Chapter 2: Welcome to the jungle
All characters are adults
I knocked on the door.
"Come in!" An unseen voice erupted from inside the home. I opened the door, stepped inside, and let my eyes adjust to the dark. I heard grunting and other noises but couldn't see anyone till the light revealed Sandy on the sofa with Gaynelle's boyfriend fucking her from behind. "Want me to come back later?" I suggested.
"Sit down baby, Eddie's almost done, I can feel him, oh yes!" She groaned and said, "Whew! It's too hot to fuck but sometimes you feel like a nut!"
When Eddie pulled out he nodded howdy-do at me.
They finished their business soon enough. Eddie got up and wandered off to the back of the trailer; to pee, I guessed. Sandy pulled her tee shirt down over her ass, sat up, and pulled a cigarette out of a pack on the end table beside her.
"Gotta light?" She asked.
I fished a lighter outta my pants pocket, flicked my bic, and pressed its flame against the cigarette.
Sandy inhaled, exhaled a cloud of smoke, then wiped cum off her leg with the hem of the tee shirt. "Eddie's a worthless fuck but he's all I got at the moment. When I'm ready to crawl the wall from horniness he's enough. I'm thinking what I need is a friend with benefits who's handy. Mmm a handyman with all the right tools. Know anybody with some nice tools who might be interested?"
Sandy said Eddie was Bobbi's "husband." Bobbi being Sandy's daughter. She wandered out of a back bedroom and joined us. Bobbi was called The Goth Girl because she played the part with Lady Gaga style blonde hair, pinafore, maryjane shoes, and blackened eye sockets. The hair bow was real. I guessed she was nineteen or twenty. Eddie's IQ was maybe seventy, Bobbi hadda be a chronic case over at Mental Health Daycare.
"So what can we do for you?" Sandy asked.
"Your daddy is stealing banana cakes from the store on the corner, and they're gonna prosecute if you don't keep him home and outta the store," I said.
"How in hell am I s'posed to do that?" Sandy erupted.
"Call the state to come get him," I replied.
We argued about the problem till I had enough and got up to leave. Detectives don't normally deliver messages. I went to my car and Bobbi followed.
"Gotta job?" I asked.
"I work at Duncan Donuts."
"What shift?"
"Overnights, mostly."
"How long you been married to Eddie?"
"He ain't my husband, he's my retarded brother, but momma don't want nobody to know."
"What nights you get off?"
"Monday and Thursday, mostly."
"Wanna make some money?"
"Doin what?"
"Coming over to my house for a few hours."
"Most of the time guys take me to the motel by Duncan Donuts."
"Is eight o'clock Monday night good for you?"
"Uh huh. Where you wanna meet me?"
"At the Come & Go."
I handed her two fifties. "I'll give you another hundred when I see you."
"Okay."
I left, went home, and took my shit to the laundromat. The neighborhood is old and a slum poised for urban renewal. The blacks left long ago. What remains are the homeless, transients off the interstate (it cuts through the middle of the area), flop-houses, soup kitchens, thrift shops, and a police station. The parking lot of a state social services agency is littered with shitty diapers, chicken dinner boxes, empty wine bottles, and discarded syringes. The city built a bus station here, several blocks from the downtown where people work, so bums sleep peacefully all over the place. Buses come and go but no one gets on or off except homeless wanting shelter and refuge.
The laundromat was like every laundromat. Noisy, crowded with ugly women and an old man inside the attendant's office, and had a bulletin board filled with job offer cards. I bought a roll of quarters, two boxes of soap powder, and went to work. While my stuff churned in the washers, a squad of Mexicans walked in with baskets of wet clothes, then opened several dryers, pulled out the clothes in them, and put their stuff in. The affected customers complained to the old man but he did shit about it. Then a couple came to where I sat. The guy offered his pregnant wife to me for fifty dollars. She smiled. "You can use our car and I'll stand guard." Rosie and Yvette showed up about the time I was done drying my stuff.
I met two whores, Rosie and Yvette. They came in around seven o'clock after the Sun set. Rosie's fat ass and tits were packed in a sundress with a halter top, Yvette wore a hot pants with a tube top; both had on high heels and carried purses. The first thing that happened was it rained like hell for an hour or so. Thunderstorms are a daily event at night in the summer. They left and took shelter in the car of two slum thugs, got robbed, and bitch slapped pretty hard when they resisted. They came back soaked, broke, and minus their phones.
Rosie looked to be twenty-four and five feet tall, with two hundred pounds spread about her body, some of it on her ass, some on her tits, and some around her middle. Her belly was plump but didn't hang below her pussy as many guts do. She looked pregnant, not obese. Men like pregnant. Her black hair was shoulder length and about the same color as her eyes. Prolly Cuban.
Yvette looked Mexican. Straight black hair bobbed like Louise Brooks, five-two, black eyes, one twenty-five pounds with small tits and a plump ass. Yvette looked older than Rosie. Thirty-something was my guess.
"My name is Rosie, she's Yvette," she said, "For a hundred dollars we'll spend the night with you." They then bitched to me about the thugs and I took a description of the thugs and the car.
"Wanna fuck in my car?" I asked.
