Rock Me Baby

by Jesse Jordan

  I think, then nod. “I know a place we can go.”

  It's not quite a dive bar, but it's no gastropub brewery either. In fact, Jimmy's Tavern is just that, an old-fashioned place that has a few snacks and a lot of alcohol on the back bar. I haven't been here since before I started using my BiPAP, but still, Jimmy recognizes me and gives me a wave. “Hey Ian, long time no see.”

  “Jimmy. Two bottles of beer, if you don't mind.”

  Jimmy nods, there isn't a reason to ask what kind of beer. Jimmy's got two types of beer, one on tap and one in unmarked brown glass bottles. If you don't like that... well, there's a lot of places you can go find what floats your boat.

  Mary's calmed down some, but still looks depressed when I bring her beer over, setting it down. “Three's your limit, and I'm just having one,” I tell her, probably something Jimmy wouldn't want to hear. “But it'll help some.”

  “Thanks,” Mary says, taking a pull and wincing. I can understand, it's a pretty sharp beer. “It's not horse piss. Not Arrogant Bastard level, but it's got some kick.”

  “Nope. I had some stronger stuff when we went to Tijuana a few times, but Jimmy's got a flavor to whatever the hell this is. Hope it helps.”

  “I just keep thinking, I might have fucked up,” Mary says as she sips at her beer. Jimmy brings over a basket of nachos, simple store bought tortilla chips with shredded cheese that he nukes for a minute, but it's better than nothing. “You know, giving her the money.”

  “It was one of the most generous things I've seen,” I admit. “At least, I wouldn't have thought of it.”

  “I wanted to give her a chance, somehow a chance to find freedom,” Mary says, shaking her head. “Maybe a chance at a future, and to let her know she isn't forgotten or unloved.”

  I don't have anything to say to this. Instead, we sit while Mary finishes her first beer and I nurse my single bottle. Jimmy brings over a second, and I think of a question. “Mary, what are you going to school for?”

  Mary stops, her mouth twitching in a little smile. “What, I don't look like someone who's going to become a rocket scientist?”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “No, although that doesn't mean anything. I finished high school and then went my own way from education. The rest of it has all been self-study, books and stuff like that. Actually, all of us are the same way. Joey's kind of a bookworm though, lots of business reading on his part. But what has you in school?”

  Mary thinks, then shakes her head. “It sounds stupid maybe, but... I'd like to go into social work. After what I went through, not just the drugs but all of it, I don't want to see another child deal with what I've lived through. If I learned anything from being in jail, it's that the idea of people being 'born bad' is a bunch of bullshit. The hard part is that right now, by the time society pays any attention to them, most of the folks in the system are on the verge of being fucked up beyond help.”

  “But you still tried to help Brenda,” I note. “You're no bleeding heart, though.”

  “No, I'm no bleeding heart,” Mary agrees. “At least not like a lot of people use the term. Like, I'm not trying to talk shit about your job or the industry that you're in, but there's a lot of motherfuckers in music, TV, movies.... they give all this money, spend all this free time they have doing fuck-all protests, going to benefit galas, sending money to starving kids three continents away. And on the other side of the coin you have these 'pull yourself up by the bootstraps' types who were born with trust funds and would have labeled me a fucking criminal and let me rot in jail for another five or six years doing hard time in San Quentin or in Fed lockup. Both of them are assholes, both of them don't give a real fuck about people right here in Los Angeles that need help. To one side I want to say get off your fucking high horse, hock that Gucci gown and use it and your own fucking work to make the shithole areas of LA better... and to the other side I say that prayers don't do shit. Get off your fucking knees and pick up a fucking hammer. After all, Jesus was supposedly a carpenter.”

  I'm impressed, and I reach across, taking her hand. “That's pretty powerful stuff right there. So, you decided to go to Pierce....”

  “Because it was a place to start,” Mary finishes. “But I'm not powerful or strong, Ian. I'm scared and weak, and I need comfort too sometimes.”

  “You seem pretty strong to me.”

