Gun Sex Read online

  The little black kids from the Mirror Maze were dancing around shrieking by the unguarded truck trailers where the Ride Monkeys slept. They were smashing crack pipes and other drug paraphernalia, pissing on sleeping bags, and hugging each other as they pointed laughing at all the carnage going on around them.

  They were having a blast as Speedy and Reseda trundled past. He figured this had to be a lot more entertaining for these kids than playing Space Invaders on a boosted Atari wherever they called home.

  As they reached the parking lot, Speedy saw the three black G-Thug-Units that had looted Reseda's Mohawker buddy and he angled wide around them. They had the black punk rocker on his back on a car hood.

  Two of the G-Thug-Units were punching and elbow dropping on the Oreo punker, who stared up at the blank sky blankly. None of Oreo's white friends seemed to be around. Speedy couldn't decide whether Oreo was stunned from the ongoing beating, or if he was still so high on downers that he didn't even know what was happening to him.

  One G-Thug-Unit was standing guard for his crimies with a pistol in his hand and the Mohawker carny's cash box under his other arm. He saw Speedy, looked down Speedy's brandished pistol and waggled his own unthreateningly.

  The brother gave Speedy a polite nod which Speedy returned as he and Reseda hustled past the black punker's car hood crucifixion. Pity the poor Oreo, the snide part of Speedy's brain proclaimed in bleak whimsy.

  A wine bottle came whizzing through the air directly toward Reseda just as they reached the car. Speedy jerked her out of the way and bottle smashed against the windshield of Speedy's car instead.

  Cheap red wine spewed across the windshield like a fan of arterial blood as Speedy opened the driver door and tossed Reseda inside to slide across to the shotgun side. Speedy gunned the car as hard as its tired engine could manage and they barreled through the lot, other cars quickly crowded into line behind them as various other carnival goers decided they no longer wanted to be here.

  A police helicopter stooped in over the riot behind them and stabbed its spotlight down onto the seething ocean of brawling faces below, the bright beam snapping around to illuminate various parts of the milling crowd in turn. A long line of cop cars came screaming into the parking lot just as Speedy hit the exit and surged west on 66th towards the Bay.

  Every cop head in every car turned to pin them with their cold cop gazes as the parade of rollers raced past in procession. But the Man was all decked out in riot gear; this was a 'major incident' response, none of these cops were going to waste time on a traffic stop with a full blown riot going on at the carnival just beyond,

  The drying sticky red wine on the windshield obscured Speedy's vision, but he hit the wipers to no avail. This was his latest beater throw-away car, bought for only a few hundred bucks as he never knew when he'd have to walk away from one of his rides, or bleach-and-torch it to destroy evidence.

  The beater started, it ran, all the lights worked and the papers were legit. But its wipers were useless; that was one subsystem Speedy hadn't previously thought to inspect. Speedy finally had to lean out the window to see to drive as he took the onramp north onto the Nimitz Freeway without slackening speed.

  Then Reseda's head was in his crotch, she was yanking his pants down like she was stripping a corpse on a battlefield. Speedy was going commando so she had immediate access and he sprang to attention in her mouth. She growled as she sucked, going for a hummer.

  Half on his side with his head out the window and his eyes watering from the freeway wind, Speedy started veering from lane to lane as he started getting close; the other cars on the freeway honked and swerved to avoid him. Speedy managed to take the 23rd Street exit without having an accident – the sparse red and white snowdrifts of auto glass glittered in the gutters of Kennedy Street as testament to how many fender benders predictably took place when a couple of freeway off-ramps and multiple hopping surface streets fed into a blind intersection.

  He pulled over to the curb just in time to explode into Reseda’s mouth, his eyes closed as he commenced shuddering his way to total completion. His hands left the steering wheel to stroke the back Reseda's head as she finished, but his attempted tenderness was wasted on her: she swallowed his load and immediately uncoiled to kneel next to him, looking at him from the dimness on her side of the front seat.

  Speedy studied Reseda, seeing that Mona Lisa smile back in place even through the gloom. His nose was wide open for Reseda now, he was all the way aroused by her - but the adrenaline from the carnival riot was still boiling in his veins too. This had been a train wreck of an evening, a near thing all the way.

