Forbidden Lust: Part 1.

A smartly dressed man stands outside the Yonkers public library. A determined look is tattooed on his face. He has wallowed in the sewage of mediocrity and despair long enough. He refuses to be choked by the stench of regret and stagnation. Now was the time. The automatic doors opened briskly and B.M. Swift confidently stepped forward. He struts like a proud rooster towards a vacant seat parked in front of a lifeless computer screen. Before he notices it, he finds himself directly in front of a grossly obese creature, with a 6‘o clock shadow and bulletproof glasses. His breathing is unnerving, like a lawnmower that was years past its prime.

“God,” he thought… “Who allowed this poor beast to wander from its cage?” Damn! He was doing it again. Allowing a distraction to worm itself into his thoughts. Not. This. Time. Distraction be damned. Log on. The search engine page seemed to glare at him. At that moment his expression went blank. As if he could hear a faint melodic and yet demonic voice. Like the Sirens singing seductively to Odysseus. “I have your answers… Ask anything…” Suddenly the primate sitting in front of him cleared his throat demonstratively and snaps B.M. out of it. His eyes are wide open. He regains his focus.

Let's take a closer look at this man searching for some sort of sign as to what to do with his life. 33 year old B.M. Swift, was born Boon-Mee Visser. The only bastard child of Bian, a Thai cleaning lady, and Jeremiah Visser. Jeremiah‘s aunt (Bian’s employer) Irma Visser, was the heiress of a lumber empire. She was quite wealthy and quite alone. Jeremiah was 18 and Bian had just turned 25 when they found out she was pregnant. Young and eager to escape this predicament, Jeremiah borrowed a princely sum of money from his unsuspecting aunt, under the guise of needing it to "provide for his family." His plan worked perfectly. Once Bian was discharged from the hospital, she and Jeremiah practically left the newborn on Irma’s doorstep and vanished. Irma became Boon-Mee's official caregiver and guardian.

B.M.’s relationship with Irma was always solid. As she grew older she relied on him more and more to help her manage her life. In return Boon-Mee or Boonie as Irma affectionately called him, could afford to live the life of a wanderer. Having no attachment to his strange half Dutch half Thai birth name, as soon as he turned 18, Boon-Mee Visser, legally became known as B.M. Swift. Swifts are a peculiar type of avian. Living mostly on the wing, they are known to travel astonishing distances. B.M. could not have chosen a better surname. Similar to the swifts, migrating aimlessly was just about the only thing B.M. was exceptional at. He did however have one particular characteristic that he could always rely on when in need. His boundless curiosity. It was his curiosity that made him apply for and receive his private investigator license. No easy feat at all. It was the one accomplishment that B. M. was most proud of. Still four years later, he hadn't been hired to investigate anything. Marketing his newfound skills was more than he bargained for. So here he was, an unemployed P.I, parked in front of a library computer surfing the internet, in hopes of finding some sort of opportunity.

A text. It’s Irma. B.M. agonizes over the factor someone would interrupt him, the one time he was earnestly attempting to accomplish something productive. Text reads:

B.M. grabs his phone, jolts out of his seat, and steams towards the closest, remote corner of the library. He dials Irma.

“Auntie?? What’s the matter? You’re worrying me with these texts!” A pause. His eyes get wider.

“I don’t understand. Who is this again? Oh. Wait WHO? Wait! HOW?!”

