Lou Reed (An Origin Story) Pt. 2

Summary

DISGRACELAND – Lou Reed (An Origin Story) Pt. 2

Podcast: DISGRACELAND
Host: Jake Brennan, Double Elvis Productions
Date: December 27, 2025

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Episode Overview

In the second part of Lou Reed's origin story, DISGRACELAND dives deeper into the murky, myth-shrouded underbelly of Reed's New York—blending fact and fiction, music history, and true-crime theatrics. The episode navigates the tumultuous events around the end of Reed's time with the Velvet Underground, framing his story through the eyes and voice of a hard-luck protagonist, "Ace," and interspersing Reed's real and literary influences: dark city life, addiction, violence, sexual exploration, and broken dreams. With signature noir storytelling, the episode weaves songs like "Rock N Roll," "Sweet Jane," "Run Run Run," "Venus in Furs," and "I'll Be Your Mirror" into the dramatized saga of Lou Reed's chaos-driven inspiration.

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Key Discussion Points and Insights

1. Continuing the Story: The Aftermath of Velvet Underground

• The episode resumes where Pt. 1 left off, acknowledging the need for two full installments to unravel Lou Reed's complex early narrative.
• Key reference: August 23, 1970, the date of Reed's last VU show, juxtaposed with the American #1 hit "Make It with You" by Bread, to mark a cultural contrast. (04:20)
• Jake Brennan sets the stage: "Lou Reed, his band the Velvet Underground, the wide cast of larger than life slash low life New York City characters that he wrote about... All great music. Unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show ... that was the number one song in America on August 23, 1970, and that was the day Lou Reed played his last show with the Velvet Underground." (04:10-04:50)

2. Narrative Immersion: Noir Detective Storytelling

• The central storyline follows Ace, a down-and-out character tangled in debts, drugs, murder mysteries, and the dark side of New York’s art/music scene, reflecting both the Velvet Underground’s lyrical world and Reed’s own spiraling life.
• Ace's headaches, his search for speed ("My headache, though, that made sense. It screamed for speed." – 05:20), and his interactions with neighborhood figures dramatize themes of addiction and desperation.
• The story is told in a style reminiscent of Raymond Chandler, with hard-boiled dialogue laced with dark humor and existential undertones.

3. Lyrical Allusions and Character Parallels

• Names and scenarios reference VU songs and real-life inspirations:
  • The character “Jenny” (really “Jane”) evokes “Sweet Jane” (16:53).
  • Violence, speed, and shadowy figures recall “Run Run Run” and “Heroin.”
  • The S&M-laden club scene channels "Venus in Furs" (26:30).
• Quote: "She thought she’d find it with the protest kids, perhaps with the poets who studied rules of verse. Some kind of bohemian blush..." (Jane speaking, 15:10-15:35)

4. Dark Interrogations and Allegiances

• Ace’s interactions with Lou Reed escalate from tense questioning to full-blown physicality, showing Reed’s cool under pressure—and perverse delight in chaos.
• Notable confrontation: “I put one hand under his armpit and quickly hoisted him off his stool and into motion with me, dragging him across the diner floor and into a booth opposite me. … Lou just stared at me. He looked confused. … ‘You think I killed her?’ Lou laughed.” (18:16–19:20)
• The introduction of Lou’s defender, Jesus the switchblade-wielding busboy, ups the stakes and plunges Ace deeper into danger. (21:00)

5. Debts, Threats, and Underworld Ties

• Ace faces threats from Beardless Harry and loan shark Nunzio’s crew, who want their money or his life (24:00).
• Reference to "Venus in Furs" and the Velvet Underground’s infamous shows in Hell’s Kitchen is woven into Ace's descent into Manhattan’s S&M club netherworld (25:35).

6. Climax and Revelation: The Blurring of Identity

• The action culminates in a drug-fueled confrontation between Ace and Lou at Marsha Bronson's Long Island kitchen table. $$$ and drugs are exchanged, and the blame for old crimes is debated.
• The climactic reveal: the borders between Ace and Lou Reed dissolve. Ace realizes Lou is a part of him—a manifestation of trauma, addiction, and existential confusion, echoing the shifting persona of Reed himself.
• Notable: "I looked down at the mirror and there he was. Right there, staring back at me. He was me. I was him. No Reidmont Allen Lewis, AKA Ace. Just Lewis Allen Reed, AKA Lou Reed." (40:31–40:46)

