Brush Creek Charlie, D. B. Reynolds [top non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

keep their jobs?”
“Data transcribers are required to meet target keystrokes and input a certain amount of documents per hour. Quality and Quantity are the two main factors which determine if they keep their jobs or not.”
“Tell me more about the IRS.”
“Like what?”
“Do you have the power to have somebody fired?”
“Yes, I can have someone reprimanded or have their position terminated.”
“Break it down for me. Like, how would you go about determining if somebody goes or if they stay.”
Lisa really wasn’t in the mood to give Charlie exact details about how she had the power to push people out the IRS doors.
She savored the moment and gave him the specifics. “Employees have to meet what’s called performance aspects. Workplace interaction, workgroup involvement, workplace environment, job knowledge, problem identification, technical knowledge, implementation of changes, and technical knowledge are to name just a few. How well a transcriber performs determines whether they’re fully successful, minimally successful, and unacceptable.”
“Well!” Charlie applauded. “You’re well versed on your job.”
“Certainly.”
Charlie wiped his mouth and scooted closer to Lisa. If he was going to implement any moves of romanticism, there was no better time than the present. Lisa looked over her shoulder and noticed the clock said 10:45 p.m. The brightest moon ever dominated the pitch black skies over Brush Creek. The glow of the moon casted a soft light into Charlie’s apartment. The only sound made was their hearts beating.
“It’s getting late and I have to be at work by six o’clock a.m.,” Lisa announced to Charlie, someone who faithfully went to bed on time every night.
“Can’t you stay for at least another half-hour?” Charlie pleaded, moving even closer to Lisa.
Lisa leaned back with force. “Wish I could, but my job’s very demanding.”
“Fifteen more minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”
“An hour, half-hour, fifteen minutes, it doesn’t matter, Charlie. By the way, how did you get that nasty scar on your neck?”
Charlie glided his fingers across his neck. “This scar means nothing, dear. Let’s just say that I encountered a little opposition one night down in Brush Creek.”
“Opposition? With who?”
“Someone.”
“Who’s this someone?” Lisa questioned as though she’d become frightened.
“Uh, it’s nothing to even consider.”
Lisa sprung up from the sofa with her coat clutched in her hand. Charlie displayed his own action of dominance. He pulled her back down on the sofa and planted a big kiss on her uninviting lips. Like any woman’d been taught when being attacked by a man, reach for his family jewels, his treasured babymaking tools. Only problem, Charlie didn’t have any. The colostomy bag popped out from under his shirt and swung into plain view.
“You sonofabitch!” Lisa charged, wiping her mouth and massaging her face. “How dare you try and kiss me without my consent. You are rude and forgot what it’s like to be a gentleman.”
“Maybe you forgot what it’s like to be a woman.”
Lisa had turned dark red in the face.
Charlie turned much redder from her resistance.
“By not letting you kiss me? You know, most women wouldn’t’ve given you the time of day. Look at you, your face is covered with crater holes, your mouth is filled with rotted teeth, and you don’t have no personality.”
Hearing those harsh insults, Charlie knew he’d pissed Lisa off. He reacted the only way he knew how. He snatched Lisa closer a second time and tried wetting her face up with his serpent- like tongue. She bent her fingers into a bear claw formation and grabbed his mid-section. Nothing but flat space filled the palm of her right hand.
“Oh Jesus!” Lisa squawled, surprise filling her eyes. “You don’t have any sexual organs. What happened to your penis and to your scrotum?”
Lisa giggled at Charlie’s misfortune. Her giggles got louder and more disheartening.
Charlie slipped into a daze which took him back to the Saigon section of Vietnam where drug centers, hotels, brothels, and boulevards and squares sprawled within a black market. The bars were drug centers and the hotels were brothels. Just outside a hotel Charlie had frequented during the day, two Vietnamese hookers accosted him with a ferocity unlike anything he’d ever experienced. They tugged at his sleeves with aggressive desperation. They whispered obscenities with a mixture of fractured English and casual Vietnamese dialect.
“Hey baby, you want date tonight?” asked the first hooker, standing barely five foot with short black hair and an eye-catching curvy build.
Charlie grinned and responded by saying, “How much, baby?”
“Ten dolla, baby.”
“We both show you real good time,” said the second hooker, standing slightly above five foot with long silky black hair and a thin build.
“You give good head?”
“We suck and fuck you real good, baby.”
