The Space Noir Bar, Michael Marino [people reading books txt] 📗

Man, I swear he had plastic penis surgery and gave him a Mr. Potato head look. Watch out for him..he sprays like a shotgun all over the place and I want my Out of Order sign

As the tempting teases left to keep their powder dry, and in the midst of my musing mist regarding Terminator Toilets, I became acutely cognizant of a sweet, yet pungent aroma enveloping me. As the slightly feminine aroma grew in aromatic strength, a sinister slow creepy shadow fell across the table from behind creating an eclipse of the brilliant stage show lighting. All shadows from behind in the steamy fog night of mysterious Robotia were enough to kick your protection reactionary reflexes into warp speed factor plus one. My fingers reached inside my dingy frayed silver dinner jacket my fingertips dancing gently on the butt of my fully automatic Link Wray Laser Luger. I was coiled emotionally tighter than a sea monster from the Trifid Nebula.

As I turned in jerky stop action movements I encountered a rather dapper little alien man decked out in a striped electronic kaftan with blinking neon trim and a cone shaped red fez on his head. He looked like a Galactic Pez Dispenser and his odor was slightly feminine. My olfactory senses decided it was a cross between a garden of Amorphophallus Tianamen found only behind the chinese noodle factories on Bengkulu and that of a feminine hygiene product found south of the females physical equator colliding into each other.


I relaxed the grip on my trusty Link Wray as he tipped his fez and introduced himself with a bizarre growling accent I could not place. I was usually pretty good with accents but this palooka had me stuck in neutral for an answer. “Good evening Sir. I was sent by a mutual business contact who you wll soon meet..a Mr. Narco Marx,” he said with his voice raising a pitch as he spoke the hallowed name. “My name is Joel Faberge and I am a Fabulon from the planet Fabulous in the Formaldehyde Formation. Mr. Marx would like the pleasure of your company Sir, along with your two lady companions to discuss, um, matters of a certain bird that is of a mutual and beneficial nature to both parties, n’est-ce pas?” I was right, he was pez dispenser dispensing dialects and phrasing as easily as a tart candy tart himself. Strange little fellow..downright creepy in fact...reminded me of someone I knew in the past. A bookish fellow, yes, a Fabulon immigrant who owned a bookstore on Green Street in Old Sydney, Australia. Arrested for selling the Alice B. Toklas Anarchist and Chocolate Chip Manifesto Cookbook.

As I offered him an invite to join us, Asrini and Maddie had returned from their most excellent hygiene adventure, and something told me by the look on Maddies face Mr. Faberge was the cause of her consternation.

“Hello Joel. Vaporized anyone lately?” Her tone and demeanor told the whole story. “You little mincing fuckhead, what are you doing here following us as if I didn’t have an idea? Narco put his pet dog on the trail of our scent? Oh yes, Doc, this little Fabulon is a real prize. Weak and sniveling. Does Narco’s dirty work when no having his 16 nail manicure. Did you frisk little frisky? Always carries concealed will vape you for a free feather boa!”

Joel began to shriek, sorry but there is no other way to describe its bitch pitch. “You don’t have any sense of fashion and you can’t shop worth a damn..and..and...remember that soldier on leave from the Sagitta skirmish we met and double teamed? Ha he said my cock sucking was superior to yours, and he loved my chicken piccata better than your canoli’s!”

I thought the two of them would go at it right then in the middle of the cabaret show, and I didn’t want to miss the T and A grand rbt finale but what the hell a good down and dirty cat fight between a sexy covert black ops vixen and a flamboyant tri-sexual could be arousing. Asrini and I didn’t say a word during the initial fireworks but both of us had to stifle a laugh? I broke in when I found a breach in the screeching. “Lok you two. We all know what this is about, I mean why Joel is here and being fabulous” I said with a breaking smile, so lets put our petty diff’s aside and get down to biz, before he falcon gets any fabulous ideas and flies away again!” I looked over at he hurt expression on Joels face. He had been humiliated in public, so i leaned over to him, gave Asrini a wink and said to him in a gravelly whisper, “Your Chicken Piccata really that good?” His face lit up and he began laughing. ‘It’s better than her canolis!” he replied. A this point both had calmed down and began to laugh. We paid the check, actually I had Asrini pay it as I had her pay all expenses on this trip. I was near broke. We left and hailed a cab and were off to see the Fat Man, Narco Marx.

“OK, everyone,” I said. “Time to be fabulous and find this fucking falcon. We can all fuck later!” I noticed Joel’s face brightening. What the hell..never made it with a Fabulon before.

