A Long Ride

by Henry Roi

  Unable to stop laughing, she patted his cheek, pleased with his good behavior; he made her look good in front of her friends. She gave him consent to dance with his friends and he took off so fast I swear he produced Road Runner sound effects. Meep-Meep! Bvvv-vooomm!

  “I'm hallucinating,” I chuckled. “Excellent.” I motioned to Ace. “Finally.Let's get funky.”

  “I can't dance,” he replied, frowning. “And the dragon only needs two people.” He patted his holstered tablet.

  “It's more like playing. Just have fun. Tho and I will handle the showmanship.” I waved off his excuse. “The more people we have the better. 'Zilla's grown a couple extra legs since he attacked New York.”

  We walked toward the temple. Under the center archway was the dragon. It lay on the cement, already assembled, about nine feet long and three feet wide, red and yellow with a little blue and purple in the face. A traditional dragon with a wide smiling mouth and long whiskers protruding from his muzzle. The mouth was wide open, two big canines up top, two on the bottom jaw. Tho knelt next to the bamboo and papier-mâché contraption, small hands fumbling with handles on the side. I told him, “Wait wait wait. I get to be the head, kid. You're the tail.”

  He looked like he wanted to spit. “The tail is stupid.”

  I held up a hand, “No, the dragon tail is stupid.” I pointed at the colorful beast. “This is Godzilla. And Godzilla's tail smashes stuff.”

  “Oh,” he said, standing, walking to the tail with a mischievous smile, “Godzilla's tail”

  Ace chuckled. “You'd make a great dad.”

  I took offense. “How would you know?”

  “I have a son and a daughter,” he replied slowly, eyeing me uncertainly.

  “Hmm.” That inconvenient exchange made me look down at the Gatorade bottles still in our hands. Mine was empty, his half full. I sat mine on the concrete and pointed at his. “You going to finish that?”

  “Well, I –”

  “Gimme.” I swiped it from his grasp, twisted off the cap and turned that baby up like a wino, draining the Merlot with deep chugs. Challenge, the alcohol said to the amphetamines. I dropped the bottle, plastic clattering, and burped loudly. I sensed numerous eyes turn in my direction. I smacked my lips, savoring the aftertaste. “Good sipping wine. You ready?” I looked at Ace. “You get to be the belly. Guts, organs, penis and shit.”

  I leaned over and grabbed the dragon's head, looked into its human-like eyes. “It's show time, Godzilla. Let's show these nice folks how dragons party. Sony-style.”

  “Yeah!” Tho agreed. “We'll play like in a video game!”

  Bright kid. I smiled. We lifted the prop and ducked under it. Its frame was square bamboo ribs, assembled so the dragon could bend in several directions. It had no discernible smell other than a fresh coat of paint on the face.

  I stood up straight, lifting it, holding onto handles in front of my chest that allowed me to maneuver the head and open/close the mouth. I shook Godzilla's head, a disgruntled, drunken beast that had been wronged by all the other Asian dragons, and felt the need to prove himself right in the eyes of the people. Show that he was the best at making people feel auspicious.

  “RAAAHRRR!” Godzilla bellowed. “'Zilla stomp and hump!”

  “Stump and hump!” the tailed echoed, wagging. Ace's chuckle rang hollowly from the belly.

  “Rah?” Big Guns said walking over to us, two of his boys walking close behind, eyes searching all directions. “You sound like you need more wine.”

  “Or something, right? Where's Blondie?” I peered out the wide mouth, searching for the only golden hairdo present, thinking about her boobies and the baggie of Dexedrine tucked in next to them.

  He grunted, I don't keep up with your girl, then stepped closer and pointed his chin at a guy standing far off to the side of the pavilion, next to the fence separating the temple from the church. I squinted, trying to make out who the person in black was. His statue-still, be-the-shadow posture told me. “Loc,” I said in wonder. I looked at Big Guns. “What the hell?”

  He grunted. “Remember what I told you about his girl getting jumped by the Two-Eleven?”

  “She was pregnant. She lost the baby because of the injuries and left him.”

  Grunt. “It happened on this night ten years ago.” His voice added a little melodrama. “Vietnamese are superstitious about dead loved ones. We honor them on the anniversary of their deaths.”

