Monday, February 26, 2018

SALT ON THE NUTS: THE ADVENTURES OF A WHITE TRASH SAILOR - CONCLUSION

BACK TO THE TRAILER (IN MEXICO) 


Like a dumb shit I had left the lock open to 
my abode. Sometimes I couldn't believe what a 
fucking fool I could be. Coming around the side I 
ducked down under the kitchenette window and 
placed my back next to the open door. A rental 
scooter was parked about twenty feet away. 

My dog, Ramos, a flea bitten old mutt was no where to 
be found. The smell of a really nice perfume mixed 
with the aroma of coconut oil sunscreen was 
wafting out of the trailer as I gingerly stepped 
through the door holding my knife down against my 
thigh. Sitting on my bed, smoking a cigarette and 
drinking from a can of beer, was a older and very 
good looking woman. She was wearing a cleavage 
revealing lime green bathing suit and a pair of 
cutoff jeans. Her wear was cut short and was 
grayish blonde. I remembered it as strawberry 
blonde. Feeling the trailer shift as I stepped in, she 
turned and smiled at me. Ramos, the traitor, was 
laying on the bed with his head in her lap as she 
scratched his mangy head. I felt like I was in the 
middle of an acid flashback. I walked over and shut 
off the stereo. 

"Son of a bitch! Look who's here." 
She smiled brightly at me. "You've lost 
weight but you look taller."

"That's a weird way to greet someone that 
you haven't seen in almost thirty years. Almost rude 
one could say."

She laughed. "Well, forgive me, this is kind 
of a weird situation. And you do look different from 
what I remember. Different but not bad. You've got 
the beach bum look down that's for sure. That's all I 
was saying."

"Well, it's been a long time, Reggie. Things 
change. How are you?"

She nodded at the knife. "You can put that 
away." She leaned back on her hands. Even from 
this distance I could see a tiny bead of sweat run 
down her tanned cleavage. Bad habits die hard. 
I folded the blade and dropped the knife in 
my pocket.

"I guess I can do that. It doesn't look 
like you could have a pistol on you the way you're 
dressed. So are you here to arrest me? Let's just get 
this out of the way. I know why you're here. I didn't 
kill that NIS agent. I was there but Brewer did it. It 
was a traffic stop gone wrong. Ricky freaked 
because he and his old lady were dealing all that 
dope and he thought that he was going to get 
busted. Jesus Christ, I'm almost fifty fucking years 
old. Can't you people give it up?"

Her green eyes flashed in anger at me and 
then she looked down to the floor. "I know all that 
but I'm not here on business."

"Bullshit! So you're the one that wrote that 
fucking letter. I should have goddamn known! I 
almost fucking drowned in Galveston but I guess I 
was lucky that a goddamn hurricane was hitting the 
island or else the cops would have been there to 
arrest me. The weather kind of fucked up their 
stakeout. You were setting my ass up again. Just 
like in Pearl Harbor."

"I didn't set you up in Pearl Harbor and I 
wrote you that letter to warn you! I didn't fucking 
think that you'd go up there to kill Brewer."

"I didn't kill him. The cocksucker was 
already dead when I got there. Someone shot.." I 
realized suddenly what was happening and what 
was being said between us. "Wait a fucking minute 
here! Just who the hell are you working for now? It 
still can't be for NIS. Even they couldn't be that 
fucking concerned about that ancient murder to 
waste the cash on sending someone all the way 
down here to check out old leads. Who the hell are 
you working for? What the fuck are you doing 
here? How much do you know about what's 
happened to me since I left the Navy?" Ramos, 
startled by my tone of voice, jumped off the bed and 
ran out the trailer.

Reggie stood and flicked her cigarette butt 
out the window and quickly lit another one up. "No, 
I retired from the Navy years ago. I've been 
working for another agency for almost ten years. I 
can't tell you who it is but after September 11th I've 
been working closely with the Department of 
Homeland Security. Running background 
investigations, looking over intelligence on 
domestic terrorism, monitoring wiretaps, Patriot 
Act bullshit. And then one day an old case file just 
was magically dumped on my desk. It really rang a 
bell. Some supervisor saw my name in it as a 
previous investigator on the case so they thought I 
might be interested in it."

"Me? The file was on me?"

Cigarette smoke streamed out of her nose. In 
spite of my worked up self it seemed oh so sexy. 
"No, not you. Seems like an old ex-prison snitch 
named Ricky Brewer who had turned himself into 
some sort of a semi-professional computer detective 
was trying to sell information on an old murder of a 
NIS agent that happened in Hawaii almost three 
decades ago. He said he even had gotten his hand 
on the murder weapon. He also claimed that the 
murderer had in his possession a large photo album 
containing photos of a sexual nature involving 
many military officials and political figures. Very 
graphic shit! Snorting coke, anal, oral sex, bondage, 
shit that ran the whole gamut. Brewer had copies of 
some of the photos but said the originals and 
negatives were in the photo album. Some of these 
people mentioned do in fact hold some very high 
and important public offices right now and the 
snitch, that nasty prick Ricky Brewer, claimed the 
person who was holding this photo album planned 
on using it for a huge blackmail scam. The fucking 
media would eat that shit up with a spoon if it was 
all true."

I sat down on a stool across from her. "It 
was Brewer and Mason and Rose who were pulling 
that scam off. Not me. I didn't know about it until 
the night before I shipped out of Pearl. Mason got 
all liquored up and babbled on about it. I thought it 
was just all bullshit until now."

Reggie let out a sigh. "I always thought 
Rose was into something a lot deeper than working 
for a call girl service. She was a sweet girl really. 
Just real mixed up."

"What do you think happened to her?"

"Her last known whereabouts was 
supposedly at the house of an Admiral in Pearl. He 
denied everything and his alibi checked out. It's 
been too many years. Nothing will come of it." 
Reggie stared deeply into my eyes. "But I'm 
telling you straight right now. Whoever has that 
photo album, if it does exist, is in very serious 
danger. There are people in our government who 
are willing to kill to get their hands on it. Things 
have changed since 9/11."

"I don't have it if that's what you're here for. 
Anyway, people working for the government are the 
last people that I'm going to lose sleep over. You 
could say that I have a much more hardcore bunch 
who would like to stumble on to my ass these days. If 
they found me, a prison cell would be a cakewalk 
compared to what these assholes would do to me."

She paused for several seconds and then 
took a deep breath. "Did you really kill those two 
people after you broke out of that security 
hospital?"

I walked over to the cooler and grabbed two 
beers and handed one to her. "So you do know. I 
guess your agency does have big ears. Doesn't it?" I 
sat back down across from her. "I had to or I was 
one dead motherfucker. It was just one bad thing 
after another in my life that started when I was 
barely out of high school and led me to that 
moment. A fucking nightmare."

