CHAPTER 13: JESUS ON PROM NIGHT
They eyed me like a rabbit in a snake pit for about three New York seconds. Then the guy in the labcoat rushed up and whispered in my ear --
"I'm Sgt. Saltpeter. You must be my new lab assistant, you seem the scatalogical sort. Tell me, are you experienced in the gentle art of collecting stools from the homeless and criminal element?"
He whipped a smeared pamphlet from his pocket and shoved it under my nose.
"This is my magnum opus, Feces as Friend."
Now I'm not what you'd call squeamish, but I do have my limitations. And when it comes to scatology, I figure let 'em eat urinal cake.
"Can the potty talk, dicknose. The name's Doolan, hard and raw in regard to the law. I'd like to register an intergalactic missing harlot report."
Saltpeter's jaw went slack and he slumped back to his cubby hole looking dejected. I guess he wasn't very tough shit after all. I turned to the Lieutenant and his transvestite flunky.
"I'm looking for a little cream puff named Suzy-Q. She disappeared a couple light years ago and I'm hot on her trail."
No response. Just a pair of vacant eyes with skulls to match.
"I'm a cosmic greaser pig," I said, clutching at crazy straws, "maybe the last."
I pulled out my badge, the old VVK branded on a shiny brass pentagram. It didn't mean much on the red planet, and from the empty stares I was getting here it didn't look like it meant dookie in this neck of the woods either.
"You know anything about Vice, pal?"
Lt. Grizzle looked like a teddy bear with a thyroid problem, hair cropped close and folds of greasy flesh spilling out of a stained white t-shirt. When he opened his yap I could see the Black Hole of Calcutta. I figured an explanation was in order, but all of a sudden I felt the same epileptic rush I'd had that day when I blitzkreiged my office. Without consulting my grey matter my mouth tossed out this little gem--
"On Mars we've got Jesus in our corner on Prom Night. He's this real gone Tom Jones-type character who does shit like fukking two aryan girls simultaneously, and blindfolding them so they won't know they're sisters. But, in the end, they like it anyway, and one grows up rich and the other's good looking."
I could tell by their dazed expressions that I was losing them. Hell, I was losing myself. The speed down here was more potent than I realized. I gamely clamored on.
"Can't you true douche-bags savvy? I shit jelly beans and fukk a blue streak, and when I turn out the lights at night I hear the Third Man Theme like through a vibrating egg prism. I know it's kinda septica/spiritual and all, but where I come from a man's crank has to be in five-wheel drive or his Old Lady disappears in the Time/Spare Warp. I guess down here you call it love, but up there the Equalizer doesn't know the difference..."
I heard someone call last trip to Looneyville and the lights went out.
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CHAPTER 14: A PENTOTHAL ENEMA
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