by Jimmy Pudge
"Wires man, damn, I’m trying to be surreptitious and you got to make me shout shit out like that."
That was fucked up, we were boys, but he is one paranoid fuck so I extended my arms and let him go to town, when he was satisfied I went to sit down, and he said something I thought I misheard.
"What?"
"Drop your pants man?"
"What the fuck, get one of your hoes up here if you wanna see some skin. I ain’t with that shit."
"No man, some narcs and shit be hiding wires by their junk."
News to me. However I did need his help and I have been known to do some drive by moonings in my day. Ain’t no biggie, I dropped my pants.
"And your draws Handy."
I just shook my head and dropped my drawers he looked and shook his head slowly.
"What now, you paranoid fuck?"
"Man, Handy, what did you do with all that money?"
"What money?"
"The money for the penis enlargement or the dick pump you should have bought. That is one sorry little sumbitch, looks like a skin tag."
I couldn't help but laugh, I pulled up my draws and pants, and sat down, "fuck you, tweezer dick!"
He laughed and went over to the fridge, "I wouldn't talk Handy my man." He brought back a couple of beers and sat in a big leather chair to the left of me, he handed me a beer, and sat in the chair and pressed a few buttons, it started vibrating. I thought to myself, fuck I need to snag one of those for myself.
I opened my beer and took a long pull, he did the same and laid he bottle down on the table and pointed at my crotch. "Did you wet yourself?"
I touched the front of my pants. "Oh, no, sweet tea."
"Awww, I love you too sugar plum."
"No I spilled some sweet tea on myself."
"Goddamn, you stopped at Hardees didn't you and you didn't bring me shit. You fat fuck. You owe me a couple of fried bologna sandwiches for breakfast."
"No doubt."
"So, what do you need, brother?"
I drained the rest of my beer and laid it all out for him.
#
After about forty minutes and a six-pack, I pretty much laid out everything I knew. He smoked another blunt and his eyes glazed over. He didn’t say anything while I was talking to him, pouring my heart out, nothing, no nodding or questions, just a blank stare. I was seriously having second thoughts about coming here. I mean, what the fuck was he going to do to help me, I wasn’t even sure he could, or even would help me. Hell, I wasn't sure he would help me or just be a liability and then, he sat up as if someone goosed him with an electric cattle prod.
"So, this guy Mal, her ex, or whatever he was too her, was her partner in crime. They have a fight, she runs off with the score, and he ices her, takes his shit and disappears. Setting you up for a patsy in the process."
I was amazed at the stoner’s clarity.
I nodded, "pretty much."
"So you are about to get busy, you pass out, she must have wondered what the fuck, got up and decided to out for help, then she was probably attack and he drags her body back lays it next to and bam, he finds what he is looking for, got her out of the picture, got you setup and he’s home free. Nice setup, if it had worked."
"Thank god it didn't, man. I would be dropping the soap for the cell block by now if it didn't."
"First thing is I will put my girls on this Mal dude. He don't have any gash so he’s probably gonna be looking to get laid and my girls are the best from here to Macon and back. Unless he's split totally we will get a line on him."
I gave my boy a pound. In the back of my mind I knew he'd come through with what I needed, he always said he worked better when he was crocked. I guess he was right. I looked up at him to find that he had already nodded off. I thought about waking him, but I figured he’d be cranky as fuck and have a mean ass case of the munchies. I guess I was off to Ingels to get some munchies for him, it was the least I could do. Well, I guess I would have some too, but I would act like it was all a selfless act. I wonder how this guy stayed so damned skinny. I knew he dealt some coke as well as running the ladies, but I wasn't sure how often he’d get high on his own supply. Reminded me of the Biggie Smalls song, “Ten Crack Commandments.” Good song, but I was getting off track. I wondered if he kept the shit in his apartment. I figured if he did, it may be good if I left my heat in the truck other than bring it in his crib, if the cops came in any sentence would be stiffer with a burner on the scene.
