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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Abuse and Addiction: A Tale Of Dale - 4. Chapter 4
It wasn’t long afterwards that I noticed Chris hadn’t been around in a few days. I asked Dale about it. I tried to make it sound casual, like it was just something I had noticed but really didn’t give a shit about. But Dale pounced on it. Did I miss her so much? Miss that pussy? No, of course not, I was just curious. A quick cuff to the side of my head reminded me that curiosity had killed the cat and wouldn’t do me much good either. But then he smiled so sweetly and told me he and she were finished. Told me she was a bitch and not to bother my pretty little head about it. He didn’t need her anyway—not with my sweet ass around. He kissed my lips, his fingers in my hair. I could tell by the way his fingers were in my hair, by they way they were gripping tightly, twisting, pulling—that I wasn’t supposed to ask any more questions. I didn’t.
Funny how things are going well one minute and then the next… Makes me wonder if the universe does not simply operate by random chance, but whether there might just be some perverse divine power behind it all. Some puppet master toying with our strings and laughing at us as he snips those strings and we fall flat on our faces. Wasn’t a week after the whole thing with Chris that P&C decided to do random drug testing. Never had a chance to get clean before my random chance came up. Not that it was likely I would have made much of an effort in that area anyway. I was already pretty dependant, needing at least the hit at night and the one as soon as I got up and one in the middle of the day just to feel “normal.” And even if I had stopped cold, it would have taken a while to get the heroin out of my system. Needless to say, I failed the test and found myself without a job once again.
So, there I was, my strings cut, flat on my face, listening to the evil laughter of the puppet master. But the puppet master had not counted on Dale.
I told Dale about the drug test and about losing my job. Dale was very sympathetic. He smiled and told me it was most likely the only test I had ever failed in my life. Told me things would be ok. I was despondent. How could they be ok? Let me see… I had been fired from this job for failing a drug test. I was fired from my last job for going on a 3-week drunken binge. Oh yeah, that made me a real find! All the local employers would be holding their doors open just waiting for me to show up—so they could laugh their fucking heads off! And what would Mark say? How could I tell Mark that I was once again without a job and couldn’t pay my share of the apartment?
Dale just put an arm across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I know you don’t want to keep sponging off of Mark.” That really hit me. No, I did not want to keep sponging off of Mark. Oh, he would understand. He would help me out, would never turn his back on me. But I didn’t want him to find out why I had lost my job.
“But I can help you out, sweetheart.” Dale’s tone was cheerful as he kissed me on the ear.
“Don’t want to sponge off you either, Dale.” Even I could hear the sullen pout in my voice.
Dale laughed and squeezed my shoulders a little harder. I’m sure he didn’t mean to make me wince. “Won’t be sponging, baby. Chris, the bitch, left me in a bit of a bind. She was supposed to pick up something for me. Actually been picking things up for me regularly. Depended on her and she goes and runs off on me. Ungrateful little bitch.” Something in his tone suggested I shouldn’t be similarly ungrateful.
I didn’t immediately answer. I was trying to get a handle on a few things at once. Was thinking how Mark would react if he found out I had lost my job, and why. Was thinking about Chris and how she had been there one moment and not the next. And my mind was racing ahead through all the possible things Dale might be going to ask me to do for him. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling that almost told me what it was. Almost, but not quite. I think, honestly, I probably knew outright—but somehow just didn’t want to put it to words, didn’t want to quite make it—and all its implications—real. Stupid avoidance, really. But I always had an instinct to run from things that disturbed me. Even ran in my own head.
My silence irritated Dale. I know he probably expected me to jump at any offer of help from him. And when I didn’t, it pissed him off. “Well? You going to do me a favor, or what? Not like I haven’t done any for you. Or have you forgotten how you used to wake up screaming?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, Dale.” I was quick to respond now. Could hear the tone in his voice. Could feel the blow coming. “I was just thinking, that’s all. Sorry, I’m a bit out of it. Really need a hit, I guess.” I shook my head, trying to look as though I were clearing cobwebs. Needing a hit was something Dale would understand. Trying to avoid finding out more truth about Dale was not something he would have understood.
I looked at him and gave him a slight smile, trying to make it as grateful a smile as possible. “What do you need me to do?”
