Smoke and Mirrors (4 page)

Thanks to his father’s reputation, many members of his old man’s previous stable put in a good word for him, making his trek to street stardom a bit less of a tedious climb, though it proved challenging all the same. Nevertheless, he had a golden resume by association alone. He thought he understood that his father’s specially selected whores were dedicated to that man, but he really had
no
clue until after the man was long gone.

He’d had no inkling of just how revered his father had been out in the thoroughfares, but the adoration that was surely showered upon him by default was a beautiful thing. His father followed old-school rules with new school flair, and that was precisely what Smoke wanted to duplicate, with his own wicked twist and a touch of class. He needed to prove himself, and when he first got his feet wet, he found the prospects daunting. The hardheaded bitches gravitated towards him, including the ones with ravenous cocaine addictions. If he survived that first round draft pick, he’d have to duck and dodge some of his first deranged and obsessive recruits who believed they were in love with him and would grow perilously jealous should he dare turn his affections towards another in the stable. As time passed, he grew wiser and devised an internal radar to avoid such circumstances, but the ladies still came in droves.

He dressed unlike most of his peers and predecessors… not too flashy, not like your average Joe, but somewhere in the middle. He drifted toward dapper with a slight dash of flash. He wore custom suits in various earth tones and kept his shit simple. By all appearances, he was a white, rich businessman and refused to be addressed as anything differently. After he broke his first two steady whores in, he’d gotten a clean grip on the life. Joan, a transplant from Alabama who was as country as buttery grits, red dirt roads and greasy pig feet, stood at his side as well as ‘Tiny Tammy’, a pretty little naïve thing that seemed to get wet when he simply uttered her name. With the two of them, he built his regal reputation, earning respect as they pulled more johns than many thought was humanly possible.

Soon, other pimps’ whores were choosing him, and as an old-school act of good faith after teaching himself the ropes, receiving royal advice and studying his father’s blueprint, he would pay the pimps a few dollars, as a consolation prize. He did his shit bigger and better than anyone else. He had two legitimate businesses – he owned the pizzeria he used to work at when he was eighteen and he’d also jumped into real estate, renting several houses out to respectable families. His T’s were crossed, and his I’s dotted, too. Never fucked up or delayed his taxes, kept his nose out of other peoples’ business, and would beat someone into near oblivion if they tried to strong-arm him. Not bad for a naïve, pussy fearing mama’s boy from Monroe, Ohio…

“Stacia, are you ready?” He rapped on the locked hotel door with the pale gray ‘Do Not Disturb’ hanger placed across the brassy handle and clicked his tongue impatiently against the side of his mouth. He began to count inside his head. She knew the routine. If one of his women didn’t respond to him when he came knocking, he surmised she was in danger, and then he’d let himself inside and take care of his business. One too many times, he’d seen a sick john get a hold of one of his ladies, tie her up against her will and do shit that wasn’t agreed upon. He jiggled his leg, feeling the hard, heavy metal against his waist shake a bit. Stacia had three more seconds…

3…2…1…

Sliding the extra hotel room key out of his pocket and inserting it in the lock, he heard the click and eased himself inside. He was swallowed in darkness, but didn’t dare flip on a light. He focused, relying on his other senses to make swift assessments of the situation, and sniffed the air like a trained bloodhound as he cautiously moved about, his gun now in his grip. His dander rose to a fever pitch while he made for the bathroom as if he had a built in Garmin to find her ass, dead center in the middle of his brain. Once he reached the lavatory door, he wrapped his large hand around the cool knob. Locked. He stepped back, and kicked the motherfucker in, causing muffled cries to echo throughout the small quarters. Then, he flipped the switch and groaned in fury. Naked, Stacia sat crouched down inside of the white tub, the floor of the basin peppered with blood splatter as the muscles beneath her pale skin jumped. Her blond hair was crimson streaked, her mouth tightly gagged, bruised wrist and ankles wrapped with sticky electrical tape. Her left breast bled profusely from an abrasion, as well as cavernous teeth marks that had punctured the soft tissue right above the muted pink areola against her reddened flesh. Copious tears ran down her face as she mumbled incoherently, trembling, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hold on, baby, I got you…” he whispered as he placed his gun along the tub ledge before him, pulled out his switchblade and released her, cutting the thick tape that secured her wrists, and gently removed the gag from her face. The woman immediately gasped for air, and wailed out like a mother who’d lost her child, falling into his arms like a damp, limp rag. The fear in her hazel eyes was alive and breathing as she wheezed for air, shaking against him, bloodying his clothing with her battered and tormented body.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll get you to hospital.” He patted her back as he looked around them cautiously. He kept his ears sharply tuned into his surroundings, just in case. He wasn’t so certain he may not have to utilize Mr. Midnight after all.