She nodded her head. "la Favor." 

I gave a short laugh. "I forgot I told you 
about him. I guess I never could keep my mouth 
shut once I climbed into your bed. You sure could 
work your magic." 

"Did you really walk away from that trailer 
with 150,000 dollars in cash?" 

"150 large? Is that what they said? Hell no! 
It was closer to 200 grand. It was so heavy I could 
hardly carry the bag into the airport. Whoever said 
150 either couldn't count or they had been 
skimming on the cut."

Reggie's face turned serious. "Those Nazis 
still have a contract out on your ass! Still, after all 
these years. That's what Brewer's game was. 
Through all his Internet research, prison ties, and 
government flunkies and informants he was talking 
to, he devised a plan. He'd get the Feds interested in 
the old NIS murder and grease the wheels with that 
idea about the photo album and they'd track you 
down. Once you were in custody and inside a 
federal prison you'd be an open target for the AB or 
the Nazis. Our intelligence reported that he was in 
almost constant contact with them about you. And 
then he'd collect the reward. It's nothing to sneeze 
at. A quarter of a million is a shitload of money, 
especially for a scumbag like Brewer. I just don't 
think he realized how dangerous a game he was 
playing."

"Who killed Brewer. The Feds, the 
skinheads, who?"

She took a sip of beer and looked out the 
window. "I really don't know. Brewer was piece of 
shit. No one is crying in their beer that's he's dead, 
that's for damn sure. The world is better off without 
him."

I didn't want to ask the next question. "Then 
why are you here? Don't even tell me that you're 
here to catch some sun and relax. That this meeting 
is just a coincidence."

She didn't answer. Just kept sitting there 
looking out the window. I slipped my shirt over my 
head. "Look at this." She turned and looked at the 
tattoo over my heart. "You broke my fucking heart 
the day I saw you in that courtroom. I've never 
gotten over you, that's a goddamn fact. But if you're 
here to arrest me or shoot me, either way, let's get 
this shit over with. I'm getting to old to keep on 
running." 

TODAY - DEJA VU ALL OVER AGAIN 


"Your ferry leaves in about two hours. We 
better get dressed."

"You really need to get his tattoo colored in 
again. Being out in the sun all day long is fading it."

We were laying in my tiny bed, our bodies 
intertwined and covered in sweat. Reggie was lazily 
tracing her finger over the outlines of my tattoo. 
The moment seemed strangely familiar.

"Does your husband have your named 
tattooed on his chest?"

"Hell no! This is my fourth time down the 
altar and not one of them has ever done anything 
near as romantic as that."

"I can't believe that you've been married 
four fucking times. Unbelievable."

"Well, my line of work plays hell on the 
married life. That's for sure."

I felt maudlin all of a sudden. "Does he treat 
you good? Are you happy?"

She looked up at me. "The Captain? As good 
as a seventy year old man can. He is very sweet and 
I'll never have to worry about money again. The sex 
isn't that great of course. But with Viagra.."

"I guess I don't need to hear anymore."

She stood up and walk naked down the short 
hall of the Airstream and began getting dressed.

Pulling on a pair of black panties over those 
gorgeous tanned legs. Aging had been so gentle on 
her. A few extra pounds but incredibly sexy. "Are 
you jealous?"

I laid back with my hands behind my head 
and stared up at the ceiling. "Without a doubt."

Suddenly and without warning, I felt an 
incredible pressure on my chest! Jesus Christ! I was 
having a fucking heart attack! No, it couldn't be 
heart attack. The pain was coming from the right 
side not the left. I clutched my chest and looked 
down. My hands and the sheet were covered in 
blood. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Just a 
squeaky gasp. Trying to take a deep breath was 
impossible! The closest doctor had to be five miles 
away. In a panic I looked up to Reggie for help. She 
was already standing over me. I could swear that I 
could still see smoke coming out of the silencer.

The bitch had shot me! First I had been shot by a 
midget and now by a topless woman wearing 
nothing but black panties! At the angle I was laying 
in the bed the bullet had hit me just under the 
collarbone. The bullet must have exited out the back 
because down feathers were floating in the air. She 
quickly cuffed my hands over my head to the bed 
frame.

Reggie had my knife in her other hand. "I 
can't believe you never got that goddamn tattoo 
removed or covered up after all these years. You 
certainly are the romantic. Now I'm going to have to 
cut the fucking thing out. I certainly can't leave my 
name inscribed on your chest." 

She leaned over and stuck the silencer's barrel against my forehead as she stuck the knife against the tattoo hard enough 
that it felt like the blade had gone in at least half an 
inch. 

"Tell me where the briefcase is and if it's 
where you say it is, I'll call the police after my ferry 
gets to the mainland and have them send a doctor. I 
don't think you'll bleed to death in that time."

"Fuck you, you lying bitch," I whispered 
hoarsely.

"Still trying to be the tough guy, huh?" 

Reggie walked over and put a CD in the stereo and 
cranked it up. "Still like that redneck shit, don't 
you?" 
She leaned over me and stuck a dirty sock in 
my mouth then stuck the knife deep into the tattoo 
again, one hand against my throat to steady herself 
as she carved the knife around the tattoo. I closed 
my eyes and screamed in pain as I bucked my legs 
up and down in a feeble attempt to knock her off of 
me. Suddenly she stood up and flicked the piece of 
flesh against a window curtain, tore the curtain 
loose, and folded it up.

She pulled the sock out my mouth. "Tell me 
where the briefcase is and you'll live. I promise I'll 
call for a doctor when I get to the mainland."

I nodded to her. "OK," I gasped. "Just down 
the road there's a burned down cantina. Against the 
north wall there's a hole in the wall with a burned 
out candle sitting in it. Dig down about three, four, 
fuck, I don't know how may goddamn feet. That's 
where your goddamn case is. There's a shovel 
underneath the trailer. It's sand. Easy digging."

She tapped my face with my knife. "That's a 
good boy. But if you're bullshitting me, I'll come 
straight back here. And this time I'll cut your cock 
off and shove it down your throat." 

She leaned over  me and dragged her hard nipples across my face. 
I didn't look at her as she dressed but I heard 
her walk out the trailer door, dig around underneath 
for the shovel, and start up my GEO over the stereo: 

"People say I'm no good and crazy as a loon 
Cause I get stoned in the morning 
I get drunk in the afternoon"

I lay there in that hot sweaty trailer as the 
blood ran out of me and I waited. And waited. And 
waited some more.

The explosion was loud that it shook my 
trailer. Seconds later it sounded like it was hailing 
outside as something metallic sounding rained down 
on to the roof of my trailer. Then I smiled and 
closed my eyes. Because I had to wait no longer. 

