Welcome To Hell.A.

by Stephens, L.

  Still keeping her eyes closed, she reached both hands into her Louis Vuitton handbag that had been placed on her stomach. The fingers of both hands worked like tentacles as they searched for what she wanted. The first hand to find the prize pulled out an orange RX bottle, leaving her other hand to keep searching for its own precious spoil. The label read Vicodin, but the name the prescription was made out to was definitely not Jill Borkavitz. The rattle coming from inside the container was dull; there was only one pill left, and Jill skillfully popped off the child safe lid with one hand. This wasn’t her first rodeo, after all. The lid was discarded to the floor of the car, and her face contorted a little as she tried to concentrate on the hand still tucked away in the handbag. With a couple reassuring jerks, she found what she was looking for deep in the bottom, hidden under lipsticks, tampons and eyeliner. She tilted the RX container and poured the last remaining pill into her open mouth, and she dry-swallowed the pill. The empty container dropped to the floor, and a sense of calm appeared on her face, not because the Vicodin had kicked into gear, it was way too early for that, but because of the sense of relief that she had found what she was looking for. Jill brought her other hand out of the handbag clutching a small airplane bottle of Ketel One vodka. This time there was no one-handed trickery. She just put the bottle’s top between her vice-like teeth and twisted it till it opened. She spat the lid to the floor and poured the vodka into her open mouth, guzzling the whole bottle as if it was water. The fucking gardener heard the commotion in the back seat and looked into the rear view, but she was still lying down so he couldn’t see her.

  “We’ll be at the motel in a moment, Miss Jill,” the fucking gardener said over his shoulder.

  Jill sprung up, throwing the empty bottle of vodka at the back of the fucking gardener’s head. “Motel? Take me to the fucking Chateau!” Jill demanded.

  The fucking gardener could see her in the rearview mirror now. There was real anger bubbling beneath her beautiful facade.

  “Sorry, Miss Jill,” the fucking gardener said. “Strict instructions to take you to Starbrite.”

  Starbrite? she thought as the Escalade made its way past the green median strips of Beverly Hills and into the billboard-filled area of the Sunset Strip. It was the motel she was living at when she had met the fat asshole. It was supposed to be just for a few days but had turned into a few months while she got her life together, and, before she did, along came her knight in shining armor.

  The Starbrite motel wasn’t a complete shit hole, but compared to the Chateau Marmont it was a locker at Union Station. It was just outside of downtown L.A., bordering Echo Park, so not the most charming of areas, but for the price and location it was good value. As far as she was concerned, it was pure fucking evil that he was sending her back there now. She had cash in safety deposit boxes hidden around L.A. that could pay for a nice hotel, but the fat asshole had made sure to kick her out after close of business, so she couldn’t get access to them. Regardless of that, she had hoped the fat asshole would have at least sprung for a week at a nice hotel before she shipped herself off to Europe for a little holiday slash make some money yachting. Her role in life was not to pay rent, it was to live the life she deserved, and that life was by the pool at the fucking Chateau Marmont. She was pissed at the fat asshole, but she wasn’t helpless. She had purses, jewelry, shoes and cash hidden away in safety deposit boxes around L.A. that were going to finance a one-way trip to Mykonos or Cannes to find some new wealthy benefactors.

  Jill pulled out her phone and was shocked to see that it was off. It was never off. It was always on, always ready to receive positive energy through likes and direct messages. The screen glowed as the phone came to life, but an error message came up quickly, informing her there was no SIM card present. She clicked past that, but she knew what was waiting for her on the other side: the Apple welcome screen that greeted people with brand new phones, only Jill’s phone wasn’t brand new. Not only had Lurch taken the SIM card, he had deleted her whole phone.

  “Are you fucking kidding, me?” Jill whispered to herself. “That fucking fat asshole.”

  All the contacts she had accrued while she was with the fat asshole had just disappeared. All the photos she had taken and not uploaded to the cloud were now gone forever. The fucking gardener had better sense than to re-enter into conversation with Jill and just kept driving like he hadn’t heard anything. Frustration was making Jill’s head hurt, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. The fat asshole was trying to give her wrinkles, and she was having none of that. This time there was no precision, she just emptied out the contents of her handbag onto her lap and found her small wallet – of course, it was also Louis Vuitton.

