by Tom Nelson
Tom follows the new guy in the room into the garage. The first man, Juan, follows, then steps ahead of them as they get farther into the garage. It is a fairly large room, a typical two-car garage with open, wooden-beamed ceilings. A bare light bulb shines from an outlet, which is barely hanging on to the wall. The garage is sectioned off by a large blackout curtain that hangs from ceiling to floor on a cable that runs the length of the room. Dim light can barely be seen from above and beneath.
“You stood up for one of ours without even knowing him,” the man starts, “and expecting nothing in return.” The man pulls the curtain apart from the middle, which exposes what is on the other side.
Tom is amazed at what he sees and a chill quickly runs down his spine. The man who greeted Tom at the door steps in and removes a kilo brick of cocaine from one of four pallets, which are stacked almost as high as the guy is tall. He turns to Tom and hands him the brick, which is in a gray, waxy-feeling block that is hard as a brick. There’s a stamp in the wax, which indicates where the coke comes from: La Reina. Tom looks up at the man, incredulous, but tries to maintain his cool.
“Here you go, Tom,” the man says. “When that’s gone, you know where to come for more. Only next time it’s gonna cost ya,” he grins and lets out a little laugh that sounds part friendly and part evil.
“How much?” Tom manages to get out. His mouth feeling dry. He takes a sip of the water.
At that time, the other side of the curtain is pulled back from the inside and Tom is face to face with a pretty buffed Peruvian man in a white tank top and jeans. He is heavily tattooed and carrying a fully automatic MAC-10. He doesn’t speak, only looks at Tom, sizing him up.
“For you?” Juan says almost as a question he is asking himself, “ten.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Tom manages to get out again. His mouth is as dry as the Sahara at this point. Ten thousand dollars for a kilo of straight-from-the-source coke is unheard of! Cocaine in Hollywood is easily selling for $35,000–$45,000 a key!
“Si,” the man replies, reverting to Spanish. He motions Tom back into the kitchen and gets a paper grocery bag from beneath the kitchen counter, which he hands to Tom. “You get the family discount.”
Tom puts the brick of cocaine inside the grocery bag and asks the man, “So, how much coke did Miguel get busted with?”
The man looks at Tom and asks, “He never told you?” He laughs.
“No,” Tom replies.
“Six hundred kilos,” the man says. “A lot of cocaine,” he says and drifts off, not laughing now.
“Shit!” Tom mutters to himself. He had no idea that when Miguel said he had been busted for cocaine that he meant several pallets full. This is crazy, Tom thinks. Everything seems completely surreal again.
“Anyway, Tom, great meeting you.” He looks at Tom and says, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon.”
With that, Tom shakes hands with the two men who leave the garage with him. The guy with the MAC-10 has gone back to his post in the garage with the curtains drawn. Tom turns and heads for the front door.
1985
Tom’s apartment is basically a cocaine den. Swann is sitting across from Tom on a small sofa while Tom is sitting in an armchair with a glass table in front of him piled high with cocaine.
“Help me get started, Tom,” comes the pleading statement from Swann. He is asking Tom to front him cocaine in order to get him started after just getting out of jail.
“You know, Swann, I would rather just give you a little something. On the strength.”
“Aw, come on, Tom. I need a package to work so I can come up.”
“Swann, if we make a deal here where I give you dope with the intention of getting paid, then you know goddamn good and well that I’ll get paid.” Tom looks up at Swann with a look that says I’ll fuck you up if you try to screw me over and asks, “Right?”
Tom’s glare intensifies.
“Just let me give you an eight ball and send you on your way.”
“I know who you are, Tom. I would never try to screw you over, man. I know what you’d do to me,” Swann replies.
“I doubt very seriously if you understand what will happen to you if you don’t pay me.”
“Yeah, I do, man. Everyone knows not to fuck with you, Tom!” Swann says in a way to sort of boost Tom’s ego, but it falls on deaf ears.
