Meat Me in New Orleans

Meat me in New Orleans
         “The times were rough, and so was her vagina.” John Glandon started to explain as the recorder clicked into action. He adjusted himself in the plush chair set near the end of Detective Lafarge’s desk. The Detective sat in his leather swivel chair, feet propped on the face of the desk, where the recording device rested, transcribing Glandon’s story. “At least I thought it was her vagina.”
          Lafarge had listened to the allegation two nights prior, but the man was in such hysterics he couldn’t get any real leads on the perpetrator. This time around however, Glandon was all too serene. “It had to be the drugs,” Lafarge figured. “Old Doc’s probably got this guy so whacked on Oxy, I could slap him across the face and he wouldn’t feel a thing.” He extracted a pack of Gold Coast Menthol cigarettes from his pocket along with a golden Zippo lighter. He took a cigarette from the pack and placed the butt between his lips. With his thumb on the bottom of the lighter and his index and middle fingers on the top, he flipped the lighter open with a little trick he’d learned in junior high, and sparked a flame. He lit his pleasure and smoke wafted towards John Glandon. He instantaneously paused.
         “Would you mind giving me one of those?” John asked
         “Not at all.” Lafarge said warmly.
         The Detective took another cigarette from the pack and placed it between John’s lips and lit it for him, skipping his personal lighting ritual. John inhaled deeply, then fumbled his left hand up his chin, touched his lips and wearily removed the cigarette. He slowly lowered his arm, blindly feeling around for the chair’s arm rest, to do just that.          Blindly, because after all, John was blind. All the pain killers had him pretty stoned too, but he had to try to remember every detail regarding his state of affairs. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, deeply inhaled, then took it with his hand and held it outward for the detective to receive. Lafarge did so and placed it in the ashtray atop his desk, all without moving from his position of comfort.
         John raised his hand to his face and felt the bandage covering his empty eye sockets. He gave the bandage a gentle rub, then resumed his dissertation. “I met her, or him, whatever the fuck it was..” He shuddered before he went on, “at this bar on Bourbon street. I don’t remember the name of the place, I’m not from around here. See, my construction company’s based out of Biloxi but there’s been so much work around here I’ve had a crew in the area handling jobs. So every once in awhile I drive over to meet with my foreman. I had to take this particular trip because ten thousand dollars came up missing from the supply funds. And well frankly, without supplies the whole operation busts. Thankfully, as it turns out, the emergency fund was ten thousand surplus, which indicates somebody made a mistake in distributing appropriation.”
         “Thank God for small favors, right?” Lafarge sarcastically interrupted.
         “Yeah, right. Anyways, as a celebration of sorting out the matters, I decided to hit up one of the local bars. Things haven’t been the best at home with the wife, and frankly I was looking for a little company for the evening, if you know what I mean.” Lafarge took his feet from the desk, clicked off the recorder and stared vehemently at John, whom although he couldn’t see, could feel the gaze upon him. “What did you stop the tape for?”
         “Tell me something Mr. Glandon. Is it a relatively common occurrence for you, a married man, to solicit prostitution when you come to N’Orleans on business?”
         “Well, it’s like I said, things haven’t been the best at home with the wife and frankly, a man has his needs. Certainly you can appreciate that. Can’t you, Detective.”
         Lafarge rotated the wedding band on his own left ring finger. “I’m sure you can.” He said smugly, smothering his cigarette to death in the ashtray atop his desk. The detective placed his feet back on his desk and clicked the on the device to continue recording. “By all means Mr. Glandon, resume.”
         “There wasn’t a whole lot of people inside, but it was a Tuesday. She was sitting in the corner alone. I stepped up to the bar and ordered two shots. Slammed ‘em almost as soon as I got ‘em. Then I ordered two more. I caught her looking at me out of the corner of my eye. She was oriental, very short, probably no more than 5 foot. Frail little number, but pretty in a refined sense, but most importantly, she was smiling at me. So, I tried my luck. I drank the two shots, then I moved closer and introduced myself. She said her name was Ping. She was drinking this thing called a Singapore Sling. It’s a red fruity drink. I think it had tequila, some other kind of liquor, and juices. I offered to buy her another one, and she obliged. We sat for awhile drinking. I don’t recall much what we talked about, I just remembered...”