  “You fucking fat asshole,” Jill whispered again as she pulled out the two cards that remained.

  All that was left was her driver’s license and an old Equinox membership card. Lurch had taken all of her credit cards and literally left her with nothing. She could feel tears making their way into her eyes as she scrambled through the rest of the wallet, her breathing increased as she opened every empty compartment until she found it: one single hundred-dollar bill. The fat fucking asshole had left her one hundred dollars to start her life again with. She didn’t know how she was going to pay rent at the Starbrite and buy a new sim card for her phone. It was going to be one or the other.

  “Pull over up here,” Jill snapped. “You better fucking wait for me, too.”

  Jill got out of the car at a rundown strip mall. She couldn’t believe how low she had fallen. She was walking to a minimarket to buy a fucking prepaid sim card for her phone wearing a bikini top, flip flops and daisy dukes, like some poor loser.

  CHAPTER 20: KING OF THE HARPIES

  “I thought you were getting me Jessica on the line, Angie!” Ryan yelled into the intercom.

  “She’s not answering!” Angie said.

  “Why the fuck not?” Ryan demanded. “Try a-fucking-gain.”

  It was Friday night and after regular business hours, so most of his co-workers were at the bar down the street, drinking away the week. Ryan hadn’t been invited. In all his years at F.T.A. he had never been invited. It was pretty clear none of the other agents and support staff liked him or the way he conducted himself at the office. They all knew him as a sexist, misogynist, creep and didn’t try too hard to hide their dislike for him. He was not one bit affected by it. In fact, Ryan loved it, and he reveled in it, because they may have all hated him and wanted him out, but he still had a contract and he still brought in work.

  Ryan loosened his tie and opened a couple buttons of his heavily starched shirt so he could grab the chain around his neck and pull out the pendant that dangled from it. The pendant was a shiny silver replica bullet that he held upright as he twisted the nose off it to reveal the secret compartment. He tapped the top of the bullet’s body against the back of his hand ever so gently. A small amount of cocaine came out in a well-orchestrated line. His eyes widened and he licked his lips in anticipation of what was next, and he brought his hand to his nose, snorting the line of cocaine like it was oxygen. After tapping a couple more bumps and inhaling the delicious powder, he resealed the lid of the bullet and slipped the pendant back into his shirt. He snorted a couple more times to clear his sinuses and to get a hit off any residual blow left in his nasal cavity. It was time to feel good, and only sex made him feel better than coke.

  “Angie!” Ryan yelled as he slammed the intercom button. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “It keeps going to voicemail,” Angie whined.

  The blow was supposed to be a reward for getting the Jessica Raven deal but Angie’s inability to get her on the line was beginning to get on his nerves. Every fiber of his being was slowing boiling, making his skin crawl. Ryan’s hands went to his eyes and began viciously rubbing them. It was like everyone was working against him. He thought about calling Jessica himself from his cellphone, but he didn’t want to admit defeat. It wasn’t his fault just yet, a
nd there was still someone he could point the finger at. He picked up his cellphone and swiped through the apps till he found what he was looking for. It was an old trick he had used hundreds of time to great effect.

  “Get the fuck in here, now!” Ryan spat as he put the cellphone back on the desk. “Bring the fucking contracts with you as well!”

  “Yes, Mr. Pinkerton,” Angie replied. “I’ll be right in.”

  Ryan licked his lips. He was going to punish Angie once and for all. She owed him that at least. It was obvious he’d treated her too well. He had been tip-toeing around, trying to be the good boss, the guy who didn’t fuck his assistant, and all it did was just make her bad at her job. He needed to rectify the situation. He knew a good spanking, then a blow job, followed by some hard anal fucking would cure her.

