The Rooster Club

by N. M. Catalano

  She couldn’t give what belonged to Michael.

  When Michael abandoned Natalie in the city, it drove the most painful dagger straight inside her, to rest with the other one. But she couldn’t stop loving him. What she could do was stop putting herself in a position to let him hurt her. She struggled with wanting to be with him, knowing that was the worst thing she could do.

  Every. Horrible. Day.

  She was wallowing in her own misery, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

  She’d finally decided on a distraction, after spending a month in bed every chance she got. She stopped going out because she was afraid she would run into Michael. She didn’t do anything except go to school and go home. So she’d called Joe, and asked him to accompany her to Formal.

  It was in two weeks and she was starting to dread it.

  ***

  Things were moving along for Michael. The stash of money had grown and the demand for what they offered, and them, was even bigger. But it wasn’t enough, was taking too long. With living expenses, and other intangibles, it would take him years to get to where he needed to be. And Michael wasn’t sure he could make it. He didn’t think he could keep living like this. It was killing him.

  He had all but given up hope on fixing things with Natalie. Only a miracle could do that.

  Everything was eating away at his soul, the sex, the drugs, even his friends. It all ripped pieces of him in big, bloody chunks, and he was sure that soon nothing would be left of him, only an empty, hollow shell of a man.

  They were at a point with the business where a change had to be made, a crossroads, or things could start to fall apart. Rapidly.

  Pamela was becoming a permanent fixture around, but not because the guys wanted her to be, she just showed up all the time. Wherever they went, she appeared. And she wasn’t the only one. The women the guys were with had become clingy and possessive.

  Things were getting sloppy.

  Michael knew something needed to be done, something big. He wanted to tie up the garbage and get rid of it, before he got sucked up and tossed out with it. Or he would die first.

  Whatever they did, it needed to be huge.

  He remembered the story of Frank Lucas, the man who’d created his heroine empire by cutting out the middle-man. How he’d gone directly to the source in Thailand to get his product. He’d made A LOT of money seemingly overnight.

  Michael started to think about finding a way they could do something like Frank had done, something feasible, simple, and fairly inexpensive, with what they had.

  “Let’s go to Mexico,” Michael announced one afternoon.

  He, Paul and Vinnie were sitting in their living room when the idea had come to him.

  “What are you talking about?” Paul asked.

  Michael sat up as excitement began to spread inside him, the idea, and how to do it became clear.

  “Let’s go to Mexico, get a shit-load worth of the cleanest coke, bring it back, and make a shit-load of money,” he told them, smiling broadly.

  “You want to fly into a foreign country, me and my little white-ass,” Paul asked, laughing at the idea.

  “No, we can fly into California, San Diego, and rent a car, then drive over. That will be less conspicuous. Me and Vinnie know Spanish, so we won’t be going in blind,” Michael told them as a matter of fact, making it sound so simple.

  They sat quietly a moment, considering what Michael had said, as each of them rolled over all the scenarios and how they would go about it.

  “Do you really think we could do it?” Paul asked hesitantly as a hopeful smile spread across his face.

  “Yeah, we can do it. We’ll be tourists, and it’ll be our first time there. We won’t raise any red-flags. No one will suspect us,” Michael answered him with absolute certainty.

  The simplicity of the plan was beautiful, it was pure genius.

  “And how the hell are we going to find a supplier once we get there?” Vinnie asked, being the devil’s advocate.

  “Everybody sells drugs in Mexico, someone will get us a connection. We just have to ask, and American money speaks loud and clear,” Michael answered plainly, because he was sure of himself.

  “Ok, then, let’s do it!” Paul agreed as Michael’s excitement seeped into him.

  “I’m in, I could use a vacation,” Vinnie also agreed, he was finally convinced.

  “Come on, boys, let’s go to the travel agent!”

  Michael could see the light at the end of the tunnel to this mess he helped create, and he was standing at the end of it, waving and smiling.

