by Tom Nelson
The driver pulls the vehicle into the Emergency Room area designated for ambulances, as Tom has instructed. They pull right up to the double automatic doors of the ER. Tom hops out of the car, opens the rear door, and pulls Brian out. He dumps the man rather unceremoniously onto the pavement.
Tom can see people in the Emergency Room waiting area watching him as well as one of the security guards, who starts toward him. Tom quickly hops back into the car and says, “Floor it!” to the driver who doesn’t wait around for further instructions. The car burns rubber out of the ER delivery area, and the two make it to safety. It’s a silent ride back to Brian’s apartment. Neither knows whether Brian is going to live.
“I didn’t know what to do,” the driver repeats again as Tom is exiting the car.
“Don’t worry,” Tom assures the other man, “you did fine. He’s at the best hospital in Southern California. He’ll make it.” Tom isn’t as confident in his last statement as he sounds. He is hoping Brian lives, not because he cares about Brian that much, but because he has probably been caught on camera tossing Brian onto the ER area. The last thing he needs is to have his picture plastered all over the news.
Tom has the other guy drop him off at the apartment building and heads back up to Brian’s apartment. He has to see if his money is there. Hopefully, none of Brian’s entourage picked up the money as they were running out and leaving Brian to die!
Fortunately, Tom finds his money, Brian’s stash of cash, a .25 caliber automatic pistol, and about a half-pound of meth in the apartment. Apparently, the people who were at Brian’s apartment when he had his episode simply hightailed it out of there as fast as they could! Tom snags all of it, tosses everything in a grocery bag, and heads out the door. This has been a very profitable evening.
~~~
Tom is at home, trying to relax after dropping Brian off at the ER. There is a bottle of Jim Beam on the coffee table in front of him. There is also a glass of ice, a crack pipe, a few pieces of cocaine, and an ashtray containing a couple of half-smoked cigarettes and a smoldering joint. It’s a typical drug addict’s coffee table. Tom looks at the drugs and paraphernalia and realizes he is high as hell.
Cookie has been meowing at the refrigerator for a little while, but Tom isn’t budging from his spot. He’s comfortable. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV. Maybe the sound of something on TV will drown out the sound of that cat! He flips through a few channels and lands on a news program showing someone being interviewed from their hospital bed. And, sure as fuck, it’s Brian. He survived. Huh.
The reporter is asking Brian questions about what happened and who dropped him at the emergency room door. How it feels to be alive after being so close to death. Brian’s answers seem to come from someone who genuinely doesn’t recall anything that happened after he passed out. He had a seizure, which nearly killed him, which was probably caused by his heavy use of crystal meth. Of course, the meth was probably the only thing that kept Brian alive. The crystal probably amped him up so much that his body couldn’t slow down enough to die.
Either Brian doesn’t know who dropped him at the ER, or he is keeping quiet about what he knows. Tom will soon find out. His next conversation with Brian will tell him all he needs to know. Of course, this conversation will have to wait until Brian is released from jail. After being brought back to life in the ER, Brian was transferred to an LA County hospital jail ward, where he was to be held until he sobered up enough to be let out. The cops can legally hold Brian for seventy-two hours without charging him with a crime.
Tom still hasn’t decided if he is going to give Brian back any of the meth. He sure as hell isn’t giving the little queen any of his money back! Tom acquired it fair and square under the rules of the street. The only reason he might give Brian some of the meth is to get his moneymaker back. Get him started again, like he did with Johnny Dollar. Brian makes Tom a lot of extra cash and he doesn’t want to say goodbye to it.
Finally, the hungry kitty gives up and comes sauntering into the den where Tom sits watching the news. She jumps up onto the arm of the sofa and just sits there staring at Tom with a look that says, how dare you not feed me.
“If I give you treats every time you beg, you’ll be even heavier than you are now,” Tom explains. Cookie is a pound over her ideal weight, but Tom still doesn’t listen to the vet about giving her cookies. It’s how she got her name, for god’s sake. She really is a spoiled little kitty.