EPILOGUE


Obviously since you're reading about this I 
made it out there alive, but that was some pretty 
poetic shit I wrote at the end, huh? The hail coming 
down on to my trailer was from the mine that 
exploded when Reggie stuck her shovel into the top 
it. The fucking thing was packed with hundreds of 
stainless steel ball bearings. Since Reggie was 
standing directly over it when the mine exploded, 
the force of the blast practically vaporized her. The 
key word there is explode. Since the mine exploded 
not imploded, and the briefcase was under the mine, 
it survived almost without a scratch. The sound of 
blast alerted Javier who got to me before I nodded 
off into the Big Sleep and I was whisked off to the 
mainland by boat where I was laid up in the hospital 
for almost a month. It was there that the Feds finally 
caught up to me. It was quite a wild scene in my 
room. Javier had rounded some of his old buddies 
up from his days in the police department to watch 
over me. Big dudes with bad fucking attitudes, 
brandishing shiny long knives and automatic 
weapons, and they had the Feds shitting in their 
knickers for a while. 

Of course, they still ran the whole line of bullshit at me. I was going to be arrested. I was going to do the hardest time 
imaginable. I was going to the Super-Max prison in 
Colorado where I was going to get turned out by the 
Black Panthers, the Mexican Mafia, and the Aryan 
Brotherhood. I was going to be a bitch with an 
asshole so big you could drive a Ford pickup 
through it. One dildo even threatened to send me to 
Cuba where they have all the terrorists locked up. 
But they were missing one crucial item and they 
knew it.

The briefcase! The briefcase was gone. And 
the only person who knew where it was, wasn't 
fucking talking. Me! When it was all said and done, 
they didn't give a hot shit about the NIS agent killed 
all those years ago, or me breaking out of the 
nuthouse and shooting those dirtbags in that trailer, 
or even Reggie - one of their own - blowing her 
sweet ass to hell digging up that mine. They wanted 
that goddamn briefcase. Not even the whole 
briefcase. 

Just the photos and the negatives showing 
****** **** (my agreement with the Feds negates 
me from writing HIS name), all coked up, naked 
except for black dress socks, getting a hum job from 
a beautiful hooker.

I had them by the nuts and they knew it. 
They could send me off to prison. They could even 
kill me. But that picture. That fucking picture would 
still be out there. It could resurface anytime at my 
command. So they cut me a deal. They'd give me a 
new identity (the third one of my life) and shoot my 
ass straight into the Witness Protection Program. 
Give me protection from the skinheads and the 
Nazis. With one condition. 

"Keep your fucking 
mouth shut and never let that photo or it's negatives 
see the light of day or your ass will be deeper in 
concrete that Jimmy Hoffa."

I guess I can live with that. 

ABOUT THE AUTHORS 

Anonymous hails from Albert Lea, a small redneck 
meat packing plant town located in southern 
Minnesota. After fulfilling his dream of getting the 
hell out of there (just not in the way he wanted it), 
he has traveled around the United States, Germany, 
Mexico, Canada, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, and 
the Pacific. He has been a pizza delivery boy, sailor, 
drug dealer, bartender, longshoreman, Cuban cigar 
importer, and more recently, a writer. Currently he 
is a member of the United States Witness Protection 
Program. He has been shot twice and stabbed once. 
To catch a glimpse of him you'll need to rent or buy 
a copy of Girls Gone Wild Cancun - in the 
background of one scene where a young lady 
wearing a neon pink bikini flashes her huge jugs 
you can see Anonymous (wearing wraparound 
shades and a Pittsburgh Steelers ball cap) cheering 
her on with a raised Corona in one hand and a 
Cuban cigar in the other.

Scott L. Anderson has been employed as a sailor, 
soldier, prison guard, and as an attendant at a 
maximum security mental hospital. Inspiration for 
his writing comes from both his personal 
experiences and the experiences of the people that 
he has been lucky to know in his life.  


Salt On The Nuts was the original working title and manuscript which eventually resulted in Snorting The Devil's Dandruff which is available at most online book vendors.




SALT ON THE NUTS: THE ADVENTURES OF A WHITE TRASH SAILOR #12

SHITTING IN MY PANTS AND DOING THE 
THORAZINE SHUFFLE 



The nurse who was sliding a needle into my 
IV didn't look familiar. On this shift it had always 
been the cute one that the cop spent all his time and 
taxpayer's money on trying to get a piece of. This 
chick wasn't even wearing the right uniform. She 
looked more like one of the nurse's aides by the 
scrubs that she was wearing. In fact she looked 
damn near too young to have even gone to nursing 
school yet. Jet black dyed hair cropped real close in 
a punk sort of way and skin so pale she appeared 
almost translucent. Kind of tall but skinny as a rail.

I had been sleeping and hadn't noticed her come 
into my room. The cop was strangely absent.

"Who are you? I haven't seen you before." 
She looked at me and smiled and turned back 
to my IV.

"Hey! Did you talk to my doctor or the head 
nurse? Today is my court day. I'm not suppose to 
have anymore painkillers before I go to court." 

She ignored me as she pushed the syringe 
plunger down. I noticed she had a weird little black 
tattoo at the base of her thumb and forefinger. 
She had barely pulled the needle out when 
what felt like a supercharged rush of cocaine hit me. 
She kissed her finger on placed it on my lips.

"Bye bye. Enjoy your trip," she whispered.

*** 

I barely remembered what happened in 
court. I was so fucking loaded and hallucinating so 
badly I literally had no concept of where I was. 
Drooling, crying, shouting out, "motherfuckers, shit, 
Jesus Christ, you cocksuckers," over and over. The 
judge was obviously not pleased by the foul 
mouthed and disheveled wreck that was sitting in 
front of him. 

There was a court appointed attorney 
sitting next to me who had visited me just one time 
at the hospital prior to my arraignment but he either 
was so shocked by my appearance, had been bought 
off by whoever had done this to me, or just flat 
didn't give a shit, because I was sent immediately to 
the state security hospital for the criminally insane 
for a 60 day observation period. The state trooper 
who was to escort me over to the booby hatch 
refused to even handcuff me much less stick me in 
his car for the fifty mile drive unless someone 
pumped me full of tranquilizers.


***


I woke up two days later in a cinder block 
cell.

I was laying on a plastic mattress with no 
blankets, no sheets, and no pillows. All I was 
wearing was a paper nightgown that left my ass 
hanging out in the breeze. Someone was looking 
through the tiny window that was set in the middle 
of the steel door of the cell.

"Sleeping beauty has finally fuckin' woken 
up." I heard yelled out.

A tiny door under the window opened and a 
set of brown khaki pants, matching shirt, a white t-shirt, 
and white jockey shorts, along with a pair of 
shower shoes were shoved through the opening.

