should, too.”
“Where would I go?” she looked him in the eye. “I’ve lived here for forty-seven years. There is no where else. This is my garden.”
Marty nodded. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“Yes, please.” She slid the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders and smiled coyly.
Oh God, no, Marty thought.
She handed him the bottle of Hawaiian Tropic. “I could use some suntan lotion on my back.”
Marty didn’t want to do it, but he was so relieved that was all she was asking, he quickly squirted some lotion on his hands, rubbed them together, and smoothed the cream on her shoulders. It felt like he was polishing a dashboard with Armor All.
“That feels so good,” she purred. “Your hands are very soft.”
“You shit in her bushes,” said a familiar voice, “that doesn’t mean you’ve got to fuck her.”
Marty turned and was stunned to see Buck leaning against the courtyard gate, shaking his head in disgust. Wasn’t there any way to escape this guy?
“To each his own, I suppose,” Buck shrugged and left.
“Thank you again for your help,” Marty hurriedly wiped his hands on his jacket, realizing too late that now he’d be carrying that coconut scent with him the rest of his journey. Then again, it beat the scent he’d been carrying so far.
“Come back and visit any time,” she smiled. “And keep your eyes open for the right script for me.”
He forced a smile in return, took the toilet paper, and left, closing the gate behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Mythic Hero Paradigm
B uck was waiting for him on the curb.
“Your running is improving,” Buck said. “It would be more impressive, however, if you didn’t shit yourself the minute you stopped.”
“Can we change the subject?” Marty started walking, stuffing the toilet paper into his pack as he went.
“Okay,” Buck fell into step beside him. “Let’s talk about breasts.”
“Let’s talk about why you’re following me.”
“If you weren’t so fucking full of yourself, asshole, you’d remember that I live in Hollywood. We happen to be going in the same direction.”
“There are at least a dozen different ways of getting to Hollywood.”
“Not if you want to avoid the giant fucking cloud of poison fucking gas. Besides, I’m getting to like you, Mark.”
“Martin. You won’t like me so much after I tell the police what you did.”
“I’m sure it will be a top priority for them.” Buck snorted.
“You were supposed to stay with the guy you shot.”
Buck grinned. “I’m with you now, aren’t I?”
“The other guy you shot.”
“Enrique and the black kid are with him. Turns out Enrique is one of those male nurses which, as we all know, means he’s an amateur proctologist in his spare time.”
Marty gave him a look, took the map out of his pack, and spread it on the hood of a car.
“What are you doing?” Buck asked.
“Trying to figure out where I am.”
“You’re a couple blocks away from Koreatown,” Buck said. “Keep heading west, and we’ll hit Western Boulevard.”
“How can you tell?” Marty glanced around for a street sign, finally spotting one lying on the ground.
“Because I live here, asshole. Don’t you ever look out the window when you drive?”
“I don’t drive here.” Marty studied the map for the street and discovered Buck was right. They were on the northern edge of Koreatown. It could be the safest stretch of his journey or the most dangerous, all because of another violent upheaval not so long ago.
In the early hours of the Rodney King riots, while news choppers hovered over the streets, scores of enraged blacks surged through Koreatown, looting, torching, and demolishing storefronts and mini-malls. It was an unstoppable tide of furious humanity and terrific TV.
Although the Koreans had nothing to do with the beating of Rodney or the acquittal of the officers involved, they were resented for opening their liquor stores, markets,
“Where would I go?” she looked him in the eye. “I’ve lived here for forty-seven years. There is no where else. This is my garden.”
Marty nodded. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
“Yes, please.” She slid the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders and smiled coyly.
Oh God, no, Marty thought.
She handed him the bottle of Hawaiian Tropic. “I could use some suntan lotion on my back.”
Marty didn’t want to do it, but he was so relieved that was all she was asking, he quickly squirted some lotion on his hands, rubbed them together, and smoothed the cream on her shoulders. It felt like he was polishing a dashboard with Armor All.
“That feels so good,” she purred. “Your hands are very soft.”
“You shit in her bushes,” said a familiar voice, “that doesn’t mean you’ve got to fuck her.”
Marty turned and was stunned to see Buck leaning against the courtyard gate, shaking his head in disgust. Wasn’t there any way to escape this guy?
“To each his own, I suppose,” Buck shrugged and left.
“Thank you again for your help,” Marty hurriedly wiped his hands on his jacket, realizing too late that now he’d be carrying that coconut scent with him the rest of his journey. Then again, it beat the scent he’d been carrying so far.
“Come back and visit any time,” she smiled. “And keep your eyes open for the right script for me.”
He forced a smile in return, took the toilet paper, and left, closing the gate behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Mythic Hero Paradigm
B uck was waiting for him on the curb.
“Your running is improving,” Buck said. “It would be more impressive, however, if you didn’t shit yourself the minute you stopped.”
“Can we change the subject?” Marty started walking, stuffing the toilet paper into his pack as he went.
“Okay,” Buck fell into step beside him. “Let’s talk about breasts.”
“Let’s talk about why you’re following me.”
“If you weren’t so fucking full of yourself, asshole, you’d remember that I live in Hollywood. We happen to be going in the same direction.”
“There are at least a dozen different ways of getting to Hollywood.”
“Not if you want to avoid the giant fucking cloud of poison fucking gas. Besides, I’m getting to like you, Mark.”
“Martin. You won’t like me so much after I tell the police what you did.”
“I’m sure it will be a top priority for them.” Buck snorted.
“You were supposed to stay with the guy you shot.”
Buck grinned. “I’m with you now, aren’t I?”
“The other guy you shot.”
“Enrique and the black kid are with him. Turns out Enrique is one of those male nurses which, as we all know, means he’s an amateur proctologist in his spare time.”
Marty gave him a look, took the map out of his pack, and spread it on the hood of a car.
“What are you doing?” Buck asked.
“Trying to figure out where I am.”
“You’re a couple blocks away from Koreatown,” Buck said. “Keep heading west, and we’ll hit Western Boulevard.”
“How can you tell?” Marty glanced around for a street sign, finally spotting one lying on the ground.
“Because I live here, asshole. Don’t you ever look out the window when you drive?”
“I don’t drive here.” Marty studied the map for the street and discovered Buck was right. They were on the northern edge of Koreatown. It could be the safest stretch of his journey or the most dangerous, all because of another violent upheaval not so long ago.
In the early hours of the Rodney King riots, while news choppers hovered over the streets, scores of enraged blacks surged through Koreatown, looting, torching, and demolishing storefronts and mini-malls. It was an unstoppable tide of furious humanity and terrific TV.
Although the Koreans had nothing to do with the beating of Rodney or the acquittal of the officers involved, they were resented for opening their liquor stores, markets,
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