Thursday, September 15, 2016

Devil (Part 5)

     "So I've got the perfect camouflage for carrying rigs now," said Crystal.  "Check it."
     She put her purse on her lap and dug into it.  She removed a plastic case, like a large glasses case, and opened it up.  It contained two syringes, a vial, what appeared to be a 35mm film canister, a stubby plastic pen, and a small electronic device, the purpose of which was indeterminate from looking at it.  I looked at her in confusion, so did Bekka.

     She caught the confused looks and said, "It's an insulin kit for diabetics.  That vial used to contain insulin, now it's just water.  That black canister holds blood strips, that thing there is for poking your finger to get a drop of blood, and this thing measures your blood sugar.  I got it off a guy down in Dobbins, traded him a fucking gram for the whole thing.  His insurance will pay for a new one for him, he'll just tell them he lost his kit and they'll give him a new one.  If I get pulled over and the pigs go through me, shit, who are they to say I'm not a diabetic?  I carry my shit in my snatch, so they'd have to find a reason to arrest me and do a cavity search to find my shit."
     "Very clever," I said.  "Hell, you got it worked out better than I do.  There's no excuse for carrying a glass pipe, especially one that's loaded."
     Crystal said, "I keep telling you, banging your shit is the only way to go.  It's the only efficient way of getting it into your blood stream."
     "We'll stick with smoking and snorting, thank you," said Bekka.  "In fact, when we meet these people tonight, keep your preferred method of ingestion under your hat.  They'll never trust you if they know you spike.  If they offer a line or start passing a pipe around, take it, and act like you're enjoying it.  Don't let on you like banging your dope."
     This was Crystal's fourth trip down in three weeks.  She was sitting on the love seat of our living room, and looking forward to the business transaction that would happen tonight.  Crystal would be meeting with Boss, Chet, and Gary, so they could get acquainted and start doing business together, and I would stop being a middleman for them.  Fine with me.  I'd promised both Bekka and myself that I would not go back into the dope trade, yet I'd been picking up pounds from Boss and selling them straight over to Crystal, with no profit for me.  Crystal lived in the Sierras, which had plenty of methamphetamine users, but got crap product coming through.  It was either cut to shit or was poisonous bathtub crank (that was also cut).  Me hooking up Crystal with what I could get my hands on was a breath of fresh air for every tweaker in a hundred miles.  Decent product at last....  Although I had no idea how much it was getting cut when it reached a consumer level.  Crystal had the product every dealer wanted at the ounce level.
     Crystal herself had also seemed to have changed.  Gone was the manic, tweaky, jonesing bitch that I'd first come to know and, uh, love.  Her appearance was different too.  Before, she'd always looked like some porn studio's trope of a Punk Rock Slut: domme boots, fishnets, micro-skirt, and a ripped t-shirt that showed off her colored bra, if she'd bothered to wear one at all.  Now, sitting across from me was a woman whose method of communication was still intense, but wasn't so stressed and jabbering.  Her eyes didn't seem to be open too wide.  She was wearing black jeans, a grey man's dress shirt (a bit tight), and black Adidas.  She actually looked relaxed.  She sipped at her beer, not chugging at it like someone might try to take it away.
     I looked at my watch.  "Time to get going," I said.  "Whose car are we taking?"
    Crystal said, "We'll take mine.  Hopefully, this will be a trip I'm making more than once.  So these people will really be bugged that I bang my dope?"
     "Oh yeah," I said.  "Let them know you're spiking your dope, they're gonna assume you're a fuck-up.  I've worried about it myself.  You seem to have calmed down, though."
     "I've changed how I handle things.  Yeah, I'm an addict, whatever, fuck me.  I know enough that I know I can't be fuckin' high and handle business.  I'll do a load in the morning, like a twenty, and then leave it alone.  Hitting again would give me another rush, but I don't need it, and I have shit to take care of.  I've got a job to do, and I'm making money, and I've got shit, so what am I worried about?  I've gotta handle things.... totally professionally, you know?  I'm in business.  The best fuckin' advice you gave me was to not treat it like it's a party.  It's fuckin' work.  And I can handle that."
