Jack Danger is an adventurer for hire whose superstitions have cost him various parts of his anatomy-except his heart...until now
Jack Danger was an adventurer, an intrepid explorer and a crack shot. He was at home in the jungle, at ease at sea, confident on the side of a mountain, cool in the desert, a lady-killer in the best sense of the word, and put quite simply, a man's man. His travels were legend and his legend well-traveled.
Still in all, Jack had paid a price for all his fame; an eye lost in Ethiopia, three toes at Tobruk, half a buttock in Bali, a piece of his stomach in Somoa, nine facial stitches in Scarsdale, and another unfortunate piece of his anatomy was damaged during a short stay in a French penal colony in the Caribbean.
And the diseases! Malaria in Mali, gangrene from sailing down the Ganges, sleeping sickness in Somalia, a virulent venereal disease from Venice, chiggers in China, a case of the dreaded poo poos in Pago Pago, boils in Bolivia, the creeping crud in Krakow, and the most bitter blow of all: food poisoning in Paris.
Yes, he'd paid the price for his fame. Trouble was, fame was all he had. No assets but his wits. No money, stocks, insurance policies, (what underwriter would be so foolish?); no real estate, ("the world is my acreage."); no pension, (soldiers of fortune scoff at such security); and of course, no wife.
Normally, this would have posed no problem for such a man as Jack Danger. As a celebrity he was constantly being invited to banquets, luncheons, breakfasts, even brunches. Food was not his problem, nor drink. When he needed a place to lay his head, there was any number of women, hungry to share their nests with a man's man, a reputed lady-killer.
The only money Jack ever required was for his reader and advisor, Zelda Reed-Zodiac. Fearless men, as a rule, place their fear outside themselves, surrounding it with a system that would organize the events of cosmic chance and afford them a certain secure knowledge of the future.
Okay, he was superstitious!
Zelda had never been wrong. She had told him to beware of the half moon in Bali, sleep with one eye open in Ethiopia, (guess which one he lost), stay on his toes in Tobruk, face facts in Scarsdale; and her most prophetic warning: "Don't screw around on Devil's Island."
Whenever he would return from an adventure, Jack always sought out Zelda first. She would digest his story, explain how she had been correct, and read his chart for the next trip. The only problem with Zelda was that she insisted on payment in advance, cash on the barrel-head, up front.
And now, when Jack was on the verge of hitting it big financially for the first time in his adventurous life, he was dead broke. And he just didn't trust his luck enough to start on without her astute prediction.
The fact that her predictions invariably meant some personal disaster or the loss of another part of his diminishing body meant nothing to him. Jack was often quoted as saying, "It don't hurt to lose a part of you when you know it's supposed to happen. It's kinda like taxes, know what I mean?"
Adventurers are often quite philosophical.
So, Jack went to Zelda and explained his next adventure. He'd heard about a tribe of Amazons in the Brazilian rain forest who decorated their statues with huge diamonds. One diamond alone would make a man wealthy beyond imagination.
"Zelda, I can find where theses savages live." He implored against her fiscal skepticism. "We'll be rich. Just this once, trust me. I'll make us both rich."
Zelda gazed at him through her crystal bowling ball, ordered especially from AMF. She lined up the thumb-hole in a triangle with his long facial scar and the patch over his Ethiopian misadventure. He didn't know, but she did. Her reputation rose every time he came back from an expedition missing another part of his anatomy. As her reputation rose, so rose her net worth. Jack Danger had been Zelda's ticket to fame and fortune.
Jack, the supplicant, stood before his Gypsy seer. He was beginning to sweat, wringing his hands together penitentially. "What'ya say, Zelda? Fifty-fifty?"
She was mesmerized by his wringing hands in the crystal globe. Suddenly she shuddered. The price tag for his next adventure was clearly marked. She put on her best Gypsy accent.
"That which you are handed will not be treasure. Love sign ascending leads to success. Water signs are clear, but fire must be left behind."
With that, she closed her eyes and fell into a meditative trance. Jack rose and quickly retreated through the beaded curtain. He had only wanted to hear the results of her spiritual communication with the other world, not watch it manifest.
During her meditative trance, Zelda figured out what she would tell her accountant when her client returned to make her rich.
