2Pack Science Fiction Novels #1
© 2011
Smashwords Edition
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The Wino
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PUBLISHING HISTORY
Text © 2009 by Sisco Molina
Cover Art © 2009
Chapter One
The worst day of Collin Goddard’s life was supposed to be one of the best. It was the first day of their annual family vacation; this year he had picked Key West Florida. The temperature was running about eighty to eighty-five degrees with a tropical breeze laden with scents of tanning lotion and the ocean. Music could be heard on the street coming from the various bars and restaurants. Mostly it was reggae and Buffett tunes mixing together with tourist’s laughter to form a pleasant confusion of festive sounds. Scantily clad beautiful people with brilliant smiles crowded the sidewalks. To look down Duval it seemed impossible anything bad could happen.
He tried his best to look interested in the trinket his wife was pointing out in the shop window. It was made by a local artist and it was colorful and Colin couldn’t think of a single use for it. He considered making an issue of it but they were on vacation and it would be ridiculous for Colin to not expect Deidra to spend money on trinkets.
The reflection in the shop window of a young lady in a tiny bikini walking by caused his eyes to narrow. He knew better than to turn and get a better look at the expanse of toned tan flesh while under the watchful eye of his wife. Causing a fight this early in the vacation would be foolish too.
There would be plenty more opportunity to ogle toned young ladies anyway; they were everywhere. Key West, Florida was vastly different from Upper Sandusky, Ohio. Young beautiful people were everywhere wearing as little as possible. Partiers sang, shouted, staggered, danced, and laughed with enviable energy. He remembered his college days and twenty years later was happy to live vicariously through these crazy kids.
The small area comprised of small boutiques and bars that made up one of Key West’s main attractions was crowded with revelers from all over the world. This reminded Colin to check on Cassidy. He spotted her relatively quickly and she caught him. She rewarded his paternal diligence with a scowl and a huff of impatience. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the shirtless young man on a skateboard.
Cassidy, at the tender young age of fourteen, figured out that her father was the stupidest man on the planet. Lately he couldn’t do anything right by her. Even taking her on this trip was an offense. Last year it was Deidra’s turn to pick their vacation destination and she chose Los Angeles. This made her the coolest mother in the world according to Cassidy. Mother and daughter spent close to ten thousand dollars on Rodeo drive. Between makeovers and clothing stores they managed to stay entertained the whole week. Colin spent most of the week in the hotel room or at the hotel pool because neither activity required him to endure any traffic.
So this year, his turn to pick, he did not feel the slightest remorse in choosing somewhere tropical with great fishing available everywhere. Tomorrow he would get on the charter boat with the professional guide and spend the day hunting a fish he could catch then mount and hang in his basement bar back home. If it took all week he would get that fish; two of them maybe. The girls would just have to find some way to entertain themselves with the beaches and shops. Deidra hinted at maybe taking the rental car up to Miami for a day. That was fine with Colin.
Cassidy looked the boy over and decided she liked what she saw. He was a local, his street name was “Boomer”, and he had tattoos. He was a really cute boy. His sun bleached hair, tanned skin, and easy smile were having an effect on her. His shirt was tucked into the back pocket of his baggy cargo shorts and his ratty Vans rocked the skateboard beneath them absently as he talked to her. She liked everything about him so far but truth be told; he’d had her at street name.
Nobody in Upper had a street name and this boy made every other boy she had ever met seem to lack even a hint of coolness. He had a gentle voice and an easy manner. He tried to hide it but she knew he was checking her out too. She had her fiery red hair tied into a ponytail, her budding breasts encased in a bikini top, and wore the shortest shorts she thought her father might let her out in public with. She lacked Boomer’s tan but she was sure he liked what he saw.
“You coming to the party tonight?” Boomer fished a cigarette out of his cargo shorts as he asked her. He made it sound like she should already know of this party.
“What party?”
“At Googoo’s, he’s a local guide, throws a kickass bash from time to time. Should be off the hook.”
“I probably have to stay in my hotel room. My parentals will have me on lockdown after ten.”
“This hookey-lau won’t kick off ‘till midnight probably. Plenty of time for a hotty’s parentals to fall asleep and her to sneak out for some fun with a local yeah?”
“I don’t know.” Cassidy felt her heart pounding at the idea. She imagined telling her friends in Upper about it. They would shit themselves with envy. He called her a hotty!
“It’s cool. Just thought I’d ask. I thought you’d be down, like maybe you like to party a little yeah? I bet you break it off back home huh?”
“I do alright.” Cassidy shot him her cutest look as she spoke. She was lying of course. Her father didn’t even let her date yet but the thought of appearing any lamer to this boy was out of the question.
“Well you are on vacation. That’s a time to turn it up not down, yeah?”
“I guess.” Cassidy’s loved every word he spoke. What he said made sense to her, but it was the way he said it that closed her.
“Sweet.” Boomer glanced at the girl’s parents as he dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “I’ll meet you right here at midnight then. If you aren’t here by quarter after I have to bounce though, cool?”
“Cool.” Cassidy nodded and he rewarded her with a flash of his brilliant teeth then pushed off and rolled away on the skateboard. Cassidy watched as he waved to somebody down the crowded street and directed his board towards them.
