by Jane Brooke
Instantly, her sweetness evaporates. She is keenly watching Arvan at the bar, fighting an erection gawking at her.
Sue behind him, shooting bullets with her eyes at her. Billy ambles up to her, says something and, then jerks his head at her. Sue scowls, grabs a Pabst, hooks the cap and opens it. Billy moves into the kitchen. Sue moves, Mandal likes what she sees, tall lanky sexy girl, at the table, slaps the bottle on the table top, Sue seethes.
“You fuck with me, Bitch. I’ll murder yer skinny ass.”
Mandals eyes spark, no reply. She likes fury in a girl. Sue turns on boot heels, leaves a trail of footprint smoke behind her.
Her hand dips, she feels the 38 in her boot, knife there too, hand rises, she pats her 44, knowing she might need them; all of them before the night is over.
In her bomber pocket, a cigarette between her lips, she lights it, exhales as her sonar pings around the room, catching ever angle, every exit, just in case. In her mind, Billy filled with such power, maybe fucking him an option, to comrade him up, maybe Sue too, Arvan in a stretch. Sue her preference again in her thoughts.
A girl never knows, sex is her power game. She knows a tumble in the bed, with Billy, not so bad; she knows he would be hell on wheels.
Sue, around the bar, tray balanced on her hand, four bottles of beer, she delivers them to a table of laughing Oil men.
She can’t take her eyes off of Sue’s body, for like she, she’s tall, nose a little broader, chin a little wider, smudged blond hair longer, not short and snow white blond like hers. The semi-switch, years ago, to women, the little pleasures she’s ever got confused her at first and, then memories of a massive black man standing at a door in New Orleans makes her shudder, wet up a little bit. She is a very complicated girl indeed.
Wise up, get smart, get it together, can’t have everything, she thinks as an irate Sue, back to the bar never takes her eyes off of her.
Blink, Blink, her eyes focus, she’s back. A hand on her shoulder, blinks again, she looks up. Arvan is grinning at her.
Christ, where did he come from? She thinks.
Time, still her nemesis, mind wandering, she smiles at him. It’s time to become someone else, again.
Like Billy done, he sits, straddles a backward chair.
Time for act two.
She thinks as the filthy little man glares at her, living some warped fantasy in his brain as he does.
“Got that ole Caddy a yers, ain’t so bad Betty.”
Instantly, she knows, she, the general, might need him. War is like that, take every advantage, of every opponent as she decides to reenlist him within her Army of one.
Just say NO. Until the moment, no man had ever said that to her.
Hand on her wrist; she decides not to remove it. Betty 2 smiles, pouts and seems all frail and such. She just seems to love the tobacco spittle drooling down his chin whiskers, as she gaily chips in.
“Oh Arvan, thank you, you are my hero. I hope you can fix her quickly.” She looks, deep into his eyes,
“Do you think you could do that for me?” Deeper into the eyes, through the limited brain matter she probes, “Arvan, darling.”
A young Lauren Bacall again. “Can you whistle Nick?”
Smoke pluming from her full lips, Arvan ready to dig a tunnel to China if it would make her happy, drawls. “Fer you Betty, anythin’. I can fix her fer ya...Arvan, thinks its jest the water pump...I’ll knowed tomorraw, Billy, he gonna pick her up at the Auto Zone, Solar Ville, jest a day or two, she’ll be hummin.”
“FUCK.” Mandal thinks.
Two days, stuck in Inferno Flats, playing the grift, so many different ways to fuck up, die, days closer to having her eyes melted out of her skull by men that actually enjoy that kind of work.
“It’ll take that long, Arvan?” Lowered eyes, raising them seductively, pushing into his mind, ESP.
Bend him, the spoon, seduce him, make him sit, beg, she whimpers. “It’s just, well, my dad’s sick, and I...I...I” She grows silent.
If he knowed anything about Quantum Mechanics, heed’a crawled into a Worm Hole to see that smile again.
“Listen Betty, don’t ya worry, tamorrow, I’ll get that part. We’ll get her fixed right quick fer ya, okay darlin’?”
Single ray of hope, Sarah Bernhardt, Alias Betty the thief/liar/whore/killer, smiles, squeezes his arm, gushes.
