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From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6:  Eddie Meyers in Vietnam  (from TxM6 Taxi Murders the Novel)
Date: Thu, 27 Mar 2003 23:10:04 -0500
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Eddie Meyers in Vietnam  (from TxM6 Taxi Murders the Novel)
(c) 2003 Sean Farragher
sfaragher@nj.rr.com


http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook
http://www.seanfarragher.com




Eddie Roberts Meyers

Cpl. Eddie Robert Meyers had served eleven months as a Marine in Vietnam,
earning a bronze stars and two purple hearts.

He didn't lose any limbs, but he spent six weeks in DETOX after his
shoulder and head wounds had healed. They say I picked up a lot of metal.
He also picked up a big drug habit that last month in Guam.

Bullshit makes addicts. He smoked dope, he slept. He shot up morphine he
ran away. He said he had done his bit. No fucken hero.

"I got a buddy out of a jam, so they pin a piece of bronze on my chest back
in the world."

Back at Pendleton, "Reup Sgt.," Captain said, pushing my reenlistment
papers across his desk. I looked around.

Where's the Sgt., I asked. You are son, the Lieut. Col. said, pushing
papers back. The Marines need you, Son, to recruit troops.

"Excuse me, Sir," Eddie said. "Enlistments up next month, still true?
Right. Sure is son, but we know, he said, that if told how you could
serve, you would do your duty for the corps.

Yea, John Wayne movie come to life.

"Pardon me, Sir, Thank You, Sir, but I decline. No Sir. "I'm no fucken
hero. I just wanted the fuck out. I believed I was the last sane man
alive."

It had that kind of script.

Eddie spent the last two months doing bullshit at Pendleton. He didn't give
a shit. He was fucken glad to get the fuck out.

"You're right, they "forgot" to promote Eddie to Sgt and he got out on
time, and promptly got so high he almost croaked the first night out.

"Lead me on, Janis Joplin. I want to get stoned with Sgt. Pepper and his
fucked up Band. I wanna get laid with John Lennon anyway I can.

Eddie had a passing thought about going back to school. Without evasion,
Eddie back in the world would unveil pain and dissected sin. He would
fuck-up and suck up and get a fourteen-year-old girl pregnant. He got away
with it, because the girl was an orphan and she belonged to him. That is
what she said when she cleaned his hooch and clean his pipes..

"Fear fucks you up," Eddie said. "You can't always be afraid. You need
rest. You adapt, and after six months, well murder almost seemed almost
righteous. So I fucked a nine year old who weighed fifty pounds."

-When Eddie humped the boonies in Nam, he wanted the world. "Give me my
Chevy and a round eye babe."

There was no good there. No soul as my bros said. It was all shit, fuck ups
and  whores, and when I left I felt like I had risked my life for honey
shit mustard on a roll.

"Yea, he told some marine also getting out, "came back to the world and I
was wrong, bad. I was the shit. Fuck em, I said. I fucked any lady and a
couple of queers who begged and some that had to be convinced."

Back in the world, Eddie said when he dream "I was a fucked up papa san
with two cocks, both soft.

"The Vietnamese are crooked sticks," Eddie laughed, "and they had four
teeth like saber toothed tigers."

In his dreams, pussy was bare, pink, black and gray, and long, thin scars
fucked up their eyes, blinded with stinkin napalm. Eddie smelled cooked
human meat and rotten mushrooms when he came.

In that whacked out dream, skin peeled off his arms, and his cock and balls
fell off, and he had a hole, not even a cunt. But above all, when Eddie
dreamed, he hated gooks but wanted to fuck them up good. He wanted to make
that nine year old hooch girl come once. She just sat there and cried when
he busted her open.

Eddie was a good Joe. He killed gooks and fragged niggers. He didn't give a
shit who he took out.  Eddie was a miserable coward, and he was happy, if
you can believe that fucked up lark."

Eddie was a classic Posttraumatic Stress Disorder Bullshit fucker. He
jumped, humped his lady when a car horn blew or its siren wailed.

Suddenly after sleeping, he would sit up straight, confused, striking at
the wall or a steering wheel, keeping his silence about "the movie" that
made his ghost time back in the world uneasy.

Eddie rarely spoke about the war even to other Vets. One rainy night, half
drunk, at the Gables pub, at his usual table, keeping company with a comely
probably under age street urchin, Jean, Eddie "bragged"
uncharacteristically about Nam.

-"Just call it a killing day," he said, describing the slope bitch and her
whore kids, as two VC who he just stopped.

"Pop Pop" They were no more.

