'this could be Heaven... ...or this could be Hell'

[continued from before. duhhh!]

misty had seen a hot chic thrill kill her boyfriend near

zuma beach...now misty was stuck in 'the' malibu...

hot and hungry for a kill of her own

     all misty knew about malibu, besides surfing and brainless beach blondes, was casa malibu.

     it was built in 1949 and was the original 'hotel california'.
     lana turner checked in for a day and stayed for a year.
     i'd started to feel like lana. or the eagles.
     'hotel california'.
     or a roach motel.
     you check in. but you couldn't check out.

     misty was stuck at the cove coffee shop and bar.
     time was standing still.

     even my watch was dead. it could have been the battery.
     more likely the fucking conversation at the next table.
   
     a malibu blonde, with hair dyed by the warner bros special effects department, was blabbing.
     "davenport was, like, preggers. could barely walk without bursting. so todd bought her the hummer, as if the suburban were too small! as iF?! like, gag me!"

     i'd gag her with more than a spoon, which was what malibu bleach-frosted beach blonde air heads used to keep the margaritahhhs from turning into tummy tires.
     misty was listening to the air whistling through the brains of the bimboz at the table next to moi.
     the last thing misty needed when she was achhhhing for a kill was bubble-headed beach blonde babble.
     the thought of 'davenport' being preggers...or any malibu bleach blonde spawning a child, made misty vomitose, speaking of gagging with a spoon.
     it made misty think of that thing popping out of a chest in 'alien'.
     of course, 'alien' also had some good things. sigourney weaver and flame throwers. BBQ-ing aliens.
     that's a hitwoman.
     a sweaty sigourney in a tank-t, spraying flames out her nozzle. sounded like misty on a good saturday nite.
     i neeeded a good saturday nite. or any nite.

misty was stuck in the cove bar and coffee shop

listening to malibu bleach blonde barbiez burble inanely.

i think this was in the Bible...Purgatory, wasn't it???

     misty had become insanely, maddeningly, sexually aroused last evening watching a very naughty thing at a beach house off pch in 'the' malibu.
     a thrill kill.
     yes, misty had been peeping through windows.
     now misty needed a hit to satisfy herself after what she saw.

     so, misty left the bar for the patio. to call 'josephine.'
     i flipped through 'the' malibu news as my blackberry went into redial purgatory, waiting for an opening to 'josephine's line.
     'the' malibu news gave misty an insight into the nouveau riche wasteland here, of barbie bodies and chatty cathy brains. as if i really wanted to learn about these idiots.
     les riche nouveau were feeling the pinch of the economic downturn, according to the 'news'. downsizing ferrarri GTB fioranos and lamborghini gallardo superleggeras for humble carrera porsches and LS9 vettes.
     talk about slumming.

i oh sooo needed the hot sexy yum yum feeling in the pit

of my soul that misty gets when she executes a mark...

     two more minutes of redial and i was ready for greyhounds.
     my manolos took me back to the bar, which opened early. they start ahead of time in 'the' bu.
     "grapefruit fresh squizzled? vodka grey goose?" i demanded. misty was not in the bestest of moods.
     bartender looked like stonewall jackson. confederacy. army of northern virginia. creepy.
     that, or kris kristofferson.
     "not going to sing 'bobby mcgee, are you?" misty added.
     "yes. yes. and, uh, no..."
     "ok. start the greyhounds sweeetheart," misty approved.
     "we talkin' pitchers, or one at a time?" stonewall asked.
     "i'm waiting for a very important call, darlin', so let's take it bit by bit."

the bartender at the malibu cove looked like either

stonewall jackson or kris kristofferson...whatevahhh!

     being in oz was wearing thin.
     A gull landed on a post on the pier outside as my drink was being prepared. the redial kept...redialing.
     it had been going five mins straight.
     i was so horny i'd have shoved the phone between my legs if that woulda calmed me.
     but only getting a contract for a kill would do that.
     stonewall pushed over a greyhound.
     best misty had sucked west of the big apple. church room at the tribeca hotel. misty is sooo religious about her drinks.
     "niccce. you're forgiven for that mcgee jingle," misty told the bartender.
     i decided he looked more like kristofferson.
     misty made her way to a corner booth. i could watch seagulls and terns shit on the rails of the terminally boring pier, waiting for my call to connect.

