Looking for brutal feedback on all aspects from characters to setting to sentence structure.
CULEBRA
Texas Refractory
[koo-lay'-brah]
by J.D. Llano
A blast of cool air swept down Congress Avenue and turned right on 6th Street and ran parallel to the Colorado River for a ways and then jogged in a little closer and ended up on Lake Austin Boulevard. The swirl of air bounced from one side of the street to the other, looking for its destiny. It passed over buses and under cars. It bounced off light poles and ricocheted off curbs.
A man came up the alley and turned the corner of a large skyrise and started down the sidewalk to the main entrance. The wind doubled itself and concentrated. It hurled itself at the man with everything it had.
The man's shirt flew out of his pants and his shirt billowed and expanded like he was in a wind machine. The air flooded his mouth and nostrils and drove itself deep down into his lungs, leaving him gasping. He ducked his head down to block the wind and manage a breath, but the wind was merciless. It curled itself. It contorted itself. It separated into streams and then rejoined itself to get to him.
The man turned his back to the gust, trying for relief. The wind encircled him and bumped him from side to side. The air tunneled up through his pant legs and sent the cuffs of his pants to his knees. The buckle on his belt shook and rattled, threatening to give way. He watched in disbelief as the force shook him stronger and stronger and then...
Calm.
The man smoothed his clothes and adjusted his tie at the main entrance of the Lady Bird Towers in downtown Austin. He looked into the large plate glass windows beside the doors and tried to recognize himself, but he barely could. He should never have gotten involved with these people. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so stupid? Why, oh why?
“The money. That's why,” he remembered.
“God, I'm so terrible,” he thought.
The money had definitely been good. The initial payment was more than he could make in twelve years at the university. Successful completion of the mission would have resulted in a sum three times that. But there would be no more easy money for him. Nothing had gone right. He did not want to be standing at the base of the Lady Bird Towers, just moments away from meeting the most evil feminine mind in the State of Texas, Vironda Lusehoe. But here he was.
He left his wife at home less than an hour ago in their quaint Round Rock tract house. Their little three year old daughter was playing on the floor in the living room with some toys while the TV blared some incoherent toddlers' show. He wished he was still sitting in that room. He didn't want to deliver the message that he had and especially not to her. He had heard some terrible things about her.
“Surely they can't all be true,” he thought.
His clothes looked wrinkled, but that wasn't why he seemed so unrecognizable to himself – he always looked wrinkled. He saw a greedy man when he looked into the glass. It wasn't the man he wanted to be. It certainly was not the same man who had written so brilliantly in his thesis on Deformation Theory and its implications on poverty. He was, today, much less a man than he was when he penned that great paper that catapulted him to the top of his field.
But now look at him! He stood before the huge sheets of glass that reflected back the nightlife of downtown Austin, lights twinkling and streaking in the glass. The Austin air was thick and muggy and swarmed him and wrapped him in its moist and glistening embrace.
One Centurion stood on the other side of the glass and watched him.
Inside the restroom in the Lobby, Abigail closed a stall door. She hiked up her skirt and pulled down her panties in an unsophisticated, unladylike manner. She would have been abhorred if anyone would have seen her.
She tried hard to hold it while she fished out the EPT from her small purse. She ripped open the package and placed the wand between her legs without having to study it to figure out where the target area was. She had used these many times in the last three years; she was an expert.
A golden spritz flooded the test area.
She finished her business and stepped out of the stall to clean up. She washed her hands and then looked at the wand.
Negative.
“What does it take to get pregnant in this town?” Abigail thought.
Time and again she had tried to get pregnant by so many different guys and every single time, she had failed. The doctors insisted there was nothing wrong with her.
Sometimes guys insisted on using condoms for safety reasons. If that happened, she had just the thing. She'd produce some 'fresh' condoms from her purse for the occasion. What the men didn't know is that these condoms had been sabotaged and when the time came, they would spray like a Rain Bird.
Still, some of the others were on male birth control now. She always asked, but guys couldn't be trusted to tell the truth on that one. Since the product was fairly new, a lot of guys had a hang up about using it. They considered it a feminine thing to do – a way of being neutered. It was like when a married guy gets a vas. It's so demeaning. The stud is no more.
Abigail huffed and tossed the test into the trash and went to join her partner.
Now, two Centurions stood on the other side of the glass and watched the potbellied, frumpy professor adjust himself in the reflection. The centurions laughed to one another as they watched the nervous fidgeting. Lower level centurions, which is what these two were termed, did not dress in the armor and attire of the higher level centurions. Instead, they dressed in ways that would allow them to blend in with the masses in Texas. Lower Level did not refer to a low level of status in the Battalion. It was just the opposite. Lower level meant that they were the most trusted. They were the only ones allowed to interact with Texans.
