HYPNOTIZING CHICKENS
Deran Ludd
Published by Deran Ludd at Smashwords.com.
Copyright 2010 Deran Ludd
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Just a couple hours after dawn, before the day's heat surges to unbearable, the prairie dogs and birds are all about their business. The bright, flat blue sky and the scruffy, brown and green earth come together all around you at a distant horizon hemmed in place with a narrow dust-colored edging. The endless double black streaks of Interstate 40 snake across the land, coming out of Texas and disappearing on into New Mexico.
It's very early, plenty of time still to get things done.
Just off the interstate, along the business loop through Tucumcari, the line of new and old motels run side by side to the other end of town where the loop gets back onto I-40. Between two cookie-cutter chain motels is a small horseshoe of stuccoed cement cottages, from back in the day when Tucumcari was an oasis along Route 66, huddled around a parkinglot cracked and invaded by weeds and grass.
Faded green curtains are still drawn on all four windows in cottage #7. Angevine is still in bed, but not asleep, her face buried in pillows. Malvia, in her boxers and wife-beater, is sitting in the room's one chair, her legs up on the end of the bed. There are two double beds crammed into the small room. The one they did not share is still made up is covered by open suitcases, clothes and travel stuff. Malvia has their iPod earbuds secure in her ears and The Skatalites cranked. She exhales smoke from a freshly lit cigarette and raises the eyepiece of a tiny plastic TV-shaped photo viewer up to one eye. To get more light into the viewer Malvia twists her head a bit toward a window. She clicks the lever and a new mini photo pops into the frame. Two cats nestled together on a couch. Malvia smiles to herself and quietly says:
"Ah...."
Next photo is the same two cats, now outside on the back porch of Angevine and Malvia's house in Seattle.
"Ahh...."
Malvia nods her head in time with the ska and whispers:
"Kitties...."
Another press of the switch and Angevine--a sly smile crinkling her lips, and decked-out in her best blue sharkskin suit, white spread-collar shirt and skinny gold and black tie--pops into the frame.
"Ahhh...."
Malvia turns and looks at her girlfriend sprawled in deliciously relaxed decompression between sleep and the day she is awakening to. Her lips pucker in a quick kiss. As she turns back to the curtained window, Malvia hits the lever on the miniature photo viewer and a closely cropped image of a black, steel and polymer Beretta 9mm pistol laid out on red formica flips into view.
"Ahhhhh...."
Angevine sits up in bed, rubs her eyes and narrows them in pretend suspicion. The two women smile at each other. Malvia shuts off the iPod and takes out the earbuds as Angevine playfully chastises:
"You were just looking at that Beretta, weren't you?"
They laugh together.
"So, me and the cats, just get Ahh, and that damn gun gets Ahhhh?"
Malvia laughs:
"I said Ahhhhh. And I still got you, Chester and Duncan."
Malvia sighs with extended nostalgia.
"I lost that pistol four years ago...."
Angevine raises a skeptical eyebrow, her girlfriend protests playfully:
"Come on, sweetie, it was my very first Beretta!"
Angevine shakes her head, stretches and then picks up her men's wristwatch off the nightstand. She fastens the old spring-wound chronometer to her left wrist and smiles a little looking at the time: 0618. Nice and early. A casual breakfast, get to the target early for any last-minute rearranging of tactics, shoot the guy by noon, and wingo-bingo, successful completion of their first really well-paying job. Then home to Seattle on the 1822 flight from Albuquerque.
Malvia stands up and snubs out her cigarette.
"I like this traveling job thing. So relaxing. Just hanging out, seeing the sights, and shooting several bullets through the head of some guy."
Angevine nods.
"Right-on, dude. I was just thinking the same thing!"
She smiles, giddy at the prospects of the next 12 hours, throws her arms out and up, embracing all the possibilities.
Malvia pulls aside the blanket and sheet, and massages her girlfriend's foot as she says:
"I slept good."
"Me too."
"Shit, as soon as I woke up I was tweekin'! So excited!"
"Yeah, I felt your feet jiggling as soon as you turned on the tunes."