     misty's pretty, and increasingly intoxicated, mind redialed it's own number.
     last night. as i sat in the 356 speedster. on the zuma cliffs. looking down at the beach house below.
     misty was playing peeping misty. looking through windows.
     what i'd seen got me hot for a kill.
     a pretty teen hottie turned a boyfriend for the nite into a corpus delectable. amazing what a tight wire can do to a young man's deliciously tender neck.
     amazing what goes on behind closed doors at nite in 'the bu'.

misty trusts her prada cloud-white silk blouse.

black strappy crocodile manolo's. and glock .380

with noise suppressor. all quality products.

     at lassssst. redial connected. the remaining drop of the greyhound trickled down misty's throat.
     and 'josephine' answered.
     i cannot say who josephine is. male or female. tall, short. yankees or red sox. gin or vodka.
     misty would have a misty of her own on her tail if she said more. or perhaps, a guido. anyway, it would be oh so ironic for misty to be hit. a waste of a good body, if nothing else.
     thanks to misty's deliteful and sexy writing, i'm put up with in the world i inhabit.
     but misty knows limits. lines not to cross.
     so, let's say, 'josephine' is someone misty has never met, but trusts as much as she would her prada cloud-white silk blouse. or black strappy crocodile manolo's. or glock .380 with noise suppressor. all quality products.
  
     i was overjoyed to hear jo's voice!
   
     misty: "josephine...i am sooo happy to reach you. i am sooo desperate..."
     j: "yes misty, i can tell in your voice"
     m: "i need work, j. it's been two months."
     j: "you've gone longer. you know it's always like that. some good things coming. be cool. you sound a little tense, why so...urgent?"
     m: "can i be honest, j?"
     j: "that's all you can be with me misty."
     m: "ok. i saw something last night. a kill. misty was peeping. voyeur. it was hot."
     j: "it's good for you. keeps you hungry. your next one will be nice for you."
     m: "no j. it's very bad. this was hot. hot hot. hotter than hot hot. she was as good as misty. but she was doing it for fun. so that made it better for misty to watch. and she was wasn't even old enough to buy a gin and tonic. legally i mean.
     "so right now i'm poppin' back grey goose greyhounds in malibu, j., made by some guy who's either kris kristofferson or the undead reanimated body of stonewall jackson. i'm on edge. i need a mark. yesterday. since yesternight."
 

i told 'josephine' how much misty needed a hit. jo said

there were some nice things coming down the pike.

problem was, i needed to kill someone now! that

time of the month i suppose.

     j: "misty, you are a riot. but i see here that you are completely serious"
     m: "fucking straight! you're tellin' me!"
     j: "you crack me up. look, we cannot suggest this, but surely it's occurred to you to..."
     m: "thrill kill? you know what i think of that, j. it's not part of my code. it's sick. disgusting. crummy. capricious. cavalier. crappy."
     j: "one of the many things i've always loved about you, misty, is you can talk like a gay sailor, yet such a marvelous vocabulary."
     m: "don't patronize me, j.'
     j: "see what i mean? half our contractors think patronize is a czech tequila."
     m: "ok. you're funny too, j. but it's lost on me. i'm hungry. and i'm not thrillin' away my needs on some innocent idiot i pick up at a bar.
     "no offense. i'm just sooo..."
     j: "yes. i see. ok misty, i will tell you like it is. you've got to get ahold of yourself. by the clit if you have to. there's some good stuff coming down the pike. really good. i'm talking V-work. vengeance contracts. marks that have done nasty things to people. the avenger misty. it's your cup of tea. or vodka. whatever the case may be these days.
     m: "yes. thanks j. but..."
     j: "but nothing. that madoff thing was the tip. so much of that coming out in the news. and so much no one knows about. v-kills up the yinyang. you're on the top 20 list...you'll get the best. they're in the pipeline."
     m: "that is sooo appreciated j. but, that's not the point. it's immediacy. i have no idea if i can get through the day. nite. jefferson davis behind the bar has six more greyhounds waiting for me. pelicans on the charming pier outside are starting to look interesting. and you know i despise charming, not to mention pelicans."

i told jo how hot it was watching that young sweetie

tenderly strangle her boyfriend to death, deliciously

looking down on him as she took him...jo understood.