The Centurions were dressed in business attire and were both lovely ladies in their mid-twenties. One had long straight blonde hair that was so perfectly brushed that you wanted to touch it to see if it was real. The other was more realistic, but still very attractive. Her hair was less in place. It swirled and curled in long brown, loping curls around her shoulders. Her waist was not as thin as the other woman's and her breasts were considerably larger. The roundness of her bottom was very noticeable when compared to the relative flatness of her partner's. This fuller woman was Abigail.
“This doesn't look good,” the blonde Centurion said.
“They only hesitate like that when there's bad news,” said the brunette.
The blonde Centurion stepped toward the door.
“No,” said the brunette. “I'll do it.”
The blonde stopped sharply and glared at her.
“Remember last time?” the brunette said. “Not tactful,” she said shaking her head.
“Your heart is too kind.”
“I may not be Het, but even men deserve a proper, feminine goodbye. I'll take care of it.”
The brunette stepped into the massive revolving door and spun her way to the outside. The man was still looking into the great glass, searching for himself. She approached him.
“Sir, can I help you?”
The man came to reality and left the comfortable living room in his mind. “Uh, yes ma'am. I'm here to see Ms. Vironda Lusehoe. She's expecting me.”
“Indeed she is,” the brunette said. “Won't you come with me?”
The man nodded and then sheepishly followed the brunette's gesture and stepped into the revolving door and landed on the cool granite floors of the lobby. His eyes raised up toward the interior sky that extended for nearly infinity. The front portion of the lobby had no floors above it. Each of the subsequent floors ended short of the front of the Lady Bird Towers, leaving an area free from the lobby floor to the bottom of the 36th floor, the Penthouse.
The man stopped and cocked his head back and stared into the darkened vertical tunnel and saw nothing.
“This way, sir,” the brunette invited.
The man stepped toward a bank of elevators.
“No, not that one,” the brunette said. “We'll use this one,” she said, pointing to the one in the center.
This elevator was different from the five on each side of it. This one's doors were noticeably wider and instead of being outfitted with the brushed stainless of the others, this one was bronze and highly polished. The man could see his reflection perfectly as he awaited the doors to slide open.
When the doors slid open, the man was surprised to see that the elevator was beautifully decorated. There were paintings on the wall and the rug was exquisite. Along the back of the elevator sat a long, plush, velvet red sofa with large golden claw feet. The brunette directed him inside and offered him a seat in the middle of the sofa. He sat and stared straight ahead.
There were only two active buttons on the panel along with 34 blank buttons. The brunette pushed the P button and the doors slid closed. The man saw his reflection appear in the highly polished bronze. He could feel the elevator engage and the force of gravity being defeated surged through his body. The elevator hummed with urgency.
“I need to ask you something,” the brunette said solemnly.
The man broke his trance, “Ok.”
“Are you fertile?”
“What?”
“Can you impregnate?”
“Yes. I've got a daughter.”
“Did you get fixed afterward?”
“No,” he said reticently.
The brunette rushed her hand quickly up to the control panel and hit the stop button. The hum of the elevator raised higher and then stopped altogether. The elevator jolted slightly.
“Pull your pants down,” the brunette commanded.
“What?” the man responded.
The brunette hiked up her skirt and removed her panties with an elegant sweeping of her arms.
“We don't have much time. I need your seed inside me.”
The man still had not moved. He sat there stunned, watching her prepare.
The brunette moved closer to him, ready to mount, but stopped suddenly.
“Are you going to remove your pants?”
“I am MARRIED!” the man protested.
“Don't be ridiculous. She will never know.”
“I'll tell her. I tell her everything. I can't do this.”
The brunette paused for half a moment. “We don't have time.” She reached behind her back to retrieve something and then lunged onto the man. She wrestled his left arm out away from his body and slapped on a handcuff and then locked the other cuff to a large brass ring at the end of the sofa.
“What are you doing?” complained the man. “I'm just here to speak with Ms. Lusehoe. I can't be doing this.”
The brunette opened a panel on the wall that revealed an assortment of weapons and tools. There were four pistols, handcuffs, some batons, and flares. She grabbed a pair of cuffs and walked back to the man.
“Give me your hand,” she demanded, gesturing down to his right hand.
The man stuffed his wrist between his legs and shook his head rapidly 'no.'
The brunette went back to the panel and took out a baton. With a quick flick of her wrist, the baton extended out to full length with a crack.
“If I must, then I will,” she said solemnly.
Slowly, he raised his right wrist up in the air to her in defeat.
She smiled and restrained his right arm in similar fashion to his left.
“Now for the pants,” she said as she tugged at his belt. She wrestled the pants and underwear down to his ankles and stepped back to assess.
“You're not cooperating,” she said after taking in his relaxed state.
The man slightly shrugged with a small smile.
“Hmmm,” the brunette said. “You need the right stimulus: visual and tactile. We need to hurry.” She quickly removed all of her clothing and then leaned over him with her smooth and soft womanhood caressing his face. She wiggled on him with her moistness until, against his will, rigidity. She sank down on him with a smile.
