Thursday, December 15, 2016

Dope (Part 1)

     Bekka got her first assignment as a made woman.  It was risk-free, so far as physical danger went, but was also a bit tricky.  Fluent in Italian, she was being called upon to act as an interpreter, translating Italian to English, and vice versa, for visiting mafioso, serious big wigs, coming over from Italy.  They would be meeting with Angel, Vinny, and....  Boss.  It seemed Smiley, the Ecstasy Boss created and now produced for the family, was a sought-after luxury item in Europe.  Single hits sold for anywhere from US $65 to $90, as compared to the $25 it went for in California.  The wealthy were clamoring for it, along with plenty of people who had the spare money to find out what a high that expensive was like.

Dope (Part 2)

     "You know, it still blows me away," said Crystal.  "I'm moving four pounds of shit a week at this point.  I see two hundred mile days sometimes, making deliveries.  Everybody wants the shit I got, from fucking Susanville to Placerville, I got the contacts, and I can fulfill them.  All the dealers want my shit.  It's weird, I know I'm making enemies, 'cos I know all the fuck-up crank makers hate me, they can't match what I got.  That garbage they got?  Fuck, they could be giving it away, and people would be telling them no. That punk rock bitch Crystal has the quality, and everyone wants it, and are willing to pay.

Dope (Part 3)

     Bekka pulled the Falcon in the driveway of the Beverley Hills Hilton and aimed for the valet lane.  The two valets, bored at this hour of the day, looked baffled at what had just arrived, a metal-blue 1963 Ford Falcon, ass end raised slightly, with a hood scoop.  It was a vehicle that would be right at home in Whittier or Pomona or Riverside, its presence in Beverley Hills seemed unusual.  One of them started filling out the parking slip while the other trotted to the driver's door and opened it....  And took in an extra breath when he saw who he was letting out.  Oh my God, Becky Page.  The young valet had opened the doors and parked the cars for plenty of celebrities, but this was the first one he had ever jerked off while thinking about.  He recovered and said, "Good morning, Ms. Page.  Here for breakfast?"

Dope (Part 4)

     Lucas Burton rolled by Crystal's house for the eighth time that day, his shabby Ford F-150 pickup moving at trolling speed.  Crystal's car was gone, it always was during the day, but the Subaru her space cadet sister drove stayed in the driveway.  Lucas wanted to case the house, try and find a weak spot for entry, then toss the place for anything of value, but particularly dope.  Crystal, that new wave bitch, was now not only dealing, but dealing in volume and providing product light years better than anything else out there.  The bitch had shit, she had money, she had a good car, and it all had seemed to just materialize out of nowhere.  Not even Lucas imagined just how much volume Crystal was moving weekly, but he knew that locating her stash would be worth it.  Then again, Lucas was the sort who would do a second story job on a house in order to steal a single twenty sack of shit and a clock radio.

Dope (Part 5)

     On the first night of meetings, everyone rode in a stretch limo to dinner, at Angel's trattoria in Century City.  Angel was a bit nervous about this, hoping his kitchen's flavors were not too Americanized.  However, the visiting Italians congratulated Angel and his staff not only for authentic cooking, but also having the different regions of Italy recognized in the menu, with their different styles and fillips.  Through Bekka, one of them explained, "Italy is a nation.  Showing regional bias in cooking is the sport of peasants."

Dope (Part 6)

     Okay, things are getting ridiculous.  While we were in production for "Succubus,' Inana's little ode to "Road Warrior," boredom was a common malady on location.  My performers would be sitting around in the desert of Imperial County, nothing to do, waiting for their scene.  The girls would laze around in the modified attack vehicles nude, getting tan, waiting for director Small Steve to call for their shot.  To kill the boredom, they would make out with each other (and much more).  I swear, if Inana girls didn't have a serious bisexual streak before working for me, they had one when they left.  Observing this, I shouldered a camera and told the girls that they would get a cash bounty, payable that day upon return to the motel, for whichever girls engaged in the hottest impromptu lesbian activity while in or on one of the vehicles.  By the second day of this offer, Small Steve demanded vehicles be parked further away, as the panting and moaning was being picked up by the boom mike.  I got a whole lot of damn footage, and paid out nearly ten grand of my own money to girls who had found surprisingly photogenic ways of making each other come.

Dope (Part 7)

We got off the Lear jet around 6:45, walking down the steps towards the charter terminal.  An attendant opened the cargo hold of the jet and grabbed our bags, scurrying to catch up to us.  Inside were desks and offices for the major local charter services, courtesy phones, pay phones, a concierge....  But no lines of people, no security screening, no tourists, no bawling kids, no gougers selling six dollar hot dogs.  Complimentary coffee and a couple vending machines were the only concessions that people might have to kill a few minutes in this place, not all damn day like at the commercial terminal.  If you were chartering an airplane, it would be ready when you were, no delays.

Dope (Part 8)

     Our arrival in the bar was greeted with all the warmth of a Tutsi dance band arriving to play at a Hutu wedding reception.  We sat at the bar, and those on either side of us all directed dull, hostile glares at us before pointedly returning to their drinks and conversation.  I'd heard that passive-aggressive behavior was like a collective form of street theater all Minnesotans engaged in, so I let it slide....  Although I was feeling a bit punchy, and would have welcomed a loud drunk trying to get in my face, just for the exercise of it.

