Mojo - 7. Chapter 7: Hot Heads Explode, Part One

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Chapter 7: Hot Heads Explode, Part One

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To: Assauer4U2@gmail.com

Subject: …get your shit together…

 

We’ve had a crazy week with the sea captain and his extended familia. Breakfast this morning turned into a shambles. You would have loved the sight of it: Lloyd pissed at me because I wouldn’t put out; Trọng mad that Gordon dumped him; Doris fed up that her house is full of her husband’s boyfriends! lol

The situation got tense around there, so before hot heads could explode, me and Gordon plotted our escape.

While we were alone we checked the ferry schedule, packed and helped ourselves to some choice souvenirs we felt sure our hosts would want us to have. Anyway, we slipped away by calling a car and telling Doris and Lloyd that me and my boy wanted a day alone in Avalon. They reluctantly accepted our pseudo-romantic mood, but didn’t know we’d already stashed our bags by the side of the garage, where we loaded up once the driver arrived.

Anyway, I also found out Trọng has some connection to the donkey dick people, which Gordon confirmed seeing the guy wearing the flying penis mark on a pendant. I’ll give you details later, but it’s all the more reason me and my boy didn’t stick around until I asked the Vietnamese guy about it, or worse – he brings it up on his own.

We’re on the Catalina Ferry now, so get your shit together, cuz we’ll be back to Hojax’s house by this evening. We’ll need to decide what to do in a hurry.

But for now, me and my boy are looking out across the sea, sky and sun and enjoying ourselves.

Wish you were here, not. lol

Tschüss, loser.

˚˚˚˚˚

The boat bounded on a wave just as I hit the ‘Send’ button. Finished and satisfied, I snapped the case shut on my brand-new iPad. Of course I’d be selling it, but might as well get a few emails sent on the ferry’s free wifi.

Apparently coming back from Avalon to the mainland was not regarded as a romantic voyage, because the few dozen people on our afternoon trip were mainly inside, on the two passenger levels below us. Which was okay, for me and Gordon had most of the top deck, light, ocean views and air to ourselves.

We stood on the starboard side, facing the sun, and near to the open door to the bridge. Occasionally, a uniformed sailor or two would come and go from it.

I turned to lean my elbow on the railing and watch my boy. He looked so sexy with his brown eyes casting glances over the waves, the breeze rustling his chestnut locks from time to time. He wore his blue and white Aptos High letterman jacket with the ‘A’ and anchor logo on it, and had his gym bag by his feet.

A tall and swarthy sailor – or junior officer? – came out and stood with a clipboard in front of the wall to the bridge. He was focused on his paperwork, but peered up and shed a sexy smile as a younger, redheaded sailor appeared with a sweep-up broom and pan; this second sailor also had a soft rag in his hand, with which he began to polish the ship’s bell.

“You hungry, Kohl?”

I shook my head, more intent on feasting my eyes on my boy than putting sustenance in my belly.

“Suit yourself.” He extracted a big, ripe banana from his coat pocket. The bright yellow contrasted sharply with all the blues around us, and I even noticed the redheaded sailor seemed to start at the fruit’s appearance. He stopped polishing and watched us with hands locked confrontationally on his hips.

Gordon peeled and ate, splitting happy glances between me and the vastness of the ocean. I liked it; I felt a growing happiness in me as well.

My boy tossed the spent peel behind him with a grin. It landed making a dull thump on the deck.

Then I noticed our young observer go up to the older man and draw his attention to us.

Now they both glared our way with some pissed-off vibe, which was only interrupted as the redhead grabbed his dustpan and broom and came towards us.

All my attention to the front of the boat eventually made Gordon turn just in time to see the sailor sweep up the peel, and glare at us from close range. A clicking sound of disgust erupted from closed mouth before he walked his frown and himself back to the other man.

“What’s up with Gilbert Grape?” Gordon asked.

“Who the fuck knows,” I said without playing.

The boat bobbed again, and I latched onto the railing, having my attention totally recaptured by the environment surrounding us.

