by Jane Brooke
“Stay the fuck away from my man. I see ya anywhere near I’m, I’ll beat ya so bad that face a yer’s I’ll look like one a Art’s hamburgers.” Poke, poke, poke, in the chest, “CLEAR BITCH?”
Say, what about you and I forgetting about your stud, get in my old De Ville, hit it up the road, never look back, fuck each other nutso, along the way, live happily ever after.
That’s what Mandal wants to say, but of course doesn’t.
“Listen, Sue, I respect you. My car broke down, I’m kinda stuck. Billy is your man, I know that, respect that, I can see why that is, and why he loves you. You are beautiful, I imagine a terrific girl. I’m just a girl like you, trying to do the best I can.”
Smiles.
“I’m not after your man. I’ve got a lot of problems; do not need any new ones. Right now, I need change for the telephone, so I can get the heck out of here.” Tap, tap, tap fingers dance on the twenty dollar bill.
“Can you please help me?”
Stunned, impossible to digest exactly what is standing before her, Sue crinkles her brow, is silent.
Mandal, is intrinsic, complicated, void of reason, which no one could ever understand, the exact opposite of Sue for she is basic. Who can possibly penetrate her mask of deception, certainly not Sue, and she actually, never having been spoken to in such a respectful manner, likes her, for the moment.
Sue, mesmerized, Mandal does that to women too. Sue feels woozy. The opiate that is Mandal has been injected like venom into her blood stream. Cash register “ca chings” opens. Sue lays a roll of quarters on the bar top, rolls them to the blond, changes the twenty, hands out the bills.
Mandal lays her fingers on her wrist, purrs. “Thank you, Sue. You’re not only beautiful, your great...Please, keep the rest. Just a little thank you tip. I wish it were more.”
Eye contact, Sue very confused, still feeling those fingers on her wrist, swallows, shocked, suddenly feeling turned on. Micro switches sparking. She shakes her head and, then watches the sexual girl turn, walk back to the phone booth.
“What the fuck is going on.” She whispers.
She’s messed up by her new type of thinking from the butt fucking she didn’t know she just got rammed in her ass.
Back at the booth, butt on the stool, mile of legs flung out the door.
“Crack” quarters split in half, jingling on the counter, blues staring at the key pad, weigh the options, lights a cigarette, curiosity kills the cat, quarters, “plink, plink, pilnk” in the slot.
Mind spinning, innocent call back East, no connection to her from a call her uncontrollable impulses are forcing her to make. Certain, that Tony will not murder her, if he catches her, Bobby Ugo, and Dim Dim, well that entirely is another matter. The two killer’s mug shots materialize in her brain, forcing her to gulp back into her fears.
Ring, ring, ring, “Click”. “
Afternoon, The Pony Club.” Young woman’s voice, replies.
“May I please speak to Onetta Marnett?”
Silence, breathing, music in the back ground.
“Onetta?”
“Yes, please. This is a friend. Is Onetta there?”
“Aaaah, Onetta...Ahhhh, she ain’t here.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Aaaah, Onetta ain’t comin’ back. She’s dead.”
Mandal, brain suddenly black, filled with lightening strikes, cigarette shaking in her hands, trembles.
“Dead...Wh...What...Dead, are sure?...I...I just talked to her a few...”
“Yeah, they found her in a dumpster.” Men’s voices in the back ground, HUSH of life and, then a man’s angry voice come onto the phone.
“Who is this? Who is this?”
“Clang” Mandal slams the receiver down, takes her cigarette, and grinds it into the palm of her hand. Sizzle, sizzle, smell of burning flesh, no blink, even the pain cannot dispel the grief slicing her heart in half.
She whispers. “Dead. That’s not right. Onetta dead, no, no, no.”
Instantly, she presses the burning tip of the cigarette to her forearm and as usual, through physical pain, she’s trying to save herself from her ruptured brain. Nothing, no pain, she is numb, she needs more. Fingers raise, eyes bolt, trail along the faded scares on her face. She remembers how, burning cigarette, searing flesh, that helps.
She is, in her mind the anathema of every ugly thing she detests in the world. 38, in her boot, maybe, draw it, in her mouth, one last time; a final hammer strike on the pin, splattering gifted, monstrous brain matter along the back of the booth.
