by Athan,Jon
“First of all, you don't take drugs, you experience them,” Lucas interrupted with a wagging finger. “Second of all, we're not here to buy drugs or work with him. This motherfucker would probably think we smoked his shit, then he'd kill us. We're just here to talk. We're going to have a little chat. I've got a special business proposition for him.”
“What? What can you possibly offer this... this asshole? Hmm? Come on, tell me the truth. Please, don't drag me into something else. I appreciate your help, but I can't get my hands dirty again. I don't think I'm cut out for it.”
“Oh, you're cut out for it, son. You're like me, remember? You can do everything I can do. If it bothers you now, it won't bother you later. Believe that. I mean, look at this motherfucker. Whether I'm here to extort him or to kill him, it shouldn't matter to you. He sells drugs to kids. He's a bastard. You're better than him and the world would be better without him. It's as simple as that.”
Dean furrowed his brow as he stared at Lucas, astonished. He asked, “Are you here to kill him?”
Lucas huffed, then he said, “I'm here to teach you a lesson. It's a... It's a lesson in money. This is something I learned before I went to the joint. Trust me, these types of people are the best targets. Just follow my lead and everything will be fine.” He slurped his saliva, then he spat a blob on the concrete. As he walked ahead, he asked, “What's this bastard's name? What do they call him?”
Dean responded, “Rob... His name is Rob 'cause he'll rob anyone and everyone. He's a tough son of a bitch. He's mean, man, real mean. It'll take a lot to crack him if you're up to something. I'm serious.”
Lucas smirked and said, “Well, we'll see about that.”
Dean watched as Lucas walked towards the bridge, indifferent. His message was threatening, but he did not seem bothered by his own malevolence. The vicious man was imperturbable. His knowledge was questionable, but he believed every word he uttered like a crazed cult leader or a know-it-all teacher.
Dean whispered, “I hope you know what you're doing.”
The young man tugged on his sweater and wiped the beads of sweat on his brow. The garment smothered him, causing him to wheeze and sweat. He was a nervous wreck, but he decided to move forward. He trusted his newfound mentor, at least for a moment longer. He inhaled deeply, then he followed Lucas' path.
***
With his hands on his knees, Lucas leaned closer to Rob and said, “Hey, wake up, buddy. We need to have a little chat.” The man did not respond, erratically blinking as he glanced every which way. Lucas snapped his fingers and said, “Come on, buddy, quit this bullshit act. Let's get this show on the road.”
Rob tightly shut his eyes and groaned as he squirmed in reverse. With his back firmly planted on the pier, he opened his eyes and glared at his uninvited guests. His vision was blurry due to his lack of sleep and the excessive drugs flowing through his veins, but he wasn't blind. He could see an enigmatic man in a leather jacket and a timorous young man – an odd pair. They certainly did not resemble his regular customers.
Rob sneered in disgust and asked, “What the hell do you want?”
Lucas crouched down and said, “I want to talk business. I want to talk drugs. You understand me? What are you selling, Rob? How much do you make in one day? Huh?” He chuckled, then he mockingly asked, “How much does it cost to live in such a luxurious box?”
“Fuck you. That's none of your business, buddy. Shit, who the hell do you think you are? Huh? You a narc? You come over here and harass me... You're lucky I haven't shot you yet. I should... I should put a bullet between your eyes, motherfucker.”
Lucas laughed and shrugged as he glanced back at Dean – you believe this guy? Dean returned the laughter with a nervous chuckle, blatantly fabricated to keep his facade afloat. He was afraid of accidentally escalating the situation. As far as he was concerned, he was only part of the audience – he was the student, Lucas was the teacher.
Lucas turned his attention to Rob and said, “Tell me about the business. It's... It's 9 in the morning, okay? How much money did you make last night? Where's your stash?”
Scowling, Rob responded, “What the hell is wrong with you? I just told you: it's none of your damn business. My money is my money and I'll do whatever I want with it. I don't give a fuck about the IRS or any of that bullshit, alright?”
“How much money do you have? Where's your stash?”
Rob chuckled, coughing with his devious cackle. He sniffled, then he said, “If you're not buying anything, stop wasting my time and let me go back to sleep.”