7. Poetry and Closure

• The episode closes as Lou/Ace recites "I’ll Be Your Mirror" lyrics, channeling Reed’s artistic mission and the solace in reflection and understanding.
• Quote: “When you think the night has seen your mind, that inside you’re twisted and unkind, let me stand to show that you are blind... I’ll be your mirror, reflect who you are, the light on your door to show that you’re home.” (40:08–40:49)
• Ace/Lou departs, contemplating the reality of memory, identity, and the haunting persistence of addiction and fame.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On addiction's vicious circle:
  "My headache, though, that made sense. It screamed for speed." (05:20, Ace)
• On the bohemian world of the VU:
  "First of all, they weren't protest kids, she said. They were deviants, near nihilists. They were depraved and being tricked out by an art world charlatan named Andy, the shore leaf boy toy." (15:35, Jane)
• Confrontation with Lou Reed:
  "Listen to me, you little fuck. You and me, we're going for a little trip out on the island." (20:30, Ace)
• Revelation of self:
  "He was me. I was him. No Reidmont Allen Lewis, AKA Ace. Just Lewis Allen Reed, AKA Lou Reed." (40:36)
• Lou/Ace’s poetic self-assurance:
  "I'll be your mirror, reflect who you are, the light on your door to show that you're home." (40:49)

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Timestamps for Key Segments

| Timestamp | Topic / Segment | |------------|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------| | 04:10 | Episode thematic introduction, the end of Velvet Underground era | | 05:20 | Ace’s desperate search for speed; descent into drug-fueled haze | | 14:00 | Jenny reveals her real name is Jane (“Sweet Jane” connection) and her existential backstory | | 18:16 | First major confrontation between Ace and Lou in the diner | | 21:00 | Introduction of Jesus, the switchblade busboy, as Lou’s unexpected protector | | 24:00 | Ace’s debt with Nunzio comes due; Beardless Harry’s threats | | 25:35 | Entry into the S&M club (Venus in Furs setting) | | 40:08–40:49| Identity merge, Lou as Ace, poetic recitation of “I’ll Be Your Mirror” | | 41:02–end | Reflection on memory, departure from the scene, closing thoughts |

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Tone and Style

• The episode is steeped in noir, blending poetic lyricism with gritty realism.
• Dialogues crackle with dry wit, dark humor, and existential malaise, all paying homage to both the hardboiled canon and Reed’s own literary influences.

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Summary

"Lou Reed (An Origin Story) Pt. 2" is a dizzying, stylized plunge into the life, lies, and lore surrounding Reed’s exit from the Velvet Underground and immersion in New York's artistic shadows. It’s as much a feverish hallucination as music history, ultimately revealing that the darkness, alienation, and art found in Reed’s most iconic work were rooted in lived experience—and that their reflection persists in all those who see themselves in his mirror.

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Transcript

[Ace]

Foreign.

[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

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[Ace]

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[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

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[Ace]

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[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

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[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