"You got five minutes to get your ass 
dressed, nut!"

My mind was oven baked. I could barely get 
the underwear on much less the rest of the clothes in 
five minutes. The door swung open and two beefy 
guards stomped in, each took one of my arms and 
led me out the door. They half walked and half 
dragged me to what appeared to be some sort of 
locked down television viewing area. Several other 
drugged out dudes in equally disheveled states sat 
there watching I Love Lucy. I was thrown roughly 
down on to a plastic covered chair.

"Just sit there and keep your goddamn piehole 
shut."

I drifted in and out for hours but finally 
started to come around. At that point I had no 
fucking idea where I was and none of the guard 
where very helpful whenever I asked a question 
when one of them would come into the room. They 
all had different styles of responses to my questions 
but the meanings were the same. "Shut the fuck up! 
Would you like to have this billyclub shoved up 
your ass? Sit down and shut the hell up you dumb 
fuck! Shut your mouth, you retard!" I got the 
general drift.

Time had lost all meaning by then but it 
must have been getting late because the evening 
news was on when a guard swung the door open 
and stepped in. He pointed at me. "Come on, you 
stinking turd. You've cleared processing. Let's get 
you down to your unit."

After I was handcuffed, I was led down a 
hallway and shoved rudely on to the unit, the heavy 
metal door slamming behind me. There was two 
Indians, four blacks, and three other white guys 
sitting at several tables and who were all sitting 
there staring at me. One of the white guys was 
about the biggest dude I have ever seen. He was 
easily six foot six and way over three hundred 
pounds, some fat but a lot of muscle. Big 
cannonball shaved head with a tarantula tattooed on 
the top of it and a swastika inked right in the middle 
of his forehead. And he had mean, beady little eyes 
that had blue tears tattooed under them. Now that I 
think about it, he kinda looked like that fat bastard, 
Butterbean, that years later was always fighting on 
cable TV. A guard walked over and removed my 
handcuffs.

"Time to eat," was all he grunted.

Supper was being handed out, and man it 
looked like shit. And I hadn't eaten in I don"t know 
how long. Suppose to be some kind of chicken patty 
but looked more like someone had stomped on a 
mouse, fried it up in a pan, and threw it on a bun. 
There was a blob of mashed potatoes big enough to 
feed two men and it was covered with some yellow, 
gelatin like gravy. All topped with a pile of mixed 
vegetables and a oatmeal cookie as big and hard as 
a hockey puck. Kool Aid to drink. Kool Aid got 
served at every meal. 

There were three tables bolted to the floor 
and each table could seat four people. Two of the 
tables were full, the blacks had one table to 
themselves, the two Indians and two white guys had 
one, and the big man was sifting at the remaining 
table all by himself. I could feel everybody 
watching me when I walked over to his table and sat 
down. Those beady eyes were burning a hole in me.

"Gotta pay to sit at my table, punk." He had 
a voice that sounded like it had been thickened by 
years of whiskey and cigarettes, but he talked real 
low, kinda rumbled. "Ass, grass, or cash. No one 
rides for free." Didn't that use to be a bumper 
sticker?

"Excuse me?"

"What, are you fucking deaf? To sit at my 
table you have to pay. Today it will cost you that 
cookie and half of them spuds."

"What if I don't want to pay?"

"Then you'll have to squeeze in with the rest 
of the retards over there."

I pondered his offer for a quick second and 
decided fuck it. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. 
But I'm hungry as hell. I haven't eaten for probably 
three days now."

"Your story is tearing at my heart strings, but tough 
shit."

This guy was fucking enormous. There was 
no way in hell I could take him on and not get either 
seriously beat to shit or outright killed. But I was so 
hungry you could hear my guts rumbling from 
across the room. I was beyond the point of caring. 
That hotshot of mescaline or LSD or Angel Dust or 
whatever that broad had shot into my IV had burned 
a hole in my psyche. I had lost the ability to give a 
shit.

"Look, man. I just got locked up in here so 
I'm not looking for any more trouble. I respect 
where you're coming from, I know you're the boss 
here. But I'm fucking hungry, so if you want to get 
squirrelly, I guess you should just fucking jump."

It got so quiet in there you could hear a 
mouse fart in the corner. The big man didn't say a 
word, just sat there looking at me like I had just 
flown in on a starship. Suddenly his face broke into 
a grin.

"Fucking A! Finally a motherfucker comes 
in here that's got a set a nuts on him." He stood up 
and pointed a sausage sized finger at the other two 
tables.

"Unlike the rest of you fucking retards and 
baby rapers."

He reached across the table to shake my 
hand. I could feel the bones in my hand crunch. 
"Norm Grabowski is the name. Those 
pricks may think they run the show." He shot the 
middle finger to the guards who were staring at us 
from the observation pod. "But this is my fucking 
unit."

Truer words had never been spoken. 
Norman "Spider" Grabowski was the end result of 
over twenty one years spent in the state's finest 
penal facilities. From the age of thirteen on, Norm 
had been locked up in every correctional institution 
in the state, eleven months being his longest break 
between sentences. He had a rap sheet a mile long. 
It started off with shoplifting, and then continued on 
with burglary, auto theft, assault, sale of 
prescription narcotics, statutory rape, possession of 
over one hundred pounds of marijuana, cooking 
speed, and about anything else you could think of. 
He was also a suspect in the unsolved murders of 
five black inmates. Now at the age of thirty-three, 
Norm was a high ranking member in good standing 
of the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang, a gang not 
known for their liberal views, and had been 
committed to the security hospital as mentally ill 
and dangerous after stabbing a guard at the 
penitentiary in the stomach. Guards and inmates 
alike were scared shitless of him.

Norm shoved his sandwich into his mouth 
and stood back up and walked over to the table 
where the other two white inmates were sifting.

"Let me introduce you to these homos." Norm stood 
behind a lanky, greasy haired, foul smelling man of 
about forty who was wearing clothes from the disco 
era. "This first shitbag is Bob. And he is a shitbag, 
literally. He got thrown off a tier at the pen by a 
gang of brothers who were strong arming him. 
Busted up his back and left him shifting and pissing 
in a bag. They had to put him in here for his own 
safety while he recuperated. But Bob, being the 
great guy that he is, wound up almost strangling a 
nurse to death while he tried to rape her with his 
useless dick. Now his whole life revolves around 
coffee, cigarettes, and enemas."

Norm leaned over and spit a green lunger 
onto Bob's mashed potatoes, walked over and stood 
behind the remaining white inmate, then suddenly 
grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed 
his face down into his tray. The guards in the pod 
all jumped to their feet.

