Six-foot-eight with thick-knuckled fists, hands like canned hams and the personal charm of a wounded pit bull, Sobinski was a cop on his way to the top.
A nigger-riding, spic-bashing, asian-hating rage he ruled the streets of the 13th Ward, the hundreds he took wasted on colored slash, bad bets and a taste for crystal meth. Royal King Shit he roamed the streets a Polish juggernaut.
He stopped at the reception desk on his way to the garage. That nigger bitch Cloeata had this shift and Sobinski needed a little morning pick-me-up. He towered over her and pointedly gazed down her blouse at her large, black breasts. He could feel himself start to harden. Oh, to slide the old tally-wacker between those muddy hills!
He winked at Cloeata. "How about you and I step into the cloakroom for a little hip-hop?"
"Fuck you," Cloeata said.
Sobinski laughed. Someday bitch, he thought, and then after the big bang maybe a little attitude adjustment. He caressed a fist. A bitch ought to know her place no matter how fine a body and that place was with her lips around the old meat probe. He headed toward the garage and picked up his car.
At the corner of 13th and Selby he jammed his cruiser to a stop and pushed his way into the Viet-tien Grocery. He filled a cup from the fountain machine and handed it to ancient Lu Tuc Bien.
"Put a cap on that would ya." An order.
The counter at the fountain machine held plastic covers, straws, napkins, condiments. Lu Tuc pointed over Sobinski’s shoulder. "Straw there. Cover there."
Sobinski smiled. "No shit Sherlock. I didn't ask where they were. I told you to put a cover on this." He thrust the cup at Lu Tuc. Soda splashed on the counter. It ran into a pile of small Viet-tien dashboard calendars. Lu Tuc plucked a rag out from under the counter and started to work on the liquid.
Sobinski shook his head. He tsk-tsked. "Now lookit what ya done old man. Get me a refill." He picked up the cup and splashed the remaining soda in Lu Tuc's face.
Lu Tuc stood tiny and impassive behind the counter, his eyes black marbles in his seamed face. For a moment Sobinski thought the gook would actually defy him. He smiled at the thought then leaned across the counter to stare into the little man's eyes.
"What's the matter Charlie Chan. You no speakee the engleesh?"
Lu Tuc placed his rag on the counter. He went to the soda machine and filled a cup--extra large--snapped a cover on it and delicately plucked a straw out of the bin. He walked back behind the counter and put the cup down, the straw on top.
Sobinski sadly shook his head. "No Charlie, no. That ain't right. Put the straw in it."
Lu Tuc reached out for the straw. He ripped the paper at one end and started to draw the straw out of its wrapper. Sobinski smiled. His right fist came over the counter in a sweeping punch. It caught Lu Tuc on the left cheek and knocked him back into the herb and fungi filled shelves behind the counter.
Sobinski uncovered the soda and poured the liquid onto Lu Tuc. He crushed the cup and dropped it on the counter. "Don't you ever touch anything I'm gonna put in my mouth you fucking gook," he said.
He punched No Sale on the cash register and took out the twenties. Lu Tuc looked at him from the floor, a dazed expression on his face. Sobinski shook the money at him. "This is gonna be one of my regular stops old man. Make sure you always got something in the till."
Lu Tuc struggled to his feet. He reached into a pocket, withdrew a card and slid it across the counter. He turned and staggered away from Sobinski toward a bead curtained doorway at the end of the store.
Sobinski stared at the smaller man's back, incredulous. "Don't you walk away from he!" he shouted. "Don't you walk away!"
Lu Tuc ignored him and disappeared behind the bead curtain. Sobinski stood there for a moment, the twenties clenched in his fist, then reached out and took the card.