Mobile.Com Disgraceland is a production of Double El, Lou Reed, his band the Velvet Underground. The wide cast of larger than life slash low life New York City characters that he wrote about are so compelling that two episodes were needed to properly tell this tall tale. If you're just getting hip to this now, I suggest you hit pause and go back to the previous episode of Disgraceland, Part one of the Lou Reed Origin Story where we discuss the criminality depicted in the Velvet Underground songs the Gift Waiting for My man heroine in the murder mystery. Lou's story continues in this episode through the VU songs Rock n Roll, Sweet Jane, Run Run Run, Venus in Furs and I'll Be youe Mirror. All great music. Unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show. That wasn't great music. That was a preset loop for my melotron called Sweet and Sour Dreams MK2. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to make it with you by bread. And why would I play you that specific slice of limp wristed stalker cheese? Could I afford it because that was the number one song in America on August 23, 1970, and that was the day Lou Reed played his last show with the Velvet Underground, bringing to an end the origin story of one of the most compelling and coolest figures in rock and roll history. On this episode, amphetamine addiction, loan shark assassins, switchblade types, chains, whips, mirrored lips, and Lou Reed goes home. I'm Jake Brennan and this is disgrace. The $26 in my hand made no sense. Neither did Stephanie's murder. Made about as much sense as stuffing Waldo Jeffers in a box and mailing him halfway across the country to his death. Maybe Lou wasn't as innocent as I thought. That whole thing made less sense with every passing minute. My headache, though, that made sense. It screamed for speed. I had an idea. The little blonde down the hall from my apartment, she kept herself high all the time. She'd have something to help me get my head right. I booked it down St. Mark's toward Ludlow and the morning sun was already mid afternoon hot and it pierced my skull. I stopped at a spraying fire hydrant and rinsed Stephanie's blood off my face and hands. I must have made a sight because I scared off every last little neighborhood runt cooling under the spray of the hydrant. I moved with quickness to my apartment building. I turned onto Ludlow and there he was, exiting a luncheonette, opening a fresh pack of Luckies. I always liked seeing Big Bill, even if it meant confronting the reality of my unpayable debt to him. But not this morning. Big Bill held a certain type of power over me. But again, not this morning. I came up on him fast on the sidewalk. He was surprised to see me up and about so early, I could tell, and before he could put his version of the squeeze on me, before he could lean into the fact that his daughter was about to be sent up the river for a horrific crime, before he could check in on my progress and I could put him off with vague generalizations about the state of my investigation. You know, give him enough to feel confident, but not so much that he could jeopardize my progress. Before I could do any of that, I simply threw up my hands as I raced by him and gave him a quick not this morning, Bill. Not this fucking morning. Big Bill just stood there dumbfounded. I'm not sure what he made of his morning after that because I never got a chance to ask him. 58 Ludlow. One block away, there on the stoop, another friendo, Beardless Harry. All debts were apparently coming due this morning, but just like Big Bill Bronson, Beardless Harry would have to wait. My headache had other plans. Harry leaned tough against the iron railing on the steps of my apartment stoop, and before he could stutter out another threat, before he ever laid eyes on me, I walled him with a right packed with the entirety of the morning's momentum I'd been carrying since St. Mark's Harry never saw it coming and he went down in a heap. Sorry, Harry. I bounded up the front steps, keyed the lock on the front door, took to the walk up. I could hear the rock and roll music coming from her apartment grow louder and louder with every step. What was her name? Janie? Jenny, Whatever it was she'd be holding and she'd set me straight. I followed the blare, the music, up the steps to her apartment door, ran down the corridor to my apartment, stripped off my blood stained clothes, replaced them with new slacks, a new wrinkled shirt from the bottom of a dirty clothes pile, and a black Blazer identical to the blood stained one I just discarded. I took a 2 second tenement shower and got the blood off my face and my hands. Then I marched out of my apartment with a purpose toward the apartment door with the blaring music behind it at the end of my hall. I banged on it loudly. She swung the door open instantly like she was expecting me. She stood there in nothing but a T shirt and panties. Her hair was more sandy brown than the blonde I remembered. Her countless freckles made her more west coast than New York, New York. She was petite, fit and for a hot second my one track mind was distracted by her beauty. Then she opened her mouth. She screamed non sequitur Nonsense. Over the blaring radio's rock and roll station when I was just five years old. There was nothing happening at all. I screamed back, my name is Ace. I live down the hall. May I come in? She turned and danced her way back into her apartment, leaving the door open with me in the doorway behind her. I followed, shut the door. The music was at eardrum, shattering volume. More hypno junkie jungle rhythm. With her moving in time though, I began to think that a guy could get used to this. I know you. She yelled at me while she danced. You're my neighbor who reminds me of my daddy. I yelled back. I'm sure he's very proud. I meant it as a compliment but it sounded smartass. She couldn't hear me over the radio but pretended to and smiled and nodded. And then she yelled, he's got two Cadillac cars. I volley back with, you must be very proud. That was intentionally cute. I was getting bored and amusing myself as a defense mechanism against my jones. Again she pretended to hear me and smiled. She danced toward me and offered me the lit reefer in her hand. I made a habit of never touching this stuff, but something told me to take it. I did. I inhaled and then I exhaled and the smoke mixed with the music in the air and it was alright. I passed the reefer back. She hit it instead. She passed it back. I did the same. She took it again. Then she took my hands and pulled me into motion on her dirty linoleum floor. I dropped my head, closed my eyes and moved with her to the beat. It was as if there was an invisible wire connecting us. We danced fast. We danced hard. I could feel her heat. I began to sweat. I opened my eyes and kept them pitched to the floor. Her bare feet moved effortlessly and they were black with filth. It charged me and we moved some more, dancing and the reefer evened me out. But that jones brought a twitch to my cheek. I moved some more. We both did, shaking to the fine, fine music. That New York radio station went from doper boogie to torch song. She couldn't believe what she heard at all. She pulled me close, we two steps slow as one, her cheek on my chest. Jenny, she said. I know, I said. Ace. She misheard me. I what? Why are you here? I need something, I said. She took her head off my chest and looked up at me. What's that? She asked. You, I said. She kissed me full on the lips and took me to bed.