He smiled back, a satisfied smile. “Nothing hard. Just take an envelope to some people and pick up a package and bring it back to me. Couldn’t be simpler.”
“What will be in the package?” I cursed myself as soon as the words left my lips. Hadn’t meant to ask. Really didn’t need to ask. Had pretty much guessed. But the words were out. I braced myself for what I knew would come next.
Dale pushed me roughly away from him, nearly knocking me off the couch. “What the fuck does it matter what’s in the package? Do you always have to know everything? Always have to poke your fucking nose into everyone’s fucking business?” He glared at me and I could see his hand start to raise, knew it would soon find my face. But it didn’t.
Dale sighed and sat back down. “Look, it’s heroin. Big surprise, right? Did you think I got it from the fucking Tooth Fairy?”
I looked down. Knew that. Really didn’t need to have asked. Oh shit. Really wish I hadn’t asked. And really wish my tongue had fallen out of my mouth before I spoke again. “I don’t know, Dale, I’m not sure…”
He was up and ranting again before I could even say what it was I wasn’t sure of.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Who are you to be so damned high and mighty about this? Don’t have a problem using the fucking shit but fucking god forbid I ask you to help out, ask you to get your pretty hands a little dirty.” He was inches away from me, well within striking distance. I didn’t move, didn’t raise my eyes, didn’t look at him.
“What do you think your options are? Hmm? What the fuck can you actually do? No one is going to hire a two-time loser with no fucking skills. Oh, I forgot, you write poetry. A lot of call for that around here. You know, I’m trying to do you a fucking favor, you little shit. I can get a dozen other people to do this for me. Not like I’m asking you to do it for free. I’ll give you $100 a pickup and all the shit you need. You’ll have more than enough to pay Mark what you owe him and keep him from asking you questions.” He played that card. He had an unerring instinct for knowing just exactly which card to play and when to play it.
And he was right. What could I do? I had no real prospects. No one would want me. Paul hadn’t wanted me. Yet somehow Dale still did. Even though I never quite satisfied him, here he was still offering to help me, to do me a favor.
He sat down beside me once again, his arm across my shoulders again. “Come on, Luc. You’d be doing me a big favor.” And I owed him so much. And what was the big deal? How could I refuse to help him when he needed me?
“Ok, Dale. You know I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Dale smiled at me, a satisfied smile, a victorious smile. “Knew I could count on you, Luc.” He kissed me and within minutes we were fucking on the couch.
Afterwards, as I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling—my head too busy, even, for my usual bedtime hit to quiet—it occurred to me that if he could get a dozen people to do this for him, how was I doing him a favor?
**
“I called Papa Doc and told him to be expecting you. Told him your name was Matt. Not a good idea to tell him your real name. Not a good idea to tell him much of anything.” Dale’s voice held a warning I understood. And instinctively I knew—just like everyone else in the world knew—that people who dealt in drugs were not the most trustworthy people, were not people you told your life story to. It chilled me a bit that Dale had felt the need to tell me that. Maybe that’s what he meant to do.
He handed me an envelope, one of those green diamond ones you find in offices everywhere. It was addressed like it was ready to be mailed. I looked at the address.
“It’s a fake address.” Like I hadn’t already figured that out…
The envelope was heavy. Knew there was money in it. Didn’t ask how much. That was none of my business. But it felt like a lot. And all I had to do was to take the envelope to this guy, Papa Doc. He would give me a package and I would bring it back to Dale. Simple. No big deal. Wouldn’t take me that long and I would have a quick $100—plus whatever I needed, whenever I needed it. I tried to warm to the prospect. But it was hard. I knew the area where I was to meet this Papa Doc. I had lived in that city early on in my life. Not in that neighborhood, but I knew that neighborhood. It was a bad one. Gangs. Drugs—obviously. And I was still 19. Not all that old. And I was never really comfortable with people I didn’t know. Could have been sent to knock on the door to Mary Poppins’ house and would still have been a nervous wreck. But to have to go up to a house in that neighborhood, knock on the door and face a drug dealer… I was scared shitless.
