Mister Softee

He can be as hard as you need.

All characters are adults.

*****

I knocked on Opal's motel room door, no response, knocked on it again, then a third time. Nothing. I phoned the room and got the same results. The desk clerk told me she left. I wasn't surprised. "Que sera sera," was my attitude about most things. I drove across town to my place.

The Airstream was empty, too. Ruby was gone along with her stuff. "Something happening here, what it is ain't exactly clear: Buffalo Springfield, FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, 1967," the old song popped into my head. I went to bed and awoke later looking up into the face of Ruby's daughter, Pearl, standing in the doorway looking back at me, and another deputy I didn't recognize.

"Why'd you run momma off?" Pearl asked, as she unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it off, and hung it on the door knob. I looked at the other woman to gage her reaction to Pearl.

Pearl had long, stringy black hair, black eyes, five-two tall, one-hundred sixty pounds, and wore too much mascara. Her hair was too black but her ass was plump and perfect for fucking.

"Who the fuck knows, she was here when I went out this morning, and gone when I got back," I replied, watching Pearl remove her holster and shoes. She looked octoroon, though her father looked white enough: Pearl looked a lot like Mariah Carey if Carey's hair was black. "Ruby probly cucked him," I thought.

Pearl removed her pants, pulled down her panties, climbed on the bed, then crawled over and straddled me. "You gonna call her?" She asked as she wrapped her fingers around my cock to guide it into her mouth, but leaned forward and kissed me first.

"No."

"Homey don't play that game, huh?"

"Nope," I replied as I cupped her ass with my hands and pulled it and her gash to my face to wallow my face in.

"What in hell are you doing?"

"Checking to see if anyone filled your bun with jelly already," I lied.

"You know, you are such an insensitive asshole! I was gonna share a secret with you but now I don't think I will."

"You're pregnant," I said.

"How in hell would you know!" She frowned down at me as she turned around and pressed her warm cunt against my face.

I pulled my mouth away from her long enough to say," You look pregnant."

"It's your's," she cooed and turned her head to look at her partner. "You're welcome to play, too." The woman started undressing.

I looked at Pearl, "How do you know?"

"Cause I don't let nobody fuck me bareback but you, son of a bitch! Not even my husband."

"Is that why your momma left?"

"You're the first I told, she doesn't know. Are you excited?"

"Horny," I replied. She slapped me hard.

"You take the prize for bastard!" She growled, then squirted my face when my tongue made her orgasm. "I don't know why I even fuck with you," she said, wiping me with the sheet. "Now fuck me, and make me like you again." She lay on her back spreading her legs across the mattress. "What you waiting for Sylvia?" Pearl asked her partner.

"I want you when he's done," Sylvia replied.

"Not before you get a load of baby juice to take home to daddy. I'll cut you some slack, you can eat me while asshole fucks you." And that's what happened. Sylvia was drunk as a lord and a fuck swamp when we put her in a cab for home.

The next morning Pearl got up, put on my robe, and went outside to get a fresh uniform from her car. She was sore and walked gingerly. I was up and making coffee when she returned. I looked outside and stared at the white Crown Vic parked across the street.

"What you looking at?" Pearl asked.

"A whore in a mini skirt walking the street," I said. Pearl looked.

"Must need some crack to be out in the rain. What did you think of Sylvia? I think she likes you. Can I tell her it's OK to come around and fuck?"

"Sure."

"Mostly she likes women; I bet she gets more pussy than you do, mostly the one's we catch shoplifting, and the one's that get knocked around by their old men," Pearl said. "Why do yuh s'pose women wanna fuck after fights? I want you to souvenir her a kid."

After Pearl left for work I cranked up the Willys and went for a ride; the Crown Vic followed me. I stopped for coffee at the Quickie Mart. The Crown Vic parked, waited for me, and followed me again. It's Ford's windows were tinted and concealed the occupants.

After I got my coffee and fueled the Willys, I drove east. The Ford followed me far enough back to look inconspicuous. But a plain jane Crown Vic is almost always a geezer, a taxi, or a cop. "Can't be nothing else," I thought. Thirty miles later, at the county line, the Ford was still behind me, and made the turn when I turned south on County Line Road toward the phosphate mines.