After a few moments of wordless contemplation, these lines to a Rubaiyat appeared to me:

‘Homer chanted of red-wine seas,

and of tempest-tossed Ulysses,

but on The Main, success or naught,

each criminal or saint she frees.

 

Her eye of glass broods on one thought –

to drench each errant Argonaut

and be their own mortalities,

seeking no more for what is sought.

 

Thus, Poet or reverent Sailor,

to the shroud the Deep-One’s tailor

when our final hour is aught

and the salt of our blood flows to Her.’

When I looked over again at my boy, Gordon had retrieved clippers from his bag and was now standing back from the railing cutting his nails and whistling a pop tune into the wind. He gyrated his hips to the beat, his trimmings flying and scattering back on the deck. After a moment, I realized the song was that old classic: I’m Bringing Sexy Back. And he certainly was; my boy looked very content and happy, which was always a huge turn on.

I crept up to him, turned his face to mine, and we leaned on one another. Our hugging session lasted a minute or two, until that pesky redheaded sailor came grunting by with his broom. He actually made us part, knocking at our tennis shoes with his bristles to pick up Gordon’s clippings. By the nasty glares he shed on us at close range, we could tell more than just ‘littering’ was on his mind, but who knew exactly what.

While this guy was still watching, I latched onto Gordon’s beautiful rosy cheeks and drew him into a loving kiss with both hands.

I guess Popeye moved on, because, quite frankly with our eyes closed as they were and us melted into a blissful unity, we only opened them to find ourselves alone again.

My boy brushed my hair. “You hungry now?” Kiss. “Doris packed a few things for us. Want a banana?”

I laughed. “Oh, that’s what’s in your jeans right now.”

He ground against me a little tighter. “Nope. Want it?”

“If you mean it, yes; if you mean Doris’ banana, then no.”

He chuckled and broke away. In another moment, he squatted on haunches with a sun-drenched grin up at me. He unzipped his bag and pulled out something small. While he was down there, I gave him my iPad to stow in his ratty old gym tote. The remainder of our bags were downstairs in the bins with the other passengers’ luggage.

He stood again, and I saw the small thing he’d grabbed was a hardboiled egg. “How about this?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I told him.

Gordon shrugged, cracked the thing on the railing and peeled off the shell in large shards. They went skittering on the deck to the rear of us.

We usually did not litter, and we’re not such bad people. Proving it to myself, I remembered how we returned that little Bangladeshi custard plate…. Oh wait, no. I left it in our motel room the night we had to flee West Hollywood and a sex-crazed Assauer. Oh, well. What’s one dessert dish and a few misplaced egg peels? We’re busy fellows on the go.

A sudden crunching sound made us look. The moody Junior Joe Officer from the wall was standing next to us; the other was tidying up right behind the man’s shoulder.

He spoke with a pronounced Caribbean lilt, saying in a pissed-off way, “Tis cracked enough, Tanguay”—he meant the redhead—“that we ‘ave to go a sailin’ on a Friday, but in addition, we go and get dealt a pair of landlubbers actin’ the fools.”

“Yeah, Hesus,” affirmed the equally irate younger seaman. “This here wessel is cursed enough anyway.”

“It is?” I asked.

“Aye,” Hesus said curtly. “See, de boat owners are never supposed to re-christen sea craft, but dis one did.”

Gordon asked, “Why, what was it called before?”

“Da Ellea-ner Roosevelt,” said Hesus.

“And now?” I inquired.

Tanguay supplied the answer: “The Mrs. Jared Kushner.”

Molten laughter spilled from me and my boy. “Don’t worry,” I said, “It won’t stay that way for long!”

“Good one, Kohl.”

After we’d had a good belly-buster, and another hug, we realized our unfriendly observers were not even slightly in a yuck-yuck mood.

“You don’t get it, do you? How you wandalize—” The redhead was suddenly spittin’ mad; his companion had to actually hold him back.

Gordon got hot under the collar. “Get what?”