A few moments later B.M. is back at his computer seat. Except for this time, he’s logging out. The triumphant moment when he could declare himself as being someone with some sort of direction has to wait. Perturbed, he gathers his belongings, nods to acknowledge his gargantuan neighbor, (who seems to be eyeballing him), turns, and walks decisively towards the automatic doors.

~~~~~~~~~~

“But Auntie! Why don’t we just take my car?!” urges B.M. as he and Irma, scurry towards a bright green 1980 Cadillac Seville.

“Why? Well, I’d rather you not drive Boonie.”

B.M. is taken aback.

“Oh jeez. I told you before, that was an emergency U-turn. No one got hurt!"

Irma is inattentive.

"Look I have been trained to drive that way. It’s a part of my job description. I have to be crafty behind the wheel.”

Irma is relieved to be near the car.

“Job? Oh right… Well, lucky for us you’re not on the uh… job you call it?”

The Arms Wide Open funeral home was only a 15–20-minute drive from Irma's modest 8 bedroom home. Yet as per her insistence, they arrive about a half-hour early. Just as he stepped out of the car B.M. gasped. The vast parking lot of Arms Wide Open had space for roughly 350 vehicles. They move on toward the entrance and as B.M. goes to open the door, the behemoth he saw in the library the other day, holds it open for them. B.M. flinches. Although he's suited and cleaned up, B.M.recognizes him instantly. The large usher takes a glance at B.M. winces his eyes and proceeds to recite his line. "Welcome to Arms Wide Open, won't you please come in." Irma speaks softly "We're here for the Laukinis viewing?"

Arms Wide Open is located in a gargantuan building. The interior is immaculate and straight out of the 1970s'. Irma and B.M. look around and are equally amazed at how a funeral home could be so enormous. They stop at a desk with an elaborately framed picture of a ravishing young woman. Her likeness is festooned with all varieties of floral arrangements. "Oh, my dear! How could this have happened to you?!" Irma loudly bemoans. Helen Laukinis was Irma's goddaughter still, Irma worshipped her as her own blood. Helen had barely turned 22. An "accidental overdose" is what the family stated was the official cause of death. But from what B.M. knew about her, he had a feeling the word "accidental" might have been misleading.

The mourners were starting to file in. With tearful eyes and blank stares, they meekly took their seats. Helen lies peacefully in an elaborate coffin before them. You could hear a pin drop. Then without warning... "NOT MY HELEN! Oh God!" a desperate cry of grief permeates the melancholic ambiance. It belongs to Ida, Helen's devastated grandmother who's just been wheeled into the hall. Irma erupts out of her seat and ventures toward Ida like a heat-seeking missile. They embrace and immediately begin sobbing. B.M. remains seated, hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction. Irma gestures over to him to approach the unconsolable grandmother. He slowly rises and approaches with a bit of trepidation. "This is my nephew Boon-Mee. He wants t-" before Irma could finish her thought, Ida glances up, sees B.M., and wraps her arms around him. She clutches onto him tightly and continues her sobbing. Meanwhile, B.M. awkwardly stands, conflicted. On one hand, he wants her to stop slobbering all over his suit. On the other, he wants to comfort her. It would count as his good deed of the day.

Eventually, Ida lets go and B.M. rises to see the hall is practically packed. Irma and Ida share one more tearful embrace, then she and B.M. head back to their seats. Just as everyone settles in, the grizzly bear usher approaches the rostrum. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats and join us as we say a short prayer for the dearly departed." After a few silent moments, he saunters towards the corner of the room. A short time later, the doors of the hall slowly open, and in enters a round, stout man, in his early 70's. He's bald, however, he's let the hair on the back of his head, grow and styled it into a ponytail. His face is pasty, round, fleshy, and lacking human emotion. He stands roughly 5'5 and is wearing an all-black suit, that even Elvis Presley would consider gaudy. He seemingly glides, head bowed toward the rostrum, his arms barely swaying. Lifting his beady eyes, he looks over the packed room and sighs audibly. Turning his head toward Helen, he gasps for air, bows his head down, and grabs the microphone. "Good afternoon everyone. I am Lee B. Toten, the owner and funeral director here at Arms Wide Open. Welcome."

He speaks in a somewhat monotonous southern drawl and drags out the end of his words. "We gather here to remember and cherish..." he looks over at Helen and gets choked up... "this beautiful young angel. So full of life and desire. Full of passion and hope." He glances over at Ida. "Once again, please accept my sincerest condolences." An awkward moment of silence lingers in the air. Toten turns towards Helen's casket and stares glumly. He then turns again towards the microphone. "Before I step away, please let me or my nephew..." He gestures towards the giant in the corner. "...know if there is any way we could accommodate you here at the Arms Wide Open funeral home." He backs ways from the rostrum and glides back down the aisle. Irma wipes away her tears and eyes Toten closely as he walks past. "There's something foul about that man..." B.M. nods in agreement. "You feel it too Auntie?" Then he utters a bit too loudly,..."Besides, what the hell is he wearing?!" Later, Irma and Ida congregate near the casket. B.M. cautiously approaches Helen and peers over her. "God..." He contemplates, "She was a fine piece of ass! What a waste." He makes the sign of the cross and turns to see the Toten's nephew starting dead at him. Startled, he takes a step back.

"Hi. Did we meet somewhere?"

