“Tark”

Louis Tarka felt fine. In fact, he didn’t know what all the fucking fuss was about. Sure, he was wearing women’s clothes, but who hadn’t? And yeah, he was drinking a lot, doing a lot of blow and mim, hitting vases around his twenty-fifth floor mansionetta with a baseball bat, smoking indoors, which he hadn’t done in thirty years. And there were lots of people around. Not like before—no, okay, granted—none of the old gang, his pals, the crew. They were all gone, mostly forever. These new kids; he didn’t know ‘em. They knew him, of course, as everyone in the Splendid District did. Louis Tarka, that old bad motherfucker upstairs. Old Tark, that’s an old skool gangsta bitch, right there. Whatever. He didn’t understand it when he was young, a thousand fucking years ago, and he certainly didn’t get it any better now. But it’s cool. It’s all fine, really. What’s the worry or the fuss, jesus fucking christ pose. Naked in a paisley silk robe, old dick and balls hanging out, chillin’, he smoked by the fireplace, occasionally poking the crisp logs with the pointed little spear. Each hiss, crackle, pop—from the ciggy or the wood—made him jump a little. So he opened the bigass ring on his left hand, snorted some mim, snapped it shut.
Thus brought Raven in, tall as shit, tan skin still tight after all these years, her high native cheekbones making her regal as fuck. She walked over to him, barefoot and black dress flowing all gauzy as hell, and he rested his head on her breastbone.
“Oh thank fucking god. I missed you, baby.”
“How much did you miss me, baby?” Raven asked, her voice grown smoky with age but still cradling that teen lilt he knew from the mall days, way the fuck back then we they was radio motherfuckers in trench coats and jacked guns, looking to make a fucking name in this god damned town by hook or fuckin’ crook, god damn it, making love in gas stations, on motorcycles, in front of other people, sometimes with other people. But it was them, the two of them, always.
“A lot, baby. Bunches and bunches,” Tark said, his voice cracking a bit.
Raven pet his hair with strong, long fingers, gentle but aged with years of violence, nails razor sharp and guilty of many a death.
“I don’t know what I’m doing up here when you're not around. It’s fine. I mean, what’s the fucking rumpus, anyways, right?”
Raven was silent but for her breath.
He smelled her, and she smelled right, the way she should. That made him smile and cry a little. He nuzzled into her chest, small breasts parting for his stubbly cheek. “Jesus, man alive, baby, I’m glad you’re here. These fucking freaks outside, man. It’s like the god damn Cog years all over again. Demons out there in the streets. This dipshit Chairman fucking everything up. Sure, he’s kept my pockets lined with fat, omenesto garbon, but that don’t make it right. And these fucking Wall-eyed motherfuckers. They got your people lined up. I just want to shoot every one of them in the god damned face and be like, how ya like me now, asshole! I’ll pop your god damned balls with a spell, cut your dick with a razor, longways lika hotdog, ya so damned eager for a split! Where da fuck did you come from, huh? Ain no body born in Azza-Jono, motherfucker. Then I remember they’d be dead and wouldn’t matter what I say, like that time when Blood got into it with that shitdeck, Lipid? Remember that, Raves?”
“Mm hmm,” she said softly, her chest rumbling against his old face.
“I shot that fucker right in the face. Blood didn’t say shit, of course, as was his way. Which, I mean, how the fuck did that even happen then?”
Raven didn’t say, just kept stroking his head.
“Anyway,” Tark continued, “as you may recall, afters I shot him, I told him what’s what. You don’t disrespect my crew and yada yada yada. About ten minutes into that crazy shit, you put a hand on my shoulder and go, ‘He’s dead, baby. He can’t get it.” And it dawned on me. Oh yeah! I saw his fucking spirit leave his body, sure, yeah—omeno dispara, and all that—but it’s like I hadn't noticed until you touched me. Remember that?”
“Sure,” she said.
“It’s like that time. That time, what’s with you and me and Blood. Tap, too.” And with that name he began to properly sob. “I fucked it all up, baby. I killed him. He was on the wires, and I was on da spells. It was up to me to know. I was s’pposed to know what was in that bottle. But I was too fucking cocky. Too trigger happy. I didn’t check the arcana. I just bum rushed in there, and it all went to hell. It’s my fault he’s dead, Raves. I killt him. My best friend.”
He’d meant Tapper, which Raven would know, but Summer didn’t because she hadn’t been born yet. Summer’s mother hadn’t even been born yet, though her father had. Her father was a shitbagger called Trogo on the street, Trone at his house. She hadn’t known him well before Louis Tarka shot him in the face. Neither of them knew this because neither of them knew anything about the other.
Tark lifted his head and saw it wasn’t Raven, but Summer. “Oh. Shit, Summer. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry all over ya tits likes that. I mean, breasts, excuse me.” He straightened himself upright, nearly a foot taller than the little blonde broad he’d picked up in one of his notorious limo cruises about a month ago. She had had this other girl with her—Ren or something like that—who he had liked better, but she just wasn’t there one day.
Reflexively, he used his Optiret to pay Summer.
Currency symbols flashed on her eyes, so he knew she’d received it.
“Thank you, daddy,” she said, then smashed her tits together with both hands.
Tark nodded, stuck a cigarette  in his mouth, snapped his fingers near the end of it, and presto; it was lit. “You’re welcome, angel.”
“Hey, do you mind if I taste a little Jesse?”
Tark didn’t mind. He popped open his ring, held it out to her, and she looked up at him like she was sucking his dick, then gave it a sniff and a giggle, licked her lips like it’s a porno. He smiled. She was cute. Dumb as hell but sweet.
Summer stood and went to him, pressed her tits against him, rubbed his old cock and balls just hanging out in the air.
“You ain gots do all that,” he said.
“But I want to, daddy.”
He nodded to the other room. “Why don’t you go out theres for awhile, no? Have some fun. Enjoy yourself.”
Summer smiled widely. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“No! Hell no, ‘scuse my sayin’. Go have fun. Be young and have fun.”
“Thank you, daddy,” she said. She kissed him softly, sweetly on the lips. It reminded him of Raven. But it wasn’t Raven. He smiled at Summer but didn’t say anything else.
She skipped on happy feet, big ass bouncing as she let a roaring ‘woo’ out when she reached the other room.
Tark smoked down the cig, tossed it in the fire, went to his bedroom—one of ‘em, the one where he slept most often—sat down at the vanity and put on his makeup.
With red lips he said to the mirror, “Next time, baby. Next time for real. I promise.”


2
Slinky Mix came by the mansionette. “Damn, bruh, dis a sweet place ya gots here, mafucka.”
Tark nodded, lit a smoke he pulled from an ornate cigarette box by his baroque velvet chair. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Slink examined Summer’s body as she walked by, looking her up and down with his whole body, bottom lip stuck out, tongue licking it. “Goddam, you got some fine ass around chere, too, main.”
“Yeah. Kids, mostly. It’s weird, brother, it’s weird. Feel like a dirty old man. But they keep me company and I keep them happy and safe. So.” He shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“It’s the mafuckin hookup is what it is, mah-main. Sheeit. I’d be comin lika mafucka in that ass all day everyday,” Slink said, pointing at Summer’s large butt. “Don look like no kid ta me. Bitch twenty-fi.”
She heard him, looked coyly over her right shoulder, then giggled, flipped her hair, but kept walking.
“She’s a sweet girl,” Tark said. “Loves to fuck. She’d probably be into you, if you want that.”
“Hell yeah!” Slink said. “You fer real?”
“Not up to me,” Tark said. “But i’m cool with you askin’ her. Provided you ask her nicely and do what she says.”
“Of course, mah-main, of course.” Slink feigned respectability, and Tark huffed, but let it unfold.
Slink did his usual bullshit, the kind Tark had seen Raven cut him for twenty-five years ago. But Summer was down. She let him kiss her breasts, lick her nipples, eat her pussy while she kept standing there, staring at Tark sometimes, at some of the other young ones fucking in the living room other times, playing with Slink’s braids. Then he stood up and she went down, sucked his dick, frequently looking at Tark until Slink came on her face.
Ten, maybe even five years ago, Tark would have been hard as hell and gotten in on that. Instead, he just smiled at her. He was glad she was having fun here and was safe from all the wackos out there. Wackos like Slink, like him. He could handle himself here, watch Slink. But out there it was a fucking jungle. All his people were hiding or dead. No way to see shit, no way to know anything for sure. So it’s fucked up in a way, sure, he thought, but it’s better she’s here.
He stubbed out his smoke in a gold inlaid marble ashtray, got up and walked past her, pet her head. She reached for his flaccid penis, but he gently squeezed her hand to say no, then gestured for Slink to follow.
The two of them went out on the balcony, pulling their masks on as they exited the building.
“That is a sweet piece, right there,” Slink said. “I can see why you ain gettin out no mo.”
“Ain gettin’ out on account of this motherfucking plague, my man,” Tark said. “And I don’t just mean the disease. I’m talking about all these motherfuckers out here.” He gestured to the streets below.
Slink nodded. “Sheeit, ain nuthin changed really, main. Same old bullshit dog-eat-dog as befo.”
“Nah, man, nah. It’s different. I can feel it in my bones. And my dreams, brother. They’re weird.”
“That’s the City speakin to ya, baby,” Slink said, then chuckled. “Aybody know dat.”
