age of dinosaurs. Damn, the reign of terror numbskull doesn’t even have a safety net or any other paraphernalia to have even a drop of a chance at saving the nation, not less his very own skin. A hypotonic child with low tone or tension, the President, is on standby— listless, but all the while receiving punishment in the wake of his cruel misdeeds for all eternity, relegated to a sedentary lifestyle.
Chapter
68
ON THIS EXCELLENT, wet, and windy day, POTUS got a call that upturned his day. “Hello, this is the President speaking. Who may I be speaking to?” “It’s Detective Hammer, from the 5th Precinct down on Elm.” “What can I do for you, detective ah ... Hammer is it?” “Yes, that’s correct, Mr. President. The reason I am calling is that I just received information about the possibility of your involvement in something.” “What might that be, Detective? Can you give me detail? I mean—” “See, that’s the thing; it’s a lot more intricate than that.” “I won’t know just how much you claim I am involved in where ever this is leading to, Detective.” “Let me put it this way; I have evidence that you are involved in a murder that took place several months ago. Would you care to enlighten me on it, Sir?” “I still don’t quite get what you’re trying to get at.” “Look, Sir, we can make this easy or hard. Which one might you be comfortable with?” POTUS sighed. He then said, “Are you trying to say you have evidence that that connects me to a murder?” “That’s it exactly, Sir. I couldn’t have put it better.” “Sound every bit like I need to bring in my lawyer.”
Clifford Benjamin
“IF YOU DO OR NOT, THIS matter needs to be addressed as soon as humanly possible. Do you read me, Sir?” “I got you all right. Would you care to enlighten me further? The thing is, it’s not every day a president is alleged to have or had dealing with murder. But, that’s not a hop skip and a jump if you get my message.” “I understand, Sir.” “So, you are welcome to continue with the reason that you called. Especially on one of the most business days of the week, I might add.” “Gotcha,” said Detective Hammer? POTUS said, “So, go ahead and shot. I’m listening.” “I’ll get right to the point and not drag my feet. There is evidence that you were involved in two murders, one in particular. That being the murder of a young man and a woman alleged to been held captive.” “What? You can’t be serious, Detective.” “I can assure you, Sir, I am just that, serious.” “Do you realize who you’re talking to?” “As I said, this is a matter of urgent attention at the highest level.” POTUS said, “I don’t know who would go to that extent to out-and-out make accusations of that magnitude.” “So, is that a yes or no, Sir.” “Well ... I know ... why in God’s name I am going to agree to something I didn’t have anything to do with.” “Sir, is that a yes, or no? Look, I need you to come in to help with getting to the bottom of this.”
“I wouldn’t dare do it without my lawyer present.”
Zombie
“FINE, THAT’S FAIR AND square. So how about tomorrow at 9:00 a.m? Would that be okay with you? I mean you and your lawyer?” “Okay, I’ll go along with that.” “Fine, Sir, look forward to seeing you.” The phones clicked off on both ends, leaving POTUS in deep contemplation, his mood fitful, rising and falling, feeling as if the walls were beginning to crumble to the ground, like a fish out of water, like he was in an unnatural or uncomfortable sphere or situation. As an idea crept into his mind, he grabbed his phone and put in a call. “Hello, what can I do for you, Mr. President?” POTUS then give him the entire detailed situation and then asked him, “First of all, I need you to get all that’s humanly possible about that Detective I just mentioned. I need it like pronto. Then, when I get it, I will get back in touch to go over the details with you.” After both phones had hung up, POTUS, with his pulses racing down the track of his imagination and kept right on thinking, POTUS banging a clenched fist down hard on the desktop, incensed to the max. Later that night, around two in the morning, an individual dressed in camouflage slipped through an open window, ever so quietly, with a gun with a silencer in one hand and a suitcase in the other. Once locating the target, he shot Detective Hammer in his shoulder blade, slowing his equilibrium to respond. The individual began stabbing his victim in the eye, neck, and chest without mercy, each blow deeper than before.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ASSAULT WENT ON for a minute or two more till the Detective lay dead on his bed. The man then dragged his quarry out the room down the hall to the bathroom, putting the limp body into the tube. He then reached into the bag he brought, pulled out a reciprocating saw, and cut the body into pieces. He then placed the body parts in different bags and took them outside to the car he had backed into the garage, placing the bags in the truck. He then went back end and cleaned up the mess he made and left. Minutes later, driving on the Freeway, he headed for one of the locations to help complete his strategy, which consisted of three locations. One being a garbage dumpster where he dumped the head, then someplace away, he abandoned the arms and legs; he finished it all off by placing the torso in a landfill due to be filled in the early light of day. Satisfied, he sashays it getting into his car and sped away, breathing a sigh of relief, despite having done this sort of thing many times before just for a different person. Miles away, he stopped at lodging for the night, only to leave just before daylight. About three hours later and the same style man and sincerely singled-hearted, he was on a wavelike ridge of hard snow formed by the wind with goggles on, hustling to his abstract location like Ali Baba and the forty thieves. Would you believe this guy, when just a young pup at twelve, would run away from a fight? Back then, he had a reputation for being a snort-nosed coward. Until the day some grandiose football jock raped his sister.
Zombie
WHEN WORD GOT TO HIM, he was stock raving mad and went and found the one that did it, killing him and gutting him like a pig, then setting him on fire. Even the police had to scratch their heads for lack of evidence. When word got to the schoolyard, it jump-started his career, catapulting his ego. After that, no one dared to mess with him; if they did, the brunt of it would have been a brutal mistake on their part. This guy was a ed surgeon, used to cutting people with a scalpel and seeing blood all over.
Chapter
69
IT WAS TUESDAY, A BIT mild sunny day, when POTUS had his motorcade stop in Queens, New York, out in front of a local Supermarket. POTUS got out, as did his Secret Service. He walked over and started to pick out some fruit. As he did, a young bacon-faced black man with a fat, sleek demeanor ran out with a bag in his hand, with a clerk giving chasing, shouting, “Stop that man, he just stole some fruit.” POTUS reached inside his coat as the man ran past, pulled out a gun, and shot the man five times, killing him instantly. Before long, the scene was crawling with cops with bystanders shouting, “We saw what happened. The President shot him five times. He should be arrested here and now.” A cop, Officer Martin, a ten-year veteran with a reputation for harassing citizens, primarily blacks, talked to POTUS. He waved his hand at the crowd saying to them, “You people need to get back on the curve and let us take care of the situation. All the shouting won’t help. So I’m asking you to keep it down.” Minutes later, he said to the President, “That’ll do, Mr. President. You’re free to go.” The clouds of witnesses became more agitated, demanding to arrest the President. The secret service helped POTUS back to the car and took him away as coke bottles hit the vehicle and fell to the street.
Zombie
BEFORE THE DAY HAD ended, the incident was splashed all over the news channels, with the title: “Holy Smokes,” showing a crowd of angry demonstrators making a real ruckus outside the House of Parliament and in states across the country consisting of blacks and whites mixed with other nationalities. It was an ugly affair. The next day, the Senate was in session with the Democrats crying out for blood and bad-mouthing the President as practically all republicans ed his actions and what they considered golden blunders. Since the nation’s inception, the Senate was never so divided. Fox News, as usual, ed POTUS actions and was starting to drum up further castigating the deceased, denigrating his character like he had massacred hundreds of innocent whites. It wasn’t long before a Confederacy of Dunes, with fanatic hearts, out to kill the glory and the dreams, hit the streets across the nation. It was facing down the mixed peaceful lilies of the field with noble intentions, plagued by lonely teardrops, picking sense out of nonsense, opening the doors of perception of lawlessness to a new high through to the dying of the night. It was coupled with a monstrous regiment of women under the moon by night as seen through the needle’s eye on the other side of silence. It was like strangers in a strange land on a swiftly tilting planet, on the ground where angels fear to tread, in a world of the flesh and the devil. If looks could kill every one of the demonstrators would be dead.
Clifford Benjamin
FORTUNATELY, SOME SNEAKY, pesky spying set in place helped save many plum lucky lives. Cops were good at killing blacks under smoke, mirror, and murder. With immunity for cops or blind assassins, they would get off with just a slap on the wrist and were allowed to return to duty in the same community. At the same time, victims remained horizontal, with the promising old-fashioned future snatched from them, no places in between, their lives smashed, squashed, splattered, chewed, chunked, and spewed to cinders. On the home front, many people were aware that bitter historical enmities underlie the present violence. Over at the Oval Office, Ed said to POTUS, “There is no use trying. One can’t believe impossible things.” “I dare say you haven’t had much practice,” said POTUS. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why sometimes I’ve believed as many as six possible things before breakfast.” Ed said, “Through the looking glass, I can understand those would be second thoughts from the imagination. But, then again, there is nothing dull-witted about that.” POTUS put it out of his mind and then went by instinct, saying, “No matter how hard I tried, I felt I had to kill that idiot.” “If you had let your security handle the matter, it could have been avoided.” POTUS replied, “Are you saying I was wrong?” “No ... not exactly.” “Well, then what?” “Maybe we should change the subject matter.” “No. I want to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
Zombie
ED COULD SENSE THE stream of consciousness’s direction and wanted to nip it in the bud. “Maybe we should go down another path if that’s all right with you.” “No, let’s not do that. So tell me your assessment of the matter.” “Well, now that you ask me, I think it was shit-poor and should not have happened.” POTUS bit back, “You are supposed to be my sidekick. You’re supposed to have my back.” “I do have your back.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do.” “As I said, you don’t.” Ed said, “What do you want me to say? You did right by shooting that black on the street in broad daylight?” “That would be starting in your showing .” Ed’s brain wave was not a happy thought, and he couldn’t see things any other way. “Let’s just call it a draw for now.” POTUS’s response was automatic, “You are a coward, Ed. There’s just no other way to slice it, no matter how I try.” “Me. What about you?” Are you accusing me of being a coward for shooting an ignorant black that may have caused harm to an innocent white woman?” Ed said, “There you go with the white thing.” “What do you mean, white thing?”
Ed said, “That’s the trouble; there are too many whites that think blacks are lowdown no-do-gooders.” “Well, aren’t they?” “No, they are not.”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS HUFFED, “JUST about every day blacks kill their very own, not counting the ones that go out and rape our young, pure, innocent lily-white women folks.” Ed shook his head, finding the matter distasteful, finding it hard to believe this man, the President of these United States, would be so racist. “I tell you what I think.” “Tell me. What do you think, Mister high and mighty going around thinking blacks are good people.” Ed countered, “I didn’t say that.” “Oh, yes, you did.” “You’re trying to bring me down to your level.” “What in God’s name are you saying, Ed. Now you are above my level? Why that’s poppycock. Pure nonsense if there ever was.” Ed sighed and shook his head, tiring of the argument but knowing he had open a can of worms that’s been plaguing the nation since its inception—since its very beginning, and threatening to tear it asunder. He should have known it would eventually come to this wrinkle—proving they are total opposites. He knew then, and there POTUS had been brainwashed and now had clipped wings taking away his ability for his mind to take flight. POTUS didn’t know that Ed knew why Rosa sat on the bus. POTUS hurt and embittered and feeling hoodwinked, and then came the bad news, talking this and that as he spat, “So, it looks like the cat is finally out the bag.” He then broke terribly on him, saying, “For what it’s worth, I never would have guessed you would betray me. I suppose it’s the way of being raised. To think this all happened, and we both went up a blind alley that led to this.”
Zombie
THE CONVERSATION HAD gotten heated and became a battle of egos, just a blanket of air separating them and a veil of indifference. Well aware all our words are but crumbs that fall from the feast of the mind, Ed then gave POTUS a shot across the bow by saying, “I’ve been trying to tell you about my feelings when it comes to racism. Racism sucks the life out of you and can have you seeing things differently from the general public at large.” Ed’s mind was a sea of uncertainty and tiring of his silken lies, and he couldn’t help but feel POTUS was going to go all night, was going to light it up like dynamite. There was no quick explanation. Things would get worse and worse and worse, and pretty soon, they were too complicated. Now having confronted Ed’s stubborn stains of disagreement and feeling like he was flogging a dead horse, POTUS said, “Well, shiver my timbers. Damn it, Ed, being a member of the gentlemen’s club doesn’t make sense because all their certainly don’t allow economically challenged blacks to belong to the club. Most want to see blacks euthanized. I’m not just blowing smoke. The way I see it, who am I to tell my nightmares to if I don’t tell them to you?” Knowing that all our words are but crumbs that fall from the feast of the mind, Ed said, “Simmer down. You can tell it to me.” “But you’re not listening.” “Yes, I am. I’m all ears.” POTUS said, “Every time I try to clarify things, you shoot me down.” “I told you I’d listen.”
Clifford Benjamin
WITH ANGER BOTTLED up inside, POTUS believing chaos was a friend of mine, said, “Well, anyway, I just say it. It’s just that, when I think of blacks, I get sick on my stomach, throwing up all over myself. I feel most blacks deserve an enhanced interrogation. And I just don’t feel they should be a species. Then, using profanity, he said, “Oh, fudge. At least I’m housebroken. Although, I must it that my alarm yelled at me this morning.” He paused and then took a breath or two. He then continued saying, “My computer is working very hard. My phone is not cooperating with me, and the mail is running unusually slow this week. I wanted to get money, but the ATM died. My sunflowers hung their heads. Then, a door jumped in my way. I can’t get my calendar to work for me. My cupboard groaned when I opened it. I couldn’t even see the star winking at me. To top it off, even my house plant was pouting in the corner. Isn’t that a kicker?” Ed said, “I got you.” POTUS said, “But I hear you. So, that’s how you see it. I can’t do anything about that. I guess we can still be friends, just not as close as before.” POTUS then belched and put out his hand to Ed. Feeling POTUS had gone around the bend and that perhaps he was guilty of some terminological inexactitudes—not telling the exact truth and feeling POTUS was all there, but too much there was the problem. Ed hesitantly shook his hand, and they went back to dealing with other business of the day as the situation moved further along.
Zombie
BUT ED THOUGHT, ‘WHO knows? And what does it mean–you’ll die? Perhaps a man has a hundred senses, and when he dies, the five known to us will destroy, and the remaining ninety-five is left alive.’ But POTUS was a walking dead man. The truth was: It’s been all up with it for a long time; there’s no turning back, the path’s grown over. POTUS looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear: “Well, don’t think if I get hold of you I’ll—” “Ed asked, “I’m waiting for you to finish what you were saying to me.” POTUS said, “Here we are grown men without a sense of humor. But I get a chuckle when I think about the little cocker spaniel dog in a crate I had brought from Texas. Black and white spotted. And my son’s little girl—Tricia, the sixyear-old—named it Checkers. And you know, the kids, like all kids, love the dog, and I want to say this right now, that regardless of what they say about it, we’re going to keep it.” Many thoughts blew through Ed’s mind, including selfishness, lack of judgment, misplaced trust, greed, indecision, self-doubt, anger, misplaced loyalty, extreme curiosity. He then grew quiet. His silence would incense a flint. Over time, they both agreed they had a mountain of work to do. They both were unaware that a white republican Senator shot a black Democratic Senator in the Senate Chamber all over the President, calling out the military to quell a peaceful demonstration in Baltimore, Maryland. The shooting caused Senators on both sides of the aisle to take cover from each other.
Clifford Benjamin
THE CAPITAL POLICE brought the situation to a halt. But, the Senate Republicans insist their member not be arrested, claiming it was self-defense and that the black Senator had threatened to cause bodily harm to the white Senator. As things stood, the white Senator was allowed to go home, leaving many Democrats flabbergasted and demanding justice. To make matters even worse, once the curfew set in, as the military tried to clear the streets, it shot and killed 24 demonstrators, wounding 84. For some reason, white supremacists across the country started lynching innocent blacks by breaking into their homes and killing them, including children, and then burning their homes to the ground. In addition, whites started breaking into jails and taking the blacks out and hanging them, and many more blacks were taken from their cars and lynched. To matters worse, there were incidents of whites shooting blacks at Supermarkets throughout the nation, Native Americans, Asians, and Latinos. Moreover, it was claimed whites, like a thief in the night, killed blacks at beaches and nightclubs dating white women. There was also an outgrowth of cops killing blacks at traffic stops and home invasions. Several white teachers let all hell loose, killing black students, with blighted hopes, over something as simple as the teacher didn’t like how the student’s hair looked. Other whites were killing their black neighbors claiming they didn’t belong there, leaving blacks throughout the nation caught unaware, with a lack of expectation—no hope.
Zombie
MANY WHITES TOOK BLACKS to the cleaners, took them for a ride, and snatched their property. They even went so low as to steal their money. They then committed other crimes such as rape, conquer, and helped themselves with ill-gotten gains, without an ounce of restitution or reparation to restore black people’s lives. Around that same time, every human species in a civilized world treated blacks like chalk and cheese. Later that night, as Ed lay in bed, thinking about a woman he once knew with eyes that set his heart ablaze, he shut his eyes, and the world dropped dead. As he slept, the world around him was changing exponentially. Something or someone had to stop it before it was too late, and there would be no democracy to protect the good people of this nation.
Chapter
70
WHEN THE BAWDY HAND of the dial was upon the prick of noon and the day spread out against the sky and having driven on streets that follow like a tedious argument, Ed was in the Oval Room. There the two talking heads were. Ed said to POTUS, “It’s a damn shame things have gotten out of hand.” “What are you implying?” “I’m talking about what’s been happening around the nation.” “How so—what exactly do you mean?” “I’m talking about the white senator killing the black senator in the Senate, mind you.” “Oh, that.” “Yes, that.” There was stone-cold silence. POTUS said, “The trouble is people make sorts of horrible assumptions.” Ed said with a bellyful of confidence, “It’s bad when they are wrong, but damn good when they are right.” “There’s no one here but us chickens,” POTUS said. “What do you mean?” “I’m just saying we can say what’s on our minds without any consequences.” “I disagree.” “That’s okay with me. We agree to disagree.”
Zombie
ED SAID, “LET’S BE clear what we are talking about here.” “I know what we’re talking about.” “I don’t think so.” “As I said, we agree to disagree, said POTUS, “but, let’s look at it this way: each one of us can have a world of misconceptions.” “True,” said Ed. “But we both know what we are referring to; I’m quite sure.” “I agree.” Ed was aware that POTUS was the catalyst that got many blacks killed. He knew whites killed blacks, and sometimes blacks killed whites when the clouds rolled back, and the stars peopled the night. It was so vivid he could feel it in his bones, making him think he was alone, all alone walking down life’s lonesome highway. He considered, by contrast, each day, POTUS played the role of someone always in control. In his mind, he believed men are not angels, neither are they brutes. He also thought our aspirations are not our responsibilities. It was not clear to him who knew most, doubt most. He had to it; he had a wonderful and terrible life. His mottos were: aspire, break bounds, endeavor to be good, and never still, best. And to measure your mind’s height by the shade it casts. And the world and life are too big to for a dream. He was so confused, feeling that he was all-powerful and could still the winds asleep in the solid drift and that in the chandelier of life, you are the halogen bulb. Make sure everyone can see your light. Then when no suitable existing option was available, he would draw on the notion he was just what the doctor ordered.
Clifford Benjamin
HE NEVER FELT MORE excellent. He is terrific and believes people never say God if they hadn’t heard God talked about at all. And to improve is to change, so to be perfect is to have changed often. And never interrupt an enemy making a mistake. He also knew POTUS did not know a long dispute means that both parties are wrong, but he never loses and believes we must all either wear out or rust out, every one of us. His choice is to wear out. POTUS said to Ed, “All right! I can work with that too! It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” “True, so true,” Ed agreed. “But anyone with an open mind can see the blacks not getting their fair share.” POTUS said, “What can I say. I don’t give one damn if those blacks ever get reparations. They were the slaves, not us.” “Yeah, but they were the ones that worked in the fields from sunrise to sundown, not getting paid a penny for their efforts. So you have to agree that wasn’t fair.” “I done told you, Ed, I don’t give a damn about stinking niggers. They can all rot for all I care. God must have been drunk to high heavens when he made them. I tell you none of them were worth the effort and includes that coon, Martin Luther King. My aim as President is to make it so that never again will a single story be told as though it’s the only one.” Ed said, “With that way of think it’ll make it sound like we are the real animals.” POTUS laughed and said, “It’s the way of the world, can’t you see that.” “That way of thinking sounds like the sum of all fears to me,” said Ed.
Zombie
POTUS COUNTERED BY saying, “We hardly find any persons of good sense save those who agree with us.” Ed said, “My God, I can’t believe my ears.” “What, don’t you know—no man steps in the same river twice? That’s the way of the world, guy. It’s a fact. What happens to us is an objective reality; how we respond is a subjective choice. Suspicion runs fast; the truth doodles along.” Ed said, “I got to tell you, people, that think like you are a lost generation.” “What?” said POTUS, “don’t you know behind every great fortune there is a crime on this side of paradise, that is? No one knows how to live one’s trouble. I believe in nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination. Not God. So let the great world spin. Let’s look at it this way: all the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is. The fact of the matter is I learned courage from Buddha, President Andrew Jackson, and Cary Grant that liars prosper, sea to shining sea. That’s why I learned to get ahead repeat yourself carelessly, excessively, needlessly, endlessly, repeat yourself. And keep a big bag full of tricks. In my opinion, thinking is a neglected art. That’s why I hate to be poor, degradingly poor, and offensively poor, misery poor, or beastly poor, and disgustingly matters of gravity, such as loss. And when blacks get up on their feet and make progress, I say burn baby burn, burn that mother down, as the whites did to the black folks back in 1927, burnt their Black Wall Street to the ground. That’s why I say, if we whites don’t end this now, the blacks will kill us. Is that what you want? I am what I am.
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT HAPPENS HERE STAYS here; we must keep in mind, things can get icky quickly and that you think you got it but got it, just don’t get it. That’s why I say yes, a thousand times, yes I hate the bastards. After it’s over, all I want is a tropical vacation, a long, decadent tropical vacation with just my friends and my family. Would you believe that nigger was staring out at me with his yellow eyes? He had yellow eyes! So help me, God, yellow eyes. I later learned he was born in a hotel room. And I said to myself, goddamn it—why didn’t the bastard die in a hotel room? Yellow eyes, I tell you. Now come on, Ed, you and should be aligned on that. So go ahead, fire away at will. Shoot!” As the deadly hollows whispered out to him, Ed could hear the ringing in his ears and was no longer at ease and knew for sure this man in front of him was losing it, not knowing he had wrestled himself into a terrible position with Ed. “I will it I give you credit for trying but no cigar. But duty calls, and I won’t be looking for another way back. This silent partner disagrees with you. You have a dangerous secret that clashes with my values and virtues. You are dealing with wrongs, darker than death or night. Perhaps it was due to my being too busy being a nice guy rather than paying attention to what you were really into all the time.” POTUS said, “No partner, that’s easier said than done. But, after what you have been through, including you and I eating towering pancake Sundays and all, I can’t let you off the hook.” He smiled a perfect row of white teeth. Ed said, “I will get out of your hair if that’s okay with you.” POTUS said, “Are you telling me you want to sign off? I mean, it’s not that we wave the magic wand and—” “No, that’s not what I am saying.” “Then what are you saying?”
Zombie
“I JUST WANTED TO LET you know that I’m not going to clean up behind you anymore.” POTUS thought for a moment and then said, “That’s fine by me if that’s how you want it.” “Yes, I do. I think it will be better for the both of us.” POTUS said, “It’s like the devil you know, the devil you don’t know.” “That’s right.” “Okay.” “Glad you feel that way.” “I’m just that way with people, and I like doing business with them. It sort of works out better that way.” POTUS knew he didn’t have a plausible alibi; the real he was deep down as he said with an ambiguous smile, “The hypocrisy is where you don’t want to take this. So, you drew the line and gave me a reality check to sit up straight and never slouch. It was like I was in a different galaxy with ego flaring, but now it is fine by me, a little piece of bliss, so to speak, that doesn’t always leave bruises you can see. I’m glad you won’t be avoiding me like the plague.” “I feel the same.” He was laser-focused. To him, it was the easiest decision in decision-making. He had the home-court advantage, and that meant a hell of a lot. Although a little out of sorts, he sensed it would lead to this during the duration of the argument. Now both were so near but yet so far. He had a distinct advantage and knew that it shielded him from tasting POTUS’s wrath or to him rolling out the artillery. He then said, “I think it will set a standard from now on,” knowing what was said was not meant for public consumption.
Chapter
71
ONE MONTH LATER, A police officer patrolling Central Part in New York came across a woman beating within an inch of her life shouting, “It was a gang of young black boys that chased me down and attacked me.” “Were they tall, short or fat or lean?” She looked at him incredulously and shouted, “Why are you asking these questions?” “It’s my duty, ma’am.” “Your duty should be out there trying to get the sons of bitches that beat me and raped me. I thought they were going to kill me.” “I'm so sorry, ma’am.” “You’re sorry?” “Yes, ma’am, I am.” “You keep saying you’re sorry when the bastards that did this are getting away; heck, they might be out there raping some other innocent white woman, for all we know.” “We try our best, ma’am,” he said and then produced an archaic smile. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t need your apologies or smiles. I need you to catch those dang niggers.” “Ma’am, I must caution you not to use such language.” “What? You mean nigger?” “Yes, that’s correct.”
Zombie
SHE SAID, “TELL ME if the shoe was on the other foot and you were me, I think you’ll say the same thing.” “Help is on the way, ma’am.” “I know that. I heard you call it in. I’m not deaf; you may be, but not me.” “I assure you, ma’am, I’m certainly not deaf.” “My God, officer, I didn’t say that about you. Yet here I am with a broken nose, sprang ankle, a host of other things I can’t rightly describe at this time. “I am sorry, ma’am.” She asked, “What in god’s name do a woman have to do to get any help around here.” “Ma’am, I told you—” he said, “Now don’t get your dander up, miss.” “I know. Help is on the way. But, if it is, it’s taking a damn awful amount of time for them to get here.” She pointed her finger and screamed, “That’s them.” The officer stopped a group of blacks with two white boys and said to her, “Are you certain these are the ones that assaulted you, ma’am?” She came over closer to the boys, taking time to look from face to face. Then after shaking her head, she said, “You can let them go; they are not the ones.” The officer said, “Really? Think about it; we don’t want to let them go if there’s the chance they may be the ones that done it.” After several seconds he realized that his newfound confidence in her was no more than skin-deep. She shook her head firmly. “I’m positive, and the day I was born officer. Let them go.”
Clifford Benjamin
THE BOYS WALKED AWAY, saying, “She’s crazy. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter
72
TWO MONTHS LATER, THE woman returned to the park under the light of the moon and, with a fierce look in her eyes, out-and-out shot ten black kids, injuring four and killing six and then took flight into the darkness never seen again, leaving the cops dumbfounded and scratching their heads. It resulted in riots for many moons till preachers and parents of the victims, mixed with a cadre of Gentoo or Hindus, called a halt to the situation. The violence even reached the bird’s-eye view of the executive and the worm’seye of the employee, as fringe groups invented new ways to confound the old order. Next, on the road flanked with linden trees, in an area dominated by a specific kind of enterprise, Doctors Row was set ablaze by angry whites, reducing it to rubble. Blacks entirely owned it; whites that did it found a chink in the law that left blacks baffled, the place damaged to an extent, it would cost a galactic sum of money to rebuild, so evocative it brought tears to black’s eyes. In addition, it caused flameouts to persons whose successful careers ended abruptly, making it harder to stand the gaff. Then of Congress riding onto the President’s coattail stood by him from coast to coast. At the same time, firebombs decimated city-after-city, especially those places of fabulous wealth or even opportunity, creating a firestorm of protests under unyielding firmness or endurance.
Clifford Benjamin
WHEN SEEN THROUGH GRANNY glasses would bring a tear to their eyes, making it hard to grapple.
Chapter
73
MONTHS LATER, THE GRAY matter between the ears encouraged many republican sycophants to get the President to bomb the Gaza Strip. It resulted in the killing of thousands of men, women, and children; unnerving Democrats who demanded steps to show the Palestinians America didn’t intend to continue aggression against them, that it would take steps to better their situation. Even the nation of Iran was livid over the tragic flaw of the United States, threatened the use of the sword of Damocles, or impending disaster if America, existing in a half-world, didn’t cease-fire in the region. Some tend to believe that America was not in a hissy or didn’t blink when it received the hinky or nervous, or jittery message of Himalayan proportions from Iran. As to the killings in America, the inoperative laws could not help the authorities identify any thief. All the inventive minds across the land could not conclude, even if offered a king’s ransom. Six months later, black folks across the nation received a letter bomb in the mail, resulting in hundreds of deaths and injuries; some were lettered persons.
Chapter
74
IT WAS THE IDES OF March, around 2:35 a.m., when a bridge was blown to smithereens, killing 75 people, mostly African Americans, leaving families without a father, a mother, a cousin, and so on, an unknown white supremacist group taking the blame. A couple of days later, after a pub crawl, some wacky whites with absurdist dialogue started replacing statues of soldiers of the confederacy in sky-blue daylight armed with assault rifles daring anyone to stop them, without a show of police force to quell the riot. To date, over 150 statues were reinstalled across the nation and still counting, with no sign of a conciliation smoothing the way to a possible agreement. In addition, someone in the crowd threw a pineapple and blew up a building three floors tall, leaving it in cinders. Their actions were no smoke and mirrors but indicated their manners and miserliness erode the human spirit. These folks were terrorists, not one billet-doux between them to define them differently or help them see the big picture to strike at their elemental ion. Some might say, exile them to the Old World, Asia, Africa, or Europe.
Zombie
A WEEK OF BIRTHDAYS later, meshuggener whites, tired of their overdose, attacked from the sky, bombing black neighborhoods throughout the country as whites broke into homes, killing men, women, and children. Sadly, the government was not amenable to change, claiming their military was preoccupied with situations aboard that were harmful to our nation. The thing was, there was not a kernel of truth for their actions, nor was there an effective substantive kick against the prick or rebuttal to their efforts. The thing was the on-again-off-again republicans like moths to a flame while their careers headed towards nowheresville. They had managed to get more bigots into office across the nation, including the prosecutors, governors, police departments, the courts, even the Justice Department, everything one could shake a stick at all.
Chapter
75
ON A MONDAY MORNING, two black democrats were sitting down chatting, eating in the mess hall. Representative Hass, a man of exceptional insight, said to his fellow Senator Andrew, “Senate Republican Dean was there.” “No kidding? He has a mega ego and is a regular pervert.” “That’s right.” “I think that beetle-browed guy with bushy dark and messy eyebrows frowning in appearance is a killjoy, who does not like other people enjoying themselves, especially blacks.” Hass said, “He does have a problem. I don’t know how true it is that he once hung a black boy in college. A hopeless case, I tell you. When I heard about it, it caused me to miss more than a night’s sleep that threw my body out of kilter.” “Oh, that must have been awful. If I had my druthers, or should I say, if I had my preference, I’ll put that sucker’s lights out.” “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. But I thought that too. So I had to get some medication to help me sleep,” Hass said. “He has a slight air of menace which I find upsetting,” said Andrew. “You better be careful when you’re around him, especially when you are alone. There’s no telling what he might do.” Hass asked, “Do you think he’s packing?” “Gee whiz, where’s my head? Do you mean a firearm?”
Zombie
“YES.” Andrew picked his glass up and said, “Here’s mud in your eye!” “Oh, so we’re saluting with just water in the glass?” “I just thought it might humor you a bit,” said Andrew, his smile putting a dimple on his cheek. “Well, it did; thank you so much.” He smiled. Hass said with a smile, “Got a question.” “What?” “If two witches were watching two watches, which witch, in your view, would watch which watch?” “To be frank or honest, I don’t have a clue,” Andrew said. Hass laughed and said off-kilter, “Neither do I.” The two laughed a barrel of laughs. Hass said, “On another side of things, my motto is, decide what you want in life —don’t just muddle along.” Andrew raised his glass again. “Ramble on, man. I’m with you on that front, that is if it’s alright with you.” “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t have any trouble with that. We all are allowed to have a difference of opinion in this new world we live in, consisting of North, Central, and South America,” Hass itted. Andrew lowered his voice a tad and asked him, “What do you think about our people being killed and having to bear the brunt of things?” “I think it’s appalling.”
“We’re of one mind with that.” “It’s sad the government’s overrun with racist whites. It’s a sad commentary.”
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “I’M RIGHT with you, partner, and every step of the way. The thing is, when will it all stop. That’s if the right people get back into power again.” “Did you hear the latest?” “What?” Hass said, “That a white drunk as a skunk plowed through some kids at a bus stop waiting for the bus, killing seven and injuring ten elementary school kids.” “My God, that’s awful.” “Yeah, they were black kids.” Andrew said, “Idiot should be in jail.” “Back at you, champ. I concur. But we both know the guy will get off Scot free, without serving a day behind bars.” “I know. And look at how the cops are treating us.” Hass said, “The Black Panthers had it right for us to protect our community from corrupt cops out to murder us in the streets.” “Don’t forget our homes. We are not safe there either,” said Andrew. “I find it amazing how there are so many whites that can’t accept reality America is Racist to the core. And they don’t know black don’t crack. That people of African descent tend to wrinkle less with age than people of fairer skin.” “I’ve always known that. So I agree with you.” Andrew said, “Man can you dig it? We’re not talking about beer and skittles or fun time; the fact is the racist whites are ing the police force to kill blacks for the thrill of it. Sort of honor amongst thieves, so to speak, hook line and sinker— equated to a hollow victory, without hope in hell with no chance of succeeding, like it’s beyond the pale.”
“Yeah, that’s right, but I must say some of the blacks are arming themselves with assault rifles and fighting back.
Zombie
ANDREW TOOK OUT A TISSUE and blew his nose, then said, “Been there, done that. I heard that too. What choice do we have? We can’t just lie down and let them kill us all without us fighting back. That would be lunacy.” Hass said, “How about that Senator, the one with the face like thunder that stated America should have a military coup.” “He’s stubborn as a mule, a boon and a bane—both a benefit and an affliction. The one with the face only a mother could love. That’s the thing; this country doesn’t need people like that making such outlandish statements we don’t need the big fish shouting to the rafters that America should become autocratic.” Andrew said, “It’s sad they don’t realize those who live by the sword die by the sword.” “Amen. Another sad thing many republicans are exhibiting no fear, and finessing their way through tight places, and displaying the ability to harness with others, are throwing caution to the wind and casting in their lot with white supremacists biting at the bit.” “I know what you mean,” said Andrew. “They are casting pearls before swine. Giving someone else something not deserved or appreciated.” Hass said, “That’s why I believe in fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice shame on me.” “I always liked that phrase. And I must say, I thought, I thought of thinking of thanking you. “Nah, you don’t need to.” “It’s just that what you said about casting pearls before swine is to the point,” Hass said.
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “HOW I look at it is, thousands of tricky tongue twisters trip thrillingly off the tongue every day. That’s why it’s a shame that a lot of whites are not awake. Many of them don’t know much about America’s horror in the past. Many scuffs at the thought that whites attack an entire town owned by blacks.” “Sad.” Andrew said, “They were damn dark days and nights for America.” “The trouble is, these are troubling times again, and the good and decent citizens need to buckle down for the long haul all over again,” said Hass, glancing around at blank faces, wondering if their conversation was overheard by someone, feeling he could care less. Andrew asked, “Do you think they know?” “Who are you talking about?” “White people—a lot of them don’t know that Professor Leaky, a white man, by the way, discovered that Liberia is the cradle of civilization and that blacks left Africa and moved into the caves in Europe and began the white civilization. That explains why their eyes changed to blue, and some other colors and their skin turned to white due to the cold,” said Andrew, feeling that the whites that knew that fact didn’t want to let on to their brethren the God’s truth. Hass said, “Yeah, you’re right. They don’t want their kids to know that ancient Africans called divine kings rule Egypt for 39 thousand years, and they were black as homemade sin. Whites want that fact to stay hidden and blindside their adult children.” “It’s a fine mess. A downright dirty shame if you ask me.” “I’m with you, partner on that.”
Zombie
HASS SAID, “I REALIZE you are, and I’m glad you are on the right path ... many whites feel we blacks that see things like that got our foot in our mouths, you know like inappropriate, wrong, or stupid.” “That’s why this President has to go. He has proven he is the bane of our existence, posing a significant problem to us.” “True that ... him with an invisible golden crown upon his brow. Indeed, a bridge too far, taking actions that are too ambitious and overreaching. That turkey has lied, saying things, again and again, hoping something will stick. How I see it, he’s under a cloud of uncertainty, making him under suspicion as to the reliability, dependability, or trustworthiness resulting from ominous circumstances. Now look at what’s happening to this nation. He continued to place irons in the fire and got the Republican Party hell-bent on destroying the other party. Sorry to bend your ear about our President, just figured you ought to know.” Hass said with a discerning eye, “Shit, I know what you’re talking about now. He’s got several things working to his advantage at the same time.” “It’s called the big lie.” “I know. All of it perpetrated by the dirty dog in the White House.” “It’s a travesty.” “Totally a travesty,” said Hass. Andrew said, “That man’s one sick puppy.” “I second that.” “Too bad God won’t take him out,” Andrew said. “Sure would save us a lot of trouble.”
Clifford Benjamin
HASS SAID, “HE’S CERTAINLY not a gentleman and a scholar. He needs to get a lifestyle overhaul, a complete revision of his way of living. But, as they say, even a hit dog will holler. That guilt will ultimately come to light if he is guilty. Some people expect him reelected President now he’s hit a purple patch, you know, like had a run of success or good fortune. But, he needs to get his A into G, his ass in gear if you ask me,” calling it off his chest, and giving tongue, and then making an obscene gesture with the middle finger as a sign of contempt. Andrew said, “He has proven to be a few bulbs short of a chandelier, dimwitted, not too bright—that I am sure. The cards are on the table, and there’s every indication it’s now a fair season, a right time to get him out of office.” Andrew leaned a hair’s breadth away from Hass and said, “I just got wind of a plot hatched.” “What.” “I don’t know how true it is.” “Tell me anyway.” Andrew said, “Some politicians are planning a coup.” “You think so?” Andrew shrugged his board shoulders. “I think maybe so. But, of course, you can never tell whether or not when it comes through the grapevine and all. I heard their scheme is like a cat in gloves catches no mice, you know like, one cannot get what one wants by being cautious, one must use aggression to get it.” “Do tell.”
Zombie
“THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. Then, just yesterday, I was in the bathroom taking care of business when two guys came in. I could have sworn I overheard one say to the other that everybody back’s was against the wall and that they had concluded it had to happen.” Hass said, “My stars! Do you think they were implying that the President should be gone? That was not clear enough. They could have meant many things.” “Maybe so, maybe not; that’s the way I see it.” Hass said, “If you’re not sure, I say button your lip. You don’t want to start something if it’s not true.” “Maybe you’re right because one of them had some music playing on his cell phone, blurring the situation.” “See, that’s what I’m saying. You probably thought it was what you heard but cannot be sure.” “Yeah, you may be right,” said Hass. “I’m right. I bet dollars to a donut.” Hass said, “Oh, like you’d bet the farm on it? But, on the other hand, for some reason, my mind keeps telling me it is zero hours.” “Hold your horses. That doesn’t sound too good, don’t you think?” “By the same token, sometimes it pays to trust your intuition,” said Hass. “I know. I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but life’s not all cakes and ale. So it does pay to trust your intuition.” Hass said, “Maybe your better angels told you that.” “What?” “You know that the president is in danger.”
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “NAH, I heard them talking about something to that effect. I could’ve sworn one of them say they are waiting for the green light. You know, like given the necessary permission, authorization to do something. I could be wrong. Say if I were to tell someone else, it might be like taking sand to the beach—completely pointless.” Hass suggested, “Sometimes it may pay to take the bull by the horns and not worry about the risks. As for me, I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty. But, on the other hand, you have become involved in something where the realities might compromise your principles. What do you think?” “I don’t know. But, perhaps, I should get my ass in gear.” “Ah, you always were one sharp cookie,” said Hass. Andrew said, “And you mostly in seventh heaven smitten with the shaggy-dog story, which is a long, rambling story or joke, typically one that is amusing only because it is absurdly inconsequential or pointless with a silly ending.” They chuckled, in stitches, unaware of the shifting sands that were about to take place, that would not only affect them but the high and mighty, the people with authority and power who behave in a superior and condescending way. Hass said, “You’re right. I have a feeling we are about to hit rough weather filled with difficulties or problems.” “I sense that too—if something does happen, it’s sure to hit the airwaves on radio and TV.” “Yeah, you’re right.” “You can count on that. It may be better if we both quit cutting down the tall poppies, criticizing people who stand out from the crowd.”
Zombie
“I AGREE, BUT A HOT ticket is very much in demand at the moment.” “As they say, broke as a joke, and it isn’t funny.” “Beg your pardoning. Oh, sorry about that. I was thinking about something else. But, I know what you mean. It’s not funny to be without a cent,” Hass said. Andrew scratched his five o’clock shadow then said, “Speaking of money, that president of ours is a cheat and a liar and out to lunch, so out of touch.” “I agree,” Hass itted. “He gets my goat and annoys me. A fish out of the water, while that cat keeps his head buried in the sand, ignoring the wrong things. He doesn’t have the foggiest notion of a ghost of a chance to run this country or know what time it is or have any hope whatsoever of succeeding. He’s quick to get his feathers in a bunch, getting upset or angry about anything and everything. Come to think, speaking of time, the way I look at time is: I have only just a minute—only sixty seconds in it. Forced upon me, can’t refuse it. I didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it. I must suffer if I lose it. But it’s up to me to use it. Give if I abuse it, just a tiny little minute but eternity is in it.” Andrew clapped his hands, applauding his efforts. “That’s wonderful, full of meaning and substance.” “Getting back to that president’s situation,” Hass said, “I have a feeling this country is at the tipping point. As they say, small changes have little effect till they build up to a critical mass, and then another small change may suddenly change everything.” Tired and emotional, Andrew said, “How I see it, time is not on our side, and we don’t have the luxury of not having to worry about how long something will take.”
Clifford Benjamin
HASS LOOKED AT HIS watch with four eyes and said, “I tell you what.” “What?” Hass said, “Best we get back at it. Don’t want our boss thinking we skived off work.” Andrew said to Hass, “Ready to go, Skipper.” Suddenly there was a dull roar of a commotion in the hallway, and they hasten slowly from the cafeteria to see what was causing it.
Chapter
76
UPON STEPPING INTO the marble hallway as white as milk, they saw a large group of individuals in the hundreds walking with signs that read, ‘Save our democracy now!’ On this dark day, and drawing a blank as to what was occurring, Andrew stopped one of them and asked him, “Holy shit, what’s going on?” The unfamiliar stranger showing up like a bad penny looked straight ahead as if he was in a trance, his eyes blank. He was a party animal, by every stretch of the imagination. Then if he was dead right, the man said, “Did you see him?” Instead of taking a calculated guess as to what the man was implying and wondering if what the man had said was a deliberate mistake, Hass asked him, “See who?” The bad sport, a bag of bones, a barrow man, alluded to the convicts at Woolwich, principally employed in wheeling barrows full of brick or dirt. He scratched his balding hair and touched his cauliflower ear, permanently swollen and disfigured due to being repeatedly struck, often a feature of a veteran boxer or rugby player.
Clifford Benjamin
THE TWIT SAID WITH dry wit, “The Zombie. There’s no greater evil. Now you’ll have to excuse me. Bbiab—be back in a bit,” then pushed past them and began shouting the battle cry along with the rest seeking their bonds of vengeance, “We’re not alone. We’ve got to keep the harbinger of doom from happening and must batten down the hatches.” Andrew said to the man, “Does the guy you are referring to hit that hard?” The man’s eyelid fluttered, and he said, “Is the Pope Catholic?” Hass said to the man, “Whatever you guys are bent on doing, you can’t do it. Are you off your nut? You probably don’t realize you’re sure to get arrested like a bolt out of the blue has hit strange victims too.” It was not a definite possibility the man was loony. Still, Andrew, optimistic and filled with human comion and a wiz at copping with hypothetical situations, and no educated fool and feeling numb, said to Hass, “In my humble opinion, there’s not a fat chance to getting anything from these idiots, now or in the immediate future. Andrew threw up his hands. “Beats me what’s got them stirred up or their impressive ignorance for that matter. He can’t see what they intend on doing is much ado about nothing. People like him learn the hard way that it never rains, but it pours. It’s all Greek to me. I doubt we will learn increasingly little from why they’re acting as if being struck by a ton of skulduggery.”
Zombie
“YOU’RE RIGHT,” HASS agreed, with a melancholic expression on his face. “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. It’s like they live in an Ivory tower, in a state of sheltered and unworldly intellectual isolation. But you’re so on point. But let’s be like Jack in the box and jump up and split this scene.” Anyone with a bit of nous would have known what to do. “By the way, did I mention I’m nuts about dinosaurs? Don’t answer that. I’m at all crazy over animals. But tell me, did I mention the death of my great uncle at age 35 has occasioned an outpouring of grief.” “Can’t comment,” said Andrew in a blue funk. “I’m in a spot of bother—a slight problem. I can’t get that nut in the hallway out of my mind.” “Shit happens! Be it as it may, even if that is the case, I’m with you, that sucker with those bandy legs and crooked toes was indeed a pisser,” Hass said, with a pithy remark, popping a pistachio nut into his mouth then chump down on it. “He’s a ‘lots baloney’ and has nothing to offer but toil tears and sweat, falling for an event that will never happen. It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens. You know what? Maybe the clue is on the walls somewhere nearby. If we had looked, we probably wouldn’t have ignored the sign. If we had, neither one of us would’ve grasped its full implications.” He then expressed his pivotal idea to Andrew. “Were I you, I wouldn’t pit my wits or be pitched headlong into despair over that lame ass. Case closed.” The two stood like greyhounds in the slips; suddenly, the entire room was pitch ‘dark. Before they could comment, the lights came back on.
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW GLANCED DOWN at the pin on the floor and ed the words ‘See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck; See a pin and let it lie, bad luck you’ll have all day.’ So he picked up a pin, not a nail. They left their nook, troubled by what they had just witnessed, without a notion or hint things were about to get ugly. The fourth estate with a guaranteed forecast couple with the local authorities would be there crawling the area, and the world would know about the game that was being played from beginning to end, from soup to nuts.
Chapter
77
A FORTH-NIGHT LATER, Andrew’s father died, and he was pitch-forked into the running of the estate. After that, he got hooked on his place of worship, becoming its youngest pastor. Still, the clothing store owned by his father fell into one of the significant pitfalls of small business, borrowing from suppliers by paying bills late. In essence: on Carey Street—bankrupt. Now, it was autumn, the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, when Andrew fell in love with one of the church’s , who had been a very tranquil child who slept all night and hardly ever cried. Several parishioners complained that the roads were busy as they drove out of town, but it was plain sailing. So happy that he opened a plain-vanilla bank in his and her name with low charges. Some thought that was one sandwich short of a picnic—just plain stupid. He paid them no mind. He was head over heels in love, pretty damn quick. He was transfixed, hook, line, and sinker, without a life raft. He didn’t realize that it could take his situation to rack and ruin in a heartbeat if he made the wrong move. He wondered why it all happened to him. Was it because he lacked in savoir-faire?!—The intuitive ability to know how to deal with any situation that arises. She could do no wrong. Until that dark day, he came home and caught her butt naked with the local carpenter with his dick deep inside her.
Clifford Benjamin
THERE WAS NO WAY HE might have known there were skeletons in his closet. But he, nevertheless, was so mad, he went to a closet in the hallway, took out his shotgun, and as sure as God made little green apples, he returned and shot both of them straight through the heart, killing them instantly. He was now on a wing and a prayer. There was a knee-jerk when his wife’s relatives, in a listless, ive manner, without interest, didn’t show for him, but his parishioners, friends, and relatives, on the other hand, ed him 100 percent. Once the court tried the case, the jury pitied the pastor so much that they went soft on him, letting him off for time served and five years probation. The question was, would his parishioners forgive him and want him to remain as their pastor?
Chapter
78
AS LONG AS A MONTH of Sundays, the parishioners took him back and gave him jots of inspiration, helping him get back up on his feet. From then on, it was plain sailing, sweet La dolce vita—the good life, full of pleasure and indulgence. He was thoroughly pleased and aware he dodged a bullet that sharpened his wits as clean as mustard. He couldn’t be more enthusiastic than he ever was. Several months later, on a warm Sunday morning, the pastor said to his ed at the hip parishioners, “Fellow worshipers, we have done our due diligence and done it in a very integral way. Thank God in heaven.” He would continue serving the Lord and managed to accumulate a small King’s ransom, sharing some of it with kith and kin—friends and relatives. But, for all, it was a sweet La-di-da. “Amen,” they shouted and kept a stiff upper lip, resolute and unemotional in the face of adversity. Saying nothing—especially in circumstances where saying the wrong thing may get you into a world of trouble, not knowing what things would be like a week from Tuesday—some unspecified time in the future. As to Hass’s blueprints, the jury is still out. Some speculate he had gone to back of beyond—a remote place. What an imperfectly perfect world we live in—no boundaries—infinite possibilities—beautiful chaos—a miracle happens—inhale and exhale, blinkand-you-miss the scenario.
Chapter
79
IT WAs a Thursday morning around 10:00 a.m. when the president and cabinet arrived at the airport. Once all had gotten out and walked up the flight of stairs to enter the plane, they took their seats. Some were looking out the windows waving at their families, smiling and giggling. Everyone seemed to be in a joyful mood. Once the doors were closed, the plane began to move forward at a slow speed. Suddenly, an alarm sounded, causing the pilot to bring the aircraft to an abrupt stop. Within minutes the main door opened and, with quickened pulse and rush of excitement, propelled the secret service to rush in and take the president and his cabinet off the plane. With pulsing anguish screaming in his mind in a moment of terrifying uncertainty, the president stood bewildered, watching as the suspense of that looming feeling of the inevitable raising the hair on the back of his neck and causing a shiver up his spine. Shortly, an agent pointed to a suspicious package attached to the bottom of the plane. Within fifteen minutes, the bomb squad arrived dressed in protective clothing. They took the package to a safe location out of harm’s way.
Zombie
ONE OF THE AGENTS WALKED over. The breathless, wide-eyed whisper of the man told the president it was indeed a bomb, and it had detonated. The agent then handed the president a note. It read: “This is for your failure to departmentalize the government so we white supremacists can take control of the government as you promised would happen under your leadership, as they say, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” The agent got another call. He said, “Mr. President, I am honored to say we got the sonofabitch. Despite no doubt the feeling of helpless surrender, he claims he did it alone without any help at all. Yet, he’s sticking to his story and appears unshakable. I guess you can say he’s red in tooth and claw, displaying difficult emotions or violent behavior.” The agent then got yet another call. Again, he placed the phone on the speaker. A ringing voice said, “As one of our detectives tried scare tactics, telling the accused in no uncertain , he would push the guy's head into the sea. Then and there, the detective noticed a tattoo on the man’s shoulder that meant something remarkable—according to protocol, the detective can’t say just what it means.” The words coming out as softly as a breath, POTUS said, “That’s the best news I’ve heard lately.” He then thanked all those involved who helped deescalate the situation showed just how dependable and expendable they were, putting their lives on the line under extraordinary circumstances, helping to bring about an ending to what was to most a salient event. Within the hour, and everyone reseated, the plane took to the sky on the way to the appointed destination.
Clifford Benjamin
THANK GOD THAT THE agent who discovered the bomb had gotten an epiphany something was not right. It was the moment when everything pauses when the world seems to shift. In the final analysis, it was such a great little shot of domestic tension that could have been catastrophic.
Chapter
80
IN THE HAUNTING MOMENTS, it was noontime at the Capital. A security guard entered the office of the Attorney General, and using his sixth sense, stated, “looks every bit like it’s an insurrection about to go down, Sir, that involves America’s Favorite who seemed not to know diddly or have the faintest idea what the people want.” The bright sky-candle shines from the South, bringing warmth and light to middle-earth. The day had been approaching to give it its best. Now that day was here, the right place, the wrong time. Ed had heard what the security guard had just said. Now on needle and pins, his senses working overtime, he said to him, “What?” To double-check, he looked out the window at the fantastic reality of hundreds if not thousands of maddening unholy seekers trying to intensify up the mother of siege displaying a wall of intent, riled up and boldly stepping onto the pages of history. He couldn’t believe his eyes seeing the torn changes materializing; they were all at their breaking point. From the looks of things, there would not be a mercy escape. They came prepared, with assault rifles and baseball bats, knives, and pitchforks; a mixture of everything imaginable, even women and children, with clenched fists in the air, attacking the security forces, eventually gaining entrance to the Capital.
Clifford Benjamin
ED KNEW HE WAS GUILTY of being the man’s partner, but the kind strain within compelled him to rush to see about POTUS. He didn’t imagine the God-awful genuinely fake POTUS, with glacier-like rapidity, going nowhere fast, would ever be a victim to the disappearance of influence. Now, from the looks of things, the Martyr Love-Child was on his way to being seduced by prophecy, and his mortal engagement might be on the chopping block and cause him to not be around for the Feast of tomorrow. He should have suspected something was up because he hadn’t seen or heard a dickybird from POTUS for several days. He couldn’t have known it would be tomorrow and wild. Ed stopped for a moment, doing nothing, hoping things would go quiet, but was sadly disappointed to see a large group of rioters attacking more of POTUS’s security and then grabbed the dictator and took him outside. It was as if time had stopped. And as the crowd egged on the men, POTUS of the United States was hung by the neck, no longer standing on trees of the soul. In retrospect, just before killing the dictator, POTUS said, “We tried; we failed; we learned. We will try again. Furthermore, can you believe I rode a roller coaster, ate a pretzel, killed a goldfish, and killed a juggler? I did it all! But for Christ’s sake, I am innocent. All of you are just scum.” He then seemed to get a firm grip on reality, then looked Homeward, in an odd sort of way, and said, “Strangely, I am in my mother’s room now—I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there. I love my dog. I expect my dog to chew my pillows, my cat to claw my furniture. But the fact is you people are crazier than I can ever be.”
Zombie
WHAT A CLEAR CASE OF irony; there he stood, defeated, seeking that unfound door—to the unimaginable, unfathomable, and unreachable, Heaven thing, humanity has forgotten but unconsciously seeks to find, something that has become one of the biggest mysteries of life. He slipped into old habits, whereby those who disagree with him were not merely wrong but bad; where he shouted instead of listening; where he barricaded himself behind preconceived notions or well-practiced cynicism. Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Teresa’s, and clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. If he had believed it exists, came to know it better, nurtured it, shared its fruits tirelessly, would things have been different?—which leaves us with one moot point, and that is: ironically, this giant of humongous proportion, had had it all, but lost it all, at one fell swoop and now the fat lady has begun to sing, and the curtain falls for whom the bells toll. Furthermore, he could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. His inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies—every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning, elusive, lost, his tongue of flame had ceased to flicker. No more will he utter to anyone, “Come to my castle on the highway of nightfall.”
Chapter
81
THERE WAS A LOW RUMBLING of heavy boots among the humanoid anarchist and a still slighter shuffling of men’s shoes, and all was quiet again. Every evil eye was on POTUS, now a deathlike mass of forgotten memories hailed on the frozen-time Fox News channel. After an enormously small amount of time had ed, his lifeless body swung back and forth at the end of a rope. It was a horrible unimaginable scene. It was horrific enough to make most anyone go mad or for anyone to pick up a gun and kill the ones that did it. After a time and things brought to a standstill, there was an elegant silence. Then, finally, Ed told Congressman Diablo, “God, the awful white Supremacist did it.” “No, sir,” said Diablo. Crestfallen by the fairy prominent, Ed asked him, “What do you mean.” His fairly accurate faculty working, Diablo said, “The ones that did it were loyal of the democratic machine, from the extreme left. I might add, claiming they were a segment of the Martian Luther Gang, numbering in the thousands. Now all they loved—they loved alone, all the while, he was a demon in their view, but loved him regardless.
Zombie
THE TWO ENQUIRING MINDS stood there dumbfounded, going over the entire portion of what had just happened during the extraordinary expressive silence. When the rest of Heaven was blue, the sunlight around him rolled in its autumn tint of gold. “No, no, you—you can’t be serious,” Ed exclaimed “I am, Sir. I checked it out, checked it thoroughly, they were right. And to kick start their day, word has it, POTUS inspired them from within, now they number in the thousands wanting to take control of this democracy. It looks every bit like they will succeed.” Ed said, “I thought ... it was white supremacists that done that very God awful deed ... to the one they claimed to have loved. I guess you can say—for them, that is—its love among the ruins; no more wild nights, and nights’ night. Now, it’s all over. He had the gift but blew it. Now all that remains is the wolf at the back door, knowing as the tide rises—the tide falls. Now his enablers are acquainted with the night, all too well, and so too, they know, death is not proud. And they also know—nothing gold can stay, all that remains is light and darkness, to find their way home.” “To answer your question, I say to you, no Sir—it was Left Wingers that disagree with the direction POTUS was taking the country.” Ed shook his head. “I tried to tell him not to keep with getting the white supremacist help with getting his wish to take the nation back to the colonist days—and now this, all because he told a whopping great lie ... all because the republicans gave him a license to do what he damn well please.”
Clifford Benjamin
HE STILL CAN’T GET over POTUS having such ugly thoughts. He knew, all too well, that if a person has ugly reviews, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it. As the helicopter hovered above the building, the Congressman put his hand behind his back, then lowered his head and said, “Don’t feel bad. I try my best to do the same, but he just flounced out of the building. He had it made and apparently did not realize life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are, hours and hours away from, literally starving to death!” Ed said, “I presume you’re right, simply put, he was at a point of no return long before now, a virtual walking time bomb, so much so that there was no way of putting the genie back in the bottle. Plus, he wasn’t aware he was about to be fucked by the long dick of the law! And to think, and all things considered, he got Carte Blanche, and this, this happens. What a waste; he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried—fish and cut bait.” He knew he was right about POTUS’s attitudes and actions, which tend to mimic the fragmentations of the modern world. “Well, it’s ancient history, now,” said Ed. “I need a martini. Shaken, not stirred. Somehow, weirdly, today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” Suddenly, a camera crew materialized. Smiling, he said, “Looks like I’m going to need a bigger boat.” He then held his hand as if he had something to drink and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” They stood looking out the window at the hangman’s noose still up.
Zombie
ED THEN TURNED HIS head slightly and noticed a man walking a wellgroomed dog on a pink leash on the one hand and a real rough, tough Rottweiler on a spiked collar on the other hand. He then turned his head again. It was one the most horrible things that had ever occurred at the Capital since the times of Abe Lincoln. No one knew that Ed was aware POTUS was involved in a string of murders over the years. Ed’s phone rang. He took it out and said, “Ed here.” The question was who, other than his wife, might be calling? He had gone to visit a sick relative. Ed clicked on the phone then said, Ed here.” It was an urgent call.
Chapter
82
THE CALLER TOLD HIM, “We have yet another problem.” “Can you tell me how so?” “POTUS’s daughter overdosed.” “Tell me, is—” “That’s the problem, Sir; she’s dead.” Ed shouted, “Damn!” gripping the phone as if his life depended on it. He quickly regained his composure and then asked, “Is his son okay?” “The EM’s got him to the ICU in the nick of time.” “Well, tell me, is he still breathing?” “He is ... thank God. He too had overdosed, wanting desperately to be with his dad and sister.” “Though sad as it may be, that’s certainly good news,” said Ed. He shook his miserable head and looked off in the sunset, the caller saying, “What do you want me to, Sir. Are you still there, Sir? As I’m sure you are aware, this is something to know, Sir. Are you still—?” Dropping the phone, he took one long last look. He then walked off into the sunset, a countenance more in sorrow than in anger, a devoted Daniel come to judgment. He was equivalent to a dead man walking, hearing nothing but the pleasingly confused ringing in his ears, knowing things would never be the same. He was a loyal friend of one son of a bitch—a pious atheist who knew all too well a golden key opens any door.
