EPISODE XVI
Anthony is jealous of Etienne's friend.
Hawking's discovered cosmic beta-blockers.
Her friends give him and Mary Jo best wishes.
She's given him her heart, her hand, her knockers.
Tonight, they'll share the bridal suite at Trisha's.
Terhorst gives them a choice of sheets: piqué,
Egyptian cotton, English linen, dotted
Swiss, chenille, Porthault, Matelassé;
They try the family breakfast bar; they're spotted
At family roulette; they try their hand
At other family pastimes, such as craps
And Terhorst's family slot machines; they're banned
From blackjack (they count cards). They're under wraps,
Doing clandestine inquiries for Mac,
Plotting Carlene's abduction on a graph.
By Tuesday, Mary Jo is on the track;
By Wednesday morning, she's transmitted half
A scrambled version of the key equation
To headquarters. But Anthony’s gone odd;
He’s jealous of Mac’s sudden elevation
To high command. “Who died and left you God?”
Mac is denied a promotion.
Mac counters: “If you want this plan to work,
Follow my orders. I’ll bring home the floozie.
I’m in charge here, like Al Haig.” Berserk,
Anthony opens fire with his Uzi.
“You’ll never be our chief, you lousy Russky!”
Mac’s shredded on the ground, his body porous.
Anthony’s run amok. Just before dusk, he
Comes to a hidden compound in the forest.
Anthony’s been a few bars in a medley
Up to this point. Now, envy has propelled him
To Grammy nominee of gore. With deadly
Fervor, he pursues a chance that seldom
Comes to us in this life (it comes to none
Save those who find the manhood to step up
And take it at the barrel of a gun).
Anthony’s too far gone in blood to stop.
Mac suspects a child is being abused.
This must be Gunny’s place, where Carlene’s hostage!
With AK-47 blazing, wild as
A civil| service worker drunk on postage
Who’s learned his disability was filed as
Vacation time, Anthony closes ground.
The cottage door is shredded by a barrage.
The chef of carnage, Anthony trims down
A brace of Guardians fleeing from the garage.
He bones and fillets two more in the foyer,
Then turns and cries exultant, “Now I shall be
The one—the only—Anthony the Destroyer!”
“No chance, you punk!” Anthony whirls—it’s Albie,
Who hisses, “My friend—this will be a seminar
Touching upon the art of the grenade.”
Anthony slashes wildly with Mac’s scimitar;
As Albie sets himíelf to launch, the blade
Severs his fingers at the upper joint,
In an inverted arc, cleaves hand from wrist,
Then head from torso. Albie’s finger polnts
Lifeless but prescient, a deadly tryst
With two whose trysts have served them ill before:
The hand grenade, propelled by some caprice
Of wicked fate, rolls through an open door
To rest beneath Sophia and Bernice.
Normandy, Belleau Wood, Khe Sanh, Korea,
All in one tiny room. The wall’s in pieces,
The floor’s a gaping precipice. Sophia
Is little more than wallpaper. Bernice is
Fighting for breath, one lung collapsed. Distraught,
Anthony picks!h;s way across the rubble,
Cradles her in his arms. “This is my fault!”
She runs her dýing hands across his stubble
To seal his trembling lips. “We brought it on
Ourselves,” sh¬e says. “We suffer the effects
Of life pursued for wantonness alone—
Me and Sophia, we came here for sex,
Shamed as I am to tell. We were the lure
For Carlene.” “Not Carlene? Carlene was carnal?
That can’t be!” “ No, Carlene was chase and pure.
She only came to save us from this charnel
Compound of lust, indulgence and libido,
Shrine of the sybarite and libertine.”
“There’s really all that going on here? Neat-o,”
Says Anthony. “Wait – that’s awful. Where’s Carlene?”
Outside, the battle has degenerated
To scattered violence and random looting.
While Gunny’s assets are appropriated
By the Perot militia. As the shooting
Diminishes, Anthony holds Bernice.
Her breathing’s labored, and her voice is cracked.
“Carlene came here,” she says. “Her inner peace
Shaken, but her soul’s resolve intact.
She’d purified herself through weeks of fasting,
Philosophy her only sustenance.
An anorexic saint, she learned that lasting
Peace of mind only comes through abstinence.
The Guardians sent Gunny to seduce her;
He thought to lure her with sodomy
(They say it’s not real sex). That was a loser;
Next, I’m ashamed to say, they got to me
And to Sophia. If we’d only known
Then what we know now, we never would
Have followed the elusive pheromone
That led to Mr. Gunny’s neighborhood—
But let’s not dwell on all that sordid sex stuff.
Carlene came to our rescue, and they got her.
That’s all there is. Please notify my next of
Kin…” Bernice is close to maggot fodder,
She’s slipping. He massages her adrenal
Gland, and she stirs. “Carlene?” “Yes, yes, she’s here,
In post-traumatic trauma from the venal
Realities of Bernice and Sophia,
Once her most trusted acolytes. Farewell,
And find Carlene before our perfidy
Destroys her spirit with its evil spell…
Find her!” Bernice lies silent. Anthony
Unholsters a Sig Sauer, reconnoiters;
The compound is enclosed in shrouded gloom,
The walls are dank. In every nook, death loiters,
Potential hazards in each building loom,
But what about Carlene? No trace…until
He hears faint sobbing from beyond a door.
He flings it open! There, poised for the kill
Is Gunny, smiling from behind a .44.
The Guardian’s dying, but his manner’s jolly:
“You know, old sport, you could have made a go
Of this; you could have stuck with Mac and Polly,
Gotten intelligence from Mary Jo,
And found Carlene before it was too late.
A little man, trying to make a name.
Nice try, old fellow.” Polly’s at the gate.
The compound goes up in a ball of flame.
© Tad Richards