“But, do you know not to fuck with me, Swann?” Tom asks. “If you don’t come back with my money, you’ll never be able to be out on the streets of this town again without wondering when I’m going to catch up with you,” Tom states very matter-of-factly.
“I know, Tom. You’re the last person in the world I would want after me!”
“Last chance to take an eight ball and just go party,” Tom says.
“Nah, Tom. Hook me up, man. I’m good for it.”
“Okay,” Tom says with a sigh, then goes on to say, “I’ll spot you a half-ounce. That’s eight hundred dollars when you come back for another half. You understand?”
“Yeah, Tom, I understand,” Swann replies, feeling a bit more relaxed now that he knows Tom is going to hook him up. You can see his drug-addict nervousness as he anticipates using the drugs he is about to receive.
“When can I expect you back with money?” Tom always asks people he is fronting the drugs to when they will be back. That way, when they don’t show up, it isn’t any fault of Tom’s because they set the timeline.
“Three days,” Swann answers. “I should be able to work all of this in three days.”
“Okay,” Tom says. “I’ll expect to see you back here with my money in exactly three days.” Tom looks at Swann, knowing the little punk will never come back with cash.
“Don’t worry, Tom, I’ll be here.” Swann assures, but Tom knows better as he hands Swann the half-ounce baggie of cocaine.
~~~
Five days later, Tom is picking up a coke whore named Red at a location similar to where he’d picked up another girl three years earlier.
“Hey, hot pants!” Tom says as he pulls to the curb in front of his coke-whore booty call and leans across the seat to open her door from the inside. Tom is driving a 1968 Camaro SS/RS. He grew up on American muscle cars and has never given them up!
“Hey, Tom,” the redhead giggles as she hops into the Chevy. “I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she says.
“It musta been slow, then,” Tom says with a laugh. “How ya doin’, Red?”
“Good,” the pretty, almost beautiful, redhead says with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Rule 2 when it comes to hookers: don’t believe a single word of their sob stories.
“Excellent!” Tom says before she can ramble on about how someone has done her wrong in some far-too-complex scenario that she seems to make up as she goes. “I’m looking forward to some fun!”
“Me too.” She looks at Tom and smiles and he can see a little of the tension lifting off of her. Being a prostitute and drug addict is not an easy life. Tom never talks bad to her. He is never mean. She always feels safe when she is with Tom. She leans her head against the window of the car and closes her eyes. Within seconds, she is smiling as she recalls the way she originally met Tom . . . what a cocky bastard!
Tom was in a small West Hollywood bar, which has enough room for a pool table, a couple of bistro tables with chairs, and a thirty-foot long bar tended by two very handsome, buffed young men who look more like Chippendales dancers than bartenders. There was a time when Tom stood out a little among the crowds with his rock-hard physique, but here in West Hollywood, he is just another pretty body, another piece of meat.
Tom just made a delivery to the manager of the bar, a West Hollywood queen with a taste for coke, boys, and flashy things. He will rat Tom out in a heartbeat to save his sorry ass from going to jail. But, Tom knows that so will at least 99 percent of the people he deals with. He simply needs to watch his back.
As he squeezes through the throng of men, Tom spots
a sexy girl standing on the opposite side of the pool table. Her long, waist-length, red hair catches just enough of the dim light above the table to look like beautiful, burning flames. Tom makes eye contact with her for a moment and catches her looking at him as well. She quickly looks away.
Tom approaches her. As she realizes that Tom is making his way around the pool table toward her, her inner voice begins to scream, He’s coming over here! Oh my god! and she tries to remain calm. She isn’t accustomed to being approached by a man that seems so sure of himself in such a sexy manner. Something about him is different . . .
The guy approaches her, leans in toward her and says in his deep Barry White voice, “Hi. My name’s Tom. Wanna get laid?” Suddenly, all of her fantasies go flying out the window!
“NO!” she says in an insulted voice and blushes.
Tom just says, “Okay. Suit yourself. But, you’re hot!” then turns and walks away toward the exit. She can see his silhouette as he leaves through the front door of the small gay bar.