     We went down to the Taurus, where it was parked blocking the garage.  We got in and took off, heading for the Leucadia Blvd. freeway ramp.  Within three minutes, I noticed another change in Crystal: her driving.  Before, she had been an incredibly aggressive driver, flogging her car like she hated it.  She had treated the accelerator like an on/off switch, constantly lead-footing it, regardless of conditions.  Braking was avoided until the last possible second.  She would bully other drivers, tailgating, passing at any given opportunity, and communicating with her middle finger.  No curve was taken or turn made where she didn't get tire noise.  I'd given the Taurus SHO I'd bought her a year to live.
     Now she was far, far more restrained.  She was still somewhat quick in acceleration, but stayed within spitting distance of the speed limits on surface streets.  She left a cushion between herself and other cars, and moved at the median speed of traffic, not trying to constantly jockey for a better position.  She came to a stop in a comfortable way.  And her manners on the freeway were good.  She'd had a good stereo installed and was playing the English Dogs, but kept the volume down, so we could converse normally.
     I commented to her on the change in behavior.  Crystal said, "Yeah, well, it's a few things.  First of all, this is a good car you bought me.  It's not a gutless wonder like the fuckin' Subaru, so I don't need to flat-foot the gas pedal all the time.  It took me a while to adjust to that.  That, and I want this thing to last a while.  This is the nicest car I've ever owned, and I want to keep it.  And the big thing is I spend a lot of my time committing felonies these days, and would just as soon blend in with the crowd.  I spend too much time with fairly large amounts of dope in the car, and would just as soon not get pulled over for anything.  I'm glad I picked the car I did.  Yeah, it's the SHO model, so it's pretty quick if you want it to be, but it still looks like a boring old Taurus.  Nobody's gonna pay attention to this thing, so long as I drive cool and don't attract attention to myself."
     "Have you let Mojo drive this one yet?" I asked.
     "Yeah.  She thinks it's scary, it's too quick for her.  The Subaru is pretty much hers at this point, and given her driving style, that's perfect.  I'm so happy we have two cars now.  It means she can go visit her hippie-ass friends up in North Columbia without either her having to hitchhike or me getting stranded with no wheels."
     "You were considering her as a relief driver for your shots down here to San Diego...."
     Crystal shook her head.  "Too much of a risk.  Shit, you know how she is, trying to take care of business and contend with her would be too much of a hassle.  I can't use her as a relief driver because she moves so damn slow, she'd attract attention, on the freeway everything else is passing us if she's driving.  Besides, she's such a visual anomaly we'd get noticed.  A chick with blonde dreadlocks and tie-dye riding in a real white boy car like a Ford Taurus?  You notice my hair is black now.  I'm also laying off the jewelry and makeup.  I figure if I'm gonna stay in business, I've gotta be totally nondescript.  I'm not even putting any fuckin' bumper stickers on this car, I want to be as unrecognizable as possible.  People would remember Mojo."
     "I'm glad you're taking this seriously," said Bekka.  "You seem to be putting a lot of thought into how you do things, which is good."
     "Oh, shit yeah.  Like, one of the first pieces of advice Lenny gave me was that you can't treat moving shit like a party.  It's a business.  So that's exactly how I'm treating it.  I've let everyone I do business with know I keep set hours and days.  They can get a hold of me from nine a.m. to ten p.m. Tuesday through Saturday.  My pager is off at night, and I'll always be re-upping on the same days, I hope.  I don't have people coming over to the house.  They page me, I call them, get an amount, and deliver.  I don't get high with them.  I hang out for a while, so it looks like I was just making a social visit, then split.  I'm not fronting, either.  I'd rather sell a low amount --- I've sold as little as a quarter ounce a couple times --- than front.  But I'll tell them to save up or somehow get some front money, because anything below a solid ounce is me doing them a favor, and I won't always be willing to.
     "The people I'm dealing with mostly have it together.  They're mostly moving sixteenths and eighths, a couple moving street-level amounts.  I culled a couple people.  I didn't know either of them very well, they were just people I'd met partying, and they always seemed to have shit for sale.  Came to learn they're both fuckin' felons, they're on parole right now.  I told them both that things were getting fucked up on my end, and I wouldn't be staying in business, which they took at face value.  Everybody else keeps a pretty low profile, they're not too big of tweakers of fuck-ups, it's business to them too.
