by Jane Brooke
Arvan moves quickly towards HIS Betty’s Cadillac, his plan, a basic one. Fix the damn thing as fast as he can, grab his doll, hit the asphalt and live happily ever after.
Billy, hesitates, looks at Betty’s door and sees nothing of his angel. He walks through the bars front door. Sue sees him, leaps the bar, moves to her beau, leap’s into his arms. “Hi honey, sure did miss ya.”
Billy peeks, no Betty, good, squeezes her ass. Sue swoons, kisses him on the mouth. Billy backs her away roughly, says.
“Me too babe. Be back in a sec...Gotta talk ta Ma.”
“Sure Honey.” She breaths; shes got her man back again.
Into the kitchen, Billy plops the back pack on the chopping block, grins. “Hey Ma.”
“Son, tell me.”
Billy struts standing still, unzips the pack, tilt’s hordes of cash at her. Mava’s blues glint, Art, in the wings, simply watches.
“Was they was everythin’ Ronnie Gee, said they was?”
Billy scratches his head, says. “Guess we owed ole Ronnie, somethin’. It a better then we thought, Ma.
They got a syndicate, that’s what they call it. They’ll buy all a we got, more iffin’t we can produce it. “Two hundred grand here, Ma.”
“YA done good son, real good.”
Mava smiles and thinks just maybe she ain’t gonna have Art kill her child.
That quickly changes when he asks. “Ya seen Betty around?”
Groans, Mava sighs deeply, ticks eyes at Art, back at her idiot son, at her fire hydrant of power.
“Ya leave Betty alone, ya hear. Thing’s is runnin’ nice. Don’t fuck it up. Did ya get yer brothers his special things, Betty’s car parts too?”
Billy, feelin’ he ain’t gettin’ No Respect and being treated like a child and all, snarls. “Don’t ya worry bout the Ugly Boy, he be fine.”
Mava, irate, looses it, lifts her hand to slap him, only to find in mid stroke her hand encased in Billy’s grinding grip.
“You ain’t gonna hit me Ma. I ain’t no little boy no more.”
In suspended animation, Mava, Billy lock wills. Art begins to fondle his cleaver.
Clamping his dear Ma’s wrist, Billy peeks at Art, pulls a 45 from his back belt. Leering at ART, he grins, points it at his huge belly, cocks the gun with his thumb, say’s. “Come on, fat man. Let’s see iffin’ fat can stop lead. Come get some.”
Art, zero fear on his face, eyes ticking at Mava, fondles his hatchet, just leering now at Billy. Mava knows this ain’t the time, instantly unhinges the situation, smiles, lowering her hand and sweetly says.
“It’s okay Art darlin’. Billy jest head strong, like his daddy, ain’t ya son. I’m proud a ya, don’t mean no harm, K?”
Art relaxes. Billy smiles, shoves his hand gun into the waist of his jeans, relaxes, says. “Everythin’ all good Ma, no need ta be hittin.”
She reaches out, lovingly touches his face.
“A course honey, yer right. Yer ole Ma jest a bit tense. Am real proud a ya, Son.”
Billy, proud from his Ma’s words gets all human as he says. “Yeah, Ma. Jason’s stuff is in the truck. Betty’s car parts too. It’s all good.”
“That’s good son, real good. Have yer brother get right on that Betty’s car, so she can geet. Ya mind son doin’ that fer yer tired old MA?” She sighs, tired like, “Can ya do that fer me my big handsome boy?”
“Sure, Ma.No problema.” Again with the Spanish.
He glances at the money, winks, turns, turns back at the opening to the bar.
“Take good care a that money, right Ma?”
She sweet smiles him, watches him walk to the bar, grab a beer, clicks it open, drinks it down. Sue looks on in awe at how big and strong her man/boy is.
Billy, feeling it, grabs Sue, drives his tongue down her throat, grabs her ass, dry humps her, throws his head back, and laughs. Sue, besides herself, never happier just admires him so.
Mava, exhaling her grief, her fatigue and with a casual smile tacked to her lips, turns to Art, and seethes.
“When the time is right, kill them all.”
Enigmas
JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, said.