“Oh Arvan, your amazing. You’d do that for me?” She was about to say Little ole me but thought better of it, “And I’ll bet she’ll run better than ever after you get done with her.”
Lowered blues, she raise them again.
A Phoenix rising, more smiles, pouts, a purr.
“You know Arvan, it’s tough for a girl in this mean world, real tough, especially a single girl on her own, you know.”
There goes her complete repertoire from every B movie she’s has ever seen.
Somethin’ is bulging in Arvans pants and it ain’t a Crescent Wrench. But, it’s enough to allow him to dream; dream big.
“Now Miss Betty, don’t fret, you a real pretty girl...real pretty...Ya got a fella?”
She feels giddy. Is it always this easy fucking with men’s minds?
Thinking it’s better for him to see the candy behind the glass then actually tasting it, she moves a pawn, not a Rook. She, as always is enjoying the power she has over hapless men forever.
“No, No fella. You know Arvan; you seem like a real nice man, sharp.” Lowered eyelids, flapping eye lashes and raising blues slowly to him, she gives him a broken girl smile.
How did Elle May say it again?
“Maybe a girl, all alone and all...Maybe...Maybe ya could help me out with...well...it’s kinda lonely out...”
RONNIE GEE caterwauls, momentarily drawing both of their attentions in his direction at the pool tables.
“TWHACK.”
Two bottle of Pabst slam on the table in front of Mandal from Arvan’s long-forgotten Brother. Billy hovers over him, Arvan winces. He knowed it’s coming.
Controlled fury, Billy growls, encapsulates Arvan hand in his monster grip, begins to squeeze.
“Ya knowed, sometimes folks done ferget the peckin’ order a things.”
He begins to squeeze, Mandal simply watches, caught between laughter and running, screaming from the bar.
More pressure on Aevan’s hand. Arvan begins to levitae, inch by inch as the pain increases.
“Then bad things begin to happen and their wonderin’ why.”
Helium balloon, Arvan off the seat as Mandals eyes focus, corded forearms of Billy, the vice tightens, tears streaming down Arvan’s straining face.
“And all cause they done ferget the peckin’ order a things.”
One last squeeze; Arvan on his tip toes, pain, on his face, Billy, downer freak, smiles at her, reverts back to the cobra. He gives his brothers hand one last crunch.
“WHAT, YA DONE LOST YER MIND? WHY YA BOTHERIN’ BETTY HERE?”
Stuttering, dancing, Arvan sweats profusely, twists in hurt, stutters. “I...I...I was jest tellin her about her...her Ca...Ca...Caddy...That’s all...Bi...Bi....Billy.”
Replacing sweetness for sinister, Billy smiles, sweetly asks. “Is that so, Betty.”
Silent looks shared with Arvan. Save him from embarrassment, make him love you, more, she places her hand on Billy’s forearm lowering it. Billy gets it, lessons his grip as she says. “Yes, sure Billy, that’s all. He was telling me about the car. He was nice about it, Billy. That’s all. A real gentlemen.”
King of mood swings, Billy releases his grip, slaps his arm around his shoulder, rough necking him.
“Aahh, my baby brother Arvan, I love im.”
Arvan, rubbing his fist, unseen, by Billy, smiles at Mandal. She smiles back, wanting to lesson the shame the little guy o
bviously must be feeling.
Arvan goes to sit. Billy pulls the chair out. Arvan thumps to the ground, a whores lowered eyes, don’t further embarrass him.
Reaching down, Billy lifts, scuff of the neck, like a sack of peanuts, stands him up, glares at him.
“WHAT?”
Snarls, Arvan knowed better that to give some lip, washes bad intent from his face; grins and says.
“Nuttin.”
“Then get.”
Arvan turns; he’s a countin’ the days when his day will come.
He stalls, looks at HIS Betty. She looks at him, eyes of love, he whispers. “Let ya knowed bout that car, Betty.”
Mandal, mostly a defender of the weak, puppy’s memories, yet actually she feel compassion for the tough little guy, dispels his shame. “Thank you Arvan, I appreciate it, later, okay?”
Later, being the prominent word in that reply.
