Deadly Phine

by Darrell King

  After a brief moment of silence, Meredith spoke softly.

  “I...I don’t know why I feel about you the way that I do, but I’m crazy for you, and every inch of that ginormous cock of yours,” she said. “You’re right—I’ve never had anyone love me ever—not like you do, and I get it when you trash those dweebs I work with. They’re the absolute worst. I’m ready...so ready to stick it to their asses just as I’m sure you are. Let’s do it. Together, my love, let’s show those white racist bastards who’s boss, shall we?!”

  Chapter 20

  July 18, 2002, 11:11 p.m.

  Mego Avenue

  Rosaria licked around a freshly rolled blunt with her sensual tongue before placing the end of the weed-stuffed stogie to the awaiting flame of a cigarette lighter. She relaxed and savored the taste of the marijuana’s aromatic flavor throughout her mouth.

  She hated the taste of semen in general, but this last guy’s spunk was the absolute worst she’d ever had. To her it tasted like fish oil, onions and egg yolk. She charged him a hundred dollars extra right after he’d skeeted in her mouth just because of it. Kush always took away the stinky cum taste, especially that good Cali kine bud she’d just sparked.

  This john, a long, lanky giraffe of a man, shared the blunt with her as they both sat back upon the warm leather seats of his mammoth ’76 Buick 225. The man sat beside her the whole time talking about a whole lot of nothing in between trying to copy a quick feel of her naked breasts. Angrily, Rosaria slapped the customer’s hand away roughly, declaring herself off limits to groping unless she was once again hired. The man agreed eagerly, plunking down three crumpled Benjamins next to her leg on the broad car seat. She scooped up the three large bills and placed them into her purse, which was swell stuffed from an evening of good business out on the ho’ stroll.

  Luckily for her, the gangly old lecher simply requested a hand job to top off the night. She quickly fellated him to erection before masturbating his vein-filled cock with slow, deliberate strokes, using her own saliva as a lubricant. Within three minutes of tugging on his tool, the man shot his load in strong, creamy spurts onto the dashboard and seat. The driver then collapsed in a sweaty heap behind the steering wheel while Rosaria cleaned the remaining sperm from in between her fingers and prepared to step out of the vehicle.

  The cool, gentle breeze coming off of the nearby Pacific Ocean was a welcome refreshment after spending so much time in the stuffy confines of the deuce and quarter she’d just left. She decided that she’d earned enough money and waved goodnight to a few of the other ladies of the evening who continued to flaunt themselves for the cars cruising along the avenue. Then, suddenly, a pair of automobile headlights illuminated the quiet side street she’d taken as a shortcut toward the beachfront home of Valentino the car raced along the street like a bat out of hell, startling the Latina prostitute as she braced herself against a graffiti-covered wall. The white Volkswagon Passat came to an abrupt and screeching halt directly beside the curb where Rosaria stood.

  “Get in the car!” Wilhelm Von Strecker barked from the open window. He glanced outside nervously at the unfamiliar landscape surrounding him, then again at the startled young woman standing near the darkened wall of the street corner.

  “Now!” he yelled, pointing a .38 caliber revolver in her direction for good measure.

  Though Rosaria was hesitant to enter the stranger’s vehicle, she had little choice staring down the barrel of a snub nose. She walked over toward the idling vehicle and stepped into the passenger’s seat, closing the door gently behind her. After driving along Rock Hudson Parkway for a considerable time without speaking, the doctor broke the uneasy silence.

  “I know that you work for Lucien Valentino and that you want out from under him, as well this God-awful lifestyle you’ve been forced into. I can make that happen for you if you, in turn, help me. One of your clients told me everything about your situation. And I’m willing to help you get out o f here if you help me find someone. Her name is Meredith . . . Meredith Nader. She’s my coworker and I need to know where she is. It’s a matter of life and death!” As requested, the shaken prostitute directed the German scientist toward Valentino’s beachfront dwelling.

  They arrived in front of the gangsta pimp’s home around 1:17 a.m. The house was dark, but for a side window, illuminated by the glow of television light coming from within. Upon seeing Meredith’s pewter-colored Hyundai Elantra parked beside several of Valentino’s high-end whips in the parking lot, Wilhelm raced out from the car in a jealous fit of rage. He banged on the front door furiously for several seconds before it was snatched open by an angry Valentino.