"Sorry."
"It's cool."
"Nothin' beats Skatalites in the morning!"
"Except maybe sex...."
At the mention of sex Malvia jumps onto the bed and pulls herself up face to face with Angevine. Malvia's hands start to rove her girlfriend's body as she asks:
"Do we got time?"
"Ah, honey, you shoulda woke me an hour ago if you wanted to get some sweet sweat on. We gotta shower and gotta get some breakfast before we head off to work."
Angevine kisses her.
Malvia settles down and sighs:
"D'oh. No sex and no favorite Beretta."
"You gotta let that Beretta go, girl."
"But, it was my first one. First love and all."
"Hey, I thought I was?"
"Yeah, yeah. You're the first woman I've loved. But, that nine was the first weapon I loved."
"Your new Beretta is just as good."
Malvia nods and affects a pout.
"Now, turn that frown upside down, dude! We get to kill someone and get paid very well to do it!"
The two women shout:
"Woohoo!"
Then tap the front of their clenched fists together.
"And by the time we get home tonight I am gonna be so horny...."
Malvia sits up and bouncing on the bed chants:
"Horny! Horny! Horny! We're gonna be so horny!"
"Get the coffeemaker thing goin' and let's shower."
Out of the shower and back in the main room the two women are standing in their boxers and picking out their suits for the day. Malvia is taller and sharply muscular. Angevine is more bulkily muscled. Each puts on a sports bra to conceal what small breasts they do have. Angevine pulls on a fresh wife-beater and slides into light brown slacks. She walks over to the mirror above the little dresser and rubs setting gel into her crew cut and then brushes her black hair with the palm of her hand to get the top up straight. Befitting being in New Mexico Malvia picks out a white, short-sleeve open-collar shirt with small black cowboy hats, horseshoes and lassos on it. After tucking it into her blue sharkskin slacks she picks up the plastic coffee cup, sips some and makes a sour face.
"This coffee's fuckin' awful. We shoulda brought our own, and a cone and filters."
"Yeah, if we're gonna be traveling killers we gotta get our shit together. Hey, see what you can get on the radio."
Malvia walks like she's dancing toward the clock radio. As she passes Angevine her hands slide around her girlfriend's waist. For a moment they sway to some imagined song.
Malvia hits the radio's ON button and rotates the dial through endless crappy contemporary country and western or religious zombie ranting. Then she hits a Spanish-language station playing ranchera. Her hand freezes and she starts nodding her head to the rhythm.
"Wow, Ange, check this stuff. What is this? Some kind of Mexican ska?"
Malvia steps back and crouches a bit and starts skanking along with the ranchera song. Angevine steps up and faces her partner. They both lean into each other, knees and elbows bent, moving their arms and legs in a rhythmic pumping action. Sort of slowly running in place at a crouch. The song shifts to a faster tempo and the two women stand and move into a twist variant.
The song ends and a Spanish-speaking DJ comes on and the women high-five.
"I gotta google Mexican music when we get home. Try and find out what that was."
"Yeah, good shit. And that Mexican food we had last night was aces. Maybe we should go to Mexico for a vacation?"
Angevine slides her deodorant on.
"Sounds good to me. Maybe in the fall when the rain starts in Seattle."
Malvia rubs her hands together.
"Cool."
After Angevine selects a shirt and tie it's Malvia's turn at the big suitcase and she removes an ankle holster and a slim, compact black .380 cal. Walther PPK. She scoots up her right slack's leg and affixes the holster a couple inches above her ankle. She stands, lets the trouser leg settle back down and looks at herself in the mirror. The slacks are short the way she likes them, but it means she's going to have to make sure and not cross her right leg over her left in public.
"Honey, look at my gun leg. Is this going to be a problem?"
Malvia pinches at the crease on her pant leg and shifts it up and down, flashing her holstered pistol.
"Only if you stand around yanking at your pants, dude."
Malvia shrugs in agreement and gently shakes her leg so the trousers settle in place. Angevine knots her tie, then puts on her shoulder holster so her snub-nosed .38 Smith & Wesson revolver is snug under her arm. Mmm, comfy, she thinks as she smiles. Angevine adds a tie clasp and then finishes up with a brown rayon seersucker sport coat.
