Harry Guakomoli was floating around through space contemplating what door to open and enter next. The Guak was not sure how long he had spent in this astral wonderland: days, months, years?
What he did know was that the last thing he remembered was rocketing through the air while rapidly incinerating, The feeling of his skin melting then sloughing off his body was hands down the most painful thing he had ever experienced. Thereupon his world turned black.
Then The Guak was in the fuchsia spongy cavernous room known as The Pink, the home of Filthy O'Possum, the patron saint of dirty dreams. O'Possum also claimed to be our hero's ancestor, though The Guak found this claim highly dubious.
Flithy O'Possum, wearing nothing but a green silk robe and an assortment of gold chains and rings, sat atop his throne of human sex organs watching his two "assistants," Ginger and Ebony. The young voluptuous ladies were on all fours facing away from each other reenacting a scene from Requiem For A Dream. O'Possum looked bored.
The Guak, liquefying only a second ago, was then in the warm embrace of The Pink's squishy floor. O'Possum yawned and looked up to see his descendent lying on the ground a few feet away.
"Hot damn! It's The motherfucking Guak!" O'Possum exclaimed. His ennui rapidly changed to excitation. "I was dreading you were dead!"
"I think I was," replied The Guak, confused. "Or I still am."
"No, no, no," our hero's alleged ancestor retorted while he shook his head. "The Pink is for the living, my boy."
"I'm not your boy." The Guak instinctively clenched his fists.
"Whoa, man!" O'Possum held his palms out to show he meant no harm. "Put those mitts away! I meant no offense. I'm just excited to see the last of my line!"
Filthy O'Possum stood up and stepped off the breast-shaped dais and crossed over to The Guak, stepping over his girls in the process. He stood in front of The Guak and smiled broadly, showing off his diamond-encrusted platinum grill.
"Before you wake up do you want to get your rocks off?"
The Guak indeed wanted to get his rocks off and told Filthy O'Possum as much. So O'Possum obliged him. Over and over and over again.
It was obvious something was not right; The Guak did not wake up. While it was impossible to accurately gauge time in The Pink, the amount of fornication our hero indulged in without a break of conscious reality was not natural.
The Guak was not the only person Filthy O'Possum visited with naughty dreams so Filthy assigned his descendent an aide, a buxom Blasian with long platinum hair named Fantasia to guide him through the many rooms of carnal delight that comprised The Pink. Before long our hero was so well-versed in exploring and traversing The Pink his guide was no longer needed except when she was the moment's object of desire.
Filthy O'Possum told The Guak it took a special mind to traverse The Pink, to consciously pick and choose what fantasies to explore. Most sleepers could only indulge themselves in naughty acts plucked from fragments of their subconscious minds with few or no options, even individuals who spent large chunks of their existences in the world of dreams, Only the truly gifted can move from dirty dream to dirty dream via The Pink's backdoor. This, of course, was said with a chuckle. O'Possum theorized that given enough time our hero could learn to invade...er...visit...the sexy dreams of others.
At first The Guak thought The Pink was the greatest thing ever, but eventually the wonderland lost its appeal. All he could do was screw. In fact, whenever he attempted to engage in non-sexy conversation the other party would always steer the exchange back to fucking. The Guak had become bored of The Pink.
To encounter this intense feeling of ennui our hero would engage in acts the vanilla-minded people of the world would consider kinky at best and depraved at worst. And that worked for a while, falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of wanton debauchery, He finally learned the meaning of a Tijuana Knife Fight after participating in one. This left him disgusted with himself, but not so grossed out he didn't try it for a second time. And a third. After the sixth time he decided to hang up his cuchillo for good.