"This puke is Danny. Danny got brought in 
here for raping his ten year old sister. Said some 
demon was talking to him, told him to do it. The 
quacks have been pumping him full of thorazine 
and electric shock three times a week and now 
Danny has refried shit for brains. Every night he lets 
the soul brothers come into his cell and play ass 
darts on him. Then the injuns get sloppy seconds."

Norm wheeled around and faced the guards 
in the observation bubble. "Get back to jacking-off, 
you fucking pussies," he screamed. You could see 
the guards shuffling around uneasily in their bubble.

He came back over and sat down at our 
table. "I'm not going to insult you by introducing 
the rest of these scrotum heads. They're not worth 
the shit on the bottom of my shoe." The blacks and 
the two Indians ate their supper silently while 
looking down at their trays. "Just a combination of 
city and prairie niggers," he yelled out towards 
them.

Norm leaned over this dinner tray and gave 
me a grin. "'I'm glad you're here, brother. I need a 
good right hand man," he whispered hoarsely.

*** 

A week had passed and I was starting to 
work on a wicked case of claustrophobia slash cabin 
fever. Being locked up on a maximum security, 
crazy as a shit house rat ward, without actually being crazy 
will kind of do that to a guy. It's not something that 
I would recommend. Because of my association 
with Norm, the other inmates avoided me like I was 
carrying the Ebola virus, so I didn't have any 
problems in that area. 

But it's damn hard to live in a place where the accepted behavior includes sitting in the television lounge jacking off while watching 
Oprah, participating in a nightly massive anal and 
oral gangbang of a brain fried fellow inmate, 
throwing your shit around like you were playing 
handball, or sitting down with a issue of Rolling 
Stone and eating the entire magazine after you got 
done reading it.

It was recreation time and we were out in 
our unit's tiny yard. There was an old, rusty 
Universal weight machine stuck in the corner and I 
was watching Norm go through his routine on it. He 
was using every plate on the stack and was still 
doing at least fifteen reps per session without 
breaking a sweat.

I was voicing my concerns to Norm that I 
had been there for a week and had only talked to the 
shrink once.

"That's all they need." He grunted as he 
benched the entire stack of three hundred. 

"Who's they?"

"The court. The Man. You know what I 
mean, brother."

He sat up and wiped his medicine ball sized 
head with a towel. "Look, this is how it works. You 
stroll into a bar and hit a dude over the head with a 
baseball bat. He doesn't die but he winds up in a 
coma so he might as well be dead. You act like a 
born again retard in court. They send you here for a 
court ordered observation. Shrink comes in and has 
a little sit down with you. Writes up a nice report to 
the court and the next thing you know you get the 
big M. I. and D designation. Mentally ill and 
dangerous. That's the worst you can get in this 
craphole." He wagged his finger at me. "Gotta 
watch those shrinks. They are very fucking sneaky."

"How long a sentence is a M and I?" My 
voice was squeaking.

Norm gave a evil grin and started pumping 
out reps again. "Don't forget the D on the M I and 
D. Dangerous is the key word here. Judges hate the 
word dangerous. Bad at reelection time. They don't 
want to be the guy that lets out the nut who rapes a 
boy scout and burns down a church the first day he's 
out on the street. So a M I and D could be for years. 
Could be forever. All depends. Getting committed 
ain't like getting sentenced to the joint. That's the 
thing about the bughouse. Free world people think 
that a convict is getting off easy by getting 
sentenced here instead of prison, like it's a fucking 
country club."

He let the pile drop with a loud crash. 'What 
bullshit that is! In here with the M. I. and D., the big 
bitch, that can be as good as a life sentence. You 
throw in the electric shock and all the dope they 
pump in you every fucking day, couple a years 
you'll be doing the thorazine shuffle and shittin' in 
your pants. Just like old Danny. The unit 
punchboard."

I couldn't believe the shit I was hearing. I 
was so stunned I couldn't hardly speak. "That bitch 
in the hospital dosed me, man. LSD or some shit. 
I've dropped a lot of dope and never been that 
fucking whacked. That's why my ass is in here. 
These fucking doctors have to figure that out. Won't 
they?"

Norm sat back up on the bench. "Dude, I'm 
not saying that it's going to happen but I seen it 
happen a dozen times since I been here. But it 
seems to me that someone wants your ass in here. 
Maybe so you'll be easier to get to. It's more than 
obvious than you're gonna have some badasses 
looking for you after the shit you pulled." He stood 
up, casting a huge shadow over me.

"But it doesn't have to be that way, little 
dude. I know how to get you out of here. But it ain't 
for free. Its gonna cost you, big time. You'll owe 
both me and the Brotherhood."

He started in on his lat pulls. "Up to you. So 
think about it." He grunted as he pulled the stack 
down. "Just don't think about it forever."

Norm had AIDS. He had contracted it 
shooting speedballs and sharing the needle with his 
Aryan buddies at the penitentiary. He had done the 
hit on the guard because he had nothin' to lose. That 
was why he was at the security hospital. Since he 
was going to die anyway, the state figured it would 
be safer and smarter to send him to the security 
hospital while he waited to punch out rather than to 
lock him up in segregation. From the hole he could 
still carry out prison business, but by putting him in 
the nuthouse they could cut him off from his Neo- 
Nazi friends. Isolate him somewhat.

'Wonder if they don't commit me? What if 
the doctors clear me. Then I just have to stand trial? 
If I copped a plea I'd maybe I'd only do five to ten. 
The court may take in to consideration about my 
father's life being threatened? With good time I 
could be out in a few years."

It was almost time to lock in for the night. 
Norm and I were the only inmates sitting out in the 
day room, the rest of the unit had either already hit 
the sack, the medication the committed inmates 
were on tended to make them turn in early, or they 
were in Danny's cell, pounding his ass for a 
nightcap.

"That's the chance you have to take. You can 
wait it out and see what the courts say. And you 
may be right. They may just go to trial and you can 
cop a plea. But if they don't, or if that guy you 
whacked dies, you could wind up being in here until 
you're a shriveled up old man blowing dudes for 
Snicker's bars and cigarettes. Man, look at Danny. 
The bucks are in there every night nailing him. I'm 
not going to live forever. And you'll be in here all 
by your lonesome. Think about it. I'm going to 
fucking bed, got me a new stroke magazine in the 
mail today, gotta break it in."

The giant inmate lumbered to his feet and headed towards his cell. 
The guard on duty announced on the 
intercom that it was five minutes to lock down and 
as I was walking to my cell, I glanced in at Danny. 
They had him stripped down as naked as the day he 
was born. One guy was hitting him from behind 
while another was slamming him in the mouth. He 
looked out of the corners of his glazed eyes at me. I 
turned around and walked over to Norm's cell.