She turned to her parents who were arguing about something in a shop window and let her shoulders slump. She weaved through the revelers on the sidewalk and made her way to the shop window to see what they were looking at; something tacky no doubt. “I’m tired. Can we just go back to the hotel and order room service?”
“We have reservations at seven,” Cassidy’s mother replied without taking her eyes away from the colorful baubles in the window.
“Room service sounds pretty good to me,” Colin said in hopes of gaining some favor with his daughter. She saw through it and despised him further but tossed him a smile to encourage him to champion her cause.
“You made the reservation Colin,” Deidra huffed with a disgusted look at her husband.
“Yeah but I’m tired too. We can eat there another time.”
So it was settled. They made it back to the hotel as dusk settled on South Florida. Cassidy went to her own room and ate alone then feigned sleep until her father had checked on her twice and her mother once. At eleven when she could hear the gentle snoring of her parents through the door that adjoined their rooms she jumped out of bed and tiptoed into her bathroom where she carefully applied her makeup in the lowest light she could get away with. She picked her cutest top and shortest shorts then flip flopped as quietly as possible out of her room and down the hall.
The streets were still crowded with revelers and she easily blended with the crowd. Being here unsupervised by her parents made her entire body tingle. She gave one last glance towards the hotel to see if she had been discovered then continued towards the meeting spot with the cool kid that thought she was a hotty.
Boomer led her a few blocks off Duval to a house that was crowded with young people. A band was playing loudly on a huge deck in the backyard. Two topless girls were wrestling in a small plastic pool filled with mud. In a large hot tub five people watched another two having sex. Someone passed a joint to Boomer who took a hard toke then offered it to her. In the first fifteen minutes there Cassidy was exposed to more sex, drugs, and rock and roll than in the previous fourteen years of her life combined.
“No thanks,” she said with a small shake of her head at the smoldering joint. Boomer didn’t force the issue and instead took another hit and handed it off to a topless girl walking by.
She followed him into the house and through the crowd into a back room. There were five very scary looking men in the room and all of them nodded to Boomer like they knew him and then she felt their appraising eyes fall on her. Her bikini top and short shorts suddenly felt like precious little clothing.
“Who’s your friend?” a long haired man with a thick goatee asked. He was shirtless and his arms and chest were covered in tattoos.
“Cassidy this is Googoo. Googoo this is good work, yeah?” Boomer put his arm around Cassidy and she felt him nudge her out in front of him. He took her hand and twirled her. Cassidy was confused. “She clears what I owe?”
“Go get me a beer Boomer and let me get acquainted with your little friend,” Googoo ordered and Boomer walked out of the room. Cassidy turned to follow him but one of the other men anticipated this and blocked the door as it closed behind Boomer. “Hang out a sec Cassidy. Let’s get to know each other.”
“I have to go,” she said numbly. Her heart was pounding like it was trying to get out of her chest.
“Where’s your mom and dad?”
“They are probably looking for me. I have to go.” Cassidy dashed for the door and the man there caught her and pushed her back into the middle of the room. She screamed but doubted she could be heard through the closed door and over the loud music. “Please just let me go!”
“How old are you?” Googoo asked her in a calm voice as if he was just having a regular conversation. His calm voice chilled her to the bone.
“Fourteen,” Cassidy stammered in response.
“You ever had sex before Sweety?” A couple of the other men in the room chuckled at this.
“No!” Cassidy spun in a panic and frantically tried to get past the man guarding the door. He wrapped her up in his arms pinning her arms at her side and lifted her off the ground. She wriggled and kicked but made no progress in escaping his grasp. She finally gave up struggling and cried as her fear consumed her.
“A virgin’ll get Boomer right with the books,” one of the other men said and Cassidy was lowered to the ground. She stood and studied her feet as they continued to scrutinize her.
As if on cue Boomer walked in and closed the door behind him. He had two beers and handed one to Googoo. The man who had been holding Cassidy took the other one away from Boomer and pushed him towards a corner of the room. Boomer scowled but didn’t say anything.
“Please help me,” Cassidy begged Boomer between sobs. Boomer coldly turned his eyes away from her and looked at Googoo.
Cassidy glanced at Googoo and felt the warmth of her own urine trickle down her thighs at the sight of what he had in his hand. Googoo flicked at the hypodermic needle then nodded to the man who took Boomer’s beer. With one muscular arm he spun Cassidy to face him and forced her head down with a tight grip on the back of her neck. She felt the needle plunge into her right butt cheek and the chemical get squirted into her.
The effect was immediate and she felt her knees buckle. Her arms felt heavy and she vaguely realized she had been caught by her hair before she could hit the floor. She tried to figure out why being held up by her hair wasn’t hurting like she would expect it to. She had an instant to wish her Daddy would come save her then everything went dark.
The same night a stripper in Orlando was followed home and abducted. An escort went to a cheap motel in West Palm and didn’t get her phone out before her john shocked her into unconsciousness with a stun gun. A girl at a bar in Hollywood was picked up by a handsome stranger and chloroformed in his car on their way to his place. A girl in a mall in Jacksonville was talked into a stranger’s car.
That same month, all up and down the Eastern Seaboard, at least seventeen other young ladies were similarly abducted. The police and the FBI had yet to put it all together.