It read:
Lu Tuc Bien
Herbalist
Sobinski stared at the card. Under the legend was a strange design that looked like pussy--but then everything looked like pussy to a slash hound like Sobinski. He blinked his eyes and looked at the design again. No. It wasn't pussy. He didn't know what it was but it definitely wasn't that . . . or was it. The longer he stared at it the stranger it got. It was like looking at one of those trick pictures he sometimes saw in that rag the INFORMER. Was this a picture of a vase or of the profile of two women looking at each other? That's what this was like. The longer he stared at the curlicue design the more it took on the appearance of a vagina. A shaved vagina. A shaved vagina covered by a light green fuzz.
That night he pulled out Lu Tuc Bien's card as he sat at the kitchen table and did the old alcohol and amphetamine tango. In the flat fluorescent light the tiny drawing centered below the word "herbalist" looked like a knot of string. Lines intertwined and looped out to return to the knot at the center. Sobinski rubbed his eyes. How he had seen a vagina in this mess was beyond his imagination.
He stared at the card as he sipped at his beer. If he relaxed a bit--just a tiny bit--let his eyes drift he started to see the illusion. His focus went soft and the lines and knots took on the appearance of a shaved vagina. Light green stubble covered the organ. As Sobinski watched the drawing seemed to take on motion. The vagina pulsed rhythmically. It opened and shut. Opened it seemed a gigantic tunnel into which Sobinski could crawl.
Sobinski blinked and his eyes refocused and the vagina again appeared to be nothing more than a knot obscured by a web of strings. He found he had an erection. His organ pulsed and twitched. It was as if every jerk of his penis was another stroke into that daydream vagina.
He looked back at the business card and stroked himself through his jeans. His eyes lost their focus. Blood throbbed at his crotch. The vagina pulsed before his eyes and he lost himself and all control in his fantasy. At the peak of his excitement he had one diamond clear vision: himself impaled in an organ covered in fine green fuzz.
Afterwards his vision cleared and he saw one thing: the words Lu Tuc Bien, Herbalist.
Sobinski fumed. The gook had made a fool of him. He crushed the card, dropped it to the table. Sobinski picked up his beer bottle and threw it across the room. It shattered on the refrigerator. He bolted to his feet. His chair tipped over. Sobinski spun around and kicked the chair. It flew into the wall and rebounded to land at his feet. He stomped on it. The legs snapped under the force of his size fifteen boots. He turned to the table. He felt like an idiot. He'd just had the best orgasm of his life courtesy of some pagan-worshiping, dried up little freak.
He flattened out the balled up card then slipped it in his shirt pocket. Mister-gook-Lu-Tuc-ass-Bien had a bit of explaining to do.
Sobinski flipped the table over and kicked it to pieces. Gook Tuc had much explaining to do, indeed.
# # #
Lu Tuc Bien was not in the Viet-Tien market when Sobinski entered it the next day. Stocking shelves was a young oriental man. Sobinski guessed his age at about twenty, but who could tell with these gooks. They looked like kids until they were fifty and after that they looked like they were one hundred and ten until they died. Miserable foreigners.
The young man looked up as Sobinski pushed his way through the door. His eyes narrowed as he took in Sobinski's brown crew cut. He stared at Sobinski's large pock-marked nose and flaring ears. Sobinski saw recognition in the young man's eyes. The young oriental man picked up a can from a box on the floor and held it lightly in his hand.
"I'm looking for Lu Tuc Bien," Sobinski said. He looked at the bead curtain to the backroom.
"You found my Great-grandfather yesterday," the young man said in flawless English. "The meeting did not go well. I would prefer that you leave my store."
Sobinski took two steps to toward the young man. He grinned as the man involuntarily stepped back against the shelves. Sobinski loomed over him. "Your grand-pop is a clumsy old oaf," he told the boy. "The senile old fuck should be in a rest home. But since he ain't I need to see him."
"No."
Sobinski picked the young man up by the shirt. He thrust him back against the shelf. Cans rattled and fell to the floor. The young man brought the hand holding the can around in an arc. Sobinski kneed him in the groin before the can connected with his head. "I see that old Lu Tuc isn't the only stupid fuck in the family." He plucked a can off the shelf and brought back his arm. "I seem to remember doing this only yesterday. You and pops will have a lot in common after today."
