by Kim Jones
The sound of sirens fills the room as the song Fire by the Ohio Players has every drunken firefighter in the house fully amped. I look at Corey and shoot him a wink.
“Let’s make it rain in this motherfucker.” It’s show time.
The management at Pete’s has cut me back to three days a week and they are shitty days too. Dayshifts full of regulars who tip the minimum and bore you with small talk. I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’ve lost a lot of customers and almost everyone’s respect. Oh well, their loss. I’m not doing anything to hurt anyone. I am just having a good time. My friends don’t hang out with me anymore, but that is fine too. There is only one I miss. Luke.
Tonight, I am off the H and on the Cocaine. I need to bring my full game to prove I can handle it. I am filling in for Lucy who has come down with some sort of summer flu, and the weekend is too busy to be short someone. After the show, Corey informs me that the stage hasn’t seen that much money on a Friday night since I stopped working it weeks ago. Now, I am sure I’ll get my job back.
If I had listened to what else Corey was trying to tell me instead of chugging my drink and waving him away, I would’ve known that Luke was waiting for me in my dressing room. And had I known that, I never would’ve gone in there. But, I did and there he sits and the look he wears tells me that he wasn’t impressed with what he saw.
“How you doin’, Red?” he asks, clasping his hands so tight in his lap that his knuckles are white. I shrug and take another sip of vodka. “I thought you’d call when you got back in town.” Instead of standing there like I should and just letting him talk, I do something I’ll never forgive myself for.
“You know, I thought I might call too. But, I didn’t. Wanna know why? Because I’m tired of snobby motherfuckers like you looking down their nose at me.” I know it is a low blow, but the truth is, that bag of powder in the drawer right behind where he is sitting means more to me than he does in this moment. And all I want is to piss him off enough for him to leave so I can get what I’ve been craving since the last hit I took. Which was about ten minutes ago.
“I’ve never made you feel like you were beneath me. It’s the voices inside of your head, your demons, that you’re letting replace who you really are. You’re-,”
“I’m, what?” I snap, cutting him off. “I’m the same person I’ve always been, Luke. This is all about me and my shortcomings. What about you? You don’t think I know you’re working for fucking Charlie Lott?” I watch in pure satisfaction as the horror registers on his face. Charlie is a known mafia affiliate who likes to use MCs as his enforcers. “That’s right. Word has it you’re his new bitch. What are you doing for him, Luke? I heard he had you-,”
“Enough!” Luke’s on his feet and in my face in a split second.
“Looks like I struck a nerve.” I smile at him, my angel. My angel who was once my friend but who is now a stranger to me.
“You don’t know shit, Red. And even if you did, you’re too fucked up to understand. If this is what you want, you got it. But, don’t come crying to me when you hit rock bottom ‘cause I won’t be there.” Even as he says it, I can see the regret in his eyes and hear the doubt in his voice. I wish I had a comeback to hurt him. I wish I had something to say to cut him. But I don’t. I just hang my head in defeat and tell him the truth before walking away from the only true friend I have in this world.
“Don’t worry, Luke. Hitting rock bottom is something I’m used to.
After that night, my life became what I knew it was always destined to become-worthless. I lost my job at Pete’s. Turns out, I wasn’t a fill in at all. It was their way of telling me goodbye. Corey encouraged them to let me have one more night of fame before they ripped the rug out from under me. What a night it was. After my shift, the management called a meeting, gave me two grand in severance pay and sent me on my way. It hurt. I’d given them five of my best years, only to have them shit on me at my worst.
I became more dependent on drugs and didn’t care if the sun rose or not. I didn’t know one day from the next or whether it was morning, noon or night. I’d lost not only my career, but my passion too. My shitty trailer became my prison. I would sometimes go days without food until Corey showed up and demanded I eat. I would as long as he made me one promise, to not tell Luke. And like the good friend he was, he kept his word.
