Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

CHAPTER 16

As some were quietly savoring the day, four police cars, sirens blaring, pulled into the “Major’s Chevrolet” parking lot, stopped near the front door and eight cops pushed their way through the crowd and entered.

Callie’s body was still where Candy left it, slumped in the chair with a handgun and kerchief in his lap. After the cops determined who found the body and when, they questioned the employees and customers, but none had seen or heard anything of significance. There was little to do, but take names, addresses and phone numbers of the sizable crowd there on sale day. The morgue was called and the head cop used his handkerchief to put the gun and kerchief in their own plastic bags. Those people still inside were asked to leave and the dealership was roped off with yellow plastic strips saying; “Crime scene. No admittance.”

A salesman asked the head cop; “Can we come back to work tomorrow?”

“No, this place is temporarily closed.”

“When will it re-open?”

“I don't know. Whenever we’re through.”

“What do you think happened?”

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“How the hell do I know? I just got here. You’ve got the advantage over me. You tell me.”

The salesman drew a blank and started to worry about where his next paycheck would come from.

Two cops remained to guard the site. The crowd carried on nonsensical conversation, some talking about presumed enemies of Callie, which others expanded and repeated to more others.

Before everyone left, the general consensus was that the dealership had not been moving cars out very well and as a consequence, Callie was in financial difficulty. Opinions varied on the death being either; a suicide; a murder by unsavory creditors; or a murder by his well-insured wife.

The bikini girls held a private conversation. One said;

“This was the best job I got in some time.”

“Yeah, a whole month of steady income.”

“Shit.”

“What now?”

She shook her head, looking down at her high heels; “Back to the fucking Thunderbird, I guess.”

“I really hope they catch the bastard.”

Connie had her usual head service going and was surrounded with photos of her recent exploits when the phone rang. She

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said; “Hello, I hope this is good,” as she glanced down at a grinning Warren, adjusting her legs.

Benito answered; “It’s better than good, it’s excellent.

Callie is out of the picture.”

Connie’s mind was on other pictures, didn’t immediately understand and said; “What?”

In an ebullient tone, he said; “Somebody offed him, whacked him, did him in, wasted him, blew him away. In other words some angel killed the fuck.”

Connie was thrilled, thinking that she would now no longer be ostracized for her photo failures and said; “Who can I thank?”

“My cop friend told me that the gun used is registered to Mark Cinchapport, a local private eye. Is that your guy?”

Connie was stunned, but extremely rational, so responded;

“I know a lot of guys and I don’t discuss them with anyone except Warren.”

Benito chuckled; “I’m sure of that. He must love you a whole lot.”

Connie’s excitement took a step up and she pushed against Warren; “Yeah, the slut is loving me right now.” Warren looked up at her face and then went back down.

“Point is, I got the slave show and you can be my star.”

Connie said; “Are you sure?”

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“Yeaaah, I just got a call from my Viet Namese contact.

Cut the questions. Put on your special stuff and I’ll be there to get you in an hour. We’ll celebrate on Hook Harbor Road.”

“You got it.” She hung up and anxious to get out, faked, got up, grabbed Warren and said; “Come on. Let me.” He stood up and watched her, glancing at the photos of her doing the same thing with many others. He loved her eagerness and was soon satisfied. She licked her lips, got up and said; “I’ve got to get ready.”

“That phone call?”

“Yeah, mind?”

“No. Tell me about it when you come back.”

She put on bright red lipstick and messed her hair. She did a bumping and grinding dance to Warren’s delight, swaying in circles.

She jiggled her way into the kitchen, thinking about what a great day it was. She eyed the note on the table, picked it up and read it, recognizing Candy’s handwriting. She thought; “Oh, no, California. It’s probably no coincidence that my baby left, Callie was dead and Mark’s gun was found all at the same time.

Protection is the order of the day. Short great day.”

