SPACE NOIR BAR by Mike Marino (good novels to read TXT) 📕

earlier in the day about a missing sister she suspected was missing and feared she had had been abducted to a distant planet I had only heard of. A planet of wanton sex and eroticism and a ecstasy producing midnight blue drink called Soma. The planet Robotia -  the sex and Soma capital of the quadrant.

 

Good soma (drinking or smoking varieties) was hard to find on Retropolis as  too much Soma has a mule kick that causes a Jekyll-Hyde yin-yang transformation inducing in some a thirst for murder and a hunger for a rampage rape, not gender specific I might add that could go on for hours on end until the effects had worn off. There were never any criminal charges brought against a person or perp as they used to be called in pulp novels of the 20th Cent. On Robotia you could murder, rape and engage in extreme  BDSM legally...all you had to do was pick a gender or both and enjoy the macabre fantasy turned reality

 

To come down off a soma high you needed a huge combo amount of tranqs, cannabis and peyoticite, and the planet Robotia to where I was about set a course for was the Soma and drug vortex of the universe which to me was my Cibola. I was Coronado searching for the lost city of  sex and drugs...my pot of gold...did it exist? Was the phone call from the prospective client a mere illusion? Was someone, perhaps one of my drunken friends having a go at me to have fun at my expense...

The fog that dusk was as thick and heavy as coagulated blood from  head wound. As the fog thickened outside my window, I could make out her shadow back lit in the hallway closing in on the door of my office in down and out downtown old beat Detroit..once proud..now a gang war zone that even the cops were part of the mayhem.

 

I was behind in the rent and utilities, in dead last place on the race rack and flat on my ass cash strapped..I couldn’t afford a 500,000 space buck back alley blow job by a Neptunian nymph dressed up as a Catholic school girl, every mans fantasy even now in the 30th Cent. Catholic  girls are now a race of vixens unto themselves and they had sex down to a science.  they were , over easy, and we were hungry, so together it was a sexual plate of eggs and sausage. You don’t have to be Fellini to figure this one out.

 

These girls dressed in plaid skirts  the catholic girls you saw in the hallway everyday who were damn near virginal but these were real ass kickers! Catholic schools still existed (The Pope was part of the Planetary Congress as church and state were now one) I went to one and in class I would drop a pencil or pad of notebook paper so I could bend down and grab a quick peek of paradise..I thought I was real nonchalant...well, forget about it..those girls were way ahead of us or at least was way ahead of me...as I would bend low to be subtle and unnoticed..I noticed that she noticed too and at the appropriate moment..her legs would part as wide as the Red Sea..yes, it was a miracle. A goddamned Catholic Miracle...bless me father for I have sinned..over and over again and again...when I die I may go to the Ninth Gate of Hell but in my life I’ve already been to paradise and back ready as always to bite the forbidden fruit...so to all of you in plaid skirts who walked the holy halls of Catholic School...you are the Eve’s the world...hold out an apple and we’ll follow you anywhere your estros leads us.

Our detective agency was faltering and our secretary, Madeline Kubla Kahn, wasn't faring much better as she hadn't received a check for weeks and she IS  a Czech, a real one from what used to be called Czech Republic, an autonomous republic no more, world geo autonomy was over, it was one dystopian world now. She was also a former shot put champ of that old Eastern Bloc (now Europa) so you know what they say...never bounce a check on a Czech. Thankfully she had a crush on me and could crush me with her thighs alone .  She thrived on the atmosphere of our office and the lack of pay didn’t matter to her (she had two husbands that were filthy rich..and yes planetary polygamy was also now legal for both genders!) She had nothing better to do with her time or I'd have to answer my own phone.

Right now I was in another frame of mine as a shadowy female figure (my new throaty Kathleen Turneresque client I thought in anticipation) in the hallway loomed larger, closer and began to take shape, I heard the door open gently, quietly, as only a frightened person will do. Fear makes us all cautious…

Chapter 3 - Poontang Pemalang: The Sci Fi Eskimo

 

As the mysterious well formed female figure entered my outdated relic from the Mickey Spillane age office,  I couldn’t help but notice that she  had one hell of an upper rack on her... and legs! Damn those legs...they  were the Route 66 of flesh, the Mother Road bound for Woody Guthrie glory ending on a wet west coast, 2,000 miles all the way from Chicago or to put it in 30th Century perspective they could jet propel sensuously from  Retropolis to Moon Luna and I was ready to ride her rocket all the way from one end to the other and get lost in her vapor trail.