Malvia gives up worrying her ankle holster and buttons the middle button on her blue sharkskin suit coat. Finished outfitting they stand side by side in front of the mirror.
"Alright then, Johnny."
"Alright then, Ray."
They both smile big uncontrollably happy smiles.
"Let's double-check the work stuff before we go eat."
Angevine grabs the smaller suitcase as Malvia finishes fastening the larger one. Angevine sets the smaller case on top of the bigger case, unzips it and flips open the lid. Beneath a layer of clothes are two carefully wrapped bundles. Each holds a semi-automatic 9mm pistol, shoulder hostler, three loaded clips and a heavy-duty silencer.
"All here. All ready."
"Okay, now let's get breakfast."
The aluminum screen door of cottage #7 opens and Angevine and Malvia step out into the hot bright dry morning. They stow the suitcases in the trunk and Malvia jiggles the car keys.
"Wanna drive?"
"Sure."
Angevine closes the driver's door, adjusts the seat forward and hooks her seatbelt. Malvia fiddles with the radio, trying to find more ranchera as her partner pivots the car around and through the relatively narrow parkinglot of the motel court. They idle at the edge of the motel lot and the road.
"That place over there has some excellent signage."
Malvia gestures over toward a low building with a large green-and-orange unlit neon cowboy standing on the roof. The place is obviously another leftover from Route 66's heyday.
"Maybe signage is an indicator of good food? But, maybe we should ask the guy at the desk?"
"I'm all about signage."
"Signage it is."
The gray late-model sedan eases into the street and Angevine signals and turns into the parkinglot of the small cafe.
Angevine and Malvia get out of the car and discreetly look around. Seems okay. They exchange shrugs and walk up to the cafe. Malvia pulls open the door, Angevine pauses just a fraction of a second, focuses on her guy persona, and strides inside.
The air-conditioned cafe smells like frying and baking. It takes a second for the women's eyes to adjust from outside to inside. In that moment of pause the predominantly local crowd glances at the two Asian men entering the Corral Cafe.
No one pays any real attention to them except for this one older white man sitting at the counter, relaxing over the end of his eggs and bacon. His cup of coffee halts midway to his mouth. He stares at them. Hostility flushes red over his face.
His short-sleeve white shirt, tucked into powder blue slacks, starkly offsets his skin, deeply tanned after years out among the cars at the GM dealership he owns in Tucumcari. His left wrist is encircled by a large gold watch, and a fat gold ring holding a bulbous diamond is squeezed onto his right ring finger.
Angevine sees the white guy's irritation and she shrugs slightly. Malvia sees him but ignores him.
There are plenty of stools at the counter, but there's an unoccupied booth toward the back and directly diagonal from the wonderful man. Angevine lightly grasps the lapels of her jacket and moves them just a bit, up and down. The fabric rubs reassuringly over her holstered pistol.
Angevine slightly nods toward the booth, Malvia concurs with a glance and they slide into opposite sides, with Malvia facing the front door, and Angevine the back door.
The waitress, a white woman in her early 30s, with long brown hair pinned-up in back and a broad strong face, follows right behind them with menus and the glass coffee pot. Her name tag says "Kathy" and she smiles at the two handsome Asian men while holding out the coffee dispenser expectantly, Malvia nods toward their cups, and she fills them as she asks:
"How are you two fellas this morning?"
Angevine thinks she's pretty and wonders how much dykery goes on in small towns like this. Malvia is not impressed, knows her girlfriend is, and smiles to herself as she picks up her menu and answers:
"Real good."
"Alright. I'll be back in a minute to take your orders."
Angevine is all big smiles and answers with her best casual guy attitude.
"Thanks, honey."
Malvia smirks playfully.
The waitress smiles again and leaves, both of them watch her. Angevine raises her voice enough to be heard by the departing service employee.
"Dude, she's cute ... for a white girl."
Malvia dismissively smirks as her right foot slowly reaches under the table and taps her partner's left foot. They both smile.