  Mary smiles and gives my hand a squeeze. “Ian, if you think I'm strong it's because you've only seen me when I'm with you. You're the best thing that's happened to me in... well, I think ever. I think that's why Carl hates you so much.”

  “What is it with him?” I ask, shaking my head. “Seriously, the guy's fucked up.”

  “That's one way to put it. But Ian, you know because you saw it as a kid. Dealers of all types, they depend on their junkies being weak. Carl needs his junkies to be weak, dependent on the candy man. He needs to be the strong one in the relationship. But I found someone stronger, and you make me stronger, Ian. I'm not strong.”

  I shake my head, giving her fingers a squeeze. “No, you had the strength inside you all the time. You just forgot it, or maybe it got buried underneath a bunch of crap that I've helped you clear away.”

  Mary smiles, lifting my hand up to her lips and kissing my knuckles. “Thank you. Ian.... maybe this is fast, but...”

  “I know,” I say, cutting her off. “And I feel the same way. I'm falling for you too.”

  Mary looks at her half a beer left, then shakes her head. “Then take me to your place, Ian. I can think of something a lot better than beer to help me feel safe, comforted, and loved.”

  I nod and toss an extra five on the table for Jimmy before getting up. As we leave, a thought strikes me, and I laugh. “You know, you're broke again.”

  “I know,” Mary says, laughing. “I'll deal with it.”

  Chapter 15

  Mary

  Five days of passion, of warmth and comfort, of waking up in a good bed with a good man, of eating well and going to classes. The TRO came through, and with a CHP station just a quarter mile from Pierce, I've felt good. While I haven't seen Brenda, I hold out hope that she's okay. I've never had life better.

  Right now, though, I need a shower even though it's the middle of the day for Saturday, and as I step into the stall, the water is glorious as it soaks into my hair and runs over my shoulders. I rub my skin before I reach for the body wash, but before I can I hear the stall door open behind me, and a now comfortable, huge presence fills the stall. “Let me do that for you.”

  “So helpful,” I tease, turning around and rubbing Ian's chest. “I thought you were going to mow the back lawn.”

  Ian hums, his hands coming to my breasts and lifting them, his fingers slightly roughened from the outside work and just Ian's natural body. I gasp, reaching down to wrap my hand around his half hard cock and pump it to it’s full glorious thickness, the head nudging against my thigh in the tight confines of the stall. “And this is why I decided to mow the lawn tomorrow.”

  “Well, my lawn is perfectly manicured,” I tease as Ian's right hand slips between my legs to my still smooth, silky pussy. His finger slips between my lips and strokes as Ian leans in, kissing my neck. “Mm... see?”

  The water combines with the heat of his lips and the stroking of his finger to leave me nearly unable to stand it feels so good. I sag against the wall, held up just by the tile and Ian's powerful hand as he slips another finger inside me, literally holding me almost like a bowling ball as his lips find their way up to my ear. “There was something else that brought me inside.”

  “Oh God...” I moan, trying to form words and to hold onto his strong shoulders. “What?”

  “Something that I want to say,” Ian rumbles, taking his fingers out to turn me around. His cock presses against my ass, and while I'm nowhere near ready to try that yet, the idea lights a naughty, dark desire inside me that has me pushing back into him.

  “What?” I ask, gasping when Ian adjusts himself so that his cock slips b
etween my legs, rubbing over my lips. “Teasing me.”

  “A little, but first,” Ian says, lifting me somehow, “I wanted to say... I love you.”

  It's all I need and I bend down, gasping as Ian fills me in a slow, steady stroke, the water feels like needles hitting my back. “Ian... oh Ian, I love you too...”

  We move, his cock filling me again and again as he thrusts into me from behind, the water and his hands and the words sending my brain into overload. Years ago, heroin dug a hole in my brain, deep in the animal part of me that can't be touched by logic, only held back by force of will... and Ian's filled it. Not with his cock, although as he pounds me I swear I can feel it all the way from my ass up my spine to my head, but with his heart and his love. I know it's not totally true, there's always going to be that part of me... but with Ian's love, I can overcome it.

