Hazardous Waste Ch 02

All characters are adults.

When I got outta the air force I needed a job but didn't wanna slave for a dollar forty minimum wage, so I got some business cards printed, and tacked them to bulletin boards around town. I got outta the air force with most of my mechanics tools, bought more, and bought an old Chevy pickup. I became a handyman. Calls came in almost immediately, mostly from people who needed help now not tomorrow.

I did some work for a gal named Velma, then ran into her at the college. Velma liked young guys. I discovered this when I caught her down in the library basement giving an enthusiastic blow job to a guy named Lonnie. I walked in on the party after Velma's sentinel wandered away from her post by the basement door.

She recognized me and soon phoned me. I invited her over to my trailer.

Velma gulped her drink, I made her another one, and sat beside her on the sofa. "Are you gonna say anything to anybody?" She asked. "I don't need any problems. I want you to keep quiet about it."

"A couple hours of your time will buy my silence forever," I offered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She took a sip of her drink.

"It means I want some of what Lonnie's been getting. And it ain't like you didn't enjoy it."

"I need a bath first."

"Just happened to have one down the hall. Take your drink with you and soak for a while." I suggested.

"I gotta pick Harley up at the airport."

"Let him catch a cab, I need some attention for a few hours."

"And will that be it with me?"

"Until the next time you're bad." I got up and brought her a towel and wash cloth. She emptied her glass and I filled it again before she went to bathe. She came out forty-five minutes later wrapped in the towel, drunk and clumsy. The towel dropped off her when she got atop the bed and lay with her head on the pillow. I crawled up beside her, turned her over, and spread her legs apart. She seemed oblivious and started snoring. I wet my finger and pushed it into her gash, she was moist from the bath.

Velma didn't have a beautiful face or sexy anything, what she had was a big appetite for young cock, and that made her appealing to men like me. Get her alone and she'll put out.

Like a lil teapot Velma was short and stout, wore short dirty-blonde hair, and had a plump ass and modest titties that kinda lay flat on her chest. She was OCD about her good teeth. I didn't waste any time on foreplay she wouldn't know she missed. I put pillows under her ass and eased my cock into her hole. No struggle, no resistance, no problem. The stimulation finally aroused her and she lifted her bottom up a little just before I released a fair wad of semen where it does the most good. All she said was, "I almost missed the party." I lay beside her for a while then got up.

"Where you going?"

"To pee and shower."

"Should I stay?"

"Please."

"I need to bathe again."

"I won't be long," I replied. Velma was on the bed sipping vodka from the bottle when I came back. She left the next morning but came back inside to let me know someone slashed a tire on my truck.

I also connected with a perfesser named Laverne Zbar. My Gothic Horror class was at night, twice a week. It was lame because Laverne was clueless about her subject at a time when Stephen King was cranking out Carrie and Salem's Lot. I doubt she knew who H.P. Lovecraft was, much less Robert Bloch or even Henry James.

In 1972 I was young and fit, had plenty of hair and cock, and was taller than the average guy at six foot, six. I didn't obsess about muscles but I made it a point to do calisthenics and eat and drink sensibly. That is, I had a natural born talent to see how things turned out long before people and things turned to shit. But not always. Nuthin is always.

I rolled my eyes at martial arts, I'd seen too many black belts knocked out by big boys with lethal sucker punches; my thing was boxing and keeping fit to do it. I was a good sparring partner but no champion. I knew my limits. I needed to get a job. The GI Bill paid my college tuition. I drove a 1964 ½ Ford Mustang with the 289 cubic inch V8 and a floor shift. My home was a 1947 Spartan trailer, eight feet wide and thirty feet long. It had a concrete block cabana I used as a living room. The trailer sat in an old park that catered to Canadian snowbirds for twenty-five years or so, but now housed working poor like me.

Laverne, then, was five nine, two hundred pounds she carried on her ass and tits, her hair was brown and cut short in a wifey bob that was easy to deal with. Laverne was Jewish and married to a judge. She wore cheap, plastic frame glasses and no make-up.

After a couple weeks of classes Laverne invited me to her faculty office one night after class. In her office she cut the cheese. "The word is you're trading book reports for sex?"

"It's true," I replied.

"Who for?"

"I don't kiss and tell," I said. The middle button on her sweater was missing.

"I see. I'm told you stay busy."

