This part of town looked worse than the last, and for once reality and illusion were in agreement - it was every bit as bad as it looked. Luckily, and by design, the address she was heading to wasn't deep in the middle of this burned out shell of a neighborhood, but right on the outskirts. Kris found the place she was looking for without difficulty, a clapboard bungalow style multiplex, consisting of several "cottages" surrounding a central cement patio area. A few rusted barbecue grills, some weather-beaten patio furniture, and two big umbrellas now too tattered to offer protection from sun or the elements, decorated the gray slab. There might once have been a lawn, but the crabgrass and weeds had won their battle long ago, and the concrete had numerous chips and cracks in it. The buildings paint was peeling, where it still existed at all, and everything was faded to a dull gray, matching the ancient concrete.
/Great!/ thought Kris. /It looks like the scene of every other drug shootout in every gang movie I've ever watched./
She parked the Subaru out front, behind an old Chevy Nova that had probably started out canary yellow, and now looked more like watery urine. The door of the second apartment on the left swung open as she approached.
"'Bout time you showed up, bitch. Get your ass in here!" exclaimed a huge Mexican, who would have fit right into the type of movie Kris had just been thinking about. Head shaved down to mere stubble, dark piercing eyes that never seemed to blink, rolls of fat almost hiding a layer of over-pumped prison muscle, the rolls of fat looking like a package of hot dogs on the back of his neck, and just plain sloppy elsewhere. He was dressed in an untucked flannel shirt, which hung down over a pair of nicely pressed tan chinos, the collar of the shirt open low to show off the obligatory "bling" - several thick gold chains. And tattoos. Lots of tattoos.
Kris entered the apartment with trepidation, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the interior was neat, and the furnishings, although definitely cheap low-end thrift store stuff, were in good shape and looked clean. The door slammed shut just behind her, and the big gangbanger grabbed the duffel.
"Sit down. You ain't goin' nowhere until I make sure everything is here."
Kris went ahead and sat down nervously on an overstuffed chair next to the couch, and waited, watching the Mexican go through the bag. He made no effort to hide anything, going through it all slowly and methodically, very much taking inventory. She got a better look at what the biker had stuffed inside. Guns. Many guns, pistols to be more precise. Drugs. Several big plastic bags of white powder. Two more vatos, enough like the first one that Kris had to believe they were brothers, or at least cousins, came out from what was probably a bedroom.
"Alright! The stuff finally got here!" enthused one of them, a little shorter than the first, with a fucked-up looking ring through his left eyebrow. The second man was a skinny version of his partner, and said nothing, just stood there, arms crossed, looking mean.
"Yes, yes, and it is all here. We can party! You like to party, little girl?" the first vato said, looking directly at Kris with a leer.
"Uh," stammered Kris. "I think I need to be going, lots of errands to do, you know?"
"No, I don't know, but I can imagine. I haven't seen you before. You a narc? You smell like bacon to me, bitch!" His face instantly shifted from the knowing leer to a hard, scary stare. "I think maybe you better stay here, and party a little, just ton convince me you ain't some kind of fuzz. Come over and sit with me, get friendly! You aren't going to be a problem, are you?" The tone of his voice, and that penetrating prison yard stare, were almost an assault in themselves. Kris didn't even think about her choices, she had none. She got up, trembling, and sat next to the big guy on the couch, eyes downcast.
"Hey, hey, kitten! No need to freak!" His voice now much more jovial, the edge gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I won't bite. I promise!" he laughed. "We're just a bunch of good time boys, we like to have fun. Hey, pendejo, go put this shit away, and bring out some supplies!"
The skinny one collected up the guns and drugs in the bag, and took them into the back room. The shorter cousin, or brother, sat down on the other side of Kris, putting her smack in the middle of the two of them. He patted her knee, and let his hand slide slowly down her thigh before he removed it, took out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his flannel, and offered the pack to the big man and Kris. The big vato took one, and Kris hesitated for a second before taking one herself. She hadn't smoked in years, giving them up just shortly after she had parted ways with Brad. /Fuck it,/ she thought, /I could use something to steady my nerves! How the hell am I going to get out of here?/
"That's better!" said the big man, "Just chillin' and getting to know one another." He took out a gold plated Zippo, lit his cigarette, and then lit Kris's with a flourish, snapping the lighter shut afterward with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. "My name is Chema, and my little cousin here is Rigoberto. What is yours?"
"Kris. My name is Kris." The cigarette smoke was harsh and bitter, but helped to calm her nerves some, so she wasn't stuttering and stammering any more.
"That is a lovely name, Kris, for a lovely woman." Now Chema put a hand on her knee, patting it first, then leaving its heavy weight instead of pulling away, like Rigoberto had. /At least he's not after my inner thighs, like the other one./ Kris thought. The skinny Mexican now came out of the back room carrying a bottle of tequila and a framed portrait-sized mirror with a pile of powder and a razor blade on it. "Ah, the supplies! Pedro, meet Kris. Kris, Pedro."
