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Danger and Opportunity

By: JayCuck



Author Note: 

I've grown to like these characters, all of them, and I hope you do as well. As always, thank you for reading, and check out my author page for new and upcoming stories. 

***** 

Music blasted his ears, and the scent of cigarette and cigar smoke assaulted his nostrils as he pushed through the ornate double doors. A random hip hop song with deep base shook the tables, and high treble threatened to deafen him for life. Hip Hop/Rap junk, the audio equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. He took a deep breath, scanned the club until he made eye contact with Jingles, and gave him a short nod. His friend, former cell mate, and now business partner motioned upstairs with his head. Their conversation needed privacy, and some place they could actually hear each other talk. Jingles had a private office on the second floor, and that's where he headed. 

Shane stepped over to the staircase, ignoring the odd and hostile looks the patrons of the club shot his way, and started up the stairs. Being the only white guy in the club was reason enough to stand out, but the black leather jacket with large biker patch, provided even more reason for the customers to view him with hostility. 

All part of the game, he thought. 

A single bodyguard stood watch by the door to Jingles office. He studied him as he reached the stop step. The upstairs stood above the speaker system, so a conversation became manageable, not easy, but manageable. The bodyguard held a hand up, and Shane came to a stop holding his hands out at shoulder length. The frisk was professionally done, quick, and precise. 

"You can leave your firearm at the bar. We'll watch it for you." He paused and flashed a sardonic smile. "The knife you can keep." 

"No," Shane replied. 

His voice wasn't argumentative, and he kept his hands in sight, but surrendering his firearm wasn't an option. The guard narrowed his eyes, measuring him for a moment, and calculating his odds. Shane watched his expression, and followed his thinking. The odds weren't good for either of them. Matched him in height, and Shane only gave up a little in the muscle category. If they came to blows, skill would determine the winner, and as the bodyguard studied him it became obvious he didn't know if he'd win. 

"You're not getting inside that office, if you're strapped." He shook his head, and a resigned expression crossed his face. "You wanna throw down here, or take it outside." 

"Why don't you ask Jingles?" Shane suggested. "It'll save us both some bruises." 

The bodyguard nodded at the suggestion, raised his wrist to his mouth and muttered a few words. His communication gear had been invisible until just then, and while Shane's expression didn't change, his respect for Jingles organization grew. 

"Jingles is on his way up," he replied, breaking Shane's train of thought. "Stay here. Keep your hands in sight." 

He didn't bother responding. The guy had a job to do, and tonight's business meant a great deal to him personally. A pissing contest with a bodyguard didn't make his 'to do' list. He turned, rested his arms on the railing, and stared down at the club. A flash of blonde hair caught his attention. 

Crystal. 

The only white dancer in the club. Naturally gorgeous, her body more than matched her looks, and she made money hand over fist in this club. Jingles stood next to her, talking, laughing, and running his hand over her back. They were lovers. Despite being married, Crystal had been sleeping with Jingles for over a year, and before Jingles, she'd spent a lot of time in Shane's bed as well. 

Shane had known her for a couple of years. First as a friend, and then as a lover. The fact that Crystal had a husband didn't stop them from fucking as often as possible. An interesting twist, her husband loved to watch them fuck. He'd tired of it after a few months, but they'd continued to see each other on the down low. Shane had introduced her to stripping, and later to Meth, and the blonde slut had taken to both like a duck to water. 

A trailer park girl, she loved the life of a stripper. She'd grown up in a small west Texas town, and taking her clothes off under the bright lights of a stage seemed glamorous. The money helped as well. A soon as she'd started stripping, she'd made good money, more than her husband in fact, and Shane knew she'd been hooked. The same had proven true of drugs. 

Crystal liked to get high, no she loved getting high. Starting with Marijuana, then Ecstasy, Cocaine, and finally Meth, she happily moved up the chain. The last drug had hooked her hard, like it did everyone, and as an Outlaw Biker Shane had access to a lot of it. Once she'd started smoking Meth several times a week, he'd made her an offer...as much Meth as she wanted, as long as she made deliveries for his club. He'd also thrown her a few extra dollars for each delivery, and the dumb bitch had jumped at the chance. 

A slow smile crossed his face, as he watched Jingles detach himself from the gorgeous stripper. Her eyes followed him, and so did her emotions. Crystal had fallen in love with him, but Jingles didn't see her the same way. She'd become a commodity to him, an investment that had a potential seven-figure payoff. He only needed a little more time, before he could separate the young stripper from her husband, and then arrange her future. Shane stood to make serious money off Crystal as well, so he had a vested interest in helping Jingles. 

A profitable arrangement. 

Jingles had become Shane's best customer. Through his network of all-cash businesses, club, bars, and laundromats, he distributed the large amounts of Crystal Meth he bought from Shane. Drugs were his main business, and the most profitable, but like any good criminal he had side businesses, and that's where Crystal entered. 

As a drug mule for his Outlaw Biker club, she was both an asset and a liability for both organizations. As long as she kept her drug habit under control, and made deliveries on time, the club and Jingles viewed her as an asset. Meth always took over however, so eventually everyone knew she'd become a liability. Shane's club wasn't interested in murdering their own mules, so they didn't have a plan for dealing with Crystal once she became unstable. Fortunately, Jingles had offered him a profitable opportunity. 

"Sell her to me." Shane remembered their conversation. "I have another side of my business where I can use her. She's a walkin'-talkin' good time, and my contacts would pay serious money to have her in their stable." Jingles had smiled at him. "When you're done with the little honey, I'll buy her from you, and I'll guarantee she'll never be a risk to your club." 

"What do you mean?" 

"My organization can use her in a dozen cities. We'll move her regularly, and control her drug habit. She'll start at some high-dollar places, but she'll end up on the street corner eventually." He shrugged. "If she puts up a fight, I'll resell her to some business partners south of the border. They have a shit-ton of brothels down there, and even strung-out meth addicts are valuable, especially blonde ones." 

Shane remembered being shocked at first, but then his coldly logical mind considered the benefits. His club, The LoneStar Blades, could use Crystal for as long as they needed her, and when she became unreliable Jingles would take her off their hands. He'd actually buy her from them, so they'd make money on the deal. He didn't spend a second thinking about Crystal's future, her husband, or his role in her situation. Meth-whores didn't warrant respect. 