  He swiveled to the door and presented his crotch to it. His cock was rock hard and he felt it through his pants, all while he snickered at the surprise Angie was about to get. Time seemed to stretch, his fingers danced and tapped on the armrest of the chair. Something was not right. He wiped the sweat from the top of his head. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on or why she wasn’t bustling through the door like he had commanded. She should be here right now, he thought. She should be on my lap getting her meaty ass spanked.

  “Angie!” Ryan yelled. “Hurry the fuck up!”

  The coke was definitely speedy. He needed to have a chat with his dealer. He was enjoying it, sure, but he was just a little too on-edge to really get the maximum high.

  There was a small knock, and the door slowly opened. Angie, was heavier than the type of girl Ryan liked, but ever since he’d gotten his first strike, they had made sure his assistants were a little bit larger than average. It still looked like they were trying to thwart him, but they didn’t know the extent of his depravity. It wasn’t a case of any port in a storm for Ryan; it was any port, regardless of weather and regardless of if he needed to dock. If they had really wanted to stop him, they would have gotten him a male assistant, but even still he probably would have gotten desperate enough to try fuck that kid too.

  “It’s about fucking time, Angie! Get in here and close the fucking door!” Ryan hissed. “You know there are a million girls out there would give their left fucking tit to be my ass—” Ryan trailed off as he saw that Angie was not alone.

  “Oh,” Ryan stuttered. “Hi, Linda.”

  Linda was F.T.A.’s human resources officer, and Ryan was definitely not her number one fan, but Ryan held no hard feelings. Linda was definitely someone he’d love to hate-fuck. He knew he’d barely last ten seconds given the opportunity, and it would be the worst ten seconds of her life, but it would be the best ten seconds of his.

  “Hello, Ryan,” Linda said stiffly.

  “Here’s Miss Raven’s contracts,” Angie mumbled as she put the contracts on the desk next to him.

  “Thank you, Angie,” Ryan said. “I really appreciate that!”

  Angie gave him a quick smile before filing into line, next to Linda.

  “Is there a problem, Linda?” Ryan asked sheepishly. “I think we have everything under control here.”

  “Well, you know as well as I do, any female staff member who comes into your office must be accompanied by another member of the team,” Linda said blandly. “And seeing as just about everyone is at home, I was the best Angie could do.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ryan said with a small nod of his head. “We can’t have poor, Angie here being led astray by yours truly.”

  “Indeed,” Linda said with a small eye roll. “Do you need anything more from Angie or can she go and enjoy the weekend?”

  Ryan forced himself not to sneer, as he thought about Linda getting herself into Angie’s good books. Just so she could take her for a few drinks at the bar to talk about what a piece of shit Ryan was, followed by some scissoring and some super deep anal fisting.

  “Of course, she can go,” Ryan said turning to his contracts. “Just as long as she keeps her phone on. I might need her in tomorrow.”

  “I will,” Angie said with a smile.

  “If you do come in, please call me,” Linda said, rounding on her. “You need to make sure someone will be here if you need.”

  “Help?” Ryan interjected with his eyebrows raised. “Wasn’t aware being my assistant was such a hazardous job! Maybe we should shoot a pilot. We could call it something like Dangerous Boss or World’s Deadliest Coffee Order.”

  “Okay, Ryan,” Linda said as she motioned Angie to the door. “Very funny.”

  “Night, Mr. Pinkerton,” Angie taunted.

  Oh, she was definitely getting called in to work tomorrow, he thought as he watched her leave, and he was definitely fucking her.

  “Night, Angie,” Ryan said with a knowing smile. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

  Ryan watched her smile fade. She really thought that having Linda there was going to stop him from ruining her weekend. He lived for this kind of shit.

  “Bye, Linda!” Ryan bellowed before returning to his contracts.

  Out the periphery of his eyes, he could see Linda had stopped at the door. Ryan felt her eyes on him, and he slowly looked up from the contracts to see her shit-eating grin. He wanted to take that round little face of hers and just fuck the shit out of it. He would give her no satisfaction, it would be all cock in mouth and if she didn’t like it, well, that was all on her.

  “Ryan, you got a little something on your...” Linda said as she tapped the side of her nose.

