by Athan,Jon
Lucas stood up and walked towards the stage, never taking his eyes off of the woman. Like the urban music videos he had seen on television in prison, he lightly swiped at his stack of cash. Dollar bills rained on the woman, dousing her with riches. The money quickly accumulated, creating stacks of cash on her back and on the stage.
Lucas said, “Woman, there's more where that came from...”
He could not resist the temptation. His mind was dominated by sexual thoughts, compelling him to act. He licked his lips as he fondled the woman's perky breasts, frantically squeezing and rubbing like a teenager who finally reached second base. The stripper nervously smiled as she sat on her knees and leaned away from the killer. She was unnerved by the look in his eyes. The man wanted to pounce on her.
Before Lucas could jump on stage, a burly bouncer shouted, “No touching! Sit down and enjoy the show.”
Lucas glanced towards his left with a raised brow. The bouncer stood in the shadows at the mouth of the stage. He had a bald dome and a clean-shaved face. He wore a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. His shirt was very tight, complementing his bulging biceps and pecs. The powerful man even wore sunglasses indoors as if it weren't dark enough already.
Lucas waved at the man and said, “Sorry, it won't happen again.” He couldn't brawl with the man without an advantage. As he flumped into his seat, Lucas glanced at Dean and asked, “You believe that asshole? I just tossed a few hundred dollars at her and he has the nerve to tell me what to do. Stupid motherfucker...”
Dean said, “You're right. Let's just go home already.”
“What's with you, boy? Huh? Are you... Hold up a second, son, are you gay? Huh? Is that it? Shit, man, you should have said so. I could have dropped you off at a men's strip club or a homo bar... I'm sure you'd have fun over there.”
As Lucas laughed at his crass insinuation, Dean sternly said, “I'm not gay. I just want to go home. I don't want to waste our damn money here, Lucas.”
“I told you: it's not our money and I'm not going to waste it. Just leave if you're going to be pissy about pussy, alright? I don't need you ruining my night with all of your bitching. Leave. Get out of here, boy.”
Dean bit his bottom lip and nodded, insulted. He said, “Fine. I'll be waiting outside. Maybe you'll clear your mind or some shit. Just don't expect me to wait forever.”
Dean shook his head and muttered indistinctly as he walked away from the stage. He ignored the other dancers and servers strutting around the club. He was not looking for sexual gratification, he was only looking for the exit.
Lucas muttered, “Fool...”
***
The ex-convict turned his attention to the stage. The stripper was still crawling on all-fours across the catwalk, swinging her ass in the air like a dog wagging her tail. She stood on her knees and shook her chest, waving her breasts at her eager audience – hello, gentlemen. She knew exactly how to manipulate the men for their money.
As she approached, Lucas leaned closer and said, “I've got plenty of money for you, but I think I've got something better.”
In a soothing voice, the woman said, “Oh, really? What's that, hun? What do you have for me?”
Lucas nervously chuckled as he gazed into the woman's lustrous hazel eyes. He dug his hands into his pockets, rummaging through the lint and small bags of pure snow. He took one baggie out of his pocket and cupped it in his hand to shield it from the other wandering eyes. He smugly smiled as he showed her the cocaine – the ultimate stripper bait.
The woman said, “I guess that's something I can work with...”
Lucas asked, “What's your name, sweetheart?”
“You can call me 'Angel,' sweetie.”
“Angel? Angel... I like that. I thought I landed in Heaven. Well, Angel, what do you say you and I go to a private booth and you give me a little show? Let me snort some blow off your tits and you can make a snow angel with the rest.”
“Sorry, hun, not today. Security is too hot for touching. If you want, you can give me a line and I'll give you a favor later. How does that sound, baby? Sound good?”
Lucas chuckled, then he said, “That sounds stupid. Why would I give you a free bump? Let's find somewhere private, okay? Come on, I want to snort this out of your pussy. Then, maybe I'll let you live long enough to snort some off my cock. How does that sound?”