At about three in the morning Colin crawled out of his bed, careful not to wake Deidra, and stumbled to the bathroom. He peed as quietly as he could then went to check on Cassidy. She was not in her bed in the adjoining room or her bathroom either. After fifteen minutes spent searching every area of the hotel and berating the staff, he finally woke his wife. She lost it immediately and the police were called. Two days later the police still had no leads. The Goddard’s were thrust into the realm of terror that can only be completely understood by parents of missing children.
Chapter Two
Alex looked at the receipt and cursed under his breath. Ella had done it again; she refused to hide it. That would be lying. She just counted on Alex not to bring it up. Not to make a big deal of it. He wouldn't; again. That his wife bought about three gallons of sangria and two rotisserie chickens a week for the town wino; that should upset him? Was it all that unreasonable that this drove him a little farther up the wall every time? Alex knew the answers to his questions but that did little to minimize his frustration.
Everybody knew Ella was the sweetest woman on Earth. She was beautiful, compassionate, smart, had a soft spot for puppies and children, was a perfect mother to their child, and a devoted and loyal wife to him. They all knew Alex was the luckiest man on the planet; even Alex.
Alex knew other things too. Ella had been very honest with him, as had her parents. Alex knew the wino was more than just a local homeless bum to Ella. Every year at Thanksgiving and Christmas there was always an extra table setting for the wino. In the seven years they had been married Ella, or her mother, had never failed to set a place for him. Alex also knew that the only picture in the house of Ella with a man other than himself was a picture of her with the wino when they had been young. He also knew that he wasn’t allowed to call him “The Wino” in her presence but to him that’s all he was.
Maynard Cole had been a fit young man, longish unruly hair, and smiling big for the camera with a protective arm around his girl Ella; his high school sweetheart. The picture sat amongst the others on top of the entertainment center. Alex glanced at it whenever he reviewed the grocery receipts and saw she had bought her ex-boyfriend his sustenance again. She was perfect in every other way. Why should he allow this small act of charity to bother him so much?
He watched her as she cheerfully stowed away the groceries; little Elaine trying to help. Ella was gorgeous at thirty; every day she looked more beautiful to Alex. She was as stunning as any model he had ever seen in a magazine, or on television. She seemed to stay naturally fit. She had bounced back into shape from her pregnancy in less than six months. She was curvaceous and toned with the face of an angel surrounded by blonde hair a shampoo ad would kill for. She was constantly worried about her weight, as most women seemed to be, but to Alex she was flawless.
And that was just the way she looked. Alex was admittedly superficial enough that her physical appearance was important to him, but for the first time in his life he was with a woman he could talk to. She had a good soul, and the fact that she shared it with him just amazed him every time she did it. She seemed to never have a bad thought about anybody. She had been raised right and she was good to the core.
And the sex! Amazing. To others she projected the image of a quiet, almost shy, elegant southern belle. To Alex, in the bedroom, she was a wildcat. She never refused sex. She enjoyed it immensely. She always made Alex feel like a sexual champion. She climaxed intensely, almost as intensely as he did. Vigorous and sweaty or slow and tender; it was always the best sex he ever had.
Alex felt his jaw clenching as he stared down at the receipt and wondered how much of her sexual prowess came from backseat romps with the wino. Alex knew he was being irrational but he just couldn't seem to get past it. Ella, who was always eager to let him be the alpha male and cheerfully submitted to his will in other areas, had put a stone wall up around this issue whenever he had addressed it in the past. He, Maynard Cole the wino, had lived a hard life and at one time had been very special to her. He could not and would not ever try to do anything to interfere with her happiness which revolved around her love for Alex. She gave him some chicken and wine, she gave everything else to Alex. Alex had tried to accept that. It got harder every day.
It really was a small issue he told himself repeatedly. Ella was a truly amazing person. He was blessed to have her. In addition to being the perfect mother and wife she also had a fantastic career as a branch manager at one of the oldest banks in their small community. She had started as a teller shortly after high school and had moved up over the years. Now she commanded a large salary and was well-connected with all the local business owners. She was a prominent figure in their small community. Everybody loved and respected her.
Alex met her when he had applied for a small business loan to get his chiropractic practice started. He fell in love on sight. It was like a lightning bolt struck him. He stammered out his reason for seeing her without being able to properly formulate his thoughts. He finally took a deep breath, set his application aside, and asked her to dinner. The seconds between him asking her and her answering seemed like years. Her answer became more important to him than getting the loan approved. She agreed to dinner and they fell deeply and quickly in love.
Within the year they were married and the wino was invited to the wedding. Thankfully he had the decency not to attend, nor had he shown up for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners.
Alex set the receipt aside and buried his anger and frustration. He knew the stress of it would build up in his neck and upper back. He would need an adjustment to release the tension. Dr. Eric would want to know the source of the stress and would be brutally droll about the wino when Alex told him once again of his episode with a receipt.
Dr. Eric was the chiropractor he shared his practice with and almost his polar opposite. Where Alex was conservative, soft spoken, and a devoted family man; Dr. Eric was boisterous and swingingly single. He bragged of his previous night’s exploits throughout the day to Alex, to which Alex would just shake his head and grin.