Zombie
HE STOPPED AT A NEWSSTAND, got a plain buttered bagel, and sipped on a solid cup of steaming hot coffee through a plastic straw. Oh, it looks like someone forgot; a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Chapter
83
THEN ON A COLD RAINY evening, POTUS’s son entered the Capital with an assault rifle. He made his way to the Senate Chamber. He unceremoniously shot all the republican Senators that voted to impeach POTUS and then out-and-out shot and wounded and killed a relatively large number of Democrats. He then escaped by holding the rifle to the temple of a security guard and managed to evade security on the way out of the Capital and then shot and killed his captor, then jumped into his vehicle waiting close to an emergency exit and sped away. Soon, he was driving like a diehard maniac and later found dead at his father’s gravesite crying his heart out and muttering to himself, leaving a note that stated: “I did it for you, dad. They didn’t deserve to live,” POTUS son said, as the flowers on the grave drooped in sadness. Can’t you see, dad, they betrayed you. The truth is every last one of your ers referred to you as another Mahatma Gandhi in the making; you loved to help and care about people everywhere, from the streets to your friends. “You hear me, dad? I’m coming.” He sobbed a slight bit more.
Zombie
HE THEN SAID, “I DON’T want to live without you and my loving and beautiful sister. I’m on my way, dad. You tried to make this country great again, but the idiots just wouldn’t let you. They will all see just how much you loved this country. I love you and will be with you always. Thanks for being there for me; I love you always, dad. Lastly, I hope you see the tragedy had certain inevitabilities about it.” It indeed was a heartfelt last-ending epistle to the ones he loved, something with the likelihood the world would certainly never witness again, providing the nation be under the watchful wishful eye of the ers of a democratic country. The eternal question was, ‘where did we go wrong?’—A question to surely ring hollow for eons to come.
Chapter
84
SOMETIME LATER, ON a bright sunny day, a sorry cop, on some personal business, drove into the cemetery and stopped along the roadside close to a tombstone that said: “Make America Great Again.” The cop had a quart of Vodka in his hand as he walked to the grave. He then did something rarely done; he pulled out his penis and began pissing on the grave, saying, “Yeah, you devil, this is sure to be taped live. Yeah, that’s right; you came to the right place. Oh, yeah, I’m a bigot that did not stand for your shit. Now take this down your rotting throat. Now, how does that feel, you no-good bastard? Mark my word, I will never teach my kids to hate another human being just because of the color of their skin. What? Let’s get this straight. The question now is, or did you not just say something? What? Silence nothing but pure silence. “Look, sucker, and you don’t understand! I could’ve had class. I could have been a contender. I could’ve been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am.” A momentary silence ensued. “Are you talking to me? Ah, lighten up.” Not a sound. “That’ll do, pig. Lay off.” More silence. “I’m walking here! I’m walking here!”
Zombie
EVEN MORE SILENCE. “Inconceivable!” Plus, this guy was no street Arab; he was a cop. Silence, but near dark, but no curtain-raiser. “All right, Mr. one-term president. I’m ready for my close-up.” Totally silence. “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.” Silence on Edge. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” Ah, more silence. “Well, nobody’s perfect.” Again silence only. “Now see here, dead-bird. Snap out of it. You had me at ‘hello. And I must say, you may take my life, but you’ll never take my freedom! You know what? I think maybe you just flow on out of here, laughing at me like that. You feel me,” he said, depicting his strength of character and stream of consciousness. More, more silence. Suddenly, he saw the folly of it all, and as a result, he found himself in a situation that made him stretch the point and wind up saying, “That’s what I thought. I know what’s going on exactly. I’ll tell you what it is. What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Simple as that, it is. And fuck you.” At first, he was a little angry. Minutes later, his face was red. He then said, “I’ll tell you what. You can just kiss this naked behind. Now eat that sucker? We’re through. Oh, one more thing. And that is, repeat after me: KISS.’ Keep it simple, stupid.’”
“That’s right, now kick it to the left, then kick it to the right, believe you’re dynamite.” “Better yet, I should just shoot your ass.”
Clifford Benjamin
HAVING SAID HIS PIECE, he smashed the bottle upside the tombstone, and before returning to his car, he said, “As of this minute, I’m through with drinking. “Hasta la vista, asshole, I'm through with this.” He then turned on his heels and made what he hoped was a dignified half expected exit, heading for the nearest exit. But, instead, he got into his squad car and drove away, never looking back at all, then turned onto a busy street and began mingling with the crowd, as some moved to exits, on the way to a new day, a day with promise, stroking the hair on his Pet Peeve. He then lets out a crunchy belly laugh that sounds like a bunch of bones scraped together—unforgettable, in actuality, he headed on a slow boat to China. Now that person, POTUS, was invisible, imperceptible, unapparent, out of range of vision, and gone to earth, classified as a real live Zombie. Some might say, ‘Yeah, well, life’s not fair to me, also!’ No one to date knew local folklore has it that prehistoric people drove cattle over this cemetery, with the hopes the disgraced president return from exile one day, only to eke out a precarious existence foraging in rubbish dumps. Someone once said—“Without order, nothing exists. Without chaos, nothing evolves, and if you are not careful, you’ll wake up with a zit—that nasty, pesky mosquito bite.” Lastly, nowadays, it’s also well known to most, POTUS of the United States was a staunch bigot. The world will never forgive him for being that way—living that way—spreading seeds of hatred—that way.
Zombie
IT WAS TRUE POTUS WAS a wiz at using Bandwagon propaganda to persuade the targeted audience to take action. It was about creating an urge amongst people to become a part of the “in-crowd.” It’s all down the drain now, never to rise again, which is equivalence to the Wicked Witch of the West, went her own way. There is no way in hell Elvis Lives. One could say POTUS life and actions amount to a cautionary tale against mortal impiety toward the gods, sealed in a shrine of horrors. POTUS Robert K. Outcome schemes all seemed on the verge of succeeding, only to ridiculously fail in a humiliating way. POTUS’s hubris helped to land him in sticky situations along the way, such that often POTUS’s efforts are thwarted by his eagerness for world domination. But, in reality, he was a dumb check-in, check out, no count loser at the highest. He did not figure on things to end up the way they did. For one thing, he failed to grow up. And was unable to come off it or cut out; that is, he could not deal with his attempt at dominating the world. Another thing was he couldn’t have given a damn about him hanging out with the Big Boys. No way, his ego was much too massive. So he allowed things to heat up to the point of boiling; the effect slapped him in the face. But the question is did he believe his adversaries would coalesce and gain a knockout punch, strong enough to save America. Contrarily, many were not aware that in the end, his hubris would do him in. No one else is the blame. He got what he deserved, and there’s no other way to slice it. How ironic, despite ships and money and everything, it still was not enough to appease his ego.
Clifford Benjamin
IF ONLY POTUS HAD TAKEN these words to heart: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” perhaps he would still be here amongst the living organisms and not pushing up daisies.
Chapter
85
ON A WARM DAY IN SPRING, Ed’s wife, Freckles, was at home on her day off, cleaning and moving things around and tidying up things. She smiled at the fact there was not a speck of dust in the house. After finishing and wearing a scoop-necked blouse flecked with white and wearing a pair of flesh-colored tights and humming softly, she drifted down to the basement and got to move things around when she tripped over a chair and fell into the wall, causing the wall to open up. Curious and slight and a fleet of foot, she walked cautiously into the open doorway into another room that she did not realize existed. Curious as a bed bug, she began looking things over on a desk and accidentally pushed a button that caused a drawer to open. Once opened, she reached into it and pulled out what looked like a secret document. Even curious than at first, she sat down on a stool and started looking over the form. The more she read, the more interested she had become. Later, Freckles flopped down on the sofa in the living room on her sumptuous derriere watching the idiot box, thumping her fingers on the couch, eyes blank without expression, obviously disturbed and at wit’s end, so much so, one might deduce, she was pissed off. She had an attack of nerves, coupled with a bazillion of questions. She didn’t know at the time that the plot would thicken.
Clifford Benjamin
THERE WERE FLEECY CLOUDS outside as Ed, oddly at sea but happy he had just won some money on the gee-gees, entered and said, “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” his eyes flicking between her and the door, jingling his keys in his pocket. He could tell at a glance that something was afoot. Her foxy eyebrows rose as she shook her head, as silent as the grave, like she was indicating no or meaning she was preoccupied. The bottom line was she knew how to ruffle his feathers. “Are you all right, Hon?” As sure as God made little green apples, he thought she just wanted to have a heart-to-heart conversation. Whatever got her grumpy wasn’t about any onslaught of technological changes. A point of fact was: Little separated the two ideologically; they both believed in similar things, but she was still absorbed in thought. Her eyes were glassy and her skin pale as she gave him a fierce glare, then said, “If I look flustered, it’s because I’m trying to do about twenty things at once. And then I crick my neck while cleaning some creepy-crawly web off the wall in the bedroom. You know I cannot stand the pesky critters. By the way, I thought we both were clear there would be no secrets from here on out.” Uh-oh, he knew something was on her mind; he had to use caution because he didn’t want to deal with her theatrics at this time. She could be a bit of an enigma sometimes. But, he couldn’t imagine why she was so pipe hot but certainly did not want to get into a thorny debate and have her so upset he’d be like a faded beauty walking along the street muttering imprecations to invisible persons.
Zombie
HE RAKED HIS CLAWS through his ultra-short haircut. He didn’t want to sound impolite, so he said, “Look, Hon, I don’t know what you’re getting at. I’ll be—” “Um, no, no, don’t tell me you’ve been straight by me? I say you have not. Let me put it like this: There are too many imponderables to make an accurate assessment, so all that’s left is unmitigated lies.” Her direct attack made him sweat profusely. Finally, he sat down next to her and took her in his arms, and said, “Okey-doke, pipe down, Hon. Try to calm down and tell me just what’s going on?” He wondered had he lost his mojo? Or should he try to mollify her by giving her flowers? Or see a padre? Thank goodness they don’t have to face the perennial problem of not having enough money. Freckles took the folder and gave it to him like it was kryptonite. “What is this?” Mad at him to the nth degree, she had had enough of his tissue of lies and commanded, “Open it.” She waited perhaps to give some destructive criticism or something along that line, no matter how you may slice it—it wouldn’t be anything of that nature. He had not told her that his eyesight had gotten progressively worse but was thankful he had risen above the proletariat. “What is it,” he asked, wanting nothing to do with the abstract problem but knowing he had no other choice but to let the cat out of the bag. What’s this? Some loose bill that I failed to pay or what?” “As I said, open it. And I think you should silence your doggy bone so that it does not beep during our conversation.”
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NOT WANTING TO HEAR any more of her mouth, he did as she suggested. His eyes squinted as he said, “Argh! I smell trouble.” He then opened it, thinking perhaps it’s something dealing with their on-again-off-again family dysfunction. Just the thought their marriage might be in chaos or to ultimate ruin was taxing. Once having opened it, he looked over some of the information, causing the color on his face to leave his entire demeanor as a light flickered faintly in the distance through the window. “Well?” “Give me a break. Look, Hon, I can explain,” he said, cringing and wringing his hands. She challenged him, eyeballing him, intimidating him. “I’m waiting. It’s not like a clock is ticking,” her tone was frigid, cold in temper and mood. “Yeah, you’re right.” She finally plucked up the courage to ask him, “Well, Mister Smarty Pants did you or did you not do the things that it states in that folder. I mean, for God’s sake Ed, it even looks like it’s your very own handwriting. It’s written in stone. How much clearer does it have to be? We’re not talking about the going on at a three-ring circus or the cow jump over the moon, sort of thing. It is serious.” He had to it; he had been taken aback by her retort and was in a jam and aware of her arch comments at times, marked by a deliberate and often forced impudence. “Yes, Hon, to tell you the truth, I it, you’re right. What’s in here fits me to the tee. So if you want to know the truth, I’ll tell you.” At last!
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SHE SAID TO HIM AT full pitch, “Hell yeah, I want the truth. I mean, were the shoe on the other foot, meaning you, wouldn’t you want the truth told?” Her tone spoke volumes that exhibited cold objectivity as though she was just an observer. You might wonder why Ed did what he did. “Again, you are right, Hon.” He was fully aware, right then and there, realizing things were squarely on his shoulders, and what she was claiming was on-target proved this was not a small potato. He told her everything, not leaving anything out, hearing her sobs as he went deeper into the sorry mess. When he was through, he said, “So, I know it was an earful; it was as if I sat on the edge of a cliff blissfully unaware of the danger. I guess you could say I was waiting for the truth-will-out sort of thing. But nothing could be further from the truth. So I turned a blind eye to everything. Now you know I made most of our president’s killings with the big guns and all to nurture his neurotic thirst for power. No one was the wiser or had a hint at knowing I was the one doing most of the murders. I didn’t find out that POTUS had an itch for murdering black people until just weeks ago. I know he had a hand in killing the Queen of England, but I thought she was the wrong person. At least that’s what POTUS believed. And that’s precisely why I just went along for the ride, just like I did with some other situations. I it my hands are not clean when it comes to this matter I have to handle. But you know Hon?”
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“WHAT’S THAT?” SHE ASKED, “I want you to think for a moment, think hard and clear, then let yourself relax. I know how to deal with something like this because my dad was a real bad guy, the kind you wouldn’t dare want around. You couldn’t trust it if your life depended on it. I’ve been to hell and back, especially with him beating my mother. Almost every day, I’ll come home from school and see him beating my mom I tell you, I would be so mad I would want to run at him and put my fist down his throat. I tell you, I hated that man, worse than I’m not too fond of a rattlesnake. I would tell myself he deserves what’s coming to him. I tell you, if I were a man, I would have chopped his head off with a dull blade, so dull I’d have to take more swings at his flea-bitten neck. That’s why my nerves are razor-thin when it comes to fussing and fighting.” “I get your point, Freckles,” he itted, as a temporarily uncomfortable sensation of borborygmus, an intestinal rumbling caused by gas in his belly. “I hope you do.” He could see she didn’t like what he was saying, but he plowed on regardless. “By the way ...” Ed said, “the second I finished telling you about my dastardly exploit, it was like a real heavy load lifted off my chest. I don’t know how to explain it all, but it happened. It did. You know what?” “What?” “You have a right to bitch. This whole thing is not like we’re talking about some Hot Chili Pepper; it’s the real deal we’re talking about here. It’s almost like it’s crazier than it seems.
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AS YOU KNOW, I AM NO Chicken Little, capable of predicting something on the scale of a calamity, but that guy did things that would make a mouse roar. It’s scary. It tickled my fantasy at times. You will never believe it, but POTUS did grotesquely abuse his oath of office, like ruddy hell! On my part, I was woefully unprepared to deal with him. I mean, the scoundrel was ten steps ahead of me. There were times I couldn’t get a word in edgewise that would work for me. Sometimes I felt as though I was a pillar of stone, immovable on all fronts. It was like a jumble of good intentions frozen in time—no way to turn the tide away from me. Never was there a way I could have possibly alleviated this from happening. If I had tried, I would not be here to tell the story. You can say I did not have tremendous confidence in my Savoir-faire. On the other hand, I attached myself to a guy driven by hatred.” He paused to catch his breath. He then said, “Like if someone were to say ‘it was a total grind like leading the blind led by a ruffian, a regular Jekyll, and Hyde,’ and have a certain je ne sais quoi which makes him popular with the ladies. He could also at times be kind and charming, and at other times rude and obnoxious. To put it plainly, my willingness to go along with him was equivalent to a ticky-tacky tit for tat, basically a trade-off. While he kept the hounds at bay, I would secretly make his bidding out-and-out killing for him. Up to that time, I dared not roll over on him. But, heck, I thought, who am I?—I grew up in a jerkwater town in the middle of nowhere, so I’m lucky to be at his beckoning call. Jesus, look what a mess that killjoy has made. I have no intention to hogtie the situation in a direction that would be more favorable for me, either.
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BUT MY DEALING WITH POTUS was like we were in a Losers Club—totally screwed together.” He breathed a deep sigh, relief displaying on his countenance. “Ugh, I know Hon it sucks and sound like Mickey Mouse, and does not make sense, and I’m like totally zero in your eyes, and I’m razzing you, and talking a lot of crap for the umpteen time ... and the worst part is, I should have told you that ... and that I am sorry, Hon that it happened. For that, I am genuinely sorry for not being honest with you. If you were to ask did I enjoy what I did, I have to say, no, not at all. Can you imagine it?” He looked at his kith and kin, his perfect flower sitting there pouring her heart out, at a stretch, stopping only to blow her nose, as tears of anguish ran down her face. He gave her a significant smile. Overlooking the spare tire around his waist and thinking there was not a grain of truth in what he had said, disappointed, Freckles said, “Humph, I need to meet John, r-i-g-h-t n-o-w!” She hurried to the bathroom shutting the door behind her. The look on her face was evident that she was not interested. But still, he breathed a sigh not of relief but disappointment and wondering what would happen to their marriage. Oh, oh, is this the end of what was considered unique bondage that began back in the hollow halls of high school when they first met? And come to this moment of terrifying uncertainty. Ed didn’t have a clue. He just sat there, lost in thought, his nerves on edge and leaving him with a burning question that cannot go unanswered.
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THE MOMENTS WERE FLASHY and heart-pounding quieter but no less intense; either way, they left him on the brink of some great unknown. The question was, would she throw in the towel and walk out, never to look his way ever again?
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ED’S FRAGILE HOPE HAD faded. He wouldn’t blame her if she left him and didn’t look back. Yes, he told himself, he was sincerely regretful for the things done without letting her know what he was doing. He hung his head and, after a short while, fell off to sleep. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor, but he didn’t notice. He awakened when he felt her stacked breast against his shoulder and her lips against his cheek, tinted with milk of human kindness—filled with care and comion. She then flung her arms around his neck, reassuring him she was the spark plug of the team. He felt a great whoosh of adrenalin, but he had to it he had told some whoppers in his time and knew it was a wicked thing to do. Now relieved of the spasm of guilt, he stretched a bit, and with his face all ablaze with excitement, he said, “I thought you were so mad you would be still on the warpath, Hon. “Look, like I said, I’m—” Freckles put her hand to his mouth, shaking her head, letting him know what he was about to say amounted to tiddlywinks. One thing she noticed crawling down his face were facile tears, nothing false about them.
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SO, AS AUTHENTIC AS the day is long, she had gotten used to his cheerfulness and plastic smiles, so she said, “It’s been challenging, but I think we’re over the hump now. Sometimes you have to be prepared to follow a hunch. To be precise, one swallow doesn’t make a summer. In other words, a single instance of something is just that; it doesn’t indicate a trend. Moreover, as I see it, to be honest, the moment I saw the information, I was feeling like hell inside. But I have to say after thinking about it, coupled with a bit of rest, it looks like but one solution for you and me, that is. I can’t tell you what some other wife might have done after discovering her husband had a secret life other than the one with her. I just got to say; I wouldn’t chuck all that we have away, for the life of me. And any woman angry enough to kick you to the curve wouldn’t have a smidgen of common sense. That’s just how I see it. You don’t have to say whether you agree or not agree with the way I feel right now. I mean, not just right now, I plan on feeling like this for eons to come, if God willing.” The news gladdened his heart. Next, as a smacking breeze gathered outside, it caused the leaves to rustle not a ‘tall. Tired and tired of dealing with know-nothings, he reached over and collected her in his arms, kissing her smiley face on the cheek, gently and fervently, happy the bloom was not off the rose. The swamp frogs croaked in unison as if nature was in accord. At that moment, a dim-witted pigeon did not repulse them with its nerve crawling coo.
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HAPPY THEIR MARRIAGE did not end in rack and ruin, and he said to her, “Scuse me while I kiss this lady.” As they kissed, a ripple of excitement flowed up his spine. They then got up and tripped the light fantastic, dancing together imaginatively. Soon after the situation reached fourth base, he made love to real blue unwavering trouble and strife, ending in his spurting a massive dose of spunk deep inside her vagina. Afterward, all ion spent, she said, “Gee whiz,” as they sat hugging each other, CAVU, ceiling, and visibility unlimited to their future, never doubting for once their relationship would wither on the vine. He then went to point Percy at the porcelain, then returned, thoroughly satiated by their spur-of-the-moment decision to have sex. Freckles released a burp from the pit of her stomach. He whispered to her, “You okay, babe?” She smiled at him, her eyes glinting with mischief, never once itting to him that from the start, she fell for his rugged good looks. She moved a fraction closer to him and then replied with a silver tongue, charming him. “I’m okay, and you?” she said with her diaristic tone, exuding charm. His eyes gleaming with triumph and with a confident grin, he said, “Dang, that was the nearest to being earth-shattering; it threw my equilibrium off for a moment. I’m okay. I am feeling right as rain, by George, as they say.” He shook a bunch of fives in the air. “If it weren’t so late, I’d say let’s put on our glad rags and goes out and shake a tail feather. I’m not talking fables her, nor falsehood.” They probably didn’t know it, but now was the winter of their discontent, and things would be on the upswing.
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AS THEY SAT THERE LOOKING out the window at the infinity of stars in the galaxy, they then witnessed the extraordinary spectacle of an old lady climbing a tree to rescue her cat, unaware the cat had flashed by across the footpath just two heartbeats away. After she left, they continued glancing out the window at the silhouette of the bare tree on the hill clear against the night sky, as Moon River was in full spate with more water in it and was flowing faster than it usually does, neither was aware the frogs hadn’t spawned yet. He would later spear a meatball with a fork, marveling at the notion food, like sex, is the subject of almost universal interest. Neither one wanted to be the first to say goodbye; both used their loaf and happily stuck in the middle. He was spatial aware she was his first, the last, his everything, warts and all, the best thing that ever happened to him, fused for three scores and ten until they shuffle off the mortal coil. The next day, the good thing would be a mackerel sky overhead streaked with rows of small white clouds that resemble the pattern of scales on a mackerel’s back. They continued their snubbed-up mental journey, knowing all the while they had been through far too much to see it any other way. If there were a future ahead for them, they would face it together, loving every moment. To the two of them, a regular Darby and Joan, life was extraordinaire, exceptional to a very marked extent, and life was to be enjoyed and not just something you fold away and get back to it at your whim.
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AS THE BIRD’S CHIRP filled the empty night air, the sullen wind was soon awake, it tore the elm-tops down for spite, and it did its worst to vex the lake, then violent squalls signaled the approach of the storm, then it struck them. It was now abundantly crystal; they were good for each other, there was just no other way to slice it; their one aim now was looking forward to becoming geriatrics. They would quite happily squander a whole year’s savings on two weeks on a sun-drenched beach in Cancun, Mexico, and due to the ubiquity of fast-food outlets, they visited a few in the area. But, unfortunately, there were no UFO sightings reported. Some would think what these two had gone through was the equivalence to receiving a Grammy Award or something used for the annual presentation of a statuette for notable achievement, or at the least classified as being persons of grand gestures. Or at least for someone to shout out: Gramercy!—expressing their gratitude. When it comes right down to it, who the hell knows what caused POTUS, who certainly had a jaundiced view of life, then to go the way he went, what he did was akin to a riddle wrapped up in an enigma—difficult to understand or to solve, but there may be an answer perhaps. There may be one possibility he lacked kundalini: the yogi life force held to lie at the base of the spine until it’s aroused and sent to the head to trigger enlightenment. The question now would be, did POTUS ever possess a brain of that magnitude, or might we all have kundalini encased within the confines of our brain?
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NOW, YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING what direction Ed’s life went in. You can now breathe easy because he would become governor of California. Can you imagine how fantastic that feels? Just let this sink in for a minute. Moreover, he was still maintaining a snappy dresser profile amongst his peers; no one was the wiser as to his tumultuous past, no longer an illusion, misleading or deceiving the senses of his fellowmen. Yes, no more with even a hint of a troglodyte or anything similar to that trisyllabic word. In his mind, he was rejoicing or celebrating his triumphant victory, added to that was his loving trophy wife, who would be with him for a thousand splendid suns. If someone would venture to ask Ed about found heritage, he would smartly reply, “It’s all good in the hood” He paused. He then continued, “If being a liberal means someone who welcomes new ideas, then I am indeed a liberal. But, as I look back on my life, I realize I was being re-directed to something better every time I thought of being rejected for something good. Lastly, I still believe that my idea of heaven is to drive the gravel farm roads of Umbria and Tuscany, very pleasantly lost, just my presence opening eyes, speaking truths and changing minds. There was no more to be said; he said it all. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. In this divine glass, they see face to face. So the comfort of friends, though they may be said to die, their friendship and society are ever-present. With that said, now, some thoughtful and elegant words from Maya Angelou, a famous female poet—written in her story “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”
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SHE WAS AN INDIVIDUAL with a deep soul—a deep heart—a peaceful mind. She has a faculty for inspiring confidence in people and has left these profound words which strike at the core. “Let the white folks have their money and power and segregation and sarcasm and big houses and schools and lawns like carpets, and books, and mostly— mostly—let them have their whiteness.” Note: Maya Angelou moved the gold post, reaching far and wild, touching all borders around the entire globe.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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Chapter | 2
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Chapter | 10
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Chapter | 11
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Chapter | 12
Chapter Twenty-One
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Dedication Page:
THANKS TO MY BROTHER, Lewis F. Roberts, for his unwavering ability that keeps me focused, through the harsh and good times, cheering me, encouraging me, repeatedly pushing forward, never wavering, making me feel I am truly blessed. Furthermore, I’ll be remiss because I appreciate how much my niece Sonja has helped me and still helping me to get book projects off the ground and onto the market. So thank you, Lew, and thank, you Sonja as well; you both are a jewel.
Foreword Sucking the blood out of people was all fiction; those were dreadfully terrible times. But we have come many years from whence we came. Sadly, we have a president who did unimaginable things that would even make Alfred Hitchcock blush. Yes, it’s all about him, the president that is, that’s like a cancerous sore that never heals; it keeps him wanting more and more regardless of who he had to kill to get what he wants. Whether they’re king or Queen or gay or straight, it didn’t mean a hill of beans. He was in for the long haul, no one the wiser of his dastardly deeds. His thirst for blood was mind-bending. He didn’t discriminate as to who the victims were; he took them as they came. Once you read the story, I hope you agree that this guy was one badass crazy idiot that the world had ever seen and may never see again, and you may know why I chose the title of the book coined “ZOMBIE.” Basically and succinctly, Zombie is like the new kid on the block that can stretch one’s imagination toward the bizarre and can be a slight bit kinky at times. It can take one’s vision on a helluva ride. Lastly, yes, there is no biting on the neck or tooth marks. I hope you ENJOY and find the book a page-turner, especially on a thunderous stormy night with the rain pouring down in torrents and ominous lightning streaking across the pitchblack sky. In total, it’s about a mad white president that kills Kings and Queens and presidents, bar none, anyone in between, that gets in his way, in his lustful thirst for power, kidnapping women and holding them hostage. Zombie is the new type of monster in shirt and tie and smooth-talking, willing to kill to get his way with a deep-seated hatred for black folks, despite their level of intelligence.
Chapter
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PRESIDENTS, I SUPPOSE, were children once. It had been a long journey into night in the City of Hope, the melting pot, and so the adventure begins. It was a dog day afternoon, a darn long era, and a wet hot American summer that two men sat at a desk, in a tomb with a view, with a nice pile of magazines near the edge, showing stacks, plural, fronted with the president’s name and image. “We have a problem, Sir,” said the blue-eyed Attorney General, always wearing a suit for his daily grind ... and for all intent and purpose had a neat way of memorizing information. The room was painted white. It appeared modern and antiquated and a tad smaller. As the room filled with smoke, the response was, “I thought the fence would settle everything, POTUS.” Sarcasm and irony are ingrained in his DNA; not knowing you combine self-deprecation with a dose of understated sarcasm is the ingredients of humor. Silence and no comment, the soft background music playing could make anybody sleepy. “Believe me, nothing could compare to this,” Ed said, the right arm to POTUS. He quickly and easily presented a large brown envelope, wearing a prim vested suit with necktie blocked primly against the collar button of his primly starched white suit.
Clifford Benjamin
PRESIDENT ROBERT K. Outcome, often called POTUS, a regular embarrassment of riches, and a nose for revenge, priding himself to be a runaway Bonanza, huffed then took the item from Ed’s grasp and asked, “What’s this?” Most that knew him was aware he lay claim to being related to someone of notoriety. That person being Hitler. A distant cousin on his mother’s side. “Shrugging his board shoulders, Ed said, “I think you need to look at this,” said Ed, noticing POTUS was wearing the same Apple Watch as him. POTUS straightened his eyeglasses, clearly not Washington’s best, set with a foot upon the desk shining expanse of polished wood, just like back on Feb. 6, 1975, when President Gerald Ford and First Lady Betty Ford put their feet up in the White House’s living quarters. From its opening in 1800, through one nasty bit of arson and several renovations, the White House had been the home of every president but one: George Washington! POTUS’s nefarious bullish nature, signaled by his ‘dry’ and ‘dictatorial’ mouth and perverse and turbulent nature, was a kind of hollow person who only ever laughs for show. That often prompted him to roll his eyes and to open a package as if it was Kryptonite. After doing that, he breathed a sigh of relief. He then brushed the envelope aside with one wipe of his childlike hands. POTUS was a careless person, set adrift on memory bliss, smashing up things, and then retreating into his money or his vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept him together and let other people clean up the mess he had made.
Zombie
HE CONSIDERED HIMSELF one smooth operator and naughty by nature fixated on ruling the world and a stone rebel without a pause and insane in the brain, coupled with a dark, twisted fantasy consisting of fear of a black planet. The bottom line it was him against the world and to get rich or die trying, a staunch believer in the ‘Greatest Story Never Told,’ totally out of line with the Big Picture, with a stone-cold attitude, hot, calm, and vicious. Although he and Ed worked closely together, his best friends were Paul, Amanda, and Quinn, but their relationship had soured. POTUS then pulled a plate of salad in front of him and munched on it. It was sad that this man, some would say it was like the Kacken was released, was akin to the BLINDMAN’S BUFF. One other thing, it was a complete myth he had royal blood. In addition, he was what is known as a round character, complex, realistic, and unique. To put it differently, clearly, he was no Johan, said to be a member of a race of giants in Norse mythology, but could tell he had a bully platform. Too many, the question was, how did the myth get so firmly established in the popular consciousness? “Looks like you are on the path to becoming a vegetarian,” Ed surmised, needling him as usual, a bit flushed after scribbling at his desk, distressed having pored over a book on the train, and now staring intently at a computer screen. A stone-cold Wasp—white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, genuinely mystified by his success, a mind vitiated by prejudice, POTUS asked, “In the first place, not only ... but also, this is my way of counting fucking calories. Have you noticed?” He then bit into a blood orange, the juices covering his lips and dripping downward.
Clifford Benjamin
MANY PEOPLE DON’T KNOW blood oranges are rich in antioxidants and help reduce oxidative stress and lower the risk of chronic health problems like cancer, heart disease, and diabetes. “Noticed what, POTUS?” Ed questioned, lively in temper, conduct, or spirit basically, known as a flat character, one-dimensional, with a single overarching trait and otherwise limited personality or individuality. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and hell’s bells, can’t you see what’s going on?” My stomach for Christ’s sake,” glancing at the imaginary mountain of work on his desk, taking the fork and stabbing at more victuals, then gulping it down, seeming upset but far from having a meltdown from fatigue or overstimulation. In effect, POTUS was looking for a financial windfall due to come soon. Trouble was his expectations were always on the high side, but not on edge, fortunately. He then said, “Today, I hit my job peak.” Taking a hell of things into , Ed said, “Sir, this is too important; just kick it to the curve.” Opening the envelope, he pulled out what looked to be a document stating ‘Top Secret.’ POTUS, a monosyllabic hunk of bark, stopped his munch and asked, “No problem. Hang on. Okay, go for it. What does it say? Let’s get down to it. Hurry up. You got my undivided attention.” The silence was apparent. It was evident, Ed, innocent, POTUS, jaded. “This takes the cake. Don’t keep me waiting. You know I’ve got to call my henchmen Chucheve Dosmitenoy, POTUS of Russia, in a bit.” It was funny how his plans of becoming an astronaut were a dead dream. Therefore, he knew he should be more realistic.
Zombie
“I KNOW, SIR; IT SAYS here that the extreme left has concluded that the extreme Right has become infected with a disease.” “Hold on. That shouldn’t ne’er be top secret. Wouldn’t you think I know what I’m talking—what kind of disease?” “Do you mean the top-secret or do you mean—” “God-dogged Ed, get on with it and get to the damn point.” “Oh—lighten up; I will just give me a second. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Well POTUS, it claims, America now has become infiltrated with people they call Zombies and that they are dead from the neck up.” Ed thought to himself, ‘POTUS seems to make sense when you talk to him at first, but the more you listen, the more it seems he’s a few cards short of a deck.’ “Shit,” cried POTUS, “I never figured this day would come.” He couldn’t imagine inclusion in that bunch. Ed said, “It does seem like it has come down to that particular day being upon us.” The phone ringed. “Let me get this. See, I do know how to get to the phone faster than you.” “Stop being critical, said POTUS, “but I must it I like how loud you play your music. And I do love it when the trains delay. Strangely, as it may seem, when that happens, I sometimes feel like I’m a knockout king of the world.” POTUS answered the call. It was his attorney. Ed’s back turned as he asked POTUS, “You got it?”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS: “YEP,” HE SAID to Ed and then said to the caller, “I’m a bit tired Marcus, had to hit the snooze button several times this morning. Put the thing is, there has been a paradigm shift. The shit has hit the fan, Marcus,” he said to his attorney and fellow student. But, of course, they didn’t have much money when they were students, and they got by on a frugal amount. Or, more precisely, the smell of an oily rag most days to keep from going off the deep end. “Don’t sweat it,” Marcus uttered. “More important than anything else, you should just keep on lying, giving the extreme right what they want. As they say, ‘In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.’” POTUS let out, “I guess you’re right. Thing is, even the whale is becoming extinct,” his voice broke off. “Have I steered you wrong yet? We’re not fucking white nationalist for nothing, and you know what else we are,” failing at filling in the blanks. Both broke out laughing heartily, laughing all honesty out of fashion, their laughter trailing off less and less to a temporary quiet. “You know I know that. Once America is taken, then we take over the world. Hitler had the right idea.” Then the strangest thing happened. Back in his mind, he heard a little birdie say: “Are your thoughts worthy of you? If not, now is the time to change them. You can begin right where you are. Nothing matters but this moment and what you are focusing your attention on.
Zombie
MOST PEOPLE DIRECT most of their thoughts in response to what they observe (bills in the mail, being late, having bad luck, etc.) Break that pattern.” One of POTUS Achilles’ Heels was his inability to free himself from the cumbersome impossibilities of needing to control the world, his friends, his mate, or his children, signifying nothing. Marcus broke up his thoughts by saying: “That’s my guy. Keep that in mind. I don’t think I ever told you my friend went on a murder weekend, killing three people, gutting them to boot with a twelve-inch bowie knife, and now doing life?”
POTUS: “Nah, you never did, but back to the conversation. As I was saying, once we do all that, I will put the blacks back into slavery. I can’t wait to get my hands on one of their light-skinned young bitches and make some pick ninnies and then sell them off into slavery. Well, enough on that. “Got to run,” said POTUS, placing the phone in its crater. Nevertheless, Marcus asked, “What did Ed have to say? I hope he quit snorting coke.” “I can’t rightly say if he has or not.” “That guy Ed seems nice,” said Marcus. On the contrary, POTUS said, “Oh, Ed’s the worst,” then winked at Ed. “He acts nice when you first meet him, but then he’ll ask you for money and never return it, and eat all your food without any offering anything in return, and I once saw him throw a rock at a puppy. Thank God he missed.” POTUS knew he was blowing things out of proportion but got a kick out of lying to Marcus. As to Marcus’s comment about Ed doing drugs, even he knew there’s not a snowball chance in hell Ed would still do that.”
Clifford Benjamin
WELL AWARE THAT HOPES and positive feelings open energy pathways and create happier biochemistry and stress is a silent killer. So, everything considered, Ed leaned over and whispered in POTUS’s ear, saying, “That’s surprising Marcus would say I smoke coke. You know that’s not true. I use to but quit cold turkey years ago.” POTUS looked down his nose at him and then said oddly, “I tend not to trust people who live in tiny little houses.” Ed said, “What? Why on earth you feel that way?” Marcus broke into the conversation, letting Ed know he had heard every word. “Thanks for the update, Ed.” He then said to POTUS, “Now where were we? Marcus then hung up the phone. POTUS went back to do what he usually does, making phone calls and g bills into law.
Chapter
2
AFTER HIS CONVERSATION with Marcus, POTUS dipped a spoon down into a cup of “fray” frozen yogurt and pulled it out and put it in his mouth, and started the process all over again. Just out of the blue, POTUS said, “Why is it that it rains all the time in D.C.?” Ed responded by saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll soon acclimatize.” After noticing the stick layer of dust had accumulated in the room, POTUS asked, “Tell me, Ed, what the ram said to his wife?” Keen on the ability to conclude something without making a mistake, Ed thought for a moment, then the answer popped into his mind, causing his answer right to the living end to crash land on “I love ewe.” “Good grief, you got it. Great.” Ed then said, “I got one for you, mister wise guy.” “What is it?” “What did the mayonnaise say when the girl opened the refrigerator?” POTUS put his finger to his mouth as if in deep thought, then said, “Close the door, I’m dressing!” They cracked up, laughing at each other and then laughing at themselves. Then there was a momentary silence, both thinking to their selves.
Zombie
POTUS WAS FIRST TO speak. “Damn that there Madonna Louise Ciccone is one cool dance musician, don’t you think?” “I’ll say that gal got oodles of talent, and all the Nasties Amazes me.” POTUS said, “The salvages in Las Vegas are wild over the Statue of Liberty built to stay free.” He then closed his eyes and visualized having what he already wanted—and the feeling of having it already. Ed chimed in, “How about that? Oh, how I like being the rainbow in someone’s cloud.” For some strange reason, he found himself wondering to himself: ‘how long will it take? There are no rules on time. You don’t need to know how the universe will rearrange itself just for you, but trust that it will. The more aligned you are with positive feelings, the quicker things happen.’ The silence was telling. After a time, the sound of someone moaning the words, “Give me that dick. That’s right. Give me all of it, every inch of it. Oh, God is good.” POTUS asked Ed, “Did you hear that?” He leaned over, slightly curious as a bed bug, his face filled with confusion. “No. What...” “Quiet.” “As I said—” “You must be silent. Then you will be able to hear it better.” Ed jerked his head in the direction of the door. “I just told you, POTUS, I did not hear any....” But, of course, it never entered his head; POTUS would lie to him at all.
Clifford Benjamin
“BE QUIET.” POTUS STRAIGHTENED his shoulders. “Hear that?” He was anxious. “I tell you, there’s something funny going on in that room.” Ed lowered his head as if he was in a battle on the war front. Suddenly, without warning, a man’s voice grunted, “Dag gone girl, you know how to suck cock.” “You say that to all the girls,” she giggled—a laugh somewhere between a chuckle and a snort. “See, I told you,” said POTUS, raising the point. “This fucking house is a haven compared to mine.” Ed’s eyes squinted as he said, “You were right.” POTUS said, “Isn’t nothing like the real thing, baby. But, by the way, who the hell is that?” “Damn if I know.” “Go find out. And keep your eyes on the prize.” “Why would you want me to do that?” “Let’s say it is protocol. Anyway, I am POTUS and must know who in God’s name is screwing some pussy in a room next to my office.” Ed shook his head and then threw up his hands. “You’re right.” “Hell yeah, I’m right. It’s just a simple matter of doing as I say, for a change. Now get to it.” Without further ado, Ed said, “Well, I’d like to believe that,” then slumbered with haste out the room and looked through a cracked door and returned to the Oval Office. “Did you see who it is?”
“It’s just, ‘the ready for love character,’ Jake, the janitor.” “You mean Jack. Who’s the pussy?”
Zombie
“THAT’S MARGARET.” IT was a story as old as time, to what she was doing was like sleeping with the past, since Jack was just a janitor in status. “Margaret? Isn’t she Senator Gumption’s daughter?” “One hundred percent,” Ed mumbled. POTUS, with a black icy stare, said, “To my opinion, she would be better off dead than mess around with no nothing Jack. She needs to look at the big picture. On the other hand, though, you may already know, she’s one cauliflower, quite a looker with a nice piece of ass.” Ed said, “You’re right. Pretty hot and tempting that gal was PHAT! Hell, did I tell you, I can resist anything but temptation?” “You know what,” asked POTUS, furrowing his brow. “Skip that. What I need is for you to set things up so I can get that ass.” Ed said, “They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and you can get what you want if you work toward it. So, what you just asked of me is fine by me, POTUS. I wish I could you with that.” “Why is it?” Ed said, “I thought you knew.” “Knew what?” “Things have got so bad I can’t get it up. But besides that, I still love her, and before anyone else, she’s my new BAE.” In addition, backed up worse than the Hoover Dam.” “You mean constipated?” “That’s right, POTUS. Honest to God. I’m just about shooting blanks—like sterile.”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS DETECTED A TINGE of envy in his tone. It was like music to his ears, as he said, “Lucky me, my dick can still salute. Knowing that fuses blow if they are overloaded, his words were not evasive. It would be man-to-man. Plus, he was aware that Ed had a habit of being economical with the truth, like telling lies or wrong about Ed. “So you’re saying you’re not having any difficulty saluting a flag?” POTUS said, “That’s for sure. My wife likes it so much she can bust a nut every time. I’m so good in bed; she calls me Clock Man.” “Woo-lee,” Ed uttered, scratching his brushy chin, knowing that if he tried to have sex with another woman, it would be like bringing owls to Athens. In other words, it would be pointless. But, on the other hand, his wife would surely get back at him by going out and having sex with another woman. Oh, well, Ed will survive, I reckon. With any luck, he may get out of this deep web. POTUS said to Ed, “I forgot to tell you, got two tickets that my son gave me for the game this coming Friday. But he changed his mind decided to go to a basketball game to watch the Nets play. So, head over hills, he is for his pregnant fourteen-year-old girlfriend, and he twenty-three. I don’t know what’s with these kids these days. So, Ed, I wondered if you would go with me, so I won’t lose the money I put out. What do you think?” At one point, Ed told him, “Well, hell yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll be out of circulation when it comes to going to a game. I’ll do it. Appreciate you asking.” “Great,” said POTUS
Zombie
ED SAID, “BASED ON the fear of missing out, I’m only going with you because I have a major case of FOMO.” “FOMO,” said POTUS, “Oh, skip it, just that I’m behind the times anyway. So what’s the use of trying to keep up with things?” Ed muttered to POTUS, “You only live once; you better go on that trip. YOLO!” not expecting a reply back at all. POTUS just hummed to himself as if in another universe. Ed mumbled again as if to get POTUS’s attention, saying to him, “Keep it simple stupid you don’t have to reinvent the wheel, KISS, and then, laugh out loud you’re so funny, LOL!” He knew POTUS had a habit of pushing it to the limit. But as to him, when he was but a little, young and foolish, snot-nosed whippersnapper, he visualized himself counting money, carrying bags of cash and drugs, marrying a beautiful wife, and moving into a fabulously expensive home, a mansion perhaps. But he knew that for some just beginning to taste, success would ultimately claim their soul. And that would be the jump-off point if his dream were to occur. Even though POTUS had grown quiet, quieter than usual, Ed said, “I can’t believe it.” “What,” POTUS asked, seemingly brought out of his stupor. “It’s just sometimes you can have that, E.G., Evil Grin,” Ed said subsequently. Nevertheless, POTUS said, “Can’t rightly do much about that.” “You know what?” said Ed. “What?” “Have you ever thought about Singapore trying so hard to catch up with Japan when it comes to technological advancements? Fancy that...”
Clifford Benjamin
ED RESPONDED BY SIMPLY saying, “I hope they do. I mean Singapore, that is.” “Tell me, Ed “What exactly is the sound of happy?” “For the rest of my life, I don’t have the slightest idea.” POTUS said, “I mean, is it hands clapping?” “As I said, I don’t have the slightest.” “Yeah, I know, you did say that. But could it be the thump of your heart in your chest? Or is it the zoom of the planes overhead? I mean, is it the absence of a good ha-ha or the lack of a boo-you-hoo-you-hoo? What is the sound of happiness to you? Fed up, Ed threw up his arms and said, “As I said before, I don’t rightly know. Don’t have any idea how to answer that question.” “Imagine you should, Ed. You’re old enough not to know.” To that outrageous insult, Ed snapped back at him, “Damn it, POTUS, I gave it to you straight, let’s drop it. Okay?” No reply, just extraordinary silence. Ed said, “One more thing before I leave. That is, I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. So I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time well.”
Zombie
GETTING NO RESPONSE, Ed realized that POTUS wasn’t concentrating on what he was saying and had disappeared into a brown study, a melancholy mood accompanied by deep thought. He paused a moment, then closed his mouth and walked out of the office, knowing POTUS wasn’t a good sort in his heart of hearts, outside the line, not sticking to the rules, anyway, he refocuses because he made his weekly appointment at the halfway house some blocks away. Also, knowing, all too well, there’s nothing worse than getting a worm in your apple. So whenever he mentioned the place to POTUS, he ranted on like a Dutch uncle for a whole hour, signifying nothing at all. So in light of that, he decided not to mention his attending the Halfway House. In other words, he paid lip service to the cause but hasn’t lent a hand yet. After all, it was not like he made millions and was king of the hill. Before it became a knotty problem, he was right to stop bringing up his itinerary, like where he goes and such things of that magnitude. Well, regardless, when life gives you, lemons make lemonade. Just complete the best out of the problematic situation. Anyway, his brother-in-law was having another one of his fancy parties on Saturday, time to go down the rabbit hole again. It was like mentally going somewhere surreal or strange. Another thing was that he suffered from dumb luck when he got a sore back due to the golf game a few days ago. Perhaps he might use that as an excuse not to attend his brother-in-law’s party. He would chew on it a bit.
Clifford Benjamin
SHORTLY, FULL OF VIM and vigor and not quite ready to buy the farm, he was now in his car, knowing all roads lead to Rome as fowls of the air fly nearby. He stepped on the gas headed to the Halfway House, knowing he could not compare to POTUS because the two were like apples and oranges and wondering if it would be a black day tomorrow. Regardless, he would fake it till making it, portraying himself as he had wanted to be, knowing that he would turn up at the location if going north or south, knowing six of one and half dozen of the other was against the grain to tackle dishonest people. One other thing he had learned and would guild him along through the good and evil is that faith is like a strenuous uphill climb: a single stumble might send you sprawling, but belief and steadfastness will see you to the very top.
Chapter
3
“NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO love anybody’s trouble.” There’s a calm surrender to the rush of the day as it eased in, signifying morning had broken POTUS, his abdominal muscle a bit stiff, then got up and said good morning to the night, then made breakfast, consisting of cereal, juice, and toast. He was overwhelmed with how beautiful an autumn day it was—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Then after working an entire week and keeping every nut and bolt screwed tight, Saturday rolled in and turned into a fantastic, wet afternoon. The hallway in the brick building on 338 Baldwin Street was quiet; the only sound was the patter of footsteps moving about. Then, all of a sudden, a giant brown furry rat scurried across the floor. Caught off guard, more by accident than design, and damned if you do and damned if you don’t, and positively depressing, he kicked at the rodent in disgust, hating it as he felt toward poor little rich girls, why, he could not explain. The rodent paused, looked back, and then kept right on going into a small hole in the wall, like vanishing into thin air.
Clifford Benjamin
THROWING UP HIS HANDS in despair and inhaling positivity, exhaling negativity, he exhaled negativity. He then continued till it was as if a fragment of light at the end of the tunnel suddenly appeared. A relatively small pale hand opened a door. The footsteps started moving downward as the light in the ceiling shone dimly. At the bottom, and after several steps and a key placed into a lock, a pale hand opened the door, and then quickly and firmly, he strode into a rather large room as the door closed behind. A bright light shone in the ceiling. What is clear is that either by chance or by design, there was a desk, a chair, no window, a simply furnished room. She was by all s pleasing to the eye and fed baked beans and fish fingers daily. As he began to walk toward the black woman, to which he had had mixed feelings again in seeing her, she flinched, jerking the chains that bind her arms. The chains were attached to a reasonably large bolt in the ceiling. He had developed a feeling for when not to disturb her. For now, he was as horny as could be. As he saw it, there would be no denying him. It seemed plausible it was the practical aspect of life that heightened his feelings of loneliness. Knowing no alternative scenario for her, he said, “Hello world. Hello gorgeous. Life is imperfectly perfect. Shit happens. Personal feelings don’t come into it— we have to do what’s right. It makes no difference to my feelings for you. He pushed her feelings aside. Although she did not reciprocate his feelings, she did not discourage him. No hard feelings. Someone has to lose. “So, it’s no hard feelings, eh, Lisa?”
Zombie
THE LONG AND SHORT of it, he knew he was her Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending hook line and sinker ninety-nine percent. His nose got a sniff of the sweet smell of perfume like he was in a flower garden. As their lips met, the sweet-scented taste fit for the gods captivated his thoughts. She smelled good, taste good, so much so, he could gobble up the sweet thing. Naturally, it was, clinging, toying, fondling, white and mahogany together; after liquidizing her vagina and getting a delightfully head job, he zipped up his pants, delighted with her all-around performance. Just before leaving, from behind the walls of doubt, a voice was crying out, “Stay beautiful, you’re worth it, sweetheart.” He left the room, smiling, sparkling, and shinning, and galumphing—that is to say, galloping triumphantly, his head held high, as the words from a song “Goodbye, my almost lover,” sprang from his feeble mind. As he chuckled, the talks continued, “Goodbye, my hopeless dream,” then vanished. In his altered state of reality, he could never have a black bitch on his sleeve, he thought to himself. Why would he, when he can, have all the black pussy for free without strings attached? He had to it, from experience, there was no comparison between the taste of a white and black woman’s pussy, none at all. He would know. The difference to him was the white woman’s pussy was too salty while the black woman had an enticing scent and aroma, a favor he could not quite describe precisely. All he knew was he couldn’t get enough of it, revisiting heaven, some might say. He wouldn’t dare let his wife know the difference between the two species from the human anatomy perspective.
Chapter
4
WHEN ALL WAS SAID AND done, he was in the Oval putting in a phone call sometime later, glancing outside at an airplane as it flew northwards across the sky. “Hey, Mr. Dictator,” said POTUS speaking to his nemeses, Chucheve Dosmitenoy, of Russia from the back of beyond, the one person he was fortunate enough to get to the bargaining table. They talked in a matter-of-factly way for hours from matters of business, their economies, and women. “Yeah,” said POTUS, “talking to you about pussy, makes me horny and wanting to grab me a piece of black pussy. On balance, Dosmitenoy replied, “I know it’s not my beeswax, but I have to say that’s just your ego talking to you.” “Oh, wait, my what?” “I said your ego. Don’t get me wrong. I ought to know as much pussy I get. Don’t give up. Miracles happen.” Though it was an awkward fact, POTUS said, “Yeah, bet your okey-doke got ’em coming and going.” “Of course, everyone understands that; that’s because they know I take good care of them,” Dosmitenoy chuckled. “When I’m eating pussy, life is a climb, but the view is great. Case closed.” “I believe that ... I must say, never got round to thanking you for setting me up with that wife of mine,” said POTUS.
Zombie
DOSMITENOY SAID, “TOLD you a prostitute would be a better wife than a straight-laced woman. The thing is, the straight ones are too high and mighty; a man can’t get a word in edgewise; they only want to fuck when ready and don’t give a damn. It’s their way or the highway. Oh, heck, you can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them. Can you imagine us men so struck by pussy? Let’s just put it this way, one half of me is yours, the other half yours. In other words, you have every inch of me. All that remains is no.” “You got that right, my friend,” said POTUS. “Is that all I am to you—a measly friend?” That was an age-old question, especially from a man with an ego as large as his, agreeing to differ. “What? What else should we be to each other?” “Why, lovers, my friend,” Dosmitenoy muttered, chuckling. “Are you kidding me?” Dosmitenoy stopped chuckling and said, “Let’s be for real. Can’t you take a joke when you see it?” “That’s more like it, my friend; I knew you were not at the least a fagot.” Dosmitenoy said, “Be back in a snap,” then zoned out. “As it’s said, no winner, winner, chicken dinner,” POTUS uttered. Ready-witted and carefree, Dosmitenoy had just returned and then replied, “You got that right,” loudly blowing his nose. “Damn cold, been around too long. Like I was saying, I love myself some women.
Chapter
5
THE MORE, THE BETTER, I always say. Just keep it away from the wife. She thinks I’m an angel. Can you imagine a man without that beautiful chaos we call women to nurse his thirst for pussy?” Then POTUS said, “No way in hell can I imagine my friend, so goodbye and stay tuned.” But, strange as it seemed, he often wondered if he spent most of his life behind a mask, being President by day, serial killer by night. The question being, would his mask start slipping, and his cover lifted. The monster within exposed? Or powers of thought revealed? A day later, and at the eleventh hour, POTUS dropped off the radar and flew on Air Force One to West of Nothing, Alabama, up in hillbilly country, heavy in lean two’s and dilapidated shacks. After munching on peas and beans mixed with some bits of chicken, he had his bodyguards stay back at the hotel while he went with some of the Khan. In time, the transparent night was quite dark when they arrived, the driver letting the van idle, and as the Union Jack flew high in the air, some thirty men stood at the ready round in a circle adorned in white sheets.
Zombie
AWARE HE WAS NOW IN the lion’s den, POTUS walked closer to them. He could see a black man with his hands tied behind his back, crying and mourning, “Please don’t kill me. I got a wife and five kids.” The thing was, he was as human as them, a point often overlooked in such situations. “Be still and shut the fuck up nigger,” said an authentic unlikable Klansman, significantly gripping the man by his collar to emphasize who was in control as the stream flowed through a garden nearby; finally, he paused and cleared his throat. He then resumed what was being said, “You aren’t supposed to speak until you are asked to, nigger.” Next, a man, not your Aunt Sally or laughing stock, then stepped out of the shack adorned in black from head to toe. The man’s role in the matter played like a cautionary tale. For one thing, POTUS quickly surmised the man hitched to an old-fashioned, middle-aged, broken-down woman with a part-time job skinning cows, had to be the Grand Wizard, head man of the Klan, obviously widely-recognized in that area. High-spirited to the tie, he had a long whip in his hands. He then held it up above his head and snapped it, sending a terrifying sound through the air. “Tie him up to that tree over yonder, and strip him bare,” he instructed, with authoritative candor, pointing to a stance of woods some distance away. By and large and at the same time, the poor man was so terrified, he involuntarily wet in his pants as they dragged him over to the tree and hurriedly tied him up. Suddenly, the sky lit up a fiery red, the equivalent of a barn fire, indicating things were about to become more heated.
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS MOVED TO GET a better look at what was about to happen. At the same time, the lion-hearted Grand Wizard handed a thingamajig to POTUS. “At your service, Mr. President, welcome to the club. It’s only right that you get a taste of what’s it like to whip some no-count niggers ass.” Unaware of POTUS’s disinterestedness, and with the line of communication now understood, the out-of-the-limelight like-minded crowd got a kick out of that last remark. It began chanting, “Whip that nigger’s ass, Mr. President. Make him bleed like the animal he is. Hell, he’s but three-fifths human. Not quite a full human. He’s just above the animals, not at the least above the times.” That raised a few eyebrows and got yet another roaring shemozzle from the crowd. It was clear they now were on the fringes of reality, some of them foaming at the mouth like a wild beast straining at the bit, thrusting a tight fist up in the air, their voice piercing through the night. POTUS had to it they were odd unimaginative moments he was sure never to forget. Wanting to worm himself into their love-hate affections, POTUS did not linger, and with incredible ion and with deliberate speed, he stepped forward with the whip in hand, not about to do an about-turn. He then raised it above his head; the whip sizzled through the air striking its target with a resounding thug, only to cause their captive to cry out a wretched god awful sound. He began to moan, struck again and again, till he was at the last gasp and reeked with blood, sending the poor man to an early grave.
Zombie
IF YOU WONDER IF HIS actions gratified POTUS, hell, it was bittersweet, knowing already that he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue in New York and get away with it. There was no difference here. Another thing was he wanted to prove to these crazed men he was no chicken, no coward at least. The Grand Wizard, the fly in the ointment, walked over and patted him on the back, saying to him, “That was perfectly fabulous. Good grief, it got pretty ugly there for a time, but it was good and sure to be something to tell your grandkids. Welcome to the flower and floor show, POTUS. We must do this again sometime soon. Now come with me, I got just the nigger woman that’ll satisfy all your needs. Plus, she’s young and quite a looker. Just to think of her gets my pecker hard. Where we’re going will be wine, women, and song, buddy.”
Chapter
6
WITHOUT ONE WORD SPOKEN, they drove through the night about ten miles, each with a sphinx-like smile on their face. Before long, POTUS was in a one-room shack getting the blow job of his life. Damn, he thought to himself, wishing slavery could return to the nation. What a time he would have. So much freedom to do what one was capable of imagining white people could do, that is. Who knows, before he quit being President, it might happen. He breathed a sigh and continued to think. For that to happen, he knew one thing; for that to happen, he would have to put in every effort and start to kick the idea around; perhaps in time, there could be a shift in white’s way of thinking toward a more direct way of being racist. He knew a relatively large number of whites were prejudice primarily against blacks, with just a sprinkling hating Jews, Latinos, Native Americans, Asians, and a relatively small number of other less fortunate groups. He would have to place irons in the fire and continue to stoke up the flames of racism. He quickly decided that whites were the greater of the races to fall for the racist crap. He would continue to feed them a dose at a time until they were hooked line and sinker.
Clifford Benjamin
BEFORE HE FORGOT, HE had a bad habit of visiting his grandfather once in a blue moon. He lived in a remote farmhouse. That had to change, and it would be if he had anything to say about it, despite his wife Tatiana disliked visiting his family. The last time the two had visited, his wife threw a tantrum, lashing out and accusing of his family of trying to drive a wedge between her and her husband. So worked up, he had to drag her away from the situation before things became hostile. Tatiana said in a rage, “Here I am, trying to be a good wife and care for the kids and all. And here you are stabbing me in the back, telling people I’m messing around with this guy and that, staying out late bar hopping my ass off. Plus, taking care of my younger sister is no bed of roses; she is ridiculous.” She caught her breath, and threw up her hands, and stumped on her way to the car—opening and closing the door with a bang. He was speechless, knowing if he got a word in, she would have jumped on him also, and knowing she would keep quiet only when pigs fly. She had run so fast; it was as if Elvis had left the building. One of the family , a man of letters, was gaga and shouted out, “Hey Mr. President! You’re always playing devil’s advocate,” his voice and manner suggesting an aristocratic pedigree. That did it! The last remark ignited his D.N.A., causing POTUS to shout back, “Give it a rest, Jack and mind your own fucking business. You got that?” Just when things were about to escalate or erupt further, it started to rain cats and dogs, causing the rest of the family to fly back inside.
Zombie
ANOTHER FAMILY MEMBER started to say something but missed the boat as a streak of lightning lit up the sky. The thunderous noise caused the cockatoo, a cross between a cocker spaniel and a poodle, to run with his tail between his legs, pausing only to shake the rain away, obviously frightened to no end, and then continued to fly through the open door. As soon as POTUS entered the car, his wife barked peevishly, “Of all the cockamamie bullshit I’ve heard, your family—” “Uh-uh, Tatiana,” he said with a softly-softly approach, “Don’t you go getting yourself bent out of shape. We both know my two sisters always try to get in the last word. And have a habit of going around spearing cock-and-bull stories on most people in these parts.” She calmed down, running her finger through her hair. “You’re right, I guess. I’m never one to back down from a fight. It’s just the way of being raised, I guess.” She rolled her head around, perhaps to get the tension in her neck to relax. “All I know every kid in the world is the apple of their parent’s eye.” Her smile was faint. It was the type of smile that could change the world and make fascinating conversations. “You trying to say I am spoiled, aren’t you?” “No, just trying to get you to take your mind off what just went on just moments ago, Hon?” He reached over and pulled her closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, sniffling and wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She was now forty-two, with very shapely contours to her body.
