Squid Pulp Blues by Jordan Krall Page A

She put her cigarette out in a squid-shaped ashtray.
    Willie stared at the longhead for another few seconds and then walked back to Sara. “That guy Ray really did a number on you, huh? Having you stare at carpet stains. Shit.”
    “Oh, who cares? Just come down here and look at this.”
    Willie grabbed the bottom of Sara’s negligee and pulled it up. “I’d rather look at THIS.” He caressed the backs of her thighs. Sara stiffened and turned over. Willie fell into her and they made love on top of the Barbara-stain.
    Afterwards, they leaned against the couch, smoking. Sara nuzzled into Willie’s neck. She pointed to the piano. “Can you play something for me?”
    “Sure can, honeybunch. What would you like to hear?”
    “I don’t know. Anything. I love anything you play.”
    Willie got up and sat on the piano bench. “You make a wonderful audience, you know that?” He smiled, cracked his knuckles, and took a fake bow. “Ladies and gentlemen! Mr. William Henry Packard!”
    Sara giggled and lay on her stomach facing Willie who was sitting naked in front of the piano.
    Willie started pounding on the keys, his face contorted into humorous expressions. Then his face faded into seriousness.
    The piano made no sound.
    “What the hell is this?” He turned to her. “Sara, what happened to the piano?”
    “Nothing, no one uses it but you. It hasn’t been played since the last time you tried teaching me how to play.”
    Willie got up from the bench and opened the piano. He nearly fell backward when he saw that the inside of the piano was filled with long, wet strips of pasta. “Jesus Christ!”
    “What?” Sara took a look inside. “Oh my God!” She fainted and fell sideways, hitting her head on the coffee table, dying instantly. Blood oozed out of her skull, covering the scotch stain with a fresh one.
    Willie’s eyes bugged out of his head in shock and horror. “Sara? Sara?” After checking for a pulse and finding no signs of life, he quickly got dressed. As he scurried out of the apartment he took one more look out the window. Willie thought he saw the longhead pointing and laughing at Willie though he wasn’t so sure he was willing to trust his own eyes.
    Before closing the apartment door, he saw Sara’s new stain on the rug and thought that it looked a lot like a turtle shell.

     
    Chapter 8
    “Stupid cop.” Peachy shook his head, still thinking about McMadigan but not necessarily regretting what he had done. The detective had made a pastime of screwing around with ex-cons and Peachy was fed up with having to supply the cop with impromptu urine and stool samples at the drop of a hat. That’s the last fucking time I take a shit for that asshole.
    The car moved slowly down the street, windshield wipers barely moving fast enough to keep up with the snowflake assault. Peachy looked out the passenger window as he drove and his eyes caught the movie theatre marquee.
    “Hey, watch out!” a voice called out just in time for Peachy to see five teenagers in the road with snowballs in their hands. He swerved to the left, sending the car straight into an empty fruit cart that sat in front of the Thompson Produce Shop.
    Shards of wood and snow piles flew off of the cart as he hit the brakes. The car skidded and then stopped, hitting a brick wall. “Christ almighty,” Peachy said, stepping out of his car, praising every god that he could think of that he was wearing his seatbelt. He took a step out and yelled a few half-hearted curses to the kids who returned the sentiment. If there was one thing he had a soft spot for, it was kids. Ah, to be young and carefree. Lucky little bastards.
    Then Peachy saw the body.
    A middle-aged man dressed in a tattered suit and a long beard lay against the wall. He had been sleeping in the fruit cart and was killed on impact when the car hit. “Oh, you must be fuckin ’ kiddin ’ me!” Peachy looked around and saw people walking over to him to see if he was okay. He quickly