Chapter 31 - Bermuda IV

   Its really nice to be in paradise. Or, someplace where its so damn close, its functionally equivalent. There I go again. Functional equivalency. Another phrase I picked up off of my precious Wizzy. Its just one of those perfect sounding phrases. I love to drop that one. It just sounds so... authoritative and professional.

   Its even nicer, to find that The Devil himself, really isn't. He's one of the good guys. One of the few left, really. At least in his world. Its been a little while. The bear? Long gone. I'm into the worm and its capabilities now. The bear was a head high. Pleasant, racing thoughts. A gentle lift, a general sense of well being. It only makes you paranoid, if you don't expect the racing thoughts and aren't used to it. A first timer? Might freak. But an old head like me, well. It just feels good.

   The worm, though. It came on slow, and kept on coming. Its a deep body rock. Deep, warm, gentle throbs. I call intense body rock like that? Flashcubes. Sort of a rhythmic... poof, poof, poof, poof. It sort of shows up in your vision, and it sort of doesn't. You feel like you're taking time lapse pictures, not taking in steady video. Not really though. It just feels like that.

   There's a head component to the worm as well. Instead of the racing thoughts, its more of a series of pictures that flash through your mind's eye. There's a lot of them, and they reoccur. Like a stack of photos, being flipped through. Over and over again. One photo goes out now and again, and sometimes a new one is in there. You can concentrate on the stack of flipping pictures, and see some.

   If you try to concentrate on something, you think you can't, but you sort of can. You wonder what the significance of things that pop into your head really is. This is where potheads sit around, and try to famously... describe, the indescribable. When the person right there, with you, really gets what you're tying to convey? You share that smile, that nod. Maybe a shared... whoa.

   Its the super enjoyable point of it all. In the group? All of us on worms get the giggles and do silly things. We appear drunk to the people drinking. Little Lightning left some air out of the inestimable Teddy Ball. So me and her can have some nostalgic soccer fun. No way we can boot Teddy hard. With enough air out? He's safe to boot around barefoot.

   Light already entertained us all with a lot of juggling, while he was still hard. Knees and head and shoulder tops only, she would hurt her bare feet. She demonstrated how she could stand on him, rock straight. Naturally no one else can. They roll off and bite sand after bouncing off of him. She was a trained dancer young, for years. Go figure when the worm hits, she's entertaining us with some dance moves.

   She loves a new audience. The couples, the honeymooners and the re-honeymooners. They discovered that they can show her practically any video clip off the internet, and she can just... do it. Usually better then the person in the video. She's a little heartbroken she can't try surfing. There's no surf this time of year here. She once traded for a snowboard when she hit college. Doing tricks on snow ramps in no time. Never got hurt once. The dancer's agility and the supreme grace it bestows.

   She's squealing happy, when she learns one of the several decks of the ship? Well, there's one regular dance hall. Francois calls it a disco. But? There's on another level, at the other end... what people nicknamed the old people's dance hall. Ballroom dancing. Her face lit up like a night light. She can't wait to do a little ballroom. She excitedly explained how that was in a lot of the old black and white movies that had dancing. We got to see a couple dozen seconds each of some tango, minuet, ballet.

   She won't just stand around and do what she refers to as... stripper moves. That's not dancing to her, that's just a cheap hooker who won't fuck you and still wants all your money. Her colorful words, not mine. Panic rolled around laughing, he loved that one. He had a comeback, too. He asked her. Do you even know the origin of the word... stripper? Of course Little lightning said, no. He said, its Latin... for coke whore.

   Even the people not on a worm cracked up for that one, although to be perfectly fair? The worm crowd laughed the most. My god, I haven't had this much fun, since... since... well? Since a good old fashioned pot brownie stay at home party back in college.

   I've naturally had edibles before, but... I didn't know you can get worms, like this. Francois had a new audience, for his highly colorful and entertaining Allah the monkey stories. He swapped some out, and added one in that I found particularly hysterical.

   Little Allah was of course running around, stealing things. Anything he steals? He brings it back to Francois. I never have and never will see little Allah? He sounds positively adorable with all his antics. And you can't help but feel bad for the smart little monkey, that for whatever reason? The other monkeys drove him out of their troop, and even came to hurt him for making a friend.

   So Francois is describing how him and the wife, are enjoying the privacy of the little cabana. Little Allah wasn't a huge fan of sex. He would screech at the wife, that was his friend, not hers. He said, you quickly get used to a furry little man screeching and jumping around the whole time you're making love. Kind of like applause, for a great performance.

   If little Allah runs off, they like to get a quickie in. Make hay while the sun is shining, so to speak. Now, Allah is liable to bring absolutely anything to him, and at any time. So, they have the door closed. Because they're kicking it. They hear Allah is back, and he knows they're doing it. So? He's pitching his usual fit.

   But, its a monkey. They're smart. He just scoops sand out from under the door, and? Voila. He's in. No idea where he got it, or how, but... he's wielding a rubber dick. He's now screeching and jumping and doing flips, and beating things around the cabana room, with this rubber dick. Francois said you can't keep from laughing, its so damn funny.

   When he takes little Allah out? Allah must have something with him. His cellphone, or... now he likes to carry the rubber dick around. For breakfast? Allah screeches and beats the table with this rubber dick, until he gets his bananas and fruit like he's gotten used to. At the cabana bar? He does the same thing, until he gets his peanuts and pistachios. And? Allah likes to get drunk with him.

   The wife describes its ridiculous. She comes out of the cabana one morning, there they are. Another "stolen" moped laying on its side. Francois laying there passed out, and Allah curled up against him sleeping. They both have hangovers, and they're both moaning and complaining half the day. She has to feed both of them, and give them water.

