CH 17: KISSING RED MADONNA

The second to last thing Verge Fountainebleute did on this earth was lock lips with Red Madonna. He followed her out to the deck behind the club and lit her cigarette. He took the cigarette from her before she could take the first puff and threw it in the harbor. He kissed her for all he was worth. He kissed her so that she would stay kissed for all eternity.

"You choose me over powerful politician's beautiful daughter? I heard your wealthy mother insist you dance with girl or else," Red Madonna could not believe her luck.

"I choose you over everyone and everything. Oh my love, I choose you," Verge became his own man at last. In spite of the language barrier, he quickly confessed to Red Madonna that he was not the man he used to pretend to be.

"I'm just meeting you, so I have not the pleasure to meet the men you used to be but not really," she complained. 

"And you never will! I am not my mother's son! I am not my sister's brother!" Verge spilled the beans as fast as he could before Red Madonna had to go back on stage for the last set. He told her how the Countess was a total fraud. She used to be the cleaning woman of Jules Verne, the writer who invented science fiction. At first she only borrowed his time machine to satisfy her greed, but her greed only grew bigger. She ended up stealing the time machine and began ransacking time, never satisfied, always wanting more. When she learned that Merlin had first invented the time machine, she went back in time and made him her flunky.

"This is a lot. I am dedicating new song to you about half of these things you are telling me for big song finale tonight. I am writing in my head as you speak," Red Madonna confessed her overwhelming distraction.

"The self-proclaimed "Countess" kidnapped me in the 1930's, then she kidnapped a sister for me from the 1960's. She brought us to 2001 to help her become the ruler of California! We began in Manhattan Beach. Ordinarily they don't like strangers in Manhattan Beach, but they welcomed her. She took care of an embarrassing need and she was discreet. She satisfied the need quickly, without fuss. The business of exporting the homeless was relatively new and the "Countess" had the means to corner the budding market.

Her first job was a homeless man who had the habit of taking a nap inside the public library. He liked to read and then sleep as long as they would let him. Sleeping in the library during the day was safer than sleeping on the street at night, not to mention the heating and air-conditioning, the restroom and the water fountain. He snored rather loudly. A wealthy man might have gotten away with it but he smelled bad.

For a reasonable fee, the "Countess" got rid of this embarrassing man without creating a scene. No one asked how she did it, they were just thrilled with the results.

Her second "export" was an annoying married couple. They were not homeless but they had the audacity to put on puppet shows on the pier that often insulted money. Mr. and Mrs. Merci had committed the unforgivable crime of making fun of money. They disappeared without a trace. The powers that be sighed with relief and soon the Countess found her dance card was full.

The thing the beach cities cherished most about Countess Fountainebleute's work was that there was no fallout. No one wanted the sort of backlash that this sort of business usually generated. The countess never failed. There were no returns. The communities sparkled and became more and more perfect. The undesirables simply vanished and unlike the programs which PAID the homeless to disappear, the Countess had a set up which allowed her to pocket 100% of the money. And it wasn't against the law. There was no law in this virgin territory. Transporting the homeless to the future was unheard of. In no time she added barking dogs. Real redwoods and palm trees vanished to make way for muddy-olive-green fake trees with panels jutting out of them. Whatever needed to go, went." Verge came up for air.

"Not to disrupt, but please a kiss to break my leg singing my new song about you, darling," Red Madonna laid one on him and then backed into the nightclub throwing kisses at Verge until she tripped on the amplifier wiring.

Mr. Greenpants Le Roux emerged from shadows sporting a kitchen knife he stole from the restaurant.

~ To Be Continued ~ 

CH 16: MR. GREEN PANTS LE ROUX | CRAZY AND DECKED IN FINERY

Toi qui,comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es est entree;
Toi qui forte, comme un troupeau
De demons, vins ,folle et paree

                             ~Charles Baudelaire

Le Roux tried to blend into the crowd while he imagined what he would say to the countess. It would have to be brief and very good. She had keen reflexes. That was one of many traits he adored in her but tonight it seemed to be working against his cause.

He was hardly noticed in the crowd that was mesmerized 
by RED MADONNA AND THE RED MADONNAS. No one batted an eye when he exhibited crustacean behaviours from force of habit. He had, after all, been a scavenger longer than he had been a man and these transitions could make anyone forget how to behave under the circumstances. He was busy eating the lint from his bellybutton but spit it out quickly when he realized it wasn't organic and no one else was doing it.