Dale laughed as he saw my hands shaking on the envelope. “Relax, baby. I wouldn’t send you into the fucking lion’s den, you know.” He caressed my cheek with the palm of his hand. “And I have something for you before you go.” He grinned and handed me a bag. It was whiter than usual. He smiled, those turquoise eyes of his just boring right through me. Dale could smile a smile that could melt Antarctica when he wanted to. “Some of the good stuff, baby. Told you I would take care of you. I don’t forget when people do me favors.” He laughed again at the way my hand was still shaking when I took the bag. “Man, baby, you better take a hit before you go. People like Papa Doc can smell fear a mile away. And trust me, you don’t want him to think you are afraid.”
Not sure that helped much. Really didn’t need to be told not to show fear. Really didn’t need to think there was a reason why I shouldn’t show fear. But I took his advice. And it was definitely some of the good stuff. Hit me instantly and hard. A good hard. I noticed when I picked up the envelope my hands no longer shook.
I suppose that was a good thing and a bad thing. I felt calm, relaxed. Any anxieties I had felt—about this and anything else—were gone. What did I have to be afraid of? Was a simple transaction. And the neighborhood wasn’t that bad. I suppose one of the bad things was that when the anxieties went away, a little of my self-preservation instinct went as well. I didn’t feel worry. Didn’t feel afraid. So I didn’t pay as close attention as I probably should have. But it wasn’t like I had anything to be afraid of.
**
The house looked decent from the outside. It was a little better than most of the other houses in the neighborhood. It was an older house, a bit tired looking, but not falling apart. Probably in my dad’s day the house would have been freshly painted, the little yard in front of it would have had flowers growing and there would have been kids playing in the street. But my dad’s day had long since passed. And a lot of the other houses in the neighborhood were not so good. A lot of them looked vacant. Stairs missing, windows boarded up. Most had graffiti spray painted on them. Gang symbols. I recognized some of them. That this particular house didn’t have those symbols on it said a lot to anyone who had a clue.
I climbed the steps and knocked on the door and waited. What if they weren’t home? How long would I have to stand there before I could just leave and tell Dale no one was home? The door opened. A young Hispanic guy looked me up and down. “You better have a fucking good reason for being here, white boy.”
Somehow the words didn’t stick in my throat. “Da-bo sent me. I’m Matt.” Da-bo was the name they knew Dale by.
He stood aside and motioned for me to come inside. Seconds later I was up against the wall with someone’s hands running roughly over my body. I could see the guy who answered the door—they weren’t his hands. A hand ran slowly along the inside of my leg, up to my crotch—where it fondled my balls and my cock. I jumped instinctively and both the guy who had answered the door and the one whose hand was on my balls laughed.
They dragged me into another room, both of them, one on each side of me. There was a big black guy sitting on a couch watching a big screen TV. He had a young girl—a pretty white girl, probably no more than 15 or 16, next to him. She had her shirt open and he was fondling her tits.
“Hey, Papa Doc.” The guy who had fondled my balls spoke. I glanced at him. He was a tall black guy, maybe my age, maybe not quite. He had a tattoo on his cheek. I recognized the symbol. It was one of the ones that were spray painted on the houses. “Get a look at this fine piece of white ass Da-bo sent you.”
Papa Doc looked up and then glanced at the girl. She immediately got up and left the room. He got up—slowly, like it wasn’t easy. I was immediately hit by how big he was. He had to go at least 300 lbs. and had to be over 6 ft tall. He looked me over as he came closer. The two held my arms tighter. I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it. Felt a brief wave of panic as that thought hit me. It wasn’t lessened when Papa Doc ran his fingers through my hair, which was long and soft and curled at the ends.
“Very pretty for a white boy.” His voice wasn’t what I expected. It was very soft, sounded well educated. If I closed my eyes I might have thought I was listening to a teacher or a doctor or some similar person. But I didn’t close my eyes. He looked down at my crotch and smiled slightly, his eyes meeting mine. The eye contact made my skin start to crawl. Just scared the hell out of me.
“Da-bo has decent taste in his bitches.” He started to turn away and they let go of me. I took the envelope out of my jacket’s inside pocket. My hand was shaking again as I held it out to Papa Doc. He ignored me.
“Papa Doc don’t be getting involved with fucking shit like you, bitch!” The tall black gang member spat at me. He grabbed the envelope from my hand. I had another moment of panic, wondered if he was just going to take the money, wondered how I would face Dale if he did. But he turned and counted it away from my eyes and nodded to Papa Doc.