   After extending his stay far longer than planned, Allah is following him around. Like he's learned what luggage packing is for. He clings to Francois, his new best friend, and won't leave him. The shuttle driver back to the airport? Said this happens sometimes. What you do is, you put fruit into a cat carrier. The monkey goes in. You close the cage door. Then? You put the cage out before you board your plane and take off. The driver will let the monkey go. They're protected animals, and its illegal as hell to hurt them or steal them.

   Francois? Said fuck this. Hurt him? My French ass, I fought in the damn monkey wars, to protect him. I leave him there? The other monkeys are going to kill him. Vladimir had a few drinks in him by now, and gave a resounding "fuck, government!", which of course made everyone crack up.

   So. Francois said it was easy. They have no air force, with which to shoot his plane down. They board the plane, they get ready to gun the throttles and take off. Francois walks out, with the cat carrier he was given. He sets it down carefully, and waves to the shuttle driver. Then? They take off.

   We're all sad. Poor little Allah.

   "I am, what. Stupid? Crazy, yes. But, stupid? No. I put down, empty cage. And Allah flies away with me."

   Oh my god. The pilots were mildly concerned. Because the monkey was storming the cockpit. Menacing them with a rubber dick in one hand, and a cell phone in the other. The monkey is walking around, trying to push buttons to see what happens. The courtesy lights? Fine. But, the cockpit instrumentation? Not so much.

   Apparently, Francois had already taught little Allah to shit in a bucket. Because otherwise, he usually shit in the sand, and covered it up. Which on the beach was one thing, but inside the cabana? Not so wonderful. Francois said he forgot about the bucket, but the monkey decided the ice bucket on the drink cart? Was for his use. Oh yeah. Allah was taught to shit in a bucket? By Francois. He used the bucket, in the cabana, several times. Until Allah got the idea. Monkey see? Monkey do.

   "You must, be understand. These, ice bucket? It is, expensive. It is, solid silver. I no can throw it away. And so? I hate one man, and I give it to him, as the gift. He is very happy. He does not know, to this day? Every time, he make a drink, with ice, from this expensive bucket? He drink, the shit of my little monkey."

   We lost it.

   The wife complains about Allah. He's basically an alcoholic. From stealing drinks off of tourists for years. They weaned him down, to a little bit of beer every day. The wife complained more. The monkey? Is a bad influence. He steals everything, and brings it to Francois. Anything in the office? Because naturally the monkey has the run of the office building. Everyone soon knows. If its gone, go look in Francois's office.

   A security guard was asleep at his post? Allah stole his flashlight, pen, hat, everything. Francois said it was ridiculous. What are we paying the security guard for, anyways. A damn monkey can get past him, and even steal his stuff off him while he's supposed to be working.

   We're all going to piss our pants laughing.

   "Thank, the god? That guard, does not have, the gun. Or, I do not like to think, about these thing. Drunken monkey, loaded gun? Can not, be good thing."

   We now can't stand up.

   Some foreigner, had an illegal peanut vendor cart across the street. Francois took Allah on his shoulder for lunch every day, and the monkey got peanuts. But. Now, the monkey knows where he gets peanuts from. Francois opens the window, the monkey climbs down. And waits, watching. He darts in, steals a bag of peanuts. Holds it in his mouth and runs around screeching. Then, climbs back up the building, and in the window, and back into Francois's office. They eat stolen peanuts together.

   Francois returned to the story of the foreigner shitting in his doorway, of the high rise building he works in. He's screaming at the man.

   "You! I have, little monkey. He? Knows to shit, in the toilet. Why, is the monkey, more smart, than you!"

   "I want to, what. Send this... shit, man? Home. Can I get more monkeys, to replace him? The monkeys, are the less trouble."

   This is around the time Yuri arrives. We already know, Yuri is a former Russian mobster businessman. Who has been turned, and is now an investor in the investment group. Francois leaves this choice tidbit out, because we're in mixed company.

   He asks Yuri. Can he fix the shitting in the doorway problem. Francois does not speak Russian. Yuri, does not speak French. But, they both speak half decent English. Francois, in his French accent, is imitating the rich Russian accent. Yuri says... "I fix."

   Vladimir takes over. He's Yuri's assistant. He gets this, wait for it, shit job. I know, ha ha. At first, Vladimir decides to use the fire hose. He describes this huge, real fire hose. The kind you get the glass open, and break the seal. You take the big hose out. You turn the wheel, and the hose inflates. Then, you crack the lever, and... you get serious high pressure water.

   Vladimir has never used one of these in his life. He doesn't realize that when you turn the wheel? This giant hose is going to straighten out, with gigantic force. The large metal nozzle almost killed the sleeping security guard, whipping around. It took a few things out, in the foyer.

   But, he now has the pressure to handle the shit problem. He sends not only the shit across the street, but... apparently the newspaper vending machine into the middle of the street as well. Now, he has a handle on how to use the fire hose. He also gets in the habit of waking up the sleeping security guard? To man the wheel, only when the hose is out. Safety first.

   He decides its great fun to try to aim this like a game, and try to send the little metal newspaper vending machine? Careening into the peanut vendor's cart. Fuck him, its an illegal vendor anyways. Anyone but a foreigner tries that? The police arrest and fine them and confiscate their cart.

   Vladimir now has another catch phrase. "Fuck, foreigners", naturally. I mean, one is shitting in the entrance to a nice office building, and he's basically cleaning up after this asshole every day. The inherent humor, that a Russian man, living and working in Paris, is fed up with the foreigners? Is too rich in irony for any of us not to roll around holding our tummies. The drunks as well as the worms, by this point.

