P Y T H O N G A

THE STORY

PHASE 7
TIT FOR TAT

THE DOG PARK (Comodo's bar)

Comodo gently placed the phone on the table. He took a very, slow, long drag of his cigarette; squinting his eyes as he exhaled. He tapped his lit treat on the boob-shaped ashtray. He was very satisfied with the brief message he just received. He took a sip of his cocktail, and leaned back in the squeaky bench of his reserved booth. He took a long serious look around his bar knowing it wouldn’t be the same. He knew the only thing Sal really had going for him was his uncanny timing, and ability to take complete advantage of a situation without a second thought. Sal was nothing more than a circling vulture over anyone’s misfortune. He lands on their chest, already heavy with fear, plucks out what is left of their fading vision, and robs just enough of their sanity making them hollow shells. 

Comodo thought about his plan of revenge. He knew his perfect execution of ruining him and the BLU VELVET, would be his greatest moment. His greatest victory. He considered Erin’s death as a tragic loss. She was the best in the world, but sacrifices had to be made. Ana was of no consequence to him. She was nothing more than a tag-along to Erin, and would never amount to mediocre.

It was a genius plan. There were no witnesses, no evidence, no way anyone could tie him into the downfall of Sal, the accidental death of Erin, or the disappearance of Ana. The limo driver would never say anything to anyone. He had everything to lose if he did. Comodo was confident he had just committed the perfect crime, and his only genuine regret was he could not tell a soul.

His thoughts were interrupted by shouts at the front door.

He watched his bartender, Boris, yank a scrawny young man by the collar on the back of his t-shirt. Comodo saw the two men coming toward him; he tapped what was left of his cigarette.

Comodo: An uninvited guest? What is your name little man ?

Scrawny Guy: Jinn. I was just…

Boris: Shut up idiot. Your mom named you after liquor ? He slapped him  on  
                 the back of his head. He handed Comodo a piece of paper.

He was puttin’ this on the post outside. I told him that garbage ain’t goin’ up anywhere near this establishment, and he felt the needs to argue. So, I brought him to you ‘cuz I thought you’d like to see what he was up to.

Comodo took the piece of paper indignantly, not appreciating the interruption. He held another cigarette out for the bartender to light, but he simply stood still holding the scrawny guys shirt collar. Comodo shook his hand to emphasize his desire.

Jinn turned to Boris and points to Comodo’s hand: I think he wants you to 
         uh, uh...

Boris looked down at him and shook him a little: What’d you say tuh me?

Jinn: Hey, your boss just wants a light is all, and no, my mother did not name me 
        after alcohol. My name is spelled J I N N, that's if you know how to write, or 
        spell. What might your name be?

Comodo sat in silence, glaring at Boris.

Boris looked at Comodo’s hand waving the cigarette: Sorry boss.  
                 He quickly lit the cigarette and gave Jinn another shake, my name, not

                 that it's any of your business, is Boris. Mr. Farley to you.

Comodo: Thank you Boris....finally.

Jinn: Quit shaking and hitting me, it's completely uncalled for, and are you serious?! 

        Your name is Boris Farley? I bet everybody called you Boris Fartley!

Comodo: Sit down little man before he sits you down rather unpleasantly.

Boris turned to go back to work without a word, but as Jinn started to sit with Comodo, he slapped him on the back of his head.

Jinn rubbed his head: Neanderthal. Can't take a joke.

Comodo, tapping the piece of torn paper with Erin’s picture and bold ‘MISSING’

        letters: So you’re looking for Erin?

Jinn: Yeah, Sal’s in a panic.

Comodo: Losing money is he?

Jinn: Tons!

Comodo: Where was she seen last?

Jinn: Last Friday night. She did her show, and only one that night, and somebody 
        said she took off outta the back door. Nobody has heard or seen her since.   
        Really odd only one show, usually does 3. Sal said she was goin’ to the island 
        for a break.

Comodo: But?

Jinn: She doesn’t answer her phone, and hasn’t called Sal at all.

Comodo: Today is only Sunday. Maybe she’s simply tired.

Jinn: Sal said she always checks in when she lands. Plus he needs her to cut her 
        break short. Some executives want a private show next weekend, and Sal       
        stands to lose a fortune if she doesn't come back.

Comodo: What about Ana?

Jinn: Who?

Comodo: Nevermind. Did anyone see her actually get in the limo to go to the 
              airport?

Jinn: How would you know about the limo?

