by Darrell King
A tear welled up in Meredith’s eye and inched its way down her rosy cheek. Valentino pulled her close to him, kissing her lovingly and long.
“You’re an addiction—no better than cocaine or heroin,” she said. “An addiction I wish I could break.”
“Yeah, right, you don’t believe that ya damn self, girl,” Valentino said. “I own you now and you know that. Ya see that bitch-ass Nazi Wilhelm couldn’t move you ‘cause he wasn’t man enough fa the job. He was a soft-ass square like all the rest o’ them punks. It took a real man like the Don to beat that pussy up proper-like and spit game atcha like a boss playa s’pose ta, in order to make ya feel like a woman should, which is why yo’ monkey ass ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Bitterness from her past heartbreaks shrouded her very being like a wet blanket. She was tired of being hurt and it showed.
“You know what? Maybe this is a mistake, Lucien,” Meredith said, sighing dejectedly. “You’re right—our relationship would never work. How totally stupid of me.”
Valentino saw his lady’s despair and took her by the hand, kissing it gently.
“Meredith, you’re talkin’ crazy, girl, ‘cause bein’ my lady is an honor for bitches, you ain’ no different. This is the way playas play, baby. You either givin’ orders or you takin’ ‘em, feel me? Now the Sentinels of the Illuminati, them muthafuckas think they pimpin’ me, but check it—I’m pimpin’ them for real, and if you stick around with the Don, you’re gonna go on this magic carpet ride wit a nigga.”
“I don’t know if I can do it, Lucien—I just can’t be hurt anymore.”
Valentino cupped Meredith’s plump ass with his huge hands as he moved in close to her. He’d had this type of thing happen to him on numerous other occasions before; few women were immune to the psychological head games of a well-seasoned mack like himself. He caressed her pale neck sensually, bringing forth a soft moan of pleasure from the sexy scientist.
“Let’s get this money together, ma. Those punk bitches don’t give a fuck ‘bout us, baby. All they wanna do is spread AIDS everywhere. I’ll help ‘em out just as long as they pay me, but I’m gon’ spread the shit to mo’ than just po’ black folks.”
When Meredith smiled and rested her head against his chest, it brought supreme satisfaction to the boss player. A smile slowly found its way on this ruggedly handsome face in reverence to the art of macking, which had served him well on so many occasions. Dr. Meredith Nader however might have been his greatest conquest, considering her past. He would indeed use her until he saw it necessary to move on. There should’ve been absolutely no way, he thought to himself, that the Stanford University-educated biologist would be subjected to the streetwise, slick talk of a common crook like Lucien Valentino, but she was. Even though she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was more than a little bit foolish for risking her entire career—as well as her life—for the affection of a man who could never truly return her love, she couldn’t help it. She was in too deep now to turn back.
***
Bogotá, Columbia
April 17, 2003
7:16 p.m.
Trussel’s Villa
Meredith felt like shit as she walked away from the death bed of her latest Latino lover. He’d become the latest victim to fall prey to the horrific HIV10X. The skeletal form of Manual Gomez trembled slightly, then shuddered before death overtook him.
Gomez was the seventh man who had contracted the aggressive AIDS virus from the beautiful brunette vixen who hung out at the various local drinking spots in search of intoxicated flirts desiring one-night stands. For two months she went on an AIDS-spreading tear throughout the province of Chia. Her grasp of the Spanish language strengthened due to her conversations with Don Valentino, and it was this same master of Espanòl that sealed the fate of so many Columbian men. By early June she had infected over two dozen men, with thirteen of them succumbing to the painful symptoms of full-blown AIDS. She was indeed a terror to an unsuspecting community until the virus began to attack her own immune system.
***
Bogotá, Columbia
June 22, 2003
8:33 a.m.
Trussel’s Villa
Two months later, Doctor Meredith Nader gasped with shallow, strained breaths. Her once beautiful green eyes stared out, bloodshot and glassy. She was in the throes of dreaded Phase 5 level, known to most laymen as full-blown AIDS. The heartbroken doctor had realized that she would more than likely never experience true love, and had completely abandoned the all-important Biomax-O injections which had allowed a plethora of viruses, bacteria, fungi and cancers to dismantle her body’s immunity. Tuberculosis and lymphoma had rendered her so weak that she remained bed-ridden and unable to eat. Rapid weight loss had reduced her hourglass figure to mere bones. It was clear that death was imminent for Meredith Nader.
Valentino shook his head with disappointment as he stared down at the pitifully emaciated woman dying on the bed before him.
“You’ve really disappointed me, ya know that?” he said, tipping his Armani sunglasses to peer at her. “You didn’t have to resort to this, Meredith. You had me. I was yo’ man for as long as you wanted. You could’ve had anything you wanted—money, jewels, mansions, fly-as rides, whatever. Plus you one o’ those doctors who made the Biomax-O, so you would’ve been straight just as long as you kept ya shots up.”