------------- Culebra-------------
“Stand up,” she said as she made the final adjustments to her outfit. “You don't want to look too comfortable when those doors open.”
The hum of the elevator was loud once more. The man stumbled slightly as he stood up.
“I've got to ask. What was that about? I usually don't have women attack me like that,” the man said.
“Don't ask too many questions. Accept it for what it was.”
The man was staring at her with a perplexed look, wanting to talk further when he felt a strong shake beneath his feet and the elevator made an adjustment and then stopped altogether.
“To ease your mind, my name is Abigail. You'll be remembered,” she said.
The man started to speak, but the shiny brass doors slid open, dissolving the reflection of the couple.
The man stepped forward out of the elevator into the darkness of the expansive floor. The doors shut behind him and the brunette was gone.
“You are late, Professor Exeter,” a voice said from the other side of the darkened space.
“I wasn't really, but...” the man started to say, but then thought better of it. “I'm sorry. I ran into tra...ffic.”
“At 10:30 at night?” the voice asked.
The man eased forward into the vast and dimly lit area. “There must be a concert in town or something. I35 was brutal.”
“Enough small talk. Did you get it?”
“Not exactly,” the man whimpered.
Vironda Lusehoe swung away from her large table and spun out of her lush chair, her coat of shiny black material whipping around her long, slender body. Beneath her coat she wore a one piece black hottie that sprung from between her legs and opened to reveal her perfect belly button and then crossed itself to form two blinds that covered her large breasts.
“What do you mean you didn't get the passcode?” Ms. Lusehoe shouted. “You were given a simple task – a task a child could accomplish and yet you couldn't do it,” she said as she approached him from the far side of the floor, her six inch stilettos tapping out urgency as her fishnet stockings flashed broken pure white skin as she marched.
“Ma'am, it was a little more difficult than that,” the blustering man said in a wavering voice.
“Difficult? Difficult? What was so difficult about getting a simple passcode from a low-ranking soldier? That doesn't seem difficult to me; that seems pretty easy.”
The balding man shifted his weight from foot to foot and adjusted his corduroy jacket and cleared his throat. He tried to make eye contact with Vironda Lusehoe, but he found it difficult. The room was dark except for the indirect lighting around the perimeter. Vironda's black hair swept across her eyes and then fell in loose curls at her shoulders. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could see her hair move on her pale white skin when she blinked.
He looked down at the floor.
“Answer her,” a voice came from a dark corner.
A short, white stocky woman with cropped black hair wearing a thick black dog collar with the letters K-Y-R-A spelled out in diamonds upside down on the back of her neck stepped closer. “I said, answer her.” The woman's cheeks were fat and were made to look even larger than they were by the dark eye makeup she wore in exaggerated shapes around her eyes that tapered to a point near her ears.
The man opened his arms to Vironda and said, “I tried, but the encryption algorithms he was using were too strong for me to break. I did everything you said, but it didn't work.” His voice trailed off, “He must have been using some type of advanced Kitzingen system or...”
Ms. Lusehoe stepped toward him slowly. “So, you're saying it was my plan that failed? Is that right?”
“I don't think it was anybody's fault,” the man said. “It just didn't work. He was using something new that I've never seen. Maybe with some more time I could find the key to unlock the encryption, but I'm not sure.”
Vironda stared at him with dead eyes through her hair and then turned to the woman in the dog collar and nodded.
The short stocky woman in tight black shorts and black halter top with a bulging belly that fell over the lip of her shorts pulled a combat knife from her shiny black boots and let out a primal scream as she rushed for the man.
The man could barely react to what he was seeing. Her short stumpy legs moved with great noise and speed. Thump, thump, thump, her legs stamped the ground as she ascended on him. Her mouth was wide open releasing a long, ear-screeching scream as she advanced. Her teeth were white, but crooked and dripped with saliva. Her ears pinned back to the side of her fat face. Her tongue as red as blood. As she passed him, she plunged the knife deep into his neck just above his collar bone. She took several more thundering steps until she was able to slow her momentum enough on her tree trunk like legs to turn around and view her work.
The man, stunned, stood perfectly still for a long moment and then trembled. The quiver began in his hands, at first a minor shake, but then grew more and more violent. He swayed and then his knees buckled and at once he was kneeling on the floor.
The stocky woman swaggered like a male back to the man and stood behind him. Vironda Lusehoe elegantly sauntered toward the man like a runway model in slow motion, leaning her head from side to side, taking in the work of her most trusted Lieutenant. The man watched her advance. Vironda's legs were long and thin, but with perfect curves. Her skin was pale white. She looked to be covered in white powder, but as she got closer, the man realized that there was no powder, it was the true color of her skin. She was amazingly beautiful and scary at the same time. Her lips were a deep hue of red and her eyes were shaded in gold with a silver outline that sparkled with flecks too large to be real.