After that The Guak took a time-out. A prolonged period of celibacy. Boredom be damned! He resisted entering the rooms for as long as he could before the boredom became too much to bear. It may have been hours or days or weeks. Maybe just minutes; it was impossible to tell. The Guak needed to visit The Pink's backdoor. The scene our hero was envisioning in his head, the one that would break his bout of chastity, took place in The Wild West. He was to be a marauding desperado stopping into town to visit the local brothel with lust in his heart and groin. There he would procure the talents of hussy-for-hire Diane Lane, a saucy minx who was getting along in years but was still as spicy as any sarsaparilla. Yes, Diane Lane would see to all of gunslinger Harry Guakomoli's lascivious needs. US Marshall Josh Brolin would be bound and gagged and forced to watch his wife service his most hated of enemies. John Brolin would cry as The Guak desecrated Diane Lane's temple. Then our hero thought of adding Fantasia to the mix as another harlot.
And, speak of the devil, at that moment the busty Fantasia, The Guak's frequent dream lover and former guide to The Pink's backdoor, appeared beside him.
"I was only thinking of adding you," The Guak growled, though, in all honesty, the appearance of the Blasian bombshell made him forget all about his Diane Lane-Josh Brolin fantasy.
"Bad news, baby," Fantasia said as she pouted. "Something's happening. It's time for you to go, but first Filthy wants to talk to you. I miss you already."
And with that a pink starfish manifested close to the pair with a pop. The Guak was suddenly pulled roughly by some unseen force towards the echinoderm. Closer and closer our hero was yanked towards it. Upon closer inspection The Guak noticed the starfish's madreporite was replaced by a dark circle of nothingness.
Now what the fuck is a "madreporite?" The Guak thought to himself right before being sucked into the void. He saw nothing but impenetrable shadow before being shot out of a hole in the ground of Filthy O'Possum's pink cavernous chamber. Filthy was once again sitting on his throne watching Ebony and Ginger, this time naked and wrestling in a pool of whipped cream and cherries. Ebony appeared to have the upper hand.
"What's going on?" asked a confused The Guak.
"I got my girls doing some sexy wrestling," snapped Filthy. "What the fuck does it look like?"
"No, about something happening? Fantasia says I'm leaving."
"Right. You've been out for a long time,and for some reason you're regaining consciousness. It's time to return to the real world. But I have a funny feeling about this, Guak. Keep your wits about you."
"Thanks," replied The Guak. "I will."
"You're welcome back anytime, man," Filthy O'Possum said with a smile. "And remember to find a way to break that curse that Jezebel of a mother put on you. The world needs more Filthys running around."
And with that The Guak was sucked back into the starfish curious and a bit concerned with what awaited him on the other end.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Part XXII: El Relampago Sangriento
Harry Guakomoli had been dead for six months, and La Diabla had fulfilled her promise. The barrio was once again the exclusive territory of Los Fuegos Polos.
Los Fuegos Polos experienced little resistance in their power play; The Guak had cleared the neighborhood of anything resembling an organized criminal organization, whether it be classified as gang, crew, posse, syndicate, ring, or cartel. It was safe to walk the barrio, even in the dead of night. That came to an end after The Guak's death when La Diabla, fresh out of prison, opted to take back what she thought was hers.
The barrio's business proprietors suffered greatly at the invasion; pooling their savings to provide a burial plot for The Guak's non-existent corpse had left them short on the exuberant sums the deadly chola demanded. A destructive demonstration soon followed. La Diabla, while both beautiful and ruthless, lacked the ability to envision the big picture. The business owners had to spend all their money to rebuild their shops, leaving Los Fuegos Polos without racketeering revenue. It took the gang three months to start collecting protection money. This resulted in several challenges to her leadership. While she dispatched all of her rivals with ease, it still sullied her reputation.
The barrio, once a beacon of hope in a sea of desolation, was submerged in a cloak of shadow and desperation. The sole exception was the apartment building on the corner of Poncho Villa Avenue and Lemon Street, the home of Oslo The World's Smartest Cat.
