by Paul Blades
Her name was Honey, or at least that’s what the guys called her. After that, every once in a while, when he came by to drop off money or pick up more dope, she would take him upstairs again and they would fuck. She was kind of a house whore and most times when he went there she was with somebody. But when no one wanted her, she would blow him a kiss, take him by the hand and they would go to her room. It went on for about 8 months, until she was sold to a pimp from Chicago for $1,500 and an ounce of horse.
That was the last time he had had any real emotional connection with a woman. He had fallen heads over heels in love with her. He would grind with jealousy and hatred as he saw the gang members order her upstairs or made her blow them there in the open in the common room. When she was sold, right there in front of him by the club president, he ran all the way home, buried himself in his little shit hole bedroom and cried. When he emerged from his room the next morning, his heart was as hard as stone.
After that he never let himself get into a position of vulnerability with a woman again. He sold his first woman when he was 16. An 18 year old college girl was into him for $2,000 for dope. She was a sweet, young thing, a hippie type from the suburbs who had gotten strung out after trying heroin one night at a party and quickly developing a voracious jones. He got her loaded up with skank one day and drove her into Milwaukie where he sold her to a Latino pimp for $5,000, a $3,000 profit.
He eventually moved up the food chain in the drug business earning himself entry into the gang. He graduated into strong arm stuff, and murder soon afterwards. When he beat to death a member of the Cajuns, a rival gang in the Wachovia area, he was given his own crew. Five years later, he was club president.
And now, after all these years, he had let a woman get under his skin. How had it happened? It was a mystery to him. But he could not deny it. He lusted after the girl with a rabid hunger. He had kept her alive when it had been in his clear interest in disposing of her. He had her now, ensconced in their room, so no one else would touch her. He couldn’t think of going to Mexico without her. He would die first.
Did this mean that he was going soft, that he had lost his edge? If he was going to be of any use to the Mexican drug lord the Rouges did business with, he would have to be ready to do some really cold blooded things. He had read about them in the newspaper while in the joint. The South and Central American drug gangs made the Rogues look like Boy Scouts. He would have to be prepared to do whatever it took. Could he still do it?
He thought of the guy he had killed in Wisconsin, the two guards he had slit open. He had been able to do what needed to be done then. But that was before the time he had spent with the girl, before he had become infected. Could he still do it now?
He watched as one of the hawks made a steep dive about 40 yards away from where he sat. It dove behind a row of scraggly bushes. A second later, it was back up in the air, a small rabbit in his claws. “Nice work,” he thought to himself. He was definitely on the side of the hawks in this world. He had to maintain his confidence in himself. The girl was the problem and the solution. Without her, he would have never doubted himself. But he knew too, that he would do anything he had to do in order to keep her.
He sat there for a full hour, maybe more, smoking cigarettes and thinking. He was laying back and looking at the sky when he heard a noise behind him. He turned to look and saw one of the gang members coming up the trail. It was Chaz. He was probably just back from dropping off the whores. He was carrying two beers.
When he got close, he waved at Jack and lifted the beers in his hand. Jack waived back. When Chaz came up he handed one of the beers to him.
“They told me they saw you go out. I had a hunch you might be up here. It’s quite a view, isn’t it.”
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “It looks like some painting that should be in a museum.”
Chaz sat down next to him. They clinked beer bottles together and took a drink.
“I like to sit up here sometimes,” Chaz told him. “Reminds me of when I was a kid.”
“Yeah?” Jack answered.
“Yeah, I grew up about 45 miles from here on a hardscrabble ranch run by my pa. It was tough. I got out as soon as I could, or as soon as my pa could run me out, depending on how you look at it. But for some reason, I still think about that place as a kind of heaven. It was nowhere near heaven, but somehow I always think of it that way.”
“That’s a problem I don’t have,” Jack responded. He took another swallow of beer and put out his cigarette.
The two men were silent for a time. Then Chaz spoke. “Ike’s back and he wants to see you.”