She went back to the living room and put on the dress she had left on the floor. Warren looked at her quizzically and she said; “Put on some decent clothes and wait here.” She went up

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to Candy’s room and saw that some of her clothes were gone. She found Shari in her room and said; “Come down to the living room, it’s important.” Shari was still in another zone and said;

“Whaaa?”

“Just come with me. You’ll find out.” They walked in on Warren nervously pacing the floor. “Sit down,” Connie said to both of them. She retrieved the photos of Callie and Shari, as well as Mark’s business cards from the drawer and showed them to her older daughter.

Shari said; “C’mon, mom. You know it’s all right.”

Connie assured her; “Not a problem,” and proceeded to strike a match and set the items on flame, placing them on the fireplace grating.

She turned back to the group and said; “I can see that we all know Mark. The problem is that Candy has split for California and that Callie is dead, shot with Mark’s gun. If anyone asks, we all are better off saying that we never met Mark.

Warren picked up his valuable photos and said; “I’d really like to keep these.”

Connie liked them, too and said; “Okay, but nothing with his name on it.” She sternly looked at both of them.

Warren said; “I’m fine.”

Shari added; “Me, too.”

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Connie said; “Have either of you left anything at Mark’s office that can be traced to you, like a check?”

Warren said; “I paid cash.”

Shari laughed and said; “I didn’t pay anything.”

Connie said; “And neither of you know him.”

They both nodded and said; “Right.”

Connie went back into the kitchen and cried. She was sad that her little girl was gone and that she may be in gigantic trouble. She was unhappy with herself, not being the mother that Candy needed and thought that maybe she should have acted differently, at least until the children were grown. She visualized a serene setting of a family picnic at a park and the girls bringing home boys they wished to date. Wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? She sat, put her head down on the table and cried uncontrollably.

Warren and Shari heard her and entered the room. Upon seeing them Connie thought that these two were pretty happy and loved her. The world changes. It’s 1972 and anything goes.

She was what she was and that’s all that she was. She got up, wiped her eyes and hugged both of them, saying; “I’ll be all right.” The two left the room and Connie defiantly pulled her dress back over her head and threw it on the floor.

A new deep blue Lincoln pulled into the driveway. Connie went out the door and walked down the driveway fully exposed,

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with her hands behind her head, hips rolling from side to side and she let herself in the front passenger’s door. Benito sat in the driver’s seat with his motor running. She slid over and kissed him, super turned on by being watched by his two friends in the back seat.

After a few seconds, Benito said; “Enough, slave. I want to see you with my friends.” She said; “Don’t leave yet. I want Warren to see this.” She got out, as did one guy in the back, allowing her to get between them. She put one hand on each and smiled at them. One said; “What are you waiting for?”

She switched back and forth between the two and after a few minutes of live entertainment for Warren, the car left and drove to Hook Harbor Road. The only scenery Connie saw was the glistening kind she loved.

Benito parked in the center of the crowded parking lot and as the four walked to the entrance, the latecomers watched as Connie tried to keep both hands busy as she walked looking down.

She paid no attention as they watched her jiggle.

The men took seats near the rear, while Connie preferred to use her knees near Benito balancing things by resting her hands on his friends. The group got plenty of nearby attention, despite Jimmy Park’s having concluded his opening announcement and the curtain rising.

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A fortyish white American woman stood at center stage, her head shaved bald and hirsute with long curly black hair elsewhere. Her 5’5” 160 pound body was covered with elbow length black leather gloves and black lipstick.

Thirty shackled slim Viet Namese girls danced onstage and made a beeline to the American dominant, pushing each other aside for the privilege of worship. In a cluster they reminded one of shorn sheep who haven’t eaten for days at the food dish.

The sneering white woman allowed them their passions about fifteen minutes and then commanded; “Stop...... Go to your frames.”

They did as they were told and waited patiently until their commander attached them. As each thanked her for her work, the American sprayed their faces. After they were all firmly in their places, thirty dark Vietnamese males marched out. They took turns kneeling before their white mistress, each allowed four brief kisses.

