Smokey DaFino@KavaScott

Monday, February 26, 2018



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 

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 

"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 

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 


"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 

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 

"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 

"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 
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. 


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 

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. 


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.