Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.
Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper. At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.
Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.
Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.
Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.
The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.
On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.
“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock
“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie
“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”
“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”
“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.
“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”
“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.
“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.
Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.
The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.
The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.
The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes and ran just as deep.
The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.
Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.
“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.
“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”
“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”
“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”
“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”
“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.
“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.
“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”
Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.
Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.
Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.
In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”
Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.
“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.
“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.
“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.
“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.
“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”
“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.
Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.
To Be Continued…
In
The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special
Presented By Les Sober
Live:
