by Darrell King
For more than three hours the destroyed ruins of the tenement buildings billowed thick, pungent black plumes of smoke that hovered above La Perla. After several hours had passed, the U.S. Army, with the assistance of Old San Juan’s metro police, recovered what they believed to be the broken and charred remains of Don Lucien Octavius Valentino from the smoking pile of bloody rubble that had once been an apartment building. Thirty-two bodies were brought out from the crater of the damaged tenement site, and were identified and tagged as those of various neighborhood drug dealers who’d given their lives in defense of Valentino.
Lt. Jeremy Williams, unfortunately, lost his life as well. He suffered over twenty-seven gunshot wounds to his head and upper body as he blindly charged the door in anger. In an effort to get at the man who had murdered both the mother and aunt of his young son, who now would be raised to adulthood by Williams’ older sister, Rhonda Williams-Steed and her husband Terrance.
Edward Goddard testified before a grand jury in the U.S. Supreme Court, detailing before startled jurors and court officials alike the intricate workings of the abominable “Operation: Inner City Virus.” Seventeen members of the World Health Organization were indicted on several felony counts of “malicious use of controlled biochemical agents” amongst the unsuspecting public. Each count carried a sentence of no less than twenty-five years to life in a federal prison, including the revoking of each individual’s license to practice medicine anywhere in the world ever again. Only Dr. Goddard was allowed to continue to distribute the Biomaximus Officainalis in order to treat his young sister’s illness.
TaKeisha Goddard would go on to graduate from Bowie State University, and on July 11, 2002, she’d marry her college sweetheart, DeShawn Warner. The handsome couple would then produce three healthy boys, Markus, Mario, and Jason. DeShawn also would be treated with Biomax-O by his brother-in-law. However, amazingly, the children of DeShawn and TaKeisha Warner would test negative for the lethal HIV5X.
Detective Goehring and his wife Diane would set up a charity fund for the treatment of HIV/AIDS in the honor of the fallen Lt. Jeremy Williams. Goehring continues to be a major force in the prevention of crime in Prince George’s County, Maryland, as well as the poster boy for community AIDS awareness. However, the staunch P.G. County detective received a most disturbing email on November 30, 2002. It read:
Dear Taylor Goehring:
You have caused significant difficulty in the development and perfection of one of the most promising experiments ever known to man with the sole exception being the racial cleansing experiments performed by Der Führer Adolf Hitler during the early days of World War II. There are those who are nothing more than cattle on this earth to be used as subjects for science’s sake. You have not destroyed all of us and as a result, we shall continue our Biomax-O experiments elsewhere. Many of the infected would love nothing more than life via our special biochemical injections. The communities consisting primarily of gay men, minorities and poor whites (who are also expendable), are found throughout the Western hemisphere in great abundance will be choice target areas for our operations to set up and begin our objectives. You cannot stop us, detective, for this is much, much bigger than you and your small community. So I thank you and bid you farewell.
Sincerely,
Sentinels of the Illuminati
Detective Goehring sighed deeply as he stared solemnly at the glowing computer screen.
“Damn … when will this nightmare ever end?” he groaned, shaking his head wearily. Deep inside, the battle-weary detective knew the bitter truth; the nightmare had just begun.
Deadly Phine
Part II "The AIDS Man Cometh"
Chapter 13
Rosaria Gonzalez took a deep drag off of a partially finished joint before crushing the roach underfoot. Lariat, California, a bustling mid-sized town of 878,000, was especially busy and active after dark, offering even the most discriminating night owls an eclectic variety of nocturnal fun. The sassy Latina exhaled a plume of marijuana smoke and sashayed with a saucy confidence across the crowded street. She smiled as she passed several young men who whistled and called sexually explicit comments her way as she bounced along. She was hot and bothered and the building moisture between her shapely thighs beckoned to be quenched with an urgency bordering on obsession. She quickened her pace as she recognized the familiar outline of the dark sport utility vehicle ahead.
Dorian Stoppard, a local real estate broker, had lost affection for Jillian, his wife of five years, and as a result showed her little attention. It was an agonizing time for the 25-year old computer programmer from Las Vegas, and eventually led her into the arms of her equally unhappily married supervisor, Seth Corman III. The adulterous lovers had been in the midst of a passionately lustful affair for the better half of six months now, and had discovered a fetish for swinging. The sexual kink which would lead them into the clutches of Lucien Valentino.