She stood before the kneeling man, her waist only inches from his face. He could smell her fragrance rise. It was a strong floral scent that would have been delightful, but for a heavy musk that weighed it down and announced the urge to mate.
“You have failed me, Professor Exeter. You are...” she corrected herself. “You were the smartest man in Texas. And you were unable to break the encryption and reveal the passcode. Perhaps you were right. Maybe my plan will not work after all. My apologies to you, sir, for the inconvenience of an early death. I am certain there were many ingenious inventions your mind could have created had it been allowed to survive to old age. It is truly a tragedy.”
Vironda bent at the waist until her face was in his. She watched his face contort from the pain. She looked at the blood oozing from his collar. “But in my line of work, a loose end will be the end of you. And so you see, you are a loose end. And I will NOT be ended.”
Ms. Lusehoe stood erect and cast her eyes upward as if speaking to a great crowd. “So again, my humblest apologies to you.” Then she lowered her head to look him square in the eyes. “And to your wife and child whose hearts will soon be still.”
Vironda Lusehoe nodded to Kyra and with a quick jerk of her arms, the professor's neck was snapped. Kyra released his head and his body fell forward onto the floor with a loud thud. Kyra put a boot on his shoulder and removed her knife. She wiped it several times on the back of his tweed jacket and then placed it securely in the sheath in her boot.
Vironda Lusehoe turned and sauntered back to her large table. Kyra hustled to catch up to her as Vironda spoke.
“The Great Plan cannot be defeated. This is merely a minor setback. I am sure... That is, I am fully confident that the Great Plan will be realized. We must simply find another way. Hacking the passcode would have been an easy way, but alas it was not meant to be. That is of no importance. We only need to find another way. Another way... Another way...”
Vironda paused for a short while and then said, “Another way.” She reached the large table and then spun around to find Kyra on her heels. “We will find it.”
“I know we will my Queen and Mistress,” Kyra said with certitude.
Vironda Lusehoe swept a golden chain with a leather strap on one end and a clasp on the other and stepped toward Kyra. “But first, you know what must be done to clean up the mess of our first attempt?”
“I do, my Queen and Mistress. I do. I will take care of it immediately.”
“Hmmm,” Vironda said as she moved closer and bent slightly toward the shorter woman. Vironda breathed in a deep breath under Kyra's right ear and then another under Kyra's left ear. Then Ms. Lusehoe stood tall and looked down her cheeks at Kyra's round face. “I smell devotion.”
“It is true, my Queen and Mistress. I am yours completely.”
Vironda snapped the end of the golden chain to Kyra's dog collar and whispered, “The first thing you must clean is me.” Vironda looked down. The fabric was moist from her legs almost to the top of the material just below her belly button.
“Your work, Kyra, stimulates me.”
“It is my honor, my Queen and Mistress.”
Vironda Lusehoe whipped her shoulders back and her long, light coat shimmied down her arms and floated to the floor. She reached behind her neck with a single hand and released the blinds that covered her breasts. They shown just below the eye level of Kyra.
Kyra lurched forward, but Ms. Lusehoe raised her hand in objection. Vironda clipped the golden chain to the dog collar and then turned and walked toward her large chair, her hips swaying to the extreme with each step. Kyra followed close behind, the chain pulled taut, with her eyes focused on the strip of fabric that ran the length of Vironda Lusehoe's cheeks.
When they got to Ms. Lusehoe's chair, Vironda spun around and looked at Kyra and with her left hand, she reached behind her back and unfastened the strip and let it fall from her cheeks and swoop through her legs and dangle in front of her.
Vironda sank down into her chair and spread her legs wide. Kyra kneeled at her altar. Ms. Lusehoe yanked the chain, pulling Kyra close.
Kyra worshipped.
Vironda snarled a moan and tugged at the chain. Her eyes drifted down to the diamond letters on the back of Kyra's neck that now were no longer inverted and read, “KYRA.” Vironda Lusehoe closed her eyes and flowed.
------------- Culebra-------------
At the end of a quiet street in a nice part of San Antonio stood a large adobe stucco archway in a dark reddish hue that had the name Casa de Segura carved in it in perfectly shaped letters. This archway served as the entryway to a modest estate that Culebra and his wives called home. The moonlight swept over the estate, being strobed by the swiftly moving clouds.
Culebra's bedroom window was open and the breeze softly tossed the gauzy curtains into the air and then let them fall only to pick them up once again and toss them up. Culebra lied on their bed asleep on his back at the foot with the wide moons of two women, one on each side of him, one ebony and one ivory, shining up from the bed, still fragrant from the evening before, still satisfied from the work of their shared husband.