“Jesus Christ...” Angel murmured as she leaned away from Lucas, staring at him with a furrowed brow. She could see he was serious about his suggestion. She pointed at him and said, “Get this guy out of here. Get him out!”
The bouncer hurtled towards him and said, “I warned you, buddy. What did I tell you?”
With a smug smile plastered on his face, Lucas lifted his arms and shouted, “I didn't touch her! I didn't touch her!”
Lucas' smirk was promptly wiped off his face with a powerful jab. A droplet of blood leaked from his nose and he could taste blood in his mouth. His gums were surely leaking due to the punch. He wiped his nose and looked at his bloodied hands, astonished. Before he could utter a word or fight back, the bouncer grabbed his collar and lifted him from his seat.
Lucas slapped the bouncer's wrist and elbowed his stomach, but to no avail – the burly man was made of steel. He was dragged across the club like an annoying child at the mall. The other patrons clapped and cheered, laughing and ridiculing him as he passed by them.
Lucas whispered, “You'll regret this someday, I swear...”
The bouncer tossed him through the double-door entrance of the building. The ex-convict stumbled across the foyer of the club, struggling to keep his balance. He glanced back at the entrance, fuming with indignation. The bouncer huffed as he turned his back on the distraught customer. There were two more bouncers outside, waiting for the killer to test them. He wouldn't be able to beat them.
Lucas shook his head and muttered, “Fuck this place... Fuck all of you...”
Dean sat on the curb outside of the strip club. He glanced back and caught a glimpse of the commotion. He watched as Lucas wiped his nose and muttered indistinctly. He glanced at the foyer of the building, staring at the neon sign above the entrance.
The dazzling blue sign read: Majestic Stallion Gentlemen's Club. The club was not majestic, there were no stallions in sight, and the only potential gentleman was loitering outside. At the very least, the building was technically a club.
As he shambled towards his student, Lucas said, “What a night, what a night. Can you believe it? I blew hundreds of dollars in there and I couldn't even snort some coke off her tits. What happened to the world since I left? Huh? They used to show you respect when you rolled with money. Now, they throw you out when you make a simple request. It's bullshit, right?”
Dean huffed and shook his head, disappointed in Lucas' behavior. He watched his mentor as he trudged towards him. The ex-convict was still dazed by the punch, but alcohol also took a toll on his condition. At the back of his mind, the young man also believed Lucas snorted a gram of cocaine behind his back. He didn't have proof to back his accusation, but he linked the pieces together.
Lucas' aggressive and erratic behavior had to stem from somewhere. Dean was only certain the ex-convict was at least buzzed and beaten – an embarrassment. He was certainly not what Dean was looking for in a father figure.
Dean marched away from Lucas and said, “I want my part of the money, Lucas. I want to take care of my own finances. I expect it by the morning. I'm serious.”
Lucas followed closely behind. He chuckled, then he said, “I'm sorry, Dean. I mean it, okay? I'm sorry. I just needed to let loose. You don't know what it's like to be locked up for so long. It gets to you, you know? It really messes with your head. But, I can admit when I'm wrong. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”
As he continued to march forward, Dean responded, “Yeah, I still want my money.”
“Hey, wait a second, son. Please, just give me a minute. That bastard really did a number on my nose... It's going to be s
wollen tomorrow. Damn it... Come on, Dean, give me a second.”
Dean said, “I'm going home.”
Lucas slurped his saliva, then he spat on the floor. Even through the darkness of the night, he could see the bloody blob on the concrete. He wasn't concerned about the bleeding, but he was annoyed. He only wished he could have beaten the life out of the bouncer.
In a tender tone, Lucas said, “Please, give me a second.” Dean inhaled deeply as he stopped in his tracks. Lucas asked, “You're going to our home, right? You're going to our apartment?”
Dean glanced over at Lucas. He examined the ex-convict's demeanor. The man seemed genuinely remorseful, ashamed of his behavior. The act could have been a ruse, but Dean decided to believe otherwise – he decided to trust him. Like a gullible person trapped in an abusive relationship, he forgave the ex-convict for his behavior.