Clifford Benjamin
HE LOVED THIS WOMAN and never really wanted to be with any other female, that was until another pussy came around. It was love at first sight, that is, if you wanted to believe that. She fifteen, he was just a month shy of fiftyfive. She swooned like butter in his hand when he first said he loved her. She looked at him with a massive smile on her face. “I was wondering did you feel the way I do.” She glanced down at her feet, pleased he had brought the lovely shoes at a flea market for a song and a dance. POTUS chuckled, “Damn girl, don’t you go telling people I cried on your shoulders.” They were now home. “Trust me. I won’t.” She took off her shoes and just stood there. “That’s my girl, all right.” “You still love me as you did before,” she asked. Love was a story as old as time. “Woman can’t you tell ... there’s no way my feelings for you will ever change. You are the apple of my eye. Rest assured, we still make quite a couple don’t you think?” “I’m with you on that.” “I know.” “You know?” “I will always love you till the last drop of life leaves my body.” “I know, but I can’t get your sisters out of my head.” “I done told you about that.” She stirred. “I tell you, I just can’t. They keep on crossing the line, behaving in a not acceptable way; it’s like a bitter pill. I’ll forgive them when all hell freezes
over, perhaps.”
Zombie
“WOMAN, I DON’T WANT to hear another sound out of you. Just zip your lip, will you?” “You’re right. I won’t let it get me down.” “That’s right. Keep focused, never for once giving in to the craving of wanting to bash heads. It won’t do any good. If you did, they would still be the same way and saying the same awful things about people. It’s like they are bewitched. And you, you must never to set the bar so high that it’s impossible to achieve anything.” “You’re right as rain. I can always count on you to lift me when I’m down. Thanks for being there for me.” “Not at all; just part of my nature to be there for anyone I care about, and that you can bet dollars on donuts, I will always be there for you. And as you know, we both don’t have to work long hours to keep the wolf from the door.” He paused, then looked at the thick pea soup gathering outside, then said, “Sounds like the devil is beating his wife in our city. It’s raining cats and dogs and the sun is also shinning. Oh, and grandmother advised me to be careful about making new friends because all that glitters is not gold.” “I hear you.” He responded, “As you also may know, I’m very straightforward. Never mind, just copy what I do. It’s easy peas as can be. I will always keep you in the loop.” “I’m sure you will.” He said, “I forgot to tell you, I felt snowed under with all the work thrown my way.” “No. You didn’t.”
Clifford Benjamin
“YES, IT’S TRUE. BUT I can and will keep hustling my butt. I got my ambition from my father, as you know. And as you know, the debate on whether man and woman were created equal has been long-lasting and significant.” “I concur. We women still have a ways to go before we get any chance of semblance of equal pay.” “You got that right. On another note, how’s that brother of yours coming along? Is he still under the radar after stealing all that money from your friends?” He chuckled. She rapped him on the shoulder. “You keep getting on him without giving him time to breathe.” “Hell, it’s his fault he stole that money. I’m just not too happy about that. And it would help if you were too. I realize he’s your only brother. It’s just that a person has to know when he should toss in the towel before it’s too late.” “I know. You’re right. It’s just I feel pity for that guy’s situation.” He said, “You’re right, I guess.” “What?” “Oh, I don’t know; maybe he can turn the tide.” She said, “And I don’t know, but can’t you just tell me, explain to me, describe to me why in God’s name you feel the way you do about him?” “I don’t know; I just do, I guess.” She sighed. “For your information, I think my brother can change, but thanks.” “Don’t thank me yet. Your brother has not got his feet out of the water yet. Maybe it might help if he changes up some of his associates.” “Sounds like you have been giving it some thought.”
Zombie
“I HAVE, SWEETNESS, that and a ham sandwich won’t get him to land a job. It takes determination and a little bit of luck. He has to get his ass in gear and go after whatever it is he’s seeking to fine.” After sighing, he continued his train of thought. And that was, he felt the brother had the weirdest opinions and was a real piece of work. He clucked his tongue then said, “One other thing may help, if he gets off before five o’clock, the traffic will not be as bad, and since this will be a project, I suggest he start with the low-hanging fruit.” “As I said, it sounds promising.” “It is just that.” She uttered, “Have you seen his beautiful new bags? He must have paid a fortune for them.” “Really,” he said, with a big evil grin. I think they’re phony as can be. I do.” She looked at him, pretty, hot, and straightforward. “In my opinion, the stitching of the original bags is blue. Not green.” With a shake of her head, she said, “Of course. Guess the devil is in the details.” She smiled as if she won the conversation. He chuckled—then smiled. The one thing he learned is that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. So, being between a rock and a hard place, he wished her brother all the best, considering the shifting sands in the economy. The fact was he had to work. After all, nothing in life was free. He got a kick out of her brother, always telling them how he met so-and-so on his travels. Everyone knew he made it up, except his wife. He even hoped her brother would meet Ms. Right sometime. Of course, he disagreed with his take on heart matters, but he respected his choice.
Clifford Benjamin
HE WISHED HIS FATHER was here. He was very impressive, a great man, larger than life. The two would often attend a movie at the theatre that would have everyone in stitches. “So you’re with me on helping him,” Tatiana asked. “I think so.” He yawned. “I know, I know, you think I can’t get him out of my memory.” She said, “Correction. I think you mean obliterate; I think you meant don’t you love not illiterate.” “Did I? Oh, well, I’m not perfect. But I have to give your brother one credit.” “Yeah, can you tell me how so?” “Well, haven’t you noticed he is the very pineapple of politeness? What about all that bubbler? That cat’s getting so big—people might just call him the International House of Pancakes.” She said, “There you go again, using those cotton-picking huge words.” “What? Did I say something wrong?” “Yes, you did.” “For Christ’s sakes, what did I do now?” “You used the word pineapple instead of the pinnacle. I know what.” “What?” She sighed, words rolling around in her head. “You are playing with me, deliberately using the wrong words.” He smiled. “Guilty as charged, I was just funning with you. I like it when you are confused.” “Okay, okay, I forgive you.”
“You women won’t it you are as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile.”
Zombie
“THERE YOU GO AGAIN. Can’t you lay off the language?” “Okay, I didn’t know that was one of your soft spots. So let’s say using words like I just used is much ado about nothing—would you agree. How bout we get some shut-eye? Oh, I almost forgot to mention.” She looked at him with half-closed eyes. “What?” “I am glad you are enjoying your holiday; the best is yet to come.” “Why, thank you. And I, too, almost forgot something.” “What’s that?” She smiled then said, “I have never eaten sushi, but I will give it a shot if you want me to.” “Why, of course, can’t wait to get a taste of it.” “Did I tell you?” “What?” “My brother knows how to wind me up,” she sounded like she’s lost in darkness. “Did I tell you Mr. Grumps doesn’t want to listen to anyone and doesn’t want to help anyone but himself?” He pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. “No, you didn’t, but I do know now.” I never told you what else I am into doing. It’s a literary term called antimetabole.” “Oh?” “Yes, it goes like this: Woe unto them that call evil good and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!” “How cute,” she mumbled, “and thoughtful with great meaning and dept and a lot of force behind it.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THANK YOU; IT’S A CHARMING way to put it. The expression does have a way of keeping me grounded. Oh, I would be remiss not to tell you, you did an excellent job at making the pastry fluffy, sweet, and delicate at dinner this evening.” “Now, I thank you likewise for being so considerate. You have a way with words.” “Thanks. So do you. I might add, perch are inexpensive code is cheap; trout are abundant, but salmon are best.” “I see. So what are you now, a chef?” “No, but I wanted to be one.” He smiled. “As they say, I came, I saw, I conquered.” “Well, do tell. It looks like I lucked up and got myself a smart one.” He said to her, “I never told you my motto was to be classy because it annoys other people. Careful now, you don’t want to go opening Pandora’s Box.” “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re a regular Einstein?” “No, but I like the ring of it.” He knew it was over the rainbow. But he knew you only live once, and this is not a rehearsal, enjoy it every day. “But I do hope your brother lands something pretty soon, or he just might suffer a nervous shakedown.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, there you go again. The word is—” “I know—the breakdown is the correct word—it’s me alter ego just playing games with you, sweetheart. I told you how much I like playing with your mind. But I also know when I’m overstepping my bounds like I just did. So I have to know when not to give into you a few well-frozen worms. Oh, oh, Correction, well-chosen words. But, see, I am getting better already.”
Zombie
“I agree.”
Chapter
7
SO TATANIA HAD AGREED with him, which didn’t come often. Heck, he thought, former world Heavyweight Champion boxer Mike Tyson, when asked about his following plans moments after losing in a world title fight with Lennox Lewis, declared ‘I might fade into Bolivian,’ meaning oblivion. Or, like, the doctor istered the anecdote. No one is perfect. They may purposefully use the wrong words. Since they first met, they planned on a brief coffee date but then decided to get dinner, too. Hours later, they were still talking and planning on their next date! He was pleased with his choice of a woman. Tatiana held her tongue with a trendy asymmetric haircut and shook her head, slipping between the covers, stretching and yawning as she did so. She kissed him on the lips, then laid her head on the pillow, then snuggled up next to him, asking the question, “Is there anything more beautiful than a cuddle, ring true?” She had an atom of sense to know that the atmosphere was romantic. Before they knew it, a curly, sweet, blonde, tiny, fun, funny puppy jumped up on the bed and sat down, wagging his tail. She patted him lightly on his head. “Hi there Rusty, you are indeed a sweet, gentle pup.” The puppy then jumped off the bed and ran into another room.
Zombie
STARRY-EYED, SHE GOT his attention and said to him, “I have nipples. Hon, how about you milk me?” That was the punch-line to them having sex eventually. Furthermore, the phrase has unfortunately co-opted by misogynist online communities. It also means that men have simplistic ideas about how the world works, and they lack the self-awareness to know they sound like idiots. Let us get one thing straight, that particular phrase stands the test of time, shouldering most of its lasting greatness. Then with macho gravitas at his exposure, POTUS smiled and got right to accommodating her request, making sure not a spot was missed. Soon they had pretty wild sizzling sex, achieving a universality you’d expect from someone their age, resulting in arguably one of the most memorable moments of their lives. With satisfaction over and done, and with blue eyes and dimples, her head on his chest, and although at times she seemed like a dingbat, she was pretty clever. Although they would have a real ding-dong off and on, she said to him, “Thank you for putting pussy on a pedestal. I don’t care what anyone thinks. The fact is you’re no deadbeat.” After kissing her, he said, “You’re every bit welcome, sweetheart.”
Chapter
8
THE VERY NEXT DAY, although it would gild the lily, Tatiana added a scarf to her jacket. Shortly, she was at a local overstocked farmer’s market, standing at a fruit stand with her puppy Rusty in the shopping cart, when a man walked up showing no signs of overt unhappiness. “Wow,” the man said, “Those are some huge melons you’ve got there. Did you grow them yourself? Can I see one?” “Excuse me?” she asked, looking at him with her gimlet eyes, looking at him very carefully, not missing anything. The man points to a pile of too ripe watermelons behind her. “The watermelons, can I see one?” “Oh, yes, of course. Here you go.” Uncomfortable with the man’s sudden approach, she had thought he was saying something inappropriate! She thought perhaps her instincts would give her a heads up about him. But, instead, she gave him the once over and moved on. Suddenly, it went zip when it moved and bop when it stopped, and whirr when it stood still; she never knew what it was and frankly didn’t give a damn.
Zombie
BEFORE SHE GOT EVERYTHING she came for, an older adult came to buy a TV, asked the shopkeeper if they had colored TVs. When told that they are available, he asked to purchase a purple one. He then said to the Cash agent, “My father was in the Navy; I grew up on a cruise. As a young boy, I saw things beyond anyone's imagination. I often wondered, what is the purpose of our existence?” She shook her head, smiled, and then finished shopping. And as a lone blowfly flew by, she noticed it was raining outside. She then heard the swish, swoosh, whiff, whoosh, hiss, the sound of the wind whispering in her ear through an open window, coupled with the moan of doves in immemorial elms. Then, finally, she heard a woman say to someone, “I’m getting married in the morning! Ding dong! The bells are going to ring.” She then sneezed without covering her mouth, causing Tatiana to give her a disparaging glance in her direction. Tatiana then paid for the items and schlepped them out to her car. She was unaware not just feet away in the brush, the animal reaching down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom and trailed its yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough and rested its throat upon the stone bottom. Where the water had dropped from the tap, in a small clearness, it sipped with its straight mouth.
Clifford Benjamin
THOUGH SHE FELT IT in her bones, the coast was clear. Her nerves were no longer at breaking point; she was ready to roll. After putting the items in the trunk, she got in the car, drove onto the overtaking lane nearest the center of the road, and left for home. In the scheme of things, happy that in the real world, she was not found dead from the prospect that her assailant had been on the scent of something big, especially since hospitals overstretched and patients are not getting treatment. Moments later, she drove past a charabanc and, a sizable old-fashioned bus filled to the brim with a group visiting places of interest, sunlight gilding their faces, an adventure as a teen she would have given her eyeteeth. Despite her irritatingly tricky to understand and troublesome what might have been an encounter, she continued driving homeward, with her face turned toward the sun, weight on her shoulders like she had eyes in the back of her head.
Chapter
9
“BELIEVE IN NOTHING but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination.” The one thing Ed needed was to get his priorities in order. After glancing at the colors of the spectrum—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet—as seen in a rainbow, he munched on roasted vegetables on a bed of rice and without ixture or dilution: straight, his hair combed back neat —Ed left home, taking off so quickly that his tires screeched, then drove on the highway with the radio on. He couldn’t help being overwhelmed with the beautiful autumn day—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Yes, it was inevitable; he needed to get his priorities in order. Added to that, his favorite pastime, needlepoint, surprise some people. And his wife’s horse, Arabian, was her pride and joy. The bottom line was that you couldn’t control what a person thinks. After all, he couldn’t please everyone. Regardless, his wife, his flower princess, had been his best friend. Skip the rest. What those others thought undoubtedly did not matter. Anyway, his idea, a recycling bin for the office, was accepted by POTUS.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ONE GUY HE NEEDED to please. Although the Florida panthers, the state animal of Florida, were an endangered species, it did not matter to him. All that mattered was POTUS was the one that kept the cash flowing to him. Right now, it mattered little he disagreed with him, although POTUS had a habit of spinning out of control. As he continued spanking along in his car, he spotted a rootless old adult without a home to return to wearing a surgical shoe on his left foot. Ed surmised the man was a so-and-so that didn’t have a word to say about anyone and dared not tumble to anyone’s plan. No one knew he had been trapped in a collapsed building but managed to tunnel his way out. Many that crossed his path thought of him as a bit lame. Ed then saw a big red hexagon and knew the big red hexagon meant to stop the car. So he tromped on the brake. Then, with the course clear, he continued. He reached to retrieve his cell phone but quickly realized he mistakenly washed his clothes with his phone, and it no longer worked. So he would purchase another one. Having arrived at the destination and after switching the radio off, he got out and looked up at the ether. He stood there a moment or two, soaking up the atmosphere. He then took about ten steps, then walked through a yielding mire of wet leaves, opened the door to the bender, then stepped over the threshold. Knowing what he knew now, his one regret was he wished he had never come.
Zombie
THE PLACE WAS QUITE packed, not like sardines, but packed, noticing right off, of all the men, he was the neatest and well-groomed, which was the common denominator that speaks to his having once walked and crawled on six crooked highways when he was a broke young man, getting in-and-out-of trouble. It was no surprise that a relatively large pitcher of margaritas was waiting awkwardly and elegantly along with other drinks such as beverages. He couldn’t believe so many people had convened in massive numbers for some crazy things, from rolling cheese down a hill or covering themselves in mud from head to toe, even taking it to the limit and engaging in exhibitionism. Then gradually and reluctantly maneuvering through the crowd, he grabbed a drink and melted back in, bowing his head to this person and that. At one point, he stopped to chat with a doctor, not caring if he responded or not, then moved on to speak with a senator’s wife, friendly and attractive and pleasant. Soon afterward, excusing himself, he moved on until he drifted to the balcony outside. He stood alone for what seemed like hours but only minutes. Tiring the outside, he went back in and strolled toward the bathroom but stopped when his ears picked up a familiar sound. “Oh, baby, you feel good,” a man’s voice said. His vision was blurry as he leaned near the doorway and saw Senator Wright fucking Renegade Angel. She was straight out of a bedroom community. In her early childhood, she had screwed every boy in the neighborhood until it got her kicked out of the Debutant Ball. “Aaaaaaaa, oopsie whoopsie, give me that dick,” Renegade moaned, her bode every bit crazy beautiful and beautiful chaos.
Clifford Benjamin
“OH, FUCK YEAH, SPREAD it. Just keep giving me that pussy. Close to finishing and uttering, “God, you’re a sweet sensational piece of ass. Damn, woman, we need to do this more.” “As I see it, we will, for real, if I can get some more time away from my husband, with any luck, we can do this for the rest of our lives.” Though what he was witnessing was appalling, surprisingly, Ed could feel his dick hardening and couldn’t believe it. Why just last night, he couldn’t even get it up for his wife. Wonder never ceases. Senator Wright took a moment to stop his body movements, and said to her, “I’ll be right back, got to check on something.” By-and-by, Ed moved away from the door and hid behind another open door at a dangerously safe distance, making it so Senator Wright could not see him. Senator Wright went out of the room to check on his wife. Ed heard the senator’s wife say, “There you are,” looking at him with a frown on her face either by chance or design. “What’s up,” he asked. “I’ve got a splitting headache that’s killing me. Take me home.” “Sorry, you feel that way, Hon. Are you sure ...” “Did you hear me?” He knew she was serious and knew it was better not to object. But, on the other hand, he didn’t want her to make a scene or go on the warpath. They left together, arm and arm. Ed watched them leave and went back to peep in at Renegade. He quickly noticed she had not moved an inch. She was still on the bed with her legs spread. He directly viewed her pussy as she started to finger herself, moaning with her
eyes closed.
Zombie
WITHOUT THINKING IF his actions are ethically questionable, Ed found himself in the room and up on the bed, positioning him above her in one fell swoop. “What took you so long, sweetheart,” taking hold of his dick and guiding it inside her, moaning with her eyes still closed tight. He drove his rigidness straight to the hilt, feeling her deep softness. Try as he might, he couldn’t describe the thrill of being inside the ethereal beauty as she groaned and moaned, screaming in silence, beginning moving up and down on his thick rock-hard dick in response to his aggressively plunging up and down motions. Not long after, he climaxed heavily deep inside her; he collapsed utterly on top of her, exhausted from his colorless kaleidoscope yum yummy yawning orgasm. There was a partial silence. Moments later, she cried out, “Oh, my, you are somewhat bigger than ever. I like the way my body responded to your dick deep inside me.” She was dead right, so he replied, “It was my pleasure; our lovemaking is the result of delicate, thoughtful alchemy.” She opened her come-hither eyes in shook and said, “What? Hold on. Get off me, you creep.” Though he thought it cruel how she dallies with his affection, he said to her, “Hello gorgeous.” Then, he got off her and sat on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. “What happened to Wright?” To put it more simply, he said, “Went home with his wife.” She made a desultory attempt at conversation by asking, “How did you know I
was in here? Did you follow me?”
Clifford Benjamin
“NO.” “You had to. Otherwise, there is no way you would be here.” “I was on the way to go to the bathroom, and I heard you talking to someone.” “Oh, so that’s how you found me.” “Under those circumstances, I say yes; I wouldn’t lie to you.” “Don’t concern yourself; it’s a fact, guys only want one thing, and it’s fucking disgusting.” In effect, Ed shrugged and said, “I understand.” “Well, anyway, I must say though, you are quite different than Wright.” “I have a habit of sipping a ton of decaffeinated Espresso, but to your question, how much difference?” “It’s much bigger and assuredly a bit longer. I would say your screwing is near to being imperfectly perfect, opening a range of inhale-exhale infinite possibilities, which increases your lovemaking power. Just saying you are not a limited edition. You are a shining example of Miracles do happen.” “Oh snap, is that a compliment?” “Generally speaking, what do you think? You’re so good you could be my daily special.” He spent a few moments talking to his inner soul and listening to his heart, letting it engulf him. He then asked, “Is that a definite maybe? But seriously, now that you asked, I must it you have what most men call damn good snapping pussy.” As she started to straighten out her clothes, she said, “I never heard that before.” “Well, you did now.”
“Is that good or bad?” “I would venture to say well, especially since you let me.”
Zombie
SHE STOPPED. “I MUST it, you do have a way with causing a girl to feel good inside and all that good shit.” “Thank you, my lady, of the night.” “We must do this again sometime when it’s convenient.” “That’s okay by me.” Before he knew it, she reached down and took hold of his still rigid penis and put it deep inside of her mouth, and started a delicate assault, going up and down on it, with deliberate speed, taking more and more of it with each gulp. Ed found himself moaning and groaning, his body getting closer to a possible solution—climax. “Damn, you sure know how to suck a dick. But, no, don’t stop. Keep right on doing what you’re doing.” She paused and threw her head back as if in ecstasy. And then nearly finished, she kept doing it until he reached the only conclusion, the ultimate climax deep inside her throat and not stopping until his movements cease. Her performance under such conditions was estimable. In the aftermath between breaths, he managed, “Truth to powder, before I came into this room, I thought I was making a deliberate mistake. Now I’m wondering whether I am wrong or right, or maybe I am out here shooting nothing but blanks at a moving target.” He wasn’t his usual ebullient self. “No lover. I wasn’t born dead. So I see you’re no natural phony or boring court jester.” “You think so?” “Yes, you have done right ... I am happy you did. It’s to my benefit you were deliberately thoughtless to enter this room and fuck me as you did.” “Was I that good?”
Clifford Benjamin
“BELIEVE ME, AND IT was no boring orgasm. Not by a long shot.” “Fantastic.” She said, “Thanks for the delightfully brief journey.” “It was my pleasure,” he itted, his face etched in satisfaction. “The sensation was like burning ice burning hot through my veins,” she itted. “My how your description of my virility is stimulation,” he replied. She said, “What more can we girls ask? I dare not butt heads with you on that. I assure you, our union together was no way in hell a calculated error. It was nothing short of destiny and every bit akin to a calm storm if you ask me. I’m not cheerfully cynical, just being cautiously optimistic and pretty about it. That’s coming from a nice casual chic, mind you. As you can probably tell, I’m old enough to know I am no backseat driver in this situation. We must do this sometime very soon, lover.” Ed said, “I’d be eternally grateful if you can arrange it.” As they say, “Hope springs eternal,” she said with a smile. Disgustingly good and blindingly apparent better strangers with ironic similarities, coupled with not one lousy goodbye, they agreed to do it again— possibly beyond infinity—whenever it was expedient. That way, they would be able to see what kind of persons they’re blossoming into, between him and the “manic pixie dream girl. But, instead, she identified with the sense of privileged malaise and vague sadness that runs through most cases of infidelity that, to most, harbored a fantasy that love could cure.
Zombie
COULD IT BE THE EARTH angel and man-child were on the wings of a bluebird of happiness contingent on a lifetime guarantee? Maybe so, maybe not; it was an Educated guess. The relative Truth both were laid-back compulsive known strangers with limited freedom. The fact was you wouldn’t learn anything new unless you make a mistake. It’s okay to make mistakes and learn from them. Although Ed would later learn during the day, she was just a school teacher; the simple, quiet book-lover that most people overlooked. But by night, she was notorious for bar-hopping going from bar to bar searching for what she considered Mr. Right while her husband was home babysitting. In his view, one would guess this proves the rebel identity was her secret identity that only comes out at night. Nevertheless, she was not alone in living this different lavish lifestyle. Ed, himself, believe it or not, often wondered if he could wake up in another place, at an additional time, could he wake up as a different person. You would think Ed would go on thinking about her from time to time. After all, she was a good-looking woman, on the sexy side. But, he knew when a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly reviews every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it. Nobody is sure why, but what is clear is that a person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin, and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts, it will shine out of your face like sunbeams, and you will always feel lovely and look lovely.
Clifford Benjamin
AS THE CLOUDS ROLLED back and the stars filled the night, he would continue to think about the impressionable tried and true splendid pretty kettle of fish repeatedly. He had to it. She was wild and crazy! Bizarre! The most fantastic thing! Too much to handle! Wow! Maybe so, maybe not, I think. The bottom line was he knew the knobby in dribs and drabs sudden earthshaking relationship was bereft of hope—hopeless, but still hoped she would stay beautiful, stay focused, stay strong, stay faithful, and most of all, stay tuned. As to him, at the moment, he was tickled pink. He opened his eyes to think differently, think twice, treasure today. And as to what if’s, and why not’s, woohoo! Despite the hurdles you may encounter, what counts is you can, you matter, and you sparkle and live another day to fight again. One thing was for sure, he usually felt rather ropey the morning after a party, and sometimes he could be an S.O.B. It’s a given; humanity lives in a theater of the absurd where the only thing constant is change and where absolute does not exist. Meaning that, by definition, how you filter what you see, hear, feel, and taste is a personal viewpoint. It’s my opinion, “But why?” is an invitation not to take anything at face value and use your heavenly given gift of free will and independent thinking. In the final analysis, don’t be a follower, be a student, but not stand for being stomped upon, wild, but true. There was a full strawberry moon when Ed left the party and headed home.
Chapter
10
SUNLIGHT ENTOMBED THE face of the earth, as a big burly ripped white guy named Mountain, with chubby cheeks, dimple chin, and hair dapple gray, and a player with several girlfriends, stepped out the house, in Blind Man’s Bluff. Amazingly, his hair seemed to change color; the orange light of the lowering sun reflected off strands of red, brown, blonde, and even a few white. He then walked half of a block and entered a building. After darkness had set in, he found himself saying, “He-Who-Must-Not-BeNamed,” scanning the small crowd of eager beavers, and Grannies and Grandpas, standing around pots of Green Peas and Mutton Pies, coupled with half a pound of Mandy Rice, Mountain was a staunch racist since age seventeen. “High Hitler,” shouted a tall guy named Killer-D of The Devil May Dare Party, sporting a gray beard, holding a clenched fist in the air as more and more ed. They were in an abandoned rundown old church; the entire room smelt of skunk beer. On his arm was the number 5, the number of blacks he claimed to have killed. They were a small group, not more than twenty , mostly middleaged, but aggressive and willing to kill if need be.
Clifford Benjamin
SUDDENLY, A CURTAIN-raiser began when the front door bust open. An oversized brown-haired guy with curly locks named Whistle walked in wearing Grandma’s spectacles. He was known as a couch potato and a real live dork. He found himself fumbling for the right words and shouting the alarm: “I just saw one. Imma go hit him up,” his wiener no larger than a needle, obviously a weakling, obviously why his party animal ex-girlfriend dumped him, with his clothes thrown in the street. She yelled at him, shouting: Didn’t anybody tell you, lousy cologne is a turnoff?” He was a man in the body of a snort-nosed kid, address unknown. “Calm down,” said Mountain, full of himself and in a blistered rough and gruff tone of voice, “and tell us who and what did you see. Sit down, man, take the load off. We’re with you. That’s why we’re all here. Isn’t that right, fellows.” The air splintered with a roar when they shouted, “Hell yeah.” Then Whistle said, “Well, to be candid, I was walking along the path, you know up by Hollow Road. “That’s when I spotted him.” “Who do you mean?” “Oh, just some guy, I mean.” Keeping a steady eye on the guy, Mountain asked, “What guy. Does he have a name?” “Ah, I think his name is Toes. Yeah, that’s right, Toes. Quite a bit of a big fellow if you ask me.” Mountain was now standing in front of Whistle. At first, he thought Whistle a little flaky and might flip out or lose control. But found him to be goofy and thought he was gross with no guts, with a lot of hang-ups.
Zombie
MOUNTAIN THOUGHT HIM gentle, Jesus meek and mild but nowhere near to being a regular Georgia Porgy. Still, a riot and rather than reaming him out, or scolding him severely, he said, “Take us to him,” rowdy and ruthless, moody and stern in his manner, word had it he had a hand in lynching several blacks in the area. His forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, mouth, and chin contorted; Whistle said, “Far out ... I’m down ... I’m game ... I’m in ... sounds every bit like it’s going to be a blast.” They all followed in lockstep, jumping in cars and trucks, speeding away. Shortly after, they caught up with the easy mark lounging on the side of the road. He climbed to his feet and started to walk in the opposite direction wanting no parts of what might happen. The cars and trucks cut him off. Mountain then jumped from his car and shouted, causing the man to stop. He said, to his men, “Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.” He then said to the black man, “Where you headed, Toes, I mean nigger?” The man with two short thumbs that wriggled up and down seemed nervous. “Home, sir,” said, being respectful. “I don’t want any trouble.” Just the sight of them ate away at his confidence, bothering the heck out of him, trying his most damn not to freak out; it would play right into their hands. So now he was in the dog house feeling every bit like a Klutz. “As I see it, you’re off the grid. We got you now. Now, did I say there’s going to be any trouble?” Mountain barked, getting up in the man’s grill. “What’s your name, boy?”
Clifford Benjamin
THE MAN HAD NOT FLINCHED or made a single move as he looked around at the angry faces. “Jesus,” he uttered, fidgeting somewhat, feeling in a state of irritability and tension. He was acutely aware of the clear and present danger he was in and knew he had to try to be non-aggressive as possible cause the chance of getting out of this was razor-thin. Nevertheless, another lug nicknamed Greedy Ben said, “Give him your knife, Mountain.” After five-ten fifteen-twenty seconds, Mountain arrogantly replied, “What for?” Then Greedy Ben said, “It appears to me he has a knife.” Mountain looked closer at the captive and saw the knife stuck in his belt bucket. “That’s not a knife,” he then pulled out a huge knife, “now that’s a knife,” questioning the captives knife to point out how small, and therefore making the captive feel small and even more scared. He then was grabbed from behind and roughly driven to the ground. The men then used jackbooted force, kicking him all over his head, shoulders, knees, and toes. It was a brutal assault; he couldn’t help but hope something or someone would intervene and stop the attack on his aching body. His overall feeling was he felt for sure if they continued much longer, he wouldn’t survive. After inhaling, a thought rushed through his head, prompting him to want to say: “You have but mistook me. I live with bread like you, feel want, and taste grief,” but held his tongue for fear of aggravating them further. Finally, Greedy Ben maneuvered round and started kicking him persistently, viciously, brutally, without an ounce of pity on the head, then shouting their captive, “Hello, Mr. Bunny Rabbit, how you like it now?”
Zombie
THE INJURED MAN COULD feel himself losing consciousness. He looked at the blood on his shirt. Can you imagine it? Have you ever— Mountain was so psyched he kicked the terrified man in the stomach and said, “Oops! Did that hurt?” He then kicked him again but somewhat harder. “Tell me, how can you call yourself a man, crying over a little bitty stain? Look at you. You run around here calling yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you’re terrified somebody’s going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself.” Eventually, at one point, and between grunts, their captive cried, “Lighten up. Cut it out. Stop doing that. Can’t you see you’re hurting me?” I’m not an animal; I’m as human as you are.” He knew if they kept attacking him, his situation would crumble. Then, suddenly, the lights from a car lit up the scene, stopping several feet away. Curiously, the car stood idling, windows on the vehicle tinted. For a time, it was as if it was a grand old standoff. Suddenly, a man’s voice asked, “What’s going on here?” The car door opened, and the man got out, walked over, and stopped a few feet away. It was a white man. Mountain stepped forward and asked in a harsh tone, “What’s it to you?” It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.
Clifford Benjamin
THEN KNOWING THAT SLOW and steady wins the race, the stranger said in a calm voice, “You’re wrong there limey, why not we start again? As you can see, this poor guy isn’t family. My name is Ed, and I’m asking you politely, what the hell is happening here or about to happen? Cause the way this black fellow is looking now smells a bit funny, don’t you think?” He did his business to looking Mountain straight in the eye without a hint of backing down. He noticed he was at a disadvantage. He opened the door then stepped out of the set of wheels. Mountain noticed right-off, the schmuck’s hair was windswept and hobbitcurled, his skin a healthy, kelp off-white and eyes of the deepest, Atlantis-blue, carrying his self with effortless grace. He considered him to be a square, a bit old-fashioned. He then looked around at some of his followers, hunching their shoulders and looking away into the night. “What did you say your name—” Standing perfectly balanced, he realized he might be about to spoil the sticky situation and thought that it might be better to veg out—doing nothing for the time being. However, he said instead, “Ed” cutting in, still sounding aggressive, not batting an eye, determined to save the poor guy’s life if it was at all possible. Ed had to give it a try. Hell, wouldn’t he want someone to come to his rescue were he in a similar situation? And even more so, by coming face-to-face with this group of thugs, he had crossed the Rubicon, one that, when crossed, commits a person irrevocably. He thought to himself: ‘YOLO—you only live once.’ “Got a last ....” “See here, bud ... my momma always said, life’s like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” Mountain held up one of his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I’m just checking because it’s only fair if you live around here.”
Zombie
ED SIGHED, SHIFTING his weight from one foot to the other. “To tell you the truth, it’s like this, you would never believe me, anyway, I’m Attorney General,” he said bluntly with an ounce of caution; this was not the time to be chivalrous, just convincing. Mountain asked, “Give me a break. But wait, did you say—” Ed threw shade-giving him a dirty look, then said, “Yes, that’s exactly correct. By the way, what’s it to you?” That last statement was a slap in the face to Mountain. His face now red, he waved his right hand, saying, “That’s all we need to know. All I can say now is, have a good one, sir, I mean attorney general.” Gradually, feeling Ed was legit, Mountain then glanced around at the rubble of men. In a hesitant, undecided, or hesitating manner, he did not shilly-shally, spitting out the words, “Us has done here boys, let’s roll.” The jackals, with absolutely no scruples, instinctively jumped into their machinery. But then, they did Skidoo without a word, speeding away in the direction they came from, forgetting to stop to smell the roses. Just the sight of seeing them leave in a hurry lifted Ed’s spirit sky-high. He then rushed over to the injured young man. The man looked as if beaten within an inch of his life, so bad that he turned his head away. Just several feet away lay a set of skulls and crossbones, a representation of a human skull. Somehow, Ed knew the place was a warning of danger to life.
Clifford Benjamin
PLACING HIS HAND ON the man’s shoulder, Ed asked him, “Looks like the skullduggery from them shitty imbeciles nearly finished you off, young fellow. They are the type that does not recognize that there’s some truth in the shibboleth that crime does not pay. It indeed was a close shave if there ever was one. Did anybody ever tell you are a child of light, a true vessel of the Lord? Thank goodness you stayed close to home. It’s a crazy world out here.” The man shook his head, indicating no, and then turned his head from side to side, opening and closing his eyes, trying to clear his head. Finally, he asked, “I’m feeling blue,” then quickly asked, “Are those devils gone?”
Chapter
11
ED, CURSING, AND SWEARING looked in the direction the men went in and answered, “Looks like it. Thinking they might return with a vengeance,” he asked, “Think you can walk? Look, you can’t let that get under your skin, despite what happened.” At first, zip—nothing, no response, he then said, “I think so,” making every effort to regain his footing, feeling like a loser and maxed out—every bit exhausted. With Ed’s accommodation and some painful struggling, the man was upright and eventually seated shotgun-wise in the car. After a fashion, Ed cranked the motor and began driving. “What’s up? Got a name, young fellow?” As he went, he would look at the guy and then back at the road, feeling angry and disappointed with people like that. “I’ll it, I goofed and should’ve been more careful if there’s a next time. It’s Tex, by the way,” he managed. “I’m originally from Texas. Born there, raised there. So, I realize the name is a reflection of where I once lived. But, it’s OK. I’ve learned to live with it.” “Hi, I’m Ed; as to your pain, I feel you. You might say from the looks of things; I’m your guardian angel. I hope you don’t mind my suggesting you watch your back. So you’re Tex. I would’ve thought it would’ve been Cowboy Dave.”
Clifford Benjamin
“I GOT YOU,” HE BIT out; my bad, should’ve known better,” he tried to laugh but stopped as the pain zipped throughout his body, not to mention the amount of drying blood caked on his body from head to toe. Ed said to him, “My young friend, the grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace,” attempting to convince him to seize the day and enjoy life while he still can. He said, “It might help if you suck up, bear with it.” He was also trying to imply that there is no one to love while in a grave. “Want to get some grub tonight?” Ed asked. “Heck, just a buck or two.” Tex said, “No biggie—it’s not a problem.” Ed did it anyway, stopping at a McDonald’s and got sodas and beef hamburgers. Then, he asked, “Do you want some fries with that?” “Thank you, I would,” said Tex, feeling the crumble in his belly. A pretty young woman currently assisting them said, “My milkshake brings all the boys in here.” She smiled and turned to finish their order. Like clockwork without giving it a thought, Ed said, “Anyone who says he can see through women is missing a lot,” implying that it’s futile looking through women when it is pleasurable to look at them instead. Tex gracefully added, “My take is one should love thy neighbor. If that cat happens to be tall, debonair, and devastating, it would be that much easier,” saying it with a distinctive sense of humor, saying it like it is. He had a habit of adding a real-world twist to a rather sad Biblical Commandment. “Sweet!” said Tex, “the food was bomb ... it was fire ... delicious, the greatest of all times g.o.a.t.”
Zombie
AFTER A TIME, THEY wrapped up things, then got back on the road and continued driving. Some forty minutes later, Ed brought the car to a stop at a gullied shirttail ranch in the hills. Ed got out, went around, opened the enger side door, and helped Mathew up to the house. After accomplishing that, and as they stood there, Tex managed a smile and said, “As you know, when you rescued me, I was salty, feeling hurt and blue. Thank you for the pig out at McDonald’s. Did anybody ever tell you are a blessing in disguise?” “No, I have now. Are you going to be OK? I mean, the house is dark and all. I just thought—” “I’ll be OK,” he politely cut in. “My folks are away visiting family. I guess you know what I’m talking about now. I have a bed, my very own, just my size— sometimes me, myself, and I like to sleep alone with dreams inside my eyes.” “I understand. You’re not alone on that, Tex. I understand. Sometimes I sleep alone too.” He rifled in his pocket and brought out a card with his name and address on it. He handed it to him. “Don’t be shy. If you ever need some help or some advice, I mean it, get in touch with me. Some people call me Johnny on the spot. I have to it it’s kind of cute. But I hope you .” Tex, his mindset filled to the brim, nodded his head gracefully and said, “They say sometimes dreams are dark and wild and creepy, and I wake and am afraid, though I don’t know why.” He paused.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN SAID, ‘I’M no longer sleepy, and too slowly, the hours go by. So I climb up on the bed where the light of the moon is shining on my face. And most times, I know—as sure as God is my witness—it will be morning soon. Tex put the key in the door, opened it, and turned to Ed. “What can I say? I can’t thank you enough, my friend. You went beyond the pale, beyond what normal people seldom do. You put your life on the line—for little old me. God, that’s so beyond great—it’s fantastic. There’s no other way to describe it.” Both men entered the house; upon seeing a filing cabinet that supposedly holds information about Tex’s entire life, Ed jokes, “Wow, a whole drawer just for me?” Tex smiled, but his plight tore at his heart. So hurt he was. There is no actual biblical mention of tears in heaven. Heaven will be a place of comfort, rest, fellowship, glory, praise, and joy. If there are tears, they will all be wiped away in the eternal state. His expression calm, almost detached, Ed said, “Believe me, I know what you are going through. But, the bottom line is, you care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.” Tex said, “I feel you, but again, I thank you.” “You bet—I mean certainly; you’re welcome. I’m sorry I have to bail abruptly. Have to get home—the wife is climbing walls. That’s one thing I cannot afford to ditch. You’ll see what I mean, later on, once hitched.”
Zombie
THEY SHOOK HANDS, AN epic handshake. Ed then turned and walked back to his car, uttering the words, “You’re welcome young fellow. Don’t forget me if you ever need a lawyer sometimes. You can rest assured; I’m at your disposal. In case you wondering, I live just down south of here.” “Again, that was such a bummer. I’m sorry that happened. Now, if you don’t mind, I say good night to you.” Tex pointed down at his feet and said, “Forgot to tell you, your shoes are sick— awesome! See you,” bobbing his god-awful head, happy and content but still in a world of pain. With a sudden faraway look in his eyes, Ed got into the ride, shiny and chrome, and zipped away, honking his horn. He was a little angry indeed. But, a few minutes later, his face was red. An hour later, he was fuming, wanting to rid the world of all social evil. Tex then went inside, locking the door behind him, lucky to be alive. It would take a lifetime for him to get past what those wretches did to him possibly. He prayed they all get what’s coming to them. He found it hard to phantom why on God’s green earth because of the color of their skin. Why it was demoniacal, and why it just didn’t make one iota of sense. Tex bent down and picked up his pet as the rat huddled in the hollow of his palms squeaked glumly. Then, delighted, he hugged him to his chest. “Oh, poor baby,” he crooned, almost as if he were a pet. “Poor Simon, it’ll be fine, I promise.”
Clifford Benjamin
FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE dark corners, a voice whispered, “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him,” said the voice from somewhere in the dark corners of the room. “That’s probably the closest he got to second base. Oh, and dare not sing to me of silent souls rising to heaven above us.” “Shut up!” Tex glared furiously, but he did not loosen his grip on Simon, as Tex was soon to return to a playful, laid-back personality come morning. Instead, he shook off his being embarrassed by the voice in the dark sexual joke. Tex then put in a call to Ed. Ed, chokingly, said, “Oh, hi, guy. Glad you decided to look me up. I can’t talk long; my wife is on the horny side.” “Gotcha, I wanted to thank you, Ed, for saving my bacon.” “You mean your ass, don’t you?” “Yeah, that’s right, my ass. I can’t thank you enough.” “You’re more than welcome, son. But, I do believe, were I you and you me, you would’ve done the same by me.” “Of course I would’ve.” “Are you coming back to bed, sweetheart?” said a soft voice. Ed said, “Be right there, babe.” He then said to Tex in a louder voice, “I’ve been feeling a little under the weather, and I’ll have to miss work tomorrow. So Whadda, you say, I get someone else to watch the sheep tonight?” “Gotcha, partner,” Tex replied, knowing what Ed meant precisely. “See you on the other side,” Ed mumbled. Then, as he was about to hang up, his wife said, “Hmm. It would seem strange if you missed work on yet another Friday, of all days, Hon. So it looks like we’ve got a bit of trouble on our hands, huh?”
Zombie
ED WHISPERED TO HIM, “Women ... always yapping about this or that. That’s why sometimes I think I would lose my mind if I had to listen to the yap, yap of their gossip any longer. All I hear on cable news is the same yap, yap, and yap about some political scandal or another. They never cover actual news stories anymore! Oh, excuse me, I got off track. Anyway, even though I could say to her, I’m never going to agree with you! I wouldn’t be so sure about this.” He paused to catch his breath. He then continued, “I say to you, Tex, don’t be too concerned about what she’s saying. I don’t know about your love life, but the whale is not very thin for me. “Oh, hell, when it comes down to it, she’s my best friend. She’s the love of my life. She’s my wife. The truth is, in the middle of a typical row with my wife, I realize I have been the one causing every single argument and that to keep my marriage, I must stop being such an ass.” Although he could say to Ed, “I think we have different opinions on this subject,” he elected to say instead, “I understand your wife’s concern, and you are implying your wife’s on the plump side. Bye Ed.” He then hung up the phone feeling great about the horrible incident ending on a good note. He then got a call from Ed. Ed said, “Just wanted you to know, weird as it sounds, someone called to say, phone books were in Thomas Jefferson’s library. Can you believe it? Oh, and I forgot to tell you, for the record, on my birthdays, I eat pizza.” “Oh?” “Yes.” Tex said, “Rarely do I eat pizza.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WHY IS THAT?” “There’s no place near.” Ed said, “On good days, I eat pizza. And on bad days, I eat pizza. I got to run, bye.” Tex absentmindedly touched his jaw, where he had a tooth extracted a few days before. Remnants of pain remained. But the real pain lasted just until he found a note in scribble handwriting and a Sacagawea dollar under his pillow in place of the tooth. Shakespeare entered his mind, although not often but occasionally. He imagined the bard is sitting in a café in Brooklyn, typing out Macbeth on his laptop. Of course, he knew it was false since everyone knows Shakespeare never owned a computer. But the thought was cute and funny. He then turned to his father, who he adored. Soon his father, Felix, a semi-retired art dealer and jet-setting gadabout, will return to town just in time to be the devil on his shoulder. As he slumps his head down onto the pillow, another strange thing happened. He found himself imagining Sir Lancelot, hearing the ring of his trusty iPhone, knowing it was Abraham Lincoln calling and that POTUS needed his help. Soon as that was over, yet another thought rushed into his mind. The most astounding fact is that the atoms comprise life on earth; he was sure the atoms that make up the human body were traceable to the crucibles that have cooked light elements into heavy elements in their core under extreme temperatures and pressures.
Zombie
THESE STARS, THE HIGH-mass ones among them, are said to went unstable later on and collapsed and exploded, then scattering their enriched guts across the galaxy, with cores made of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and just about all the fundamental ingredients of life itself. Furthermore, these ingredients become part of gas clouds that condense, collapse, and then form the next generation of many solar systems, stars with orbiting planets. Those planets now have components for life itself. So that, when someone looks up at the night sky and knows that yes, they are part of this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us. I think weird, yes, but cute? Yes. He wondered about the unexcitable embellished, undreamt thoughts. He was too tired to take things further and decided to give it a go first thing the next day. So beat was he; he yawned and then stretched and uttered the Ave Maria. Then, not long after sandman arrived, he crashed.
Chapter
12
THE MOON, THE STARS, and the sun appeared in the sky, only to shy away until the next day when April showers brought May flowers. It was late afternoon when a security expert whispered in POTUS’s ear, “One got away, Mr. President.” There was a matter of urgency that the woman’s escape had put the kibosh on his plans. “Have any idea which one?” “Yes.” Well aware of POTUS’s largesse, rendering him accommodating. “Well, tell me who?” “Margaret, Mr. President.” “See to it that the matter, I mean it, is taken care of with the deepest discretion, do you read me?” Usually, he wouldn’t be upset if it was another one of their captures. The thing was, Margret was an hourglass figured museum piece, a JAP, as pretty as a Jewish American Princess. She was a woman after his own heart, having the same opinions or interests as him. She had once lived in a housing estate. “Yes, Sir, I’ll get on it right away. Someone motioned to him to come over. He talked to the individual for a time, finishing by saying, “I never told you Christmas trees, cozy sweaters, and warm hot chocolate are three of my favorite things about December.”
Chapter
13
BY-AND-BY AND REASONABLY confident, the security expert left the Oval Office, moving swiftly, not looking back, leaving the Oval Office. Around ten-thirty that night, a couple of black SUVs pulled into the hotel parking lot all of a sudden. The place looked neglected and with not much lighting. In-room 34B, Margaret, pretty and ultrathin and slender in height, was lying in bed with her boyfriend with the lithe, athletic body of a ballet dancer, having sex. Having been lonely and aching for love, Tim said, damn, girl. “I sure missed this. I can’t tell just how glad I am you managed to get away from that Capitol building. It wasn’t right for them holding you hostage all that time.” But, of course, having only a nodding acquaintance with this sort of thing, they did not know they would come within an ace of escaping. Suddenly, the front door, the only door, burst open. “What the fuck?” Tim exclaimed, jumping to his feet naked as a Jaybird coming into the world. There was no ing for taste as numerous men in black suits rushed into the room with weapons drawn, aiming at Margaret and Tim. They bomb rushed him, handcuffing him in one fell swoop. “Easy there, what do I owe you for your breaking into my palace?” He was trying to be brave but knowing it was futile.
Clifford Benjamin
WITHOUT ACCUSING THEM of anything, they then cuffed Margaret with her jangly earrings, rushing both out the room and out into their van, and sped off at mark speed down the highway. Tall Oaks’ eight miles of collective pavement were recently topped and completed with a green road mixture that includes recycled asphalt. Not long after and after riding on the paved highway, they turned onto a dark dirt road called Old Town Road without any lights or cars. After a world of winding turns, they stopped and hustled their captives back off the road a tad into the brush, where tree branches intertwined to form an even darker roof over the path, affording them further isolation. Tim spurted out, “OK, you guys, I get you mean business, but there must be some way we can make a deal. How about if I know about a murder? That should be something to get us off.” A tall, stout man positioned himself right in Tim’s face. “I don’t think you have one hint about what you got yourself into.” “Then tell us,” Tim spat out. The man looked around at the rest of the men, looking from faces and hands to voices, eyes, and arms then looked back at Tim. “The worse is, you will never believe it, but this is a matter of a woman breaking a high-security risk. Can you imagine it?” “What the fuck are you are talking about,” Tim cried, his voice fading in the wind. The man shouted, “Apparently, you’re not aware what this woman just did.” “I don’t. So, why don’t you enlighten me?” He was a wiz at playing games, but he knew that this was not nearly the kind of game he was used to playing.
Zombie
SUBSEQUENTLY, ONE OF the men stepped forward and took Margaret to one of the vans and put her inside, getting in alongside her, closing the door behind them. Tim knew what the man was about to do to her and then pleaded with them. “Look, you don’t need to do this. Look, I got five thousand bucks in my pocket. Why don’t you take it and call it square? OK,” glancing around from face to face but getting no sympathy. Now he just hoped they would eventually just let them go. But he had a gut feeling that was not what it was to be. “Just keep your yap shut.” The man then took control of the situation, punching Tim in the gut, causing him to fall on his back. Tim got up and dusted himself off. “Look, fellows, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I know a lot of things about people in high places doing horrible things. Surely you would be interested enough to let us go free. I won’t rat on you. You got my word on it, honest to God. All the trouble I’ve been in, I know how to keep my mouth shut. You get me?” He noticed one of the men put a silencer onto a daily special. He knew then that there was no way to talk him out of this situation. Suddenly, a little voice within whispered, “Consider your physiological needs. If a character’s life’s threatened, fight-or-flight responses will kick in, and you do whatever it takes to stay alive.” Then a traumatic event he once experienced rushed through his mind about his best friend getting jumped by a gang for messing around with one of their girlfriends. Feared for his friend’s safety, he interceded to protect his friend but was targeted and beaten severely.
Clifford Benjamin
THE THING WAS, AT THAT time, he was a weak—and easy target. He had learned only constant vigilance would keep him safe. He couldn’t trust people of a certain race or ethnicity and that the authorities cannot protect anyone. Getting involved is never worth the pain. People have to solve their problems. If they get involved, they’ll just let other people down. But, he also was aware sometimes a good run was better than a bad stand. So, he ran for his life through the brush. The question was: would he manage his escape from sheer terror?
Chapter
14
AS THE MAN RAN, NOT looking back, the lovely lilies shaded him as he tore through the soft and dewy flower beds and into the covering of more trees. He knew one thing, one thing only, if a body catches a body coming through the rye, the gig was up. Even stranger, words of a poem cruised through his mind saying, “Should a body meet a body coming, coming, through the rye, should a body kiss a body, need anybody to cry?—poor body. He’s dragging all his clothes coming through the rye. Meanwhile, the man in charge said to the men, “Get that sucker. Don’t you all dare let him get away, or all our asses are out on a limb?” After a minute, the men took off giving chase, hurrying at a breakneck pace, knowing that all their lives might be on the line if their quarry got away. Following that, the van door opened, “What the fuck is going on?” The man said, pulling up his pants, zipping up his fly, turning his head from side to side. Next, the leader said, “He’s trying to get away.” “Shit, I’ll go help them.” “Good idea, do just that.” As the man gave chase, the leader got inside the van and closed the door. He had an itch and yearned for her the first time he laid eyes on her.
Clifford Benjamin
SHE WAS LYING ON THE bed naked with the covers pulled up beneath her chin with her itsy-bitsy hands. “Please let me go,” she sobbed, her mascara streaking a path down her face. “You’re old enough to know that’s not happening,” he said, with his kamikaze attitude; just the sight of her nakedness tempted his jaded palate, making his enlarged penis revealing, as the rush of emotions took hold inside him. “Please, Mister, don’t hurt me,” she cried reluctantly to have sex with him. “Who said I would hurt you?” “I don’t know. I cannot help but feel the way I do.” “You can trust me, sweetness.” She shifted her weight from one side to the other. “All I know is since I was little; guys would come to my home when my mother was at work.” “What are you trying to say? They got fresh with you?” She nodded her head, sniffled, keeping her eyes trained on him. He had enough of her crying and whining and reached over and slapped her hard across the face, then jumped on top of her, forcing her legs apart. One-tenth of a second later, he shelved his dick deep inside of her, making her cry out. Then, he began driving his penis in and outgoing deeper with each plunge. The strange thing was her body started to move counter to his appearance; it was beyond her control. Before they knew it, they climaxed around the same time, both gasping for air, as their bodies shook, beads of sweat running down their face, glancing at each other. He said, “The lady solemnly declares too much, I think.”
Zombie
AFTER A WHILE, THE men caught up to Tim on the exterior, hiding behind a bush, out of breath. They took him back to the God-awful scene. Before long, the door to the van opened. The leader stepped out, zipping his pants. He looked at Tim, and put his hand to his mouth, then bit and flicked his thumb towards him, which was an offensive and insulting gesture. At this point, the leader spat, “Do you dick heads realize,” he then looked at the captive and then grunted, then in a stern tone of voice, said, “Give me that trash, and I’ll throw it; out! Well, don’t just stand on ceremony; kill that rotten, dirty, terrible, trudging, stupid dude!”
Chapter
15
IN THE DARKNESS, At that very minute, there was the sputter of a car engine, as old badass Martin, a true Khan’s man driving an old, grumbling Cadillac which had a crumpled bumper and honking horn. Slobbering and screaming, he let out, “Kill the bastard,” and then, “Beware the Jabberwocky! It’s the jaws that bite, the claws, yes those jaws that catch! So, beware the Jubjub bird, and you best shun the Bandersnatch!” To some music lovers, the recalcitrant peacock Old man Martin’s strident voice was like the performing group STOMP, a prime example of the joy of cacophony at work, making musical noise with metallic pots and pans, broomsticks, and basketballs among other percussive devices, and so too, coupled with playful clapping, stomping, la’s, and booming percussion, Sigur Rós’s “Gobbledygook” of fun and energetic cacophony in the form of music. Just the sight of him, one easily read between the lines, that he was as he was, tough as shoe leather, rough and tough, ready to make-up, set-up a hanging at the drop of a hat in any foggy, murky, smoky situation, an absolute, unyielding rarity. The man that was said to have survived surfing beside sharks, crashing through rugged surf fleeing dangerous bites, was taken with none of that spiffedup and perpetual razzle-dazzle. None of it disturbed older man Martin, as he kept right on driving down the road, never looking back, once.
Zombie
FROM THE LOOKS OF IT, he had seen and was involved in killings before. In addition, he was known to have a reputation for being cold-hearted, lean, and mean as they come. The scuttlebutt was, his having murdered his wife and daughter whistled through the taverns, often at night, but. Now, he was old and frail. As a result, not many paid much attention to him any longer. He was just kinetic energy, peering in the kinescope or picture tube and sipping decaffeinated tea, dozing off and on. He would awaken and then slip back into a slumber, all over again, as pesky rats scurried about all over the cramped shack roasting in the scorching sunlight that burned through floor-to-ceiling windows. And, so too, if there was anything more oppressive than the heat, it had to be the constant din that bubbling up from the city street like steam from a putrid stew. So, he had but one friend, if you want to call it that. When he visited, old Martin had a habit of telling tall tale narratives that depict North American folk heroes’ extravagantly exaggerated wild adventures. Before his only visitor departed, he said to him, “Ay, I’ll fetch to coo in I’ good time; there’s no call to bang us that gait.” When he died, the whole town went to the funeral, many still not knowing he worshiped the Lord privately. The thing with him was no one quite knew how and when he might enter heaven’s gate, the doorway to the physical kingdom. The other kicker was, barely anyone would have imagined organized religions are killers of souls and UFOs and extraterrestrials—sorting the good from the bad. Tim held up his hands, and cried “Now fellows, you don’t want to get involved in what you’re thinking on, do you?”
Clifford Benjamin
WITHOUT A WORD, THE man with the silencer shot Tim right between the eyes, causing his body to crash to the ground, stone-cold DOA. From a running heartbeat to greater peace of mind, Margaret screamed then hopped off the van, trying to make haste when shot in the back of the head, the force of the bullet causing her lifeless body to crash to the ground. Suddenly, one of them shouted, pointing a finger up in the air at something. The men looked up at the fiery crash of two jumbo jet airplanes in midair. “I can’t believe that shit; everybody no doubt gone to all hell.” “I’m with you, partner,” said yet another man, standing stark still looking at the pillow of smoke blackening the sky. Following that, the leader then shouted, “Get some gas, then burn both bodies and get the hell out of Dodge. No one knows about this but POTUS. As we all know, it was did on his orders. He got our back, but do we have his.” After the bodies were ablaze, they got into their vans and high-tailed it, going back the same way they came, not a word said between them, all to the tee every bit expressionless and cold as Jack Frost, knowing they won’t need a jailhouse lawyer. They failed to know there was a storm a-brewing. Shortly, the white-nose of nature began and was not the least off-putting. No doubt it was because we all have a memory buried deep down in our psyches. This memory is of the billion-fold flip and plop of rain dripping just outside of a cave. It is a memory of moss and so many wet cave floors, the musty smell of bears, and the Jurassic green of ferns. It is also, fair to say, a memory of crackling fires, sooty faces, laughter, and safety.
Zombie
AROUND THIS TIME, THE rain sounded faint. At around a half-hour, they stopped at a Gas Station. The leader looked out the van’s window at a pitched tar-black sky and the large clouds moving towards them. The leader then heard a tapping on the window, and then it became a pitterpatter. People ran for cover outside and opened umbrellas as the clouds spat out huge beads of water. The puddles began to plink as rainfall came down harder, as roofs of the cars danced with spray, and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees struggling for survival in Antarctica. The leader got out, marched to a phone booth, and put in a call, turning his head to look outside. Like a witch’s oils, the water, burnt green, blue, and white, was pinging against the glass. “Hello.” “The moon hit rock bottom,” said the leader to the antichrist, ankle-deep in a mess. “Wonderful, I’ll see you in the a.m. And thank you for not being analytical this time. Oh, and case you’re wondering, spaghetti, pizza, and hotdogs are my favorite foods.” The leader was aware the woman would list as a Jane Doe. Therefore, there would not be further use for any other on-target advice or burden of proof: any further obligation or disagreeable necessity. They handedly continued their journey, with their heart out on their chest, keeping their eyes on their angle of vision high-tailing it down the highway.
Chapter
16
“THE MOTIONS OF GRACE, the hardness of the heart; external circumstances was kosher.” Weeks later, the evening was enjoyable, albeit a little quiet. Although it was not a joyful Fourth of July, it was now Mary Time, the month of May to see Niagara Falls, abounding in history, was mind-boggling. After enjoying the spectacle views and having abandoned themselves to their emotions, Ed and his wife, full of the joys of spring, got back to their abode. After munching on some delightful food and trying to keep abreast of any new developments, he switched on the news and all of a sudden heard a reporter say, “A corpse was floating in the bay. Also, the man worked for the capital. But, unfortunately, there is no indication of what happened, how it got there, and who may have killed him. But, wait, just in, there was someone near the scene and that it may have looked like our very own president.” Ed decided not to tell his wife what he just heard and decided he turn in only to rise at the crack of dawn. Feeling the pesky abscess on his gum, he swallowed a dab of absinthe then kissed his wife. As he walked outside, he marveled as a butterfly alighted gently on a flower. He then drove to work.