"Ummmm..." B.M. desperately searches for the words to extricate himself from this conversation. However, all that comes out is...

"Noooo, I don't think so?"

"We have though." the nephew declares, a bead of sweat rolling down his balloon-shaped face. "You were at the library the other day. We sat across from each other."

"Oh right. That was you. Well..."

He turns to see Irma and Ida still engaged.

"I've got to g-"

"I'm Magnus."

He raises his chubby hand towards B.M. who looks at it briefly, before shaking it half-heartedly.

"Ok? Well, I'm B.M."

"B.M.? What's that stand for?" Magnus asks as though he's owed an explanation.

"Well..."

"Boonie!" Irma yells over. "Let's get ready to leave dear."

"On my way!" B.M. waves ecstatically, relieved that this conversation is at an end. As he turned away, he looked back at Magnus and notices a trace of disappointment on his face.

"I'll see you around Magnus"

"Yeah. Tomorrow. At the burial"

B.M. stops dead in his tracks. "Tomorrow? I thought they were burying her today?"

"Thought wrong. Ms. Laukinis told my uncle to keep her overnight. She said she needs time to process."

B.M. scrunches up his face as he thinks to himself “Process what?! She’s already fucking dead!” “BOONIE!” Irma summons B.M. again, “I’m ready to leave!” Once in the parking lot, B.M. crowds Irma.

“Auntie, I thought I told you, to call me B.M. when we’re in public!”

“Oh, honey, no one cares what I call you. No one even knows who you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, B.M. found himself at the Friedhof cemetery. Once again, Irma is clinging to him and even more distraught than she was the day before. B.M. surveying the scene, sees Toten and Magnus standing side by side. Toten's demeanor is off. He's disheveled and still wearing THE suit from yesterday. He's visibly distraught as if it were his family he was laying to rest. B.M. squints at him, then looks over at Magnus. "What is the deal with these two nuts?!" he contemplates. "Something just isn't right." Irma interrupts his train of thought, with her persistent weeping. B.M. determines he has to do something to stop this incessant noise.

"Oh Auntie, I feel so terrible about Ida!" Irma shoots a pitiful look over at her confidante, "Oh Ida!" She pushes B.M. to the side and marches solemnly towards an inconsolable grandmother. Mission accomplished, B.M. hones in on Lee and Magnus Toten and his thoughts run amok.

"Why does Toten look so damn sad and hopeless?!"

"Why does Magnus keep side-eyeing me?! Am I hungry?"

"How did Toten make so much money from owning a damn funeral home anyway?!"

"Why is he wearing that same damn suit?!"

"Is Magnus drooling?!"

B.M. flinches and takes a small step backward. "This was it!" he realizes in an instant. Irma was right. There was something "foul" about Toten. Despite not having an explicable reason as to why he should, B.M. was going to find out more about Mr. Lee B. Toten. He didn't need a reason just then. He felt in the depths of his soul, the reason or reasons would become evident eventually. Keeping his gaze on both Toten's, he stealthily slinked toward them. Toten is holding his hand over his eyes as if experiencing, some great distress. Magnus, on the other hand, has been looking towards the sky, seemingly spellbound by a cloud formation. B.M. goes in for the kill.

"Hello, Mr. Toten." B.M. audibly whispers as Toten slowly uncovers his bloodshot eyes.

"Helen was my dearest friend. Well, she was more like a sister to me." B.M. boasts, really laying it on. "So I wanted to come here and thank you..." B.M. notices Magnus staring at him with his mouth halfway agape, "...and your nephew, have done such wonderful job. The service yesterday and the burial today were both really...uh..."

Toten and Magnus eagerly await B.M.'s next words.

"Classy." B.M. states assuredly.

Magnus and Toten look at each other as if awaiting an explanation. The three then share an awkward moment of silence, which Toten proceeds to break. He steps towards B.M., and instinctually grabs him by the shoulders with a gentle yet authoritative grip. As soon as Toten opens his mouth, B.M. is blindsided by his unbearable halitosis.

"Young man... "I didn't hear you say what your name was?"

B.M. stands motionless looking into Toten's eyes, as he tries to breathe solely through his mouth. "Oh wow. I forgot it for a minute. I'm B.M." Toten still holding B.M.'s gaze, "I cannot tell you how very sorry I am, for your most heartbreaking loss." And with that said, Toten releases his grip, steps back, and looks at B.M pitifully. Another awkward silence. Magnus coughs obnoxiously. An obvious attempt enough to get some attention. Toten gets the message. "Have you met my dear nephew-"

"We met." Magnus states emphatically.

"We sure have" B.M. co-signs excitedly."Anyway Mr. Toten as an entrepreneur myself, I wanted to ask you a few things about the funeral home business. You see I've been-" just as he was getting warmed up, Toten interjects.

"And I would gladly help, however, I believe Miss Ida needs to speak with me." He grabs Magnus by the shoulders and steps behind him. “Magnus is qualified to speak on these matters. Please accept my condolences.” He sidesteps the 2 misfits and moves towards Ida.

With Toten gone, Magnus determines now is the time to be heard. “I never thought you would-“

“Gimme a minute!” B.M. blurts out.

His eyes follow Toten closely. As he approaches Irma, he can see how much she cringes whenever he entered her vicinity. Must have been his dragon breath. Suddenly Irma shoots a look at B.M. then mouths, the words “Lets go.”

“Look Magnus I really need to know more about your Uncle.”

Magnus flinches.

He moves in inches away from Magnus and confidently states under his breath, “I’m aspiring to own a funeral home. And your Uncle is just the guy I need. You know, to learn the ropes.”

Magnus stands dumbfounded. “But since I’m leaving now, how about we exchange numbers and go over everything some time like... later?!”