  “Have you lost yo’ muthafuckin’ mind, bitch!”

  Wilhelm narrowed his eyes, gritted his teeth and clenching his fists together, bracing for a fight. Then thoughts of the virulent HIV10X came to mind, causing him to rethink the idea of striking the pimp for fear of bringing the blood-borne pathogen into play. Instead he quick reached down into his trouser pocket to withdraw the .38 revolver. He noticed Meredith standing in wide-eyed horror directly behind Valentino as he drew the handgun from his right pocket.

  Wilhelm was acting off of pure emotion now, like a lovesick teen. The sight of his ex-lover standing behind the black pimp dressed in little more than a sheer teddy distracted him just long enough for Valentino to pounce.

  Strong fingers grasped the doctor’s wrist, causing him to relax his grip on the weapon, which fell upon the wooden floor of the front porch. Wilhelm swung at his assailant with his free hand, but his punch breezed harmlessly past Valentino’s head.

  “You nigger bastard!”

  Valentino landed a crushing blow to the German’s slender jaw as he yelled out racial slurs. The punch felled Wilhelm, who tumbled backwards onto the steps and into the loose gravel of the walkway. He struggled to his feet only to be kicked back into the sand again by the pimp, who yelled out in a torrent of profanities at him as he stood above him. His ribs burned with searing pain with each breath he drew, causing him to fear that few were badly cracked.

  Two burly bodyguards came barreling out of the doorway over to the place where Wilhelm lay upon the ground. He was hoisted up onto his feet by one of the hulking guards, who dragged him across the white sand toward his vehicle. For several seconds, he endured a brief but brutal beating at the hands of Valentino’s goons, leaving him battered and bloodied beside his car.

  “F- Fuck you!” he called after them.

  Wilhelm slowly, painfully climbed up onto his feet, which wobbled unsteadily beneath him. His entire body was racked with pain, causing him to wince with each step. His rib cage burned from where he had been kicked, and he fumbled with the keys in his pocket, opening the door to his car with much effort.

  The streetwalker was gone, likely scared shitless, he thought. He wanted to go back onto Valentino’s porch and confront him again, but the idea was foolhardy at best, with his gun now missing and the bodyguards prepared fro anything else stupid he might try. He peered at his bruised face in the overhead mirror on the visor flap, doing his best to clean himself up.

  He took out his cell phone and dialed Meredith’s number. After a series of rings he listened to her message, with its perky, upbeat greeting, awaiting the beep.

  “Meredith, what have you done?!” he yelled into the phone. “You’re mad! You’re going to not only ruin the cause of this program, but you’re going to get both of us killed messing around with that bastard Valentino! If you don’t cut this bullshit out, so help me I’ll...goddamnit, Meredith!”

  The bodyguards who’d trashed him just minutes earlier opened the front door of the house and stepped out onto the porch. They were joined by Valentino, who stood between them, chatting and pointing to Wilhelm’s Passat with malice in their eyes. Wilhelm’s hands fumbled around with the car keys for a few seconds before finally placing the proper key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot and on the busy street.

  He wondered if he had finally go
ne bonkers, stalking a woman who was clearly emotionally over him now and risking his life by confronting perhaps Lariat’s most violent criminal. However, he had to make contact with his coworker for more reasons than one. He doubled back across town toward the red light district where he’d picked up Rosaria earlier in the evening.

  “Excuse me, can you help me find a particular girl tonight?” he asked through the open window, speaking to a small group of scantily clad hookers huddled together near an old flickering gas lamp.

  The streetwalkers seemed reluctant to answer, even after he flashed a wad of cash in their direction. One of the older women walked away from the lamp and out of the streetlight’s illumination, and the others followed suit.

  Wilhelm drove away in frustration, knowing that Valentino must have alerted his whores to the situation at hand. Four prostitutes passed his vehicle within a matter of minutes. They were all young—far too young, in fact, to be selling their bodies to strangers for profit. He attempted to solicit information from the girls with the promise of a cash reward, but they, like the others before them, would have nothing to do with him. With mounting frustration, he sped away, out of the red light district and back onto the freeway, where he once again tried calling his coworker’s phone.