Dr. Eric was a health nut who worked out five days a week and swore by the vitamins he took. He was broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and handsome. He did very well seducing the women he met at the local clubs and always had a new story to tell.
Where Alex was a serious doctor of chiropractic, Dr. Eric Delaney seemed more excited about the amount of money they made with their little "spine popping scam." He joked about it. He did all but call his patients suckers. He rarely allowed himself to be adjusted. He claimed that he adjusted himself even though the practice of self adjustment was frowned upon by the chiropractic community. Even though Dr. Eric's belief in their trade was somewhat lacking; he was excellent at his job and produced results. His patients swore by him as he snickered behind their backs.
Regardless of their differences, they worked well together and their practice flourished. Dr. Eric was Alex's best friend and confidant. Alex would vent to him and Dr. Eric would laugh at him, re-express to him the joys of being single and un-encumbered by responsibility, then make jokes about the wino (They both called him the wino.). He would not help Alex find a better way to think of it but he would eventually get Alex laughing about his neurosis.
Alex's thoughts were interrupted by Ella's good natured screech of frustration, quickly followed by Elaine's throaty giggle. Alex was seated in the living room, but could envision Ella pointing to the kitchen exit with a stern look on her face silently directing Elaine to vacate the kitchen immediately. Shortly she ran around the corner and pounced into her father's lap; her eyes aglow with recently accomplished mischief. Alex grinned at Elaine as she began to recount to him what she had done to get expelled from the kitchen. He listened intently to her detailed description then wrapped her up tight in his arms and dug his raspy chin into the crook of her neck. Elaine squealed with laughter as her father's five o'clock shadow tickled her mercilessly until she agreed to go apologize to her mother.
Alex smiled down at Elaine, who lay exhausted and gasping from her recent tickling ordeal in his lap, and marveled at how beautiful she was. She had her mother's looks. Alex loved her more than he could fathom; he wanted to hug her forever. He sometimes scared himself that if he hugged her as tight to him as he wanted to he might break her delicate little bones. He straightened his legs and she slid down to his feet with a yelp then rolled away to march to the kitchen and make her apology. She was seven, got good grades in school, and kept her room clean. Mom would forgive her for licking the frosting off a cupcake she bought for one of the girls at work.
Their property backed up to lush Florida swamp lands. Huge tall pines interspersed with squattier oaks seemed to form multilevel canopies over the spongy ground. Wild blackberries and blueberries grew among the scattered juniper bushes. Closer to the water there were the cypress trees surrounded by their knees as they grew up out from under the water. The sound of the frogs belching was almost constant, interrupted only by any sound that might come unfamiliar to the swampland. The big man squatting with his back against the trunk of an ancient pine made no such sound. The surrounding wildlife had grown accustomed to his presence.
Chapter Three
He looked as wild as anything else that might be found in the swamp. His long black hair was scraggly and, more often than not, littered with leaves and pine needles. He was big and burly in the chest, arms, and shoulders, but lean everywhere else. He wore thrift store clothes. Currently that consisted of a pair of Dickie's coveralls and combat boots. The coveralls were dirty and wrinkled. Once they were blue now they were faded, ripped, and a grayish black color. The thighs were a deep black from months of wiping his chicken greased hands off on them.
Clashing with his generally unkempt appearance was his face. It was strong jawed, and tanned a dark brown, but clean shaven. This was due to his knife. One of his few possessions; it had a nine inch blade and he was fanatical about keeping it sharp. He sharpened it to pass the time then tested it by shaving his face and neck with it.
He stayed deep in the shadows as dusk fell over the swamp and Ella's house. He took a pull off the gallon bottle of sangria. He saw Alex playing with the child, the princess, and smiled to himself. Alex was a good man. This pleased the man in the swamp because Ella's happiness was the most important thing to him. He watched the small family as they moved about their warm home and smiled bigger then took another pull off the bottle.
He liked watching them. It was better than any television program he had ever seen -- to him anyway. He imagined what it must be like to be Alex. He could have been Alex if things had been different.
He stayed and watched until they all went to bed then he watched for a couple more hours. He moved about the property and checked it from the front, and back, and sides. He was careful to not take the same routes he had taken in the past; he didn't want to wear a trail in the grass. He did this every night; he didn't want to leave any sign he was there.
Society and the world saw him as a loser. He was considered homeless -- a blight on the American landscape. He knew many others like him though; street people, fellow swamp dwellers, and societal outcasts. All were similarly judged by the majority as beneath contempt. The majority seemed to forget that the homeless had started out pure just like everybody else.
Fresh faced babes who grew up and had experiences. Some had good experiences, others bad; some so bad that it caused them to disconnect -- to feel the need for escape. Whether it was through alcohol, or a stronger chemical, their pain was dulled. Maynard Cole had some bad experiences. Experiences he had been cursed with total recall of. Experiences that haunted him and drove him away from all he loved then chased him into a bottle.
He did not rank his experiences as any worse than anybody else’s. They were bad enough for him, and theirs were bad enough for them. Vector/Victor had fallen to a bad divorce. His wife left him -- took his child, and he found the joys of cocaine to make himself feel better. There were speculations as to whether or not the cocaine came before his troubles with his wife but the streets didn’t judge or delve too deep.