Jingles' solution worked for both sides, a solid business transaction. 

They'd agreed on principle that night. The only challenge had been Crystal's husband. The little fucker loved his wife dearly, and if she just up and disappeared he'd make trouble. Strippers who disappeared didn't get a lot of law enforcement attention, but respectable citizens did, so her husband presented a problem. Not a large problem, but one that needed to be dealt with delicately. Shane pushed the issue aside, and focused on tonight's business. 

Jingles had started up the stairs, two at a time, and a smile grew on his face. Despite their obvious color differences, and backgrounds, they'd become fast friends. They'd shared a cell together, watched each other's back, and made a good team. Once they'd been released, Jingles rose quickly, and Shane did the same. Now business partners, they shared a level of trust rarely achieved in the criminal world. 

"Shane!" Jingles walked over, and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Good to see you man." 

"You too, buddy." 

Jingles stepped back and started inside the office, when his bodyguard stopped him. "He's strapped, Jingles." 

"Of course he's fuckin' strapped!" He snapped, and motioned at his friend. "The fuck you think he does for a living?" 

"Jingle-." 

"He's fine," he interrupted. "This is my closest friend in the world, and he doesn't need a gun to kill me. Besides." Jingles eyes surveyed his bodyguard for a moment. "You couldn't stop him anyway. My boy could take you any day of the week, and twice on Sundays." 

"You're the boss," he replied. 

More of a sigh than a response, the bodyguard stepped out of the way. His eyes studied him once more, wary now, and without any of the confidence that had been their earlier. For his part, Shane couldn't help tweaking him a bit, and he flashed him a smile as he walked into Jingles office. 

Jingles closed the door, and the music disappeared from the air. Shane sighed in obvious relief, and headed over to a couch along one side of the wall. His friend chucked as he walked over to his desk, and checked the TV monitors. The club had an excellent security system, and carefully hidden camera's recorded the every inch of activity. 

"Not a fan of hip hop?" 

"Country. Southern Rock," he replied. "That's more my speed." 

"White people strangling the cat." 

"At least you can understand what they're saying. Aside from Money and Bitches, I can't figure out what the hell they're talking or rapping about." 

Jingles grabbed a beer on his way over, and handed it to Shane as he sat down. He'd fixed himself a glass of Scotch, and the two men clinked their glasses together. 

"Life's fuckin' good," he said after he took his first swallow. 

"Damn right." 

"Speaking of Bitches," Jingles continued. "Crystal's coming along nicely." 

"You still thinking fifty grand?" 

"Yep. As long as it happens within the next six months." 

"Why six months?" 

He shrugged. "I have some overseas business partners who are interested in Crystal. They're throwing out some crazy money, and I may re-sell her immediately." 

"Nice," Shane observed. "That's an awful profitable side business." 

"It's risky, but yes, it's obscenely profitable." 

"Maybe we should renegotiate her price." 

Jingles smile disappeared, and he studied him for a moment. "Fifty grand, Shane. We agreed on the price, and I'm going to hold you to it." 

"Is that right?" 

"Yes. You and I both know The Blades ain't going to war over a drug mule stripper. And you damn sure ain't going to risk your best customer going elsewhere for Meth." He paused. "Why don't we stick to the original deal, and we can negotiate on the next one." 

"Yeah, okay." 

"Sandbaggin' bastard." He chuckled softly. "You were just fuckin' with me." 

"Maybe." 

Jingles held his glass out again, and they toasted their original deal. He'd been right, and Crystal wasn't worth upsetting their business relationship, not when they had a bigger problem. 

"I'm not here about meth whores." 

"What's up, Shane?" 

"Calavero." 

"He's out?" He asked rhetorically, just before he filled the air with heated curses, and slammed his glass down on a nearby table. "How the hell did he make parole?" 

"Couple of weeks ago, according to some of our allies." 

"He coming this way?" 

"That's the rumor. He's originally from this area, and we both know he's looking for some payback." 

"Shoulda killed that fucker in prison. 

"We tried," Shane added meaningfully. "He's not an easy guy to kill." 

"Yeah, well. I'm sure he's saying the same thing about us." Jingles took a breath, and met his eyes. "What do you want to do about it?" 

Finally. The moment had arrived. 

"Calavero needs to die, sooner rather than later." Shane leaned forward, and set his beer down on the table. "We owe him some payback, and it needs to be you and me who handle it." 

"Agreed." 

"In the meantime however, I'm thinking we point him at Crystal's husband. He'd make short work of him, and if we handle it right, we can get the fucker on death row. It's not quick, but knowing Calavero would get the needle sure would be satisfying." He motioned with his hands. "Ridding us of Crystal's husband would be a bonus, and you could move forward with your plans for her." 

"Not bad, Shane." An impressed look passed over his face. "If we could swing something like that, I'd consider cutting you in on Crystal's final price." He paused meaningfully. "Say fifty percent. That could be around five hundred grand to you." 

"I can count, buddy." 

"On your fingers and toes maybe," he quipped with a sly smile. "How you figure to point him at Crystal's husband? They don't know each other, and he has no reason to kill a straight-arrow." 

"My people will put the word out. Calavero will hear that I'm living in Crystal's trailer, and that her husband's a drug mule for my club, and we're all shacking up together." 

"And when he comes for you, he'll get her husband, and then we'll get him. Gift wrap him for the cops, and let the system take him down?" 

"Exactly." 

"You think he's that stupid?" 

"I think he wants us bad enough that he'll do anything. My people are convincing, and we know how and where to plant this information." 

Jingles didn't respond, and Shane knew better than to push him. The plan he'd outlined solved several problems for them. Jingles could move forward with Crystal, Shane would get a huge payday, and they'd finally be able to end a bitter feud had started in prison. The plan had its risks, but the rewards far outweighed them and both men knew it. 

Calavero. The name tasted bitter and rotten. 

*** 

"Oye, pendejo!" The words were spoken so fast, they combined into one single, contemptuous word. "Where are the bitches?" 

The speaker stood outside in the Texas late-afternoon heat, wearing a bandana pulled low over his eyebrows. Tall, dark skinned with rippling muscles, he wore a thin mustache and a patch of black hair over his chin. Dressed in too-long shorts, a pristine t-shirt two sizes too small, and dark square sunglasses, he held court on the small patio. Every inch of exposed skin had been covered with ink. 