The San Antonio night had been warm and sticky, but the early morning, that it was now, was cooler. Bumps of chill grew on the ladies' skin and Culebra stirred. The taste of whiskey and love were still on his breath as he came into consciousness. His eyes fluttered and then opened. Dominique's dark buttocks were the first thing that Culebra saw. The sight of it in all of its dark glory brought a smile to his face. He turned and gave it a gentle kiss and breathed in its precious scent. Then he rolled to the other side and kissed and licked Adara's version of the same that was much lighter in color and in contrast to the deep, dark true African color of Dominique's, it could be argued that it was a polar opposite, but in truth Adara's skin was a few shades darker than a Caucasian's. Her muslim blood that flowed through her veins darkened her to the slight golden tint that is so common among the inhabitants of the Fasa region from which Adara heralded.
Culebra gracefully lifted himself from the bed and went to the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, he stood in the doorway and watched his wives sleep. They were so peaceful. He enjoyed the sight. It was the only time that they weren't arguing.
He slid on his Levi's and pulled a long sleeve knit shirt over his head and tucked the tail into his pants. Beside their bed he found his boots and pulled them on.
Adara stirred, “Don't forget to get cash,” she said without opening her eyes. Adara was the bookkeeper and the chef of the family.
Culebra bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I'll take care of it.”
As he lifted from his kiss, Dominique sprang up and puckered her lips in the air. Culebra bent over and kissed her. “Love you,” she said.
Adara rolled her eyes.
Dominique was the housekeeper and the loving one.
Culebra smacked Adara on the bottom for her unkindness. “I love you both. I'll probably be in late. Don't wait up,” Culebra said as he left the room.
Downstairs, Culebra passed by the hall tree and grabbed his hat. It was a shantung from Master Hatters of Texas, his favorite brand. The brim was wide with a nearly squared off crease in the front, providing a nearly flat bill. The sides were turned up, but flattened as they neared the back. He was a cowboy.
He would need some ammo in order get the money that he needed. It was early still at 5:30. Too early to go see about ammo. He needed breakfast first and then maybe some new boots. Then he would be ready to talk guns. He grabbed his keys off of the table and headed outside into the cool San Antonio morning air. The dew had set and everything glistened with tiny droplets.
Culebra opened the door to his Early Bronco and climbed up inside. The tall 38 inch tires required a large step to enter. He stuck the key into the ignition and cranked it. The Early Bronco roared into life like a beast being released from a cage. The muffler thundered in a perfect, rumbling rhythm. He dropped her into Drive and rolled out of his circle drive, under the Casa de Segura archway and onto the city street.
The streets of San Antonio were just coming to life. Sprinklers were spraying on the manicured lawns. Day workers were gathering at pick up spots throughout the city. Highways were beginning to fill with morning commuters.
Culebra was hungry. He headed downtown through a labyrinth of side streets to a cafe nearly in the shadow of the Alamo. He parked around back and walked around the dilapidated building to the front and walked in under a neon sign that read TASTE OF MEXICO. Maria greeted him with a hearty 'Hola' as he entered.
------------- Culebra-------------
Mrs. Exeter sat on the toilet with the lid down, talking on her mobile phone while she watched Miranda splash in the tub.
She looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes. They were pretty unattractive. She used to spend time on herself, but ever since Miranda was born, she never seemed to find the time. Her toes were plain and if she were to have a moment of complete honesty, she would admit that her big toe was actually ugly. She was long overdue for a pedicure and some paint on those nails would have added tremendously to her attractiveness.
She looked up at the mirror. Her face looked fat. She used to have such a cute little figure. She was never the most pretty girl around, but she used to get some looks. Lately she just felt invisible.
That may be one of the worst fates for a woman – to be invisible. When a girl is in her late teens and early twenties, she is at the height of her desirability. She becomes accustomed to a level of attention that most men never have. Even a fairly homely girl with a decent body receives more attention, on a daily basis, than a fairly handsome man. One reason for this is that men are much more giving of attention than women are.
Men have a large reserve of attention built in to them at birth. It is Nature's gift to the species to ensure that men will find the time to romance the women. There are, after all, many things that can steal a guy's attention away. There are so many interesting things in the world. Women are just one of them. Men have many interests. But Nature made sure that each man, daily, would take the time to notice the beautiful women around him.
Women, on the other hand, have no such built in reserve of attention that they feel compelled to shower on the men around them. Quite the contrary, women spend their days wrapped up in themselves. Sometimes it's in the form of shopping. Sometimes it's in the form of talking to friends. Sometimes it's in the form of makeup and clothes. But no matter what the form, the central focus in all these actions is on herself.
Shopping and dressing up are easy to see as examples of self-concerned behavior, but how does talking with friends have anything to do with self-concerned behavior? In fact, shouldn't it be just the opposite? If you are thinking those questions, then you are probably a woman. Men know the answer.