I got down to the truck, and I opened my bag and took out the gun and the extra clip and looked for a good hiding spot. There was a fake backseat that some skinny bastard could fit in I guess, so I shoved it under the seat back there, made sure I could reach it from the drivers seat. Yep, it was actually perfect. I could just lean back a little and get my hand on its grip. I got out of the truck and walked toward the store, and doubled back. I reached into the truck and took my gun and shoved it the back of my jeans. I just hoped I didn’t shoot my ass off, or prayed that it didn’t fall out while I was in the store, but I felt better having it on my person, than leaving it in the truck where I couldn’t get to it when I needed it most. Damn, I hated being paranoid, I wondered how my cuz could smoke all that weed and be paranoid all the time.
When I got into the Ingels the first thing I did was walk over to the Photo area where they had batteries and shit and some of those disposable cell phones. I bought one and walked outside. I hadn't had a cigarette in a while and was feeling good, but I needed one. I saw this young fine woman standing outside using her cell phone and made the universal sign for cigarette, which I noticed was similar to the sign of wanting to eat pussy. I guess I gave her the wrong sign and she smacked me and walked away. I should have left my tongue inside my mouth. The next time I was successful. I bummed a menthol off of a vet who was outside selling some shit for the VFW, I threw in a buck for his generosity. I lit it and took a long pull. Then, chocked my ass off. It was horrible, who the fuck smokes menthol. Beggars can’t be choosers though I continued to smoke as I opened the phone and activated it and dialed the Dollar Inn.
After the third ring Marcia answered.
"Dollar Inn, if you're paying more, you’re paying too much. Marica speaking, can I help you?"
I decided to fuck with her a little.
"Damn sugar, you got a purty voice."
I could see her blushing. "Why thank you, how can I help you?"
"You could start by giving me your number darlin?"
There was a pause.
"Fuck you Handy, what do you want?"
Damn, she was good. "What gave me away?"
"The way you say Darlin' you have this drawl and you never pronounce the g, its annoying and well, I knew it was you. What do you need? I’m busy."
"Does the caller ID show this number?"
"Yes, another burner phone?"
"You got it darlin. Can you take it down and call me if that douchebag or anyone else comes looking for me, or if anything weird goes down. Can you do that?"
There was a long pause. "What you gonna do for me, Handy?"
"Give you a foot massage."
"Like hell, I don't want your nasty ass hands touching my feet. That's just gross."
I took a final pull on the cigarette and flicked it to the ground and looked at my hands. The nails were a bit gnarly but they were clean. She didn't know what she was talking about. I was about to offer some other services to her when she finally replied.
"When this shit is over and if you still have a job you take over about, lets say five shifts of mine, without question, and whenever I ask."
Fucking ball-severing bitch. No way, that's fucking outrageous, that's fucking insane. That's fucking out of the fucking question!
"Sure darlin, you got it," was what came out of my mouth though.
I could see her ass smiling through the phone, yeah take advantage of a man when he's down. I was gonna ask her what happens if I got fired, but figured, fuck it, then shed be assed o
ut and it would serve her right. I said goodbye and clicked off. I checked out the phone, I had like a thousand minutes left, and had a car charger. I stuffed the phone and charger into my pocket and walked back inside the store.
While I walked up and down the aisles I had some time to think, and all that I kept going over and over in my head was Claire's sister. I mean how did she all fit into this anyway? Claire had said that Mal didn't want her visiting or she was going to sneak a visit to her while they stopped off wherever they were going on vacation. So how did she fit into this? I mean is she involved, and why did Claire have her passport? That didn't make any sense to me, and I know I should talk to her and find out if she knew anything, but I didn't want to draw Mal into her life too. For all I knew he was eyeballing me and waiting to take me out. I needed to keep her safe until we could find out more. The only way I could think of doing tht was to continue doing exactly what I was doing. I needed to find out why Claire was killed and get some evidence on Mal, and have him arrested, or if it came to it, take care Mal myself.
