Lost in Middle America

by Colin Conway

Andrew’s face whitened. “I pay my taxes.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Sometimes that’s not enough.”

  The two of them walked out of the comic book store.

  After the meeting in Toledo, Sam and Rachel drove south on I-75 for a little over an hour before they came to Lima, Ohio. The city was in northwestern Ohio, only an hour away from the Indiana state line.

  They booked a room at the Holiday Inn, just off the freeway. It was a couple miles from downtown and, if necessary, would make for a quick exit out of the area.

  In the late 1800s, Lima became a world-class oil production city. They also built some of the greatest steam locomotives the world had ever seen. Time and progress robbed the little city of their successes, though. Oil production moved elsewhere in the world and the nation. Diesel engines replaced steam. At its height of population, Lima numbered over fifty-four thousand people. The town had now dwindled down to thirty-four thousand.

  Lima still served a purpose for the neighboring communities. For that reason alone, it continued in the shadow of its former self, providing services and hope to the people of northwest Ohio.

  “It’s sad,” Rachel said.

  “What?” Sam said. They were driving through various neighborhoods, getting an understanding of the geography. While many shops were vacant, there were some bright spots of hope as newer businesses has opened. Many residential neighborhoods had fallen on tough times as evidenced by the dilapidated houses and unkempt lawns.

  “The city. It looks sad.”

  “It happens,” Sam said, paying attention to where he was.

  “The people must have it hard here.”

  “People have it hard everywhere.” Sam glanced at Rachel. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “It just isn’t quite the American dream, is it?”

  “Not much is.”

  Lobo drove through Lima in his black GMC Yukon. Occasionally, he longed for the days of past when pimps would travel in overly large Lincolns and Cadillacs. He was romanticizing an era he knew only from books and movies, but it made his life of choice seem more interesting. However, if he showcased a ride like that today he would be laughed out of the trade. He knew he was expected to look and act the part. He could have his own style, but he couldn’t stray too far from the expected norms.

  He parked the Yukon at Pat’s Donuts and went inside. After ordering a couple maple bars and a cup of coffee, he sat in the corner booth and waited. She showed up after a while.

  Rosie stood a few inches over five feet and had light brown skin. She was of Puerto Rican heritage, but it was barely distinguishable from the white blood that had been co-mingled through the generations her family had lived in the States. Regardless, she never let anyone forget her true ethnicity.

  “Hey, papi,” Rosie said and kissed him on the cheek. “You look handsome this morning.”

  “That I do,” Lobo said and sipped his coffee.

  “What’s got you so happy?”

  “Business is up.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  Lobo nodded. “I thought we’d only hide out here for a few months, but this place has turned out alright.”

  Rosie’s smile dipped for a moment, but she recovered it quickly. “I’m glad.”

  “Don’t lie, bitch. I saw your face. You hate it here.”

  Rosie shrugged and looked outside. “There ain’t shit to do here except drink and drug.”

  “And fuck,” Lobo said.

  Rosie turned back to him. “Yeah, papi. We know.”

  “How are the girls?”

  “They fine. A couple o’ them are always bitchin’ and moanin’ about wantin’ to be someplace with more action but the rest of them understand it’s only temporary.”

  “Who’s complaining?”

  “No, papi. You don’t need to do nothin’. I’ve got them in in line.”

  Lobo leaned toward Rosie and lowered his voice. “Listen, bitch. Don’t tell me what I need to do or don’t do. If one of those girls is stepping out of line, I’ll get her back in. Either with my silver tongue or the back of my hand, but she’ll get in step. You understand? You being bottom bitch earns a lotta leeway, but it don’t allow you to tell me what I do. You ain’t my momma and you ain’t my wife. You’re my bitch. Understand?”

  Rosie stared at him.

  Lobo leaned back and looked around the coffee shop. It was full of silver-haired white folks, dunking their donuts into coffee cups. None of them paid Lobo or Rosie any mind. He smirked as he watched them.

  “God, I hate those people,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because their old and white,” Lobo said. “Two of my least favorite things.”

  Rosie put her hands on the edge of the table and waited.

  “Do you know Iceberg Slim worked Lima for some time?”

  “Who?”

  Lobo’s eyes slanted toward Rosie. “Did you really just say who to the most famous pimp who ever lived? Why do I even talk with you?”

  Rosie shrugged.

  Lobo looked away in disgust.

  “Who was he, papi?”

  “Don’t matter none except to say I’m following in the grandmaster’s footsteps. We both made Lima a successful waypoint on our journey.”

  Rosie watched Lobo sip his coffee. It never occurred to him to offer her any.

  They sat quietly for a moment and Rosie watched Lobo think.

  His eyes softened, and he whispered, “Being a pimp is a lonely business.”

  “What, papi?”

  He turned to her, his eyes hard again. “Get the girls on the street by three today. Business is good and I want them grabbing all the cash they can. Keep your hand on their backs and get them hustling.”

  “Okay,” she said, “I’ll stay on them.”

  Lobo sipped his coffee.