Connie’s eyes darted to the swinging dark prizes, let go of Benito and said; “Please, master. Let me go on stage.”

He was expecting that reaction, looked forward to seeing it and simply nodded his head. She said; “Thank you” and gave each of her friends one last tongue kiss. She proudly walked through the crowd of chairs and people; her red lipstick smeared an inch from her wet lips and climbed the steps to the stage.

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All eyes were on her. She thought the proper protocol would be to submit to the dominant American white woman. She knelt before her and said; “May I.” When she heard; “Yes” her excitement compelled her to try to outdo all of her predecessors. She was rewarded with a river.

Her temporary owner said; “I want to watch you with all the guys,” and the thirty dark men lined up, each allowed a minute or so. Connie was then ordered to approach the back doors. She was now full of tastes very exotic to her and started touching herself.

The dominant American mistress said; “No one gave you permission,” kicked Connie’s hand and gave her back two strokes with a small whip, leaving red lines, as Connie winced.

She was instructed to approach each of the bound Vietnamese girls and to give them four lengthy kisses.

The boys paired off with the girls, the fruits of their labors used to feed Connie sixty treats, topped off with juice.

The mistress unchained the Viet Namese girls and instructed them and the men to leave. She had seen that Connie as the hit of the show, so she positioned her alone on stage. The dominant one sat a few minutes and then announced to the audience that they could come on stage.

Before the show was over, approximately one hundred members of the audience took advantage of the offer, fully covering her.

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When all were through, she cleaned herself and said; “My favorite food!”

The curtain came down to resounding applause. Connie was probably more excited and proud of herself than any other time in her life. She jumped off the stage and ran to Benito and each of his friends. She got her dream and she was driven home unable to stop her stage act, the dirtiest slut of all time, enhancing her pleasure.

Warren heard the car enter the driveway and saw Connie get out and saunter to the door. She moved her shoulders, her glistening body jiggling in all the right places. He wondered how many neighbors were watching the show as the car occupants loudly called out various commentaries.

Connie looked back, blew them a kiss and entered the kitchen where she saw Warren very anxiously waiting. He was standing at full attention, when he silently took her by the hand and hurried her to the living room chair, where he spent the rest of the evening showing his admiration.

Vicky brought her 5’6”, 170 pound frame to Mark’s apartment and walked right in. He was sitting on the couch listening to a news report. Army officials said that the four confessed

“Zippo” squad soldiers have been under military psychiatric care for some time and have found no evidence of theirs or anyone

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else’s involvement in such things. “The investigation continues, as the United States forces persevere in the protracted victory with 30,156 Viet Cong dead today versus only 658 Americans.”

Mark looked up as she shut the door behind her and got very comfortable. She said; “Turn that shit off, get over her and pay proper respects, slave.”

Mark thought, “Perfect” and did as instructed. He removed his robe and walked to her with his eyes on her long Afro.

Vicky smiled evilly as she said; “From now on you will only do what I tell you and you will call me Victoria. Your name is CL.”

CL looked up to say; “Yes, Victoria,” and she slapped his face, saying; “Who gave you permission to stop.”

CL said; “Sorry, Victoria,” and went as low as possible.

She said; “Good boy. Now, the moon is full.”

CL was very aroused as he tried to explore all the lunar possibilities.

She felt it and pushed back against him. He slurped and she said; “You are a disgusting pig.”

He kept on and she pulled away, turned around and again slapped his face, saying; “Well, aren’t you?”

CL said; “Yes, yes. I’m the most disgusting pig there is.”

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She slowly walked to the chair as CL instinctively crawled behind her like a dog. She sat widely and said; “Main course.”

CL said; “Thank you,” gorged and sniffed the aromatic jungle, his arms wrapped around her.

