by Kirk Alex
Say he pulled the van up to the loading dock of the greasy spoon, the dread was that a vehicle of some sort, delivery, whatnot, might drive through just as he and Marvin were in the process of doing some loading of their own.
How did one get around an obstacle like that? If you tried it at night you risked being nailed by a patrol car or roving security, if done during the day . . . you had garbage pickups or delivery trucks driving up and down the alley routinely.
What was the answer? Was there a solution? Grabbing a bitch and carrying her out through the front was clearly out of the question. . . .
What were you left with, wondered Biggs. Late evening/early evening? Slaughter Slim, and whoever else got in the way: Tuco, the cook, Bertha, whoever. Didn’t matter. So long as you got your hands on the Duarte cunt. Carry her out in a laundry bag. There was risk involved. There always would be. Nothing was risk-free. That added to it, too. Added to the thrill.
The greater the risk, the more intense the rush. Would it ever be worth it? So long as you got away with it. Pearleen and her slutty friends were supposed to be in there convincing Olivia Duarte to take a ride with them over to his place. He’d promised them a good time, enough crack to smoke. On the other hand, what if they failed? And even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to keep her indefinitely. What was left? What was the alternative? How many times have you asked yourself that already?
The glowing, yellow block letters on the roof declared:
VESTER JESSUP’S FAMILY DINER
“How they gonna get that Duarte gash to go wiff them?” Marvin played with an unlit cigarette between his fingertips. He held a book of matches in his left hand. Lacked the nerve to fire up. Suspected Cecil would throw a fit if he so much as attempted it.
“That’s their problem. They’ll figure out a way if they want the dope.”
“An’ they gonna get her to take her panties off once they get her to the cribby?”
Biggs’s response was a sigh. Hardly audible.
“Man, your attitude is all wrong. Let’s take it one step at a time, one step at a time.”
Alley rats Ace and Felix rolled up in their bucket, a rattling pile of junk on four wheels missing hub caps.
Bishop shifted into “D,” and guided the Cadillac out of there.
CHAPTER 140
Olivia Duarte did such a fine job of ignoring Rudy Perez, who sat at the counter, that he may as well have been the Invisible Man. He followed her with his eyes, wanting to make amends for that scene the other day in his family’s living room and could not get to first base. What had made it doubly impossible to get anywhere were those loud-mouthed, interfering strippers. It was bad enough to have to swallow your pride and eat crow, but no man worth his salt could lower himself and expose his soft side when others were watching and taking pleasure in it. Well, thank God for small favors, because right now, for the time being, the three: Stella Martel, Lana Sepulveda, and Pearleen Bell were in the women’s john—probably bangin’ rails—and he did his best to form words in his head before getting them out, wanting to say the right thing the right way before the busybodies stepped out to hear everything and made it downright impossible.
Olivia kept finding things to do, hardly giving him a glance. Invisible Man was right. Meanwhile, those loudmouthed chicks were in the bathroom and would be out soon enough and he could forget about patching it up with Olivia with them around and listening to all that was said.
It left him frustrated. Ate him up inside. Why did love have to hurt so much? There had been girls in the past, girls who’d been way more interested in him than he had been in them; and if they had felt like carrying on and threatened to walk, he always shrugged, said: Go ahead. It’s a free country. Do what you want. You go your way, I’ll go mine. No strings, no problems.
Only this was way different here; this mattered, went deep—and because it mattered it took all his power away; wouldn’t let him be himself. Left him frustrated, antsy—and sometimes that frustration turned to anger. Only you best not show anger here. Anger ain’t gonna get it this time, won’t work. Anger will only work against you. Got to be patient, cool and patient. Girl has a right to be herself, to have her own identity.
How many minutes did he have left to put the right words together before the chattering witches stepped out of the restroom?
He hated being stressed out this way. What it did to him. Caused him to get stressed. Felt a mild pain in his chest. Anxiety attack. Last thing of all he wanted.
CHAPTER 141
Inside the women’s john, Stella Martel and Lana Sepulveda were agreeing what a bitch and a genuine pain-in-the-ass Olivia Duarte was because she had refused to take a ride with them in Cecil’s Cadillac the week before, not to mention the other times they had invited her to visit the man’s place with them and she had turned them down flat.
“Stuck up ho.”
“Don’t make much sense, does it?” said Lana.
“You two shouldn’t be so hard on her,” Pearleen said.
“She’s a phony,” Stella said. “I know a phony when I see one. All she had to do was go with us so we could score some more of this great dope from the man. Nobody asked her to suck his dick.”
“You did everything but ask her to do that,” said Lana with a chuckle.
The approach used on Olivia this evening had been different. Simple. Easy. After Lana had apologized to the Duarte girl for having made all those cutting remarks in the past about her and the whole Duarte family being holier-than-thou, and after Pearleen had fervently explained: “I went to school with your sister Yolanda. We always got along. You know that. Ask her. You never heard me put you down. I never had anything against your family. Always wished my family was as close.” She meant it. “What the girls wanted was to give you a ride home—that is, if you needed a ride. Since we’re going your way anyway.”