Zombie
BEFORE LONG AND AWARE one cannot choose to absent himself from work, he was now in the Oval and said to POTUS, “It’s called the road to a solution. Not everyone can handle that, do you agree?” POTUS was sitting at his paltry desk chunking on a hamburger that one security man brought from a local restaurant nearby. “It’s just one of the things going around in the Republican Party.” “What do you mean everyone now is chewing on burgers, Ed said. “Looks like you have abandoned the vegetarian bit.” “I have. Glad you noticed, said POTUS, continuing to bite on the burger, thinking about his joyful alfresco lunch on the patio with his wife, chatting with her about before they met and her having traveled under an alias. “Oh, well, beggars can’t be choosey,” Ed said, smiling. “Let’s continue. It’s anybody’s guess right now, but we’re stepping in lies POTUS,” aware there is the word he was in bed and enslaved to the president, willing to do any and everything for him. “I don’t believe in such big lies,” feeling to act on this world-famous stage is undoubtedly the acme of any president’s career. “I don’t know either, POTUS,” Ed said, giving lip service to being willing to rush like lemmings as his lapdog without thinking, but feeling otherwise, nowhere near to being that of a leprechaun. “You know what?” “What’s that POTUS?” “They’re putting themselves between a rock and a hard place,” said the A-list celebrity. “You can’t be more right, POTUS.” “We want to be the party of democracy.”
Ed said, “It’s going to be fascinating to watch.”
Clifford Benjamin
“NOTHING IS EVERYTHING,” POTUS said, shrugging his shoulders. He wanted to be a football player, injured his back, and then became a cook, managing to turn the most ordinary ingredients into the most delicious dishes. After a time, he went into politics; the rest was history. POTUS leaned forward in his chair. “Can’t believe I’m saying this—just can’t. Where did I put my glasses?” Ed chuckled. “They’re on you.” “What did you say?—where?” “Would you believe I’m looking right at them as I speak?” POTUS automatically put his hand to his face. “I’ll be damn, and I do have them on. But, how was I to know?” “That’s because you’re getting young.” POTUS asked, “Did anyone ever tell you you are a clown?” “I can’t rightly say that they did, but maybe at an awkward age, I had no ax to grind back then.” “Well, you do now,” itted POTUS, having had the knack to acquaint him with the rules. He was mentioning the incident about the capital and a guy looking like POTUS just the other day. “Let me get this straight,” said Ed, wanting not to believe POTUS was going down a path of falsehood, big lies. “What? Get what—” “So, you saying you weren’t there?” POTUS sat back in his chair. “That’s a question for the next generation. I’m afraid I don’t have a nodding acquaintance of any along that line. But, look, loony lies and conspiracies are not my cups of tea. Can you tell me what you are
getting at?” Dead silence. “Speak, I’m all ears.”
Zombie
“I WOULD LIKE TO INFORM you that I’m not getting at anything, POTUS. Can’t you just answer the question?” “What’s the point? For Christ’s sake, Ed, do I have to remind you, you’re talking to the president of these United States?” At daggers drawn and nearly at flashpoint, he took umbrage at his remarks. He was actually at sea, acting like if he got much more hassle, he might decide it wasn’t worth it. “I know that,” Ed said, his voice more even keel, glancing out the window at an albino with pure white skin and hair and pink eyes. “It’s just that.” “I done told you, Ed.” “I’m just asking, that’s all.” “Well, you don’t need to.” Ed got up and said, “I would like to ... skip that ... there’s been word bandied about that you—” You? What is Ed claiming to happened?
Chapter
17
SLAMMING HIS HAND DOWN on the desk and near the boiling point, and just an arm’s length away, POTUS barked, “What are you now, some round-theclock armchair critic? Tell me, do I have to say arrivederci to you now?—hell, I don’t know what’s gotten into you treating me like I was drunk as a skunk and just ran over a child in the street,” he said, tiring of Ed’s questions, feeling as if it was a Sisyphean task, like rolling a heavy rock up a hill only to have it roll down again as it nears the top. Ed thought to himself, ‘maybe POTUS was right. After all, it was too substantial of a jump to conclude he had out-and-out kilt someone.’ With a wrinkle in his forehead and arrogant as they come, POTUS schooled himself in patience. “Look, partner, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you believe what that reporter claims, it’s like being a caretaker at a graveyard.” Ed looked at him within seconds, “How’s that?” “Haven’t listened to a word I just said?” “Stop playing with me,” POTUS.
Zombie
“NOBODY’S LISTENING. Don’t you get it?” POTUS said, adamantly in disagreement, his Adam’s apple in his throat sticking out and moving up and down as he spoke. “The thing is, right now, your mind is running so fast, it’s like you’re in a race against time. You have to let go, Ed. You know, I know, I could kill someone on Wall Street in broad daylight and—” Was it he the one that was off, after all, he was the one who was talking about selling his house and buying an old castle in Ireland. It all sounded a bit airy-fairy. Silence as a lamb “Yes, you got it. Say I’m right, any old how,” said Ed, reluctantly acquiescing, not wanting to get involved in an apple of discord that may lead to Armageddon. He was well aware he was not the apple of POTUS’s eye but willing to adapt his plan to POTUS’s timetable if need be. Silence again. No doubt neither knew traditional jazz was still alive and kicking in New Orleans. As the sun was setting, Ed shook his head, accepting his point. “You’re right,” acquitting him irably, well aware that we all live in a society that views success primarily in of material possessions. Standing with arms akimbo with hands on his hips, POTUS said, “Now you’re talking. Welcome back to reality and the club,” ing the adage ‘Look before you leap.’ Some might say back to basics at some point. A while later, Ed received notice from his real estate broker that his shop, a veritable Aladdin’s cave of antiques, had been sold. Now happy as a lark, he was walking down the hallway when he overheard someone say, “I tell you that guy is getting stranger and stranger.”
Clifford Benjamin
CURIOUS, ED WALKED over to the door ajar and stood there, straining his ears to listen more acutely. “I wouldn’t recommend it. I tell you, that guy’s chances boil down to none, the guy’s deeper and deeper into what may be called clear-cut madness,” the man spat. Confused, Ed went back and told POTUS about what he had just heard. “What? It’s not me he’s referring to,” he explained, wanting to absent him to the absolute abysmal end. “Look, according to plan, you know I can’t hurt a fly. that day at the beach when we were just ten, a bee landed on you, and you were screaming, “Get it off.” And I just stood there, transfixed and looking perplexed. You were so mad at me for letting you suffer. ?” All in all, Ed shook his head. “Yeah, I , but that was then, now is now.” Almost at the end of his rope, POTUS said, “Damn it, Ed, why can’t you let it alone?”—sounding like all hell might break loose. Don’t you just hate people who are always right? Especially, those ers that saw him as an albatross that could lose reelection, that's “I have to it, POTUS, and it’s not like I’m on the Edge of reality stockpiling ideas; believe me, I am trying to do as you say.” He knew he had been to too many circuses to know when something wasn’t right. “Good. I have to tell you, what you were thinking about so intently is a mindbender; that’s what it was exactly, an absolute game-changer,” said POTUS. In a flash, Ed said, “You’re right about that.”
Zombie
“YOU CAN BELIEVE,” POTUS said, “it’s unbelievably easy for things to get complicated and awkward. You do the math. But, as I said, you can’t let it get the best of you. You can’t go around thinking your president had a hand in the murder. You got to be in the moment; it’s only then you can see how dangerous it was walking into an illusion. Over the long term, you will thank me for sure and come to know that I wasn’t just playing pussy with you. Trust me. It’s a way to win hands down.” After due thought, Ed said, “All things considered, I’ve got to say you’re right, and it’s not quite Chrystal clear, but I’m working on it.” “I know,” POTUS said, “kudos to you. Isn’t that what you told me a little while ago? Glad to be afoot with you,” all of a doodad, glancing out the window at the hawk as it swooped low over the buildings, then thinking how the fog played havoc with flight schedules. He flipped the script then visualized city gates adorned with severed heads. In contrast, Ed asked, “Should I be worried?”—all thumbs. “Don’t want to add insult to injury and be aground. But, on the other hand, it’s not like I’ve got all the time in the world. Better yet, should I batten down the hatches and prepare for the storm?” There would be no more mumble jumbo, only disconnected silence somewhere in the age of enlightenment and age-old afterworld, among those all up with and the all-wise.
Chapter
18
POTUS, A ONCE ALKY, who wants to be an absolute Monarch, said to Ed, “That shit-head Napoleon once said, ‘I am part of the power which forever wills evil and forever works well.’ Don’t you think that’s poppycock,” glancing at his Attorney General. “Fancy that, don’t you think?” Ed said zilch, and kept walking along the tarmac, Tatiana trotting like her shit didn’t stink, all powered up smelling like ten rose bushes, her long black hair cascading in the wind, her eyes glancing down and then up again. They now were at an undisclosed location, away from prying eyes, looking and checking on the goods. POTUS said, “Have you ever thought about this? It starts here in Afghanistan, then flown to Nigeria, packaged in a delightful wrapping, and zoomed with haste to America.” Ed ensured him, “Don’t worry, as you know, I’m in charge. I will see to it all paperwork is done, on the money transfer and the transfer license, to keep the government off our backs.” POTUS said to Ed, “Are you too tired to finished?” “No way,” he said, willing to go a mile even if it would equate to accessory before the fact, meaning someone who helps in the preparation of a crime.
Chapter
19
BACK IN AMERICA, ACCORDING to plan, and back at the White House, they shook hands. Ed got in his car and jacked it, driving, as the crow flies, home, seemingly unaware POTUS was the architect behind the murders that occurred lately. As he got out of his car, acutely aware people who are knowledgeable or are hyper-aware of being tracked by someone will catch glimpses of the person. But, on the other hand, he knew some amateur people about following would make mistakes and act nervous. Seeing no one following him, he noticed the feeling of unease and creepiness that had gotten a shot of adrenaline and caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise vanished. Feeling relieved, he placed the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, locking the door behind him. “You’re home,” Freckles said, embracing and kissing him. He breathed a sigh of relief; her approval was the highest accolade he could have received. She would do it of her own accord. No one would ask her to do it. She noticed right off something was eating at him. “Is there something wrong, Hon?” He shrugged his broad shoulders, walked over, and sat down. “I don’t know.” “I wonder why not?” “I just don’t.”
Clifford Benjamin
FRECKLES SAT DOWN NEXT to him. “Hon, most people know when something isn’t copacetic, so go on lay it on the line.” “The truth is I’m worried about it; strangely, I think someone is following me,” there he let the cat out of the bag. He was glad he was home safe. Her eyes stretched, she asked, “Do you have any idea who it may be?” He climbed to his feet, went over to the cabinet, took out his gun. “As I see it—” She cut him off, saying, “Oh, Hon, it can’t be that bad. Don’t you —” He blasted, cutting her off, “I don’t know who in God’s name it was.” “Hon, why don’t you put that thing back? Like I said, maybe it isn’t that bad at all. But, on the other hand, it may just be too soon to tell,” Don’t you think?” A tear crept down his face; he uttered, “All I know is I must protect my family.” “You do.” “Am I?” “Yes, Hon, there’s no other person I would rather be with; thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how you go out of your way to see that I get special attention. What more can I ask for?” “You’re right,” he agreed, the thought running through his mind, like a pack of wolves after their prey, knowing wolves usually form masses of around six to ten individuals but can vary from anywhere between two and 36 wolves depending on birth and survival rates.
Zombie
AND THAT AT THE HEAD of the pack hierarchy are the breeding pair, who lead their offspring, and occasionally other unrelated wolves, as a pack. “I know I’m right, Hon,” she said convincingly. “Have I steered you wrong?” He sighed. “No. Got to hand it to you; you’ve been there for me, at my beckoning call 24/7.” “Thank you, Hon, for that.” His mind was still troubled anyway. Right, then, he decided to go to the police. As he drove, as the crow flies, listening to the study vibration of the engine, he felt a tickle on the back of his neck. Once there, and after the introductions, the detective said, “Before we get started, I must tell you about inconsistency. We tend to think that liars are the ones who can’t keep their stories straight, but we’ll list this—” He cut in. “If you don’t mind, Detective Hammer.” “Wait,” the detective said; he was a kind soul without one whisk of a heart of marble. “It’s important we go over some steps.” “Oh, okay?” “Thank you, Sir,” so far, there were not any suspicious expressions. However, Detective Hammer knew tales could suggest a lack of integrity: blushing, blinking, and flared nostrils. “I understand, detective.” “So, strap yourself in and make yourself comfortable, Sir. So, can you run that back by me?” “What.” “About you followed by someone, I believe.”
“Oh, that.”
Clifford Benjamin
HE WAS STILL FEELING uneasy. Nothing like this had happened before. The detective leaned back in his chair, not aware there was not enough substance to what the man would be claiming. “Let me get right to the point. Unfortunately, we’ve all encountered someone who’s tried to con, lie, deceive, hoodwink, mislead, dupe, scam, bilk, or fleece us at one time or another in our lives. “Are you following me?” “I am,” Ed said, still uneasy. “So tell me what’s actually on your mind.”
Chapter
12
AFTER MORE THAN AN hour, Ed told the detective, “I’m going home now— I’m all in.” Shortly Ed was driving past a lone wolf lollipop man, not long for this world, helping kids cross the road, and after an utterly futile struggle for justice, and then with a long face, Ed had made it back home with no real answers but troubled like a throne in his side. However, Detective Hammer did tell him that, “Following you or showing up wherever you are: They may or may not make with you, but it doesn’t matter. According to law, watching someone too much is a form of harassment.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO love anybody’s trouble.” POTUS smiled like he had gotten a kick out of his statement. But, unfortunately, he wasn’t that erudite; too many thought he was just someone that cheated his way through school, and college included paying for it under the table. In fact, besides his dad, college was the parameter that got him off on the path of forging a scheme that would cause the money to run in, taking him over the top, landing him in millions, making incredible deals. His dad had taught him the ropes on how to lie, steal, hell, how to kill if it came down to it. It had been a long hard road with uttered mind-like pitfalls and minefields. But the central fact was survival while many colleagues floundered. Some lost it all, some taking their own life, some wasting away on alcohol, on drugs, not just marijuana, but cold hard cocaine, not to mention crack, some others spending all their fortune on drugs. If it was not for his dad, he might have gone down that road. Love?—It was a no-nothing word, an empty way of thinking. But, unfortunately, his dad was also the most brutal. He would never forget the day that he had broken the screen and glass back door, only to find just how ruthless his dad could be. He was the only one who knew the truth. And try, as he might, he couldn’t forget that fateful day, even when he desperately wanted to. What happened was his dad had come out of the house as he was playing on the swing going back and forward, something that gave flight to his imagination. His dad had a belt in his hand, so mad that he snatched him out of the swing and proceeded to slash him across the face and then continued to lay into him, striking him over his entire body. That was the day his dad died. Well, not actually, but he no longer loved him or respected him.
Zombie
WHENEVER HIS DAD WOULD call him to get his attention, he screamed and ran and hide. “I am your father, boy.” That went on for some time, practically till he was of age to take care of him. Now he knew that it was because his dad lost his mother at the hands of his very own dad, who had choked the living daylight out of her, took her body, and buried it in a crop of trees some hundred miles as the crow flies. A farmer found her remains while out hunting for deer. Some animals had stumbled upon her body buried just inches from the surface. After scratching the surface, some of the remains popped up. A day later, some kids out playing in the woods stumbled upon the remains. As faith would have it, evidence of his guilt surfaced one late stormy night, the shutters were banging against the house, and lightning streaking across the sky. He heard his dad in his sleep mumbling to himself, “Inconceivable! I don’t need a drink,” he muttered through clenched teeth, sporting a neat ginger mustache, with fire in his eyes. “I done told you, woman, don’t go behind my back.” He made little flapping motions with his arms, which was certainly out of character. In the meantime, the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, noise of the dryer sounded as it violently spun the wet clothes around as his dad and his mom not paying the noise any attention. “In his stupor, his dad said to his mom, I know you did that,” his mother enjoyed walking in the mountains that rose to well over 2000m. She even knew what type of goat lives high up in the mountains. In addition, as corny as it may seem, she deliberately did not reveal she had a solution to reduce Europe’s butter mountain.
Clifford Benjamin
COUPLED WITH THAT, she was proud to raise four children as a lone mother because her husband was not there for her. Suffering a lack of motivation and as a distraught mother, she spent all night waiting by the phone, hoping he will call. “I don’t think you’re thinking straight,” her husband shouted, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. Before this was happening, he had intended to take a holiday in New York. His dad went on to say, “You haven’t heard a word I said. See what happens when you don’t listen.” He knew she had inherited the urge to travel from her mother. But he put a stop to it the moment he found out by cutting back on funds he unwillingly gave to her. “You’re the one not listening,” noticing his boots caked in mud and swatting the mosquito with a newspaper, knowing that strain of insect carried malaria and yellow fever. “I was awake all night scratching my mosquito bit.” Before this happened, she found herself crippled with anxiety, too scared even to leave her room. Now, a tight mouth was the only sign of her nerves, as her mouth compressed into a thin, hard-line. “Get out!” she shouted, her mouth contorted by emotion. Then, strangely, her mouth curved into a smile but still with lines of tension. Secretly, she tried to stay within her sight, knowing even the eyes of predators are susceptible to the slightest movement. Crying hysterically and filled with horror, then gathering the courage, she said, “Couldn’t you just leave me alone?” It was clear to most; they were not happily married.
Zombie
NO SENSE OF PRIDE, he heard it, he saw it, but did not deter, and spat, “Damn you deceitful backstabbing bitch, spreading your legs for that Henderson boy. Hell, he was but fifteen,” he bit out, not caring about her lame excuses. He paused momentarily, covering his mouth to hide his yawn, the poor lame dog beside him foaming at the mouth and near death. Then after wiping his greasy mouth on his sleeve, his dad cleared his throat and said, “And you, damn near thirty. If I found out with him, I told you wouldn’t see the light of day come morning. That’s right, damn straight, I’ll do it. Say if I didn’t do it here and now, where will you go? You’re old enough to know life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death! Your best sleep with one eye open. Like they say, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Oh, my God, POTUS thought to himself, all the time thinking maybe his dad didn’t do it. Now he knew for sure why his dad had a strong motivation to want her dead. The thing was, his daddy kicked the very next day, which pleased him. Then a little voice said inside his head said, “You’re lucky. You had a front-row seat, buddy. Quiet, now! Don’t make a scene.”
Chapter
21
FROM THEN ON, THINGS would never be the same. That was the time he changed, not for the better but enough to know no one cared about him. He had learned a way to beat them at their game. It worked up till now. For the longest time, he had wondered why his dad didn’t attend church. Now he knew. Guilt his ally, on such days, he walked the length of his adequate property, his hands knotted together, glancing up at the heavens then down at the ground. A much-troubled man he was. Depression is a natural feeling if your problems seem intractable. It is interesting to observe the reaction of the children to these changes. There was the probability that it would snow that night. It’s not possible keeping this phenomenon directly; its effects are evident in the rise in global temperatures. Compulsory schooling ended at sixteen, even though skeptics argue that no such scheme has ever proved successful. As time drifted by, his favorite uncle ed away from a heart attack, leaving a small virtual fortune to him. Although suffering from many pangs of regrets and no angel in paradise, he, his father’s son, had managed to finish college and worked toward building an empire. After going through life enjoying a paradise of golden beaches, he drew on an interesting parallel with religious practices in Japan, only to later kick it to the curve and go on to something else.
Zombie
THE ICING ON THE CAKE, his ion for cleanliness bordering on paranoia, he would, as time went on, become a grotesque parody of his former elegant self. People he had trusted turned out to be only fair-weather friends. Often he would seem detached, almost bored, but perfectly friendly. Ed broke into his thoughts, saying, “The temperature dropped below freezing point this afternoon.” POTUS replied, “Prices have been frozen at this level for over a year now.” Smiling at him like a benevolent uncle, Ed said, “Oh, yeah, and living without war is a fundamental freedom, so it’s said,” phoning home at frequent intervals. After a sigh, POTUS said, “The protest movement has evolved into a wellorganized political party.” “I know.” “Did you also know the silence of the forest was made evident by the occasional snap of a twig?” “No, and what does it have to with the price of tea in China?” POTUS responded, “Oh, all I say to that is this sort of job is a lesser evil than unemployment.” Knowing that Saint Augustine’s ‘City of God’ is an allegory of the triumph of Good over Evil, Ed asked, “Forgot to ask you, how you made out having to evict that tenant?” POTUS said, “Hallelujah got rid of him. That nigger put dog food under the kitchen sink and caused a pack of rats to take up residence or refuge.” Realizing POTUS’s mindset was deeply rooted in racism, Ed said, “Why do you have to disparage someone because of the color of their skin?”
Clifford Benjamin
“THAT’S JUST MY DAD showing his unbidden love for those nappy head lazy suckers we call niggers.” It was something he had difficulty with; even more so, he had lost his belief in God. “What I want to know,” Ed breathed, “How can you inflict such cruelty on a child too?” “Look, I don’t want to go into all the technicalities just now, but I done told you, it’s—” “I know,” he said, cutting him off. “It’s your dad coming out of you.” It was now a fact there was no change in the patient’s condition overnight, the patient meaning POTUS.
POTUS said, “Can’t you see; I can’t gaze into a crystal ball and tell you what will happen,” ice crystals forming on the windows. “Tell me, have you sampled the local cuisine lately?” He saw religion as a psychological crutch, and that odd as it seemed, they got a lot of power cuts because they had overhead wires. After glancing out at the canal bank thickly overgrown with last year’s bramble, Ed said, “Not really. Are you saying you are hungry? Land-sakes, man, get a life; you just ate one and a half hours ago. You keep that up; you’re sure to tip the scale at an eye-popping three hundred.” POTUS said, “Oh, stop the exaggeration, there’s no way in hell I’m on the path of going overboard weight-wise, and you know it—anyway, I get tired of educating people. And did I tell you I’d like to go sailing? And you must to take medicine when you get gripes. And those mental scars will take time to heal.
A slight question mark against POTUS remaining and noticing a small cut on his finger, Ed said, “You’re not listening, my friend,” not knowing an exceptionally violent cyclone hit the town last night. “I hope I don’t sound unduly cynical.”
Zombie
POTUS YAWNED AND STRETCHED, then said, “Looks like it’s that bewitching hour.” Their conversation ended in a cymbal crash just as the annual cycle of church festivals began, by a quirk of fate. “Catch you later,” said POTUS. “And don’t forget the wife and I have tickets to see an exhibition of Viking jewelry, you klutz,” laughing as if wishing Ed would drop into a deep ravine. He then quickly added, “Please don’t be mad at me. It’s too late to start complaining now. Did I tell you, you are in danger of being robbed? And that thing about your favorite airport is crowded with stranded travelers, or that Professor Samson attributes the painting to Leonardo.” Dead silence, only the sound of footsteps along the hollow hallways sounded. “Were you talking to me,” said Ed sticking his head in the door. “Was I? I don’t saying anything.” “Oh, just checking. I just thought you wanted to say something else,” doing a jig with feet, loving dancing, having not been to an all-night party since college days, dancing with alluring sexy beauties. An all-around sportsman, he liked films full of allusions to Hitchcock. “Nah!—Come to think, it just may have been my alter ego. It is that way sometimes. You know what I mean?” “Oh, yeah, for sure, I get that way too.” POTUS said, “I won’t keep you. That way, you can continue with finding that new job.” He smiled. Ed was about to say something. “Just kidding, you know how I get.” Ed said, “That’s for sure. You said a mouth full.”
Clifford Benjamin
“COME TO THINK, ED, and you never finished telling me about—” “My wife is, well, MAH WIFE!” POTUS shook his head then said, “Please contribute to the fund for the needy on the way out,” smiling again. “Funny,” Ed said, “Forgot to mention, I don’t have friends. I got family.” “Oh, and I’ll try to keep in mind birthday coincides with a national holiday, am I right?” Ed smiled and then said, “Right as rain. You aren’t whispering, Dixie.” POTUS asked, “Tell me, did you know that in the realm of food, as a rule, the door often swings both ways. For example, American food has borrowed many influences from Japan, but America also has.” “Nah got to run, hasta la vista.” He then broke wind and left the building, avoiding getting too close to someone.
Chapter
23
SHORTLY CONGRESSMAN Edwards entered the Oval and sat down in a chair but was disappointed when met with strong opposition to his plan. The meeting terminated, he left heated, not saying a word. He probably thought it was hard to distinguish one twin from the other. It was all a fabrication in the congressman’s mind. There was no such thing as “I got a letter today. I finally heard from him. There was no such twin. If there were, the world would have to pay even more dearly. As to POTUS, he hoped that this would result in the police finding his car. He had gotten word that Congressman Edwards may be the one that absconded with his car trying to get back at POTUS for privately screwing his wife. Though he could not prove it, he decided to get back at him regardless, seeing that he never really liked POTUS. As some would say, they were now both even. The two were now avoiding keeping sight of each other as much as humanly possible. And the situation would resolve to the two being slightly polite, saying things like, “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the beg-bugs bit,” and then him replying, “After a while, crocodile.” The truth was they hated each other. So, both kept their distance.
Chapter
24
“COME THEN, AND LET us a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes.” Those lazy-hazy-crazy days of summer came and went as Ed stared at her, staring at him. And in the blink of an eye, an insatiable fury seemed to paint the sky blood red as Ed walked away from her in a slight daze that often happened to him, another secret relationship gone. He had just finished working overtime at the job. As he walked through the empty parking lot towards his car, it’s eerily silent, and he can’t help but feel like someone is watching him. The hairs on his arms start to stand up, even though it’s a relatively warm night. He quickly jumped into his car, starts the engine, and was about to drive home when he looked into the rearview mirror and saw a sinister face with incredulous eyes staring back at him. Ed pressed his foot on the gas, causing the car to speed off. Not thinking clearly, he pushed down hard on the brake, causing the person in the back seat to go over the enger seat and plow through the windshield. Ed jumped out of the car and ran back to the Capital building, entering and calling for help. Bouncing from room to room and getting no answer, he phoned the cops for assistance. In a matter of minutes, the same detective that he had recently spoken to about someone following him was now at the scene.
Zombie
THEY BOTH WERE SITTING in the foyer. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. Looking directly into Ed’s eyes, the detective said, “As I was saying, Ed, when I got here, there was not a soul around, but the officers are here now. So you say you couldn’t recognize the assailant because he had on a mask, is that right?” “Yes, that’s right, detective,” a bead of sweat trickling down over his face, willing himself to be calm. “Incomprehensible as it may seem, I would say, the moment I opened that car door, I guess I was shut out of luck and don’t have the slightest idea who were pulling strings. Look detective, and if you were to ask me who in hell it was, I’d be just grasping at straws. So I’m just trying to be above board with you.” “I understand,” said the detective, getting more comfortable in his seat. Ed continued, to say, “The way I see it, it’s neither whimsical, nonsensical, impractical Airy Fairy, nor Christ almighty rock around the clock, we’re talking about here, you feel me, detective?” He was acutely aware with each attempt on his life, the problems multiplied. “I most certainly do.” “And as you may know, back in the day, I would take care of the situation all my lonesome. But normally, I’m no longer into borrowing trouble. I leave it all up to you folks to get the guilty to shit it in or carry a pig and face the music and come clean if at all possible. Detective, I don’t have much time these days due to my being so diligent. At first, my weaving was just a side project, but it’s taken on a life of its own—people have been buying my blankets. Something I’m grateful of.”
Clifford Benjamin
“GOT TO HAND IT TO YOU; you set your sight high and most certainly know how to go after what you aim for.” “I sure do, detective, you being a man of the law, seeing many unfortunate circumstances. Furthermore, I hope you have a long weekend with your parents and hope you see that elusive rainbow,” knowing the detective looks as if he hadn’t slept all night. “Why, thank you, sir; I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” Ed said, “You’re welcome, bye,” sitting by the window watching real lookers walk past and seeing an Elvis Presley look-alike as dark storm clouds loomed on the horizon. He then saw a child’s face bedaubed with chocolate. He even got a chuckle from the thought of George Bush bugging Gore Campaign for president. After a time, he slipped under the soft bed sheets and tumbled off to sleep, his bedmate at the gambling casino. He shifted his weight slightly and felt a familiar sensation. Ever since he started playing tennis, back pains have been a problem. He didn’t know how true it was that he was a descendant of an Arab tribe living in or near the desert, walking around on a beech floor, using a bedpan as a toilet to relieve himself. His take was between you, me, and the bedpost because it was wet, dirty, and untidy. It was worse for his 93-year-old bedridden grandma plagued by bedsores. She never stopped talking about dieting—she had a real bee in her bonnet about it. He felt sorry for his siblings, too—they had a hard time.
Zombie
SOME PEOPLE BELIEVED the family is the bedrock of society, but he didn’t, except the lovely bedside doctor that visited on occasion. Upon seeing her, he would say to her, “Ooh, you’re a hard woman, Aaliyah.” The doctor would say to him, “She so funny—she really makes me laugh, so funny you’ve got to laugh,” the long journey nearly draining him. “She’s phenomenal.” He told the doctor, “I’d like to discuss my feelings with her, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. She would say to me, ‘You think I’m lazy—you’re a fine one to talk.’ “She would talk a blue streak all through the day up into the night just going on talking to some invisible force in her head, or talking the hind legs off a donkey.” After a sigh, the doctor patted him on the shoulder and left. Once she had died, and that both his mother and father having ed awhile ago, he left home for good not long after.
Chapter
25
TODAY IS THE DAY YOU realize your entire life will change forever because, well, not exactly. But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Wanting to make amends for the trouble he had caused his wife Tatiana, and it was now the day and time he promised he would go with her to the Bronx zoo up in Harlem, New York, something he wouldn’t dare alter the plan, it would equate to Clark Kent is Superman’s alter ego. So the second option is they go to the Indian restaurant or try that new Italian place. POTUS had just gotten off from work as he entered the house. “Why hey good looking, what you got here cooking. Just to see you, I hold my glass aloft.” She appeared not to have aged that much. He guessed that scientists were spot on that parts of our bodies are replaced every day, every week, etc. Within a few years, we have a brand new body. “Hi, Hon,” said Tatiana, standing close to a window that looked out on a beautiful Alpine scene, a step or two away from POTUS’S collection of prehistoric insects preserved in amber. “Did you see my perfume? I mean, the new Edition?” He was brushing off his shoes from walking in the rain. “I think it’s on the kitchen counter, honey bun.” God, she was lovely, he thought. Tatiana broke into his thoughts by saying, “A penny for your thoughts.” She caught him off-guard. “I caught you.”
Zombie
“WHAT?” SHE PUT HIM in an awkward position. He tried to play it off by saying, “Did you see my tie?” “It’s on the doorknob like always, “she said, pointing her finger. “Oh, yeah, thanks.” “I told you, I caught you looking at me.” He did not respond and kept right on thinking about her to himself, ‘Although she was not known for her altruism, he was lucky to have gotten that piece of ass. He had met her in Russia, at an outside party in a showroom. She was sitting alone, her and with her extraordinary beauty, in the public eye, at a table with some young women trying to strike it rich by hooking up with a man out of a litany of wealthy ass millionaires and billionaires. Most of the women hailed from extreme poverty. The rules of the day were said to be, he could take his pick of the ladies, or in the eyes of the law, prostitutes or, better yet, call girls. It was as if he had extrasensory perception. Once he caught her eye, it wasn’t a hard decision; she fit the bill perfectly, with her long black hair down to her waist, green eyes, and adorable long and wellproportioned legs, with a devious ass, knowing right away, he had to have her. It was like she went on an extreme diet before their meeting; the notion of being a lady of the night was out the window. After mountain biking down steep slopes and snowboarding, dining at expensive restaurants, and although she was ambivalent about leaving home, they jumped on a flight back to the grand old country and land of the brave and free. No one had to know or would know what her profession had been. ‘Screw them,’ he thought.
Clifford Benjamin
THE KICKER WAS RUSSIA had an outworn social system, the advantages outweighing the disadvantages. The facts were he was a wiz at disentangling fact from friction. So much he could outwit most. He noticed something when she made a big fuss about not having a window seat on the plane, but what did he care? He just looked at it as a woman throwing a temper tantrum. Tatiana, ‘Miss Goodie Two Shoes,’ would be his trophy with a four-digit IQ, and what an award indeed. She didn’t know he had a steel-trap mind and was used to lording it over women. If need be, he will stand in the way if anyone would try to spoil it. Those who would try would be made to jump off a mile-high bridge, her equating to be a part of his inheritance that augmented his fortune.
Chapter
26
NO ONE COULD BE HAPPY or as proud as he once the plane touched down, on the outskirts of town, the crowd on the tarmac numbering 10,000 at the outside. If it sounded like Alice and Wonderland, it was okay by him. He had lived in a bubble throughout his entire life. But, overall, the trip was a success. A week later, he gave what she did crave. “Did you hear that?” he said, putting his hand to his ear and walking her outside in the front and onto a richly carved driveway, watched over by a crudely carved wooden figure. “I got to tell you; it’s lovely in the spring when the cherry blossom is out.” Then she saw it. Holding her hands to her mouth, she cried, “Oh, my God, I can’t believe you bought me my very own ride, looking at something that lit her fire. “I didn’t expect to get the red carpet treatment.” No doubt she had thought there would be nothing worthy of the mark. Now, through her eyes, he would stand out as a person of—importance. “New car, I do say,” he exclaimed, hugging her and clapping his hand. “GOT 31 miles to a gallon, enjoy,” he said, born with the implicit assumption of knowing the way to a woman’s heart. By satisfying her wishes, his one hope, she would not do a number on him and do a Houdini and disappear or be successful at doing him out of his inheritance. In addition, he wouldn’t let on to her that as a double agent, he worked for the Americans and the Russians.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ONE THING HE HAD hoped, there would be no issues of a disordered imagination with all his heart. “I like my steak done rare,” he divulged, marking the date in his mind, “along with other dos and don’ts. Wait till you see the living room; it’s in Early American. In addition, there is a rose bush near the fence, and it blooms.” In addition, he told himself, he must to stock up on can goods, beans, wine, etc. She hugged him profusely, letting him know he did her well. So there was no indication she did drugs, so she might be concerned with what’s happening across the street. “Just want you to know it won’t do to be late; furthermore, imagine having to pay some of my hard-earned cash on a parking ticket.” Despite a number of his colleagues envying the enormous wealth he had amassed, within a month, the words, “Do by bequeathing,” echoed to the rafters of the chapel in Disturbia, Washington, DC, sounding throughout on what would be a memorable, beautiful windswept day. Two is better than one, toxic accidentally, in-love sweethearts, arms wide open, kissed and shook their tail feather, dropping it like it’s hot on Honey Moon Heaven, the equivalence of a mischievous “What a Girl Want Affair,” thanking God they had found each other. POTUS then cracked a bottle, feeling there would be no second time around, as they cherished the rhythm of the night, not taking time to take their clothes off, and captive to the chains of love, their future so bright, they had to wear shades, living in the high life on the freeway of love. To him, with her in his life, beauty was everywhere, and it was a source of joy, both promising to grow old together.
Chapter
27
YEARS LATER, AND HAVING lived in perfect amity, they had two smarts as whip kids, a boy, and a girl, who, by the way, was attending University. And that he was proud of them. Their names were: Tim and Martina. He loved it when Tatiana would go bareheaded with long hair blowing in the wind, strutting like a peacock-like her shit didn’t stink. “These slums have to go, Hon,” he said, still looking at her through the mirror, feeling his erection growing larger, relishing the best of times. “Why?” she asked. “They just need to,” he answered, hating it when she would disagree. “Look at it this way, despite their condition, and considering the neighborhood, they are sure to go for a good price.” “I asked you why,” she snapped, totally aware his bad behavior provided plenty of ammunition for his enemies, and knowing his arguments are amoral and what guides them is not any sense of morality but survival. “I done told you. What are you, hard a hearing? Or is your hearing about to go?” Everything was going well, and here she was, giving him a hard-ass time.
Clifford Benjamin
HE ED THE FIRST time she disagreed with him; he went to work on the problem, going at her fast and with fury. By the time he got through, she was fast asleep. He was insulted to the core and chalked it up to her just being a woman. To him, all women were hard-headed and disagreeable, like their asses don’t stink. He refused to go to court to recover damages; despite their discord, they were still going strong up to now. She had gone as an alias when he first met her, but that didn’t matter to him. Other than her looks, she didn’t have a lot going for her, his knowledge of her failing to go very deep. But, as things are, even leaves go from green to red, so why can’t a woman change her identity? After glancing out the window at two dogs running amok in a school’s playground, he came close to her and asked, “What do you think?” “Very nice,” she said; the tie goes with the suit.” “It goes to show you. We, men, have a taste.” But, he quickly added, “I know the rule goes for you, too.” She asked him, “You don’t have to wear that suit if you don’t want to. You’re not a gold digger yet.” “Are you forgetting as president? It goes with the turf, right?” “Got it—it was silly of me to think otherwise.” After a time, they left and went the conventional route, driving on a divided highway past a joss house, a Chinese temple, or shrine, straight to the Zoo without stopping. Opera popularly associated with high society, and they were going to the Zoo? By the time they would get out and finished eyeing the animals and jostling through crowds, he would be going for a drink.
Halfway there, he said to her, “Bet a dollar on the outcome.”
Zombie
SHE SMILED. “OKAY. But I must say you hardly ever win.” “I know, but don’t betray me and go telling everyone.” She bobbed her head, “perhaps I should say, go fly a kite, loser.” “That’s not what you had to say when you went for me in a big way when we first met, honey bun ... God, and you’re so hot, I can’t help but it, you exude charm. And I got an eye for beauty,” so much so that he even kept an eye on his valuables. Fingering the amulet dangling from her neck believed to protect against evil, Tatiana said, “Don’t you mean to say you were so hot in the pants you went for broke and ate my pussy the minute we were alone.” POTUS laughed. His ideas marshaling neatly and relating what he observed to what he already knew, and he said to her, “And you would go one better. There you were, gobble, gobbledygook. As five goes into 60 12 times, the minute I finished, you kept going to town, out-and-out sucking my johnson, again and again, encouraging me to bust a good nut in your red hot mouth.” It was a practice alien to her nature. She went along with it anyway, not caring if she has hitched to a marriage of convenience or not. She married into a prominent family and married wealth—so what, even seafood marries with other favors. He cracked up, laughing profusely, taking stock of the situation, then, only to turn his head to look at a ship dividing the waves a short distance away from the waterfront. Then he looked at a woman marshaling her little group of children down the street, with a stock dog on a leach.
Clifford Benjamin
HE CONTINUED, “CAUSING my mind to zip all the way to goldbrick road, and certainly I’m not joshing and not a godforsaken stinking lowdown Johnny Reb. I’d rather be in the nuthouse than to be anyone of that measure.”
Chapter
28
AS THE SUN LOOKED BLOOD orange and in the process of lifting off the horizon, he knew the time had come. Happy that his social circle was positive, Ed sat on a butt table with an incredible appetite; he polished off a towering plate of food, dessert included. Chronologically challenged—Ed left the restaurant late, got into his car, and drove south on the freeway. Just as he was about to turn on the radio, a man’s head popped up, and before Ed could respond, a gun was against his temple. “Hi there, Big Daddy,” said the man with a stern tone of voice, sounding like he was out of the loop and had just escaped a loony bin, then glancing round to see if anyone saw what was taking place. Ed also wouldn’t have doubted if the joker had left the crazy house and started mixing with drug dealers, pimps, and other low life. Coming in with his contagious energy, the man spat, “Oh, oh, better let your glasses up. It’s fixing to come up a cloud.” Ed asked, ‘What do you mean?” The man chuckled then said, “Roll the car windows up, you idiot, a thunderstorm is happening soon.” “Oh,” said Ed doing as the man instructed. The man then said, “To begin with and to put it more simply, what do you say we go for a little stroll?”
Clifford Benjamin
IT WAS THEN THE TINGLE became a chill as Ed kicked out some ill line he dared utter and said, “How in God’s name do you know my name?” not knowing he was about to clone the mammoth ... make a futile effort. On the whole, the man was so thin that his skin hung loose. He then laughed a crazy laugh with a lordly air and with a terrifying lopsided grin, apparently gone loopy to do what he was about to do. “Better the devil you know; than the devil, you don’t know. In other words, something bad and familiar is better than something bad and unknown. Now let’s get back to business. Would you believe I got friends in high places?” “Oh, Lord, I’ve got five on it; you never would’ve guessed,” Ed said, trying his best to stay loose, to keep the loose cannon from letting loose, not knowing if he would be shot and left alone to die. He knew he must not lose confidence and wondered what time it was but knew his watch lost 20 minutes every day. But he wouldn’t dare look in his eye; he didn’t want to make any sudden moves and further escalate the situation. “Well, now you know Big Daddy,” the man said in a loud whisper. “Do I now?” said Ed, trying his best to be not lost for words and keep the situation low-key. He felt it might help to keep the idiot talking to distract him. He knew that drugs make one tired and confused, but there are times when one’s pretty lucid, this was one of the times, and Lucifer was hard at work. “Yeah, you do, partner.” After a silent listens, and after raising his chin an inch embittered over the sudden badass night thing, Ed said, “Let’s get something straight here and now,” for clearly, the man was not elegant and a gentleman.
Zombie
WITH AN INADEQUATE response, the stranger asked, “What?” “By being your partner is inconceivable. So, in essence, you’re a one-manband,” Ed kicked out the words, so easy, kinda like walking on water. “What in all hell are you talking about?” “Good Lord, there’s no way in hell I could be your partner.” “Look,” the man screamed, with scalding coolness, shouting like it was a scene from out of a Clint Eastwood old West action flick. “Luckily, you’re still breathing. But this thing can get pretty ugly. So listen up, I’ll do the talking here, you dig,” pressing the gun harder against his temple. Keep your trap shut, or you’ll get a clip round the lughole. I’ve seen a few black eyes in my time, but that’s a lulu. You savvy?” “I got you,” Ed said to the lug, feeling the frustration in his lumbago and thinking how ludicrous he looked in his pink suit, out of a Ronald Reagan a darn long era peace of garbage. “That’s better.” His eyes they see, Ed desperately trying to use common sense to find a way to fight the power, said in a soft voice, “Look, I don’t know why you are mad at me or harassing me. You can believe I don’t have a clue.” “You don’t?” “That’s what I said.” “You’re not thinking hard enough.” “I tell you, I’ve skimmed my mind but keep coming up empty again, and again, nothing comes up.” “Big fucking deal, first of all, you are saying you didn’t do anything to me?” he said with shrew dumbness.
“Right on.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WELL—RIGHT TO THE BITTER end, you’re wrong ... they say the truth is a bitter pill to swallow.” “How can I be?” Ed asked, with a frowning black as thunder. “Did you hear what I just said, asshole? You got wax in your ears?” sounding like Elvis lives. “Last time I checked, I didn’t,” his logic paper-thin, careful of his mind playing tricks on him. “What are you now, playing games with me over that night thing?” “No, not at the least, just trying to talk you out of wasting an innocent man, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that, at least the last time I checked.” “Quit all the la di da, and pull the fuck over!” the man shouted in his ear, with a deadening tone as mean as some Las Vegas salvages, obvious not a snake charmer. Try anything because each dawn, I die drinking acid head wine. I’m tough as nails. Tough as they come, one bloody old boy, one deep roads desperado, it’s as if I’m a sad idiot enthused, I died a thousand times. Some think I’m the excellent, humble type the public enemy. Some consider me renowned okay drug filth king of the underworld, natural live rolling stone that gathers no moss.” Ed’s mind was never so troubled as it was now. The thing was, once he stopped the car, would the idiot get straight to the point and kill him?
Chapter
29
ED PULLED OFF THE ROAD onto a dark dirt road with no houses in sight. As he continued driving at a slow rate of speed, he couldn’t help, but wonder would the guy go so far as to pop him off? If he did, there was the possibility of his body not being discovered for days or maybe months. By that time, the animals would have a hand at the spoils. It was something not to fathom a body in a doubtful state. About a mile in, and after twists and turns, the man with his itchy ego commanded, “Pull over.” With his staunch moral values indelible as the Statue of Liberty built to stay free, Ed did as instructed, stopping the car along the side of the road. “Get the fuck out now and no half-stepping,” he said, his ego-tripping.” Ed was slow at getting out and was struck upside his head with the butt of the gun, causing him to see stars temporarily. He shook his head to clear his head. Once the two had gotten out, the doll’s character still had the gun trained directly on him. Ed thought, ‘I guess this is it where he was going to die,’ as horrible that it seemed he could not imagine dying. He found the entire idea abhorrent.
Clifford Benjamin
THINGS DIDN’T STACK up. He had never done anything to anyone. He was always kinder than kind down to a butterfly. He couldn’t imagine going out of the way to out-and-out kill someone, no matter the circumstance. He had a wife and kids. Furthermore, there were never any stumbling blocks thrown in his path along the way. He stopped his introspection and tried looking into the man’s glassy eyes. Shit, they were dull and lifeless—then it hit him. He now ed dating a lovely but corny young lady a dozen or so years ago. He also recognized the two being together and breaking it off with her because she wanted a child, but there was a misunderstanding. And that was, he wanted to be the master of his destiny, not to be in a cage in wedlock. At some point, she pleaded with him with all her heart, but he stood his ground, further separating from her by removing every last bit of his things. Finally, she was down in the dump so deep that she hung herself right in her bathroom— naked, leaving a note stating why she had done it. To this day, he still can’t quite fathom what made her do it. He agreed anyone who hanged themselves was the wrong way to go. Once you put the rope around your neck and jumped, it would be curtains. There was the drop-off point for him and made it known not to date women relatively narrow in outlook. How in the devil would he have known she would commit suicide on her birthday? He was such a dork, and knowing the Wright Brothers made their first flight in the Kitty Hawk in 1903, he flew into London on the last flight from Frankfurt, only to return a month later with a much clearer head. The strange thing was, the Captain said over the intercom, “This will be the last flight of the vintage aircraft before being installed in the museum, folks.”
Zombie
“DID YOU HEAR ME, ASSHOLE,” said his abductor, “God, whatcha hard at hearing or something? I think you’re the reason our kids are so ugly.” “I hear you.” He was now in the present. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and felt like he could turn things around and be the one to pull strings but couldn’t help but feel the man was the type that hates when his friends became successful. At this point, the man looked around and said, “I need to take a leak. You stay right here. I’ll be right back. I’m telling you now I will shoot you if you move a muscle. You read me?” “Yeah, I got you.” The man walked a ways off into the brushes, looking back time and again, disappearing. Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Ed knew he had to do something, but what? One thing he did learn things were not going very well. Then he got an idea, leaned down, and picked up a rock of proportion, enough to severely damage someone. He hid it in his shirt. Minutes later, the man returned with the gun still trained on Ed. He took out a cigarette package, pulled out one, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a match he got from his pocket. As he puffed enormously on it, his eyes were flicking this way and that way, like he was a robot out of control. Ed just stood motionless. “I’m telling you now, pucker-head, when finished, you are going to find it’s over. I'm going to put a bullet straight through your fucking brain. Don’t worry. It’s sure to be quick. If you are wondering how I know, it’s because you’re not the first asshole I wasted.”
Clifford Benjamin
“LOOK ... TERRY, ISN’T it? Ed said, noticing his shirt was too small for him and cut into the tender flesh at his armpit. “You got it.” The fatal attraction total fanatic rat just stood there as Ed said to him, “Yeah, I do. But, look, I don’t blame you love your sister so much, and so forth, and then some, now back at you.” “Like, I loved her, but as to you breaking girl’s hearts, the way I see it, you can’t have your Kate and Edith too.” Ed said, “Believe me, I can dig it.” “Then you know my sister didn’t kill herself.” “What? Do I hear right?” “Yes, you’re hearing me. Now see here; it looks like you got the best of both worlds. I’m not about to follow in your footsteps. That’s okay by me. Hell no,” pausing. After taking another hefty crag, he said, “The sad part is, I wasn’t going to kill you, but I have no choice now. The thing is, you saw what I look like now. So, I tell you, there are not XYZ reasons why I should let you go. I’m pulling your chain, you feel me? I’ll just tell you, flat out, it’s going to be quick. I tell you, even Peregrine falcons usually pluck the feathers and strip the flesh off their bird prey.” “What’ve birds got to do with it,” noticing the man’s skin painted in blues, reds, and flesh tones. He wasn’t a ghost. He was flesh and blood with a living body with thoughts and feelings and with already distinctive personalities. The only one except for the doctor, he had physiotherapy to restore the flexibility of his muscles.
Zombie
THE MAN SMILED AND said, “Don’t you mean ‘what’s love got to do with it?’ Hell, I’m a liberal-conservative, going round with them liberal ideas. You ought to know just how that goes you being a Democrat conservative.” The scary story made his flesh creep, making him feel even more afraid, with his eyes flickering nervously in anticipation. “You know what?” “What?” Ed said, “You can believe it took me a long time to find the flaw in your logic.” “Would mine my asking you how so, Luv? Hurry up,” he shouted, pointing short and thick unattractive stubby fingers at Ed, wanting to get the deadly affair over and done. “So I can finish taking care of this nonsense. It’s said, when danger threatens, collect your possessions and flee like the wind. That, my friend, is something you won’t be allowed to do.” It sounded like something between them was about to begin, a no-holds-barred, perhaps, or could it be he would end up getting the short end of the stick? All of a sudden, a car flashed its headlights at them. “Shit,” the man said, with the back of his hand, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Then turning his head to look in the direction of the car approaching, he said, “What the fuck is that crazy driver up to, in this place of all places?” Right then and there, his reaction was purely instinctive, as Ed managed to get behind the man and struck him upside his noggin and watched as he slumped to the ground, dropping the gun. Ed said to the lug, “You take medicine; I’ll take the nurse.” The sight brought a lump to Ed’s throat. But, surprisingly, that didn’t affect the man at all that much.
Clifford Benjamin
THE LUMPISH MAN THEN jumped to his feet and lurched forward at Ed. Ed decided it was now or never as they went about bobbing and weaving, here a slap, there a slap, till the man went down in a hail of blows, busting a blood vessel in a fit of coughing, and lay motionless. The big-skinny lummox did not move a muscle like he had been knocked dead from the looks of it. Ceasing the chance, Ed ran toward the car, his arms flailing wildly, wanting so desperately his captor would be flushed from the bathroom of his soul.
Chapter
30
AN HOUR OR SO LATER, orange flares burned in the distance as he was being questioned by what was now his favorite detective, the one he spoke to at the police compound. On a night like tonight, it wasn’t easy to comprehend how far the stars are. After going over things in detail, Ed paused, having to blink back the tears, his tears, before he continued his story. “I can’t begin to tell how lucky I feel that I was able to dropkick that sonofabitch through the goal post of life. It’s like I got the Gold Mine, and he got the shaft. So, I thank you, detective,” happy he did not cross over to the other side to be collateral damage and wanting the detective to believe him and not b—tell a lie. “I must say detective, “If my nose were running money, I’d blow it all on you. So thanks again.” “Don’t thank me. The way I see it, to listen to someone is the greatest compliment you can pay. So, I have to say thank you, Ed.” Then in a backhanded compliment, he said he looked pretty good for his age. The detective then said, “Please don’t misunderstand me—I meant it as a compliment.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED BLINKED HARD AND forced a smile, acknowledging his compliment. He had no qualms to suffer fools gladly, be kind or rude, or trekking in an economically depressed neighborhood. It was always his nature to go with the territory. He figured when the Romans do, and so too, he was far from being financially challenged. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said the detective. “I’m rather used to that because my wife’s always fishing for compliments about her looks.” “Please give my compliment to your wife,” said Ed. The detective climbed to his feet and said, “Gad to have been of service. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. What delightful thing to say about my getting your compliment to her.” Ed looked at his watch. “My, my, how time does fly. I had forgotten to take my dose of antibiotics. So we finished here, detective?” “Most certainly we are, Ed. Oh, about that painting—” “What about it?” “We have established beyond all reasonable doubt that the painting was indeed by Rembrandt,” his honesty open to doubt. “I like that sound, indeed,” said Ed. Oh, just one more thing, detective, that guy I just wasted would be best ed for his chilling portrayal of Norman Bates in Psycho. If he had had the chance, that is.” “That’s interesting if I have to say so, myself. I want to find a woman that’ll hold my big toe till I have to go.” Ed laughed and then said, “Thanks to the Cathouse Detective, I’m in the doghouse with you,” They both chuckled.
Zombie
“EVERY LITTLE STEP, to the point of no return, freedom is sweet, detective, got to run,” Ed said, lost in emotion, still feeling the same niggling doubt about what had happened just hours before?
Chapter
31
“HOW CAN I LIVE MY LIFE without committing an act with a giant scissor?” Ding dong. Ed ran to get the door, and when he looked through the eyehole, as was his habit before unlocking it, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The thought that the impossibility is only the figment of an insufficient imagination rushed through his mind. Then a little birdie in the back of his mind assured him: ‘Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.’ Standing on the other side of the door was no different than POTUS’s wife Tatiana, all dolled up and feeling tipsy, alone with all her jingle, jangle. “Come in,” he drawled softly. After entering and closing the door, he smelt the tantalizing sweet fragrance. “So what do I owe you the pleasure of this visit?” She took a seat and said, “Meow!—Can you believe it? It’s like I won the lottery.” “Moo!” he joked and then said, “How so?” She looked straight at him. “Can’t you get it?” “I won’t know till you tell me.” “One, two, go round the berry brush and—” It was as if a light clicked on in his brain. He found it hard to believe there was any money. From the start, doubts surrounded the claim to be the missing heiress. She purred like a kitten, “Hello, don’t dare keep me waiting.”
Zombie
“THAT’S WONDERFUL. I can’t believe you finally got that off your back, something that’s been off the burner for too long.” She jumped to her feet. “Tickled pink, I tell you. Let’s celebrate. Where’s your wife? ... Is she sick? ... Is she here?—at the hair salon, I mean? Better still, is she visiting a relative?” “Yes, that’s it?” She stopped bouncing around and said, “What do you mean?” “That she’s out visiting her sick mother.” “Is her mother sick?” “Yes, indeed.” “What? Does she have a stomach ache, a headache?” “It’s more serious than either one of those.” “What do you mean by those?” He said, “I mean, she is down with the flu.” “Good graces, where does she live. I’ll beat a fast path to her doorstep. It’s not right for a woman her age to be alone.” “No, no, calm down.” “She spread her open arms and said, “How calm do you want me to be, lover?” He looked at her sumptuous breast and then imagined the brushy black hair between her legs and felt the urge beginning to build up, thinking and wondering what he should do; something of this magnitude had not happened before. She broke into his thoughts by saying to him, “I just want to help. Is there something wrong with that?”
Ed said, “Why don’t you just sit back down so we can chat about the missing heiress thing.” She did as told and plopped down on the sofa facing Ed sitting on a chair opposite her.
Clifford Benjamin
“AS YOU KNOW, ED, FROM the start, doubts surrounded my claim to be the missing heiress. Fortunately, we were able to get a local judge to straighten things out by awarding me access to the money and land and the house.” “That’s great,” he said, knowing if it were true, she would be richer than one can shake a stick at it. Although he would it he was happy for her, and so too, he was rather doubtful about the wisdom of eating the two-day-old food, but hopefully, for her, her greed won’t eventually be her downfall. Ed excused himself and slipped away to the bathroom, finding it hard to believe Tatiana would drop by tipsy and all giddy. He wondered what else might be on her mind. Returning minutes later, he entered the living room and found her butt naked lying on the floor with a pillow under her head, and he like a child frightened by a bad dream and a prophetic dream about a train crash before the rail disaster. She opened her eyes and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. Holding her finger to her mouth, she uttered, “Shhh!” She then stretched out her arms and said to him, “Poor thing! You look dreadful! Come, come, and come to momma. Come my dashing knight in shining armor, and take all of me. I promise you momma won’t bite, at least not that thing down there. Don’t you know, sweetheart, a merry heart does good like a medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones. And through the looking glass, it’s not like I’m one hundred and one, five months and a day, not to know when a man wants a woman.”
Zombie
HIS NATURAL CHARM AND wit made him very popular, and he could certainly turn on the charm when he wanted to. Though he was uncomfortable, he had to it she did look enticing, and it was already affecting his restraint. Nevertheless, he was unable to resist her charms. Ed’s possessed many charms, and as she was an arrogant woman with a massive ego, she looked small and gentle. Before he knew it, he was naked and on top of her pushing his tool into her vagina as she groaned and moaned. He had to it he dreaded singled out. He found himself saying, “I do declare, you have bewitched me, body and soul,” he managed to say in the tear-inducing monologue. “In addition, you bring a touch of obsessed pulpy, cathartic pleasure with you.” Right now, he had almost more than he could handle with her scratching his back and giving him a blow job for the road. Despite the thrill, and before they finished, he had planned to tell her, “So be prepared, be enthusiastic, and leave your bullshit attitude and baggage at the door because, frankly, I don’t need it!” Soon after and practically dosing off, he faintly heard her voice and faintly listened to the rustle of clothes as she whispered, “Sweet dreams,” turning off the light, and then Poof! She was gone. His plans to travel the world now seemed like a distant dream, and she had this romantic dream of living in a windmill. In contrast, people have long dreamt of an egalitarian society, the kind of trip most of us can only dream about, from the drift of people away from rural areas into urban slums as voices drifted up through the floorboards.
Clifford Benjamin
AS ED SLEPT, A SMALL flag was raised over the building to muted applause in his dreams. The applause died down as the curtain closed, as his wife sat there munching on an apple. The thing was, no one had to know about the deeply buried secret if he had anything to do with it. As things stood, the king was dead and lay buried at Jed burgh Abbey. So not many know what secrets lie buried in the past. Sadly he was none the wiser of the fact, all the while making love in their home, while his wife hid in the bushes at the side of the lane, dwarfed by hills that had become a wasteland after removing native bush. The place looked calm in the golden evening light. Some cars already had their lights on.
Chapter
32
AFTER A TIME, HIS WIFE moved with effortless grace, her hair looking limp and lifeless. She had taken the Bakerloo line and then changed at Piccadilly, which got her home earlier than expected. She managed to see where the door was by the light of the moon. She paused to light another cigarette. After placing the key in the lock, she entered the house and went to the bedroom. Suddenly, she felt a monster of a headache coming on and walked to the bedroom. What she just witnessed was exhausting, and she wanted answers. Her experience of seeing what just occurred had taxed her emotionally. But, although there had been carnage at the airport screaming the tabloid headlines, she had one thing in mind only. The smell of lavender faintly lingered in the room as she rubbed her hands together, cracking her knuckles as she tried to control her anger over her husband in liaison with POTUS’s wife. Her thoughts trailed off. Then her thoughts were back onboard, thinking how she could swallow such a blatant lie? A little white lie is undoubtedly excusable. But this was beyond a web of elaborate lies. She was unaware her husband lived a lie for twenty years, pretending to be the faithful husband of two different women living in two other towns. If she knew, she would know where to begin at leaving him.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER A COUPLE OF LAST puffs, she put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the night table by the bedside. She had to it she was mad as hell at him but didn’t want to label him a liar. So too, she acknowledged, there was a distinct lack of urgency in her manner, she had to it, making her have a complete lack of confidence, coupled with her abysmal lack of knowledge. The situation worsened by a lack of communication, causing her to feel that she lacked direction and purpose. Right now, if she were to confront him face-to-face, her remarks might curiously be lacking in perception. So, as things stood, she was between a rock and a hard place. She needed time to think things through and decided to keep things under wrap for now. She was surprised at how tired she was. She wondered if it was because she had only a fleeting glimpse of the sun all day. She then caught a glint of blue and asked what it was. It was common sense to let it out in the office that she was about to leave her husband. She then decided not to tell them about it for fear of seeing it in the gossip column of the local newspaper. But the one thing she knew, she’d have a gossip with Ed. But first, she had to grab a couple of hours of shut-eye. She was aware he would hardly likely get home before ten. Tonight she would talk to Ed; she would give him a gentle nudge in the ribs to tell him to shut up and listen for once. For the time being, she would nurse her wound. Someone once told her a trip down a mind has excellent novelty value for most people and quickly dispensed that idea. She cared about him too much for that to materialize.
