Livin' After Midnight

by Tom Nelson

  “I don’t have time to fuck with you right now, you little punk,” Tom shouts and points his finger at Swann, “but I had your stupid ass again!” He shoots Swann with his imaginary finger gun, and the hustler practically shits himself.

  Swann turns around and runs as fast as he possibly can in the opposite direction. Tom pulls away from the curb and heads home, laughing even harder now. He doesn’t want to risk jacking Swann up while there’s a half-pound of meth in his car. He wants to get it home as quickly as possible. But he just couldn’t resist the fun of scaring the shit out of Swann!

  1986

  Tom is propped up on a pillow with Red’s head on his chest and her long red hair spread out all over his body again. They always seem to end up in this position. Tom is smoking a Camel and relaying the story of his pick-up at Danny’s the day before. They’re laughing, relaxed. This is about as good as it gets, Tom thinks. It’s all he knows at this point in his life. Tom lost his virginity at thirteen to the prostitute he met in the Aiken County jail during his first incarceration. He thought being with prostitutes was a perfectly normal thing. Of course, he had gone back again and again and again for that wild woman over a period of several years! Now, he has Red.

  “Do you know people who want X?” Red asks Tom as they are relaxing.

  “Yeah,” Tom says. “That shit’s taking over too! It’s in huge demand right now.”

  “Are you interested in buying any?” she asks a little timidly, not sure whether she is overstepping her boundaries with Tom.

  “Maybe.” Tom puts the cigarette out and reaches down, lifts Red’s chin up toward him. “Let me guess; you know an Ecstasy cook.”

  “No. He’s not the person who makes it. He just sells it. But he’s got huge baggies full of it.”

  “Really.” Tom already knows a few places to get rid of X, although he hasn’t made a move yet. Perhaps this is the time to make that move. Tom asks, “Capsules or pressed pills?”

  “Capsules.”

  “Have you tried it?” Tom asks.

  “Yeah. It’s good, Tom.” She looks up at him and continues, “I wouldn’t tell you about it if it wasn’t.”

  “You just know everybody, don’t you?” Tom says jokingly.

  “Want me to ask if he’ll meet you?”

  “Let me give it some thought,” Tom says, and Red’s head returns to rest on his chest again. He wants to line up sales before making a big investment on another new drug!

  Red begins making her way down Tom’s chiseled body, kissing, touching. She gives him something else ecstatic to think about besides drugs. Tom closes his eyes. Afterward, the two lay in each other’s arms and drift off to sleep.

  “I love you . . .” comes a faint whisper from Red as the two lie in bed and fall asleep. Tom acts like he is already asleep and doesn’t hear. It isn’t the first time Tom has heard those words come from Red as the two are falling asleep.