Oslo had stood by and let Los Fuegos Polos retake the barrio. The death of The Guak had cast the former four-legged fury down into a nadir. When La Diabla launched what she dubbed El Relampago Sangriento Oslo sat on the stoop of his newly acquired apartment building and drank himself into a stupor the likes of which he had never experienced before, and let me tell you, gentle reader, this cat had been in some serious stupors. The World's Smartest Cat didn't, and couldn't, lift a paw to prevent the carnage that swept his 'hood.
Yet the building was spared the destruction of El Relampago Sangriento. La Diabla issued an edict that the structure and its inhabitants were not to be touched. The crew leader claimed it was out of respect for her late great adversary, but this was always said with a smirk. No, the real reason was to remind Oslo he was a failure, a drunk that got to live out his pathetic existence only because la chola willed it.
One particularly chilly September night Oslo awoke in the wee hours of the morning on the stoop with a pounding headache and a nasty case of cotton mouth. He slowly dragged himself up the stairs to the fourth floor vomiting a few times along the way. The World's Smartest Cat stumbled into The Guak's apartment. His apartment. He crawled into The Guak's bed. His bed. And nestled up beside the sleeping naked form of Yo-Yo Ramirez.
Yo-Yo had been trying to break The World's Smartest Cat out of his funk for months now but to no avail. But at the least the lovely senorita got to live rent-free in the only safe building in the barrio while he drank himself to death!
"You smell of cerveza y vomito, Senor Gato," Yo-Yo murmured.
"It's because that's what I've been fuckin' lyin' in for the past ten hours, mi cucharacha," retorted Oslo matter-of-factly. "Now go back to sleep."
But sleep would not be something neither The World's Smartest Cat nor the lovely Latina would experience for the remainder of the night. The roar of a car engine followed by a loud crunch of metal smacking into metal. Several obscenities shouted in Spanish followed by gunfire. Then silence.
Both Oslo and Yo-Yo raced to the front window to see the commotion. A yellow taxi rear-ended a candy apple red 1948 Chevy Fleetline lowrider. The cab's driver door was wide open, and the Crown Vic was unoccupied. Pinned between the cab and the lowrider were the lifeless bodies of two members of Los Fuegos Polos, indicated by the crew's black bandanas with red flames. Lying in the street were four more dead gangbangers. One was decapitated and one was missing his arms. But no sign of who committed such acts of brutality.
The pair heard the splintering of wood come from the vicinity of the stoop before the building's front door flew into a Camry. This set off the car alarm. Despite the alarm's blaring The World's Smartest Cat could hear the slow heavy thuds of someone marching up the stairs with determination. Moments later Yo-Yo also heard someone approach.
"Someone's coming, Senor Gato!" exclaimed Senorita Ramirez.
"No shit, stupido," replied Oslo. "Here's the plan in case the muthafucka barges in. I'll be by the door, and you'll stand in the middle of the room in all your exquisitely naked glory. He'll see those killer mams of yours, and that's when I pounce."
"I don't know, Senor Gato. That sounds muy peligroso."
"Now you listen to me, hood rat," Oslo hissed. He had no idea what "muy peligroso" meant, but he knew back sass when he heard it. "This shit bag is killin' muthafuckas and rippin' doors off and now he's comin' this way. Now do what I say or, one way or the other, your free ride comes to an end. You feel me, mamacita?"
"Si, Senor Gato," Yo-Yo replied softly.
The pair took their positions: Oslo beside the door and Yo-Yo in the center of the room. The World's Smartest Cat motioned for the curvaceous Latina to put her hands behind her back and thrust her breasts outward. Yo-Yo complied without protest.
The door to the apartment was kicked open, causing the hinges to break apart. Yo-Yo screamed and pointed to the figure in the doorway.
"Mi Dios! El Guako!"
Los Fuegos Polos experienced little resistance in their power play; The Guak had cleared the neighborhood of anything resembling an organized criminal organization, whether it be classified as gang, crew, posse, syndicate, ring, or cartel. It was safe to walk the barrio, even in the dead of night. That came to an end after The Guak's death when La Diabla, fresh out of prison, opted to take back what she thought was hers.