Prison tattoos. 

A motley mix of teenagers surrounded him, all dressed similarly, they'd gathered around to hear stories of prison. Malignant, pain-filled stories. He made them sound cool of course, and the teenagers listened to each word until they'd started to look forward to attending a 'real school'. It wasn't often they got to hear stories from a celebrity. 

"Relax. They'll be here." 

"Fuck you, relax!" He snapped, and raised the tequila bottle to his lips. "I just got out, Ese." 

"Yo say, Calavero." 

The man stepped away from the group, and put is phone to his ear. 

"So, like I said, prison isn't bad. Not at all. Don't listen to the fuckin' cops," he sneered. "We fuckin' run the joint. It's like a hotel for La Raza, and nobody fucks with us." 

"Verdad?" 

"Si." He'd been sober when the teenagers arrived, but after several pulls on the tequila bottle his words started to slur, and he got more animated as he ranted. "Listen. Open your fuckin' ears, when I talk. Prison is our college." He banged his fist against his chest. "Our people. Prison is our fuckin' Harvard. You hear what I'm tellin' you? You wanna be fuckin' rich? You want pussy hangin' off you all the time, you need to learn motherfuckers." 

"Respecto." 

"Si. Mucho respecto." 

The other teenagers murmured their agreement. Each one envisioning himself behind bars, kicking ass, getting paid, and moving up. In their minds, prison improved their lives, made everything possible. They only had to be tough enough. 

"Oye!" The man who'd stepped away had returned. He stood just outside the circle of teenagers, a bored expression on his face. "Five minutes." 

"Finally!" He stepped forward, pushing through his fan club, and embraced the man. "Gracias, carnal." 

"De nada." The man pulled back. "We got friends and shit comin' over too. It's a party and you the fuckin' king." 

"My kid brother," he mused. "Always there for me." 

"Mi familia." 

"Mi familia." 

As promised, a van rolled up five minutes later, and half a dozen or so women staggered out. Their clothes marked them for what they were, and smiles broke out among the men. A huge plume of smoke left the van with them, and they walked unsteadily to the door. They disappeared inside, and music blared a moment later, accompanied by shouts and yells. 

As the sun set, the party continued to rage. No one in the neighborhood complained, because no one was that stupid. The small house couldn't contain the partygoers and soon they spilled out into the front lawn, sides of the house, and the back yard. A mix of adults and teenagers, all drinking heavily, and most going back into the house for powdered and smokable pleasures. 

Lalo wasn't drunk. The only person it seemed. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't like alcohol, and he'd seen too many friends surrender to drugs to ever risk them. So far he'd been able to nurse his beer, and avoid the tequila shots that all his friends were doing. He'd wanted to come, because Calavero was a legend and he wanted to meet him. Even though he was from San Antonio, his exploits and reputation had reached Lalo's barrio. The notorious gangster defended his family when black gangsters tried to take over his territory, and he'd continued killing them in prison. The men in the neighborhood treated him with careful respect, and the women giggled quietly when they spoke about him. 

Calavero. The name rolled off his tongue, and swirled around his head. 

A hero. A modern day warrior. He'd believed everything he'd heard from the gangster, and swore he'd earn a spot at his side. Nothing else in the world meant as much to him, and he dreamed of a day when they could stand side by side with him as they protected the neighborhood. Money. Women. They were important too, but earning respect...protecting the familia, these were things that made a man. 

Lalo had just stepped outside to clear his head from the smoke inside. It made him feel light-headed. Two of his friends had passed out already, and the last one had disappeared upstairs with a whore. She could barely walk up the stairs, but Hector didn't care. He'd pulled her skirt up and started smacking her ass until she made it to the top. They'd disappeared into a room, and he decided he needed some air when he heard her cry out. Hector had been his friend since they were Nino's, and he didn't want to think badly of him. 

"Lalo?" A voice shook him out of his head, and he saw his sister walking up with two friends. "What are you doing out here?" 

"Maria!" He almost dropped his cup. "What the fuck are you wearing?" 

"Lalo!" A blush crossed her cheeks, but indignation replaced it. "None of your business." 

The trio of ladies wore form fitting clothes that showed a lot of leg and cleavage. Slutty. The word popped into his head before he could stop it. Maria, his kid sister, showed the least amount of skin, but she still looked too much like the woman Hector had dragged upstairs. She'd always been a little rowdy, but he'd managed to keep her out of trouble. As his eyes surveyed her clothes, and the generous amount of cleavage she'd bared, he wondered if he could keep her safe tonight. His hands balled into fists, and he stepped in front of her. 


Danger and Opportunity



"Go home, Maria! This is the wrong party for you. Not tonight." 

"Por Que?" She hissed. "I'm not a little girl, Lalo. There are lots of girls our age here. Why shouldn't we have some fun?" 

"Oooh." One of the girls next to her whispered. "I'll bet there are a lot of cute Vato's here. Let's go." 

"No!" Maria's two friends started to step around him, but he put his hands out. "No fuckin' way. All of you, go home now." 

"You're not the boss of us, Lalo." The closest one spit his name out. 

"That's right," the other snapped. "Don't try to protect us. You're not man enough to stop us anyway, and Maria needs to live a little." 

"Por Favor," he lowered his voice. "Please." 

Maria met his eyes. "No Lalo, I'm a big gir-." 

"LALO!" 

A shout interrupted Maria, and shattered their conversation. His heart sunk. The voice belonged to Calavero, and it was the last voice he'd wanted to hear. 

"Lalo." The voice grew closer, and oilier. "Who you got out here, amigo?" 

"Calavero," he replied, and motioned to the three women. "This is Maria, Esmirelda-." 

"Esme!" 

"Esme, and Laura." 

"Ladies, ladies," the big gangster smiled widely at them. "Why are you out here, when the party is inside?" 

The girls giggled at one another, exchanging several glances, and excited, happy smiles. Calavero patted Lalo on the back, and pushed past him. He slid in between Maria and Esme, and put his arms around all three women. 

"Come inside. You're my guests now, and I'll take care of you." He met Lalo's eyes. "All of you." 

"Maria was just heading home," Lalo protested. 

"Is that right?" He asked, and then looked at Maria. 

