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.
I 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....
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