by Carl Weber
Miguel and the man he called his cousin led me from the car, sandwiching me in the middle of them like I was somebody important. His cousin wore his black cowboy hat tilted low over his face, with equally dark sunglasses hiding his eyes like he was afraid of the sun. Normally I’d be worried, but if they wanted to kill me, they didn’t have to drive this far to do it.
After a double knock by Manny, we entered the office door. Inside, a bunch of men who looked like they belonged on a farm or ranch stood idly by, joking amiably, although they were wielding shotguns. Their arms weren’t for handling cattle, and whatever crops they “managed” paid more than corn or soy beans. I was sure there were several more of them outside that I didn’t see.
One look at Manny’s cousin and they motioned the three of us through an interior door, leading deeper inside the warehouse. There was no turning back now.
Dead center was where all the action took place. Behind large sheets of plastic that doubled as makeshift walls, elderly men and women who looked as if they had lived hard lives were carefully loading several cars and vans. In my mind, I began counting the armed men around us and memorizing their positions. Just in case. Around Houston, I liked to carry myself like a million bucks, but inside these walls, I knew that I needed to act humble.
A muscled older man, no more than five foot five, with long black hair and a thick moustache, looked to be in charge. As he clipped the end a fresh cigar, he turned to acknowledge us.
“Juan!” he belted out as if we were friends. “Please. Have a seat.” He directed me to a single chair that was waiting behind him. Talk about a hot seat. He was military and very formal when he spoke, probably educated up North. Even while being polite, his voice held a hint of a threat, like he was not used to being questioned. Those with questions probably asked them no more.
I listened and sat my ass down, knowing how to play the game.
“That bumbling idiot Gerald Ford is President now,” the man in charge said, obviously having no love for him. He went so far as to imitate the President’s fall down the stairs of Air Force One, which we’d all seen on the television. “But this DEA that Nixon started has us concerned. We don’t know if they’re serious about drugs like they were about alcohol during the Prohibition Era, but perhaps that is good for what we do. Just a few years ago we were worried that marijuana might be legalized, but of course it wasn’t. Nevertheless, we must always plan for the future, and that involves expansion and forging new alliances.”
From my seat, I listened to his history lesson, nodding like it was the only thing that mattered; but I also watched a team of younger men busy switching out license plates on several cars as if on an assembly line. I saw the New Jersey plate on the car closest to me and smiled. They must’ve known I could drive—and fast.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, seeing what really held my attention.
“No,” I replied, feigning ignorance as I repositioned myself in the chair. I suddenly hoped I wasn’t there as a lesson myself.
“You represent the new breed who can blend in. That is an asset, Juan,” he lectured, stopping to chuckle. The other men followed his lead and laughed even harder at my expense.
They could laugh at me all they wanted. Unimportant, jealous fools was all they were to me. I was the one being given the opportunity to run with the wolves, to prove I deserved more than just peddling joints in night clubs and bars.
I focused on the shiny new Gran Torino I was about to have all to myself. I imagined the highways opening wide for me, like the actor Steve McQueen in Bullitt, doling out justice from behind the wheel. Except that was a Mustang Steve McQueen drove. Well, I could have one of those one day, too, but for now the Gran Torino would do. If they let me keep it, who knows how much pussy I could get around there.
“You want me to drive the Torino for you, no?” I asked as I dared to stand up. Because of my sudden move, I heard one of his men chamber a shell into his shotgun. My employer motioned to them that it was okay and then smiled wildly at me.
“Oh. That’s not what you will be driving,” he stated. He had his men pull the plastic down from around another car. This one had a Jersey license plate too, but it was quite different.
“A Country Squire,” I muttered aloud as I grimaced over at what I was being shown. It was an old station wagon. Not a new Gran Torino, but a fucking station wagon, complete with wood panels along the sides. It was like something you’d see on The Brady Bunch for all those fuckin’ California kids and their stupid dog, although even theirs looked better than this monstrosity.
“That. That is what you will be driving for us,” he cackled gleefully as he blew a puff of cigar smoke into my face. “It’s good, no?”
“But . . . I don’t understand, sir,” I began as respectfully as I could. This had to be a joke. “It’s a station wagon. I will look like a fool.”
“What? You thought we would let you go out there in a flashy racecar? You are already too flashy with your pretty hair and gold chains. We’re sending you to deal with the Puerto Ricans, but not in a car that will attract the attention of the police or this new DEA.”
“What do you mean, sending me?” I questioned, no longer hiding my annoyance. Reckless, I know. “I thought I was making a normal run.”
“Oh, you are, Juan. We’re delivering a healthy sample of our best crop to New York. You will be in charge of getting the shipment to Carlos Rodrigues, a low-level lieutenant with their families as an overture for future cooperation.”
“Why me?” I asked, genuinely stunned by the responsibility I was being given. Neither Manny nor his cousin had said a thing since we arrived. Instead they stood off to the side as if deaf. I guess they knew better than to give me a heads up.