The barrio's business proprietors suffered greatly at the invasion; pooling their savings to provide a burial plot for The Guak's non-existent corpse had left them short on the exuberant sums the deadly chola demanded. A destructive demonstration soon followed. La Diabla, while both beautiful and ruthless, lacked the ability to envision the big picture. The business owners had to spend all their money to rebuild their shops, leaving Los Fuegos Polos without racketeering revenue. It took the gang three months to start collecting protection money. This resulted in several challenges to her leadership. While she dispatched all of her rivals with ease, it still sullied her reputation.
The barrio, once a beacon of hope in a sea of desolation, was submerged in a cloak of shadow and desperation. The sole exception was the apartment building on the corner of Poncho Villa Avenue and Lemon Street, the home of Oslo The World's Smartest Cat.
Oslo had stood by and let Los Fuegos Polos retake the barrio. The death of The Guak had cast the former four-legged fury down into a nadir. When La Diabla launched what she dubbed El Relampago Sangriento Oslo sat on the stoop of his newly acquired apartment building and drank himself into a stupor the likes of which he had never experienced before, and let me tell you, gentle reader, this cat had been in some serious stupors. The World's Smartest Cat didn't, and couldn't, lift a paw to prevent the carnage that swept his 'hood.
Yet the building was spared the destruction of El Relampago Sangriento. La Diabla issued an edict that the structure and its inhabitants were not to be touched. The crew leader claimed it was out of respect for her late great adversary, but this was always said with a smirk. No, the real reason was to remind Oslo he was a failure, a drunk that got to live out his pathetic existence only because la chola willed it.
One particularly chilly September night Oslo awoke in the wee hours of the morning on the stoop with a pounding headache and a nasty case of cotton mouth. He slowly dragged himself up the stairs to the fourth floor vomiting a few times along the way. The World's Smartest Cat stumbled into The Guak's apartment. His apartment. He crawled into The Guak's bed. His bed. And nestled up beside the sleeping naked form of Yo-Yo Ramirez.
Yo-Yo had been trying to break The World's Smartest Cat out of his funk for months now but to no avail. But at the least the lovely senorita got to live rent-free in the only safe building in the barrio while he drank himself to death!
"You smell of cerveza y vomito, Senor Gato," Yo-Yo murmured.
"It's because that's what I've been fuckin' lyin' in for the past ten hours, mi cucharacha," retorted Oslo matter-of-factly. "Now go back to sleep."
But sleep would not be something neither The World's Smartest Cat nor the lovely Latina would experience for the remainder of the night. The roar of a car engine followed by a loud crunch of metal smacking into metal. Several obscenities shouted in Spanish followed by gunfire. Then silence.
Both Oslo and Yo-Yo raced to the front window to see the commotion. A yellow taxi rear-ended a candy apple red 1948 Chevy Fleetline lowrider. The cab's driver door was wide open, and the Crown Vic was unoccupied. Pinned between the cab and the lowrider were the lifeless bodies of two members of Los Fuegos Polos, indicated by the crew's black bandanas with red flames. Lying in the street were four more dead gangbangers. One was decapitated and one was missing his arms. But no sign of who committed such acts of brutality.
The pair heard the splintering of wood come from the vicinity of the stoop before the building's front door flew into a Camry. This set off the car alarm. Despite the alarm's blaring The World's Smartest Cat could hear the slow heavy thuds of someone marching up the stairs with determination. Moments later Yo-Yo also heard someone approach.
"Someone's coming, Senor Gato!" exclaimed Senorita Ramirez.
"No shit, stupido," replied Oslo. "Here's the plan in case the muthafucka barges in. I'll be by the door, and you'll stand in the middle of the room in all your exquisitely naked glory. He'll see those killer mams of yours, and that's when I pounce."
"I don't know, Senor Gato. That sounds muy peligroso."