Tark waved it away. “It’s different, Slink. I know it.”
“Well, you always been a sweatah, baby. You a damn legend, got this palatial hookup, still worried about street rats, main. Chill.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Slink stroked Tark’s face. “What’s with the makeup, bruh? You a bitch now?”
“I think maybe I am, brother. Started awhile ago. Before the plague, yeah, but I don’t know that it’s not connected.”
Slink ignored all that, looked Tark up and down. “You kina fine fo an old bitch. I can see it, I mean.”
Tark frowned but knew the deal. “Thanks.”
“You gonna lemme fuck dat ass?”
“If she wants. Like I said.”
“Naw, I ain talkin about that fine big assed bitch in der. I’m talkin bout yo old white ass.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“You want to fuck me in the ass?”
“Fo sho.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“Naw, niggah. Do I seem like I’m kiddin?”
Tark’s cock got hard. Not rock hard, but enough that Slink could see.
Slink smiled. “I thank that’s a yes.”
Then Tark gripped the stone railing, went up on his toes.
With a rough hand, Slink through the silk robe aside. He ate Tark’s ass first, which made Tark’s cock swell. Tark grabbed for one of his own nipples with one hand, but then felt acrophobia kick in, so he grabbed the rail with both hands again, let the longing in his chest be its own kind of pleasure.
He was a bit taken aback by how good Slink was at eating ass. He knew the guy was crazy as ahit and fucked like a rabbit, but his technique was surprisingly fluid and warm. Like he really liked doing it.
“Awight,” Slink said into his ear. “Imma fuck you now in the tight old ass. You been fucked up the ass befo?”
“Yeah,” Tark said. “Raven used to. Sometimes. With a dildo.”
“I mean you been barebacked, bruh? Cos you bout to be.”
That made Tark’s blood very hot, his nipples longing to be played with, sucked, his cock hard and wet in the warm night air.
“No, not like this, I haven’t,” Tark said.
“You want it, tho. Dontch, bitch.”
“Yes, I do. Fuck me in the ass.”
“Awight den.”
Slink, his loose associate and sometimes adversary of thirty years, a guy who he often didn’t even want to shake hands with or have a drink near, slid his cock deep inside of Tark’s ass, making him gasp and cry out a little.
“Shhhh,” Slink whispered. “Relax, baby. Just take it. You want this dick, don you?”
“Yes. A lot.”
“Then take it, baby. I’m fuckin you bare, brutha. No rubbah. You like day shit, don you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“You wan-me stop?”
“No, please god no. Don’t stop, Slink. Fuck me, baby.”
He felt Slink’s thick cock swell within him. His ass burned like after a tough shit, and it was wet, too, from Slink having eaten it and from the excitement. Tark didn’t know how long he could keep at it, but he wanted to do it forever. He hadn’t felt like this since Raven. It was totally different, and made weird by how much Raven despised Slink, but that made it hotter somehow. And that they all knew each other for so long made it intimate for him.
“Imma cum in dis old ass. Imma cum in ya,” Slink said in loud, forceful whispers.
“Come in me, baby.” Tark said it, and immediately Slink did, sputtering and gasping. He gripped Tark’s hips so tightly, Tark feared the skin might tear. But it was a good pain. Cleansing. And his cock was huge in Tark’s ass, though the come itself wasn’t as palpable as Tark had hoped.
“Gotdam,” Slink whispered in Tark’s ear. “You full-ah surprises, you old gansta.”
“I ain the only one,” Tark said, then turned his head and kissed Slink’s lips. “Thanks for the fuck.”


3
Summer sucked Tark’s cock, her heart-shaped ass up in the air the only thing keeping him hard. She reached up and flicked her long nails on his tired old nipples, which gave him some girth.
He breathed in the smell of the room, stale and sweet, then lit a cigarette. He wanted to just come and be done with it, but he tried to enjoy the getting there. He recalled a time when he ate Raven out in a coffee shop. She’d climbed up on the sink and spread her long legs wide, her big hairy pussy open to him. And he went after it hungrily, kissing it, licking it, making love to it with his mouth.
“Yeah, baby,” Raven had said. “Eat that pussy like you mean it.”
And he had meant it. He put all his love into each movement, every sniff, every finger, each lick and nibble.
“I want you in me,” she said.
He popped up, dropped his pants, and went for a rubber.
Raven put her shiny metal nails against his wrist. “No. Fuck me bare.”
Tark’s cock throbbed, and he spit in his hand, wet the end of it, then pushed it into Raven’s pussy.
She didn’t moan much like she did sometimes. Sweet jesus, he loved that moan. But it was still great, even with her somber eyes staring him down, those ancient native eyes of hers; she had a smile in her movements even if not on her face. He knew her well enough to know these things, when she was happy and when she wasn’t. And she was very happy, so he was, too.
Raven bit his ear and said, “Come inside me, baby.”
Her voice filled him with such intensity that he had no choice but to do as she commanded.
When he stopped shuddering and fell out of that blissful oneness with her, he saw Summer smiling at him, chewing gum.
“That was a big one, daddy,” she said. “I must’ve really turned your crank this time.”
His heart sunk and he put his head on her huge breasts. “Yeah,” he said. “Must have.”


4
Tark and Summer lay in bed after, smoking. She continued to stroke his clock absently, though he was quite soft and not getting hard again anytime soon.
"You know what I'd love, daddy?" Summer said wistfully, blowing smoke rings, each exhalation sending a ripple through her huge breasts.
"What's that, doll?"
"A pair of Kaftas. You know, dem super sexy tall shits with the fake blood drippin down the heels? Hells yeah."
"I don't know what those are, sugarplum, but when dis catastrophe is ova, I'll getcha sixty pair."
Summer popped up right, breasts bouncing. "Really?" Summer said and looked as though she might cry.
"Sure. What are they, hundred a pair?"
"They're, like, six thousand for the cheap ones."
Tark's old face showed surprise. "Oh. Well, maybe not sixty, den. But a lot, okay. As many as we can."
She threw herself on him, nearly suffocating him and knocking the smoke from his lips.
"Shit! Shit, baby! I'm sorry!" Summer cried as she brushed ash from her skin, gently picked Tark's cigarette up from his stomach where a little red welt formed. She winced. "I'm sorry."
He waved it away. "Don't worry about it, angel. Take a look around. I've got a lot worse written in this old book."
Tark was referring to his body, of course, but Summer looked around the room for a book. "I don't see it, daddy. You know where you left it last?"
He smiled. "Forget it, angel cakes. Is nuthin."


5
Tark and Mix sat on the balcony, smoking, masks down around their necks.
“Tell it to me again,” Tark said, voice gravelly from decades of this.
“Kay, so we got deez nigs down here, what in-ya Splen-did-done, and all. Den up der, you got dems from Jono, crazy-ass mafuckas, bringin’ in not just guns and shit but also some kina shit’s su’post kill the disease.”
Tark raised an eyebrow, well-shaped and filled in, but said nothing.
“But dat’s gotsta be bull-shit,” Mix said, took a drag. “Jus some con git desperate cash.”
“And?” Tark said, old reflexes asking.
“And it’s workin’. Folks coughin’ up. Coughin’ up big.”
“And you wanna chisel,” Tark surmised.
Mix smiled. “Shit, baby, why not? Free money.”
“Ain nuthin’ free, baby, you know and me, we know that better than any of these pieces of shit. There’s always a cost. What’s this one?”
“Well, it ain exactly a contactless sport, Louis. You’re talkin’ twelve dead jonks, best case. Maybe six’a owahs.”
“You got six guys you wanna die?”
“Add the numbers, baby,” Mix said with squinting eyes. “That’s six fewer knives in the back to-morrah, six less re-tiremints. You dig?”
Tark shook her head, flipped her hair, which was quite long now and turning dark again, in places, at least. She stared at the lipstick stain on the cigarette, thinking of blood, all the blood there would be, for money.
Slinky saw it, cocked his head. “You ain gone soft now you a bitch, is it?”
“My priorities are different, Slinky. I’ve got people to look after in a different way now.” Her eyes looked back inside.
Slinky Mix’s did, too, then back to Tark. “What, you playin’ house? You den mutha, na?” He laughed. Cackled, really, smoke pouring out of the corners of his mouth.
Not long ago, maybe as recently as a week, Tark’d had shot him. No gun? No problem. He’d have taken the silk tie from his robe and strangled him, thrown him off the balcony once he choked out. All else failing, he’d have pushed his thumbs into his eye sockets. And it wasn’t like Raven would have been any gentler. She hated men, and Mix especially. But this was different. It was a different time, with the plague. Years passed in days.
She took a breath of air, not smoke, then said, “They’re my responsibility. I’ve got fuckin’ giambones, same as anybody, but they’s mostly tired and old, at home.”
“You old, baby, but you ainch tire yet. I can vouch for that.” MIx dragged a ringed, heavily tattooed finger down Tark’s thigh, under the robe.
It turned her on, but she didn’t want to get into that. Not yet.
“Let’s finish our business first. Then we can fuck.”
Mix’s smile changed but didn’t leave. He leaned back, took another drag. “Thing is, imma do this. I’m not really askin’ permishin, an I ain e’en nec’ssarily gon cutcha in. Jus tellin’ ya. Cos you mah bitch nah.”
“Fair enough,” Tark said, “but you also know who I am, still. And you know, you cross me up good, and that ain good.”