Whatever indecision she'd had before quickly disappeared under the charming smile of the convict. One of her friends nudged her. Lalo watched as she wilted under the combined pressure of her friends, and that of the handsome man with his arm around her. It wasn't just guys who considered Calavero a hero, Lalo knew that many of the women in the neighborhood felt the same way about him. They also considered him handsome, which only enhanced his status as a charming, dangerous bad boy. 

"No. I'd like to go inside." 

"Esta bien," he replied. "It's settled then." 

Lalo watched as the convict steered the women inside, and a sense of dread and panic filled him. The house had been so filled with smoke, he knew they'd likely get high just from breathing. The look in Calavero's eyes however convinced him that the convict had plans for the three women, and those plans likely involved copious amounts of drugs. 

Esme and Laura were on their own. He didn't feel obligated to protect them, and he'd tried already to turn them away. Despite their comments, he'd never been interested in either of them. Quite the opposite, they'd pursued him on several occasions. Maria on the other hand. Familia. He had to protect his sister. With any luck, Calavero would be satisfied with two women, and not push for a third. 

Not my sister! 

Resolved now, he took a small sip of his beer, and started towards the house. If he could get Maria to use the restroom, he'd slip her out the back and take her home. With any luck, she'd only smoke a little marijuana. He'd just made it to the front porch when the door sprang open, and two big guys stepped out cursing heatedly in Spanish and carrying a third person. 

Juan. His friend. He'd passed out earlier after consuming numerous tequila shots, and Lalo thought he'd sleep through the night. The two guys pushed passed him, and hurled Juan onto the lawn. His body landed hard, and sprawled on the grass. 

"Get the fuck outta here!" 

"Fuckin' pussy! Lightweight!" One of the guys spit on him. "We see you again, ese, and we'll feed to the dogs! Fuckin' bury your little ass in the fuckin' hills." 

"Oye!" One of the guys saw him standing there, and immediately braced him. "The fuck's your problem?" 

"Yo, Nada." 

"Then fuckin' disappear! Party's over!" He stalked forward until their faces were millimeters apart. "Time for you little Vatos to go home." 

His voice had lowered to a whisper, and the Lalo felt the menace in his voice. He strived to keep his face calm, because showing fear would likely result in a beating. 

"Mi amigo is inside," he said thinking fast. "I'll get him, and then we'll carry this one away-." 

A blinding pain exploded alongside his head, and he felt his feet leave the ground. His body seemed to hang in the air, suspended for a brief moment, before gravity reasserted itself. Dazed senseless, he didn't even put his hands out to break his fall, and his head cracked against the concrete. The pain had been intense before, but when his skull smacked the concrete, the pain shot beyond bad to excruciating. An explosion of stars filled his vision. 

Laughter, hot, and rough sounded against his ears. 

"Vamanos, pendejo!" 

He tried to move through the pain, get off the sidewalk, and check on Juan or Maria, but he couldn't. The world spun crazily, and his stomach heaved. Puke shot out of his mouth, and he managed to turn his head slightly, so it didn't coat his body. Once, twice, and by the third heave, he felt his grip on consciousness slip away. 

*** 

Shane sat at the bar, sipping a beer, and discussing club business with Lobo, the club president. Their meth operations had proven successful beyond their wildest expectations. Success had created its own set of problems however, and they had to find new ways to deal with the demand for their product. They'd just finished up when Rowdy walked into the bar. 

"Shane." He nodded at Lobo. "Boss." 

"What's up, Rowdy?" 

"Buddy," he replied, and smiled at Shane. "Words out on your ass." 

Lobo didn't see the humor. "What's that mean?" 

"It means that Shane lives in a certain trailer with a drug mule, and his stripper wife." 

"Excellent," Shane replied. 

"One of you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" 

"Sorry, Lobo." Shane took over. "Someone I knew in prison just got released. He's sworn to kill me, and I've taken steps to handle it." 

"What! I'm just hearing about this now?" 

"It's personal, boss. Nothin' to do with the club, so I'm handling it by myself." He gave him a wry smile. "Rowdy's helping too." 

"I see," Lobo replied, but his voice implied the exact opposite. "So my number one guy is going to risk his life to settle a prison beef. Yeah, I can see how you'd think I wouldn't want to know about that kinda shit." 

Lobo ran The Blades with an iron fist, and he kept everyone focused on business. He didn't tolerate personal shit within the club, but he also looked out for each member. Since Shane's issue didn't involve club operations, or any of its members, he didn't expect Lobo to object. The anger seeping off the club president indicated different. 

"Boss-." 

"Shut the fuck up, Rowdy." His eyes narrowed at Shane. "The fuck were you thinking?" 

"It doesn't involve the club." He respected the club president, but he didn't fear him. "I know you don't like personal shit to interfere with business, so that's why I planned to handle it on my own. Just me, Rowdy and Jingles." 

"He after Jingles too?" 

"Damn straight." 

"Tell me more." 

Rowdy took a seat on the other side of Shane, clearly interested in hearing the story. Shane glanced between the two men, and then sighed heavily. 

"It started over some stupid shit." 

"Always does," Lobo observed. 

"Jingles and I were cell mates, and we were due to get out. Jingles first, and then me about a month later." He sipped his beer. "Dax had just been assigned to cell next to us, and we were helping him adjust to prison." 

"Fuckin' dumbass," Rowdy snorted. "He married the hottest chick for three states, and he fucks around with underage bitches." 

"Enough, Rowdy," Lobo snapped. "All of us know the story, and we're taking care of Raven. Go on, Shane." 

"Dax isn't cut out for prison." His voice had gone flat. "I like the guy, but I'm not sure he's got what it takes to make it inside." 

"Yeah." Lobo took a long drink of his beer, before he belched and responded. "We're keeping an eye on him, but I hear what you're saying." 

"Good. Anyway, Dax got braced in the prison yard, by this little fuckin' Mexican. I don't remember the problem, but by the time I arrived fists were flying. Long story short...Dax beat the fuck out of him." He shook his head. "Fight's almost over when this big fuckin' Mexican steps in and cold-cocks Dax from behind. Lays him out." 

"Fuck me!" Rowdy hissed. 

"Yeah. Shit was ugly. The big Mexican motions to a few friends, and I knew they intended to kill Dax. No question about it, so I stepped in, and then Jingles appeared at my side. The two of us waded in against four Mexicans. Hot and heavy." 

"Two against four?" Rowdy said. "You the fuckin' man." 