[Ace]

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[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

It must have been days later when I woke up. Truly woke up. Jenny took me to bed that morning. A woman like that happens to you once in a lifetime if you're lucky. At first it was sex, then speed. We finished the little she had. It was enough to kill the jones, but not enough to keep us high. We rode out the withdrawals together on More Sex and black coffee for days on end. Without the two, I wouldn't have had the strength or patience to overcome the need for more speed. Now, lying in her apartment with a clear head, that seemed to be all I had. Strength and patience and luck I guess I know what you're saying. How does a lump like me go from being broke and busted one moment to between the sheets with a tot giving sexy 20 something the next? I don't have an answer for you, Pluto. All I know is it happened. And it happened just in time. With a clear head came a drive for answers and an itch to get back out on the street and get things sorted. Stephanie was dead. Why? What was with the $26? And who would have killed her? Where the fuck was Lou? And what, if anything, did he have to do with her death? Or with Waldo Jeffers stupid stunt? Yeah, I was beginning to believe my own bullshit. I knew now that Lou had the means, but I still had no connection. And even though I didn't, I didn't care. Lou was dirtier than I thought. He was into some dark shit, rough trade. I needed him because Big Bill needed a pin cushion for Marsha's murder rap. And I didn't feel one bit bad about it. It wasn't about the favor I owed Bill. It wasn't about the money I needed to earn back to pay Nunzio, which I couldn't begin to do until I sorted Big Bill out. In clarity, I was beginning to see the light. It was about what was right. Liu was wrong, all wrong. He was on a one way bus to Rikers. Either for this or for some other lowdown subterranean activity he clearly took pleasure in. Our paths happened to cross, and that was his problem. What did I care? I had my own. Like where to find the little Long island piss ant that night we be my last with Jenny. We both knew it. Maybe that's why we came clean. I told her the safe version of my Sinchon experience. I had a fire. My M1 in Korea. Boo hoo. I couldn't go deeper. It wouldn't do any of us any good. She knew I was lying by omission, but that I was also sharing more than I had with anyone in years. It was my version of honesty, the best I could do. She knew it. And so she pushed her chips into the middle of the table too. And told me her real name wasn't Jenny, it was Jane. And that she was married to a man named Jack. And Jane, she is a clerk. They separated six months ago. But now Jane was ready to go back out on the island. This Manhattan regression was her last chance at a life she could call her own. She thought she'd find it with the protest kids, perhaps with the poets who studied rules of verse. Some kind of bohemian Blush she didn't. The evil mothers told her life was just to die, the children were the only ones who blushed, and that it was time to go home, to sit by the fire. Yeah, to grow up. So that's what Jane was gonna do. Poor, sweet Jane. I needed one last favor. The record in the stack, the one with the profane banana on the COVID the one with the photo of Lou and his bandmates on the back, drowning in psychotic light. I needed to know everything she knew about those protest kids. She knew a lot. First of all, they weren't protest kids, she said. They were deviants, near nihilists. They were depraved and being tricked out by an art world charlatan named Andy, the shore leaf boy toy. I'd seen Svengali in the performance I was juiced at. Wasn't it obvious? She asked me. Obvious? How in the hell was any of this obvious to anyone, let alone me? Downtown wasn't my side of the street. I worked out or borrow insurance scams and divorce settlements. BOPO speed freaks with murderous tendencies weren't my bag or anyone's, I imagined. Jane smiled. He hangs out in two places, she said. The factory at night and the diner after hours. I knew one of the places, and it was no longer night. I grabbed my coat and banged the pavement. The diner door dinged and all three patrons at that early hour threw tired glances at me but one Lou back on his stool, sludge in his cup, cigarette in his hand. This time I abandoned the subterfuge, walked straight up to him from behind, braced him. I put one hand under his armpit and quickly hoisted him off his stool and into motion with me, dragging him across the diner floor and into a booth opposite me. He quickly protested with that hey, man. Beat Nick Wine. I smacked him open, palm across the mouth. Another fucking word before I say so, and the next one comes with a brass kiss. Lou shifted uncomfortably but stayed seated. I shot a glance to the nighthawks that said a word out of any you motherfuckers and you'll have trouble you've never known. Everyone went back to their coffee, choosing the troubles they did know. Smart choice, Stephanie. Why'd you do it? Lou just stared at me. He looked confused. My friend. The pregnant girl I brought to the loft, Liu, registered recognition but not guilt. Understandable. News of her death was out on the street and in all the papers. You think I killed her? Lou laughed. He was cool, but not in the play in the park kind of way. I asked him, well, who then? How would I know what is is this anyway? What kind of cop are you anyhow? I settled into my seat, lit a smoke. What's with you, Reed? He just looked at me. I told him that I'm gonna bust your ass. Yaf giggled at me. Oh, I bet you are, cowboy. You thought he was cute. I could relate. I had that same attitude once, minus the merry jive. I just stared at him across the street table. He smiled and leaned in as if to tell me a secret. Hey, I know this bar down on the west side. Ernie's. They keep a jar of Vaseline on the bar. There's a back room that's dark where we could play, but if I'm not your type, those other Vaseline boys. I hauled off across the table and walloped him again, close fists this time. He stood quick. Hey, man. I stood too, and grabbed him by the throat before he could get fully out of the booth. With one arm, I lifted him and slammed him back first onto the table. I leaned in on top of him and spit my words out an inch from his face in a furied whisper. Listen to me, you little fuck. You and me, we're going for a little trip out on the island. His eyes widened. Long island was the last place Lou Reed wanted to be. We're gonna sit down with a friend of mine. A friend whose daughter to used, you know, A friend whose daughter's boyfriend. You knew even better how we're gonna get to the bottom of some things. Lou spit in my face. I slammed his head back into the table. He smiled. I pressed the weight of my body down on his on top of the table. I felt him get hard down there, the depraved little you're enjoying this as much as I am, he taunted. I felt my head swell with anger. I lifted his head again by his throat and slammed it once more into the table. Lou's eyes rolled but he kept his smile. So I slammed his head harder. And then he grew harder. My head pulsed with rage. I slammed him down once more. I was going to kill the little bastard. And then from the sound I knew in an instant what was happening. Then I felt it. The cold steel of the switchblade pressed across the front of my neck. The odor of the switch pulled my head back by my hair and was ready to slice my head clean off. He growled something in Spanish that I didn't understand, but I was fluent enough in the universal language of a shiv to the throat, so I backed off and let Lou go. The man yanked my head back, spun me around and threw me into a table and a set of chairs which exploded across the dining room floor upon impact. I looked up from the floor. It was Jesus, the switchblade type busboy. He picked Lou up off the table and dusted him off. I lay on my back staring up at them both. I started to pick myself up and Jesus gave me his PR boot right in the ribs. It knocked me back but not out. The two split quickly out the diner door. I crawled to my feet and gave chase. We'll be right back after this.