Mix flipped his hands up and out, like to say, So?
“And you need a guy or two, don’t you?” Tark asked, then took the last drag off her smoke.
“Three, actually,” Mix said.
“So what you’re really asking me is to send three of my giambones to die.”
“Dat’s what dey fo.”
Tark snuffed out her cigarette, flicked it off the balcony. “I’ll give you two cos two give me a pain in my balls. You come up with the third guy. I take twenty.”
“Two guys is sixteen, baby. Ain no twenty.”
“Awight, sixteen and no shit on my doorstep. I’m for real about that one, Slinky. Can’t have it.”
They slapped hands on it, and it was done.
“So we can fuck now?” Slink asked.
“Yeahs,” Tark said. “Lemme get the lube.”


6
Tark listened to the wind blow, Raven draped over his body, blue moonlight spilling in from the broken gas station window. Yeah, it’s a shithole, a squatter’s mansion theys called it when they were kids, Tark and Tap. But it was all theirs, this place. And yeah, some big motherfucker called the shots, gave out the jobs, but he din’t punch no motherfucking clock, din’t answer to some phony white-knight motherfucker with a noose tied around his neck and a Bowflex in his office. He lived fuckin’ free. Free as hell, like Raven.
Raven’s crew was a pain in the balls. Brandie and Twyla and whatever that other bitch’s name was. Tap was sweet on Brandie, so Tark had to eat shit there. But Twyla got on his last fuckin’ nerve, jabberin’ all the motherfucking time about going to mall. True, that’s where he and Tap met these gals, so at first it was chill cos it reminded him of where he and Raven met. But it sucked going there over and over again. He’d tried to talk to Raven about it, but she never wanted to, just told him to be awesome, don’t be a drag, a little bitch, that kind of thing. So he ate shit there, too.
His crew was getting bigger and bigger. They’d brought on Blood and Bluez, these dope-ass twins from the Southside, what’s used goddam samurai swords and shit. It was awesome. He loved watching jibs shit themselves when a motherfucking four foot razorblade come out. Hilarious. Then, of course, the cutting. Good times.
Raven shifted on his body, bringing him back to her.
“You okay, baby?” he asked.
“Why are you always asking me that?” she said, sounding sleepy and annoyed.
“I’m just, you know, showing you I care. I want you to be happy all the time.”
“You’re such a little bitch.”
He chuckled. He loved it when she was salty, especially with him. “Why’on’t you suck this little bitch’s fat cock?” he said back to her.
“Yeah, right. That’s gon happen.” She rolled over, off him and faced away.
He felt her presence close to him, yet away, the impression of her still on his chest, the heat fading but still there. Then, in an instant, it reversed; the feeling, that dispersal of her heat, instead became stronger, permeating his skin, spreadly slowly throughout him like warm sunlight, melting away all his worry, all his tension, all his desire. Tark felt the muscles going soft, the skin, too (and less oily), the hair lengthening. The cock went soft and spread wide, feeling more diffuse in places, but pointed at the tip. HIs balls sank into his taint, and rippled away like the tide, one to each side, squeezed tight by the sack. And an opening formed, welling inside a few inches deep.
Tark blinked and felt the skin-scalp roll that came with a Jesse comedown. She looked over and saw Summer next to her, that large, young, heart-shaped butt sticking up in the golden light of morning. She kissed Summer’s ass cheek, the one that was up, then got up and made coffee, said hello to the young ones hanging out in the kitchen and living room, went to the balcony and had a smoke.
Her breasts had been hurting a lot, hurting from growing. She was a least a B cup now, not that she really knew from tit sizes. But that looked about right, what from Vicki Cee magazines. She’d certainly cranked off enough loads to those to have absorbed some of that from osmosis. And her pussy was dry a lot. That sucked. Dry and a little itchy. Wasn’t sure what that was about. Tark wanted to see one of them pussy doctors, but knew it would be a tough pain in the balls with the plague on. So she gave a ring to Docs Gilt, that old sawbone motherfucker that stitched him back up.
“Tark?”
“Yeah, what’s I said.”
“Tark, like Louis Tarka?”
“Yeah, motherfucker. What’s you deaf, now?”
“No, no, I just … I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
Tark chuckled at that—not sure why, but he did, then lit another smoke. “Yeahs, well, I am. I guess you are, too, ya mook, and got the same digits, too, like a dumbass.”
“Oh, I’ve been out of the game for decades, Lou. I mean, shit. I was a veterinarian anyhow.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, you’s never noticed that when youse comin’ in the back? And all the cages and shit?”
Tark hadn’t noticed. “No, I hadn’t noticed that, Docs.”
There was an awkward moment of silence, then Tark asked, “So you still got it, huh? The animal hospital, or whatever?”
“Well, that’s where I am now. But, it’s something of a minor miracle that you got me, though, Tark. I’m almost never here anymore, especially since the outbreak. I was almost retired before and since, I’ve been going out almost not at all. I just came over here to get some supplies for the house when the phone rang. I wasn’t even sure it was still connected.”
“Yeah, they been reconnecting disconnected shit, I heard. Cossa the disease and whatnot.”
“But the odds, Lou, I gotta tell ya. Remote. Very, very weird.”
None of that interested Tark; only his dry, itchy pussy mattered. “Must be kismet or whatevers. Anyways, you’re still in the know and all that, right?”
“No, I told you Tark, I left all that behind years ago when you … I mean, when, you know. Management changed.”
Tark chuckled. “I meant in the know of medicine, Docs.”
The hard swallow came through the phone, but Tark didn’t really notice. He was used to that kind of reaction when he called.
“Yes. Yes, I’m still a doctor.”
“Good. I need you to help me with a problem.”
“Tark, please. I’m very old. I don’t mean no harms to what no’s one. Please. Pay me no mind.”
“No, no, Docs. It’s nothin’ like that. Nothing to do with jibs or any old gangster shit.”
“Oh. Okay … what is it then?”
“I’m a broad now,” Tark said. “Yous know, a woman.”
“I see …”
“And, well, it’s unfamiliar territory. Not that I ain’t spent a lot of time studying the female anatomy myself, you know what I’m saying.”
“Sure, sure.”
“But it’s different on this side, you knows. It’s like, confusing.”
“I can imagine it would be, yes.”
“So, anyways, not to beat around the bush,” Tark laughed loudly at his own pun, “but I’ve got some wicked fucking dryness and itching goin’ on down there in my puss. You knows, my vagina, or whatever.”
Docs’ voice changed. Tark could hear the confidence come back, the fear receding. That was good. It meant that he was getting what he wanted from this old shitbag hacksaw. Suddenly, he felt a surge in his breasts and a sort of an ache in his chest, followed by a pit in the gut. He bit down on his lip, tried to listen to what the doctor was saying.
“Say again, Docs. I didn’t quite get all that.”
“Sures. It’s a very common thing, and in alotta cases, it’s nothing serious. Could be hormone changes, which I’m sure you’re going through with the change and all, or it could be psoriasis, which can affect the vulva like any other skin surface.”
“Vulva?”
“You know, the lips and whatnot. The outer parts of the vagina.”
“Oh, right. The lips and whatnot. Right, right.”
“It could be from shaving or waxing. You been doing any of that?”
“My bush? No, it’s like wild fucking kingdom down there.”
“All right, how about bathing. Have you been washing it?”
“Yeahs, I’ve been washing the shit outta it. Don’t want a stinky pussy, you knows? Like Stinky Anns, you remember that bitch? What, was at Tonky’s on Saturdays giving jibs blowjobs. Pussy stank to heaven’s gate, brother, let me tell you.”
That surge in the breasts and ache in the chest happened again, this time with a burning sensation on the skin and on her cheeks.
“No, Lou, I’m sorry but I don’t recall Anns. I was never really in that side of things. I was just at the clinic and the casino.”
“Oh, that’s right. You was a fucking gambling junkie. I forgot about that.”
“Yes. I’ve been abstinent for thirty years, but it’s always there. I have to watch it vigilantly.”
“Well that’s great, Docs. Good for you.” Tark didn’t understand why, but she was almost moved to tears. “Good for you. Taking responsibility for your life like that.”
“Thank you, Lou.” There was some hesitation, but then the doctor asked, “Should I be calling you Lou? Or Tark? Or Mister Tarka? Or Miss Tarka?”
Tark hadn’t thought about it. “Shit, Docs, that’s a good question. I don’t rightly knows. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“I just meant for this conversation. You knows, I want to call you what you would prefer.”
“Tark’s fine. Lou, too. Lula? Naw, reminds me Lula Gibbons, that ho down on Bank Street, by the river. I don’t know. Let’s just keep talking about the itchy pussy, Docs. I need some relief here.”
“Yes, of course. So it could be excessive washing. That can certainly dry out the skin. You could use some moisturizer or something like a benzocaine resorcinol cream.”
“Azzine, Docs, please. I don’t know from chemics.”
“Any moisturizer or anti-itching cream should be fine.”
Tark thought about it. “I don’t have anything like that. What about lube? I gots lots of lube.”
“Have you been using it vaginally?”
“Yeah. Yeah, like a lot. Been fucking like crazy, like I’m eighteen years old again.”
“That could be it. You might be allergic to something in the lubricant.”
“Yeah, I mean, my ass itches, too, but I thought that was just from the tearing or what have you.”