Strutting along with sexy allure, clad in her form-fitting hot pink cat suit, Rosaria licked her thick, pouty lips seductively. She looked forward to indulging with her well-hung beau and these two young good-looking fuck partners. It was always exciting having sex with perfect strangers. In fact, she had dubbed it "Extreme Fucking."
Toward the end of the Hunter Boulevard, far from the hubbub of the Cobblestone District, the pine green Ford Denali sat stoically. Though the huge truck seemed inert, the fogged up windows spoke volumes of the goings-on between the two occupants. Rosaria applied an extra coat of cherry red lipstick from a small vanity pack before stuffing it back down into a pink purse that swung loosely from her tanned shoulder. She smiled mischievously as she drew near the Denali. The lovers inside were already at it with lascivious hunger, and their impassioned moans and groans left little to the imagination. The Latin vixen stepped up to the passenger's side of the vehicle, placing her perfectly manicured hand on the back door handle. It gently opened; they'd been expecting her for quite some time now.
As she stepped into the sexually steamy SUV cabin and shut the door behind her, she was overcome with carnal heat by the sight and sounds of the naked couple grinding together in a sweat-drenched union of flesh-on-flesh delight up in the spacious front seat. She was relatively new to this realm of eroticism and thus overly excited, wherein her man Valentino, who'd experienced nearly every type of sexual fetish there was, approached these freak shows with a sense of normalcy that she found fascinating. Slowly, she began to peel off her tight-fitting outerwear, sliding the leather material down past her sizable young breasts and WASP-like waist. She wiggled free from the form-fitting cat suit, and it slid down past her wide hips and bootilicious bubble butt, falling into a pink pile at her feet on the floor of the truck.
The intense lovemaking of the youthful pair in front of her grew with each tongue twisting kiss and each strong hip thrust into a fiery furnace of unbridled lust. Rosaria could take no more. She impulsively crawled halfway over the leather seat separating her from her coupling comrades, taking Jillian's soft white hand into her own, coaxing both her and her beau to join her in the roomier backseat. Like willing sex slaves, the sweaty lovers climbed over the seats until they both joined Rosaria in a sultry threesome. Jillian's breasts were perky and firm with erect pink nipples. Rosaria's full red lips parted to suckle upon them, bringing a sudden shudder of pleasure from the pretty, green-eyed brunette panting beside her. Her moans of passion made Jillian all the more horny as she slid the index and middle fingers of her free hand in and out of Rosaria's dripping cunt. The entire cabin of the Denali was a virtual symphony of gasps, groans and heavy breathing in conjunction with the distinct smack of flesh-on-flesh. Jillian's eyes closed as she achieved orgasm with Seth penetrating her forcefully from the rear while Rosaria kneaded her tits and met her open mouth with a tongue-probing caress. "Oh, fuck yeah," Rosaria groaned.
During those lust-filled first fifteen minutes, the combination of Seth's stiff dick and Rosaria's wicked tongue and burrowing fingers had brought Jillian
at least five mind-blowing orgasms. Rosaria was thoroughly enjoying her role in this mini-spectacle of wanton debauchery for more reasons than one, tasting the sweet nectar of Jillian's femininity while simultaneously taking in the rigid satisfaction of Seth's lengthy manhood as he pounded her from behind.
Rosaria couldn't help, however, but to think about the hellish existence that the pair would go through after this night of unrivaled ecstasy ended. The first signs of skin lesions, night sweats and rapid weight loss would come quickly, and they’d be a grim reminder of their night of lewd behavior.
Seth's thrusts became stronger, more vigorous as he drew closer to the point of no return. He threw his head back grunting with bestial joy as he shot his load deep into Rosaria's tight, moist love tunnel. Slowly, his sweaty, pale, nude form slid against the cool leather of the back seat, his chest rising and falling with obvious exhaustion. Jillian caressed the outline of his strong jaw that bore the faint silhouette fo a five-o'clock shadow. He wore it that way because she found it sexy. Both lovers were sexually spent and simply laid in one another’s arms, basking in the solitude of the moment.
