Murder in the Hot Cocoon Hotel, part 2

Part 2

(read part 1 – here)

Mr. BuriedInHerMouth hadn’t written his wife that morning.
He made a mental note to send SMS when he got back to his room. There was no use crying over spilled milk – the sun shone through the tropical waters, the fish and plant life were unspeakably beautiful, and hey, look at that finely-sculpted bottom of freshly-build Ms. Winnie

Later on (between ‘Sliding Panties’ and ‘Die from Thirst’ drinks), he texted his wife though, trying to get ready for dinner with Ms. EuphoricWiggle.

How was she? How was aunt OddFart? Any word when she might be coming? He missed her and looked forward to spending time together.

Blah blah blah.

Mrs. CatchAGlimpse answered all of his queries with maybe a few more details than he had bargained for.
“Bye, Winnie,” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth quickly typed at the end.
“You haven’t called me that in years,” his wife texted back.
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth froze. What had he done? The fact that he just called his wife by his lover’s name was nothing compared to the fact that she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind because he had done it before! First – the Church, now – the name. What’s happening here, on this DeadlyDesire-Island?

Mr. BuriedInHerMouth was late for dinner…

x x x

December 25th

The next morning Mr. BuriedInHerMouth woke up feeling better. Perhaps, because he had limited his consumption of Sliding Panties cocktails. Ms. Winston had left. The only thing that clouded his thoughts was that with each day that passed, the chances of his wife’s arrival increased.

What then?
He didn’t care.
He liked “The Hot Cocoon”.
He loved his new Winnie.

Someone knocked “Shave and a haircut” on his door.

“Who could that be?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth wondered, sauntering to the door. The manager of the hotel stood there with two policemen. One of them wore a turban, a loincloth, and his badge through the skin on his chest since he wore nothing else.
“Pardon the disturbance, sir,” the manager said. “There has been an… incident in the Hotel. We have only 3 guests, so we are…” He seemed to be at a loss for words. 

Mr. BuriedInHerMouth wondered who the third guest was.

“These gentlemen here,” the manager continued, “would like to ask you a few questions. Your discretion would be greatly appreciated.”
The uniformed policemen kept looking at his watch.
“No problem, come in,” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth answered. “What happened?”
“I’m Sergeant PinchingAndGrunting…” began the officer, but was interrupted by a snort from Mr. BuriedInHerMouth.

The eyes of Mr. PinchingAndGrunting fumed. He said loudly: “Listen, you! This is a very serious matter!! A woman has disappeared. She has not checked out, her baggage is still in her room, and her wallet has been found, but NOT on her person.”
The hotel manager winced and tried to calm the officer.
“Ok, ok,” said Mr. BuriedInHerMouth. “I’ll do what I can to help!”
He noticed that the policeman had a dead fly in his mustache, an unzipped wallet in his hand, and slightly untucked underwear. It was hard to be serious. One thing that helped, was the question that kept popping up into Mr. BuriedInHerMouth’s mind: Why do they want to talk to me?

The Sergeant seemed very interested in Mr. BuriedInHerMouth phone.

“The new iPhone? Does it allow you to watch live TV?” the Sergeant asked.
“Y..yyes?! I guess,” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth nodded.

“Hmmm. Mister…?” the second officer checked the messy bed in the middle of the room.
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth,” the host moved forward, trying to catch a hand to shake. “My first name is Stick.”
The sergeant looked at his colleague, who was trying very hard not to laugh but losing it.
Mr. Stick, then,” said the Sergeant. “Why don’t you tell us where you’ve been since you arrived and who you have spent your time with so far? The Hotel Manager states that you arrived on the…” he flipped through a notepad, which was completely empty. “Twenty-third?”
“Is that important?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth asked. “What difference does it make?”
“It does,” the second officer blurted. “Every detail is of the highest importance, Mr. Stick!
“I don’t know anything!” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth was almost whining. “I haven’t met anyone that’s disappeared. I swear!”

The Sergeant was glancing at his watch again:
“Look, ‘The Survivors Angola: Cabinda’ starts in two minutes,” he said with anger. “If I don’t get a confession by then, we’re going to have to watch it on your phone!”
“Confession?” Alex went pale. “For what? I haven’t done anything!!”

The Sergeant removed a crumpled picture from his pocket. Some candy, ring, red lipstick, yellow bra, and an ear.. fell out with it too. He hurried to pick up the objects.
“Evidence, you see.” Sergeant PichingAndGrunting chuckled nervously. After he got himself together, he un-crumpled the paper and handed it to shocked Mr. BuriedInHerMouth.
“The Security cameras took these pictures,” explained the second officer.  
Mr. BuriedInHerMouth saw two pictures taken by mobile phone over the divider of a bathroom stall. They showed three different women peeing. He looked up, confused.
“Fuckin’ troubles,” Sergeant PinchingAndGrunting grabbed the pictures back. “Wrong ones!”
He stuffed them into his pants and dug out another two photos. The first was Ms. Winston Che EuphoricWiggle in the lobby, blowing away the dreams of the hotel manager. It must have been on the 23rd… She had the same clothes on. The second picture was of the two of them – Mr. BurriedInHerMouth and Ms. Winnie – naked as the day they were born, running through the lobby, holding hands.