Comodo: Everyone knows she has her own limo. Everyone knows she never drives 
              herself anywhere. Was anyone around, open her door, say good-bye? 
              Where was Bruno? Hard to believe he wasn't glued to her side.

Jinn: I dunno.

Comodo’s cigarette was nothing but a fragile line of ashes. He tapped the paper again, with his perfectly manicured fingers. He slowly ran his other fingertips over his lower lip.

Comodo: Tell you what you are going to do for me.

Jinn: What I’m goin’ to do for you? Why am I goin’ to do anything for you?

Comodo: Glared at the irritating little man. He imagined grabbing his little throat and squeezing slowly, tightly, until the whites of his eyes became bloodshot. Until his feet stopped twitching, and there was no life remaining, just a shell of a desperate, little man. He would look down at him, slumped over serving no purpose in death, just as in his useless life.

Jinn: Hello? Why am I doing anything for you?

Just as he drew Comodo’s attention back, Comodo's star stripper, Sundai Brunch, walked by them and tripped. As she stumbled one of her breasts fell out of the flimsy, cheap top she wore. She was desperately unattractive, and sadly one of Comodo’s top dancers. The two watched her clumsily stuff her sagging, exposed breast back into the top. They watched the nauseating process in silence. As she made her way to the stage Comodo motioned to Boris.

Comodo, looking back at Jinn: You’re going to simply keep me informed of Sal’s 
             predicament. It’s very simple, just tell me details of what and how the 
             search is going, and possibly I can help an old friend.

Jinn: I’m no rat.

Boris walked up to Comodo’s booth: More like a weasel.

Jinn: Oh what, ya gonna have knuckle-dragger rough me up some more? That it?

Comodo: Actually no. He’s gong to apologize for earlier, and safely escort you out. 
              Stop at the bar if you’d like a drink. Just remember you’re walking out on 
              your own two, healthy, intact legs. Today. Just keep me informed.

Jinn: Threats? Really?

Comodo: No little man, promises.

Jinn cautiously slid out of the squeaky booth and walked up to the bar. Boris handed him a beer which his sipped  suspiciously.

Comodo looked down at Sal’s flyer. In large bold, black letters read MISSING. Underneath, a gorgeous picture of Erin, and the usual desperate message with phone numbers and Sal’s name. No mention of Ana, no one knew she was with Erin, and apparently no one was paying attention to her mere existence. Comodo smiled knowing this was making his murderous plot even better than he imagined. 

Boris: Boss?

Comodo: What is it?

Boris: You usin’ the guy?

They both looked at Jinn still cautiously sipping his beer.

Comodo: Of course.

Boris: Can I have him when you’re done?

Comodo: Might as well. I'll have no use for him.

They heard a loud crashing by the stage.  Sundai Brunch fell off the side of the platform and landed on one of the cocktail tables. The maintenance man was helping her up. She had red wax in her hair from the lit candle that was once on the table, but was now setting the fallen napkins on fire. Sundai was crying over her hair, not paying attention to the maintenance man attempting to put out the small fire with a bottle of cleaning fluid. The flames rose with a sudden muffled whooshing sound, scorching Sundai’s top and eye-brows. Boris ran over with an extinguisher spraying the flames, and Sundai. She looked down at herself covered with extinguisher foam, and her outfit charred, except for one string around her neck, and sobbed.

Boris: Ah shut up Sundai. Go clean up. Shave your head while you’re at it.

Sundai cried louder as the maintenance man walked her back to the dressing room.

Comodo watched in silent despair. He slid out of his booth and looked for Jinn, but he was no longer at the bar.

Comodo did not acknowledge the clumsy, fiery incident. He did not care if Sundai was hurt, nor did he care about the damages. He was only concerned with Sal. He swung open the door to his bar only to see the light pole in front of him plastered with Erin’s picture. He slowly walked around it to his car. He thought about going for a long, silent drive, but there was really only one place he wanted to be. He started his car and headed to the BLU VELVET.

It was mid-afternoon and inside the BLU VELVET the strippers were practicing their routines. They were working especially long hours, hoping the crowds would pick back up even though Erin was gone.

The vendors were there to re-stock the liquor, but they only replaced a couple bottles and none of the snack food. The oxygen tank technicians had nothing to fill, or replace.

The club was hectic with volunteers making, and handing out more flyers. The air was full of tension, and Sal yelling on the phone did nothing to help the mood.

Sal: No, again you listen to me, and this is the last time. All I need is somebody, 
       any ole body, to go to the house, and tell her to call. Understood?