Rosaria sat beside the two love birds, smiling as she gazed upon them while they cuddled lovingly. Slowly, she began to slip into her satin panties, which lay crumpled on the floor of the vehicle. Valentino would soon request her presence and if she was not present when he expected her, it could get ugly. She must always remember that she was an escort and her man Valentino a manager of adult fantasies . . . pimps and hos were terms he chose to abandon in describing his occupation. His vocabulary was more refined than that.
With her hot pink cat suit back on, Rosaria slipped on her pink stiletto-heeled pumps and stepped out from the SUV $800 richer. She briskly made her way back across the dark, winding street toward the brightly lit cobblestone street, on through the boisterous crowd and into the parking garage on the opposite side. She flashed a quick smile, but breezed past the Ethiopian attendant, whose attempt at flirtatious small talk fell on deaf ears. She disappeared down the ramp's walkway toward her awaiting vehicle. Five minutes later, Rosaria's champagne colored '91 Ford Taurus climbed the steep ramp, pausing briefly at the parking booth where she paid her fee before cruising beneath the raised gate and onward onto Pelco Way.
It was 12:57 a.m. already and Valentino had said that she was to meet him no later than 1:00 a.m. She did not want to disappoint him. She did 55 mph all the way down Pelco Way, even running two red lights and a stop sign in her haste to make the arrival deadline. Besides, she needed a fix. She'd savored the last $50 bag of blow in the glove compartment and the delightful giddy rush had washed over her, but was now declining slowly. It was time for yet another shot of Biomax-O as well. Twice a month seemed like a bit much to the Hispanic sex kitten, but she knew she had no choice now but to submit to the injections. It was either that or death.
Up ahead, she could see the well-dressed form of her man waiting outside of Fontaine's Pool Hall. He leaned up against the lamppost near the front of the building. The pool hall, a favorite local haunt of Valentino's, had just closed ten minutes earlier . . . she was late. Even though it was a late August night, the rains from Mexico earlier in the week had rendered the southern California temperature unseasonably cool, particularly after dark, and so the distinguished white SLAVER? was dressed in the light Sean Jean sweater on the cool, crisp night.
Rosaria pulled up to the curb and exited the car, racing over to the curly haired, handsome man calmly standing out front. Puffing on a cigarette, she threw her darkly tanned arms around him and kissed his face profusely while apologizing for her tardiness. He looked upon her with deep set, piercing eyes and a gaze that seemed to sear her very soul with its intensity. He did not return her affectionate caresses, nor did he take her into his strong arms as she'd wished. Yet, he was not angry; it was just the way he was . . . the tall, dark silent type.
Without being told, Rosaria relinquished both the car keys and the night's earnings, which she placed gingerly into his open palm, a crumpled pile of green from her purse that dangled off her shoulder. The two entered the car slowly and drove away, down the dimly lit street, leaving the brightly flickering neon sign of the pool hall. Velvety smooth R&B ballads from the likes of R. Kelly, Usher and Mary J. Blige lulled Rosaria closer to the man she adored as he navigated his way through the highways and byways of the busy San Diego suburb. While his young Hispanic lover nestled snugly against him as he drove along, he was lost in thought--thoughts that consisted of stacked paper.
"Girl, you lucky you'se a good earner, or else I'd dump you' lil' spick ass on the side of the road fa sho'. You know that, right?" he said, chuckling softly before tossing his finished cigarette out of the open window, into the crisp darkness.
Rosaria's Mexican sassiness flared briefly as she smacked Valentino playfully on his shoulder, to which he laughed a bit harder, using his free arm to fend off his girlfriend's joking assault.
"Naw, I'm just fuckin' witcha . . . baby, you did good tonight. Real good, Mami."
He leaned over and kissed her gently on her forehead.
"Muchas gracias, Papi."
He smiled broadly as he refocused his attention on the lonely highway ahead, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the slow jams coming from the speakers. “You should have seen me back at the hall, Rosy. I was breakin’ them cats left and right for their scrilla. At the end o’ the night I walked away with over a grand—easy money, like robbin’ niggas without a gun,” he said with burgeoning pride swelling within his chest. “Ain’t shit better than a fist full o’ dollars . . . not even pussy.”