"I'm in. I'll do what ever the fuck I have to 
do to get out of here."

***

"First thing you have to do is give me the 
address of your parents and any brothers and 
sisters."

It was morning and we were leaning over 
trays of greenish scrambled eggs, hash browns, and 
a gigantic, sweating sweet roll that was laying on 
top of the whole mess. The sight of Norm shoving it 
all into his gaping cake hole was about enough to 
put me over the top on the gag reflex meter. 

"What the hell for?" 

"That's just the way the system works, 
dipshit. I get you out of here, you're going to have 
to work for us. You decide to bolt and run away 
from your obligations, the Brotherhood needs to 
know where to find you. They can't find you, well 
then mommy and daddy and little sis will have to 
take the heat for you. And I can goddamn guarantee 
you that if they know where you are, they'll talk."

He spread his python sized arms wide. "Take it or 
leave it but that's your choice."

"My mom ran off years ago and now my old 
man is on the lam, too. The only address I can give 
you is for my brother down in Florida." This wasn't 
going to be good but what the hell else could I do?

"Florida's no problem. Got plenty of 
brothers in the sunshine state." Norm reached over 
and grabbed my sweet roll.

"When does it happen?" I was going to have 
to rush to my cell, the combination of the smell of 
the breakfast and the thought of what Norm was 
telling me was making me want to power puke.

"Couple of days. My boys on the outside 
have to make sure you gave me the right addresses 
of your folks. And by the way, if you try to fuck me 
and give me some bogus information you will be in 
a world of shit. I'll take you out right here."

I was on my hands and knees barfing into 
my toilet when Norm stuck his head in. "I forgot to 
tell you this. Get your armpits wet and soap 'em up 
and let 'em dry without washing off the soap. 
Tonight show the nurse the rash, tell her that you're 
allergic to the roll-on deodorant. They'll switch you 
to spray. But don't use it, just leave it in your cell. 
You're gonna need it."

***

Straight up midnight and the unit was quiet 
as a tomb. I looked out the cell door window of my 
cell and could see just the tops of the heads of the 
two night guards, both of whom Norm said were 
major league stoners and never made more than two 
rounds a night, usually one at the beginning and one 
at the end of the shift. They were watching a movie 
on the VCR, looked like Fast Times at Ridgemont 
High. 

I turned back to my bed to check out my 
supplies. Two cans of Right Guard, one mine, one 
Norm's, a damp towel, and a book of matches. 
I stuck a piece of cardboard that I had cut 
from the back of a notepad to fit into my cell door 
window so the guards wouldn't see the flame. I took 
one of the cans of Right Guard, lit a match, and 
sprayed it. It took off like a fucking flame thrower! 
As soon as I directed the flame to the 
security crash proof glass that was installed in my 
outside window, I knew that it was going to work. 
The glass seemed to start to melt almost 
immediately. Halfway through a can I had an 
opening about ten inches wide. Within five minutes 
both cans were empty and I had a hole easily wide 
enough for me to slide out. I cooled down the edges 
of the hole with the damp towel and started to slide 
my head out the hole.

"What in the double fuck is going on?" 

In a panic I pulled my head back in. One of 
the guards was standing inside my cell! He had 
obviously been smoking weed. His eyes were like 
two piss holes in the snow and he was holding a can 
of beer. I couldn't believe that I didn't hear him 
come in. He was standing there in the middle of the 
cell with his jaw hanging down and this look of 
stupid amazement of his face.

On nothing but shit in your pants fear and 
pure animal instinct, I threw the hardest fucking 
roundhouse right that I have ever thrown to this day. 
The punch pole-axed him right between the eyes, I 
could feel the bones snap in my fist, and the guard 
dropped to the floor like he had been shot in the 
head.

I turned and somersaulted through the 
window, falling about four feet, and landing flat on 
my back, knocking the wind right the hell out of 
me. I staggered to my feet and while clutching my 
throbbing, broken hand to my chest, I slipped into 
the shadows and began to work by way down the 
side of the building to the cover of the woods that 
bordered the back of the hospital.

There was only one light on in any of the 
cells. It was Wes Dubluy's, the resident evil genius 
and mad bomber. Locked down for trying to blow 
up a bank, he was the one who had given Norm the 
idea about using the Right Guard as a blow torch. 
He was stark naked and was standing in his toilet 
bowl, a Playboy in one hand, his dick in the other. 
His head turned slowly towards me, like it was on a 
swivel, like he was a fucking owl. Without missing a stroke, he gave me a slight nod and a smile and turned back to his fun.

I ran into the woods.

***

When I broke free of the woods on the other 
side I came out on to a county road. Following 
Norm's directions, I stayed down low in the ditch 
and ran south about two miles to a closed Exxon 
station. Behind the station, a beat up old Cadillac 
was idling with it's lights off. When I walked up in 
front of the car, the lights came on, blinding me. I 
heard the door open.

"Did Spider send you?" The voice was 
female.

"That's me," I whispered. 

"Well, get in cowboy. You can drive." 
Sliding over into the passenger seat was a 
woman child who was crack whore thin and had the 
teeth to match. Her hair was spiked up in a punk 
fashion and she must have had thirty facial 
piercings. Her face looked like it was made out of 
aluminum and every inch of skin on her that I could 
see was covered in amateurish jailhouse tattoos. She 
was smoking a huge fatty that she was washing 
down with a peach wine cooler.

I put the car in gear. "Where to?" I was 
sweating like a whore in church and smelled worse.

"Keep going south about four miles and 
we'll catch the interstate into the city." She passed 
me the joint.

"Are you Norm's wife?"

She laughed like a little girl. "Me? Norm's 
wife? Hell no! If he screwed me he'd crush my 
bones to dust." She giggled again. "Norm has a little 
dick anyway."

That was about all she seemed to want to 
talk about that and I wasn't real interested in the size 
of Norm's crank or his sex life so I let the subject 
drop. I needed to calm down anyway. 

She popped a CD in the stereo and cranked up some kind of death 
metal shit so loud I thought my ears would start 
bleeding. As I pulled onto the interstate she slid 
over next to me, unzipped my fly, pulled out my 
crank, and slid her lips over my crank. I groaned 
as my eyes rolled back into my head and I had to 
fight to keep the car on the road. In spite of the 
situation - I had just broken out of a mental hospital 
- I felt myself wanting to cum immediately.

She sat back up. "Oh no you don't." She 
reached into her purse and pulled out a vial of white 
powder. Licking the head of my dick, she tapped out 
a small pile of the coke onto it and rubbed it all over 
the head, numbing it.

"Mmmmm. That's much better." She started 
in again, blowing me all the way to Minneapolis.

***

"What the hell took you so fucking long you 
scrawny crank bitch?"

