Letter From Milo: Rudy’s Fight With Vivian

June 19th, 2019

As threatened, here is the third installment of the 1st chapter of a work in progress called “The Aristocrat House,” in which Uncle Rudy engages in a savage, no-holds-barred fight to the finish with a one-legged woman named Vivian.

The Aristocrat House

“No, baby,” Rudy answered, innocently, “I haven’t seen them.”
A few days later, she asked, “Rudy, sugar, I can’t seem to find my wristwatch. Will you look around for it?”

Uncle Rudy spent 10 minutes rummaging around the apartment, searching for Vivian’s wristwatch. Scratching his head in consternation, he said, “I can’t find it, Viv. But I’m sure it’ll turn up sooner or later.”

“That’s strange,” Vivian said, looking thoughtfully at Uncle Rudy. “I wonder what the hell happened to it.”

If she would have asked me, I could have told her exactly where to find her wristwatch and ear rings. The wristwatch was on display in the window of Woodside’s Pawn Shop on Washington Street. And the ear rings were adorning the earlobes of a wife or girlfriend of one of the bar flies at Kaiser’s Old Style Inn, where Uncle Rudy had sold them while I waited in the car.

The end came when Vivian caught Uncle Rudy going through her purse.

“What the hell are you doing?” She was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, leaning against the doorjamb. She wasn’t wearing her leg and needed the doorjamb’s support to keep from toppling over.

Uncle Rudy was caught in mid-theft, with Vivian’s open billfold in his hands. “Nothing honey,” he sputtered. “I was just, ah, just looking for some cigarettes.”

“I don’t keep my cigarettes in my billfold, you son of a bitch,” she snarled, then turned and hopped back into her bedroom. When she wasn’t wearing her prosthesis she hopped on her good leg to get around her apartment. Or, if she had been drinking heavily, she scuttled crab-like along the floor. In a moment she hopped out of her bedroom, holding something behind her back, and hopped up to Uncle Rudy. Before he could react, she sprayed him with mace.

Uncle Rudy screamed in pain, clutched his face and fell to the floor. “Oh, God! Aaahhheee! What the fuck did you do! Sweet Jesus I’m blind! You rotten fucking whore! Oowweee! I can’t see! I can’t see!”

While Uncle Rudy was screaming and rolling on the floor in agony, Vivian leaned over, as best she could, and sprayed him again. Then she turned to me. “You little bastard,” she hissed, her face contorted in rage, and aimed the can of mace at me.

Before she could spray me, I ducked to the floor and tried to scramble away. In my frantic effort to get away from her, I inadvertently bumped into her good leg. She teetered for a moment, arms flailing, and crashed to the floor, losing her grip on the can of mace in the process.

Uncle Rudy was still on the floor, writhing in pain. He had pulled his shirttail out of his trousers and was vigorously rubbing his face with it. His agonized screaming had subsided to low moans, raspy grunts and muttered curses and threats.

“You gimpy fucking slut! Oh, man! Are you crazy! Ooohhh, shit! What the fuck is wrong with you! God damn!”

When he realized that Vivian was squirming on the floor next to him, Uncle Rudy reached out and grabbed her remaining leg. Vivian tried to crawl away but he had a good grip and held tight. “I’ve got you now, you greasy spic cunt,” he hissed, murderously. “I’m going to rip off your good leg. You hear me! See how you like that.”

I was scared to death. I had never seen Uncle Rudy like that. He looked like some sort of monster, his tear-stained face was swollen, red and raw, and his eyes had narrowed to bloodshot piggish slits. I knew something terrible was going to happen but had no idea of how to prevent it.

When Vivian felt Uncle Rudy grab her leg she squealed in terror and tried to shake him off. When he tried to pull her closer Vivian wrapped her arms around the base of a heavy floor lamp.

“Leave me alone!” she shrieked. “Let me go!”

“I’ll fix you good, you ugly old Mexican whore,” Uncle Rudy growled.

“Please, Uncle Rudy,” I pleaded, frightened that he might seriously hurt her. “Let’s just go. This is crazy.”

“You, shut the fuck up!” he barked at me, then tugged roughly on Vivian’s leg. But she held her grip on the lamp and couldn’t be budged. Uncle Rudy yanked harder, but the only thing that gave way was the lamp, which rocked back and forth a couple of times, before falling and crashing down heavily on Uncle Rudy’s head. He howled in misery when the lamp slammed into his head, its glass shade shattering and showering him with shards of glass. He immediately began bleeding from several small cuts on his face. Releasing Vivian’s leg, he clutched his face again and moaned, “Oh, fuck me.”

As soon as her leg was freed Vivian scurried into the kitchen, out of Uncle Rudy’s reach. When she was out of harm’s way, she sat up with her back propped against the refrigerator, placed her head in her hands and began sobbing.

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