Island of the Sequined Love Nun Chapter 1~3

PART ONEThe Phoenix1The Cannibal Tree incloseer eggshell awoke to find himself hanging from a breadfruit tree by a coconut fiber rope. He was suspended face dismantle round six feet above the rachis in close to sort of harness, his hands and feet tied to becharmher in front of him. He lifted his head and strained to look around. He could enter a whiteness sand beach fringed with coconut palms, a coconut husk fire, a palm frond hut, a path of white precious coral gravel that led into a jungle. Completing the panorama was the grinning brown face of an ancient native.The native reached up with a claw interchangeable hand and purposeless pounds cheek.Tucker screamed.Yum, the native said.Who are you? Tucker asked. Where am I? Wheres the navigator?The native as well grinned. His eyes were yellow, his h sort a wild tangle of arch and bird feathers, and his teeth were black and had been filed to points. He looked like a potbellied skeleton upholstered in distressed leather. Puckere d pink scars decorated his skin a serial publication of small scars on his chest described the shape of a shark. His only clothing was a loincloth woven from some sort of plant fiber. enclose in the waist cord was a vicious-looking bush knife. The native patted Tuckers cheek with an ashy callused palm, then sullen and walked by, leaving him hanging.Wait Tucker shouted. Let me down. I have money. I can pay you.The native ambled down the path without looking substantiate. Tucker struggled against the harness, still only managed to put himself intoa slow spin. As he turned, he caught sight of the navigator, hanging unconscious a few feet away.Hey, you alive?The navigator didnt stir, entirely Tucker could sop up that he was breathing. Hey, Kimi, wake up pacify no reaction.He strained against the rope around his wrists, but the bonds only seemed to tighten. After a few minutes, he gave up, exhausted. He rested and looked around for something to buckle under this bizarre scene so me meaning. Why had the native hung them in a tree?He caught movement in his peripheral vision and turned to see a large brown crab struggling at the end of a string tied to a nearby branch. There was his answer They were hung in the tree, like the crab, to keep them fresh until they were ready to be eaten.Tucker shuddered, imagining the natives black teeth closing on his shin. He tried to focus on a way to escape before the native returned, but his mind kept diving into a sea of regrets and second guesses, looking for the exact puzzle where the world had turned on him and put him in the cannibal tree.Like most of the big missteps he had taken in his life, it had started in a bar.The Seattle airport Holiday Inn lounge was all hunter green, brass rails, and oak veneer. Remove the bar and it looked like Macys mens depart-ment. It was one in the morning and the bartender, a stout, middle-aged Hispanic woman, was polishing glasses and waiting for her last three customers to leave so s he could go home. At the end of a bar a young wo-man in a short skirt and similarly much defendup sat alone. Tucker topic sat next to a man of affairs s perpetuallyal stools down.Lemmings, the businessman said.Lemmings? asked Tucker.They were drunk. The businessman was heavy, in his late fifties, and wore a charcoal gray suit. Broken veins glowed on his nose and cheeks.Most people are lemmings, the businessman continued. Thats why they fail. They behave like suicidal rodents. notwithstanding youre a higher level of rodent? Tucker Case said with a smart-ass grin. He was thirty, good under six foot, with neatly trimmed blond hair and blue eyes. He wore navy slacks, sneakers, and a white shirt with blue-and-gold epaulets. His captains hat sat on the bar next to a gin and tonic. He was more interested in the girl at the end of the bar than in the businessmans conversation, buthe didnt grapple how to move without being obvious.No, but Ive kept my lemming behavior limited to my pe rsonal relationships. Three wives. The businessman waved a swizzle stick under Tuckers nose. Success in America doesnt require any special talent or any kind of extra effort. You just have to be consistent and not know up. Thats how most people fail. They cant stand the pressure of getting what they want, so when they see that they are getting close, they engineer some sort of fuckup to undermine their success.The lemming litany was reservation Tucker uncomfortable. Hed been on a roll for the last four years, going from bartending to flying corporate jets. He said, Maybe some people just dont know what they want. Maybe they only look like lemmings.Everyone