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[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

I split through the diner door, down the short three steps to the sidewalk, began my sprint after Lou and Jesus, and somehow, without seeing him, ran straight into Beardless Harry's meaty fist. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a crowded, dingy basement with a low ceiling with exposed pipes and a dirt floor. There were stacks and stacks of boxed and canned Italian specialty foods and a heavy aroma of garlic, onions and sweet peppers. My stomach roiled. I hadn't eaten in days, but I had bigger problems. I was reminded of those problems toot sweet with a quick open handed smack across the mouth from one of Beardless Harry's goons. My eyes stung. My body ached. I shook my head and gave Harry an unintentionally vacant Look. His goon geared up to crack me again, and this time with a closed fist. Harry stopped him short and what I mistook for mercy. Ace, you stupid schmuck. And then Harry cracked me across the grill. The taste of blood quickly filled my mouth. He gave me the drill in stuttered sentences. No. No vig, no call, no nothing. Nunzio wants his money. You ain't got any. You are beyond late. You are a fucking walking talking insult to human faith. I tried to speak. Harry gave me a quick fist to the face. It did not stutter. It said, shut the fuck up. I did, he went on. I know you ain't got no money because we searched you and tossed that shithole. Fourth floor walk up, you call home. I just stared at him. So what's it gonna be, Ace? He said cleanly. I'm working on something. I just need a little more time. Harry stutter came back strong with his next sentence. Does it have to do with the two Marys you were run, run run chasing after through Union Square? Damned if it don't, I said. Does it have to do with this? Harry then pulled a crumpled handbill from his pocket and shoved it in my face so close I could hardly read it. In big block letters it said Venus and Furs, and under it the exploding plastic. Inevitable. Whatever the any of that meant. I did recognize the next two words, though. Velvet Underground, today's date, and the Hell's Kitchen address were printed at the bottom of the page. It might, I told Harry. Where'd you get this? I asked. Fell out of one of the Marys you was run, run, run to chasing after the teenage Mary. He ain't teenaged. He's dirty. And yeah, he's the thing between me and your bread. It ain't my bread, Ace. It's Nunzios. If it were mine, you'd be buried under that dirt floor already. We might have had some times, you and me watching the ponies run, run a race. But I ain't the sentimental type of Nunzio, on the other hand, tends to get sentimental about his money, though, to a point. He gets all sad when it don't come back to him, and then he gets anxious and then he gets angry and pretty soon he's wanting to bury a deadbeat under a third floor. So you gotta one more chance, Ace. 24 hours or the next time you see me. Well, you won't see me. You'll feel quick cold steel against the back of your skull, and a second later you'll feel nothing. Nothing at all. I hit the front door of the Hell's Kitchen, address listed on Harry's handbill, and entered a dark, compartmentalized space. Red light pulsed on and off, slowly and intermittently blanketed the dingy, smoke filled space. Street lights snuck through the window in tiny spurts. Fancying itself, boss, it wasn't the red pulse and the darkness blew it out. Out of nowhere what can only be described as a servant appeared with a drink and an array of pills on a tray. I refused all of it, blew him off, lit a smoke, and slowly made my way into the space. There were bottles upon bottles of alcohol, empty and full, beer, wine, liquor, along with overfilled ashtrays covering every flat surface. The sight of it all made me tired, weary. I could sleep a thousand years, I thought. A record player spun endlessly and aimless, endlessly with its needle bumping up against the Record center label, and the sound of the vinyl crackling on repeat added a weird ambiance to the viola player droning on in the corner. He looked like Lurch and the whole thing seemed intentional, even though I knew clearly that it wasn't. And there were bodies intertwined with one another on the furniture post coitus, half naked in stone, dragging casually on cigarettes. Two ringleaders patrolled the small space with giant bullwhips. Both were masked in leather, shiny, shiny leather. One a man with long greasy 50s style pompadour and fit thighs like a varsity wrestler who wore tight jeans, high heels and nothing else aside from his leather mask. The other a woman, a mistress I guess you would call her, wore a shiny leather MC jacket with nothing on under