Livin' After Midnight

by Tom Nelson

  A moment passes before the door is opened. Security is undoubtedly taking another look at him. The door is opened by a Peruvian man wearing a suit and holding an Uzi. None of the rest of his features registers once Tom sees the automatic weapon. The other man is looking at Tom, sizing him up, and asks, “You Tom?”

  “Yeah.” Tom is doing his best to remain cool.

  “Come,” the other man says and stands aside for Tom to enter the house. Once they are inside, the man in the suit says, “Spread ’em.”

  Tom is surprised by the command but complies by spreading his legs a little and lifting his arms away from his sides. The other man dutifully goes about the task of patting Tom down for weapons. This is an entirely different group of guys with its own ways of doing things, Tom realizes. Satisfied that Tom is not carrying a gun or other weapon, the suited Peruvian man motions Tom toward a hallway. He heads down the hall and the Peruvian follows him.

  They pass through a hallway that has a library on the left and two rooms that look like offices or studies on the right. Tom follows the man into an open den where another Peruvian man, who reminds Tom of Ricardo Montalbán from the Fantasy Island TV series, is standing. He is looking at a painting on the wall. It is an original Matisse.

  “Hello, Tom,” the man says.

  “Hi.” Tom steps forward and extends his hand in greeting. The other man looks at it for a moment, then shakes. “You must be Manuel.”

  “Yes,” the man replies. The man who searched Tom and led him into the den stands silently while the man who just shook Tom’s hand speaks. He doesn’t acknowledge the man with the gun. “Do you like art?” he asks.

  “Sure,” Tom replies. He didn’t know a Matisse from a Picasso.

  “Good, good,” the man continues. “It is good to have an appreciation for beautiful things.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” is all Tom can muster.

  “Juan tells me good things about you. That you are reliable and dependable.” He is all business now.

  “That’s good to hear,” Tom says. “By the way, there’s a cop sitting out on the highway with his lights off about a quarter mile down from the main gate.”

  “One had better be there,” Manuel says with a laugh, “they get paid enough!” Manuel motions Tom toward a room at the other end of the den. He is led into an incredibly ornate master bedroom that is as big as Tom’s entire apartment. Tom can see into the bathroom, which contains an enormous tub, marble tile, and weathered wood cabinetry for the sink cabinets. It’s beautiful. “Come,” Manuel says as he leads Tom to the master closet. He opens the doors and Tom is looking at a pile of cocaine bricks that are stacked everywhere they can be inside the large closet. Fuck! Tom says in his head, the Peruvians don’t play around when it comes to moving product.

  “So, you will take fifty kilos to LA for us,” Manuel reiterates the amount that Tom will be moving for the Peruvians, “and five for yourself. Yes?”

  “Yep,” Tom replies.

  The guy with the gun speaks into a small walkie talkie he had in his coat pocket. A few seconds later a beautiful, young, Peruvian lady comes into the room. She takes the duffel bags from Tom and begins to fill them with cocaine. Twenty-five bricks in one bag and thirty in the other, Manuel instructs her. Tom will remove his five keys before dropping off the contents of the bags in Downtown LA. Tom pulls out an envelope containing $25,000 cash and holds it out for Manuel who nods toward the suited man with the gun, so Tom hands it over to him. Purchasing kilos of cocaine for $5,000 is unheard of, and Tom can hardly believe that’s all he is paying. Hell, at this price, selling one key pays for all five!