   So? Every day. The asshole comes to take a shit. The peanut vendor has learned. He moves his cart down the street, as soon as the man takes his daily shit. Because he loses his cart of peanuts otherwise. Vladimir now has some aim with his fire hose. Vlad relates though. After a certain period of time? The street shit foreigner, is basically in charge. He? The man in the nice building, with the nice suit. Is cleaning up after him, like his servant.

   "I have degrees, from big university. I am assistant, to big businessman. Clearly, this is not going to last, forever. Something? Must give. But? I must show focus, and dedication."

   Finally, Vladimir has had it. He can time this man's shit, practically. He's now waiting on him. He has the security guard in on it.

   "Drink much coffee. You? Will be awake, this lunch. You? Will be of help. For once."

   So now, they're both waiting. Hiding, fire hose at the ready. As soon as the guy drops his pants and squats? Vladimir kicks the door open, knocking the man down. In his own shit, naturally. Then? He yells to hit the pressure.

   He now sends, out into the busy Paris street? The shit. The foreigner leaving the shit. The man has his pants around his ankles. The fire hose is knocking him around, and he's all skinned up from both the pavement, and the water is actually dangerous to human skin. Also, the poor newspaper vending machine, who didn't do a thing to anybody, ever? Gets sent out. It takes out the guy trying to get his pants up and get away. The peanut vendor, is who he thinks ratted him out to the Paris police.

   "Fuck, police. Fuck, foreigner."

   Vladimir and Francois take great pains to explain the situation. Magically? No foreigner can ever get so much as fined, let alone arrested? For anything. But. Let any French national try anything. Parking? They're on it, and tow the car. Don't have a license to vend on the street? You get arrested and fined, and your cart confiscated. But foreigners? Not a care in the world.

   So? Nobody, saw a damn thing. The Paris police? Are actually handcuffing any businessman in the general area, at random. Hauling them down to the station, for questioning. They must get to the bottom, of this huge crime. Everyone decides? Tell the truth. It was... ahem... some "foreigner" that did it.

   After all, Vladimir has a thick Russian accent. They're not lying. Surely, this was the end of it. No such luck. This little asshole, is bound and determined. He's going to shit in this doorway, and no other.

   "I have, degree? In psychology. But, even I do not understand. Why. Why, must he shit, in doorway. Or. Why, must it be in my doorway. Go, shit in some other door. Perhaps they will enjoy it. This little man? Can not take the hint."

   So. Vladimir is describing, this little fart of a foreigner. Not much over five foot tall. Can't be a hundred pounds, soaking wet. Vladimir? Is a big guy. Now? The turd wars continue. This guy starts sneaking in, on random schedules. He is determined, he is going to shit here, and its his right. Unfortunately for him, however. Vladimir has "much focus, and dedication."

   "I tell security guard. You? Go. To Yuri's office. You? Sleep there. All day. On couch. Also? Secretary, in lobby. You? Will go in next room. I will have a polite talk. I? Vladimir. Will explain, how to take a shit. In the toilet. Perhaps? This man does not know. It is my duty, to educate him. I have degrees, in Psychology, from large university. Surely, I can educate him."

   We're dying. I can't stand up, and its not just the worm.

   "And so. I, have been hiding. Inside, building. Now? I hide outside. Here he comes. Early. I walk up, and trap him. In large doorway. I do not hurt him. I grab him, and take him in. This? Is toilet. See sign? Picture. Person, taking shit. We go, inside now. I put him, on toilet. I explain. This? Is where you shit. If you do not push lever? Is fine. I do lever. I do not hurt him. I explain it, very thoroughly. Then? I throw him out. This door? Is never locked. Use, that room. Shit in toilet."

   I'm about crying, holding my poor tummy that hurts from laughing now. Surely? But no.

   "I can do? No more. I have tried, everything. Now? We do things the hard way. I get car. I wait. I waste half of day, driving around in circle. Waiting. Francois, and Yuri? Are waving, out window at me honking. Little monkey? Is screeching on window. Even monkey, is furious."

   Christ Almighty.

   "I see him. Again? I get him in doorway. I drag him, by his neck. To car. I put him? In trunk. I tell him. This? Is your last shit, in my doorway. I am all out, of patience. I drive him, for many hours. I stop? In middle, of nowhere. All, woods. I have not seen gas station? In two hours. I open trunk. I let him go. You? Go now. Take shit... anywhere you like."

   Someone has to ask.

   "You didn't, you know. Hurt him? At all."

   "No. Would be, unprofessional. I am, businessman. Well. There, maybe? Was tiny little accident. These things, they happen. I might have, on accident, of course. Closed trunk lid on his body, half out of trunk. But? Was accident."

   We're laughing again.

   "But? Was accident. Only happen, what. Ten, twelve times? Not large deal."

   I'm having trouble breathing, I'm laughing so long so hard now, there's no sound coming out.

   "Now. Here come, Paris police. Where is man, that shits in doorway. You must, appreciate. You can call, Paris police? For anything. But, if you say a foreigner is doing it? They will not come. You call again? They hang up on you. If you call too many times? They do send police. To handcuff you. You get lecture, and fine. For bothering police."

   "And so. Paris police, are... hot, on the case. Of the missing street shit man. They? Must, solve this terrible mystery. I tell them. I? Vladimir. I? Am foreigner, too. And so. I, am very concerned. Look. Here I am. With hose, to clean up shit. I am worried, something may have happened to this poor man. Please. Locate him. Is my job now, to clean up shit. I am so worried. I might not have job now, with no shit to clean."