~~~
Tom is dropping Sophia off at a hotel near LAX where out-of-towners are known to spend the night and order “room service.” She has been dating men out of the hotel for almost six months, her tricks being arranged by the concierge. Her fee is $2,000 for two hours, or until she makes the client ejaculate. The latter of the two is almost always the deciding factor.
Sophia pays the concierge $400 for his part and is paying Tom $400 for his. Tom is the bulldog who walks her to the john’s door, so the man knows she isn’t alone. Security. Prostitutes around LA have been notoriously robbed, raped, beaten, and, occasionally, murdered. Security seems a little more important when looked at from Sophia’s point of view.
Tom is there for her, and to supply drugs, but he never says no to the $400. Sophia only needs him once or twice a week for this duty, so it isn’t too time-consuming. And, whatever she does to these guys, she gets them off fast! But Tom is looking out for his other interests as well. The connections Sophia is helping him make in Hollywood are proving to be worth a lot of money and probably will be for many more years to come. The “stars” of Hollywood are being introduced to Tom!
She knocks on the room door and the two wait. A moment later, they can hear the chain being removed from its groove. The door is opened by a young African American man that Tom thinks he recognizes from TV or somewhere. A musician? He tries to remember but can’t place him.
“Who’s dis?” the man asks Sophia, but his eyes never leave Tom.
“He’s my friend,” she explains. “My ride.”
“Okay,” her trick relents. “Uh, he ain’t comin’ in, right?” the man asks, looking a little puzzled.
“No,” Tom says with a chuckle, “I’ll be down the hall.” Tom is looking the black man in the eye as he sets his stopwatch. It makes a tiny beep. “See you soon.” He winks at Sophia, then turns and walks away.
“Okay, Tom,” Sophia says. Tom can hear her talking to the other man as he lets her into the room. The man laughs, then their voices are muffled by the closing of the door.
~~~
Sophia is out of there in thirty minutes. Not her quickest time, by a long shot, but not bad. In her line of work, time is money. The more johns she can cram into a night, the more money she makes. Sophia makes extremely good money for any prostitute in the business, but significantly more than most transsexual prostitutes. She is what is called passable in her world, which means that the vast majority of men and women will not know that Sophia is actually a boy.
Sophia’s tricks know what they are paying for with her. She doesn’t try to fool any of them. The fact that she looks so much like a woman is what attracts them to her. The fact that she isn’t a woman obviously turns them on. Tom gets her home safely and heads back to his apartment. It’s late.
~~~
A few days after dropping Brian at Cedars-Sinai, Tom is in his apartment with Brian sitting across from him. Since Brian hasn’t mentioned him, Tom gathers the frightened gay boy who had driven the night of Brian’s seizure has abandoned ship, just as the others have. He doesn’t want any part of this. Maybe, Tom thinks and laughs at his own pun, the little fucker will be Scared Straight! Tom chuckles at his pun as he remembers being forced to go on one of those old prison gatherings when he was a kid. It didn’t work.
“I don’t know what happened, Tom,” Brian is saying. “I was okay one minute, then the room started spinning, and my body sort of locked up.”
“So, you don’t remember who all was there?” Tom drew out the question a littl
e.
“No,” Brian admits. “I don’t remember anything after getting off the flight from New York.”
“Really,” Tom says calculatingly. “You must have been high as a motherfucker!” He breathes a deep breath. “Well, I’ll tell ya what, Brian. I’m going to give you enough dope to make a small run and pick up some money.” Tom pauses as he thinks it out. “This will help get your cash flow going again. But, you’re gonna have to pay me for this dope and what you owe me for the two pounds I gave you.”
“I know, Tom,” Brian responds, obviously glad Tom isn’t going to kill him or worse. “I’ll get it for you. I promise.”
“I know you will, Brian,” Tom continues, “which is why I’m not worried about giving you a little more to get you back on your feet after this, uh, unfortunate incident. I like you, Brian,” Tom lies. He wants to think he doesn’t give a shit about this punk. But I must like the guy at least a little bit to take him to the ER and risk being caught on tape, Tom realizes.