         “Remembered what?”
        "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas! You know, that guy, Hunter Thompson."
        Lafarge was stunned at the accusation."What. How could...Mr. Glandon, Hunter S. Thompson hardly fits the description of an asian women! Let alone, the man's been dead for almost four years."
        "No, no, the drink. Singapore Sling, he drank 'em, that guy that played him in the movie."
          "Focus John, you need to Focus, tell me what happened." Lefarge was getting slightly agitated . He lit another smoke.
          “She kept telling me what beautiful eyes I had.”  John wimpered like a shamed kindergarner after a fight on the playground.
          “Ah, the foreshadow. Then what?” Lafarge said impatiently. He puffed passionately from his mistress. 
         “Well, you know, I asked her for a date. She kind of giggled, took my hand, looked me deep in the eyes, and then, I’ll never forget her voice, so squeaky and high pitched.
         “Okay, I do you for eight hundred” John mimicked the voice.
         “Then I paid the bartender, had him call a cab, and next thing I know, we were booking a room at this motel. The place rented out rooms four hours for eighty dollars or a hundred for the whole night. I sprang for the four.”
         “Ayuh, that’s The Cajun Cat-Nap. We had officers investigating that night after the maid found you and called 911. That’s where I interrogated you first, but well, you weren’t much of a conversationalist that night, now were you?" Lefarge eyed the man up and down in comparison to the shape John had been in when they first made acquaintance. The screaming, oh Jesus, that screaming. Lefarge shook the thought from his head then inhaled one final time from the cigarette and introduced it to the ashtray." The desk clerk was the only substantial witness but he claimed he didn‘t get a good look at your companion. She waited in the cab while you booked the room?”
         “Yeah. Then I paid the driver. We were in room 88. Wasn’t much to it, a bed, television on a dresser, night stand with a lamp, and of course, a latrine. She told me to take my clothes off and lay on the bed while she went to the bathroom and got ready. When she came out, I was just that, lying on the bed bare-ass naked ready for some good loving at a fair price." Lefarge had to chuckle at that last statement. John Glandon let out a little laugh but not to the same regards as his interrogator. "She’d slipped into some red lace lingerie and had one hand behind her back. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but suppose she could have had anything in that hand. A gun, A knife, God, I was such a fool. I figured things were about to get kinky." He paused for a moment, shuddering." Which I guess they did. She slowly came over to the bed and climbed on. Then she put her other hand behind her back and told me to take her. I’m not much for foreplay and I was paying by the hour, so I went for it. I moved in on her. I put my hands on her thighs, so smooth. Then I started kissing her stomach, worked my way up, sliding my hands up as I went. I started licking her nipple, then moved across her chest. She wasn't very stacked, but I'm not really a tit man. I like an ass. Ooooh, the ass on her, so tight. I slapped her ass really hard once. She let a cry and called me "dirty boy." I grabbed her neck and looked her in the eyes. I remember, they had this twinkle, like she wanted it, so bad. Then I was like, alright you little whore, now i'm going to give it to you. I'm going to fuck you so hard. I'm going to make you squeal like the little piggy bitch slut you are. Ooooh you fucking whore." I had the hugest boner. I took my left hand and started to pull her panties down, then..."
         “and?” John cleared his throat and inhaled on the cigarette he'd compulsively lit.
         “Well..”
         “Come on John.” Lafarge urged. All at once John exploded in a hysterical laughter that sent a chill down Lafarge’s spine.
         “A dick fell out right there in front of me. Balls and all. Just plop. A cock, just like that.” The laughter continued as he spoke. “I was...apalled... shocked... angry... horrified... repulsed..." The laughter seised as abrupt and arbitrary as it had started." A feeling mixed with all that and so much more. I tried to scramble backward, but that was when I saw what he, at this point I think I’ll refer to it in the masculine form, what with the cock and all, had behind his back. It was a hypodermic needle filled with some sort of anesthesia. I tried to grab for it, but that fucker. So fast, I couldn't stop her. She...he jabbed me in the neck with it and plunged the liquid into to me. The world around me started to fade, then I was out.”