"Jingles is fast." He continued as if his friend hadn't said anything. "Skinny, but he's got the fastest hands I've ever seen, and he's got some training behind him. The first Mexican to step up got laid out before his hands even came up. Jingles hit him squarely in the throat, and he just crumpled. I took the next guy, and he went down on the second punch." He took a sip of his beer. "So now it's two on two. Even odds right? Well the third Mexican splits and runs, I mean he's gone like a shot." 

"Coward," Lobo said. 

"Yeah. The Mexicans killed him two days later. He died hard too." 

"Deserved it," Rowdy observed. 

"Calavero." Shane said the name, and then winced. "The last guy standing was called Calavero. I guess it means skull or something. Don't know for sure, but that's what everyone called him. Some sort of hero to the Mexicans." 

"That's the guy who's hunting you?" 

"Yep. Since Dax was my guy, Jingles stepped back and let me handle it." He paused for a long moment, letting his mind drift back over that day. Finally, he finished his beer and motioned for another, before continuing. "Skilled. Calavero had skills. We went at it...punch for punch, tooth and nail, root hog or die. I'd done my share of fighting in prison, but it usually ended quickly, and I'd developed enough of a reputation that I didn't get challenged often. Let me tell you something, that big Mexican was a big challenge." 

"Who won?" 

"Neither one of us. The guards finally separated us, and we were both standing when they did, so it ended in a draw. Lots of prison trash-talking, and I knew shit had just started between me and him." 

Rowdy and Lobo nodded, and sat quietly. Shane's beer arrived, and he took a sip. He hadn't been cut out for prison either, but he'd made it through, and now he hated to revisit the subject. The two men on either side of him expected an answer though, so he pushed on. 

"Jingles and I made a great team. Skin color didn't matter." A wry smile crossed his face. "We didn't like each other at first, but once we knew we could count on one another, we grew close." 

"How close?" Rowdy asked with a smile. 

"Not that fuckin' close, you dumbass!" 

"Whatever." 

"Moving on!" Lobo interjected. 

"Calavero went after Jingles first. I guess he figured he was easier meat, or that I'd be more vulnerable without him at my back. Either way, he cornered him in the weight room, and they beat the shit out of each other. I missed it, but saw them both in the infirmary afterwards. Jingles had taken to carrying a shank after the fight in the yard, and he used it when Calavero came for him. Sliced him up good." He snorted and cursed under his breath. "Fuckin' Mexican ain't a coward though, I'll say that much for him. Despite several slices, and a few stab wounds, he inflicted a lot of punishment on Jingles. One of his eyes had swollen shut, and his nose had been broken." 

Lobo's phone vibrated on the bar, he checked it and then cursed under his breath. He snatched it off the bar and took a few steps away. Rowdy dismissed the boss, and studied Shane for a moment. 

"Jingles is the real deal, isn't he? I mean, he's not just a business man." 

"The suit throws everyone off," he replied. "Jingles won't hesitate to throw down. He'll go to the limits to protect what he considers his territory. Now that he's out, he has people to enforce things for him, but trust me, when push comes to shove...he'll kill in an instant." He met his friend's eyes, and held them. "He's good, Rowdy. Really, really good." 

"Sorry about that," Lobo said as he slid onto his bar stool. "Family shit." He noticed the silence and the expression on Shane and Rowdy's face. "What'd I miss?" 

Rowdy nodded at him, and then replied to Lobo. "Nothing, boss." 

"Well go on, Shane." 

"Shit died down for a while. Word got out and the guards made it a point to keep us separated." He snorted. "As if they could prevent convicts from killing each other. Most of the guards looked the other way, especially for the larger gangs because their safety depended on it, and most of them got a little on the side." He took another sip of his beer. "Prison grapevine let me know how to approach Calavero, and I decided to take the fight to him. 'Got sick of being a target, y'know?" 

"Damn straight." 

Rowdy nodded. "Fuckin-A." 

"I caught him coming out of substance abuse counseling meeting. He always came out first apparently, because he thought the meeting was bullshit. I nailed him as soon as he stepped out of the room, two hard punches to the jaw, but he didn't go down." 

Lobo and Rowdy exchanged a look. Shane knew his reputation, and his abilities, and he knew both men were surprised. When one of his punches connected, the fight ended, usually with the other guy unconscious. If someone stood up to two of his punches it made them pay attention. 

"My third punch missed by a mile. I underestimated his speed, and paid for it. He landed a couple of solid ones, and my turn came to soak up some punishment." He glanced at his two friends. "Ever fight someone who's as good as you?" 

"No." Rowdy replied first, and his voice held no humor. "I don't use fists though, and I haven't met anyone who comes close to me with a blade." 

"I have." Lobo's voice covered Rowdy's and snuffed it out. "It's fun at first, because it's a challenge. Then it gets serious, because neither guy can get an edge, or a break, and then it becomes a contest of endurance, and luck, and a skilled fighter avoids that type of situation. Too unpredictable." 

"Egggzactly right!" Shane drew the word out, and took a long pull on his beer. "Me and that fucker are pretty evenly matched, and we both realized it that day in the hallway. The guards got there before we could do any serious damage to each other, but I won something that day." 

"What's that?" 

"Respect." He paused. "And hate. See Calavero was a big dude with his people, and both Jingles and I stood up to him. More than that, we proved we could stand against him all by ourselves." He noticed the confused look in their eyes. "It counts in prison. Believe me. It earned us respect and some friends too, so he had a lot harder time coming after us again. That's when Calavero's hate really started to burn." 

"Did it end there?" 

"No. He tried several more times, and so did me and Jingles. The fights between us could have fucked up my parole, but Calavero got jumped by some Aryans, and they put him out of commission for a while. My parole came up before he got out of the infirmary, and I never saw him again. How he got paroled is anyone's guess, but I never expected him to see freedom until he'd turned fifty." 

"So now he's out, and gunning for you." 

"Yeah, I'm on his list alright, Jingles too, and I'm not about to wait until he finds me." 

"Shane," Lobo started. "I see your situation, and I'll approve a few guys to help you." 

"Thanks, boss." 

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "You can have a few guys, but you and Rowdy need to handle the violence. I won't have any other club members getting drawn into your shit." 

"Understood. That's fair." 