  “Are you going to come by today, papi? It’s been days since you’ve visited me.”

  “Nah, baby,” he said. “I’m tired and worn out. This game is hard work. It takes a lot of mental energy. I would be no good for you in the bed if I came by today. Maybe tonight.”

  Rosie looked down.

  “Besides, I gotta go see a man about turning some cash into a treasure. Get it out of my hands and into something we won’t lose, you dig? We’re building something special here and I don’t want to be tempted by money laying around. Someday, baby, we’ll escape the game and make a better life for ourselves.”

  They were at the Wingate hotel in downtown Lima.

  “What’s your name?” Edith asked as they walked the long hallway toward his room. They hadn’t stopped at the front desk so he must have booked the room before he picked her up.

  “I’m Henry,” he said.

  Edith said. “You don’t look like a Henry. Most of them are old men.”

  “That’s funny, because I’m named after my grandfather.”

  Edith’s face lit up. “Really? I’m named after my great grandmother.”

  Henry seem surprised for a moment. “No kidding?” he said. “We’re already connecting, and we’ve just met.”

  He opened the hotel door and let Edith enter first. It was a nice, clean room. It wasn’t often that Edith got to spend time in a room like this, so she appreciated it along with the attention that the man had shown her.

  “Go ahead and grab seat,” Henry said.

  Edith sat on the edge of the bed, putting her hands on her knees.

  “Do you want something to drink? I don’t have anything hard, but we can order room service if you like.”

  “Really?” Her face lit up.

  “Sure, why not? Do you want something?”

  “Nah, I just appreciate you offering it.”

  The man sat on the chair and watched Edith. He was quiet for several moments which led Edith to ask, “Have you done this before?”

  “What?”

  “Been with a girl like me?”


  Henry smiled. “I’ve been with women before.”

  “I mean a professional.”

  Henry pulled out a wad of bills and laid them on the bed next to Edith. “How much time will that get me?”

  “You can have me all night for that much.”

  “Okay, that sounds fair.”

  Edith stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ll go into the bathroom and get ready.”

  Henry held up his hand to stop her. “Relax. We’ve got all night.”

  She smiled.

  Henry grabbed her hand and led her back to the edge of the bed. “Grab a seat. Take it easy.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can I ask you some questions?”

  “Like what?” she said, suspicion starting to rise. He seemed like a nice guy and she hoped he wouldn’t turn out to be some sort of creeper.

  “It’s nothing bad and nothing that will get you in trouble. I promise.”

  Suspicion fully bubbled to the surface now.

  “I’m new to town,” Henry said, “and I need to understand the lay of the land, if you catch my drift.”

  “Are you a cop?”

  Henry smiled. “No. Not even close. Speaking of cops, though…”

  “Yeah?”

  “How are they out here?”

  Edith nodded. She understood what Henry was looking for. “Most of them are assholes. Same as everywhere, I guess.”

  “Yeah, same as everywhere. Are there any I can work with?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are there any that work with you? You know what I mean, right? Is there an officer out there who is willing to talk with me?”

  “Oh,” Edith said, thinking. “Maybe.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Edith’s eyes flicked to the money on the bed. “Shell.”

  “Officer Shell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know his first name?”

  “Russell. Russ. He likes to be go by Russ.”

  “Has Russ helped you before?”

  “Yes.”

  “In trade?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s he done for you?”

  “He’s made problems go away. Small stuff, but he’s good to me.”

  “What have you done for him?”

  Edith’s eyes glanced again to the bills laying on the bed. “When we do it, he likes it when I call him dirty names. Do you want to know the names?”

  Henry shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I’m looking to make friends, not humiliate them. What you do is between you two. Okay?”

  Edith smiled and nodded. Her suspicion was fully gone now.

  “Has your pimp ever worked with Russ?”

  “Not that I know of. Russ probably wouldn’t if given the chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a racist.”

  Henry tilted his head. “Russ? But you and he…”

  “Just because he hates black men, don’t mean he don’t love black women.”

  Henry titled his head, thinking.

  “The world is complicated,” Edith said. “He’s good to me which goes a long way in my book.”

  They stared at each other for moment. Edith glanced to the bathroom. “Do you want me to clean up now?”

  Henry shook his head. “You’ve helped with what I needed. The money is yours, Edith. The room is yours, too. You can stay here and have a night to yourself or you can leave and go back on the street. It’s your choice.”

  Henry stood to and took a step toward the door.

  “Wait,” Edith said.

  He turned back to her.

  “Why are you being so nice?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It feels like you paid too much for the information I gave. Like I should do something more for you.”

  Henry shrugged. “I see it as a fair trade. You gave me valuable information. Sometimes you have to value yourself higher if you want the other person to value you the same way.”

  Henry turned and left the room.

  Edith sat on the bed. A couple seconds ticked by when she suddenly scooped up the bills and tucked them into her purse. She ran to the door and double-locked it. Then she undressed completely and climbed into the bed. For a night, there was no one who could get at her. Not her pimp, not a john, no one.

