The Six Minute Louvre

By Richard O'Niell

Danny O'Brien sets off on his motorcycle
on an adventure which takes him from
the Dreamtime to Paris.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard O'Niell
• Release date: Aug 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781005185640

Richard O'Niell

Born in Australia of Irish, French and Aboriginal forebears. Having lived in for many years in South East Asia now writes on a beach somewhere on the Australian coast. Would never join a club that would have him as a member. Likes to watch. Eats meat.

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The Six Minute Louvre

by

Richard O'Niell

Smashwords Edition

National Library of Australia CataloguinginPublication entry

Author: O'Niell, Richard.

Title: The Six Minute Louvre [electronic resource]

Richard O'Niell.

Edition: 1st ed. ISBN: 9780980325218 (eBook)

Dewey Number: A823.4

Copyright © Cultural Research Centre Inc. 2010

PO Box 564 Avalon NSW Australia 2107

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Walking past the big old boarding house on the main street, black smoke whisping from an upstairs window. Whisping to billowing as he watches. Runing to the front door. Locked. Bang Bang Bang. Call out. Run round back. Through the back door. Bang on all the ground floor doors. Angry man opens a door barking at him. Weird. Run upstairs. More banging below. Corridor filling with smoke. Bang on more doors.

Fire! Fire! Get out! Get out!

Firemen clumping up the stairs.

You need help mate?

No, I’m trying to get people out.

We’ll take care of it. You get out NOW.

Relief, slip past firemen and ambos checking residents in the backyard. Sirens claxon. Walking away. The roof is on fire.

****

Under a bundle of bedding Danny sleeps in. Clothes strewn room. Clothes cover everything. Doors, floors furniture, everything.

Danny’s smart, aces exams without really trying but he’s kind of solitary, when his Dad left, a sadness came.

Dad was a cricketer, a drinker and a punter. Had to be fetched from the racecourse when he was needed to bat. Drinking cost him his cricket career and punting cost him his wife. Left behind a library and a motorcycle. Dan read every book in that library and rebuilt the bike. Keeping a link with his father. As if they were reading together, like they had when he was little. Smelling him in the petrol and grease of the bike, remembering riding with him, clinging on tight behind, his cheek against the leather jacket. Never knew where his Dad was. Still gambling and drinking, he’d send Dan a cheque when he'd had a big win. Postmark always a different frontier town, Lightning Ridge, Darwin, Broome.

His mum never goes into his room, the mess just makes her mad. She knocks and opens the door enough to speak through, not even looking in at first.

Your results are here.

What?

Your results are here.

Chuck them on the floor.

Are you going to open them?

Maybe.

When?

Later.

Daniel! This room is disgusting. It looks like it’s been wrapped in rags by Christo.

Cool.

God knows how many diseases are breeding in here.

Lucky you’re a doctor then.

She tries hard but Dan is at the age that drives parents mad and she’s been doing it on her own for a long time. Angry with him for quitting his school in his final year. Private school. When they refused to submit the short story he had written for his English exam, they told him it was too derivative, he told them they could fuck themselves, walked out and enrolled himself at the local high school.

****

Candidate No: 986322975

THE ART OF DARKNESS

We need to talk, not on the phone.

Your office?

The boat, usual place at eight.

It was a well rehearsed routine for the Premier and Commissioner’s most confidential meetings. Eight meant seven and the usual place was a private jetty in Middle Harbour.

Who’s behind these murders Bob, what do we know?

The gangs swear it’s not one of them but I’m only just holding back an all out war.

I need that like a cup of cold sick. New player moving in?

No new supplies on the street.

What has Curtis got to say?

He’s out of contact.

What?

He dropped out of sight after we pulled the reins on him.

Get him in.

We’re trying, but he’s the best, he knows the ropes.

He knows more than the ropes, I don’t like this, I smell a rat.

You think it’s him?

Get him in, I don’t care how.

I’ll need an outsider.

We’re covered, he’s just an undercover cop gone bad.

o0o

JFK was fogged in and I was waiting with a couple of old company buddies for our flight to LA for a security conference. We were swapping yarns and it was my turn at the plate.

Weirdest job? That was in Australia, and it’s one I can tell seeing it was in another country.

And besides the wench is dead.

But I didn’t hit him, it was just a fishing trip for me … the boss put out the word for anyone who wanted to check out Australia. I had nothing on the boil, just paperwork so I put up my hand.

So what was it like Down Under?

Man, I grew up in St Paul so it was just like going home. I tell you it’s an All American amusement park.

What'd they need us for?

"Their top narc turned and none of their people could get him in, not surprising since most of them were pretty dumb and he was one real smart dude. Real smart, could have taught criminology in college. Wrote a brilliant thesis on drug policy and enforcement, was fast tracked for the top but insisted on a job in the field. Brought in the best intelligence they’d ever had. Then they lost contact and dead dealers started turning up in trash cans all over town.

I knew a lot about him by the time I landed and I knew I wouldn’t find him on his own home turf. I had to make him find me, thank God he was straight, that made it easier, I just had to find out what made his dick tick. He had a girlfriend but she was his mirror fuckin’ image, typical star syndrome, told me nothing about his real hot buttons. Luckily I managed to find a USP he’d used and hit paydirt. A man’s porn is the window to his soul and what a fascinating view it gives. His fetishes and lusts, his dreams and darkest fantasies.

The undercover work made sense, he had a predilection for sleaze. He loved women of all ages but not kiddy porn. Plenty of barely legals, petites and school uniforms but no cheer leaders. Puffy nipples, small tits, pert tits but no big tits. No gays but some TV’s mostly asian ladyboys without implants. He liked legs and lingerie, stockings, corsets, stepins, nothing red and no fishnets. Liked bodystockings and encasemet, shaved cunts, not insertions, hard core but not anal, groups but not gang bangs, orals, bukake, bondage but not torture. He loved amateurs, housewives, housewives in lingerie, housewives in lingerie in bondage. Lesbians but not with dildos or strapons, brunettes with blue eyes, Bettys .."

Enough already.

And who’s Betty?

Betty Page, vintage thing, 40’s and 50’s black and white, Cleopatra look, black stockings, stepins, soft bondage.

And what did you do with all this?

I found the lure he couldn’t resist.

"Which was?

What do you reckon?"

Ah ... pregnant schoolgirl lingerie bondage bukake.

"Not everyone’s got the same tastes as you.

Wait, what’s bukake?"

Let me tell you, I wish I’d never found out, it’s really gross.

Now you’ve got me interested.

Forget it. What I had to find was something he wasn’t even fully aware of. If it was obvious it wouldn’t attract him, it had to be something deep in his sub conscious, something that had never been satisfied, and something that had never been seen on the strip circuit.

You didn’t become a stripper?

"Hey, Vassar girls can do anything! So I enrolled in strip school. It was so fun. It was kind of like an aerobics class but the sex was right out there. There was a whole bunch of us all ages and we just laughed so much. The teacher was too much, she’d stripped