  In a week the boys would be on their way to Tijuana by-way of San Diego.

  When Vinnie got home that evening, he told his parents about the trip, leaving out the part about buying cocaine. They actually liked the idea, and thought it could be a senior trip for him before he began his new journey into adulthood. His dad gave him the money Paul and Michael had spent for Vinnie’s plane ticket, and some extra cash to cover the costs of obtaining a passport.

  “If you think you guys are going without me, you’re crazy!” Sylvia told Vinnie later. “I’ll get my ticket tomorrow, then we’ll all go into the city and get passports.”

  Sylvia and Paul were still seeing each other on and off. Her ex was calling her from Puerto Rico, something Natalie hadn’t known, but Paul did. Paul told her that was one of the reasons he was going crazy, he was afraid she would take him back. He really cared about her and it was tearing him up thinking of her going back to that guy, with everything he’d put her through. There was a part of Sylvia that believed him, while another part of her thought he was feeding her a line of shit. She was torn, she couldn’t stop seeing him, but it would be on her terms.

  And when she wasn’t with him, she didn’t want him bringing whatever he did elsewhere home to her.

  When Natalie found out about the trip, she was devastated. She thought her ship had finally left shore, and wasn’t coming back.

  She didn’t know about the drugs yet, Sylvia and Vinnie would tell her years later.

  ***

  Paul and Michael left for San Diego first. Their plans were to find a place to stay and get a feel for the area, and make an initial trip down to Tijuana. They found a little motel off the beaten path and rented two rooms for ten days. Next, they rented a Lincoln Town car, the one thing that gave into Paul’s need for extravagance.

  The small motel had a pool, and they spent the couple of afternoons they had to themselves working on getting rid of their pasty winter color. The hotel wasn’t crowded, there were only a few people mingling about outside as they made their way out the glass double-doors.

  Paul brought a woven beige fedora and had it over his face while he reclined in the lounge-chair poolside. He wore a pair of tiny white terrycloth briefs that would only contain the huge bulge inside if he tucked it under. Michael had on a pair of very short light blue gym shorts, with his package also pretty visible pressed against the polyester fabric.

  “Man, are those underwear?” Michael asked him as he spread Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil over his lean, sculpted frame.

  “Yeah,” Paul mumbled under the hat.

  “You’re gonna see right through them when they get wet, bro,” Michael laughed at his friend. The guy never grew up.

  “And there’s a problem with that?” Paul chuckled.

  “Come on, man, there might be kids out here.”

  “I didn’t get a chance to buy a bathing suit,” Paul replied as he tried to defend himself.

  “We’ll take care of that later,” Michael commented. “Hey, there’s a blonde checking you out,” Michael told him as he watched the girl across the courtyard.

  “Oh yeah?” Paul replied, with a big smile behind his hat.

  “Hah, yeah, she’s probably wondering if you have a sock in there.”

  “She won’t be wondering for long,” Paul chuckled again.

  Moments later the bulge in his briefs began to grow, and almost
instantly was on its way to being fully erect. He hadn’t moved a muscle to help it.

  “What the hell, you’re poppin’ a hard-on! Don’t do that shit,” Michael laughed, reprimanding him.

  “I can’t help it, it just happens!” Paul’s body shook slightly as he laughed too, but his hat never fell off his face.

  That evening they made their way down to Tijuana and found one of the better brothels that had a bar. There were American service men coming and going through the doors, so they felt it was a safe place to start. Once inside, they walked across the old worn carpet through the small foyer, and into the bar area with faded red wallpaper. There were three Spanish women dancing on the small stage dressed in tassel pasties, thongs, and high heels. Michael ordered a shot of tequila with a rum and coke chaser for both of them.

  As they finished the shot, a Mexican man approached and spoke to them in Spanish. The Mexican dialect was different from the Puerto Rican one Michael was used to, but he was able to understand the gist of what the man was saying.