Chapter Seventeen - Narco Marx the Rainbow Villiian

 

Narco held court with his gang of venomous thugs in an ornate penthouse overlooking the elevated cityscape. The decor was definitely a cross between an old  19th Century Arab harem and a cheap shag carpeted motel room one step above a homeless person’s cardboard box of the 20h Cent. Everything was done up in a  gaudy purple haze. Curtains, thick rich Victorian or Andelian, I couldn’t discern the difference.  Strobe lights pulsed from hidden recessed spaces in the room while  dozen or more lava lamps oozed and undulated on the black light enhanced walls. Narco referred to it as cerebral antebellum….I just looked at as pharmacologic and surreal.

 

The furniture itself was overstuffed much as was our host, and all it was retro hovercraft so when you sat down you were immediately reminded of a suicide bean bag ride at the amusement park on the moon known as Bolinas that  orbited around the hidden planet of Quatro Stroma  in the Areola Galaxy.

 

When we arrived we  got frisked by an overly frisky bodyguard, we entered to behold...behold? We weren’t quite sure what we were to behold. Asrini spoke first, startled it seemed as were Maddie and myself. It was Narco in a full tent kaftan dress and full face make-up singing solar system show tunes!

 

“Dahlings,” Asrini whispered in her best affectation,” He’s  a mincing maniacal drag queen, but, he does have one hell of voice. No wonder he hangs out with Faberge and the other Fabulons!” Expecting to see an arch criminal with Querubian pinky rings instead we came face to face with a rotund planet of man in spiked heels, a see through teddy with garters, and mesh stockings. I hadn’t been this up front and personal since I was on a case at a transgendered summer camp of gender bending alien frivolity at Frankie's Fantasyland Bar and Grill, proving that alien girls, as well as alien boys who want to be girls... just want to have fun! You go girl!

 

He could have been a gay diva from Mars Is it a Devo? He was bizarre and his voice I have to admit..stellar and  faster than a speeding falsetto...he could bend a high note in his bare hands, and who disguised as Maria Callas in Nureyev's body complete with ballet bulge.

 

He had an operatic rock and roll voice and was sporting a turquoise pompadour  outer limits outer space hair-do that looks like he just stepped out of flamboyant flying saucer cabaret with a cadre of gay aliens and bi-sexual bi-pods. It was the Mikado meets Hermann Goering in eyeliner in a Berlin Bunker. It's "The Day the Earth Stood Still" with Major Tom screaming at ground control as lightning strikes Lesley Gore. It's Queer Eye for the Space Guy!

His flouncing around the penthouse in costume created a private show that was a collision of strobelights, smoke bombs and electro-synth-sound effects.

 

His kingdom was a fairyland...literally, no macho factory assembly lines in  this place ruled by a gay Retropolin who did ask and did tell before it was retro fashionable, catering to  an assortment of Glen or transgendered Glenda’s, dykes who arrived by bike, intellectual drag queens, street people, the wealthy from the world of art , writers, drunks, junkies, who wandered in and out of lucidity among the collective mass of the Solar Systems social sub strata of masturbation and creativity, and creative masturbation. You need to have your card punched to gain entree to this world. It was Schindlers A-List without the Nazi's but was a real space gas nonetheless.

 

He tossed in a few jokes with his routine. Why not? Jesus did stand up before Seinfeld, gigging at gatherings doing a magic act with parlor tricks and sanctimonious schtick, like that  whole loaves of bread and fishes thing which led to a string of bookings and spoken word performances throughout the Roman Empire. (I heard he stole the Bread and Fishes routine from Rodneyious Dangerous Fieldious who first wowed the crowd while touring Mesapotamia with Moses and Abraham, the first of the Marx Brothers who played to packed houses of Philistines  in their prime)

There are no others like Narco and when he expires his star will shine as bright as ever in the skies at night..pick one out yourself...it's him in the heavens..probably will be smiling down on us as he enjoys one hell of an eternal blowjob! Now that's heaven...Narco Style!

 

He waved us to sit down with a gesture of his hands that was more of a flourish than an invite. I made sure I sat between Asrini and  Maddie to enjoy a private fetish fantasy moment in private as Narco ended with a big kick finish. Show Time at the Arturas Apollo was over. He bowed low and we applauded this looney tune as we played along. I looked over at Faberge and he had tears streaming fast and furious from his Fabulon tear ducts.

 

He sat his bulk in a floatation hover chair. “A please to see you two ladies again even though our last encounter was one of an adversarial nature. Asrini, especially you. We have so much unfinished business to complete, regarding the object in question which I assume Mr. Yucatan you have been brought up to speed on, yes?” I nodded in the affirmative “Roger that Narco, but I am here about Mary Asteroid and what has happened to her.”

Narc released a laugh from the inner earth of his massive girth. “Ah yes, lovely Mary. You do get to the point and don’t beat around the bush. I like that, yes, I admire that. I like  a man who likes to talk to a man who likes to talk.” He was talking gibberish now as though reading from an invisible script written by hack writer Joe