Chapter 11
The next afternoon I woke up with a box of Pop Tart wrappers covering me, not knowing where I was. It hit me as I gazed unsteadily around the room at all the flashy shit poor men like to buy to appear to be rich men. Ron’s place. The floor covered in snacks, like a fucking tornado had blown through.
“Ron?” I said, my head throbbing as I sat up on the couch and wiped the wrappers off of me.
The apartment was silent. I couldn’t remember too much after the snack run I’d made. We’d eaten everything. I must have gone into a sugar coma. I couldn’t even remember the three-pound bag of M&Ms on the floor.
“Ronald!” I said.
“He’s gone, baby,” a woman said, appearing in the doorway. She came walking into the living room, naked above the waist, her skin smooth and golden, her nipples hidden by the curly locks of hair that fell over her breasts.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Want to watch TV?” she said, bending over in front of me to retrieve the remote control from the TV stand. As she did this, her plump ass tilted up, and her g-string barely covered the hidden treasure between her thighs. A hand reached behind her, her fingers moving the strap to the side, just enough to give me a quick glimpse at what she was working with.
The girl turned around and handed me the remote control.
“Ronald told me to keep you company,” she said, sitting down heavily on the couch beside me.
I turned on the television, trying to keep my eyes away from her perky breasts, but I was failing miserably.
“Anything you want to watch?” I asked, watching her tits.
“What’s on now is fine,” she said, pulling her long, curly hair back, revealing the most perfect pair I have ever seen.
I wiped slobber off my face and turned to the TV, trying to make the rising in my pants go back down.
It didn’t help that her hand fell gently on my crotch.
“Ron told me you were a virgin, that I should take care of you,” she said, smiling.
“That lying bastard. I’m not a virgin.”
“Too bad,” she said, her hand moving away.
“I’m a virgin,” I said.
She got on her knees, unzipped my pants and let out a little laugh. “It isn’t that small.”
“What?” I said.
“Ron said you were packing a two-inch hammer.”
I started to say something, but the girl suddenly turned to the television, a shock of pain roaring through my balls as she left them turning blue.
“Turn it up,” she said.
I turned up the television.
“That’s Silky Smooth!” the girl said.
I looked at the screen and a picture of a young woman that looked a little like Angelina Jolie stared back at me with haunted eyes. Her cheeks were sunken in and there was a dull, lifeless look about her. I had seen this before. We get a lot of prostitutes knocking on doors at the Dollar Inn, usually after midnight, trying to make a little money off the resting truckers. Most of the truckers who stayed with us were long haulers and didn’t see their families for weeks at a time. Most were looking for a little affection. Some were looking for blood sport. Silky Smooth looked like the unlucky whore. The one who got the johns that needed to be rough. She’d probably scene more shit than a seasoned homicide detective. I listened to the broadcaster, a blonde with a nice, round face. An apple pie All-American face, they type of face you’d expect to see in a cheerleader’s uniform, shouting “Fight, fight, fight!” during halftime.
Amber Dawkins was discovered with a gunshot wound early this morning, her legs and hands severed from the body. She currently remains in critical condition. Police are not responding to the grizzly attack at this time. Please stay tuned as further facts develop…
I quit listening. This world was getting so ugly these days. Where was the humanity in anything?
“Hey,” I said, lightly tapping the girl with his big toe. “Hey, you gonna suck me off or what?”
The girl turned, her beautiful brown eyes wide and wet, tears rolling down her honey cheeks. “Silky Smooth is my best friend,” she said.
Shit, shit, shit! I thought, putting my dick back in my britches and zipping up. Life was so cruel.
“I’m sorry. Life can be cruel sometimes.”
The girl nodded her head, got to her feet and sat beside me.
“Could you just hold me for awhile?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She lowered her head on my shoulder, and I could smell coconut in the soft, curly hair that scattered across his chest. She started sobbing, large gasps.