Lucas gently slapped the dealer's cheek. Through his gritted teeth, he said, “I can't buy anything if you don't answer my questions. What are you selling? Huh? What do you have in your stash? Answer me before I get angry. Answer me.”
Rob huffed and puffed with each gentle slap, irked by the invasion of his personal space. He blindly kicked and punched at the couple, missing every swing by a meter. His lack of accuracy was insignificant, though. Even if he landed a blow, he wouldn't cause any damage due to his drug-induced frailty – it would be like a child punching a tree.
Lucas smirked as he staggered to his feet. He stepped in reverse and moved to Dean's side. The pair watched as the dealer kicked and punched the air. He was flailing his limbs in every direction, trying his damnedest to land a hit. Like a fish out of water, he was flopping every which way.
Dean whispered, “I told you he was a hard one to crack. What are you going to do?”
Lucas sighed, then he said, “I'll handle it.” He sniffled as he leaned towards the dealer. He glanced at the woman on the ground and asked, “What did you give her?”
Rob stopped his kicking and screaming as he glanced at the woman with a furrowed brow. He burst into a chuckle, laughing deliriously as he stared at her bare legs, arms, and chest. What did he give her? The obvious answer brought a smile to the dealer's face: drugs.
Rob scratched his hair and said, “I don't know what this bitch took. Check her arms for tracks, check her nose for blood, that'll tell ya.”
“I was told you sell drugs to anyone and everyone. You're not restricted by any 'code.' You sell to kids and broken families. That's some ruthless shit, buddy, and I don't really appreciate it. This community was decent before I went to prison a few decades ago and now it's shit because of people like you. This woman you've poisoned with your drugs... She could be someone's sister, someone's daughter, someone's mother! You get me, boy?”
Rob stared at Lucas with a deadpan expression, gazing without a wandering eye or a crease on his face. He could not keep the masquerade afloat, though. He sank before he left the docks. The dealer burst into a guffaw, laughing at the ex-convict's self-righteous speech. The vile man didn't care if he poisoned an entire community with his drugs. He was part of the problem, but he didn't want to be part of the solution.
Rob pointed at the woman and shouted, “She is my sister, motherfucker! And, I'll do with her as I please. I'll give her a bit of that black tar heroin, she'll give me a taste of that black hole on her behind. You get me, boy?”
As the dealer cackled at his own wordplay, Lucas asked, “She's your sister? Your real sister?”
“Yeah, she's my sister. What the hell are you going to do about it? Huh?”
Lucas shook his head and responded, “You sick bastard... I should cut your dick off and shove it up your 'black hole.' We'll see how you like that.”
Dean tapped Lucas' shoulder and said, “Come on, let's just go. He's not worth it.”
Lucas dug his fingers into his hair and walked away, bothered by Rob's sheer insolence. He gritted his teeth and breathed heavily as he listened to the man's obnoxious laughter. The derisive chuckle gyrated into his ears, mocking his lack of resolve. He walked in a circle as he juggled his options. One thought reigned supreme in his mind: kill him.
Lucas beckoned to Dean. As his student approached, the ex-convict whispered, “I'm going to kill him, okay? I'm going to do this shitty city a favor
for once in my life. I'm going to kill this man.”
Dean shook his head and said, “No, no, no. I'm not sure about that.”
Disregarding his student's concerns, Lucas said “Wait here. I'm going to go around that corner and take my laces off. When you see them wrapped around my fingers, you call out to him. I'll handle the rest. Okay?” Before Dean could respond, Lucas said, “Good.”
***
Lucas whistled as he strolled towards the pier – as if the whistling would help him at all. He walked around the corner, then he untied his left shoe. With one mighty yank, he pulled the shoelace from his sneaker. He tightly wrapped the long shoelace around his middle and his index fingers, then he crouched. From afar, the sly murderer nodded at Dean – do it now.
Dean sighed and shook his head, reluctant to participate in another murder. Yet, he felt compelled to help Lucas and his neighborhood. He was not killing an aggressive drunk, he was aiding in the murder of a savage drug dealer without a moral code. Murder was suddenly easy to rationalize – a favor for the community.