“I hope you’re using condoms.”
“What am I, a sailor? No, Docs, we ain’t using no jimmy hats around here.”
“Oh, sweet City, Tark, please use condoms.”
“That’s important?”
“Yes, very. Especially if you’re the receptive partner.”
“Receptive? Oh, you mean the one that takes it.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Okay. I’ll see about getting some of them. I’m not excited about it, though, Docs. It don’t feel the same.”
“I should also tell you it could be from an infection, the itching, I means.”
“Like the clap? I ain’t got no discharge and it don’t hurt to piss or nothing. I do have this weird pain in my gut, though. And this burning in my chest and cheeks. Especially when I say something kind of, you know, mean.”
“When you say something mean?”
“Yeah, you knows, like, hurtful. Or what’s seems like it could be hurtful. Or mean, You know what I’m saying here, Docs.”
“Yes, yes I do. I’m tracking you just fine. I wanted to make sure I heard you correctly, but I understand very well what you mean.”
“That an infection or something? I mean, not clap but something else, maybe?”
“Um, I think that might be empathy.”
“Oh christ, Docs, what the hell is that?”
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s probably from the hormones, what’s. All it is is when you feel something when the other person feels something.”
“That sounds confusing. And terrible. It don’t feel great, eithers, my tits are wicked fucking sore.”
“It will pass, though you may still feel it again when you remember what you said or wonder how the other person might have felt.”
“Is there any, you know, treatment for it?” It dawned on Tark. “Wait, is this like sympathy?”
“Yes, similar.”
“Oh, shit yeah. I knew peoples like this. They were good at guessing what would hurt somebody or knowing how we could open them up, you know.” A tightness filled her throat. “Which seems like a horrible use of that information, now that I think about it. Must have really sucked balls for them, theys we cut up and shot and tricked and so on.”
“Yes, well … that’s all in the past now, Lou. Right?”
“That’s right. That’s right. Imma turn over a new one, Docs, like you did. You’ve inspired me, what with your piece of shit gambling addiction and all.”
“Thanks, Tark, Thank youse for saying that.”
“So ease up on the pussy washing. Get some moisturizer, ditch the lube, use some rubbers.”
“Yes, all that, but you’re going to need some lubricant for the anal sex especailly. And the condoms may come pre-lubricated, which might be the same formulation that’s irritating you.”
“Okay, so un-lubed condies, got it.”
“You may also have a latex allergy, so look for latex free condoms.”
“No latex, hang on, Docs, this list is getting long.”
Tark got up and got a pen and paper, her reading glasses, then sat back on the porch. “Okay, so latex none, lube none on the rubber, moisturizer for the puss, less washing it … okay, what else?”
“Usually silicone-based lubricants are the best for anal intercourse, but there are some water-based ones that will work all right. Some have aloe in them, too, which might help with the itching and irritation.”
“Silicone and water based …”
“Maybe just try the water-based with aloe.”
“How you spell that?”
“Aye ell oh ee.”
“Right. Gots it. Anything else?”
“That should help. If the lubricant doesn’t last long enough for anal intercourse, maybe get a different one that is silicone-based for those time.”
“Like a different lube for the ass?”
“Yes. Try that. And, of course, ifs any of the irritation continues or worsens, stop using it and give the skin a rest for a few days, then try a new one.”
“And the pharmca gonna have all this, yeah?”
“Yes, this is all cheap and easy to find stuff at the pharmca.”
“Sweet. Hey, thanks, Docs. You’re a lifesaver, bro.”
“I’m glad that you’re alive, Tark. And you seem to be doing well. I hope your problem gets better.”
“Yeah, me too. This itching is the fucking worst.” She wondered if it itched when she pulled Rock-Mock Dempson’s stitches out, then tore at the open wound as she asked him questions. This made her choke up. “And this, uh, this empathy thing. That’s gonna clear up, too, right?”
“It may persist, but it’s not a bad thing, Tark. Just think of it as part of the new you.”
“New and improved, right. That’s a good way of thinking about it, Docs. I’ll try that. I’ll try it.”
“You takes care, Lou. Take good care, yeahs?”
“You bet, Docs. You too, now.” And she meant it. She didn’t know why. Docs was just a tool to her, but she was genuinely happy at his recovery and wanted him to be well. “You be well, sweets, yeahs?”
“Will do. Goodbye, Tark.”
“Byes.”
Tark ended the call and burst into tears. She didn’t know what was happening to her, even after all that, but it hurt. It hurt and it felt good, like a release.


7
Tark and Mix were in bed together, naked but for their necklaces. Mix wore a gold chain and a linked platinum one with a skull pendant. Tark wore a waterfall necklace of turquoise beads. Summer had been with them earlier, but had gone to one of the front rooms to be with the younger ones and to give Tark and Mix some alone time.
Mix licked Tark’s nipples, then said, “Deez titties gettin’ big, baby.”
“Yeah, they’re sore as shit, though, bro. It’s not all fun.”
With a mischievous smile, Mix flicked his tongue on one of them, looking up at Tark.
Tark winced, but also felt some sexiness from it. “I mean, shit, I ain gon lie. It feels good, baby.”
“How’s bout I chinge it up.” Mix leaned further down, taking Tark’s cock into his mouth, what was now essentially a very large clitoris.
The pleasure was immense, and Tark arched her back, stretched out her legs, looking for relief in the movement, but finding only intensifying pleasure.
“Yehhh,” Mix said. “Dat’s da shit I’m affa, ri’there.”
“Please don’t stop, man. It feels so fucking good.”
“Oh, imma getcha off, baby. Don you worry ‘bout dat.”
Mix opened the skull then spilled some mim on the tip of Tark’s long protopenis, then sprinkled some around her vulva.
“Oh, god, yes,” Tark said.
Mix bounced his eyebrows. “Ah’know, ri? Shit’s gon be awe-sommme.”
Tark pet Mix’s coily hair, stroked his stubbly cheek. “I love ya, Mix. For god’s fuckin’ sake, I gots no idea how in the shit that happened, but that’s the truth.”
Mix smiled. “I luv-ya, too, baby,” he said, then snorted some Jesse off Tark’s vulva, still swollen with the resorbing testicle.
The whiff sent Mix’s head back, eye wide, and Tark felt the contact seep, saw Mix’s eyes go red, filled with blood, then solid red, the mirrored gaze that Tark knew so well, back then.
“Look, Blood,” Tark said. “I ain’t no fag, okay. So it’s fine what we’re doin’ here, you know, on the side or whatever. But I’m all man, and I’m with Raven. You gots me?”
“Of course,” Blood said. “I don’t mind being on the side. I like it.”
Tark smiled. “Okay, cool. So long as we’re straight on that.”
Blood smiled, pet Tark’s bottom lip with a rough finger. “We’re straight, Tark.”
Then they kissed, first with just lips, then with tongue, too.
Blood went down first, sucking Tark’s cock while Tark rubbed his own nipples, looked at it all in the mirror, saw the intricate tattoos on Blood’s bare back, saw his own face contorting from the gaping wonder of it all.
He was about to come when Blood stopped, and they switched. It was the first time Tark had sucked a dick, so he was nervous about it. He didn’t really think about it as being nervous; he thought about it as a challenge. Blood was uncut, so he played with the foreskin some, which seemed to please him. Then he just went for it, took the whole thing into his mouth. Blood pulled back a second, said something about teeth, and Tark eased up some, folded his mouth around his teeth, and sucked slower. That seemed to help, but still wasn’t quite as great as he wanted, for Blood.
After a bit of trying at head, Blood eased Tark’s mouth off, then turned around and bent over.
“Oh, shit, I don’t gots no lube,” Tark said.
“It’s already wet,” Blood said.
“You was plannin’ on this?”
“No, I have an implant.”
“Oh. That’s fuckin’ awesome.”
“Yeah, it’s great. So saddle up.”
Tark did, pressing his cock into Blood’s ass. It was as he’d said, wet, very well-lubricated. With a satisfied groan, Tark slid back and forth inside of him, gripping Blood’s hips tightly. It didn’t take much of that before Tark said, “Shit, man, shit. What do you want me to do here?”
“Finish inside me.”
“You’re sure.”
“So sure. Go, daddy.”
Tark let out a shrill cry and ejaculated inside Blood, then collapsed on his muscular back.
Raven walked in, put her toes right by Tark’s mouth. He panted on them, still winded from the exertion. On her left long toe, he saw a snake ring. He crunched his eyebrow at it.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Raven said.
“I didn’t give it to you.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“What the hells, Rave?”
“Suck it, bitch.”
Tark was angry and a little afraid but he did what he was told, taking her long toe into his mouth, sucking it much as he had Blood’s cock that first time.
“That’s right,” Raven said. “You’re a little bitch that does what I say.”
Tark made an mmm-ing sound as he kept sucking, feeling the contours of the snake ring with his tongue.
“Say it,” she said.
He stopped sucking to ask, “Say what?” then resumed.
“Say, ‘I’m a little bitch that does what you say.’”
Tark grinned, paused and said, “Made’jya say it,” then kept sucking her toe.
Raven smiled through her voice. “You little trickass motherfucker.”


8
Tark knew this scenario. It wasn’t like she had them numbered or anything, but her nerves, her muscles, her chemical network--they knew it, the situation. And in that sense, organized along the same lines. Raven had known it, too, so her wisdom was singing in the veins and tissue, the echoes of her spells and teasing reverberating in Tark’s skull.