His plan was simple. An anthropologist, one Beatrice Waters, had written asking Jack to guide her into the rain forest. She had been given a grant by the Brazilian government to gather information on the elusive tribe. Whatever monies they did not spend on the expedition would be his.
He agreed to take her with one condition: the two of them would have to go alone. When she wrote back that she thought it would be wise to take several specialists along, Jack countered that they would never find the tribe with a large contingent of clumsy scientists crashing through the forest. Not only that, but if she didn't like the condition, she could find another explorer. Beatrice Waters reluctantly agreed and they arranged to meet the following Tuesday in Miami.
Jack was happy they weren't going to be wasting any money on extra people. Also, should his new anthropological partner kick up a stink about his expropriating the diamonds from the statues, he could leave her behind at the savages mercy. No witnesses, and all that.
And so Jack Danger met Beatrice Waters on the arranged Tuesday, and they flew to Brazilia that same day. On the plane she outlined her plan to find the tribe. She talked funny, called the savages "indigenes."
Now, Jack had expected Beatrice to talk funny, but what he didn't expect was the way she looked in her khaki jungle suit. She really brought out the Tarzan in him, but she was all business- Margaret Mead in Jane Russell's body. He couldn't wait to get her into the jungle.
The officials in Brazilia made him impatient with all their Portugese gobbly-gook. The long train ride played havoc with his hemorrhoids, (from the Himalayas). The rocking undulations of the small boat down the Amazon left him feverishly and sexually excited to the point of bursting. Either that, or the fact that they were packing only one tent. Beatrice called it "Efficient Accommodation." Jack privately called it damned convenient.
The boat captain explained that they passed the small landing every two weeks. When they wanted to be picked up all they had to do was raise the flag on the small buoy tied to the ramshackle dock. The boat would wait only three hours for them, sounding the horn at half-hour intervals.
Jack practically dragged Beatrice off the boat. She wanted to camp along the bank so they could get their bearings in the morning. He insisted on heading out immediately.
"Every hour we wasted makes it harder to find them savages," he informed her seriously.
"Indigenes," Beatrice corrected impatiently.
"Excuse me," bowed Jack. "Indigenes."
That's right, he thought to himself. I want to get "in the jeans" as soon as possible. His logic was simple. Once they were into the dense underbrush, Beatrice would be totally dependent on him. Once she was totally dependent on him, she might be less scientific. And he would be able to use some of his sciences on her for a change.
They hacked their way slowly through the dense forest for nearly four hours. The light was growing dim through the high trees and Beatrice suggested they begin to look for a campsite. He readily agreed. Using a machete had done wonders for his testosterone level. Beyond that, there was Zelda's infallible prediction. The mission would only be successful when the love sign was ascending. Jack smiled. He could feel it rising already.
The protein soup was tasteless and the small lentil cakes they had for dessert reminded him of the straw hut he'd eaten his way out of during his stay with some headhunters who had greeted him with their eyes filled with visions of him ala carte. But the food was nothing compared to the wifely domestication she displayed in making the little clearing their home for the night. She even went so far as to find soft pine-like needles to make a cushion for their sleeping bags.
Jack let her prepare for sleep first, waiting until he heard the long zip of her sleeping bag before entering the tent. He quickly slipped off his clothes and jumped into his own bag. Her breathing became regular and his hand began an exploratory mission, traveling up the side of her bag to find an opening. There was none so he let his fingers work toward her neck and face, hoping to excite her sleeping subconscious with fluttery titillation. His finger stuck to her face.
"Looking for something?"
"Sorry. Taking inventory, in case something happens in the middle of the night."
"I see. Good night, Mister Danger."
"Good night, Miss Waters."
Jack lay back, stunned. He had encountered just about everything he thought a man could encounter, but of course, he had never been married.
"Miss Waters?"
"Yes, Mister Danger."
"What have you got all over your face?"
"It's a special salve used by the Borus. If you put it on thick enough, the bugs can't get through."
"Good. Well, good night, Miss Waters."
"Good night, Mister Danger."
Just my luck, thought Jack.
Might as well be married with all that junk on her face. He shuddered, thinking about his luck to date, then rolled over and tried not to imagine what she looked like just a happy moment away. Instead, he fell asleep concentrating on his future life of riches.