     "What's weird is that my own use has dropped.  To be honest, I figured if I was dealing with shit by the pound, I'd be getting high as shit all the time.  Nope, I hit a fifteen or twenty weight in the morning, and that's it.  That lasts me through the day.  If I'm at somebody's house and a pipe is going around, I'll take a couple hits to be social, but I'll turn down lines, and I'm not deciding to bang up more in the afternoon just so I can get the rush.  Yeah, I'm an addict and I know it, so fuck me.  But I can't be spazzing out over shit like I used to.  Shit, there were times when I'd be jonesing, and I'd seriously be considering coming down here, even if I had to hitchhike, and cornering Lenny so he'd score for me.  I'd have the money for an eighth, but the only shit I could find would be garbage.  I'd figure I'd get down here, offer to suck Lenny's dick for the favor, score, and head home.  I wouldn't have money for gas or food, just enough to score a sack.  Lenny, did I ever make a fool of myself over shit around you?"
     I said, "Well....  Sort of.  The first time we met, I set you up, but there was an hour delay because Hank's car had broken down, and we had to go get it.  You were really pissed about that hour delay.  It didn't matter that me and Hank and Cheetah had shit to do, you wanted your dope, like, right then, immediately.  Also, remember I gave you that quarter ounce as a finder's fee for letting us shoot a scene on your parent's property?  You were royally pissed at me then.  We'd just gotten into Grass Valley and settled in our motel, after having been on the road since six that morning.  I called you to let you know we'd arrived,  and you wanted us, or at least me, to head up to your place that night.  Now, I've got the production of a very important scene on my mind.  I could think of no logical reason to go up there, after all, it was getting dark, so we wouldn't be able to scout locations or shoot any video.  I told you I'd see you in the morning, and you got really pissy with me.  It took me a while, long after we'd hung up, to realize you were bugged that the dope I'd promised you was so close, yet so far.  Even then, I figured if it was so damn important you'd just come to the motel, you knew where we were staying."
     Grimacing with embarrassment, Crystal said, "Yeah, the tank of the Subaru was empty, and I couldn't think of anyone who would loan me gas money, otherwise I would have just driven down to see you.  I'm sorry, I just....  I wanted to get high that night, I was looking forward to getting a hold of your shit, and I knew you had shit.  I just used to get so frustrated if I couldn't score, or if I knew where to score but couldn't do anything about it.  Both of those times, at the time my thinking was that it was a power play on your part, you just being a dick and lording it over me that you had control of the shit.  Instead of being happy that I was getting a quarter ounce of awesome shit for free, I was pissed that I couldn't get my hands on it when I wanted to, which was immediately.  I'm sorry for being such a cunt."
     "I noticed the first time we met that it seemed to be more important to you to actually possess the drugs, not just do them.  When you and Mojo got your dope from me, I expected you to start chopping out a line right on the trunk of the Falcon, you seemed in such need.  No, your whole attitude changed once you had that seal in your hand, you were calm and relaxed and friendly."
     "I was being a joneser.  And I remember, me and Mojo had been all over the fuckin' place trying to score all damn day.  It was just so frustrating, all we wanted was a quarter each, and we couldn't find it.  I guess now I don't have an excuse to jones, shit, not going through a pound a week."
     "You're getting another pound tonight?" asked Bekka.
     "Actually, two pounds," answered Crystal.  "That way I have sort of a backlog of stock, I don't have to worry about running short before next week.  This shit is moving, people are picking up more.  Dudes who were just nagging me for half ounces are now getting ounces, with regularity."
     "Gonna expand your clientele?" I asked.
     "I'm not actively looking to.  At this point, having more customers would mean covering more ground, doing even more driving than I am now.  I'm sure I could get contacts in Loyalton or Auburn or even down in the Marysville-Yuba City area, but I don't know if I feel like covering all that distance.  Maybe I would be cool with people coming to my place if they were that far away, I dunno.  I know my shit is sought after, people have had a break from the fuckin' bathtub crank that's always around and try to round up mine."
     At my direction, Crystal got on I-8 east, then took the Mollison exit in El Cajon.  We turned right on Broadway, then pulled into the lot of a Carrow's.  I spotted Boss's Chevelle immediately, telling Crystal to pull in the space next to it.  I could see the silhouettes of three bearded guys inside.  I got out and waved.