Malvia lights a cigarette. There's no ashtray on their table. The closest one is on the counter a foot or so to the right of the white man. Malvia stands and walks the few steps to the counter. She meets the man's eyes, steady and flat. Her lips sneer ever so slightly as she says:
"Hello."
His eyes bulge a little bit more. Malvia takes it all in, nods friendly-and-threatening, and sits back down.
Angevine, unaware of Malvia's new friendship, is again delineating all the necessary steps in the day's job. The housing development on the edge of town they cased yesterday. All the houses are pretty close together, but this job is all about creating illusions and shifting what people believe they see. For instance, their disguises in the waiting car behind the appliance store. Dresses and wigs; nice long girlie-hair wigs, and well-padded push-up bras. All in the trunk ready for them to change into.
It's been so long since Angevine or Malvia wore woman's clothes they'd had to bring some femmes along to Nordstrom to pick the right clothes. The thought of wearing that gear, dresses, wigs, low pumps, makes Angevine's skin crawl, but it's the perfect screen to project the whole event on, the actual killing.
Malvia lightly kicks her girlfriend, Angevine sits up, ready to complain when a sudden shadow protrudes over their table. The women look up, no concern or surprise, just casual walls of butch. The man from the counter is standing right up against their table. He lays both hands out flat on the table.
Malvia is very tempted to smash her cigarette out on one. Angevine's trigger finger is doing the twitch it gets when a situation might call for some shooting, but as much as she might enjoy popping this guy and probably most of the fucks in this place, she relaxes. She's not gonna get paid to carnage up this place. The two women look at each other.
The big man works his tongue at a bit of bacon between his teeth.
"How are you fellas this mornin'?"
"Real good. Anything we can help you with?"
"Well, I was just wondering how you're enjoying America?"
The two women can't help smiling. With a mischievous glint Malvia answers:
"Not bad. Not bad at all."
"Yeah, yeah. Good stuff."
Angevine wants to go on, but stops herself. Nothing gained by starting a real fight. Not getting the reaction he wants, the guy draws himself up to his full height, and intones in a slow measured voice:
"I remember Pearl Harbor...."
When neither Asian man responds he frowns and says a little more loudly.
"I remember Pearl Harbor ... and all the boys we lost to you fucking Japs on Battan and Guadalcanal! I stood on the porch of my daddy's house and cried when I heard what you'd done to us at Pearl Harbor...."
Malvia smiles politely, encouragingly. Both women are fascinated, knowing this show is probably going to be worth the trip right here.
"And now, you bring your goddamn crappy cars into our country and cheat us out of our money! Your stinkin' Toyotas, Hondas and Hyundais!"
He looks back and forth, from Asian face to Asian face. Finally Angevine politely says:
"The Japanese don't make Hyundais. Hyundais are Korean-made."
The man is silent, his jaw locked in growing frustration. Several other patrons of the cafe are taking in the confrontation like a sporting event. The owner/cook is standing behind the counter curiously watching. Kathy, the waitress, is nervously shifting from foot to foot, looking from her boss to the regular who is harassing her two new customers. Angevine raises her voice to a louder baritone to let all the redneck rubberneckers hear better.
"Besides, what's wrong with Hyundais? I had a Hyundai for five years. Never had any real problems with it."
The man's only response is to raise his hands as if testifying in church. Malvia smiles again, nodding in agreement with her girlfriend's wise car opinion.
"You couldn't beat us in a fair fight so you stab us in the back with your economy, that the US of A helped rebuild. Dumping all that Sony crap on us and your stinkin' ... Hondas!"
Angevine starts in on another comeback, but he keeps going.
"Why are you two in this town anyway?! We don't like Japs anymore then we do Spics.
"We shoulda never a let you Slanties outta those camps we put you in during the war."
His eyes get narrow and he leers:
"Shoulda learned something from Hitler. Put some showers in those camps."
Now Angevine is getting irritated. She holds his glare and says:
"We're not Japanese, we're Korean ... American."
The man cuts in:
"Don't fuckin' lie to me motherfucker!"