Pedro still said nothing, merely nodded acknowledgment of the introduction, and set the bottle and mirror on the coffee table in front of Chema. He sat down in the over-stuffed chair Kris had been in, until "invited" to sit on the couch. Chema grabbed the razor blade, and began quickly and expertly chopping up the lumpy stuff on the mirror into a fine powder, and formed it into long, thin lines. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill, rolled it into a tube, and offered it to Kris.
"No, thank you." Kris said softly and politely, declining to take the rolled up bill. "I don't do drugs." That wasn't exactly true. It had been years, but she was no stranger to a bump of coke, and had smoked enough weed to qualify as an honorary Rastafarian.
"I didn't ask. I'm telling. You better blow a little of this up that perky nose of yours, or I'm going to think my original instincts about you being a pig was right on the money. Take it!" That scary edge was back, along with the stare, and he thrust the bill at her, the motion demanding she take it. She did. She hesitated for a moment. /Oh, fuck it! I'll never get away from these creeps if I don't.../ She flipped her hair back out of the way, put the bill to her nostril, bent down to the mirror, and snorted up half of the smallest line laid out on the mirror.
"Fuck!" she yelled, jerking her head back, as an intense burn hit her. Her nostril felt like she had just snorted Tabasco sauce! "What the fuck is that? It ain't coke!"
Chema was laughing his ass off. He paused between chuckles, and said "Don't do drugs, huh? You did that like you knew what you were doing, pretty lady! I thought so. How do you know what coke is like, eh? No, that isn't cocaine, darlin'. You are snorting some of the cleanest crank you'll ever find in this shithole of a city. Speed. Good shit!" Chema grinned, beckoning her to the lines again. "Do a little more, baby, its good for you!" he laughed a full belly laugh.
Kris felt obliged to snort the rest of the line, and it burned just as badly as the first hit had. She could feel the drugs pumping through her system, her heart beating rapidly now, taking the chemicals straight to her brain. She handed Chema the bill, and watched as he snorted up two of the lines, passed the bill off to Rigoberto, who also did two of the lines. Pedro seemed content to sip at the tequila bottle, not bothering to use a glass.
Everyone got real talkative, and like most speed chatter, it was mindless and without meaning, going on and on about nothing at all. The two vatos sandwiching her in would occasionally pause to do another bump, and offer one to Kris, who again politely declined, and was allowed to now. The whole time they chattered the two of them kept patting her knees, and more and more openly caressing her thighs. They did so casually, and never wandered up past the hem of her shorts, but they were pretty blatant about it. They made no other overt moves on her, though, they just kept caressing her silky thighs every chance they could. Heart pounding, not only from the drugs, Kris kept expecting their moves to get more sexual. She was almost certain they were going to rape her, or at least try to seduce her. Pedro's silent form, carefully watching his two compadres playing with her, and looking her whole body over in a knowing way, did nothing to ease her nerves.
Suddenly Chema practically jumped up, and loudly exclaimed "OK, mamacita. We've got work to do, so party time is over. Shake your ass on out of here, get back to doing whatever you should be doing. I'm sure someone is waiting for a sexy thing like you!" He hauled Kris up off the couch like she was a rag doll, gave her a push towards the door, and slapped her ass with a loud smack. "Move that sweet ass, toots! We don't have all day."
Kris was startled, but quickly took advantage of the opportunity being presented to get away from these lowlifes. She opened the door, and practically ran to her car. She was shaking and sweating as she pulled out away from the curve, and pointed the Subaru back towards the Blue Duck, and safety.
Ring.
"Brad speaking."
"Hey, Brad. It's Chema. Just wanted to let you know your quail is on her way."
"Did you do like I asked?"
"You know it. We let her get a good look at the stuff in the bag, and we gave her the "drugs" just like you asked. She was really freaked, but she went with the program."
"You didn't give her any real drugs, right?"
"You know me better than that, dude! I don't screw around with that shit no more! We did it just like you said, some vitamin B6, B12, and a little No-Doz for the caffeine and the burn, all crushed up. Worked like a charm, I almost thought I was doing speed myself, and I knew better!"
Brad laughed.
Chema continued, "I thought she might recognize me at first, since I've done all those TV commercials pimping donations for the gang banger rehab project. She didn't have a clue, though. I felt kinda bad, putting her on like that, and I wouldn't have gone through with it if I didn't owe you one. Speaking of which, we are evens-stevens now, and you'd better kick down with a little donation to the rehab fund, or I might just blow up your shit by letting her in on the gag, my friend!"
"No need to worry, Chema! You did me a solid, and all debts are paid in full. I will give what I can to your charitable cause, too. Thank you for the heads up, I'll be talking to you."
Click.
