This is a funky story I wrote on the train. It is weird. You might notice where it has elements of what I have done and seen so far, or you might be far too horrified and concerned about my well being to see it. Anyway, it passed the time, and I think its funny.
I am in Tolouse, the hookers are quite forward for it being 3PM local, so I am hiding in a coffee shop, writing stories and drinking diet coke. My train out of here leaves in four hours, to Paris, and then a night train to Munich.
- - -
A French Waiter with big ears and inquisitive eyes came up to me as I finished my Espresso. He didn't speak any apparent English and so he jabbered at me quickly in his sing song lanuage. I stared up at him prepared to shrug in a confused manner as I had been doing across the entire country, but I was stopped short by the desperation in his eyes. They were great brown orbs pleading to me, trying to look into my mind, trying to will communication between us. The man's frustration was clear, he exhaled, and shifted, he looked right and then left and then reach behind his head and winced in pain. I saw his wrist twist, and heard a sickening meaty click. His knees buckled and his eyes rolled back into his head is if he were going to faint, and then he caught himself. His expression focused, his body righted itself, erect.
"Your train leaves in thirty minutes. You are going to miss it, you fool. You need to be in Tolouse before this afternoon."He grabbed my wrist. "The weasels will be on you soon."
"What? Nonsense!" I slapped him across his face. "Don't you talk to me about weasels. Don't you know enough to keep your voice down?"
It was too late.
I saw them come hustling down the avenue. Their hats were pulled over their eyes and they were blowing whistles. Everyone on the sidewalks, tourists and locals alike stopped and gawked at the show. The only person who did not was listening to music too loud on earphones, and was brutally clubbed aside as they passed. The young man hit face first on the concrete and his two front teeth broke in half. I heard another shrill cry and turned south and saw three more, they were closing, a pincers movement. One of them even ran through the fountain of wine at St. Michel.
"You rotten bastard!" I shouted at him, grabbing my bag. I scrambled to my feet, flipping the table and shattering my tiny cup. I was ready to run when I heard him shouting. "I'll kill you pigs! I live here!" I grabbed his arm and we sprinted towards Hotel de Ville.
"Hurry. They'll never fuck with us here. Don't worry, I have plenty of medievel stamps to keep their minds occupied and away from violence." The Waiter groaned, behind us everyone was shouting as we hustled into the throng of protesters outside of the distinguished Hotel de Ville. The protestors al had the crest of Bordeaux on their white tee shirts, a crest that looked to my American eyes like a biohazard warning. "Keep your head down, dammit." I pulled him to a stop in the chanting crowd. "Walk fast, do not run, say bon jour to the guard."
We approached the gates of the grand old museum next to Saint Andrews Cathedral.
"Maybe we should go into the church." The waiter said. "They wouldn't dare beat or kill us in there. Not ever. It'd be a sacrilege."
"You fool. You think Catholics will save you? Shit. How do you think they get the red dye for their stained glass windows?"
It was a grim tale. My contact in Toloun, a thick chain smoking mulatto named Eliza had been very specific on the beautiful effect of the properly oxygenated blood from human eyeballs when hit directly by the noonday sun.
The dread was palpable as we got to the gates. The fortuitous protest covered our bad scene. All witnesses assumed it had been part of that other show. I nodded and smiled at the guard and gritted my molars as I waited for the Waiter. He wiped his brow and bowed low, the guarded squinted at his odd behaviour, but finally nodded and let us pass.
"We have to find the curator Monsieur de'Ralam, he's a soldier. He will have a way out for us, as long as we can pay him."
"Don't worry." I said, and pulled my precious white envelope from my jacket's breast pocket.
"This is an extremely rare 1923 inverted Eleanor of Aquitaine stamp. It's the only one that wasn't destroyed by the Nazis, it was in Goering's personal collection, so he had all others destroyed. The bastard will faint when he sees this, sure."
The envelope had been nothing but trouble for me. A wild eyed, apparently, homeless man in a tuxedo jacket had jammed it into my hand as I waited for a train at Gare de Austerlitz. He smelled of the street. He told me he was getting married that day and that it was too dangerous for his bride for him to keep it.
"It is so valuable that no honest man can afford to buy it. And so expensive, no dishonest man will pay for it instead of destroying the person who has it. I was once the Attorney General of Luxemborg, I lived in a castle, I owned forty strong Asians, and negroes, to work my fields; I was rich enough to ignore the laws I enforced. Before me Howard Hughes, Huey Long, Princess Grace, and Michael Vick all had it, and you see what happens. Maybe, my friend, your heart and stomach are strong enough."
He opened his jacket, as a clump of hair fell from his head, the inner pocket held a fat gray rat, which he kissed tenderly on the head.
"It'll be over soon, I will be dead in twelve hours, out of my way! Its my honeymoon!" He stepped onto the tracks and ran into the tunnel into the darkness, I quickly fled, feeling as though the great cosmic eye was looking directly at my spine.