Two days later, Tom is in the supermarket picking up a few things. As he turns the corner of one of the aisles, he sees the redhead from a couple of nights earlier. She has obviously spotted him as well, because she immediately looks the other way and begins to act interested in a product on one of the shelves.
Tom makes his way up behind her, leans in a little, and whispers, “Ya know, the offer still stands.” Damn, his voice is sexy!
Red looks up at him and sees that—in the light of day and outside of the bar—he looks like a kind, gentle man. She finds herself saying, “Okay,” as she looks at him, “let’s go!”
Tom is driving toward his apartment in the Camaro and relaying the story of Swann to Red. He tells her he is looking for the kid, when she squeals, “I know where he hangs out!”
Tom looks at her and says, “Really?”
“Yeah,” she goes on, “he hangs out by an old studio building at Seward and Santa Monica. He’s there hustling and stuff.”
“Really,” Tom repeats in a slightly different tone than before. “Let’s take a little detour,” Tom says and heads the Chevrolet toward the reported hangout area of the infamous Swann. Red is along for the ride! Tom begins to think about what his revenge will be . . .
Tom pulls his car to the curb and parks a block away from where Swann is known to hang out. And, sure enough, that’s exactly where he is. Tom spots the little punk right away. He turns off the lights and says, “Stay here,” to Red, who just nods her head.
Tom opens the driver’s door and reaches outside to retrieve the 9mm pistol he keeps magnetically holstered to the undercarriage of the car. He pops the clip out to ensure it’s fully loaded, then pops it back into the pistol.
“You’re not going to kill him, are you?!” Red asks fearfully, suddenly aware of the fact that she just set Swann up for a confrontation with Tom.
Tom looks over at her, smiles, and says, “That’s up to him.” He climbs out of the car and heads in the direction of Swann. He has no intention of killing the little punk.
Tom stays close to the side of the building that runs the length of the block. It’s lined with trees, so there are plenty of shadows to hide Tom from the glare of the streetlights that shine out on Santa Monica Boulevard. He moves slowly, quietly. When he is about ten feet away from Swann, Tom steps from the shadows. Two other hustlers who are sharing the corner with Swann see Tom and quickly bolt as fast as they can in the opposite direction. Aware of something being amiss, Swann turns suddenly and . . .
“Hi, Swann,” Tom says with the barrel of his gun pointed directly in Swann’s face. He manages to get even closer to Swann when the other two boys take off. You can see the thought of running come and go on Swann’s face as he realizes he’s caught. “Long time no see.”
“Oh, fuck!” is all Swann can muster for a few seconds. “Hey, Tom,” he stammers on in an extremely nervous voice that is shaking so bad it’s almost comical. “I was going to bring you your money tomorrow morning,” Swann lies.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Tom,” the frightened man croaks out, “of course!”
“Really, Swann,” Tom says sarcastically, his gun never moving from its position between Swann’s eyes. “You were supposed to bring me money two days ago. What happened?”
“Nothing, Tom,” Swann searched his head for another lie. “I just haven’t finished working what you gave me.”
“Really, Swann?” He uses the word even more sarcastically than before. “Then that means you still have some of my dope left.” Tom continues in a matter-of-fact type of voice.
“Uh, yeah,” Swann lies again.
“Then give it to me!” Tom is looking Swann directly in the eye and Swann can see the resolve in his glare.
“I don’t have it on me.”
“Then where is it?”
“Right around the corner,” Swann says. “I can go get it and bring it right back.”
“Really, Swann?” Tom asks again. “If you think I’m just gonna let you just walk away and take off, you’re dumber than you think I am.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb, Tom, really I don’t!” Swann’s voice is beginning to crack as he realizes he is in a world of shit. “It’s at my girlfriend’s house,” the lies continue.
“Really, Swann?” Tom says for the fourth time. He is tiring of this bullshit. “You’re telling me that my dope and money are around the corner at some broad’s house?” Tom pauses for a moment, then asks in an extremely aggressive voice, “What do you have on you? Right now! What do you have on you?!”