Have you ever wondered why women have so many friends and why men have so few? A woman has friends so that she can have someone to brag to and someone to tell all the details of her every feeling to. The key is that the friends aren't acquired out of a genuine interest in others, but out of a desire to acquire an audience. This is why Facebook is so popular with women and why Twitter is so popular with metrosexuals. (Metros are feminized men.)
Now don't get me wrong, women do enjoy being the audience as well. They are as voyeuristic as a thirteen year old boy in a girls bathroom. But that is not their main driver. Their primary purpose in collecting as many friends as possible is so that their broadcasts about themselves will be to as many people as possible.
But, at any rate, tonight Jennifer Exeter is sitting on a toilet talking to a friend.
“I just don't know what to think. He's been so secretive lately. He says that he's working on a special project, but I don't know.”
“How has he been in the bedroom lately?” her friend Betsy asked.
“Oh,” Jennifer sighed. “It's been non-existent. He's been busy with work. He's hardly ever home and, when he is, I'm usually just too tired. I just want a break from Miranda. God! I know that sounds terrible. I love my daughter. I truly do. But sometimes I just need a break. I just need some 'me' time. I just need time to pamper myself a little. Get into a good book or something. I just don't have the energy to be William's little ho.
“I know that's what he wants. I'm sure he wishes that I would be naked with just my apron on and a ribbon in my hair to greet him when he gets home. I should even be holding some fresh homemade cookies on a silver platter.
“But I wouldn't be eating any of them. Heaven forbid! He wouldn't want my bottom to get any bigger.
“Did you know that he actually said that to me a few months ago?”
“Really?” Betsy asked in disbelief.
“Yes! We had just finished 'helping each other out.' I was on top and when we were done, he said he could tell that my rear felt bigger than it used to. He said...” Jennifer stopped herself there, overcome with indignation. “He said I was suffocating him.”
“He did not!” exclaimed Betsy.
“He did.”
“Well, If I had a husband and he said anything like that to me, then that would be the last time he touched me for a long time. In fact, I'd go on an eating binge and gain twenty more pounds just to show him that I'm not his slave.”
“I was mad,” Jennifer said. “I didn't talk to him until that next afternoon. I was just so mad. Anyway, I know he's cheating on me. It's the only thing that makes sense. He's probably with some little thing that he met at the university. Maybe one of his grad students. She probably doesn't weigh over 110 pounds.”
“Jennifer, don't get too carried away. We're talking about William. He's not exactly the player type,” Betsy said.
Jennifer laughed. “I know. He'd never cheat on me. I'm just being silly...”
“Hey, Jennifer, I gotta go. Paul just pulled up outside. He hates it when I don't go out to his truck as soon as he pulls into the parking lot. I'm supposed to be waiting for him. You hang in there, girl. I'm sure he's not cheating on you. Go do something good for yourself. Bye. I gotta go,” Betsy said as she grabbed her purse from the couch and hurried outside to see her man.
Jennifer got Miranda out of the tub and put her to bed. She ended her day with two pints of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Nougat Crunch. Chocolate always eases the pain men cause.
The sun was still two hours from rising in Round Rock when Kyra's black Charger rolled onto Professor Exeter's street. The houses had been built close together to maximize profits for the developer and to provide the upwardly mobile lower middle class the most house possible. By shrinking the yard, something most people didn't care for too much, they could add five hundred more square feet to the houses.
Kyra's machine was completely blacked out. The stock tail lights and turn signals had been replaced with aftermarket parts that resembled her dark personality. The badging around the car had been removed so that the only people who could identify the car were those who were familiar with the car's unique styling.
She killed the lights and pulled over along the curb a few houses down. She pulled a large combat knife from a bag and exited the car. She walked down the sidewalk and cut through the grass to enter the Exeter's backyard.
The back door was locked. Kyra pulled out a glass cutter. In seconds, she was twisting the locks open. She opened the door slowly as the creaks emanated from the hinges.
The mother had to be first. Always eliminate the greatest threat first. Doing otherwise only gives the most dangerous person more time to act.
Kyra stepped quietly across the littered living room. Toys, blankets, and the clothes of a little girl were strewn everywhere. Each step was careful and cautious. Ever so gently she made it to the base of the stairs.
She raised her foot to the first step and shifted her weight onto it. The step creaked loudly in the quiet house. She pressed on to the next step. Again it creaked. She continued on.
Kyra thought about rushing up the stairs, but fought back the urge. It was not tactically savvy to rush when sneaking was in order so she pressed on.
Halfway up, the stairway light flashed on.
Kyra's head snapped up to the top of the stairs.
“William, is that...” Mrs. Exeter started, then she abruptly stopped and screamed.
Kyra saw the woman, her face smeared with chocolate and tears, raise a Smith & Wesson snub nose revolver at her. Kyra didn't hesitate; she rushed as quickly as she could up the stairs, screaming like a crazy woman at the top of her lungs.
The sound of the round going off ended Kyra's scream immediately. She could feel the round pierce her right leg just as she put her full weight on it. Her body buckled and she tumbled down the stairs backward. The large knife entered her shoulder as she rolled heels over head again and again.