“Ten dollars for the both of you?” Charlie asked, having no real reason to be excited.
“Yaaaaah, baby, ten dolla for both us.”
Charlie followed the two hookers inside one of the brothels known as The Hotel Caravelle. The unemployed hustlers, beggars, party fat cats, and undernourished trampled all through the smelly and sweaty brothel. From inside other rooms, many more Vietnamese prostitutes cried and brandished how terrified they were while American solidiers screwed them into unconsciousness. The threesome entered one of the dim rooms equipped with just a table and a single steel bunk bed.
“We tell you before, baby, it cost you ten dolla,” the first hooker explained once again.
“Yeah, baby, yeah, we suck and fuck you good,” the second hooker said as she massaged her crotch area in circular motions.
“How long can we spend together?” Charlie questioned the eager solicitors.
“We screw you long time.”
“Long long time, baby.”
Both Charlie and the hookers knew Vietnamese currency became rather worthless. Charlie pulled out a thin roll of American currency. He flipped through the bills and found a faded ten dollar bill. One of the ladies gladly accepted the money.
“Take clothes off, baby. We ready to fuckie fuckie and suckie suckie you.”
“You got big dick for us?”
Charlie came to his senses and realized his atrocious injury back in the jungles denied him the pleasures of sexual intercourse. He remembered how his genitals were blasted off by much of the enemy’s artillery. It hit him harder than a ton of iron bricks.
Both women clamped the mid-section of his pants. For the most bizarre reasons, he didn’t stop them. His pants and underwear were slid just past his knees. When the hookers saw he didn’t have the tools to pleasure neither himself nor them, they jumped back.
The only thing between his legs were thick layers of skin used to stitch up the tragic wound. Boisterous laughs shot across the room. Not having any sex organs to work with labeled him as a gala spectacle in some freak circus. The Vietnamese hookers laughed until they coughed and slumbered sideways. They’d made fun of Charlie and hurt him deeply. Why go into the brothel with them when he knew he couldn’t engage in sexual activity?
Charlie came back into the present of his apartment inside The Rosenberg. Lisa couldn’t stop laughing after she’d discovered he didn’t have any private parts. She walked to the front door to make an exit. Charlie rushed over and blocked her pathway with ferocity. The quick flashback of the hurting Vietnam episode startled his emotions.
The shakiness, muscle aches, sweating, cold and clammy hands, dizziness, fatigue, racing heart and dry mouth, these were the symptoms which signaled he’d transform into a monster. He squeezed the door handle and pressed his body harder against the door.
“Will you please let me out of here?” Lisa requested, frightened out of her mind.
“You’re not going anywhere, bitch!” Charlie growled through clenched teeth.
“I’ll scream. I’ll holler for help. I’ll call the police. I swear, I’ll do whatever is necessary.”
“Nothing can help you now, you lowlife disgusting whore!”
Lisa backed further into the apartment. She looked around with hopes of finding a phone. “Why don’t you let me go so we can just call it a night?”
“How dare you make fun of me not having my manhood between my legs!” Charlie flared, foam sizzling at the edges of his mouth.
“Look, I didn’t mean to grab your crotch. That was a mistake on my part. If you let me go, then I’ll forget about everything that happened.”
“Guess what, sweetheart. You’re not leaving my apartment alive. If I had my way, those two slant-eyed chink bitches in Vietnam wouldn’t’ve made it out of that whore house alive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Two chink whores over in Vietnam made fun of me. They saw I didn’t have the tools to screw either one of them.”
Lisa put on her best sympathy face. “Please don’t hold that against me, Charlie.”
“You laughed at me when you felt my pants and knew that I had nothing down there.”
“I apologize if I offended you.”
“We’re way past apologies, bitch!”
“I’ll scream as loud as I can.”
“Screaming and yelling won’t do you any good.”
Lisa moved behind the sofa. She took a quick glance out the window. The moon glowed brighter only to bathe her face with sentiments of frightening uncertainties. Charlie vaulted towards Lisa and clamped her neck with beastly strength. His move happened almost lightning quick. She wasn’t allowed one second to scream. The pressure applied from his strong hands distorted her features. Her face turned a purplish red from hemorrhaging.
Lisa slumped to the ground at a gradual tempo. All oxygen was cut off as her last breath came forth. Charlie released his hands from around her neck. His fingerprints had sunk deep into her skin. Not one resident inside The Rosenberg Apartments heard a cry of