Or, selfish, so selfish, get a little help, Tough Love, maybe that is all she needs; needs it now to save her self absorbed, selfish life.
Mind spin, make it better, think about it, clarify it, twist it, bend it and make it better. Onetta dead, a little set back, everybody dies, no preventing it. Mind filth, ME is everything thoughts. She knows exactly what she needs, who can help her, get her through one more bad little wrinkle in her life.
Standing, she steps out, steadies herself against the booth, ashen white, eyes blurring, brain cracking, ecstatic. She turns and begins to walk towards Sue, doing her menial little chores behind the bar.
Sue looks up, smiles at her new friend. She gasps; leering at her is a different piece of work. The Blondie’s eyes look like vapid, ice pools, change of color, crushed, excited, rabid, ticking everywhere in their sockets, totally insane.
Mandal, grinning, wrist turned up. Sue sees the blister burn on her forearm, looks up, blonde’s eyes wild like to much Smack, neon on a needle point has been injected into them.
Mandal, leering, moves closer, seethes.
“Listen you fucking Bitch. I’m gonna fuck your boy friend, and he Ain’t gonna ever touch you again, after that.”
Sue gasps, goes rigid, as Mandal grins, says. “You slut bitch.”
Moments, suspended, where is the polite Betty of before?” Sue stung, stunned, say’s. “What in the fuck did you say?”
Mandal laughs, grins, says. “You heard me, whore.”
Blink, Blink, Blink.
Sue over the bar, Mandal, no smiles, hands passive, laying down her sides, ready, wanting to get what she deserves; what she so desperately needs.
“Whack.” Bunched fist, above her full lip, spiting it.
Head jerks around, whips back, glazed blue eyes, blood, down her mouth, in her teeth. A back hand, in the face, she reels around in a circle, back to center, cut eye brow, more blood dripping down her eyes. Mandal grins, she wants it, no defense, just in time to get a kick from Sue’s work boot in her tummy.
“SWOOSH”
Air explodes out of her mouth, as she falls to her knees and vomits, lifts her face and, then grins.
Sue, hesitates, glares at her and, then moves in. Bikers hurl out of the tables, chairs kick over, bottles splinter and hoots follow. Biker boys just love cat fights between darlin’ gals.
Sue hovering, Mandal, hands to her side, feeling it, all of it, grins, blood everywhere as Art, Mava, Arvan light it up in the kitchen, turn, begin to move.
Sue, leering, Mandal all smiles, gurgling blood, wheezes. “And then doll. I’m going to fuck you.”
Probably the wrong thing to say, but she is trying, as Sue goes nuts, Screams. “YOU FUCKING CUNT.”
Swings, wild, furious, punch connects. Butt, back on her boot heels, left eyebrow cut, blood spurt, lots a small blood vessels around the eyes, right eye, already bluing up, swelling up, seeping red.
Mandal, struggles to her knees, just in time, right on the mark. Sue’s boot tip thuds right into the mound of her cunt.
“BAM.”
Mandal, screams, buckles over, loud moans, hands pressing against the outrageous pain, fun pain, but acute hurt. Her forehead presses to the floor, hands cement to her
cunt, she is actually laughing out loud, blood pooling on the floor.
Bikers cheerin as the gang from the kitchen rushes out, Mandal giggling, blood trailing away. Sue steps up, kicks her directly in the ribs, “THWACK”. Maybe one broken, maybe two, Mandal moans, falls to her side and flails on her back, arms quivering and body shaking. Sue gasps. The fucking bitch is still giggling.
The bikers are loving the ruthless beating that the sexy gal is putting on another sexy gal. This is why their outlaws to begin with, just a few perks of The Outlaw Life.
Sue, final touch to the Attitude adjustment, grinds her teeth, bears her lips and rears back her blunt toed boot, aims for Mandals temple, a death blow in her mind. Lets swing for the fences, she does.
Suddenly, she becomes air born, legs swinging out wildly, Art and Arvan gripping her under her arms, as she goes berserk, shrieking. “I’LL KILL HER...I’LL FUCKING KILL HER.”