  She lay her head on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

  Lobo had stopped at All American Coin Company on N. Elizabeth Street. He spent an hour chatting with the owner, Amir, before buying a five-ounce gold bar and a couple ounces of silver. He slipped the metal into his pocket and smiled at the weight.

  He made a beeline to the National Union bank branch and signed in with Connie, the gal at the desk nearest the front door. He wanted access to his safe deposit box and knew the process as he’d been through it many times. He gave her his driver’s license and waited. Whenever he moved to a new city he would find a bank and get himself a safe deposit box. He never put cash into a bank. That was just asking for trouble from the government. However, the little storage boxes were a godsend.

  Once he was verified, Connie escorted him into the large vault. Lobo slid his key into box 423 and she slid hers in. They turned them together and opened the door.

  “Let me know when you’re done,” Connie said before leaving him alone.

  Lobo pulled the box free from the wall. He placed it on the table in the middle of the vault and opened it. Inside the box was a small stack of gold and silver bars much like the ones he had purchased earlier. He had purchased his first gold bar in Philadelphia, his second in Pittsburgh, the third in Louisville and the fourth and the fifth bars in Cincinnati. He couldn’t remember all the times he had purchased the more than a dozen silver bars. Those didn’t matter as much as the gold bars.

  He pulled from his pocket the three bars he purchased earlier and put them on the table next to the box. He removed the other bars of gold and silver from the box and stacked them on top of the new bars. He now had six bars of gold and fifteen bars of silver. A fucking stockpile, he thought. He loved looking at all that metal. He pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the stacks of metal. He couldn’t wait to show the girls.

  Back in the safe deposit box was a .40 Glock, fully loaded with one in the chamber. He pulled it out and set it next to the bars of precious metal. He didn’t examine the gun. He’d seen it before. It had never been used in any crime. It was clean and stored there for a reason. If someone ever set him up and forced him to empty his safe deposit box, they’d get a rude awakening when he walked out of the bank.

  Under the gun was a stack of CGC graded comics. Between each book was a small protective sheet of paper that was placed there to prevent scratching on the plastic. Lobo removed each book and took his time examining them.

  It had taken him years of hard work and creativity to acquire these comics. This was his true accomplishment and what he was most proud of in his life. He might have more than forty thousand dollars of gold, but there was more than a hundred-grand worth of comics sitting in the box, and their value was going up faster than the gold, too. His eyes lingered carefully over each book before he meticulously repacked the items into the safe deposit box.

  He returned the box to its position within the wall, shut the door and removed his key. He walked back to Connie’s desk to tell her he was finished.

  Outside, Lobo stopped at the edge of the parking lot. A young, black male was leaned against his Yukon, smoking a cigarette. His BMX bike lay on the ground next to him. The kid, no more than sixteen years old, wore a Cleveland Browns jersey, khaki shorts, and brown boots. His hair had been picked out into a large afro.

  Lobo slowly walked toward his rig, his eyes shifting to every angle. He knew the bank had cameras facing the lot so he couldn’t do anything nor did he suspect anyone else would try something here. The kid wasn’t looking in his direction as h
e approached.

  “Get off my ride,” Lobo said.

  The kid jumped away from the Yukon at the sound of Lobo’s voice. He stared at the pimp with a mixture of fear and awe.

  “You better have a damn good reason for touching my baby. I’ve hurt bigger men for less.”

  The kid dropped his cigarette but kept his eyes on Lobo.

  “Spit it out, boy. I ain’t got time for you to eye-fuck me in this parking lot.”

  “We met at the comic book shop.”

  Lobo squinted and studied the kid. “We did?”

  “Yeah. My name’s Dante.”

  “You look familiar. What do you read, Dante?”

  “Firestorm. Nightwing. Batman.”

  “DC,” Lobo said with a smirk. “Shit.”

  “I like Marvel, too.”

  “So you leaning on my car just to tell me about how you dig Spider-man? I should bust you in the mouth right now.”

  “No,” the kid said, taking a step back and lifting his hands for protection. “The cops were at The Comic Book Shop.”

  “The cops?”

  “I mean the FBI.”

  “The FBI?”

  “Well, they looked like the FBI. They were asking Drew about you.”

  Lobo ran his tongue over his teeth. “Were they now?”

  They knew where Lobo lived because Bigs had tracked him to Cincinnati and then followed his most recent move up to Lima. He’d rented a seventh-floor condo at The Carlton House on Shawnee Road. The building was in the southwest part of town and it gave him a view of the Shawnee Country Club.

  While they were in their hotel room, Rachel found the condo for lease listing online. It was amazing what you could find with the help of the internet. The building had been built in the late sixties, but the owner of the condo unit had recently updated it to look like something from an HGTV show.

  “Can you believe how cheap rent is here?”

  “Supply and demand,” Sam replied.

  “We’d hardly have to work again if we moved here,” Rachel said. She quickly added, “I’m not suggesting that.”

  It took only a day to determine what Lobo drove—a black GMC Yukon. Rachel jotted the plate in a notebook.