"Now you listen to me, hood rat," Oslo hissed. He had no idea what "muy peligroso" meant, but he knew back sass when he heard it. "This shit bag is killin' muthafuckas and rippin' doors off and now he's comin' this way. Now do what I say or, one way or the other, your free ride comes to an end. You feel me, mamacita?"
"Si, Senor Gato," Yo-Yo replied softly.
The pair took their positions: Oslo beside the door and Yo-Yo in the center of the room. The World's Smartest Cat motioned for the curvaceous Latina to put her hands behind her back and thrust her breasts outward. Yo-Yo complied without protest.
The door to the apartment was kicked open, causing the hinges to break apart. Yo-Yo screamed and pointed to the figure in the doorway.
"Mi Dios! El Guako!"
Monday, October 3, 2011
Part XXI: Yo-Yo A Go-Go
Harry Guakomoli had left Yo-Yo Ramirez alone in his crib. The night before the hero of the barrio had beheaded a mastodon of a man with his bare hands. The voluptuous Latina rewarded such a visceral display of manliness with sex. The Guak was far from the worst lover Yo-Yo had taken, but the carnal act was softer than she had anticipated. He fucks like a girl she thought to herself.
The following afternoon The Guak took a phone call and then immediately got dressed and left the apartment. When asked why he was leaving The Guak merely said he had an appointment and called the comely Miss Ramirez la cucaracha. Bastard.
Upon The Guak's exit Yo-Yo peered out the window facing the street. He was talking to that disgusting cat. A stretch Escalade pulled up in front of the building, and the driver was revealed to be a tall buxom blonde clad in a black leather catsuit with matching boots. No woman is that tall, busty, and beautiful, she thought to herself. I bet she was born a man. The chauffeur opened the rear passenger's side door, waited until The Guak and Oslo climbed into the ride, and shut the door behind them. She returned to the driver's seat and the stretch slowly pulled away.
Yo-Yo waited until the Escalade was out of sight and strolled over to the crumpled pile of her clothes on the floor beside the bed.She extracted a hot pink cell phone from the ass pocket of her daisy dukes and fired off a text message. The missive was answered within a minute, and a text exchange between Yo-Yo and her mystery correspondent transpired. Then she erased the entire conversation from her phone's memory.
The woman sighed and flipped the phone lid shut. She meandered into the kitchen oblivious that she was passing exposed windows in all her naked glory and peeked into the fridge. Nothing but bottle after bottle after bottle of St. Ides malt liquor. And two sticks of butter and a half-empty squeeze bottle of spicy brown mustard.
The cupboards were not much better. Several packages of Nutter Butters, brown sugar Pop Tarts, and a few cans of Beefaroni. A disgusted look grew on her face.
She returned to the bedroom and turned on the television. Yo-Yo wasn't a fan of idiot boxes, but she needed to do something to pass the time, and this loser with the smashed teeth did not strike her as much of a reader. She did not want to wait for The Guak to return, but an order was an order.
Yo-Yo sat through three hours of mind-numbing reality programming; the vapid family of celebrities famous for being famous, rednecks wrestling skunks, the fourth season premiere of Class Clowns, the riveting story of a clown college in Poughkeepsie.
The lady was bored and hungry. The bathroom was disgusting, the toilet covered in pubes, the tub and the shower curtain covered in soap scum, mildew, and mold. There were several back issue of Cat Fancy stacked in a corner, their pages stuck together. Please let that be due to the cat.
Though she knew it was forbidden, Yo-Yo couldn't help but fall asleep. A little after midnight she was awakened by her phone's ringtone, a few bars of "Jenny From The Block." God I hate that fucking song, she thought before checking the number of the incoming call and answering.
"Belize is the only English-speaking country in Central America," Yo-Yo, still half-asleep, breathed into the receiver. She gave the phrase to indicate that she was the "real" Yo-Yo Ramirez, and that she was alone. Her normal Puerto Rican-tinged accent vanished. "No, I was just resting my eyes...yes, I understand...Rendezvous Point J in an hour."