  Red is a really sweet girl, a lot of fun and super-hot sex, but—at the end of the day—she is a drug-addicted prostitute. Certainly not the type you take home to mother, not that Tom has a mother to take her home to. There just isn’t any place for love in the drug world, nor in Tom’s heart, at this time in his life. He is beginning to grow cold.

  ~~~

  Tom is back in the small, cramped gay bar where he first met Red. He is there to make a delivery to the manager of the bar again. It doesn’t bother Tom that men find him attractive. In fact, in this part of town, Tom would often use that to his advantage. Tom is coming from behind the bar where the manager’s office is located and enters the main room of the bar. He can barely move because of all the people packed into the sleazy little club.

  As he makes his way across the bar floor toward the side door, which leads to an alley, Tom can feel eyes on him, watching him. It’s about eleven P.M. A few stars can be seen over the glare of lights from the city. A streetlight on Santa Monica Boulevard illuminates the front portion of the alley, and another one in the alley lights the rear. Tom is parked about half a block away. He likes to see the outside of a building before he walks inside with drugs. It gives him a false sense of security.

  As he reaches his car, Tom hears a quiet, timid voice saying, “Yoo-hoo.” Tom acts as though he doesn’t hear it, although he figures it’s meant for him. Once again, the voice calls, “Yoo-hoo,” a little louder this time. Tom is chuckling now. He looks up to see a beautiful young Cuban “girl” who is apparently following him from the bar. “How the hell did I miss her?!” Tom asks himself.

  “Hi,” Tom says. “What ya up to?”

  “Just coming to say hello to you,” comes the Cuban’s sultry reply. She is about five foot, six inches and has a slim, athletic build with big knockers to finish off her overall look. She has a beautiful face and nice smile that makes Tom feel welcome right away.

  “Oh, yeah?” Tom asks.

  “Yes,” the girl says with a little more confidence now that Tom is actually engaging in a conversation with her. Did she just lick her lips at me? Tom asks himself.

  “What’s your name?” Tom asks.

  “Sophia,” comes her reply. “And yours?”

  “Tom.”

  “Tom,” she repeats, as though feeling the name on her tongue. “Is that your real name or one you made up?”

  “It’s my real name,” Tom responds. “Is Sophia your real name?” Tom asks.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Okay, Sophia, or whoever you are, you’ve said hello to me,” Tom says, “now what?”

  “I want to take you home with me,” Sophia responds very matter-of-factly.

  “Really?!” Tom replies. He laughs. He likes aggressive women who are straightforward about what they want. But he rationalizes with himself, he’s in Boystown.

  “You’re a boy, aren’t you?” Tom asks in a very direct way, countering Sophia’s aggressive approach. Suddenly, Sophia doesn’t seem quite as confident.

  “Uh,” she stammers, then admits, “yes, I am a boy.” She looks Tom in the eye and asks, “But I am very pretty, yes?” The Cuban accent is kinda cute, Tom has to admit, and he is a very sexy-looking woman.

  “Yes, you are very pretty,” Tom says to Sophia, “but it’s not really my thing. Guys, I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean.” The Cuban transsexual sort of pouts. “Then, what are you doing here?” Sophia asks, motioning with her arm toward the bar. “I saw you come from behind the bar.”

  “So?” Tom asks.

  “So, what were you doing back there?” Sophia asks.

  “That’s none of your business,” Tom says. He is beginning to tire of this little queen.

  “What do you want?”

  “I like to party,” Sophia says, “and have fun.” The word party meaning she likes to use drugs, and have fun meaning she likes to have sex while using her drugs.

  “And?” Tom asks.

  “You can come over,” Sophia continues, “I have something for us to get high.”

  “Yeah?” Tom asks. “Like what?”

  “Crystal,” the Cuban says. Tom laughs. He isn’t about to go home with this little queen, but something holds him there in the conversation. He has an interesting feeling about this person that isn’t threatening.

  “I don’t use crystal,” Tom replies.

  “No?” Sophia asks. “Cocaine?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” Tom pulls out a small baggie of coke and hands it to Sophia. “Here. Take this. When you need more, you know who to call.” Tom gives the Cuban his pager number and makes his goodbyes. It’s not long before he hears from Sophia again.

  ~~~

  Tom and Red are at his new apartment, which is an upgrade from the old crack den he had before. Tom is sitting back on the sofa watching television as Red does whatever women do in the bathroom for hours on end. He stops on a local station for a moment to see a news reporter asking the question: “Does anybody recognize this person?”

  Tom breaks out into a big bell
y laugh as he watches a surveillance video of someone running naked with the exception of running shoes and socks. The video only shows his skinny physique from behind and the back of his head as he jumps over what looks like a wooden backyard fence, but there is no mistaking Swann. A digitized, pixelated spot covers his naked ass. Tom wonders where the video was taken and laughs.

  “The people of Hollywood are being asked to identify this man,” a cute news reporter is saying with obvious amusement at reporting such a funny story, “dubbed the Hollywood Streaker. He has been spotted twice by police, so far, but has managed elude them on both occasions.” As the reporter finishes her previous sentence the song “The Streak” by Ray Stevens begins playing in the background. A very clever sound person has orchestrated it!

  “People are being asked to call the Hollywood police department with any information on the identity of the Hollywood Streaker,” she finishes with a smile.

  Tom is laughing his ass off as he watches Swann’s naked ass running like the hounds from hell are nipping at his heels! He fires up a joint and out walks Red from the bathroom looking sexy as hell and wearing only a kimono, which is open just enough for Tom to see her freckled cleavage. It’s going to be a nice evening, Tom thinks, as he watches Red make her way across the room toward him—a very nice evening.