“There, there,” I said, my hand gliding down her arm. I stopped at her hand, took it in mine, and waited until the sobbing had subsided. Then I let go of her hand, put my fingers between her thighs and brushed them up to her underwear.
“Stop it!” she said.
I frowned, removed my hand and turned the television channel. Someone was frying chicken on the Food Network.
“I’m so sorry,” I said after a minute of watching the cook put several thighs in a bag of flour and shake the bag around. “I wouldn’t have tried playing with your box, I just thought it would make you feel better. I just wanted to make you forget your friend for a moment, you know?”
“You’re so sweet,” the girl said, getting up off the couch.
“Where you going?”
“I’m going to get dressed and leave.”
“Oh,” I said, my nuts throbbing like they’d been blasted with a sledgehammer.
The front door opened, and Ronald came inside, throwing his leather bomber jacket on the floor. I noticed the elbows had tassels, like the jackets old cowboys wore in black and white movies.
“Fuck, man,” Ronald, pacing around the room. “What the fuck have you gotten me into, man?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus, Handy. When you passed out last night I had my best girl do some asking around on your behalf, find out who this Mal prick is and all. Silky Smooth, my number one product, man! She got fucked up, bro, asking about that psychotic motherfucker that killed your girl.”
“I heard about it on CNN.”
Ron’s eyes went wide. “CNN? Oh shit, man. Do you know what kind of trouble this means for me? The cops are going to find out she was working the streets, and it’s going to lead back to me. Shit.”
“I’m really sorry, Ronald,” I said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I got a call from another one of my bitches this morning. She saw the whole thing go down. Said a weird looking man approached her, asked her if she was the one asking about Mal. She told him fuck no, and he moved on to Silky Smooth who was standing less than a black away, smoking a cigarette.
“Laura said she could overhear that voice, sounded like a fucking nightmare, asked Silky if she was the one who wanted to know about Mal. Silky said yes, and he pulled out a machete and started whacking body parts o
ff her. Laura said she ran, screaming, out of the alley and got on a phone, called the police. Silky would be dead if Laura hadn’t of been there. Can you imagine, having both your feet and hands chopped off with a machete? What kind of sick sonofabitch does that?”
I could feel myself getting sick. This sounded like something you’d only read about in a novel or see in a movie. Went to show you real life was stranger than fiction.
“I went to see Silky Smooth, cuz,” Ronald said, his face more serious than I had ever seen it before. “She was in ICU, bandaged all up. She looked like a mummy, arms and legs wrapped up in white bandages, steel bars holding her limbs up, but she could still talk. She told me some things, man. Some horrible things about your boy, Mal.”
I cleared my throat, the pain in my nuts completely gone as if it had never been there at all. “What did she say?”
“Oh, man. He’s bad news. Bad, bad news. His family’s rich, right, but they don’t want nothing to do with him. He’s got this credit card, can buy whatever he wants, and the only condition is that he stays away from home.”
“So what?” I said. “He’s a spoiled brat?”
“Far from it,” Ronald said. “Apparently he’s been in and out of mental institutions most of his life. He liked setting fires when he was a child. At eight, he killed a family of four that was staying in his parents’ guesthouse to ‘watch them burn.’ Silky said this guy she spoke with told her he suffered from paranoid schizophrenia and is a suspect in about a dozen different homicides.”
“Jesus,” I said. “Who did she speak with?”
“One of her johns. Homicide detective. Someone who knows all about your friend, Mal.”
The girl walked back into the living room, now fully clothed. She looked really sad. I felt really bad for trying to finger her during her time of need.
“Did you hear about Silky, Ron?” she asked.
“Yeah. I went to the hospital to see her.”
“They’re taking visitors?” the girl asked.
“Sure.”
“Maybe I should go. Do you think Silky will want to see me?”
“Sure,” Ronald said again.
