I’m not better with time than I am with counting.  Time is a slippery notion, even Saint Augustine admitted that.  As long as you don’t ask me, I know how to get on in time.  Once you ask me what time is, well, I’m stumped.  What I know is that I eat breakfast before lunch, lunch before dinner, and go to bed before getting up.  I even know that yesterday occurred before today or tomorrow.

In the fulness of time, the big shots gave their UN speeches.  Bebe Netanyahu kicked off the show.

Bebe promised that nobody loved peace more than Israel or loved it less than Palestinian terrorists and their paymasters in Tehran. Even if it would not hurt the cause of piece if, heaven forbid, a bomb obliterated Iran or this so-called Ice-10 froze all the Mullahs out of the Holy City of Qom.

In short order, leaders of the UK, France, Italy, Germany, and Japan praised pacifist policies, insisting their nations would never use nuclear weapons or Ice-10 if there is such a thing.  Italy, Germany, and Japan proclaimed they had never recently initiated war on neighbours in any form.  

When the time for President Putin to mount the speaker’s podium came, he pulled on a long face.  He rehearsed some facts.  It saddened him to have to doubt the claims that none of the prior speakers had used weapons of mass destruction.  Had not the US used atomic bombs on Japanese cities?  Had ot the Germans, or perhaps some other party, tested Ice-10 in Lithuania?  If only, Putin lamented the Lithuanians had had the wisdom to stand fast with the Russia, rather than fall into the arms certain western powers like a temple prostitute.  The result was plain to all.  Lithuania was just a space, ein Raum, where Nazis and the like could test weapons.  Angry shouts rose from the German and US delegations.  The Brits and French were shaking their heads.  The Scandinavians were rolling their eyes, though the Danes also wondered when they could go smoke.

Putin showed no signs of easing his harsh words.  He reviewed suspected instances of Ice-10 use in the Congo, in Somalia, and in China.  The peace-loving people of Russia took grave offense efforts to frame them for attacks in Africa.  Nobody should hasten to blame anybody, though Russians knew better than anybody that only fools ignored the possibility the Jews, especially the Zionists among them, had a role.  Netanyahu made a point of screaming “bul drek,” “fignya,” and “bull shit,” amid repeated calls for order.  Not far from Putin, I saw Emperor Xi shaking his head.  I felt a jolt when I noticed Lucky stationed like the watchdog she was behind him.  She exuded a menacing alertness as her eyes scanned her surround.

When Emperor Xi took the podium, he confined his remarks to the expression of the Chinese people’s determination to contain all weapons of mass destruction.  Further, the Chinese people did not anticipate ever using weapons of mass destruction except in self-defense.  He knew nothing about the rumoured superweapon Ice-10.  

As a watched the telly, Lord Caligula nudged me.  “Old Xi knows very little about Ice-10 for a man who bought more of it from Munitions Galore and subsidiaries than the Americans.  The dear man made me a rich, rich man.”

The best bit came last.  When all the prattlers had had their say, President Trump stood at the podium to speak.  To nobody’s surprise, he expressed his total confidence in President Putin.  Rumours that the Russians had had anything to do with alleged Ice-10 attacks, which were probably all fake news, never showed the Russians did anything other than aid peace.  President Trump expressed sorrow that his own intelligence agencies had released groundless analyses that concluded Russia had a role in attacks on the Congo, northwest China, and Lithuania.  The President promised the American people that he trusted President Putin and believe his denials of warlike activities.  It was about this time that screens at the UN flickered and then showed grainy footage of a man that looked just like President Trump, but naked, in a fancy hotel.  Some pretty, naked, young women were jumping up and down on a bed with snowy white sheets.  

They giggled in accented English that President Obama and his wife had slept in this very bed.  Then the Trump double blurted out, in a voice just like President Trump’s, “Well, piss on it then.”  At that the girls began to tinkle.  At first it was two small streams, but they began to piss like horses when the spitting image of image of the President slid like a beaching walrus toward the pissers.  They jumped to straddle him.  To my astonishment, two immense streams of pee came splashing down on the walrus’s immense buttocks.  One girl feel over backwards. She yelled, “Urine is sterile” as she sent a golden shower splashing into the President Trump’s doppelganger smiling face.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say he responded with an orgasm.

By now, Lord Caligula was pounding the arms of his club chair.  Constance was clapping her hands.  Both of them were exhorting the wet Walrus with “Go, Donald, go!”  Of course his Lordship told me that he didn’t think Donald had that in him.  

Lucky i saw had a grin bigger than a Cheshire cat’s.  Rumours of this tape had surfaced during the presidential campaign.  To my knowledge, Trump never said it never happened.  Instead, he had argued it could not have happened, since he was a Germophobe.  But even the slut on the tape knew urine is sterile.  

Now I will say this about Mr Trump.  He is never incapable of the big lie.  With the evidence getting sent across the globe, his first observation, once he had seen what was going on, was that it must have been hard to find an actor so handsome.  But he said the voice was wrong, and then volunteered it was all stupid.  “If I want somebody to pee on me, Melania would be happy to do it.”  That was something I believed.  She might even have been willing to bring in a whole line of Rockettes to pee on him. 