  “I like this apartment a lot better than your last one,” Red says as she sits on the sofa next to Tom. “And I like the way you furnished it.” She is looking around the room to see a primarily Asian-themed décor. Tom discovered a small shop that has been going out of business for a couple of years, whose owner had a developed taste for cocaine. So, he managed to walk away with some pretty nice stuff!

  “Me too.” Tom agrees.

  “That’s funny,” she says looking toward the television as the report of the Hollywood Streaker finishes. “How many times have you caught him?”

  “I’ve only made him get naked twice, but I had him dead to rights another time,” Tom says as he thinks about it. “The first time I scored from Danny. I was driving home and had all that meth on me, so all I did was scare the shit out of him.”

  Red giggles. “So, when are you going to see Larry again?” She changes the subject. A few days ago, Tom told Red that he wanted to meet the X dealer, and the guy, Larry, had said sure. He knows Red in the same way Tom does, of course, as a paid prostitute. Tom understands that prostitution is how Red knows every person she puts him in contact with. After all, other than using drugs and occasionally sleeping, sex is her primary activity. So, Red made the introductions and Tom and Larry have made a deal: $25,000 for 5,000 hits of X. Of course, the deal is contingent upon the ecstasy being good, so Tom and Red have taken some together and are having a fantastic time. X is something Tom has only tried a handful of times, but he enjoys it when he does.

  “I’m supposed to see him tomorrow night,” Tom says. Tom has already compensated Red for the introduction, but she probably doesn’t get anything from Larry until the deal goes down. “I’m picking up five thousand hits.”

