The wannabe mayor addressed the audience and mouthed the usual political claptrap about the wonders of the unfettered marketplace, the wisdom of an unobtrusive yet sensitive government, and the social obligations of those called to leadership. Reflecting the tenor of the times, even this black man painted a portrait of a future Utopia where industrious, self-sufficient individuals competing in an equal opportunity society pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, and helped guarantee “a better life for everyone.” So long as everyone knew and accepted their place in life.
After dinner and the speeches, Marshon got in line to meet Benjamin Dewhurst.
“Great speech, mayor,” Marshon said, obsequiously.
“Thanks for your early vote of confidence, sir,” Dewhurst said, as Marshon appraised him. A black black, physically fit, with wavy, not nappy, hair. Dewhurst dressed snappily and appeared to be all business.
“I’m Marshon Johnson.” He watched as one of Dewhurst’s lieutenants immediately whispered in his boss’s ear.
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you, Mr. Johnson.”
“All good things, I trust.”
“Well, I’ve heard you have a lot of business interests on the East Side.”
“Yes, I do,” Marshon responded, continuing the verbal dance. “It’s in my interest to have a friend in the mayor’s office, and my political friends can always count on my considerable support.”
“I appreciate that but I should explain something to you, Mr. Johnson. In my opinion, the nation is in transition in many areas, including politics. You see, the Democratic Party is trying to shed various unfortunate stereotypes, such as the charge that we favor high taxes, big government, the welfare state, and that we’re soft on crime.”
“Hell, those stereotypes are why I always vote Democrat,” Marshon said, deciding to ham it up because he could sense the direction of this conversation. Nevertheless, he deeply resented being lectured to in front of others waiting in line to similarly fawn over the candidate. Especially Gail, who had her arm linked through his, with an artificial smile pasted on her face.
“I plan to make education and job creation my top priorities,” Dewhurst continued, elevating his voice for the benefit of the other suitors waiting to grasp his hand. “I want to clean up crime-infested areas on the East Side. In fact, I plan to be the new broom that sweeps clean. I want to restore pride to African-American neighborhoods where now there is only poverty, despair, and cynicism.”
Marshon felt his eyes narrow. He leaned closer and spoke softly. “It ain’t anywhere near that bad, Dewhurst. You should get out among real black folk now and then. Stop by The Wheel some weekend night. We’re always raising money for some good community cause.”
The wannabe mayor stubbornly stood his ground. “I hope you’ll understand why I can’t in good conscience accept any campaign donation from you, Mr. Johnson. In fact, I’ll have my campaign treasurer write you a check refunding the cost of your ticket to this event.”
“Never mind. It was a freebie.”
“Well, the day of the free ride is over if I’m elected mayor,” Dewhurst said, his voice once again rising. He looked immensely pleased with the political points he’d made.
Marshon wagged his finger under Dewhurst’s nose. “Now that’s not a given, sir, is it? I’ll guarantee you that your Republican opponent will have ample financial support to make his case to the electorate. Who knows, maybe he’ll like some of those old Democrat values.”
By the time Marshon, Gail and her parents left the ballroom and walked out onto the mezzanine level to say their goodbyes, Marshon had calmed down, but his mind was churning. Tonight, he’d been made aware of a silent but lethal external legal threat. Additionally, the mayoral candidate had threatened him indirectly. More signs he couldn’t ignore.
“Excuse us just a moment, ladies,” Marshon said, taking Judge Thomas’s arm and steering him away about ten feet so they could talk privately.
Looking back at the women, Marshon smiled broadly before turning to face the judge: “Here’s something for you to contribute to the courthouse grapevine, Judge. Everyone grasping for some excuse to put me in jail should reconsider, because I have real evidence — nothing imagined or open to conjecture — that will take down a whole legion of cops, government bureaucrats, politicians, and, yes, a judge or two. Over the last couple of years, especially, I’ve employed some people with sophisticated skills in surveillance to document the bribes I paid to all those people. You’d be surprised to see the illustrious parade of men who visit the other residents who live in my apartment building. But, you know all about that, don’t you, Cecil? I can and will launch a scorched earth counteroffensive that will burn the testicles off quite a few people hanging out in the courthouse. Some of them are likely here tonight, in fact.”