Jack looked at him. He knew that he would have to deal with Ike sometime today, but being summoned like this was a bit ominous, sending a messenger and all. And with a bottle of beer to soften the blow.
“Okay,” he said. “Now?”
“Yeah, now,” Chaz replied.
Jack took a deep drink of the beer, swallowed and finished it off. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They walked slowly back to the hacienda. Jack had collected his cigarette butts both for security reasons and because he didn’t want to leave the place worse off than when he found it. One of the older Rogues had taken him under his wing when he was a little over 15, and imbued in him a deep respect for the outdoors, taught him how to hunt and fish and to survive in the wild. He was doing a life term now in Nevada where he and another Rogue had got caught robbing a bank in broad daylight. A security guard and the other guy were killed. Jack’s friend had tried to shoot it out too. He had received three slugs in his chest but they rushed him to the hospital and saved his undeserving ass. Jack had always figured that the two guys had been intent on suicide. Too bad it didn’t work out for his friend.
As they approached the house, Jack’s stomach began to turn over in little somersaults. He would have to confront Ike and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He was under no illusions. If Ike wanted him wasted, Chaz here would do it in a minute, or any other of the gang. Jack didn’t think it would come to that, but that’s how close he would have to play it.
When they reached the house, the three guys on the porch had been replaced by two others. Inside, Jack saw one of the gang members leading the young blond girl down the stairs at the end of a chain. When he reached the bottom, another guy was waiting. He took the chain from the first guy and turned the girl around, leading her back up to the bedrooms. The cages were empty, leading Jack to conclude that the other two girls were busy as well. Word had apparently gotten around that this was their last day. He wondered where the Ramirez broad was or the FBI agent. He figured that they must have a dungeon somewhere.
Chaz led him into the kitchen. Ike was sitting at the end of the table drinking a mug of coffee. The guy Mouse was standing a little behind him to his left. Stitch was standing to Ike’s right, leaning up against a counter. Rocker and Big Betty were there. Her slave, Vida was kneeling on the floor behind her. Killer was sitting at the table opposite them. The girl Maureen was standing with her face in a corner her hands bound behind her. There was a bottle of Jim Beam on the table and a few shot glasses. The seat at the opposite end of the table from Ike was empty and Jack assumed it was for him.
He sat down. Rocker proffered the bottle to him, but Jack declined. Chaz took up a position to Jack’s right, behind him, standing by the door. It looked like Ike had assembled the brain trust of the gang all in one place. Jack swallowed nervously.
“Hiya, Jack,” Ike said. Jack returned the greeting.
“I wanted to sit down with you and go over a few things before tonight when our man gets here,” Ike explained.
“Okay,” Jack answered flatly.
“First of all, I’d like to say that we’re all thrilled with your escape and all hope for the best for you when you get to Mexico,” Ike started. Jack knew when he was being set up, and this was as good a set up as any.
“Thanks, Ike,” he replied. “And I’d like to say that I appreciate all that you
guys have done for me.”
“That’s good, Jack,” Ike said. “Because I’m going to tell you a few things and I want you to listen very closely. I counted up your dough and you’ve got about $18,000. We’re going to pick up about 25 grand for the Lexus, and half of that is yours.”
“That’s generous, Ike,” Jack said.
“It’s business, Jack. I think that you are going to be a big factor in some plans of ours and I want to be fair with you from the start. I had a long conversation with Mr. Morales today, our Mexican contact, and we think that there’s a place for you and your particular abilities. Mr. Morales and, frankly, me, were impressed both at your skill in navigating all across the country with the whole world looking for you and the way you singlehandedly brought Mrs. Ramirez into our hands.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. “I appreciate that.” He was waiting for the axe to fall.
“Mr. Morales intends to take Mrs. Ramirez over the border tonight. He’s going to ask for a $1,000,000 ransom. You see, the one problem in doing a kidnapping is getting away with the dough. In Mexico, that’s not a problem at all. Mr. Morales owns half the law enforcement in Sonora and the other half lives in daily fear of him. So, the exchange will be made in Mexico.”