The waitress finally overcomes being intimidated by this long-time customer and tugs on his right sleeve. She gives Angevine and Malvia this mortified look seeking empathy from them. Angevine smiles back at her. Malvia chuckles, crosses her right leg over left knee so her Walther is near at hand, and lights another cigarette.
The man won't move and so the waitress pleads:
"Randy, now you leave these nice boys alone."
He shakes her grip loose and shakes his head and sputters spittle across the table:
"We don't want you in Tucumcari!"
Malvia exhales a large cloud of cigarette smoke into his face as Angevine smiles again and asks:
"Having a pretty bad day?"
"Not until you Japs came in here. I'm a respected businessman. I'm an American!"
He crosses his arms over his chest.
The owner/cook has come out from behind the counter waiting to see what happens. The waitress glances at Joe, her boss, and again tries to get Randy away from the booth.
"Ain't it time Larry's gonna be expectin' you back at the lot? He's gonna be wantin' to get himself some breakfast."
That doesn't work so the waitress turns and looks pleadingly at Joe. He doesn't do or say anything. In frustration Kathy raises her voice.
"Randy Parker! These guys ain't done nothin' to you, or anyone else in Tucumcari. Now come on, sit down!"
Desperately she adds:
"I'll give you some of that rhubarb pie you like...."
At the mention of possibly free pie being given out Joe frowns and steps in.
"Is there some problem, Randy?"
"Well, I'm not the problem here...."
Joe shrugs and suspiciously eyes the two Asian men. Emboldened by his buddy Joe siding with him, Randy pronounces:
"I'm exercising my right, as an American, to freedom of speech!"
"These two guys say something to you?"
At this the waitress steps up beside her boss.
"They have not done, or said, anything to Randy. They just sat down, haven't even had time to order, and Randy comes over and starts pestering them about being Japanese."
"We're Korean. American."
The owner frowns again at Angevine and Malvia.
"Well, get their orders."
He takes hold of the irate superpatriot's elbow.
"Either sit down and eat, or git on back to your dealership. Can't have you upsetting the other regulars."
He chuckles and others in the cafe join in.
Randy shakes his elbow free.
"I lost my appetite. I ain't eating in the same place as ... them."
He gives the two women one last long glare, turns and heads with Joe to the front of the cafe. Kathy follows the two men toward the cash register with Randy's check.
Malvia, facing front, can see him continuing to bad-mouth them to Joe who is manning the register. The owner nods and they both look toward the Asian intruders and see Malvia staring back at them. The angry white man snatches up his change and stalks out.
Kathy walks back to their booth with short nervous steps.
"Listen, fellas, I am so sorry 'bout that. I mean, Randy Parker is usually the soul of friendliness. I didn't realize he has so many ... hard feelings against, uh, Japanese...."
Angevine shrugs casually as she lights a cigarette and then says:
"I tried to tell him, we're both Korean."
"Well, we don't get too many Orientals coming in here. And, Randy's got a GM dealership nearby ... it ain't been doin' too well these last coupla years."
The waitress looks for agreement from Angevine and Malvia. Getting no reply she hurries on:
"Korean you say? You both speak English real well. On vacation in America?"
"We're Korean-American. Both of us were born in Seattle...."
"Seattle?! Really? My sister and her family are near Seattle. Renton, just south of Seattle. You know Renton?"
"Sure."
Malvia flashes on sitting in a car all night in a Renton cul-de-sac waiting for some jerk to get home, and him not showing until the summer sun was starting up over the split-level houses. And then moving up quick and quiet over the dewy front lawn and popping him there on the front steps as he was fiddling drunkenly with his keys. Renton, what a piss-hole.
Kathy is still all smiles and prattling on:
"I've been up there a couple times to see Lisa, Ted and the kids. One time we went and saw that hydroplane race they have, you know, in the summer, for Seafair."
Kathy grins, so happy to get out of the problem of a few minute ago and back into her usual comfortable chatter with customers.
"You headed back to Seattle?"
"No. Las Vegas after some business in Phoenix."
"Vegas! There's a fun town. What's your favorite casino? Which hotel you stayin' in?"