The judge looked serious and sad, “I’m not one of those who thinks you are dumb or careless, Marshon. Quite the contrary.”
Marshon turned and again smiled broadly at his lover and her mother. “You know what really galls me are all the hypocrites at this fund-raiser. They just call their bribes political donations.”
“The Supreme Court just expanded the amount of money individuals, corporations and political action committees can give to political candidates,” Judge Thomas said, in a neutral voice.
“Then, it’s you who should be ashamed of your profession, and the company you keep.”
Marshon walked back toward Gail and Flo and the judge followed, frowning and looking down at the floor. They said their goodbyes and each couple went their way.
“You and daddy seem thick tonight,” Gail said. “What’s that all about?”
“Politics. Don’t ask, it’s all boring and ultimately it means absolutely nothing. Now, remember when we were talking earlier about real grub and freebies?”
However, his conversation with the judge did mean something. It was another sign along the roadside warning of trouble ahead. Although Marshon had paid close attention to other signs, he hadn’t realized just how close the trouble was. In fact, there was about to be a monumental pile-up on the road out of town.
10/Ace Goes Home Again
Tuesday morning, Richey came into The Stadium shortly after the door opened at 10 a. m. He intended to be there until closing time at 2 a. m., although he might go home for a nap at mid-afternoon. Richey knew he was drinking excessively and that his downward spiral had picked up following Shirley’s visit and his firing at Biederman’s. He wished he could tell people he had everything under control and was about to embark upon a new direction in life, but even he knew it was a lie. He was totally adrift.
Richey usually sat on a barstool in the back of the room, the last seat next to the flip-up horizontal door that bartenders and servers used to come and go from behind the bar. It gave him a clear view of the front door, so he knew who entered or left the bar, as if that mattered. Additionally, this seat was only steps from the bathroom. Finally, his preferred perch seat allowed him to see all three monitors displaying Keno screens.
Ace also spent a lot of time in The Stadium, since he had also quit working at Biederman’s the day after they fired Richey. Country and Kandie often filled out the foursome. At much as possible, Richey tried to avoid all three of them.
About mid-afternoon, however, Ace and Kandie walked toward the restrooms and offered a nonchalant “hi” to Richey as they passed by. Richey turned to see Ace pick up the janitor’s sign and hang it on the men’s room door. It read: Cleaning in Progress. Kandie giggled at Ace’s handiwork and cast a defiant look at Richey, as if she wanted to say: “Don’t you wish you had the guts to do this with Carmen?” or “Bet you wish it was you coming in here with me.”
Richey ordered another Bloody Mary as Ace and Kandie crowded into the men’s room.
Before closing the door, Ace looked at Richey and said, “Tell the guys to hold it for fifteen minutes, Richey.”
Inside, Ace undid his belt and dropped his jeans and underwear to the floor. Kandie did the sa
me but folded her jeans and underwear and placed them on the toilet lid. She unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra, so that the support cups fell to her side.
Kandie sank to her knees, took Ace in hand and began to stroke him. “I can’t believe how big you are, Ace, but I’m getting used to it.”
“You like a big cock, right, Kandie?”
“I do now,” she said, taking him into her mouth.
After he became rock-hard, Ace placed both hands in Kandie’s armpits and easily lifted her up and placed her on his dick. She was wet and slid on easily. He could actually hold her weight with one massive hand that nearly covered both of her buttocks. For additional support, he pressed her against the wall beside the urinal. He grabbed one of Kandie’s pendulous breasts with his other hand and began to thrust, slowly but with increasing speed.
Ace timed himself to keep pace with Kandie’s heart rate, which he calculated was now well over one hundred. The pupils of her eyes were barely visible, as they had rolled partly beneath her eyelids. She began to moan, louder and louder. When her body began to tremble and her heart was racing so fast he could barely keep up, Kandie started to scream, first in short bursts and then one loud continuous primal cry as she achieved her orgasm.