  “C’mon, c’mon, pick up the goddamned phone, Meredith,” he said under his breath.

  So immersed was he in his phone line pursuit that he swerved in and out of his traffic lane a few times, drawing the ire of this fellow drivers, who he was sure took him for someone who’d had one cocktail too many. He left three new messages for Meredith has he navigated the busy Rock Hudson Parkway. He couldn’t allow Meredith’s behavior to jeopardize the success of Operation Inner City Virus.

  He turned off the parkway onto an adjoining ramp heading west toward Coventry Laboratories. He pressed hard on the gas pedal, breezing past an elongated 18-wheeler and cutting off a Mazda Miata in his haste to get to his office. Once he’d pulled up into the parking lot, he knew that few, if any of his coworkers would be present at this hour. He dabbed at the blood that oozed from his facial wounds before entering the facility.

  As he swiped his building pass against the card reader, the glass doors slid apart, granting him entry. There, a drowsy security officer perked up from his catnap as the scientist approached.

  “Just checking on some lab results, officer. I won’t be long, I promise,” he said, flashing his I.D. as he quickly walked past.

  “Of course, Doctor Von Strecker, take your time,” the guard answered.

  In his locker room attached to his office, he took time to shower and tend to his bruises and cuts properly, with ointment, gaze and bandages. As the scientist stood before the mirror dressing his wounds, he thought about who he could trust to right all of Valentino and Meredith’s wrongs.

  Suddenly, he had an idea. He emailed Doctor Dennis Brooks, who had been away on special assignment in Atlanta for the Center for Disease Control. Wilhelm looked at the clock, realizing that Doctor Brooks, an early riser, might be awake already, as it was close to 7 a.m. on the East Coast. And, in fact, Doctor Brooks had been in front of his computer for nearly a half hour.

  Eurotrash99: Dennis, are you there?

  Dennistheman_515: Yeah, what the hell are you doing up so early?

  Eurotrash99: Dude, we’ve got a problem.

  Dennistheman_515: What kind of a problem?

  Eurotrash99: It’s Meredith—she’s gone off the deep end. It’s serious.

  Dennistheman_515: Meredith has always been a little quirky—you know that. We all do. It can’t be that bad.

  Eurotrash99: You don’t understand—I think she’s sleeping with Patient Zero!

  Dennistheman_515: Say what?! Wil, are you drinking again? That’s hard to believe—even for her. Are you sure?

  Eurotrash99: I’m sure. Since you’ve been down south she’s been acting weirder and weirder. She hasn’t been in the lab in over a month. She’s working from home—somehow she got Doctor Harrington’s approval to do that.

  Dennistheman_515: Wow—that’s some deep shit. Well, what are you doing to do about it?

  Eurotrash99: I was thinking that you’re down there in Atlanta—maybe you could get in contact with your cousin?

  Dennistheman_515: Which one are you talking about?

  Eurotrash99: C’mon—you know the guy I’m referring to—the ganster guy.

  Dennistheman_515: Wil, I haven’t got a clue who you’re talking about.

  Eurotrash99: Okay—remember you said you were distant cousins to some guy in Peola, GA that just happened to be a professional hitman or something. Does that job your memory?

  Dennistheman_515: Oh, yeah—you’re talking about Whiskey—Whiskey Battle. Yep. He’s yeah my third cousin on my mother’s side. I haven’t seen him in a while though. I was out west for over a decade, and I never come down to visit Peola. Anyway, why do you need me to get in touch with him?

  Eurotrash99: Well, he’s in the business of making people’s troubles disappear. I want you to tell him about a certain low life pimp I’d like to see disappear. And no price is too high!

  Dennistheman_515: Are you serious?

  Eurotrash99: I’m up emailing you at four in the morning—what do you think?

  Dennistheman_515: Do you know what you’re asking me to do? First of all, Valentino’s a major player in the Illuminati’s population control plan. Secondly, if Meredith is stupid enough to expose herself to the HIV10X virus by messing around with the guy, then so be it. It’s her funeral—not ours. Sorry, dude, but I’m not getting myself involved in your little weirdo love triangle. You need Dr. Phil, not Whiskey.