“I just saw him leave. Look at me for a second, baby.”

The woman’s eyes danced with fear as she looked around in a daze, looking completely and utterly confused. “Do you know by chance where he may have headed to?” He gripped her chin, forcing her to focus and look him in the eye.

“I…I don’t know, Smoke.” A trickle of blood ran down the side of her face, dawdling, moving in slow motion like a sole, rubicund raindrop down a windowpane.

“Stay in this hotel room and sit down on the bed.” He stated as he escorted her to it and placed her on the mattress, then marched towards the door, his cellphone gripped tightly in hand.

“Felicia, get your ass down here at the hotel. Stacia has been attacked. She’s in her usual room… Take her to the hospital, he did a number on ’er…Yeah, she’s alive, talking and everything…she’s okay, but he worked her over pretty good. Hurry up. I’ll meet you over there. I need to go after this motherfucker before he gets too far.” He disconnected the call and burst out the door like a flame doused in gasoline, his nostrils flaring and his breathing accelerated.

Like an enraged lion on the loose from the San Diego Zoo, he tore through the halls of the place then calmed himself down when he got into an area monitored by security cameras. He flew like a bird, made his way back out the hotel front doors and jumped into his car so quickly, he practically ripped the door off the hinges. Cruising the street with brute determination, he knew the bastard couldn’t have gotten terribly far, especially due to a traffic delay a few blocks ahead. He cursed and grunted as he maneuvered and swerved through traffic, causing a song of honking from annoyed drivers. He blocked them out; this matter simply couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t give up until he spotted the bastard and had a little pow-wow, a coming together.

“I can’t believe this son of a bitch!” He beat on his steering wheel with a heavy fist.

He always ran background checks on the johns that came to see his girls.
No one
was allowed near his whores otherwise. Still, it didn’t stop some of the lunatics from trying to do their thing. This convinced him even more that his plans to relocate his women were long overdue. He was set to implement a ‘John Check Out’ system as soon as they got into their new digs. The bastards could go in, but no one was leaving until he cleared them first.

“…A lot of damn audacity… Wait until I catch up with your ass.”

He knew the son of a bitch, an attorney originally from Texas, who drove a light baby blue Lexus with white wall tires. The guy had had a few uneventful dates with some of his other girls, all without a hitch. This time, he’d let his
true
desires get the best of him. Not only did the guy beat up his asset, knocking one of his top of the line whores out of commission, he ran off with her money, too.

“There’s that son of a bitch.” He grinned as he spotted the fucker’s car several feet away. He got behind him, following him from a safe distance until he arrived at the Pastaio restaurant in Beverly Hills, where the bastard was getting valet parking.

“Well isn’t this about a bitch…” Smoke scoffed as he cut the car off and patiently waited against a sidewalk curb. “So, you’re just going to beat up my woman and take my money to stuff your big fucking face, huh?! Worked up an appetite with all that biting, cutting and duct-taping, you sick bastard. I got something for you…” He turned his music on and leaned back against his seat, on phase II of his self-imposed stakeout. Arctic Monkeys sang, ‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High’, marking the start of his patient wait. After about forty-five minutes, the ferocious john emerged with a satisfied, smug smile etched on his round, ruddy face and his puffy hand grazing his extended stomach in gastronomic satisfaction.

You tortured and mutilated my girl, yet you stand there, without a care in the world…but you’re about to care…oh yeah, you’re going to care a whole fucking lot…

Sucking his teeth, Smoke swung his door open. He was making an entrance, and he wanted to be seen; it made the kill all the more enjoyable…

He waited for a clearing in traffic while the bastard lingered for his car to be pulled up. As he drew closer, the man appeared to be squinting, and then he stiffened up, as if realizing that the fast stride in Smoke’s step may not have been because he had insatiable taste for some good Italian food. There would be some chomping all right, but not the kind that required fine cuisine or a supple breast to sink one’s teeth into like some vicious wolverine. No, this would be a feast of a whole different kind.