Victoria rested her legs on his shoulders and watched him, thinking about all the fun she could have with her white slave.

CL was immersed in the moment, thinking about how much he loved what he was doing. A half hour passed with Victoria wiggling around. CL was sloppy and dripping with sweet juices.

The door again opened and CL was too hot to care, but Victoria jumped up, her body pushing him back and he fell on the floor. When he looked up he saw Vicky hurriedly putting on her dress and shoes in the presence of four police officers. Mark was frustrated at being disturbed during his favorite meal, waved his hand and loudly said; “Is this against the law now?”

The lead cop flatly said; “Not yet. But murder is. Put on some clothes. You’re under arrest for the murder of Callie Majors.”

Vicky, now fully dressed, nervously said; “Can I go?” and the lead cop nodded “Yes.”

Now, not only frustrated, Mark was dumbfounded by the charge and upset that Victoria chose to leave him in his demise.

He felt abandoned to the wolves.

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The lead cop again said; “Get on some clothes now, or we’ll take you out of here naked, asshole. Move!”

Mark knew it would be a waste of time arguing trying to straighten things out, so he put on a loose pair of blue jeans and a white button up dress shirt to impress. The lead cop cuffed his hands and he was led out. The neighbors he hardly met knew him now as they crowded the hall and street, curious about what had happened. They pointed at him and made comments in languages foreign to him. He sadly watched Vicky rumble down the street.

He was brought downtown and put in an interrogation room, accompanied by two cops who sat across a table from him. Mark put his cuffed hands on it, folded them and considered praying.

Cop #1 pushed a typed piece of paper and pen at him and said; “Sign the confession. It will make things easier for you.”

Mark said; “Confess to what? I didn’t break any laws.”

The cops looked at him, then at the ceiling.

Cop #2 replied; “Come on. Don’t’ waste our time. We’ve gotcha.”

Mark excitedly said; “You’ve got squat.”

Cop #1 deadpanned; “No, you’ve got squat, literally. Your gun was found at the scene; two Federal cops will testify that they saw you tailing Callie; two of Callie’s employees also saw

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you; a clerk at the Thunderbird Motel will swear that you photographed Callie; and your landlord said your rent is up to date for the first time since you moved in.”

Mark didn’t plan on revealing his employer, but sensed that it was a necessity. “I was tailing Callie for Constance Roe.”

Cop #2 said; “Why’s that?”

Mark said; “She thought he was carrying on with one of her daughters.”

Cop #1 told Cop #2 to check it. Cop #2 slowly got up and said; “This is bullshit.”

Cop #1 said; “Probably,” as Cop #2 exited, then he turned to Mark and added; “Even if it checks out, how’d your gun get there?”

Mark sighed and replied; “I don't know. I haven’t seen my gun in weeks.”

Cop #1 asked; “Did you report it stolen?”

Mark said; “No, it wasn’t stolen. It was in my desk at the office.”

Cop #2 bursted back into the room and said, “She said she never heard of him.”

Mark just stared at the wall, not expecting the response he heard. He said; “There’s got to be some kind of mistake.”

Cop #2 said; “No mistake. She don’t know you, man.”

Cop #1 said; “You have a check?”

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Mark said; “She paid me in cash.”

The cops’ four eyes surveyed the stained drop ceiling.

Cop #2 agitatedly said; “This bullshit is getting nowhere.

Where were you yesterday at 12:30PM?”

Mark said; “Home.”

Cop #2 asked; “Can anyone vouch for that?”

Mark replayed the day in his mind, looked at the desk and slowly said; “I was there with Allison, but I think she left before that. I was with Connie and two black chicks until late afternoon; and later Vicky and Shari.”

The cops stoically stared at him and #1 said; “Okay, let’s focus on the time of the murder. At 12:30 PM you say you were with Connie and two black chicks, right?”

Mark said a simple “Yes.”

Cop #1 said; “Well, Connie has already said that she doesn’t know you. Who were these two black chicks?”