  “That’s it baby,” Ian growls as he pushes me up against the tile, his hips smacking my ass. I can’t resist his power, but he holds back just enough so that I know I’m helpless to him, while at the same time I’m protected. His hand holds my shoulder and neck as he pumps in and out of me, an odd angle since he’s so much taller but he’s still thrilling me. His cock rubs again and again over the deep places inside me, my eyes rolling back as the deep rolling waves of bliss build up, so large that I’m losing control of my body and unable to do a damn thing about it.

  His hips speed up, faster and faster, and I'm crushed under a wave of sensation as I start coming, squeezing and milking his cock as Ian gasps and pulls me tight, coming hard inside me. It's beautiful, feeling his hot come fill my body, and it's even more special as he whispers those magic words over and over again.

  I shiver, the water heater's run dry and Ian's shower goes from hot water to ice cold in about ten seconds when that happens, and even Ian hisses in slight pain as the cold water runs down my body to drip onto his cock and balls. “Time to towel off.”

  I laugh, reaching out with a shaky hand to shut off the water and we get out, drying each other sensually, making me smile as his hands carefully dry me.

  Ian smiles and gives my ass a final squeeze before letting me finish drying on my own. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” I say, giving him a quick kiss. As I am squeezing out my hair, I tell him the thoughts on my mind before he so wonderfully distracted me. “I need to go to my apartment and get a few things. And no, you don't get to skip Joey's wedding practice to come with me, I'll meet you guys there.”

  “And how am I supposed to get to Westlake Village for the practice?” Ian asks with a surprised chuckle. “I can read your eyes, Mary, you want to take my car. Do you even have a license?”

  “I most certainly do!” I reply with a laugh. “I haven't driven your car yet because I just like being chauffeured around town by you all the time. But while you were supposedly out doing yard work, I gave Cora a call, she said that Rocky can swing by to pick you up on the way. She said it's not that far out of the way since Joey and Andrea are getting married at that church by the yacht club. I can get to my apartment, get what I need and be at the club in time for the dinner. I'm not in the wedding party anyway, so it's all cool.”

  “Okay, I guess,” Ian muses. “The drive is kinda six of one, half-dozen of the other on the loop. Okay, but you be careful. A TRO is just a piece of paperwork, remember.”

  “And we live in Cali where there's no way I can get a handgun,” I finish for him. “I know, Ian. But I'm going to be okay. I promise you.”

  Ian and I get dressed, and I give him a kiss at the door. “Thank you. And Ian?”

  “Yeah?” he asks as I take the keys for his Caddy from him.

  “I love you. Feels good to say that.”

  He smiles and strokes my face, nodding. “Feels nearly as good to hear it. I love you too.”

  Driving Ian's car is a pleasure, and I put on one of my favorite songs from him and the guys, You Won't See It Coming. It's not one of their most famous; in fact, it was never released as a single even, but it has one of Ian's longest drum solos. He drives most the song, Rocky's lyrics just adding to it, while Joey barely does anything. When I mentioned it to Joey the other day as he and I talked on the phone and he formally invited me to the wedding, he laughed, saying he wasn't upset at all. He's got enough epic guitar solos in his opinion.

  I'm still careful as I enter my neighborhood, taking advantage of the fact that the Caddy has tinted windows. Pulling into my parking lot, I'm glad for the first time to take Ian's offer to help me out with a new place to live. Even getting out of the car makes me feel twitchy, nervous that a boogeyman in a silver cross is going to hop out of the afternoon shadows. I need a new apartment.

  Later. I go upstairs and clean out the things that I want, barely another bagful, and make a mental note to call the apartment manager. I hope he won't bitch too much about me not giving a full month's notice considering that I'm leaving the furniture behind. But, he can rent it out as a furnished place now. I get my last personal item, a spoon from the County Jail mess hall that one of the guards let me put in my personal items as a reminder of what not to come back to, and just as I put it in my backpack, my phone rings. It's Brenda.

  Hope fills my chest, maybe she's gotten herself out, maybe she's calling me from San Diego, or Phoenix, or Salt Lake City. Anywhere but Los Angeles for now. Still, I worry a little, but I try to keep the hope fixed in my mind as I answer her call. “Hey Brenda, how's it going babe?”

