Chapter 15
The Wrath of Priapus
by David Smith

Pike swore loudly as the door slammed in his face.  Denial and puzzlement crowded his countenance as he tried to sort out what he was going to do.  His anger escalated as he realized that Joe had not allowed him to take his stuff--his clothes, his racquets, and an assortment of illicit drugs.  Not much, but all he had. 
   
Pike pounded on the door as hard as he could.   Joe responded by yelling at him through the door to go away.  The volume continued to ratchet up.  Several neighbors stormed out of their apartments and added their indignation to the din.  
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It was at that moment that Kucinich slipped into the building as another tenant exited.  He dashed to the stairs and began to climb with considerable haste.   As he exited the stairwell, he heard the choir of voices a split second before he saw the angry faces in the hallway.   He stopped a moment too late, as the group turned to look at him.   His sudden presence seemed to temper the madness as the quieter heads swiveled back and forth between Kucinich and the clearly surprised Pike at opposite ends of the hallway.  

Pike, never to be put too far off his game, found his voice first.

“Hey, Mr. Leopard Prints.  Didn’t we do this once before?  And how is the lovely Mrs. Kucinich doing?  ”   Pike didn’t know how Kucinich had found him, but he certainly knew why he was here.  Pressing the advantage that the tenants in the hall presented, he continued.  “Now, Mr. Kucinich, you wouldn’t want to try to hurt me in from of all these witnesses, would you?   Did everyone catch the name—Ku-cin-ich.   Just in case something happens to me.”

“I really don’t care what he does to you, if he can make you shut up,” muttered the octogenarian in 2B as she retreated in to her apartment and slammed the door. 

While impulsive, Kucinich was not stupid.   He didn’t like the attention and the witnesses, and silently beat a retreat to the street.   He hopped in the car and told Novak to take him back to his office.  
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With the testosterone dissipating, Pike knocked more politely on Joe’s door with better results.  Joe granted Pike 10 minutes with which to pack his stuff and get out---all under the ever-watchful eyes of Shaw, Beethoven, and Benthi.  Pike wasted no time in clearing out.

He sat on his suitcase in the lobby pondering his situation.   He had nowhere to go.  With Kucinich on the prowl, he certainly wasn’t going to stroll around Manhattan with his suitcases.  He needed a destination and a taxi, in that order.  

He scrolled through the names in his mobile looking for a sheila who might still take him in for a couple of days.  After several wasted calls, he came upon Kate’s number.   Thunderstruck, it all came together for him.   “That little bitch!” he swore.  “It had to be them!”  

Pike was sure that Kate and Marie were the source of his current dilemma, but he pushed that thought out his mind for the moment.   “Stay focused, mate.   Plenty of time to get even.”   He continued to go through names until he came to one that made him smile.  He tapped the name to dial.  Though he was never one to be burdened with nostalgia, Pike thought he could fake it.  He cranked up his charm and the Kiwi accent. 

A sleepy voice answered. 

“Yeah.”

“Margaret?  Gidday, sweetheart!   It’s Pike!  I haven’t seen you for yonks….”
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Kate was totally focused on the new drawings when the phone startled her.   She looked up as Marie answered.   Her gaze lingered a bit as she watched Marie talking on the phone.   She tensed up as Marie’s voice elevated in octaves and decibels.  

“Well, he better not come back around here.  Do you know where he went?  Uh huh.  Uh huh.   Got it.   Well, I hope he’s under a freakin’ bridge somewhere tonight.  Glad we changed the locks today.  Thanks, again, for the warning.”  

Marie hung up and repeated the conversation to Kate. Despite their precautions with changing the locks, both women were quiet with their own thoughts and worries after the exchange.   Clearly, if Pike ever traced his current dilemma back to them, he could very well become dangerous.  They solved their immediate problem, but this Kiwi nightmare was still out there.

“Are you still going to that Roller thing tonight?  Maybe you should stay in,” Marie suggested.   “Frankly, I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Oh, Marie, you will be fine.   Just don’t open the door to anyone.   After all, his key doesn’t work anymore.   Or, you could come with me to the match.  It’s over at Chelsea Piers.  They converted the Sky Rink for this.”

“Not really my thing, Kate.   I’ll stay home, but maybe you should take someone more substantial with you.   What is your dad doing tonight?”

“Hey, that’s an idea.  Maybe it’s too much too soon, but what the hell.  I’ll call him.”   

Tragically, Kate’s call to her dad went into voicemail.
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While surprised, Margaret was pleased when she heard Pike on the phone.    They had met at Hank’s club several years before and manage to share each other’s carnal knowledge a number of times.   Margaret always enjoyed the perverse pleasure of playing in Hank’s home court.   It wasn’t just about the sex, but more about spite. 

Margaret thought the idea of doing some pro bono work with Pike was just fine and invited him over.   She offered to “rent” her flat to him for a week---no more.
 
Pike arrived as the sun was setting, and presented as quite a sight with his frazzled appearance and the pile of bags at his feet.   Realizing that this was not the best of impressions, he amped up the full kiwi charm offensive and managed to get Margaret to laugh at his predicament. 

He stumbled into the apartment, dropped the remnants of his life, and swept Margaret into a rather aggressive embrace.  Just touching this woman made Pike’s pent up anger bubble to the surface and he picked Margaret up and threw her onto the bed.  His rage, simmering for hours, was no longer contained.   Margaret saw the look on his face and realized that she may have made a mistake.  Years of dealing with some truly despicable clients had not prepared her for the fear that she felt right now.   

Margaret struggled to push Pike away, but he fought to keep control of her.   She slapped him in his face, but it was a meaningless blow.  He laughed sickly as he punched her in the face.   She managed to reach the nightstand and grabbed a marble sculpture of Priapus that she kept there.  Realizing that she was in a fight for survival, she tried to smash Pike in the head with the statue.  Pike’s squash game might not be that good anymore, but his reflexes were just fine.  He managed to avoid most of the impact, and the glancing shot only served to inflame his rage.

“You stupid bitch!”   He ripped Priapus from Margaret’s hand and without a second’s thought, brought the chunk of marble down hard into her face.  And he did it again. And again.  And again. 




David Smith
Long Island-exiled Medical Device executive of questionable humor and talent, whose unrestrained passion for Chardonnay and San Francisco is only surpassed by his love of the Michigan State Spartans. 


*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.