Zombie
INSTEAD, GRABBING A pill off the night table, she flushed it with water down her throat. The tablet brought temporary respite from the excruciating pain. She could rest easy knowing she was safely home. She would restrain herself from having a shouting match. Eventually, she dozed off, sprawled out on the bed, her thoughts in total limbo. Some hours later, Ed approached her in the bedroom. She unloaded on what was on her mind. “How dare you!” he retorted, unable to tell a lie convincingly, his arms hanging by his side. “I had to know, Ed,” she cried, wiping at the tears starting to form. “Just don’t lie to me. We’ve been together much too long for us not to share secrets.” In whole light, you could see she was well over fifty. She couldn’t help but notice the smell of liquor on his breath and doubted he could walk in a straight line, a line of latitude and longitude. Deep lines ran from his nose to his mouth. In addition, he had stripes on his forehead. “I tell you, it’s wrong.” “Why?” “Oh, I don’t know how to put it, but I do know it’s not just something for the world to know.” He was a bucket of nerves, then got up and began pacing back and forth. She had never seen him like this and felt a bit of slight pity but knew this was something that should not be a secret in the heart of hearts. “Why, didn’t you come to me first, Hon?” “I don’t know, she moaned. All I know is we have to get to the root of this or—” “What?” he snapped at her; he was almost a ticking time bomb, and for marriage’s sake, had to be defused.
Clifford Benjamin
THE HEATED CONVERSATION and histrionics went on through the balance of the night, his strident voice frequently going up to the rafters; there was no doubt the neighbors heard it, in fact, every last drop. It was something now that even Ed could care less. To him, it all was just a row of infidelity only for husband and wife only. He was emphatic about it. Then after sitting in the kitchen among the dirty pots and pans, talking and considering things, they reached the point of differentiation that stopped them in their tracks. Both concluded it would be a stupid decision that completely defied logic for them to live apart and figured you couldn’t use the same reason in dealing with children. Given that odds were slightly loaded against them, they found themselves kissing and caressing each other and whispering words of deep affection. After her eyes had lingered on his face, for a time, they made love. Both agreed it was just what the doctor ordered, indeed a quintessentially exceptional performance. They then drifted off to sleep to noontime the next day only to awake and repeat what they did the night before, the salt of patience seasoning everything. The feelings of hurt and resentment would linger on for years. At their age, they were not aware that scientists had established possible links between cancer and diet. The common link between the two was their age. Because of his infidelity, his wife had severed ties with her family. Her family disapproves of unmarried couples living together. It was a known fact women live longer than men. Does no one want to live forever? She was never romantically linked with anyone before their marriage.
Zombie
HE WAS DELIGHTED THEIR relationship had come back to life, thereby negating the specter of him having to go down that road that links Cairo with Alexandria. Another thing that happened was they both were on the waiting list for hip at the golf club. As to the club captain being on the transfer list, they sadden. Since elementary, he and the Captain had known each other and had forged a close commonality; the two had engaged in endless litigation against the media. Later, before Ed went back to work and steamed at Tatiana, he called her and told her in no specific to stay the hell away, or there would be consequences, to which she got the point, and ended with her slamming down the phone on him. For the rest of that day, all was well. Nothing was ever mentioned, at least not between the two women; the only remaining thing was for the two titans to butt heads. The stickler was POTUS never got word of his wife’s cheating with his attorney general at that. There was nothing said about it; things swept under the rug. That was just fine by Ed. With no restrictions in the breach, he went right on having affairs behind his wife’s back, taking care no one on God’s Green Earth knew about his deceitful and ionate matters. Can we get a Hallelujah?
Chapter
33
HAVING LEARNED COURAGE from Buddha, Jesus, Lincoln, Einstein, and Cary Grant, POTUS, a staunch believer in salvaging the bones, looked out the window. The sky was tar-black, and the large clouds were moving towards him. He heard a tapping on the window, and then it became a pitter-patter. People ran for cover outside, and umbrellas opened as the clouds spat out their beads of water. Puddles began plinking as the rainfall became heavier. The roofs of the cars danced with spray, and he could hear the murmuring of the rain through the window. It sounded like the buzzing of angry bees. He got a rap on the door. “Come in,” he instructed. In walked Betsy Maria, his Secretary of State, all dolled up looking mighty young and pretty for a woman in her mid-thirties. “You want to see me? POTUS,” she asked, smiling, revealing her perfect white teeth, then sitting down on the velvety divan, leaving her sumptuous enticing thighs partly open. POTUS got up from his chair, walked, and closed the door, locking it as he strolled across the tiled floor to sit down next to her.
Zombie
“SO, WHAT EXACTLY DO you want to talk about?” her pretty blue eyes peering into his brown eyes through to his soul. “Come here now!” she growled through her teeth. Damn, she was some hot mom’s, he thought to himself, taking time to run his fingers down her tight ass dress to push her panties aside and slid a finger inside her cunt, her beautiful eyes closing at half-mast, hearing her moan. Before they both knew it, he went down on her, sticking his tongue as far as it would go, then gently caressing her clitoris, again and again, hearing her pleas, and then whispered, “Take it...” she broke off what she was saying, clamping her teeth together. And then to say, “Fuck me to death with that rock-hard dick and don’t miss a spot.” He stopped what he was doing and smiled, saying to her, “Oh, I must say you do know what to say to get a man hungry for some pussy. Then, in one fell swoop, he stabbed his rigid penis all the way causing her to cry out. “Oh, daddy, I dare say you know how to please a lady, you and your hardcore horizontal gymnastics.” “You got what I need, sweetheart,” he huffed and puffed, fighting for every ounce of breath. “Bet you your wife loves it too.” “Well, I’m very well aware that’s our secret just between you and me ... daddy never lies.” “Oh, you’re perfect today; I bet you tell that to all the girls.” “Let’s just say, daddy sure tries his best to please, hot momma,” his teeth flashed as he smiled. “Furthermore, I love some in between the ears and above the neck type women. There’s nothing wrong with intelligence, baby girl.”
Clifford Benjamin
SHE SAID, “YOU ARE well-endowed in between the ears, and above the neck, that’s just how I like it. I’m willing to bet you make all women cry, masturbating your ass off all the while,” she crooned, sticking her sexy tongue out, then licking it around on the outside of her mouth. She shook her head. Then went on to say, “I bet you before you hit gold, you were on the streets waging your tail at just about any woman crossing your path. And I can tell you’re not postmenopausal over the hill and picking up speed strutting round on a reverse floor like a slithery tube guy. Now give me some of that long big hot dick that’d surely light my fire.” They both found themselves grabbing and hugging and kissing to nightfall, taking their emotions to incredible heights, finding themselves in a perfect situation for two lovebirds. When they were through, he said, “Did I tell you, Hummingbirds like flowers?” “No, but you can take my word for it, my friend; my dog likes to go on long walks. Getting started was his goal. To begin with, he is too young. He is wise enough to make the right decision for himself—after all, we’re not going to dote over him for the rest of his life, right?” “Did you say dog? To be honest with you, it sounds to me like a two-legged creator, with mile-high ideas, to boot.” Then skyscrapers rose like jagged teeth, as she left him, stroking his dick, saying to him teasingly, “We didn’t climb to the very top of the mountain, but close enough, and by the way, I’m going to clean the house from top to bottom this weekend. And did I forget to tell you, you can now do your shopping at the touch of a button.” “Oh?”
Zombie
SHE ASKED, “CAN YOU tell me what time do we have to attend the meeting tomorrow?” “Well, speaking of the meeting—pretty sure it’s at 2 o’clock!” She pressed on, saying, “Is there anything, in particular, I should know when printing out sales invoices?” “Simple, when it comes to printing out invoices, the most important thing to is—” “I see,” she said, cutting him off. “Have you done your homework yet?” “To tell you the truth,” he answered, “I didn’t do it because I didn’t have much time!” “Can you tell me if wages transferred to your bank ? I take that as a no. Well, to be honest with you, I haven’t even checked my bank yet!” she said. “Is there any chance you’d come to the movies with me?” “Well, frankly speaking, I’m not that into movies; I’d rather stay at home and watch something on Netflix!” “Can you tell me how to use this software, please?” she said. I’ve never used it before!” “All right, I’m going to try to give you some idea about Photoshop! So, first of all, I tell you what? I’ll get back to that later.” And then she tossed back her hair and growled and puckered her lips back at him, closing and locking the door behind her, leaving behind a perfectly new calling card.
Chapter
34
HE HAD TO IT BETSY Maria, his Secretary of State, fierce loving was near to being the equivalence to that of her giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and heart massage that gave him goosebumps every time he broke into a trance. Even at his age, there would be no retirement from sex, that is to say. As to the secretary, mink has razor-sharp teeth, and he was willing to go all the way at helping her retreat to the fantasy world of her own. Perhaps, that is why she rose to the top of her profession within ten years. Ed entered the office and said, “I don’t know where Bjorg is today; he never showed up at work!” POTUS said, “As a matter of fact, I hadn’t even noticed he’s not in; thanks for telling me! So, can you tell us how you built your blog, Ed?” “Well, speaking of the specifics of my blog. Let me start with describing the actual platform it’s built on—” “I hate to say this, but I have to go, sorry about that!” POTUS left hastily.
Chapter
35
“WHAT PROFIT HATH A man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun? One generation eth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth forever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose...” In the early part of the day, at an ad hoc meeting on the first day of the week comprising Congressmen and state representatives, they discussed many issues. They started with Congressman Hailey Thomas from Detroit, Michigan. He began saying, “The unemployment rates in our region are hitting an all-time high! In perspective, there’s a 50% unemployment among young people of 25 years of age and younger, so—there you go!” Republican Senators went on the attack, trying to drive a wedge between the doubters and the believers. It went on all through the evening up into the night, one after one, and then the Democrats got in their two-cent, not whistling Dixie. Then-Senator Degrassi got a word in by saying, “If you think about it, you’ll realize that our workload has almost doubled over the last couple of years while our wages have stayed the same!” Senator Jerry Spangler got into it, actually auguring his point, till the house’s speaker banged down the Gabel on the desk. Then it went on one after another, each making their point, trying to stay on the issue.
Clifford Benjamin
“THERE’S NO DENYING that the crime rates have dropped this year, but if you look into the statistics, you’ll realize that the figures are at a peak.” The question was, “Why did you leave Jimmy at the workstation all by himself? You could have asked someone whether he was fully trained or not?” “I’m fully aware of the fact that he’s not fully trained—but I could never have imagined that—” Once the night drew to a close, all called it a night, and the chair banged the Gabel down and left for home. Shortly, and back in the Oval, Ed asked, “So, you think most will be in agreement.” POTUS sat back in his chair, putting his hand to his hair, and began stroking it. “I do. Tell me, what do you think?” “I don’t want to sound like bragging, but I do think there’s a chance they will just about vote unanimously.” “Speaking of the wedding, there’s one thing I can say for sure – brown shoes are the latest trend, so you can’t go wrong with that!” Ed then leaned back in his chair, mimicking POTUS and stroking the hair on his head, bald spot included. “Like you say—” “Can’t go wrong with that,” POTUS cut in. “That’s exactly what I just—” “I know,” Ed cut in this time, determined not to get the short end of the stick and be in full swing of everything and so forth. POTUS said, “Wish we had a crystal ball, it would go smoother without all he said this, and she said that.” “You like it that way too, huh?” “It is what it is.”
“That way, they can get at the bumps faster.”
Zombie
ED SMILED. “SO YOU like bumps!” “Yeah, why the hell not—I do?” “Make you want to go out and bump and grind.” POTUS looked at him. “Why you got to be so rude?” “Rude? I don’t see myself being that way. But I will it I’m for the good and bad side of life.” “Ah, you’re just a pussy.” “What about POTUS?” “What about me?” “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” “I heard you.” “Then why do you go making like you didn’t hear what I said?” “Ah, as the Italians say—” “Forget about it,” Ed added, cutting in, beating him to the punch. “ that song?” “What song,” POTUS said, “The one that goes, ‘you beat me to the—” “Punch,” Ed marked it, cutting him off. “Ah, what’s the matter, Ed? You keep cutting me off?” Ed confessed, “Maybe I’m not getting enough—”
“Pussy,” POTUS cut in, proud about his quick wit. “See, now you owe me one.” “Never in your wildest would I dare to pay you for that.” He sounded like he was standing his ground.” “What, I can’t say a thing without you cutting me off?” “You keep this up, partner, and I promise I’ll rip your fucking—” “Dick off,” said Ed, deliberately cutting him off. “I rest my case. Why not we talk about something else?”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS SAID, “FROM ONE prick to another, that sounds like a pretty damn good idea.” They both laughed, unaware laughter balances blood pressure. And that the relaxation of the muscles in conjunction with the increased heart rate allows the blood to flow more freely throughout the body. At the same time, if the blood pressure is low, it can be increased over time due to aerobic exercise. Eventually, they stopped laughing. Ed said, “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of it?” “Because you’ve been sucking too much, peter,” POTUS said, then laughed an excellent hefty laugh. Ed didn’t know if he was laughing at the joke or laughing at him. Time would tell, as they say. POTUS said, “It feels good to your heart’s content. I wish I can say the same when I’m with Tatiana.” “Are you saying you both don’t laugh together much?” POTUS shook his head sadly. “God, where did the fun go?” Ed said, “Perhaps you should try more at buttering her up from time to time more often.” “You think so?” “I do. Freckles and I go through the same thing then and again. I wouldn’t doubt if all couples go through it now and again. Don’t you?” POTUS frowned and then said, “Now that you mentioned it, you got the point.” Looking out through the window at the man in the moon, POTUS yawned then said, “I want you to know I just screwed the heck out of—” “Betsy Maria, your Secretary of State,” Ed cut in. “I know just who you mean.
How in the fuck was she?”
Zombie
“I’LL TELL YOU ONE THING—” “What?” Ed asked, curiosity about to slew the cat. “That bitch is one hot momma. I tell you, she knows how to please a guy.” “She does, huh?” “Yeah, and I’ll tell you one other thing.” “What?” “Would you believe I went down on her eating her like I like blueberry pie?” “You mean a pie in your eye, so to speak, eh POTUS?” “Damn straight. And I can’t wait to do it all over again.” “It’s like watching a raunchy and trashy movie theater, huh POTUS.” “Right on. The more I think about it, the harder my dick gets. What say you?” “Nah, I need to knock off a bit.” “Hell, I’m no cripple. My dick can get hard as a rocket,” said POTUS, “do tell, Ed, tell that to the preacher.” “So he can drive past our houses to see if he can screw both of our wives? I tell you, there’s something hilarious about that man. You can take my word for it, old friend.” POTUS said, “It just means we should keep an eye on him.” Ed said, “Yeah, you’re right. But, to be honest, I heard he’s been sticking it to his 13-year-old stepdaughter.” “Do tell,” said POTUS, “one shouldn’t be so lucky,” shifting in his chair, maybe not because he was getting horny, to help scratch his itch. Regardless, just the thought made POTUS chuckle.
Clifford Benjamin
ED SCRATCHED HIS CHIN and then squinted his eyes like old Captain AHave; he then said, “So, you say he’s screwing his stepdaughter?” “Thirteen, she weighs in at.” “Damn, that man is mighty fortunate, more brains than a Gorilla in heat.” It was Ed’s nature to make every effort to please a woman and never wanted to end up feeling as if it sucked, and made every effort to try a simple strategy for a change. He had to hand it to himself; his system worked. It was just a simple matter of enabling yourself to START. Ed saw just what POTUS was getting at and were willing to conspire to get a piece of her; he knew he had to be cautious; something like that could ruin reputations and cause a man to serve some hard time. But he had to it; he wanted a piece of that young thing. Perhaps it may serve his purpose to hook up with POTUS and see about concocting a plan. Yeah, the more he thought about it, the more determined he became. But, for now, it’s best both of them lay low and plan their strategy. He felt for sure once they got started, there’s no stopping them. POTUS said, “Well, speaking of no worry, things happen. Frankly speaking, there’s that possibility that you can get that 13 years old. As they say, things do happen.” “Well, I’d like to believe that,” Ed said, expressing his hopes and expectations towards a specific person—that 13-year-old. It would be like the best of both worlds, despite it being like borrowing trouble. Perhaps, they could do a dry run before it comes to fruition. And if they were to get caught, they would fall prey to having to face the music.
Zombie
IN ADDITION, HE HOPED POTUS wasn’t giving him the run around to do a hatchet job. If he were, he would have to get with the program and get back at him, but willing to go along with things despite the difficulties involved and was ready to face the chance of everything going down in flames. It was now night. Ed looked up at the black, velvety sky studded with tiny, twinkling stars and left work, and like that, poof, he’s gone. It so happens, whenever he looked up at the stars at night, he feels like he’s big and small at the same time. With a good view of the night sky on a cloudless, moonless night, far away from city lights, he likes to stand there and soak it all in. Allow those celestial photons to end their journey on his retinas.
Chapter
36
“THE HEART OF THE WISE is the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is the house of mirth.” Saturday became a fantastic, wet evening as two men of importance sat around in the Oval. “ we’re on an unrecorded line,” POTUS stated, waiting for the rain to stop and eager to eat dinner, then taking his dog Pebbles for a jog along the beach, only to end with eating ice cream at a local variety shop. Stupefied by tiredness, he sighed and then continued, “I have spectacular news. I’m fast at stockpiling ideas on what can and will surely work and as to what will go down. As of this minute, it’s not actually down to a science yet, but I’m still at seizing the moment, as you will.” The caller breathed heavily. “Yeah, it makes all the difference, for all bases are covered, no one the wiser.” “Except you and me, isn’t that what you meant to say?” The caller breathed heavily again, then whispered, “If this were to go down, it’s sure to be nothing sort of out and out treason, and the perpetrators damned for all eternity, with a stew here and abroad. Can you believe the nations it would affect?” POTUS sighed. “I know, can’t you see my point?” “Oh, yeah, I got it. Just the sound of it rings in my ears.” “I hear you.” “Do you?”
Zombie
“SURE.” “Just to think of all the pie schemes, and you bring this into my very own personal living room.” “So?” “Don’t believe you’re reading me quite enough, Mr. President. What we have here is a dream of smoke and mirrors. Something that never happened in the history of the world, mine you. Have you considered the cost?” POTUS said, “Less than you can imagine, mark my word. A staunch White Supremacist should be hog wild about this.” “See?” “See, what?” There was more silence. I’m waiting, see what?” “I done told you, Mr. President, to cover all bases.” “I know you did. I am waiting to see what you meant?” “Please, Sir, dispense with calling out names; that is what I’m implying. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” “I got you.” “I hope you do. What you and I are working toward has no boundaries. We’re both after the same thing. If I bleed, you bleed. Connected like elbow and bone.” The fact of the matter was if things were to happen as planned, the hypothesis was, it would be one Killer Diller on all fronts. The caller then, in an even lower voice, whispered something of an even greater magnitude, something that would even be more far-reaching,
“What?” said POTUS, “Oh, okay, I got you; he has to go to.”
Clifford Benjamin
“SIR, I HAVE TO IT, I do think this whole thing would be catastrophic were that to happen, not for America, but the world over.” POTUS ended by saying, “There’s sure to be medicine customized to fit all their needs.” Sir, that kind of service makes the specter of what was due to happen all the more chilling if it was true.
Chapter
37
LATER THAT FATEFUL night, the party started at the White House, dignitaries coming from the world that ended in the death of fifteen democratic senators at odds with POTUS and two republican senators. One more was the president of Russia. It was like the entire world had sprung a leak to the extent it even caught the globe as a whole off guard. None had a clue their lives were hanging in the balance. There was no way this was expected to occur, not in a million years. But it did, under POTUS of this United Stated watch. It was far from being a thriller in Manila that wound up left with trillions of calls about the catastrophic loss at the highest level. Right away, the news splashed across news networks here and aboard, stating: “A bone chiller chills the bones of people the world over. What happened was sheer madness to many across the globe. Yet, as of now, no one has been apprehended to face some level of ability for their reprehensible actions.” Ed left home and drove straight to the Capital to sit down with POTUS, not believing his ears. “So, you say, there was that possibility nothing would stop what just happened, POTUS?” To him, it was kind of murder’s row. “God, just think what just happened is out of this world.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WELL, ED, MURDERERS Row was coined back in 1918 to describe an especially intimidating section of the New York Yankees’ batting lineup and reprised in the late 1920s to describe the lineup that included Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Today, murderers’ row is for an exceptionally intimidating group of people or things.” Bewildered, Ed asked, “Let’s get this straight. Are you saying the people killed were exceptionally intimidating?” “That’s what I am implying.” “Do you mind my asking what exactly did the ones killed do for someone to classify them as such?” POTUS bowed his head, then looked up at him and said, “Look, now is not the time to belong mouth describing something of this magnitude, you get my meaning.” Ed shook his shoulders and said, Yeah, I’ll go along with that. It’s not a rugged stretch to the imagination for someone to feel as you do about what takes place at the Capital.” “I do think it could’ve happened a different way,” said POTUS, “but as you so well know, once the wheels get to turn, normally practically the entire world is at a standstill. It’s not like everyone’s blessed with a tank full of resilience, like you, Ed.” ‘Is that so?” “Yeah, have you noticed just how things are becoming more marginalized, dayby-day? Did you notice how the smartest of individuals starting to relegate to an unimportant or powerless position within our society?” “Sort of, I have.” “That’s what I’m eluding to, Ed. It’s to the point that we smart ones have to take control of the less fortunate in line.”
Silence, and then there was more silence. “You have to have noticed, Ed.”
Zombie
“I JUST SAID SORT OF.” “Look, Ed, it’s no dog and pony show we’re talking about here. Hell, even the Virgin Mary would’ve known. Heck, things are occurring right before us, and all we do is stand with our hands in our pocket like we are nothing but plastic dolls lining the shelves in a no-win situation. Come on, Ed, what if you had known that there was the possibility that something like this would happen?” Ed said, “You go round using anachronisms, taking something from a past era and placing it in the present.” “Ah, come on, Ed, you’re smart enough to know I’m right. But, hell, don’t you think even dear Old George might have known?” “Well, when you put it like that, I can see your point. But I have to tell you whoever did this must’ve lacked intelligence.” “Why do you say that, Ed?” “Heck, even a weasel would have known before the fire broke; it had to get the hell out of Dodge.” POTUS slapped his bare palm against his head. “Look, we must be about getting ourselves back on base. The whole world is watching our every move.” “That certainly does have merit.” “Merit?—Why can’t you see exactly where I’m going with this, Ed.” Ed squirmed in the chair and then looked back at POTUS, wondering where in hell this was all going. POTUS said, “I have to believe you are on point with me.” “You’re right,” said Ed, “it certainly wouldn’t pay for the both of us to be standoffish and at loggerheads bumping our heads together.” He was a true wiz at knowing about the meat and marginalia of American politics.
Clifford Benjamin
THAT LAST STATEMENT produced a smile on POTUS’s face. “Sound great,” then turned his head to look at the flag at the half mask, waving in the wind, happy Ed was now on base with him. Ed pointed at POTUS, then said, “You’re the man now, dog!” knowing that what he was intending on doing could be considered a semi-embarrassing speed bump on the way to more experimental, riskier terrain, a behemoth, and a catastrophic failure. Later, word got out; similar chemicals used in the Jim Jones incident in Guyana had killed the Senators and President of Russia. It was a story as old as time, the equivalence to a long and winding road. It then explained how on November 18, 1978, cult leader Jim Jones orchestrated a suicide of 918 followers in the jungles of Guyana at their settlement, Jonestown. The mass death relied heavily on cyanide-laced Flavor Aid, with followers lining up to drink the lethal poison. As the world watched with bated breath, both incidents would be sad commentaries for years to come.
Chapter
38
AFTER SEVERAL YEARS, existing under a paper moon and a handful of dust, POTUS got a call from someone familiar and at times strange. “Hi, Dad, I miss you.” “Well, hello baby doll, how are you?” Almost everyone knew she was his heart and soul, sense of pride blessed with sublime and substantial beauty. “Pretty well,” she told him, failing to tell him she had intended to take a holiday in New York, fully aware, deciding this was not the time to get to it. “So, what’s cooking?” “Only if you take a guess, I will tell you,” she said, looking around at her room painted a subtle shade of pint. “Hold on,” he said, “don’t tell me I’m about to have a hard time mixed with difficulty. Because before I do, I won’t guess till you tell me what’s shaking, right away,” iring her profoundly traditional core values, and knowing how headstrong she really could be, at times. Don’t get me wrong. I have no intentions to judge harshly, no way. In case you’re wondering. I haven’t entirely lost my faith in God yet. Before I forget, I will be remiss if I didn’t congratulate you on your new job.” “Thanks, dad, but as I said, I don’t want to get you upset. You being president and all and my dad to, get my meaning?” “You are blessed with many talents.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THANKS AGAIN, DAD.” “So, tell me, what’s exactly going on?” “Oh, Dad, I don’t want to get you involved.” “Involved?” She sighed. “Hello, are you still there?” “I’m here. Just that it is a thing that I’m not enthusiastic about, and it’s something I’m not comfortable with talking about—something I wouldn’t want you to be concerned over. Something I’m not too happy about it. You know I am bad at this particular sort of thing or keen on handling it, and something I’m terrible at.” “Let me worry about it; it’s sure to take some weight off you. It’s nothing you should feel guilty about at all. So, tell me, what’s happening?” “Dad, oh, my God, it’s something awful. But, of course, it depends on how you see it, though.” “Why not take a breath and tell me. Is it something that might anger me? Sweetheart, you know your dad is tough as nails.” “I know. Okay, you know I’m in my final year at—” “Yale,” he said, cutting her off. “Yeah, that’s right, Yale.” “You know me,” her dad said, “I have a bad habit at keeping up with my young ones and what you all are into and up to.” “Thanks, Dad; it’s always been a stickler for you keeping up with our schooling.”
“So, tell me.” She told him everything. “It’s like this. My Professor refused to give me an A in Physics.” “That doesn’t sound all that bad.” “Dad, I don’t think you are listening.”
Zombie
“WELL, THEN TELL ME.” “The fact is he raped me.” It was something that someone might say is “The stuff that dreams are made of,” in an ironic way. “What did you say?” “He raped—” “I got it,” he said, cutting her off again, and knowing that four years ago, he had raped her, his daughter, and made her pregnant, and that child had lived for a year and a half before accidentally drowning in their pool outback of the house. No one was the wiser, and he was the one that knew what had happened and never had the nerve to tell her about it. He knew that it would be a hot mess, the end of him and all he had worked to achieve if exposed. The thing was, it was still hard to come to grips with it all. As of this moment, there was no way of letting the genie out of the bottle. Not now! Especially that he got his family up on a pedestal of living large. What a mess. The fact of the matter is, told to make his mark, to his shame, all he was doing was making waves. After it happened, he smacked himself hard in the face, to the extent he went to get a bite at the cherry and not give a fig. “He did, Dad. There was no chance at keeping him at bay.” “Houston, we have a problem,” he said. Then silence. “Are you still there, Dad?” She knew he had an unerring instinct when someone was lying to him. He believed in what she claimed had occurred. He always followed his instinct. “I’m here, Priscilla. Tell me just how it happened?” “Oh, dad, it makes me sick just to talk about it.”
Clifford Benjamin
“I KNOW, SWEETHEART, but I’m your dad. I’m someone you should always feel comfortable relaying your trials and tribulations too.” “Well, it started when I went to an Alfa Beta reunion at a frat house. I went to great lengths to prepare myself for the occasion. I even took the time to go over the list many times. It was like, do pregame the party, especially if you hate beer. Nine times out of 10, the only drink that the party will have up for grabs is beer. Not only that but cheap, crappy beer. Don’t take a drink from anyone. And dad, you know I get this lecture from you every time I head back to school, but even though it’s annoying, it’s always worth repeating.” “That’s great you listened. So, tell me more.” “Well, as you told me, do drink with a friend, or two, or three, and the safest way to experience college nightlife is with a friend, or two, or as many as you want, to be backing you up in case something goes wrong. Don’t fill your cup so much that you spill on everyone. No one wants to go home or to the next party smelling like Natty Light and dripping with your drink. As I said, I’m leveling with you as to exactly what happened that faithful night. Dad, I did think the occasion was going to be peaches and cream. Now I see just how wrong I was.” “Okay,” said her dad, “now we’re getting somewhere. And then what happened?” “He spiked my drink, dad. And I ended up at his apartment in his bed naked.” “Oh, did you ask him about it?” “Yeah, I asked him what had happened. He said I left the party under my own volition, and the rest was history.” “That does sound suspicious if you ask me.”
Zombie
“OH, DAD, I FEEL SO awful. Honestly, I nearly killed myself, but my boyfriend got to me in time and hauled my ass to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.” “Damn, you were lucky. Trouble has a way to rear its ugly head and face a problem, especially of that magnitude, and could have been irreparable damage. Of course, some people would have a fit when something like that happens to them. They would be filled with horror and cry hysterically, baby girl. But, the fact is the ones that it happens is no one to judge harshly.” “I know, Dad, you’re right. But, you see, I’m not misleading you.” “Look, you had my curiosity. But now you have my attention. Just for the record, my dear, why don’t you just give me the address so that I can have an honest-to-goodness chat? But unfortunately, I have to say, sweetheart, I can’t make heads or tails about why he went to such great lengths to do what he did. As you well know, I know something backward and forward, but this is something I can’t make heads or tails of or wrap my head around it. So, it’s best to give enough time to do a little homework on this character. I promise I will get back to you. Meantime, try not to let yourself get bent out of shape over this. Don’t worry; I won’t dare give the Professor a piece of my mind. You can rest easy on that for sure. And no, I’m not on the warpath; you can count on that. Furthermore, I won’t rake him over the coals, or throw elbows, no way, no how, on God’s green earth, sweetheart. The fact of the matter is there’ll not be a witch hunt, not now, not ever. You got my word on it. However, I must it it does tend to put a bad taste in my mouth. I tell you one thing, mark my word, it won’t be a banner year for him.”
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT HE WAS ABOUT TO do was sure to be off the beaten path. But he felt what the Professor did was totally out of line and reprehensible. He then wanted the tables to turn and make the Professor shit out of luck, so he won’t do the same thing to any other young girls trying to get ahead in life. Indeed, what the Professor did was totally out of order. The thing was, he loved his daughter and figured two heads are better than one and adored how eager she was to pick his brain. After all, to the best of your belief or knowledge, great minds think alike. He then told her, “Don’t worry; I won’t lift one finger to him. I promise you, what your dad is going to do will be highly effective. You can take that to the bank. And to keep your fingers crossed. You can say that’s my Achilles’ heel, doing the talking, just this minute. I have to say the story has legs. Lastly, with his superb shingles on the wall, your Professor is dumb as a bag of hammers. As I said, there is no bad blood between us. I realize it may sound like a blue promise from the sky and that it’s a promise that is sometimes not filled, but you know I will never lead you on. You know I stick to my word. So how about the information? I hope you’re comfortable with it.” He was pleased she recognized the extreme gravity of what had happened to her at the hands of a man filled with lust. In addition, he enjoyed her exercising her intellect in analyzing the controversies of her day.
Zombie
SHE GAVE HIM THE INFORMATION, then said, “C-c-can I go now?” she stuttered. “I’ve got a test tomorrow. Thanks, dad, you are a lifesaver.” She had no clue the extent of his interest in her Professor. She decided it was best she concentrates on getting education under her belt. For the first time in months, she felt calm and at peace with the world and peaked her popularity. She was happy that she showed her pedigree now and adopted more socially acceptable behavior among her peers. Before she hung up, he said to her, “Got to hand it to you; you have a way of talking with someone. I work so hard, and I don’t have someone to say to me: have a bath, have a drink, have a good time, have a haircut, have a holiday, have a problem, have a relationship, and rest, have lunch, have sympathy. “Hope I do not sound too off.” She said to him, “Got to it, you can be hilarious at times.” “Oh? We should talk more,” he said, “I’ll make myself available for you anytime. Even if just to say to me, “Break a leg, break a habit, break a record, break a promise, break a window, break someone’s heart, break the ice, break the law, break the news, break the rule.” She cracked up, laughing her head off. Then, finally, she stopped laughing; she said, “I tell you, you are one funny dad, but I love it.” Just before both phones clicked off, he said to her in perhaps a flippant way, “And don’t ever forget, when E.T. phones home, I’ll answer to you, like I always have.” He then asked her, “Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?” “Me,” she said with the cutest of a chuckle.
Clifford Benjamin
IT WAS HIS TIME TO speak. “My final word: ‘Just keep swimming, my precious.’” The call ended. He had every confidence his daughter’s graduation would be a rare success story. The cathedral bells rang out their peel off at a distance as the line of limousines carried essential people. She owed her dad a deep debt of gratitude for being there for her and rescuing her from a watery grave when she was but two. Before going to bed, later that night, a little voice whispered: ‘step stop, step, step, stop, ‘take a break, take a chance, take a look, take a rest, take a seat, take a taxi, take notes, or take someone’s place.’ POTUS’ thoughts were odd. It was as if the alter ego came alive and was trying to message him in code.
Chapter
39
A FOURTH NIGHT LATER, Professor Haley was home alone asleep in his bed when he awoke with a guy dressed in all black with a hood covering his face standing at his bedside. The man stabbed him in his left arm and was about to finish him off when the Professor strong-armed him, pushing him off causing the perpetrator to tumble to the floor, at which time, giving the Professor time to leap off the bed onto the floor and beat a fast path out of the room and out of the house. The Professor reached under the front door mat to get a spare key. He then ran and jumped into his car and sped away. He looked in his rearview mirror about a mile away and saw that the assailant was out of the picture but suddenly realized he was sadly mistaken. It took a moment or two for him to adjust his side-view mirror on the enger side. That was when he spotted him driving in his direction at a rate of speed of the exact equivalence, fast on his tail. He found himself screaming, “What do you want?” A sense of terror was in the air, enough to be a page-turner to even Stephen Spielberg. He stepped on the gas, trying to create some distance, but as he crossed an intersection, a car ran out in front of him, causing his vehicle to sway against a truck parked on the roadside. He managed to regain control and continued till the same guy in his apartment sideswiped him; the damaging impact caused the Professor’s vehicle to lose control and crash into a tree.
Clifford Benjamin
BEFORE HE KNEW IT, and out of the blue, the assailant was at the driver’s side of the car and shot him through the head. The Professor was stone cold dead. The man then took a gun from his coat pocket and rub the weapon on the Professor’s hand and then dropped it in the seat next to him, then hurried back to his car to retrieve a half-gallon of gas and poured some in the man’s mouth. Shortly, he pulled in at a gas station and did a little of spending the penny and squeeze the lemon. Ten minutes later, and after hearing a clink-clink-clink and then a loud clicking sound, he left the washroom, and then tore the hell out of there, on wheels going ka-ching ka-chink, and crying like a baby with wet diapers, the sounds riward, upward then fading in midair. Not long after, he was resting at a ramshackle bombed-out stinking ass motel, with one light and a broken mangy toilet seat. It was a place only visited by a one-legged blind-eyed sweetheart living the life married to an old lame-ass named Jojo, looking every bit like the living dead. When morning arrived, he tore all hell out of there to an address unknown.
Chapter
40
“NEVER AGAIN WILL A single story be told as though it’s the only one.” Weeks later, Ed shouted to his wife, his voice ringing throughout the house, saying, “You’ve got to check this out, Hon.” Noting the urgency in her husband’s tone of voice, she entered the room and sat down next to him on the sofa. “What’s going on?” “Look,” he said, pointing the finger at the T.V., seeing POTUS of this nation adorned in full regal in a Klan’s outfit from head to toe, the only exception being was the visibility of his face, with apparent delight. Realizing what was taking place, she said, “I don’t know, Hon.” He looked at her sideways, in total disbelief, saying to her, “What in the hell do you mean I don’t know?” “That’s what I said, that’s all.” “Can’t you see it?” “See what?” That,” he said, pointing again at the T.V. “For Christ Sake, this guy, our president, mind you, is trying his damnedest to send what’s sure to be a clear message as to which side he’s on, can you believe it?” She said, “Is it rectified?” “Rectified?”
Clifford Benjamin
“YEAH, RECTIFIED, LIKE impeached, thrown out of office. So it’s not hard to imagine.” Ed calmed down, his pulses racing then, managed to say, “To be honest, I don’t know, Hon.” She said, “You don’t know? You should. You’re the attorney general, and you doubt impeachment?” She threw up her hands in frustration, got up to walk to the kitchen, on the way saying to him, “I’ve got to start putting dinner together. I don’t have the least idea what it will be.” She stormed off, saying, “Keep me posted, will you, okay?” Ed just sat there mummified, his tongue now stuck to the root of his mouth. He was having difficulty trying to unravel the disturbing charade. To think his president had taken things to an entirely new level, something that was sure to get a ton of criticism not only in America but around the entire cotton-picking world. To think, with violence taking place, police killing hoards of innocent citizens, undeniably primarily blacks, and for this to happen was well beyond the pale, something no American president would dare dream to happen. What was occurring in its intensity was sheer madness, to even slow thinking beings. He knew he still struggled daily with discipline, but he liked habit more than punishment. A pattern is something you do without thinking. You don’t have to be discipline to have an addiction. You do. As he continued to think, an element of fear cruised through his troubling brain.
Chapter
41
SOMETIME LATER AND back at the Capital, Ed said to POTUS, “It’s fullblown outlandish, I tell you?” POTUS asked him, “What in God’s name are you implying, Ed?” “I’m just saying that not only people that are democrats but the Goddamn white supremacist riled up.” “Tell me how so knuckle-brain?” Ed ignored the comment and instead said, “As to the news, just yesterday, a white supremacist had the gall to walk into a local supermarket and stabbed and shot 15 people, mostly blacks.” POTUS’s eyes opened wider. “You kidding, it’s got to be.” “What I’m talking about is no Tomfoolery is how I see it.” Months later, and with the democrats in a stir, POTUS was facing impeachment. Sadly, the republicans got in lockstep behind him and ruled him not guilty. Now he had dodged a bullet; the very notion ricocheted around the world in total disbelief over the fact that he was not held liable. Granted a clean slate, it rendered him close to being a god. Ed clapped his hands. “Interesting, it is exciting.” POTUS eyes were squint, and then said, “Burn, baby, burn, is how I see it.” Ed said, “Think about it, POTUS. And moms and dads were too?” “I accepted the off, but everyone was there except me.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED MANAGED TO SAY, “I it, we are opposites, POTUS.” Like POTUS was in another world, he said, “I please, I satisfy, that’s about it.” Ed just stood there, thinking, ‘From dirge to the flatterer, it wasn’t too big of a leap.’ POTUS then said, “I harm, I hurt,” as if smiling at the moon. “So that’s how it is?” “Look, the man is not the man who has lost his reason. The man is the man who has lost everything except his reason. That’s it and rests my case. Got any other thing I need to resolve?” “Come to think, yeah.” “What is it now?” “The horrible fact is, just yesterday, a staunch white supremacist entered a local supermarket and stabbed and shot 15 people, mostly black, just as I told you before.” “My God, I think that's awful.” “Exactly, thirteen were black, the rest white.” “That’s sad, but what do you want from me? Neither should I have to point out that I’m no president Johnson nor a Kennedy by any stretch?” “I know—know you’re not.” POTUS asked, “So what exactly are you saying?” “I done told you, already.” “Look, Ed, obviously most Democrats are enemies of the state. I get that.” Ed agreed but replied, “What are we going to do to stop the violence by a white
supremacist. Just slap them on the wrist and say that we understand and that we love you bit.” “You tell me, Ed.”
Zombie
ED WENT ON FURTHER to say, “I’ve seen Amish people around the country standing with blacks speaking on what has occurred. Now, it’s ironic that white supremacists use poison to fan the flames of resistance and went out their way to do it.” “Don’t look at me,” said POTUS, “I wasn’t even there. I was home trying to be the best father, with daughter and my son.” Ed said, “The thing is, I think you should settle down before you have a heart attack. We both are not getting any younger. I’m willing to shoulder the burden with you to help you see things from a different perspective. All you have to do is ask.” POTUS said, “I hear you. But, now that I thought about it, I do feel a little beat.” “Yeah,” said Ed, “then go home, go home now, this minute. I’ll keep an eye on things and keep the ship tidy; you and I’ve been at it much, much too long.” He watched POTUS leave.
Chapter
42
THE VERY NEXT DAY, at first light, POTUS, a natural-born Hun, full of huff and puff with a heart of darkness, was sitting on his hunkers, sporting a five o’clock shadow. After sipping on some mild hurricane, he said, “There’s something I’ve been contemplating for a while,” disinterestedness keeping him interesting one hundred percent, hunching his back to retrieve a document that had fallen onto the floor. Ed said to him, “I hope it’s not blowing your brains out.” “Oh, you can be a joke sometimes, Ed. “I’m impressed you’re not saying I am a total wreck.” They both laughed. “The thing is, I’m working on putting a squad together,” said POTUS. “Interesting, exactly, what kind of squad?” “What?” “Did you hear? What kind of squad?” With a perplexed look, POTUS said, “How do I know.” “You don’t?” “What am I, some talking parrot? Next, you’ve been asking me to jump up and fly to the Havens.” “You are not answering my question.” “What?” “I’m still waiting.” POTUS said, “Why don’t we change the subject?”
Zombie
“I DON’T THINK YOU’RE straight,” Ed said, “I asked you a simple question. I want a simple answer. That shouldn’t be hard at all.” POTUS finally threw up his hands and said, “I get it we’re not talking about cowboys and Indians, am I right?” “Now we’re getting somewhere. For a time there, I couldn’t help but think you were losing it.” As he was in a trance, POTUS said, “It’s good to be big, Ed. I’m talking humongous,” he said, fishing for compliments. “We’re talking about the squad, am I right? What will be the task or tasks at hand? Are we fighting gorillas or alligators in the wild? It’s just something I need to know before going forward, that’s all.” “If we do, do what you are implying you’re sure to be the first to know.” “Great.” POTUS leaned closer to him and whispered ever so softly, “Killing the Pop, for one.” “Do you mean the one in—?” “The Vatican,” said POTUS, looking back at him in the eye. “Mother of God,” Ed said, wondering if he heard correctly. “I know what you’re thinking. And I tell you, this thing is as real as it comes. I’m not just blowing smoke. It’s sure to be something to tell your grandkids around a fire on a cold winter’s night.” “I got you. It sure sounds like it is going to be something.” “You got that right, partner, that’s for sure ... something to stump your feet and holler to the wolves from a steep mountaintop.” “Woo wee,” it's going to be something once you get cracking.”
POTUS said, “That’s for sure, real as diamonds in a hock shop.”
Clifford Benjamin
“IS THAT SO?” “Right on, like straight out of Hollywood, it’ll be” POTUS said, “All I need is for some leaders of some unclosed countries to be gone.” “You mean like wiped out?” “You damn straight. In time you will see, I’m not whispering Dixie.” “So, you’re saying just a matter of time, huh?” “You said it; I didn’t.” They cackled, laughing their heads off, winking back at one another, imagining the flowing windfall about to come to fruition, like two, not long ago, chattering windbags, wanting not to let go, no thought for others, no thought for self. Once things settled, Ed asked POTUS, “What else or who else will be involved?” “I can tell you this; not for once have I imagined how it would feel. I wasn’t born yesterday. What I’m talking about is no damn dream; it’s real. Right now, I can tell you, and it’s not a few; not a soul knows about it other than the ones just approved. I tell you, this is something to be not at home with.” Ed said, “Hooked to fellow travelers on the money.” “See, that’s one of the keywords floating around.” “You say money.” “Exactly, you see, there’s no middle point we’re talking about; the gem here is the possibility we all involved can become rich beyond our means. The thing is, it’s no rhubarb, rhubarb, no empty talk; the challenge is, we must keep getting things to another level, you feel me?” “Sure.”
Zombie
“FANTASTIC, STICK WITH me; I’ll get you out that chalet you reside. Hold up, hold up. My intentions are not to insult you. It’s to help you and your wife.” Ed told him, “I must tell you, my wife and I are not lazybones, but more of a leading light. Just part of our human nature, I guess.” “I understand. So, Ed, my piece of advice is to keep your chalice handy because you never know when the greens will land in your direction. By the way, you’re not yourself today.” “Thanks—I think I’m getting sick—I’ve been experiencing terrible headaches and drainage, and I’ve just begun to develop a sore throat as well.” POTUS looked at him curiously and then said, “Oh, you’ll be all right. You need some rest. That usually gets you back and running; why don’t you go home and get that rest. I’m alright.” Ed said, “I think you’re right; I can use some downtime; it’s sure to do me just fine. So look, I do like your idea and ready to work at it when you’re ready.” POTUS dwelled in possibility. No one knew better than him that his life had stood—a loaded gun, guided by a certain slant of light, having fears that he might cease to be. “Thank you, Ed. I tell you, it’s going to be an easy thing. The good thing is, as of now, you’re on the payroll. I remind you, this thing is not a chameleon; the chain of reasoning is that it’s real, real as you can imagine. So, we should stop the chatter and get real. Trust me; not one involved is in the business of misbehaving at no time. We all are devoted to a cause, and that is liberty—freedom. No misbehavior will be allowed. Mark my word, that’s something you can count on, no matter how you split the apple.”
Clifford Benjamin
ED KNEW POTUS HAD NERVE talking like that. “What are you now, a philosopher?” “I think not.” “Sound like it. I know sounding like it doesn’t make it so.” “Maybe so, maybe not, I think,” said POTUS. Leaving, Ed said to him, “Got to run see you in the morn.” He left the office, looking beat; he was acquainted with the night, as a noiseless patient spider crept alone, after shipping from Africa to America by freight in a howling storm hidden in the baggage of a crooked man without a dream, whose nerves sat like Tombs. They say, beware of the wolf at a rundown dark-lit Laundromat, also aware when something terrible happens to us; we go numb, and our heart stops functioning normally. A strange hollowness inhabits our mind and body, and we start to dig out that something has occurred most recently, or that of a century ago. Although we catch the regular pace of life, yet that strange feeling steals the absolute joy of life, leaving us in a state of despair. We try our level best to be strong and unshakeable, but all goes in vain. As humans, we through the stages of grief. In the beginning, the hard blow of tragedy gets on our nerves, and everything around us seems frozen in time. Later, with time, that incident becomes a memory.
Chapter
43
AS HUMAN BEINGS, WE begin to lose all sense of rationality when emotions drive us. Furthermore, as human beings, we have this innate desire to fit in. It’s a kind of follow-the-herd mentality. It’s about creating an urge amongst people to become a part of the “in-crowd.” Ed’s days became a blur of meaningless events—wake up, brush teeth, make the coffee, get the mail, fix dinner, watch T.V. It was hard to keep depression at bay. Meanwhile, across the waters, at the crack of dawn, in one part of town, the Vatican, that is, the code-breakers are getting ready to pull off the most extraordinary feat of their lives. At the same time, on the other side of town, the police are getting ready for the sting operation to bring the mob to its knees. Perhaps, in the third part of town, the kingpin’s wife gives birth to their first child in a hospital. Of course, the viewer could not “be” in all those places at once; but by cutting quickly from one scene to another, one can get an idea of the actual hard facts taking place. To begin with, the Pope, along with his motorcade, stopped at a Café on the north side of town. The Pope’s traveling church flock included about 30 people, such as the Vatican clergy and employees of the Vatican press office, in addition to agents hired to watch his back.
Clifford Benjamin
ONCE INSIDE, AND COBBLED together, but sitting at different tables at arm’s length, as the agents sat with their hands on their flintlocks, common as apple pie, they were the machinery necessary to keep the Pope alive. The Pope said to one of his constituents, “We celebrated my birthday here,” pausing a moment to gulp down some delicious seafood. He then said, “I adore this place because of the variety of cuisines such as Contemporary, European, Italian, Mediterranean, and lastly Seafood, some of which, as you can see, we’re consuming now.” Just tables away sat a young man, commonly known as a lothario, and a bit of fluff, loose-limbed woman. Within moments, the woman confusingly thought her boyfriend was about to break up with her because he had been acting, distracted, and distant. He bought her an engagement ring and was nervous that she wouldn’t say yes. So, he calls her one afternoon and says, “I need to see you. Meet me at the Café at six o’clock.” She’s sure he’s going to break up with her. But when she arrived, he’s set up a beautiful proposal with a string quartet, dozens of roses, and a colossal sparkler of a diamond. Knowing it was Lord’s Day, the Pope watched the young lovebirds lord it over each other as they celebrated their occasion at great length. He also noticed there were no loose morals between the two. It was evident to him the two were in the loop and not just looking for kicks. Soon the two would take in the silver screen just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Their relationship was Simon Pure. It was true; they would have their silver wedding—special day, or this, that or the other, right to the bitter end.
Zombie
AFTER AN HOUR, GIVE or take, the Pope sipping on a soft drink, and his flock’s bellies were full, they left out, getting back into ten or more designated cars, as the floating population, consisting of fools and cowards, asylum seekers, drifted along the streets. Once on the road, and nothing out of the obvious, the Pope settled in and began looking at the scenery, something he always found comforting. As they rode along, he thought of the geography of Vatican City, which was unique due to the country’s position as an urban, landlocked enclave of Rome, Italy, with an area of 49 ha 121 acres, or 0.19 sq mi, that was the world’s smallest independent state. His wary ancient eyes noted that Outside Vatican Cities were thirteen buildings in Rome and Castel Gandolfo, his summer residence, enjoying extraterritorial rights. Just the sight warmed the cockles of his heart; something he knew was there since the cobwebs of history. His territorial mind then ed walking around the area near Saint Peter’s Square and the Vatican Museums, seeing one place after another. Some were setdown restaurants; others were just coffee bars. Most of these were either poor quality or a rip-off. Suddenly, ten masked men appeared on motorcycles in line of sight of the pop’s entourage. To add more irons to the fire, each of the men bore automatic weapons and wore cartoon masks covering their entire face, depicting the face of Ab Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, and several other nobles, followed by a black armored truck for backup.
Clifford Benjamin
JUST THE SIGHT BROUGHT a chill to some of the member’s bones. There was a point that was indicative of something evil. But, as things stood, there was no way of knowing the gang of cyclist authenticity. Within moments, the cyclist made it clear of their intention and open fire, bullets bouncing off windows, doors, and vehicles outside. Without a moment to lose, the lead vehicle’s wheels peeled off, the rest following suit, with the cyclist and armored vehicle giving chase. After plowing down streets after streets, the Pope’s group of vehicles came to a screeching halt at a brick and mortar building, commonly known as the Vatican Museums. They then jumped out and pussyfooted into the building ducking and dodging a barrage of bullets, their pursuer on their heels, losing five agents at the drop of a hat. They eventually ended up in the auditorium hiding behind seats, affording them minimal cover, as bullets penetrated the atmosphere, and then stopped at the sound of a baby’s cry. A worshiper had elected to stay behind to pray; without knowing the church would be in a push-button war, causing her life to be in danger. It was not the time to be exuberant or merry or there to be a fig leaf to one’s imagination. The parishioner, realizing she would have the devil to pay if she did not get herself together quickly, without a moment to lose, grabbed her pocketbook, and with baby in hand, she ran from the building, not once looking back.
Zombie
ONCE SHE HAD MADE THE great escape, the back and forth shooting resumed; during this time, the Pope, along with several other persons, managed to make their way outside Vatican City into someone’s home. The Pope quickly made it clear they had been under fire and could use some help. The man of the house bowed his head and told them he would call the authorities. Then, feeling relieved, the Pope assured his followers they were okay and safer once the police arrive. Excepting the Pope of the group, there was no dry eye; they stood there shaking and mumbling for God to come to save them. None were the wiser as to what was about to occur. The fact of the matter was they were about to be sadly mistaken.
Chapter
44
AFTER A SHORT PERIOD, and with not one chance in a million, they were napping when there was an authoritative knock on the door. The man of the house went and opened the door, jumping back just as some impertinent beast of burden dressed in white budged their way inside with guns drawn and quickly made short thrift of the Pope’s situation, saying aloud, “And gets down on the floor you bastards.” It was clear these men were no crème de la crème or persons of repute. The scene was about to be crimson. Within minutes, and without any detailed instruction, the Pope was willing to comply. Without one word said, all were shot right there and then, killing them instantly. Many had known that the men and women would have a shot at Celestial City. The shooters then deliberated for a moment or two. Then having made up their minds, they shot the rest of the residents of the home. Guess they figured ‘Dead Men Can’t Talk.’ Sadly, the destroyer of reputations devised a plan of action that had worked— chapter and verse. About an hour later, on the other side of town, the news flash was terrorist killed the Pope. The authorities shut down their sting, only to go at again. On that day, police were a success raking in a ton of cash and drugs.
Clifford Benjamin
THE KINGPIN’S WIFE gave birth to a healthy baby girl in another town a mile away on a different front. The police were not about kicking the scheme to the curb to bring down the mob; it would take much more time. As things stand, things were quiet on the home front, without any mystery attached, that is to say, except in the case of their Pope vanquished completely. But, regardless, it was sure to be the crown mystery of all times for quite a long time.
Chapter
45
IT WAS A WILD AND WINDY unruly night as lightning streaked across the sky, while threatening clouds lingered, when around 4:45 am and pitch black without the light of the moon, POTUS slipped past his security, standing watch out front of his building. The men pulled the collar on their coats up around their head as the roaring storm, winds so furious, the gusts, struck high buildings in town, stripping off their roofs, as violent blasts of rain accompanying the rages of scolding wind, played hide-and-go-seek among the trees. It is known, all too well, that air hates crowdedness, and, when compressed, it will try to escape to an area of lower pressure. If it’s true, well, that’s more than reasonable. But let us move on with the narrative. We carry on with: the road was devoid of motion, and there wouldn’t be any stranger danger than what was about to be discovered. Before POTUS left to go out, his favorite jeans, bitter after years of overuse, finally and spitefully ripped down the middle. So, he wore a pair of one of his suits. Now, he was hiding behind a tree that looked like it was worried. He then glanced up at a sparrow talking to him, as just two arms lengths away, an obscure bird clamored the livelong night, above droop-headed flowers below. With weeping clouds all around, some say the earth was feverous and did shake.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN GLANCED OVER at a happy brook flowing ever so slowly. As he stood there, the low clouds darkened his mood. But he was determined not to let anything interfere with the task ahead. He breathed deeply and then exhaled, knowing he had purposely positioned himself where the chalk wall falls to the foam and its tall ledges. He had to use every bit of caution because he knew “what you own ends up owning you.” POTUS had an itch to out-and-out kill a black person. But never till tonight, never till now, did he planned on actually going through with it. After watching Sarah Cynthia Stout taking her garbage out, he wandered lonely as a cloud for several blocks. POTUS then ducked into an overgrowth behind an apartment complex; he then surreptitiously began checking for unlocked access and unlashed windows; he then smashed his way into the back of an apartment, then deftly and lightly, he entered the dark apartment undetected. He then crawled inside and stabbed the man in his bed in the abdomen and chest. A neighbor heard the commotion and went to investigate. Upon seeing the man approaching, POTUS ran off. The victim ended at the Medical Centre for surgery, where he was “fighting for his life.” Once POTUS returned home, he clicked on the TV. A Detective who was leading the investigation said, “This is a horrific incident which has left a man fighting for his life, and his family who was upstairs at the time are incredibly shocked and upset by the ordeal. The victim is in the intensive care unit and is currently in a serious but stable condition. Detectives are working hard to establish the circumstances and process the investigation quickly as possible.”
Zombie
“FURTHERMORE, WE ARE continuing to make inquiries and are determined to bring those responsible to justice, and we would reassure the public that reports such as this taken seriously.” “Oh, I forgot to mention that the assailant dressed in all black with a hood and dark shades. And according to our findings so far, the attacker was white. Since this was an attack consisting of white on black, it’s too soon to call it is a racist affair. We will keep you posted as the investigation ensues further. We have hoped the suspect will be apprehended. Some people may consider what happened and believe they can’t if the victim was bored. I have no comment on that. One thing I will say, although it’s a bit speculation, some may glean an angel may have saved this man’s life or that it’s either stressed or desserts. I say if the atmosphere is silent, then listen. Furthermore, as to this situation, take it as the eyes, they see, or that you know a gentleman, you see an elegant man, or you see a funeral, you see real fun. It’s never really about that. Or eleven plus two is the same as twelve plus one. Anyway, may the Fourth of July be happy. Well, folks, that’ll be all for now. Thank you.” Alone, at last, POTUS smiled and felt no malice; he then taped his frontal lobes, closed his eyes, and held his breath. Then shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he beat upon himself for not finishing the job as the situation loomed like a guillotine. He then drank a large glass of swill and smoked a poorly rolled t of hashish. Then he sipped on a plastic bottle filled with vodka and coke.
Clifford Benjamin
AND DESPITE THE DONNYBROOK and threat of reinventing the wheel, he was determined to return to the Hospital. Just before leaving, his cat princess looked at him. At that moment, it struck him that one of those cats thinks devious thoughts. He shook his head to shake off the idea.
Chapter
46
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, and the situation a night thing, he was warm and buzzing when he arrived at the designated location. It didn’t take long for him to hide in a dressing room for staff only, fully aware of what was happening. It’s believed that doctors can be the scruffiest people in hospitals, often wearing jeans and sweatshirts. And that was the state of clothing within the profession that is a complete mess. While people walked around wearing all sorts of seriously non-professionalizing outfits. But others without regret the white coat had vanished. So, knowing this fact, he just put on the usual, with one exception, adding a mask to cover the lower parts of his face. Although there would be nine nice night nurses nursing nicely, equating to a teeming womb of royal kings, groomed, and perfumed, working hour to hour, he would manage to evade their noticing his presence. With the words “this little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine,” ringing in his head, and after ing a girl with a pearl earring, satisfied, he then made his way into the elevator and took it to the top floor. Once he got to the designated level, he exited with a clipboard in his hands to look doctor-like, strolling from room to room until he saw a cop sitting in a chair next to the victim’s room.
Clifford Benjamin
AS IF TO HAVE A HEART-to-heart chat, POTUS then approached the officer and asked for a light. POTUS stuck him with a hypodermic needle as the officer turned to get his lighter out of his carrying case. At hand in hand combat, the officer, true to his nature, increased the odds by striking POTUS below the elbow and then threw another blow missing his chin by an inch. From the looks of things, the cop was about to make a comeback, but it was not to be. As the drug took effect, the officer’s body drew limp and was about to fall to the floor; at that very second, POTUS caught him. And thinking all for one and one for all, and it is what it is, he then dragged him into a nearby utility room, placing the cop in a closet, mumbling to himself: “Sorry, not sorry, and boys will be boys.” It was over, so fast that the officer had no time to taste the state of his injury. On the flip side, POTUS hadn’t enough time to brag or fully grab onto the moment. But he won; it was all that count. He returned to the room, took another needle, and injected the officer, rendering him a lost cause. Subsequently, he staggered to the bathroom cubicle, sat down on the toilet, and rested his head against the tiles during the interlude of calm. He woke up when a thruster banged on the toilet door. “If there’s anyone in here, I must tell you I’m on a schedule and must clean this restroom. I will be back in ten minutes.” While leaving the flibbertigibbet inside of the restroom, she left hastily.
Zombie
HE LOST NO TIME GETTING himself together, tidying his clothes, making himself more personable. He then opened the door, and with the alarms sounding, televisions blasting, rattling trolleys, phones ringing, he took the elevator to the Main Lobby, getting out of Dodge as fast as possible. He would still squirm at times, thinking of that night and considered it was time he met his inner demon. He had often confronted the dark parts of himself and worked to banish them with illumination and forgiveness, but it was to no avail. He was aware his willingness to wrestle with his demons would cause his angels to sing. He had tried using the pain as fuel, as a reminder of his strength, sadly none of it worked. He did note that one of the sad truths of life is that there’s only one person in this vale of tears that we ever really know, and it’s ourselves. We’re essentially and forever alone. Yet, the truth is we are all far more alike than we are different. We are all human. That’s something he begged to differ because he did not believe black people were equal to white people. It was something that would stay intact throughout the cobwebs of antiquity. Another sad part was, he didn’t give a damn whether anyone agreed or disagreed with what he felt about people below the salt and didn’t give one damn if he drifted out of the mainstream of society or that his exploits become hugely magnified by the silent majority. The thing was, he had no time for that. Most of all, he loved it when his victim’s voice sounded like a castrated cat.
