SEPTEMBER 2, 2014 2:19PM
Chainsaws of the Heart (OS Weekend Fiction)
Chainsaws of the Heart:
A Tale of
Sister Lucretia Dismas: Noir Nun.
It was hot but this was hotter. I'm taking about the incident at The Primrose Grill. Yeah, it was air conditioned to neo-Arctic levels, to fend off the brutal August heat of Downtown Dallas. And sure, it was a modern and genteel upscale bistro for businessmen and businesswomen, powerful ones, and matrons of leisure who did charity work. Its name was frosted in a tasteful script font on the windows. It served New American cuisine with just that slight touch of southern style, not enough to seem backwards or like an invitation to an obesity crisis.
But you should really trust me that it was about to get much, much hotter. The Primrose Grill, you see, was that day visited by Sister Lucretia Dismas, known in some circles as the 'Noir Nun.'
Have you ever seen a Roman Catholic nun in a torn, blood-spattered uniform and habit entering a downtown business district restaurant? A nun that was carrying a large old chainsaw?
Have you ever seen a nun shove an officious, fake restaurant host - who beat around the bush at the fact that he wanted her to leave - to the floor, possibly fracturing his collar bone?
Hot enough for you yet?
I mean, Sister Dismas didn't even need to look around to find her mark. She marched straight to the table, where Doreen Roberta Hooperleigh held court with her literacy volunteer group. The youngest of that group was the first to see the nun approach, and also the first to spit her mint julep out in a dainty stream all over the linens of the table.
The rest of the "court" frowned in concern - perhaps some hints of stifled smiles? - at the lady's impolite action. But then they turned to look at the true cause of the mint julep spit-stream.
It was of course that fearsome, battle-weary blood and diesel oil spattered nun of over 6 feet, wielding a chainsaw with strings and chunks of red and bloody unknown all over the blade.
You can't deny now that it was hotter.
But get this: the nun violently threw the chainsaw onto the center of the table in a lightning-flash gesture! The resulting crash and shattered glasses and dishes startled the women of the literacy group and made them shriek and stand suddenly.
One fell back in her chair. Another stood up and howled her anguish at the carrot ginger soup that decorated her light beige skirt-suit, not to mention her face. It didn't help that Sister Lucretia Dismas looked at her directly in the face and laughed a hearty and very genuine laugh.
That's pretty hot, isn't it?
But maybe what made it hotter still was just how cool Doreen Roberta Hooperleigh was. Not taking her eyes off the nun, she said "Go ahead and go home. The good Sister and I have some business to discuss."
And the women, somehow conditioned to do Mrs. Hooperleigh's bidding, did exactly that, although with traumatized and incredulous looks shadowing their painted faces.
Now, Doreen's voice was the brassy, assured, power-wielding feminine magnolia sigh of the greatest of Texas's female politicians, oil queens and heiresses.
"Have a seat, sugar. I'm afraid the wait staff isn't about to take your order," she said.
To me, it almost looked like the nun was fazed, although she didn't once break her reptilian glower when she finished laughing at carrot soup woman. She pulled a chair and sat right next to Doreen.
"That's alright. I'll serve myself," the nun responded.
She reached across to grab the unfinished fuchsia colored martini of one of the long-gone ladies of the literacy group. She tore the umbrella off disdainfully, and swallowed in one gulp what it would have required a mannered lady eight to twelve dainty sips over the course of an hour and a half.
"Fucking fruity drinks. Don't you whores ever drink straight bourbon?" Sister Dismas said.
They stared at each other for a good long while. Doreen broke the silence.
"They're not shy about calling the police around here."
"I already hacked one of your bank accounts and paid them off. I can do what the fuck I please in this district. Don't worry, it's your secret Turks & Caicos one. No one'll notice except you."
"Hmph. I oughta fire that stupid IT manager of mine."
"So."
"So," the nun parroted. "I assume you're not grieving? You do realize what I've just done, right?"
"Don't assume a damn thing, sugar. And, I'm not some dumb country hick. I can guess what you did." She removed a slim, pretty lady's cigarette and offered the nun one.
The nun took it with a look of distaste. "Figures you'd smoke these pussy pieces of shit." But still, she accepted the flame of Doreen's lighter, here in this bistro where smoking was absolutely not tolerated, even at the bar.