  “Wow! You really do like to start with the big stuff!” Red says in a sexually playful way and starts scooting closer and making her moves on Tom.

  ~~~

  Tom is standing at the top of a narrow staircase that simply ends at a window. It has two apartments, one on each side. He knocks on the door to his right and is greeted by Larry, a tall, thin, white guy with sandy blond dreadlocks, wearing shorts and flip-flops. He wears a shell necklace, typical of the Venice Beach locals, and has a couple of piercings above one of his brows and in his lower lip.

  “Hey, Tom,” Larry says as he opens the door, and Tom walks into the apartment.

  “Hey, Larry.” Tom looks around the apartment and sees ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, a couple of People magazines, The Art of War by Sun Tzu on a shelf with a couple of other books, a couple of pairs of handcuffs, an open bag of Cheetos, and a tube of eyeliner. Typical drug dealer’s apartment stuff. Junk. Tom returns his attention to the cuffs. One pair is normal, but the other has a pink furry lining inside the actual cuff. Apparently, Larry likes to get a little freaky.

  “Have a seat,” Larry motions Tom to a long couch that sits in the middle of the room. Tom sits. Larry seems a bit nervous, Tom thinks, and he is glad to feel the weight and hardness of the Beretta 9mm pistol in the back of his pants. Tom takes a seat on the couch and Larry sits opposite him in a shabby armchair. “So, there’s been a change in the pricing,” Larry says.

  “Really?” Tom replies. No wonder Larry seems nervous. He is about to change the rules of the game by reneging on their deal.

  “Yeah, man,” Larry continues, “the supplier held out for more money, so the product is gonna cost more.”

  “Yeah?” Tom asks. He can feel his heart rate start to rise as he asks, “How much more?”

  “It’s eight dollars a hit now,” Larry says. “Sorry, man.”

  Tom is running this little tidbit of information through his head as he comes up with a plan. There is no way he is about to pay eight dollars each for something that should be five dollars. And, the fact that he is being told there will be a 60 percent increase in the price of the product, especially after driving across LA with $25,000 cash in his car, is really beginning to piss Tom off.

  “Okay,” Tom says agreeably. “Shit happens. So, how much do you have? I have outlets for it already.”

  “About ten thousand hits.”

  “I’ll take all of them,” Tom says. “I’ve got the extra cash in my car. Let’s see what ya got.”

  “Shit, man. Okay.” Larry stands. He’s excited at the prospect of selling all the X he has in one deal. He heads to a closet off the living room of the apartment where he retrieves a Tupperware container that holds several large baggies of X. Larry seems to have relaxed a little, since Tom didn’t freak out over the price increase. He sits back down across from Tom, opens the container, and pulls out a one-gallon Ziploc bag full of capsules. “The big one is five thousand hits and the other two are twenty-five hundred hits each.” Larry places the bags on the table in front of Tom and sits back in his chair.

  Suddenly, Tom stands and pulls the 9mm from the back of his waistband. He points the gun at Larry and asks, “How the fuck did you think it was okay to drag me all the way across LA with twenty-five thousand dollars on me to pull this bullshit when I got here?”

  “What the fuck, man?!” Larry practically screams. “What are you doing?!”

  “I’m taking all of this dope, you stupid motherfucker!” Tom thinks for a minute and says, “Get up! Go to the bathroom.” Tom waves the gun at Larry who doesn’t wait around to find out the consequences of refusal.

  “Tom,” Larry pleads, “don’t do this, man.” Larry stands up and heads toward the bathroom of the apartment. “I didn’t know the price was going to be higher! I swear!” Larry is doing his best to talk himself out of this situation. Tom has a crazy reputation. “I’ll give it to you for five dollars, man!”

  “Really, Larry? It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Tom is following the other man. He sees the handcuffs on the side table again and picks them up as the two head into the bathroom. “Who the fuck did you think you were dealing with?” Tom asks as they enter the bathroom.

  “What are you going to do?!” Larry is practically crying now. “Please, don’t shoot me!”

  “You won’t get shot as long as you do what I say,” Tom says matter-of-factly. “Sit down on the floor in front of the sink,” Tom waves the gun, “and open the cabinet.”

  Larry complies. Tom hands him the pair of regular handcuffs.

  “Put these on. One on your wrist and the other on the opposite ankle. Loop them through the pipes under the sink first,” Tom instructs and stands by watching. Larry complies again, this time handcuffing himself beneath the sink of his bathroom. Tom steps forward, loops the furry cuffs around the pipes as well, and places one on Larry’s free wrist and ankle. Larry is now hogtied to the bathroom sin
k of his apartment.

  Once Larry is secured, Tom walks around the apartment and searches the place for additional drugs, money, guns, and other assorted contraband. He finds a small lockbox in the bottom of the closet where Larry had kept the X and takes it into the bathroom for Larry to give up the combination. Larry first says he doesn’t know the combination, but Tom smacks him on the back of the head with the pistol. The dreadlocked man hurriedly gives up the numbers and Tom opens the box. He removes $15,000 cash, a .22 caliber pistol, a baggie of marijuana, and another small baggie of X. A further search of the apartment reveals a few knives stashed around the place. Tom chuckles as he thinks, A lot of good those did you!

  “Tom, please, don’t leave me like this!”

  “You’ll be fine,” Tom says, then leans down close to Larry’s face. “If you come after me, or send somebody else, I’m going to shoot you with your own gun.” Tom waves the .22 caliber in front of Larry for emphasis. “If I even hear that there is someone looking for me, Larry, I’m going to come back and shoot your dumbass. You got that?!”

  “Yes, Tom,” Larry says in a defeated voice. “I got it.”

  “You damned well better!” Tom pulls the other man’s head up by the hair to look at him closely and repeats, “You got it?”

  “I got it,” Larry says with tears running down his cheeks. “I got it!”

  ~~~

  Tom is at his apartment separating the drugs and the money he has taken from Larry. He still can’t believe the son of a bitch tried to jack him for an additional 60 percent. Who the fuck does that dreadlocked idiot think he is screwing with?!

  Tom fires up a joint and sits back on the sofa. His cat—Cookie—jumps into his lap and seems to want to get high as well, so Tom blows some of the smoke into the cat’s face. Cookie sits and accepts it like she knows what she is doing and wants to get high.

  Tom gets a beep on his pager and looks to see who it is. Red. Hmmm, Tom thinks with a laugh, I wonder what’s on her mind. He laughs. The page is a three-digit code that lets Tom know what general area she will be working. Tom and Cookie take another puff off the joint and Tom gets up to go get Red.