"Stop!"
Sobinski looked to the curtained doorway. "Well, well, well, if it ain't mister Lu Tuc Fuck. Stubbornist gook on the block." He dropped the boy to his feet then punched him in the stomach. The boy crumpled to the floor. "I need to talk to you old man."
Sobinski walked up to Lu Tuc. He inspected the left side of Lu's face. It was purple from eyebrow to chin. "Hey, nice shiner pops. Now, about this."
Sobinski took out the card and held it before Lu Tuc's eyes. "What in the hell is this thing?" "
Exactly what you see," said Lu Tuc.
"What I see is a damn pussy. And what happened to me ain't the least bit funny. I ain't in the habit of cumming in my shorts if ya know what I mean. I get my slash the old fashioned way. I take it." He chortled to himself. That was a good one.
"Why you here?" asked Lu Tuc. He stared at Sobinski, his deep black eyes unblinking. On the floor his great-grandson staggered to his feet. "You don't like me. Don't like family. Why you here?"
Sobinski thought for a moment. Why was he here? The memory of the previous night's fantasy flashed through Sobinski's mind.
He swallowed hard. Sobinski found himself looking deep into Lu Tuc's eyes. He found himself thinking about Cleoata. He saw his white flesh disappear into her oil-black skin. For the first time he faltered in his dealing with Lu Tuc Bien. "I'm here because I, because I . . ."
"What you see on the card what you want," said Lu Tuc. "You want woman, always woman. You are animal who only cares for pleasure."
"Now just hold on there a God-damn minute gramps, I -- "
Lu Tuc waved a hand. "I can help. I make woman want you. They smell you, they want you."
Lu Tuc moved to a table in the far corner of the room. He pulled bottles from the shelves and started to weigh and measure powders. Sobinski watched in a daze. The old man's gaze had been hypnotic--either that or the meth was starting to rot his brain. Perhaps it was time to give up that shit.
Lu Tuc turned away from the work table and shuffled to the counter. He set down a jar of powder and a bottle of liquid. He tapped the jar of powder. "Make tea. Every night drink. In morning drink from this." He touched the bottle.
Sobinski looked suspiciously at the bottles. "What's in this? How do I know that you ain't tryin' to poison me?"
Lu Tuc turned away from him. He stopped at the beaded curtain and turned around. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Perfume, officer. It is perfume that comes from the inside." He disappeared into the back room.
Sobinski looked at the grandson. "What is this shit?"
"My Grandfather is a herbalist. Many things effect the body. They leave you with an odor. This one supposedly attracts women. Besides, what do you care? Word on the street is that you'll put anything in your body. What's one more thing?"
Sobinski noticed for the first time that the grandson's eyes were as black and steely as the great-grandfathers. He scooped up the bottles and went back to work.
That night Sobinski brewed a cup of tea.
The next morning he drank from the bottle. He topped it off with a shot of vodka and a laced cigarette and headed for work.
Cloeata looked particularly fine. She dressed demurely, but there was no way to conceal her heavy bosom. Sobinski leaned over the counter and smiled.
Cloeata stared back hard at him. "Don't even start Sobinski. I've had enough of your shit." Her nostrils flared. "What are you wearing?"
Sobinski looked down. "My uniform."
"No shithead. Your scent."
Sobinski was confused. "My scent?"
Cloeata sighed. "Your aftershave. What kind of aftershave do you have on?'
"None I-- " Sobinski paused. What was it that old Lu Tuc Fuck had said? They smell you, they want you Yeah, that was it. Sobinski smiled. "I ain't wearing nuthin, honey. That's eau-du-Sobinski you're smelling."
Cloeata frowned. "Jesus H. Christ. I try to be nice to you for once and look what happens." She turned away from him and picked up the phone. Her blouse pulled tight over her chest and Sobinski got a good shot of her nipples. They were rock-hard.