Olivia had told Pearleen Bell—in front of Rudy Perez—that if her sister showed up late that she would be glad to take them up on their offer. And this had given the strippers the assurance they had been looking for. If Olivia did not at least stop by Cecil’s place, there probably would be no dope for them this time. Biggs had been after them for too long to bring Olivia with. Olivia wouldn’t have to disrobe for him, she wouldn’t have to have sex with him, or do anything really, other than show up, be there with them.
Lana had quickly got on the pay phone outside the bathroom door and dialed the Duarte home number, and in her best Big Bertha Lenier voice, or someone “in authority,” told Olivia’s brother Carlos at the other end that his sister would be getting off work a little later than usual this evening and to let Yolanda know. Yolanda was on the phone before she was able to get off and demanded to speak to Olivia.
“Can’t get to the phone. She’s working,” Lana had told her, and hung up. The next call she made was to Valley Cab. And that had taken care of that.
Meanwhile, Pearleen had stayed at the front counter to explain to Olivia her life-long dream of hoping to make it in Vegas someday like Lola Falana and Ann-Margret had done, like Susan Anton and others, but before she could get anywhere near those fancy Las Vegas showrooms she would have to pay her dues by working venues like McCoy’s Casbah Hideaway, not to mention that costumes cost money (even when she designed and made most of them herself). She was saving up for it, trying very hard, and the only reason she even considered spending any time at all with Biggs was because he gave them all free toot.
“But I’m working on kicking. Not that I’m hooked or anything like that. It’s just that I need it every once in a while for a quick pick-me-up. It really helps me deal with all those creepy men in the audience when I’m on stage. You don’t know how difficult it is to have to take your clothes off like that with practically every part of your body exposed. There’s times I’m so ashamed of myself I can’t even look in the mirror.”
“Like I told you and your friends, Pearleen, if my sister is not here by the time I’m ready to leave you can drop
me off.” And Olivia had walked away to tend to the remaining customers.
Rudy Perez had picked up on quite a bit of the conversation and hadn’t liked any of it. Olivia had avoided his gaze whenever he made the effort to draw her attention, to say something, get a word out.
CHAPTER 142
The strippers remained in the ladies’ room primping themselves for the “filthy rich” bishop and his “raggedy-looking” flunky. They were applying lipstick and perfume; made sure their hair looked right and were all in agreement on one thing: the toot had been used up way too fast.
“Just how dumb can that girl be?” said Stella.
“Who cares?” said Lana. “All I know is if her sister don’t show on time Olivia gets a ride with us—and that’s all it takes to make Cecil happy. She rides with us and we get high at Pastor Stinky’s ‘cribby’—”
“And drop her off like we promised,” said Pearl.
“Yeah,” shrugged Lana. “After we’re through doing up the man’s dope.”
“Biggs sure got that odor to him,” Stella said, while adjusting her bra. She pushed her breasts together to deepen the cleavage, not that she needed to do anything of the sort.
“Tell me something I don’t know, girlfriend,” Lana quipped. “You ain’t spending time with the man because you like his looks. That house he lives in smells way worse than the john in the Kismet Room. But I don’t give a shit; at least you’ll see me act like I don’t give a shit.”
“We definitely have to get them both in the shower before we do anything else with them,” Stella said.
CHAPTER 143
Olivia was preparing to close up the diner. She lowered the blinds, then yanked on a cord to flip the slats closed. She turned out the overhead lights.
Bertha was behind the counter doing her share. Rudy Perez continued with the overtures. Olivia was not making it easy for him.
The customers at the counter amounted to Ace Ortiz and his buddy Felix Monk; and sitting on Ace’s left an older gent finishing up his burger and fries on a plate before him.
Ace and Felix sipped Cokes. While Ortiz worked on a mouthful of Chuckles, his partner ate a glazed doughnut.
Ortiz had one of his watches out, nestled in a white handkerchief that he kept polishing the gold band with.
He figured he had a potential mooch on his left, and there was another possible mark, American Indian type, on the far side of his homie Felix.
The white gent on Ace’s left saw what was about to take place and thought he’d do a little preemptive number.
“If you’re hungry, I’ll buy you a burger. Only I ain’t buying no piece of crap watch from you.”
Ortiz nodded his head. Popped more Chuckles in his mouth.
“Can you spare a square?”
The man shook a butt out from a pack of Marlboros and held it out. Ortiz took it. Lit up.
“How about one for later?”
The man had stuck the pack back in his shirt pocket. Spoke without turning in Ortiz’s direction. “You’re out of bounds.”
“I’d do the same for you.”
“I believe you’re out of line.”
“How do you mean?”
Unbeknownst to Ortiz, Pearleen had walked up from behind, gripped a hunk of his hair in her left hand and spun him around. She got in his face, and sent her right fist into his nose. Continued to hold him up by the hair in order to keep him from toppling over in pain.
“Just a sample of what you got coming to you for damaging the bars on my bedroom window, motherfucker, and causing everybody problems in general.”
“I’m not looking for trouble, Ms. Bell. Besides, you got me at a disadvantage at the moment.”