Meanwhile on the sports fishing pier, Petunia just about had enough. She had waited for what seemed like an eternity. The crab stood her up. She searched the wharf in vain for Mr. "green pants" Le Roux and then marched off to check the bedpan in the bay window just in case Le Roux had become his old self again.

Petunia was just about to give into frustration and go tell Dr. OMG what she'd done and how everything went wrong. She decided to tidy up first, emptied the bed pan and hid the Dom Perignon bottles so that she would not be bogged down in too many explanations. It was then that she glanced out of the alcove window and saw her brother being murdered by Mr. Green Pants, aka Henry Merci, occupied by the horrid Louis Le Roux V.

~ To Be Continued ~

CH 15: TWAIN AND TESLA FIND A FLOATER

"As I was saying, you talk as if you believe we live in a literate society! I'm prepared to pay these young men to conduct an opinion poll, starting with them! Boys, what does the name painted on this boat make you think of?" Dr. OMG nodded at his good friend Bart and winked at the boys, sure that his point was about to be made.

"The deceitful, self-aggrandizing wretch who was sentenced to rolling a boulder uphill for eternity," 12 year old Tesla blurted without thinking.

"Ah, er, what I meant was, what might most people accidentally think of a boat named Sisyphus?" Dr. OMG cringed at Tesla and looked hopefully to 12 year old Mark Twain.

"Well, I could see how someone in a hurry might mistakenly think of the frenzied oracular utterances of the Greek prophetesses, the Sybils of the Oracula Sibyllina, written in Greek hexameters," Twain mused.

"It could happen," Tesla agreed.

Dr. OMG was so blindsided he dropped the can of paint on his toe and hopped around the deck on one foot. Bart Gusto laughed so hard that his folding chair collapsed underneath him.

"That's definitely Merlin, but he ain't right," Tesla elbowed Twain and showed him the device that was blinking because the man hopping before them had a constitution that matched the hair from Merlin's cave.

"Come here!" Twain dragged Tesla to the taffrail of the stern and pointed at a dead body floating in the harbor.

~ To Be Continued ~

CH 14: PLAN B | GETTING READY FOR LOVE

Le Roux regained consciousness on the sand under the pier. He still occupied Henry Merci's shell and it was smarting like hell from the blow he'd received from the love of his life, Countess Victoria Von Van Dee De La Fountainebleute. 

"Perhaps I should have spruced up before I declared my love. I shall make the necessary repairs to win her!" Le Roux was more determined than ever.

First he barged into Ivana's IVANA CUT YOUR HAIR salon and demanded a fetching do. He was drawn to the style a fellow in a magazine was sporting and asked about it. He hated the silky hair he had inherited from Henry Merci. It fell into his new face and hampered his vision. The fellow in the magazine had great blue spikes that stood straight up and seemed to please him.

"Can you see through the tips when they are arranged that way?" He asked Ivanna. She wasn't sure what he meant.

"If someone sit behind you at the opera, they can probably still see the opera. Or they can move. I don't know." Ivanna had never been asked this question before so she had to think on the spur of her toes.

Le Roux grew even more impatient. Time was moving with wicked speed and he had to rescue his proud dream from the rocks.

"Well then, bother it all! Shave my head and be done with it!" he snapped since he couldn't see thru the tips of his hair when they pointed down and no one could tell him if he would be able to see through them if they were stationed up.

Le Roux was so rude they mistook him for a rich man and did what he said. When his head was clean shaven he looked in the mirror and out of habit spit. Then he ran out without paying the bill or leaving a tip.

He repeated this behaviour in various shops up and down the pier until nearly everyone wished they could get their hands on him.

Marcel was the only one who didn't light out after Le Roux. He simply reported the incident to the pier police and allowed them handle it.

"Did the perpetrator have any identifying marks," the officer inquired.

Marcel informed the officer that there was a broken heart tattoo with the name "Vicky" right in the middle of the young man's forehead. Marcel had just finished putting it there at the young man's request.

"That helps," the officer put on his helmet and as he walked toward his bicycle, Marcel called out.

"Officer, you didn't ask me what his name was," Marcel complained.

"You know his name?" the officer squinted.

"Everybody knows Henry Merci, the pier gondalier," Marcel squinted back.

~ To Be Continued ~