"Nothing will be the same as it once was, I tell myself . . . And now the water seems remote, unreal, and perhaps it is." — Weldon Kees
17
... In Which Fleetwhite Starts to Strike Back ...
By Tuesday, I had the entire city this side of Canal Street high on Meth. All the Decatur Street girls were camped out at the Riverfront, showing their tits to the Freedom Fighters across the River like they were expecting somebody to throw them Mardi Gras doubloons or coconuts or some shit, when what they got back were, well, Missiles, but as there was something Erotic about this to them, they just kept at it. In New Orleans, if it's Erotic, you do it, and Devil take the Hindmost.
Part of me was excited by all of this. Part of me was also about ready to get back to marrying people and looking for Pussy on New Orleans Matchmaker. My Profile's on there, by the by, Raphael105. Browse me.
We'd taken some quite interesting photographs of Preston Foley taking it up the butt from Various Sources and sent them to his Aging Debutante Ball Bitch of a Wife where they lived up on Garfield Street, with the suggestion that Preston'd be having himself a little Butt Tryst every night and more of his neighbors like him, unless some SERIOUS funding was coughed up, and some boats, and some manpower. I told 'em we'd HAVE that manpower one way of another, so they could do worse than cooperate as this little Civil War involved THEM, too, and if they didn't think so before, well, maybe they needed to change their Way of Thinking a wee bit along the edges, there. Actually, Foley'd already been castrated with an Exacto knife by an angry homosexual boy in an alcoholic blackout, but THEY didn't know that, and so far as it went with the Minot Krew, well, Foley was CATCHING, not PITCHING, so what the hell did it matter, then.
Now, make no mistake about it, I do not like that man Fenton Rochilieu. But I have to give him credit. When the Rubber hit the Road, he was Proactive in a major way, and he had some brilliant ideas. Plus, go figure! The man got good and pissed off for the Right Reasons, and he wasn't gonna take it lying down. He got Sold into Slavery, he had to fuck Frankie Minot, his apartment's in the way of a heapload of Missiles, and with all that going on I'll bet he couldn't even fuck his girlfriend, Melanie Hassler, very well at all, and a girl like THAT, man, well, shit, like EVERYBODY'D want to give it to her. I don't know, but I'll bet she's like a Rabid Cougar in bed, too. And somebody's got THAT action going on, and you up and fuck with it for no reason, and HELL YEAH he'll carve your ass up. Especially in New Orleans. 'Cause here, you never know just who it might be that all of a sudden starts wigging out.
So the idea was this. I'd send over the New Orleans Ambassador, Carlos Carrasco, to ask them to cut the shit or we'd Destroy Algiers. And then Carlos said "Fuck that, man, let's just Destoy Algiers and save ourselves a few Sick Days." And that made sense to me, and everybody working with me on this, and indeed the people who WEREN'T per se working on it, were high on MY METH and they wanted more, too, Brother.
So the Idea was, we'd send all the Rich People's sailboats over there loaded down with enough homemade Dyno to Flush their Drain, man. Perhaps what they were anticipating in the first place. Shit, you gotta take these Factors into Consideration.
But to REALLY pull this off Right, logistically, I had to talk to a man I hate worse than anybody in New Orleans Metro during Peacetime. A bastard who manages to punch ALL my buttons. But I couldn't pull this coup off it I didn't get Kermit Broadmeyer to get behind us on this one, and you may well ask WHY?
Because everybody knows in their Heart of Hearts that that dude more or less OWNS this place, albeit indirectly. But they're scared of his ass.
Fenton got his shit done because NOBODY was scared of him. I'd have to see to it that Kermit got HIS shit done because EVERYONE was. He was and is the Embodiment of their Untimely Demise.
That's why I arranged a meeting with his ass. It was hard, let me tell you. But no harder than Melanie not being there when you Want her, and no harder than a Street shattered Brickless by an Algerian Warhead.
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