~~~~~~~~~~

That did it. After a few days of calling, texting, and sending e-mails, B.M. knew he had what he needed. An insider, more than willing to divulge any bit of information at his disposal. Every curious muscle B.M. had in his body, shook with excitement at the thought. Still, he was more cautious than ever. He made sure to be very subtle when he asked about Toten and his efforts paid off: Magnus never caught on to his plans. So details would just flow out of his enviable memory and onto a recording device. B.M. would listen alertly, and call on all his faculties, to sort the details out.

From Magnus, he learned that Toten essentially lived at the funeral home. Magnus said that unless they were working together, he and his uncle rarely interacted. After a week of gathering information, B.M. felt ready. While staking out the funeral home, he observed that Toten would leave the home from time to time during the day but at nights he always stayed indoors. After 6 PM, once the home was closed for the day, Toten stayed inside, until 5 AM the next morning. B.M. was convinced that Toten would venture out at night. However he was so discreet about it B.M. never saw him leave. He had only one solution to this conundrum. Convince Magnus to give him a little "tour".

"Maybe your Uncle could join us?" B.M. says into his speakerphone. "Nope. He hates it when anyone 'unauthorized' comes around. I'd be in serious trouble." Magnus utters monotonously. B.M. figured that perhaps if he got closer to Toten himself, he'd be able to get the access he needed. A call to the funeral home was in order. It was a Tuesday. Roughly 2 PM. And according to Magnus, Toten would be coming back from lunch, fed, and feeling at ease. This was his chance.