He turned off onto Rock Hudson Parkway, lip-synching to Prince’s hauntingly seductive “Scandalous” as he hooked the wide right. Slowly, Devine leaned over toward Rosaria, sending a shock through her as he brushed her thick, raven black hair back from her ear.
“Did you enjoy yourself earlier tonight? Did you cum hard and often?”
She fidgeted uneasily in her seat. Even though she had enjoyed the experience, as she always did, it still made her uncomfortable to tell him the details of her trysts. Somehow talking about it made her feel more like his whore and less like his girl, and that hurt.
“It was . . . well, it was okay, Papi, but I would’ve liked it more if you were there with me. Comprendè?”
The debonair pimp winked an eye at his blushing girl, who stared up at him with big, hazel eyes, searching his own for some trace of compassion.
“Well,” Valentino said, “I do know one thing—you got their money and they’ve got your virus. But don’t never feel bad ‘bout that, baby, ‘cause they’re both cheaters, right? Shit, I’m quite certain that Jillian Stoppard’s husband would sing your praises for givin’ that cheatin’ ho the kiss o’ death. Don’t ya think? That’s some real shit for your ass. Hopefully he don’t fuck her from this point on or else he’s gonna be a dead man walkin’.”
“Yeah, yeah I know, Papi. I know,” she answered softly. A tear welled up in her eye and trickled down her cheek as she placed her head against the comfort of Valentino’s cardigan sweater.
“Rosy . . . Rosy, I know you ain’t cryin’, are you? I dunno what for ‘cause as long as you’re with me you gonna live a long, long time, ya hear me? A long time . . . ya see, those Biomax-O shots that we take—they keeps us alive and healthy, right? Fuck everybody else, Rosy. Fuck ‘em! Ya see the Army didn’t give a shit ‘bout me. All I was to them . . . I guess I was a pawn in their great big, ole’ chessboard. So they used me and then cast me aside. So at this point I’m gonna use Tupac’s motto: ‘Fuck the world.’”
Rosaria said nothing in response. She fully realized the deadly circumstances that lay in wait for anyone unfortunately enough to lie down with her. Anyone not properly inoculated against the ravages of the fiercely aggressive HIV5X through the medium of Biomaxumus Officianalus would be a suicide waiting to happen.
Valentino sung the remainder of Prince’s classic with a seductive hint of raunchiness worthy of hi
s Royal Badness himself. Rosaria loved to hear him sing to her. His silky sweet voice reminded her of the old Marvin Gaye records she listened to as a child. As an adult, Valentino’s crooning always made her hot.
As they arrived in Middletown, the illuminated 7-11 sign was a welcome sight, as was the lonely Howard Johnson’s hotel, just off the entrance of Interstate 99. Rosaria moved closer to her man, resting her head up against his warm, hard body, basking in the sweet bliss of love.
Slowly, the Ford Taurus creeped up against the curb just under a streetlight. Rosaria stirred slightly, opening one of her big eyes to take in the surrounding scenery. She didn’t care where they were as long as she was with Valentino, she thought, yet she did feel slightly drowsy from the six mixed drinks she’d had earlier at the Tiki Hut. Luckily, she’d eaten a beef and bean burrito before her date, which had soaked up some of the alcohol. If she hadn’t, shed be in real trouble now, but still, she thought, she was tipsy.
She needed a few lines of blow to take the edge off. She knew Valentino could give it to her, but she’d have to e patient. Her handsome lover could be unpredictable and moody. Begging him for a fix could send him into one of his dark fits. She loved how he fed her three or four lines of coke, all the while fucking her in the ass as she sniffed the powdery white happiness up her nose.
She placed a diamond ring-encircled hand up to her pouty red lips to suppress a liquor-induced belch. She smiled with mild embarrassment and sat up, opening the passenger’s side window to take in a breath of the cool night air coming off the Pacific. She realized that soon she’d have to spread her shapely legs once again in order to secure the money that kept Valentino happy with her.
Instinctively, she pulled down the sun visor and peeked into the small, square, mirrored window. She teased her dark hair carefully, and licked her lips after applying yet another layer of candy apple red lipstick.