Mava, stunned, drills Sue with a stare.
Sue, Blink, Blink, frothing spittle at her mouth, hyperventilating in the last stages of rage. Sue fears Mava, finally breathes. Mava takes a knee, bending to her wonderful Betty with two T’s. She cradles the delirious, giggling blood soaked beauty queen in her arms.
Sue ramps up again, as Arvan gawks at his lovely future girlfriend. Sue swings kicks, screaming, flailing, sweat soaked hair streaks across her face. Mava lays Mandal to the floor, stands, moves in front of the crazed biker girl. She looks hard into her eyes and, then violently slaps her in the face, as she seethes. “ENOUGH. It’s over...YA HEAR, SUE?”
Like Merrill Lynch, when Mava speaks, everyone listens and Sue knows it. Restrained by the power force of Art and a stunned Arvan, Sue slumps into their arms, girl testerone depleted. Surreal experience, for Sue, she is dazed, watches as Mava bends to her knees, pushes blood from her Betty’s eyes, moans seeing the damage done to her.
Mandal, been beat worse once, smiles, blood teeth, one eye closed, cut, swollen lips, her tummy swelling, a spike driven into her cunt, her mind feeling swell now, smiles. Mava turns to Sue, asks.
“What happened here?”
Unable to possibly understand what just happened, Sue can barely speak, stutters. “I...I ain’t really sure, Ma. I...I...I.”
She goes mute, just another gear dissolved into the mechanical threshing machine of Mandals mind.
Mava’s arms, Mandal, dreaming, sees the great white angel as she hovers between unconsciousness and bliss, her body humming, mind finally shut down, feeling so much more balanced now.
Mava, touching blood, cuts, a swelling eyebrow, broken lips, asks. “What happened here, darlin?”
Mandal, eyes roaming, settle on a shocked Sue. Theres fear on Sue’s face, retribution from Mava’s violence, never far and often quick, violent, permanent, gasps in shock from Mandals next words.
“It was my fault. It’s a girl thing. I was out of line. Sue, just set me straight. I had it coming.” Mandal wipes at blood on her lips and glances at her red hands. She grins at Mava,
“I owe Sue an apology. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”
Sue, whispers. “Fuck”.
If she was fucked up before, she is wrecked now from Betty’s unbelievable life saving words.
Mava understanding, gals, will be gals, she presumes when men are involved. She touches Mandal’s cut lip.
“Hell, I seen worse. Arvan.”
“Ya Ma?”
“Ya help Betty here to her room. Geet the medical kit, see iffin’ ya can get some butterflies on them cuts. They don’t seem ta be deep.”
Mava looks at Sue, back at Betty, back at Arvan.
“Iffin’ she needs more docterin’, come get me. I’m gonna have some words with Sue.”
Sue gulps. The guillotine has missed her neck.
Art, Arvan release her; she is stunned to the bottom of her bloody boots. She turn’s, slumps against the bar, watches as Mava assists Betty to her feet.
Feeling better, brain toilet flushed, Mandal weaves, sees sparks as Arvan catches her, turn’s her towards the bar. Mandal peeks at Sue, winks at her with her good eye, smiles. Sue crushed, gawks at her as she passes by.
Mava turns and to Sue’s surprise steps before her, tenderly asks.
“Come on, Sue...This about Billy, ain’t it?”
Suddenly, in a rare moment of being a vulnerable female, tears spill down Sues face as she whispers.
“Tell ya the truth, Ma. I jest ain’t sure what happened?”
Then, first time any one can remember, Sue begins to sob. More surprises. Mava moves, wraps her arms around her, hugging her trembling body.
Mava, many bullets roving around her hand gun brain sighs, for she know when love is involved that girls do the damnedest and silliest things.
Closer
AFTER THE phone call from command central in NJ, it had taken Bobby’s crew about a day to get to Billingsey, Kentucky. Someone talked to someone who talked so someone who talked to a Trooper, thus they had triangulated on Billingsey’s bait/gas/convenience store.
Driving non stop, it had taken almost 24 hrs to get there. Why the whore had decided to get off the Interstate there, Bobby guessed gas. It was as good as a guess as any.