“Shot ‘em in the mafuckin’ face,” Mix said.
“How many?” Tark asked routinely.
“Six, far’s eny mafucka can tay-ell.”
“Any family?”
“Yeh. Hubbie. Kids. The whole megillah.”
“And this wasn’t gangsta shit. This was over a mask?”
“Over bein’ told ta wear a mask, yeh. Well, askt. Poor sumbitch askt ‘im to wear’a mask. Bam. Shot in da mafuckin’ face.”
Tark nodded, pulled down her mask, lit a smoke, which she had taken to smoking from a long black holder in recent days. “And the other thing?”
“Dat’s cool. Went real chill. Split it da’hn, jus like we say-id.” Mix leaned in, kissed Tark on the neck. “Wanna celebrate?”
She smiled at him, but kept at it. “Put Jank on it. The mask guy thing.”
“Ya gon hafta call ya boi, yosef. Think tha’ crazy-ass gib gonna listen to my dark ass? Mafucka racist as hayell.”
“He’ll listen to you. And just to be safe, I’m bringin’ in Laney.”
Mix stopped nuzzling Tark’s neck, leaned back, looked her in the eye. “You breakin’ out the Blazer? For dis?”
“Like I said, you know. To be safe.”
“Dat ain’ overkee-al?”
“Well, she ain doin’ nuthin’ yets, is she? I’m just callin’ her up. You knows, like a stand readys kina deal.”
“Damn, baby, I watn’t even fo-sho the Blazah still alive. She gotta be old as the fuckin’ hills nowadays.”
Tark smiled. “She’s my age, baby.”
They both laughed, then kissed.
“Gettin’ old a mufucka,” Mix said. “Butchu wear it well, you pretty old slut.”
Again, they laughed, kissed.
“Hey, baby,” Tark said. “Ask Summer to come in heres a minute, yeah.”
Mix bounced his eyebrows. “Some of dat fine-ass pussy.”
“I just want to talk to her.”
“Speak for yosef, granny,” Mix said, then stood, slinking his way to the front. “Hey, yo, Summah! Daddy wanna talk-ta ya.”
Tark smoked, thought about the next few moves. Didn’t take much effort. Like a reflex, she thought, I’ve got these old gangster moves in me. You leave a life, maybes, but it don leave you. Not by a fucking mile. But it wasn’t lost on her that maybe this wasn’t entirely bad, like maybe this was a chance to turn all the bad--well, let’s be realistic, not all the bad, but some of it--into something good.
Summer entered, naked. Her large, young breasts bouncing in step with her walk, wavy blonde hair spilling like honey over her shoulders. “Yeah, daddy? What’s up, baby?” She walked over and sat on Tark’s lap. It hurt Tark some. Summer wasn’t light by any means, and Tark had lost some muscle mass since the transition. But Summer didn’t notice; she smiled and then took Tark’s cigarette, pulled a drag, then returned it to Tark’s hand.
“I need you to tell the others to keep close for awhile, okay?”
“Sure, daddy. No problem. We’re all just chillin’, hangin’ around, you know. Doin’ a little Jesse.” She winked, then dragged her tongue along her top teeth, like the young folks did--some drug code bullshit, that tark didn’t really know but immediately understood.
She smiled. “Good, angel. Shit’s stirrin’ out there, on the streets. More’s comin’, too, ‘kay? This plague’s makin’ peoples crazy as fuck, and the red river’s about to start flowing.”
Summer smiled. “You talk funny sometimes.”
“People are gonna die, ‘sall I’m sayin’.”
“Oh, snap,” Summer said, then borrowed Tark’s cigarette again. “That’s a bummer.”
“Yeah, so keep everyone here as much as possible, okay?”
“Of course, daddy.”
“And if someone needs something, try to send Gecko out for it, all right?”
“He gives me the wig,” Summer said with a shiver.
“Well, that’s part of his job, pumpkin. But he won’t hurt youse, any of ya, I promise you that.”
She smiled, leaned in, kissed Tark on her red lips. “I like you as a woman, daddy. You’re extra sweet and protective. Like a skinny little momma bear.”
They both laughed.
“Want some head?”
“Not right now. Maybe later,” Tark said.
Summer shrugged. “Is that all?”
“Yeah, that’s all, angel.”
“Rad,” Summer said, then hopped off Tark’s lap, restoring blood flow to her old legs. “You know where to find me, you get the itch.” Summer winked over her shoulder and smacked her own ass as she left the room.
Mix watched the whole scene from the wide portal between the two rooms, rubbing his penis gently. It wasn’t hard, but was a bit wet at the tip. His eyes traced Summer’s every movement as she passed him, giving him a second wink.
“Got-dam, baby,” Mix said to her. “You fine as a mafucka.”
Tark motioned for him to come over to her, and he did. She put her hand on his penis, started stroking with one hand, continued smoking with the other.
Mix looked at her with renewed vulnerability, and she felt the wave of awesome confusion once more, her former rival’s dick in her hand, as she got him off in her bedroom parlor.


9
Tark watched Raven kiss Kat. It turned him on, and he wanted to jack off, but was worried that if he did, they might stop. So he swallowed hard and kept watching.
Raven took off Kat’s top, then traced her puffy nipples, kissed them. Kat smeared oil in Raven’s hair, smoked a huge spliff, blew the smoke away from Raven but circled the crown of her head with the cigarette, spoke words Tark didn’t understand. Kat saw him, then, smiled.
“You like what you see, Shiplap?”
“Man, Kat, why you call me that? You know I hate it.”
“She calls everyone that, baby. Chill,” Raven said, then flicked her tongue against Kat’s left nipple, making it stand erect.
“Well, I don’t like it,” Tark said, then took a pull of booze. “I mean, to answer your original question, yes. I like what I see. Like a fuckin’ lot. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my life.”
Raven smiled at him, Kat’s tit in her mouth.
Kat grinned, smoked. “If you’re a nice boy, we may let you spank it later.”
He grinned back. “You readin’ my thoughts, witch?”
Raven let the boob fall out of her mouth. “All guys have the same thoughts, dummy.”
“Fair enough.” He didn’t exactly agree but neither did he care. He didn’t want to blow this.
The women took paint from bowls on the ground and smeared it on their naked upper bodies and faces, talking to each other in another language—not the same as the one Kat spoke in earlier—but Tark didn’t know that one, either.
“You guys talking that magic tongue shit.”
“You’re a magician, too,” Kat said.
“Supposedly,” Raven added, then kissed Kat’s shoulder.
“I mean, I know a few tricks. City shit, though. I’ve seen the stuff down in the Quarter and all that. But it ain’t nuthin’ like youse gots. Mine’s parlor shit. Sleight of hand and whatnot. I ain no schamana.”
“Neither are we,” Kat said, “and we'll scratch your fuckin' eyes out, you say it again.”
Tark laughed and put his hands up. “Whoa, easy, Kitty-Kat. I don mean nuthin’ by it. I gots nuthin’ but respect for ya.”
“You fuckin’ better, ya meathead,” Kat said, smiling widely, pointing her smoke at him. “No come over here and smoke this shit.”
He did, eagerly but not showing it.
“Take his shirt off,” Kat said to Raven.
Raven did, then kissed Tark’s nipples. He was hard as a rock right away, his tight jeans giving all that up.
Kat laughed, then kissed Raven, blowing smoke into her mouth. Raven, in turn, kissed Tark and blew the smoke into his mouth, then said, “Hold it till we say.”
He nodded, held the smoke. His lungs started to burn in that very familiar way. Was nuthin’, he thought. Can do this all day.
With her other hand, Kat oiled his hair and spread paint on his chest, back, arms, and face.
“Next time we should do a train,” Kat said absently as she worked.
Raven nodded. “Cool.”
Tark wanted to ask what they meant by that, knowing his idea might be quite different, but Raven dipped her chin and pointed a long razor-sharp finger at him, as if to say don’t you fucking speak. So he kept quiet, still holding in the smoke.
“Okay, we’re good,” Kat said, then dusted her hands.
“Blow,” Raven said.
In one long stream, Tark blew out all the smoke. He wasn’t timing it but it seemed to take awhile, like maybe a full minute.
Then Kat encircled Tark with her smoke; next, she waved it around the whole area, then sat next to the campfire.
Raven smiled, pet Tark’s chest, then went over to Raven, bent to sit next to her, but was interrupted by her: “No, I need a minute to finish this up. You guys go ahead and fuck and I’ll join you in a jiff.”
Tark’s blood ran hot hearing all that, but he remained motionless, shirtless and anointed in the smoke.
With the toss of her black hair, Raven spun around, pulled her cut-offs down, stepped out of them, and walked long and tall over to Tark.
“Hey,” she said, her face right next to his, black eyes staring.
“Hey yerself,” Tark said. He put his hands on her bare hips and felt the softness there and in his own chest. “Chrysalmighty, Rave, I love ya.”
She did not smile, but he could tell she was happy. “Kiss me,” she said.
He did, with as much honest passion as he could. Tark didn’t ever fake it with Raven, and he hoped he never would.
When he looked at her again, Summer smiled back. “You okay, daddy? Too much jessamin again?”
Tark cleared her head. “No. No, I’m fine sweetheart. I’m used-ta it, I think. Or, you knows. Gettin’ there.”