  "You can't be giving the Man probable cause," Speedy said, trying to sound reasonable as he wrestled his pants back up and closed, taking care not to catch his verga in the zipper. "We got diminished visibility from the wine on our windshield, I'm leaning out the window, and our driving is erratic. Hell, they could probably even get me for indecent exposure and public lewdness if they had a hard on for me."

  If Reseda was going to roll with him as his squeeze she had to understand the Rules from the git go, so Speedy studied her close as he spoke. "I'm strapped, Reseda –and if they brace me, I know I'm a 'person of interest.'"

  But Reseda turned her head to stare straight ahead, spurning his attempt at persuasion. Speedy's jaw tightened, but he focused on his driving as he took off again.

  He stopped at the nearest car wash to hose off the wine from the windshield while Reseda sulked in the car. Speedy inspected the glass for cracks that might have been caused by the shattering wine bottle.

  But he'd gotten lucky: there was no damage, so one more excuse for the Man to pull him over was eliminated. One more statistical edge had been maintained in delaying his eventual - inevitable - fall.

  When they got home neither of them spoke. Speedy unlocked the series of deadbolts he had installed in his steel-reinforced front door, and locked them all again after he and Reseda were inside.

  He repressed a yawn as he opened his stash drawer, putting his .45 on top of the wads of cash he kept there. This was only a small portion of the money he had cached around the apartment, but it was just enough to maybe make any intruder stop looking for more.

  It had also been just enough to test whether Reseda was a rip-off bitch or not. Though he'd deliberately given her a few opportunities, she hadn't touched any of his swag yet that he could tell.

  The light was blinking on the answering machine and Speedy played the cassette to hear Fat Bob, wanting a meet tomorrow. Speedy wondered what kind of score his werewolf crimie Bob was trying to rope him into this time.

  They were finally alone now and his anger ebbed as he moved toward Reseda with his hands atwitch for her. He was eager to pull her close and inhale the reek of cotton candy and cordite, the smell of blood and money, all over-ridden by her delicious, dangerous girl scent.

  But Reseda danced back out of reach with her hands up in guard position, her smile arch as she shook her head. "You had your chance. You know how I need it now."

  She ran her finger down the page of the Trib, still spread out flat where she'd left it on the table. "There's another carnival tomorrow night. It's up in Richmond," she said, reading out the address.

  She looked demure again as she stared at him from under lowered lashes, head down in false submission. "You'll be taking me to it.”

  Richmond and Oakland were neighboring cities, and they were regular rivals for Murder Capitol of the Nation. That bloody rivalry between Oakland and Richmond went far beyond the one shared by the A's and the Giants, the Raiders and the 49ers. Those athletic teams were only grown men playing children's games after all: the contest between the street thugs of Oakland and Richmond was traded in life and death.

  Speedy’s brother Little Willy told him once that Richmond was home to the real life inspiration for Rosie the Riveter. Now Richmond was a toxic waste dump arena, the dozens of hillside oil refinery complexes on the Point having made the air and soil of Ri
chmond a poisonous soup long ago. When tongues of flame shot up into the air out the top of the oil refinery flare stacks, even at a distance the hissing roar sounded like the pipes of some giant, diabolic calliope.

  The address Reseda had read off wasn't just in Richmond either. It was in an especially hectic patch of Richmond turf off MacDonald folks called the Iron Triangle, named for the railroad tracks that enclosed it on three sides. Carved into a balkanized patchwork of jealously defended neighborhoods and hostage to the eternal contest traded in life and death amongst its street thugs, it was the Triangle that earned the body count numbers in the nonstop bloody rivalry between Oakland and Richmond for Murder Capital of the nation.

  Speedy had had business dealings with a couple of the Triangle bloods; he’d dealt in drugs and guns at a couple of ‘candy shops’ on Nickel & Dime Street – but he didn't fool himself that he had any friends in the neighborhood. The bloods weren’t about to invite him to throw the bones with them at Fourth Street Park, and he knew he didn't have a ‘Pass’ in Richmond.