They traveled for six days without making contact with the indigenes. Without making any interpersonal contact, either. Jack had pretty well given up on the idea of a connubial tryst. After that first night's attempt she treated him like an insect, and he wasn't about to get caught in that goo again.
The first sign of their quarry appeared on the seventh day. They stumbled upon an old campsite; eight huts and a rough cut statue. He examined the statue to see if any diamonds might have been inadvertently left behind. If anything, the tribe was as tidy as his traveling companion; not a diamond in sight. Miss Waters figured the camp was a temporary hunting site. They were close, though.
On the twelfth day they realized they were not alone in the jungle. Five loin-cloth clad men jumped them from behind and bound their hands behind their backs.
"I thought you said they were peace-loving," Jack whispered harshly.
"They are." she whispered back.
"Then why the hell are we tied up like this?"
"They don't know if we're peace-loving, do they?"
Jack couldn't argue with logic like that. He couldn't argue at all because after their short conversation, the men put gags around their mouths.
The prisoners were brought into the middle of a large circle of huts where a huge fat woman sat on a dais surrounded by young male natives fanning her with leafy branches. Their captors spread the contents of the canvas packs on the ground before the woman and she clucked over most of the articles, producing a gargled kind of laughter when something amused her.
Miss Waters was half-carried, half dragged to the Queen first, whereupon she tugged at her khaki outfit, pulling on the belt, playing with the buttons. When the Queen discovered Beatrice was a female, she brushed her aside and pointed to the second captive. When the Queen discovered Jack had no bosom, she went for the more immediate proof of his gender. He gasped with pain and watched in despair as she extricated that part of his anatomy from its hiding place.
Now, the Devil's Island incident had done its damage, but Jack didn't expect the almost strangling gargle of laughter the reigning behemoth emitted. When the Queen finally regained her composure, she spit out an incomprehensible stream of language which produced gales of laughter from the assemblage. Miss Waters even laughed.
Immediately thereafter, the captives were tossed into a dark steamy hut. Jack managed to free his hands and removed his gag. He pulled the gag from Miss Waters' mouth, but didn't untie her.
"You understood what the Queen said, didn't you?"
"It's a common derivative language for the area."
"Well, what the hell was so funny?"
"Well, the Queen said-" but she paused.
"Come on," grated Jack furiously. "No stalling. What did she say?"
"She said it was no wonder the skinny woman with no color- that's me- well, it was no wonder I came into the jungle looking for a real man, if all white men were like the skinny white man- that's you."
"Why that bitch. Wait'll I get my hands on her."
"Now, don't go doing anything stupid. We're here to study them, remember?"
Jack thought about the diamonds. He could wait for his revenge. But once he had enough to take back...
"Untie me, will you?" She wriggled uncomfortably. "Please?"
Her khaki outfit was still disheveled from the Queen's search and his week long lust returned. An evil gleam filled his eyes and she looked at him with impatience.
"Listen, I know what you're thinking." She lowered her tone slightly. "I'll tell you what. When we get through with all this we- we have the whole trek back for that kind of thing. Okay, Jack?"
Before the idea and her use of his first name had a chance to completely sink in, a guard appeared at the door. Jack sat down and quickly put his hands behind his back again. The guard pulled out a rough stone knife and cut through Beatrice's bindings. When the guard noticed the loose cords around Jack's hands, he laughed that strange gargle. Jack vowed to teach them the correct way to laugh before he did anything else. That strangling sound was irritating.
Once again they were taken to the Queen, and Beatrice utilizing her linguistic skills, explained their purpose in seeking out the tribe. They wanted to study the tribe so that perhaps they could take some of the things they learned back to their own people. The Queen laughed and spit out another long sentence. The rest of the natives joined her. Jack leaned over to his companion.
"What'd she say now?"
"Loosely translated she said, "Anteater poop. You just want the diamonds."
Jack looked at the Queen with new respect. This tubby monarch was no dummy. On the other hand, they did seem to be a friendly people, no threat to his body. By showing the proper respect, anything could happen. Nice people, really. And, thought Jack with an inner gleam, probably easy pickings for a smart adventurer like himself.
So, Jack became an anthropologist, studying everything the natives cared to show him. He followed their lead, from rising at the crack of dawn to race down to the nearest stream, all the way to drinking a gallon of fresh water and then tickling his throat with a long parrot feather. His new comrades laughed at how sapped the white man became after regurgitating, whereas they became stronger and more robust.