   We're dying.

   "Aha. I have police, by short hairs, now. I? Am foreigner too. And, you must not say anything, to any foreigner."

   We're tearing up.

   "I say this? With straight face. Comes from, much focus and dedication."

   Is this epic saga over now? No.

   "And so, the final chapter. The peanut man. Foreigner. With, illegal peanut cart. Yuri, and me? We suspect him. Of calling Paris police. I ask Yuri. For guidance. What, should we do. Yuri decides. We will eliminate, peanut man. He? Is problem now."

   Holy shit. Pun not intended, but there you go.

   "And so. I go, and rent box truck. With, big roll up door, in back. We stop. We each grab an arm. We put, peanut man? In back, of box truck. Yuri? Keeps him in there. I? Vladimir. I get cart. With peanuts. I do not steal. I put cart, with peanuts? In back of box truck. With peanut man. We lock rolling door. Me, and Yuri. We take turns, driving. I give him directions. From my phone. I mark spot on phone? GPS. Where I leave, door shit man. We take him there."

   Oh god. I can't take much more of this.

   "We take him. To same spot. We take him, very carefully. Put him, on side of road. And peanut cart. There. We do not steal. Here, are your cart and your peanuts."

   Someone wanted to know. Did he get accidentally? Hurt any. After all. These things, they just happen.

   "Not really. Perhaps, he fell. Getting out of truck. Perhaps, several times. But? I believe, it was being in truck. We had great fun, finding curbs to bounce over, and making sudden turns. We could hear cart, bouncing around. Was great fun."

   And that was the end of the street shit saga. Truly epic.

   "Oh. I found out. On drive home. I? Accidentally. Had one bag of peanuts. I give to monkey."

   Please, no more.

   "And. I had to clean shit? Out of Yuri's trunk. Was nice car. I had to rent, carpet cleaner. Back of truck? Some shit. But? Not bad, I hose this out. Was quick."

   If you've ever eaten a major brownie or two, you know there's a different pacing to it, than simply smoking yourself silly. Smoking, hits your quick. Stays, then tapers off. Even the legendary creeper weed? Okay, you're high quick, you're high... then all of a sudden? Yeah, it creeps up and you're god-smacked. Eating it, isn't like that at all. It takes a while to begin to feel it, and you go up slowly and predictably. It rocks your world, but... there's none of the spastic nature of getting wrecked by smoking too much.

   The quick gummy bear was a great if mild introduction. As it went down to its lingering afterglow, the big worm began to come up. You rise steadily, as it slowly hits your system, and you adjust along with it. On the way up, was the giggling period. If smoking some good stuff gives you the main high period, say 20 minutes of the big high feeling? Eating it is again, a whole different animal. You stay up, for far longer than 20 minutes. A couple of hours, at least. The delectable body rock was intense and enjoyable here. Pulsating waves of warm relaxation sort of softly explode out in rhythms of something compassionate.

   The drunks were in their soft, lay there and smile phase. Little jokes and a few soft stories out of them. Me and my worm crowd, were similar. For the pulsating body rushes, I smiled and liked looking around at people and things. I wasn't anti social at all, but I wanted some slightly alone time. I wanted to be near everyone, but a little off. I sat in the surf, where the soft soaked sand was most comfortable. The light waves came and didn't crash over me, they just sort of caressed and receded. I got my location perfect. I could feel some warm sea come over me, but stop at my neck.

   Panic ambled over and asked softly if I was all right. I treated him to a big smile and giant slow nods of my happy head. He asked my permission to lay near me, and I naturally gave it. Before I knew it, Little Lightning was on the other side of me. They adopted my location and position. We were all introspective now. Gone were the racing thoughts, these were fleeting but slow.

   I went into my council. Panic had taught me to over time get better at it, and I've been doing it for a long time now. I always start with Joan of Arc, she sort of leads my little inner council. She really doesn't speak so much. She's more prone to gesture or use expressions. She does great with yes no questions, for the most part. I have to keep asking questions, until I get her soft little yes nods, and her wistful smile broadens.

   I asked her, if we were doing the right thing. Yes. Was karma similar to following god properly, not religion and church. Yes, I was on a roll. Did god hate me because I lost my religious faith, and adopted spirituality. No. Did god understand, yes. Did she still approve of me, I was overjoyed she did. Was Francois really called by god. Yes. I asked, if Francois would live to old age through this. She shrugged, kind of sat back and regarded me. Then wavered her hand teetering. Maybe, maybe not. She took out a large silver coin and flipped it.

   It could go either way, it was a coin toss on that one. Ouch.

   Could we protect him. Another coin toss, ouch again.

   The big silver coin, looked as if it had been dipped in blood. It dripped now and then. I might not have seen the inside of a church or talked to a priest in many years? I know a talent of silver, blood money, when I see it. If you betray god and Christ to his death for money? You're paid in blood money. Blood silver.

   She usually offers me a sip of wine out of her big metal grail looking chalice. Its some sort of sacrament, somehow, for me to sip it after her. Her grail cup was brass or golden now. She sometimes shows me her sword, if she's in armor. Its shiny and polished. This time? It was brass or golden, and it was covered and dripping in fresh blood. She gazed into my eyes, and let a drop fall into the wine chalice, and gave it to me. She didn't drink her sip, which was odd to me.

   I do these councils with my eyes closed, usually falling asleep. But in my dream like daydream state, I closed my eyes there, too. When I opened them? Young Napoleon Bonaparte was there. The little corporal, not the egotistical emperor. I always imagine the young brilliant Napoleon.

   He talks sometimes.