knows what they want. You know what you want, dont you?Sure, I know, Tucker said. What he wanted right now was to get out of this conversation and get to know the girl at the end of the bar before closing time. Shed been staring at him for five minutes.What? The businessman wanted an answer. He waited.I just want to keep doing w hat Im doing. Im happy.The businessman shook his head. Im sorry, son, but I dont buy it. Youre going over the cliff with the rest of the lemmings.You should be a motivational speaker, Tuck said, his attention drawn by the girl, who was getting up, putting money on the bar, picking up her cigarettes, and putting them into her purse.She said, I know what I want.The businessman turned and gave his best avuncular-horndog smile. And whats that, sweetheart?She walked up to Tucker and pressed her breasts against his shoulder. She had brown hair that fell in curls to her shoulders, blue eyes, and a nose that was a tad crooked, but not horribly so. Up close she didnt even look old enough to drink. Heavy makeup had aged her at a distance. Looking the businessman in the eye, as if she didnt notice Tucker at all, she said, I want to join the mile-high club, and I want to join it tonight. Can you help me?The businessman looked at Tuckers captains hat on the bar, then back at the girl. Slowly, de feated, he shook his head.She pressed harder against Tuckers shoulder. How about you?Tucker grinned at the businessman and shrugged by way of apology. I just want to keep doing what Im doing.The girl put on his captains hat and pulled him off of the barstool. He dug into his pocket for money as she dragged him toward the exit.The businessman raise a hand. No, Ive got the drinks, son. You just remember what I said.Thanks, Tuck said.Outside in the lobby the girl said, My names meadow. She kept her eyes forward as she walked, taking kinky marching steps as if she was leading him on an antiterrorist mission instead of seducing him.Pretty name, Tucker said. Im Tucker Case. People call me Tuck.She still didnt look up. Do you have a plane, Tuck?Ive got access to one. He smiled. This was great. GreatGood. You get me into the mile-high club tonight and I wont charge you. Ive always wanted to do it in a plane.Tucker stopped. Youre aI mean, you do this forShe stopped and turned to look him in the eye for the initiatory time. Youre kind of a geek, arent you?Thank you. I find you incredibly attractive too. Actually, he did.No, youre attractive. I mean, you look fine. just I thought a pilot would have a little more on the ball.Is this part of that mistress-humiliation-handcuff stuff?No, thats extra. Im just making conversation.Oh, I see. He was beginning to have second thoughts. He had to fly to Houston in the morning, and he authentically should get some sleep. Still, this would make a great story to tell the guys back at the hangar if he left out the part about him being a suicidal rodent and her being a prostitute. But he could tell the story without really doing it, couldnt he?He said, I in all likelihood shouldnt fly. Im a little drunk. consequently you wont mind if I go back to the bar and grab your friend? I might as well make some money.It could be dangerous.Thats the point, isnt it? She smiled.No, I mean really dangerous.I have condoms.Tucker shrugged. Ill get a cab.Ten minutes later they were heading crossways the wet tarmac toward a group of corporate jets.Its pinkYeah, so?You fly a pink jet?As Tuck opened the bevy and lowered the steps, he had the sinking feeling that maybe the businessman at the bar had been right.2 I Thought This Was a Nonsmoking FlightMost jets (especially those unburdened by the weight of passengers or fuel) have a glide rate that is quite acceptable for landing without power. But Tucker has made an error in judgment caused by seven gin and tonics and the distraction of Meadow straddling him in the pilot seat. He thinks, per-haps, that he should have said something when the fuel light first went on, but Meadow had already climbed into the saddle and he didnt want to seem inattentive. Now the glide path is too steep, the racecourse a little too far. He uses a little body English in draw back on the steering yoke, which Meadow takes for enthusiasm.Tucker brings the pink Gulfstream jet into SeaTac a little lo w, tearing off the rear landing gear on a radar antenna a second before impact with the runway, which sends Meadow over the steering yoke to bounce off the windscreen and land unconscious across the instrument panel. The jets wings flap once a expiry flamingo trying to free itself from a tar pit and rip off in a shriek of sparks, flame, and black smoke, then spin