Dope (Part 9)

     The next morning I retrieved the keys to my rental car from the concierge.  They'd scored me a Cadillac Brougham to tool around in, perfect.  We went and picked up Mallory, her occupying the shotgun seat, as she would be constantly giving me driving directions.  We got some brunch, then Mallory began pointing us at all the traditional places to visit in Minneapolis, standard chamber of commerce locales.   The passive-aggressive behavioral fillip installed in all Minnesotans at birth showed itself on the road.  Drivers stayed at EXACTLY the posted speed limit.  In Southern California, you get used to temporarily occupying fairly small amounts of space on the road, so you can set up for lane changes or hit an exit.  Me putting the Brougham between two cars on the freeway (who were spaced EXACTLY two seconds apart) would cause the car to the rear to lift off the gas until there was a huge cushion between us.  It was as if to say, "You, in the Cadillac, I know you're trying to get me to rear-end you.  You can't get one over on me, buddy boy, I'm staying way back here where I can keep an eye on you."

Dope (Part 10)

     The club was only about half full when we arrived, but this wasn't too surprising, since we were there relatively early: around 9:30.  Another hour before the place would start to get filled up, according to Mallory.  The bar was pretty damn empty, plenty of stools and tables available.  Most of the club's occupants were at the dance floor, but not dancing, just sitting around at tables ringing the dance floor.  Mallory explained the strategy: a couple people would show up early and stake out a table.  When the place was crowded, all the members of the social circle of the original settlers had a place to gather and stash their stuff while they danced.  I wondered aloud when the owner of a club would get smart and install rental lockers.

Dope (Part 11)

     The whole passel of us, about twelve or thirteen people, headed out to the dance floor after a while.  I'd handed out Ecstasy to all present, for which they were grateful.  We'd waited about thirty or forty minutes, so everyone could have a couple more drinks and let the drugs dissolve in their systems.  Since Mallory had taken hers earlier with us, it had kicked in, and she was very happy with its effects.  She was talkative, animated, and outgoing, flitting around and talking to everyone.  Perhaps Ecstasy is the cure for being Minnesotan.  When I was handing out hits to people, she was assuring everyone that it was fine.  In fact, it was incredible.

Dope (Part 12)

     Around two a group of us went out to the parking lot to smoke one of Bekka's joints.  She warned people to take a single hit and wait a couple minutes.  This was creeper weed, and high powered.  If the joint needed to be re-lit, so be it.  We all hung around the rented Cadillac, being randomly social.
     I found myself leaning on the trunk of the Brougham with Jill.  She thanked me again for the Ecstasy.  "I feel wonderful.  I guess the only downside is that I'm also feeling really horny.  And I want a cigarette, which is very rare for me."

Dope (Part 13)

     In the morning we called Mallory, telling her she and Jill were our guests for brunch at the hotel, and to hurry up, we were starving.  They rang our suite from a lobby courtesy phone twenty minutes later. We met and headed for the restaurant.  Mallory and Jill were still both full of energy, they said they'd slept for a couple hours and felt much better than they were expecting.  Bekka reminded them that Ecstasy is a methamphetamine product, but to not worry, the wire would wind down over the course of the day.

Dope (Part 14)

     We flew back into San Diego on Monday afternoon, and were at the mansion Tuesday morning.  I sorted through phone messages and checked the answering machine for the back line, then sat down and waded through returning calls.  One was from Crystal, wanting to know when she'd be making the next "Cum-Crazy Crystal" bukakke video.
     "Got time this Saturday?" I asked.  "Rounding up the mooks is the most difficult part of doing a video like that, and all the guys from the last one expressed an interest in doing it again.  I didn't know you were so eager to become a niche porno queen."

Dope (Part 15)

     Crystal's second bukakke loop went smoothly.  All the mooks we'd had before, including our own studs, were happy to help again.  When you're essentially being paid $75 and lunch to briefly be fellated, then knock one off while aiming at a stationary woman's face, that's not too bad of a way to kill three hours on a Saturday.  Crystal was attached to the fence with two pairs of handcuffs, so that her arms were spread wide.  I figured out a way to add some spice to the loop and also satisfy Crystal's urge to blow me.  Before she was cuffed, I shouldered a camera, then stood in front of Crystal, aiming the camera down.  She pulled my dick out, and away we went.  It was left unexplained why one of her "slaves" would be receiving oral sex, but none of the others were.  Screw it, we'd find some cockamamie excuse and work it into a future loop.  I was Crystal's first deposit of the day.

Dope (Part 16)

     We walked through the lobby of the hotel in a state of high alert.  I had my Beretta tucked up my right sleeve, so all I had to do was relax my hand and I'd be holding it.  Bekka's Colt was small enough that she could pretty much keep it palmed, anyone looking would see she was holding something, but not be able to tell what it was.  To the elevators, up to the ninth floor, down the hall, knock on the right door.

Dope (Part 17)

     We had fun at the ska show.  A band called Easy Big Fella headlined, with a band named the Orlon Sextet opening.  Bekka was recognized of course, but ska boys are too cool to ask for autographs, so we simply got a lot of stares all night.  The ska girls weren't so shy, approaching Becky Page in groups of two or three to tell her what an awesome person she was.  Several of them had the Becky Page eye makeup, which is a rather bold and unusual look for a ska girl.  Bekka signed autographs, including on the left breast of one rather well-developed young lady, who said she would be getting it photographed for posterity.  She was another one who confessed that Becky Page had helped her admit to herself she was attracted to girls as well as boys.  "Me and a friend have been getting together on the low-down," she said.  "We're not sure how our boyfriends would react if we told them."