MEN, MUSCLE, and MAYHEM (19 page)

He then closed his eyes, for he thought he was hallucinating. He opened them again, looked at the two beige rescuers and asked, “Who are you?”

“Mordecai, you don’t remember your Hebrew school friend, Bernie? And, this is his partner, Morty,” Rose said. “I knew you were in trouble, so I called them on the Yenta Line.”

“Bernie and Morty?” he asked.

“Bernie is Harvey and Sheila’s son. He is also Matzo Man, and Morty is Matzo Ball,” she said as if anyone knew that, while she placed the syringe and other items back into her purse.

“We better get him out of here before the police arrive,” Bernie, aka Matzo Man, said as he and Morty, aka Matzo Ball, lifted Mordecai, aka Kosher Man, out of the sling. “Where are his tights?”

“Never mind his tights. Get him home and give him three enemas and a hot
Silkwood
shower. The Manischewitz Blackberry won’t take full effect until all traces of pork are out of his system,” Rose ordered as she left the dungeon.

“Manischewitz Blackberry?” Matzo Ball asked.

“The woman is amazing. She knows just the right wine to serve with
treyf
,” Matzo Man said with a wink.

Once back in his apartment, Mordecai was treated to three extreme enemas by his superhero comrades, and he was starting to feel better.

“Now for your hot shower,” Bernie, who had stripped down to his briefs, announced as he grabbed one arm and draped it over his shoulder. Morty, who had also stripped out of his costume, grabbed the other arm.

They propped Mordecai up in the tub and turned on the water. As Bernie grabbed the handheld shower and rinsed the hunky hero from head to toe, Morty grabbed a bar of kosher soap.

“You should take off your underwear and get in there with him. It will be easier that way,” Bernie said.

Morty, always the loyal partner and sidekick, did as ordered. He was slightly shorter than Bernie’s five-ten, but with a thickly muscled, hairy body and a nice thick eight-inch dick with a mushroom head, he was just as sexy. He stepped into the tub and soaped up Mordecai. “He has an incredible body,” he swooned as he worked both his patient and himself into a lather, sporting a hard-on in seconds.

“He also has a huge dick,” Bernie said as he pointed the shower head at the now rising cock. Bernie then stripped off his briefs revealing his nine inches of thick kosher meat. All the penises were beautiful as a
moyel
does a much better job circumcising than a doctor – even a nice Jewish one.

Although Mordecai had not said much since they arrived home and had endured the invasive enemas, he had a smile across his face as his comrades in tights both cleaned and scrubbed his body of any remnants of the pork that almost killed him.

Morty then eased Mordecai over so that his butt was totally exposed, and he grabbed the showerhead from Bernie, so he could rinse the soap from the big muscular
tuchus
.

“Sweet,” Morty said as he looked at the luscious mounds. He just couldn’t help himself as he pressed his raging hard cock against the opening that had been through so much abuse only hours earlier. “I want to plow that so badly.”

“Don’t do it badly, do it right,” Mordecai said, finally uttering a complete sentence for the first time since being doused with New England clam chowder. Mordecai, who was a bit of a neat freak – and anal retentive, usually wouldn’t dream of being topped, but the hunky sidekick with the big Hebrew National and his freshly cleaned colon made for a perfect opportunity. And, Mordecai was not one to pass up a good opportunity.

“And, you,” Mordecai said to Bernie, “feed me that cock of yours,” for this was the rarest of good opportunities.

It didn’t take long for Mordecai to be getting it from both ends like a nice brisket on a rotisserie. With the hot water cascading down on them, they fucked and sucked until the walls shook.

Morty rarely topped and this was a treat worth more than anything he would get during the eight nights of Hanukah. For Mordecai, who rarely got laid, this was heaven on earth.

He also struggled to remember the Hebrew prayer thanking God for good sex.

His own cock was hard and throbbing although he had not touched it as his hands were all over Bernie’s
tuchus
while he swallowed every inch of his kosher meat. The copious precum made it all the more pleasurable, and Mordecai didn’t fear any remnants or
treyf
coming from this treat.

There were moans and groans, cries of “Oh God,” and lots of heavy breathing.