The other gang member went into another room and came back with a package. It was wrapped nicely in a UPS wrapper. It looked like any other package ready to be shipped. He threw it to me. I dropped it and they both laughed. I bent over to pick it up and one of them groped my ass. “Better get your pretty white boy ass outta here before I make you my bitch too.” They both laughed and I could hear a sound that might have been laughter coming from Papa Doc.
They made some other comments also—but I didn’t hang around to listen.
Copyright © 2011 Luc; All Rights Reserved.
Funny how things are going well one minute and then the next… Makes me wonder if the universe does not simply operate by random chance, but whether there might just be some perverse divine power behind it all. Some puppet master toying with our strings and laughing at us as he snips those strings and we fall flat on our faces. Wasn’t a week after the whole thing with Chris that P&C decided to do random drug testing. Never had a chance to get clean before my random chance came up. Not that it was likely I would have made much of an effort in that area anyway. I was already pretty dependant, needing at least the hit at night and the one as soon as I got up and one in the middle of the day just to feel “normal.” And even if I had stopped cold, it would have taken a while to get the heroin out of my system. Needless to say, I failed the test and found myself without a job once again.
So, there I was, my strings cut, flat on my face, listening to the evil laughter of the puppet master. But the puppet master had not counted on Dale.
I told Dale about the drug test and about losing my job. Dale was very sympathetic. He smiled and told me it was most likely the only test I had ever failed in my life. Told me things would be ok. I was despondent. How could they be ok? Let me see… I had been fired from this job for failing a drug test. I was fired from my last job for going on a 3-week drunken binge. Oh yeah, that made me a real find! All the local employers would be holding their doors open just waiting for me to show up—so they could laugh their fucking heads off! And what would Mark say? How could I tell Mark that I was once again without a job and couldn’t pay my share of the apartment?
Dale just put an arm across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I know you don’t want to keep sponging off of Mark.” That really hit me. No, I did not want to keep sponging off of Mark. Oh, he would understand. He would help me out, would never turn his back on me. But I didn’t want him to find out why I had lost my job.
“But I can help you out, sweetheart.” Dale’s tone was cheerful as he kissed me on the ear.
“Don’t want to sponge off you either, Dale.” Even I could hear the sullen pout in my voice.
Dale laughed and squeezed my shoulders a little harder. I’m sure he didn’t mean to make me wince. “Won’t be sponging, baby. Chris, the bitch, left me in a bit of a bind. She was supposed to pick up something for me. Actually been picking things up for me regularly. Depended on her and she goes and runs off on me. Ungrateful little bitch.” Something in his tone suggested I shouldn’t be similarly ungrateful.
I didn’t immediately answer. I was trying to get a handle on a few things at once. Was thinking how Mark would react if he found out I had lost my job, and why. Was thinking about Chris and how she had been there one moment and not the next. And my mind was racing ahead through all the possible things Dale might be going to ask me to do for him. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling that almost told me what it was. Almost, but not quite. I think, honestly, I probably knew outright—but somehow just didn’t want to put it to words, didn’t want to quite make it—and all its implications—real. Stupid avoidance, really. But I always had an instinct to run from things that disturbed me. Even ran in my own head.
My silence irritated Dale. I know he probably expected me to jump at any offer of help from him. And when I didn’t, it pissed him off. “Well? You going to do me a favor, or what? Not like I haven’t done any for you. Or have you forgotten how you used to wake up screaming?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, Dale.” I was quick to respond now. Could hear the tone in his voice. Could feel the blow coming. “I was just thinking, that’s all. Sorry, I’m a bit out of it. Really need a hit, I guess.” I shook my head, trying to look as though I were clearing cobwebs. Needing a hit was something Dale would understand. Trying to avoid finding out more truth about Dale was not something he would have understood.
I looked at him and gave him a slight smile, trying to make it as grateful a smile as possible. “What do you need me to do?”
He smiled back, a satisfied smile. “Nothing hard. Just take an envelope to some people and pick up a package and bring it back to me. Couldn’t be simpler.”
“What will be in the package?” I cursed myself as soon as the words left my lips. Hadn’t meant to ask. Really didn’t need to ask. Had pretty much guessed. But the words were out. I braced myself for what I knew would come next.