it, Panties, heels and nothing else. They mock, inspected the goings on on the couches and floor cushions and cracked their whips for added effect. Mr. Pomp circled away from me and toward the big platform bed at the end of the space. The mistress followed him, cracking her whip with more consistency. Lurch on the viola settled into something repetitive, the drone moved into a melody and the bodies lining the wall began a slow clap in unison and a hypnotic rhythm took shape around us, and Mr. Pomp climbed onto the bed slowly on all fours, waving that big ass of his at all of us for effect. The mistress gave it a crack with her whip. The bodies took up a chant in time with the viola and their claps. At first it was a murmur I couldn't quite understand, but then the words emerged clearly in unison. Taste the whip. Taste the whip, taste the whip, they repeated in Eastern mantra style over and over again. The mistress set about to humiliate Mr. Pop. He lay on the bed on his back. She straddled him and strapped a ball gag around his head, under his mask and into his mouth. She got off, stood, and cracked her whip repeatedly across his hairy chest. The ball gag absorbed his screams. The servant stood next to me, still holding his platter of goodies out in front of him, even though he was fully attending to the show happening in front of him. Everyone stared. Most shifted in their seats, adjusting themselves just a little too forcefully. Trousers tightened, panties loosened, heads swelled and hearts quickened, mine included. What the fuck was happening to me? What had I gotten myself into? The mistress stood on the platform bed, now above Mr. Pomp. She took one of her heels and dug it into his chest. More ball gagged screams off to the side of the bed. Behind it, really, in the darkness, I could see him. There he was, Liu, standing in front of what must have been the emergency exit. As his back was up against the door which faced the back of the building where the fire escape would most naturally be. He was mesmerized. Of course he was, the depraved little fuck. I quickly braced the servant next to me with a firm grip under his arm and quietly pulled him back a few steps to make sure any slight step scene would go unnoticed. It broke his spell. He seemed shocked. Before he could speak, I stuck a snub nose.38 into his ribs and whispered sharply, one word and you bleed out on this piss stained floor. Got me, Pluto? He nodded and ironically started to piss his trousers. Which of these pills knocks you out? Not speed downers. He timidly pointed to a pile of grayish green pills. What are they? I asked. Mandy, he said, mandrakes, basically horse tranquilizers. I grabbed as many as I could in one handful off of his tray and made my way toward Lou. No one noticed me, especially not my guy. The depraved show kept captivating the room. I walked past the bed into the darkness, straight up to Lou, palmed his face and knee, his groin, all in one continuous motion, pushed his body with mine backward and straight out the emergency exit and onto the fire escape. He was slouched onto my chest in agony. I snapped him back upright, looked into his weasely eyes, and had a mind to do society a favor and toss him over the railing and onto the street head first. I didn't. Instead, I unloaded with a right to his gut. The pain caused him to buckle over again. I grabbed a touch of his curly black hair above his forehead and yanked his head back. Then I opened his lips and shoved the Mandy's into his mouth. I swung him around and up against the building in one fluid motion, pressed my body against his, securing to the wall, and pinched his nose with one hand and held both his eyes open with my other. Chew and swallow, motherfucker, or you've already drawn your last breaths. He did as he was told. Quickly I let go of him. He gasped for air. I let loose with another merciless wallop to his gut. He fell to his knees in front of me. Without thinking I raised my knees sharply into his face. He toppled over onto the grated iron fire escape. I picked him up, tossed him over my shoulder, and descended onto the street in search of a cabbie who could keep a secret. Big Bill paid the hacks fair. I caught him outside his Long island home on his way out the door to start his work day. Two stints in Korea for the weekend shift at Rikers. Bill had it worse than I did. I thought to myself. He was shocked when he saw him. I drugged and beat him. Package. He told me. What? He didn't want to know anything. All I told him was that the package was crucial to getting his daughter off. He told me Marcia and his wife were away at his mother in law's for a couple days. The house was mine. Put the package on ice and we'd sort it out when he got home after his shift.