   He had replaced Joan. He ignored me. For a time. He was sitting slouched down, elbow on the table, head and shoulders curved over to support his chin with his palm. He was regarding a chess board, and moving and playing both sides. He finally looked up at me, and sat up some. He moved his free hand, to indicate the board.

   He was in a bad spot. It looked good for him? Only at the first blush though. He saw it, whatever it was. He has that enigmatic little smile. He always knows something, that you don't know. He finally spoke.

   "You don't see it, do you."

   I shook my head, no. I didn't.

   "You should, you know."

   "Why."

   "Because its right in front of your face, and you don't even see it."

   "What."

   "What you don't see, obviously."

   He's frustrating most of the time, but you know he's a twisted genius.

   "Do you want to win the battle."

   "Of course."

   "Do you want to win the war."

   "Naturally."

   "Because the way the pieces are right now? You think you're winning both. But? You're not going to. Not unless you see it."

   "Give me a hint."

   "I'll give you more than one. One bishop? Is gone."

   "And?"

   He smiled.

   "If you don't want to choose, between winning the battle, or winning the war? I'll give you a piece of advice."

   "Give it."

   "You can't defeat your enemies. Unless. You first eliminate the traitors. Or, at least neutralize them."

   "So, there's more than one."

   He spread his palms out to me, sweeping at the board.

   "There always is. We're playing chess. Not checkers. You? Had better get with it. Quick."

   "Anything else?"

   "You? Are up against a large number, of brilliant imbeciles. Don't ever forget. The object of the game? Is to mate the king. Not, to take all the pieces. Position? Is everything. And remember. I took France over, the first time? With a dozen men. They were armed? With nothing but courage, and pikes. A dozen good men? And I could have issued them pointed sticks, for all they had to use them. I owned France, start to finish? In minutes, not one drop of blood shed. It was position and timing, not raw power."

   Joan stole up behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he touched it without looking. She leaned over his shoulder, and moved a piece. She swept her hand at her move, and he regarded it. He was deep in thought from it, and went back to ignoring me and regarding the pieces again.

   Joan had moved his queen? To the far side of the board. Away from all the other pieces. I thought she was finally going to sip her brass or gold chalice? She was about to, then smiled. She turned it upside down, and put it like that onto the table. Next to the board.

   She winked and blew me a kiss.

   "Joan? I wish you'd give me a hint. But you almost never speak."

   She gave me her trademark wistful, bittersweet smile. She held up her index finger. She put her other index finger, laterally across and behind it. A rudimentary sign of the cross. Like the hilt of any sword she carries has. Blade to handle. She pointed one of those delicate little index fingers at her eye. Her right eye. Panic and Francois's bug on a pin eye. The eye, hooked up to the scientific and logical side of the brain. The thinking man's hemisphere, not the feeling man's hemisphere. She might as well have spoken it aloud. Just watch.

   She reached down and picked up the large bloody silver coin. Held it aloft to me. Its like I can hear her words. She already told me it would be a holy gift, then told me to watch. Now? She's telling me that this, is what to watch. But, not like I would watch. No. Like... Panic would. Scientifically.

   She moved it around a few times. She played peekaboo with it, passing it behind her raised hand, her little knuckles facing me. She switched hands gracefully, did similar with either hand. Easy, graceful movements. Slow and hypnotic, but not mesmerizing. I was watching intently, but... she was smiling, when the peekaboo game ended. She didn't blink, she just narrowed her eyes slowly and widened them. Were you watching carefully enough? Did you see that?

   The large bloody silver coin? It had disappeared. I was anticipating its return, like the moon out from behind the passing cloud that was her hand. It was that graceful. Gone. No moon, no bloody talent of silver. But? Panic does these little tricks, to entertain the boys at the gun range camp. As unimpressive as these opening tricks are though, I know why he does it. His face can't show emotions. His body can't show it. Not naturally. And for him to let his hair down and have a few drinks, and enjoy himself? He looks angry or pissed in deep thought, when he forgets to put on a face mask or a body costume. A few little tricks? No one is noticing his natural robotic face or mannerisms. It allows him to hide in plain sight, and still have a few drinks and a few puffs of pot. Without worrying about them seeing the real him. I guess its really a trick, within a trick. At least the way he uses it.

   But I know this simple trick. The last peekaboo, the coin didn't reappear? Its obviously behind that cloud hand. As surely as the moon isn't gone. When the cloud passes? The moon... reappears, to the delighted child. But I'm no longer a child. I automatically watch the other hand. Because I know his simple trick. He smiles, and shows them all to me.

   So, when she turned the cloud hand around slowly, and wiggled her fingers? To put with her already empty hand... she widened her eyes momentarily. She did his trick? Better. She held the cloud hand up, still palm out to me, the other palm? Reached for Napoleon's hair around his ear, and... nothing.

   The coin was right in her cloud hand. Still palm out, still facing me. She crushed his trick. Then? She slowly closed her delicate little fist barely around the coin, no other hand moving for a cloud, and... went to drop it on the chess board, and... nothing fell. It was gone. She whipped her hands behind one another, rhythmically. It appeared and disappeared in random periodic bursts of prestidigitation, then? The Svengali open fingers, rotating hypnotically in front of her face, all gone.

   She laughed at me with her eyes. She pointed with that same index finger all over again. To the Panic eye. She raised her empty chalice up, it was upside down on the table. With one hand, slowly. She simply lifted, righted it, and handed it to me. The tiny nod. Your sacrament.

   I took her empty cup, and... I sipped. It wasn't full, but it had some in the bottom. Dark red wine. Bitter? No, maybe... salty. I wiped my hand across my lips. I chanced to look down.