“Sounds sweet,” Jack said. “But what’s my end?”
“Mr. Morales figures that Mr. Ramirez’s people will negotiate him down to about $750,000, which is still a nice piece of change. Your end will be 20%, 150 G’s.”
Jack whistled. That was a lot of change. It would go a long way to setting him up pretty. “That’s generous,” Jack stated.
“And that’s just the start. We figure you could make a score like that 4 or 5 times a year. You do the snatch, we hold her here until she can be brought over to Mexico and Mr. Morales does the switch. Half a million or so a year will set you up real good, Jack.”
“I’ll say,” Jack replied. Half a million! It sounded too good to be true. But he could do it. He had the nerve and the ruthlessness to make off with a dozen pretty, little rich girls a year. A sensation of exhilaration swept through him. He tried hard to disguise it. But he knew that Ike knew what half a million a year meant to him. He would be living in Mexico like a king. He could have anything he wanted. What was the catch?
“But everything depends on you being a team player,” Ike continued. His voice had gone from warm and friendly to stern and insistent. “Mr. Morales wants to know that you are in this all the way. He wants a little show of, well, let’s call it respect. He wants the girl.”
“No fucking way!” Jack spat out. The room bristled with tension. Nobody spoke like that to Ike. His word was law. Jack looked around. There were no players on his team in the room. That guy Mouse was standing on his toes, balanced to make a move against him if need be. Chaz was blocking the door. Rocker and Killer were sitting at the table to either side of him, eying him warily. Big Betty lit a Lucky Strike and blew a big, gray cloud across the table. Stitch shifted his weight nervously.
Ike waited a while before responding.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Jack,” he said ominously. “It’s not a very good start to our friendship. There’s only a couple of ways that this could work out. The first is you go along with the program and you live a long, happy, rich life in Sonora, having anything you want, a dozen cunts at your beck and call, the finest booze, dope, a beautiful, new hog. Everything. Mr. Morales says that he would want you holding on to the merchandise until the switch takes place so you could have a lot of fun there too.
“Or,” he continued, “we could take you out of here tonight and drop you off with your 18 G’s and the clothes on your back in the middle of Albuquerque. You’d probably get picked up in about 5 minutes. But then, you’ve seen our little hideaway. Maybe you’d be pissed because we dumped you. Maybe we wouldn’t want to take that risk. That brings up the third alternative.
“There’s a nice little spot about 15 miles from here, way out in the scrublands. It’s a quiet place. The scenery is magnificent. When the sun sets, the skies are so beautiful, you’d think you were in heaven. But we all know that that’s not likely where you’d go. It is hot, though, and it has that in common with the place where you will end up. You’d have a lot of company out there. When there’s a full moon, maybe the devil will let you come out and play with all the other ghosts.
“That’s about the limit of the possibilities here, Jack,” Ike said. “And none of them include you taking the girl to Mexico.”
Jack was seething. His hands had drawn into fists. If he had his hunting knife which, like a jerkoff, he had left up in his room, he could probably leap across the table and bury it in Ike’s heart before anybody could do anything about it. He might be able to take a couple of the others too. But even if he had his knife, he wouldn’t be able to take them all. Mouse was carrying a Glock in a shoulder holster. The guy, Killer, had his own Bowie knife stuck on his belt. Chaz was behind him and could be on top of him in a moment. And he bet that Big Betty had something or other in her boot.
Ike gave him a few seconds to get himself under control.
“And then there’s this, Jack,” he said slowly and deeply. “You’ve caused me a whole shit load of trouble. The Feds knocked over five of our joints today. I spent the whole morning down at the FBI office being interrogated. So did Mouse. They had nothing on us so they had to let us go. But the heat’s going to be on us for a long time on account of you. I would take it real hard if you repaid our hospitality by disrespecting Mr. Morales. He’s seen the pictures of your sweet, little cunt on TV and he likes her a lot. He’s doing you a big favor. You’re going to be living under his protection down in Mexico. We value his participation in our enterprises. So it’s yes or no, Jack. Yes, and we’ll all have a nice drink and you can begin planning how you’ll spend all that dough. No, and we’ll have a drink all right, but it will be your last. So what do you say?”