The three men fell silent, sipping their beer, and considering what they'd heard. Shane had prepared himself for Lobo withdrawing the gang's support. He'd go it alone. Although Rowdy the chances of Rowdy ever leaving his side were below zero, so he knew he'd have someone at his back. 

Just like prison. 

*** 

The bitter, acrid smell of vomit, combined with a splitting headache pulled him back to consciousness. His mouth tasted of beer, and puke, and he barely suppressed another round of projectile vomit. The cold cement made his headache worse, and he pushed/rolled himself until he rested on his side. Music still emanated from the house, but it had been turned down, and he didn't see or hear anyone outside. 

With no idea how long he'd been unconscious, he focused on making it to his feet. A low groan escaped his mouth as he pushed himself into a sitting position. The world wavered once again, but he made it without throwing up, and sat breathing heavily for several minutes. A sticky feeling covered half his face, and he brushed his hand against his cheek. Red paint covered his hand. The color didn't make sense, and he stared at his hand for several seconds, before he realized the red sticky mess was his own blood. 

"The fuck?" 

His voice sounded odd, tinny, and he tried to remember how he ended up bleeding and puking on a sidewalk. In bits and pieces, the last few hours assembled themselves into a jumbled mess. His sister, her friends and Calavero...inside the house. He nodded absently, because he knew that memory to be true, and fear welled up inside him again. 

Juan! He remembered the two big vatos throwing his friend on the ground. He turned his head and immediately cursed out loud, the pain in his head spiked again, joined this time by a wrenching hot whiplash sensation in his neck. His hand massaged his neck, trying to rid himself of the tingling, painful sensation. 

He found his friend laying a few feet away. Lalo knew he couldn't stand, his legs felt too rubbery to risk it, so he crawled over the wet grass. He shook his friend gently once, twice, before clearing his throat. 

"Juan." Again he shook him. 

Louder this time. "Juan. C'mon, dude. Wake up." 

He put more effort into shaking him now, and noticed that Juan's body flopped loosely. Not a sleeping movement, but sloppy, with no indication of any strength in his arms or legs. The fear that Lalo felt for his sister multiplied exponentially as he scrambled to Juan's head. 

"Juan!" 

He pulled the body over, rolling him onto his back, and then gasped. Juan's eyes stared lifelessly at him, and his face had gone several shades beyond pale. Puke trailed out of his mouth, as his head swayed from side to side. 

"Juan!" 

His hands pressed on his friend's chest. Whether it helped or not, he didn't know, but he'd seen it on TV and it always worked there. Again, he pressed down. Nothing. His hands scrambled around his neck, searching for a pulse, anything that might indicate his friend still lived. 

Cold flesh met his fingers. 

The realization that his friend had died settled over him, but the he couldn't understand the reason. Juan had downed Tequila shots until he passed out, but no one died of tequila. No one! The memory of his friend being thrown roughly to the lawn flashed through his head. 

"They killed him. Broke his neck," he murmured. "Mi amigo. Mi familia." 

Weakness still infected his body, and the nausea and vertigo he'd felt hadn't gone away, but cold, vicious anger helped him overcome those sensations. Ever since he could remember, he'd been schooled to protect his friends, family, and barrio. Real men fought and died to protect these things, and tonight those two Vatos had disrespected his barrio, killed his friend, and now they were inside with his sister. Calavero could be at risk as well. 




Danger and Opportunity



Rage boiled inside him, giving him strength, and soon his entire body started shaking. Several deep breaths brought his headache to a dull throbbing pain, and the world around him into focus. He braced his hands on the grass, and made it to one knee. Another breath, and he managed to stand upright. He swayed unsteadily for a moment, breathing carefully, and waiting for his surroundings to finally stop tilting. A fresh warm sensation dripped down his cheek, and onto his chest, and the metallic scent of blood filled his nose. 

"Fuckin' pendejo's," he hissed. 

Everything grew steadier as the bonfire raging inside him grew hotter. One step forward. Then another. His confidence grew with each step, and his body felt stronger as well. The weakness passed, and the nausea faded, as the porch loomed in front of him. A low thudding sound, music with a heavy beat met him at the closed front door, but that's all he could hear. 

No shouts, no laughter. Is everyone asleep? 

He couldn't imagine his kid sister spending the night. Sure, he'd caught her sneaking out a few times, and he suspected she'd done it a lot, but Maria had always behaved herself. He didn't approve of the way she dressed, but all Cholla's dressed like her. Juan had whispered that Maria liked to party, but he dismissed it as rumors, nothing had ever reached his ears that indicated his sister was anything but a good girl. 

His hand slipped into his pocket, and found the warm reassuring handle of his knife. His prized possession. Two hours of wandering aimlessly in a hardware store had paid off, and he'd managed to leave with the knife stashed in his sock. Perfectly balanced, it had a hardwood handle, pearl inlays, and a beautifully carved six-inch blade. He slipped the knife out of his pocket, and stepped inside the house. 

He thought his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, but when he stepped inside, he couldn't see anything. Feeling each step before he put his weight on it, he eased the door closed, and stood still waiting for his eyes to come to terms with the new darkness. 

A body. The first thing he could make out was the body of Esme, sprawled on the floor not two feet in front of him. Naked except for her high heels. A fine white powder lay in splotches on her face and chest, and her hair spilled over the carpet. He knelt down, and saw her nostrils flare slightly, so he knew she still lived. Not that he cared about her, but he didn't want to see another person from his barrio dead tonight. One of the big Vatos that had thrown his friend to the ground lay next to her, equally naked, and equally unconscious. 

Rage flared inside him. He flicked his wrist, and his knife opened with a loud snap. Only he heard it however, because between the music and the drugs, no one else stirred. The two bodies lying on the floor didn't even murmur. Lalo only saw Juan's face, as he stared down at the huge Mexican. Tattoos covered his body, and the stench of his body odor wafted up to Lalo's nose. He'd never seen him before, not in his barrio, and that's all that counted. The Vato was an outsider. 

He picked a safe way around the naked couple, and knelt next to the big Mexican. Slicing his throat presented too much risk. A slow death. His victim would cause too much commotion if he woke up. Instead he let his eyes travel over his chest, stopping just under his left nipple. His heart. A quick, deep stab would pierce his heart, and with any luck the pendejo wouldn't even wake up. 