Ace came too, but he didn’t stop thrusting. He’d learned long ago that women generally expected the man to ejaculate before they reached the shudder stage. They were surprised, very pleased and, finally, a bit afraid when he continued to pound away, even with substantial amounts of semen dripping out of them onto the bed or floor. He would keep up the pace until he felt the stiffness return — and that always excited him. Then, he pursued the next goal with vigor, which was to bring on a second or third climax and a second ejaculation — no matter how long it took. On his part, it was about lust, domination and, ultimately, power.
About half the women he’d raped over the years decided not to report him after he made them come — and, after he’d apologized, but at the same time admitted (promised) that he fucked that way all the time. Couldn’t control himself. And, they could expect the same performance every time. He’d appreciate their help in dealing with his problem. He often puckered up and shed tears to seal the deal. It was fascinating and exciting to watch the women weigh their options and make a decision that clearly was not in their best interest. Ace concluded that rape was an enjoyable, rewarding sport.
Kandie was now in the quiet whimpering stage, as she assured him again that “nobody ever made love to me like that, Ace. Nobody. I didn’t even know it was possible.”
As Kandie got dressed, Ace pissed on the deodorant block in the urinal and then washed his penis and testicles in the sink. He dried off with a paper towel and put back on his underwear and jeans.
“Let’s go get a beer,” he said.
When they came out, Richey looked at them and then at John the bartender, who looked disgusted as he shook his head, but said nothing. Others at the bar laughed and pointed; one barfly stood and clapped appreciatively. Several others shouted the bar’s slogan: Fuckin’ A, man!
Ace grinned and said, loudly, “Where’s the janitor! There’s a big puddle of goo on the floor in there that needs cleaning up!”
The look on Kandie’s face was a mixture of embarrassment and pride. She linked her arm through Ace’s arm and walked beside him, her chest jutted out.
As they walked by, Ace leaned in and whispered to Richey: “They’re all alike. Fuck ʼem real hard and real often and tell ʼem what they want to hear and they’ll do anything you ask. Anything.”
Richey didn’t laugh or clap, or even look amused. He looked worried.
Ace and Kandie went back into the game room, where Country played one of the two pinball machines. Two other patrons were playing eight ball and a drinker sat alone at one of the three tables. Ace and Kandie sat at another vacant table and he waved at a waitress and said, “Two Buds over here. Not light.”
“God, that was great, Ace!” Kandie said, breathlessly. “And, it’s so exciting and dangerous!”
Ace leaned in and said, confidentially, “Next time, we’ll go over to the mall and do it in the elevator. The one with the glass walls.”
Kandie laughed, but then covered her mouth with her hand and looked stunned and worried. She leaned forward. “Are you serious, Ace?”
“Sure, that’s why they got a stop button in the elevator.”
Kandie continued to be amazed. “But what if someone called security?”
“Most people want to watch. They don’t want their entertainment ended before the climax. Besides, we don’t drop our clothes. You just wear a dress and no underwear. When I push your ass against the glass, the audience will see what they want. If the security guys come, we were just kissing. That ain’t against the law. The elevator broke. That ain’t our responsibility.”
She whispered. “Someone will take a video with their cell phone.”
“Great, because then we’ll get to be on Porn Hub.” He spoke confidentially to her. “Trust me, people generally won’t help the cops. If they do, the worse that could happen is that they charge us with public indecency and we claim it was spontaneous love. Believe me, it’s not that hard to get the cops to back down.” He wanted her to believe that.
Suddenly, a loud voice from behind them declared: “Well, well, if it isn’t the bitch, Kandie Givens!”
Ace turned to look at a man standing in the middle of the arched doorway leading to the game room.
“Hank, what do you what?” Kandie asked. “What are you doing here?”
Hank replied, “I’m working my ass off out south in the cold, putting siding on a house, when I send Melvin up here for a six-pack and some sandwiches. He calls back and tells me he sees you go into the bathroom to fuck some faggot with a ponytail.”