  “Does Anh Long know he's here?”

  He grunted affirmative. “We pretend he isn't for his comfort. Thang Loc Khun dien,” Loc is crazy. He showed his silver grill. “We honor that too.”

  I shook Godzilla's head, growling. “Well, honor these 'Zilla nuts, little yellow man. We're about to get crazy.”

  “Crazy Godzilla nuts!” Tho shouted, whipping the tail back and forth.

  Ace laughed. “I thought I was the nuts.”

  “Let the kid swing 'em,” I said. I gripped the handles and Big Guns stepped back quickly, wanting no part of 'Zilla's devious intentions.

  Ace and Tho were on point. We trotted over to the pavilion as one six-legged organism. The Elder Dragon spotted us and gestured at groups of robed men and women to watch our dance, speaking loudly in Vietnamese. This is the man, he told them.

  Peering from under Godzilla's upper teeth I recognized several of the onlookers as D'Iberville business owners, ones who had been extorted by the Two-Eleven and OBG. The restaurant owners we had helped were front and center, pointing and smiling at me, telling their friends in boisterous sing-song tones about my crew taking out the enemy and returning their daughter's costume jewelry.

  I paused, uncomfortable, Ace stumbling behind me. I noticed the conservative mugs in the congregation were looking at me with more favorable expressions now, and I didn't like it.

  No! Don't do that my subconscious wailed. Look at me like I'm a Bad Guy. A barbarian. I swear I'm bad. I can't take any more affection!

  “Godzilla's tail!” Tho shouted in a high-pitched war cry, running over and crashing into a table of food. The perfectly executed tail slash toppled several two-liter bottles of soda, plastic bouncing, rolling under the tables. Surprised squawks resounded among the women, and I eagerly soaked up their disapproval, feeling the spirit again.

  “Tho!” I laughed. “Not the tables, dude. The trash cans. Smash the trash cans.”

  “Okay,” he agreed happily, jumping up and down, psyched, looking left, right, for a trash barrel.

  I hopped up and down to match the kid's rhythm, 'Zilla's belly stationary as the head and tail undulated, serpentine. Laughter and clapping started, people beginning to cheer us on. Miss Nguyen DJed for us, her little boom box coming to life with a fast tempoed song, drums rumbling, stringed chords thrumming an Asian jam. A melodic chanting began from the fan dance girls, Miss Nguyen and her associates taking it up seconds later. All the ingredients were in place. It was time to Entertain.

  “Waaaah!” I screamed. “I am the Kung-Fu Master.” My lips moved out of sync with my words. “You will never defeat me!”

  “Waaaah!” Tho aped, giddy.

  I stepped around quickly, throwing short, explosive front kicks, to my left, right, front, bobbing and shaking the massive head after every one. Ace and Tho did their best to mimic my moves, feeling the energy. The crowd loved it.

  “Hey kid,” I spun around to look at my tail. “You believe in Buddhism, right? Reincarnation?” I kept kicking, bobbing and shaking.

  “Yeah,” he said, kicking his skinny legs quickly.

  I began stomping and jumping as if my boots hit the concrete so hard the rebound propelled me into the air. I told Tho, “In his previous life, Godzilla was a rodeo bull.” I dragged my feet like hooves pawing the ground. “Kick like a bull.”

  “Bull!” He jumped and kicked his legs up behind him, the long colorful tail jouncing briskly, his squeals of joy ringing throughout the temple grounds. His excitement gave me a smile that made the muscles in my cheeks ach
e, elevating my cozy buzz to an even more exalted station.

  We bull kicked our way around the pavilion, circling the Compassionate Mother. The fan dance girls lined up on our flanks, their bright silk dresses fluttering playfully, little legs kicking and stomping.

  “It's the Year of the Horse, not the Bull,” Ace said, breathy from the wild dancing.

  Without pause I reared 'Zilla's head and let out a stallion's whinny. The girls giggled and went along with it, their tiny arms pawing the air, whinnying high-pitched, show ponies on sugar. Tho did a bang-up job swishing the tail, and even found two trash barrels to crash into, yelling his squeaky war cry with wild abandon. At that point our Godzilla dance was so enthralling that the trash scattered everywhere was just part of the show, confetti. Loud laughter and shocked gasps followed the booming clang of the toppled garbage cans.