“Lucien,” Meredith said weakly, “please...let me die in peace.”
Don Valentino placed a single long-stemmed rose upon her brittle chest.
“You coulda lived a helluva long time, girl, a hulluva long time,” he said sadly. “Why would you go and do something like this, baby, why?”
He leaned down and kissed her blotched forehead.
“I love you, white girl,” he said, “I truly do. I know I’m gon’ ta hell when my time comes, but I pray that God has mercy on your soul, ‘cause you’re an all right broad for real...you ain’t never meant nobody no harm. You just needed a lil’ bit o’ love, that’s all.”
He waved over an old, gray-haired housekeeper to fetch Meredith a glass of cool water to ease her parched throat.
“May the good lawd bless and keep you,” Valentino said.
The pain of various AIDS-driven infections tore through her frail body like wildfire, causing her to groan in agony with each and every excruciating spasm, which shot to and fro within her. Meredith felt her chest tighten, as well as her windpipe. Her breathing became forced and labored, rattling with thick phlegm and stopping within her throat. Her eyes went wide as the slow sensation of unconsciousness threatened to envelop her in its heavy, unrelenting grasp.
This was it...Meredith was experiencing that which all flesh must.
“Don’t fight it, baby,” Valentino said. “Just relax and let go...It’s gonna be all right...just close your eyes and sleep.”
“I love you, Lucien.”
She gasped deeply and gurgled slightly before her chest heaved one last time. She relaxed completely, her head falling limp to one side as her tongue lolled out. Her eyes stared ahead with stationary focus.
Valentino lowered his lime green derby against his heart in a brief show of silent reverence for Meredith’s passing. He closed her eyes with his hand and stepped away.
Afterward
The Don was once again a man on the move. The deaths of the Coventry Laboratory scientists had been too close for comfort for the likes of the Illuminati, and as a result they had terminated their contract with the Lariat-California based group.
Meredith Nader had proven her worth as a valuable member of Valentino’s stable, even though she hadn’t been a prostitute in the same way many of his others had been. He’d lost many a ho in his day, and rarely did he feel anything about it. However, he would indeed miss Meredith. Yet, the game allowed no time for mourning, and it took little time for Valentino to adjust favorably to his new surroundings.
“Baby, I just wanna show you a good time and that’s all, sexy lady,” he said.
The famous Key West sunset was as beautiful as Hemingway had described in his memoirs, and the player pimp already seemed to be drawn in to the exotic night life of the famous vacation spot.
“Cheers to us. You are something else, you know that, Lucien? I really feel comfortable with you. You’re not like all the others. I think...I think I’m falling in love with you, mister.”
Valentino smiled wide as their oversized martini glasses clanked together.
“Hey, baby, it is what it is. Don’t fight the feeling.”
The Don’s sexy, honey-voiced love interest beamed with girlish infatuation at the dapperly dressed gent sitting across the table from her.
“I’ve got somethin’ here just for you, Ms. Lady...This right here is a genuine emerald surrounded by twelve half-carat diamonds...This is to represent our love, baby girl. I know ya lovin’ this, ain’t ya?” Valentino said, taking a swig of his martini.
The two locked lips just as a blushing waitress arrived with their meal. She carefully placed the scrumptious-smelling plates of seafood down onto the gold satin-covered table while the amorous couple continued to swap spit.
This woman, a 33-year old hotelier who managed the three largest hotels in the Florida Keys, was an almond-hued beauty with flowing, silky brown hair, a Coca-Cola bottle figure an a stunning pair of legs that would have rivaled Tina Turner’s. Valentino had put his mack down upon first meeting her at a local fundraising event. She shot him down at first, playing hard to get for over a month before getting turned out by the masterful Valentino.
He took her dainty hand into his own, slipping the emerald ring onto her slender finger while simultaneously planting a kiss on top of the same bling-adorned hand. Unlike Meredith, this woman was neither insecure or in need of male companionship, yet still she—like all the women whom he’d encountered before her—was vulnerable to the flattery and smooth talk of a skilled man. She had youth, good looks and, most importantly, a bank account that would serve Valentino well during his sojourn down in the keys.
He would still have to answer to the Sentinels of the Illuminati as they carried out their population control plan in exchange for the Biomax-O serum and he’d still receive a monthly stipend for his part in this 21st century Tuskegee experiment. Eventually this beauty too would sicken and die from the AIDS virus and he would be relocated to yet another town where he would continue to spread the terminal STD just as he was instructed. Many would fall victim to the charm and good looks of the man known as Don Lucien Valentino. And in wooing these women, Valentino vowed to remain the ice-cold pimp that he’d created—a legend now for so many years ago. With such a man at large, the nation—indeed, the world—would be a little less safe and a lot more frightening. There would always be a possibility of encountering a Lucien Valentino . . . he could be in any city, any country, in any bed on any given night.