“You know this asshole, Kandie?” Ace asked, smiling. Nevertheless, he seriously assessed the capabilities of the intruder: a medium-sized guy with long stringy hair, dirty brown coat, oil-encrusted jeans and boots covered with dried clay. A construction worker.
“You better shut your mouth, motherfucker,” Hank snarled.
“This is Hank Hendricks, Ace,” Kandie said, helplessly. “I dated him before I met you. He don’t own me, but he thinks he does.” She shouted at Hank. “I told you to leave me alone and quit calling my house!”
Ace stood and walked to the doorway where he towered over Hank. He smiled, seeing the fear on the construction worker’s face. “Why don’t you just get your beer and sandwiches, Hank, and be on your way.”
Kandie shrieked, causing Ace to jerk his head to the right, but not in time to avoid the beer bottle crashing onto his right shoulder. The beer-drinker sitting alone had announced his presence. Ace silently cursed his stupidity. There was a second one, just like at The Wheel.
“Way to go, Melvin! How you like them apples, buddy?” Hank asked, moving in for the kill. He threw a right, which Ace easily sidestepped, countering with a left upper cut that caught Hank perfectly under the jaw. He went limp and dropped to the floor like a rag doll.
Ace wheeled around and grinned when he saw Country with his hands around Melvin’s neck. The big dummy had grabbed the bottle-wielding attacker from behind and literally hoisted him off the floor. Melvin had grabbed Country’s wrists and was trying desperately to pull them apart. However, Country’s hands were like a vice. Ace, who was naturally left-handed, swung again, his massive fist landing directly on the bushwhacker’s nose. Blood and snot flew everywhere. Country dropped the semi-conscious Melvin to the floor and began to kick him in the ribs.
“Take that you sonofabitch, for hittin’ my best buddy, Ace, with a beer bottle!” Country yelled.
About that time, bartender John appeared and said, without a lot of emotion, “No fighting in here or I’ll call the cops.”
Ace shook his head. “Fight’s over. They started it.” He looked around the small crowd of witnesses until he saw Richey standing in the back. “Tell ʼem, Richey.” Richey owed him and Ace
didn’t care if he’d seen the action or not.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Richey said to John. “These two started it. Everyone saw that.”
“Melvin hit Ace with a beer bottle!” Kandie said in a high-pitched voice, as if that was the final judgment to settle the whole dispute.
John bent over to look at Hank and Melvin, as both of them struggled to regain their senses. “Maybe I should call the cops or get an ambulance for these guys,” John said.
“I don’t think you want the cops in on this,” Ace replied. “They ain’t hurt that bad but my collarbone feels broken. If there’s a police report, I’ll definitely file a lawsuit against the bar. You want that?”
That convinced the bartender. He and Richey helped Hank and then Melvin to their feet. “You guys get out of here,” John said to them. “And don’t come back.”
Ace didn’t want the cops involved, since they likely would run his record and find out about the parole violation. He was supposed to be in Michigan. “We’re leaving, too,” he told John. “Let’s go, Kandie. You too, Country.”
Outside, Ace watched Hank and Melvin get into a red Firebird and leave. He handed his car keys to Country. “Go get my car and drive it up to that drug store at the end of the shopping center.” He took Kandie’s arm and steered her in that direction.
“How bad are you hurt?” she asked, trembling.
“Budweiser makes a solid bottle. If you hadn’t yelled and I hadn’t turned, he would have cracked my skull.”
“Oh, God, is your collarbone really broken?”
Ace ran the fingers of his left hand over the bone. “Feels like it.”
“Oh, no!”
Ace laughed. “Don’t worry, it ain’t the first time.”
Inside Eckerd’s, Ace bought a roll of white sports tape. Outside near a Coke machine, Kandie helped him take off his shirt. Kandie followed Ace’s instructions and applied eight strips of tape over the broken collarbone beginning just above the shoulder blade, across the clavicle, and ending at the top of his pectorals. With his mouth wide open in amazement, Country stood by and watched, as if it were brain surgery. By the time she finished, Kandie’s blouse was wet with sweat, even though the temperature was in the mid-sixties outside. However, Ace’s skin was so dry the tape stuck immediately.
The Money Game Page 17