     Like everyone, Crystal was a bit taken aback meeting Boss face to face.  She was five nine, not a shabby height for a woman.  She still had to crane her neck to take in Boss.  He was six foot seven, 270 lbs., and a biker straight out of central casting: Budweiser t-shirt, denim vest, pony tail, beard, greasy Levis, boots, and wraparound sunglasses.  Gary was about six foot two and bony, lean.  Chet stood five eight, his frizzy hair adding to the illusion of height.  Introductions were made.
     "Let's go git something fer dinner, I'm starved," said Boss.  "We kin discuss matters inside."
     "Where's Gator Bait?" asked Chet.
     "If I remember the itinerary correctly, she is in Tuscany, Italy right now," answered Bekka.  "We wouldn't have brought her anyway, this is a business meeting, you know?"
     Boss asked me, "So, how is that, uh, arrangement you and Jane and Bekka had working out?  I been wondering about that."
     "Quite well," I said.  "Surprisingly hassle free.  Jane understands that I belong to Bekka first, and accepts that.  Jane and I are not a constant thing, more of a diversion once or twice a week.  I have Bekka, she has her boyfriend Lance.  Immaterial right now anyway, she won't be back home until two weeks before school starts."
     "Where is she?" asked Gary.
     "Her and a family friend, Don Vito Ventimiglia, are touring Europe together.  They started in Rome, and I think they just arrived in Tuscany, which is where the Don's family is from.  He'll be looking up relatives, and probably spending a lot of time explaining to them why he's with an American teenage girl with spiky blue hair.  They'll also be visiting Greece, Malta, Spain, France, Germany, Belgium, Sweden, Holland, England, and Ireland.  Don Vito is seventy-eight, and is allowing the leeway Jane's youth and interests dictate.  She will be hitting the raves in Hamburg, parasailing in Greece, pub crawling in London, and visiting the hash bars in Amsterdam.  She wants to see how their weed compares with what we get."
     "They'll be traveling in style," said Bekka.  "Don Vito wants to show Jane a wonderful time, the event of a lifetime.  It helps the Don has more money than the entire population of Fresno put together, and no direct heirs.  He believes this will be his last opportunity for such a trip while he is still in decent health, so is sparing no expense in anything.  Suites in four star hotels.  Chartered jets for when they travel to Malta and Ireland.  When renting cars, they're getting Mercedes.  And I know the Don will be indulging Jane at every turn.  Knowing him, he may try to buy the country of Andorra for Jane as a 'good luck' gift for her senior year of high school."
     (I looked up Andorra at the library on Tuesday.  Wedged between France and Spain in the Pyrenees Mountains, Andorra is only 181 square miles.  Andorra has no standing army, but declared war on Germany in 1914, along with the rest of Europe.  Due to its exclusion from the Treaty of Versailles, Andorra technically remained at war with Germany well past the end of World War I, until 1958.  During World War II, Andorra was a neutral state, although it was a major smuggling route between Spain and Nazi-occupied France.  It is a popular destination for skiers, mountain climbers, and tax dodgers.)
     The restaurant was fairly quiet.  Waitstaff pushed two tables together, and the six of us were seated.  Everyone considered their menus; I'd seen at the front the nightly special was pork chops and decided to go with that.  We placed our orders, everyone got beers.  Boss started.
     "So you're in the Sierras," Boss said.  "Where about?"
     Crystal replied, "A town called Camptonville, about thirty miles north of Grass Valley.  Gold country.  The town is in the middle of the Tahoe National Forest, so we're never gonna get bigger."
     "There enough people around to keep you in business?"
     "In the general area, yeah.  Moving what I do, I can count on shifting at least a pound a week, moving ounces.  All those damn hillbillies use, there's no shortage of consumers.  I keep an eye on who I deal with, to make sure they're not getting too sketchy or inviting strangers in.  But yeah, I'll keep busy."
     "A pound a week," said Gary.  "Are you planning to expand?"