/That was fucking scary! Why am I so excited, though? Is it the drugs? No, I feel more alive than I have in years, and it isn't because I'm high.../ Kris quickly shoved these thoughts to the back of her mind, feeling they had something to reveal, something scary. She didn't want to know what, certain she'd be better off not knowing, but the thoughts were still there in the background, tickling and itchy. /I don't want to think about it, leave my head alone!/
She put her foot down and drove faster, hurrying back to Brad, and the comfortable, familiar things in her life.
She pulled into the parking lot of the motel, screeching the tires a little. She managed to get the Subaru mostly between the lines of a parking space, and jumped out of the car, almost faster than the engine shut down. She practically sprinted to Brad's room, and banged on the door in a tizzy. Brad opened the door, and she almost knocked him over as she grabbed him and clung tight.
"Kris! What's the matter? Calm down, honey! Calm down. I'm here, I'm here..."
She was crying, big racking sobs heaving her body, and she wasn't really sure why. Brad pulled coaxed her inside, then just stood there, letting her cry. Her heaving breasts felt great pressed against him, and he was very aware of the rest of her body, too. /Down, boy, down! Don't press it now, you'll fuck up a good thing. You know you could have her, it'd be as easy as falling on the bed, but you've got bigger plans. Don't fuck it up now by thinking with your dick, there will be plenty of time for that soon./ His dick wasn't listening, it was hard and throbbing, and it wasn't going to go away any time soon. He did maintain control of himself, though, and only held Kris as a comforting friend.
He felt her response when she had calmed down a little, a surprised flinch when she noticed his hard cock was pressed tightly against her. She played it cool, and pulled away without making it obvious, but he knew she had felt it.
/Damn, I'd forgotten what a cock he's got on him!/ She almost giggled at that thought, but let it slide away. Much calmer now, she sat on the bed, and told Brad about everything that had happened.
After her story, she looked into Brad's eyes and said "Then I got the fuck out of there! I really thought I might get raped, Brad! They looked so mean, and the things they were saying..." she shuddered. It was all Brad could do to keep a straight face. /If she only knew she'd been "doing drugs" with a born again minister who did outreach to get young men out of the gangs.../ he thought.
Keeping his thoughts to himself, he spoke quietly and tried to reassure her. "Kris, they wouldn't have done that. They don't want any trouble with the cops, and they know a rape would be serious jail time, unlike the drug shit. If you get put away for drugs, you are out quick because of the overcrowding, but if you are in for violence, especially the rape of a white woman, you do hard time. Hard time is bad for business! You were safe, they just liked fucking with your head."
"Well, they fucked with it good. Brad, tell me were done with this shit. Please."
"Baby, I'm sorry, but I've got one more day of errands you need to run for me. Then we are done, I promise. Now why don't you go home, and get some rest, you look like you could really use it. I'm sorry you were scared, but you don't need to be. Stay away from the cops, and everything will be cool."
At the mention of the cops, Kris flashed back to being on her knees, sucking that black cops huge cock, and swallowing his cum. It gave her a warm tingle to think about it. /God, I'm still a slut at heart. I always did like my sex dirty and forbidden. Why isn't Brad going for it? He should have jumped all over me while I was vulnerable. Have I lost it? Or does he really need me tomorrow, and is scared he'll run me off? That's gotta be it, all those gangstas and bikers sure liked what they saw! Good thing he's being a gentleman, cause I would have fucked him in a heartbeat, all this excitement has really got me horny. I seem to like it, maybe a little too much?/
She shuddered a little, and quickly pushed those thoughts away. They were the scary ones, rearing up again. She knew she was going to have to deal with them, probably sooner than later, but she also instinctively knew that dealing with them was going to mean trouble. She'd better just finish up the favors to Brad, get him out of her life, and then she could take stock in a calm, reasonable manner. Calm. Reasonable. Those words seemed distant and foreign. She shook it off.
"OK, Brad. I'm sorry for breaking down on you. I'll be a trooper, and do what needs to be done tomorrow. Then we are done. That will be it. I'm married now, and I have a life to protect."
"Yes, baby, yes. It will all be over, and I'll be on my way. No more favors, no more worries, you'll still have your life." /Sure. You'll be wanting what will happen to happen. I know you, Kris. You are still obvious to me, and still a secret slut, or you would have run away from all this, screaming. This is going to be fun!/
Kris went home, driving the Subaru at a much more reasonable speed. She had a few drinks, and avoided thinking about the day as much as she could, especially those troubling thoughts that seemed to be peeking out of the back of her head more and more. She couldn't help thinking about Brad's hard cock pressing against her, and that leering Mexican gangster, and what he might have done to her, though, and she masturbated furiously just before passing out, coming twice. Once for Brad, and once for the Mexican. She harbored a little guilt about it, but it was easier than addressing her deep, dark demons. It felt better, too.