   My wipe hand? Was coated in blood. I hurriedly glanced a the chalice. Empty, but... for a single, large, bloody coin.

   She lifted her chin at me, and I got treated to her usual enigmatic smile again. She winked.

   Napoleon, had been studying his chessboard all this time, as if we didn't even exist. He spoke without looking up.

   "She told you nothing? I didn't just tell you. Just open your eye."

   I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them? I was opening my own eyes, and looking at the moon much higher in the sky. Lightning was mumbling something sweet to the inestimable Teddy ball. I rolled over towards Panic.

   He lolled his head over at me, and he had that far away look on his face. I did the human microphone in his ear and neck, and told him all about my more intense than usual council. In long, slow, excruciating detail. We both agreed, that an intense worm session, had created that situation. Still though, we both agreed it might mean something.

   I once was in a quandary, back in college. I asked Teddy Ball, the oracle. Like poor Little Lightning had, when she had no one and nothing for her four year sentence in hell. In the course of talking to him, I sort of gave myself my own cryptic but profound answer. Its how he works. Teddy had taught Little Lightning what she had to do, to escape and make it out of her four year hell she was trapped in. He works, you just have to know how to use him. You ask him, and then you slowly answer yourself. But somehow, some way? Asking the Ball, lets it come out of yourself.

   My council, works much the same way.

   I asked Panic, what he was ruminating on.

   He said, he couldn't get the phrase, sombrero de copa? Out of his head. It was bugging him.

   "Oh, that's great. Napoleon, is giving me hints about the chess game. But you? You're worried about a Spanish lesson."

   "No matter what else I concentrate on? It keeps coming back."

   "There's nothing. Its... just the guy's nickname."

   "I don't know. It reminds me of... zapatos."

   "If you don't start translating? I'm going to smack you one."

   "Fine. You know what a sombrero is, right?"

   "Duh. That stupid big hat, looks like a wicker basket of fruit, but you wear it on your head. I mean, you bought several, in northern Brazil. One for me and you, and the rest for gifts."

   "See? That's just it. And yeah, I call that a sombrero, too. But? Its just like zapatos."

   "Translate? Or get smacked."

   "Okay. Zapatos. Literally? It means... shoes. Donde es, me zapatos. Is asking. Where are, where is... my shoes."

   "Big fucking deal."

   "Yeah, yeah. But? To Americans... zapatos, means a certain k-i-n-d of Mexican shoe. But, that's just to us. To Spanish speaking people? Zapatos, is any shoes. We? Use the word slightly wrong."

   "Okay. What's shoes, got to do with the basket of fruit hat."

   "If I want to have any chance of finding my real devil? His name, was el sombrero de copa."

   "Guy wore a sombrero down there? Wanted the sun off him. It was the fucking equator, Panic."

   "No. Remember, the zapatos translation problem."

   "What's the sombrero problem, then."

   "Same thing, but different. To Spanish speakers... sombrero? Is just... hat. El sombrero, is t-h-e hat."

   The hell's the difference between... hat, or t-h-e hat. They, like, put an el or a la in front of everything."

   "I'm getting there. I'll come back to that. Now. Just like zapatos? All Americans, know a sombrero is the basket of fruit weave hat. But... its just... any hat."

   "You'll get somewhere eventually. But, if I smack you, will you get there quicker?"

   "Now. Remember. El sombrero de copa."

   "Translate."

   "To him? Hat, de means of or from. Copa? Means... top."

   "So. Literally. Hat, of, top."

   "Literally. But, you can't translate too literally, between languages. You have to grasp how they use stuff. In English? We say... the big cat. Spanish speakers, learning English? Have to learn to switch the modifier around, and we have to learn to do vice versa. The big cat? They say, el gato grande. Not... the big cat? They say... the cat big."

   "I'm going to give you a... special papal dispensation? That you don't get my hand upside your head, for just a little while longer. But I gotta warn you, honey. Getting difficult."

   "Thanks. Now. He doesn't use English a lot, and after a few minutes speaking it? He gets better, quick. Now then. The first couple times? He said... we called him? El sombrero de copa. Which, translated properly, and he does speak perfect Spanish, its his native language... that's... the hat, the top one."

   "You said, at first."

   "Yeah. Later on? He's doing better English, and... we're bullshitting, after the gun show. And, he says... shaking my hand. I sincerely hope you find, you're copa sombrero."

   "He switched it."

   "Well, yeah."

   "Is that... significant?"

   "Its bugging me. He does it? When he's better at English, from speaking it a little while. Like, he's helping me get it. I mean, if I was helping out a person that spoke Spanish, but barely did English? I know, to say... the cat big."

   "To help them."

   "Right! Also? Notice. At the same time? He dropped the el. Which is... the."

   "Bottom line this for me. You're, losing me."

   "We called him? El sombrero de copa. The hat, and its the top one. But? When he gets more into the swing of English? He switches. To... copa sombrero. No... t-h-e. And? The modifier, top. In English place. Its like he was saying, the cat big, and switched it to... big cat."

   "The fuck is the significance, of dropping the... el."

   "Not sure. But? He drops it, only when he switches around, like he's helping an English speaker out."

   "I got chess moves and advice from a master tactician to mull over. You? I get a fucking half hour Spanish lesson. You think it could be... like when we say... egg on your face? We don't mean eggs are on your face, it means you're embarrassed."

   "I thought of that, too. That's called idiom. A literal translation will throw you off. Unless you know the phrase. A real interpreter? Knows that, and will tell you, it means... and they'll tell you, your languages phrase that means as close as they can get."

   "What would, idiom be here."