     Crystal held her hands out.  "Sooner or later, of course.  Right now, I'm still busy establishing myself, showing I'm dependable and have a reliable source.  I'm not sure how I'll handle expansion, it may involve a lot of travel on my part.  I deliver, and I'll put 120 miles on my car in a day without leaving the area.  Really, it's just a matter of getting a hookup in some of the outlying communities, where people don't know me.  I'm sure I can grow.  But not too fast, that could lead to trouble."
     Boss said, "I'm curious as to why you're coming all the way down here.  Okay, we got a good product, but I'll bet there's folk in Oakland or Stockton that also got good product.  Why not go to them?  Save ya a lot of time and travel."
     "There may be good product in Oakland or Stockton, but I have no idea how I'd get it, I have no connections in either place.  Really, Lenny is the reason I'm coming down here.  He first turned me on to your product, and let it be known he could get volume if I wanted it.  Lenny basically gave me a grant so I could go into business, and it was assumed I would continue to come to him, or his people, for my product.  I'm sure I could get a hold of volume where I am, but it's garbage.  Right now I'm getting to be known as the chick with the awesome shit among dealers, and I'd prefer to always have the same product available, be really dependable so far as quality goes.  Yours rips, and I know where to find it."
     "Well, I'm flattered.  I guess Lenny has been your middleman for the past few weeks.  What's he been gettin' out of it?"
     "Not a damn thing," shrugged Crystal.  "You're charging ten K a pound, right?  That's what I pay him, not a penny more.  He doesn't get any product, either, he says he'll feel like he's being roped back into the business if he got more than a thank you from me.  Shit, the way he's helped me out?  I'd offer him a good time, but his wife would beat the shit out of me."
     Chet said, "That's right, Lenny, you were providing someone with a pound, a new triple beam, and some advice.  I guess this is her.  Well, she's shifted five pounds in four weeks while living in the boonies, and you feel she's stable enough for us to do business with.  You have anything to say, Boss?"
     Boss leaned back and said, "Yeah, a few caveats.  First of all, don't never worry about our product.  It's always the same, we take pride in that, and we've been doing it long enough we've got it down pat.  Next, never even bother askin' for a front.  We'll just laugh at you if you do.  I'm sure I don't have to say this, but if you git busted, don't even think of rollin' over on us.  Bite the bullet and do your time.  If you fink, you may have a shorter sentence, but we'll see to it you don't survive to your release date.  Am I clear?
     "If you're comin' to see us, you set up an appointment first.  In your case, you'd call when you leave home, and we'd figure out a good time for you to be at our place.  How long does it take to git from yer place to Lenny's?"
     "About ten hours, including food and fuel.  Also running at a reasonable speed," said Crystal.
     Gary said, "Okay, the last time I memorized the California road atlas, Grass Valley was about ninety minutes outside of Sacramento.  What route are you taking?"
     "The 49 to I-80 to the 99, then onto the 5 at the Grapevine.  Okay, the 5 has a higher median speed and saves a little time, but there's nothing out there.  I like that the 99 has more traffic, it's easier to get lost in the crowd, you know?  I don't feel so vulnerable on the 99.  Shit, on the 5 the CHP could track you all the way from Stockton to downtown LA, if they wanted to.  Between the cruisers and the aircraft, it would be a piece of cake for them to watch you all damn day.  Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I feel anonymous on the 99, just another face in the crowd.  On the 5, I feel conspicuous, no matter what I'm driving or what speed I'm moving."
     "You  gotta good point," Chet chuckled.  "CHP could decide to find out where the punk rock chick in the Taurus is heading just out of sheer boredom.  Harder to do that on the 99, too many other distractions."
     "So comin' down here, do ya pick up and keep moving, or stop for a while?" asked Boss.
     Crystal said, "How it's worked so far is that I leave my place at six in the morning, so I can try and avoid the worst of the Sacramento traffic.  I hold a median speed, so I'm passing some people, but there's plenty others passing me.  With stopping to eat and fill up, I'll be at Lenny's around four.  We'll take care of business, I'll shoot the shit with him and Bekka and Jane, and we'll go get some dinner.  Afterwards I'll head straight for a motel.  In the morning I get some breakfast, fuel up, and I'm on the road by ten.  If I tried to do a midnight run, just pick up and turn around, I'd be pushing it.  I'd be tempted to keep getting high, I'd be tempted to speed, and I'd be tempted to try and take care of business while I was feeling spun out.  Only driving during daylight hours reduces my risks of attracting attention to myself."