She sat down on the bed, and Summer sat down next to her.
“I feel like … it’s a puzzle. Or, you knows … a message, maybe.”
Summer put one boob in each hand, made them bounce, looking down at them. “I mostly just feel like I’m at a concert. I think I did too much at a Stoned Lizards reunion show cuz I see those guys all the time.”
Tark raised an eyebrow. “Like, the original Stoned Lizards? From back in the day?”
“Yep! They were my first shows. I was hangin’ out with this chick, Mossly, and she would take me. She was my age? But she had a sugar daddy, and he was into it. So we would go and get fucked up on Jesse and coke and then fuck or whatever.”
“Do you like ‘em?”
“Not really? I mean, Mossly turned out to be a two-faced bitch and that old guy was a creep.”
“No, I mean the Lizards. You like that old music?”
“Oh!” Summer laughed and threw her hands up, making her whole body ripple. “Yeah, daddy. That old sound’s got something, you know.”
“Cos I know them guys.”
“What?”
“Yeah, sure. I know them guys. It was awhile back, you knows, I was still doin’ protection shit back then. But me and Buttermilk were tight.”
“Who’s that?”
“Buttermilk? You know, the Milk Man? Butter Champ Supreme?”
Summer clearly did not.
“He’s the singer, doll. The guy with the words.”
“Oh! He’s hot! He’s still fine as hell. You think he’d fuck me?”
“I dunno. He’s got a wife, I think, and some kids—though, shit, theys probably grown now.”
“I kina wanna fuck a rock star? Maybe he would fuck me.”
Tark smiled, patted Summer’s thigh. “No one can resist your charms, dear. I’m sure if you asked him, he’d be delighted.”
“You can get him here?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure of it.”
“Tonight?”
“Oh, jeez, I dunno about that. Especially with the plague and all.”
Summer batted her eyes. “Please?”
Tark smiled.
Then Summer said, “Pretty please?” and lifted a nipple to her own mouth, licked it.
“Of course, sweetheart. Anything for you. I’ll make some calls.” And with that Tark got up and walked to the porcelain telephone, lifted it, and set that all in motion.


10
Buttermilk was about Tark’s age, and they had borne a passing resemblance to each other when they were both young. Now, though, they couldn’t have looked more different. Tark was lean and wrinkled, her hair grown long, face feminized and with small breasts. Buttermilk was pudgy and had clearly had much plastic surgery done on his face, such that it almost looked pulled tight against his skull. He wore his gray hair in cornrows and had facial hair shaved in a somewhat strange pattern, bleached blonde. He smelled of cheap cologne, beer, and cigarettes, but wore very expensive designer jeans, and a pair of Kaftas high-top sneakers, the only men’s shoe she’d made to date, and limited to one thousand pairs.
“Damn, baby,” Buttermilk said. “You’re lookin’ good, Lou.” He looked Tark up and down. “When did all this happen?”
“More recently than you’d think,” Tark said.
“Ain’t she a stone fox?” Summer said, barefoot in the arched doorway between the receiving room and the inner den, wearing a sheer camisole that showed everything.
Buttermilk caught sight of her, then said to Tark. “You’re gonna get me in trouble with my wife tonight, aren’t you?”
“That’s kind of the idea,” Tark said. Then added, “Sorry about that.”
“Naw, I’m just kidding,” Buttermilk said. “Tammy’s cool. We both do whatever with whoever. Libertines. It’s all good, yo.”
Tark smiled, made a welcoming gesture, and the three of them went into the inner den.
Therein, four folks in their twenties were completely nude and fucking.
Buttermilk showed no reaction. Tark saw it on his face and eyes, that same familiarity that Tark herself had, something like, oh this.
The three sat on a long black velvet sofa and packed some bowls, cut some lines, talked about music and movies.
Tark was wearing the prettiest dress she had, a long black regal thing, gauzy but not see-through, and the turquoise waterfall necklace she’d taken to so much lately. She wore flats because she was already quite tall, and three rings on each hand, including her mim ring. She’d gone easy on the makeup, mostly around the eyes, and with a bit of natural color on the lips.
Summer didn’t wait long to climb onto Buttermilk’s lap. She straddled him and started grinding, cupping his face.
“Easy there, girl,” Buttermilk said. “You don’t want to spill the milk before you’ve had the ride.”
“I can handle a lot of milk,” Summer said in a way that was meant to sound seductive.
Buttermilk and Tark both laughed, like they were in on some joke together, even though there wasn’t any such thing about it. They were just old and knew it.
Summer laughed, too, but in a different way, with the exuberance of new mastery, of discovering what life could be about. She kissed Buttermilk on the lips, then looked at Tark and asked, “Okay if I do him, daddy?”
“That’s why we’re here,” Tark said, then did a line of coke off the glass table.


11
Summer was hanging out with the other couch crashers, while Tark and Buttermilk talked on the porch. Mostly it was small talk and reminiscence about the old days, back when the Lizards were in the original (well, mostly) lineup, atop the charts, and Tark’s crew was young, lean, and on the rise. Yeah, they said back and forth, thems was the days.
But then Buttermilk took a breath and said, “I’m real sorry about shit’s goin’ down. And it was a class fuckin’ act, you inviting me here.”
Tark’s eyes slimmed. “What ya mean, Milk. We’re just catching up, yeahs? Old friends, shootin’ the shit.”
It was obvious to both of them then that Buttermilk had stepped into a pile of shit without knowing it. They also both knew that the other knew—Tark could tell by Buttermilk’s perspiration, the way his eyes searched for an out, the way they darted at her knowingly.
So the years between them and the connection of instincts and troubles were ripe when Buttermilk said faintly, “Gimme a pass. For old times.”
Had Tark been himself even a month or two ago, that would have been a hard no. The pliers would have come out and he’d have found out right quicks, yo, what Buttermilk knew and didn’t know. Then the aging rock star would ‘succumb to depression and excess’ and gone over the balcony to the streets below.
But with her newfound feelings and tender sensitivities—from which Tark had no idea where these things flowed—she was inclined to at least hear him out.
She sighed, then lit a smoke, offered it to Buttermilk. He took it, hand shaking, then nodded in thanks—first only nodding, then, like he remembered, he said, “Thanks, Tark.”
Tark said, “Okay, so you wanna pass. For old times. Here it is James. You tell me what you know. You give it to me now. All of it. And I do mean all of it, Jimmy, because if you do not, I will be forced to take it from you. You know this, yeahs? You know what I’m saying to you now?”
Buttermilk nodded. “Yes. Yes, Mister Tarka. Miz Tarka, sorry. No offense, swear to my mother.”
“It’s fine. It’s an adjustment for us all. But you get me on this? You’ve got one shot. And I do mean one, Jimmy. I am gonna ask you one time. If I have to ask if there is more, or if there’s something else you need to tell me, or if we’re all right now … any of that, and this is not going to go well for you.”
“I understand, Miz Tarka.”
“So you understand. Good. That’s good. All right then, here it is. Here’s the question. You’re sure you’re ready? You don’t have any hesitation or questions before we start? Cos like we been talkin’, Milk, you and I, we goes way back. I’d hate to begin with some misunderstanding between us.”
They were both quiet, quiet enough to hear the cigarette paper burning, the soft breeze blowing, the street sounds below.
“I get it, Tark. I understand. I’m ready for your question.”
Tark nodded. “All right. Here it is? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It’s the string you got with Mix. There’s this fuckin’ punk, this young hard cock down in the Splenda, who is looking to move up. You know the type.”
Tark did, having been that type herself as a young man.
“Anyways, this kid’s called Righteous Lather. Other jibs call him Right Ell, Are Ell, Righteous-yo, The Big Right. I think he was that jib called Cotton Lather, back on the Millman job, two years back, but I ain’t sure.”
Tark nodded, lit another smoke, handed it to Buttermilk, who glanced down and saw the first one was about to burn his fingers. He tossed it, then took the second one from Tark.
“This is the guy, this Righteous Lather fuck. He’s the one’s after you Tark. He’s the one who got to me. Him and this huge fucking gorilla of a motherfucker, Dope-sick, or some shit like that. I ain’t never seen him before. Motherfucker held me off my own god damn balcony, Tark. Was gonna drop me on my head. My kids were downstairs, mind you. One of ‘em is pregnant, Tark. I’m gonna be a grandfather.”
Tark moved her chin subtly, as if to say don’t do that.
Buttermilk seemed to catch the signal because he put a hand up, then took a drag, and said, “Anyways, that’s the fucks who done it. And they wanted to know everything. You know the deal. They wanted addresses. They wanted names. Drop points. Jibs and they hoes. Where they stay at. All of it. I told ‘em, Tark, I says to him, ‘I don’t know shit, dog! I’m out the game. I’m old as fuck, look at me!’ But he whatn’t havin’ any of that. Punched me in the dick while that other baboon motherfucker was holding me. I puked, some of it went up my nose. I pissed myself. Anyways, here it is … I gave you up, bro. I gave you all up. Everything I knew, you know, from back in the day on. I spilled it all. This place. The old places. The passwords, dems I could remember, anyway. The clubs, the garages. The fixers. All of it. You gotta believe you’re compromised on every front on down the line, every jib ever laid eyes on me. And unfortunately I got a really fuckin’ good memory, Tark, especially for names and shit. So he’s got all that shit. He recorded it, all of it. Told me it’s goin’ on the ‘Net anytime he wants. Nuthin’ I can do about it.”