Hesus explained, “Good lord, man – you fellas’ sea manners! Dey’re cracked enough to draw the ire of Poseidon ‘imself, I tells ya.”

“Poe-sigh-who?” Gordon aped the older Caribbean’s accent.

“You know whos I mean.”

“Look,” I said, “I guess we’re sorry for, whatever—”

“It’s not vhatever!” The redhead was proving to be something of a hothead.

“Hey, now,” Gordon said, trying to control himself, “I don’t know if you got a problem with guys showing PDA, but you can be on your way now. Kay?”

“Typical,” the younger sailor exclaimed, slapping hands on top of his own head in frustration. Then he started pacing around.

“No, young man,” said the older sailor. “You gets it all wrong if ya tink homophobia—”

“We’re partners too, you idiot!” Tanguay yelled. “Just because ve actually verk for a living you think you can disrespect us—”

Hesus cut him off. “It’s awe-reet, nug. Dey be ign’rant cusses, fa sure.”

“If that’s what you do, then work,” scoffed Gordon in Tanguay’s direction, “and stop being as amenable to the passengers as Ignaz the brick-hurling mouse – and quit being just as pretty too, ya ugly Krazy Kat.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “I don’t know what everybody is getting so upset about.”

Suddenly Gordon scuffled, poking Hesus in the chest. “Well, take your bottom-boy and go drown yourself for all I care. Good-bye and good luck!”

Tanguay was stunned into salt-like stature. “…but, ve’re werse….”

Hesus ignored that and explained very calmly to my boy, staring him straight in the eye, “Der be but only one way to appease the god of da sea now.”

He hauled off and punched Gordon in the nose.

”Was zum Henker!” I yelled and took a swing at Hesus. He ducked and I connected with Tanguay. As he stumbled, Gordon latched onto him and landed a few choice uppercuts to the redhead’s freckles.

Hesus lurched and grabbed at Gordon’s jacket. I stuck my arms around his beltline and fell backwards to pull the older sailor off my boy.

With the wind knocked out of me from the weight of his body, I barely acknowledged the voices and hands coming at us from other crewmembers.

In another moment, me and Gordon were inspecting one another’s faces for blood, which thankfully there was none to be seen. In the meantime, their fellow shipmates had restrained Hesus and Tanguay.

The captain walked up. “What is going on here?”

Tanguay blurted: “They got wocal and disrespected—”

“I was asking the passengers.”

“I want to press charges,” Gordon said passionately.

“No police!” I said. Gott im Himmel, what was my boyfriend thinking?! I glared at him, and he snapped out of it, realizing the ‘Law’ was the last thing we needed.

“Let them go, Captain,” said Gordon. “It’s all a little misunderstanding.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I added, “this little cur-buffle was just a storm at sea, but it’s all clear sailing from here, right, boys?”

The sailor couple reluctantly nodded, and the captain signaled for them to be let go.

Even before the crowd of uniformed men broke up, I had Gordon in an embrace, and eyes shut so we could re-group in the proper way. The sights of the sea drifted from my mind, and silence replaced all concern.

Turned out a bit of concern would have been warranted, for when we finally opened our eyes again, we were totally alone, and pulling into port. Shockingly, my iPad was sitting on the deck behind us, but my boyfriend’s ratty old gym bag was gone.

Gordon asked in a stunned way, “You think that Ignaz swiped it because of the nail clipper—”

“And bananas and hard-boiled eggs, yeah.”

We thought it best to rush downstairs and make sure the rest of our things were still there, but – even though they were – there had been another reason why my boyfriend’s gym bag was on deck with us….

˚˚˚˚˚

“I still can’t believe it’s gone.” Gordon fumed as he paced our room at Hojax’s house. It was dark outside, about 10 pm.

“Can’t believe what’s gone?” Assauer asked.

“His mousy old gym bag,” I explained.

“What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a link with my past!” Gordon stopped. He looked adamant and hurt.

I chuckled a bit. “You know it’s more than about some moldy old piece of high school kit.”