"I get results and I get the work done on time, plus my fee won't hurt your pocketbook."

"What's your fee based on?"

"The results you get. If you want an A but get a B, there's no charge. If you get the A I don't insist on anything you can't deliver with a smile but it better be worth what you got in trade."

"You mean, like...."

"Like whatever. I let others have my bad customers." I pulled a business card from my pocket and offered it to her. "You get my best, I want the same."

"What's this?" She asked.

"My address and phone number. Leave a message if I don't answer." I didn't expect the reaction I got.

"When can we get together?"

"Now is good," I said. I assumed she didn't need a ghost writer.

"Lock the door." Laverne clicked on a table lamp by the sofa. I flipped off the overhead fluorescent lights. The room was quiet except for the sound of air flowing through the air conditioning ducts in the ceiling.

Laverne stood up as I walked across the office to her. I put my arms around her lower back and put my mouth on her's. I teased her lips with my tongue and eased it in as I unbuttoned her sweater, then pulled her skirt's zipper down. That done someone knocked softly on the office door. Laverne had her sweater buttoned and was at the door before the knocking stopped. It was her husband, Mel, the judge.

"I'm a little early," he apologized.

I grabbed my book satchel and walked over to the door to go. "I'm Marlin Davis," I said, and offered my hand to the husband to shake.

"I'm her husband, Mel Zbar," he replied with a generic, middle-class smile.

Laverne looked me in the eyes and said," I'll get back with you about your proposal."

"Great," I replied. Her skirt was unzipped in the back. I left.

Outside I checked my watch, it was after ten o'clock, the campus cafeteria was closed. The Night Owl Diner popped into mind and I went there for a late meal. The diner was a copy of most diners of those times. It was kinda like a double-wide trailer where half of the place was kitchen, storage, and restrooms, and the other half were a counter and booths for customers. The floor was covered with checkerboard linoleum tiles, and every booth had a tabletop jukebox record selector that played Top 40 hits for a quarter, each.

I ordered roast beef atop sliced bread with gravy, mashed potatoes and green beans, plus iced tea. The waitress was in her forties and looked like most ripe, plump moms; I'd seen her around but didn't know her name. After she brought my food I asked," What time you get off?"

"Eleven," she replied.

"Need a ride?"

"To where?" She asked.

"Home or wherever."

"I gotta boyfriend," she volunteered.

"He need a ride, too?" I asked.

"No, but he won't like me bringing home a friend."

"Then he needs to take you home from work."

"He's at work."

"Then how about wherever and I'll get you a cab later?"

"You can take me home, he just don't like it when guys come inside. He knows I have dates. Is your car outside?"

"Uh huh, it's the blue Mustang. I'll wait for you or you wait for me." I finished before she did, and waited for her. Out on the street I handed her twenty bucks. She stuck it in her pocket, pulled out a pack of Salems, took one out, and lit up.

Her name pin said "Pauline." Her uniform was a pink, cotton dress, with white trim, buttons from collar to hem, and a white apron. The shoes were white canvas gym sneakers. Most waitresses sold pussy on the side for twenty bucks, room not included. A motel room cost another five to ten bucks. Most had cars they left parked at the diner.

The motel room cost me nine dollars. It had a double-bed with two pillows, double sheets, and covered with a chenille spread. I pulled the drapes closed, Pauline went in the bathroom, switched on the light, then shut the door and peed. I removed my clothes and got on the bed. She came out of the bathroom after she flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and opened the door.

I was twenty-three then, Pauline looked forty or so. Her hair was cut in a bob and naturally wavy. She was shorter than me, prolyl five-three tall, and two hundred pounds. Her tits, arms and ass concealed much of her weight. She stood by the bed, took her clothes off, and hung them up on a rack next to a chest of drawers. Her muff was thick but not overwhelming. Her tits were full with dark areolas and plump nipples.

I stretched out with my head on a pillow. "Sit on my face," I said. She climbed atop my abdomen and scooted her bottom toward my face till it touched my chin. She braced her hands against the headboard, and I felt her breasts and squeezed her nipples as I felt for her gash with my tongue. When I looked her eyes were closed and her teeth gripped her lower lip.