Humble nod, Arvan turns thinkin’ ten different ways he can kill his brother. He walks back and past the tables, at the front door, he turns, leers at his brother and thinks.
Fer twenty-six years he’s been gettin’ thumped, no more, be smart, soon, day a reckoning’ comin’.
He opens the door and walks through it.
Back at stage left, Mandal, about to plunge her knife into Billy’s black heart, smiles. No matter, she’s conning Arvan, cheating him, perhaps of his life. She detests bullies. They are on the top of her hate list. Trying to defer future punishment for Arvan, she sweetly says. “He was just helping, Billy. That’s all.”
Billy pushes the beer closer to her, his finger tips, pressing against hers.
“Aah, that was nothin’, Arvan, my brother, I love him. How’s yer beer?”
Scrutinizing him, she wonders how the queer dispersal of DNA and CELL/GENE displacement could have ever created three brothers so different.
Inventory time, ticks of eyes toward a glowering Sue, back to Billy, the genius in the barn; whoever the fuck that is?
Back to the sadist sitting in front of her.
Then, she thinks of Arvan. She silently giggles, remembering Mava who aborted these lunatic out into the world from her womb. She wonders what kind, of melting pot of Biology could create such a cellular mess.
“FUCK.” she thinks.
Ain’t Evolution a tweak.
Back to business, sips at the beer, showing real, genuine pleasure from the hit it gives her.
As if nothing has happened, she clinks Billy’s bottle with her own, smiles.
“Boy I’m hungry.”
Many meanings in that statement, she knows it. Billy knows it or he thinks he knows it.
“Have yer chicken fried steak in a minute, Betty.”
“Thank you Billy, great, you are such a gentlemen.”
On one tract, she digs deeper. “Do you think Arvan can fix my car real soon?”
Billy guffaws.
“Bro can fix anythin’ with a motor. Guaranteed. Don’t ya worry yer pretty face, Betty, bout nothin’.”
Raised eyebrows, a bell chings in the kitchen, he grins and stand’s.
“One chicken fried steak comin’ right up.”
Winks, grin, he walks away.
Involuntary wink from her for she’s trying to straighten up her mind, place in order all of her lies.
Billy vanishes into the Kitchen. Sue glares at her. Mandals attention is diverted by a group of brown skinned vaqueros now entering the bar. She groans. The brown skinned men look dangerous, lethal, she moans as she closes her eyes, exhausted. In her mind the horror show is just about to begin.
A menacing Mexican, one Speedo Gonzalez, attired in polyester pants, rayon purple shirt, white patent leather shoes, a huge belly over a gold belt, leads his crew as he enters the bar. Planted on his bullet head is the white important Stetson hat.
Men of respect in Mexico wear The White Hat.
Short man, rotund, yet power packed, gold rings on pudgy fingers, gold chains and a cross of God around his thick neck.
Mandal, winces, shakes her head as she remembers words in the barn. She calms, sips at her bee.
Let it come. Let it all come.
She is ready for new beginnings, locked and loaded for war.
Live or die.
She is even ready for the end story.
Her story.
Speedo Gonzalez
CRANDAL Bear Feather steps into the bar, shadowing Speedo Gonzalez and his two men. White suit, purple shoes, bolo tie and shirt, he’s looking fine, still stoic, Indian black eyes sweeping the bar, 357 in a shoulder holster under his white sports coat, set right where it belongs.
Speedo’s crew of brown men, look dire, serious, both men wear plaid sports jackets, bulges under their armpits, white pants, white shoes, white Stetsons, looking like there teeing it up at Pebble Beach. Speedo’s, second in command, The Indian is notorious, a hair trigger temper. He’s a shoot first, eat them up, check out the results later kinda Apache Brave.
Along with the growing cartel of criminals, Speedo is the latest in a long line of entrepreneurial Mexicans, Nic, Guats, Salvadorians, etc, that survived the dangerous journey to the USA.
They are reaping the benefits of crime, in Paradise. His connections with the ultra-violent MS-13 gangs, out of Central America are extensive.
No Reservation Squaw”, the huge Indian has a single goal in mind.
He wants his country back and will kill every mother fucking one of the white men, if given the chance to get it back.