We were standing in this incredibly nasty, 
filthy house trailer, just north of Minneapolis, that 
smelled like extreme body odor, cat piss, pot, and 
spilled malt liquor. And standing in the 
kitchen screaming at us was this enormous, bleach 
blonde woman, that I figured out quickly was 
Norm's wife. She wasn't wearing a shirt or a bra, 
just a pair of dirty jeans, and her giant tits were 
completely covered with a massive Harley 
Davidson tattoo. As she moved around they swayed 
like bowling balls. I'll bet the bed she and Norm 
bone-danced on had to be reinforced with cinder 
blocks.

She reached out and grabbed Cathy's face 
with a grizzly bear sized paw. Cathy being the 
woman that had picked me up.

"Did you fuck him? Huh? Is that what took 
you so long?"

Cathy giggled. "No, Glenda. I just blew 
him."

Glenda back slapped her hard across the face and 
then turned and glared at me. I felt as if I was 
locked in a pen with an insane Doberman. 
She shook Cathy's head like a dog shaking a 
rat and pointed at me with her free hand. "Now you 
listen to me you bag of shit. Cathy is off limits to 
you, you understand? You touch her one more time 
you'll find your balls in my martini glass and your 
ass floating in a swamp. I don't give a shit what 
Norm says."

She turned back to Cathy. "Strip down and 
get on the couch," she ordered.

Without a word, Cathy stripped down, she 
was even scrawnier naked, and knelt on the couch, 
doggie fashion, while Glenda walked to the back of 
the trailer. When she came back out, she had taken 
off her Levis and was strapping on a huge black 
dildo.

"Sit your ass down in that chair, asshole. I 
want you to watch this."

Pushing a sleeping, mangy cat and a couple 
of empty Budweisers out of the way, I eased myself 
down into a recliner.

Spitting in her hand, Glenda lubed up the dildo and jammed it into Cathy. The scrawny creature cried out in agony. No pretense on 
foreplay there. Glenda looked over her shoulder at 
me. "Don't you think about fucking with me! We 
own you, you piece of shit. Don't ever forget that." I 
could hardly hear her over Cathy's screams of pain.

*** 

The sun was trying to stream in through the 
grit and grime that was coated on the trailer's 
windows. 

The seemingly endless dildo assault - fueld on by Glenda's hitting the meth pipe - on Cathy had finally ended and she was laying in a corner, unconscious. Glenda had force fed her a 
handful of reds that a mule would have had a hard 
time swallowing. The whole incident had been like 
watching an X-rated version of the Twilight Zone. 
Glenda had taken off her fake crank, but was still 
lounging naked on the couch, like a sexually 
satisfied walrus, working on her sixth bottle of Bud 
and smoking from a large bowl of hash. I was trying 
my best not to look at her. I just kept my line of 
vision on a velvet rendition of Norm sitting at the 
table with the rest of the disciples in The Last 
Supper. Norm was drinking a bottle of beer and had 
his arm around Jesus' shoulders. Glenda leaned 
back and let out a loud belch that practically rattled 
the windows, then glared over in my direction.

"Take off your fucking clothes off and get 
over here."

"Huh?"

"You heard me, fuckstick! Take off your 
clothes and get over here. You got a pussy to eat."

"Glenda, please, I don't think Norm 
would..." I was stammering like one of the nutjobs 
in the hospital.

"Listen to me, shitbird! I don't think you 
quite understand the situation you're in. Norm and 
the AB got you out of the stammer. So now you 
work for us. What we say, whatever we want, you 
do. Jesus Christ, you're stupid. What do you think 
Cathy is here for? She's paying off a debt her old 
man owes up in the penitentiary. If it wasn't for us 
he'd have an asshole so big you could park a go-cart 
in it. You owe us! We broke you out and we're 
protecting you from the people who want your 
stinking ass dead for hitting their boss in the head 
with a goddamn baseball bat! So you will do what we 
say and you will damn well like it, scumbag!"

She leaned back on the couch, spread her 
legs, and used her fingers to open herself up so that I got a birds eye view.

"Now get out of those fuckin' clothes and 
get over here. But first get in my purse over there by 
your chair and get me a fresh pack of smokes." 

I shakily stood up and took off my clothes 
while the fat hog leered at me and then picked up 
the dildo and slid it into herself. 

I shuffled over, stark naked, and opened up her purse. When I 
bent over she must have seen something she liked. 
"Oh, yah. I'm gonna break that brown eyed beaver 
in good. That asshole looks like a virgin." 

My dick and balls shriveled up to the size 
of a thimble and a couple of acorns. I was close to 
puking or passing out, it didn't really matter at this 
point.

Nestled in next to her Marlboros was a wad 
of cash the size of a Big Mac. My adrenaline started 
pumping like I had just mainlined a dose of her meth 
when I saw what was nestled under the cash. A 
snub nosed .38!

Glenda had already realized her fuckup, 
because by the time I had whirled around and aimed 
the pistol, almost dropping the damn thing in the 
process, she had already staggered to her feet. 
"You better drop that goddamn piece right 
now, asshole!" She screamed.

Without thinking or aiming I fired off a 
round. But the fist that I had broken on the guard's 
head had swollen to the point that I couldn't even 
open my hand so I was holding the gun with my 
left, my wrong hand, so the first shot went wide of 
Glenda's head and took out the living room window.

If you have never done it before, you wouldn't 
believe how loud it is to shoot off a high caliber 
pistol in a shitbox aluminum trailer.

"Jesus Christ! Have you lost your fucking 
mind?"

Glenda started to slowly walk towards me. 
"Now give me the gun you little pisspot and we'll 
forget about everything, because I don"t think you 
know just what the hell you're doing." She pointed a 
sausage sized finger to her head. "You might have 
gone a little whacko here." She took another step. 
"Let's just calm down here. Think it over."

I dropped my aim down to her tattoo 
covered tits and started firing, four quick shots, the 
force of the them driving her back down onto the 
couch. She was sitting there, frantically trying to 
stop the spouting geysers of blood that were 
pumping out of her by covering them with her 
hands, when I walked over and fired the remaining 
shot into her head. Some of her brains blew out the 
back of her skull and sprayed all over the curtains. I 
dropped the gun, bent over and barfed on my bare 
feet.

After I was through throwing up my shoes 
and socks, I dressed as fast as humanly possible and 
went back to Glenda's purse and shoved the wad of 
cash and a big block of hash into my pocket. Cathy 
must have been in a coma because she didn't move 
a muscle through all that screaming and shooting. I 
picked the pistol back up, wiped it off with my shirt, 
and put the weapon in Cathy's hand. I was just 
about ready to take off when I realized that I may 
need the gun. Most likely someone was going to be 
after my ass and I didn't want to get caught 
unarmed. 