[Ace]

Big Bill never came home, or I left too soon. I can't remember much to these days. The electroshock therapy scrambled my memories. My parents had me committed after the Waldo Jeffers thing. Said I was crazy. Said I had a violent homosexual streak. At least that's what I told people. The homosexual part of it, not the violent part. It made for better press. And Lord knows those rock journalists needed all the help they could get. The violent part wasn't true either. I'm just telling you now because it sounds good. I can't help myself out at Bill Bronson's house on Long island, where I grew up. Well, Marsha Bronson's house. My old friend Waldo's girlfriend. The kitchen was recognizable to me. I'd been in it once or twice before as a kid a couple years back, visiting with Waldo. I liked Marsha and I liked Waldo. But I didn't help Waldo do what he did. Not like Ace. Said Ace was a phony, a fraud. He laid into me pretty bad in that kitchen. I gave him the silent treatment. He put his hands on me. I stayed dummied up. No way I did what he said I did. Could have happened this way. He said you and Waldo were hanging out at his place. He's lovesick.

[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

He's had one lay his whole life. Now she lives in Wisconsin. Waldo knows in his bones that he can't keep Marsha faithful. Not while she's at school. Hard enough for a guy like Waldo to keep a girl like Marsha here on Long island with a home field advantage. How's he gonna do it while she's off at school being chased by varsity letterman with actual shoulder frames? It's a real bad break for ol Waldo. A real heartbreaker. You being the bleeding heartbeatnik poet you aspire to be. You feel for Waldo. He's broke. You're broke. You're dope sick. He's dumb. You get an idea. Yeah, that's right. You get an idea. If you got no money and you can't buy a bus ticket out to Wisconsin for Waldo to visit Marsha, why not put your parents tax dollars to work and catch Waldo a ride with the US Postal Service? So you box up old Waldo all secure with reams of packing tape, a couple perforated holes and off he goes, certified, no class to Wisconsin to give his girl the surprise of her life. Except your dim witted plan goes wrong. You didn't count on a young girl's hangover and her impatience. And Waldo winds up dead because of it. And a guy I owe a favor to for saving my life, his daughter's life now needs saving because of it, you little shitheel. And your life ain't worth the penny pulp you'll be lucky enough to have your obituary written on when you're gone. My life ain't what the penny PI thinks he's lucky enough to have figured out here in the now. You don't know shit, Ace. Slick. Real slick, baby.