   "Top hat, the hat on top... I was thinking, what. The, head man? The big kahuna. Or, the smart guy? Who knows."

   I mulled it over.

   "Or? Maybe it means... the rich guy. Or, the big business guy."

   "How."

   "Duh. Old time rich guys in a movie? You know, because he wears a tuxedo, and... wait for it... a top hat."

   "Good one, honey. Science girl strikes."

   "Yeah. I really, just cracked the case, huh."

   "You're not hurting. If you don't really speak Spanish, and you just pick out words, from a Spanish-English dictionary, and don't know any better? I would say... grande gato. To mean, big cat. That would be like the Spanish guy saying... the cat, big. They sound like children? But they're not stupid, they're just using the order of words, their way."

   "You're really stuck, on late in the game... he switches the order."

   "And drops... the."

   "Use it both ways. In conversation"

   He calculated.

   "Okay. There's a row of hats up the wall. Which hat do I want to buy. Donde es, el sombrero, ustedes mucho desean. Where is, the hat you really desire. I would say, if it was the hat at the top? El sombrero de copa. The hat, the top one."

   "But, after he gets into the swing of English, he switches. To, just... copa sombrero."

   "Yes. No, the. Just... word by word? Top, hat."

   "Panic?"

   "Yeah..."

   "When is the last time you actually saw, anyone.. actually wearing a fucking top hat. I mean, in the last, 50 to 100 years."

   "Never. Which is why I come back, to it means idiom. Head man, the guy on top. The... smart guy. Something like that. But? He emphasized it, like he was helping me. Not, the hat on top... but... top, hat."

   I kept brainstorming.

   "Sombrero. We think it means, the basket of fruit hat. And... the gunslingers always wear it. I mean, as soon as you see an American cowboy in a movie, and he has that stupid Mexican hat on? You know he's the dangerous gunfighter. Maybe, it means... gunfighter. Or, military guy? I'm poking at idiom. Trying."

   "Hmm. He did say, no names. They just... called him that."

   "He also said, he was probably, an American spy. So, its a code name?"

   "I thought of that, too. When we say, spy? We mean... typically... an undercover CIA secret agent. That's the meaning of, spy? To us. Down there? Everything not in a uniform, discussing behind the scenes shit? Is... American spy. You could, send a goddamn secretary down there, and if she's not in some uniform, and won't use names, discussing a backroom deal of some kind? She is, American spy. To them? Spy.. is more like... anyone that doesn't let you know exactly who they are."

   I giggled.

   "What."

   "You're looking for a CIA agent, who wears a top hat. How fucking hard would that be to find. I mean, sit outside the Langley office? The guy with the top hat, would stick out like a sore thumb."

   "Yeah. Because that would be too easy."

   "We might be going about this wrong. No names, not even first names... I'm thinking code name."

   "How mad are you, that I didn't indulge you in your... chess moves."

   "I never forget a council meeting. Remind me later or tomorrow morning. I want a clear head, and get your input on that. You? Are chess boy. Not me."

   We heard Little lightning erupt in laughter. Honestly, I'd forgotten she was over there. She spoke after she got it down to giggles.

   "Do you guys have, this, like... awesome body rock going on?"

   We both chuckled.

   "Light? We're all laying in the surf, awake but paralyzed. What do you think."

   She snickered.

   "I, was enjoying a wonderful conversation, with my Teddy Ball. How much fun this is, how great this vacation is. He's telling me, how I just might have landed a line, on getting a little documentary project... and, the body rock... mm."

   "Glad you like it."

   "Yeah... thing is?"

   I giggled.

   "What, honey."

   "I came to, and you two? Are just yammering, the most incoherent fucked up shit ever. Spanish spies, Spanish lessons. I'm going to kick the shit out of you guys. For trying to ruin this awesome buzz. Teddy? Is... just having a ball."

   All three of us erupted in laughter at that pun. Light got her giggles under control again before speaking.

   "I have, like, questions and shit."

   "Shoot."

   "We were at a party. What time is it. Are we still going to fuck. I'm not, like, a beach expert? If we fall asleep, will, like.. the... high tide or whatever, drown us, or wash us out to sea? Or, will crabs eat us. What."

   We busted out in giggles again. Not the uncontrollable kind, from before. Manageable giggles.

   "And... you guys got to promise? To start talking English. I mean, I kinda came to? You two are yammering in Mexican. Its, like I bumped the remote control, and the Wizard of Oz... went into Spanish."

   We erupted into chuckles again. Panic got all, sort of logical.

   "We're back in English. I'm pretty sure? Standing up, is possible. We've been here? A couple hours, I think. Judging by the moon location. I'll ballpark that, maybe... two or three in the morning. But, don't take my word on it, on account of we changed latitude and longitude? So, the stars and the moon do slightly different shit. I don't hear the party? But, it was close. The tide, I'm no expert either, but... it wont be like a fucking Tsunami or anything, we'll be able to crawl away from a high tide if it comes in anyways. Crabs? If you start to feel pinching, just roll or crawl in the opposite direction."

   Light was more practical.

   "Sorry I asked. We crawl over, and Elise had a cell phone. Or, one of the drunk honeymooners probably has one laying out. Get the time off that."

   We giggled, and all managed to get up. We swooned and did arms over shoulders, like the three musketeers. The fire was down to embers. One guy and the girl next to him? Had passed out, his one hand down her bikini bottom front, the other on her tit under her T shirt. The drunks were all scattered about. One was babbling incoherently, and another was babbling more incoherently back. It was the kind of conversation? Only those two that got hammered together, could make out the ultra-slurred word fragments.