Yo-Yo flipped the phone shut and crawled out of the bed. She put on the restraining apparatus that was her black bra and its matching thong. Then the black baby tee emblazoned with a reproduction of the cover of rapper Pit Bull's Planet Pit album. She slid into the tight denim short shorts and finally slipped on her hot pink low top Chuck Taylors. Yo-Yo went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Being a hoochie mama is NOT what I signed up for. Please let this meeting mean I can drop this cover.
She discovered a spare set of house keys on the kitchen table, locked the doors, and exited the building through the front door. Yo-Yo stopped by a bodega that kept late hours and purchased a soy-based protein bar and a Crank Juice "energy" drink. The cashier mentioned an explosion at that derelict castle up on the bluff. Maschinemensch's compound. She gobbled up the bar and pounded the drink before even leaving the store.
Yo-Yo headed towards her apartment but first briefly stopped at the stoop of her building to chat up a mariachi band as they came home from a night of carousing. Earlier in the evening they had performed at the bar mitzvah for Fyvush Gonzales, thus causing all seven men to have holes burning in their pockets.
Yo-Yo Ramirez, if that was her real name (it wasn't!), entered her apartment satisfied that witnesses saw her leave The Guak's place and enter hers. She stripped out of her embarrassing hood rat get-up (though she thought the sneakers were cute) and changed into a black hoodie and matching yoga pants. She tied back her long unruly ebony mane into a ponytail. She tied up her black sneakers after slipping them on.
The lovely Latina stepped out of her living room window and onto the fire escape and proceeded to scale UP the building to the roof. She sprinted twenty feet and leaped off the side. Yo-Yo flew through the air before landing on the roof of the adjacent building. And she didn't stop there, using leaps, hand sprints, flips, and rolls to traverse the roofs of the neighborhood. Soon Yo-Yo had crossed half the barrio. Using ledges and a drain pipe she easily dropped down the six stories to the ground of the alley below.
"I am a goddess," Yo-Yo muttered under her breath.
Her final destination was still a couple of blocks away so Yo-Yo pulled up her hood and, posing as a jogger, ran to La Iglesia De La Madre Sagracia. She walked into the church and looked around. Seeing no one Yo-Yo stepped into the confessional and lowered her hood.
"You're late, mamacita," a throaty, bordering on sultry, woman's voice emanated from behind the screen.
"Don't me call that," Yo-Yo hissed.
"Be honest, Yolanda. Part of you likes playing the hood rat."
"What is it that you want?" Yo-Yo had been there one minute and this bitch was already getting on her nerves.
"Right. That's enough pleasantries for one night," replied the mystery woman. "Guakomoli is no longer in play...at least for now. Maschinemensch went rogue and decided to carry out his plan. The one that we nixed."
"Jesus."
"Exactly. But he fucked up and got himself exploded. Now we're trying to --"
"Wait," interjected Yo-Yo sniffing. "Are you smoking in the confessional?"
"Maybe," the woman answered before taking a long exaggerated drag. "Isn't it deliciously naughty?"
"No," Yo-Yo replied with a crinkled nose. "It's vile."
"Whatever, prude. Anyway, The Guak is out of the picture so we have a new assignment for you."
"Finally!" exclaimed Yo-Yo with relief. "How do women wear this stuff and keep their dignity?"
"Don't hang up those hot pants yet, honey. The man is fascinated by the cat. He finds it to be an anomaly that he wants to keep tabs on. You need to keep tabs on."
"But-but-but," said Yo-Yo as she realized her joy was fleeting. "The cat is sexist and crass, and he smells! Holy shit does that cat smell!"
"Your orders are clear. You are to get close to the cat and remain close. You are to do whatever it takes."
"You want me to fuck a cat?!" asked Yo-Yo incredulously.
"You're a smart girl, Yolanda. Think outside the box, your box in this case. But do whatever you takes," the woman behind the screen answered. "If Armageddon is near like we fear we need to be prepared. We all need to make sacrifices. This is your sacrifice."