The night I was arrested turned out to be the lowest point of my pathetic life. I’d run out of powder, money and booze. Chip promised to give me what I needed if I promised to show him and his friends a good time. I was out of practice, but dancing was in my blood. I knew I still had it in me to perform, and for a little Heroin, I’d do almost anything.
Dressed in a white, leather dress that barely covers my ass, and a pair of eight inch stilettos, I drive to the Imperial Palace Casino to meet them. Two lines, three drinks and one lap dance later, things take a turn for the worse.
“I want you to fuck him,” Chip tells me. ‘Him’ is a vein bulging, nostril flaring, steroid junkie who already has a problem keeping his hands to himself.
“I don’t think so, Chip. I don’t fuck people I don’t know. I’m not a whore.” Why I don’t run, I’ll never know, but I don’t.
“You’re a stripper. I’m sure you’ve sucked plenty of cock for an extra twenty and rode just as many for a little more. You’ve snorted a hundred dollars worth of shit tonight; I think you owe it to us both.” This motherfucker has to be out of his mind. I grab my purse and head for the door, but ‘Roid Boy’ blocks my exit.
“Get the fuck outta my way,” I growl, or hum, or lip sync. My ability to speak is diminishing rapidly. I have to get out of here before I end up ass raped by Chip and his friend. But even as my mind is telling me what to do, my body refuses to respond.
“Why don’t you lie down and relax?” I’m nodding, my body already splayed out on the bed before I can register what is happening. I am floating. I can feel my dress being pushed up my hips and just the skin on skin contact is almost enough to make me come. It is the best high I have ever had and in that moment, I don’t care what they do to me because I know it is going to feel amazing. Nothing can hurt me in this moment.
I feel my panties being slid down my legs, while Chip convinces me that this is what I want. I hear a ringing sound in my ears, a commotion in the room and moments later, I am alone.
I don’t know how long I lie there looking at the ceiling, counting the swirls in the design of each tile. I don’t know why the guys left, but as soon as my body can function, I know I have to get outta here. I need to be gone before they come back, or worse, the police show up. I get up, rake the remaining three lines of Heroin into the cellophane wrapper from my cigarette box, stuff my panties in the trash and walk out into the hallway of the Imperial Palace Casino Hotel.
I hitch a ride with a couple of guys from Hattiesburg that I meet on the Casino floor. Persuading them isn’t hard to do. On the ride there, I give each of them a lap dance in the passenger seat-just like I’d promised. The only time we stop is for them to swap drivers. Because the drugs heighten the sensation I feel rubbing against them, I take my clothes off and dance for them naked. The feeling at the time is amazing, but the act is nothing shy of disgusting.
They drop me off downtown, outside of a small club that is already closing for the evening. The guy at the door lets me use the bathroom and I inhale half the baggie before stumbling back into the empty street. I don’t know why I am in Hattiesburg. I don’t know why I chose my hometown to be the place I visit tonight. Maybe it is in hopes of running into Luke and begging for his forgiveness. Maybe it is because there is nothing left for me in Biloxi. Or maybe it is divine intervention. Whatever the reason for me being here, possibly saves my life. Because when I round the corner, there the law sits. And here I am, dressed like a prostitute, at four a.m., higher than a Georgia pine and holding a baggie containing a line of pure, East Coast Heroin I would never get the privilege of snorting.
Chapter Seven
&
nbsp; Court Day, Dooms Day, A Bad Day for Me
Present Day
“Case number 45874, the state of Mississippi vs. Denny Deen. Are all parties present?” The Bailiff’s booming voice echoes over the room as I fidget with my hands. If only I had something to calm my nerves. I look down at my white, slip on shoes issued to me by the Forrest County Sherriff’s Department. They’re quite comfortable. I don’t know why everyone bitches about them. And they totally match my neon orange jumpsuit and silver ankle chains. The handcuffs are a nice addition too. A cute hairstyle, some makeup and a little jewelry would make this a really nice outfit. Maybe I could use this in my next scene, if I ever decide to dance again.