Bernie came first, filling Mordecai’s mouth with a kosher protein shake, which he swallowed like a superhero. Bernie immediately dove between Mordecai’s legs and stretched his mouth over the foot-long bull cock that was leaking buckets of precum just in time to taste and swallow Mordecai’s load, which shot without so much as any handy work, for Morty was fucking him in the most glorious manner, both strong and gentle at the same time, massaging his prostate perfectly. The spasms from his anus drained a load from Morty, who filled Mordecai’s guts with his own kosher protein shake as he yelled, “Hallelujah!”

After cleaning each other off, Bernie and Morty stayed the night with Mordecai, sleeping on either side of him – an additional treat for our lonely superhero, who always slept alone.

The next morning, after bagels and lox, they returned to their own metropolis, Mogen David City. But before they left, they promised to come and visit Mordecai at least once a month, and he promised he would do the same and smiled as he waved goodbye, and they drove off in their brown 1976 Eldorado convertible.

“All we need is a female superhero, and we can form the Jewish Justice League of America,” Mordecai said to himself as he walked back upstairs to his apartment.

When he entered, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“So,
nu
?” his mother asked.

SELFISH PRICK

Start from the beginning; tell me what happened.

How far back do you want me to go?

How far back do you need to go?

Considering yesterday was the first time I saw Paul Tucker since 1989, maybe 21 years?

You had not seen him since 1989?

That’s right.

And, you were expecting to see him here, yesterday?

In Missoula, Montana? I had no idea he was here. Last I heard he was in San Diego.

Paul Tucker has not lived in San Diego in over a decade.

How the hell was I supposed to know that? As I said the last time I saw him was 1989.

But, you had spoken to him?

No.

You had not spoken to him or seen him since 1989, and yesterday, he just shows up at your hotel room – out of the blue?

I had heard from him … twice.

Twice?

Twice.

Start from the beginning.

Picture it, Norfolk, Virginia, 1989 …

Don’t be cute, Mr. Sagman.

Whatever you say, Detective Anthony.

Go on.

There was a bar in Norfolk, which may still be there. I don’t know as I have not lived there since 1992. It was called the Late Show. It was a member’s only, after hours bar. At least it was advertised as member’s only, but just about anyone could get in.

I used to go there every Friday night because I worked as a waiter in Williamsburg, lived in Newport News, and I had to be at work at 5:00 am on Sunday mornings, so Friday was my day to go out. And, every Friday, I was at the Late Show.

What kind of bar was this?

As I said, an afterhours member’s only bar.

You know what I mean.

A gay bar … any way, one night, and I don’t remember when, I met two guys, one was in the Air Force and one was in the Navy …

You said this was a gay bar.

Yeah, and Norfolk as well as all of Hampton Roads is full of military guys, and guess what? They go to gay bars – every closeted one of them. When the first Gulf War broke out, the bars emptied out like a restaurant when the immigration officer shows up.

Was one of these men Paul Tucker?

Yes, he was in the Navy then. I don’t remember the name of the Air Force guy. Funny thing is, the Air Force guy wanted to go home with me, but I wanted to go home with Paul.

Are you aware that Paul Tucker was married?

I found out later, but you’ll have to wait for that part. Also, he wasn’t married then. He was single and living the gay life … so to speak.

So to speak?

Are you going to let me finish?

Go on.

I told the Air Force guy … I wish I could remember his name … that I was tired. I gave my number to both of them and said we should get together for a movie or something sometime. A couple of days, or the next day, again I can’t remember, Paul calls me, and we go out hiking. I remember it was a Sunday afternoon, and we were out for quite some time.

I noticed from the beginning that he wasn’t quite happy, and he hid his unhappiness by pointing out how unhappy I was. Funny thing is I always considered myself happy, so I didn’t know how to take this guy telling me I couldn’t possibly be happy.

Anyway, we came back to my apartment. I was living in Newport News then, and we ended up in bed together. He had a cute body, but the truth is he was quite boring in bed. He liked showering together, and he was shaved from head to toe. I asked him how he did that in the barracks without raising suspicion, and he said his bunkmate or roommate or whatever they call them thought it was cool and did it himself.

