dusk was settling into the “fisherman’s parking lot” at fort tilden when maxx and i returned to the car.
the lot was empty except for my car and in the far left corner, that dark-gray honda odyssey.
if i could read a racing form as well as i read the grifting lizards behavior, i’d probably have a gambling problem.
i wouldn’t have a chance.
the reason i knew the eduardo ciannelli-sounding lizard guy (who looks like omar sharif) was here, he’ll tell me, is because he told me in my feeble little brain.
if you’re new here, you should know this; the con-artist, grifting lizards from mars read human thought like a pie-chart that says, “100% patsy.”
people are nothing more than rubes and saps who they nurture then pluck when it’s time for “a meal and a suit.”
to them, we’re lowly as anything that goes through the chicago or omaha stockyards.
the lizards’ method of cultivation, collection and slaughter is just more creative…sort of.
we’re free-range humanity and as i was told years ago, it’s “nothing personal.”
as ginger rogers once said to told me, “a girl’s gotta eat,” and so do intergalactic bunco artists.
on the other hand, at least they don’t scoop us up by the giant shovelful and use us as batteries like those other aliens do.
even the grifting lizards whisper when they speak of them.
excuse me for going off like this.
it’s been a while since being with the grifting lizards from mars and feel the need to offer background to the new reader (if there are any), hence the “links” every time i mention them, aliens, grifting or anything like that.
knowledge is power, right?
ask any con-artist lizard.
ask ayn rand…or at least the lizard who made a meal and suit of ayn rand and wrote atlas shrugged.
i apologize for saying (in the last link) that angelina jolie would play the part of dagny taggart in the “atlas shrugged” film that came out recently. the link will explain, though i’m trying to understand jolie’s altruism and her devotion to the book.
diametrically opposed? yeah,….a little.
but i wasn’t thinking all this stuff as maxx pulled me to the driver’s side of my car. i opened the door and he jumped in.
i took the two-liter bottle of canada dry seltzer (that was emptied and refilled with nyc-tap water) from the back seat and filled his stainless-steel bowl, then took a few long draws from it myself, screwed the plastic cap onto the bottle and tossed it into the back seat.
maxx sunk below window-level.
he always does this when they’re around.
i closed the door, took a deep breath and headed toward the honda and the shadowy figure seated in the driver’s seat.
i couldn’t see into the rest of the car.
there were high-quality auto curtains, black with a grey horizontal stripe, at each window behind the front seats.
when i was within five steps of the car, the driver’s-side window slid down ominously.
here’s my math;
meeting a lizard-guy at dusk in an empty parking lot = ominous, though i wasn’t worried. i was never gonna be on the menu, not with my credit rating.
“of course,” he said as i closed in on the car.
“huh? you talking to me…,” i asked, thinking he was finishing a thought with someone else in the car.
“i was just telling you that everything you were thinking was me telling you…”
“you know what i mean. regarding you and me. you know how little everything else you think matters to me.”
“that’s harsh,” i said, a little hurt. “i thought we were something along the order of friends, or something.”
“well, we are something, yes.”
“i don’t understand why you feel it so important to lord your…..intergalactic-ness over me. christ, i’ve seen what you guys do. i know what you’re about.”
i was feeling bold. “just curious but, have you withdrawn because of…”
“yes. yes i did,” he said, “i’m not sure what to do about humans in what might be termed as, “in distress,” other than the momentary kind they exhibit when we…uh…dine. i felt that until your brainwaves were as receptive as they’d been in the past, i thought it wise to bow out a little. plus, i’ve been very, very busy.”
he nudged his head toward the interior of the vehicle behind him. i tried to peer behind him but it was too dark to make out what was going on there, save what appeared as rounded silhouettes in the seat back there.
“what?…..am i supposed to see something? you showing me something?” i asked.
for the first time since knowing this lizard guy, he exhibited a human trait, that being anxiousness or exasperation. i attribute it to me.
hang out with a barber, eventually you’ll get a haircut.
is that it? is that how it goes?
i felt a bubble of “glee” rise up inside me for a millisecond.
“what?..behind me in the back seat. can’t you see?” he said, but lizards can’t turn their heads quickly like humans do.
their necks are immensely powerful and they pivot like a steroid-loaded athlete.
i remember that day with madoff’s son; such horribly majestic power.
it was like watching jurassic park only it wasn’t a movie and the sounds of hide-tearing, bone and cartilage busting and those “sucking sounds” were in real-time, in my world that moment, as blood-plattered windows blocked the view of what was happening, not more than fifteen in front of me.
those sounds, as the car rocked like it was a toy, still haunt me.
i peered in again, craning my head slightly into the car window itself – the lizard guy who looks like omar sharif and sounds like eduardo ciannelli tilted his head to the right and shifted toward the center console of the car – and again looked at the shadowy, round figures, inert in the back seat with what looked like shrouds or blankets draped over them, further obscuring them in the accelerating darkness.
i noticed by the passenger-side back door, something move, like an arm or something, accompanied by cracking sounds, like a thin piece of sheet-plaster being broken by hand.
with the sound was a stench i never experienced before.
it was like a chemical burn accompanied by sulfur and death.
shivers ran through me.
“don’t be scared,” he said in that smoky, lizardy-voice, “meet the kids.”