“We’ve been watching you, Juan,” he answered, motioning for me to sit back down. I quickly complied. “We’ve seen you in the discos and we see how easily you can blend in with any group. Manny says you are a charmer, so you can bullshit your way out of certain situations. But mainly because you’re expendable.”
“What do you mean?” I questioned, suddenly angered by his gall.
“The Mafia families in New York don’t know about our venture. These are delicate times as we try to branch into the Northeast, which they control. And if the Italians or Asians discover us encroaching on their territory, it will be unfortunate—for you. Understand?”
“I don’t know about this,” I mumbled, no longer as confident about my latest job opportunity as I had been when I strutted in here. But could I realistically decline and walk out of the warehouse alive? Maybe I could ditch the shitty station wagon on the edge of town and disappear.
As if in response to my thoughts, Manny’s stoic cousin approached the man with the cigar and produced photos from his front shirt pocket. For the first time, the cousin grinned at me as he resumed his place next to Manny.
They were pictures of a woman and two girls. I recognized them as my mother and two sisters back in Nueva Laredo as the boss man leaned over, holding them close to my face. It was another fucking test, which took all I had not to reveal the anger and fear that gripped me equally. Manny was never my friend, and the man beside him probably wasn’t really his cousin.
Mother of God.
“Your mother and your sisters?” my unnamed employer questioned, already knowing the answer. It was more like a taunt, daring me to deviate from their plans. I was running with the wolves, and they had very sharp teeth indeed. He continued, “You don’t return with our money, we will torture them slowly before we kill them,” he said as he held the end of the cigar against my mother’s face, burning a hole through her photograph. Bile rose into my throat. I wanted to kill him, to rip his eyes from his head. “Maybe even have some fun with your little sisters. They’re never too young, Juan. We could even pass them around to work off your debt. Make them wish they were dead. Understand?”
“Yes,” I replied in defeat as my shoulders slumped.
“And from now
on your name is John, not Juan.” He handed me a fake driver’s license and sent me on my way.
Chippy
9
“How you like that, baby?” I cooed into Big Sam’s ear
I had him laid out on his stomach with his head buried into a pillow, about as relaxed as a man could get without having his dick sucked or fucked. I was sure we’d get to that later, but for now I was content to feel his body relax under the newfound skill of my fingers. I’d been secretly reading about giving massages in a book I’d borrowed from the library. I really loved the way it turned him from an aggressive tiger into a meek kitten. It certainly made up for how he treated me in front of other girls sometimes because he didn’t want them to think he played favorites.
“Mmmm, like it? I love it. Your magic hands just about had me falling asleep. I like the way they working right now,” he told me as I started to slide my hands down his body, closer to his biggest muscle. “Girl, I ain’t never gonna let you go.”
Of course I couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. Sam wasn’t in the habit of doling out complements like some of these tricks who told a string of lies because they thought that was the way to get a woman wet. He was way too straightforward for that. So, when he did give me a compliment, I knew he really meant it, and it made me feel special.
Sam knew how to make me feel good, but what he really did was show me how to trust him. Other men got to have my body as long as they met my price, but the rest of me belonged to Sam, and that was just the way I wanted it to be.
I rolled Sam onto his back, massaging his dick with both hands until it was standing at attention. I stared at it for a few seconds, Just the sight of its throbbing mushroom head made me moist. It had to be the prettiest ugly thing I’d ever seen. I climbed on top of Sam, sliding down on his rock hard member. As I rocked back and forth, I couldn’t help thinking that it felt as if we were one.
Unfortunately, our special moment was interrupted. I hadn’t slid down on his pole three times before the door flew open, crashing against the wall. “Sam, you motherfucker!”
“What the hell?” Sam shouted, damn near throwing me off of him. We both turned to the door, where Big Shirley was standing there looking pissed off. She was holding a beer bottle in one hand and some papers in the other.
“Shirley, you know got damn well you’re not supposed to come into this room unless you invited. I’m busy!”
Shirley just stared at him, her chest heaving up and down. I didn’t know what her problem was, but it was evident she’d been crying.
“You ain’t shit, Sam Bradford, you half-white bastard,” she fumed, waving that piece of paper around like it meant something.
“Sam, look out!” I screamed just as the beer bottle came flying across the room. It barely missed my head as it smashed against the wall above Sam.
“Bitch, have you lost your mind? You better get outta here! You hear me?” Sam rose up and stood to his full height—intimidating even naked—but Shirley didn’t back down. She just looked for something else to throw. She had the nerve to cut her eyes at me like she had the power to scare me. Wasn’t no secret she was a loose cannon, but now I was thinking she was truly nuts.
“Eighteen years, eighteen fucking years I’ve been loyal to you. I didn’t even care when you stopped fucking me for the younger girls. I just kept sucking dick to put money in your pockets so you could ride around in a fancy Cadillac.” She was crying again and mascara was running down her face. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I was starting to feel sorry for her.
When I had first got there a month ago, Big Shirley was the boss bitch and took every opportunity to let me know her position. She was mean as a rabid dog and she took sick pleasure in getting girls in trouble so that Sam would beat their asses. For some reason, though, she never fucked with me. She barely spoke to me, other than to make a joke.