“That ain’t gonna happen,” Tark said. “I can fuckin’ promise you that.”
Buttermilk nodded in a way that Tark took as nominal gratitude. “Dziękuję bardzo,” Buttermilk said.
“It ain’t for you, you rat-fuck,” Tark said.
Again, Buttermilk nodded, this time showing greater deference.
“So that’s the long, Miz Tarka. This kid stay downtown or in the mall area. You know the places. Some of what’s yours, you know. The Gibb. The Melons. He’s up in there, staying in that shit. Plague Town, these days, I’m sure you know.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ worry about what I know, you piece of shit. You worry about what I don’t know.”
Raven whispered in Tark’s ear. “Cut his dick off and make him suck it.”
No, he said back, just mentally. I’ve got something I’m doing here. Just let me do it.
“Pussy,” she said.
Ain’t the first time you calls me that. And ‘sides, I got one now, so.
“So do I but that don’t make me one.”
Buttermilk said, “Tark you do what you gotta do. I can’t fault you none for that.”
“Oh you can’t fault me, you fuck?”
“Sorry,” Buttermilk said, looking down from the balcony to the streets below. “I apologize, Miz Tarka.”
Tark pulled his pistol, that old predator tool from its place strapped under the thick rail of the balcony and set it down atop the railing.
Buttermilk saw it, stared at it, not taking his eyes from it.
“They’re coming,” Buttermilk said. “On their way. Should be here any time now. I’ve been buying time. They know the passcode. They know who the guards are. At least one of them’s sold you out. I think it’s Bunky, but don’t trade that man’s life on it.”
Tark lit a third smoke, kept it for herself. “It’s like you said, James. You got a good memory for names and shit like that.”
“That’s it. That’s all there is. I’ve done told it all now.”
The pistol was flat black, fuliginous even, darker than the night herself, reflecting nothing. Tark lifted it from the railing, and she looked down the length of it, cigarette clamped between her old teeth. “You get a pass from me, Milk.”
Buttermilk whimpered and cried a bit. “Thank you. Thank you, Tark. And my grandkids thank you.”
“But you’re on your own wit thems,” she said, then spun the pistol around, offering it butt first to Buttermilk.
He stared at the weapon and for another moment, did nothing but stare.
Then, he made a motion to reach for it, but stopped, looked at Tark’s eyes through the smoke. He put his hands up, and said, “I’m good. Thank you, Miz Tarka. But I’ll take my chances. And I’m at your service, whatever a piece of shit rat like me can do for you. I’m at your service, swears to christ.”
Tark flipped the pistol back around into her old hand, gripped it quite firmly. “You get Summer and the others together. You take ‘em to the panic room and you seal that motherfucker up. Any guard gives you shit, you tell ‘im to come talk to me or you shoot him.”
Buttermilk went to say something, but stopped himself. Tark knew why. Tark knew that Jimmy was going to deny having a gun, but that he knew that she knew he did and that if he lied, she’d shoot him fucking dead right then and there and toss his corpse over the balcony. Tark knew all that.
So she smiled and said, “Czaisz?”
“Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Go get ‘em, cowboy.”
Buttermilk left the balcony, went back into the room where the young folks hung out.
Tark took a long look after, then said, “Goodbye, Jimmy.”


12
Raven and Tark walked through the mall together, holding hands. It was good and simple and sweet. Maybe the only time it was, actually.
Tark remembered that as she gave her hair a quick styling and straightened her posture, readied herself for the conflict.
The gunshots went off in the main room, like the bells of a church—familiar, yes, and open to interpretation depending upon why they’re sounding out. This one was a mixed bag for Tark. Mixed feelings.


13
When she entered, Tark saw Jimmy’s body on the floor, blood coming from his mouth and chest, spilling onto the floor, pooling there.
She looked from the body to the man who’d killed her friend, this young stupid fucking punk jibroney—who must Righteous Lather—all of nineteen, with blonde dreadlocks, a Rutiger dyed blonde and purple, gold and silver and bubblewash capped teeth, a ranger coat with the sleeves chopped off at the elbow on the right and at the shoulder on the left, a sleeve of tats on the left arm and a gang symbol on the right forearm: the Muncipal Wuffs. Tark knew ‘em. Tough back in the day, ‘s a bunch of fucking punks now. This punk here had Summer kneeling in front of him, giving head, and his pistol pointed at her right ear, being that he’s left-handed.
To his right was that big motherfucker Butter was talking about: Dope-sick, just a mountain of fucking muscles in every direction, roided and gen-fucked out of existence nearly. Tark couldn’t imagine how he moved with all that meat. His skin was very dark brown, his head shaved except for a long braid in the back, which Tark knew meant he was an assassin and had been for a good long while now, given its length and that there were a few strands of gray in there.
There were five or six other jibs behind Dope-sick, including two of Tark’s own guys turned fucking rat-bastard.
These are terrible fucking odds, Tark thought, but her eyes showed none of it. She lit a smoke, then said, “Witaj w moim domu, synu.”
Lather chuckled then looked at Dope-sick, then back to Tark. He made his pistol bounce in wide arcs as he said, “I got yo bitch suckin’ mah cock, you old cunt muthafucka! Whatcha gonna do about it?” He waited maybe two seconds before he said, “Not a fuckin’ thang, thas what, bitch!”
“Oh, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Tark said. “I was just being polite.”
All the jibs laughed. Not Dope-sick, though. Tark saw Dope-sick’s eyes, and he saw hers.
“Stop fucking around and kill this motherfucker,” Dope-sick said. He said it quietly, just to Lather, but Tark could hear it.
“Naw, dawg,” Lather said. “Imma have me sum fun with this old faggot.”
Tark ashed her cigarette, smiled without showing teeth.
“See here’s how it is, bee-ah-ch. I gotcha boy, Slink, tied to a muthafuckin’ chair in a storage unit.”
She knew where this was going. Tark knew because she had designed it, and like a wheel, it was coming back around.
Lather must have seen the look in Tark’s eye. “Yeeah, thas right, bitch. Yo old Sundee Mawnin’ Bluez. Pistola to the back of the head. Shits tied to the chair. Remote signal, relay style so cain’ts be’s blocked, yo.”
Tark’s smile went away, and she took a drag. Think, dammit, think.
With the pistol, Lather pointed at Tark, and said to Dope-sick, “Yo, dis da genius done thought that shit up, yo. Now I done gone and punked this old bitch with his own shit, yo.”
Dope-sick nodded slowly, but kept his eyes on Tark’s eyes.
“Yeeah,” Lather said. “Dis here fag-bitch is Tawk. Tomahawk Tawk. Tom Hawk. Rich Sabintini, Richie the Dick. Yo, check it … Richie the Dick Lovah, yo!”
He laughed riotously, as did the other jibroneys—including Tark’s turncoats. Part of her wanted to say something to them, but she decided against it. It didn’t matter now. They’d been good jibs, good enough, anyways. And now they’d made their bed, just like Milk. That’s that.
“Richie the Bitch-Dick! Yeeah, I like dat one,” Lather said. He gasped suddenly, pointed the pistol to the top of Summer’s head. “Oh yeah, baby-doll, yeah! Dass what’ull say, yo. I dun killt Richie the Bitch-Dick up in his own pad, yo, made his bitch watch, yo. Oh, gawd!” He ejaculated into Summer’s mouth.
Summer swallowed, then looked up at him. “We’re cool, though, right babe?”
Righteous Lather looked up slowly at Tark, a venomous grin on his young punk face. “Yeah, girl. We cool. You get behind me now.”
Summer stood up, one knee popping as she did, and walked behind Lather. She looked at Tark and shrugged. “Sorry, Daddy. I gotta do me, ya know?”
“No, it’s okay, angel,” Tark said. “Don’t you worry about it. You’re right. You do you. Always. It’ll be okay.”
“I know,” she said. “I was just sayin’s all.”
Righteous zipped his pants, then pointed the pistol at Tark, about chest level and slightly off-center, then turned his head to profile and tongue-kissed Summer passionately, one eye on Tark. Summer stroked his cheek lovingly, giggled when they finished kissing.
“Yeeah,” Lather said. “Hells yeeah.”
“So what ya gonna do now, synu?” Tark asked. She knew what she was going to do now, so the calm was back in her mind. The nerves were lit up, the chemicals were flowing, the blood pumping, but they needed to be. It was all right. That’s their job in this kind of a situation. Tark knew the symphony well.
“Me?” Lather mocked not understanding, pointed the pistol at himself, then said, “Uhhh, I dun told you, you old deaf bitch. I’m fitna blow ya brains all ova ya pad. Aweady dun took-ya bitch fo myself. She digs it, as you can see.”
“What then?”
“Whatchu mean, ‘what den’? Den you dead, you old bitch.”
“Right, but my people ain’t. And you done said you gon tell ‘em all how you killed Richie the Bitch-Dick. Which they probably won’t get at first, but they’ll figure out. Smart jibs, the lotta dem.”
Righteous laughed loudly, covering his mouth partially with his gun hand. “Y’all just hear that shit? Old Tawk here just call hisself Richie the Bitch-Dick! That’s fuckin’ total, main! Total pown, yo!”