Phosphate ore is mined by huge draglines and hauled to a processing facility where the ore is converted to pure phosphate pellets, loaded aboard trains, and hauled to the port for shipment to fertilizer plants around the world. I was going to an old mine closed decades ago. Most buildings were covered with Transite, a heavy corrugated acid resistant board made of cement and asbestos. The same toxic shit house shingles were made of in the 1950s.

I drove the Willys onto the mine site and followed a trail through the under-brush to the old plant. One of the old warehouses was open, so I drove inside, parking as far from the entrance as possible. The Crown Vic stopped and parked by the fence close to the highway.

The Ford's occupants got out of the car, looked around, talked and scratched their heads, then hiked the trail to the old warehouse. They stood by the door holding pistols and looking in till their eyes adjusted to the dim light. I waited till they became confident enough to come inside, each following the walls to the back of the building, to avoid silhouetting themselves with the back-light from the door. When they were close enough I shot them. Later I loaded their bodies into their car, drove it to a pit on the plant property, and set it on fire.

I'm not what you'd call an industrial strength thinker, I rarely thought about killing or anything else, if someone was a threat I took care of it, then took care of the consequences.

I ain't cold hearted neither, I probably have more awareness of feelings than most people, but feelings never obligate me to be paralyzed or be careless. So I don't talk about my feelings, just like most of us don't talk about yellow traffic lights or stinking garbage. Nuthin wrong with Mr. Spock. Feelings and thinking don't get in the way of action. When I step in dog shit I clean it off.

About dawn my cell phone chirped. I opened the case. I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" I said.

"I'm at the bus station, come get me," it was Opal.

The bus station was encrusted with winos, inside and out, Opal looked anxious around them. I double-parked and loaded the Willys with her stuff.

"I suppose you're surprised to see me," Opal suggested.

"Nothing surprises me," I replied.

"Don't you want to know why I came back?"

"Not really," I said. "I wanna know what you want."

"I want to know what you had in mind when you asked me to work for you."

"Did you eat breakfast?" I ignored the question.

"I don't usually eat breakfast," she replied.

I looked at her and thought, "a grifter won't give you the right time, even when she's standing beside a clock."

I took her to the Night Owl Diner where I ate most of my meals. Melissa Drake was our server. She serves me most of the time, if she's around. Melissa and I go back a few years. She was a friend of my youngest sister and always broke. She fucked me for money, and we're kinda-sorta friends with benefits.

Melissa was an attractive gal but crazy as a shit house mouse. Her hair is colored mouse brown, too, in a shaggy 'mom style' bob with blonde highlights. Come to think of it, her mouse is brown, as well. She was five-five and one hundred fifty pounds, with a medium size rack that pushed against her uniform like they wanted free. She's thirty but looked older, her husband was a younger man up at the state prison. She had three kids from as many men. My tips were a decent portion of her pay. She made a few extra bucks fucking me when her rent was due (what are friends for). I stuffed a bill in her apron as Opal and I left.

I took Opal to the old hotel after breakfast. Built of red brick back in the 1920s, it had three floors of rooms and suites, and a ground floor of space created for retail commerce and guest services; that is, boutiques, barbers, cosmetologists, and abortionists. I was thinking about buying it to make into a social club.

Sylvan Abbey is kinda bucolic compared to Bay City, but the hotel seemed to be a magnet for tourists and weekend excursions, a century ago. It was a pleasant comfortable place for mom or sis to dump a love child, or get one, clean up, and take the train home.

I unlocked a door to a vacant ground floor rental space, it led to a concealed elevator that went to the top floor. The scene looked like the old hotel in THE SHINING movie; most of its incandescent lamps along the long corridors were out. I unlocked a door directly across from the elevator, opened it, and flipped the light switch ON. Nothing happened. But the Sun was up and illuminated the room well enough for Opal to see the suite clearly.

Immediately inside was the living room, to its right was the kitchen and dining room with corner windows, to the left of the living room was the bedroom and bathroom. The whole place looked like hell.

"I doubt this place has been used since World War II," I smiled. "That reminds me, you need to see the decorator asap. In the meantime you'll stay in the motel."

"There's no furniture," she reminded me.

"We'll rent some furniture."

"You never did say what my job is." No, I didn't. "So what do I do?"

"Relax and go with the flow."