“Nothing,” Swann says, almost in tears at this point.
“Nothing, huh? Turn your pockets inside out!”
Swann struggles to get his shaking hands into his pockets to turn them inside out as he has been commanded. Finally, the task is complete and out fall a couple of pennies and a straight-shooter pipe that hits the ground with a light cracking of glass. Swann holds his cupped hands up toward Tom. He is holding a crinkled dollar bill and a little bit of change.
“Shit,” Tom mutters. “That’s it?! That’s all you’ve got?” Tom demands.
“That’s all, Tom, I swear,” Swann is practically crying now. “I’ll get your money! I swear I will!”
“Oh, I know you will.” Tom thinks for a half-second, steps back from Swann about two feet, and aims the gun at Swann’s crotch. He yells, “Get naked!”
“What?” Swann manages to cry out.
“You heard me, you little shit! Get naked!” Tom is making this part up as he goes along. “I’ll shoot you in the fucking dick if you don’t get naked right now, Swann!”
“No, Tom,” Swann begs, “doooon’t!”
“Then, get naked, motherfucker!” Tom shouts.
“Tom—”
“Now!” Tom loads a round into the chamber of the 9mm and keeps it pointed at Swann’s crotch. “What’s the one thing you know about me, Swann?” Tom asks in a menacing tone.
“That you’ll shoot me if I don’t do what you tell me to.” Swann is literally crying tears by this time, his words barely audible, but he begins taking his clothes off and letting them drop onto the sidewalk.
“You’re goddamned right! Underwear too!” Tom is beginning to enjoy himself now. “And shoes!”
“Tom—” Swann wails.
“Everything you have, Swann, for the rest of your life,” Tom says as he pulls his aim back up toward the head of the now completely naked Swann, “belongs to me until you bring me the money you owe. Got it?”
“Yes, Tom,” the sobbing Swann replies. “Yes.”
“Now, run!” Tom screams. “RUN!” He waves the gun at Swann a little for emphasis. It works. Swann doesn’t wait for Tom to repeat the command a third time. He turns tail and runs as fast as he can east down Santa Monica Boulevard in nothing but his birthday suit.
Tom, still pumping with the adrenaline of the situation and, of course, high on cocaine, laughs as he makes his way back to the parked car where
Red sits laughing as well. She is obviously relieved that Tom didn’t shoot Swann.
~~~
Two LAPD officers are sitting in their car drinking coffee and having a bite. Their car is backed into a space beside an apartment building in Hollywood, which allows them secrecy while being able to watch what’s happening on the street. The two officers are complaining about reports they have to write when Swann goes running by in front of them buttass naked!
“What the fuck?!” one officer asks of his partner as they look at each other with wide-eyed surprise on their faces.
The cop driving is laughing as he hurries to put his food down and start the patrol car. He fires the car up, hits the top lights, and burns rubber out of their hiding spot to give chase to the naked man. Swann is running as fast as he can down Santa Monica Boulevard. The officers speed up to where Swann is running, but Swann suddenly turns to his left and jumps a security fence to an apartment building. He runs through a courtyard and manages to make it into the building’s underground garage, where he hides out until the cops are gone. Swann can see the spotlights from the police cruiser as they search for him. Crouching naked behind a dumpster, Swann cries.
~~~
Tom and Red are playing around in bed, smoking coke, sniffing heroin and having fun. Red is definitely hot sex, Tom thinks, as he watches her moving up and down on him with her perky breasts and long, flowing red hair.
Afterward, Tom is lying on his back with his head propped up on a pillow, smoking a Camel. Red is beside him with her head on his chest and her hair spread out across his body.
“Meth is taking over the West Hollywood area,” Tom says. “All the gay boys are using it now. It’s the poor man’s coke!”
“I know,” Red agrees. Red uses pretty much anything that is available. Tom knows, for example, that she hangs out with a heroin dealer in the area sometimes as well. “Crystal and sherm are all over the place,” she continues. After a second, Red begins to chuckle a little bit.