  Ryan didn’t react. He knew his days were numbered anyway, and if they were going to tear up his contract over a little blow on his nose, he would have a great day in court. Sexual harassment clauses may have been in his contract, but drug abuse wasn’t.

  “Linda,” Ryan said with a smile. “You got plans this weekend? You want to get dinner?”

  Linda closed the door even more, and Ryan’s heart almost leapt out his chest.

  “Hmmm, I don’t know what it is about you, Ryan,” Linda said walking half a step closer to him. “It’s like everyone who’s told me that you’re a slimy, stinking piece of crap is just lying to me. All the rumors I’ve heard about your three-inch member can’t possibly be true, either. I kind of just want to see it, and maybe I can change everyone’s mind about you. Come on, show me!”

  Ryan snorted at her obvious attempted take-down. He stood up and Linda retreated a little and her back hit the door and closed it. She suddenly realized she was on the other side of a closed door with Ryan Pinkerton, the office sex pest.

  “Linda, I’m so glad you said that. All I’ve ever wanted to do is go to town on that musty little pussy of yours. I mean, surely you’d like a guy of my experience just to wedge his tongue deep in your wet little slit, while my chin massages your tight little asshole, which I’m sure will be waiting for its chance to get its own little tongue bath.”

  Her attempt to coerce him had backfired, and now Ryan’s cock was out of his pants and in his hand, and she didn’t know where to look.

  “Put that away, Ryan,” Linda scolded furiously.

  “No fucking way. You wanted to see it,” Ryan said with a chuckle and pointed at his cellphone.

  Linda’s eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open when she saw it. Ryan’s phone was propped up and aimed right at her, its camera recording everything that had just happened. He had hoped to record Angie getting punished but had in fact snared a bigger fish, a bigger fish who was now scuttling out of the door and away.

  CHAPTER 21: DREAM GIRL

  After he dropped off Daryl, Jake went straight back to bed like a little bitch. It wasn’t that he was tired or still hungover. Something was nagging at him, and he wasn’t sure if it was Daryl’s nervousness about the job or his earlier encounter with the message in the mirror. For two hours he stared at the ceiling unable to go to sleep, so he decided there was only one way he was going to shake the feeling of dread that was engulfing him, and th
at was to go out and destroy every fiber of guilt in his body with drugs and alcohol. Max had paid him a ten grand finder’s fee for getting Daryl to do the job, so he definitely had the means to make it happen.

  Jake’s preferred method of getting wasted was to get on the blotch. Blotch wasn’t some crazy-ass drug or a mixture of household cleaning supplies; it was just blow and scotch... Blotch. Jake had combined the words to create the slang and felt like he had really given something to the world, but the only other person who used it was Daryl, and that was only because Jake had subjected him to it a million times. It was simple but classy, again, only to Jake. You did a line of cocaine, then took a sip of Scotch whisky and felt the relaxing yet intense wastedness that made you feel in control and at the same time reckless. There was one problem that was keeping Jake from doing what he wanted, and that was his lack of blow in the delightful combo that was blotch. He needed to invite his plug over and remedy the situation post haste.

  Her name was Violet. She was five-foot-nothing and had a super short haircut on one side of her head that was aggressively shaven to almost nothing. The lack of hair revealed a cute tattoo of a black and white rose – well, it was probably a violet. That would make more sense. It hung over her ear like someone had placed a real one there. The other side of her hair was long and flowed past her shoulder. Each time he saw her it was a different color, but today it was a light blue. Jake had gotten blow off her for almost a year, which was unusual as coke dealers rarely lasted longer than a few months. Jake had met her through Julie, the one and only female friend he hadn’t fucked. He definitely wanted to, but she treasured their friendship more than his cock, and Jake secretly assumed she was a lesbo, or his ego did anyway. Violet was great. There were no meetings in alleyways or in public. He would just text her the code, “I miss you,” and she would be over to his apartment in thirty minutes, rain or shine. It was like she was waiting for him around the corner, and she most likely was. Jake was a very good customer, especially when he was single.