  Tom is nervous about the drive. It’s one thing to drive from Chino to Hollywood with one or two kilos. But to drive from Tempe, Arizona, to LA with fifty-five kilos is a completely different story. He watches as the young lady fills the two bags. Once completed, Tom takes the first of the two bags out to the car. The man with the gun watches him the entire time. Tom makes two trips to the car with the duffel bags. After all, they weigh fifty-five pounds each! Once the bags are in the car, Tom says his goodbyes to Manuel and the suited man. He will be back in two weeks on another run.

  ~~~

  Tom arrives home and parks his car on the street near his apartment. Sometimes, he’ll mix things up by parking in different places or approaching the building from a different direction, just in case he is under surveillance. Tom doesn’t experience paranoia the way a lot of people who use crack or meth do, because he never has to wonder if the cops are looking for him. He knows damn well they are!

  Most of the time he is running around LA like a madman, Tom is on parole or probation for various crimes and will have violated one or both. There is no question that he has a violation, warrants for his arrest, and the narcotics squad trying to nail him at all times. Why be paranoid? With all that going on, it’s just a matter of time.

  He sees a tree near the sidewalk that has a small bush growing beside it. As Tom walks past, he feels a strange sensation run over him. He turns around when he is about ten yards past the tree. The bush is no longer there. In its place is a tiny leprechaun leaning against the tree with one arm, smiling at Tom and nodding his head. Okay, Tom thinks, that’s pretty fucking weird. He walks back toward the tree and the leprechaun turns back into a bush.

  He turns and walks in the direction of his apartment. When he reaches the corner, he looks back and sees the leprechaun standing in the same position, still smiling and nodding his tiny head. Time for some sleep! Tom knows damn well he’s been awake too long if he is seeing leprechauns!

  He manages to get back to his apartment without further hallucinations but feels as though he is walking through Jell-O by the time he makes it to the bedroom. He plops himself down on top of his bed and sleeps for twenty-four hours.

  ~~~

  Tom is picking up another load of cocaine from Tempe. He has been running drugs for these guys for several months, and he and Manuel have developed a little different rapport than in their first meeting. The entire process is much more laid back. Even the guy in the suit, Bruno, seems much more relaxed, but he still carries the Uzi.

  “So, tell me about Hollywood,” Manuel says to Tom. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Hmmm,” Tom replies, “you’re not missing much. You have the extremely glamorous side of Hollywood that you see on TV, then you have a seedy street scene that is all about drugs and prostitution.”

  “Sounds like my kinda place,” Manuel says, laughing and looking at Bruno for confirmation of his joke. The suited guy laughs. So does Tom.

  “I don’t know,” Tom says, playfully sizing Manuel up, “you look more like a Vegas guy to me.”

  “No fucking way!” Manuel says. “Nevada has the toughest drug laws in the country,” he explains. “You go to jail for life with one kilo there.”

  “No shit,” Tom says and whistles. “Thanks for that tip! I won’t be heading into Nevada any time soon.” All three men laugh.

  “Do you know any movie stars?” Manuel asks.

  “I know a lot of people who are in movies,” Tom replies, “but I don’t know if you would call them ‘stars’ or not. Shooting stars, maybe.” Tom tells Manuel about a few of the actors, actresses, and musicians he knows through selling cocaine. Most of the cocaine that Tom sells in the Hollywood area is to reasonably well-known actors and actresses who can be seen on TV or in movies. He meets a lot of them at Sophia’s place.

  Tom tells him about big drug parties at a musician’s house, who flushes his career down the toilet. However, his cocaine use isn’t the cause of his musical demise. The stupid queen releases a video that depicts him not as the badass rocker that the public “knows” him to be, but the raging queen he truly is! Poor Billy, Tom recalls. The one-time rocker’s cocaine use increases after the video is released, but the money stops flowing in.

  Tom tells Manuel of the transsexual prostitute who looks so much like a woman that only the most discerning eye will know.
Sophia, as the beautiful, young Cuban calls herself, will contact Tom at all hours of the night to deliver drugs to her and her extremely high-dollar clients. When Sophia calls, he knows it means big money!