[Ace]

I ain't your fall guy, Pluto. You got it all figured out real good, I told him. And then I clammed up again. My silence charged him. He tried playing it cool, but he could see I was burning inside. I pressed my luck and stood from the kitchen table. Water. Ace just sat there at the table, staring at at me. I got myself a glass from the sink. Sweat broke free from the top of Ace's forehead. I had him. I walked around the house, opened the shades, let the Sunday morning sun in. I went to Marsha's room. There, just what I wanted. On her vanity, next to her hairbrush, a handheld mirror. I grabbed, grabbed it, walked back to the kitchen, sat down opposite Ace at the kitchen table. His sweating was now more intense. His anger and frustration were palpable. He seemed frozen in time, completely calcified into the kitchen chair. His Speed Jones was back and it had complete control over him. I put the mirror down between us and from out of my jean pocket I dug out a bag of pills and threw them on the table. I had no works. Shooting the speed was impossible, so I crushed the pills into fine powder with Mrs. Bronson's rolling pin from her kitchen drawer. Ace just watched intently, said nothing. I could feel his addiction. I divided the powder into thick lines on the mirror between us. Ace salivated. I held up my hand on the table, palm up. Give it to me, I said. He looked at me and his whole face looked like a question mark. That's how intent he suddenly was on satisfying me. I had what he wanted, and there was no longer any reason to pin Waldo Jeffers death on anyone else but Marsha, least of all me, since I had the speed stash. My bread, I said. Give it to me. Ace dug into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and put $26 in my hand. I peeled off the 20 and rolled it into a tight cylinder. I did the first line to even out, to steady my nerves. Then I handed the rolled 20 to Ace. He quickly snorted up a line and stayed hovered over the mirror, perched to do another as soon as the first made its way fully into his bloodstream. I spoke quietly. You know it wasn't me. I said it again to be sure he heard me. You know it wasn't me. He did another line and I said it again. You know it wasn't me.

[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

I know it wasn't you. I heard Lou speak while I tended to my jones. I was surprised by what came over me. That dormant craving took over. It owned me. It was more important than anything. More important than Marsha, Waldo, Big Bill, Uncle Dave, Beardless Harry, no Nose, Nunzio, Jesus, Stephanie, the Vaseline boys, mess hall Mary, Jenny, Sweet Jane, Jack, Andy, Teenaged Mary. They didn't matter. Who was I kidding? They never mattered. They were all a justification, a means to an end. If they were even real. Real at all. Not just figments of my war torn imagination. And what was the war anyway? How real was that? How many actual memories did I have? How many of them did I make up to explain away my behavior? How many electroshock sessions did I need to undergo before all of it was gone? Lou spoke in a soothing voice. I continued to snort up as much speed as I could off of that mirror? Lou's voice felt good in my ears. He was reciting something pleasant, a poem.

[Ace]

When you think the night has seen your mind, that inside you're twisted and unkind, Let me stand to show that you are blind.

[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

His words rang true with a clarity I hadn't felt in years. I snorted the last of the speed and looked up to face Lou across the table. He was gone. And then I looked down at the mirror and there he was. Right there, staring back at me. He was me. I was him. No Reidmont Allen Lewis, AKA Ace. Just Lewis Allen Reed, AKA Lou Reed. I closed my eyes and heard his voice. My voice.

[Ace]

I'll be your mirror, reflect who you are, the light on your door to show that you're home. I stood up from the table, finished my glass of water, walked out of Marsha Bronson's kitchen and down that suburban.

[Narrator/Jake Brennan]

Long island street two blocks to my parents home for some peace and quiet. It was a tiny walk to end a tall tale. And that's the short and long of it. Anyhow, this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes [e-mail] if you're listening as a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to to Disgracelandpod.com Membership members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad free. Plus you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month, weekly unscripted bonus episodes, special audio collections and early access to merchandise and events. Visit disgracelandpod.com membership for details, rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and Facebook Disgracelandpod and on [e-mail] Disgracelandpod Rocka Rolla He's a.

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[Ryan Reynolds / Andy Staples]

Hi, I'm Andy Staples from Andy and Ariane three. And another five star quarterback just entered the transfer portal. That's what college football is now, a non stop adventure and we cover it every day at Andy and Ariane 3. Whether it's the transfer portal, the College Football Playoff, the coaching carousel, you name it. And guess what? It doesn't stop even when the season ends. So join us every day, Monday through Friday. New episodes drop at 3pm Wherever you get your podcasts.