Dale pushed me roughly away from him, nearly knocking me off the couch. “What the fuck does it matter what’s in the package? Do you always have to know everything? Always have to poke your fucking nose into everyone’s fucking business?” He glared at me and I could see his hand start to raise, knew it would soon find my face. But it didn’t.
Dale sighed and sat back down. “Look, it’s heroin. Big surprise, right? Did you think I got it from the fucking Tooth Fairy?”
I looked down. Knew that. Really didn’t need to have asked. Oh shit. Really wish I hadn’t asked. And really wish my tongue had fallen out of my mouth before I spoke again. “I don’t know, Dale, I’m not sure…”
He was up and ranting again before I could even say what it was I wasn’t sure of.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Who are you to be so damned high and mighty about this? Don’t have a problem using the fucking shit but fucking god forbid I ask you to help out, ask you to get your pretty hands a little dirty.” He was inches away from me, well within striking distance. I didn’t move, didn’t raise my eyes, didn’t look at him.
“What do you think your options are? Hmm? What the fuck can you actually do? No one is going to hire a two-time loser with no fucking skills. Oh, I forgot, you write poetry. A lot of call for that around here. You know, I’m trying to do you a fucking favor, you little shit. I can get a dozen other people to do this for me. Not like I’m asking you to do it for free. I’ll give you $100 a pickup and all the shit you need. You’ll have more than enough to pay Mark what you owe him and keep him from asking you questions.” He played that card. He had an unerring instinct for knowing just exactly which card to play and when to play it.
And he was right. What could I do? I had no real prospects. No one would want me. Paul hadn’t wanted me. Yet somehow Dale still did. Even though I never quite satisfied him, here he was still offering to help me, to do me a favor.
He sat down beside me once again, his arm across my shoulders again. “Come on, Luc. You’d be doing me a big favor.” And I owed him so much. And what was the big deal? How could I refuse to help him when he needed me?
“Ok, Dale. You know I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Dale smiled at me, a satisfied smile, a victorious smile. “Knew I could count on you, Luc.” He kissed me and within minutes we were fucking on the couch.
Afterwards, as I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling—my head too busy, even, for my usual bedtime hit to quiet—it occurred to me that if he could get a dozen people to do this for him, how was I doing him a favor?
**
“I called Papa Doc and told him to be expecting you. Told him your name was Matt. Not a good idea to tell him your real name. Not a good idea to tell him much of anything.” Dale’s voice held a warning I understood. And instinctively I knew—just like everyone else in the world knew—that people who dealt in drugs were not the most trustworthy people, were not people you told your life story to. It chilled me a bit that Dale had felt the need to tell me that. Maybe that’s what he meant to do.
He handed me an envelope, one of those green diamond ones you find in offices everywhere. It was addressed like it was ready to be mailed. I looked at the address.
“It’s a fake address.” Like I hadn’t already figured that out…
The envelope was heavy. Knew there was money in it. Didn’t ask how much. That was none of my business. But it felt like a lot. And all I had to do was to take the envelope to this guy, Papa Doc. He would give me a package and I would bring it back to Dale. Simple. No big deal. Wouldn’t take me that long and I would have a quick $100—plus whatever I needed, whenever I needed it. I tried to warm to the prospect. But it was hard. I knew the area where I was to meet this Papa Doc. I had lived in that city early on in my life. Not in that neighborhood, but I knew that neighborhood. It was a bad one. Gangs. Drugs—obviously. And I was still 19. Not all that old. And I was never really comfortable with people I didn’t know. Could have been sent to knock on the door to Mary Poppins’ house and would still have been a nervous wreck. But to have to go up to a house in that neighborhood, knock on the door and face a drug dealer… I was scared shitless.
Dale laughed as he saw my hands shaking on the envelope. “Relax, baby. I wouldn’t send you into the fucking lion’s den, you know.” He caressed my cheek with the palm of his hand. “And I have something for you before you go.” He grinned and handed me a bag. It was whiter than usual. He smiled, those turquoise eyes of his just boring right through me. Dale could smile a smile that could melt Antarctica when he wanted to. “Some of the good stuff, baby. Told you I would take care of you. I don’t forget when people do me favors.” He laughed again at the way my hand was still shaking when I took the bag. “Man, baby, you better take a hit before you go. People like Papa Doc can smell fear a mile away. And trust me, you don’t want him to think you are afraid.”