  I spun abruptly, spotting Miss Nguyen bending over a table to DJ the boom box. As she started a new song for us, I ran up behind her, 'Zilla's huge head shadowing her and the table, and let out a triumphant roar while mounting her. I grabbed her shoulders and dry humped her wide buttocks, which pulled the robe tightly around her leaning form.

  It's possible I took it too far, letting her get a good feel of Godzilla's package, my Johnson pressing firmly between her warm cleft. That's just wrong, he twisted around. She shouted in surprise, but oddly made no attempt to fend me off. I roared and humped a few more times for good measure, enjoying the crowd's ludicrous response. From the corner of 'Zilla's mouth I spotted Blondie and Shocker standing next to each other, watching the show. The girl-beast had a hand to her mouth in utter disbelief. My girl just shook her head, grinning, filming the violation with her BlackBerry.

  I dismounted and smacked her cheeks, Thanks that was fun, then turned and saw the fan girls were staring at their instructor with stunned O-shaped mouths. Miss Nguyen, still laying over the table, had a blush that looked like a bad sunburn. She breathed quickly, frozen with indecision. Pleasurable outrage. I kicked, bobbed my head, jumped, turned and wagged my whiskers. Ace had been a victim of the Giggle Monster throughout Miss Nguyen's ordeal. His laughter had regressed to snorts, wheezes and coughing, feet stumbling.

  Someone in the congregation screamed suddenly. A bad scream. The cheers and raucous quieted instantly. Heads turned to look for the source. Miss Nguyen pushed herself off the table and turned the music off. Godzilla spun his head as well, no longer dancing. In the chilling silence our breathing inside the dragon became loud. Pandemonium ensued as gunfire cracked from the street, bullets scoring the tiles of the pavilion's roof, red chips spraying over the party, raining down on the concrete.

  I cursed, ducked out of the dragon and caught cement in the face as the Compassionate Mother's arm was blown to shards by a stray round, shattering as it hit the ground. The children's screams were the loudest. People scrambled away from the pavilion, running for the safety of their temple.

  Kids! Get the kids out of here, my subconscious spurred.

  I turned and pointed at Tho, who stood next to the dragon with wide eyes. “Go! Inside the temple, now!” He nodded and ran.

  Blondie and Shocker jogged up to me. My girl panted, “East End Boys.”

  “Who? Ace said, stopping next to his girl. He put a protective arm around her while squinting in the direction of the gang fight.

  “They live across the street in those apartments.” I pointed to the right. “Part of the Tiger Society.”

  “They are allies of the Two-Eleven and OBG,” Blondie added.

  “Fuckers,” Shocker growled. “There are kids here.”

  “Where's Big guns?” I said. I scanned the empty pavilion area, the parking lot. He'll be in the middle of the business, I knew. “Come on!”

  My crew followed me to the fence where Loc had stood in darkness earlier. I briefly wondered where he would be in all this. We jumped the low fence and crept through the church yard. We found the driveway and jogged to the road, crouching behind a large bush. The apartment complex across the street was two-storied, nothing fancy, small yellow-orange lights illuminating the doorways and stairs. The parking area on the side of the building was dark in places but I could clearly see numerous bodies jerking around in fighting postures. The sounds of men being punched and choked was an enticing scent in the cool, bustling breeze. An invitation.

  Shocker opened the cargo pockets on her shorts, removed her brass knuckles and slipped them on her hands, making tight fists. Blondie was looking down at her boots, expensive new leather she didn't want to break in like this. She sighed and furrowed her perfectly plucked eyebrows. Her Badass face really does it for me.

  “Where have you been?” Ace said to Bobby.

  Big Swoll had just caught up to us, huge chest expanding and contacting with slow breaths. He looked at his geek friend with annoyance. “Making sure my wife and kids were safe, you Wheat Thin.”

  “Oh.” Ace nodded.

  “Babe, you're bleeding,” Blondie said, suddenly turning to dab my face with tender fingers. She wiped the blood off my cheek. From the statue.

  I shrugged, grabbed her hand. The sight of blood stirred the part of me that held the leash to my darker emotions. In the pitch black, my inner wolf was abruptly awake and too strong to restrain. My mouth closed and I became aware of her thumb in my mouth, tongue massaging the scarlet syrup off her pad.