     j: "misty..."
     m: "the inane airhead malibu frosted bleach blonde chat chit is starting to sound fascinating to me!"
     j: "that bad, huh?"
     m: "comprendo?"
     j: "ok misty. no thrill kills. have you thought of euthanasia?"
     m: "i'm NOT going to kill myself J!
     j: "not you misty sweet. euthanizing someone. pick up some old dude in a bar who has terminal cancer. lost his sweetheart of 50 years and wants to be with her. a young fellow insanely in love whose wife just died in a plane crash. they're out there misty."
     m: "that's pathetic."
     j: "misty, i'd love to stay and talk, and God knows i wish i could help you. i can say, just hang in there. and no, i'm not talking asphyxia. we don't want to lose you."
     m: "whose writing your material j.? bob hope?"
     j: "he's been dead awhile misty."
     m: "precisely."
     j: "you can get rough, can't you. ok, hold on. a few weeks they'll have something superb for your skills and wants. i must go. things piling up. love, as always..."

jo said there were no contracts right now. booo!

my only plan was to go back to the bar and

get totally smashed on greyhounds...they were

already stacked up and waiting.

     and that was that.
     kris kringle, i mean kristofferson, had another double on the bar for me.
     the bubble headed frosted blondes were chitting, or was it chatting, about bcbg versus la perla when they should have been talking bottega veneta versus prada.
     worst, i was paying attention! geeeeeeeeeesh!

     turned around to get my next double, and in between misty and the bar was a six-foot two, in four-inch steel-heeled valentino stilettos, superbly frosted blonde with blonde roots, non-botoxed bronzed sculpted (by God, not docs) face, with dolce & gabana undies that could just barely be seen through her diaphanous chanel silk skirt. her divinely golden muscled legs tapered to 17" lush-a-licious calves that misty wanted ultra-succulently wrapped around misty's neck!!!!!!!!!!!!

     "oh. excuse me," she said as we nearly bumped into each other.
     "oh...no, excuse me. i'm on my way to a lost afternoon, and to catch my next greyhound at the bar," i burbled, almost unable to stop panting. or keep my misty heart from palpitating out my pert misty chest.
     "greyhounds. perfecto. i must do the same after chatting with the...you know," she said, shaking her mane of blonde frost towards the bimboz in the main bar. "the bartender...so merveilleux, n'est pas? should try his sex on the beach," she said winking.
     "actually, i'd love the drink, but i bat for the other team. even if i was a switch, he looks too confederate for moi tastes," i said, checking him out.
     she grabbed my arm and i felt the geese bump up all over my body.
     "you are totally precious! not from around here, i take it. look, if you're still here when i'm done with the girls, try my sex on the beach. oh, and i'll buy you a drink too," she winked.
     misty was in misty love.

misty turned to go back to the bar, and bumped

into her heart's desire, a horrifically sexy perfectly

frosted blonde in valentino 4" spikes...yummerz!

     "i'll be here," i said. "bartender does have a sense of humor. i told him his drinks were so good i forgave him for writing the bobby mcgee song."
     blonde frosty in valentino spikes laughed.
     "oh, he probably appreciated it. most of the crowd here rides him for writing that song. at least you forgave. kris is cool about it. he drops in and dishes the cactus juice for kicks. sucha doll. see you in a few..."
     and she was off.

     i snuck to the bar and got my drink.
     misty attempted to vamoose, but was stopped by...kris.
     "hey lovely. i'm really sorry you didn't like the song. i do have others. i have to admit the title's not the coolest," he said.
     "oh...i was sooo just kidding...please accept my apolo..." misty started to say...
     but he cut me off.
     "not a bad song, but that name. producer at monument gave me the title. grabs me and says,  'me and bobby mckee.' I thought he said "me and bobby mcgee.
     "that sounded to me like the worst idea for a song. he said they'd be traveling around or something. i told him to go fly a kite, or words to that effect. he said, just 'try to write it. so i did.'
     "my apologies," he smiled, and left to give drinks to two ancient blondes who needed embalming.
     misty left with her greyhound.
     and looked forward to talking to...her new frosty blonde friend in valentinos...

---xoxo, misty

[to be oh sooo...continued]