My boy sat on the bed, away from us, and I guess pouting.

“Was geht?”

I told my ex, “What’s up is…well, Doris – Lloyd’s moustache of a wife – told me all about this contract the two of them have. She wants me to help, and I sort of said okay.”

“Help with what?”

“Outing Lloyd.”

“Dude—”

“Don’t worry; it’s all about money for the both of them anyway. See, she got this clause put in the marriage contract that if Lloyd outs himself, she gets a poop-load of cash.”

“So?”

“So she wants me to help with that. Promised a cut of the fortune if I can figure out a way to ‘assist’ the sea captain opening the closet door, but of course, I don’t want to out the poor bastard. But either way, it’s whatever to me what they do.”

“Sea captain, my ass,” Gordon muttered. “Pot king more like. If he dealt in importing meth, his yacht wouldn’t be called the Mary Jane; it’d be called the S.S. fucking Tina.”

“Honey…” I entreated.

He whipped around on his ass to face us. “Tell Assauer the rest.”

“Well,” I continued, “to show me good faith, or whatever they call it, Doris slipped me about five grand in Lloyd’s bearer bonds. She said it was a down payment, but I didn’t commit to anything—”

“And what did you decide to do with them…?” Gordon was pissed, and it made me a bit lambish.

“I – ah – well; my smart boyfriend said we should stash them in our clothes, but I was worried we’d lose some or get them robbed, so I picked at the lining of Gordon’s gym bag and sewed them up in there.”

“For safe keeping.” Gordon scowled.

“Babe! How was I to know we’d be assaulted by a pair of lunatic sailors. Who can predict that kind of Scheisse?”

“I think your boyfriend is right. You should have carried them.”

“It don’t matter, Assauer,” I said. “We couldn’t liquidate them right away anyway because of the ‘heat’ of Doris freshly stealing them.”

Gordon said, “Still don’t think it was worth the effort of sewing them in my bag. It’s not as if Lloyd is going to the police about his wife’s scheme to have him out himself via a pair of lowlife hustlers.”

I grinned and got to my feet. I went over to his side of bed, asking, “Who you calling a lowlife?”

“You, hustla.” He stared up at me, looking sexier than ever.

I belly-flopped on the sheets next to him, letting my weight pull him merrily into my arms. I hugged and kissed him, and in a moment, he was helplessly giggling like the teenager he was.

We wound up with our heads hanging off the edge of the mattress, panting and watching Assauer watch as he sat on the floor.

I drew my boy’s lips to mine for an upside-down kiss. “Two lowlifes enjoying the highlife; that’s you and me.”

We heard Assauer’s “Gimme a break,” and after I had righted myself on the bed, I caught my ex’s weird look for the moment it lived. Was it envious…? Was it angry…? I don’t know.

“Oh!” I almost forgot. I jumped up and went to my jacket, which was yoked on the back of a chair. I reached for the inside pocket and pulled out my wadded-up hankie.

I returned and sat on the floor in front of my ex, using the bed as my back support. “This is something I had on me the whole time.” I unpeeled the covering as soon as Gordon slipped down next to me. I held up the little gold statue for them to see.

Assauer plucked it away. “It’s heavy,” he marveled.

“Yeah. Pure gold I think.”

My ex turned it over in his hand. “It might be ancient. I’d say it’s a cult object for Neptune or somebody.”

“Lloyd had it set up like in a shrine. We should pawn it tomorrow.”

“Not so quick,” said Gordon, reaching out for it.

Assauer agreed with me; he said, “We should get rid of it right away.”

“Yeah,” said my boy, “but we have to get a fair price. We can’t pawn it or dump it at the flea market.”

“Ideas?” Assauer asked.

“Yep. Neil Campbell.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Neil can fence it for us. He knows a lot of rich collectors and can get us a high dollar amount.”

“He’s right,” Assauer said.

“Well okay, but we can’t hold onto it for long, lest Lloyd comes looking for it and we still have it in our possession.”

