Lust Demented

{X}

HE WAS WRONG. EITHER WE would die together or live together. It wasn’t his choice. Next thing I knew I was back above the water. Under the last bit of strong light before a patch of darkness, I recognized the suicide diver as Lars Wildman. We passed the Brooklyn Bridge, floating out into New York harbor. The shock sent me unexpectedly underwater. He pulled me to the surface. I looked at him, then at the Statue of Liberty. I could see up freedom’s skirt and taste the bitch’s freshly fucked cunt.

There were more than a few shores to aim for. Effortless drifting could strand us on Governors Island and leave a lot of explaining to do. Harbor patrol was visible in the distance. So far the cops were useless and landing there would just bring more rubber badges and plastic pistols. In a strange way I never felt so free. I was too small for the big ships to see, while any small patrol vessels seemed to fly by at blurring speeds. It was as if I didn’t even exist.

Of all people to share this moment with, it made sense it was Lars. People coasted in and out of our lives, but somehow our friendship survived. Lars was born a success and I piled up scarcely read pages. We swam through this world, pulled by an invisible current. Then it was over as if it never happened.

“My lungs.” Blue skinned missing air.

“My head is burning up. My whole body aches.”

“Motherfucker pushed me off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” Lars fighting the spasms in his chest.

“Nobody.”

“Somebody. Farrow why the hell were you doing the backstroke in the East River anyway?”

“What the hell were you doing jumping... I mean… getting thrown off the Brooklyn Bridge, Lars?”

“You know as well as I do that everything that doesn’t end in orgasm or death is just a hustle to write more. Writing lately?”

“Lust Demented.”

“I dig it.”

“That’s not the title.”

“It should be.”

“It is. I was just testing it out on you. What the fuck do you want? I’m washed up. I traded my last book for a murder rap and an invisible woman.”

“Could’ve been worse… you could’ve traded it for love.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“I got a new book too Farrow.”

“What’s it about?”

“The usual. I found a sacred spot to write it this time. The roof of the library on Forty-Deuce. I know a few of the guards there. They used to do security at The Featherton building. When they’re not working, I sneak in jewel-thief style. Write my ass off.”

“The spot to get it done.”

“I sit out on the ledge and leave my body behind. I turn into a gargoyle on the side of the building. A stone statue that nothing can harm. Same as my old man was, except he was more on the lines of Michelangelo’s Moses. Sitting proud… unashamed. Not lurching no matter how many motherfuckers were bashing at his knees with hammers and chisels.”

“Lars… your father…”

“Got what was coming to him. We all will. Be it just in death. I know you were the first one to find him Farrow. The whole city knows. Probably the entire fucking country. Maybe the world. In a few days when another gorgeous slaughter takes the headlines they’ll forget… but I won’t. All I want to know is if it makes you angry that someone else managed to take revenge before you even showed up?” Lars vocalized with a creepy inflection that summoned the serpents hiding under the Red Hook docks.

“I didn’t want revenge.”

“We all breathe evil.” Merciless, the night indiscriminately pelted on, keeping most everyone off the street.