In sign language Jack played out his adventures, pointing to a missing appendage or scar, then reenacting the moment, often with more flourish than truth. He hunted with them, borrowing the long pointed stick they used as a spear. He even took to wearing a loincloth which proved quite a boon to the native women who'd heard the strange tale of his obscure disfigurement.
Beatrice watched his antics with a certain, no- uncertain bemusement. Part of her uncertainty came from his opting to sleep in the men's hut instead of sharing hers. He had dived into the study of the tribe so intensely that she was certain he was planning some devilment.
In long conversations with the Queen, and with large amounts of native liquor made from a combination of beeswax and a tomato-like fruit, Beatrice charted the structure of their host society, as well as their peculiar form of cursing.
Anteater poop was high on the list of epithets, along with alligator assholes, parrot fellatio, iguana buggery, and 'Your mother hangs from trees with sloths'; a particularly obscene characterization which was sure to produce an angry response from the offended party.
Their humor was based totally on planting and reaping. One joke so created paroxysms of laughter that Beatrice was sure the Queen would choke on her own fat tongue. It went like this:
"Zotl let his toenails grow long in case someone steals his plow pick."
The joke became even funnier when someone suggested that Bairentz, (the white man), had lost his toes when the thief mistook them for his plow pick. And Jack had gone along with the joke, hopping happily amongst the villagers with his deformed foot held high for all to see.
The way they all slapped him on the back with good nature proved Jack had conquered their hearts. Beatrice saw in that moment a glint of something other than comradeship in his good eye. She knew he was laughing with them, but at a different joke. When he passed her during his pantomime, she asked him to stop by her hut before retiring that night. He nodded and moved off, arm in arm with several of his hunting buddies.
That night she sat in the middle of the hut, her hair cascading down her bare shoulders, when his footsteps scraped the dirt outside her door. Jack peeked in his head first and Beatrice smiled.
Jack smiled back. She was wearing a soft buoma around her waist, and only the buoma. The scent of sweet honey oil filled the room and the reflection of her lamp made her breasts look wet, as if fresh from the stream.
"You wanted to see me?" He said, innocently moving his eyes up to her face.
"Yes." Her voice was a whispering promise.
A thought entered his mind. She wanted him to see her. "Well?"
Beatrice faltered, not quite knowing how to begin. "I was wondering how long you thought we should stay with them. My research is doing well, not as well as yours, apparently, but- "
"My research?"
"You must have some reason for acting the way you are. Your job was to get me here and back."
"Exactly," smiled Jack. "But these are wonderful people. I'm learning a lot from them." He sat crosslegged in front of her, a short reach away. "Besides, what else can I do with my time while you complete your study?"
"Sorry. Just asking."
They sat, studying each other for several moments. A slight flush began crawlindly and the men began a whispering chant.
"Bairentz tupi! Bairentz tupi!"
Jack's dancing, while not as stylish as his native cohorts, displayed an abandon and frenzy which all had to admire. Beatrice grew more worried, hoping he wouldn't display too much prowess lest they ingest his sacramental parts with even more reverence.
But Jack was beyond himself with joy, throwing himself closer and closer to the anteater god with each pas de ped. When he was within several feet of the god, the music halted. The Queen moved heavily toward him and Beatrice closed her eyes.
Jack looked up into the Queen's face and smiled. She smiled back and suddenly plucked a diamond from the god's eye socket. Then the Queen point to his patch and motioned for him to place the diamond within his own socket. Jack kissed the diamond, which met with great approval, then slipped the gem into the empty gap beneath his patch. Several men came and set him atop the anteater. A line of young pregnant women came and lifted his loincloth, each bestowing a kiss upon his mutated maleship. Five men walked in front of him and cut thin lines into the faces to approximate his own scar. The village fool came dancing on one foot, minus three toes, and four old men lifted their loincloths to show how the mud they'd applied resembled Jack's privates. Six virgins paraded in front of the Bairentz tipu, (white woman without man), wearing white powder on their bodies, their breasts tipped in bright red. Then a hush filled the compound and the Queen rose, extending her flabby arms out to either side. As she spoke, Beatrice translated for Jack.