“Agreed,” my ex said, placing the heavy chunk of precious metal back into my handkerchief.

I nodded at Assauer. “And how did you make out here?”

“First off, my Arschbacken are really sore and red – so thanks for that.”

Gordon slapped his knee, laughing. “I guess old Hojax is a real pedo-perv, the way he makes you dress up.”

Assauer was serious in his reply. “I’m surprised at you. We of all people know not to judge on a person just based on their kink.”

My boy shook his head slowly; he was skeptical.

“Look,” Assauer continued, “if the Captain was into little ones, he has a steady supply, but he’s not. Like most guys, his fantasies can involve roleplay, and he’s into that – but with adults only.”

For half a moment, the sincerity of his defense made me think there was something personal in it for my ex, but then I brushed it aside, grinning. “So your first point was how sore your ass cheeks are getting. What’s the second one?”

He stood up, going to a drawer. “Secondly, I located most of the valuables in the house.” He sat on the bed, squeezing his legs between me and Gordon. In his hand was a shallow wooden case. “But I did manage to snag this already.”

We sat up on the mattress with him. Then he slowly opened the box.

“Oh, geeze…” sputtered Gordon.

Star-struck, I reached in and picked up a black pistol. Sleek bullets were fitted in velvet around the inside of the case. “What is it, exactly?”

“A Luger, from World War Two.”

“Kohl, put it away.”

I ignored Gordon, picking out a choice bullet. “How do you load it?”

“Kohl!”

I looked over; my boy was highly agitated.

“I don’t like guns….”

I waved it around, holding it up to my eyes to peer through the sight.

“It’s all right, Gordon,” my ex said softly, and reached out to lay his hand across the top of the pistol. In another moment, the Luger was back in its box. Assauer shut the lid.

I shrugged; what was the big deal?

“I say,” Gordon went on, “we leave right away, tonight.”

Assauer explained, “Tomorrow is Laguna Beach’s big street fair. We can slip away unnoticed then, and it gives me a chance to sneak the captain’s most valuable items in my bag in the morning.”

“There’s another reason to stay too.”

“What’s that?” Gordon asked.

I turned to Assauer with a grin. “You need to go ‘back on duty’ for one more night.”

“Why?!”

“Simple. So you can get Hojax firmly on our side, and the sooner the better. Because pretty quickly Doris, Trọng and Lloyd will figure out they’ve been conned and we’re not on the island anymore. Time’s ticking until one or all of the inmates of that mad house reach out to the captain and bitch about us. When they do, we need him to say something to protect us from the lunies. And he’ll do it too, because he’s sweet on you.”

“Oh, God,” Assauer sighed, but I could tell he’d seen the logic in my scheme.

“So,” I concluded, “slide in your little boy uniform and go mince it up with Hojax.”

Gordon suddenly laughed. “You mean ‘chop it up’!”

“What’d I say?”

“Mince it up.”

"Englische Sprache!" I bellowed. “Is that the same as ‘hash it out,’ or ‘in,’ whatever? You know your language is verrückt, right? Just insane.”

My boy chuckled. “Sorry, I guess it is.”

Assauer was dubious. “Anyway, Gordon, what did you get from your stay on Catalina Island?”

My boy smiled and picked up a beige-colored lump from the floor. “This. I swiped Trọng’s Gucci gym bag.”

I laughed and joked, “See! Fate stepped in. You lost your old piece of tat, but now you have this one!”

“Hell no.” Gordon, disgusted by the notion of actually using it, tossed it aside. “I’m selling it ASAP.”

“But”—I turned to Assauer—“nice attempt at flipping the subject. You still have to get changed, little boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Don’t worry. You two can shag your brains out in privacy.”

I suddenly felt a pang of concern for my ex. “Are you really okay?”

“No, dude. My bum’s completely red from that pervert’s spankings – ugh.”

Gordon laughed, however, I thought I spotted some gesture of sympathy and caring pass between them. I swallowed it down, I tried not to lose my head.

(to be continued….)

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