Yo-Yo said nothing.
"Your silence means you understand, and that you will comply. Good girl. I need to leave, and you are to wait here for three minutes. No one is to see us together. Then you are to return to Guakomoli's apartment. I know this is hard for you, but your dedication to the cause will be rewarded. I promise."
Nothing more was said between the two. Yo-Yo heard the confessional door open and close. Then the sound of heels on hard wood before there was nothing but silence. Still seated in the booth, she buried her face in her hands.
"Shit."
The following afternoon The Guak took a phone call and then immediately got dressed and left the apartment. When asked why he was leaving The Guak merely said he had an appointment and called the comely Miss Ramirez la cucaracha. Bastard.
Upon The Guak's exit Yo-Yo peered out the window facing the street. He was talking to that disgusting cat. A stretch Escalade pulled up in front of the building, and the driver was revealed to be a tall buxom blonde clad in a black leather catsuit with matching boots. No woman is that tall, busty, and beautiful, she thought to herself. I bet she was born a man. The chauffeur opened the rear passenger's side door, waited until The Guak and Oslo climbed into the ride, and shut the door behind them. She returned to the driver's seat and the stretch slowly pulled away.
Yo-Yo waited until the Escalade was out of sight and strolled over to the crumpled pile of her clothes on the floor beside the bed.She extracted a hot pink cell phone from the ass pocket of her daisy dukes and fired off a text message. The missive was answered within a minute, and a text exchange between Yo-Yo and her mystery correspondent transpired. Then she erased the entire conversation from her phone's memory.
The woman sighed and flipped the phone lid shut. She meandered into the kitchen oblivious that she was passing exposed windows in all her naked glory and peeked into the fridge. Nothing but bottle after bottle after bottle of St. Ides malt liquor. And two sticks of butter and a half-empty squeeze bottle of spicy brown mustard.
The cupboards were not much better. Several packages of Nutter Butters, brown sugar Pop Tarts, and a few cans of Beefaroni. A disgusted look grew on her face.
She returned to the bedroom and turned on the television. Yo-Yo wasn't a fan of idiot boxes, but she needed to do something to pass the time, and this loser with the smashed teeth did not strike her as much of a reader. She did not want to wait for The Guak to return, but an order was an order.
Yo-Yo sat through three hours of mind-numbing reality programming; the vapid family of celebrities famous for being famous, rednecks wrestling skunks, the fourth season premiere of Class Clowns, the riveting story of a clown college in Poughkeepsie.
The lady was bored and hungry. The bathroom was disgusting, the toilet covered in pubes, the tub and the shower curtain covered in soap scum, mildew, and mold. There were several back issue of Cat Fancy stacked in a corner, their pages stuck together. Please let that be due to the cat.
Though she knew it was forbidden, Yo-Yo couldn't help but fall asleep. A little after midnight she was awakened by her phone's ringtone, a few bars of "Jenny From The Block." God I hate that fucking song, she thought before checking the number of the incoming call and answering.
"Belize is the only English-speaking country in Central America," Yo-Yo, still half-asleep, breathed into the receiver. She gave the phrase to indicate that she was the "real" Yo-Yo Ramirez, and that she was alone. Her normal Puerto Rican-tinged accent vanished. "No, I was just resting my eyes...yes, I understand...Rendezvous Point J in an hour."
Yo-Yo flipped the phone shut and crawled out of the bed. She put on the restraining apparatus that was her black bra and its matching thong. Then the black baby tee emblazoned with a reproduction of the cover of rapper Pit Bull's Planet Pit album. She slid into the tight denim short shorts and finally slipped on her hot pink low top Chuck Taylors. Yo-Yo went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Being a hoochie mama is NOT what I signed up for. Please let this meeting mean I can drop this cover.