  “The guy wants to know if we want a couple of women,” Michael turned to Paul and asked him offhandedly.

  “Sure, what about you?” Paul laughed at his own joke.

  “Do you want two?” Michael asked, not batting an eye at him.

  “Naw, one’s good…for now,” Paul smiled.

  Michael turned to the rough looking man, “Si, por favor, gracias.”

  “Venga, cincuenta dolares Americano cada mujer,” the man told them curtly.

  “What did he say?” Paul asked as Michael nudged him to stand up.

  “He said come on, and that it’s $50 American each woman.”

  “Damn, she’d better be good,” Paul commented, following Paul and their escort, as he led them up the stairs to the prostitute’s bedrooms.

  Michael finished first, taking care of business, then he headed back downstairs. The release helped to take some of the edge off. Once they’d crossed the border, a ripple of nervousness began to play at Michael. As he waited for Paul, he surveyed his surroundings and the different people that filled the place. His eyes fell on a table with three very well dressed Mexican men. He noticed one of them watching him. When their eyes met, the man slowly raised his glass to Michael, in a friendly salute. Michael returned the gesture. When the waitress asked Michael if he’d like another drink, Michael asked her to send over a round of drinks to the table of men, on him. She approached the men’s table before getting the drinks, and asked their permission to bring them. When they gave their nod of approval, then said something to her, she pointed to Michael, and they all nodded to him. They said something else to her before she walked back to Michael.

  “Los hombres quieren que tu sientas con ellos,” she informed him. They wanted Michael to sit with them, and he believed that no was not an option.

  A tremor of excitement slid up Michael’s spine. This could be exactly what he was looking for.

  The men watched him from across the room, waiting for his response. Right now, Michael couldn’t be more grateful for Paul’s absence as he made his way to their table.

  “Gentlemen,” Michael greeted them when he approached.

  He decided to speak in English to see if any of them could communicate with him. His Spanish was limited and he thought having the conversation in his native tongue would give him an advantage. Also, being able to understand most of what the Mexican men said would be very helpful to him as well.

  “Good evening…,” one of the men replied, as he waited for his name.

  “Michael.”

  “Please, sit down, join us, and thank you for the drinks,” the man said, while extending his hand to an empty chair opposite them.

  “Thank you.” Michael took the seat that was offered to him. Then he waited patiently to see where the men would take the conversation.

  “You’re American,” the man stated.

  “Yes, my friend and I are on vacation.”

  “Here in Mexico?”

  “No, California, we drove down for the night.”

  “Did you come just for the entertainment?”

  This was the crucial moment. Michael’s answer could either get him thrown in a Mexican jail, or get him what he’d come here for: financial freedom.

  All eyes were on him, awaiting his answer.

  “We’re shopping.”

  The ball had been thrown, and Michael waited to see if they caught it. Moreover, to see if they’d throw it back.

  “I see,” the man replied, looking back to his friends, and nodding.

  A moment stretched as they exchanged glances. The three men turned back to Michael, their gazes studying him, assessing him, deciding if they would help him, or drop the ball.

  “How much are you shopping for?” he finally asked Michael.

  Michael inwardly relaxed a fraction, and gave a silent exclamation of ‘Thank you!’

  They’re going to play.

  “Two kilos.”

  The man nodded his head, and smirked.

  “We can help you.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Michael tried to remain cool and collected, but inside his nerves were roiling, like a pot about to boil.

  “In two nights, you can meet us back here, and we will take care of you.”

  “It would be my pleasure, gentlemen, and thank you again,” Michael replied graciously. “How much should we bring with us?” he asked, and hoped he wasn’t overstepping the perimeters of Mexican civility.

  “Twenty each.”

  Thousand. Which was a third the going rate in New York. That was even better. A whole lot better.

  If the deal went down, and Michael didn’t get killed, or arrested.

  “Now, tonight’s show is about to start. You are going to enjoy this, we love to watch you Americans.” The three men laughed.