So, we dated for a couple of weeks, and he would spend the night some times. He also wore a fake wedding ring when he was out in public with me. One morning, a co-worker stopped by to borrow some money for an alternator or battery, and he was sitting at my dining table shirtless, so he flashed the wedding ring, so she wouldn’t think he was my gay boyfriend who just spent the night.

I just looked at him as if he were retarded and asked what else she would think of a shirtless guy sitting at my table at 8:00 am.

After a couple of weeks of this relationship, if you want to call it that, he sends me a letter telling me he doesn’t want to see me again. He says I, meaning me, could never be happy, and he could never be happy with me because sleeping with me was the equivalent of jerking off. I remember that. I never responded and chalked it up to one bad experience. I also vowed never to date another Navy guy.

Did you hear from him again?

Not exactly. I ran into our mutual Air Force acquaintance a few weeks later and he gave me the scoop. Apparently, Mr. Tucker was a conflicted sort. He was once an exchange student to Bolivia, and he was sent home for having sex with another boy. I know from being an AFS sponsor …

AFS?

American Field Service.

Oh.

That having sex with anyone, gay or straight, was a no-no. He also told me Paul had a difficult relationship with his father. Who doesn’t? Again, I really didn’t care. Boo hoo, cry me a river, move on. That is how I felt.

And that was it? You weren’t angry? You didn’t feel the need to exact revenge?

Why would I exact revenge? I should use that in my next book.

You won’t have a next book if we find you did this.

Please, Detective Anthony. If I exacted revenge on every guy who rejected me, there would be trail of bodies up and down the Eastern Seaboard.

Oh, I doubt you even understand rejection, Mr. Sagman. You have those movie star looks, the body of an Adonis, and the fake charm to go with it.

Are you hitting on me?

Hardly.

Well, what you ordinary people don’t understand is people like me … and I know what I look like … get rejected all the time. You see, we may turn heads when we walk into a room, and we may be the object of someone’s obsessive pursuits, but once they get us in bed and find out we’re really nice guys, they do everything in their power to make us feel bad about ourselves before they move on.

You just gave us motive.

As I said, I have better things to do than murder someone. I am a best-selling author; two of my books are being made into movies – simultaneously. Do you really think I would risk going to jail by murdering some selfish prick who rejected me twenty-one years ago?

That is what I am trying to find out. So when was the next time you saw Mr. Tucker.

Yesterday.

OK. Talked to him?

Yesterday.

Did you know he was living in Missoula?

I knew he was from Montana, but I never knew what city. I figured Helena or Butte.

Did you know he just moved here less than a year ago?

Not until yesterday.

So, you didn’t know that he lived near Baltimore … an hour away from you in Rockville for almost five years?

Actually it was Tolson, and not until yesterday when he told me. He also told me he lived in Oklahoma as well. And, Baltimore is only forty-five minutes away.

You never heard from him in twenty-one years?

I didn’t say that. I said, I never spoke to him or saw him in twenty-one years. You’re trying to trip me up.

I’m just trying to get to the truth, Mr. Sagman.

So, Detective Anthony. Are you good cop or bad cop?

You watch too much television.

I have written a few episodes of crime dramas, and this experience should help me.

You may be writing them in a cell.

I doubt that. I didn’t murder Paul Tucker.

Some people think you did.

And, those people are wrong.

So, when did you hear from him again?

I’m not exactly sure, but I think it was 1994 or 1995 … or was it 1996. My father called me to tell me that someone sent me a letter to their address because he couldn’t find me. So, he forwarded the letter to me. I was living in West Palm Beach.

Florida?

Yeah. The letter was from Paul. There was a photograph of him with a woman. And, the letter pretty much told me that he had found God while taking a walk or stroll and found true happiness and married this woman named Lori. And, in typical Paul Tucker fashion, he proceeded to tell me that he hoped I could one day be happy and blah blah blah ...

How did that make you feel?

What, you’re now a therapist?

Mr. Sagman, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of this. A man was shot twice and killed in your hotel room, and you were the last one to see him alive.