 

She wasn't the usual client that walks into a cheap detective’s office, all nervous and unsure of themselves. Quite the opposite. She oozed confidence, she could have been a dominatrix for out of line Disney Mouseketeers needing discipline.

 

Attractive? Youbetcha! She had that Asian look that brings me to my knees faster than a penitent in a Catholic confessional begging forgiveness for masturbation or murder, or both if your perverted serial killer.

 

My mental filing cabinet slammed open with a crash as I could see her face fully in the faltering light and my hungover haze. There was something so familiar about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it….I had seen her before...somewhere..in bed? No, too classy for me. I was a pure street hooker and Cyborg erotibot degenerate. It would come to me eventually and hit me like a headshot from a Farganite sniper.

 

I sized her up and guessed she was probably she had Vietnamese roots and I could imagine a Ho Chi Minh Trails of secret secretions from tunnels of fun hidden deep in her jungle.

 

I also took a wild guess, that proved correct, that she also had Innuit roots from the great white north of wet beaver and cold beer somewhere in Canada where you can’t really gauge a body shape due to the fact of  all the fur they wear...ever see an Eskimo Pinup Girl? Well ,beneath all that layering when stripped away along with all pretense of objectivity, you'll find some awesome flesh adorned  with  a hidden pubic rainforest pot of gold...I digress...and diverge...but I am diverse..

 

I could see she was a hot package, dynamite in fact, and could smell trouble, or was it that near tuna aroma emanating from somewhere south of her body’s equator where Estros Brazil would be?  

 

It attracted me like a shark to a human happy meal. She dropped her coat to the floor, seductively.  I sat there unable to move.  Even the way she pulled out a cigarette from a pack of fancy French brand smokes from Quebec or the nearby reservation where they're sold at discount prices. I was right...she was Asian,  with Eskimo blood that made my blood rush to all the right parts of my body

 

She walked seductively to my desk to take a seat, and what a fine  seat she had. I could go seal hunting in her warm inviting igloo everyday if she invited me. She said very calmly but with a slight accent I couldn't place, (when it comes to the Bering Straits, accents have no bearing anyway) "Got a match?" I wanted to flick her Bic where I sat so I played with my lighter, which you shouldn't do in public, but I did anyway until it flamed up and ignited...I leaned in closer to get a lungful of her intoxication aroma, her perfume, (the fresh tuna probably) had me on my knees...my flame met her tobacco and the room was on fire..or at least the action zone region south of my pants pockets and belt.

 

She introduced herself as Poontang Pemalang,  a beautiful name and damned if every old classic movie didn’t race through my mind like flashcards. She was Bacall to my Bogart. Hepburn to my Tracy. Yin to my Yang.

 

As she took that first long drag on her cig, the lights flickered in the office...right on cue? For effect? or just bad wiring. “I’ll have to get that fixed someday” I told myself and made a note on a greasy page of an old notepad that had seen better days. It wasn't my pad anyway, it was a prescription pad I had lifted from my doctor’s desk the last time I was in her office for a full nude exam and to get a refill of my amphetamines. Which reminds me...my script for Loboto-tranqs was due for an illegal refill. (She was what we call a hymen happy sex addict..so as long as you fucked her often and well you got your tranqs.) I had been addicted to them since the Big War and had grown quite fond of them...hell, I needed them to function.

 

Poontang relaxed, she inhaled, and then exhaled, inhale exhale, her chest heaving out forming massive canyons of cleavage you could mush  huskies in...then in her low sexy voice began her tale of intrigue and asked for my help in retrieving her half sister, Mary Asteroid, from the clutches of space pimps.

 

I was hooked by this mesmerising  minx of the north and told her my expenses were 3,000,000 space dollars a day ($200 in 21st Century money)...she didn't bat an eye and pulled out  1,000,000 from her clutch and handed it to me as a down payment..I knew this was going to be trouble..she was beautiful, and smelled like tuna in the beaver pelt region... pungent and intoxicating as a ladies roller derby locker room after a sweaty hour on the track. This sexy little firebrand  was the kind of woman who could make a man an explorer, and I wanted to be Henry Hudson and search her Northwest Territory for the fabled Northwest Passage.

 

I wanted to be near her, I was already falling hard and fast. I wanted to find her sister now at all costs. I loved the thought of 3,000,000  plus space bucks a day and the taste of  Asian tuna..so together we made plans to set off for Robotia, the last known location of Mary Asteroid and for the madness and adventure that lay ahead for us. Toss in a few broken bones by Scorcese