Dear Partnas in Crime,
Normally yo boy only talks about his long time ago past experiences because he's more settled down these days, working a good job at the local motel and drinking beer instead of liquor, but Saturday night was fucking crazy, man. It all started when I was on the Facebook, shooting the shit with some class acts I met on some half-naked chick's fan page.
I heard a knock at the door, so I got up, put my underwear and a shirt on, and walked to the door, peeping out the diamond window I keep covered in tinfoil. Damn if it wasn't Willie B., just standing there grinning like a motherfucker with a cigarette dangling out his mouth. I could tell he was fucked up because his eyes was red, but like a fool I went against my gut and unlocked the door.
Where the dirt goes down.Now you know, vampires got to be invited inside, and Willie B. ain't no damn exception. "You gonna let me in, Bubba?" he asked.
That Bubba shit drive me crazy. Motherfucker started watching some Nash Bridges shit last week his cousin let him borrow, so he call everyone "Bubba."
"Get your stupid ass inside," I said, stepping out the way.
He walked into my trailer, looking around, sniffing the air like he smelling something, and say, "What you got cooking, Bubba?"
"Not a goddamn thing," I said.
"Oh, alright then. I was just asking." He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Say, Bubba, you mind if I get one them beers?"
"Go ahead," I said, turning to go back to my computer. I took a seat, regretting like hell I'd let that motherfucker inside. I could hear him in the kitchen, guzzling my beer, saying weird shit to himself and laughing like a madman.
Her face was straining like she had to take a shit as her hands ran over her chest. I felt bad for her because she was dancing with herself.Who knows what he was fucked up on? I saw where one of the women's I'd met on Facebook was asking me what I looked like. I sucked in my gut and leaned over and typed in I looked like a fucking superstar and I was sending her a picture. I went to the folder on my desktop where I keep the photos of good-looking dudes and was about to send her a picture of some six-pack, swinging dick motherfucker, when a beer gets slammed down on the desk beside me.
"Drink this," Willie B. said.
I looked at it suspiciously. "What you done to this?" I asked.
"Nothing, Bubba. Nothing at all," he said. "I just want to drink with my homie, that's all. Cheers," he said, holding out his beer.
I grabbed the can on the desk. "Cheers," I said, slugging that motherfucker down. It had a horrible aftertaste. "Shit tastes funny," I said.
Willie B. started laughing. "Man, you in for a treat tonight," he said.
"What the fuck you talking about?" I asked.
"Can you feel it yet?" he said.
"Feel what?" I asked. "What the fuck did you put in this beer?"
"Nothing that'll kill you, he said."
I turned back to the computer, attached the good-looking dude's photo to the message I had typed the chick, and hit send. I giggled a little bit. I put my hands down on the desk beside the keyboard. The goddamn desk felt so good. It was nice and smooth. The wood was so smooth. I leaned back in my chair, my arms dropping to my sides. I could feel electrical currents going through my body. Everything started buzzing. My feet and hands were heavy.
Willie B. spun my chair around and we both started laughing.
He pulled out his wallet and shouted, "Police, motherfucker!"
I started laughing even harder, almost falling out the damn chair.
He laughed too, his face contorting, turning beet red. "I had you fooled," he said. "Man, you should have seen your fucking face. You looked scared as hell!"
I couldn't stop laughing. That stupid motherfucker. Me and Willie had spent the night in the drunk tank together several times over the years and shared our share of jail cells. Ain't no way I'd think he was five-oh. That motherfucker was tripping.
"Get the fuck up, Big Jim," he said, holding out his hand.
I grabbed it and stood up, leaning on him a bit, trying to grow accustomed to my heightened senses.
"Let's go," he said, giggling, and I started howling as we went out the front door.
The earth felt so wonderful under my feet as we walked down the dirt driveway, the trailers lined along both sides of the road like skeleton structures after Armageddon.
I was still howling like a crazy wolf when this old man sitting on his deck shouted out, "Shet the fuck up."
"Sorry!" I shouted, Willie B. laughing like hell.
"Boy!" he said. "You know you ain't wearing no pants, don't you?"
I looked down and sure a damn nuff, I didn't have on a goddamn thing but a undershirt and my tightie whities. I started laughing at that. I couldn't help myself.
Willie B. was laughing too. The shit was fucking hilarious.
We went back to my place, where I got dressed and learned we was going to the Ramada Inn to meet Ray.
"When Ray got out?" I asked, thinking Ray was still down.
"He been out for a month," Willie B. said.
The night was dark with the clouds were passing overhead like phantoms, but every once in awhile a sliver of light would hit the ground, and I could see the trash and filth along the side of the highway. Cars passed by, honking, their lights bright, the red eyes of their asses fading in the darkness as they rounded a curve up ahead.
"Ray's got a little side business these days," Willie B. said. "The economy's bad and all, you know?"
"Yeah," I said. "What's he doing?"
"He's a business man, Bubba."
"Yeah," I said as we rounded the curve and saw the neon glow of the Ramada Inn Bar sign, "but what's he doing?"
"You'll see," he said.
I started feeling sick about the time we reached the parking lot. The music was blaring, people was hanging out at the front door, making out, one girl doing the Tootsie Roll at the entrance, her big ass bobbing up and down like some strange and strung out moon. I watched her as I passed, convinced she was fucked up on some shit. Strands of hair fell over her big ass forehead, and her eyes were closed. Her face was straining like she had to take a shit as her hands ran over her chest. I felt bad for her because she was dancing with herself.
"You coming inside?" Willie asked.
"No," I said, "I ain't feeling too good."
"Alright, I'll be back in a minute."
I walked over to the girl. She looked so alone. I started doing the Tootsie Roll with her.
We must have danced for about three minutes before she opened her eyes and looked at me. She smiled, and her teeth looked so perfect it was startling.
"Hey," she said, inching up to me, putting her little hand around my neck and bringing my face down to hers. I leaned down and I could feel her hot breath against my ear as she whispered, "How much you got on you?"
"I don't know, five bucks. Why?"
"Want a blowjob?" she asked. "Five bucks."
I gulped. This wasn't my scene. Not at all. "You mean right here at the front door?" I asked.
She took her teeth out her mouth and handed them to me. "Hold these," she said, bending down, grabbing at my pants.
I took the dentures, jumped back and threw them at her. "Hell no," I said. "You're out of your fucking mind."
She giggled, giving me a toothless grin, and started doing the Tootsie Roll again.
I decided right then to leave the Ramada Inn. What the fuck was I doing here? My life was back on track. I didn't need this bullshit.
Willie B. came out the door then with Ray and two hard ass living women, judging by their beef jerky skin, and they was all grinning like fucking idiots.
Ray slapped the toothless girl on the ass and told her to pick her teeth up. "Them things cost me thirty dollars, baby," he said. "You got to look good for business. Don't no man want a toothless bitch."
Willie B. was grinning at me. "Bubba, we heading to the Dollar Inn. We gonna get laid tonight."
I just looked at him.
"You coming?" Ray asked?
"I don't know," I said.
Ray started frowning. That's not a good thing. Ray's a psychopath. "What? You too good to party with us?" he asked.
To be continued…