I pled guilty to the charge of possession of a controlled substance even before they put me in handcuffs. There was no need in denying it. I was caught. When I got to jail Saturday morning, I refused to call anyone because there was no one to call. First thing this morning, they notified me that I would be going to court today. It is unusual, considering my court date should be at least thirty days out, but I am sure someone has pulled some strings somewhere. I just don’t know who would do it.
I look up into the eyes of Judge Glen Harvey. He stares at me expectantly and I have no idea what he just said. I clasp my hands together, trying to contain their shaking and clear my throat.
“Sir?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“I see you plead guilty, Miss Deen.” He sounds bored. He should be. We’ve done this several times. Only this time is a little different. I might have overstayed my welcome in his courtroom.
I am sure my sentence will go far beyond community service or a simple fine. This isn’t my first offense, and I am pretty doubtful that he might shed any mercy on me.
I watch him study me for a long time, then remove his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose as if he really is struggling with his decision. I’ve seen this look once before when I paid him off. He didn’t want to let me go, but money talks and bullshit walks. And my money talked me right out of the shit I’d gotten myself into. Now, I am broke and almost positive a bribe wouldn’t work anyway.
“Miss Deen,” he starts, then takes a deep breath while thumbing through a stack of papers I’m sure are my prior offenses. “Over the past five years, I’ve seen you in here more times than I care to count. Frankly, I’m tired of seeing you. It seems there is only one solution to your problem, and this time, you’re not going to like it.” I close my eyes, and try to control my breathing. The shaking in my hands is no longer a sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just nerves. I swallow the lump from my throat and open my eyes to find the Judge focused on something in the back of the room. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I slowly turn to see what it is that holds the Judge’s attention.
“Oh, shit.” I hear the words as I say them but nobody seems to notice. Or maybe I don’t notice that they notice because I can’t take my eyes off the men sitting in the back of the courtroom. Luke Carmical is here in all of his six foot two glory and standing next to him is none other than Devil’s Renegades Regg. But today, Regg isn’t a biker. Today, he is dressed in a blue, long sleeved, button down shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans that hug him in all the right places. A mess of blonde hair covers his head and is a shade lighter than the neatly trimmed goatee that surrounds his mouth. His face is serious but his brown eyes are soft, and I’m sure that’s not for me. I haven’t seen Regg in months and after the way I treated his best friend, I’m sure he isn’t too happy with me.
Luke looks impeccable as always. His face is impassive and I’m thankful he’s here. It’s probably just to watch me crash and burn, but that’s okay too. I feel my face redden when I think about my own appearance. I’ve been in custody for two days and Friday’s mascara still clings to my eyelashes. My hair is a grease pit oily enough to fry chicken in and I’m pretty sure I smell like the dead. I was offered a shower, but I’d refused. Once I found out I was going to court, the smart-ass deputy wouldn’t let me go back on my decision. I guess it was his way of paying me back for calling him a limp dick prick.
“Miss Deen,” the judge says, demanding my attention. “I think the best option for you at this point is a work program that works with our youth, and is headed by a good friend of mine.” When the word ‘friend’ leaves his mouth, his eyes look to the back of the room, causing my spine to straighten. Luke has paid him off. It sounds wonderful-my best friend spending his hard earned money to get me out of jail. But, I know my freedom will come at a price for me too. One I am sure, I am not ready to pay.
“Your honor.” The judge looks at me and this time I start pleading for something I never thought I would. “I would rather serve my time in county.” It isn’t so bad there. The food is decent and I already know I can get something for my nerves inside. Going without drugs for almost forty-eight hours is already having an effect on me.
“Really? And why is that, Miss Deen?” The judge seems somewhat surprised by my request and I use this to my advantage. I force the tears to burn my eyes, but hold them so that they don’t spill over. I don’t want to overdo this.