  Manuel gobbles these stories up! It is then that Tom realizes that this house, or the next one like it, is Manuel’s entire life. At the level he is at in the Peruvians’ network, Manuel can never go anywhere. There must be active manhunts for him at all times by the police, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA), and a whole lot of other agencies. He will be watched by his own organization if he ventures out into public. And, of course, there is always the possibility of assassination by a rival cartel. Manuel is imprisoned for life, despite not being behind bars.

  ~~~

  Tom has a hooker at his apartment. Not Red. She is unavailable. Red has been busted for prostitution and is spending a few weeks in jail. So, Tom has called another girl he has fucked a time or two. The two are sitting up in bed smoking cigarettes after having sex. This girl is fun, Tom is thinking, but a little loud. She will yell encouragement to Tom as he is fucking her. It can be hot, yes, but loud.

  “Ya know,” she is saying, “I can have just as good of an orgasm with you fucking me in the ass as I can in the pussy.” That gets Tom’s attention pretty quick. Anal sex is one of the freaky things his first lover taught him.

  “Really?” he asks in a playful voice.

  “Really,” she says in a serious, but sultry voice.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that an hour ago?” Tom tosses the girl across the bed and begins a little foreplay. Once he is hard again, he has her put a condom on him and puts her up on her knees. Amy likes it rough, and Tom certainly doesn’t mind obliging her. He is manhandling her quite a bit, and she loves it!

  Tom gets moving inside of her and she begins to match his rhythm. Amy starts moving her body back and forth and lets out a little moan. But the next thing that comes out of her mouth comes as a little bit of a surprise to Tom. He is really getting into it though, and it actually encourages him quite a bit. It’s a nice surprise!

  “Fuck me in the ass, daddy!” the beautiful, young brunette says loudly. “Fuck me in the ass!” Her face is a little scrunched, Tom notices, because her ass is up and her face is buried in a pillow. She is moving back and forth more frantically now, forcing herself onto Tom’s manhood. “FUCK ME IN THE ASS, DADDY!” comes her earsplitting screams of ecstasy as she comes to an incredible orgasm. She keeps repeating it over and over! LOUD! Tom is so turned on that he comes right along with her. He just stays where he is, behind her with his cock in her ass, for what seems like minutes before the pair crumple to the sheets.

  “Goddamn,” Tom says. His heart is racing and he feels like a total stud. “Wheeeeww.”

  “Yeah,” Amy agrees.

  “Fuck, that was hot!” Tom says. He is breathing hard.

  “Sure was,” she agrees again. “I really like that!” The two lie in silence for several minutes. After a few moments, Amy removes the condom from Tom’s penis and takes it to the bathroom to toss in the trash before washing up. She closes the door halfway and Tom can hear the water in the shower being turned on.

  Tom lies back and lights a Camel. He is relaxing after that wild fuck, contemplating life’s great mysteries, when there is a knock on the door. Tom gets up and heads into the living room. He certainly isn’t expecting anyone.

  Tom peeks through the peephole. It’s the little gay boy who lives upstairs. Hmmm. Wonder what he wants. He has never come to Tom’s apartment. He opens the front door about halfway because he is wearing only a robe with nothing on underneath.

  “Yes?” Tom asks. “What can I do for you, Geoffrey?”

  “Tom,” the upstairs neighbor begins. There is a pause, during which he seems to start blushing. Geoffrey clears his throat lightly. “You do realize that your windows are open?” His statement sounds like a question, and Tom immediately recalls the events of ten minutes ago. His neighbor is definitely blushing now.

  “Hmmm,” comes Tom’s reply, “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Geoffrey is standing in front of him nodding his head in agreement with his own statement. “But, thanks for letting me know. Have a nice evening, Geoffrey.” Tom smiles and closes the door. He laughs. Now, that is funny! He laughs harder.

  Tom goes back to the bedroom, removes his robe, and hops back in bed. He doesn’t bother to close the windows. He figures he and Amy are finished for the evening anyway. He lights another cigarette and laughs as he lies back in bed to relax.

  “Who was that, daddy?” Amy asks as she comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.

  “Nobody,” Tom says with a chuckle. “Nobody.”

  ~~~

  Tom, Johnny, and King are sitting in Johnny’s kitchen following their return from the drive-by on the ’hood that had come in shooting at them. Biggie is in jail. He was busted along with his driver, whose name is Joe, Tom finally discovers. The three are discussing how they can help Biggie and Joe out. The guns found in the second car were traced back to several rounds found in a house as well as one person. Fortunately, it is one of the other gangbangers, not a child. Even more fortunately, the fucker is still alive.

  “Joe got patched up at da county hospital,” Johnny is saying. “It’s gonna take him a minute to get back on his feet.” Johnny figures gunshots probably hurt worse than broken ribs.