“Then they come for you and pop,” Tark made a shooting motion with a finger gun. “You dead. Just like dat.”
“Man, don’t no-body care about yo old dumb ass, cunt. Why you thank it was so easy for me to get up in herah?”
“I know exactly why it was so easy,” Tark said. “They wantcha to take me out. I’m old. I’m not on the streets. Ain’t been for awhile now. It’s time.”
It was clear to Tark that Righteous Lather didn’t want to look confused and didn’t want to be curious. But he was. That was clear, too.
“Bitch, you goin’ seen-ile or some shit. Talkin’ dis old trash, don make no sense, yo.”
“I’ll explain it for you, dear,” Tark said, took another drag, then said through the smoke, “You’s right they don’t give a shit about me. Never dids, my guess. But what they know is what purpose I serve. Do you know that purpose?”
Tark could tell the answer, of course, but stopped talking to let Righteous try to catch up and to reveal further to his crew just how little he understood the situation.
“Man, you trippin’. Ain’t no purpose for sum old fag up in Splen-deed, main. Yo time is done.”
“Yeah, probably soon, yeah,” Tark said. “Thing is, when I go, there I go.” Tark used both of her liverspotted hands to make a bird-like flapping. “Gone away.”
“Dat’s right,” Lather said, but his voice had lost some enthusiasm.
“And in my place?” Tark asked, rhetorically.
“Me, yo,” Lather said pointing to his chest with the pistol, tapping his left peck with its tip.
“A vacuum. A hole, right in the middle of the district.”
Lather blinked, but didn’t say anything.
“You knows about water, right?”
“Bitch, whatchu mean watah? Likes watah you drink, yo?”
“That’s the kind, yeahs. Any water, really. It seeks its level. So you punch a hole or fifty in old Tark, make a vacuum down here in Splendid, and then whats? The water rush in. Finds its level.”
Lather looked to Dope-sick, who glanced at him, but then went right back to staring at Tark.
“Man, what da fuck dis bitch talkin’ ‘bout, Dope?”
“Nuthin’, main,” Dope-sick said. “Shoot her. Now.”
Righteous looked at Tark again, adjusted his grip on the gun, aimed for the chest, off-center again, Tark noticed. Now was the time.
“See there’s something you ain fi’gred right,” Tark said. She dropped her smoke, snuffed it with the toe of her house slipper.
“Oh yeeah?” Lather saidm, jabbing the gun in Tark’s direction. “An what dat be, ya old bitch?”
“Yeah, see that's it,” Tark said, smiling. “Now you’re onta it. I’m an old bitch. I know all about being a stupid fucking young punk-ass jib like you. But yous don know shit about bein an old punk like me. An now, Righteous Lather, you ain never gonna.”
Dope-sick shouted, “Shoot her, Are Ell! Shoot her!” then drew down on Tark himself, two autopistols coming around the sides of massive muscle from back holsters.
Lather did the best he could, firing multiple shots as soon as he heard, while shouting to the other jibs, “Yo, smoke this bitch, y’all!”
The others did, level their guns and fire on Tark. Summer covered her ears and yelled, squatting some, pushing her big boobs together, and making her belly jiggle.
But none of the bullets reached Tark.
She had at the instant of her last spoken phoneme, dropped into a trance state. Through it, she travelled back to that night, the one by the fire with Raven and Kat.
Tark was lying on his back. Kat was riding him, cowgirl style, his cock deep within her. Raven was watching, sitting on a stump, rubbing her clit with one hand, fingering her ass with the other.
He looked at his chest and saw bullet wounds opening, everywhere. “What the hell is happening, Kat?” he asked, but found he couldn’t breathe well enough to speak clearly.
She understood him, though, and said, “Sush, now, Tommy. We’re fixin’ you up, babe.”
As the blood drained from him, pooling first on his body, then running off the sides, seeking the ground, Kat dismounted and Raven stood, walked over to them.
Kat and Raven took turns sucking his cock; the other milking his prostate or stimming his nipples.
He felt time stop, and knew that from this point in time—if it could be called time—he could go anywhere in his life. So he peered back to his childhood, saw his dad beating his mother with a belt. He looked when he and Raven met at the mall, saw them holding hands.
This made him say, “I love you, Raven. With all my heart.”
He couldn’t see her face—not the one who responded, anyway—when she said, “It’s gonna be okay, baby. Me and Kat are taking care of you. You’re gonna be fine.”
“Okay,” he said, without really much thought behind it. Then, he looked and saw Kat dancing with a glass bottle by the fire. Smoking was swirling and twirling, almost braiding, and flowing into the bottle, which also had some fluid in it. Raven was riding him. She said, “Look into my eyes, baby.”
He did, stare into those dark eyes.
“I’ve got you,” she said. “Me and you. We’ll always be together. When you need me most, I’ll be there. No matter what, okay? Don’t forget it.”
“I’m so high, Rave,” he said. “I don’t even know what all yous given me.”
Kat brought the bottle over. The smoke was staying inside the bottle mostly, giving off only a bit of head, looking something like dry ice to Tark.
Raven put her sharp-nailed hand on Tark’s face, grabbed it, pointed his head back to her. “Focus on me. Look at my body. Do you like it?”
“Yes. God, yes. I love your body.”
“It’s yours now,” she said.
“What?”
“Now look into my eyes.”
He did.
Love swelled in his chest and he felt the barrier between the two of them begin to dissolve.
“I love you so much,” he said, and tears burned out from the corners of his eyes.
“Now, Raven,” Kat said.
“Come baby,” Raven said. “Come inside of me.”
Tark came immediately, the surge of love and physical passion flowing out of his penis with extreme force, buckling his back and lifting his body off the ground, closing the wounds and renewing his breath, his vitality.
“Come over here,” Kat said to Raven.
She did, then crouched, and Raven put the bottle underneath her, collecting the semen as it dripped out. Then, they kissed, and each spit into the bottle, and Kat sealed it, speaking as she did: “Mefitza soo-nassa. Bon-ka deep-sha mon day la.” There was a snap-popping sound, and then Kat smeared wax over the top.
Raven looked at her. “We good?”
“We’re good,” Kat said. “All set.”
“What the fuck just happened?” Tark asked, propped up on his elbows.
“We just saved your life, bro,” Kat said. “So, you’re welcome.”
He didn’t understand then. He looked at Raven, as if to ask for an explanation.
She smiled, “I love you, too, you know. I know I suck at telling you or showing you. And we’re not going to work out.”
“Wait, what?”
“But I love you. The best I can in this life.” Then she folded her hands on her chest in a way that reminded Tark of how they put the hands of a corpse in a casket at a viewing.
“Rave, you’re scaring me, babe.”
Her dark eyes went solid white, like she’s rolled them all the way back in her head, and she said, “I’ll see you in your dreams.”
Kat chanted: “Omeno-oh, omeno-oh, omeno-ohhhh. Mephit omeno-ohhhh.”
Tark felt his body go into a motionless state, totally relaxed, and his eyes closed.
When she opened them, she was in the main room of the mansionetta. The jibs were firing on her. Time was still, like the surface of a pond. The bullets were on their way, but in this moment, they, too, were still.
Tark said, just mentally, Mephit omeno, and the bottle appeared in her hands. She cracked the wax seal, and the bottle hissed, giving off that same look of dry ice. She put it to her lips and thought about how much she loved Raven, then drank the smoke, the semen, the spit, the vaginal fluid, the diarrhea, the vomit, the mucus, the puss—drank it all down, swallowed, held her breath.
When she exhaled, the smoke came out viscous in the air. The bullets impacted the smoke-plasm and were absorbed by it, like smaller bubbles into a large one.
And when she inhaled next, the smoke-blob flowed into her through the nostrils and the mouth, the eyes, and the ears.
All the jibs—including Dope-sick and Righteous Lather stopped and stared, helpless at the sight of it.
Then Tark smiled, showing teeth, smoke crawling out of her mouth and flowing around the teeth, now sharp as a shark’s, and trailing up past her solid white eyes. Her nails were long razors and she was quick and nimble as a jungle cat.
She launched into motion, a dance, a whirling dance, one long spin with many rotations and bends of the body, like peeling an apple, nails and teeth shredding the flesh and metal and bone—not touching Summer or those of her friends who were still alive—then coming back to her starting position, and exhaling the smoke again.
All the shredded matter went into the blob, which Tark inhaled once more.
Then, like a thunderous sneeze, she exhaled it a final time, sending purplish bits of iridescent goo all over the room, splattering Summer’s naked body in it.
She looked at it on her flesh, screamed and shook. She yelled, “What the fuck?”
Tark shook some of the goo from her hands, brushed pointlessly at some on her shoulder strap, then said, “I’m sorry, Angel. Looks like I made a mess.”
Summer blinked at Tark, mouth hanging open.
“We are gonna have to be careful how we clean this up, though. I think it’s pretty toxic.”
Tark turned to walk back to the bedroom, then added, “Oh, and can you find my phone, please? We’re gonna have to send someone ta get Slink. But It’s gonna be a bit of an ordeal to shut that thing off.”
Summer kept blinking.
“Okay?” Tark asked.
“Sure,” she said, then moved only her head, looking for the phone.
“Are we good, angel?” Tark asked.
“Yeah, Daddy. We’re good. I’m just really fucking grossed out right now. This is disgusting.”
“Sorry about that,” Tark said. “I’ll get a mop.”