Fiona had watched her child die in a fire, unable to help. That’s what it took for her to disconnect. Sometimes Fiona could be heard screaming into the night and somebody would have to get her a drink to shut her up.
Mountain Mike had killed four drunk teenagers with his truck when they veered into his lane. While society had deemed him innocent of any wrongdoing; Mountain Mike had short circuited and fled into the swamps. He had disconnected. Like Maynard he lived off the land mostly and Maynard came across him or sign of him from time to time.
The homeless community had its staple miscreants as well. The old timers were almost inevitably Vietnam veterans. The youngsters were the molested runaways and club kids that had done permanent damage to their minds. In between were the schizophrenics off their meds and the otherwise economically downtrodden.
The merciless meat-grinder that was modern civilization did not care about the reason. Society judged all its members and used affluence to keep score. Those that had it were admired and respected. Those that didn’t were shunned and abused.
On the rare occasions when Maynard was asked by others what made him disconnect; they never got a reply from the muscular giant the street people called “He-Man”. What separated Maynard from the others was that he could not talk about his experiences. He regretted that but wondered if it would do any good anyway.
Society had opted to condemn these people who had started out just like them; fresh faced children with hopes and dreams. That just made life for them a bit more painful. Every day was a struggle already. With time most grew to accept their station in life, their position at the bottom of the societal food chain.
Maynard didn’t care much about how society viewed him. He stayed out of its sight mostly. He was content with how simple life had become. He was aware that the possibility of a better life had existed for him once. Now he made the best of the one he had and enjoyed watching over what could have been.
He watched until midnight then retreated farther into the swamp where he had set up a small shelter close by. He would wake up at about three and go back and take another look to be sure all was well at Ella's then sleep again until six. At six he would watch the house wake up then watch as they all left to their respective daily activities. The little princess was always last. He watched her play with her friends at the bus stop until it came to pick her up.
Once the princess was safely away to school he made his way, seven miles, to the bank where Ella worked and watched over it all day. He ran most of the way because he didn't want to miss anything. He usually made it in just under an hour. He could do it quicker but there was no need. He always stayed out of sight. Seeing him in his state was painful for Ella. Seeing her was bliss for him though. So he stayed out of sight and watched. In seven years it paid off only once but he was glad he had been there. Since then he never missed a day.
He was watching the bank and a cargo van pulled up outside. It didn't park and he went on alert. Sure enough; three armed men exited the back of the van and entered the bank. The bank was being robbed and he cursed himself for not being in position to stop them before they entered. The van though; he would keep it from leaving.
The driver was focused on the front door of the bank. He was easy to sneak up on. He was easy to kill. Stab and scramble just like he'd been trained. His knife punched easily into the back of the getaway driver's neck then up into his brain. He slumped over instantly. Then the driver side tires were slashed and he was back in hiding among the small copse of trees by a retention pond that bordered the bank parking lot. He never exposed himself to any of the bank cameras that covered the parking lot.
The thieves emerged from the bank in a rush, shortly after, to find their driver dead and tires flat. By the time they were able to recover from the confusion; they heard sirens in the distance and getting closer. They abandoned the van and ran back towards the bank entrance as police cruisers entered the parking lot. The thieves found the doors to the bank locked. They considered engaging in a gun battle with the police then lost their nerve and gave up.
Maynard watched from the trees as the police entered the bank. Ella came back out with them. She looked scared but strong. He growled as he looked at the cuffed thieves laying face down in the parking lot and hated them for causing Ella any distress. His eyes flicked back to Ella. Something the police officer told her had her scanning the landscape. He told her about the slashed tires and the dead driver, who by then had a sheet over his corpse. Ella was looking for him! He knew he could not be spotted but he was thrilled she was looking; she knew! For a minute she seemed to be looking directly at him. He looked into her beautiful eyes then she looked away and continued to scan. She hadn't seen him.
That was a great day. There was an article in the paper about the foiled robbery. It mentioned a "mysterious assassin," and said that Ella refused to comment. The police investigated but never even got close to suspecting Maynard. Ella wrote him notes with every package she left asking if he had anything to do with it. The notes continued, unanswered, for weeks. One day she just left a note that said thanks if it had been him. He never responded, partly because he wasn’t completely sure what her reaction to his involvement would be and, in any case, he was not going to put an admission to murder on paper.
He still had all the notes and read them occasionally. He took a long pull on the bottle. He might be able to sleep tonight. He would have to keep drinking. He pulled a small piece of wood from his pocket, and the knife, and started whittling.
The little princess already had a tiny bobcat, a snake, an alligator, a heron, a duck, a manatee, and a deer. This one would be a turtle. He carved an animal for her every year for her birthday. Hers was coming up in a few months and the turtle was coming along nicely. For Christmas he would carve her other types of figurines. She had a dog, a cat, a little car that looked a lot like her mom’s Jeep, a school bus, a horse, a cow, and this Christmas she would get a little peacock. The peacock was already finished.
If he focused on shaping the wood it kept away the bad thoughts -- thoughts that made him sweat, vomit, black out, and even have a seizure sometimes. Sangria helped the most. That numbed him even while he slept and helped ward off the nightmares.