Sobinski grinned. Good things were starting to happen.
He heated up a large pan of water after work and dumped in the entire contents of the jar. By the time he went to bed his kidneys were floating. He got up in the middle of the night to take a leak. He looked at the clock. Three a.m. Close enough to morning for Sobinski. He padded to the kitchen and drained the contents of the bottle. He thought of Cloeata. He thought about her full pouty lips wrapped around his peter. He shivered. It was enough to give a guy an involuntary on the spot. He climbed back in bed and stroked himself for a while. His stroking turned to scratching. His crotch itched. Oh great, he thought, probably picked up the cooties from that gook hooker he'd taken a freebie off of the day before. He was all out of crab douche. He'd have to take care of it in the morning. Sobinski fell to sleep scratching his ass and thinking of Cloeata.
The next morning Sobinski crawled out of bed with bladder that felt like an over-inflated basketball. He scooted into the bathroom and plopped his ass on the toilet. Might as well take care of two jobs at once.
Sobinski sat there for a minute, but nothing would come. He tried to force it, but it was like someone had snuck in and put a vise on his penis. Sobinski figured he had been on the verge of wetting the bed and now his valving was screwed down tight. He tried to relax. He picked up a Readers Digest and looked at a story about some do-gooder who helped inner city kids learn how to read. He felt the urge to shit and just as he finished dropping that load he could feel the water start to come. It surged into his penis and then stopped. Pain shot through his groin and stomach. His penis felt like it was on fire. I'm passing a kidney stone he thought. God- dammit, I'm passing a kidney stone! Sobinski grimaced. He held onto the toilet seat with a bone crushing grip and pushed. Another flare of pain shot through him and then he felt movement. Sobinski squeezed as hard as he could. The pain traveled to the tip of his penis and he heard a splash as the stone hit the water. Sobinski sighed. Urine flooded out of him. He sat on the toilet, shaking and drenched in sweat. He looked down into the toilet to see if he could see the stone and screamed.
Hanging out of the end of his dick was what looked like newly sprouted grass. A thin mat of fine, green blades covered the water in the toilet. In the middle bobbed a small clump of dark green goo--the kind of thing that a lawnmower kicks out when you mow too fast and the grass is wet.
Sobinski fingered the grassy stuff sticking out of his peter. He grabbed a blade and pulled. A new flare of pain shot through his groin. It felt as if he'd tried to pull a testicle out his urethra. He rummaged in a drawer and found a fingernail scissors. He pulled the grassy stuff out straight and put the open blades of the scissors around the stuff. His hand started to shake and he hoped like hell that whatever this grass was it wasn't tied into his nervous system. He pulled the scissors away from his penis.
Sobinski padded to the kitchen. He poured a water tumbler of vodka and found his amphetamine. He plopped his ass in a chair and thought.
Half a glass of vodka and two special cigarettes later and he had the answer. That gook hooker had infected him with some kind of exotic oriental yeast infection or something. Instead of tiny livestock crawling around in his pants he had an oriental herb garden. Herb garden. Sobinski chuckled drunkenly. Maybe I should go shake my peter in old Lu Tuc's face. I might have a fortune growing out of my dick.
Sobinski picked the scissors up off the kitchen table. A weed, that's all it was. Some sort of fungal infection or something. He held the green growth away from his body and used the scissors.
He screamed once then toppled off the chair and hit the floor.
# # #
Sobinski awoke some time later, a puddle of sticky green fluid under his body and the odor of freshly mown hay in the air. He looked at his watch. Five hours. He'd been out for five hours. He tried to raise himself up off the floor, but his arm gave way. It had no strength, like a piece of cooked pasta. He again pushed himself off the floor and was aghast to see his arm bend. It bowed out between his elbow and his shoulder.
His head was clear. This wasn't some fungus from the gook hooker. Her pussy had been smooth shaved and light brown; not green like his pubic hair, not green like the veins in his arms. No, this wasn't from some hooker. This was the work of Lu Tuc Bien. He was sure of it.