Clifford Benjamin
OFTEN WHEN HIS INNER demon appeared, he would go rat on them, loudly screaming, “Shut the hell up! I got work to do,” then threw a cup against the wall. He also knew every hero possesses a flaw. Superman was vulnerable to kryptonite. Han Solo is brave to the point of recklessness. Trouble was what’s his? He even asked why. He couldn’t answer, if even if he asked why again, he couldn’t answer. Whether it was justice or injustice, freedom or imprisonment, honesty or deception, love or indifference, and so on, he was determined not to compromise on what he believed in and didn’t give a damn if his life crumbled because of it. After a time, he even abandoned logic. So damaged was he, he stated one time, “Would you believe it, Ernest Hemingway and I, we go way back. Heck, I would also believe it if I told you while in college, I got an Aminus on a 300-word composition about the Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway. On another note: Today, I dealt with 147 emails, 37 what are App messages, five 21 text messages, and three missed calls. Today was a good day. Did I tell you, when I was young, I gave my girlfriend my first draft to read. She told me she hated it. So I burnt down her house. And to poke fun at some prevailing wisdom, I once read Oscar Wilde said, “When I was young, I thought that money was the most important thing in life. Now that I’m old—I know it is.” To top that, Homer Simpson once said, “Bart, a woman is like a beer. They look good, smell good, and you’d step over your mother just to get one! And to inject some self-deprecation into things, while being an amateur writer, a fellow writer told me, “I think writers should get paid what they’re worth.
Zombie
SO I WROTE MYSELF A check for a dollar, then said, ‘after spending a day writing, I love nothing more than unwinding at a good book burning.’ I couldn’t help but chuckle.”
Chapter
47
IT WAS A RAINY DAY, a stormy day, raining in the morning. It rained through the evening. It rained doing the night, till many wet souls cries came from the south-west and sat in during April, meeting the qualifications to put in that category of monsoon, the equivalence to being a virtual monster of a storm. Then the next day, Ed went with POTUS to upstate New York to go Bungee jumping. Upon arriving, Ed said, “I need a beer to calm my nerves.” He crouched down on the ground, and while the bungee instructor undid the cord, he pressed his shaking hands onto the wet concrete. “God, it’s good to be back down here with you,” he said to POTUS. POTUS slapped him on the back. “I didn’t think you’d jump,” he said. “I too,” said Ed. To say ‘jump’ was a bit of a stretch. He knew he’d just fallen through the air like a white egg on a string, and although his plunge lasted just a few seconds, he hated every moment. Still, he felt good about proving his hecklers wrong. But that night, he told POTUS, “I’ll never climb up a crane or jump off one like that again. We’re not supposed to fall through the air at such speed. And besides, I just realized I hate heights.” “Who knew?” said my friend. “Me. Or at least, I do now. But, no, that’s not the sound of my oversized ego banging off the ceiling.” POTUS asked, “Ego. What do you know about it?”
Clifford Benjamin
“I KNOW SOMETHING.” “Something like what?” “Like I said—” “Something,” POTUS said, cutting him off.” “Ed said, “The English word ‘ego’ is the Latin word for “I.” Translated ego means “I.” “Bravo,” POTUS said, clapping his hands. “You do have something upstairs, don’t you?” “Ah, sort of, you can say.” “Since you know that,” said POTUS, “I guess you know the other two parts of the mind. So there are three in total.” “Nah, I did at one time, though.” POTUS said, “I won’t stress you any further.” “So, what are the other two?” “The superego and id, they are.” “I see.” POTUS just looked away, his demons returning. Lately, he has been a bit on the low just thinking about his mother. Whenever he thought of her, it brought about sorrow. He was aware excessive sorrow impairs the lungs. He knew just what he had to do. POTUS said to Ed as they were going to separate apartments, “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I will say good night till it is tomorrow.” POTUS bristled at the thought that the clock stopped and the phone cut off. He would have to look into it.
Chapter
48
THAT NIGHT WAS, IN actuality, a daily night; POTUS was able to give his secret service the slip. He then hid behind a large shed entered and didn’t leave until a little over an hour. The next day was bright and sunny. POTUS said to Ed, “I have a feeling today is going to be a spectacular day.” “You think that?” “Sure, sure, I do. Don’t look at me like that.” “What?” “You know damn well what I meant. You are acting like I can’t look ahead.” Ed said, “You’re reading me wrong, my friend.” “I have you to know whenever I get a feeling like this, and I’m mostly never wrong—” “Right on the money, as they say, huh?” “Exactly—I see you got my meaning.” “I have, thank you. Now, let’s get breakfast. I’m starving.” “That makes for the two of us.” They went to the cafeteria and noticed right off the big black fellow sitting at the table with four white women, along with a real silver fox, meaning an attractive older muscled white guy.
Clifford Benjamin
“SO, TELL ME, HERCULES,” the pretty brown-haired woman asked, her enormous dangle earrings dragged on her lobes like terrified bungee jumpers too heavy for their cords. “What were you doing before coming here?”—it was easy to see just how obsessed she was with him. Hercules smiled at her and flexed his board shoulders, looking from one to the other, assured of himself. “I attended Santa Monica’s “Muscle Beach” that landmark derives its name from the growing local and national reputation of gymnastics and strength athletes who congregated at what was first known simply as the Santa Monica Beach Playground, with the ‘muscle’ term gaining momentum by 1940.” Another one of the women with bright green eyes and flawless complexion suited her heart-shaped face and drew attention wherever she went and, sitting reasonably close to him, asked, “Do you mind?” He smiled and said, “Do I mind what?” Her face went flush, apparently not wanting to overstep her bounds. She pointed at the muscled bicep. “Yes, that’s okay. I am used to people touching me.” She licked her oral muscle over her lips and then reached over and touched his bicep. “God, how long did it take for you to get this big, or should I say humongous, or should I say muscle-bound and Super Fitness.” “Yes, you’re quite accurate.” Leaning over closer, she said to him, “Lend me your ear.” He leaned over closer as she whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was said, it caused his face to break out in a profuse smile. Hercules told her, “Used to work at Armonk.”
Zombie
“IBM?” SHE COMMENTED. “My, my, you do have a head on your shoulders.” Hercules, the forever ladies man, said to her, “I, also, once entered in Muscleman Competition in Beijing, and later stayed in Beverly Hills for a stint and then moved to Foggy Bottom in Washington, DC.” “How nice,” she said, winking her eye at him. It sounds like you’ve been everywhere to Timbuktu.” POTUS had had enough. “Let’s get out of this dump,” he said to Ed, more like a command, thinking of walking over and basking Hercules but knowing it could get pretty ugly him with his prominent little lies. “What?” Ed said, looking down at his plate. “I haven’t finished loading my gut yet. This dish is delicious, of chicken wings, coleslaw, and green beans.” POTUS said, “You can make it up at dinner,” smiling a sad smile. Ed dropped his head then looked at POTUS. “Okay, don’t forget you owe me one,” absently thinking of his garage as an organized mess. POTUS cut his eyes over at Hercules and then looked at Ed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Now, let’s go, will you? I don’t want to ruin this wonderful, beautiful day. We haven’t taken in the scenery that much.” Before they got up to leave, POTUS heard that same woman gazing at Hercules, asking him another question. But POTUS had had too much of it. So, they got up and strolled out of the building, POTUS glancing on and off back at Hercules as his security brought up the rear.
Chapter
49
SHORTLY, THE TWO WERE sitting on a bench next to the Bungee Jump. POTUS said, “When we get back, I’ll see you in the West Wing. I’ll make sure the Vice-President, and Cabinet, and senior officials are present. Oh, yeah, I’ll make sure the press is there. As they say, you can’t have more types of fake news than real news. I—I Know I never tell the truth. Oh, well, when it comes down to it, I sketch my world precisely as it goes. One other thing, I have arranged for the Al Capone to be there.” Ed looked at how rot had eaten the core of the oak stump, leaving a mossy hollow for forest creatures to nest in. He then said to POTUS, “Aren’t they the White Supremacist who is said to have kidnapped a six-year-old black child from his bed and out-and-out killed him by boiling him in scolding water then hanged his body from a rope?” POTUS said, “It was never proven, even though there was a trial by jury. So they got off without being found guilty.” “If you asked me,” said Ed, I figure under the auspicious of a rigged jury. I know you don’t see it that way; I can respect that. But—” “Look, Ed, why don’t we just shelve that in the corner for now, okay?” said POTUS, feeling or displaying indifference, indecision, or an inability to do something.
Zombie
ED MADE A GESTURE RAISING and dropping his shoulders, which often means that one does not know something. He then said, “Fine by me. I certainly don’t have any other way to tamp on the discussion.” POTUS said, “Look, why don’t we just skip that and think about something pleasant. That’s if it’s alright with you.” “I have no problem with that.” “I was just thinking.” “About what are you thinking?” POTUS sighed, “What’s freedom worth to you? What would you pay to be free?” “Ed said, “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” “It’s not easy to answer that question, I know,” said POTUS, looking around. “The thing is some people spend their whole lives chasing an idea of freedom, without considering its costs... so they spend far too much, to achieve far less than they wanted.” “I see,” feeling as if POTUS had manufactured the idea himself. “What, do you see?” POTUS said, feeling as if he was essential. He went on to say, “Would you feel free if you had a million dollars?” “Hell yeah,” said Ed, his eyes becoming more alert. POTUS said, “Would you work full time for 40-plus years to build a milliondollar nest egg? Many people do. Most people never get there. If you’re even a tenth of the way there right now, you’re ahead of most folks—the median American household only has $65,000 saved for retirement.” “Okay, please go on.” POTUS then said, “And let’s be honest with each other... $65,000 isn’t a lot of
money.
Clifford Benjamin
“MAYBE NOT A LOT, BUT I could use something like that right about now.” “You can’t retire on $65,000, POTUS said. “You can retire with a million dollars ... if you know how to manage your investments and expenses so you’ll never run out of money. Never worrying that you’ll run out of money truly feels like freedom to me; I haven’t worried about it for a long, long time. And I’m not pinching pennies over here, Ed.” “I see that.” “Give me a great steak over Hamburger Helper any day. Of course, I’ll keep my vacations, and I’ll keep spending on the occasional splurge. But, hey, I’ve got grandchildren to spoil!” “Yeah, I know; they are quite the looker.” POTUS smiled and then said, “After all, what’s the point of having money if you can’t enjoy it, Ed? But let’s be honest again you’ll probably need more than a million dollars if you don’t want to pinch your pennies in retirement. Never worrying while still enjoying your money however you like; that is freedom. Freedom might cost a million dollars, or two million, or five million. Because freedom isn’t a hard target with a dollar sign attached to it.” “Sounds every bit like freedom can be something else, Ed said. “Damn straight. It’s simply a matter of being able to enjoy doing whatever you want, without ever worrying about how you’re going to pay for it. But you won’t be free with just $65,000.” “Oh?” “As I said, “$65,000 isn’t a lifesaver.” “Oh?”
Zombie
“YES—THERE ARE A FEW ways to turn your nest egg into a million dollars, or two, or five, whether you’re starting with $65,000, $650,000, or even just $6,500. You could put it all in an index fund, contribute some money every month till you retire, and otherwise try not to think about your nest egg at all. If you do that for 20 years—adding $500 a month to an that starts with $65,000—and your index fund grows at about the same rate indexes have evolved in the past, you’ll wind up with almost a million dollars. “I say,” said Ed, “that’s quite a lot of dough.” “I’ll say it is ... about $967,000, to be exact. Would you feel free with $967,000?” “I say definitely.” “Now ... would you feel free with $15.5 million?” Ed’s eyes stretched wide to spot a germ on the floor. “Hell yeah, it is,” seeing the relevance now more transparent than ever, as opposed to times when he wasn’t well. He wasn’t aggressive. He was not focused. What a wonderful world the mine can be if you let it. POTUS continued, saying, “That’s oddly specific ... not to mention much larger ... amount is what you’d have if you used half of a $65,000 nest egg to trade options.” “Woo! My God, that was something.” POTUS said, “Can’t you tell? I am a deeply superficial person. The thing is, freedom frees you from having to say, I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you— nobody—too? I am now so free that cruel kindness drew me near and held me close. He paused.
Clifford Benjamin
HE THEN CONTINUED BY saying, “As they say, ‘ordinary riches normally are stolen,’ but natural riches cannot. The best way to make money is to spend money. Added to that is that it’s fancy terrible to know that yesterday’s gone on down the river. Once you’re free, you’re in a position to be the rainbow in someone’s cloud. And to know, life is a climb, but the view is excellent. And when there’s a mountain of work on my desk, I still feel free. So, now sometimes, I am indeed a good egg. Can you imagine that?” “Yes, I can do that, especially after my being poor and having had only my dreams.” POTUS smiled, “That’s why I know you know just what I’m referring to, my partner in crime, further making the chance of our lives to be a train wreck possible.”
Chapter
50
ED AND POTUS WERE STILL Bungie jumping when suddenly the air split when a woman in anguish screamed aloud, drawing people to rush toward the cry of desperation. In moments POTUS and Ed were standing over Hercules lying sprawled on the ground looking every bit damaged with his neck entangled in the bungee cord, almost lifeless. The same woman POTUS had seen in the cafeteria was cradling his neck with tears running down her face, crying out, and “Can someone please help him. He needs assistance; can’t you see?” At that very moment, a scream streaked through the atmosphere with a woman crying, “Help me, I’m seven months pregnant, and my husband is trying to kill me.” Considering it was a woman—and very pregnant at that— everyone ran to her rescue, everyone but POTUS. Only to see her in a car with her husband aiming a .357 magnum at her head, crying as he said, “I told you what would happen if I find out you’re messing around on me. It wouldn’t be too bad if it were some other guy, but it was my very own flesh and blood, my brother, for God’s sake. How could you sink so low as to do what you did? You know I’m a staunch Catholic. But despite that, you just had to go and get knocked up by him. You left me with no choice but to get redemption. I can’t see it any other way. Oh, God, once I kill you, I’m going to shoot myself.”
Clifford Benjamin
BETWEEN SOBS, THE WOMAN pleaded, “Please, Hon, you’re not thinking straight. Think about your mother, your father, and Little Joe. If you do this, they will be all alone. Please, Hon.” During this time, POTUS was standing over Hercules, still down on the ground. Taking advantage of the element of disguise and on the brink of madness, he became malicious and considered slapping him in the face but decided not to do it. Instead, he said, “Take this pussy,” then pressed his foot down hard on Hercule’s neck, but Hercules stopped struggling and just lay there with his eyes staring up at the sky. It was clear he was lifeless without a breath within his body. Sadly, a Secret Service Agent noticed what was happening and looked away, staring in the abyss, across the pond. So, too, the privilege and entitlement he felt were eerily disgusting. Even more so, he was not shocked how the encounter revealed the actual person, as the little birdie from the depth of his mind whispered, “Don’t tell me you’re still on the fence, asshole?” He didn’t know then, but he was just a world away from being mad, sure to be the around-the-clock epitome. Till now, no one was the wiser; it was his strong suit to be hard and cold wrestling with the forces of evil. Far, far, out was the new kid on the block. Till now, and at this point, he was unsurprisingly mysterious. It was to be just the tip of the iceberg. It was corny how the evil in his mind never failed to make him smile. Strangely, it was the jolt of joy he needed. Sadly the unprecedented details were sure to surface at some point. It was nighttime, and with the pregnant woman rescued, POTUS eyes fixed on a group of baby stars quadrillions of miles away. He was pleased that he had a knack for taking care of business on a one-to-one basis.
Zombie
THE PURE FACT WAS HE was a horrible human. But the more he thought about Hercule’s murder, the more he couldn’t get out of the staggering moment. As he tried to capture the moment, the cold hard facts reared their ugly head. If at all possible, it was to be a wake-up call. Regardless of how he tried, he couldn’t break free. Then gaining in confidence, his resilience took hold, every facet of his game tough as nails. It was now time to head back into the forest; it was the end game. Of all the fool’s gold, he chose this to be president. Soon it would be revenge day or day for vengeance. It was top-shelf for him to fight against blacks ever taking a sizable amount of control over their destiny. At least, it was his job; at least, he thought to keep his foot on their necks at every turn of the card. He was determined to make their lives terrifying, with no handouts. That would be too kind. He didn’t believe in the notion two hearts are better than one. No way, no how, Jack. Wait a minute, wasn’t it a crime against decency? To him, Cupid called it quits on that point. Then a little tiny voice whispered, “Have you met father brown yet?” No, he had not. But after entertaining the thought, he decided if he would see him, it may be a great awakening, not knowing it was his weakest link. The very next day, and going to church, he stood in a line waiting to see Father Brown. As he stood there, he glanced at the intricate shards of stained glass depicting The Last Supper in St. Bernadine’s Church humbling him.
Clifford Benjamin
THE HOURS AND DEDICATION to create such a work of art! His eyes followed the facets of colors to where they lifted into the window’s peak, and the sun hit the glass, drenching him in deep warmth. He could not help ing his love and sacrifice. Sixty minutes drifted by; he had to keep it together. It was apparent he did not measure up to being an American idol, especially not now. Soon, and with the church devoid of parishioners, he pulled the curtain aside, stepped in, and sat down. After an hour, he was more confused than ever. So much so that he walked around to the other side and strangled Father Brown with his own two hands and said to him, “Did anybody tell you to mess with the devil you get fucked?” It had sounded like it was the devil doing this awful deed. And with madness ringing in his ears, he then spat on his face and then left, no one the wiser to whom may have killed the priest. Later, there would be tons and tons of blue blood at the White House. Something that made him confident he had the chance to getting out of the shark tank. He was pleased his blown ego had not walloped out the door, looking back at him with sad eyes, but thinking instead, how like a runaway train he climbed the hill of his dreams, only to recognize there are more oceans to travel. It had been a tall task, but he got it done. At that point, it was then, his steadfast-blown ego went to work, turning the pages of destiny, only to find the wheels of justice to crawl into his life. Suddenly, muscle against brain, a finger of madness streaked across his troubling soul, racketing up the possibility of being caught to face justice’s forever turning wheel.
Zombie
HE SOON TIRED AND FELL off to sleep in his condescending bed. The massive wing stood high on his list. If at all possible, it was sure to be a new dawn, a new day. But you know how life goes. One can never tell what tomorrow brings. All in all, the prospects of him being the last man standing were too far away to tell. Meanwhile, he would try to make it his business to do his best to put it all together, piece it together. Later, no one brought it to light that Hercules had lost his life due to strangulation; nothing ever mentioned. The coroner was satisfied with the actual fundamental reason for his death. On the way back home to Washington, both POTUS and Ed were silent, thinking about what had occurred perhaps. Ed looked out the window of the 747 30,000 up in flight at the waning moon that hung in the night sky like the top of a shepherd’s crook, keeping watch over the world. He dozed off.
Chapter
51
“I’M WELL AWARE IT IS Operation Bigfoot ... get it done!” “Roger—over and out!” There was nothing more said. It was a direct order made by none other than POTUS at his behest. The implications were significant to the extent to mean a range of things such as killing a king, killing a foreign diplomat, or even dropping it to a lower level and kill a flea.
Chapter
52
OVER AT THE CAPITAL, POTUS sat brainstorming. His mind ran against time and knowing all holds barred, and his troubled mind was deeply aware there would be no jump-off point of differentiation. The fix was in for the taking. The ball was now rolling. All ducks were in a row; there was very little chance of stopping. Deep within, he knew if he were to fail, it would be cheer terror rendering him helpless at the highest level. He had to it just the thought of that happening was gut-wrenching. He was also aware it was particular to seal the deal, hoping with all his heart, he was not barking up the wrong tree, pitifully, for it was sure to be sheer skullduggery. It was too soon to tell if the horses had left the stable. It was clear he was pushing himself, the top of the moment coming through very low. But deep down, he knew it could be a good hustle that had elements to being a twister to some but not him, of course, because deep down, he was ready. He knew his plans in mind would be the longest ride ever but had to stay the course to bring down the house. POTUS, his under-eyeballs telling what time it was, said, “I hope to see you there.” He was in a one-bedroom apartment, with a fold-away door, a fold-away bed, and a table.
Clifford Benjamin
“I’LL BE THERE,” DENISE said, batting her Lafabs Magnetic Lashes, having won ‘Woman of The Year’ for the first time but planned to participate again the year following; plus, she was a drop-dead raving heart-stopper, dating men that fit her script. She was no money-grubber. She was all-natural, not one strain of fakeness in her. As soon as POTUS flicked on the TV, a news bulletin stated there had been an explosion at an Art Expedition, the Queen was fine. Denise raised her head and said to POTUS, “My God, who would do such a thing to the Queen.” POTUS responded, saying, “I don’t have the slightest, honey bun.” “Wait for a second,” she said, “I’m not blaming you, but didn’t you tell me—” POTUS intruded by saying, “Hold up, I don’t like where this is going.” “What?” “I don’t think you heard a word I said.” “I did too.” “No, no way.” “I done told you, I did.” POTUS sighed and then told her, “That conversation last night, and due to my level of alcohol consumption, I it I might have said something off the mark and was a bit infamous; the truth is, I was tipsy, half out of my mind. “Yeah, but—” “For Christ’s sake, Can’t you just drop it?” “How can I do it? Especially after you told me you planned to kill the Queen. I realize you were a bit drunk as you put it, but—”
Zombie
BEFORE SHE KNEW IT, he threw the covers back and climbed on top of her, and started choking her. His grip was so forceful, the muscles in his neck materialized, his facial features changing from a mass of evil and back again until she was lifeless. With that done, he then climbed off of her dead body and stood up splay-footed like his foot was deformed. He then stumped his foot to the point that it had straightened out. He stood discontented; his ego splintered and brittle. Then like a tiny brat, he cleaned up the crime scene, taking care to clean every nook and cranny. Fortunately, it all happened under the watchful eye of 4:45 am on a thunderous rainy night when there weren’t many folks moving about. After winding things up, he slipped out of the motel, hopped in his rental car, and drove away, his pulse racing, his lack of wonder refusing to be impressed. After all, he had just killed someone, someone once dear to him, someone so beautiful that made a man hold his breath and gasp with iration, and beggars all description, a regular dream girl. Now all that was lost, but the fact was he did it with an absence of intellect, something of an inanimate nature without instinct with unreasonable brute force, no association of ideas or reasoning. The cold hard truth was he had killed her. There would be no giving back, no reenthronement, indemnification, no recovery.
Chapter
53
THERE HE WAS, DRIVING in a hurry-scurry, agitated, fidgeting, his face as long as a fiddle, flushed with gloom and doom. There would be no selfcongratulation. Just then, the little birdie in the back of his mind whispered, “If you put a duck on a lake among swans, you will see that it will long for its pond and in the end will go back there.” When all was said and done, he stopped dead in the middle of the road, turned around, went back to the motel. Within minutes, whey-faced, his eyes red from crying, he held her close, weeping like the young creature he was now but in a state of mind only, wailing at intervals, every second, every minute, and every hour till almost the light of day. Finally, after a duration, he pulled himself together and managed to disappear like the fugitive he had become on a lousy day in time. For he knew all too well, what just happened was no chronological error, or disregard of time and unpunctuality, or unfortunate wrong moment. However, his ego wide as a church door still, in the coal-black night, gave him a flying start without anyone noticing his uncharacteristic misdeed. “It was my bad,” POTUS said to the secret caller with a heavy sigh. “Okay.” With the knowledge he was a prima donna, vain and undisciplined, POTUS told him, “And you can believe it was.”
Zombie
“LOOK, I PROMISE YOU, next time, I will finish it.” “Look, you know what’s at stake. That I’m sure of, don’t you?” “I got you all the way.” “Just don’t let it be all to kingdom come, do you read me?” not only annoyed at the caller but annoyed with his prickly disposition. “Got you, that’s for sure.” “Just make sure you do. Now get to stumping. I need this job done and over with, now.” The caller said, “I told you, I got the message. If it makes you feel any better, I will tell you all safety nets are in place. I hope you got that, Sir.” POTUS said, “Don’t worry, I got it.” “Good.” “I can believe that,” said POTUS. “Just see that everyone else sees it too. Over and out,” he said, slamming down the phone, boiling mad.
Chapter
54
LATER ON, THAT NIGHT, several men dressed in military gear flew in a helicopter. To the last man, not one was pinheads, nor had a thirst for ping-pongs of absurdist dialogue. They did around-the-clock reconnaissance after shouting “Height-ho,” for encouragement and feeling at the height of their powers. Finally, they decided to execute the mission and set a course of action on their way to Buckingham Palace, where the Queen was said to be, on their path to what might be helter-skelter, utter turmoil. The thing was, except the USA, no country in the world was up to speed on the latest helicopters in existence. And that made this mission more promising with a great prospect of success. The primary difference was that this particular machine had an array of goods, all the nuts, bolts required to cause a virtual unlimited Nuclear War; it had invisibility, the ability to be undetected, under the radar or above it. With wisps of clouds above, it was a horrible, windy night, some heads throbbing, some stomachs churning, as the rain lashed against the windows. Once the helicopter had landed, the Agents then bomb rushed the Palace. Stealthily and quietly, their minds racing, their hearts hammering in their chest, in their eyes, all persons they ran into considered to be slobbering idiots or downright evil folks. The agents pulled down a piece of equipment attached to their helmets to shield their eyes.
Zombie
THE TEAM MANAGED TO shoot and kill people floor after floor as they advanced, searching for their appointed goal—the Queen! These men had killed many times before, as they were merciless, sort of like mischief-makers or evildoers, if you will. Though their ally fought back, firing back at them with automatic weapons, the team kept their wits about them, knocking over tables, breaking through walls, just about every nook and cranny they encountered. There was no misinterpretation, the fact was it was their appointed duty to carry out a mission, and they were now doing just that, and only that. Under such adverse circumstances, the Palace turned into a pitiful sight, cynical, by men determined to bring an end to a rein, some chop off the head kind of thing, filled with continual struggle, hard life, tough time, absolutely no bed of roses, hell upon the earth, a virtual vale of sorrow, a bitter pill, and a blow between the eyes. They were fighting as if their lives depended upon it in search of a Queen. Things were quiet for a time, but at that very moment, a piercing scream struck the air, ending with their main adversary with a raw deal. To the man, they had tried to hang on to their sanity, clinging desperately to the hope that they would find their way out alive. But fate would have it otherwise. The end game was not a one cracked under strain, but there was something different here the team standing around looking at a body on the ceramic-tiled floor with a bullet hole directly between the eyes. The over-sided room was tongueless; the elements took a keen interest in the going on or what had happened there.
Clifford Benjamin
THE QUEEN LAY SPRAWLED out with a po-faced expression, still with that Big Brother look, with delegated authority and power behind the throne, and surprisingly kingly, coupled with financial control, with sea power, with the oneperson rule. In the far corner on the other side of the room sat a black virginals; seeing it, one of the agents commented, “What do you say, Jack, how bouts you give us a taste of you stroking the ivories.” Just about all the men chuckled. All except one, the lead man who then said, “Put the lid on it,” the confines of the room getting a snatch of their conversation. Jack shrugged his youthful intimidating broad shoulders. Now the men would be free to have fun, make a cake, and take a deep breath. Each knew the spoils were theirs to do whatever they wanted to, almost anything their dear little hearts could even imagine. In truth, they had a renewed zest for the game. With muscle and might, the man in charge said over his dog and bone, “Operation Bigfoot Mission Accomplished, sir.” “Fantastic, the greatest news I’ve heard lately. You and your men have my thanks and blessings. The checks will fly through the mail. Thanks again. Oh, I almost forgot, my attorney Ed is with me, and he thanks you too. Thanks, I’ll tell him you said hello. Again, I look forward to doing more business with you.” He was thinking about his image and how the focus group, a small group of people whose response to him, is studied to determine the answer expected from a larger population, which hasn’t fared too well. Dog and bone went silent at both ends.
Zombie
AS TO THE INCIDENT in England, local officials were still parsing out details from the incident. After that, they continued with other prickly issues, such as a flood in the country’s southern region and a strong-armed robbery by a prig and thief at a department store in Brisbane. “So, it looks like you got rid of her.” POTUS sat back in his chair and said, “You mean that bitch the fucking ass hold whatever. Fact is, I never actually liked the old piece of shit.” Ed said, “I have to be fair with you. The truth is I always liked the way she was the woman in charge instead of the regular all-powerful godforsaken viral hot so-in-so man of all times splashed across the pages the world over.” POTUS looked up to the ceiling and then lowered his gaze to look at Ed. “So, what are you saying exactly.” “I just told you—” “Hold tight,” POTUS said, interrupting him. “Am I to understand that you are not on the same page with me about what happened to that stinking behind bitch, the Queen?” “Hold up. You know well, and well I would agree with whatever your actions may be or cause.” “So, you’re saying—” “As I said, I what you did even though I disagree.” “Oh, you’re right; we should agree to disagree.” “Correct.” “That’s more like it.” “Exactly, I agree.” POTUS said, “For a minute there, you had me thinking I had to keep an eye on
you in case you were planning on stabbing me in the back.”
Clifford Benjamin
“STAB YOU IN THE BACK? But, you know well, I’m there for you 24/7, ready at your beckoning call. Heck, there’s been a time when I was screwing my wife or some other piece of ass and had to put everything on ice.” “I get your point—well taken, my friend.” “Okay. You, of all people, should know, if I have to, I will crawl through the belly of the beast to help you in whatever situation you may be facing at any given time in the equation. “I told you, I am aware of your dedication to both our cause, to which I must it can be humbling at times. It’s just that lately, I’ve been under a heap of stress. Sometimes I have trouble coping; sometimes, I feel like I’m losing it or no one cares. It can be difficult wearing the hat I am wearing every second, every minute, every hour of every day.” But he wasn’t worried; he was confident all would be coming to him on hands and knees, begging to be at his beckoning call. He could even imagine the streets foaming with life just to get a look at him, and him with a fly whisk in hand, brushing away flies, meaning the peoples, to be more specific. Ed sighed, then said, “On the upswing, how are things going with that thirteenyear-old?” POTUS smiled, lifting his veil of suspicion to say, “Still working on it, but if I were you, I would set sights on someone easier to screw. But, as I told you, that preacher got her almost around the clock. Getting so, even his flock is wondering why every time church is in session he’s so tired.” “Damn, she’s that good. Sounds like one hot gal we got there ripe as a peace. I love some young pussy, but as you know, when we’re our age, we don’t have a large amount of pussy to pick from, the young especially.”
Zombie
POTUS SAID, “OKAY, buddy, I’m too fit to be tired. How bout we threw in the towel and scat.” “I’m with you on that partner.” They left together only to go separate ways to get to their homes, respectively.
Chapter
55
“GOT IT,” THE COLD, stern voice said, hearing organic sounds like crashing waves or pulsing rain particularly therapeutic, offering a moment of recovery on a busy day, preventing that overwhelming feeling of burnout. Then another commanding voice said, “Do as I say and not what I do, then all will be well. Our actions are sure to turn back the pages of history, bringing us to a new level of distinction, far from the past, that’s for sure.” That night, all was well, as men of supposed goodwill begun entering the Capital of South Africa to the man with the knowledge it would be a hard-fought battle at the highest. Having done their surveillance and knowing exactly where the president was, they forged onward. Then as the sirens rang, putting the country on full alert, all hell broke loose. The American fleets fired away at will, at appointed targets, bombarding the Capital, tanks racing, shooting, persons falling wounded or lifeless on the ground, babies wailing, kids screaming, even mice sculling. It was no time to sip on a rim of Vodka or dash to get a gallon of ice cream; no, this was akin to either life or death. As the team continued their assault, killing as much as it took, they slowly, skillfully, wormed their way toward their appointed target. It was now a fullblown attack, filled with a man shot through the eye and crumble to the ground. No Johnny comes lately, just killers on the hunt for not Red October, but their designated adversary.
Zombie
AS THE BARRAGE RANG through the night, the team managed to force their way into the Capital, leaving no stone unturned, only to stumble unto a president lying face down in a pool of blood, his blood. It was clear he had taken a bullet to the brain, shutting down his lifeline immediately. It was a sight for sore eyes. As they checked the victims, a small child crept along the floor with a pistol in his hand, his face troubled, pointing the gun to this one, and that one, only to stop. It was apparent the child was almost cuckoo. The men’s hearts went out to him. “Rot! Now hold on, young fellow,” said the leader in command, interjectionally. “We are not your enemy; we had an assignment, and we did just that. If you know where your mom is, you can tell us to help you further. Now tell me, but do it slowly so we can all know what’s going in that wee bit you call a brain. You must we are not here to harm you or your family. Now speak, young one.” They managed to get hold of the gun. The boy just stood there like a statue, urine running down his pants leg, his body shaking like he was having an out-of-body experience or something to that effect, weeping tears he could not smother. “I can’t tell you where she might be, now.” “Hold on; you can if you just try.” “Last time I saw her, she was lying face down on the floor over my baby brother.” “Tell me, was she dead?” “I don’t know.” “Is your brother dead?” “Yes, I can tell you that.”
Clifford Benjamin
“COME ON AND SHOW US where exactly.” They fell in line behind the little one, following him from room to room, down on one, then down another, then this room and that room, till the men were beginning to feel suckered. The leader said, “Okay, let’s stop here a moment. I want you to think hard on as to where it was last you saw her, your mother, I mean.” Pointing to a closet, he said, “She was it there.” They raced to the closet, opened the door, and saw his mother crumbled up in a fetal position. The leader touched her gently on the shoulder and moved back when she moved as if the terror was still there. The leader asked, “Tell me, and are you hurt?” She bowed her head, indicating yes. “Where were you injured? She pointed to the bullet still lodged in her side. There was blood, but it had thickened, perhaps saving her life. One of the men with some medical training stepped forth and started to render her aid. Soon after, they were able to get her to move. They then carried her out and put both her and the child into a helicopter, the child waving with his eyes staring from face-to-face and then stopped to look at the team leader. The kid held up a piece of paper against the window with powerful words scribbled on it that read: You!—my twin—my brother! They were off, hopefully to a new world, a world of promise and decency. Significantly, after all the mountains they had climbed and all the misery they had endured.
Zombie
THE LEADER PUT IN A call. Then, after holding on for several minutes, he said, “I’m delighted to say, Sir, mission accomplished. Did you hear me, Sir?” “Great. Hope there were not many casualties,” said POTUS, glancing at a still unravished bride of quietness perched on his desk. “No, Sir, though we suffered 20 losses, we still are standing tall. As you know, we are Marines. We know how much our actions are appreciated. Thank you, Sir, for giving us the right to have a shot at extending America’s might across the world.” “You are most welcome,” said POTUS, taking his eyes away from the statue to look out the window at the battalion of birds sweeping through the air, then guiding ever so smoothly. “Sir, before I forget, there was a little boy we rescued.” “Is he okay?” “Yes, before he and the mother got on the helicopter, he just talked and talked and talked. So much so, we had to get him to stop. But it was done gracefully, Sir. He then hugged every one of us, hopped on the helicopter, and was off. So, as you can tell, we brought light to the dark, Sir. So, again, we thank you. Now I will say so long for now.” “Thank you all once again.” Both phones clicked off.
Chapter
56
BACK ACROSS THE WATERS, and after taking a swig of wine and smacking his lips, POTUS said to Ed, “Aaaaaaaa, this wine has a rich, fruity, full-bodied quality.” “I know what you mean.” POTUS took another swig, then said, “What do you say, Ed? Don’t you think this is a happy time? A carefree time. A period of our lives which we will never forget?” “You’re right, Sir. After he took another swig, he said, “Right on, partner.” POTUS then took another swig. “It sort of looks like it, but a thought just crossed my mind.” Ed asked, “Is it a naked thought?” “I always liked what Big Ben once said.” “Oh, and what might that be?” POTUS said, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.” Ed said, “Those words are still powerful to this day, but I thought Martin Luther King said that?” POTUS said, “Yeah, you’re right. Ah, karma is a Bitch. And like they say, ‘Our doubt is our ion, and our ion is our task.’” They both chuckled. POTUS asked him jokingly, and the question is: “Why don’t you ever get hungry at the beach?” Ed thought for a moment or two; then, a light bulb had switched on; with a smile, he answered, “Because of the sand which is there.” They roared, “Ha, Ha, Ha!” out loud high fiving each other.
Zombie
BEFORE LEAVING, ED said, “did I say, my wife keeps leaving magazines lying around with the jewelry ads circled. I got the hint. For Valentine’s Day, she’s getting a magazine rack.” They burst out laughing again. POTUS said, “Maybe you might try to imply to her that you can’t always get what you want. That may help take the load off.” “You got the point. I’ll do that. I’ll keep you posted.” POTUS then told him, “Did I tell you.” “What?” “I had a dream last night.” “What was it about?” POTUS said, “Has not a Black’s hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, ions fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, we bleed; if you tickle us, we laugh; if you poison us, we die; if you wrong us, we will seek revenge. If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.” “Woo, that was strange, leaning toward the weird side.” “Got that right ... still trying to figure what in hell it meant? Was it trying to tell me something?” “You got me. That’s something for you and the dream to figure out. That’s how I see it.” POTUS eyes were transfixed as if staring off into oblivion. Then, not at all able —able to fully digest it all, POTUS just shrugged his shoulders and rolled with it, saying to Ed, “Ah, you’re right. It may hit me dab in the face.”
“Now you’re talking. I knew you wouldn’t let it worry you. Worry is not worth a hill of beans.”
Clifford Benjamin
“THERE YOU GO GETTING philosophic on me,” Ed. “You know how that upsets me.” Ed said, “That is not ... what I meant at all; that is not it, at all.” “Ah, come on, buddy, don’t get bent out of shape on me.” “Why do you go and distort everything I say?” “I wasn’t aware I was doing that. Are you sure?” “Hell yeah, I am.” “Then I apologize. I’ll try to be more up to par as to what I say to you.” “If you do, I would appreciate it.” POTUS said, “What you said took me back.” “Back where?” “My teens ... back then I was unruly.” “You never mentioned it.” POTUS said, “Sorry about it.” “What’s there to be sorry about?” “It’s a long story,” POTUS said. “Is it that long?” “Trust me; it’s long.” “Well, just spit it out.” “I can’t.”
Ed asked, “Why not?” “Don’t want to bore you.” “Look at me.” He looked at him.” Ed squirmed around slowly in his chair and said, “Do I look like I’m the type of guy bored with someone telling me about their childhood? Well, do I?” “No, you don’t,” said POTUS, looking off into the abyss.
Zombie
“NOW THAT WE GOT THAT straight, now you can just tell me about your abominable childhood.” With his stream of consciousness clicking, POTUS wondered if it would have been worthwhile to have bitten off the matter with a smile. And aware he could not squeeze the universe into a ball to roll it towards some overwhelming question, he thought, then sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Then told Ed all about his forbidden and prohibited childhood, being sure to note his having played cricket in the thunder and the rain. Soon after, they left for home. HOME ... don’t you just love the ring of that?
Chapter
57
“HELLO,” SAID TATIANA, “Who is speaking? “Is this Tatiana?” asked a woman with a Russian accent. “Yes, this is she. What can I help with?” “It’s Natalya.” “Oh, hi,” said Tatiana, happy to hear from her but slightly on the sad side due to a loved one’s suicide. Her youngest sibling had hanged herself over her husband, kicking her to the curve to be with another man. She loved her dearly and found it to be a problematic wound to process. So she turned inward, searching for how she could have prevented it as if she failed her by missing the signs or not trying hard enough to help. She was unaware the depth of her wound depended on how well she coped and the amount to which she bore responsibility in her mind. “Are you still there? So, you do me.” “I’m here. I was distracted, that’s all. Unfortunately, however, I think I’m getting sick—I’ve been experiencing terrible headaches and drainage, and I’ve just begun to develop a sore throat as well. I do have a consolation that seems to soothe the ache. And that is, I was overwhelmed with how beautiful an autumn day it was—the leaves were an awe-inspiring palette of deep reds, vibrant oranges, and bright yellows, the wind wafted through the crisp air, and the sun shone brilliantly through puffs of cumulus clouds. Enough said about that, so, what’s on your mind, Natalya?”
Zombie
“I MISS YOU. I CAN’T forget how you doodled on toilet paper every time you visited the Ladies’ room and had a fear of flying, a fear of clouds, and a fear of overdosing. I thought you were crazy back then. “Oh, you do know how to get a girl’s dander up. Oh, and of course. I miss you too; you are a distant cousin. You’re family. Why wouldn’t I you? You were that Duffy girl that had a fear of pregnancy, a fear of the stars, and a fear of food. Then you topped it all by marrying into wealth, hitching your wagon up with Lord Baron Williamson.” Natalya said, “That was then.” “What do you mean? Is everything all right?” “Baron was killed months ago by some of a drug cartel.” Tatiana said, “Sorry to hear that. Are you okay?” “Not really. I found out that baron was into drug trafficking. So after his death, they cleaned out his bank s.” Tatiana said, “That’s dreadful.” “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Now I am penniless.” “I’m so sorry,” said Tatiana. “I had no way of knowing about this.” Natalya said, “Do you my saving your life after a bear attacked you and I hit him with a rock, and I ran to get his attention. But, unfortunately, when he caught me, he bit me on my shoulder, causing me to blackout. I nearly died trying to save you.” Tatiana said, “That was a godawful thing to have happened. I can’t thank you enough. I the girls who had brown eyes, reddish eyes, and many different shades.”
Clifford Benjamin
“AND THAT DOESN’T TAKE into the fact the other thing I did on your behalf. Do you what it was?” asked Natalya.” Tatiana asked, “What other thing?” “Don’t play coy,” said Natalya, becoming aggressive, her words laced with biting criticism and belittlement. “I’m—” “Yes, you are.” “I done told you, I—” “Stop it, Tatiana,” she screamed, speaking through the teeth with forced restraint, “you damn well know what I’m saying. But, come to think; you’re the one going through life completely composed and unruffled.” ‘Aside from that, I haven’t a clue,” Tatiana itted, realizing that refusing to accept she was wrong is worse than being wrong in the first place since it inhibits growth and prevents change. “Incredible isn’t it. Let’s face it. I was talking about all that I did for you. So, listen up, baby, girl, you and I were in a whore house working our butts off a pleasing man after man. That is until I got a good idea for a way for us to escape. You got to it I saved both our asses.” “Oh, that?” “Yes, that. It’s now coming back to you. But, it doesn’t stop there either. Do you follow me so far? You how I looked out for you. We were like sisters. Damn near blood. The point is, I treated you with the greatest respect. What I’m saying is, I loved you more than I loved my mother. I would’ve taken a bullet for you. My whole world evolved around you.” With the realization Natalya was incapable of true intimacy, Tatiana said, “So, what are you getting at? So, that is why you’re here to tell me how pissed you are with my achievements.”
Zombie
NATALYA SAID, “YOU’LL be glad to know it’s like this; first off, don’t try to deceive me. Secondly, You’re just a rich broad with anger issues and too much time on your hands,” Natalya said, struggling to find her breath. “So, like I asked ... can’t you get to the point?” Natalya shouted through the phone, “More important than that. Before we go any further, I want to set something straight. I need a cool million by tomorrow or—” “A what? Or what?” “Make no mistakes about it. The good news is, I go to the newspapers and spill the beans. All of it. But, do you hear me bitch? You live in that mansion on the hill, driving round in fancy cars and I’m cramped in a Homeless Shelter fed once a day some Godawful stinking crap, not fit for animals.” “Are you serious?” asked Tatiana, not believing what she had just heard. She felt that this woman has lost touch with reality and was now nondescript, lacking distinctive or attractive qualities. Furthermore, she was now dead set on shipwrecking her situation and further damaging her shitload of confidence. Natalya said, “Did you get that bitch?” “My God, we’re family for God shake.” “So what? That won’t buy me a slice of bread. If there’s one thing I learned is people are good enough when life is easy, but when things get tough, that same person will not turn to you.” “Don’t you think I know that?”
Clifford Benjamin
“GOOD, YOU’RE AWAKE. You need to get me the money by midnight tomorrow at the Beach House in Central Park. A word of caution. No funny business; you go to the cops. The deal is off. I’ll take it to the newspaper. Just think what a bombshell that would make. Think about all your friends in high places who will know the real deal about you, Tatiana. Come to think, people like you are the reason I am withdrawing from family and friends. You’re a backstabber, plain and simple. Added to that, it’s not uncommon for others in your position to do what I’m doing, leveling the playing field, or moving the goal post, nonetheless. In addition, I’ve learned some people want it to happen; some wish it would happen; others make it happen. That’s me. I make it happen. And yes, I do have a gun. So what?” Two-thirds of the nation has at least one gun in its household. So, I Iie once or twice. Guess what? Allison Komet from the Psychology Today magazine that people lie in every one out of five conversations that last for at least 10 minutes.” Feeling overwrought and self-conscious due to confusion, uncertainty, or frustration, Tatiana said, “Screw you bitch. Thanks for wasting my time,” she shouted, her barb coming away as ive-aggressive. Natalya yelled, “Screw you to whore,” then hung up the phone, and Tatiana did likewise. Tatiana stood there, motionless; her head began to throb, but aware Natalya was deliberately using speech disfluencies, such as um’ and ahs, to stall while trying to salvage the conversation
Zombie
THEN HER MIND BEGAN leafing through the pages of her life, trying to understand why the sudden decay in their relationship, and why in God’s name Natalya was so willing to destroy all that they shared. Granted, they were prostitutes and given, they went through some horrific times, but it all failed to equate to ripping off a best friend. She should have known better. She always felt Natalya was wild and crazy! Bizarre! The most fantastic thing! Too much to handle! Wow! Plus, she had wit, a biting or insightful kind of humor, which included sharp comebacks, clever banter, and dry, one-line jokes. Unfortunately, it made her often cynical or insulting. That was one of the characteristics of Natalya that made her stay on her P’s and Q’s when she was around Natalya. Suddenly, Tatiana’s mind became invaded with a massive amount of doubt mixed with fear. She felt then that Natalya was unaware that there was some truth in the shibboleth that crime does not pay. The question now was, if she didn’t come up with the goods, would Natalya still go through with her plan? Was there some way of preventing it all from occurring? If only there could be a way to keep Natalya from getting what she so desperately wanted. There had to be some way. The entire situation taxed Tatiana to the extent she was tired to no end. She was furious at Natalya and disappointed she had not a smidgen of common sense, so much that she could strangle the living daylights out of her. Though that thought cut across her grain, she was at the point of no return. So furious was she, her inner nerd had to pinch herself. One thing she was sure of, if Natalya were there now, she would do it and let the chips fall where they may.
Chapter
59
WITH SAGGING JOWLS hanging downward, it was a minute after midnight when Natalya was sitting on a bench at Beach House in Central Park. Strangely, the place was devoid of people. But that did not matter to her. She had but one aim, that was to get her hand on the million. It would get her back on track. She was tired of living a pathetic life. That all was about to end tonight. All she had to do is keep her head about her. After all, the million wouldn’t phase Tatiana, all the tons of money she has in her coffers. She can snap her pretty little fingers, and that’s all, folks. She doesn’t have to fret about anything. And that fact ate at Natalya through and through, so bad she would want to scream. She could not define a sudden noise but trained her eyes on where she first heard the noise. After a couple of minutes, she shook her head and closed her eyes for a bit. Then a figure dressed in black with a hood on and dark shades appeared and cut Natalya’s throat. It was all over in an instant. The figure faded back into the night as quiet as a furry cat. The only sound was that of a dog barking. The question was, who was responsible for the brutal attack. Could it have been Tatiana? If it was, it certainly was not her style to sink so low.
Chapter
60
ONE OF NEW YORK’S FINEST, a salty-haired Captain Martin, climbed up on the platform and adjusted the microphone to his heightened level. He looked over the sea of faces, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, this particular lady wowed us with her quirks and scared us with her ferocity. But, it so happens from our s from Russia, Natalya was married to Baron Aminoff, who held the most frequently granted Imperial Russia.” Before the Captain could get another word out, one of the reporters asked, “Can you give us a bit of info on her?” Captain Martin said, “Okay, it so happens that she was living with a silver spoon in her life, living right within her means.” “Captain,” asked another reporter, “So, if she was living at about her means, then what in God’s name made her do what she is said to have done?” “I see you’ve done your homework,” said Captain Martin. “What we were told, by a reliable source, I might add, that she stabbed the Baron three times in the chest, then shot him five times and cut his body in three parts, and buried him under a flower bed in their backyard, all because she caught him having sex with her best friend in their house, in their bed.” A chorus of mixed voices splintered the air, each with a different comment. Captain Martin held up his hand, then said, “I have to ask you to try to remain calm. We all can’t talk at once.”
Clifford Benjamin
ONE REPORTER ASKED, “So who discovered his remains?” “It was a landscaper.” “Did the landscaper have anything else to say about what he found or the way the body parts looked at the time?” “No. It so happens, the landscaper was so shaken by what he found he’s in the hospital under treatment for over-reactive stress.” “So, are you saying she managed to escape to America?” “Yes, that’s right. But, upon arriving, it’s said Natalya then went around threatening people from Russians living here with bribery. There’s also evidence she killed two of them and was threatening a third individual.” “Do your department have any idea of who might that person be Captain?” “So you’re saying you don’t have a suspect as to the one involved in murdering Natalya?” Captain Martin looked at the report straight in the eye and said, “That’s about all we have at this time. On speculation, one might say, it could have been a hit by the mob or someone with a grudge. But, to speak truth to power, we as officers of the law don’t have time for speculation. It all amounts to a hill of beans.” The captain looked throughout the crowd and said, “That’s about it. Thank you all for coming.” He then left. Tatiana was home and saw the news report on her TV and was surprised. Never in her wildest imagination would she have believed her friend Natalya would sink so low and do what she did, but, couldn’t help but be relieved that she no longer had to worry about her reputation. She thanked God for looking out for her and reducing Natalya to what is known to be a nonentity, a thing of little consequence or significance.
Zombie
TATIANA BREATHED FREELY, content she was not on anybody’s radar. Then a voice inside her head whispered, “Minds, like parachutes, only open when they are open. So she decided to lie down for a spell. Perhaps rest would soothe her limbo. Upon rising, she would continue contemplating the matter concerning Natalya. After all, patience is the greatest of all shock absorbers. In her world, there was no ‘leave it to Beaver.’ Therefore, she should handle the matter herself. The least people knowing about it would be all the better.
Chapter
61
IT WAS EARLY, AROUND 10:00 in the morning when, POTUS and Ed were in the office at the Capital looking at some photos. After repeatedly looking from one after the other, POTUS looked at Ed and said, “Looks like it is curtains for me.” “Why on earth would you say that?” “Why do you think I shouldn’t?” “You can’t just trash everything.” “How ironic that is.” “What do you mean?” “You used the word trash, did you not?” “What I’m implying is she is the trash.” “I’ve seen women do worse.” “You’re kidding me?” “No, I’m not. But look, some women spread their legs for a drop of a hat. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “I do, but they’re not my Tatiana.” “I know that.” POTUS rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Oh, you saw the evidence brought out in the open.” “Yeah, tell me more.” “What a bitch she is, Ed.” “I’ve known guys to call their wives worse things than that.”
“I don’t know, Ed. Think what people would think were this to get out in the open.”
Zombie
“YOU ARE ACTING LIKE she’s the only one woman that thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, but then again, she could’ve found out apparently.” POTUS shoulders dropped slightly. “I know one thing.” “And what’s that?” “She has got to go,” said POTUS, “she’s not staying in my house.” Ed stood up. “What? Are you out of your mind?” “I’ve never been saner. At least last time I checked,” as I said, got to go; the traps will be sitting along the roadside. I tell you, Ed, this is not a figment of my imagination, either.” “You got your kids, for Christ’s sake.” “I do, but they are old enough to understand once I break the news to them.” “Break, you can’t be serious. Look, before this, been at your beckoning call, playing the good wife, keeping her nose clean.” “I know all about that. But that does not change anything.” “Why shouldn't it?” “The way I see it, a wife does not stab her man in the back by going out and cheating on him.” “I can respect that, but if you consider everything I just told you, I would think you go out and get her some candy wrapped nicely in a box and a bottle of wine and am sure to spread red roses from the bedroom door to the love-nest. Then take her upstairs to the love-nest and screw the hell out of her. When it’s over, run bathwater in the tub and let her sit down in it.
Zombie
THEN YOU BREAK OUT skin cream and start to rub down, beginning at her shoulders. I’m willing to bet, by the time your hands get to that snatch, she’ll beg you to do the thing all over again. With me, it’s like, “when you love, love with all your heart. But, to be honest, it is a bit different than that. The thing is, once you change your philosophy, you change your thought pattern. Once you change your thought pattern, you change your attitude. Once you change your attitude, it changes your behavior pattern, and then you go on into some action.” POTUS said, “But still, I am upset with her; I got to it you laid things out nicely, though.” Ed smiled. “Thank you. I try my best. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” “Sounds to me it’s not your first rodeo.” “You got that right. But don’t get me wrong, because I’m just a sentimentalist at heart, but when it comes to love, I wither on the vine.” “Oh?” “Yes, that’s correct.” “Thanks for being candid.” They both laughed heartedly then went about their day, POTUS hopping on air force One then jetted to Georgia to a meeting of Governors, Ed off to run errands for PHOTOS, both aware of the skeletons in their closet. POTUS failed to let on just how much Tatiana’s affair is eating away at him. The question was could he deal with the trouble in their marriage?
Chapter
62
TWO WEEKS LATER, WITHOUT aircraft in sight, POTUS let Tatiana go it alone on a boat ride with her secret service escorting her. Still, there was one exception, POTUS had unfinished business that needed his attention. As he stood at the dock waving his goodbye, he noticed the new captain, named Teddy that would be in charge, a rather large and rough around the edges. POTUS shook his and dismissed the oddity. Once out about fifteen miles, the boat stopped. The captain glanced around and noticed the lake was abuzz with outboards. So, he drove ten miles more where there were but sea animals. He then let down the anchor. Within an hour, and tired of being asked academic questions, the agents were knocked out sound asleep due to the captain’s surreptitious finagling, such as spiking their drinks. He even did Tatiana likewise, who at the time was not aware of cruel kindness. She was currently sunbathing in and out of consciousness in comfortable misery, but happy that it was terrific, POTUS was willing to let go alone. As Tatiana lay prone in her bathing suit, the captain walked over to her as she lay on the front end of the yacht. He stood there, his eyes looking her over from head to toe, and then stopped at her crotch. He sat down next to her and began to kiss her on her mouth.
Zombie
“WHAT?” SHE SAID, HER eyes opened slowly to look at him. “Oh, it’s you, Teddy.” “Who else were you expecting?” he shouted. Then, he started to touch all over. “Stop it. I thought I made myself clear.” “You didn’t mean it, considering my age compared to your husband.” “Go away. Let me be. I—” said Tatiana and then dozed off again. He tried to take advantage of her and put his hand down between her legs.” She slapped hard in the face. “Can’t you hear? I said stop. Leave me the hell alone. Go screw the fish.” She dosed off again. He had never been slapped before by anybody, especially a woman. Suddenly, the rage within him took control of his senses; he walked up behind her, struck her across the head with a 30-pound barbell killing her instantly. Then with deliberate speed and abysmal ignorance, he set about tidying things up, wrapping a rope around her, and tying it to two 30 pound barbells. He then picked her up, threw her lifeless body over the side, and watched her sink until he could no longer see her. He thought things to the end, paying attention to this and that, cleaning up this and that. Within the hour, he drove the yacht back, parked it, and got out of dodge. He knew once the agents came too, they would be a lot of things to be considered. Also, he was aware it was too soon to do cartwheels.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER THE AFTERMATH and the sound of silence, the family, the size of a small crowd, their hearts filled with sweet sorrow. The last thing POTUS expected at the wake was to see Sarah working for the masses, playing the part of the heartbroken first cousin. When he noticed the twin jade globes dangling from his estranged cousin’s ears, his hand twitched with the urge to slap her. Not only had she found Tatiana’s spare key, but she’d gotten into her antique jewelry collection as well. An hour later, they all gathered at the gravesite. At that time, there was not one dry eye, only loud whispers. But, POTUS was aware, once the sad smiles and roomer-mill got started, it would take a minor miracle to stifle it, making them inaccessible to new ideas, causing their actions to accentuate his feeling of despair. For they knew Tatiana and POTUS met by accident rather than by design. That made it all the worse. Even, more so, POTUS lacked the wisdom that accrues with age, and Tatiana was a babe in the woods, the equivalence of a naïve, inexperienced person, hailing from the baby boomer in the 90’s, with her innocent face and warm smiles, hog-tied to a brittle selfish person. They dare not approach her on it, seeing how enthralled she was about him, especially him showering her with countless luxurious gifts and huge rocks on her fingers. As to POTUS, every night he fell asleep with her, he woke up alone, causing her to sit quietly and thoughtfully alone in her very own world of fantasy. He had her hook line and sinker; no one could tell her better.
Zombie
NOW WHAT WAS AT STAKE is a significant decision or vow. For example: would POTUS swear to revenge her murder. The inherent question is: How would he go about it? Will he succeed? Or would her killer get away with the Great Escape! On the other hand, POTUS didn’t wanna mope over Tatiana’s murder, the universe had other plans for him.
Chapter
63
SOME MONTHS LATER, Ed and POTUS were at work in the Oval. Ed ushered in, saying, “So realistically, we know that we either must end the war or face the prospect that war will end us.” POTUS broke into Ed’s thoughts, saying, “First off, I thank you again for helping me get through the ordeal with my wife.” Ed said, “You’re more than welcome. You have a great capacity to bounce back. I ire you for that.” “Thank you, Ed,” said POTUS, “did I tell you that word has it, a fleet of ships of unknown origin is at the Russia–United States maritime boundary?” Ed looked toward the ceiling and then said, “It is times like these I congratulate myself speaking only English; it somehow keeps me rooted to the land in which I love.” The very next day, POTUS and Ed were at their destination. POTUS was getting briefed on the situation. “Yes, Sir,” said General Notap, the watchdog of the operation, looking through binoculars to get a more accurate reading on the situation at hand. He said to POTUS, “According to the latest finds by our expert reconnaissance, the mask of ships and tanks is an indication the ally is ready and threatening to strike.” POTUS asked the General, “The question is at what?” “At us, Sir,” he said blankly, right off the bat without one hesitation in his armor. He had been in countless battles before and won many medals for bravery. He was hard-nosed but fair.
Zombie
“QUESTION IS WHERE? Where will they be aiming their weapons at?” The General said, “That is difficult to tell at this moment, Mr. President.” POTUS looked around at ship after ship and then at the battalion of tanks facing them. He had to give it to the ones in charge of the opposing forces. What he saw was equivalent to Hannibal’s attempt at bringing Rome to its knees. He felt the power was the only way to handle the situation. And without a moment to lose, he gave the order to attack. Within seconds the US forces began to fire, shooting at will, real live red hot bullets, rocket-like shells at their alleged ally. But the victory was not soon to be because their partner didn’t blink as they cut loose a ton of firepower, shooting over the heads of the US Forces. POTUS said to his General, “What the hell are they shooting at?” The General said with a sad look, “I can’t tell exactly, Sir, but there’s an indication they are going for the jugular.” “The jugular?—tell me, where the hell is that?” The General got a call. After talking on the phone, he said to POTUS, “Word has it, the Pentagon is gone.” “What do you mean gone.” “Exactly what I said, Sir; there’s no other way to put it’s now down to cinders or at least somewhere near to being that.” “What? How? Why? How the hell did they acquire enough muscle or power to do something of that magnitude?” That moment, the ally lowered their sights and began shooting away directly at them.