  I looked at my girl from under dark brows, with predator's eyes. She immediately responded with scared-thrilled arousal, ready to feel the rush of the hunt. We are wolves, my eyes burned. We can take down 1,000 lb. buffaloes.

  “Hey,” I said. My crew looked at me. “I don't know about you guys, but I feel like punching somebody.” It took everything I had to present a calm face. The urge to bare canines and snarl was nearly overpowering.

  “MFers ruined our party,” Blondie said with passion.Tendons stood out from her biceps and neck. Fists clenched. Bright white teeth slightly showing behind pink, pissed lips. She made angry sexy.

  Everyone seemed to be in agreement. I sniffed, took a deep breath, and motioned for us to go seek and destroy.

  “Here we go again,” Shocker said in a voice not her own. We took off running toward the apartments.

  IX. A Long Ride

  “Vagazzling,” I proclaimed, motioning my hands like I was revealing a masterpiece to a gallery audience.

  “Quit. You did your vagazzle presentation this morning. We don't have time to go through this again.” Blondie looked down at me on my knees, the sink making her naked butt press out to the sides in a salivating squish of perfect skin. She examined her blonde pubbies critically. “I don't know. I think I like the exclamation point better.” She tried to push me away with her bare feet, wanting to dress.

  I grabbed her ankles in my hands, nibbled on a hot orange big toe. Said, “You don't like the flowers?” I looked at the design I had shaved on her this morning: two sunflowers, each about three inches long, complete with stems and leaves that intertwined. My trusty straight razor and I had carved them out like an Edward Scissorhands bush sculpture. To me it was priceless art one would labor over with great meticulous pain and present to a queen. I became contrary. “They're much more vagazzling than the simple exclamation mark.”

  She clucked her tongue. “It took too long.” She kicked me away, hopped down and grabbed her panties off the floor.

  “Wait. Wait wait wait.” I stood and put my arms around her. Again! my Johnson flexed, ready for another go. Convince her!

  “No! Raz, we have company.” She put one foot in her panties.

  I grabbed the Caribbean blue silk undergarment between my toes and pushed them back to the floor. “They can wait. It's me who can't…” I squeezed the back of her neck, brushing my lips down the front of it. Ran my tongue between her oh-yeahs, grabbing them lightly, squeezing, continuing with a trail of kisses down, down…

  She grabbed my hair tightly with both hands, gripping it painfully. Her eyes closed. Moan escaping her open mouth.
>
  Yes, my Johnson exulted. Got her!

  I stood and pulled her legs around me, lifting her back onto the sink. Then changed my mind. From the back this time. Yeaaah.

  Her eyes opened as I lifted her to turn her around. She looked down at my erection and snapped out of the spell. Pushed me away. “NO. We don't have another condom.”

  “So?” I murmured, leaning in to kiss the side of her neck.

  Push. “No, man. You're not leaving a mess. You know the rule.”

  I groaned in defeat. Growled. I became aware of my dick retracting, though promising to fight again another day. I said, “ 'When not at home, wear a rubber or get no pubbie fur.' ” I blew out a breath. Let her go. “Fucking rules.”

  “Hmmpt.”

  Fine. “Let's go suffer the social intercourse then, shall we?”

  “Shut up.” Her tone made me look like a whiny bitch. She slugged my shoulder. “When everyone leaves we'll go home and do another cardio session.” She pulled her dress over her head. It glimmered blue in the shadow of her thick golden hair, silver in the harsh light of the bathroom.

  I helped her with the shoulder straps, smiling at her phrase for our marathon sex sessions, looking forward to it. I turned to look for my underwear and remembered we had company and I would have to talk to them. “You have any mouthwash?”

  “Of course, Señor Coochie Breath.” She pointed at her handbag while slipping on black peep toes. Ran her tongue over her upper teeth. “I need that, too.”

  Yes you do, twitched the front of my boxer-briefs.

  I put on my jeans and boots, buckled my belt and slipped into a white tee. Turned to inspect my hair in the mirror. Blondie touched up her face and hair with freakish speed and we walked out of the bathroom to continue hosting our friends, who were having lunch on the garage roof.