Not sure that helped much. Really didn’t need to be told not to show fear. Really didn’t need to think there was a reason why I shouldn’t show fear. But I took his advice. And it was definitely some of the good stuff. Hit me instantly and hard. A good hard. I noticed when I picked up the envelope my hands no longer shook.
I suppose that was a good thing and a bad thing. I felt calm, relaxed. Any anxieties I had felt—about this and anything else—were gone. What did I have to be afraid of? Was a simple transaction. And the neighborhood wasn’t that bad. I suppose one of the bad things was that when the anxieties went away, a little of my self-preservation instinct went as well. I didn’t feel worry. Didn’t feel afraid. So I didn’t pay as close attention as I probably should have. But it wasn’t like I had anything to be afraid of.
**
The house looked decent from the outside. It was a little better than most of the other houses in the neighborhood. It was an older house, a bit tired looking, but not falling apart. Probably in my dad’s day the house would have been freshly painted, the little yard in front of it would have had flowers growing and there would have been kids playing in the street. But my dad’s day had long since passed. And a lot of the other houses in the neighborhood were not so good. A lot of them looked vacant. Stairs missing, windows boarded up. Most had graffiti spray painted on them. Gang symbols. I recognized some of them. That this particular house didn’t have those symbols on it said a lot to anyone who had a clue.
I climbed the steps and knocked on the door and waited. What if they weren’t home? How long would I have to stand there before I could just leave and tell Dale no one was home? The door opened. A young Hispanic guy looked me up and down. “You better have a fucking good reason for being here, white boy.”
Somehow the words didn’t stick in my throat. “Da-bo sent me. I’m Matt.” Da-bo was the name they knew Dale by.
He stood aside and motioned for me to come inside. Seconds later I was up against the wall with someone’s hands running roughly over my body. I could see the guy who answered the door—they weren’t his hands. A hand ran slowly along the inside of my leg, up to my crotch—where it fondled my balls and my cock. I jumped instinctively and both the guy who had answered the door and the one whose hand was on my balls laughed.
They dragged me into another room, both of them, one on each side of me. There was a big black guy sitting on a couch watching a big screen TV. He had a young girl—a pretty white girl, probably no more than 15 or 16, next to him. She had her shirt open and he was fondling her tits.
“Hey, Papa Doc.” The guy who had fondled my balls spoke. I glanced at him. He was a tall black guy, maybe my age, maybe not quite. He had a tattoo on his cheek. I recognized the symbol. It was one of the ones that were spray painted on the houses. “Get a look at this fine piece of white ass Da-bo sent you.”
Papa Doc looked up and then glanced at the girl. She immediately got up and left the room. He got up—slowly, like it wasn’t easy. I was immediately hit by how big he was. He had to go at least 300 lbs. and had to be over 6 ft tall. He looked me over as he came closer. The two held my arms tighter. I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it. Felt a brief wave of panic as that thought hit me. It wasn’t lessened when Papa Doc ran his fingers through my hair, which was long and soft and curled at the ends.
“Very pretty for a white boy.” His voice wasn’t what I expected. It was very soft, sounded well educated. If I closed my eyes I might have thought I was listening to a teacher or a doctor or some similar person. But I didn’t close my eyes. He looked down at my crotch and smiled slightly, his eyes meeting mine. The eye contact made my skin start to crawl. Just scared the hell out of me.
“Da-bo has decent taste in his bitches.” He started to turn away and they let go of me. I took the envelope out of my jacket’s inside pocket. My hand was shaking again as I held it out to Papa Doc. He ignored me.
“Papa Doc don’t be getting involved with fucking shit like you, bitch!” The tall black gang member spat at me. He grabbed the envelope from my hand. I had another moment of panic, wondered if he was just going to take the money, wondered how I would face Dale if he did. But he turned and counted it away from my eyes and nodded to Papa Doc.
The other gang member went into another room and came back with a package. It was wrapped nicely in a UPS wrapper. It looked like any other package ready to be shipped. He threw it to me. I dropped it and they both laughed. I bent over to pick it up and one of them groped my ass. “Better get your pretty white boy ass outta here before I make you my bitch too.” They both laughed and I could hear a sound that might have been laughter coming from Papa Doc.
They made some other comments also—but I didn’t hang around to listen.
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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