“I can’t even count how many times I went to the clinic for yeast infections, crabs, chlamydia, and gonorrhea, and I don’t even wanna think about how many abortions I had,” she continued. “And all I asked was for one thing, one lousy thing in eighteen years, and you fucked me.”
“What are you talking about?” The expression on Sam’s face told me that he genuinely had no idea.
“My momma, you bastard!” She handed him the piece of paper and he started to read. “The only thing I ever asked you to do was give me the money to go see my momma before she died of cancer. You promised me that, but you never came through. Now she’s dead. Do you hear me? She’s dead!”
Sam’s face showed real remorse. “Shirley, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. You’re not capable of being sorry.” Her voice sounded shaky as she started ranting and raving. Sam had his eyes locked on hers, but I noticed what she was doing with her hands. In one quick motion, she reached for Sam’s dick with one hand and into the waistband of her skirt with the other, pulling out a butcher knife. Before Sam knew what was happening, it was too late. He was already in big trouble.
“I swear you make one fucking move and they’ll be calling you Little Sam,” she spat.
“Hey Shirley, baby, you don’t want to do that. Look, I’m sorry, I fucked up. Come on. Whatever it is, we can work it out.” He spoke pretty calmly considering the position he was in, but it didn’t matter. I knew she was way too crazy to be reasonable. This ho had lost her mind.
“Hey, Shirley, let’s go downstairs and get us a drink,” I suggested. As soon as I saw the way she tightened up her grip on Sam’s dick, causing him to stand straight up on his tippy-toes, I knew I should just shut up.
Some of the girls had entered the room to see what was happening. I was hoping they might help.
“Take a good look, girls, ’cause this is the last time you’re gonna see Big Sam’s precious dick!” She started jerking her hand like she was going to cut it off. Poor Sam just squeezed his eyes shut like he was waiting for the first slice of the blade.
“Shirley, baby, I’m sorry about your momma. Why don’t we ride on up to Macon for the funeral. Just me and you, like old times,” he said with his eyes still closed.
“I ain’t going nowhere with you, Sam,” she shouted, pressing the blade against the base of his penis.
“Jesus Christ, will somebody do something?” Sam screamed, but none of the girls so much as twitched.
“I wish one of you bitches would, ’cause I’ll cut your asses too,” Shirley threatened, turning to them and pointing the knife.
I’d heard just about all I could stand. I grabbed an E and J bottle off of the night table and ran at her blindly, smashing it against her head. I was still holding the neck of the bottle as Big Shirley crumpled to the floor with her face cut up in a bloody mess.
“You all right, baby?” I asked. Sam was holding his Johnson like a long lost friend and staring down at Shirley.
“I should kill you, bitch!” he shouted, kicking her before turning to the other girls in the room. “I should kill all of you bitches. Now get this heifer out my room!” Big Sam kicked her again for good measure.
We both watched as she struggled to get up off the floor and hobble out of Sam’s room like the mangy old mutt she was. Before she left, she turned back, and I swear the look she gave was so pitiful I gasped.
“Damn, baby, you one bad-ass bitch.” Big Sam came over and wrapped his arms around me. “She’s gonna look like a jigsaw puzzle the rest of her life.”
“That’s what she deserved for trying to hurt you. I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you,” I told him and I meant it. Hell, I might not be the biggest and loudest girl in this house, but I loved my man, and I wouldn’t let nobody touch him.
“You saved my life,” Sam whispered in my ear. “Fuck theses bitches. I can’t wait to marry you.”
LC
10
I glanced left then right to see if anyone was around before I grabbed Donna by the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her passionately. My hand
s began to roam her body, and she didn’t seem to mind, until they slid under her dress. That’s when she abruptly broke the kiss, looking down the row of bookshelves in a panic. I tried to kiss her again, but this time she put up her arm to block me.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, straightening out her skirt.
“Kissing you,” I replied.
“Not like that you weren’t. That was not just a kiss. That was a . . .” She walked angrily back to the table where we’d been studying.
“Oh, no? Then what was it?” I asked her as I sat down next to her. “It sure felt like a kiss to me.”
“You don’t kiss with your hands, LC Duncan. This is the library, not the back seat of a car.”
“Then let’s go get in the back seat of your car,” I suggested. “It’s been, like, two weeks, baby. Your man needs some loving.”
I could see from her face that she knew where this was going. It seemed like we had these conversations on the regular, because I was horny as hell and she made me work hard for even the slightest bit of action.
“My man needs to study,” she shot back. “Did you forget you have a finance final tomorrow?”
“You’re right, but I sure can’t concentrate with this.” I took her hand and placed it in my lap. She pulled it back quickly when she felt the hardness of dick.
“Oh my goodness.” She gave me a naughty smile. “We’re definitely going to have to take care of that this weekend when we go to the show.”
“This weekend?” I did nothing to conceal my disappointment. “This needs to be taken care of now. We can go over to my place.”
“Unh-uh. No way,” she said, her naughty look replaced with an adamant frown. “I’m not going back to your house. Your brother Lou might be there.”
“So?”