Ever since he acquired his knife he'd imagined using it, talked about it with his friends, and even practiced incessantly when he was alone. Now faced with the reality of killing someone, he didn't hesitate. True men never hesitated to do the right thing. Ever. He ran his fingers over is ribs, found the right spot, and slammed the blade home. A sharp drop-point knife it slid between the bones easily stopping only at the chrome hilt. Lalo withdrew it just as quickly, and studied the body beneath him. 

The big man gave a small grunt, made a vague swiping motion with his hand, but nothing more. Blood flowed from the wound, but not nearly as much as he expected. Lalo watched, captivated, as the body struggled for air, the chest rising in a jerky fashion several times before it stopped. 

His first kill. 

He stood and surveyed the room around him. Why these two were the only ones down here, he didn't understand, but he didn't linger over the question either. On cat's feet, he slipped into the kitchen and found it empty. The house held one other room on the first floor. Still several steps away, he heard the unmistakable sound of bedsprings, and a timeless rhythmic squeaking carried over the music. The door hadn't been closed all the way and as he peered through the crack he knew what he'd see. 

Light from a dim lamp illuminated the room enough to see the other big Mexican bouncing on top of a body, grunting like a pig, and roughly fucking the poor creature underneath him. Low curses echoed in the room, filled with heat and lust burst, as he punctuated his thrusts with a slap every few seconds. A rough, contemptuous fucking. Lalo felt a spike of sympathy for the poor girl receiving his attention, but he pushed it aside, and focused on the task at hand. 

Big and awake. He wouldn't be able to kill this one as easily. The idea of rushing in and turning his body into a pin cushion crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Too much risk, and the girl could raise an alarm. As he stood there undecided, the grunting pig finished with a long, low groan, and lay on top of the girl breathing heavily. The body underneath him lay still. No words or even whispers could be heard in that room. A few seconds later, Lalo found out why. 

The sweaty pig rolled on to his back, and continued to breathe heavily for a few moments. His breathing slowed after a few minutes, and he moved his fat bod off the bed. Lalo almost turned his head away in disgust. The big Vato stood stupidly, swaying on his feet with his tiny shriveled junk almost covered by his belly. He wiped his brow with his hand and stared down at the girl on the bed. 

"Fuckin' lifeless puta!!" 

Just like her friend in the living room, Laura had been drugged almost to unconsciousness. She lay on her back staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Still alive. Lalo noticed her chest moving, but the rest of her body remained motionless. A couple of syringes lay on the dirty night stand next to the bed, one of them empty, and the other filled part way with a brown liquid. Laura's nearest arm had a belt wrapped loosely around it, near her shoulder. 

Heroine. 

Esme and Laura had indulged in hard drugs tonight. Lalo had no idea if tonight had been their first time or not, but both of them had shown themselves as first class whores. First, for even coming inside when he told them not to, and second, for letting the two pendejo's give them drugs. Finally, for openly fucking both men. 

Stupid bitches. 

Another wave of disgust flowed through him. Everything about tonight disgusted him, and he couldn't wait to get Maria and leave. His sister had obviously separated from her two whore-girlfriends when they took the drugs. That would be just like Maria. A wild child maybe, but she still had a good head on her shoulders. Lalo expected to find her a little drunk, but sleeping alone in an upstairs room. 

The big sweaty Mexican snatched the other syringe off the nightstand and sat back down on the bed. He handled it with a skill that spoke of long experience, and barely a minute later, the brown liquid found its way into his vein. A snapping sound filled the air, as he loosened the rubber tube around his arm. 

Lalo knew an opportunity when he saw it, and as soon as the rubber tube came away from his arm, he pushed into the room. The man on the bed saw him coming, but his body had already started to react to the heroine. A moment's confusion, even anger, washed over his face, but his body wilted back on to the bed as the blissful high of heroine took over his body. Just like the first man, Lalo found the right spot, and slid his knife in between his ribs. So far under the spell of the brown liquid drug, the man didn't even grunt. 

As he pulled back from the man he'd just killed, his eyes traveled over Laura's body. She'd been used hard tonight, hickies and bite marks dotted her body. Another wave of disgust surged through him. How could she let herself be used like that? He shook his head, and dismissed her, tonight had been her own fault. 

Two dead bodies lay in pools of blood, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone came downstairs. He didn't have all night. Find Maria. Leave. Lay low for a while. His family had relatives in Nuevo Laredo, and he could stay with them for a few months. Calavero would welcome him back as a hero. Like him, Lalo had shown himself as a man who protected his family, friends, and his barrio from outsiders. 

The stairs, like the rest of the house, were old. He knew they'd squeak, and even though the music still played, he didn't want to alert anyone. Each careful step fell at the far side of each step, and he ascended the stairs one quiet step at a time. His knife held in a backward grip, it lay along his forearm out of sight, but still easily put to use if he were surprised. Time stretched and it seemed to take forever to reach the second floor. 

Nothing. No sounds. 

He twisted the knob of the closed door, and cracked it slightly. His friend lay unconscious on the floor in his boxer shorts. The whore he'd been with earlier lay on the bed in between two other men. She lifted her head off the pillow, and squinted at him. He held his finger to his lips, and she smiled dreamily at him, before motioning him in to the room. Shaking his head, he closed the door and waited a minute. He cracked the door again and saw that she'd fallen back asleep. 

Bueno. 

One room remained. He crept down the hall, keeping to one side of the hallway, and placing his steps carefully. An old Scooby-doo nightlight still gave off a weak glow that illuminated the short hallway. He stopped before the door, and unlike the other rooms, sounds were coming from this one. Not bed springs, or drunken grunting. Lustful groans and even lustier moans filled the air. He sensed there was more than two people in this room, because words and laughter were being exchanged in addition to the more carnal sounds. 

The door stood closed and locked. He wouldn't be able to sneak into this room. The occupants were obviously not drugged either, or at least still conscious enough to be a problem. More moans, groans and laughter. Everyone inside was having a good time, all clearly consensual, because the woman or women were begging for more. A brief pause in the music coincided with another low, urgent moan, and Lalo could've sworn he recognized the voice. 

No! 

He'd heard wrong. It couldn't be Maria. He hadn't found her yet, but she wasn't a dirty, whore puta. An easy slut. How many times had his sister told him she'd wait until marriage? That she'd wait until he helped find the right man for her. A few deep breaths, and he felt his body calm down. His sister even talked about becoming a nun, so she wouldn't be in the last room. Now way. He couldn't leave though until he checked for sure. 