Yes…it’s me, motherfucker…

Smoke fisted and unfisted his palms in delightful anticipation.

Oh yes, this is going to be gooooood. Damn good!

The man began to back up once realization set in, but it was far too late, Smoke was upon him like a dark cloud on a rainy day. He yanked Humpty Dumpty up by his crisp white collar like a trash bag from a curb and dragged his big ass to the side of the place, out of street view, to take care of a little business.

“What do you want?!” the man blubbered. “I paid ’er! I paid ’er!”

Smoke laughed lightly. “Liar. This isn’t just about the money. You enjoyed doing that fucked up shit, didn’t you? This isn’t your first rodeo. Nah, this isn’t your first time, that’s for damn sure. You’re far too calm and relaxed. You’ve done this to a
lot
of prostitutes, haven’t you, Mr. Lone Star?!”

“I haven’t done anything…No! Don’t know what you’re talking about!” he sniveled.

“Shut up! Some of you out-of-towners come to California and think you can do whatever the
fuck
you wanna do, when you want to do it! I should cut your gigantic ass up, let you see how it feels to bleed from every damn pore, but I’d be slicing all goddamn day and night and
still
never get to the white meat you big, sloppy son of a bitch!” He rammed his knee hard and fast into the guy’s crotch, causing him to moan raucously and bend sharply at the waist, his trembling lips parted.

“I hope you weren’t planning on having any more kids!” Smoke laughed. “I think I just made that an impossibility. You like beating up bitches?” He sneered, balled up his fist, and smashed it into the bastard’s nose, surely breaking it, as blood began to gush and splatter like cerise paint across a canvas.

“Give me my motherfucking money, goddamn it. I don’t have all fucking day!”

The man fell to the ground, spitting up blood, holding himself as if he’d surely die.

Smoke leisurely reached into the bastard’s pockets, pilfering about until he found the prize—a dark brown leather wallet. He pulled out the cash and the fiend’s ID.

“You see this, Mr. Ted Zurich?” He twirled the license around in his hand before distributing a swift kick to the asshole’s stomach. The wretched excuse for a man groaned and begged for his life, but his cries were ignored. He raised one shaky hand, pleading for mercy.

“Puh…please! Stooop!”

“Ohhhh, no sir! We’re just getting started!”

The man’s hands continued to shake, as if he’d withstood nerve damage.

“That’s funny!” Smoke guffawed. “You look like you got jazz hands! Puttin’ on the Ritz!” he teased, doing a quick six step shuffle tap dance routine before growing serious once more. “You didn’t give my whore any mercy, so you get none either, big boy! And if you try
anything
, and I mean
anything
, I will snap every fucking bone in your body then stomp them all into dust!”

“Pluh…pleaaasssse! Someone help!” the man called out, though his voice was too weak to carry past Smoke’s ears, due to the immense pain he was in no doubt.

“If you yell like that again, I will take out my gun, shove it in your mouth and serve you some dessert…and the kind I’m talking about will
blow
your damn mind… Now, that’s your final warning. Oh, and let me get the rules of this contest out of the way. If you report this or go to the police, I will go to your motherfucking house,” he snarled, pointing at his face, “and speak to your wife
personally.
Won’t that be nice? How’d you think she’d react to find out that her upstanding, conservative husband that buys her pretty little things has also been buying pussy like it’s street meat at the county fair and then coming home and fucking her botoxed, silconed-to-death ass, too?! And just so you know, Mr. Attorney, pictures
will
be taken of what you’ve done to my girl. You’re one stupid motherfucker, you know that? How in
hell
did you even make it through law school? I thought you bastards were supposed to be smart?! If you’ve ever been to a dentist, and I can tell by those played out silver fillings in the back of your damn mouth as you lie here begging like the pathetic piece of shit that you are, then you know all about X-rays and how that all works out in a court of law. You see, offenders such as myself have to stay up on the law. You should know that. Hell, we know the law sometimes better than you! No two mouths are alike, my die hard loyal johns that love a good blow job can attest to that!”