Pauline wasn't loud or animated. I guessed she was tired and not far from sleep, but she didn't hurry me when I laid her on her back and pushed into her. She spread her legs wide, squinted her eyes, and kissed my chest twice before I filled her with my semen. Even then she lay where she was for a while, in no hurry to get up and go. She lingered there for a few minutes after I climbed off her and got up, then she got up and went in the bathroom where I heard her unspool paper, to clean herself, I guessed. She flushed the toilet when she was done.

We dressed and I drove her home. "Don't be a stranger," she said after she opened the door to get out of the car.

"You work the same shift all the time?" I asked.

"Uh huh, ask for me when you come in. Good night."

I went home and went to bed. About the time I fell asleep the shit hit the fan next door. I got up and went next door to Jehmu Brown's trailer and knocked on the door. She looked biracial though her features and skin color were closer to Indian or Mexican. She was short and heavy, with a mane of black corkscrew curls, smallish tits, and a plump ass. Mostly she carried her flab on her thighs and ass with some padding across her belly.

The pimp-honey opened the door and kicked my face. I then dragged his ass outside, feet first, and kicked his crotch before he could rise. Jehmu attacked me with a broom, naked. I took the broom away from her. She jumped onto my back from the doorway. I got hold of her wrists and peeled her off. She then fled inside, to call the police, but I fucked up her pissant boyfriend before the cops arrived.

The cops wanted to haul all of us to jail but I was saved by another neighbor who saw the whole event and gave the cops a full report. Her name was Angel, her old man was in prison, and she collected welfare from the state. She and her mother shared a trailer. Angel had a baby and quit school in the 9th grade. Angel was eighteen or 19, and her momma, Juanita, wasn't a whole lot older than Angel; early thirties is my guess, and had two kids in state custody. I doubt she got past the 6th grade. They were from Ohio. Juanita modeled lingerie at a shop a few blocks from the trailer park.

In the morning, when I was ready to go to work, the truck wouldn't start, some asshole drained the tank. "Son of a bitch!" I thought. Coulda been anyone in the park but I figgered it was pimpo from next door. I grabbed a gas can and drove to the Quickie Mart in my Mustang to get some.

That done I filled my truck and went to the OWL Diner for breakfast. The place was dead except for two servers, the cook, a cop at the counter, and me. I sat in a booth behind the cop. The server appeared quickly, 'Dolly' was stamped on her name tag, and took my order.

The cop turned to look at me then turned back and spoke to Dolly, I couldn't hear what was said but Dolly looked at me, over the cop's shoulder, then answered the cop.

The cop then spun around on her stool and stuck a photo in my face. "Ever seen this man?" I took the photo and studied it. It was the pimp next door.

I handed the photo back. "He lives next door to me."

"Where is that?" The cop wanted to know. I pulled a business card outta my shirt pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the card. "You mind talking to a cop?"

"When?"

"Tomorrow maybe?"

"Tomorrow's okay," I replied. She looked at the card again.

"Is this phone number good?"

"Call me later and find out," I suggested.

"No problem." She handed me a business card. Phyllis Wexler was the name printed on the card.

"How come I never seen you before?" She looked at my face closely.

"Cause I'm always good," I lied.

"Got lotsa referrals, too?"

"None I can share, you understand. Confidentiality."

"Then how do I know you can fix my problem when I need help?" One of her blouse buttons was unfastened.

"Free samples."

"I'll be in touch."

I ate my breakfast, left a tip, and left to work. It isn't far to the trailer park but the hood is shit with whores and derelicts and thugs on the streets. I got home at the usual time without any problems, shit, showered, shaved, and went to bed.

It was around midnight when a bullet shattered my bedroom window and sprayed glass shards all over me.

Jehmu (Juh Mooo) Jackson and her pimp-baby daddy were screaming and fighting next door. The boyfriend is the guy the cops wanted. Jehmu called him everything but a child of God, and he was knocking her around, from the sound of things falling and crashing inside the trailer. Jehmu worked at the local golden arches and sold pussy to married white guys she met.

I dressed and went outside about the time the first cop car arrived. I stood and watched the show. After two more cars arrived the cops went inside the trailer and the pimp bolted from the back door hauling ass my way. He fell over something, I think it was me, I jumped on his back, and the cops restrained him. One of the cops was my new friend Phyllis Wexler, the first female street cop in town. After she escorted shit for brains to her car I went inside and cleaned up the mess the shattered window made in the bedroom, mostly broken glass all over my quilt and the floor. I got all the loose glass but still got a small piece in my foot. It bled like a stuck pig for being nothing.