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS COULD NOT BELIEVE the once ally audacity to commit such atrocious and devastating acts of force. Knowing his boss was a wallflower and amoral, when it comes to matters of war, the General then told POTUS, “Word is the Our losses are increasing by the hour, Sir.” “How many are we up to now?” “Twenty-five hundred, Sir, at least that’s what I heard, which is generally quite accurate considering the situation at the moment.” “Unbelievable. There must be some way to turn the tide on these bitching rainmakers.” “Yes, Sir, those are my sentiments too.” POTUS said, “Tell them to increase the power,” looking over the situation through four eyes. “Are you sure, Sir, you want to do that?” “Why not? We got to stop the slaughter. We can’t let them think we’re about to throw in the towel. America—” The General picked up the phone and listened. Finally, he clicked off the phone. He then said, “Capital may be under fire, Sir.” POTUS was like in his world waiting to see if the situation would tank. Then be back in the game. But, he had to it, he would never have thought the problem could ever be this bad. He needed a minute to process things. But instead, said to the General, “But I thought you said they are now firing at us directly hereabout?” “Some of their firepower’s is closer than we thought, Sir.” “There must be something we can do.”
“I’m afraid there is, Sir.” “And that is what, General?” “Throw in the towel, Sir.”
Zombie
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” ‘No, Sir, I’m not.” POTUS couldn’t help but look at the General with a different look. And that was, the General has seen the ravages of war, he has known natural catastrophes, he has been to singles bars. If asked, he could give you a description of pistols, bullets, powder, bayonets, retreats, attacks, bombardments, sea fights, and ships sunk with a thousand men. Of the twenty thousand killed on each side, dying groans, limbs flying in the air, smoke, noise, confusion, trampling to death under feet, flight, pursuit, victory, fields sprinkled with carcasses, left for food to dogs and wolves and birds of prey; plundering, stripping, beautiful, burning, and destroying. Some say he lost his family, his job, and his house plants. The General then broke into his thoughts. “From the looks of things, sir, we have to call a halt before there’s the chance of the Fat Lady singing,” said the General. Practically on the warpath and POTUS upset over the ally’s overabundance of firepower, tired of the jigsaw horseplay in the limelight, then got off his highchair and threw the binoculars down onto the ground saying, “You’re just all pussies. If it’s one thing I can’t stand, I can’t stand pussies. I had enough of this patchwork crap; I’ll take a rain check and be out of here. Do what you will. I’m leaving.” The General just stood shaking his head. POTUS left. Ed was busy trying to fluff up his boss injured ego. POTUS was upset like a king without a crown. The General shouted to him, “Casualties have increased tenfold, Mr. President.”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS HAD LEFT IT UP to the General to make the strategic withdrawal. The fact was he was never a man for battle. The truth was he was the actual pussy if there ever was. When they got back to the Capital, it was more intact than previously thought. POTUS said to Ed, “a splash of Vodka should do the trick. It works every time. Can you believe those flea-bitten weaklings had the nerve to do it?” Ed shook his head. “I have to say, and it was a constant battle, I give you that.” “You’re right. Got to it it was simply smart. It was very intuitive, very wise. I guess you can say you get rapid results with things done a certain way. Their actions were earth-shattering that strikes at the heart. I tried to do it convincingly, but as you know, it didn’t work.” Ed added, “Have to it not only the loss of our forces was tremendous, but it was also a huge, a huge waste of ammunition and a waste of time. My heart went out to you, thinking we would be winning on all fronts. That’s why you must be careful not to bruise your ego; it happens every time.” POTUS said, “it’s ironic how life can sometimes be half a world away; just need to go for it one step at a time.” Ed added his two cents by saying, “Yeah, but, whether good or bad, life can take you to the edge if you’re not careful. So, will you not fret about it?” On the inside, POTUS had wanted to throw his whole heart into the world. “Pan Cakes make me happy. Are you hungry?” “Slightly, but not ravenously,” said Ed, looking at him sulking. “It’s not like you kissed the sky and said goodbye.”
Zombie
POTUS COULD NOT GET over how laser-focused Ed was. “I’m thrilled you’re still here, Ed.” To defeat the sound-filled silence in the room, Ed said, “I still can make a meaningful interpretation of a trumpet.” Contrary to what Ed had just said, POTUS said, “We’re men. We’re supposed to be tough.” He knew whether it was a weekday, weekend, weeknight, or whatever, Ed would somehow find a way to be there for him, despite the difficulty he had to face. “You make a valid point. But, I must say, I agree with you.” POTUS said kiddingly, “Did anyone ever tell you I’m working with someone that’s exhausting?” They chuckled a bit. Ed told him, “The thing is, it was always you that fan the flames...” “I agree.” “Ed said, “You were always like I’ll take a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and a little bit of this, along with something else I won’t speak of now.” POTUS said, “What, tell me? I’m dying to know.” “Nah, to change the subject, I have always wondered what it would be like to have a sister.” “You mean a pussy, don’t you?” “Don’t be so crass. You got to be gentle like.” POTUS kidded, “I’m willing to take the risk.” “What?—having a sister?” “I would hope for your sake; if you were to have a sister, she would be beauty.
But, as you know, I like them like that.” “That’s your fresh side coming out.” POTUS said, “Statistically, there’s not a chance in hell you could have a sister.”
Clifford Benjamin
“TELL ME WHY NOT? “Last time you told me you have problems getting a hard-on.” They looked at each other and broke out. “Thank you for that, Mr. President; you do have a way with getting back on the same page, fast. You break my heart with that.” POTUS said, “I told you I’m not a know it all at least that’s how Frankie Lemon put it back in the sixties.” “You mean the fifties. But, damn, I always loved that song, a big difference from what’s been coming out lately, don’t you think.” “Right now, my friend, I love it more than before.” Ed yawned, “Well, looks like it’s about that time.” They left the building, ambling, walking at a brisk pace, and going home. A place considered their remotely famous Chinese Dessert castle in the sky, their rumble in the jungle.
Chapter
64
AFTER MAKING LOVE, POTUS said, “So, Penelope, I take it you can’t bear this place.” She set up, most of her upper body weight distributed on her elbow. “What do you think?” Then a sudden wave of nostalgia hit her. “I know every nook and cranny in here. It’s boring. There’s simply no place to go. I’m a nothing, a low down, useless nobody.” “I’m just asking.” “What a question,” she said, rolling pretty eyes and shaking her head. “So are you?” “Am I what?” POTUS said, “I just wanted to—” She cut him off by saying, “I’m not commenting on anything that sounds ridiculous.” “So, you think what I’m asking is silly.” “It’s not only silly—ludicrous at best.” “So, you’re not going to comment on that.” “If I’m lying, I’m flying.” “That’s cute.” “If you asked me, there’s nothing cute about it.” “Do I sense a bit of malice in your tone?” “I hear you, but why not?” “I’m just saying. You are my captive. I just thought—”
Clifford Benjamin
“THAT’S THE TROUBLE with you white folks.” “What do you mean?” “You all go around with your head in the air as if your shit doesn’t stink.” “Not all of us, Penelope.” “Enough if you ask me.” “Sounds to me, you may have had a run-in with that drug dealer.” “Why you got to do that?” “POTUS said, “I mean he would work you night and day rain or shine, never for once caring one iota about you. All he wanted was to keep the bucks rolling in.” “I know. But you think you’re better than us.” As the sound of a lion roared in his mind, a rush of emotions clouded his thoughts, but he managed to say, “What do you mean by us?” “Me and my pimp, I mean. There I said it.” “Yes, you did. You should see it like that.” “Oh, yeah, I see where you’re going with it.” “You do? Good.” Penelope said, “You don’t have to tell me; I know it’s good. Living off the streets is a hell of a lot better than living in this shit hole.” Soon the cragged edge of tenderness would play its part, to roll over, picking up piece after piece of wounded ambitions. He said to her, “Now there you go?” “What?”
“I said just where you are at now.” “She looked at him. “You must not like women.” “What makes you say that?”
Zombie
“JUST THE WAY YOU ARE with me.” “Tell me, in what way?” “When you make love, you act like I’m your slave and you the master. I get the feeling that you act like that with all the women.” “I will it sometimes I can be rough a little.” “Are you kidding me?” “You asked me, and I just answered? “You know that a man shouldn’t violate a woman while having sex.” With the veins in his neck visible, POTUS then blasted out, “You want to know the truth, and then I’ll tell you. It turns me on to have rough sex. It’s a fantasy I had since early childhood.” “How early—I’m just asking.” “Sixteen,” he said, “It was when the world was young, and all the girls wanted a piece of me.” “What an ego you got upstairs. Are you telling me you’ve been like that till now?” “Exactly,” said POTUS, a bead of sweat materializing on his forehead. “You know what?” Inhaling then exhaling, she rants, “What dissolution of the soul you demanded to get through one day, what lies, and scrapings and some other things I can’t think of at this moment. How you chained me to one spot, one hour, one chair, and sat down opposite, whenever you like.
Clifford Benjamin
AND YOU KEEP ME BOTTLE-necked down here for your pleasure anytime, rain or shine, day in and day out, at your beckoning call, with no phone, only silence, and no window even to get a whiff of fresh air, mind you. Another thing cops have been killing black people for eons. Tell me, how can anyone kill someone when he is empty-handed? And you”... she drew silent, “you’re like, ‘She asked for it, and I gave it to her—wham, bam, thank you, ma’am!” A lone tear crept slowly down her face. “Your race isn’t perfect, significantly when a man cuts out a man’s heart and tries to eat it. He was white. It was his uncle, for Christ’s sake. It’s like white folks relegated to being junkyard dogs. And you, you got fireworks written all over you. And you come in here with the attitude, are we going to be transparent or dirty? That’s crazy talk. You’re like out to prove you’re no pushover, all that hatred bottled up in—” POTUS intruded, saying, “Wait a minute. Never was I lame. I have good characteristics, don’t you think?” Focused, she laughed in his face and responded, “Look at me. I’m still your slave.” “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” “What do you want to tell me?” “I’ll tell you. Just give me a moment to clear my head, all right.” She said, “Okay, I wouldn’t have it any other way; you feel me?” “I do. The thing I wanted to tell you is you are free to go.” She sat up with a look of surprise. “Are you saying you knew what you wanted to say to me about my leaving all the time since you got here today?” she said, imposing her will on him, anticipating his rebuttal. He bowed his head, looking at her.
Zombie
THEN HER ENTIRE FACE broke out in a huge smile. “I’m going home!” “Yes, you can leave now. I’ll have my man drop you where ever. Once you are free, you must understand that you do not have anyone know what happened here. I must warn you. That if you do, there will be serious consequences. If you do, you will end up losing your life. I hope you understand fully.” She got up and started to put on the clothes he had gone out and purchased for her. “I hope my family is okay. It’s been six months since I last seem high tail of them.” “I’m sure they will be glad to see you and that you are safe.” He dug into his pocket and drew out his wallet, and handed her five thousand dollars. “You don’t have to thank me. I understand. Plus, I now understand more about myself than ever before. So I’ll sketch the world precisely as it goes, despite the bad, bad, and worse. Plus, I now understand more about myself than ever before. So I’ll sketch the world as it goes, despite the good, the bad, and all.” When she motioned toward him, she gestured toward him; he halted her progress by saying, “Keep it; you won’t know trouble if it kicked you right in the face. And —don’t drop a dime for a nickel. Furthermore, I am aware I’m no Hailey’s Comet, coming round every generation, but I now know the difference between right and wrong.” She said, “Did you ever have a hint of comion for my situation?” He said, “Frankly, my dear, from the moment I laid eyes on you, you look like a solar eclipse I could hardly open my eyes to; now it’s the ripple that never rests. I understand you may have hesitations, but—”
Clifford Benjamin
AT THAT MOMENT, HIS agent, named Shrek, slowly entered the room at a slow pace to help with the transfer. With an ironic spot of humor, she said, “Talk about cutting it close to the wire.” Then, she looked at POTUS and started to speak again, and was cut off by him saying, “Go, I’ll catch up with you sometime. Good luck,” his words were final. With no rhyme or reason, POTUS then said, “Believe me, I dread coming to work many times or more.” She told him, “Frankly, I don’t know what to trust or what to believe.” POTUS said, “What can I say? It’s all glad, give or takes.” Shrek said to her, “Looks like we’re all set, miss.” She said to Shrek, “And you are someone I hardly know is coming through— how ironic, just when it was turning out to be a perfect adventure.” This day POTUS could not have foreseen as he said oddly, “Say hello to the world for it can be your oyster if you want it that much, and will also it, due to time constraints, I can’t apologize.” She left the room sobbing, saying back at him, “Believe me, I want something real ... this hellhole doesn’t come close.”
Chapter
65
IT WAS AROUND TEN THAT night when news hit the networks. In a slumber but fully awake, Ed heard about white supremacists killing blacks in ten different states. He immediately got on the phone to POTUS. “I just heard it.” Dainty, not clumsy, POTUS said, “Are you sure?” “I figure it must be; why would they spread a lie of that magnitude?” POTUS said, “I don’t know.” “I can’t believe there are whites that still feel that way.” “Way like how?” “You know.” No, I don’t,” said POTUS. “I mean, look, it’s like cancer entered their brain.” “I wouldn’t go that far.” Ed said, “Why not?” “Because there are people out there who are okay, despite hating all blacks,” said POTUS, trying every attempt to get Ed to flock together, even if it took the full Monty. “That’s madness, don’t you think?” “Not if you look on the bright side.” “What side may that be?” “I mean, for God’s sake Ed, can’t you see there is a hell of a lot of blacks that shouldn’t exist?”
“I don’t know.”
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY that?” “As I said, it doesn’t sound the way it should be.” “And what way is that?” Ed sighed and then said, “There ought to be more respect for mankind on both sides of the equation.” “I disagree.” “I talked about the hate,” said Ed. “What about it? The hate, as you put it.” Ed said, “Look like a great man once said, we all have to work together, or we will hang together.” “I agree, but the right side is not pulling their weight toward justice getting better in this nation.” “I told you, I disagree.” “I know; they should try, but killing innocent people because their skin color and are different doesn’t make sense.” “I disagree.” “Damn you,” said Ed working up steam. “Why can’t you see what’s going on across this country, cops killing innocent kids at the drop of a hat, just because of their skin color. You have to know I have a point.” “You do, but that doesn’t make it right. The way I see it, the white man was in power then and will be that way always. It’s just that there are blacks here that don’t belong.” “My God, do you realize what you are implying?” “I know, Just that there are a lot of whites that are weak and fail to see the point
that you are making.” “Damn, that sounds negative.”
Zombie
POTUS TRIED TO TURN the conversation by saying, “Did I tell you my best friends Paul, Amanda, and Quinn are back in touch with me? How you my telling you that lately, our relationship had soured?” Ed said, “I just told you—to some maybe—but not to a great many of us. I look at it this way; we open-minded whites are the backbone to getting this country back to where it should be. But wait, are you saying you are willing for things to return to the dastard days of slavery?” “What do you think?” “Look, we both have been through a hell of a lot, this I can’t go along with.” POTUS said, “That’s just what you’re saying now, but just wait.” “Wait for what? For more and more whites to break into homes and out-and-out rape and kill blacks and kids included, then I have to say, no thank you.” “Ah, Ed, you’re just saying that because you’re upset with what you just heard, which is sure to fad from your mind in time.” “I doubt it.” “I told you to need more time.” Ed said, “I have to tell you, I’m going to feel like this till the cows come home and then for sometimes after. I’m out to help to make this world a better place for all.” “I tell you, Ed, and I can’t wait for whites to be in total power.” “What, so they can bang together and break into churches and kill black parishioners, and then burn everything to the ground?” POTUS said, “Yeah, that and more.” “What do you have to say about the police killing blacks and the whistle, DIXIE?”
Clifford Benjamin
“I HAVE NO COMMENT ABOUT that.” “For Christ’s sake, the idiot cops are aiding and abetting those whites that feel like you seem to be feeling now. So, the question is, “When the chips are down, which side are you on?” POTUS spoke clearly and determinately, “With the whites, my friend, I can’t think of another way to put it.” “Which whites?” “The ones that want slavery to return to this great nation.” Ed said, oh, my God, can’t you see, if those whites gain control, there will be no nation, at least not one of our forefathers or land of the free, which thousands of whites and blacks gave their lives to preserve.” “I don’t know. I just don’t.” Ed said, “Looks like you’re the one that needs some time to mull things over and come to reality.” “Nah, I’m okay with the way things are.” “Come on now, sounds like you’re about digging your own grave with that high mountain attitude that whites should reign supreme for all time.” “Oh, I’ll be okay. Let it rain, let it rain.” “Are you sure about that?” “I am, never could have felt better about things than I am at this point.” Ed said, “Did you know, just yesterday, some Republican Senators got together, went to a department store, and started shooting and killing every black they saw just because they wanted to get you reelected. But I think they are using that as an excuse because the bottom line is they hate blacks with a deep ion, which defies all reality. I find it hard to believe there are those among us with deep-
seated racist attitudes.”
Zombie
“WHAT CAN I SAY? IT’S just a sign of the times. Things are sure to get worse before they get better.” “I do know one thing.” “And what is that?” “The excellent thinking people need to come out in full force and let not only people of this nation know that the arch ought to lean toward justice and the right for all people in America to live in peace and harmony. But, moreover, I feel those republicans that hate should be fired and thrown out of office; that way, they begin to see the cost of hatred.” POTUS said, “As I said, I disagree.” Despite what POTUS just itted, Ed pressed on, “I have concluded, those idiots are not worth the effort. And lastly, I must say your unblinking imagination, an imagination breaking all speed limits, taking you on the path to ten thousand globes, will never exist, and my friend.” POTUS said, “I’m impressed.” “Can you tell me about what?” “It’s all about trust. Despite our disagreement, I am inclined to say, and there’s no one I trust more than you.” Ed knew what he was talking about followed a familiar pattern to opening the door to a paradox that would gallop the instant the devil within him returned to eat away at him. It was because for this guy was a touching story out the door that would bring a chill to the bones of Stephen Spielberg. Suddenly, deep within his soul, POTUS’s inner voice said, ‘I know Ed, but I must say, that from the hills of Georgia to the rooftops, my name will echo in the minds of every living soul on this planet.’
Clifford Benjamin
AND THAT FACT BROUGHT about the clarity that helped to define the extent of their relationship. He knew then; he could no longer trust this man he had worked with so much. There was a slight period of silence, the drop the needle type. POTUS said, “Ed, are you all right?” Ed shook off what he had heard and said, “I’m okay, just was in deep thought about something.” “Oh, really—care to share it?” “Nah, if you don’t mind, I’d rather keep it to myself for now.” POTUS shrugged his shoulders, then lingered on fleeting wings of the moment and said. “If it’s okay with you, it’s alright with me.” “What do you say if we just call it a day?” “It's okay by me.” POTUS said, “Why does it always have to that way?” “How do you mean?” “That fine by me crap.” “Don’t know exactly; it’s something just off the top of my head. What? Don’t tell me you have a problem what that, do you?” “Maybe so, maybe not,” said POTUS. “Well, it can’t be both.” “What do you mean?” “It’s either one or the other. That’s the general way things are said.”
POTUS said, “That’s a whole lot of thought if you ask me.” “Why do you have to be so disagreeable? Don’t tell me you were born like that,” said Ed, shaking his troubled head. “Sort of ... never thought about it, and that’s for sure.” “Why do you got to be right all the time? Is it in your brain, is it in your upbringing, or what? Got to be something, I would think.”
Zombie
POTUS JUST SHOOK HIS head and then preceded walking toward the door with Ed following close behind. It looked like they had called it a day. As to the conversation, both were dead even. That is till the next time.
Chapter
66
SOMETIMES BOTH WOULD draw straws or do a finger thing, a one, two, three, I win sort of thing, with POTUS usually winning, further deepening the cataclysm between them, thereby deepening the depth of their case history between them. But, usually, with him having a cast-iron stomach, Ed was the one to be more discrete and better at discretion, thereby chipping away at POTUS Casanova’s castle in the airframe of mind. In time, it would all come to a head and help bring down the lion in their mist and end up being a complete mess of all meshes. That night, the moon was full, looking down on the patience of nightfall. The moon was so bloated it was about to tip over. Imagine awakening to find the moon flat on its face on the bathroom floor, like the late Elvis Presley, poisoned by banana splits, a moon that could stir wild ions in a moo cow, and a moon that could bring out the devil in a bunny rabbit. A moon that could turn lug nuts into moonstones turns Little Red Riding Hood into the big bad wolf. On that night, a mysterious figure appeared walking off the street onto bent grass onto property owned by the President of the Chicken-Lovers’ Club. The first thing he noticed was that flat number five sounded very loud.
Zombie
HE LISTENED TO TWO toothsome blond neighbors, with conflicting ideologies, chitchatting in generalities. They were unaware someone impracticable was nearby, just right under their nose. “I tell you, s,” said Clover, one utterly repulsive brood bitch, in a cotton shirt, bent out of shape, suckled on pulp magazines, with a faraway look in her beady eyes, “I never could stand the sight of that guy.” She had the nerve to speak like that about the guy without him there. The other broadly similar one, in cotton shorts, with a mindset practically in fantasyland, with shades of having been a total knock-out, chimed in saying, “Who do you think you’re fooling Clover. You never could keep your panties on whenever he was around.” After tinkling with the dazzling array of climbing rose next to her, Clover said, “For Chris’s sakes, hold on, there girl, what about you.” “What about me?” Margery asked, holding her breath. “Lay off, now. I’m not that naïve; you ought to know that. I’m no namby-pamby.” “What?” said Clover, “You think I’m stupid? Not in a coon’s age. I tell you, I’m no naked mole-rat. Every time he would come around, you made it your best to keep your fast behind up in his face.” Suddenly, Margery asked, “What’s that?” There was a qualified stillness. Margery said to Clover, “Oh, I thought it was something. Now, as I was about to ask, “What the devil is a mole rat?”
Clifford Benjamin
COMMON SENSE HAS PREVAILED, Clover said, “Oh, about that ... you thought you heard, way I see it, better the devil you know. But as I was saying, I thought you knew; we educated and all. Well, anyway, it’s a rat found in Ethiopia, Somalia, and Kenya with nearly hairless skin; wrinkled skin is practically blind. So, what I said shouldn’t amount to a hill of beans to you, especially when we both are smarter than a Jackrabbit.” “Are you saying I fit that description?” Clover said, “Hell no, girl,” she said bluntly, not timid, meek, or bold, “guess you can tell, I was trying to be cute with my words; that’s all. I thought you knew which side of the tracks I was on. I don’t want to get into a row; I need you very much nowadays.” Margery changed the subject, not vague but clear. “I’m with you. A brawl is not a pleasant act. Oh, yeah, haven’t you heard? He thinks I’m talented,’ she said dryly. “I thought you did, too. Oh, well, I don’t particularly appreciate taking things to another level. Didn’t I tell you, I do not dare to climb the highest mountain in the world?” Clover said, “Girl, don’t you know clime has changed a lot now? Well, it’s about time we turn in,” she said, calm but troubled, leading the way with the other nearby, their relationship from hot to cold, as they entered into a place with no attic or cellar, a home with hope and despair and cramped at times. Margery commented, “Oh, poor, poor Mr. Blake, did you hear what happened to him? I heard he had tripped at the top of the stairs, fell down the whole flight, banged his head, and was died as a doornail.” “Did you say dead?” Clover was shocked by the word.
Zombie
“YES, DEAD!” MARGERY repeated with emphasis. “Broke his damn toenail, too,” if I’m lying, I’m flying. I will never forget his big and colorful eyes. Even his gait is severe, I tell you.” “Did I tell you,” said Clover, “my favorite duo is mussels and beer? And that tomorrow it will be raining so you should take that broken down umbrella with you? Lastly, I hope this fight between us ends immediately.” Then Margery said, “Thank God for this is a holy place for us.” “I hear you, sweetheart. The whole ingredients have been here for two weeks. So please don’t dare wring what is said to you.” Though there was a circle of confusion between them, they both cackled like two overgrown hens in a chicken coop. They had seen many a day and were now retired school teachers, both husbands dying from some kind of rare poisoning. After listening to the crabby old front-line teachers and their gnarled mass of incoherent, old as the hills, conversation, he eased toward the back of the building, upon finding an unlocked door and entering slowly, like walking on eggshells. He took care not to disturb anything, his aim to locate his subject. He got right into searching the first floor, first noticing the expensive watch on the kitchen table thinking that thieves often stead valuable items but did the opposite, and then noticed all of the pots used in the kitchen were steel. So he paused to listen to them a bit. Moments later, he then checked his watch and saw that time was running fast like water. He then felt the scent in the room and noticed a familiar odor, but the smell of a palooka was not the thing that made him more curious about where the awful reek originated.
Clifford Benjamin
AFTER SEARCHING THE main floor, he crept upstairs, ever so softly, ever so quietly as a mouse, his emotions ebbing and flowing; this had to be a clean kill, whatever that meant. He was no hunter, just believed in keeping his feet planted flat on solid ground. Moreover, he was no waif, no homeless person, or the kind to shout “Wahoo” if they had the good fortune to have won fifty bucks on a scratch-off at a nearby local fee-bitten department store. He spotted a cat up on the sofa trying to get at the bird in a cage. To turn the tables on the cat, and seeing the certainty of the situation, he grabbed it and wrung its neck, killing it instantly. After rescuing the bird, he continued his search, taking note of everything he came across. As he continued walking in dappled light, he paused a second or two to look at the mirror on the wall. As he gazed at himself, he silently chuckled to himself, giving himself credit for wearing all black from head-to-toe with dark shades. If anyone were to see him now, it would be impossible to recognize him. To him, that was all the better. Now, he must do what he came to do and get the hell of Dodge if at all possible. Upon entering a room, he noticed two red eyes shining in the dark. No one had to tell him it was a dog. No one had to say to him it was a dog. The strange thing was he was of a different kind of beast, the type that waited until you were upon him and then would gobble you up. After several minutes, he reached in his bag and pulled out some night goggles and a can of spray. Putting on the goggles, he aimed it, spraying the dog over his face, the effect so effective, the dog left the room with his tail between its legs, whining.
Zombie
HE WAS ABLE TO SPOT what he was there for and moved forward, entering further into the room until he was but inches away; even though the room was not well lit, it was still blindingly obvious it was his guy. Moving slowly, he reached into the bag again and took out a hammer, the tool of his trade. He bent his body over slightly to get a more accurate position. He waited to listen for any sound or movement. As he continued to observe the situation, it was then that Ed popped into his mind saying, ‘Don’t do it. Fight it. If you do, you’ll have to live with it till your dying day. So I say stop—now!’ Despite Ed’s warning, and as the seconds ticked away, he closed his eyes and struck the victim with malice, with force so powerful and so violent that it cracked the sinews and caked the brain, crushing the victim’s skull like an eggshell. His victim lay still relegated to a doubtful good, a gloss, and a glass, a flower, lost, faded, broken, and dead within seconds. After killing the shrew, he just stood there, almost lifeless, like a lost child, not a bone in his body moved, not even a twit. He continued the motionlessness as the slight wind from a cracked window flowed east and west. Not discouraged, bold-hearted, and bolstered confidence, realizing how easily tricky it had been, he shrugged, exhaled a crippled sigh, then body and soul leaped frog out of there. He receded, departing, wickedly and wretchedly, furring himself warm with poor men’s hearts, in the end, the devil getting their due. He paused for a moment, looking sincere on the stage of life. He was now outside. He then looked to the sky and noticed that the stars sprinkled all the heavens seemed to twinkle with crystalline delight.
Clifford Benjamin
HE SMILED AND THEN continued walking off into the night till his entire configuration was almost out of sight. He slipped further into darkness, gone like the wind, dressed in black, his stick fingers clicking with a snicker, and, chuckling to himself; he took the keys in his hand, his ego pumped, ready to slide through any cellar door. He failed to notice that a bird fearlessly came down the walk, that same walk he had just walked. Guess he realized how bittersweet the situation had been, and how lucky he was not to have bombed out, and how bone-chilling and how tantalizingly close it had come to be a catastrophic failure, ending with an approximation of justice. Guess it can be an example of many criminals that never get caught. Even odder, POTUS woke up at a truck stop with no memory of how he got there. Nevertheless, he managed to brush himself off and made himself scarce. Lucky for him, most of the rigs were out on assignments.
Chapter
67
ANYWAY, IT WAS TO BE not the end but the beginning; he would remain sturdy, strong, powerful, but not the least feeble, for the time being. Ed had no knowledge POTUS was addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world known as “The Devil’s Breath” LSD, which produces unpredictable psychological effects, with “Trips” lasting about twelve hours, with large enough doses, s experience delusions and hallucinations. Back in the Oval, Ed said, “I respect you, POTUS, but we have a president that has a comprehensive hold on us, with a picayune mindset, still doing things with pick and shovel, classified as a peccadillo or slight offense to us all.” POTUS just sat there spaced out, like he was the only one in the room. Vice President Durban said to POTUS, “Think I’m afraid Ed is on the mark, Sir. We should not get away from the hypocrisy taking place. We’re still feeling the effects of all that has happened since this istration took office. I think I know how you feel, Mr. President, but this is no time to be fiddling around with things, not only in this country but over the world.” POTUS said, flat out, “Looks to me, you guys have made up your minds, won’t give an inch on my continuing to run this business at being president.”
Zombie
Clifford Benjamin
BOTH ED AND VICE PRESIDENT Durban looked incredulously at him, not believing what they were hearing from this man, who was now all-powerful, not thinking he wouldn’t see things like them. Ed retook the reins, saying to POTUS, “In case you are unaware what the situation is now, we suggest you not only listen to what the Democrats are saying but the people of this great nation. I mean, my God, can’t you see they want America to change not in the way you see it should, but the way our forefathers intended. It’s obvious America is on the wrong path, Sir.” POTUS said, “Do you know what?” Ed asked, “What, Sir?” “It’s obvious, both of you are confused and need to come to grips with the way we are going. Right now, I think you two motor mouths need to back off and let me run the show.” Ed then said, “Bottom-line, it doesn’t matter how deflating it may sound, but the fact is you need to step down, now, Sir.” At that junction, “Speaker of the House entered the room saying, “I’m here, Mr. President, to let you know the time has come to throw in the towel. Wait a minute, listen to me, it must be done and done expeditiously, the country is spitting at the seams, and I can’t keep my folks—” POTUS cut in, stating, “Your folks? I thought they were my folks too. Do I hear right? Maybe I’m hard at hearing. Are you— all that I have accomplished—you now request that I let you take it all away and just kick me to the goddamn curve. I have you to know; I’m not just some garbage, some piece of trash!”
Zombie
THE SPEAKER TRIED TO put some sense into the conversation by saying to POTUS, “Not exactly, Mr. President, some of what we claim is actual. Republicans have had your back from the jump; that, backing you at every turn of the dial, never rolling over on you.” POTUS chuckled, then said, tell me guys, am I right?” “Right about what, Sir,” asked Ed, the one person that could stand up to him without repercussions. “You all know damn well what I’m implying. The truth is you all want to sever the umbilical cord; throw me to the wind. If that’s what you have in mind, I say go the fuck ahead and give it a shot. But, before doing that, I tell you better look at the republicans at my beckoning, just waiting to jump all over you. I’m sure you know the hell I am talking about.” Ed stepped forward and spat, “My God, are you hearing yourself? Are you hearing us?” “From this moment, I am doing just that.” Vice President Durban scratched his noggin, then said, Sir, I doubt you are hearing us.” POTUS said in rebuttal, “Oh, I’m getting the point all right,” readily aroused into action. “You numb skulls want to get rid of me so you can run the show as you see fit. To which, to my estimate, is terrible. Right now, I need you all to get the hell out of my office before I say something that certainly won’t be nice. Now go! I have a hell of a lot of work to do.” Ed said to others, “Right now, I need you to wait outside; I need to talk to the president a moment or two.” Once only POTUS and Ed remained in the room, and though he was tired of POTUS’s verbal diarrhea, he said, “There is one more thing I think we should talk about.”
Clifford Benjamin
“WHAT MAY THAT BE?” said POTUS, looking at him suspiciously. “I just heard something.” “What for Christ’s sake? Go ahead, spit it out. You never were the type to stand on ceremony.” “It’s about the drug thing?” “I don’t have the slightest what you mean.” “Look, Sir, you and I have been around the brush and back again, right?” He could not bear shaking his head and smiling a little at his ignorance. POTUS said, “Yeah, so what are you saying?” “The grapevine just revealed you are and have been using the most dangerous drug in the world. If that’s so, you must stop the foolishness immediately.” “First off, I’m not using. Second, if I were, it wouldn’t be any of your business. Third, you are not talking to some twelve-year-old snort-nosed child. So, I say to you, back the fuck off.” After making a rude remark, POTUS snapped her fingers and rolled his neck. Just outside, from girder into the street, noon leaked a rip-tooth of the sky’s acetylene as time just kept on ticking. Ed left the room shaking his head, pausing momentarily to look back at him repeatedly, knowing that in a moment of panicked hallucination, POTUS had lost it and had even found his tone of voice to be cacophonous or displeasing. He then continued to walk out of the room, closing the door behind.
Zombie
ED SAID TO THE ONES waiting for him, “If we don’t stop his subtle, warm, and golden breath, it’ll come down to what will grow is reeds that look like him. My God, it is awful that this man, our President has a death-like grip on the republicans is preposterous. Look how the GOP is in lock-step with their Fuehrer, virtually and practically, literarily eating out of his hands, prepared to do anything to appease his ravenous ego despite the upheaval to a country that was great before this evil ushered in. It’s axiomatic or self-evident this man has to go before we clear-thinkers no more live in a democracy, at least the one we once knew.” The rest standing there said in unity, “Aye, aye, sir.” To the last, they all saw where the country was headed and were now willing to fight tooth and nail to keep it from further decline. All were disappointed with the President. All were totally against the ponderous self-fulfilling urges he was seeking. Yet, they felt he had access to the churning wheels of mass media. He was willing to doctor the data to help his cause, a man ready to exhaust all possibilities to have a shot at his running again for the highest office, a man unwilling to recuse himself from being a leader over his stomping ground. The thing was, no one would dare throw the baby out with the bathwater, for he was a man who refused to accept that “In war, there are rules of engagement, collateral damage, casualties, and friendly fire! But, most importantly, there is no winner!”
Clifford Benjamin
AND THAT NOTION ATE at him throughout his presidency. He was taught not to waver, not to give in, not to lose on all fronts, even though he was now losing on all fronts, his situation spiraling out of control in every way, each day. On the whole, as experts would say or crumbling odds would indicate, under his reign, even the White House is becoming a nowhere town, his career heading towards nowheresville, a place denoting failure or relative obscurity. Did anyone mention it was time to desert the sinking ship and get the hell out of Dodge? What from the land of the brave and free? That’s preposterous, at least not from a dying regime led by a one-horse psyche with the mindset of living in the age of dinosaurs. Damn, the reign of terror numbskull doesn’t even have a safety net or any other paraphernalia to have even a drop of a chance at saving the nation, not less his very own skin. A hypotonic child with low tone or tension, the President, is on standby— listless, but all the while receiving punishment in the wake of his cruel misdeeds for all eternity, relegated to a sedentary lifestyle.
Chapter
68
ON THIS EXCELLENT, wet, and windy day, POTUS got a call that upturned his day. “Hello, this is the President speaking. Who may I be speaking to?” “It’s Detective Hammer, from the 5th Precinct down on Elm.” “What can I do for you, detective ah ... Hammer is it?” “Yes, that’s correct, Mr. President. The reason I am calling is that I just received information about the possibility of your involvement in something.” “What might that be, Detective? Can you give me detail? I mean—” “See, that’s the thing; it’s a lot more intricate than that.” “I won’t know just how much you claim I am involved in where ever this is leading to, Detective.” “Let me put it this way; I have evidence that you are involved in a murder that took place several months ago. Would you care to enlighten me on it, Sir?” “I still don’t quite get what you’re trying to get at.” “Look, Sir, we can make this easy or hard. Which one might you be comfortable with?” POTUS sighed. He then said, “Are you trying to say you have evidence that that connects me to a murder?” “That’s it exactly, Sir. I couldn’t have put it better.” “Sound every bit like I need to bring in my lawyer.”
Clifford Benjamin
“IF YOU DO OR NOT, THIS matter needs to be addressed as soon as humanly possible. Do you read me, Sir?” “I got you all right. Would you care to enlighten me further? The thing is, it’s not every day a president is alleged to have or had dealing with murder. But, that’s not a hop skip and a jump if you get my message.” “I understand, Sir.” “So, you are welcome to continue with the reason that you called. Especially on one of the most business days of the week, I might add.” “Gotcha,” said Detective Hammer? POTUS said, “So, go ahead and shot. I’m listening.” “I’ll get right to the point and not drag my feet. There is evidence that you were involved in two murders, one in particular. That being the murder of a young man and a woman alleged to been held captive.” “What? You can’t be serious, Detective.” “I can assure you, Sir, I am just that, serious.” “Do you realize who you’re talking to?” “As I said, this is a matter of urgent attention at the highest level.” POTUS said, “I don’t know who would go to that extent to out-and-out make accusations of that magnitude.” “So, is that a yes or no, Sir.” “Well ... I know ... why in God’s name I am going to agree to something I didn’t have anything to do with.” “Sir, is that a yes, or no? Look, I need you to come in to help with getting to the bottom of this.”
“I wouldn’t dare do it without my lawyer present.”
Zombie
“FINE, THAT’S FAIR AND square. So how about tomorrow at 9:00 a.m? Would that be okay with you? I mean you and your lawyer?” “Okay, I’ll go along with that.” “Fine, Sir, look forward to seeing you.” The phones clicked off on both ends, leaving POTUS in deep contemplation, his mood fitful, rising and falling, feeling as if the walls were beginning to crumble to the ground, like a fish out of water, like he was in an unnatural or uncomfortable sphere or situation. As an idea crept into his mind, he grabbed his phone and put in a call. “Hello, what can I do for you, Mr. President?” POTUS then give him the entire detailed situation and then asked him, “First of all, I need you to get all that’s humanly possible about that Detective I just mentioned. I need it like pronto. Then, when I get it, I will get back in touch to go over the details with you.” After both phones had hung up, POTUS, with his pulses racing down the track of his imagination and kept right on thinking, POTUS banging a clenched fist down hard on the desktop, incensed to the max. Later that night, around two in the morning, an individual dressed in camouflage slipped through an open window, ever so quietly, with a gun with a silencer in one hand and a suitcase in the other. Once locating the target, he shot Detective Hammer in his shoulder blade, slowing his equilibrium to respond. The individual began stabbing his victim in the eye, neck, and chest without mercy, each blow deeper than before.
Clifford Benjamin
THE ASSAULT WENT ON for a minute or two more till the Detective lay dead on his bed. The man then dragged his quarry out the room down the hall to the bathroom, putting the limp body into the tube. He then reached into the bag he brought, pulled out a reciprocating saw, and cut the body into pieces. He then placed the body parts in different bags and took them outside to the car he had backed into the garage, placing the bags in the truck. He then went back end and cleaned up the mess he made and left. Minutes later, driving on the Freeway, he headed for one of the locations to help complete his strategy, which consisted of three locations. One being a garbage dumpster where he dumped the head, then someplace away, he abandoned the arms and legs; he finished it all off by placing the torso in a landfill due to be filled in the early light of day. Satisfied, he sashays it getting into his car and sped away, breathing a sigh of relief, despite having done this sort of thing many times before just for a different person. Miles away, he stopped at lodging for the night, only to leave just before daylight. About three hours later and the same style man and sincerely singled-hearted, he was on a wavelike ridge of hard snow formed by the wind with goggles on, hustling to his abstract location like Ali Baba and the forty thieves. Would you believe this guy, when just a young pup at twelve, would run away from a fight? Back then, he had a reputation for being a snort-nosed coward. Until the day some grandiose football jock raped his sister.
Zombie
WHEN WORD GOT TO HIM, he was stock raving mad and went and found the one that did it, killing him and gutting him like a pig, then setting him on fire. Even the police had to scratch their heads for lack of evidence. When word got to the schoolyard, it jump-started his career, catapulting his ego. After that, no one dared to mess with him; if they did, the brunt of it would have been a brutal mistake on their part. This guy was a ed surgeon, used to cutting people with a scalpel and seeing blood all over.
Chapter
69
IT WAS TUESDAY, A BIT mild sunny day, when POTUS had his motorcade stop in Queens, New York, out in front of a local Supermarket. POTUS got out, as did his Secret Service. He walked over and started to pick out some fruit. As he did, a young bacon-faced black man with a fat, sleek demeanor ran out with a bag in his hand, with a clerk giving chasing, shouting, “Stop that man, he just stole some fruit.” POTUS reached inside his coat as the man ran past, pulled out a gun, and shot the man five times, killing him instantly. Before long, the scene was crawling with cops with bystanders shouting, “We saw what happened. The President shot him five times. He should be arrested here and now.” A cop, Officer Martin, a ten-year veteran with a reputation for harassing citizens, primarily blacks, talked to POTUS. He waved his hand at the crowd saying to them, “You people need to get back on the curve and let us take care of the situation. All the shouting won’t help. So I’m asking you to keep it down.” Minutes later, he said to the President, “That’ll do, Mr. President. You’re free to go.” The clouds of witnesses became more agitated, demanding to arrest the President. The secret service helped POTUS back to the car and took him away as coke bottles hit the vehicle and fell to the street.
Zombie
BEFORE THE DAY HAD ended, the incident was splashed all over the news channels, with the title: “Holy Smokes,” showing a crowd of angry demonstrators making a real ruckus outside the House of Parliament and in states across the country consisting of blacks and whites mixed with other nationalities. It was an ugly affair. The next day, the Senate was in session with the Democrats crying out for blood and bad-mouthing the President as practically all republicans ed his actions and what they considered golden blunders. Since the nation’s inception, the Senate was never so divided. Fox News, as usual, ed POTUS actions and was starting to drum up further castigating the deceased, denigrating his character like he had massacred hundreds of innocent whites. It wasn’t long before a Confederacy of Dunes, with fanatic hearts, out to kill the glory and the dreams, hit the streets across the nation. It was facing down the mixed peaceful lilies of the field with noble intentions, plagued by lonely teardrops, picking sense out of nonsense, opening the doors of perception of lawlessness to a new high through to the dying of the night. It was coupled with a monstrous regiment of women under the moon by night as seen through the needle’s eye on the other side of silence. It was like strangers in a strange land on a swiftly tilting planet, on the ground where angels fear to tread, in a world of the flesh and the devil. If looks could kill every one of the demonstrators would be dead.
Clifford Benjamin
FORTUNATELY, SOME SNEAKY, pesky spying set in place helped save many plum lucky lives. Cops were good at killing blacks under smoke, mirror, and murder. With immunity for cops or blind assassins, they would get off with just a slap on the wrist and were allowed to return to duty in the same community. At the same time, victims remained horizontal, with the promising old-fashioned future snatched from them, no places in between, their lives smashed, squashed, splattered, chewed, chunked, and spewed to cinders. On the home front, many people were aware that bitter historical enmities underlie the present violence. Over at the Oval Office, Ed said to POTUS, “There is no use trying. One can’t believe impossible things.” “I dare say you haven’t had much practice,” said POTUS. “When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why sometimes I’ve believed as many as six possible things before breakfast.” Ed said, “Through the looking glass, I can understand those would be second thoughts from the imagination. But, then again, there is nothing dull-witted about that.” POTUS put it out of his mind and then went by instinct, saying, “No matter how hard I tried, I felt I had to kill that idiot.” “If you had let your security handle the matter, it could have been avoided.” POTUS replied, “Are you saying I was wrong?” “No ... not exactly.” “Well, then what?” “Maybe we should change the subject matter.” “No. I want to hear your thoughts on the matter.”
Zombie
ED COULD SENSE THE stream of consciousness’s direction and wanted to nip it in the bud. “Maybe we should go down another path if that’s all right with you.” “No, let’s not do that. So tell me your assessment of the matter.” “Well, now that you ask me, I think it was shit-poor and should not have happened.” POTUS bit back, “You are supposed to be my sidekick. You’re supposed to have my back.” “I do have your back.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do.” “As I said, you don’t.” Ed said, “What do you want me to say? You did right by shooting that black on the street in broad daylight?” “That would be starting in your showing .” Ed’s brain wave was not a happy thought, and he couldn’t see things any other way. “Let’s just call it a draw for now.” POTUS’s response was automatic, “You are a coward, Ed. There’s just no other way to slice it, no matter how I try.” “Me. What about you?” Are you accusing me of being a coward for shooting an ignorant black that may have caused harm to an innocent white woman?” Ed said, “There you go with the white thing.” “What do you mean, white thing?”
Ed said, “That’s the trouble; there are too many whites that think blacks are lowdown no-do-gooders.” “Well, aren’t they?” “No, they are not.”
Clifford Benjamin
POTUS HUFFED, “JUST about every day blacks kill their very own, not counting the ones that go out and rape our young, pure, innocent lily-white women folks.” Ed shook his head, finding the matter distasteful, finding it hard to believe this man, the President of these United States, would be so racist. “I tell you what I think.” “Tell me. What do you think, Mister high and mighty going around thinking blacks are good people.” Ed countered, “I didn’t say that.” “Oh, yes, you did.” “You’re trying to bring me down to your level.” “What in God’s name are you saying, Ed. Now you are above my level? Why that’s poppycock. Pure nonsense if there ever was.” Ed sighed and shook his head, tiring of the argument but knowing he had open a can of worms that’s been plaguing the nation since its inception—since its very beginning, and threatening to tear it asunder. He should have known it would eventually come to this wrinkle—proving they are total opposites. He knew then, and there POTUS had been brainwashed and now had clipped wings taking away his ability for his mind to take flight. POTUS didn’t know that Ed knew why Rosa sat on the bus. POTUS hurt and embittered and feeling hoodwinked, and then came the bad news, talking this and that as he spat, “So, it looks like the cat is finally out the bag.” He then broke terribly on him, saying, “For what it’s worth, I never would have guessed you would betray me. I suppose it’s the way of being raised. To think this all happened, and we both went up a blind alley that led to this.”
Zombie
THE CONVERSATION HAD gotten heated and became a battle of egos, just a blanket of air separating them and a veil of indifference. Well aware all our words are but crumbs that fall from the feast of the mind, Ed then gave POTUS a shot across the bow by saying, “I’ve been trying to tell you about my feelings when it comes to racism. Racism sucks the life out of you and can have you seeing things differently from the general public at large.” Ed’s mind was a sea of uncertainty and tiring of his silken lies, and he couldn’t help but feel POTUS was going to go all night, was going to light it up like dynamite. There was no quick explanation. Things would get worse and worse and worse, and pretty soon, they were too complicated. Now having confronted Ed’s stubborn stains of disagreement and feeling like he was flogging a dead horse, POTUS said, “Well, shiver my timbers. Damn it, Ed, being a member of the gentlemen’s club doesn’t make sense because all their certainly don’t allow economically challenged blacks to belong to the club. Most want to see blacks euthanized. I’m not just blowing smoke. The way I see it, who am I to tell my nightmares to if I don’t tell them to you?” Knowing that all our words are but crumbs that fall from the feast of the mind, Ed said, “Simmer down. You can tell it to me.” “But you’re not listening.” “Yes, I am. I’m all ears.” POTUS said, “Every time I try to clarify things, you shoot me down.” “I told you I’d listen.”
Clifford Benjamin
WITH ANGER BOTTLED up inside, POTUS believing chaos was a friend of mine, said, “Well, anyway, I just say it. It’s just that, when I think of blacks, I get sick on my stomach, throwing up all over myself. I feel most blacks deserve an enhanced interrogation. And I just don’t feel they should be a species. Then, using profanity, he said, “Oh, fudge. At least I’m housebroken. Although, I must it that my alarm yelled at me this morning.” He paused and then took a breath or two. He then continued saying, “My computer is working very hard. My phone is not cooperating with me, and the mail is running unusually slow this week. I wanted to get money, but the ATM died. My sunflowers hung their heads. Then, a door jumped in my way. I can’t get my calendar to work for me. My cupboard groaned when I opened it. I couldn’t even see the star winking at me. To top it off, even my house plant was pouting in the corner. Isn’t that a kicker?” Ed said, “I got you.” POTUS said, “But I hear you. So, that’s how you see it. I can’t do anything about that. I guess we can still be friends, just not as close as before.” POTUS then belched and put out his hand to Ed. Feeling POTUS had gone around the bend and that perhaps he was guilty of some terminological inexactitudes—not telling the exact truth and feeling POTUS was all there, but too much there was the problem. Ed hesitantly shook his hand, and they went back to dealing with other business of the day as the situation moved further along.
Zombie
BUT ED THOUGHT, ‘WHO knows? And what does it mean–you’ll die? Perhaps a man has a hundred senses, and when he dies, the five known to us will destroy, and the remaining ninety-five is left alive.’ But POTUS was a walking dead man. The truth was: It’s been all up with it for a long time; there’s no turning back, the path’s grown over. POTUS looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear: “Well, don’t think if I get hold of you I’ll—” “Ed asked, “I’m waiting for you to finish what you were saying to me.” POTUS said, “Here we are grown men without a sense of humor. But I get a chuckle when I think about the little cocker spaniel dog in a crate I had brought from Texas. Black and white spotted. And my son’s little girl—Tricia, the sixyear-old—named it Checkers. And you know, the kids, like all kids, love the dog, and I want to say this right now, that regardless of what they say about it, we’re going to keep it.” Many thoughts blew through Ed’s mind, including selfishness, lack of judgment, misplaced trust, greed, indecision, self-doubt, anger, misplaced loyalty, extreme curiosity. He then grew quiet. His silence would incense a flint. Over time, they both agreed they had a mountain of work to do. They both were unaware that a white republican Senator shot a black Democratic Senator in the Senate Chamber all over the President, calling out the military to quell a peaceful demonstration in Baltimore, Maryland. The shooting caused Senators on both sides of the aisle to take cover from each other.
Clifford Benjamin
THE CAPITAL POLICE brought the situation to a halt. But, the Senate Republicans insist their member not be arrested, claiming it was self-defense and that the black Senator had threatened to cause bodily harm to the white Senator. As things stood, the white Senator was allowed to go home, leaving many Democrats flabbergasted and demanding justice. To make matters even worse, once the curfew set in, as the military tried to clear the streets, it shot and killed 24 demonstrators, wounding 84. For some reason, white supremacists across the country started lynching innocent blacks by breaking into their homes and killing them, including children, and then burning their homes to the ground. In addition, whites started breaking into jails and taking the blacks out and hanging them, and many more blacks were taken from their cars and lynched. To matters worse, there were incidents of whites shooting blacks at Supermarkets throughout the nation, Native Americans, Asians, and Latinos. Moreover, it was claimed whites, like a thief in the night, killed blacks at beaches and nightclubs dating white women. There was also an outgrowth of cops killing blacks at traffic stops and home invasions. Several white teachers let all hell loose, killing black students, with blighted hopes, over something as simple as the teacher didn’t like how the student’s hair looked. Other whites were killing their black neighbors claiming they didn’t belong there, leaving blacks throughout the nation caught unaware, with a lack of expectation—no hope.
Zombie
MANY WHITES TOOK BLACKS to the cleaners, took them for a ride, and snatched their property. They even went so low as to steal their money. They then committed other crimes such as rape, conquer, and helped themselves with ill-gotten gains, without an ounce of restitution or reparation to restore black people’s lives. Around that same time, every human species in a civilized world treated blacks like chalk and cheese. Later that night, as Ed lay in bed, thinking about a woman he once knew with eyes that set his heart ablaze, he shut his eyes, and the world dropped dead. As he slept, the world around him was changing exponentially. Something or someone had to stop it before it was too late, and there would be no democracy to protect the good people of this nation.
Chapter
70
WHEN THE BAWDY HAND of the dial was upon the prick of noon and the day spread out against the sky and having driven on streets that follow like a tedious argument, Ed was in the Oval Room. There the two talking heads were. Ed said to POTUS, “It’s a damn shame things have gotten out of hand.” “What are you implying?” “I’m talking about what’s been happening around the nation.” “How so—what exactly do you mean?” “I’m talking about the white senator killing the black senator in the Senate, mind you.” “Oh, that.” “Yes, that.” There was stone-cold silence. POTUS said, “The trouble is people make sorts of horrible assumptions.” Ed said with a bellyful of confidence, “It’s bad when they are wrong, but damn good when they are right.” “There’s no one here but us chickens,” POTUS said. “What do you mean?” “I’m just saying we can say what’s on our minds without any consequences.” “I disagree.” “That’s okay with me. We agree to disagree.”
Zombie
ED SAID, “LET’S BE clear what we are talking about here.” “I know what we’re talking about.” “I don’t think so.” “As I said, we agree to disagree, said POTUS, “but, let’s look at it this way: each one of us can have a world of misconceptions.” “True,” said Ed. “But we both know what we are referring to; I’m quite sure.” “I agree.” Ed was aware that POTUS was the catalyst that got many blacks killed. He knew whites killed blacks, and sometimes blacks killed whites when the clouds rolled back, and the stars peopled the night. It was so vivid he could feel it in his bones, making him think he was alone, all alone walking down life’s lonesome highway. He considered, by contrast, each day, POTUS played the role of someone always in control. In his mind, he believed men are not angels, neither are they brutes. He also thought our aspirations are not our responsibilities. It was not clear to him who knew most, doubt most. He had to it; he had a wonderful and terrible life. His mottos were: aspire, break bounds, endeavor to be good, and never still, best. And to measure your mind’s height by the shade it casts. And the world and life are too big to for a dream. He was so confused, feeling that he was all-powerful and could still the winds asleep in the solid drift and that in the chandelier of life, you are the halogen bulb. Make sure everyone can see your light. Then when no suitable existing option was available, he would draw on the notion he was just what the doctor ordered.
Clifford Benjamin
HE NEVER FELT MORE excellent. He is terrific and believes people never say God if they hadn’t heard God talked about at all. And to improve is to change, so to be perfect is to have changed often. And never interrupt an enemy making a mistake. He also knew POTUS did not know a long dispute means that both parties are wrong, but he never loses and believes we must all either wear out or rust out, every one of us. His choice is to wear out. POTUS said to Ed, “All right! I can work with that too! It’s not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.” “True, so true,” Ed agreed. “But anyone with an open mind can see the blacks not getting their fair share.” POTUS said, “What can I say. I don’t give one damn if those blacks ever get reparations. They were the slaves, not us.” “Yeah, but they were the ones that worked in the fields from sunrise to sundown, not getting paid a penny for their efforts. So you have to agree that wasn’t fair.” “I done told you, Ed, I don’t give a damn about stinking niggers. They can all rot for all I care. God must have been drunk to high heavens when he made them. I tell you none of them were worth the effort and includes that coon, Martin Luther King. My aim as President is to make it so that never again will a single story be told as though it’s the only one.” Ed said, “With that way of think it’ll make it sound like we are the real animals.” POTUS laughed and said, “It’s the way of the world, can’t you see that.” “That way of thinking sounds like the sum of all fears to me,” said Ed.
Zombie
POTUS COUNTERED BY saying, “We hardly find any persons of good sense save those who agree with us.” Ed said, “My God, I can’t believe my ears.” “What, don’t you know—no man steps in the same river twice? That’s the way of the world, guy. It’s a fact. What happens to us is an objective reality; how we respond is a subjective choice. Suspicion runs fast; the truth doodles along.” Ed said, “I got to tell you, people, that think like you are a lost generation.” “What?” said POTUS, “don’t you know behind every great fortune there is a crime on this side of paradise, that is? No one knows how to live one’s trouble. I believe in nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of the imagination. Not God. So let the great world spin. Let’s look at it this way: all the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is. The fact of the matter is I learned courage from Buddha, President Andrew Jackson, and Cary Grant that liars prosper, sea to shining sea. That’s why I learned to get ahead repeat yourself carelessly, excessively, needlessly, endlessly, repeat yourself. And keep a big bag full of tricks. In my opinion, thinking is a neglected art. That’s why I hate to be poor, degradingly poor, and offensively poor, misery poor, or beastly poor, and disgustingly matters of gravity, such as loss. And when blacks get up on their feet and make progress, I say burn baby burn, burn that mother down, as the whites did to the black folks back in 1927, burnt their Black Wall Street to the ground. That’s why I say, if we whites don’t end this now, the blacks will kill us. Is that what you want? I am what I am.
Clifford Benjamin
WHAT HAPPENS HERE STAYS here; we must keep in mind, things can get icky quickly and that you think you got it but got it, just don’t get it. That’s why I say yes, a thousand times, yes I hate the bastards. After it’s over, all I want is a tropical vacation, a long, decadent tropical vacation with just my friends and my family. Would you believe that nigger was staring out at me with his yellow eyes? He had yellow eyes! So help me, God, yellow eyes. I later learned he was born in a hotel room. And I said to myself, goddamn it—why didn’t the bastard die in a hotel room? Yellow eyes, I tell you. Now come on, Ed, you and should be aligned on that. So go ahead, fire away at will. Shoot!” As the deadly hollows whispered out to him, Ed could hear the ringing in his ears and was no longer at ease and knew for sure this man in front of him was losing it, not knowing he had wrestled himself into a terrible position with Ed. “I will it I give you credit for trying but no cigar. But duty calls, and I won’t be looking for another way back. This silent partner disagrees with you. You have a dangerous secret that clashes with my values and virtues. You are dealing with wrongs, darker than death or night. Perhaps it was due to my being too busy being a nice guy rather than paying attention to what you were really into all the time.” POTUS said, “No partner, that’s easier said than done. But, after what you have been through, including you and I eating towering pancake Sundays and all, I can’t let you off the hook.” He smiled a perfect row of white teeth. Ed said, “I will get out of your hair if that’s okay with you.” POTUS said, “Are you telling me you want to sign off? I mean, it’s not that we wave the magic wand and—” “No, that’s not what I am saying.” “Then what are you saying?”
Zombie
“I JUST WANTED TO LET you know that I’m not going to clean up behind you anymore.” POTUS thought for a moment and then said, “That’s fine by me if that’s how you want it.” “Yes, I do. I think it will be better for the both of us.” POTUS said, “It’s like the devil you know, the devil you don’t know.” “That’s right.” “Okay.” “Glad you feel that way.” “I’m just that way with people, and I like doing business with them. It sort of works out better that way.” POTUS knew he didn’t have a plausible alibi; the real he was deep down as he said with an ambiguous smile, “The hypocrisy is where you don’t want to take this. So, you drew the line and gave me a reality check to sit up straight and never slouch. It was like I was in a different galaxy with ego flaring, but now it is fine by me, a little piece of bliss, so to speak, that doesn’t always leave bruises you can see. I’m glad you won’t be avoiding me like the plague.” “I feel the same.” He was laser-focused. To him, it was the easiest decision in decision-making. He had the home-court advantage, and that meant a hell of a lot. Although a little out of sorts, he sensed it would lead to this during the duration of the argument. Now both were so near but yet so far. He had a distinct advantage and knew that it shielded him from tasting POTUS’s wrath or to him rolling out the artillery. He then said, “I think it will set a standard from now on,” knowing what was said was not meant for public consumption.
Chapter
71
ONE MONTH LATER, A police officer patrolling Central Part in New York came across a woman beating within an inch of her life shouting, “It was a gang of young black boys that chased me down and attacked me.” “Were they tall, short or fat or lean?” She looked at him incredulously and shouted, “Why are you asking these questions?” “It’s my duty, ma’am.” “Your duty should be out there trying to get the sons of bitches that beat me and raped me. I thought they were going to kill me.” “I'm so sorry, ma’am.” “You’re sorry?” “Yes, ma’am, I am.” “You keep saying you’re sorry when the bastards that did this are getting away; heck, they might be out there raping some other innocent white woman, for all we know.” “We try our best, ma’am,” he said and then produced an archaic smile. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t need your apologies or smiles. I need you to catch those dang niggers.” “Ma’am, I must caution you not to use such language.” “What? You mean nigger?” “Yes, that’s correct.”
