Val Nelson is used to interacting with the dregs of society. As a drug dealer on the south side of Detroit, Val can actually be right at home with the addicts and those who he despises most. What is surprising about his situation is that he could have been so much more.
At a promising 17 years old, Val Nelson was one of the most talked about young players on the American soccer circuit. After being drafted into Major League Soccer when he was only 16, Val was well on his way to international prominence. But this was not to be, as within the first 20 minutes of his first game Val came down wrong from a header and badly injured his right leg. Despite losing the ability to play professional soccer, Val kept extremely healthy by picking up basketball.
Val lived in a small rundown apartment on the bottom floor of a complex that was in one of the worst parts of town. It made it easier to get product to clients and there was always someone who was looking to try something new. A trapdoor under the stairs led to a cellar that Val had specially put in to stash both product and a large bundle of cash at all times.
Although there were a large number of dealers in Detroit, Val was one of the most successful do to his contacts and connections. But most important to his success was Val's ability to move drugs amongst the suburbs. With a list of clients a list long, the most profitable were not the druggies and crackwhores but the soccer moms and teenagers looking for some action. Being the inner-city boy, interesting interactions came about.
It was a calm Tuesday night downtown that was not unlike others in Detroit. The street was littered with debris and a few homeless people finding a place to sleep for the night. One thing was out of ordinary. A 31 year old brunette was walking down the street towards a derelict apartment complex. It appears that she made an ill-fated attempt to fit into the surroundings. She was wearing a hooded jacket over a t-shirt that was stretched over her large 34D breasts. Although it wasn't new, the jacket looked too well kempt for this part of town. Her skin tight hip hugger jeans had a few holes in them, but not from wear and tear. They had been bought with them. Even though her dress would be able to be spotted from a mile away, the real giveaway was her clean hair and her manicured fingernails. Beautiful brown hair cascaded down just to her shoulders with a sheen gathered from proper upkeep. Her hands were those of someone who doesn't work with them, glowing skin with French tips. Her name was Lisa Johnson and she is one of Val's many clients.
Val was spending a quiet night in. He had ordered pizza and tried to organize a new shipment that he had just got in. As dangerous as he knew it was to have them there, a large supply and selection of drugs on an end table in the living room. In front of the table was a ratty old couch. Val sat there in nothing but khaki shorts that hung below his blue boxer shorts. He was putting the drugs in sellable quanities and occasionally grabbing a slice from a Hungary Howie's box that was also on the coffee table. A loud knock reverberated through the apartment. Val quickly jumped from his seat and into the small hallway and rushed to the door. A sawn off shotgun sat behind the door, and ready to be used. Peeking through the peephole, Val saw Lisa fidgeting on the other side.
"What the fuck," he said angrily to himself. Val's hands began working the extensive system of locks that he had on the heavy aluminum door. Lisa squeezed in through the small gap that Val allowed in the door. He then closed it back. Val grabbed a handful of her jacket and pushed her against the wall.
"I told you not to fucking come here," Lisa puts an arm out and places her hand on Val's muscular chest in an attempt to keep him away. "Why are you here!?" The woman has trouble as she shakes in fear.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbles several times. Val threw her roughly to the ground at his feet. "Don't hurt me please, I just needed a fix." The drug dealer stood above her in an imposing silhouette. Constant exercise caused each muscle to stand out against his skin. The old English Detroit D was tattooed across his left pec, right over his heart.
"I thought I was clear, you are to never come here, someone like you attracts attention."
"I tried to blend in," she pleaded to him.
"Anybody could notice you, people like you don't come to places like this." Lisa started to rise up but a stare from Val prompted her to sit back down on the floor. "Why are you here?"
Almost shaking with fear, she answered, "I haven't had any in a couple of days." A smile started to spread over Val's face. "I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I'm really going through withdrawals. My husband is starting to ask questions."
"So where does your husband think you are?" Val asked, clearly enjoying having power over her situation.
Looking up into his eyes, "I'm over at a friend's."
"How much do you want?" he asked, looking down. He reached down and adjusted his crotch as his cock began to harden looking down at this beautiful woman.
"As much as you have, I want a lot," she said as she reached into her tight pants pocket and pulled out a couple one hundred dollar bills. She held them out to him and he grabbed them. Val ruffled through the bills to count them and put them in his pocket.
He raised his eyebrow in an acquisitive manner. "I have quite a bit...this won't be enough." Val reached down and adjusted his cock once again. He kept his hand there in an attempt to leave an extremely heavy hint.
Her eyes stared at the crotch of his pants and then to his eyes. She repeated back and forth for 15 seconds before getting the strength to speak. "Then just give me as much as that will pay for." She began to sit up but Val placed a strong hand on her shoulder that kept her from standing up. Lisa was only able to get to her knees in front of him. Their eyes met and Val could see the slight fear in her eyes.
"You're not gonna get anything until I let you," he said with a sick smile on his face. "If you want some junk, you have to take care of me first." Her eyes look down to the ground as she holds her hands together. They shake due to her on setting withdrawals. "Take your clothes off." Lisa begins to shake and lets her jacket roll off her shoulders. Her hands found the edges of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head. She threw it to the ground. Val looked down at her and unbuttoned his shorts. A soft thud reverberated in the room when the shorts and his boxer shorts hit the ground. Lisa was a little flustered by the size of his dick as he began softly stroking it. She tried not to look at it as she leaned back and pulled her jeans out from under herself. Her jeans were pushed to the side with her shoes and socks. This was a business transaction to the greatest degree. Lisa Johnson was an astute housewife that had been privileged her entire life. She needed to do this to accomplish what she wanted. Val knew this but had a plan.