In the morning I went to the local diner for breakfast, my new friend Phyllis was there eating breakfast. The diner was busy, Phyllis saw me and waved me over. "Have a seat," she said. "Thanks for the help last night."

"No problem." About the time I got comfortable a guy walked past the table and drops a plain envelope in front of Phyllis. She stuffed it in her bag.

She continued, "Maybe I can find something at home for you to fix, interested?"

"Um hmm," I replied.

"If you're free at noon gimme a call," she wrote her phone number on a napkin, tucked it in my shirt pocket and left.

After I ate my first stop was at the home of a guy with a shower fulla shit. His sewer line was clogged. I uncapped the line where it came outside and pulled out a dead cat. The guy had put it there after he backed over it with his car. Accidentally. "My wife will cut my nuts off if she finds out. I'll pay you twenty bucks extra to make it disappear." I took his cash, dumped the kitty in a garbage bag, and tossed it in bed of the truck.

Phyllis lived in an older tract home with her girlfriend, Myrtle, and the woman's two daughters. It's Myrtle's house. The girlfriend was retired from the army and went to school days to be a school guidance counselor. Getting some pussy from Phyllis looked good till Myrtle came home unexpectedly and crashed the party. Phyllis told Myrtle I was doing undercover work as a plumber-whatever. But before Myrtle came home Phyllis hinted that she wanted someone like me to cover her ass out on the street. "I got problems with some people maybe you could help me with."

"What's in it for me?"

She put her hand on my cock and said," I'd be very grateful, and willing to do you some favors in return. I feel we could work together well." I squeezed her titty and she kissed me.

"Who do I gotta kill?" I was joking.

"I'll give you his name the first time we get together," she wasn't joking. Myrtle showed up about then. "Maybe we could meet tomorrow about the same time?"

"I'll expect you about noon." I shook hands with Myrtle and left after a round of happy talk.

The next day Phyllis gave me the details and I took care of her problem.

Most of my customers were women. Lucy Perez was one of them. She hadda sink leak in her kitchen.

Lucy Perez forgot I was in her house replacing the broken faucet on her kitchen sink, she was sitting in a chair and couldn't see me lying in the sink cabinet connecting the water lines while she gossiped on the phone with a girlfriend.

"He hasn't come near me in months, and I'm so horny I'm climbing the walls," I heard her say. In her forties, she looks good though she is heavy and has some flab on her ass and thighs and around her waist. I kept on working and didn't pay attention to the conversation.

Done, I cleared the cabinet of my tools, got up off the floor, and walked out to get Lucy to come inspect the work. She was still on the phone but her robe and legs were open, and her fingers were inside her panty fingering her hole. She jumped when she saw me. "Janice I gotta go, the plumber guy is done; I'll call you later." She flipped the robe to cover her lap. "I wish you'd say something before you come into a room and scare the crap outta me." She picked up a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and lit it. "Watcha want?"

"I'm done with the faucet but I wouldn't mind helping you with your problem."

"You're pretty fresh aren't you? S'pose your boss knows?"

"I'm my boss; wanna check the work and pay me?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

She got out of the chair and walked to the kitchen where she tested the faucet and looked under the sink to check for leaks." What do I owe you?"

"One hundred."

"Can I drop the money off later, after my husband gets home?"

"No problem, you got my address?" I handed her my card. "It's on the card."

She checked the card. "Is around seven good for you?"

"Sure, what do you drink?"

"Why?"

"So I can offer you refreshments."

"You're pretty fucking self-confident aren't you?"

"I took her hand and stuck it atop my boner." She didn't pull it back.

"I can't stay long."

"I have bourbon and vodka unless you want something else."

"Got tomato juice?"

"I'll pick some up."

"You gonna say anything to anyone?"

"Want me to?"

"Hell no!"

"Then lemme go, I got one more call to make."

"OK, see you at seven."

She arrived about eight o'clock, dressed in a simple cotton shift with buttons from collar to hem. Her brunette hair had a flower pinned close to her ear. She knocked on the door and I let her in. She set her bag on the kitchen counter, pulled out a check she handed to me, and then dug around for her cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke? I can't stay long."