  Little Willy was 'whereabouts unknown' as usual, but maybe Speedy could twist Fat Bob's arm into tagging along as a third wheel for backup. Speedy was certain Reseda would be gasoline to his fire.

  Speedy weighed the pros. He weighed the cons.

  "Okay," Speedy said.

  # # #

  Interested in reading more about Speedy and Reseda? They’re both characters from the novel STREET RAISED, which is currently available for the Kindle at Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0050JL0IM) and for other ereader formats at Smashwords (http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/59272).

  Last Trick

  Think I don’t sees ya up there in that corner Spider? Don’t be shy, we’s cellies, right? You a grrl, I knows – nothin’ so pretty could be sportin’ a dick.

  The piggies are comin’ for me soon. Them sperm donors won’t even gives me a fraho to hot box first, they all dim bulbs, dig it?

  They’s been tryin’ to get me to confess all along, but fuck ‘em up they ass sideways. I’s walkin’ down that hall to Needle Lan’ in a little bit, an’ I’ll tell YOU if ya like Lady Spider, my only friend left in the world.

  I remembers back on the night me an’ Ellen met, in that jungle down by the switchin’ yard. Me an’ the Grrls was havin’ fun with that one yard bull, what was his name again? Who gives a fuck – by the time we’s done with him he looks just like the bo he crippled up the week before.

  An’ the bull’s mewlin’ as the firelight crawls across what’s left of his face, Libby an’ Helga are holdin’ his arms whilst I do me a drum solo on his face, rolls of pennies in both hands as I drubs away at him. Me an’ Libby an’ Helga is all laughin,’ an’ then I hears someone else laughin’ along with us, sounds like an angel lurkin’ off behind of me.

  I turns, an’ there she stands, watchin’ our fun with joy in her own eyes. An’ then I’s standin’ right in front of her lookin’ down, couldn’t even say hows I got to her, an’ she’s kissin’ my bloody knuckles, an’ she whisperin’ “You hit like a grrl.” An’ then we’s both laughin’ some more all nervous like ‘til Ellen reaches up with both little hands an’ drags my face to hers, an’ rams her tongue halfways down my throat.

  I’s a top decker, usually a Starsky monster (who could keep the hell up with me, huh?) but our five minute fling wasn’t lesbequick, it was all the way lilac. An’ Ellen? She was no lipstick herself, definitely not a bottom. I still don’t knows exactly what the fuck my darlin’ Ellen was, but I know after we cames together – well, if Spiders read the papers, you know all the extras the Man tried to clean off they books by pinnin’ it on us at trial.

  I will neither confirm nor deny, Miss Spider – you an’ me ain’t known each other long enough for that kinda trust. You keeps your cobweb secrets, an’ I’ll hang on to a few of mine.

  “Watch out mama!” Ellen always used to say with a laugh when we was snugglin’ up alone together. “They gots erectable penises, an’ they ain’t afraid to use them!”

  You get it Spider Grrl? Ellen was a real wit. Naw, don’t be thinkin’ you can imagines what Ellen looked like by looking at pretty old me. We wasn’t dyke-alike, Ellen was Barbie & Ken.

  Me, I was always diesel, can’t ya tells? Well that’s mighty tactful of ya to say, though it seems I forgots to do my makeup todays.

  Anyways, fuck the buildup, all you’s get to know about what brought me to the Row is this: Ellen’s gone too long, an I’s crickin' my neck whilst I look up the hill towards the House. I's been lookin' at the House nonstop ever sincet Ellen rode the incline tram on its rails up that steep hillside to the deck an’ disappeared. Ellen was supposed to send me a speed dial chirp on her cellie midway through the trick, to lets me know I doesn’t have to come up an’ give someone a second smile or three.

  Right then they's a cold spot down in my womb that won't go away, funny how heavy a silence can weighs on ya. Like I says she's gone too long, an’ it's time for me to finds her, brings her home to mama.

  I gets out the car an’ I cases the ‘hood, as if I hadn’t already been doin' the whole time I’s been parked down here waitin' on Ellen. We’s parked on a backstreet of that twisty old spaghetti maze of slopin’ residentials between UC Berkeley an’ the Hills.