Visions of bright fluorescent lights and white lab coats swept unbidden into his dreams and turned them to nightmares. Stainless steel restraints and expressionless faces flashed in these nightmares faster than he could comprehend. Hypodermic needles full of experimental chemicals and excruciating pain that hurt as much in the nightmares as they had in actuality.
Sangria helped the most.
Chapter Four
The room was decorated expensively in South Florida chic. Omar Rayas sat behind a glass topped wicker desk like a king on his throne. He wore baggy linen pants with a drawstring and a silk bathrobe untied. His smooth brown skin was lean and muscled. His chiseled chest down to his abdomen was hairless. He was in good spirits today and much of that was because of the man sitting across from him. Omar knew the man was dangerous to be alone in a room with, but he was a producer and they had things to discuss in private. Their relationship was still new, so they spoke carefully even in private; this amused Omar.
Gordon Taylor disguised his disgust for the spic gangster across the desk from him. From his curly black hair down to his pedicure, the spic embodied all that disappointed Gordon about modern man. Somewhere in the mid-eighties, maybe even earlier, it became fashionable for men to eschew the traits that defined men. Strength of will and body, directness in action, speech, and thought, responsibility towards obligations, and courage; all seemed to have been extracted from men and replaced with vanity, weakness, and a desire to avoid getting their hands dirty. They bragged openly of things that Gordon would be ashamed to know were in his past. At some point cowardice had become funny.
Not that Gordon had any qualms with doing things society considered shameful. He lived by his own code and that was geared towards profit. He had robbed and killed for governments of the world for half his life. Now he did it for himself. He found the pay was better. When he wasn't doing that, he gambled. He had been caught up in the Texas Hold'em craze and considered himself a contender in any company.
Now he sat across from this spic who thought grooming himself like a woman was acceptable behavior for a man. And this man was in a position of power over Gordon; that rankled. Gordon examined Omar's tweezed eyebrows and smooth chest. The man even wore a diamond earring in each ear.
Gordon wore stylish clothing; silk pants, Tommy Bahama shirts, and he liked his jewelry, but he clipped his own goddamn toe and finger nails and had never paid more than twenty bucks for a haircut in his life. He had hair on his chest and anywhere else it liked to grow on a man and saw no reason to shave anywhere else, but his face. He was muscular and lean for professional and health reasons not aesthetics.
Omar was ignoring the brown paper bag that Gordon had placed on his desk and looked at Gordon with raised eyebrows, waiting for the story. Gordon had no idea what Omar was waiting for. He wanted the gangster to count his money and dismiss him so he could get on the road. He had another job already lined up and if he hurried he could make the Ava before she left port. Gordon stayed serious about what he did and didn't appreciate the gangster's playful attitude. Omar's cut was a bag of money, not details.
"So how did it go?" Omar asked with a smarmy smile.
"It went fine. A negotiator was hired but full price was paid."
"Was there bloodshed?"
"No. With all due respect Mr. Rayas, the less you know about the operation the better. All you need to know is that your people did their job, and we got paid. Please count your money; I have to be in Central Florida tonight. Your courier is ready?"
"Please, call me Omar." The gangster grinned. He enjoyed that this man spoke to him with such reverence but wanted him to feel closer to Omar and his operation. This man had skills -- skills Omar could use in other capacities. He would give up the reverence for a chance at having this man in his employ full time. "Why rush off so soon? You could stay here. You know we play poker too; every Wednesday night. We could learn from a pro like you."
"Thanks for the offer, Omar, but no thanks. The Central Florida job needs to be planned properly. I need to do it. So I have to leave tonight. Is your courier ready?"
"Yes, her name is Amanda. She goes there twice a week. Just follow her and she will introduce you to my associates when she arrives."
"Okay, great." Gordon said as he stood up. "I'll get going then. This will be a bit bigger score than I suspected. The elderly tend to control larger sums of money."
"The accommodations on the last operation were acceptable?" Omar asked. He said "operation" with a smirk like the military terminology amused him. Gordon wanted to cut him, but smiled instead.
"Just fine, thank you." Gordon backed towards the door. The gangster was not going to count his money obviously. Staying here was a waste of time. Omar wanted to chit chat about accommodations when he knew he was sending Gordon to deal with junkies. The last job had him living in a hovel surrounded by society's dregs. Gordon had been in worse places and sent there by better.
As Gordon turned for the door and his exit from Omar's throne room the door opened, and a woman stepped in. She was blonde and slender with borderline freakishly large breasts standing unnaturally at attention. She had the same vapid, yet cautious, look about her that seemed to be common among the bevy of beauties that Omar liked to adorn his South Beach condo with. She wore an electric blue tube top over a matching miniskirt that ended just below her buttocks, and left her toned belly on display. A naval ring garnish had a sparkly gem dangling from it.
"Here she is!" Omar beamed as he launched himself from his throne and stepped around his desk. The girl met him halfway across the room and they embraced. Omar's hands explored her back and butt liberally as he looked at Gordon over her shoulder with a smile. They broke the embrace and Omar turned her to face Gordon. "Amanda, this is Gordon. He will be following you up on your next run and staying with the boys a few days. Do whatever he asks, understood?"