“In everything, we must first look to the end.”
Of course, as hours pass and some semblance of sanity has returned to the COX clan that is the farthest thing roaming in Mandals mind.
In the dusk, no one notices as two horses, their riders filter out of the desert, return to the stables, dissolve like enigmas into the barn.
Upon returning, they both notice that the brothers have returned. She notices, to her delight, that Arvan is buried under the hood of her Cadillac, which pleases her. She knows exactly why he is working so hard, so industrious, which she did not tell Jason, for she is no longer that girl any longer.
Some things left unsaid when a girl is finally in love, are better words not whispered.
They sit, talking in the barn, music from the bar, resonating, motor cycles, vociferous, crashing in, shouts, laughter, everywhere, it does not match their world. None of this matters to Jason Cox, except for the knowledge that her car is being repaired, thus, her escape.
They sit, along the candle flames, on his mattress, holding hands. He listens to her wonderful voice, adoring her animation, how her lips move forming words. She speaks passionately of their time together as soon their life together as she envisions it in her gifted mind will be perfect.
He nods, he lies, he agrees, smiles, nods more, knowing he loves her completely enough to let her go.
Her plan for their salvation is insane, yet sane to her. He says little, his heart infringed; such joy in his soldier’s heart.
Escape in the Cadillac, she tells him, and a life, a good life for him with her, hidden from the world if that is what he desires. Everything between them will be beautiful, she whispers as she kisses him.
He fights laughing, not because he disrespects her, but for another reason.
He imagines them, speeding down the Interstate, top down, hair flowing, she smiling, he the monster, a bizarre scene that is so outrageous, only she can believe it and he adores her for it.
That she truly believes what she is saying almost makes him believe it himself. The fact that he will vanish into the desert and allow himself to be eaten by the coyotes, before doing such a thing, is a certainty.
A little more time passes, he calms her, nods “Yes’s” to everything and, then they stand, hold one another, kisses shared and they part.
He exhales, coughs violently tastes the blood on his lips, smiles a knowing smile as he sit’s in front of his computer. He stares at the glowing green screen, and whispers. “Soon, very soon.”
Then he begins to type.
Not a poem, nor a sonnet, but, perhaps his final epitath for his life time
Fucking Think, Will Ya
WITH MORE determination then any other time in her life, she creeps across the stretch between barn and Motel. Back on the porch, fav hangout, sweeping eyes, like a snipers laser scope, coloring so many targets.
Billy, Nada, which is a bad thing. Arvan judicially fixing her car is a good thing.
Hit the road, in the morning, no later, a must. Corner Arvan, ramp him up, fuck his brain up, another must do. No Italians, that’s good. Hit the road, with Jason, no looks back, get him to a hospital, knows he sick, no dummy, that’s even better.
Luck has held, no gangsters, shes still got her fingernails, that in its self, a miracle; first things first.
Angel, she completely forgot about her, she is riveted in guilt. Through the door, Angel explodes, air born, hits her chest, sending her flying onto the bed. Complete pathos, insanity, yelp, yelp, yelp, lick, lick, lick, chewing at her bomber jacket.
All the stuff, her little mind, abandoned again, l
ost, hungry, kicked again, things dogs see in their worst fucking nightmares.
Mandal, feeling horrible, stands, takes her to her water bowl, sighs, still some water in it, thank god. On the pillow, pets, words, Angel calms. She moves to her small fridge, takes hamburger, a chunk of bread, shreds them, mixes them up, lays them in Angels bowl, says. “GO.”
ZIP, angel, tiny teeth munching, rotor blade tail spinning, eat’s voraciously as Mandal watches on. Moves to the bed, sits, boots on the ground, she stares into the mirror. She looks different, perhaps softer, around the eyes, she giggles to herself, whispers. “God. Fucking, I guess is good for an ex whore.” More giggles.
She feels ashamed by her thoughts, but Jason Cox was no altar boy and that was a sudden and welcomed surprise. Enough, back to grifter thoughts, though she still is not certain how it will all eventually go down.
Mava, her cast iron stove boyfriend, should be no problem, unless she decides to steal their money. Billy, Arvan, entirely two different gigs.