“Oh, thanks, Tom.” Brian reaches out to shake Tom’s hand. Brian seems sincere, so he shakes hands. Tom retrieves the meth he took from Brian’s condo a few days earlier. He has switched baggies, just in case Brian has marked his baggies somehow in order to differentiate his from someone else’s. Tweakers do crazy shit! Sometimes, it works.
“It’s a half-pound. All I have left for a few days.” Tom hands the bag of dope over to Brian. “Call me when you get back in town.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Tom, I will,” Brian reassures Tom. “I will.” Brian seems sincerely grateful to Tom for his generosity.
Tom has taken Brian’s drugs, the money he originally owed Tom, and Brian’s cash stash. He wiped the little queen out! But, in this game, ya gotta be able to protect your shit! Just ask Larry. Tom thinks about that dumb son of a bitch for a second and laughs.
Once completely paid off, Tom will have made $50,000 on the deal with Brian and feels completely justified in his actions. He did save the punk’s life, after all.
~~~
Tom pulls up to the cocaine house in Chino to score more coke. As he is approaching the front door, Juan flings it open, as usual, and welcomes Tom inside. They exchange pleasantries, Juan grabs Tom a bottle of water, and they head out to the garage where business will be conducted. Tom has been moving a reasonable amount of coke in the LA and Hollywood areas and has become a regular at the house in Chino.
“Everybody looooves this coke, man,” Tom says as they make their way into the garage.
“Good!” Juan exclaims. “Good!” Juan has a big smile and a friendly personality. He leads Tom to a table that is set up for the guys to play cards, dominoes, and other games. It has four chairs. Juan motions for Tom to sit and takes a seat next to Tom. “You’re moving a lot more shit these days, man,” Juan says matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” Tom replies. “I’ve made a few friends down in South-Central who run a couple of houses.”
“Be careful fucking with da brothas,” Juan warns.
“I’m good, Juan, don’t worry too much about me.”
“I already heard da stories, Tom, so I know how fucking crazy you are.” Juan sits up in his chair and says, “I’m not worried. Just watch your back.”
“I always do,” Tom says, “and I appreciate your concern.” Tom is wondering what’s up with this exchange. Normally he would have scored and been gone already, but Juan seems to have something on his mind.
“How do you feel about picking up in Arizona and driving back to LA from there?” Juan finally asks.
“Why? You guys moving?” Tom asks with a little chuckle.
“No. No,” Juan says. “No, we’re not moving.” He laughs a little and suddenly gets serious. “Some of our friends in Tempe,” he pauses, “Arizona,” another pause, “need a new driver to carry shit from there to Downtown LA.”
“Okay,” Tom says hesitantly. “But why would I want to do that instead of just scoring here?”
“Because your cost per kilo will be cut in half,” Juan replies. He looks at Tom to see if there is a reaction of any kind.
Tom is trying to maintain his composure. He is only paying $10,000 for a key now and is moving about one-and-a-half per week, most of which goes to Johnny and King in South-Central. At $5,000 per key, Tom quickly runs the numbers through his head, he will easily be able to pick up ten kilos per month, as opposed to five. But, of course, there’s the risk of driving from Arizona to LA with a trunk load of coke.
“And how much of theirs will I have to carry?” Tom asks.
“I don’t know for sure, Tom, but I think fifty keys.” Juan is looking at Tom with a very critical eye, in a playful manner, as though sizing him up for the job, “every couple of weeks.” Juan knows damn well Tom can handle this gig!
“I’m definitely interested,” comes Tom’s reply. “Who will I be meeting in Tempe? And, where am I dropping in LA?”
Juan sits back in his chair, obviously a bit relieved that Tom is about to become the new driver for his “friends.” He gives Tom a brief outline of how it will all go down and says his contacts will be given to him on his first trip. Tom has to stop in Chino to get the details from Juan on the way to pick up the first load. Apparently, the Peruvians don’t want Tom, nor anyone else, knowing any more than they need to until it’s absolutely necessary.
Tom listens to the other man talking and thinks of some of the old days when he was driving all over the South for Jack. That seems a lot riskier than what he is hearing right now. But Tom knows that the stakes, risks, and consequences are a hell of a lot higher in the coke game than it had been in those early days of hauling booze and other provisions.