Her body came to rest at the base of the stairs. Kyra rose up and sat. She looked to the top of the staircase. No one was there. She inspected her shoulder. The knife hung out of her body like a bad scene in a horror flick. She sighed heavily and then gave it no more notice. She looked down at her leg. It wasn't that bad. The bone wasn't broken and the wound was only bleeding slightly.
Kyra wrestled her way to her feet and tried to put weight on the leg. It couldn't hold much. She thought about her options. She needed to finish the job, but her pistol was in the car. She hadn't thought she would need it.
A voice upstairs could be heard, “There's an intruder in my house. I shot him...”
Kyra rolled her eyes. She hated it when people mistook her for a man. Her body was so stocky that her breasts disappeared in the mass of flesh.
She limped to the front door and walked toward her car, the knife still in her shoulder.
------------- Culebra-------------
“Was it good?” Maria asked.
“It was fabulous,” Culebra said. “As always.”
Culebra gave the middle aged woman a big hug and left a twenty on the table. As a rule, he didn't like to overpay for a service, but he made an exception with Maria. She was such a dear woman. She reminded him of the woman who had raised him.
Culebra loved women – women of all ages, sizes, and shapes. Perhaps that's why one wife wasn't enough for him; he had to have two. He often said that he never met a woman who wasn't beautiful. Culebra saw so much more than the outside of a woman when he looked at her. He saw something deep down inside. Something at the core of who they were. He loved the gender. He loved everything about them. He loved the way they smelled. He loved the way they walked. He liked how they talked and he liked how he felt when they talked to him.
He climbed into his Early Bronco and navigated through downtown San Antone to I10 and headed east to Seguin. He had thought about getting some new boots before he headed out to Seguin, but decided that that would have to wait for another day.
Just short of Seguin, he took an exit and followed a couple of Farm to Market roads to a secluded ranch. The dirt road that led to the house was long and bumpy. Culebra took it slow to avoid the jolting potholes. As the lane bent and weaved through the unusually woody property, the house finally came into view.
It was a modest wooden structure that must have been quite old. It had a wrap around porch that looked to give the occupant as much space outside as inside. There were a few dogs scattered here and about and there was a workshop off to the side that was almost the same size as the house. Culebra could see activity at the workshop and so he parked over by it. He had only been inside Marlin's house once and that was several years ago. Every time he came out here, no matter the time of day (or night), he would find Marlin toiling away in his workshop.
Culebra hopped down from the height of his lifted Early Bronco and thudded to the ground. By the time he closed his door, Marlin had made it to the large shop doors at the front of the workshop. He was rubbing his hands on an old red rag.
“Well, how ya doing, stranger?” Marlin joked. Culebra seldom went more than three weeks without a visit. Marlin was his supplier of so many of the tools of the trade. “Whatcha after today?”
“Need some ammo, Marlin”
“What caliber?”
“Give me about three hundred rounds of 9 and fifty or so shotgun shells.”
A couple of Marlin's dogs came up to sniff him hello. Culebra reached down and petted them as Marlin prepared his machine.
Off to the side in the workshop sat a strange looking machine. At first glance, one might mistake it for a lawn mower. Not the type that you find in your neighborhood, but a commercial type. It had a place for the rider to sit and two long arms instead of a steering wheel to direct its motion. On the back were several large tanks that were unlabeled.
Culebra watched as Marlin filled the first with 9mm brass casings and then the second with empty shotgun shells. In the third tank, he added what looked like BBs, except they were not made out of metal. These were small plastic balls that were almost white, except a slight hint of translucency. The first two tanks, Marlin had just added a small amount to, but this third tank, he filled to the brim.
The fourth tank held gunpowder and Marlin filled it about halfway up. The fifth was the most unusual. It was even shaped differently than the others. Marlin unscrewed the top of it and then retrieved a dozen 2Liter bottles of Pepsi and Coke from under a counter near the back of the workshop. Culebra watched as Marlin added equal amounts of Coke and Pepsi until the fifth tank sloshed full.
“Tell me again how this works,” Culebra requested.
“It's a simple matter of physics and chemistry,” Marlin started out. Marlin had been a high school dropout many years ago. From the looks of his wrinkled skin and broken and wrecked body, it had to have been fifty years ago or more that he was in high school. He had left school to help his family make a living. Things had gotten tough around those parts back then and his family was about to starve. His dad was doing all he could, but it wasn't much and it sure wasn't enough. Marlin was the oldest of eleven kids. He always had a lot of pressure on him.
As he grew into adulthood, he saw many examples of people who were only partially as skilled and as intelligent as he was get tremendous breaks and opportunities. Seeing how little merit ranked against such things as political connectivity and social position. He rebelled against a world that made no sense and delved headlong into science and invention.