"Normally I'd slap the living hell out of you, woman." I heard the nun say. "But I'm intrigued. And also, dare I say it - sad? Your long-lost family were gruesome, deranged and deformed. Murderous cannibals, motorized garden tool wielding psychopaths, yes, but was I right in judging them? They kept that dusty little town you're from clean of sluts, idiots, perverts, shit-kicking boors and just generally annoying people. If Christ didn't see fit to judge lepers and prostitutes maybe I should have forgiven their sins."
"You thought so too, huh?" Doreen smiled. "You found me, here. How did you figure out they were my family? I thought I hid my tracks pretty well."
"Didn't take all that much. Reverend Tom S. Hinckel, your opponent in the election, hired me to wipe out your family. But he doesn't know - I'd think he would want to reveal them to the world. No, I think he thinks this is going to make him some kind of crime-busting patriot hero."
Doreen smirked. "Hmph. That fat ol' bastard wants to make sure his shit doesn't stink."
"Regardless. There were legends around that town, about the 'pretty one', the one that didn't come out a flesh eating hunchback. The one they said ran away, married three times, erased any trace of her inbred mutant cannibal white trash roots and became one of the richest women in America. Of course, no one in that hellhole of insane defectives could put two and two together and figure out that you were her. Honestly though? You really suck at covering up your tracks. That bank account you set up for them - the poor mentally ill boy you hired to clean their house and clean up the victims - all easily traced."
Doreen's face was like a sphinx. Another sip of her drink, and she said, "And now what? Are you gonna kill me? Expose me publicly? Go right ahead sugar. You do what you need to. I - " her eyes began to water.
"I haven't yet decided. But I lack anything resembling pity, so stop with your fucking tears," Sister Dismas said.
"These aren't for me. They're - you wouldn't understand, even if you had feelings. I - I miss them. They were my family. Desperate as I was to escape their horror, the slime and blood and shrieks of their slaughters - sometimes all a soul has left is her kin. Taking care of 'em, knowing they're allright. I didn't have children, didn't dare, what with the state of my messed up family tree. And I haven't loved my husbands, haven't loved any man except one of the countless lovers I took."
Curiously, the nun did soften a bit. She grabbed another of the drinks left by the ladies and tossed it back. "I meant what I said before. There was something to admire about your clan. What if I were to tell you not all of them died? Even I couldn't slaughter the young ones, the pairs of twins, boy and girl..."
Doreen's eyes flew wide open, but she said nothing. Nothing at all.
"which of course means people will continue to die. Yet I wonder if we shouldn't somehow harness the twins' talents for butchery and yardwork? There is great evil to dispose of in this world, and I can't kill all of it on my own. Your young ones could be the vanguard of my new army."
"I think I see what you're saying," Doreen replied, with a curiously sly smile. "Now, we're Baptists, sugar - still plenty of people down here in the South think you Catholics have horns 'n a tail."
"The Convent of St. Dismas offers non-denominational education for grades 2 through 12. We'll give them a broad-based religious perspective. Do we have an agreement, then?"
"I'll even sweeten the deal for you, sugar. You wanna clean up some evil? Do right by me, and maybe I'll let you in on Reverend Hinckel's unusual hunting sports club."
And there was I. hiding behind the water and bread station close to their table, observing, and all I could think is how there's nothing quite like the strength and resolve of a proud Southern lady of quality. They're survivors.
And that also maybe I need to find a new job immediately.
Hot, right?
© 2014 by Chillerpop, all rights reserved. Image created with HeroMachine 3
Comments
Very entertaining. I look forward to reading about the education of the twins and what they do after graduation.
Rated Highly
Rated Highly
Reminds me a bit of R. Crumb's Leather Nuns, where is Armando Stiletto hiding? ;-)
@LittleWillie - thank you and I may just write it for you!
@jmac1949 - thank you
for the R. Crumb comparison, but sadly I am too amateurish and slap
happy to be compared to him or any other writer (not to mention I can't
cartoon like Crumb does). Thank you!
Having attended a
Catholic elementary school taught by nuns, I must say I find Sister
Dismas . . .uh . . . vaguely familiar. "Noir Nun"--I like that!
Inventive and droll.
Hah! Thank you Jerry. I
appreciate you reading my bad story about an insane nun. But you're
not the first Catholic student to say I'm not too far off base.
Matrons of Leisure: now there's a great name for a band.
Boy, that nun gets up to all sorts! Why don't situations like this happen while I am dining out? As always, love the creative writing and use of language and phrases.
Boy, that nun gets up to all sorts! Why don't situations like this happen while I am dining out? As always, love the creative writing and use of language and phrases.
Thanks as always, VA. From the looks of it you've got some great posts coming up
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