But I had used up all the bullets when I 
dusted Glenda. I quickly went into the back 
bedroom and began to pull dresser drawers out. 
This fucking place had to be crawling with guns. 
But nothing but crap and piss stained underwear, 
Levis, and Harley t-shirts. 

Then..I hit the jackpot! In the closet I 
found a sawed off shotgun and a box of .12 gauge 
shells. Grabbing the shotgun I noticed a throw rug 
on the bottom of the closet. Now these assholes 
didn't seem to be the type to be spending much cash 
or time on decorating their shitty trailer much less 
their closet. Whoever had put the rug back down 
had been sloppy. I could see the edge of what 
appeared to be some sort of hatch. I pulled the rug 
out and found a trapdoor cut in the floor. I dug my 
fingernails into the side of the door and pulled up.

Inside was a large gym bag, the kind hockey players 
need to stuff their skates, shoulder pads, and other 
hockey shit into. The bag was jam-packed with 
balls of cash rolled tight with rubber bands, several 
pistols, bags of weed, and all sorts of identification - 
driver's licenses, passports, social security cards, the 
works. I had hit the fucking lottery! Pulling the bag 
out, the son of a bitch weighed a ton, I headed for 
the door.

The screen door in the living room slammed 
shut. I put the bag down and leaned against the wall 
of the bedroom just next to the door. I gently pulled 
the slide back on the shotgun to see if there was one 
in the chamber.

"Cathy! You dumb fucking bitch!" The 
voice sounded familiar. It was female. "Wake up! 
Wake up you dumb fucking cunt!" The sound of 
slap echoed through the trailer. "Goddamn it! Shit! 
Goddamn it! Oh, God! Glenda!" Then it got real 
quiet. So quiet I could hear the hammer on a pistol being cocked!

Someone was walking down 
the short hallway. Flicking off the safety, I stepped 
into the doorway. The door frame exploded in 
splinters just inches from my head. I fired the 
shotgun once, catching Angel directly in the chest, 
the force of the blast knocking her off her feet and 
down her back into the living room. I grabbed the 
hockey bag and stepped into the living room, Angel 
lay spread eagle on the floor, a massive hole in her 
chest - the shotgun must have been loaded with 
buckshot - in her hand she clutched a huge .44 
magnum pistol. Luckily for me it had been too 
much pistol for her. Her body twitched with spasms 
but her eyes were empty. 

There was a suitcase on the floor of the living room. I popped it open. Inside was a set of handcuffs and leg irons, a blowtorch, 
hacksaw, vise grips, can of Drano, and a variety of 
knifes and surgical scalpels. Obviously, my ass had been set up from the get-go. From the punker that had dosed me at the 
hospital right up until now. They wanted me at that 
security hospital because from there Norm could 
spring me, get me back here, and well, the proof 
was in Angel's suitcase how things would have 
turned out for me. This cat piss smelling trailer 
would have been the end of the trail for me if it had 
worked out for the parties involved.

Grabbing the keys for the Cadillac, I raced 
out the trailer door. Someone must have heard the 
shots because I could hear sirens in the distance. I 
fired up that old Caddy and took off in the opposite 
direction.

***

Once I got back to the city, I parked the car 
in the parking lot of a grocery store and hopped into 
a cab that took me to a hotel just outside the airport. 
I had to lip read the guy's lips who was behind the 
counter because the combination of all the gunplay 
inside that trailer had left me temporarily deaf. My 
fucking ears were ringing like I had just come from 
a Foghat concert and I had sat front row stage 
center.

I was there at the hotle for two days waiting for my 
charter flight to Cancun. The one time I turned on 
the news they were talking about the double murder 
of a felonious biker's wife and her niece. The cops 
had a female subject in custody but were suspicious 
about the whole damn thing - they weren't ready to wrap the casse up yet it seemed. 

I got to feeling sick all over again so I never turned on the news or read the paper again. I spent the time smoking Glenda's 
hash, eating room service, peering out through the 
curtains, watching pay for view porno movies, and 
going through the bag I had lifted from the trailer. 

went through all the numerous fake IDs and picked 
out a driver's license, passport, and birth certificate 
that matched me pretty closely after I paid a quick 
trip to a drug store for some hair dye and a beard 
trimmer. That's all you needed to get into Mexico prior to 9/11. 
Your drivers license and a copy of your birth 
certificate. I never knew that until Norm had told 
me. The dumb shit! 

I took the guns and tossed them in the dumpster, I wasn't going to get caught carrying a pistol on a flight or into Mexico. But I 
couldn't believe the amount of cash that was in the 
bag. Running drugs and whores must be a very 
profitable business. Straight cash and no taxes. I 
stacked the majority of it inside of a suitcase and 
just hoped that it would not be one of the few that 
would be opened by Cancun's custom officers. Then 
I filled a shoe box with several wads of cash and the 
remaining drugs along with a letter to Felicia, my 
sweetheart barmaid from California. I told her to 
keep the cash and find someone to sell the drugs and what my plan 
was. I didn't tell her exactly where I was going but 
that I would contact her later and she could bring 
what she was holding for me.

At the airport, standing in my Hawaiian shirt 
and shorts, I was shaking like a crackwhore's fetus I 
was so nervous. I kept looking all around the lobby 
looking for cops or tattooed covered bikers, but all I 
saw was families of tourists or drunk college kids 
going on spring break.

Just before they announced my flight, 
feeling guilty, I decided to call my brother, he 
answered on the second ring.

"Hey, bro, it's me."

"You really screwed up this time, Mr. Big 
Shot! The police have already been here. You better 
turn yourself in. What the hell were you thinking of, 
breaking out of that hospital? Now you're going to 
have to go back to court, and this time you're going 
to wind up in prison! Not some country club 
hospital where you can play tennis and goddamn 
racquet ball. And you know what? I'm glad! Maybe 
a little time in prison will straighten you out, you 
good for nothing bum."

"I didn't call for a lecture, shit for brains. Is Dad 
there?"

My brother snorted into the phone. "He was. 
Couple months ago the drunk old bastard stopped 
by on his way to Key West. He was babbling about 
always wanting to go there or some shit like that. 
That he was sick of the snow. He wanted to spend 
the night but I sent him to a motel. I didn't want the 
kids to see him like that. Goddamn drunk loser. No 
wonder Mom left him."

The boarding for my flight was being 
announced.

Well, I guess all bets were off again. "I just 
wanted to call and let you know something, big 
brother. If any big guys on Harleys roll up into your 
driveway, you better lock the doors and call the 
cops. See ya!"

"What in the hell are y......"

I hung up the phone and walked down to the 
gate.

To be continued....