  “Sorry you dumb bitch, not Brenda,” Carl rasps in my ear, laughing. “You almost got her away from me, but not quite.”

  “What the fuck do you want, Carl?” I ask, my fist clenching. “Let me talk to Brenda!”

  “Oh, I'll let you talk to her,” Carl threatens, still half laughing. “But you have to do it face to face. Come to my loft or Brenda dies. You know where it is, don't you?”

  “I still have the address,” I confirm, desperate. “But you let me talk to her or else.”

  “Fine,” Carl says, and I can hear a beep, he's switched it to a video call. I take my phone away from my ear and look at Carl's crazed eyes, he's high on something himself, although from the way he's breathing I don't think it's smack, I know the effects of smack on someone. “Take a look.”

  The camera turns, and Brenda's cowering in the corner, and I can see the bruise on her face and the blood trickling from her ear. Carl cackles, and I truly worry he's gone off his rocker. “Say hi to Mary, you Chink cunt!”

  “Mary.... run!” Brenda whines, her words cut short when Carl's foot comes out and kicks her in the low back. Carl turns the phone back to me, grinning.

  “You run, she dies. You call the cops, she dies. You bring your creamy little ass over here, and she has a chance to live. You have one hour.”

  The call goes dead, and I move, I don't have time for fear. I grab my backpack since I clipped Ian's car keys to it and run, leaving my apartment door open with the key still dangling in the slot. Fuck it, I won't be coming back here again anyway.

  I get in the car and pause, pulling up Carl's address. I knew I copied it into my phone's memory back when I thought he was a good guy. It's in an area of Westwood that used to be industrial but has been going through gentrification. Thankfully, it's just off the 405, I can get there in thirty minutes.

  I go to start up the engine, but then stop, forcing myself not to panic. Brenda's in trouble, but if I go in there without help, then we're both going to be dead. I know if I call the cops, Carl's going to carry out his threat, I can't call them. Ian.

  I’m glad I programmed his number into my phone, I can barely put numbers together right now. I force myself to try and calm down, taking deep breaths while I wait for him to pick up. When he does, I can hear it in his voice, I interrupted something. “Mary, the priest's staring at me.”

  “Carl has Brenda,” I reply, forcing my voice to keep breathing even though my fingers are trembling. “He says if I don't go to his loft, he's going to kill her. If I call the cops, he'll kil
l her.”

  “You're going, aren't you?” Ian asks. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “She's my best friend, Ian. I can't let her die,” I whisper. “I love you. I need back up.”

  “Where is the loft?” Ian asks. “I'll be there. Please, wait for me to come to you though.”

  “No time. Carl's loft is in Westwood, near UCLA Medical. I'll text you the address. Ian.... if this goes bad...”

  “It won't,” Ian reassures me. “I love you, and it won't go bad. Not this time.”

  Carl's building is ugly, squat, and it looks like it used to be some sort of factory, or maybe a repair shop for big equipment or something. One side has four big loading bay doors that have been painted but not bricked over, and as I go inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor, I only hope that Ian can get here quickly.

  I knock on Carl's door, and he yanks it open, a gun in his hand as he grins at me, shirtless. “Hey bitch, you're here!”

  “I'm here,” I reply, walking in as Carl waves with the gun. I don't know what it is, but it looks big, and the hole at the end of the barrel looks big enough to swallow my entire hand.

  Carl closes and locks the door, and I cross the floor, seeing Brenda on the bed, her left eye puffy and her lip busted open. She's tied down around the waist and under her arms with what looks like nylon straps, the sort of quick release types that you would use for attaching something in the back of a truck. “Bren...”

  “Mary... why?” Brenda mumbles as I kneel next to her. “Why?”

  “Because I love you, and you're my friend,” I answer her, glancing over her arms. There are needle tracks, but nothing that looks totally fresh, whatever Carl's been doing to her, he hasn't shot her up, she's feeling all the pain unless he gave her powder to snort or he's hit her someplace like the inside of her armpit. “It'll be okay, I promise.”