B.M: "Hello? Mr. Toten?"

Toten: "Yes?"

B.M: "Hi B.M. Swift here! How are you today?"

Toten: "Well, thank you."

B.M: "Ok then uh... I had spoken with Magnus about getting a tour of the funeral home so that I could...uh... get an idea of how a funeral home works?"

Toten: "Have we met?"

B.M. is slightly surprised by how quickly someone could forget him. After recounting how they met, Toten immediately remembers him. He agrees to the tour on the condition that he shows him around personally. Arriving exactly at 5 AM, B.M. noticed that Toten was already waiting for him. The first part of the tour consisted of the areas that were open to the public. Toten then showed B.M. his sparsely decorated office. And finally, the entrance to the "cold room" where all the bodies were being held. Despite practically pleading with Toten to let him in, Toten flatly rejected the idea. "This is the most sacred place in the whole building and no one besides myself, will ever be allowed in." B.M. knew when to back off. And while he still had many unanswered questions, B.M. was able to make note of all entrances and exits. When he inquired how long he usually stayed at the home, Toten was taciturn. "Well, that depends on our work." After they left the basement (where the cold room was located), Toten accompanied B.M. to the exit.

"Thank you Mr. Toten, that was very uh... Educational."

"Indeed. You're welcome."

And with that Toten slowly closed the door right in B.M.'s face. On the way home, B.M. started to contemplate where to set up his surveillance cameras. From previous experience, he knew this would not be easy or quick. The most important aspect of this whole "investigation" was discretion. Working all hours of the day and night, right under the noses of Magnus and Toten, B.M. made sure he had eyes on every entrance and exit at the Arms Wide Open funeral home. With everything set up, all B.M. had to do now, was sort through all the footage. At the beginning, there was nothing. Toten started his days at 5 AM sharp and Magnus was at the home by 7 AM. After a few weeks of surveillance B.M. was getting impatient. All he had surmised thus far was that:

• The Arms Wide Open funeral home had some very exclusive clientele.
• Toten would always enter through a side door but was never seen leaving the home.

~~~~~~~~~~

Text from Magnus:

Once Magnus mentions the deceased's name, B.M. does his Google search. The victim was a 24-year-old, pretty boy. Definitely a trust fund baby. B.M. isn't fazed at all. Then Magnus mentions that even to his astonishment, the Mayor of Yonkers, the Honorable Jasper Voit of the Independent party was in attendance for the ceremony. B.M. sits up alertly.

B.M. stands up. His senses are literally tingling. The Mayor of Yonkers, shows up for some surfer dude's funeral? Something is brewing. The day of the burial. One week from today. That was the day B.M. put aside as the day of reckoning. Either he found out what was so "foul" about Mr. Lee B. Toten by then, or... Bust.

~~~~~~~~~~

3 nights passed and B.M. hasn't slept for most of those nights. He constantly scours over whatever intel he has, surveillance footage, notes, anything, all for that one moment. That one orgasmic "The game is afoot!" blip in time. On the fourth day, B.M. starts his day as usual. Awaking around noon, he checks up on Irma, grabs his phone and heads into the bathroom. 45 minutes later he emerges and puts on his pajamas. From there it's off to grab a leftover sandwich to munch on, as he reviews last night's footage. With 3 more days left until the burial, B.M. has become more methodical than ever. All footage is scanned and reviewed. He looks over to his calendar, it's October 13th. He see his phone clock reads 4:03 PM. 12 minutes until lunchtime. The date and time on the footage he's reviewing shows October 13th 1:43 AM. He decides to review 17 more minutes. Finally. At 1:47 AM, the camera covering the 3rd exit door showed it opening. B.M. stumbles out of his chair. That door NEVER opened. Descending back down into his seat, his jaw falls to the floor. Stepping out of the 3rd exit door, is Lee B. Toten, and closely behind him, like a chick following a mother hen, The Honorable Mayor Jasper Voit...