back into the air before beating themselves to pieces on the runway.Tucker, strapped into the pilots seat, lets loose a prolonged scream that pushes the sound of tearing coat out of his head.The wingless Gulfstream slides down the runway like hells own bobsled, leaving a wake of greasy smoke and aluminum confetti. Firemen and paramedics scramble into their vehicles and pull out onto the runway in pursuit of it. In a moment of analytical detachment, one of the firemen turns to a companion and says, Theres not enough fire. He must have been flying on fumes.Tucker sees the end of the runway coming up, an array of an tennae , some spiffy blue lights, a chain-link fence, and a grassy open field where whats left of the Gulfstream will fragment into pink shrapnel. He realizes that hes looking at his own death and screams the words Oh, fuck, meeting the FAAs official requirement for last words to be retrieved from the charred black box.Suddenly, as if somebody has hit a cosmic pause button, the cockpit goes quiet. Movement stops. A mans voice says, Is this how you want to go?Tucker turns toward the voice. A dark man in a gray flight suit sits in the copilots seat, waiting for an answer. Tuck cant seem to see his face, even though they are facing each other. Well?No, Tucker answers.Itll cost you, the pilot says. Then hes gone. The copilots seat is empty and the roar of tortured metal fills the cabin.Before Tucker can form the words What the hell? in his mind, the wingless jet crashes through the antenna, the spiffy blue lights, the chain-link fence, and into the field, soggy from thirty consecutive days of Seattle rain. The mud caresses the fuselage, dampens the sparks and flames, clings and cloys and slows the jet to a steaming stop. Tuck hears metal crackle as it settles, sirens, the friendly chime of the FASTEN SEAT BELTS sign turning off.Welcome to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The local time is 200A.M., the distant temperature is 63 degrees, there is a semiconscious hooker gurgling at your feet.The cabin fills with black smoke from fried wires and vaporized hydraulic fluid. One breath burns down his windpipe like drain cleaner, telling Tucker that a second breath may kill him. He unfastens the harness and reaches into the dark for Meadow, connecting with her lace camisole, which comes away in shreds in his hands. He stands, bends over, wraps an arm around her waist, and picks her up. Shes light, maybe a hundred pounds, but Tucker has forgotten to pull up his boxers and Jockey shorts, which cuff his ankles. He teeters and falls backward onto the control console between t he pilot seats. Jutting from the console is the flap actuator lever, a foot-long strip of brand topped by a plastic arrowheadlike tip. The tip catches Tuck in the rear of the scrotum. His and Meadows combined weight drive him down on the lever, which tears though his scrotum, runs up inside the length of his penis, and emerges in a spray of blood.There are no words for the pain. No breath, no thought. Just deafening white and red noise. Tucker feels himself passing out andwelcomes it. He drops Meadow, but she is conscious enough to hold on to his neck, and as she falls she pulls him off the lever, which reams its way back through him again.Without realizing it, he is standing, breathing. His lungs are on fire. He has to get out. He throws an arm around Meadow and drags her three feet to the hatch. He releases the hatch and it swings down, half open. Its de-signed to blend as a stairway to the ground, designed for a plane that is standing on landing gear. Gloved hands reach into th e opening and start pulling at it. Were going to get you out of there, a fireman says.The hatch comes open with a shriek. Tuck sees blue and red flashing lights illuminating raindrops against a black sky, making it appear as if it is raining fire. He takes a single breath of fresh air, says, Ive bust off my dick, and falls forward.3And You preoccupied Your Frequent Flyer MilesAs with most things in his life, Tucker Case was wrong about the extent of his injuries. As they wheeled him though the emergency room, he con-tinued to chant, Ive torn off my dick Ive torn off my dick into his oxygen sham until a masked physician appeared at his side.Mr. Case, you have not torn off your penis. Youve damaged some major blood vessels and some of the erectal tissue. And youve also severed the tendon that runs from the tip of the penis to the base of the brain. The doctor, a woman, pulled down her mask long enough to show Tucker a grin. You should be fine. Were taking you into surgery now.What about the girl?Shes got a mild concussion and