Jack was seething with anger. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was going to cry. She was being taken away from him. No, not being, had. She was already gone. He knew that he would not leave the room alive if he said no. He looked around at the stone cold, hard faces. They had as much sympathy for him as he had had for a thousand others during his lifetime. As he had had for the girl, torn away from the ones she loved. Love. Yes, that was what he had been feeling. It was awful. He should be able to write the girl off, just one more cunt in a long line of cunts. But he couldn’t. And now she was destined for a cruel captivity. He didn’t know this Morales guy, but if he dealt with the Rogues and the Rogues were careful, if not afraid, of offending him, then he must be one mean motherfucker.
Anger and self-hatred filled him. He knew that he was going to give in. That had been the whole purpose of escaping, hadn’t it? Hadn’t he dreamed of just what was being offered to him? How could he let his feelings for this girl stand in the way of it?
He thought of her upstairs now, bundled and bound for his pleasure. But now it was for someone else’s pleasure. He thought of her sweet body and the fierce fire he had seen in her eyes more than once. He thought of her warm, creative mouth, her soft, malleable breasts, the way she moaned when she was excited. He thought of her face. Above all, it had been her face that had done him in, its forlorn aspect when he bound her, the vision of her fear that flashed across it when he punished her. And last night, he had seen that face in the throes of passion, abandoning all artifice, overwhelmed with ecstasy.
Would he ever see it that way again? No, not if he could help it. He had lost her, that was clear. It was better that he blot out all memory of these things. He would steel himself, cast a mold of iron around his heart to replace the one that she had dissolved. He was Jack Blackjack Jackson, the meanest motherfucker who lived. That’s what everyone had said, what the judge had said when he sentenced him, what the newspeople were saying, what each one of his countless victims had thought.
He dared not show his weakness before Ike’s assembled crew. He ne
eded to save face. He had to act like the girl meant nothing to him, except, perhaps, a point of pride in her ownership, a pride which he would, on this one occasion, sacrifice for the group. This was his tribe, his fellow travelers, his cohort. He couldn’t separate himself from them. He could not be what he wasn’t, no matter how much his heart ached at his loss. This was the life he had chosen for himself. He had told himself that when he was sentenced to consecutive life terms. He had borne the brunt of the loss of his freedom then, he would bear it now, without shedding a tear, without remorse, without feeling. He would forget her. He knew that he could. He just had to.
Jack let his face relax. His body, which had tightened, coiled, ready to strike out, relaxed. The fire left his eyes. His outward appearance was calm, accepting, cooperative, but he could not dispel that feeling of lonely emptiness he had inside.
“No problem,” he finally said. “She’s just a piece of ass anyway. He can have her, but he’s gotta pay. I’ve been offered $25,000 for her.”
Ike cast a fiery glance at Big Betty. “Hey, I didn’t know,” she said to him, shrugging her heavy shoulders. “I think she’s worth it.”
Ike turned his harsh visage back to Jack. “That’s between you and Mr. Morales. But whatever he offers, you better take it.”
Jack had no reply. It was a point of pride now for him to get the 25 large Big Betty had offered him. His stomach felt like there were a hundred spiders crawling in it. He wanted to explode in a fit of rage and destroy everything around him. At the same time, he had a hurt so bad it made him want to break out bawling, an emptiness so fierce that nothing in the world could ever fill it. Twice he had felt it before, once when he witnessed his slovenly, drunken mother be beat to a pulp by that trucker when he was a kid, and then again when he lost the whore, Honey. Now it was back, and with a vengeance.
“How about a round of hooch to salute our new partner?” Rocker suggested. He grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam on the table and started pouring shots. Stitch got a few more glasses out of a cabinet so there would be enough to go around. He put a rocks glass down in front of Jack and Rocker poured him a double shot. When all the glasses were full, Ike raised his glass and said, “To success.”