Dean nodded and said, “Yeah, our home.”
Teary-eyed, Lucas said, “Good, good.”
Chapter Seven
The Morning After
The scent of pungent coffee, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, tender sausage, and baked goods wafted through the small diner, dancing in-and-out of nostrils. Eating utensils clicked and clanked as the patrons devoured their meals, shoving stacks of pancakes and waffles into their mouths. The slurping of coffee and orange juice echoed through the diner.
The waitresses pranced from table-to-table, cordial and helpful. They wore blue a-line dresses, white aprons, and white sneakers. The hairdo of the day was a neat bun with a pen protruding from the center. The uniforms of the wait staff matched the old fashioned aura of the eatery. The checkered tile flooring and crimson walls also added to the unique style.
Lucas and Dean sat across from each other in a booth at the center of the diner. After finishing his eggs and bacon, Dean slurped his coffee and patiently waited for Lucas. Lucas, however, had a breakfast feast consisting of eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and waffles. He took his time while eating, savoring each bite. The food brought a tear to his eye.
Prison oatmeal and white bread could not compete.
As he chewed his sausage, Lucas said, “We... We should talk about last night.”
Dean responded, “We don't have to. I understand.”
“You don't understand. It may look like I'm trying to excuse myself, but I'm not. I know I was in the wrong, but I have to tell you why. I want you to really understand, you know? I want you to trust me. I have to give you a reason or you won't trust me. I know it.”
Dean glanced around the diner and said, “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere more private.”
“What for?” Lucas asked as he shrugged. “None of these people are going to give a crap, I'm not done eating, and this can't wait.”
As Lucas shoved more pancakes into his mouth, Dean took another glance around. His concerns were unwarranted. The couple had been wearing the same clothing since they met. Bathing was also not an option due to their lack of running water. Like a car with a lazy owner, their best chance of a shower was a storm. Consequently, the pair reeked, which left them with plenty of breathing room in the diner.
Dean said, “Okay. I guess we should just try to keep it down a bit.”
Lucas slurped his coffee and nodded, then he said, “I have a little problem, Dean. A drug problem. I think it's part of my blood, you know? It's something I... I inherited from my deadbeat parents. It's probably the only thing I inherited from them. When I was a little boy, I didn't play with toys. I played with drugs. It's as simple as that. Marijuana, heroin, cocaine, ecstasy... I've used it all, son.” The ex-convict swiped at the tears forming on his eyelids. He sniffled, then he said, “Sorry about that. Talking about all of this gets to me.”
Dean was surprised by Lucas' candid confession. He wasn't shocked or appalled, but he was intrigued and appreciative. A human conversation with a friend, he thought, he trusted me enough to open up about himself. Instead of pressing Lucas for more details and inadvertently opening Pandora's Box, the young man figured he could share a bit about himself.
You get some, you give some.
Dean asked, “You wanna know why I don't mess with drugs?”
As he chewed his eggs, Lucas held his hand over his mouth and said, “I thought it was because that dealer hooked your brother on drugs...”
“Dealer?”
“Yeah, that dealer... Rob. You said he messed your brother up, didn't you? I forgot to ask you about that. That's some messed up shit.”
Dean shook his head and said, “No. I lied. I just told him whatever would get him up. A different dealer fucked my brother's life, but that's not why.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and glanced around the diner. In a soft tone, just above a whisper, Dean said, “My uncle used to come around the house when I was a boy. He'd come around with chocolate, hard candy, video games... everything. One day, the day he knew my mamma would be knocked out on sleeping pills, he dropped by with cocaine and beer. He offered us the opportunity to become men. I refused because I knew what kind of monster he was, I knew what kind of men he wanted us to be. I didn't know everything, I was only a child after all, but I knew he was an evil, evil man.”