Gordon and Amanda shook hands when they were introduced and he watched her closely as Omar gave her his orders. Gordon noticed the slightest tightening of her hand in his and a slight flare of her nostrils. She was not pleased with the instructions but she put on her happy face and beamed at Gordon.
"Anything for you Omar. You can count on me," she said and they broke the handshake. "I would recommend a hotel though; Bennie's trailer is a shit hole."
Amanda sized Gordon up, and appraised him as unlike the usual rabble that Omar kept around. He had a look in his eye that chilled her. She had no interest in crossing him, or doing whatever he asked.
She had held the position of doing whatever friends of Omar asked for years and had finally attained a loftier position within his organization. She was not interested in stepping back into a situation where she could be ordered about at another man's whim. She also did not dare cross Omar by even hesitating to obey him. She would have no problem with this man as long as he kept it professional. She was done sucking off strangers who got off on her inability to refuse Omar.
"Not an option. I'll be downstairs when you are ready," Gordon said and exited the room. Omar grinned as the dangerous man walked out and he turned his attention to Amanda.
"There is a lot of money involved in this for me Amanda; do not fuck it up."
"How would I do that?"
"By not doing exactly as he tells you. You work for him until the job is finished. He will need you," Omar explained and he could see the disappointment on her face. He had seen a slight look of defiance when he introduced her to Gordon and now this. She was trying to grow a brain; she had ideas, misconceptions about her station in life. "Why does this bother you?" He asked her gently as he raised his hand to cradle her face.
Amanda was quiet for a moment. She knew better than to openly defy Omar but in this case he was asking. She would answer carefully. She did not want Omar to lose faith in her or doubt her loyalty; that was dangerous. She bowed her head and focused on her feet as she answered.
"I did my time as a whore for your men, a plaything to be smacked around by men who didn't care if I lived or died, Omar, I had hoped that with the new responsibilities you've given me that I wouldn't have to do that anymore."
"Oh, I see." Omar nodded as he turned away from her. He knew Gordon was waiting, and took pleasure in making the tough man wait a little bit more. "Let me clear up your confusion for you. Your new responsibilities were not a replacement of the old, but in addition to them. Here, let me show you," Omar said gently then his hand shot out and, closed fisted, punched her in the face. She staggered backwards and fell to her knees with a wail as she covered her face with her hands. His fist had landed squarely on her cheek with a loud smack. She was sure her left eye was going to turn black.
“You are nothing without your ability to please men Amanda.” Omar stood over her as he spoke. “When you chose to drop out of high school and take your clothes off for tips you chose the life of a sexual ditch digger. Be thankful as this is not an option for ugly girls. When I found you in that strip club I knew I could make use of your talents. They are the foundation of your employment here and will forever be part of your job description. Do you understand?”
“Yes Omar. I’m sorry,” Amanda sniffed and wiped the tears from her face.
“Come and show me,” Omar grinned and pointed at his crotch as he sat down in the seat that Gordon had recently vacated. “I think you will find that my actions speak louder than my words.”
Chapter Five
Amanda pulled her top back up over her breasts and wiped her face clean of spit and other fluids that currently dominated her senses of smell and taste. He didn't need to say anything else. His actions did indeed speak louder than words. Amanda was a piece of shit to be used any way he wanted, any time he wanted, and be passed on to anybody he wanted. That message was once again crystal clear to Amanda. She avoided the looks of the others in the condo as she made her way towards the elevator. They all knew what she had been subjected to and some were amused while others were sympathetic.
Once the doors closed and she was alone in the elevator she jerked a tissue out of her purse and tried to scrub the humiliation from her face. She was holding back the tears, but her chin was moving spasmodically and she couldn't control that. There were not enough tissues in her purse, or her world, to wipe away her shame and she wanted to shower. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.
The stronger she appeared to Gordon the less likely he would try anything. She had fifteen floors to get her shit together before she had to deal with him. She was going to lay down some ground rules right away. These ground rules would establish some guidelines for their professional relationship. Rule number one would be that he was not to touch her in any way; she would not stand for it. She tried to think up some other rules so rule number one would not stand out so much, but rule number one was all she cared about.
Gordon was leaning against the wall in the lobby. He was smoking a cigar and looking at his watch. He looked up at her when her high heels stepped off the tile and onto the carpet. He pushed himself off the wall and started for the door without a word to her. She had been rehearsing her speech to him and was now forced to change direction and follow him. He walked out into the parking lot and stopped next to a non-descript Ford SUV; a rental probably. She walked right up to him and opened her mouth to speak but he spoke first and shook her concentration.
"We are going north on the turnpike until it ends in Wildwood; from there I will need you to lead the way. You do not speak about anything that has to do with me to anybody or I kill you. You do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, or I kill you. You screw me up somehow, even by mistake, and I kill you. When you are driving up you obey all traffic laws, you do the speed limit and not a mile an hour over, you signal when you change lanes, you don't tail gate, you don't flick anybody off. If either of us gets pulled over, I have to abort; and I kill you. Usually you drop your product and leave with the cash. This time you will stay in the shit hole with me, and the current inhabitants, until I say we are done. If you vary from this in any way, I kill you. Nod if you understand." She nodded.