Bobby had found everyone extremely cooperative, especially a grinning rube of a red hair boy who kept glancing at the parking lot. He was wondering who the football team in the black jackets were, lingering around other black pretty cars, a huge man seeming to be their silent lunch pin. The boy had told him about the pretty girl in the Cadillac, near accident with the Kentucky State Trooper, the great tip. It had been a few days earlier, he had reckoned.
Bobby thanks the nice kid, gives him a C-note which gets gee whiz gushers and grins from the kid.,
Bobbyeturns to his Crew, leaning against their cars, Dim Dim eating a leg of turkey, which was a Kentucky specialty.
During their road trip, two things had upgraded since they left York, PA.
Dim Dim had exchanged demolishing entire armies of Snickers, for Hostess Cup Cakes, telling Bobbie he liked the creamy filling better.
Second, was that an anonymous phone call to the The Pony Club by an unidentifiable female voice had been made, asking about one, dead Onetta Marnett.
The Cup cakes for Dim Dim were no big deal, for there were millions of them everywhere they went.
Bobby was happy for Dim.
Finding the whore, well that was another matter. Though, he still thought she was moving west. Of course he couldn’t assume that, so he was going to fan his crews out in a tight web.
Back at the Town Car, Bobby digs through the console, finds a large map of the USA. He turns, moves through his scrum of biceps and lays it out on the hood. Like in a huddle at a NFL game, his crew of behemouths stand around him, except Dim Dim, he can’t read.
Until they get more information from Tony’s connections at Union 34, The Brotherhood of Electrician Workers, who had wired the telephone company, Bobby was going to be conscientious in his search and above all thorough.
Points at the map, lines drawn, distances figured, places to go, things to do, things to see, tight V north, south. He and one other team were heading towards California, making a bee line through Texas.
Send a crew west, towards Arkansas. Another lower on the map would move through Oklahoma.
He, Dim Dim along with Tommy, Paulie Jr. would move down through Mississippi, New Orleans, stopping here, there, chatting, showing pics and, then move towards Texas, until they got the word from Tony, hopefully from another phone call.
After Bobby was clear on his routes and his crew had absorbed everything into their lead plug heads, he loads Dim into the Lincoln. He makes sure the big fella has his seat belt on, sits there thinking.
T’s are crossed, I’s are dotted.
Wire cutters, blow
torch, wax pot, new addition, shot guns, hand guns, garrotes, carton of cupcakes for Dim, Bobby is in a good mood. He has everything right in place to butcher her as soon as he finds her.
From out of no where a new plan has surfaced in his head. It is one of change and Evolution, and that plan concerned Tony.
The weak fucks never inherit the Earth. Bobby now knows that more than ever.
Some times boys killed their fathers, Bobby knew that.
Yet he was at the moment not quite certain of his new plan or was he certain that he would murder his father.
His father; The Fat Man.
Stitch It Up
AFTER the fun adrenaline rush left, also the pleasure from the beating, much like love, the pain set in.
Better that, than thinking of what she had done to Onetta.
Butt on the bed, bare feet on the floor, cunt, ribs, mound, face, lips, everything thumped is either swollen, slit, blue bruised, bleeding or dripping blood.
Arvan, just sick, seeing her face, his heart imploded, layers a butterfly stitch to her cut eyebrow.
Pressing her fingers to her breast, she winces, moans and moves her fingers to her ribs.
“Fuck.”
Sore, but not broken, maybe one, same for her shaved mound, groans, real, real hurt everywhere. It had been magnificent. God knows what she would have had to pay a professional for what she just got from Sue for free. The fact, an innocent Sue, like Onettta was left to pick up the after birth; well, those are ancillary things.
“Ouch.”
“Sit still, Betty.”
Doctor Arvan lovingly chastises her as he dabs Mercurochrome to her cut up lip.
“Lip, okay, don’t need no stitch.”
Lifting her hand, she touches her eyebrows stitch, cheekbone butterfly, swollen blackening left eye, her lips and, then smiles. Arvan thinks the smile is for him.
It’s not. It’s for herself.
“Ya gonna be jest fine, Betty.”
He stares at her like a worshiper of The Mona Lisa might after it has just been sliced to ribbons by some thug with a switch blade.