some bruises, but shell be okey. Shell probably go home in a few hours.Thats good. Doc, will I be able to? I mean, will I ever?Be still, Mr. Case. I want you to count backward from one hundred.Is there a reason for that for the counting?You can say the Pledge of Allegiance if you want.But I cant stand up.Just count, smart-ass.When Tucker came to, through the fog of anesthesia he saw a picture of himself superimposed over a ruin pink jet. Looking down on the scene was the horrified face of the matriarch of pyramid makeup sales, Mary dungaree Dobbins Mary Jean to the world. Then the picturewas gone, replaced by a rugged male face and perfect smile.Tuck, youre famous. You made the Enquirer. The voice of Jake Skye, Tucks only male friend and premier jet mechanic for Mary Jean. You crashed just in time to make the latest edition.My dick? Tuck said, struggling to sit up. There was what appeared to be a plaster ostrich egg sitting on his lap. A tube ran out the middle of it.Jake Skye, tall, dark, and unkempt half Apache, half truck stop waitress said, Thats going to smart. But the doc says youll play the violin again. Jake sat in a chair next to Tucks bed and opened the tabloid.Look at this. Oprahs skinny again. Carrots, grapefruit, and amphetamines.Tucker Case moaned. What about the girl? What was her name?Meadow Malackovitch, Jake said, looking at the paper. Wow, Oprahs fucking Elvis. You got to give that woman credit. She stays busy. By the way, theyre going to move you to Houston. Mary Jean wants you where she can keep an eye on you.The girl, Jake?Jake looked up from the paper. You dont want to know.They said she was going to be okay. Is she dead?Worse. Pissed off. And speaking of pissed off, theres some FAA guys outside who are waiting to talk to you, but the doctor wouldnt let them in. And Im supposed to call Mary Jean as soon as youre coherent. Id ad-vise against that becoming coherent, I mean. And then th eres a whole bunch of reporters. The nurses are keeping them all out.Howd you get in?Im your only living relative.My mother will be successful to hear that.Brother, your mother doesnt even want to claim you. You totally fucked the dog on this one.Im fired, then?Count on it. In fact, Id say youd be thriving to get a license to operate a riding lawnmower.I dont know how to do anything but fly. One unfavourable landing?No, Tuck, a bad landing is when the overheads pop open and dump peoples gym bags. You crashed. If it makes you feel any better, with the Gulfstream gone Im not going to have any work for at to the lowest degree six months. They may not even get another jet.Is the FAA filing charges?Jake Skye looked at his paper to avoid Tucks eyes. Look, man, do you want me to lie to you? I came up here because I thought youd rather hear it from me. You were drinking. You wrecked a million dollars worth of SeaTacs equipment in addition to the plane. Youre lucky youre not dead.Jake, l ook at me.Jake dropped the paper to his lap and sighed. What?Am I going to jail?Ive got to go, man. Jake stood. You heal up. He turned to leave the room.JakeJake Skye stopped and looked over his shoulder. Tucker could see the disappointment in his friends eyes.What were you thinking? Jake said.She talked me into it. I knew it wasnt a good idea, but she was persistent.Jake came to the side of the bed and leaned in close. Tucker, whats it take for you to get it? Listen close now, buddy, because this is your last lesson, okay? Im out of a job because of you. Youve got to make your own decisions. You cant let someone else always tell you what to do. You have to take some responsibility.I cant believe Im auditory modality this from you. Youre the one who got me into this business.Exactly. Youre thirty years old, man. You have to start thinking for yourself. And with your head, not your dick.Tucker looked at the bandages in his lap. Im sorry. It all got out of hand. It was like flying o n autopilot. I didnt mean toTime to take the controls, buddy.Jake, something weird happened during the crash. Im not sure if it was a hallucination or what. There was someone else in the cockpit.You mean besides the whore?Yeah, just for a second, there was a guy in the copilot seat. He talked to me. Then he disappeared.Jake sighed. Theres no insanity plea for crashing a plane, Tuck. You lost a lot of blood.This was before I got hurt. While the plane was still skidding.Here. Jake tucked a silver flask under Tucks pillow and punched him in the shoulder. Ill call you, man. He turned and walked away.Tuck called after him, What if it was an angel or something?Then youre in the Enquirer next week too, Jake said from the door. Get some sleep.