Mark said; “I don’t remember their names, or if they ever said them. They were Connie’s friends.”

Cop #1 said; “What did they look like?”

Mark said; “One was thin, light skinned, had a Southern drawl and big feet. The other was chocolate and heavier.”

Cop #1 queried; “Their faces?”

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Mark knew the answer would do him no good, but it was the only one he had. He said; “When you’re in a room with three naked women, do you look at their faces?”

Cop #2 said; “Depends what we’re doing. Come on. This is getting fucking ridiculous.”

Mark insisted; “There’s got to be some mistake. Can you check with Connie again? She has bleached blond hair and black elsewhere.”

Cop #1 again asked #2 to check with Connie one last time and then asked Mark; “You spend any time in ‘Nam?”

Mark said; “No........ flat feat.”

Cop #1 laughed and said; “Your story is starting to hit me as funny. Just between us, do you do any drugs?”

Mark indignantly said; “That’s against the law,” then choosing to appear co-operative, he remembered a recent event and added; “Well, the feds gave me a lot of acid.”

Amused, Cop #1 said; “The feds did that?”

Mark said; “Yeah.”

Cop #1 said; “Are you looking to go psychiatric; not guilty by reason of insanity?”

Cop #2 came back in the room and said; “I spoke to Constance Roe, Warren Roe and Shari Roe. No one knows you.

Constance said you must be having some LSD fantasies. Sign the damn confession.”

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Mark said; “No fucking way.”

Cop #1 smirked at Mark and said; “Come on, you’re getting booked.”

In desperation, Mark said; “Shari Roe was one of the girls I was with at day’s end.”

Cop #1 got up, took Mark by the upper arm, shook his head side to side and said; “Come on.” He led Mark to the booking area, where he was turned over to other cops.

When they were alone, Cop #1 said; “He’s either going to be killed or put in solitary for life.”

Cop #2 said; “He sounds too stupid to have gotten that close to the big stuff.”

Cop #1 said; “Maybe he knows how to act stupid.”

Cop #2 said; “Well, he’s fucked now.”

After the booking procedure was through, two cops led him outside to a police car and put him in the back seat. As they drove, Mark recalled the route from his ride with the acid feds.

They went over the rusting bridge into Newark, passing abandoned factories and warehouses, sandwiching decaying hovels with angry looking people in front. They made a left a little further down the line onto Humble Grave Road. Mark suspiciously eyed the cemetery, somewhat surprised by the identical nature of the two by three simple slabs of granite used on all the tombstones.

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At road’s end Mark saw the sign; “Federal Prison #166.” It was a five story brick structure surrounded by an eight foot chain link fence topped by the meanest barbed wire he had ever seen. There was no vegetation, only lights and cars. The car was stopped by an armed guard at the gate. After the driver showed proper credentials, they rode to the entrance, parked and were again checked as they escorted Mark inside.

He was turned over to two other cops, who led him to his new home. They took off his handcuffs and rudely pushed him in the cell, one saying; “You’re gonna be here a long time, asshole,” as the empty sound of metal on metal rang in his ears.

The eight by eight room was decorated with a silver metal sink, silver metal toilet, a padded bench hanging from the wall on chains and a gray blanket. One small barred window sat above the furry bench offering a view of the dark Hudson River. In frustration Mark tried to rip out his amenities, but only succeeded in exhausting himself. He sat on the bench wondering but not caring if he was being watched. He put his head in his hands and stared at the concrete floor, wishing that at least he had gotten the license plate number of the truck that had demolished him.

Mark heard a voice. “Hey, honey lover. I hear you’re going to be my prisoner a long time.” He looked up and saw 250

pound Dorette in a gray prison guard uniform with a red stripe

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running down both legs. She carried a maroon sweatshirt and matching pants both emblazoned with orange letters stating

“PROPERTY OF US FEDERAL PRISON SYSTEM”. She purred; “Corinne works the day shift. We’re gonna be giving you everything you need to eat and drink. You gonna be in church a lot.” She moved her big beautiful black body against the bars and showed him her well-oiled long afro. She said; “This job doesn’t pay shit, but it has great fringe benefits.” Her house of worship shone with glory.