"Thus we honor our guests. They have lived our life, and we play, for the moment, at living theirs. It is a good game but all games end. Otherwise, we commit iguana buggery. It is time to go, Bairentz tupi and Bairentz tipu. In the morning we will begin the game of life without you, as you will continue your own without us. Bairentz tupi, we give you the gift of sight from a god who sees as well with one eye as two. You have honored us with your terrible dancing."
Jack spread his arms and returned the compliment. The Queen began again. "Bairentz tipu, we give you back your man." Jack looked up with surprise, but the Queen carried on. "Such a fine man would have been a wonderful meal to those hungering after his power. We give him back to you knowing that you will honor our faith in you. That you will allow us our serious game of living without making us the sport of others. Also, I order you to save the good name of women and take this poor tupi's personal honor from him. He is too old to play the boy." With that pronouncement, the village emptied out. Men hurried north and women south.
Jack packed their gear and stood at the edge of the compound, waiting for Beatrice. She emerged from her hut, once again wearing her khaki outfit. They walked in silence for the first two hours, finally speaking only to decide on a campsite. Before the fire turned to embers, she took his tupi.
The next morning, Jack rose early and swallowed a gallon of water from a nearby stream. His loud regurgitation woke Beatrice every morning until they reached the riverside. When they passed through the American customs, Jack kept the diamond in his eye socket.
They used the remaining grant money to put a down payment on a little bungalow near Beatrice's university. The fluoridated water didn't tasted nearly as good as the stream water in Brazil, and Jack's life lost some of its former spark, especially when he discovered the diamond was only of industrial quality. He wrote Zelda, telling her of his failure to make them rich. Zelda wrote back, "One more reading, for old time's sake?"
When he described his adventure and the resulting domesticity, Zelda nodded. "I saw it all," she said in minor triumph. "The diamond they gave you, the treasure, was worthless. The fact that the Queen allowed you to make a successful departure. The water helped you to clear your throat in the mornings, and you left some of the fire from your former life out there in the jungle. You see? I remain infallible."
Jack sighed, smiling at her impenetrable ego. Then, Zelda frowned. "One thing I don't understand. Why did the Queen put the diamond in your empty eye socket?"
Jack smiled brighter. "That old Queen had her own way of reading the Zodiac."
Zelda looked confused. This made Jack happy. He knew he'd disappointed her by returning without losing another part of his body to the adventure.
"What do you mean by 'her own way of reading the Zodiac?" Zelda squinted distrustfully.
"That Queen," laughed Jack, slapping his thigh. "She was a canny one, all right. Even had the right sign."
Zelda glowered. "What on earth are you cackling about?"
He leaned forward conspiratorially. "The Queen hands me the diamond, see, and then says, 'This gem in eye, worth two in bush.'"
With that, Jack performed an abbreviated version of his anteater dance. Zelda looked on with disgust. When he finished with a grin, she pretended to study her crystal bowling ball.
"Good-bye, Zelda," he laughed on his way to the door. "Thank for all your help." He paused at the door, but she didn't look up. "Don't let your mother hang from trees with sloths!" He cried merrily as the crystal ball grew cloudy as a storm brewed in her stare. "Don't take any alligator assholes." He wasn't sure, but there may have been lightning as he bowed in the doorway. "Good-by, Zelda. You old teatzl capu!"
The sound of thunder lessened as he closed the door. For a moment he thought she might have understood what he'd called her. But then, what would she know about anteater poop?
Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part V
Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part V is humorous adult literature featuring adult content and language. The work satirizes and spoofs thirteen classic tales from U.S. and British literature, a
Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part V
Thirteen Sick Tasteless Classics, Part V is humorous adult literature featuring adult content and language. The work satirizes and spoofs thirteen classic tales from U.S. and British literature, a
Homer's Ill Iliad & Odd Sea Odyssey (420 pages) is an adult satire/parody rewrite of the classic stories of the 10 year Trojan War and of the 10 year adventure of Odysseus trying to return home to his native Ithaca.
Jack Danger was an adventurer, an intrepid explorer and a crack shot. He was at home in the jungle, at ease at sea, confident on the side of a mountain, cool in the desert, a lady-killer in the best sense of the word, and put quite simply, a man's man. His travels were legend and his legend well-traveled.