The Waiter and I moved quickly down the halls. One either side of us were inreasingly graphic late Renaissance depictions of the Crucifixion. The carpet was deep red, and thick, and soft. Overhead a muzak version of some menacing German techno song played from unseen speakers. At the end of the hall the glass case that had held a fire extinguisher was shattered. There were large oak double doors, trimmed in beaten gold guarded by two identical women, both 6'3, each had a set of long and bent bladed knives at their belts.
"Name!" They said at the same time, they sounded bored, they were both staring at me cooly.
"Murray Aames Roosevelt. This man with me is an insane vagrant I took five hundred euro from a pimp to keep out of trouble for three more hours."
The women sighed, and said in unison, "Business?"
"Passage." I replied. "I need a ride to a small airstrip, that takes personal checks, and a pilot that does not ask questions."
"What's burning?" The Waiter asked.
"Quiet!" I barked and gave the guards a fine smile. "Nevermind this man, the Catholics drained his eyeballs of blood, the poor wretch." Their eyebrows raised at once. "We're friends, see? We killed four protesters on our way in."
With that, the women were put at ease. They smiled wickedly and told us to proceed.
In the room sat two men at a long wooden table, there were fifteen seats in all. The empty chairs were populated by unpainted wooden mannequins.
"Murray Roosevelt!" de Ralam shouted jovially. He was a fat and rapidly balding. In front of him was a sinister looking .45. "This is my friend Hal Mercury of Cigar Afficionado." He indicated the man in the fine brown tweed jacket. The left sleeve of which was still smoldering, it had been mostly burned off of his arm, what charred remains clung to his blackened and burnt skin. If it was painful, the man gave no indication. It was a hint of possible strong narcotics. Half of him was covered in residue from where he had been blasted by the fire extinguisher, his black hair was half gray.
"Hiya!" He shook my hand eagerly, he had a vice grip. "We were wondering when you'd get here."
"Oh yeah? Is that right?" I asked.
"That's right!" He slapped my shoulder and the air filled with white dust and ash from his ruined jacket. "You got the stamp?"
The Waiter shifted nervously.
"Wait wait, Hal, be reasonable. Stop being such an American." de Ralam said it with affection.
"Have a seat." As he invited us, he snatched his gun with frightening speed and shot two of the mannequins in the head, between where their eyes would be. The wooden dummies flew out of the chairs. Not wanting to appear rattled by the threat I sat quickly, followed by the Waiter.
"It has been not easy to locate you Mr. Roosevelt. I have been looking for you for a week, imagine my shock when I found you were right under my nose, in Bordeaux. You should know better than to go to then tourist office."
He stared me down, his eyes had red rim from sleeplessness. "Where is the stamp?"
I laughed and helped myself to one of Hal's cigars. "The stamp is secure, would you like to buy it?"
"You amuse me, Mr. Roosevelt, you are in my very home, in my clutches, as it were. I could take it from you."
"Then you must think I am stupid, to just bring it here. Anyway, my price is not steep. I want an airplane and safe passage from the city, and then its yours."
"Now why would you want to leave? Is it not beautiful here? Surely your friend told you--" He stopped and stared at the Waiter with wide eyes. Outside the protestors were getting louder, it sounded like a full out riot. "YOU!?" He snarled and grabbed his gun and began firing wildly. Amidst the echoes of the shots were the sounds of shattering windows, and around us cannisters of tear gas rolled hideously on the fine floors of the landmark. The protestors had thrown them after they had been launched by the pigs.
I dove to the floor with a cry, and rolled from the table. I stood in time to see de'Laram put the .45 against the Waiter's forehead, who had closed his eyes and resigned himself. His lips moved quickly as he whispered a final prayer. I wanted to shout in protest to stop this murderous madness, but my eyes burned as if they were being welded, I did not see the killing, and I did not hear the shot.
What I heard above the din of the riot and chaos was a loud metal on bone clang. Rubbing my face I saw the blurry form of Hal Mercury standing over de' Laram's crumpled form, holding the fire extinguisher.
"Hurry." He said. "I am from the American Government, Rahm Emanuel sent me."
"This cigar smells awful." I told him. "I knew you were a cop."
"Don't worry about all that." He replied. "Hurry."
The three of us ran to the trade entrance, and by he loading dock sat a Piper PA-31 Navajo. "I stole this from Chateau Maradon, beat the Patriarch in a card game where I cheated. All these winemakers like vintage airplanes...savages."
"Of course." I agreed. "They love old things, that's why these swine hate America."
Hal nodded, we were all of us pouring sweat.
The plane was full of cases of wine. I was forced to sit in the Waiter's lap. "Nevermind these boxes, more winnings from my card game. Help yourself, but if you take something you won't drink I will cut your throat and throw you into the river to feed the bass." The man was sincere. "You got the stamp?"