Mark’s countenance elevated when he saw his dream. He got in a better position for a close up viewing and savored the offering. Dorette’s eyes smiled as she looked down, watching him. She looked both ways down the hall, took one of the keys from her chain of many, opened the cell door and closed it behind her. She slipped a silver chain around his neck with a gray medallion imprinted with #312312312” in black letters. She held his new duds in front of her and ordered; “Strip for me, slut.” Mark’s excitement went through the roof and when his clothes were off he looked like a bleached mahogany coat rack with a spindle for decoration. He smiled and danced playfully as he rotated his hips.

Dorette sauntered to the bench and sat on the left side of the cushion. He ogled the curvy pillars with pedestrian footings and was compelled to pay proper homage. She put his

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new clothes on the floor saying; “That’s to cushion your knees.

You’ll be using them a lot.” He went into a trance, got in his church position and began his adoration at ground level. She lit a long thick light purple candle and put it in the center of the seat. She got extremely comfortable leaned back and said;

“Take and eat of this, for this is my body. Take and drink of this, for this is my blood.” She laughed.

Mark eyed the cracked moon and the gentle folds above it, which led to the higher paradise that he couldn’t’ stop desiring. He rubbed his face all over the aromatic, furry, wild nature he so loved, feeling the soft, warm, black flesh surrounding him. She rested her legs on his shoulders. He glanced upward and saw a silent impassive face staring at him.

He closed his eyes and continued on; following his natural instincts, hoping his sacrificial offering was worthy.

He murmured; “I hope you and Corinne bring in many parishioners.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he was so hungry, he quickly put his face back into the nappy, pulpy, French West Indian caviar and swallowed a strong stream of golden wine that ran all over him. Feeling high he passionately kissed, licked and sucked her hairy prize, his left arm tucked under her upper thigh, his hand rubbing the crack in the globes. “It’s 1972 and anything goes,” he thought, as he slowly touched himself using his right.

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In a few glorious minutes he heard a sound, looked behind and saw Corinne standing at the cell door. She was still in her civilian uniform; a red tank top and a light black leather mini-skirt at the upper end of her deep chocolate thighs. She smiled and put her right hand between her legs. Mark grinned and showed her his tongue. Dorette pulled him by the hair, jamming his face hard back into the bushy dark swamp.

Corinne used her key to enter, locking the door behind her.

She said; “Piece with honor.” The girls laughed and Corinne took a seat at the right. She, too, lit a candle, this time a tall flat red one and placed it next to the other, between the two sisters. She crossed her legs, watched and waited her turn.

Dorette’s body spasmed and she groaned; “Dominus verbiscum.

Dominance for this cum.”

Corinne chuckled; “Et cum spirit te tuo.”

Mark imagined that he looked skyward and saw a heavy, leaded, painted, glass window above him. It reminded him of the thick, stained glass casements he saw in church as a kid.

However, rather than depicting some martyred saint suffering, blocking all light, this portal was comprised of random shapes and forms, containing all colors of the rainbow and despite its making a half-assed attempt to be opaque, he could see the light streaming through it. The trio was blanketed in a golden glow.

They all felt it and smiled.

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Mark crawled to Corinne’s feet. Careful not to miss anything, he slowly worked his way up to the triangle at the apex, continuing his nourishment and adoration. In his entire life he never, until now, expected to wind up in the house of God. The furry texture pressing against his nose caused him to sneeze. The laughing girls encouraged him and after joyous labor he was rewarded. His thirst was satisfied with a sudden strong quenching. A contented, black, warm and fuzzy feeling came all over him.

The Living End

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