"I wanna know!"

"You're the head vampire."

"A madam!"

"Vampire is the new chic word for it."

We went back to my trailer. A blue Crown Vic was parked by the Airstream. The tag was registered to the sheriff, and hunk of blubber sitting behind the wheel was the sheriff, who got out of the car as we walked by. "Wait up, I wanna talk to you," he said. He was alone. I stopped and waited, then unlocked the door and held it open for him.

"Have a seat," I suggested. "Got time for coffee?"

"Sure," the sheriff replied. I washed the coffee maker, filled it, and flipped the switch.

"It's okay with me if you smoke," I said. The sheriff pulled a pack of unfiltered Camels from his blouse pocket, tapped the pack, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"What can I do you for?" I asked.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop killing my people, for starters," the sheriff replied. "Don't say you don't, cuz I got reliable sources gave me all the details. But unfortunately I ain't got shit for evidence. I ain't saying some of them clowns don't need killing but it makes me look like shit, so I came by to offer you a deal. I want you on my team."

"I'm listening," I said while fetching a bag of Styrofoam cups from the closet.

"We got a problem in this county with goddamned bleeding heart judges kissing ass when they should be kicking ass, and plenty of influential citizens are unhappy about the situation."

I poured the coffee and handed a cup to the sheriff.

"I'm still listening," I said.

"I've been told you have a contact system in place that's satisfactory, but I ain't paying any cash under the new management. Compensation in kind is what I got in mind."

"Such as?" I replied.

"Oh, I hear that you're considering opening a club in town, and might benefit from our special services department. In fact, I been wanting to talk to you about buying some stock in such an enterprise. Any idea what a share is gonna sell for?"

"A buck," I replied.

"How many shares?" The sheriff asked.

"One hundred; fifty-one for me, and forty-nine for my friends."

"I see." He pulled a dollar out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. "What sort of wares you planning to sell?"

"Well, you know we're home to most of America's carnival freaks, so I was thinking of opening a club for all our other freaks."

"You mean folks shy about being out in public. Great idea! One other thing, before I get back to work; if anyone tries to impede the other work we discussed I s'pose a man needs to do what he needs to do to complete the job. Any questions?"

"Nope."

I put Opal in a taxi, paid the driver, and sent her off to her motel.

"I could stay with you," she hinted.

I took a nap.

I awoke a few minutes before five o'clock, peed, and checked my cellphone for calls. Nothing. I called the motel. Opal never showed up. I called the taxi service. She went to the bus station. I wondered why she left her stuff behind, and wondered if there was any method to her madness. "The world is fulla folks pushed about by the wind and tides," I thought.

I went out to eat. Melissa was off. I'm like a dog. I can eat open face, hot turkey on bread platter with mashed potatoes and green peas for every meal. I ate it and went home.

People were in my trailer. I stood in the doorway and observed them for a moment, three young adults, all females, one holding a flashlight for the others to see by. There really wasn't shit to steal, I'm a bachelor. I flipped on the kitchen light. They froze. Two were too ugly for my taste, but one looked Latina from Central America, and I like latinas.

I pulled my wallet out and took out some cash. "Pay attention, I got a fifty for the ones who go, and two hundred for the one who stays."

"You ain't gonna call the cops?" One of them wondered.

"Un uh," I said.

"What's the two hundred for?" The same chick asked.

"Pussy."

"Whoever stays gets to fuck you for two hundred?"

"And those who go get fifty."

The two ugly ones took their money and left. The latina one remained. My lucky day. "You the one with the baby?" I asked.

"How'd you know?" She wondered.

"Go take a shower and then I'll show you."

"My stomach?"

"They never firm up later."

She came outta the bathroom in about twenty minutes, naked and wrapped in a towel. "Where's my money?"

I handed her fifty dollars. "You get the rest when we're done." She was an enthusiastic young whore and got a tip. On the way out I said to her,"The next time you're desperate for money, come fuck me."

I turned on the shower, undressed, tested the water, and got in, spreading the spray all over my head and body. I reached for the coconut oil soap and lathered up. My face was covered with suds when the blade of a stainless steel butcher knife ripped through the shower curtain, found my arm, and sliced it from my shoulder to my elbow, along the outside of my arm, through the bicep.