Eddie's half smile was wry, out of character. I am not sure I liked it.
Here we were. End of fable. Story board up grade. On to the climax, but
after Eddie described the pop of the woman's skull, "like a fucken
watermelon, M-14 round shattered it, and brains ran down like mush."

When Eddie stopped talking, he looked at the Jean, who nervously played
with her hair, wanting him to bust her in the mouth, draw blood for being a
bitch.

When Eddie snapped, he didn't scream, he moved, first searching Jean's
eyes, taking a drink, washing it down fast with cheap bottle bear, and just
as quickly, Eddie stop got up from his table, grabbed Jean by the shoulder,
and missing that, he grabbed at her tits, ripping her shirt, exposing one
breast, then he stopped, as if he was watching, from the outside, this
violence.

"No," she said. "I want to ... stay"!

"Let's fuckin go, bitch, and then he twisted her arm, kicking her off
chair, sending the chair shooting across the dance floor, finally coming to
rest against the jute box. Eddie ran after the chair and smashed it against
the jute box, and the music staggered, slowed, and stopped.

"Eddie, please," Jean said, picking herself up, helped by some bar fly.

Fucken cunts all the same. Fuck ya. Stay. I'm outa of here.

Eddie left, by the front door, Jean, whipping her face with her hands, got
up, crying, screamed, "you fuck, don't leave; me, you fucken promised.

"I just met him today," she explained, as if anyone cared. "He promised
he'd put me up. Do you know where he lives," Jean asked.

"Palisadia Motel on Route 46, some one offered.

Where, she asked. I'm not from here.

I'll take you, a clean-shaven man in a business suit offered. What's your
name?

The man had moved closer to Jean, and he was silent while he watched her
hands nervously move to her neck as she tried to adjust her shattered
blouse to cover her exposed breast; she answered, smiling faintly, "your
slut. Do with me what you need to make me feel. My cunt is dead."

She stopped. My name is Jean Mary O'Neil from North Philadelphia.

Suddenly, Tom Clewes, a 40 something bartender appeared, covering Jean's
shoulders with a blue woman's blouse that obviously belongs to Lilly, the
owner.

It's mine, Lilly said. Can't have you doing a strip show. Get it back when
you can, but you better get going.

Looks like she's of age to me, Lilly, the man in the business suit asked,
ignoring Lilly who was laughing.

Shit, Walt, honey, she's much too young for the real thing, not that you're
it.

I'm thirty, Jean yelled back at Lilly.

Lilly laughed, "bull shit, she's all yours, Tom, honey, and I'm outa here.
See you tomorrow. Don't forget to lock up the back. "...Remember, she 19,
Tom."

"Buy you a drink, Walt asked Jean again?

"What's it cost?". She flirted, letting her hands rest against his arm.

"Maybe, I should ask first," he asked.

Ain't no hooker. Fuck you too, the girl spit back, rushing outside. Eddie
was outside, sitting in his car. "Ready cunt," he said.

"You got the twenty I gave you," he asked her. "You pay me. Not me, you,
bitch."

Sure, let's get the fuck out of here.

Eddie swirled from the curb, tearing off down the road, making the left
turns, he reached the bridge tolls, in sight of the bar, and then just as
quickly he was lost. Jean put her hand on Eddie's cock, rubbing it as he
drove, pulling the zipper up, then falling down in his lap, she sucked. He
came in five seconds.

"You're fucken too good," he said. "Don't worry, by the time we get to my
shitbox, I'll be ready."

Jean, listened, tuned her ass. Eddie, no dunce, pushed two fingers in her
snatch.

"No, not there, my ass, she said. Use the same two, please, Feel it Eddie.
Fuck me there, and then my pussy. Make me cum."


2.
Her ass is soft. I want to fuck her deeper. I put my fingers in there too.
Feel around. She screams. I am stretching her. Scream louder bitch. The
more you scream. The more I want you to hurt. I pull her down on my cock
and bite her shoulder. She is pushing me closer. I am fucking her face with
my thumbs while I fuck her ass so deep. So hard inside. So full she is. So
completely. I take out a paddle pull her off my cock. I beat her with it. I
draw welts with it. I beat and beat until you can feel the welds on the
wood. I can feel her ass throb when she comes. I have fingers inside it. I
have my life inside it.


3.
Eddie beats Jean into a tremendous come. She falls unconscious, and when
she wakes she kissed his hands and sucks his cock. Eddie pushes her away.
Did I tell you that you can do this. Shit. For that I am gonna fuck Mary
tonight. You can watch.




(work in progress)




###


for More TxM6 go to http://www.seanfarragher.com
Look at the Book of Joss, new poetry by Sean Farragher
http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss




END

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