Sobinski staggered to his feet. Revenge driven he crossed the room on rubbery legs stopping only at the sink to drink what seemed like several gallons of water. His throat tickled and the water made it feel better for a moment. Sobinski coughed. Fine plant-like blades covered his hand when he took it away from his mouth.
He plopped himself at his phone table and ruffled through the directory. He dialed the phone.
"Viet-Tien Grocery." Lu Tuc.
"Listen you little piece of shit. I don't know what you did to me, but when I get done with you your great grandpup won't find a piece of you big enough to feed to a sparrow. I'm coming for you fucker! Do you here me? I'm coming for you!" He coughed again. Tiny whirligigs of green hovered above the phone table then helicoptered down. They covered the instrument with a fine, green fuzz.
The line was silent. Sobinski heard a breathing, a gentle counterpoint to his own increasingly ragged breaths. The toenails on his left foot started to split. Tiny green cilia pushed up through the cracks and bent toward the table light.
Lu Tuc spoke. Sobinski swore there was a smile in that voice.
"Perhaps you can be of use officer."
Sobinski stunned. "What?"
"Perhaps," said Lu Tuc, "there is yet a way that you may have a useful life. Shall I come and see if I may help you attain that life?"
That little shit! Sobinski gritted his teeth. He felt them shift in his mouth. He spit out three of them. Green sap oozed down his chin. Something twanged deep in the bone of his left leg and for a moment he felt a pain so deep he thought he might die on the spot. The pain receded. An evil glint lit his now emerald eyes.
He spoke, his voice nothing more than a grassy whisper. "Yes. Come." He gave his address and hung up.
He lurched to his feet and hobbled to the bedroom. Something roiled in his stomach. He looked down and could see movement under his skin as if a ball of eels whirled in his gut.
Sobinski navigated to the bedtable. He picked up his .44 magnum and, with clumsy hands, checked the load. Lu Tuc Fuck was in for a surprise. His left leg let go and he fell toward the bed. His left arm bent at ninety degrees as he caught himself, but there was no pain. Sobinski pushed himself upright and hopped toward the doorway on his right leg. It felt punk and rotten and he knew he'd better find a seat to wait for Lu Tuc. Entering the living room his right leg gave out and he pitched to the floor. Sobinski felt a sloshing inside as he headed downward. He hit the floor with a wet thwack. The bones of his ribcage collapsed like old cornstalks. His head thunked the cheap vinyl flooring.
Fifteen minutes later Lu Tuc and his great-grandson entered the apartment with a large copper boiler and two grain shovels.
If he had been able, Sobinski would have screamed.
# # #
Sobinski lay in the copper boiler and basked in the warmth of the sun. He filled the boiler to the rim, the rich black soil he lay on as comfortable as any bed. Green shoots stood three feet high where his arms had been, even higher in the area of his legs. The two dark pits of his eyes marked the location of his head, his crotch a patch of low green fuzz.
He felt the floor tremble as someone ascended the rickety stairs from the Viet-tien Grocery. Sobinski hoped it was the great-grandson. He liked him. He brought him water and, often, food. Occassionally he played Sobinski music. Vivaldi. The Four Seasons. He always felt stronger after that. More alive. More vigorous.
The trembling stopped. He sensed the scrape of sandles against rough wood. Lu Tuc. Sobinski would have cried if he had been able. The tiny man moved into view, a fuzzy blot against the skylight, the dark blob of the herb basket below one arm.
Sobinski tensed. The high shoots of him rustled as if windblown. This was bad.
Lu Tuc reached out to where Sobinski’s feet had been and slowly pinched off the first leaf.
Harvest Time.
Dale Schwitalla is a firefighter in central Minnesota. His previous stories appear in the first four issues of Bobette Bryan's horror 'zine Underworlds. You may contact Dale at vinniemoto@juno.com