She discovered a spare set of house keys on the kitchen table, locked the doors, and exited the building through the front door. Yo-Yo stopped by a bodega that kept late hours and purchased a soy-based protein bar and a Crank Juice "energy" drink. The cashier mentioned an explosion at that derelict castle up on the bluff. Maschinemensch's compound. She gobbled up the bar and pounded the drink before even leaving the store.
Yo-Yo headed towards her apartment but first briefly stopped at the stoop of her building to chat up a mariachi band as they came home from a night of carousing. Earlier in the evening they had performed at the bar mitzvah for Fyvush Gonzales, thus causing all seven men to have holes burning in their pockets.
Yo-Yo Ramirez, if that was her real name (it wasn't!), entered her apartment satisfied that witnesses saw her leave The Guak's place and enter hers. She stripped out of her embarrassing hood rat get-up (though she thought the sneakers were cute) and changed into a black hoodie and matching yoga pants. She tied back her long unruly ebony mane into a ponytail. She tied up her black sneakers after slipping them on.
The lovely Latina stepped out of her living room window and onto the fire escape and proceeded to scale UP the building to the roof. She sprinted twenty feet and leaped off the side. Yo-Yo flew through the air before landing on the roof of the adjacent building. And she didn't stop there, using leaps, hand sprints, flips, and rolls to traverse the roofs of the neighborhood. Soon Yo-Yo had crossed half the barrio. Using ledges and a drain pipe she easily dropped down the six stories to the ground of the alley below.
"I am a goddess," Yo-Yo muttered under her breath.
Her final destination was still a couple of blocks away so Yo-Yo pulled up her hood and, posing as a jogger, ran to La Iglesia De La Madre Sagracia. She walked into the church and looked around. Seeing no one Yo-Yo stepped into the confessional and lowered her hood.
"You're late, mamacita," a throaty, bordering on sultry, woman's voice emanated from behind the screen.
"Don't me call that," Yo-Yo hissed.
"Be honest, Yolanda. Part of you likes playing the hood rat."
"What is it that you want?" Yo-Yo had been there one minute and this bitch was already getting on her nerves.
"Right. That's enough pleasantries for one night," replied the mystery woman. "Guakomoli is no longer in play...at least for now. Maschinemensch went rogue and decided to carry out his plan. The one that we nixed."
"Jesus."
"Exactly. But he fucked up and got himself exploded. Now we're trying to --"
"Wait," interjected Yo-Yo sniffing. "Are you smoking in the confessional?"
"Maybe," the woman answered before taking a long exaggerated drag. "Isn't it deliciously naughty?"
"No," Yo-Yo replied with a crinkled nose. "It's vile."
"Whatever, prude. Anyway, The Guak is out of the picture so we have a new assignment for you."
"Finally!" exclaimed Yo-Yo with relief. "How do women wear this stuff and keep their dignity?"
"Don't hang up those hot pants yet, honey. The man is fascinated by the cat. He finds it to be an anomaly that he wants to keep tabs on. You need to keep tabs on."
"But-but-but," said Yo-Yo as she realized her joy was fleeting. "The cat is sexist and crass, and he smells! Holy shit does that cat smell!"
"Your orders are clear. You are to get close to the cat and remain close. You are to do whatever it takes."
"You want me to fuck a cat?!" asked Yo-Yo incredulously.
"You're a smart girl, Yolanda. Think outside the box, your box in this case. But do whatever you takes," the woman behind the screen answered. "If Armageddon is near like we fear we need to be prepared. We all need to make sacrifices. This is your sacrifice."
Yo-Yo said nothing.
"Your silence means you understand, and that you will comply. Good girl. I need to leave, and you are to wait here for three minutes. No one is to see us together. Then you are to return to Guakomoli's apartment. I know this is hard for you, but your dedication to the cause will be rewarded. I promise."
Nothing more was said between the two. Yo-Yo heard the confessional door open and close. Then the sound of heels on hard wood before there was nothing but silence. Still seated in the booth, she buried her face in her hands.
"Shit."
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