Dean said, “Hey, Rob, come over here. You remember me, don't you? I'm Joe's little brother. You sold him some crack a few years ago. You remember, right?” Rob indistinctly mumbled as he tried to slumber. Dean snapped his fingers and said, “You should remember. My brother is dead now. He's dead because of you. You put him on that shit. Come over here. We need to talk.”
Rob smirked and said, “Fuck off, kid.”
“What's the matter? Huh? You scared of me now? Is that it? Get up and talk to me like a man. Come teach me a lesson like you taught Joe.”
“Shut up and let me sleep, kid.”
Dean nodded as he rubbed the nape of his neck. He said, “I knew you were a bitch, Robbie. Do you fuck your sister as much as your brother fucks you? Huh?”
Rob loured at Dean, infuriated. He asked, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I heard you, motherfucker. I want you to say it again. No, I dare you to say it again.”
“Come over here and do something. Stop talking and do something.”
As he staggered to his feet, teetering left-and-right, Rob said, “You fucked with the wrong one...”
As the drug dealer lurched towards Dean, Lucas rushed out from around the corner. From behind the dealer, he flung his arms over Rob's head, then he pulled the shoelace back at his neck. The pair tumbled to the floor. Lucas grunted as his back collided with the ground. Despite the pain in his back, he managed to wrap his legs around Rob's torso. He gritted his teeth as he strangled the dealer with the shoelace, pulling on the lace with all of his might.
Rob scratched at his throat, trying to dig his fingers under the shoelace – but to no avail. His filthy fingernails tore into his throat, leaving grisly lacerations across his neck. The oozing blood only made it harder for him to get a grip on the shoelace. His jugulars bulged from his neck and a vein protruded down his brow. Saliva spurted from his mouth and his eyes practically bulged from his skull. Weak, raspy breaths escaped his pale lips, but it was not enough.
The dealer could not escape Lucas' grip – he could not escape the clutches of death.
Eyes wide with fear, Dean watched the violent murder with a grimace of disgust. The blood made him giddy. The raspy gasps for air were unnerving. He gazed into the dealer's bloodshot eyes as the man slowly departed.
Dean whispered, “He's dead... I think you killed him.”
Lucas loosened his grip on the shoelace, then he tossed Rob's lifeless body aside. He wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath. Murder was a strenuous exercise, but the results were worthwhile. He sat up and returned the bloody lace to his sneaker – a fatal makeshift weapon for another day.
As he staggered to his feet, patting the dirt from his clothing, Lucas said, “I'm... I'm sure he'll be fine. His sister will wake up any second now. She can call for an ambulance. They can revive him. It's fine.”
Lucas thoroughly searched all of Rob's pockets. He found a pocket knife with a white handle in his back pocket. His eyes widened upon spotting a firearm wedged into his waistband. He marveled at the five-round revolver, examining every nook and cranny on the puny gun. It wasn't as long as the revolvers he admired in the movies, but it served its purpose – his chance to play Harry Callahan would have to wait for another day. In Rob's coat pocket, he found a thick wad of cash.
Lucas wagged the cash at Dean and said, “This is what I was telling you about, boy. This is how you make money.”
Astonished, Dean furrowed his brow and asked, “You make money by killing people?”
“No, boy. Haven't you been paying attention? You don't make money by killing just anyone. You make money by killing drug dealers. It's a win-win situation for everyone. You can try killing a few yuppies, too, but more people will care about that.”
Dean was shocked by the murder and haunted by Lucas' nonchalant demeanor. He wanted to kick and scream, but he was afraid to challenge his peculiar mentor. The ex-convict had a handgun, a knife, and a bloody shoelace, so he naturally had the upper-hand. The young man could only bite his tongue and wait.
Lucas walked towards the cardboard box. He crouched as he peered into the makeshift shelter. He held his forearm to his nose as he lifted the soggy newspaper with his fingertips. The paper was soaked with rain, urine, and feces, but the content beneath caught his attention – a drug dealer's treasure cove. There were a dozen bags of cocaine under the newspaper, each baggie containing one gram of snow.