          Lafarge tried to speak but all that came out sounded like a burp mixed with a cough. Urrk. A small amount of bile arose in the Detective’s throat and he reluctantly choked it back. He extinguished the cigarette and John continued solemnly, yet slightly more serene.
         “When I awoke I couldn’t see. I could hear voices all around, but they were all murmured together. And this dull throbbing, my eyes, why did my eyes hurt so bad, and why couldn't i see. I heard sirens. Somebody screamed. Then I was out again. I woke up in the hospital and this nurse told me what happened. I was...so out of I it,  I heard but it was like, like a bad dream. A nightmare. Apparently, after my time was up, the maid came in to clean up and found me lying on the bed. I was still naked, but my eyes were bandaged and I was, well, I was just there, like that, like this.” John paused and fumbled for his bandaged eye sockets.
      Little did John know, as the maid viewed the reddish orange ooze seeping through the bandages covering his eyes, she also saw there was exactly 800 dollars lying on his chest. The money mysteriously disappeared before help arrived, and later that week a new alternator mysteriously appeared in a ‘73 Ford Pinto owned by the maid‘s son. But hey, that's New Orleans.
        “I also remember a paramedic whispering in my ear over and over while they put me on the stretcher and started fucking with my face. “you’re gonna be fine.” I don’t remember feeling much pain. Shit, I don’t remember much at all. The nurse said the doctors told her he knew what he was doing. Like this wasn't the first time she'd...he'd...it performed an operation.” Then all at once, John exploded, screaming. “THAT FUCKING BITCH! THAT FUCKING CUNT! THAT FUCKING…..THAT FUCKING...... IT CUT OUT MY EYES!!!”
         “John, you have to calm down!” Lafarge exclaimed as he stood up. Two more deputies came bursting into Lafarge’s office along with a crisis counselor. “Griggs, get him back to the hospital. And for Christ’s sake somebody get him some more dope!!!!”          The two deputies went over to the writhing, wailing wreck of John and each took hold of an arm, escorting him from the room, all while the counselor tried to soothe his guttural sobs which would have caused tears to leak from his eyes if that were possible.          “JESUS CHRIST! WHAT AM I GONNA TELL MY WIFE? HOW AM I GONNA LIVE?”
         Until the cries faded from the building, out to the patrol car, and off towards the sanatorium, Lafarge stayed erect.
         “Perhaps a sanitarium might be more beneficial,” he mumbled to himself when the last of the noise faded from ear shot. Finally, he collapsed back into his chair and propped his feet back on his desk. He grabbed the recorder and pressed the stop button. The detective sparked another cigarette, then began to massage his forehead in frustration.
         “Great, another fuckin’ tranny case. I swear, only on the bayou.” Lafarge said with a half hearted grunt. He rewound the cassette, then pressed play and began to listen to the recording.
         “The times were rough and so was her vagina….at least I thought it was her vagina….”
*****
         Not more than five blocks away, a petite Asian lady, or at least upon superficial examination, this individual would appear to be a lady, entered a bar on Bourbon Street. She took a seat near the end of the bar next to a plump, bulky blonde man.
         “Those are some interesting earrings you got there miss. They almost look like real….Naw couldn’t be.” Said the man regarding the spherical jewelry dangling from her ears. He admired the brown ornaments a moment longer then said,  “Say, let me buy you a drink.”
         “Oh, you such nice man.” The lady said with a squeak. “I take Singpore Sling.” She looked her new escort over for a stitch. A devilish smirk crossed her face as she proposed, “My, I bet you have very big, beautiful heart, no? You want date? 400 dollars.”
         The man winked in compliance and slammed his drink.
        "Check Please!" he yelled to the bartender. "Hey, you, shaggy, check, Now!"
        He paid the tab and ushered his new friend toward the door. "Shall We"
        They exited the bar into the humid New Orlean's night for a little fun, at an affordable price.