Lucas swallowed his food with one loud gulp. He said, “Don't tell me your brothers accepted the offer.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Dean said, “One of my brothers said, 'Okay, I want to be a man. I want to be just like you.' He was probably 11 years old. A... A stupid kid. So, me and my other brother watched as they rubbed cocaine on their gums and tried to chug beers. After a while, my uncle took my brother to our bedroom and he... he locked the door. That's when I realized I was right. I could hear my brother crying in there, man. I could hear him yelling for help, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't break the door down, I couldn't wake my mom up because she was on those damn pills. I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. He was never the same. I vowed to stay away from cocaine and every other drug after that.”
Lucas clenched his jaw as he breathed heavily through his nostrils. His cheeks were flushed and his limbs trembled. His eyes were set aflame by the wicked story. He was livid for good reason.
Lucas sternly said, “You should have killed that dog. You should have put him down.”
Although he agreed, Dean was not fond of speaking candidly about murder. He wasn't exactly a conspiracy theorist, but he believed someone, somewhere, was always listening. He was not a fan of self-incrimination. He glanced at the stools to his left, then towards the other booths – nothing out of the ordinary.
Dean said, “Keep it down, man.”
Lucas huffed, then he said, “Don't worry about any of these people. Most of them don't care about anything but themselves. Besides, you think anyone cares about some homeless people wanting to kill a child rapist? Shit, if we did it, they'd probably cheer for us. Let's be honest here, everyone wants to kill someone.”
Dean inhaled deeply and leaned back in his seat. He's right, he thought, he's damn right. Child abusers were universally despised – and rightfully so. Even hardened criminals felt the need to attack sexual predators in prisons across the country. The young man sipped his coffee as he waited for Lucas to finish his breakfast.
Despite the harrowing childhood tales, the morning was unusually peaceful.
***
Dean furrowed his brow and tilted his head as the door chime echoed through the diner. A young woman entered the eatery, nonchalantly strolling towards the cashier. The short and curvy woman wore a white tank top, denim shorts, and brown boots. Her beach blonde hair was sprawled across her shoulders, covering the strap of her black bag.
Dean was anxious, rendered speechless upon spotting the young woman. He recognized her from the past – a past before his life as a drifter and a murderer's accomplice. The chance of the pair meeting again was unlikely in such a sprawling city, but, there she was, walking straight into his frozen clutches.
Lucas raised his brow as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin and stared
at his peer. He could see the sheer confusion in the young man's eyes. He was lost in a whirlpool of emotions, spiraling into a vortex of inexplicable passion.
The ruthless killer glanced back at the woman and smirked. A fox, he thought, a sexy woman searching for a sexy man. Of course, the ex-convict was that sexy man in his mind.
Lucas asked, “You know her?”
Dean erratically blinked as he snapped out of his lust-induced trance. He stuttered, “Y–Yeah. I knew her back in, um, high school. She... She was a freshman when I was a senior, so she's a little younger than me.”
“She look's legal to me. What's her name?”
“Her name?”
“Yeah, boy, what's her name?”
“Lori. Lori Moore.”
Lucas licked his lips as he leered at the woman from afar. He ogled her unclad thighs like a starved man slobbering over a pair of chicken legs. His eyes widened as he stared at her chest, as if he could see through her shirt.
He said, “Let's call her over.”
Dean shook his head and said, “No, no, no. Don't do that.”
Disregarding the young man's pleas, Lucas shouted, “Lori! Lori! Come on over here, girl!”
Lori furrowed her brow upon hearing her name. She glanced over at the source of the racket. At first sight, it appeared as if a crazy middle-aged man in a filthy leather jacket was calling her name. As she stared at the other man, however, her eyes glowed and her heart pounded. She recognized her former classmate.
As she approached the booth, Lori said, “Hey, Dean. It's nice to see you again. Wow, it's been so long.” She furrowed her brow as she caught a glimpse of his busted nose – the product of his fight with Otis. Lori touched her nose and asked, “Are you okay?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't utter a word. So, he nodded – I'm fine.