“I’ve done some pretty bad things in my life. It’s no secret that here lately I’ve acted in an unruly manner.” I fake a sigh, replaying my words in my head. Yep. They were good. I fidget with my hands before letting one lone tear fall down my cheek. “I deserve to do my time. It’s not fair for anyone else to be responsible for me. It’s time that I suffer the repercussions of my actions.” Perfect. Damn, I should have been an actress. But, the truth is, I will do anything to stay away from Luke. I’m not ready to give up my way of life. Just the thought of Luke forcing me through his version of rehab has my heart nearly beating out of my chest. And I damn sure don’t want Regg to see the hell that is sure to ensue when I hit rock bottom. I’ve been there before. It’s nasty. I would rather just do my year in county, where I’ll make trustee in thirty days and spend the rest of the year washing cop cars and running the dispatcher’s errands.
The judge slams the file in his hands shut and repositions himself in his chair. “I don’t think you realize what you’re up against, girl.” Well, there go the formalities. “You think a drug as powerful as heroin in the possession of someone with a record like yours is only going to earn you a year on easy street? I’m thinking three to five upstate.” Upstate was Central Mississippi Correctional Facility. Or CMCF. Or Parchman for women. Or bad fucking news. However you want to look at it.
I feel that lump of bile I’ve been swallowing creep back up my throat. I feel tears burn the backs of my eyes and this time, they’re not forced. I stare at the floor, but the softness in the judge’s tone has me looking at him once again.
“You need help, Denny. You don’t deserve to be locked up with criminals. You deserve another shot at life. You’re a good person with a good heart. I know life has been cruel, and because of that, I am going to do what I believe is in your best interest.” His pockets are lined, and his decision is made. There’s no need to hold my breath in anticipation of what he’s fixing to tell me, but I hold it anyway. Maybe I will pass out and they will take me to the hospital where I will escape and move to California. And I won’t be running from jail or Regg, I’ll be running from embarrassment. It’s bad enough that I’m in this situation. I didn’t need my life story out for everybody to hear. I don’t want pity, and I’m sure if I were to look around, pity would be on every face in the room.
“Denny Deen, I hereby sentence you to community service through the Youth Challenge Work Program under the direct supervision of Reggie Rawls for the next ninety days.” My head snaps up at his words. Reggie Rawls? Could him and Devil’s Renegades Regg be one in the same? The judge continues speaking, telling me the hours I will have to devote to the program, the days I’ll have to spend under supervision. Regg’s supervision.
“You will report to a clinic of my choosing for scheduled drug tests on the first and third Tuesday of every month with the possibility of random testing, also at my time of choos
ing.” Ninety days. Ninety fucking days. I know the program is bullshit. If it exists, I won’t be attending it. If the club has paid off the judge, he would have just dismissed my case; saying it was under false pretenses or some other bullshit. “If at any time you test negative on your drug screening you will be immediately sentenced to serve out a minimum five year term at the Central Mississippi Correction Facility for Women. Case dismissed.”
The slamming of the gavel causes me to jump. He just sentenced me to my doom. Parchman might have been the better choice. I don’t know what is scarier, three to five years in the pen, or three months in hell.
I ride back to county in the back of a cop car while the paperwork is being processed. There, they give me the clothes I was brought in with to change in to. I look down at the skimpy, white dress that looks more like a tube top and frown. Next to it lies my eight inch platform stilettos, an array of cosmetic jewelry and a half empty pack of Marlboro Lights. I look pleadingly at the woman behind the cage and she offers me a sad smile.
“Take the clothes, honey. But you can wear what you have on home.” I offer her what I can manage of a grateful look and gather the items in my arms. Regg is waiting for me when I walk outside, but he doesn’t say anything. He walks me around to the passenger side of a lifted, Chevy Z71 and opens the door while I climb in. Without asking, I let down the window and light a cigarette. The hot September air blows against my face as I close my eyes and let the nicotine calm me. The radio is on, the truck is loud and the wind is howling. But, I can’t hear anything over the one question screaming inside of my head.
How the fuck did I get here?
Chapter Eight
Who Needs Rehab When You Have Regg-hab?
“Red.” The sound of my name on Regg’s lips wakes me, and I open my eyes to see a large, white house looming in front of me.