  The waitress approached the table and stood, waiting for someone to give her permission to speak. The man who had been doing the talking raised a single finger, allowing her to move in close to his ear and whisper something to him. His eyes moved to Michael’s face and he nodded. She left the table and headed towards the bar. Michael saw Paul standing there ordering a drink.

  “It seems my friend is waiting for me at the bar, gentlemen. It might be best if I joined him.”

  Michael didn’t want to take the chance of Paul saying something to these intimidating men that might be detrimental to the deal he’d just made. He decided it was better to keep Paul away from these guys and work with them alone.

  “Of course, we understand. In two days then,” the man said, and gave him permission to leave.

  Michael stood and replied, “We’ll be here. Goodnight gentlemen.”

  Michael joined Paul at the bar. The whore Paul had been upstairs with was standing in front of him carrying on about something.

  “You! I feel you HERE!” she said in broken English, while patting the top of her head vigorously.

  Michael laughed.

  “ME,” Paul said, pounding his hands on his chest, “I feel nothing,” he continued, as he moved his hands, waving them in front of him in circles, “YOU like AIR.”

  Michael couldn’t contain the hysterics that burst from him.

  “The bitch was so used, I had to fuck the shit out of her to get off!” Paul exclaimed.

  “Holy shit, we’re gonna get kicked out of here because of your big dick!” Michael laughed.

  “That wouldn’t be so bad,” Paul smiled as his ego swelled. “More tequila and rum, please,” he told the bartender.

  The show on stage started. It was a beautiful woman lip-syncing to a suggestive song in Spanish. She did a striptease as she sang, peeling the clothes from her body as she went. At the end of the song, she bent over a chair, then pulled her thong to the side, and spread her cheeks. The tables in front of the stage were filled with military men, who were whistling and shouting things like, “Hey baby,” and “Let me pack that!” Her tight hole was winking at them as she squeezed her cheeks
.

  “Come, kiss it!” she shouted to them over her shoulder.

  Men clamored, pushing each other aside, as they rushed to plant their lips on her brown hole.

  “Go and kiss it, Paulsky!” Michael teased.

  “Damn right I will!” Paul shouted as he made his way up the stage, pushing everyone out of his way as he went.

  He bent and laid his lips against the puckering orifice.

  “Oh, big boy,” she cooed as she wiggled her ass at him.

  “Everywhere, baby!” Paul promised as he grabbed his crotch.

  She straightened and turned while sliding down her thong.

  Pulling a penis from inside the underwear, she was a he, he announced, “Me too!”

  “Fuck!” Paul spat out.

  The scuffle of chairs from the crowd was mixed with the groaning of some men as they ran to the bathroom to vomit, while others roared with laughter.

  “Kees eet Paulsky!” Michael shouted, doubling over with laughter at Paul’s expression.

  “Fuck you, man!” Paul groaned.

  Michael saw the three ‘business’ men looking at them, laughing along with everyone else. They gave him the thumbs-up, indicating they enjoyed the addition to the show Paul had given everyone.

  Sylvia and Vinnie arrived in San Diego two days later, the day Michael was to meet with the men again to buy the cocaine. The three hour time difference from New York to California helped with meeting them at the San Diego International Airport from infringing on the deal that night.

  After Sylvia got settled in Paul’s room, and Vinnie unpacked in Michael’s room, Michael filled them in on what was going to go down that night. Sylvia needed to be made aware of all the details as well, just in case things went wrong.

  “I’m meeting with them tonight at the bar Paul and I were at the other night.”

  Michael cringed inside. He didn’t like the idea of bringing a woman into a sleazy brothel. He had no choice. He needed to have people around watching his back when the exchange took place.

  “Look Sylvia, the meet-ups at a whorehouse. They’ve got a bar with a stage where they put on shows. It’s not a complete shithole, but I feel bad taking you there,” he explained, and apologized at the same time.