Speedo and Crandal Bear Feather are on the same page, getting rich from it and want their fucking Terra fir-ma back.
Like a fat man in New Jersey, these men started with nothing.
They bussed tables, mowed lawns, washed tables and, then murdered and thieved their way to the top of the criminal food chain. Like many before them in Corporate American had done and much like the Cox Clan, Speedos and Crandal Bear Feathers growing illegal empire is on the verge of the Big Payoff.
That is if Speedo can stay in one piece long enough to reap such awards.
Speedo, assimilating the danger see’s Ronnie Gee staggering around the felt. Ronnie Gee notices him, weaves, and, then walks over to him.
Hiding his disgust for the filthy biker, he detest the rat little man. Yet, for the time being he needs him. Murdering another white man can always come later.
Arvan, walks through the door, sees his Mexican Cohort and looks off at the bar where Billy is just now moving past, plates in his hands, moving toward Arvan’s NEW woman.
Like a territorial wolf, Sue feels her hatred growing. She leers at Billy as he sets the plates down in front of the bitch blond.
Arvan, seething, bidness is bidness though, makes eye contact with his Brother, Speedo, eye contact, a jerk of Arvan’s head, a tilt at an empty table.
Speedo, Ronnie Gee, Arvan, crew, Bear Feather trailing, move to the table, kick out chairs and sit. Two of Billy’s men, huge bearded bikers, Garth and Dave, hand guns in their Levi belts, sit close at another table.
They do not go unnoticed by Speedo and his Indian
Anger, static, almost palatable, killers are everywhere and more are coming.
Mandal looks at the food, Billy and off at Arvan and the brown men. She groans, peeks at Sue. There’s that leer again. She moans, wonders if she’s ever going to get out alive unless she murders her way out. She is convinced of that fact.
“There ya, go Betty. Best Chicken fried steak in Texas. Try some fire on it.”
He sets two bottle of hot sauce on the table, grins.
“Looks great Billy,” She smiles.
More lies as she sees Billy staring at the brown skinned man, white hats, solid eyes, Arvan, the sinewy dude, the giant Indian standing like a totem behind them, s
teely bearded bikers with handguns sitting off to the side.
She can literally smell violence, as her attention reverts back to Billy.
Caught between a hard on and doin important bidness, hard decision, he opts for bidness. The massive payday is so near and even a moron knows when to take care of bidness.
Billy seems stressed, looks down at the love of his life.
“Sorry, Betty. Gotta take care a some bidness. Maybe we could have a beer later...YA know. Get ta knowed each other.”
She knowed.
Alright, play it tight, close to her tits. She glances at her watch, moans audibly.
“Been a long day, Billy. I’m kinda tired.”
Glancing at Sue, she moves right through the grift.
“What about your girlfriend, she doesn’t seem to happy you talking to me?”
Billy makes a show, waves his hand in her direction guffaws. “Oh Sue, she’s a good ole gal. We got an understandin’.”
“Is that right?”
Her blues dart at Sue who is ready to jump the counter and take care of her own bidness, understandin’ or no understandin’.
Mandal, sees it, Billy is distracted with the Hispanics, Sue now too and a monster Indian standing like a Cigar store mannequin next to them. Mandal sees it, a indians hand under his coat pocket.
No menu needed here. She knows what The Chiefs got hidden behind his suit jacket.
“Okay Billy, anytime, tomorrow would be better, I’m exhausted, Okay? You’re just so wonderful.”
He glows and, then growing irritated, he wants to fuck her so bad his dick feels like it’s gonna’ blast outta his pants.
He grinds his jaw, looks back at Sue, at Speedo, down to the sugar pop. Sue, Speedo, the candy cane.
His head feels like it’s going to fucking explode.
“Yeah, yer right, Betty. Tomorraw, I’d love to share some time with ya. Ya jest get yer rest, Later, Okay Betty? I got important bidness tanight, later.”
Mandal, tips her beer bottle, sweetly smiles, sucks on the lip like she’s sucking dick. Billy sees it, groans as she purrs. “10-4, cowboy.”
“FUCK.”
Billy utters in frustration, for this Betty is the smartest, classiest, sexiest bitch blond he done ever seen.