The present, NEW GIRL, BETTER GIRL, sitting on the bed decides, if violence arrives, between Arvan, Billy, Billy, her, jealousy drives men to hatred and, then she will murder them both, in their sleep.
She is a better girl, she laughs, that is if they ever sleep.
Who dies first, them, her, is just a coin flip, she is certain about that.
Of course everybody wants everybody dead. How does she possibly begin to even know that bizarre, scenario.
Ronnie Thoughts
TAKING CARE of Ronnie Gee, unpleasant task, but fer Billy, bidness, is bidness and though he had almost beaten him to death, Billy, man of his word, forgives him, will pay him, what he owed him. He don’t want to piss his new bidness partners off. Like with Speedo, Billy plays it straight, unless fucked with and, then murder usually comes, never his own.
Moving down the rungs of the iron ladder, boot on the cement, inches from his Betty’s nifty lighter. Reaching out, he hits a switch, looks out through the red haze, smiles in disbelief.
Mounds a white, drying in the sifters, Doc Earls, been workin’ again.
That pleases him also. He’s wonderin’ if some a them gremlins eating away the Doc’s brain seeped outta his ears, was helpin’ him. Because he wants ta crush his testicles, makin’ them inta ping pong balls for the boys in Corpus got a new technical boy fer I’m, he don’t; soon though fer he won’t need the Doc no more.
Knowing he owed Ronnie Gee 2 kilos, pay is pay, Billy moves, loads a small backpack, in the pack 2 kilos go.
Thoughts swaying, never far from his Betty, his future wife, he turns, walks back to the ladder knowin’ if he don’t fuck her soon, his nuts are gonna crack.
Sue, whats he gonna do with her? Well the words, Hit the fucking road, Bitch come to mind. He giggles, feeling his dick getting hard, just thinkin’ bout Betty, he moves.
Of course fate is a screwball kinda thing, can hinge on something trivial. Maybe, like a dropped lighter, while goofing in an Amphetamine Lab, playing submarine commander in a hell hole called Inferno Flats.
Putting one cowboy boot on a rung, Billy’s other boot hits something metal.
There’s fate again.
What ever it is, it goes “CLANG” and bangs into the wall, behind the ladder, into the dark alcove’s wall.
Annoyed, Billy stops dreamin’ about his gal, angrily seethes “FUCKIN’ ARVAN.”
Boots, on the ceee-meent, he twists around, grabs a flashlight from a bracket, kneels and begins poking a beam of light around. He sees somethin’ metallic, reaches out, grabs it, pulls, stares in disbelief at it.
Standing, he guffaws. “What the fuck,”
Billy, his brain works in mysterious ways, organizes his thought slow, real slow. Wheels clicking, stopping, slotting, spinning, clicking, “CLICK” the safe opens.
“Well I’ll be all god damn.”
It’s not complicated stuff, no Greek pictures fucking little boys. No Hitler burning the Jews in his ovens, just basic stuff, like his dick.
Several scenarios, like mold passes, mushes through his brain.
A lug in love can make a fellas mind all loopy and such. He’s tryin’ to spin it, so to give her the benefit of the doubt. Because if he don’t then she’s been lying to him, sneaking around, he even thinks she may be an undercover narc.
The magma kiss, her silk body pressing against him, keeps him hoping for the best, still in hopin’ complete denial. Like acid, shes eatin’ his big ole heart, not ta mention his even bigger ole dick.
Even for an Idiot, reality must kick in sometime.
Brow crinkles, he revolves her lighter over and over in his palm, maybe the wind blown it in, looking for it to tell him he is wrong; no wind comes. He lowers his face, his teeth grind, temper boiling, a little homicidal grin, he done figured it out.
Looks like no marriage fer the princess. After he rapes her, beats her up and, then kills her, well looks like before they get hitched, they will already be divorced.
Nothing worse than a lover bein’ jilted, especially Billy who now has a broken heart.
He crushes the lighter in his volcanic fist, inhales anger and, then begins to move up the ladder. Something is in his mind, a sobering reality that she done made a fool outta him.
So much for lovers, their dreams, just goes ta show a fella that someone knew what they was sayin’ when they said.