  Eurotrash99: Look, Dennis, I’ve helped you out a lot since you’ve been with Coventry Labs. I took you under my wing when others in the agency would never have done it. And now you can’t help me out here? Maybe I was wrong about you, Dennis. I thought maybe you were one of the good ones.

  Dennistheman_515: Fuck you for saying that, Wil. Fucking Nazi bastard! Why don’t you grow a pair and fight your own battles, asshole!

  Eurotrash99: I strike a nerve there, Dennis? The last time I checked you were working with us Nazi bastards, developing a virus that will eventually eliminate your entire primitive race. What would Al Sharpton or Farrakhan think about that, Dennis? Or your own mother, or should I say Mammy?

  Dennistheman_515: Eat shit and die Von Strecker!

  Wilhelm’s computer flashed: Dennistheman has singed out.

  Wilhelm smirked uneasily as he too signed off of his email account, turned off the computer and then the lights within the laboratory. He exited the darkened room slowly, closing the heavy door behind him as he went.

  ***

  The next day, July 19, Meredith checked her phone messages as she sat at the kitchen table, eating a cup of frozen yogurt. She listened to Wilhelm’s desperation from the previous night coming through the speaker. He sounded completely taken with grief, so much so that for a split second she started to cry. He would always be a part of her, no matter what. In a way he had been her first love, the one man to have taken her virginity on that lone night of passion they had shared.

  Suddenly Valentino’s husky voice shattered her fleeting trip down memory lane as he whispered into her ear while draping his strong arms around her shoulders.

  “I know how you musta felt ‘bout ole boy, but he can’t give you what the Don can give you, baby girl. Believe that,” the pimp said boastfully. “C’mon now, dry those eyes and fix big daddy something ta eat with ya phine self.”

  “Umm, sure,” Meredith said. “I’ll take out the ground beef. You’re going to love my meatloaf.”

  She pressed the power button on her cell phone, turning it off.

  “I really thought that Wil could be someone I could’ve married. What waste.”

  She took out a frozen pack of meat from the freezer, placing it down into the kitchen sink while she went through the overhead cabinets in search of seasonings. As she stood up on her tiptoes to
reach upwards, Valentino took in the svelte, hourglass figure displayed before him. He eased up behind her and taking hold of her narrow waist, he pulled her gently toward him, turning her around to face him. Without hesitation, their lips met in a torrid kiss that lasted a tantalizing seven seconds.

  Breathing heavily with sexual arousal, Meredith threw her head back as her handsome lover caressed her pale neck with kisses and gentle love bites. She again placed her hungry lips upon his as he lifted her up into his strong arms, taking her into the living room and laying her down on the couch, where he undressed her, slowly removing her garments one layer at a time. By the time her head had cleared from the stupor of sensual arousal, Lucien had already inserted his thick, curved rod inside of her dripping punani. She winced and sighed with breathy delight as her ebony lover hoisted her shapely legs above his shoulders and pumped her vigorously on the couch. Meredith’s eyes rolled upwards and her mouth fell agape, allowing an elongated groan of ecstasy to creep out as she reached orgasm. Her orgasm multiplied by four, bringing her to the brink of unconsciousness.

  After this last intimate encounter, Meredith was certain that she’d officially “gone black.” Valentino had fully conquered her now, mind, body and soul—and he knew it. So did she, and there was absolutely nothing that she could do to change it, nor did she want to. She was sprung. The gangsta mack gave her a kiss on the forehead and strolled upstairs to take a hot shower. While his lady love slowly gathered herself up, she recovered from the delightfully wicked romp. Just thinking about it as she pulled herself together caused her to become wet with arousal all over again—a condition that caused her to finger herself in an attempt to satisfy her lust until her lover returned.

  Valentino, however, had had his fill of sex play for the moment. His thoughts were now focused once more on Rosaria, whom he was certain had become a liability. Her latest betrayal had caused him to order his security to snatch her up off the streets and make her disappear for good. However, he’d just received a phone call informing him that no one had seen hide nor hair of the lovely Latina anywhere. Even after three hours of combing the entire area for her, focusing primarily on the prostitute’s favorite hangouts.