He impatiently listened to the voice on the other end, and roughly tapped his cigar on the rim of his glass.

Sal: No, you get this message, she’s worth more than all ‘uh yous down there on 
       that God-forsaken, stagnant island. I don’t care if your short staffed, I’ll make 
       a  very generous donation to your department soze you can go hire someone 
       to go to the stupid house and get her to call. It’s very simple. I’ll expect to hear 
       from you specifically in an hour. No more, but less will get you a more 
       sizable donation. Possibly you could hire two morons.

Sal slammed the phone on the table knocking the ash-filled drink on his pants. He quickly searched for napkins, or anything, when he saw a brightly colored handkerchief floating in front of him.

Sal: And what’re you doin’ here?

Comodo glided out of the dim light: Heard you’re in a little bit of a panic. He 
             looked around the BLU VELVET and all the commotion, and grinned.

Sal: You’re always lurking’. Why do ya do that? What’d ya care if I’m in a panic? 
       Which I’m not, just what’d ya care?

Comodo exhaled a thin smoke trail slowly: One of your zealous volunteers came by

             my club today with one of your pleading flyers. Lost your girl have you?

Sal wiped his pants with napkins he got off another table: Suppose 
      you threatened his walking abilities. You always were a leg man. 

Comodo: Quite the contrary, I let him put it all over the pole outside. We had a nice 
              chat. A little man named after alcohol, Jinn. 

Sal: Whatever. Awfully pleasant of you checkin' in on me and the state of my 
       welfare. Sal squinted suspiciously.

Comodo: Granted I’d love more than anything to see you on your knees Sal.…

Sal: Been there!

Comodo shot a genuine look of disdain: As I was saying. I’d love to see you put 
              back in your place, but what would the strip club world be without a little 
              competition.

Sal: Well Comodo, you’d be livin’ in my world. Livin' in fame, fortune, and all that 
       makes life worthwhile. Instead of whatever it is you call what you're in.

Comodo: I was going to suggest we mend fences. I could, well, help you.

Sal: Are you kiddin’?! You don’t help nobody but yourself. You wouldn't give me ten 
      cents for my whisk'uhs Snatch. You got somethin’ up your sleeve. You lack 
      the capacity for pleasantries. Now you’re wastin’ my precious time. Need me to 
      have Bruno show you out, or can you slither out on your own?

Comodo: Well, I tried to lend you a hand…..

Sal: Again, not goin’ back there.

Comodo: But as usual you make it impossible. And Bruno? Why I don’t even see 

              any of your brute squad here. Guess that’s why I was able to simply waltz

              in here without an escort. No matter, I’m sure they’re out looking for Erin. 

              What of Ana Sal? Don’t you care about Ana?

Sal: Who? Get outta here Snatch. I’m tired of conversatin’.

Comodo sneered, turned gracefully without a word, and headed toward the door. Sal

             did not even consider Ana. He thought it was amazing how no one 

             noticed her even when she was constantly hanging on Erin. 

Sal: Oh, Snatch, you wouldn’t be startin’  fires now would ya? Sal gave a little 

       sarcastic laugh.

Comodo stopped suddenly….He did not turn to look at Sal, or ask him what he meant by his comment. He could not let him know it meant anything to him at all. He wondered if Sal simply said something idiotic, or did he actually know about Sundai’s mishap? Did Sal have someone in his club permanently spying, or perhaps it was simply the little man with the flyer who happened to be there, and saw the incident. Comodo thought Sal may not be as stupid as he use to be, and it would be in his best interest not to underestimate his rival. He knew he needed a reliable source in the BLU VELVET. The little man would not do. He would make things worse going from his place to Sal’s. He had no loyalty to either of them, and threats of broken legs from either side would only last so long and he’d eventually disappear.

Comodo got in his car, and sat quietly thinking of who he could use. He had no friends, but who did he know who did not mind being used, or at least wasn’t bright enough to know he was using them. Someone pathetic enough, needy enough, to want to be his friend at any cost.

He started his car, and listened to the low hum of the engine. He wondered if there was no one he knew who he could trust enough to be a snitch, for only him, then regardless of their loyalty, have to kill later. No one can ever be fully trusted for very long. He knew all too well better offers inevitably happened, which made the trust short-lived, and everyone has to die anyway. So who would die for his cause? Slyly grinning, and once again feeling in complete control, he began to orchestrate his deceptive master of disguise plan, and eventual murder of another unsuspecting victim.