She believed every word he said and he had just scared the shit out of her. He had a look in his eyes like she had never seen before and he spoke with a burning intensity. In his eyes she saw pain and death. This was a man she would not cross; he was not like Omar and the others who were cruel to her for sport. This man was emotionally detached; he would kill her without remorse, or pleasure. Somehow that was worse. She tried to remember what she had wanted to say to him. Her knees were shaking but she remembered and tried to formulate her thoughts before speaking.
"I'm not a whore, you just don't put your, I won't do those things ..."
"You're not a whore." Gordon said skeptically as he turned to get in the SUV.
"Right!" She said, satisfied if he at least understood that much.
"Well, that's quite a lot of jizz in your hair." Gordon said then turned back to face her and leaned in close to her face. "Makes you kinda look like a whore. See you in Wildwood."
Gordon left her with her jaw hanging open and running her fingers through her hair. She found the semen there and made a face as she wiped it off her hands with another tissue.
He pulled onto State Road 7 and pointed himself north. He was used to dealing with Omar's flunkies by now. This one was a mess though. He would be true to his word; if she bungled this he would kill her. This money was too easy. Unfortunately parts of it required he employ retards.
Omar's people feared him and this amazed Gordon because the man was soft as hospital cotton. He was mean and had probably set a few examples but like any bully; he just needed a good beating to remind him he wasn't shit. Omar: a big fish in a small pond surrounded by weaklings and cowards.
He did have some functional methods of doing business set in place which was why he needed Amanda as a guide. Omar's street level dealers enjoyed living rent free in shacks and dumps in every ghetto in the Southeast. They also enjoyed free junk and a meager salary for selling Omar's product. In exchange they followed certain rules. One of which was that they could not spend a penny of Omar's money. They were not allowed to speak to anybody about Omar or his operation.
All instructions came from Amanda, and only Amanda; no phone calls, nothing in writing, no strangers. This made Omar's a very tough organization to infiltrate by police or anybody else. So while Gordon was utilizing Omar's army of junkies for their little side jobs; he needed introductions at every new location.
Amanda's hands were shaking and she gripped the steering wheel in her van to steady them. She had left Omar's cum in her hair! She was already humiliated in front of this stranger and would have trouble looking him in the eye. His words continued to ring in her head. Damn him! She was shaken. She had been around gangsters for years and had become accustomed to their ways and this new guy came along and had her falling apart in one conversation. She had a long drive to calm down, about five hours. When she arrived she would hold her head up and reassert herself.
The drive was uneventful. When she arrived in Wildwood she found him parked at a truck stop. She pulled in and filled her van with gas then led him an additional twenty miles to the mobile home she delivered to. She grabbed her bag that she had relocated the product to and headed for the three steps that led to the door of the mobile home. The door opened before she made it to the short flight of steps.
"Miss Amanda!" Clyde called out. He was tall and skinny and wore a red tank top, jeans, and was barefoot. He beamed at her; he always did. She had all four of the men who lived here wrapped around her little finger. They worshipped her. She found them disgusting but put on a smile to smooth the transaction. They did as she said because they knew Omar sent her, but the fact that she asked them personal questions, and flirted, made them easier to deal with. Junkies could be pretty unreliable. Their infatuation with her, in addition to the threat of a kill squad sent by Omar if the money wasn't right, kept them in line.
She hugged Clyde. He pressed himself liberally against her generous breasts and held her tight. She allowed it and imagined his little pecker hardening in his pants. She hugged him back then gently broke the hug. He continued to beam at her until he noticed the man stepping out of the SUV. Clyde looked to her for an explanation and saw a twinge of fear in her eyes. This angered Clyde; he would address this on the spot.
"Who the fuck are you?" Clyde asked as he maneuvered Amanda protectively behind him.
The blow flattened his nose against his face and blackened both his eyes. Clyde fell backwards to land on his butt and skid in the dirt into the steps. He wailed through his pain as he brought his hands up over his face. Gordon, with a canvas bag over his shoulder, kicked the junkie out of the way and motioned for Amanda to lead the way up the steps. Amanda glanced at Clyde, who was looking to her for support, as she passed him and went up the steps.
Benny, Mike, and Antonio were inside. Benny and Mike were at a cluttered table playing cards and Antonio was sprawled on the couch, asleep. His skinny track marked right arm was extended out so his dirty fingernails just barely skimmed the carpet under the coffee table.
Amanda set her Louis Vuitton bag on the floor next to the couch. She had transferred the bricks of heroin into the bag and the men in the room obviously knew because they looked at the bag hungrily.
Benny, shirtless and bare footed in holey jeans, stood up and smiled at her. He opened his mouth to speak when he spotted Gordon behind her. Gordon had a handful of Clyde's hair and shoved him into the room past Amanda. Clyde sat at one of the empty seats at the table and tilted his head back to stem the flow of blood exiting his nose. Benny looked at Clyde and then cautiously back at Gordon.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Gordy. Omar sent me and, as Amanda will verify, he has loaned you all out to me for the next few weeks. I'll be staying here. You'll be doing as I say." Gordon adopted a cheerful tone as he explained the situation to the junkies then dropped his bag on the floor. "Now which room is mine?"
"Uh, Omar didn't say anything about this to me." Benny said uncertainly as he glanced at Amanda. "Amanda?"
"Omar says we have to do what he says," Amanda confirmed.