~~~
“I had to dump the dope, Tom!” Brian is almost shouting. “I’m sorry!”
“Whoa,” Tom says, “slow down. So, you’re telling me that you were at LAX and thought the cops were onto you, so you ran to the bathroom and flushed a half-pound of meth down the toilet?”
“Yes, Tom,” Brian pleads with Tom to believe him. “I know they were onto me.”
“Okay,” Tom says and picks up Brian’s car keys from the table. Brian owns a very nice Mercedes that he loves almost as much as drugs and boys. It’s his pride and joy. “Then, I’ll keep your car as collateral until you can pay me back some of the money you owe.”
“No, Tom,” Brian begs, “please!”
“Yeah, Brian,” Tom tells the other man, “I’m keeping your fucking car until you pay me.”
“Damn it, Tom, how am I supposed to get around?”
“I don’t care,” Tom says. “It makes no difference to me. But I hear the buses in LA run all night.”
“Tom, please . . .”
“Call me when you have my money,” Tom says as he stands. “And, don’t worry,” Tom turns and says as he leaves, “I’ll take good care of your car.”
~~~
Tom and Red are driving through Hollywood in Brian’s car. He is dropping Red off at her usual spot. It’s early evening and the two have been playing around at Tom’s apartment. As they’re driving, they glimpse movement out of the corner of their eyes.
“Look!” Red squeals and points. “It’s Swann!” Sure enough, there he is! Swann is hauling ass, fully clothed this time, hopping fences like the hounds from hell are nipping at his heels.
Tom starts laughing, then Red chimes in with her laughter as well. “The little fucker saw us first. This time!” she says, and the two laugh all the way to her drop-off point.
~~~
Tom drops off a pound of coke at Johnny’s crack house.
“Goddamn cops don’t even come down here no more,” Johnny is saying. “Crazy-ass niggas runnin’ ’round with AKs and shit!”
“Cops don’t wanna get shot at any more than you and me,” Tom retorts.
“True,” Johnny admits. “True.” Johnny takes a huge hit of coke from a pipe and hands it over to Tom who picks up where Johnny had left off. Tom takes a big hit and settles back for a moment. He is goin
g to put more coke on the pipe when gunshots suddenly ring out.
Several shots are fired from one gun, Tom can tell, and then he hears fire from another weapon. Probably return fire from whoever is being shot at. Tom and Johnny make their way to a window that faces out on the side yard toward King’s crack house. The two men see someone running and holding his stomach while returning fire toward someone up the street. A few shots are fired again from a car that is stopped in the street, then the car speeds off with a squealing of tires. The man holding his stomach runs past Johnny’s place and around the corner of an adjacent house.
Biggie comes running from the direction of King’s house, and another man comes out of a house across the street. Both men begin firing and Tom can hear the sound of bullets striking the car. By this time, Tom and Johnny are out on the front porch trying to figure out exactly where the shots had been aimed. Seeing Biggie with a gun in his hand firing at the speeding getaway vehicle gives them their answer.
“Johnny, Tom-Tom,” Biggie shouts, “King’s been hit!”
Johnny and Tom exchange a quick glance and run as fast as they can over to King’s house. The two men enter with Biggie bringing up the rear. A trail of blood runs the length of the porch, den, and hallway, and the two men can hear howls of pain coming from the direction of King’s bedroom.
Tom and Johnny enter the room together and there is King lying across the bed with blood everywhere and his pants soaked in it. King is screaming, obviously in quite a bit of pain. Being shot hurts like hell, of course.
“Nigga shot me in da ass!” King screams, then groans in pain again.
Tom and Johnny instantly break into laughter. King has been shot in the butt by the would-be assassin in the car! He is screaming like hell and waiting for the crackhead doctor to arrive, but he will survive.
“He might need a hospital,” Tom says.
“Fuck, let’s hope not!” Johnny fires back. “If he goes to da hospital with a bullet hole in his ass, da cops will be all over him.”