Lucas was not the brightest bulb, but the math was fairly simple. A gram of cocaine ran for about forty dollars – he was sitting on $480 worth of coke. The newspaper also sheltered Rob's heroine, but Lucas refused to touch it. Heroine was the poor man's drug. The killer shoved the bags of cocaine into his jacket pocket.
As he approached, Dean said, “I don't sell drugs, Lucas.”
Lucas smiled and responded, “You won't have to.”
“I don't do drugs, either.”
Lucas stood up and said, “That's fine, that's fine. I'm only taking it for... for leverage. These are bargaining chips. We've got some money, sure, but you never know when we might need some drugs. Pure cocaine can convince some people more than money. Bargaining chips, boy, that's all it is. You can think of it as... as foreign currency, Dean. Okay? Come on. I want to take you somewhere nice. I don't think they're open yet, but I think you'll like it.”
As Lucas walked ahead, unperturbed by the murder, Dean asked, “Where are we going?”
Lucas shouted, “You'll see!”
Dean sighed and shook his head as he stared down at his body. He glanced at the unconscious woman, then he stared at the dead drug dealer. He felt a shred of sympathy for the woman, but he couldn't muster any pity for the man. He justified the murder – it was the only way he could move forward.
Dean asked, “Shouldn't we hide the body?”
“Trust me, boy, no one is going to care!” Lucas shouted as he marched ahead. “Just follow my lead.”
As he reluctantly followed the killer, Dean whispered, “What are you going to get me into next?”
Chapter Six
Majestic Stallion Gentlemen's Club
Lucas and Dean sat in their crimson chairs on the sidelines of a strip club stage. A curvaceous raven-haired woman strutted across the stage like a model on a catwalk, swinging her wide hips with each stride as she approached the sturdy pole. Her firm, unclad breasts swayed as she wrapped her legs around the pole and spun. Even the large tattoos scrawled on her thick thighs seemed to dance with her majestic movements. The stripper only wore knee-high boots and a pink thong.
Like the other men around the stage, Lucas ogled the seductive woman. He took the leering one step further, though. He inconspicuously rubbed his crotch as he examined every curve on her body. She was not the typical definition of 'graceful,' but she was enough for the ex-convict. He had not seen a woman in decades.
Dean, on the other hand, was not amused or aroused
. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. He watched the woman as she happily danced, contorting her body like a generic possession victim in a horror movie. She was not degrading herself for money. In fact, she seemed to enjoy her work. The young man could see she was a free spirit.
Dean simply did not like the environment. The room was too dark, filthy, and loud for his liking. The red and blue neon lights barely illuminated anything in the club. The music – which consisted of whumps and thumps with a mumbling rapper – was obnoxiously repetitive. He was suspicious of the sticky floors and the white marks on the seats, too.
The young man took a gander at the audience. The men surrounding the stage practically slobbered as they gazed at the stripper, licking their lips like dogs at the dinner table. Unfortunately, his mentor acted the same.
As he glanced at Lucas, Dean whispered, “You damn idiot...”
He was irked by his peer's lack of financial responsibility. The couple murdered a man and stole eight-hundred dollars and some change in cash – and an additional four-hundred with the cocaine. They could rent an apartment, buy a car, or even re-invest their earnings. Despite the promising options, Lucas decided to exchange half of their cash for one-dollar bills.
With a smirk on his face, Lucas glanced at Dean and asked, “Hey, son, you want a lap dance?”
Dean leaned closer and said, “No, I want to go home. Go get your money back and let's leave.”
“Are you kidding me, boy? I've been locked up for half my life and you think I'm just going to walk out of here? You think I'm going to walk out of heaven's gates faster than I walked out of prison? Fuck that. I'm here to have some fun.”
Dean huffed and shook his head. He said, “You're here to waste our money.”
Lucas furrowed his brow and repeated, “Our money?” He chuckled, then he said, “Boy, I did all of the work. At most, I'm spending my part of the money, okay? Don't go thinking you're in charge. Remember, I'm teaching you.”
Lucas grinned as the woman crawled towards him on the stage with her ass high in the air and her chest low. The stripper smirked at the ex-convict, then she slowly licked her plump lips. She had mastered the craft of seduction, wrapping the man around her finger like a yoyo string.