I pulled the envelope from my jacket pocket, and then removed my jacket. It would need to be cleaned of my fear stink. "Right here."
The Navajo squeaked to a start and we made a taxi route down the street. Luckily the police were far too occupied with the riot to notice. We made our way down a pedestrian only street, picking up speed. People dived aside, and shook their fists, shouting rapidly. Many fell from their bicycles.
"One side you miserable winebloods! I will run you down like stray dogs! Nazis!" Mercury screached. "Don't you know who I am!? We have never lost a war...Vietnam was to ferret out the non hackers and assimilate them."
He passed the bloody fire extinguisher back to me, pulled back on the yoke, and we were airborne.
"Keep a low altitude, in case of fighter jets." The Waiter advised. Mercury looked back and grabbed the man's ear viciously.
"Quiet you nancy bitch! I only saved you to keep your blood and brains off my special blazer. The French don't have fighter jets." He laughed uproariously, I was frightened.
"But we do!" The Waiter sounded frightned. "We funded our Navy with the proceeds from entrance to Versailles. We bought cruise missiles from you!"
Mercury seemed rattled by this revelation. The Waiter squinted out of the window at the horizon and whined.
"Oh God! Oh God!" He was the first to see the attack helicopter. "We're doomed! The bull can smell the sow!"
"Don't worry, the French never have ammunition."
The first hail of bullets hit right over my head, tearing a hole in the side of the Navajo, which lurched helplessly and quickly lost hundreds of feet of altitude. We were out of control, I was tossed from the Waiter's lap and hit the damaged door of our aircraft, which burst open. The wind took me, the fire extinguisher went end over end into the sky, and my jacket and envelope flew in opposite directions. Only my fast reflexes allowed me to save the stamp, but I was in a free fall over a hillside covered in vines of the fruit. I stuffed the envelope into my pants and put myself into a swan dive position so as to hit face first, to avoid any unnecessary delay or pain.
I tried to organize my thoughts, think of my loved ones, and my happy memories and accomplishments. I could not focus, my mind was blank and my spirit ready. My only thought was "Huh...."
Then there was a horrid roar from all around me, it was from the propellers of our plane, it had swooped near me. I could see Mercury slumped in the cockpit, shot. The Waiter was leaned over him, holding the yoke with all his might. One of the wings was on fire, I could not see the chopper. I reached wildly for the landing gear which was near my grasp, on the third try I got it, and I screamed in pain as my shoulder popped from place due to the speed of my terminal drop. I held though, as we headed for the hillside. When I was fifteen feet from the ground, I let go and rolled to hit my already injured shoulder. I know I rolled along with no control, crushing grapes as I went. And then there was nothing but darkness.
When I woke I could smell oil, and wine. The Waiter had dragged me near where the plane come to a rest in the marred vineyard. He was sitting with his back against the ruined fuselage, rocking back and forth, his head was bleeding, he was sobbing and his mouth dripped grape juice. In both his hands were two crushed bunches of the fruit, he was mindlessly gobbling them. It was clear he had broken. Next to him, also in a seated position was Mercury, what was left of him.
"Its over." He said. "We've broken the final and fatal rule of wine country. We fucked with the grapes."
I stared at Mercury. His wild blue eyes were lifelessly open. "You whore!" I shouted in a sudden rage. "I loved that jacket! You filthy clown! You know how hard it is to find something that flattering!?" I kicked the man's corpse three times, lost my balance and fell onto my back. The Waiter continued to stuff his face with the forbidden grapes. All arond us the crates of stolen wine were cracked open, some bottles were shattered and some intact.
"They'll be waiting at every station. We're trapped like rats." The Waiter said, I sat up.
"Where did that helicopter go?" The Waiter pointed west. That was where the shredded remains of our atackers and their machine had come to a rest. "How?"
"The fire extinguisher hit it, directly, dumb luck."
"Well then. How can we be doomed with that kind of luck? These scumsuckers have no idea what they're up against."
I stood, and grabbed him under the arm with my good side and pulled him to his feet. I kicked open one of the cases of wine and took four bottles, and stuffed them into my pack. "You carry my bag. Its heavy from wine and sweat, its the least you can do."
He agreed, the grape stains made a clown like frown around his lips. "We need to leave this country."
"That's what I was thinking. My heart is far too savage at present to be in the land of grapes and hoarded sculptures."
"Germany then. We can eat from the sunflower fields on the way. Then we can steal some bikes, we can leave bottles of wine behind as payment."
"You scum." I growled. "I am not giving that wine away, a man died. You are going to carry it, which way?"
"Not sure." He shrugged.
I stuffed one more bottle into the bag, the last possible thing it could hold, the Waiter grunted but said nothing. We walked away from the late day sun, headed East. I sang him lots of songs.
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