Over the years, he had invented a great number of things, but he did not profit greatly from them. Although most of the inventions were quite good, even bordering on genius, Marlin avoided entanglements with Corporate America and so limited his earnings. He did, however, do okay. He had a few unusual clients like Culebra who kept him stocked up on cigarettes and beer.
“Alright,” Marlin said. “First off, we got these two tanks that hold your casings. I can make two different types at a time, but no more. Next we have our polymer base, our gunpowder, and lastly, our Pepsi/Coke mix.”
“Why do you need Pepsi and Coke? The others kind of make sense, but the pop just seems weird.”
“It is weird. Now isn't it? But then again, weird is what you're paying me for.” Marlin adjusted his posture and looked deep into Culebra's eyes. “You want a bullet that is strong enough to put a serious hurting on a dude, but still be safe enough not to kill him. It's got to have darn near the stopping power of a real bullet, but at the same time have the safety of a child's toy.”
Marlin stepped back away from Culebra and leaned backward onto the edge of a workshop bench. “Now that's asking a lot, don't you think?”
“Ah, but that's why I pay you the big bucks, Marlin. Where there's a will, Marlin will find a way,” Culebra said.
Marlin pushed away from the bench into a brisk walk and continued across the rough, dirty concrete shop floor to the other side. There, on the wall, hung a half dozen large posters full of chemical equations. “There you go,” Marlin said pointing up to the posters. “There's your Coke and Pepsi.” Then he looked at Culebra with a satisfied head nod as though he just slam dunked the point.
Culebra was still baffled – a point that Marlin slowly picked up on.
“It's really not that difficult to understand,” Marlin said as he scrambled to figure out a way to say the obvious differently. He tapped his foot and stared up at the ceiling for a moment and uttered a long 'ummm'.
Finally, he brought his back down and said, “It's really all about the orthophosphoric acid. Neither Coke nor Pepsi has it in the right acid to sodium ratio, but when you combine the two, it's nearly perfection.”
“So, that's the machine part of the process. What's left is the grass. With a special blend of fescue, Bermuda, and alfalfa (which isn't actually a grass, but a legume), we have everything we need to create your bullets. I drive this machine across my special field that contains these grasses in just the right ratio. My machine processes it and adds the polymer base and soft drink and there you have it: elasticized polymer bullets.”
Marlin lit up at his own pronunciation of the invention: elasticized polymer bullets. “These bullets are one of my greatest inventions, but I honestly do not understand why you use them. You deal with some very bad people. Just shoot them with real bullets.”
Culebra shook his head 'no' slightly. “I don't want to kill anybody. I just want them to stop what they're doing. It's not my place to take somebody's life.”
“Well, anyway,” Marlin continued as he opened a drawer on one of the shop tables. “This bullet is magic. I have defied the laws of physics. We have gained efficiencies on both ends of the spectrum and sacrificed nothing. It is a true scientific coup d'état.
This bullet leaves the barrel of a pistol faster than the speed of sound. It travels over 1,300 feet per second.”
Marlin impressed himself so much he had to stop speaking for a moment and let the astounding number soak in on himself.
“This supersonic bullet strikes its target with astounding force. But here's the magic...” Marlin said as he stood a little straighter, ready to say the truly profound. “Upon impact, this bullet, in an instant, flattens thinner than a strand of carbon fiber, delivering all the force possible to the target without penetrating it or focusing too much force in any spot to break ribs or do organ damage. It's a miracle of science.”
Marlin stared off into space for a moment until Culebra interrupted him, “That's pretty awesome. I sure like how they work. I can my work done and not have to mess with any litigation problems afterward. These bullets leave no mark on them. Even when I shoot them in the face, five minutes after, there's not a sign of trauma at all.”
Culebra could see that Marlin was stirring out of his trance. Marlin pushed his glasses back up his wrinkled nose with his arthritic fingers. Culebra loved that old man. He was so fun to listen to.
“So how much did you need again?” Marlin asked.
“Let's make it four hundred 9 and a hundred shotgun.”
“Alright then,” Marlin said and then he added some brass to the first two tanks and then fired up the machine.
The machine sounded just like a commercial grade lawn mower that you might find at your local golf course until he engaged the processor once he got out to the tall grass pasture. The tone of the machine changed completely. Instead of the grinding deep hum that you would expect, the machine made a strange variety of sounds that could be mistaken for human voices making incoherent noises. There was no distinct pattern to the sounds the way a mower makes a predictable range of noises. Instead, this machine sounded erratic.
Culebra didn't like the noise, so he stepped back inside the shop and closed the door. It usually took Marlin about an hour to process that much ammo.
Culebra cleared off a spot on the couch and sat down. He found a copy of PNAS and flipped through it, trying to comprehend one of the articles.
With the Marlin still on the machine outside, Culebra heard the heavy steel side door open and slam shut. He looked up and saw a skinny woman, completely naked.