“Don’t I?”
“I was so out of it that night I had no idea what my homie Felix was gettin’ us into.”
“Me?” said Felix.
“You’re an asshole, Ortiz.” Pearleen’s tone was low enough so others couldn’t hear. “And so is your dorky friend over there.” She had her face right up against the addict’s. It was too close, actually—because his breath made her ill. “I won’t miss next time. There’s more where that came from. Later.”
She let him go, and returned to the ladies’ room to wash her hands.
“And I’ll be ready for you, bitch,” said Ortiz to no one. “Lucky for you I’m in the middle of conducting business.” He happened to glance at Felix who had a stupid smirk on his face. Ortiz flipped him the bird. “Right here, pendejo.”
“What’s that for?”
Ortiz gestured for him to shut up. He didn’t want to hear it—whatever it was. Pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser. Wiped sweat from his brow. Monkey needed feeding and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Had to do something about it. Didn’t matter that a displeased Slim Jessup was probably monitoring everything through the fry cook’s window from the kitchen, either. Wasn’t sure of that. Too self-conscious to look in the direction to see if he was.
When he finally did glance over there, he was relieved that Slim had his eyes on Rudy Perez instead. Didn’t seem to like that love-sick Romeo was bothering Livia, who should have been paying more attention to taking care of his customers.
Even Ortiz could hear what was going on. Perez couldn’t get over that his ‘honey Liv’ might actually ride with the exotic dancers and felt a strong urge to voice his opinion on it.
“I can’t believe that you’re going with them.”
“If my sister is late. Yes, I will. I’ve got a ride with Pearleen and her friends, Rudy. You heard right. If Yolanda is not here by the time I’m ready to leave.”
“How can she be ‘on time’ with the hours Slim keeps? ‘Sunup to Sundown?’”
“Take it up with Mr. Jessup.”
“I thought you had better sense than to hang with that crowd?”
The remark stopped Olivia cold in her tracks.
“I get it from Bertha, I get it from my boss, my nosy sisters and my brother; I get it from my parents. Now you’re going to tell me what to do?”
“All right. I’m sorry.”
“I am tired of being treated this way.”
“I know that, Olivia, and I apologize. Only my brother was right about Lana and them: They’re a bunch of losers. I can’t help it. The way I feel. They are tramps, cokeheads, strippers—”
“They have to make a living just like everybody else, Rudy. They do the best they can. You don’t know anything about them, so stop judging.”
“I know enough. Everybody knows about them.”
“People do the best they can. It’s real easy to judge.”
“Tell me about it.”
She knew what he meant, only would not give him the satisfaction. Instead, what Olivia made sure he saw was a look of sheer exasperation.
“What sense does it make for Stella to change her hair color every week?”
“Meaning what? Why should that bother you? Better yet, why should it bother anyone what a woman does with her hair and general appearance?”
“She’s unstable. They’re all like that. Mixed up. Against family and marriage. All they ever think about is getting high. It’s a wonder their noses haven’t dropped off from all the blow they do.”
“At least they don’t stick them where they don’t belong.”
“People die from blow. How can you expect me to say anything good about that?” He glanced in Ace Ortiz and Felix Monk’s direction. “Nobody’s forcing them to do it, either. They do it because they’re irresponsible, and because all they care about is having a good time. Yeah, baby; where’s the next party? Pass the tooter. Gimme the spike.”
“If you’re bothered, why keep coming around? Nobody’s forcing you to keep coming around, are they?”
“You said it: Nobody’s forcing me. Could be my brother’s right: All I’m doing is making a fool of myself.” He shook his head. “Funny, I didn’t think you were like Yolanda. Didn’t think it; refused to believe you were a heart-breaker. My brother paid, though, di
dn’t he? Fell for the wrong girl. And now it’s my turn to pay for making the same dumb move.”
Olivia flashed him a second helping of that expression that said she clearly had had enough, and walked away to grab a plate at the other end of the counter.
“Sure. Picking up someone’s dirty plate is more important than keeping a relationship from falling apart.”
CHAPTER 144
As far as Ace Ortiz was concerned, Rudy Perez’s matters of the heart was soap opera drivel. He had a suckah on the line. That’s what it was about. Bait worked. All he had to do was reel him in. He’d done it before. Lots of times. So long as you don’t hit the geezer up for anymore butts.
“Watch ain’t cheap.” Ortiz spoke out of the side of his mouth. Buffed the watch with that white handkerchief that had the timepiece gleaming; like gold. “I don’t deal in inferior goods, my brother—and it ain’t about grub. I got mine.” Ortiz held up the Chuckles. Pointed to the Snickers in his shirt pocket. “Food is overrated.” He bit off a couple of Chuckles squares. Did what he could to chew with what teeth he had left. He sipped from his giant cup of Coke through a straw. Ortiz looked around nervously, surveying the diner. Slim appeared busy back there inside the kitchen, at least he hoped so. Although you never knew with Jessup. Never missed a thing with them sharp peepers. Had warned him before not to be peddling goods in his diner. That was a while back. So long as he was cool about it, thought Ortiz, what did it hurt?