  “Yeah,” Tom replies. “I guess so. I don’t know from experience,” he says. “I’ve been lucky enough to get the hell out of the way of bullets, so far.” The three men laugh a little. It was a cute joke, but reality is that many of the people the guys have known weren’t so lucky. Many of them couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Tom lightly raps on his skull with the knuckles of his balled fist and says, “Knock on wood.” The three men laugh again. Tom’s knock-on-wood comment is not only an old adage, but Tom referring to himself as a peckerwood, which is on par with the brothas referring to themselves as niggas.

  “Let’s hope that nigga can keep his mouth shut!” King says, talking about Joe. All three men know that Biggie won’t rat any of them out. They’re his family. Joe is just a brotha from the same ’hood as King and Johnny.

  “I know!” Johnny seconds the motion. “I don’t know dat nigga so good.”

  “Me neither,” King responds.

  “I just found out tonight that his name’s Joe,” Tom says, “so I really don’t know the motherfucker.”

  “Yeah, well,” King says, “we’ll find out soon enough.” He has a bad feeling about Joe. They all do.

  ~~~

  Tom is about to leave Johnny’s crack house in South-Central. Johnny has a surprise waiting for Tom again. A beautiful, young African American who looks like a princess. Wow! Tom turns to Johnny and asks quietly, “What’s her name?”

  “Tawana,” Johnny says, “and she is HOT!”

  “Can I take her with me for the night?” Tom asks respectfully. He doesn’t know if she is just a super sexy strawberry, or one of Johnny and King’s moneymaking hos.

  “Of course, you can,” Johnny busts out laughing, “if she wanna go with you.” Johnny turns his head and calls out the princess’s name, “Tawana!” Then, he turns to Tom and asks jokingly, “You sho you can go all night?!” Johnny laughs.

  “Fuck you, Johnny!” Tom fires back. The men laugh again.

  Tawana comes into the den where the two men are laughing. “Uh, Tom-Tom wanna know if you wanna go hang out with him for da night. At his place.” She looks at Tom, then at Johnny who is smiling and, finally, back at Tom.

  “Yes,” is all she said.

  If a black woman can blush, Tom thinks, Tawana is doing so right now.

  “I’d like that,” she says. She grabs her purse from the room where it has been and takes off with Tom toward Hollywood. Damn, there are some beautiful crackheads in South-Central LA!

  ~~~

  Tom and Tawana are inside his apartment. As soon as the two walk in, Cookie is all over Tawa
na. The cat seems drawn to Tom’s female guests more than him. Cookie only gives Tom attention when she wants it, or when he is smoking pot.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Tom asks. “I’ve got liquor, beer, water, soda . . .” his list trails off.

  “Cognac?” she asks.

  “Comin’ right up!” Tom asks whether she prefers ice. Yes, she does, so he accommodates with a trip to the freezer.

  “Thanks!” his guest says as she looks around. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. I like it,” Tom says. “It’s reasonably secure.”

  “Cool.” She gets to the stereo and starts looking at some of Tom’s cassette tapes. She smiles.

  “Mind if I play something?” she asks.

  “Not at all,” Tom says. “Be my guest.” The two laugh at his pun.

  Tom sits back on the sofa and fires up a joint. He takes a sip of Jim Beam on ice and likes the way the cold liquor soothes his throat from the weed. Tawana is putting a cassette tape into the deck and pushing the buttons on the stereo to get the perfect settings.

  “Sweet Home Alabama” by Lynyrd Skynyrd begins to play.

  Tawana begins unbuttoning her blouse and moving a little with the sound of Ed King playing the opening guitar of the song. On their drive over from Johnny’s place to Tom’s apartment, he learns that the young lady is from Montgomery, Alabama. A beautiful Southern town dripping in history and monuments immortalizing that history.

  She kicks her shoes off, then lets her bra drop to the floor along with her blouse, exposing perfect little breasts. Hmmm. Tom has never been a breast man, but these look delicious. He sits back and waits for the rest of the dance to unfold. Tawana steps onto the coffee table and Tom moves his feet out of her way. He doesn’t want to interfere with this!