By the next day, the White House had filled the news outlets, especially Fox and Epoch Times, with denials.  Sean Hannity spent over an hour explaining why, as Commander-in-Chief, President Tru p would never let a Russian girl pee down on him.  And it wasn’t our President’s fault if some women get so happy to see him that, like puppies, they pee themselves with job. So, don’t believe the lying tape at the UN.  It was all fiction, and even if it wasn’t fiction, it was photoshopped to make it look as if the girls were peeing down instead of up.

But Hannity did not stop there.  He showed pictures of Lucky.  He described her as a wicked spy and a tsarina of video misinformation.  He lies are legend among those who know her and her dark arts.  Was her presence at Emperor Xi’s speech an accident?  That beggars belief.  She was there to fill the UN with a lying video based on lying intelligence.  The great Orange Jesus, President Trump, was again a victim of a sinister hoax.  

Mind you, several hateful commentators, Rachel Maddows comes to mind,  on channels like MSNBC did all they could to spread lies about the President being a twisted, racist pervert.   They should be ashamed of themselves.  In fact, the President was so horrified when he first heard rumours of himself being golden showered that he had stopped peeing.  He paid Don Jr a bonus to pee for him.

At the time, I felt I had to find Lucky.  I missed her.  

As all my readers know, I am, like Daphne on the old Frazier show, “a little bit psychic.”  I had sensed Lucky’s presence.  My Lucky antenna told me that Lucky was very near.  Then I knew.  Lucky was at the Sherry Netherland at 781 5th Avenue, less than 300 feet from the Pierre.   Once I entered the ornate art deco lobby, I could feel Lucky’s vibe.  It was less luxurious than she often took for digs, but it was near the Pierre. 

Not being a shy guy, I asked for Ms Ming’s room.  An impertinent clerk dared to question me. I wailed until she rang Lucky’s room.  Within a minute or so elevator doors opened.  Lucky strolled into the lobby, which reminded me of the bar at the Netherland Hotel in Cincinnati.  Lucky walked to me and scooped me up.  “Darling, where have you been?  I wondered if you’d ever get here.”

Under a sable overcoat, I could feel Lucky’s familiar Walther PPQ M2 strapped below her rib cage.  I would also notice the handle of her Spyderco police model just protruding from the top of a higher-than-normal Chelsea boot.  

We made it to her King Suite with a city view, she shed her sable coat.  She stood naked in her boots with a custom holster holding her Walther against the side of her bare tummy.  She pulled the Spyderco from her left boot placing it on the fireplace mantle.  I noticed her landing strip was recently shaved, neat against her mons and jet black.  Her body was as muscled as Simone Biles’, but Lucky’s looked able to carry more weight.  She did have an assortment of scars, but none of them were new to me.  Once in the bedroom, she put her Walther on a nightstand adjacent to the right side of the bed.

Without losing a beat, she grabbed her telephone.  “Yi-fei, be a dear.  Go down to Harry Cipriani.  I want the artichoke heart salad and avocados and a plate of the fillet of sole alla Carlina.  Bring some warm cream so that I can fix it to make it very nice for Crockey.”  I licked the sole of her foot and purred. I’m nothing if not appreciative. 

Yi-fei returned within a half hour.  He placed the food on a cart in front of Lucky’s door, and. then rang her.  A second call from another guard assured her the hallway was clear.  Lucky then retrieved our meal.

Lucky wax relaxing.  Her detail to the UN to guard Emperor Xi had ended.  She succeeded in her work. Now she had time to relax.  

We listened to jazz.   I sat on her lap as the music played as Lucky read Marquez’sLove in the Time of Cholera.  Hours must have passed. She worked me with a stroke to the head.  She asked a direct question.  “Darling, did you see Charles any time in the 24 hours before somebody murdered him?”

Trapped, I admitted I had.  Lucky ordered me to tell her, as exactly as I could recall, what happened when I saw him.  I told her that he approached Lord Caligula, Constance, and me at the Pierre’s bar and was not polite.  After Lucky obtained a blow-by-blow from me, Lucky shook her head.  “Poor Charles.  He had too much passion in him.  If I had been there, I’d have muzzled him. 

“You can’t insult a warrior as powerful and proud as Constance without wagering your life.  I know Bart and Fielding would know better than that.”When I said we didn’t know if Constance murdered him, Lucky looked at me as if I was the dumbest kid in the class.  “Oh, please.  We’re not lawyers.  We know what we know.  We’re not here to prove anything.  Who had the skill to murder Charles by biting his penis off, by fisting him with her cruel claws spread, and leaving his eviscerated corpse in his bed for all who know these matters to know the truth?  Constance, Crockey, Constance.” 

As I heard the Grosse Fuge in the background, Lucky surprised me.  Words from the Old Testament undammed from her, “To me belongeth vengeance and recompence; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.” 

As she turned from me to go to bed, I saw her dark watery eyes have their dam break up.  Tears streamed like waterfalls over her high cheekbones.  I heard her pulling a tissue from a Kleenex box.  Soon, I heard a honk from her nose.  When the light clicked off, she told me we would go to London tomorrow.  We have much to do there.