   Lightning stared at the hands down the bikini and under the shirt guy.

   "On the one hand?"

   I interrupted her.

   "On the one hand, her twat. On the other hand, her boob."

   We all chuckled, and the two drunks babbled and chuckled in their slurred rum language. Lightning continued.

   "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by my Spanish teachers... On the one hand, I hope that's his wife. But on the other hand? Lets go do that."

   I looked around.

   "No Francois. No Elise, no little French girlfriend all over her."

   We all giggled again. Light went at it again.

   "Good for Elise. So far? She's the only one getting laid. I want that taken care of, guys."

   Panic giggled.

   "I'll see what I can do. I ain't promising anything."

   Light snickered.

   "Just get it up. I can lay on you and wiggle around with headphones on. You assholes will probably start with the Spanish shit again. You guys keep that crap up? Me and Teddy Ball, are gonna make up our own language? And start using it. See how you like it."

   Panic laughed.

   "Sounds moderately sexy. Try that."

   A trio of giggles.

   Panic had an announcement.

   "Okay. I have good news, and bad news."

   "Just do both. I wanna get laid, not fuck around."

   Which struck us all as funny. Worms? Still active.

   "Well. Good news, I found a cellphone. It says, going on 3:30 in the morning."

   Light laughed.

   "Thanks for clarification. I could have thought it was three and a half in the afternoon, asshole. What's the bad news. That's a perfectly legal fuck time, on vacation."

   "The bad news? Did we move a time zone or two? And, I'm immaculately fucked up. If we moved a time zone or two, I honestly forget which direction we moved in."

   We all laughed again. Light took the bait.

   "Go both ways, then."

   We about fell over, and Panic had a retort.

   "Francois's wife? Does that."

   Light was still silly. We all were.

   "I noticed. Elise is German? And getting French lessons."

   We cracked up again. Why that was even funny? Worms, I guess. Panic couldn't help the wordplay.

   "If I go both ways..."

   Light chuckled it out.

   "And, Elise and her girlfriend, could help you with that, but continue."

   "Going both ways, maximum two hours of spread time..."

   More laughter. Light stammered it out.

   "I could go? For... two hours of... spread 'em time. Was kinda my whole point. Or? The whole.. wait for it... the, um... whole t-h-r-u-s-t of my conversation. Hint hint."

   We laughed yet again. Panic wouldn't stop.

   "You said... hole, thrust..."

   Lightning giggled.

   "Fuck me, Freud."

   "I'll try, little one. I'll try."

   I glanced around.

   "Vladimir's gone too. What was your, time zone spread again, science boy?"

   "Uh. Three thirty, nominal. We could be one or two time zones away. Which way, I'm fuzzy on. Could be, one thirty, to five thirty."

   Lightning took that as an actual scientific observation. I drew my index finger in the air for a few seconds. Before admonishing him.

   "You asshole. That's not your phone. They could be, from four time zones away, how the fuck do you know."

   "Uh, okay. Then... eleven thirty, to... seven thirty."

   Lightning stuck her foot down, but while giggling.

   "Panic? Shut the fuck up. All we know? Is we have no clue what time it is, other than its night time. And? I want some dick. Elise, her girl, Francois, and Vladimir. All? Bedtime. Lets go."

   Panic pretended to grouse.

   "Okay, okay. You can rape me at the cabana."

   Light snickered.

   "I'll see what I can do."

   The drunk guy, the one that was one of the blabbering pair? Blabbered louder, ever since Light just announced how she wanted dick. She walked over, and stood over him. Giggling. Her arms crossed. He looked up at her, eyes rolling back in his head, but mumbling louder.

   "Buddy? Like you can even get it up right now. But, thanks for coming out."

   He blathered something back, smiling.

   Light snickered.

   "I gotta have some fun with this. Panic? See if that phone needs a secret code to wake up."

   "Why?"

   "Duh. It belongs to one of these drunks. I want them to have a picture they find on their phone... hell, movie too, if you get it opened."

   Light bent down, and smoothed the drunk guys hair, smiling sweetly. While she gently took his hand out of what was, hopefully anyways, his wife's bikini bottom? And gently inserted it into the swim trunks of the guy passed out cold on his shoulder. After undoing the drawstring on his swim trunks to make it more possible. She did the same thing with the guy passed out cold, over to his.

   I observed the proceedings.

   "Lightning? That, is so mean."

   "Maybe. But? If that's not his wife he fell asleep finger banging the passed out chick? I could potentially be saving his marriage."

   I snorted.

   "Out of divorce court? Into therapy."

   Light shrugged.

   "I think, therapy is cheaper. Its a win win."

   I tapped my lips, while Panic noted the phone didn't have a secret code set. He took pictures, and a little movie. After several tries to get the number right? He managed to send my phone the pictures and the movie. Just in case it would be fun to use, or just to show people the beach party was a success.

   We had just started to amble back to the cabana? But I jogged over and kicked around in the sand. I came up with the little clutch purse, and danced around triumphantly. They both looked at me, what. I explained.

   "She left gummy bears and the worms!"

   Light laughed.

   "Like we need it now, but... later on? Fine."

   Panic staggered over, and loaded up the remaining food on the plastic tray. A good number of oysters in the wet but disappearing ice, the rest of the lemon juice. He picked some things out of the boil pot, too. We looked at him critically, but he shrugged.

   "First off? Like these passed out drunks, are even gonna want raw oysters in the morning. Second off? I like lemon juice on the oysters. Oh, lime juice, too. Score. And third off? Like we're not going to want something for the munchies, as fucking stoned as we got."

   We had to go with all that, for lines of reasoning.