“Not very gifted,” the second policeman noted, pointing to the groin of Mr. BuriedInHerMouth.
His colleague, Sergeant PinchingAndGrunting, was leaning restlessly from one foot to the other, like a small child that has to go the bathroom.

“Did you do it?” he shouted at Mr. BuriedInHerMouth. “Say ‘yes’ and we can tune in to watch ‘The Survivors Angola: Cabinda’. It was filmed in the city where I’m from. My brother and mother will be on TV!”

The questioning was interrupted for about forty-five minutes so the sergeant could watch his relatives almost being filmed (“See! That’s them! Behind that tree! Now they are famous!”). After the episode, Mr. PinchingAndGrunting, slapped his hands onto his thighs and said:
“Where were we? Oh yes. You were about to tell us why you got rid of Miss CrunchyNipples.”
“Crunchy?” Mr. BuriedInHerMouth murmured. He did not feel good.
“Yes, CrunchyNipples! That was the real name of your Missis,” the second officer continued, waving his hand to hurry up the proceedings. “She was last seen with you and your mmm, stick. Listen, we are your friends, Mr. BuriedInHerMouth. Confess to this crime and we’ll speak to our friend, the District Attorney TongueOnFire. Mark my word, you’ll only serve a life sentence or twoooo.”

The last phrase was sung.

Mr. PinchingAndGrunting and the Hotel Manager both chimed in ‘one or two’ songs of their own. They began a well-synchronized dance, which… under other circumstances, would not be totally unwatchable. Mr. BuriedInHerMouth thought about the lovely and sweet Ms. Winston. It gnawed at him that she hadn’t shown up yet. That would put all of these inquiries to rest.

“Don’t get caught up in the unexpectable,” Sergeant PinchingAndGrunting sang in his rich baritone.
“It’s a lie, a scam,” sang the second officer.
“It’s a waste of time,” the Hotel Manager continued in falsetto, “And you’d be ignoring the criiiimeeee!”

Ms. Winston would never show up again, realized Mr. BuriedInHerMouth. She was gone. That vibrant woman with gummy legs and made-to-suck mouth was dead. Never again would he hold her or touch her youthful beauty.  

“She’ll never be in the mood to see ya!
Or make you some Die from Thirst…” sang the Sergeant.

Mr. BuriedInHerMouth started to remember now. He hadn’t gone snorkeling. He had never liked swimming at all. The only thing he had done is pound back those cocktails.

“First marriage, then baby.” Screamed Hotel Manager out of tune.
“Slide her Panties or diiiieeeee,” shouted all three.

“All right, all right! I get it,” interrupted them Mr. BuriedInHerMouth.
Land of the shining sun and oily bikinied bodies is unforgiving. Every moment, from the day he arrived, he had a choice, but he had failed. Every failed choice is like a cut of the knife, a drop of poison. Ms. Winston would never return. There was only his wife now, Mrs. CatchAGlimpse, with her stressed-out middle-aged mediocre suburban life and farty aunt.

No surprises.
No magic.
No panties to slide.

“Oooily bikinied bodies…” all men sang together, in one long sweet, drawn-out note. Mr. BuriedInHerMouth echoed with the closed eyes.

x x x

Evening. December 25th

 Mr. BuriedInHerMouth opened his eyes. He was in the lobby, sitting under a huge Christmas tree. He took a gulp of delicious Slide her Panties cocktail. Looking up, who did he see strolling into the Hot Cocoon Hotel? His wife Mrs. CatchAGlimpse and her aunt Mrs. OddFart. The aunt raised her arm, waving and shouting: “I’m back! I hope this place has mashed potatoes, whole yeast bread, red wine sauce, and stewed tarantulas!”

Joy to the world!

Next post – “The Pearl Territory”, ch. 27 – Family Kottler 



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22 Responses

  1. Sorryless says:

    Mr. BuriedInHerMouth’s memory is faulty, much like his particulars.

    One minute he’s limiting his consumption and the next . . . not so much.

    Sliding Panties cocktails must be very intoxicating.

    You have a tastily wicked imagination, RNB

  2. Oh you just killed sb. I’m all ears.

  3. kinkyacres says:

    Oh those “Oooily Bikinied Bodies” got me hooked until the “stewed Tarantulas” were being served!

  4. kinkyacres says:


  5. Terrific, VR. LOL 😂

  6. Simon says:

    I love these names, made me laugh 🙂

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