"Probably the Montecarlo."
"Sounds great!"
For a moment she stands there reveling in memories of her own trips to Las Vegas. Malvia clears her throat and Kathy returns to earth and winks conspiratorially and confidentially says:
"But, Randy's right about them Japanese runnin' around acting like they own the place. I saw lots of Japs in Seattle. And they was all over Vegas...."
She nods her head, waiting for them to agree. Being Korean both women have things they could chime in about what the Japanese had done to Korea, but neither of them are inclined to fuel this line of bullshit.
Malvia hands her the menu.
"I'm ready to order...."
"Oh, sure honey, shoot."
Malvia and Angevine don't look at each other, but both smile.
"Chicken sandwich and apple pie."
"Huevos Rancheros."
Kathy heads off to put their order in and Malvia slumps back in the booth.
"Shit. If Dad caught me not saying something against the Japanese he'd smack me."
"I just did not want to go down that road with her."
"Yeah."
Angevine turns and watches Kathy walk away.
"But I wouldn't mind going down another road with her."
"Balls. Look how tan she is. Then think about the tan line...."
Both women fake a shudder.
Kathy returns with their food. She's composed herself, determined that these guys aren't gonna go away without liking at least one person in Tucumcari. And the shorter guy is kinda cute, for an Oriental....
"By the way, my name's Kathy."
"Hi, Kathy. I'm Johnny, that's Ray."
"Great."
Big smile.
"I hope you don't think I'm being a jerk if I ask ya to say something for me in Chinese."
Malvia answers in rough Korean:
"I don't speak Chinese."
Angevine smiles at Kathy and says in more fluent Korean:
"I don't speak 'Chinese' either. But, I'd gladly eat your pussy 'til you holler like the Devil."
Kathy's all smiles, but sort of uneasy because she can see from Angevine's roving eyes that something was said about her.
"Whadya say?"
"Hard to translate exactly into English, but, like, you're the nicest waitress we've had on our business trip."
"Well, thank you, Ray! Oh, I forgot to ask you Johnny, did you want lettuce and tomato on that chicken sandwich?"
"Sure. And mustard, please."
One more round of smiles and the waitress walks back to the kitchen.
It's just before nine and the sun is well into its relentless burning part of the day. Malvia strides out of the cafe with Angevine right behind her. Both stop and light cigarettes checking up and down the sidewalk and road. No angry white man.
"Shit, I thought that was gonna get ugly. And I don't just mean the food."
"Ugly? It got ugly. And not just the food. Fuckin' kae dhong sae khi dul. It would have got pretty if we repainted the place in their blood."
"But, please note: they weren't in our face because we're queer. It's us being yellow cake that set them off. Nothing we can do about that. But, they totally believed we're guys. Totally."
"They definitely only saw what they wanted to see."
"Yeah, way easy. Like hypnotizing chickens."
They both laugh as they get in the car.
"Finally, the fun part of the day."
"Yeah, except the girlie disguises."
"Ah, even that'll be fun. Secret agent man stuff."
"Secret agent chick stuff."
"Whatever."
Angevine looks at her wristwatch.
"Jimmy should have the store open, and our car out back."
"And the room so we can change into our wigs, dresses and ... 'panties' ... what a stupid word."
"Can't we just wear our boxers?"
"You're the one that picked the short short dresses...."
Angevine sighs as she pulls out into west-bound traffic. Malvia grabs her girlfriend's thigh and says excitedly:
"Time to see a man about putting bullets through his head! And you know you love the bullet-hole-in-his-head part ... panties and all...."
They high-five and laugh and the car accelerates and they head across town.
Between a GM dealership and a Denny's, they pass an empty lot strewn with trash and packed with holes that prairie dogs duck in and out of. There are a few small clouds here and there lost overhead in the now deep blue sky.
And it's still early enough to get plenty of stuff done.
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If you liked Hypnotizing Chickens, I have another free eshortstory, The Carnage Motel, available from all ebook retailers.
Also, look for the ebook of my novel, No Aloha at Smashwords and all other ebook retailers.
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