Zombie
SHE SAID, “TELL ME if the shoe was on the other foot and you were me, I think you’ll say the same thing.” “Help is on the way, ma’am.” “I know that. I heard you call it in. I’m not deaf; you may be, but not me.” “I assure you, ma’am, I’m certainly not deaf.” “My God, officer, I didn’t say that about you. Yet here I am with a broken nose, sprang ankle, a host of other things I can’t rightly describe at this time. “I am sorry, ma’am.” She asked, “What in god’s name do a woman have to do to get any help around here.” “Ma’am, I told you—” he said, “Now don’t get your dander up, miss.” “I know. Help is on the way. But, if it is, it’s taking a damn awful amount of time for them to get here.” She pointed her finger and screamed, “That’s them.” The officer stopped a group of blacks with two white boys and said to her, “Are you certain these are the ones that assaulted you, ma’am?” She came over closer to the boys, taking time to look from face to face. Then after shaking her head, she said, “You can let them go; they are not the ones.” The officer said, “Really? Think about it; we don’t want to let them go if there’s the chance they may be the ones that done it.” After several seconds he realized that his newfound confidence in her was no more than skin-deep. She shook her head firmly. “I’m positive, and the day I was born officer. Let them go.”
Clifford Benjamin
THE BOYS WALKED AWAY, saying, “She’s crazy. Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter
72
TWO MONTHS LATER, THE woman returned to the park under the light of the moon and, with a fierce look in her eyes, out-and-out shot ten black kids, injuring four and killing six and then took flight into the darkness never seen again, leaving the cops dumbfounded and scratching their heads. It resulted in riots for many moons till preachers and parents of the victims, mixed with a cadre of Gentoo or Hindus, called a halt to the situation. The violence even reached the bird’s-eye view of the executive and the worm’seye of the employee, as fringe groups invented new ways to confound the old order. Next, on the road flanked with linden trees, in an area dominated by a specific kind of enterprise, Doctors Row was set ablaze by angry whites, reducing it to rubble. Blacks entirely owned it; whites that did it found a chink in the law that left blacks baffled, the place damaged to an extent, it would cost a galactic sum of money to rebuild, so evocative it brought tears to black’s eyes. In addition, it caused flameouts to persons whose successful careers ended abruptly, making it harder to stand the gaff. Then of Congress riding onto the President’s coattail stood by him from coast to coast. At the same time, firebombs decimated city-after-city, especially those places of fabulous wealth or even opportunity, creating a firestorm of protests under unyielding firmness or endurance.
Clifford Benjamin
WHEN SEEN THROUGH GRANNY glasses would bring a tear to their eyes, making it hard to grapple.
Chapter
73
MONTHS LATER, THE GRAY matter between the ears encouraged many republican sycophants to get the President to bomb the Gaza Strip. It resulted in the killing of thousands of men, women, and children; unnerving Democrats who demanded steps to show the Palestinians America didn’t intend to continue aggression against them, that it would take steps to better their situation. Even the nation of Iran was livid over the tragic flaw of the United States, threatened the use of the sword of Damocles, or impending disaster if America, existing in a half-world, didn’t cease-fire in the region. Some tend to believe that America was not in a hissy or didn’t blink when it received the hinky or nervous, or jittery message of Himalayan proportions from Iran. As to the killings in America, the inoperative laws could not help the authorities identify any thief. All the inventive minds across the land could not conclude, even if offered a king’s ransom. Six months later, black folks across the nation received a letter bomb in the mail, resulting in hundreds of deaths and injuries; some were lettered persons.
Chapter
74
IT WAS THE IDES OF March, around 2:35 a.m., when a bridge was blown to smithereens, killing 75 people, mostly African Americans, leaving families without a father, a mother, a cousin, and so on, an unknown white supremacist group taking the blame. A couple of days later, after a pub crawl, some wacky whites with absurdist dialogue started replacing statues of soldiers of the confederacy in sky-blue daylight armed with assault rifles daring anyone to stop them, without a show of police force to quell the riot. To date, over 150 statues were reinstalled across the nation and still counting, with no sign of a conciliation smoothing the way to a possible agreement. In addition, someone in the crowd threw a pineapple and blew up a building three floors tall, leaving it in cinders. Their actions were no smoke and mirrors but indicated their manners and miserliness erode the human spirit. These folks were terrorists, not one billet-doux between them to define them differently or help them see the big picture to strike at their elemental ion. Some might say, exile them to the Old World, Asia, Africa, or Europe.
Zombie
A WEEK OF BIRTHDAYS later, meshuggener whites, tired of their overdose, attacked from the sky, bombing black neighborhoods throughout the country as whites broke into homes, killing men, women, and children. Sadly, the government was not amenable to change, claiming their military was preoccupied with situations aboard that were harmful to our nation. The thing was, there was not a kernel of truth for their actions, nor was there an effective substantive kick against the prick or rebuttal to their efforts. The thing was the on-again-off-again republicans like moths to a flame while their careers headed towards nowheresville. They had managed to get more bigots into office across the nation, including the prosecutors, governors, police departments, the courts, even the Justice Department, everything one could shake a stick at all.
Chapter
75
ON A MONDAY MORNING, two black democrats were sitting down chatting, eating in the mess hall. Representative Hass, a man of exceptional insight, said to his fellow Senator Andrew, “Senate Republican Dean was there.” “No kidding? He has a mega ego and is a regular pervert.” “That’s right.” “I think that beetle-browed guy with bushy dark and messy eyebrows frowning in appearance is a killjoy, who does not like other people enjoying themselves, especially blacks.” Hass said, “He does have a problem. I don’t know how true it is that he once hung a black boy in college. A hopeless case, I tell you. When I heard about it, it caused me to miss more than a night’s sleep that threw my body out of kilter.” “Oh, that must have been awful. If I had my druthers, or should I say, if I had my preference, I’ll put that sucker’s lights out.” “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. But I thought that too. So I had to get some medication to help me sleep,” Hass said. “He has a slight air of menace which I find upsetting,” said Andrew. “You better be careful when you’re around him, especially when you are alone. There’s no telling what he might do.” Hass asked, “Do you think he’s packing?” “Gee whiz, where’s my head? Do you mean a firearm?”
Zombie
“YES.” Andrew picked his glass up and said, “Here’s mud in your eye!” “Oh, so we’re saluting with just water in the glass?” “I just thought it might humor you a bit,” said Andrew, his smile putting a dimple on his cheek. “Well, it did; thank you so much.” He smiled. Hass said with a smile, “Got a question.” “What?” “If two witches were watching two watches, which witch, in your view, would watch which watch?” “To be frank or honest, I don’t have a clue,” Andrew said. Hass laughed and said off-kilter, “Neither do I.” The two laughed a barrel of laughs. Hass said, “On another side of things, my motto is, decide what you want in life —don’t just muddle along.” Andrew raised his glass again. “Ramble on, man. I’m with you on that front, that is if it’s alright with you.” “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t have any trouble with that. We all are allowed to have a difference of opinion in this new world we live in, consisting of North, Central, and South America,” Hass itted. Andrew lowered his voice a tad and asked him, “What do you think about our people being killed and having to bear the brunt of things?” “I think it’s appalling.”
“We’re of one mind with that.” “It’s sad the government’s overrun with racist whites. It’s a sad commentary.”
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “I’M RIGHT with you, partner, and every step of the way. The thing is, when will it all stop. That’s if the right people get back into power again.” “Did you hear the latest?” “What?” Hass said, “That a white drunk as a skunk plowed through some kids at a bus stop waiting for the bus, killing seven and injuring ten elementary school kids.” “My God, that’s awful.” “Yeah, they were black kids.” Andrew said, “Idiot should be in jail.” “Back at you, champ. I concur. But we both know the guy will get off Scot free, without serving a day behind bars.” “I know. And look at how the cops are treating us.” Hass said, “The Black Panthers had it right for us to protect our community from corrupt cops out to murder us in the streets.” “Don’t forget our homes. We are not safe there either,” said Andrew. “I find it amazing how there are so many whites that can’t accept reality America is Racist to the core. And they don’t know black don’t crack. That people of African descent tend to wrinkle less with age than people of fairer skin.” “I’ve always known that. So I agree with you.” Andrew said, “Man can you dig it? We’re not talking about beer and skittles or fun time; the fact is the racist whites are ing the police force to kill blacks for the thrill of it. Sort of honor amongst thieves, so to speak, hook line and sinker— equated to a hollow victory, without hope in hell with no chance of succeeding, like it’s beyond the pale.”
“Yeah, that’s right, but I must say some of the blacks are arming themselves with assault rifles and fighting back.
Zombie
ANDREW TOOK OUT A TISSUE and blew his nose, then said, “Been there, done that. I heard that too. What choice do we have? We can’t just lie down and let them kill us all without us fighting back. That would be lunacy.” Hass said, “How about that Senator, the one with the face like thunder that stated America should have a military coup.” “He’s stubborn as a mule, a boon and a bane—both a benefit and an affliction. The one with the face only a mother could love. That’s the thing; this country doesn’t need people like that making such outlandish statements we don’t need the big fish shouting to the rafters that America should become autocratic.” Andrew said, “It’s sad they don’t realize those who live by the sword die by the sword.” “Amen. Another sad thing many republicans are exhibiting no fear, and finessing their way through tight places, and displaying the ability to harness with others, are throwing caution to the wind and casting in their lot with white supremacists biting at the bit.” “I know what you mean,” said Andrew. “They are casting pearls before swine. Giving someone else something not deserved or appreciated.” Hass said, “That’s why I believe in fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice shame on me.” “I always liked that phrase. And I must say, I thought, I thought of thinking of thanking you. “Nah, you don’t need to.” “It’s just that what you said about casting pearls before swine is to the point,” Hass said.
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “HOW I look at it is, thousands of tricky tongue twisters trip thrillingly off the tongue every day. That’s why it’s a shame that a lot of whites are not awake. Many of them don’t know much about America’s horror in the past. Many scuffs at the thought that whites attack an entire town owned by blacks.” “Sad.” Andrew said, “They were damn dark days and nights for America.” “The trouble is, these are troubling times again, and the good and decent citizens need to buckle down for the long haul all over again,” said Hass, glancing around at blank faces, wondering if their conversation was overheard by someone, feeling he could care less. Andrew asked, “Do you think they know?” “Who are you talking about?” “White people—a lot of them don’t know that Professor Leaky, a white man, by the way, discovered that Liberia is the cradle of civilization and that blacks left Africa and moved into the caves in Europe and began the white civilization. That explains why their eyes changed to blue, and some other colors and their skin turned to white due to the cold,” said Andrew, feeling that the whites that knew that fact didn’t want to let on to their brethren the God’s truth. Hass said, “Yeah, you’re right. They don’t want their kids to know that ancient Africans called divine kings rule Egypt for 39 thousand years, and they were black as homemade sin. Whites want that fact to stay hidden and blindside their adult children.” “It’s a fine mess. A downright dirty shame if you ask me.” “I’m with you, partner on that.”
Zombie
HASS SAID, “I REALIZE you are, and I’m glad you are on the right path ... many whites feel we blacks that see things like that got our foot in our mouths, you know like inappropriate, wrong, or stupid.” “That’s why this President has to go. He has proven he is the bane of our existence, posing a significant problem to us.” “True that ... him with an invisible golden crown upon his brow. Indeed, a bridge too far, taking actions that are too ambitious and overreaching. That turkey has lied, saying things, again and again, hoping something will stick. How I see it, he’s under a cloud of uncertainty, making him under suspicion as to the reliability, dependability, or trustworthiness resulting from ominous circumstances. Now look at what’s happening to this nation. He continued to place irons in the fire and got the Republican Party hell-bent on destroying the other party. Sorry to bend your ear about our President, just figured you ought to know.” Hass said with a discerning eye, “Shit, I know what you’re talking about now. He’s got several things working to his advantage at the same time.” “It’s called the big lie.” “I know. All of it perpetrated by the dirty dog in the White House.” “It’s a travesty.” “Totally a travesty,” said Hass. Andrew said, “That man’s one sick puppy.” “I second that.” “Too bad God won’t take him out,” Andrew said. “Sure would save us a lot of trouble.”
Clifford Benjamin
HASS SAID, “HE’S CERTAINLY not a gentleman and a scholar. He needs to get a lifestyle overhaul, a complete revision of his way of living. But, as they say, even a hit dog will holler. That guilt will ultimately come to light if he is guilty. Some people expect him reelected President now he’s hit a purple patch, you know, like had a run of success or good fortune. But, he needs to get his A into G, his ass in gear if you ask me,” calling it off his chest, and giving tongue, and then making an obscene gesture with the middle finger as a sign of contempt. Andrew said, “He has proven to be a few bulbs short of a chandelier, dimwitted, not too bright—that I am sure. The cards are on the table, and there’s every indication it’s now a fair season, a right time to get him out of office.” Andrew leaned a hair’s breadth away from Hass and said, “I just got wind of a plot hatched.” “What.” “I don’t know how true it is.” “Tell me anyway.” Andrew said, “Some politicians are planning a coup.” “You think so?” Andrew shrugged his board shoulders. “I think maybe so. But, of course, you can never tell whether or not when it comes through the grapevine and all. I heard their scheme is like a cat in gloves catches no mice, you know like, one cannot get what one wants by being cautious, one must use aggression to get it.” “Do tell.”
Zombie
“THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT. Then, just yesterday, I was in the bathroom taking care of business when two guys came in. I could have sworn I overheard one say to the other that everybody back’s was against the wall and that they had concluded it had to happen.” Hass said, “My stars! Do you think they were implying that the President should be gone? That was not clear enough. They could have meant many things.” “Maybe so, maybe not; that’s the way I see it.” Hass said, “If you’re not sure, I say button your lip. You don’t want to start something if it’s not true.” “Maybe you’re right because one of them had some music playing on his cell phone, blurring the situation.” “See, that’s what I’m saying. You probably thought it was what you heard but cannot be sure.” “Yeah, you may be right,” said Hass. “I’m right. I bet dollars to a donut.” Hass said, “Oh, like you’d bet the farm on it? But, on the other hand, for some reason, my mind keeps telling me it is zero hours.” “Hold your horses. That doesn’t sound too good, don’t you think?” “By the same token, sometimes it pays to trust your intuition,” said Hass. “I know. I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but life’s not all cakes and ale. So it does pay to trust your intuition.” Hass said, “Maybe your better angels told you that.” “What?” “You know that the president is in danger.”
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW SAID, “NAH, I heard them talking about something to that effect. I could’ve sworn one of them say they are waiting for the green light. You know, like given the necessary permission, authorization to do something. I could be wrong. Say if I were to tell someone else, it might be like taking sand to the beach—completely pointless.” Hass suggested, “Sometimes it may pay to take the bull by the horns and not worry about the risks. As for me, I wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty. But, on the other hand, you have become involved in something where the realities might compromise your principles. What do you think?” “I don’t know. But, perhaps, I should get my ass in gear.” “Ah, you always were one sharp cookie,” said Hass. Andrew said, “And you mostly in seventh heaven smitten with the shaggy-dog story, which is a long, rambling story or joke, typically one that is amusing only because it is absurdly inconsequential or pointless with a silly ending.” They chuckled, in stitches, unaware of the shifting sands that were about to take place, that would not only affect them but the high and mighty, the people with authority and power who behave in a superior and condescending way. Hass said, “You’re right. I have a feeling we are about to hit rough weather filled with difficulties or problems.” “I sense that too—if something does happen, it’s sure to hit the airwaves on radio and TV.” “Yeah, you’re right.” “You can count on that. It may be better if we both quit cutting down the tall poppies, criticizing people who stand out from the crowd.”
Zombie
“I AGREE, BUT A HOT ticket is very much in demand at the moment.” “As they say, broke as a joke, and it isn’t funny.” “Beg your pardoning. Oh, sorry about that. I was thinking about something else. But, I know what you mean. It’s not funny to be without a cent,” Hass said. Andrew scratched his five o’clock shadow then said, “Speaking of money, that president of ours is a cheat and a liar and out to lunch, so out of touch.” “I agree,” Hass itted. “He gets my goat and annoys me. A fish out of the water, while that cat keeps his head buried in the sand, ignoring the wrong things. He doesn’t have the foggiest notion of a ghost of a chance to run this country or know what time it is or have any hope whatsoever of succeeding. He’s quick to get his feathers in a bunch, getting upset or angry about anything and everything. Come to think, speaking of time, the way I look at time is: I have only just a minute—only sixty seconds in it. Forced upon me, can’t refuse it. I didn’t seek it, didn’t choose it. I must suffer if I lose it. But it’s up to me to use it. Give if I abuse it, just a tiny little minute but eternity is in it.” Andrew clapped his hands, applauding his efforts. “That’s wonderful, full of meaning and substance.” “Getting back to that president’s situation,” Hass said, “I have a feeling this country is at the tipping point. As they say, small changes have little effect till they build up to a critical mass, and then another small change may suddenly change everything.” Tired and emotional, Andrew said, “How I see it, time is not on our side, and we don’t have the luxury of not having to worry about how long something will take.”
Clifford Benjamin
HASS LOOKED AT HIS watch with four eyes and said, “I tell you what.” “What?” Hass said, “Best we get back at it. Don’t want our boss thinking we skived off work.” Andrew said to Hass, “Ready to go, Skipper.” Suddenly there was a dull roar of a commotion in the hallway, and they hasten slowly from the cafeteria to see what was causing it.
Chapter
76
UPON STEPPING INTO the marble hallway as white as milk, they saw a large group of individuals in the hundreds walking with signs that read, ‘Save our democracy now!’ On this dark day, and drawing a blank as to what was occurring, Andrew stopped one of them and asked him, “Holy shit, what’s going on?” The unfamiliar stranger showing up like a bad penny looked straight ahead as if he was in a trance, his eyes blank. He was a party animal, by every stretch of the imagination. Then if he was dead right, the man said, “Did you see him?” Instead of taking a calculated guess as to what the man was implying and wondering if what the man had said was a deliberate mistake, Hass asked him, “See who?” The bad sport, a bag of bones, a barrow man, alluded to the convicts at Woolwich, principally employed in wheeling barrows full of brick or dirt. He scratched his balding hair and touched his cauliflower ear, permanently swollen and disfigured due to being repeatedly struck, often a feature of a veteran boxer or rugby player.
Clifford Benjamin
THE TWIT SAID WITH dry wit, “The Zombie. There’s no greater evil. Now you’ll have to excuse me. Bbiab—be back in a bit,” then pushed past them and began shouting the battle cry along with the rest seeking their bonds of vengeance, “We’re not alone. We’ve got to keep the harbinger of doom from happening and must batten down the hatches.” Andrew said to the man, “Does the guy you are referring to hit that hard?” The man’s eyelid fluttered, and he said, “Is the Pope Catholic?” Hass said to the man, “Whatever you guys are bent on doing, you can’t do it. Are you off your nut? You probably don’t realize you’re sure to get arrested like a bolt out of the blue has hit strange victims too.” It was not a definite possibility the man was loony. Still, Andrew, optimistic and filled with human comion and a wiz at copping with hypothetical situations, and no educated fool and feeling numb, said to Hass, “In my humble opinion, there’s not a fat chance to getting anything from these idiots, now or in the immediate future. Andrew threw up his hands. “Beats me what’s got them stirred up or their impressive ignorance for that matter. He can’t see what they intend on doing is much ado about nothing. People like him learn the hard way that it never rains, but it pours. It’s all Greek to me. I doubt we will learn increasingly little from why they’re acting as if being struck by a ton of skulduggery.”
Zombie
“YOU’RE RIGHT,” HASS agreed, with a melancholic expression on his face. “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. It’s like they live in an Ivory tower, in a state of sheltered and unworldly intellectual isolation. But you’re so on point. But let’s be like Jack in the box and jump up and split this scene.” Anyone with a bit of nous would have known what to do. “By the way, did I mention I’m nuts about dinosaurs? Don’t answer that. I’m at all crazy over animals. But tell me, did I mention the death of my great uncle at age 35 has occasioned an outpouring of grief.” “Can’t comment,” said Andrew in a blue funk. “I’m in a spot of bother—a slight problem. I can’t get that nut in the hallway out of my mind.” “Shit happens! Be it as it may, even if that is the case, I’m with you, that sucker with those bandy legs and crooked toes was indeed a pisser,” Hass said, with a pithy remark, popping a pistachio nut into his mouth then chump down on it. “He’s a ‘lots baloney’ and has nothing to offer but toil tears and sweat, falling for an event that will never happen. It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens. You know what? Maybe the clue is on the walls somewhere nearby. If we had looked, we probably wouldn’t have ignored the sign. If we had, neither one of us would’ve grasped its full implications.” He then expressed his pivotal idea to Andrew. “Were I you, I wouldn’t pit my wits or be pitched headlong into despair over that lame ass. Case closed.” The two stood like greyhounds in the slips; suddenly, the entire room was pitch ‘dark. Before they could comment, the lights came back on.
Clifford Benjamin
ANDREW GLANCED DOWN at the pin on the floor and ed the words ‘See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll have good luck; See a pin and let it lie, bad luck you’ll have all day.’ So he picked up a pin, not a nail. They left their nook, troubled by what they had just witnessed, without a notion or hint things were about to get ugly. The fourth estate with a guaranteed forecast couple with the local authorities would be there crawling the area, and the world would know about the game that was being played from beginning to end, from soup to nuts.
Chapter
77
A FORTH-NIGHT LATER, Andrew’s father died, and he was pitch-forked into the running of the estate. After that, he got hooked on his place of worship, becoming its youngest pastor. Still, the clothing store owned by his father fell into one of the significant pitfalls of small business, borrowing from suppliers by paying bills late. In essence: on Carey Street—bankrupt. Now, it was autumn, the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, when Andrew fell in love with one of the church’s , who had been a very tranquil child who slept all night and hardly ever cried. Several parishioners complained that the roads were busy as they drove out of town, but it was plain sailing. So happy that he opened a plain-vanilla bank in his and her name with low charges. Some thought that was one sandwich short of a picnic—just plain stupid. He paid them no mind. He was head over heels in love, pretty damn quick. He was transfixed, hook, line, and sinker, without a life raft. He didn’t realize that it could take his situation to rack and ruin in a heartbeat if he made the wrong move. He wondered why it all happened to him. Was it because he lacked in savoir-faire?!—The intuitive ability to know how to deal with any situation that arises. She could do no wrong. Until that dark day, he came home and caught her butt naked with the local carpenter with his dick deep inside her.
Clifford Benjamin
THERE WAS NO WAY HE might have known there were skeletons in his closet. But he, nevertheless, was so mad, he went to a closet in the hallway, took out his shotgun, and as sure as God made little green apples, he returned and shot both of them straight through the heart, killing them instantly. He was now on a wing and a prayer. There was a knee-jerk when his wife’s relatives, in a listless, ive manner, without interest, didn’t show for him, but his parishioners, friends, and relatives, on the other hand, ed him 100 percent. Once the court tried the case, the jury pitied the pastor so much that they went soft on him, letting him off for time served and five years probation. The question was, would his parishioners forgive him and want him to remain as their pastor?
Chapter
78
AS LONG AS A MONTH of Sundays, the parishioners took him back and gave him jots of inspiration, helping him get back up on his feet. From then on, it was plain sailing, sweet La dolce vita—the good life, full of pleasure and indulgence. He was thoroughly pleased and aware he dodged a bullet that sharpened his wits as clean as mustard. He couldn’t be more enthusiastic than he ever was. Several months later, on a warm Sunday morning, the pastor said to his ed at the hip parishioners, “Fellow worshipers, we have done our due diligence and done it in a very integral way. Thank God in heaven.” He would continue serving the Lord and managed to accumulate a small King’s ransom, sharing some of it with kith and kin—friends and relatives. But, for all, it was a sweet La-di-da. “Amen,” they shouted and kept a stiff upper lip, resolute and unemotional in the face of adversity. Saying nothing—especially in circumstances where saying the wrong thing may get you into a world of trouble, not knowing what things would be like a week from Tuesday—some unspecified time in the future. As to Hass’s blueprints, the jury is still out. Some speculate he had gone to back of beyond—a remote place. What an imperfectly perfect world we live in—no boundaries—infinite possibilities—beautiful chaos—a miracle happens—inhale and exhale, blinkand-you-miss the scenario.
Chapter
79
IT WAs a Thursday morning around 10:00 a.m. when the president and cabinet arrived at the airport. Once all had gotten out and walked up the flight of stairs to enter the plane, they took their seats. Some were looking out the windows waving at their families, smiling and giggling. Everyone seemed to be in a joyful mood. Once the doors were closed, the plane began to move forward at a slow speed. Suddenly, an alarm sounded, causing the pilot to bring the aircraft to an abrupt stop. Within minutes the main door opened and, with quickened pulse and rush of excitement, propelled the secret service to rush in and take the president and his cabinet off the plane. With pulsing anguish screaming in his mind in a moment of terrifying uncertainty, the president stood bewildered, watching as the suspense of that looming feeling of the inevitable raising the hair on the back of his neck and causing a shiver up his spine. Shortly, an agent pointed to a suspicious package attached to the bottom of the plane. Within fifteen minutes, the bomb squad arrived dressed in protective clothing. They took the package to a safe location out of harm’s way.
Zombie
ONE OF THE AGENTS WALKED over. The breathless, wide-eyed whisper of the man told the president it was indeed a bomb, and it had detonated. The agent then handed the president a note. It read: “This is for your failure to departmentalize the government so we white supremacists can take control of the government as you promised would happen under your leadership, as they say, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” The agent got another call. He said, “Mr. President, I am honored to say we got the sonofabitch. Despite no doubt the feeling of helpless surrender, he claims he did it alone without any help at all. Yet, he’s sticking to his story and appears unshakable. I guess you can say he’s red in tooth and claw, displaying difficult emotions or violent behavior.” The agent then got yet another call. Again, he placed the phone on the speaker. A ringing voice said, “As one of our detectives tried scare tactics, telling the accused in no uncertain , he would push the guy's head into the sea. Then and there, the detective noticed a tattoo on the man’s shoulder that meant something remarkable—according to protocol, the detective can’t say just what it means.” The words coming out as softly as a breath, POTUS said, “That’s the best news I’ve heard lately.” He then thanked all those involved who helped deescalate the situation showed just how dependable and expendable they were, putting their lives on the line under extraordinary circumstances, helping to bring about an ending to what was to most a salient event. Within the hour, and everyone reseated, the plane took to the sky on the way to the appointed destination.
Clifford Benjamin
THANK GOD THAT THE agent who discovered the bomb had gotten an epiphany something was not right. It was the moment when everything pauses when the world seems to shift. In the final analysis, it was such a great little shot of domestic tension that could have been catastrophic.
Chapter
80
IN THE HAUNTING MOMENTS, it was noontime at the Capital. A security guard entered the office of the Attorney General, and using his sixth sense, stated, “looks every bit like it’s an insurrection about to go down, Sir, that involves America’s Favorite who seemed not to know diddly or have the faintest idea what the people want.” The bright sky-candle shines from the South, bringing warmth and light to middle-earth. The day had been approaching to give it its best. Now that day was here, the right place, the wrong time. Ed had heard what the security guard had just said. Now on needle and pins, his senses working overtime, he said to him, “What?” To double-check, he looked out the window at the fantastic reality of hundreds if not thousands of maddening unholy seekers trying to intensify up the mother of siege displaying a wall of intent, riled up and boldly stepping onto the pages of history. He couldn’t believe his eyes seeing the torn changes materializing; they were all at their breaking point. From the looks of things, there would not be a mercy escape. They came prepared, with assault rifles and baseball bats, knives, and pitchforks; a mixture of everything imaginable, even women and children, with clenched fists in the air, attacking the security forces, eventually gaining entrance to the Capital.
Clifford Benjamin
ED KNEW HE WAS GUILTY of being the man’s partner, but the kind strain within compelled him to rush to see about POTUS. He didn’t imagine the God-awful genuinely fake POTUS, with glacier-like rapidity, going nowhere fast, would ever be a victim to the disappearance of influence. Now, from the looks of things, the Martyr Love-Child was on his way to being seduced by prophecy, and his mortal engagement might be on the chopping block and cause him to not be around for the Feast of tomorrow. He should have suspected something was up because he hadn’t seen or heard a dickybird from POTUS for several days. He couldn’t have known it would be tomorrow and wild. Ed stopped for a moment, doing nothing, hoping things would go quiet, but was sadly disappointed to see a large group of rioters attacking more of POTUS’s security and then grabbed the dictator and took him outside. It was as if time had stopped. And as the crowd egged on the men, POTUS of the United States was hung by the neck, no longer standing on trees of the soul. In retrospect, just before killing the dictator, POTUS said, “We tried; we failed; we learned. We will try again. Furthermore, can you believe I rode a roller coaster, ate a pretzel, killed a goldfish, and killed a juggler? I did it all! But for Christ’s sake, I am innocent. All of you are just scum.” He then seemed to get a firm grip on reality, then looked Homeward, in an odd sort of way, and said, “Strangely, I am in my mother’s room now—I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there. I love my dog. I expect my dog to chew my pillows, my cat to claw my furniture. But the fact is you people are crazier than I can ever be.”
Zombie
WHAT A CLEAR CASE OF irony; there he stood, defeated, seeking that unfound door—to the unimaginable, unfathomable, and unreachable, Heaven thing, humanity has forgotten but unconsciously seeks to find, something that has become one of the biggest mysteries of life. He slipped into old habits, whereby those who disagree with him were not merely wrong but bad; where he shouted instead of listening; where he barricaded himself behind preconceived notions or well-practiced cynicism. Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Teresa’s, and clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. If he had believed it exists, came to know it better, nurtured it, shared its fruits tirelessly, would things have been different?—which leaves us with one moot point, and that is: ironically, this giant of humongous proportion, had had it all, but lost it all, at one fell swoop and now the fat lady has begun to sing, and the curtain falls for whom the bells toll. Furthermore, he could isolate, consciously, little. Everything seemed blurred, yellow-clouded, yielding nothing tangible. His inept acrostics, maudlin evasions, theopathies—every recollection formed ripples of mysterious meaning, elusive, lost, his tongue of flame had ceased to flicker. No more will he utter to anyone, “Come to my castle on the highway of nightfall.”
Chapter
81
THERE WAS A LOW RUMBLING of heavy boots among the humanoid anarchist and a still slighter shuffling of men’s shoes, and all was quiet again. Every evil eye was on POTUS, now a deathlike mass of forgotten memories hailed on the frozen-time Fox News channel. After an enormously small amount of time had ed, his lifeless body swung back and forth at the end of a rope. It was a horrible unimaginable scene. It was horrific enough to make most anyone go mad or for anyone to pick up a gun and kill the ones that did it. After a time and things brought to a standstill, there was an elegant silence. Then, finally, Ed told Congressman Diablo, “God, the awful white Supremacist did it.” “No, sir,” said Diablo. Crestfallen by the fairy prominent, Ed asked him, “What do you mean.” His fairly accurate faculty working, Diablo said, “The ones that did it were loyal of the democratic machine, from the extreme left. I might add, claiming they were a segment of the Martian Luther Gang, numbering in the thousands. Now all they loved—they loved alone, all the while, he was a demon in their view, but loved him regardless.
Zombie
THE TWO ENQUIRING MINDS stood there dumbfounded, going over the entire portion of what had just happened during the extraordinary expressive silence. When the rest of Heaven was blue, the sunlight around him rolled in its autumn tint of gold. “No, no, you—you can’t be serious,” Ed exclaimed “I am, Sir. I checked it out, checked it thoroughly, they were right. And to kick start their day, word has it, POTUS inspired them from within, now they number in the thousands wanting to take control of this democracy. It looks every bit like they will succeed.” Ed said, “I thought ... it was white supremacists that done that very God awful deed ... to the one they claimed to have loved. I guess you can say—for them, that is—its love among the ruins; no more wild nights, and nights’ night. Now, it’s all over. He had the gift but blew it. Now all that remains is the wolf at the back door, knowing as the tide rises—the tide falls. Now his enablers are acquainted with the night, all too well, and so too, they know, death is not proud. And they also know—nothing gold can stay, all that remains is light and darkness, to find their way home.” “To answer your question, I say to you, no Sir—it was Left Wingers that disagree with the direction POTUS was taking the country.” Ed shook his head. “I tried to tell him not to keep with getting the white supremacist help with getting his wish to take the nation back to the colonist days—and now this, all because he told a whopping great lie ... all because the republicans gave him a license to do what he damn well please.”
Clifford Benjamin
HE STILL CAN’T GET over POTUS having such ugly thoughts. He knew, all too well, that if a person has ugly reviews, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it. As the helicopter hovered above the building, the Congressman put his hand behind his back, then lowered his head and said, “Don’t feel bad. I try my best to do the same, but he just flounced out of the building. He had it made and apparently did not realize life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are, hours and hours away from, literally starving to death!” Ed said, “I presume you’re right, simply put, he was at a point of no return long before now, a virtual walking time bomb, so much so that there was no way of putting the genie back in the bottle. Plus, he wasn’t aware he was about to be fucked by the long dick of the law! And to think, and all things considered, he got Carte Blanche, and this, this happens. What a waste; he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried—fish and cut bait.” He knew he was right about POTUS’s attitudes and actions, which tend to mimic the fragmentations of the modern world. “Well, it’s ancient history, now,” said Ed. “I need a martini. Shaken, not stirred. Somehow, weirdly, today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” Suddenly, a camera crew materialized. Smiling, he said, “Looks like I’m going to need a bigger boat.” He then held his hand as if he had something to drink and said, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” They stood looking out the window at the hangman’s noose still up.
Zombie
ED THEN TURNED HIS head slightly and noticed a man walking a wellgroomed dog on a pink leash on the one hand and a real rough, tough Rottweiler on a spiked collar on the other hand. He then turned his head again. It was one the most horrible things that had ever occurred at the Capital since the times of Abe Lincoln. No one knew that Ed was aware POTUS was involved in a string of murders over the years. Ed’s phone rang. He took it out and said, “Ed here.” The question was who, other than his wife, might be calling? He had gone to visit a sick relative. Ed clicked on the phone then said, Ed here.” It was an urgent call.
Chapter
82
THE CALLER TOLD HIM, “We have yet another problem.” “Can you tell me how so?” “POTUS’s daughter overdosed.” “Tell me, is—” “That’s the problem, Sir; she’s dead.” Ed shouted, “Damn!” gripping the phone as if his life depended on it. He quickly regained his composure and then asked, “Is his son okay?” “The EM’s got him to the ICU in the nick of time.” “Well, tell me, is he still breathing?” “He is ... thank God. He too had overdosed, wanting desperately to be with his dad and sister.” “Though sad as it may be, that’s certainly good news,” said Ed. He shook his miserable head and looked off in the sunset, the caller saying, “What do you want me to, Sir. Are you still there, Sir? As I’m sure you are aware, this is something to know, Sir. Are you still—?” Dropping the phone, he took one long last look. He then walked off into the sunset, a countenance more in sorrow than in anger, a devoted Daniel come to judgment. He was equivalent to a dead man walking, hearing nothing but the pleasingly confused ringing in his ears, knowing things would never be the same. He was a loyal friend of one son of a bitch—a pious atheist who knew all too well a golden key opens any door.
Zombie
HE STOPPED AT A NEWSSTAND, got a plain buttered bagel, and sipped on a solid cup of steaming hot coffee through a plastic straw. Oh, it looks like someone forgot; a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Chapter
83
THEN ON A COLD RAINY evening, POTUS’s son entered the Capital with an assault rifle. He made his way to the Senate Chamber. He unceremoniously shot all the republican Senators that voted to impeach POTUS and then out-and-out shot and wounded and killed a relatively large number of Democrats. He then escaped by holding the rifle to the temple of a security guard and managed to evade security on the way out of the Capital and then shot and killed his captor, then jumped into his vehicle waiting close to an emergency exit and sped away. Soon, he was driving like a diehard maniac and later found dead at his father’s gravesite crying his heart out and muttering to himself, leaving a note that stated: “I did it for you, dad. They didn’t deserve to live,” POTUS son said, as the flowers on the grave drooped in sadness. Can’t you see, dad, they betrayed you. The truth is every last one of your ers referred to you as another Mahatma Gandhi in the making; you loved to help and care about people everywhere, from the streets to your friends. “You hear me, dad? I’m coming.” He sobbed a slight bit more.
Zombie
HE THEN SAID, “I DON’T want to live without you and my loving and beautiful sister. I’m on my way, dad. You tried to make this country great again, but the idiots just wouldn’t let you. They will all see just how much you loved this country. I love you and will be with you always. Thanks for being there for me; I love you always, dad. Lastly, I hope you see the tragedy had certain inevitabilities about it.” It indeed was a heartfelt last-ending epistle to the ones he loved, something with the likelihood the world would certainly never witness again, providing the nation be under the watchful wishful eye of the ers of a democratic country. The eternal question was, ‘where did we go wrong?’—A question to surely ring hollow for eons to come.
Chapter
84
SOMETIME LATER, ON a bright sunny day, a sorry cop, on some personal business, drove into the cemetery and stopped along the roadside close to a tombstone that said: “Make America Great Again.” The cop had a quart of Vodka in his hand as he walked to the grave. He then did something rarely done; he pulled out his penis and began pissing on the grave, saying, “Yeah, you devil, this is sure to be taped live. Yeah, that’s right; you came to the right place. Oh, yeah, I’m a bigot that did not stand for your shit. Now take this down your rotting throat. Now, how does that feel, you no-good bastard? Mark my word, I will never teach my kids to hate another human being just because of the color of their skin. What? Let’s get this straight. The question now is, or did you not just say something? What? Silence nothing but pure silence. “Look, sucker, and you don’t understand! I could’ve had class. I could have been a contender. I could’ve been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am.” A momentary silence ensued. “Are you talking to me? Ah, lighten up.” Not a sound. “That’ll do, pig. Lay off.” More silence. “I’m walking here! I’m walking here!”
Zombie
EVEN MORE SILENCE. “Inconceivable!” Plus, this guy was no street Arab; he was a cop. Silence, but near dark, but no curtain-raiser. “All right, Mr. one-term president. I’m ready for my close-up.” Totally silence. “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.” Silence on Edge. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” Ah, more silence. “Well, nobody’s perfect.” Again silence only. “Now see here, dead-bird. Snap out of it. You had me at ‘hello. And I must say, you may take my life, but you’ll never take my freedom! You know what? I think maybe you just flow on out of here, laughing at me like that. You feel me,” he said, depicting his strength of character and stream of consciousness. More, more silence. Suddenly, he saw the folly of it all, and as a result, he found himself in a situation that made him stretch the point and wind up saying, “That’s what I thought. I know what’s going on exactly. I’ll tell you what it is. What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Simple as that, it is. And fuck you.” At first, he was a little angry. Minutes later, his face was red. He then said, “I’ll tell you what. You can just kiss this naked behind. Now eat that sucker? We’re through. Oh, one more thing. And that is, repeat after me: KISS.’ Keep it simple, stupid.’”
“That’s right, now kick it to the left, then kick it to the right, believe you’re dynamite.” “Better yet, I should just shoot your ass.”
Clifford Benjamin
HAVING SAID HIS PIECE, he smashed the bottle upside the tombstone, and before returning to his car, he said, “As of this minute, I’m through with drinking. “Hasta la vista, asshole, I'm through with this.” He then turned on his heels and made what he hoped was a dignified half expected exit, heading for the nearest exit. But, instead, he got into his squad car and drove away, never looking back at all, then turned onto a busy street and began mingling with the crowd, as some moved to exits, on the way to a new day, a day with promise, stroking the hair on his Pet Peeve. He then lets out a crunchy belly laugh that sounds like a bunch of bones scraped together—unforgettable, in actuality, he headed on a slow boat to China. Now that person, POTUS, was invisible, imperceptible, unapparent, out of range of vision, and gone to earth, classified as a real live Zombie. Some might say, ‘Yeah, well, life’s not fair to me, also!’ No one to date knew local folklore has it that prehistoric people drove cattle over this cemetery, with the hopes the disgraced president return from exile one day, only to eke out a precarious existence foraging in rubbish dumps. Someone once said—“Without order, nothing exists. Without chaos, nothing evolves, and if you are not careful, you’ll wake up with a zit—that nasty, pesky mosquito bite.” Lastly, nowadays, it’s also well known to most, POTUS of the United States was a staunch bigot. The world will never forgive him for being that way—living that way—spreading seeds of hatred—that way.
Zombie
IT WAS TRUE POTUS WAS a wiz at using Bandwagon propaganda to persuade the targeted audience to take action. It was about creating an urge amongst people to become a part of the “in-crowd.” It’s all down the drain now, never to rise again, which is equivalence to the Wicked Witch of the West, went her own way. There is no way in hell Elvis Lives. One could say POTUS life and actions amount to a cautionary tale against mortal impiety toward the gods, sealed in a shrine of horrors. POTUS Robert K. Outcome schemes all seemed on the verge of succeeding, only to ridiculously fail in a humiliating way. POTUS’s hubris helped to land him in sticky situations along the way, such that often POTUS’s efforts are thwarted by his eagerness for world domination. But, in reality, he was a dumb check-in, check out, no count loser at the highest. He did not figure on things to end up the way they did. For one thing, he failed to grow up. And was unable to come off it or cut out; that is, he could not deal with his attempt at dominating the world. Another thing was he couldn’t have given a damn about him hanging out with the Big Boys. No way, his ego was much too massive. So he allowed things to heat up to the point of boiling; the effect slapped him in the face. But the question is did he believe his adversaries would coalesce and gain a knockout punch, strong enough to save America. Contrarily, many were not aware that in the end, his hubris would do him in. No one else is the blame. He got what he deserved, and there’s no other way to slice it. How ironic, despite ships and money and everything, it still was not enough to appease his ego.
Clifford Benjamin
IF ONLY POTUS HAD TAKEN these words to heart: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” perhaps he would still be here amongst the living organisms and not pushing up daisies.
Chapter
85
ON A WARM DAY IN SPRING, Ed’s wife, Freckles, was at home on her day off, cleaning and moving things around and tidying up things. She smiled at the fact there was not a speck of dust in the house. After finishing and wearing a scoop-necked blouse flecked with white and wearing a pair of flesh-colored tights and humming softly, she drifted down to the basement and got to move things around when she tripped over a chair and fell into the wall, causing the wall to open up. Curious and slight and a fleet of foot, she walked cautiously into the open doorway into another room that she did not realize existed. Curious as a bed bug, she began looking things over on a desk and accidentally pushed a button that caused a drawer to open. Once opened, she reached into it and pulled out what looked like a secret document. Even curious than at first, she sat down on a stool and started looking over the form. The more she read, the more interested she had become. Later, Freckles flopped down on the sofa in the living room on her sumptuous derriere watching the idiot box, thumping her fingers on the couch, eyes blank without expression, obviously disturbed and at wit’s end, so much so, one might deduce, she was pissed off. She had an attack of nerves, coupled with a bazillion of questions. She didn’t know at the time that the plot would thicken.
Clifford Benjamin
THERE WERE FLEECY CLOUDS outside as Ed, oddly at sea but happy he had just won some money on the gee-gees, entered and said, “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” his eyes flicking between her and the door, jingling his keys in his pocket. He could tell at a glance that something was afoot. Her foxy eyebrows rose as she shook her head, as silent as the grave, like she was indicating no or meaning she was preoccupied. The bottom line was she knew how to ruffle his feathers. “Are you all right, Hon?” As sure as God made little green apples, he thought she just wanted to have a heart-to-heart conversation. Whatever got her grumpy wasn’t about any onslaught of technological changes. A point of fact was: Little separated the two ideologically; they both believed in similar things, but she was still absorbed in thought. Her eyes were glassy and her skin pale as she gave him a fierce glare, then said, “If I look flustered, it’s because I’m trying to do about twenty things at once. And then I crick my neck while cleaning some creepy-crawly web off the wall in the bedroom. You know I cannot stand the pesky critters. By the way, I thought we both were clear there would be no secrets from here on out.” Uh-oh, he knew something was on her mind; he had to use caution because he didn’t want to deal with her theatrics at this time. She could be a bit of an enigma sometimes. But, he couldn’t imagine why she was so pipe hot but certainly did not want to get into a thorny debate and have her so upset he’d be like a faded beauty walking along the street muttering imprecations to invisible persons.
Zombie
HE RAKED HIS CLAWS through his ultra-short haircut. He didn’t want to sound impolite, so he said, “Look, Hon, I don’t know what you’re getting at. I’ll be—” “Um, no, no, don’t tell me you’ve been straight by me? I say you have not. Let me put it like this: There are too many imponderables to make an accurate assessment, so all that’s left is unmitigated lies.” Her direct attack made him sweat profusely. Finally, he sat down next to her and took her in his arms, and said, “Okey-doke, pipe down, Hon. Try to calm down and tell me just what’s going on?” He wondered had he lost his mojo? Or should he try to mollify her by giving her flowers? Or see a padre? Thank goodness they don’t have to face the perennial problem of not having enough money. Freckles took the folder and gave it to him like it was kryptonite. “What is this?” Mad at him to the nth degree, she had had enough of his tissue of lies and commanded, “Open it.” She waited perhaps to give some destructive criticism or something along that line, no matter how you may slice it—it wouldn’t be anything of that nature. He had not told her that his eyesight had gotten progressively worse but was thankful he had risen above the proletariat. “What is it,” he asked, wanting nothing to do with the abstract problem but knowing he had no other choice but to let the cat out of the bag. What’s this? Some loose bill that I failed to pay or what?” “As I said, open it. And I think you should silence your doggy bone so that it does not beep during our conversation.”
Clifford Benjamin
NOT WANTING TO HEAR any more of her mouth, he did as she suggested. His eyes squinted as he said, “Argh! I smell trouble.” He then opened it, thinking perhaps it’s something dealing with their on-again-off-again family dysfunction. Just the thought their marriage might be in chaos or to ultimate ruin was taxing. Once having opened it, he looked over some of the information, causing the color on his face to leave his entire demeanor as a light flickered faintly in the distance through the window. “Well?” “Give me a break. Look, Hon, I can explain,” he said, cringing and wringing his hands. She challenged him, eyeballing him, intimidating him. “I’m waiting. It’s not like a clock is ticking,” her tone was frigid, cold in temper and mood. “Yeah, you’re right.” She finally plucked up the courage to ask him, “Well, Mister Smarty Pants did you or did you not do the things that it states in that folder. I mean, for God’s sake Ed, it even looks like it’s your very own handwriting. It’s written in stone. How much clearer does it have to be? We’re not talking about the going on at a three-ring circus or the cow jump over the moon, sort of thing. It is serious.” He had to it; he had been taken aback by her retort and was in a jam and aware of her arch comments at times, marked by a deliberate and often forced impudence. “Yes, Hon, to tell you the truth, I it, you’re right. What’s in here fits me to the tee. So if you want to know the truth, I’ll tell you.” At last!
Zombie
SHE SAID TO HIM AT full pitch, “Hell yeah, I want the truth. I mean, were the shoe on the other foot, meaning you, wouldn’t you want the truth told?” Her tone spoke volumes that exhibited cold objectivity as though she was just an observer. You might wonder why Ed did what he did. “Again, you are right, Hon.” He was fully aware, right then and there, realizing things were squarely on his shoulders, and what she was claiming was on-target proved this was not a small potato. He told her everything, not leaving anything out, hearing her sobs as he went deeper into the sorry mess. When he was through, he said, “So, I know it was an earful; it was as if I sat on the edge of a cliff blissfully unaware of the danger. I guess you could say I was waiting for the truth-will-out sort of thing. But nothing could be further from the truth. So I turned a blind eye to everything. Now you know I made most of our president’s killings with the big guns and all to nurture his neurotic thirst for power. No one was the wiser or had a hint at knowing I was the one doing most of the murders. I didn’t find out that POTUS had an itch for murdering black people until just weeks ago. I know he had a hand in killing the Queen of England, but I thought she was the wrong person. At least that’s what POTUS believed. And that’s precisely why I just went along for the ride, just like I did with some other situations. I it my hands are not clean when it comes to this matter I have to handle. But you know Hon?”
Clifford Benjamin
“WHAT’S THAT?” SHE ASKED, “I want you to think for a moment, think hard and clear, then let yourself relax. I know how to deal with something like this because my dad was a real bad guy, the kind you wouldn’t dare want around. You couldn’t trust it if your life depended on it. I’ve been to hell and back, especially with him beating my mother. Almost every day, I’ll come home from school and see him beating my mom I tell you, I would be so mad I would want to run at him and put my fist down his throat. I tell you, I hated that man, worse than I’m not too fond of a rattlesnake. I would tell myself he deserves what’s coming to him. I tell you, if I were a man, I would have chopped his head off with a dull blade, so dull I’d have to take more swings at his flea-bitten neck. That’s why my nerves are razor-thin when it comes to fussing and fighting.” “I get your point, Freckles,” he itted, as a temporarily uncomfortable sensation of borborygmus, an intestinal rumbling caused by gas in his belly. “I hope you do.” He could see she didn’t like what he was saying, but he plowed on regardless. “By the way ...” Ed said, “the second I finished telling you about my dastardly exploit, it was like a real heavy load lifted off my chest. I don’t know how to explain it all, but it happened. It did. You know what?” “What?” “You have a right to bitch. This whole thing is not like we’re talking about some Hot Chili Pepper; it’s the real deal we’re talking about here. It’s almost like it’s crazier than it seems.
Zombie
AS YOU KNOW, I AM NO Chicken Little, capable of predicting something on the scale of a calamity, but that guy did things that would make a mouse roar. It’s scary. It tickled my fantasy at times. You will never believe it, but POTUS did grotesquely abuse his oath of office, like ruddy hell! On my part, I was woefully unprepared to deal with him. I mean, the scoundrel was ten steps ahead of me. There were times I couldn’t get a word in edgewise that would work for me. Sometimes I felt as though I was a pillar of stone, immovable on all fronts. It was like a jumble of good intentions frozen in time—no way to turn the tide away from me. Never was there a way I could have possibly alleviated this from happening. If I had tried, I would not be here to tell the story. You can say I did not have tremendous confidence in my Savoir-faire. On the other hand, I attached myself to a guy driven by hatred.” He paused to catch his breath. He then said, “Like if someone were to say ‘it was a total grind like leading the blind led by a ruffian, a regular Jekyll, and Hyde,’ and have a certain je ne sais quoi which makes him popular with the ladies. He could also at times be kind and charming, and at other times rude and obnoxious. To put it plainly, my willingness to go along with him was equivalent to a ticky-tacky tit for tat, basically a trade-off. While he kept the hounds at bay, I would secretly make his bidding out-and-out killing for him. Up to that time, I dared not roll over on him. But, heck, I thought, who am I?—I grew up in a jerkwater town in the middle of nowhere, so I’m lucky to be at his beckoning call. Jesus, look what a mess that killjoy has made. I have no intention to hogtie the situation in a direction that would be more favorable for me, either.
Clifford Benjamin
BUT MY DEALING WITH POTUS was like we were in a Losers Club—totally screwed together.” He breathed a deep sigh, relief displaying on his countenance. “Ugh, I know Hon it sucks and sound like Mickey Mouse, and does not make sense, and I’m like totally zero in your eyes, and I’m razzing you, and talking a lot of crap for the umpteen time ... and the worst part is, I should have told you that ... and that I am sorry, Hon that it happened. For that, I am genuinely sorry for not being honest with you. If you were to ask did I enjoy what I did, I have to say, no, not at all. Can you imagine it?” He looked at his kith and kin, his perfect flower sitting there pouring her heart out, at a stretch, stopping only to blow her nose, as tears of anguish ran down her face. He gave her a significant smile. Overlooking the spare tire around his waist and thinking there was not a grain of truth in what he had said, disappointed, Freckles said, “Humph, I need to meet John, r-i-g-h-t n-o-w!” She hurried to the bathroom shutting the door behind her. The look on her face was evident that she was not interested. But still, he breathed a sigh not of relief but disappointment and wondering what would happen to their marriage. Oh, oh, is this the end of what was considered unique bondage that began back in the hollow halls of high school when they first met? And come to this moment of terrifying uncertainty. Ed didn’t have a clue. He just sat there, lost in thought, his nerves on edge and leaving him with a burning question that cannot go unanswered.
Zombie
THE MOMENTS WERE FLASHY and heart-pounding quieter but no less intense; either way, they left him on the brink of some great unknown. The question was, would she throw in the towel and walk out, never to look his way ever again?
Chapter
86
ED’S FRAGILE HOPE HAD faded. He wouldn’t blame her if she left him and didn’t look back. Yes, he told himself, he was sincerely regretful for the things done without letting her know what he was doing. He hung his head and, after a short while, fell off to sleep. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor, but he didn’t notice. He awakened when he felt her stacked breast against his shoulder and her lips against his cheek, tinted with milk of human kindness—filled with care and comion. She then flung her arms around his neck, reassuring him she was the spark plug of the team. He felt a great whoosh of adrenalin, but he had to it he had told some whoppers in his time and knew it was a wicked thing to do. Now relieved of the spasm of guilt, he stretched a bit, and with his face all ablaze with excitement, he said, “I thought you were so mad you would be still on the warpath, Hon. “Look, like I said, I’m—” Freckles put her hand to his mouth, shaking her head, letting him know what he was about to say amounted to tiddlywinks. One thing she noticed crawling down his face were facile tears, nothing false about them.
Zombie
SO, AS AUTHENTIC AS the day is long, she had gotten used to his cheerfulness and plastic smiles, so she said, “It’s been challenging, but I think we’re over the hump now. Sometimes you have to be prepared to follow a hunch. To be precise, one swallow doesn’t make a summer. In other words, a single instance of something is just that; it doesn’t indicate a trend. Moreover, as I see it, to be honest, the moment I saw the information, I was feeling like hell inside. But I have to say after thinking about it, coupled with a bit of rest, it looks like but one solution for you and me, that is. I can’t tell you what some other wife might have done after discovering her husband had a secret life other than the one with her. I just got to say; I wouldn’t chuck all that we have away, for the life of me. And any woman angry enough to kick you to the curve wouldn’t have a smidgen of common sense. That’s just how I see it. You don’t have to say whether you agree or not agree with the way I feel right now. I mean, not just right now, I plan on feeling like this for eons to come, if God willing.” The news gladdened his heart. Next, as a smacking breeze gathered outside, it caused the leaves to rustle not a ‘tall. Tired and tired of dealing with know-nothings, he reached over and collected her in his arms, kissing her smiley face on the cheek, gently and fervently, happy the bloom was not off the rose. The swamp frogs croaked in unison as if nature was in accord. At that moment, a dim-witted pigeon did not repulse them with its nerve crawling coo.
Clifford Benjamin
HAPPY THEIR MARRIAGE did not end in rack and ruin, and he said to her, “Scuse me while I kiss this lady.” As they kissed, a ripple of excitement flowed up his spine. They then got up and tripped the light fantastic, dancing together imaginatively. Soon after the situation reached fourth base, he made love to real blue unwavering trouble and strife, ending in his spurting a massive dose of spunk deep inside her vagina. Afterward, all ion spent, she said, “Gee whiz,” as they sat hugging each other, CAVU, ceiling, and visibility unlimited to their future, never doubting for once their relationship would wither on the vine. He then went to point Percy at the porcelain, then returned, thoroughly satiated by their spur-of-the-moment decision to have sex. Freckles released a burp from the pit of her stomach. He whispered to her, “You okay, babe?” She smiled at him, her eyes glinting with mischief, never once itting to him that from the start, she fell for his rugged good looks. She moved a fraction closer to him and then replied with a silver tongue, charming him. “I’m okay, and you?” she said with her diaristic tone, exuding charm. His eyes gleaming with triumph and with a confident grin, he said, “Dang, that was the nearest to being earth-shattering; it threw my equilibrium off for a moment. I’m okay. I am feeling right as rain, by George, as they say.” He shook a bunch of fives in the air. “If it weren’t so late, I’d say let’s put on our glad rags and goes out and shake a tail feather. I’m not talking fables her, nor falsehood.” They probably didn’t know it, but now was the winter of their discontent, and things would be on the upswing.
Zombie
AS THEY SAT THERE LOOKING out the window at the infinity of stars in the galaxy, they then witnessed the extraordinary spectacle of an old lady climbing a tree to rescue her cat, unaware the cat had flashed by across the footpath just two heartbeats away. After she left, they continued glancing out the window at the silhouette of the bare tree on the hill clear against the night sky, as Moon River was in full spate with more water in it and was flowing faster than it usually does, neither was aware the frogs hadn’t spawned yet. He would later spear a meatball with a fork, marveling at the notion food, like sex, is the subject of almost universal interest. Neither one wanted to be the first to say goodbye; both used their loaf and happily stuck in the middle. He was spatial aware she was his first, the last, his everything, warts and all, the best thing that ever happened to him, fused for three scores and ten until they shuffle off the mortal coil. The next day, the good thing would be a mackerel sky overhead streaked with rows of small white clouds that resemble the pattern of scales on a mackerel’s back. They continued their snubbed-up mental journey, knowing all the while they had been through far too much to see it any other way. If there were a future ahead for them, they would face it together, loving every moment. To the two of them, a regular Darby and Joan, life was extraordinaire, exceptional to a very marked extent, and life was to be enjoyed and not just something you fold away and get back to it at your whim.
Clifford Benjamin
AS THE BIRD’S CHIRP filled the empty night air, the sullen wind was soon awake, it tore the elm-tops down for spite, and it did its worst to vex the lake, then violent squalls signaled the approach of the storm, then it struck them. It was now abundantly crystal; they were good for each other, there was just no other way to slice it; their one aim now was looking forward to becoming geriatrics. They would quite happily squander a whole year’s savings on two weeks on a sun-drenched beach in Cancun, Mexico, and due to the ubiquity of fast-food outlets, they visited a few in the area. But, unfortunately, there were no UFO sightings reported. Some would think what these two had gone through was the equivalence to receiving a Grammy Award or something used for the annual presentation of a statuette for notable achievement, or at the least classified as being persons of grand gestures. Or at least for someone to shout out: Gramercy!—expressing their gratitude. When it comes right down to it, who the hell knows what caused POTUS, who certainly had a jaundiced view of life, then to go the way he went, what he did was akin to a riddle wrapped up in an enigma—difficult to understand or to solve, but there may be an answer perhaps. There may be one possibility he lacked kundalini: the yogi life force held to lie at the base of the spine until it’s aroused and sent to the head to trigger enlightenment. The question now would be, did POTUS ever possess a brain of that magnitude, or might we all have kundalini encased within the confines of our brain?
Zombie
NOW, YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING what direction Ed’s life went in. You can now breathe easy because he would become governor of California. Can you imagine how fantastic that feels? Just let this sink in for a minute. Moreover, he was still maintaining a snappy dresser profile amongst his peers; no one was the wiser as to his tumultuous past, no longer an illusion, misleading or deceiving the senses of his fellowmen. Yes, no more with even a hint of a troglodyte or anything similar to that trisyllabic word. In his mind, he was rejoicing or celebrating his triumphant victory, added to that was his loving trophy wife, who would be with him for a thousand splendid suns. If someone would venture to ask Ed about found heritage, he would smartly reply, “It’s all good in the hood” He paused. He then continued, “If being a liberal means someone who welcomes new ideas, then I am indeed a liberal. But, as I look back on my life, I realize I was being re-directed to something better every time I thought of being rejected for something good. Lastly, I still believe that my idea of heaven is to drive the gravel farm roads of Umbria and Tuscany, very pleasantly lost, just my presence opening eyes, speaking truths and changing minds. There was no more to be said; he said it all. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. In this divine glass, they see face to face. So the comfort of friends, though they may be said to die, their friendship and society are ever-present. With that said, now, some thoughtful and elegant words from Maya Angelou, a famous female poet—written in her story “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”
Clifford Benjamin
SHE WAS AN INDIVIDUAL with a deep soul—a deep heart—a peaceful mind. She has a faculty for inspiring confidence in people and has left these profound words which strike at the core. “Let the white folks have their money and power and segregation and sarcasm and big houses and schools and lawns like carpets, and books, and mostly— mostly—let them have their whiteness.” Note: Maya Angelou moved the gold post, reaching far and wild, touching all borders around the entire globe.
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