     After we finished eating, Boss stroked his beard and considered Crystal from across the table.  He finally said, "Okay, let's all head back to the house.  Crystal, follow me.  What was it you wanted?  A pound?"
     "Actually, two," said Crystal.  "I want to stock up, so I'm not running short before I re-up, or have to do a shot down here midweek."
     We followed Boss and the boys up the 67 into Santee, then to Boss's home.  As we swung onto Magnolia Ave. Crystal said, "So I guess I'm in, and I won't need to go through you anymore.  Can I still swing by and visit you guys?"
     "But of course," I said.  "We're almost always around Sunday evenings, we'll go have dinner someplace.  Ever had Chilean food?  It's pretty awesome."
     "So were you really going to show Lenny a good time for helping you out?" asked Bekka.
     Crystal chuckled.  "Shit, at first Lenny was just going to gift me two ounces, and I'd start off dealing at a consumer level.  When he told me that, I told him he could spend the week jacking off all over my face whenever he felt like.  Then he shows up and gives me an entire pound.  I was in shock.  I couldn't even think of anything I could do for him that would match what he'd done for me....  Maybe let him jack off all over both my face and Mojo's face too.  He'd refused my offer anyway, he said doing that wasn't fun for him, since he'd seen it so many times at work.  That, and even though he'd just be jacking off, he still felt like he was being disloyal to you.  Bekka, you are one lucky woman.  Maybe it's just because I'm around too many hillbilly tweakers that watch too much porn, but I can't think of a single guy I know who would have turned me down....  Except for Lenny.  Woman, you've got one devoted man."
     "Don't I know it.  So do you enjoy taking a facial?"
     "I dunno.  I don't really get off on it, but....  At the same time, it does make me feel pretty sexy, and I know dudes go apeshit over getting to do that.  Heh, I guess I'm good at it.  I keep my eyes open, I smile, and I talk dirty while he's jacking it.  It doesn't bug me like it bugs other chicks."
     I said, "Damn.  If you didn't have hepatitis, I'd tell you to interview with Inana."
     Bekka pondered and said, "Actually....  She might be perfect for a bukkake video."
     "What's that?" asked Crystal.
     "Bukkake is an invention of the Japanese porn industry.  In Japan, you're not allowed to show genitalia, dicks and pussies are blurred out.  They have to do something to keep viewers interested, so somebody came up with the idea of bukkake.  Basically, it's a gang facial.  The girl just kneels on the floor, and, like, thirty guys take turns shooting a load on her face.  It's pretty extreme, the girl is totally coated with cum, like somebody poured a quart of mayonnaise over her head and face.  Personally, bukkake is more strange than sexy.  The girl never even touches the guys.  They all just step up, fire off, and walk away, one after the other.  There have been a couple American bukkake videos made, those didn't seem to have as many guys, but you could see their dicks, and the girls were more involved in the proceedings.  In the Japanese ones, the girl just kneels there, stone still and dead silent.  In the American ones, the girls talk dirty and are allowed to wipe their eyes.  Still almost no contact, though."
     "Weird," commented Crystal.  "So basically, you're just watching a whole bunch of guys jack off, and they just happen to be using some chick as a target.  I wonder if the guys who get off on those videos are aware just how homoerotic that scene really is.  The chicks don't do nothing, huh?"
     "In the couple American bukkake videos I've seen, the girls talk dirty, smile, and make eye contact with the dudes.  In the Japanese ones, the dudes may as well be shooting their loads on a mannequin."
     I said, "Bekka darling, are you suggesting Inana make a bukkake loop?  Seriously?"
     "I'll pay for and produce the damn thing," said Bekka.  "Crystal, how would you like to make $2000 for a half day's work at some point?  You'd get paid to kneel naked on the floor, talk raunchy, and have about twenty guys make you very, very sticky over the course a half hour.  We'd be doing it on a Saturday."
     We pulled up in front of Boss's house and got out, but stood next to the car, smoking.  Crystal said, "Shit, I'm glad you'd want me smiling, because there's no way I'd be able to keep a straight face through that.  $2000?  For how much of my time?"