“Fall in love with a whore, and you get royally fucked UP everytime.”
Count Down
MONDAY NIGHT, the bar is loping along.
Real people have real lives, not conducive to being hammered 24/7 if any semblance of productivity is to be found in them.
There we’re no oil me, no Mex-Cans in their colorful clothes, just Tommy and Garth, Billy’s number one, two enforcers, hanging out. When dealing with Ronnie Gee it’s never a bad thing to have extra fire power around. Both men were armed with handguns, are sipping beers, kicking back. Under the pool table is a sawed off twelve gauge shot gun, set within a bracket.
The calm before the storm has arrived, though perhaps, a perfect storm it will be.
About nine-thirty, Mava, Art are ready to call it a night, close early, for there is some serious head board banging planned for the evening.
With the bar semi dead, Mava decides to set Sue down to Berks, get the few important things she missed on the first swing around the grocery store, mostly breakfast stuff, eggs, gallon a milk and such.
Chatting at the front door, Mava says her last words to Sue, hands her twenty bucks. Sue says thanks. Slung over her shoulders are Billy’s leather saddle bags. Turning, she stalls, along with Mava, watches Billy powering towards her.
He does not look in a very good mood.
“Whats up Ma?”
“Sue gonna go down ta Berks, fer some breakfast stuff. Yer gonna watch the bar fer her, fer an hour or so.”
Groaning, agitated, squeezing the life out of Betty’s lighter, he gives thinkin’ up. He’s just damn too tired of thinkin’ so much. He slumps, wanting no further grief from his mother.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“I’m gonna take the bike, baby.”
Sue moves in, tries an arm lock. Billy annoyed, slap’s her arm away, barges through the bars door.
Raised eyebrows from Mava, she is sick to death of her embecil son. Sue looks hurt, Mava says. “No bother with him, Sue. He just plain loco, that’s all.”
Nodding, Sue exhales her cerebral pain, walks to the garages where Arvan is working on the bitches Cadillac, parked right next to the two choppers.
Ignoring Arvan completely, she saddles the bags, pulls out her leather jacket, dons it, puts on a pair of leather gloves, tugs at her black jeans and, then wraps her hands on the handle bar twist. She kick starts the bike with her boot, revs the engine several times.
<
br /> The bike roars to live, she feels something, turns, see the bitch staring at her from the motel porch.
She seethes as her middle finger goes up, nothing from Betty on the porch. She exhales her rage, looks at Arvan leering at her.
She mouths “Fuck you.”
She gets an idiotic grin from Arvan as he lowers his noggin back into the engine of his Betty’s car. She grabs some bike goggles, slots them on her head and, then roars across the compound, hits the road and rips off towards Berks.
She looks so sexy blasting off doen he asphalt.
Mandal, leaning against her wall, smoking, wonders how Sue would do in the film business, for she is the real thing; a sexed up violent biker bitch, with real fire in her soul.
Exhaling smoke, she begins to move towards Arvan.
Nosy Girl
AS THE VULTURES FLY, Berks is about ten minutes down the road.
As Sue roars down the asphalt, long legs extended, boots against the bar, she enjoys the moment. The evening air, twirls her blond ponytail, her thick black leather jacket, gloves keeping her warm. Riding bikes is one of the perks of her chosen life style. She has her own bike, but it down for the moment. She loves her back being pressed against her mans sissy bar.
She loves being Billy old lady.
Her life is not perfect, rocky and violent at times, but it is the best shes ever had, sans the Betty problem, which worries her to no end.
The freedom of the road, good fuckin’ from her man, food, a roof over her head, she smiles thinking how much she likes her imperfect life. Now, only if the psycho blond bitch would leave town, making her life just so much fucking better.
Pulling in under the neon lights of Berks, she stalls the bike, kicks the stand, saddle bags over her shoulder, a tall Texas drink of water. She walks in, pretty much happy with the way things are goin’.
A wave, a smile at Kate, a wave back, Kate taking care of a customer at the register, everything seems OK. She grabs a small wire basket, checks her list twice like a kid waiting for Santa as she begins to shop.