  Fancy houses is surroundin’ me, hidin’ behind the shrubbery like they’s afraid of me. Some of the houses is dark an’ slumberin’, some has they lights still on.

  I looks uphill towards the trick’s house again. They ain’t that many lights on up there, the curtains is drawn in front.

  That incline tram car be parked up at the top, level with the deck. The call button be down here at the bottom of the rails next to the mailbox. They’s no way I'll be pushin’ it.

  On either side of the steep tram railway they’s thick shrubbery an’ all kinds of mowed grass, some fancy shrubs trimmed up to be shaped like animals. Some poor slob sweated buckets getting’ it all to look just so for the folks up the hill, putting in that incline tram railway was probably no fun neither. The slope be steep an’ I gots to grab onto some of the plants to pull my way up.

  Here I comes Ellen. Be brave baby, mama’s on the way.

  I reaches the deck, an’ I pulls my Buck Hunter from the belt sheath – that six inch blade feels safe an’ sound in mama’s hand like always. I scuttles around the side o’ the house, no way I’s gone come in the front way all stupid an’ sheep-like, maybe give some fucker a cheap shot at my head. That’d sure be an easy target, my hard buzz-cutted noggin silhouetted ‘gainst all those East Bay lights spread out below an’ behind.

  Behind the house the back of the deck’s butted into the hillside, but the hill proper goes on up a ways behind, up to the dark peak. I squats at the corner of the house an’ checks out all the unlighted shrubbery on that hillside, hard. If someone was playin’ games an’ lyin’ doggo in the brush up there, it’d sure be embarrassin’ if I let ‘em creep up on my blind side an’ stick it to me just like a dick in your average ho.

  Ho: that’s what the piggies be callin’ Ellen. They be big men when they havin’ the numbers on they side, they’d have to be Rodneying on me big time if they dissed Ellen when I weren’t all shackled up.

  I knows Ellen would never let a man touch her. I know that’s true, they can’t take it from me no matter what bullshit ‘evidence’ they wanna taunt me with.

  Torture poor pitiful little me just before my execution? Naw: the piggies would never do nothin’ like that, am I right Spider?

  But it don’t makes no never mind. I’s gotta laugh right along with the piggies. I can takes a joke even if they can’t, even if I knows they all full of shit.

  This was just one more dry hustle Ellen was runnin’ up in the house, a fetish job – at least the mark thought that was what was goin’ on, men always thinks with they hardons anyways.

  We had it down to a science by then: Ellen would hook up with some high end kink job, either through the personals, or online from a library internet,
or through word of mouth. Ellen’d do her little tap dance for them at they houses, laughin’ at them sure as I was, me waitin’ outside in the car to make sure the mark behaved.

  Little did any of those tricks know, Ellen weren’t just there for fun an’ games. Ellen was casin’ an’ scopin, lookin’ for safes, works of art, security codes, et cetera, et cetera, et-ce-te-RA. Sometimes Ellen couldn’t get much on one of her ‘visits,’ but it was usually enough for us to come back an’ do a burg, glom jewelry, coins, bonds or what have you.

  Oh yeah: I said we gots a lot of the jobs by the word of mouth? Funny how many pervs the fences knows, business an’ kink seems to go together – we’d beat a mark, turn right around an’ sell the swag to one of the chump’s best ‘friends,’ often enough the same finger that’d pointed us to the score in the first place.

  What’s that Sister Spider? Yeah, I know we’s on a time table here.

  Kinda hard to lose sight of that countdown clock, eh? Right, back on track little sis, time’s a wastin,’ we can dig it.

  Anyways, back to Berkeley, an’ back to that fuckin’ house. The outside lights be off here in back, an’ I looks around ‘til I spots the motion sensor flood, up above the slidin’ glass door leadin’ inside.

  I’s can see a decal on the slidin’ door that I recognizes: this house is protected by a local alarm service that Ellen can always beat, but that my thick old fumble fingers could never disarm. These folks be wired and protected all right.

  Or at least they thinks they is. The Buck’s already in my right, so I reaches down inside my coat an’ pulls my Judge from my belt holster.

  The Judge? Oh, you’d love her Spider, she be so pretty, it be a shame I’s never gonna get to hold that gun again.