     Bekka considered.  "Let's see, about twenty minutes for makeup.  We'd have you either naked, or in the sluttiest punk rock outfit you can think up, we'll even pay for the clothes.  Um, ten minutes of prep time before the cameras roll.  Because of its nature, this would all be shot in one long take, so you'd be in action for about a half hour.  After we cut, you'd obviously want to shower, there's fifteen minutes.  Two minutes for Lenny to write your check.  Okay.....  You'd get two grand for one hour and seventeen minutes of your time."
     After a pause, Crystal said, "Pay me cash and I'll do it."
     I asked Bekka, "Where the hell are we supposed to get twenty guys from?  We've got Eddie, Roach, Stallion, Chip, Dale, Andy, Tex, and Vince.  Twelve short.  Am I gonna be in action, along with Small Steve and Rich and Mickey and Calm Steve?"
     "Actually, none of the men will be familiar," said Bekka.  "We'll use the Angels.  I can guarantee we can find twenty Hell's Angels willing to knock one off on a girl's face for, say, seventy-five bucks each.  We'll get them blood tests, get them all up here and shoot.  Dawn and Terry can double team fluffing, and will actually be having a bit of fun for once.  They wouldn't just be getting the guys hard, they'd actually be getting them good and worked up.  That way the guys just need to give it a few yanks and fire off.  To sweeten the deal, we offer beer and pizza afterwards."
     "I'll want Roach, Andy, and Tex waiting in the wings, in case a few of the Angels have short fuses and blow off before they can walk up to our star, here.  So what prompted the idea of Inana making a bukkake video to begin with?"
     "I just think we should mix things up a little bit.  It feels like we've been making the same ten loops over and over for years...."
     "Well, we kinda have.  Let's see: one on one, girl/girl, two on one, two in one, double penetration, two on two, three on three, poolside....  Actually, the same eight loops over and over."
     Bekka sighed, "Well, we should break up the monotony on all these damn tapes, and this would be one way of doing it.  What else can we do?"
     I pondered.  "Let's see....  male/male bisexual three-way would just scare the shit out of people.  We can't do kink, the Dirty Angel studio is already devoted to that.  That would also scare people.  Fetish?  What kind?  Solo female, with toys?  Dammit, I can't think of anything that isn't really niche."
     Crystal piped up, "Personally, it would break things up just to have some non-whites in your videos.  You guys have that one Mexican chick who showed up in 'Bewitched II' and 'Succubus,' and that's it.  It's like your studio has some sort of boycott on melanin."
     "Hey, I wish some non-whites would apply.  I'd like to round out my girls with another Latina, a couple Asians, and a black girl.  I had a few black dudes apply in the past from time to time, and they were totally useless, they were illiterate ghetto-ass gangbangers.  We'd try to run a script with them, and they couldn't read.  They'd get all pissed off, wanting to know what that had to do with 'fuckin' bitches fo' money.'  I would politely make it clear they were wasting my time, and they'd start to get in my face.  I dared two of them to throw down if they were so torqued with me, I'd even leave my Beretta sitting on my desk, we'd go out in the driveway and settle things toe to toe, if their feelings were hurt so bad.  I'd get called a white-bread motherfucker, and they'd stomp out.  And the thing is, I'd love to have a couple black studs to work with, precisely because our stable is so lily white.  I don't think manners and brains is too much to ask for....  Shit, I can even live with a shortage of brains, so long as the dude has some basic literacy.  I've put up with Vince, Dale, and Stallion all this time.  No, I gotta deal with these assholes who want to be Ice Cube when they grow up.  At least Ice Cube is literate."
     "Ooh, hey, we could try stunt-casting!" said Bekka.  "I'll bet if we got a hold of NWA and told them we wanted a couple guys to appear in a feature, they'd jump on it.  Yella Boy is kind of cute, so is MC Ren.  Eazy E is too short, though, and Ice Cube is too pissed off."
     I replied, "If we're gonna go that route, I'd want to use someone with a dramatic flair, like Ice T.  Or maybe the guys from Digital Underground, they've got a good sense of humor.  Not Humpty, though.  Ron Jeremy rounds out the porn world's requirements for fat dudes.  Come on, let's go inside.  Boss probably thinks we waylaid Crystal and made her drive us to Del Taco for shakes."

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