A small bathroom stood across the hall from the bedroom, and he moved inside. Sliding behind the door, he resolved to wait. His brain told him Maria wasn't in there, and he believed it, but the voice he'd heard earlier sounded too much like her for him to leave. A slim chance remained that Maria had been drugged, and forced into that room, and he might need to save her. Breaking the door down, and charging into the room wasn't an option. He didn't know how many men were in that room, or if they had weapons close at hand. 

No. Play it safe. Play it smart. 

When one of them came to use the restroom, he'd make his move. If he recognized him he'd ask about Maria, and he'd leave when he confirmed it wasn't her in that room. Done. No further trouble. Maybe she'd gone home by herself. If he didn't recognize him, he'd be an outsider, and Lalo planned to kill him. 

Easy. Simple. He nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and settled down to wait. 

Time stood still. His head still hurt, and the dried blood on his face cracked and peeled, flaking off every time he moved. Fatigue built within him. Slow at first, he shifted his weight from side to side, and flexed his knees to stay awake. Soon those measures weren't enough, and he felt his eye lids grow heavy. When his forehead bumped against the door, he jerked awake, and shook his head several times. He'd almost lost his grip on his knife as well. 

"Hurry up!" He whispered fiercely. 

As if on command, the door opened, and more rough laughter filled the hallway. Men's voices, and at least one woman, all laughing and talking. 

"Water!" A deep voice commanded. "Not from the pinche faucet. Downstairs! Bring back several bottles we're all thirsty." 

"Si. Okay." 

A woman's laughing voice. "And some more tequila!" 

"Okay!" 

Footsteps padded past the bathroom, and he heard the stairs squeaking as the person descended. In the dimly lit first floor, Lalo knew finding the two dead men was unlikely, especially since the person probably wanted to come back up and rejoin the party. 

Time. He had little of it, and none could be wasted. 

He slipped out from behind the door, and smiled to himself when he saw the door remained open. Light voices and laughter had replaced the moans and groans of sexual activity. Step by step, he crept forward, and the voices quieted down. 

"Mmmmm. That feels good, baby." 

"You like that?" 

"Yeah. Don't stop." 

Another low moan, and a new voice sounded. "What about me?" 

"Get over here then," the woman's voice replied. 

"Look at this girl go, carnal." 

"Si, mon. She's a fuckin' keeper." He groaned lightly. "I'm tryin' to convince her to be my lady, but she keeps resisting." 

"She ain't resistin now. Holy Shit!" 

Lalo slowed his approach, standing just outside the shaft of light thrown into the hallway from the bedroom. His breathing quickened, his heart thudded in his chest, as he slid his body along the carpet. The open doorway loomed and he leaned forward, careful not to make a sudden move as he peered into the bedroom. His mouth dropped open at the sight that greeted his eyes. 

Three naked people occupied the bed, two men and a woman, and they were doing things he'd only seen in pornographic video clips on the internet. Their bodies pushed and moved against each other, and the sounds of heavy breathing filled the air, punctuated by the groans of two men. The woman moved enthusiastically between them, clearly enjoying the attention. He wrenched his eyes from the moving bodies, and focused on their faces. 

Calavero. He recognized him, and the other man looked like his cousin. The one who arranged the party. Who was the woman? She faced away from him, so he couldn't see her face. Only the dark, luxurious black hair that swayed back and forth as she concentrated on the man facing her. Despite being inexperienced at sex, he couldn't help but notice how skilled the woman was at bringing Calavero pleasure. Unlike Esme and Laura, this woman hadn't been drugged to near unconsciousness, her efforts were real, genuine, and she'd thrown herself into pleasing the two men. 

"Surprise, motherfucker!" 

Lalo's head jerked back, as someone behind him grabbed a fistful of his hair, and an arm slid around his neck. The pain in his head and neck returned with gusto, causing him to drop his knife and he cry out. His eyes filled with tears, and the room turned into a hazy film. What felt like a knee crashed into his spine, and drove him into the dirty carpet. The man on top of him slammed his face into the carpet. 

"The fuck?" Surprised exclamations filled the air, and he sensed rather than saw the three people in the room stop, and walk over. 

"Motherfuckin' kid snuck up here, Calavero." 

His hero's voice broke through the pain in his head. "Who is he? Anyone know him?" 

"My brother." 

Silence filled the air. Heavy, awkward, and intense. Lalo couldn't see anything, but he heard his sister's voice, and knew the regret, anger, and resignation it held. His face remained buried against the carpet, cutting off his voice, and most of his oxygen. 

"Look at this fuckin' knife!" 

"It's got blood on it, ese!" 

The hand gripping his hair, jerked his head back, but kept his body pressed against the carpet. With no leverage, he had no chance of making it to his feet or even fighting back. The man on top of him knew his business. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear them, and finally recognized Calavero kneeling in front of him. 

"What were you going to do with the knife, pendejo?" 

"My sister," he gasped. "I wanted to get my sister, and take her home." He gritted his teeth against the pain, and spit out his answer. "I thought she might be in trouble." 

"Trouble!" The three men laughed. "Your sister dragged the three of us up here. Shit, she wouldn't let us leave." 

"Mentida!" 

He didn't see the slap coming, and the surprise made his face sting even worse. Tears filled his eyes again, as another slap impacted the opposite side of his face. 

"You callin' me a liar, Nino? Calavero don't need to force a woman. They all drop their panties for me, and your sister ain't any different." He snorted. "She was the one who suggested takin' all of us at the same time." 

"Liar. You forced her! Maria's a good girl." 

"Lalito! Shut up!" She hissed. "Go home!" 

Calavero studied his knife, and then cocked his head at him. "Where'd the blood come from, Lalito? Cut yourself shaving?" 

Unsure how to answer he hesitated, and his head got jerked back again, harder this time. 

"Answer his fuckin' question!" 

Pride welled up in him, and he bared his teeth. "Two men. Downstairs. They threw my friend into the yard and broke his neck! When I came inside, they were raping two girls." He gasped. "I killed them, and they died easy." 

"Oh, no!" Maria's hand flew to her mouth. "Lalo, no!" 

"Check it out!" Calavero hissed, and the man standing next to him slipped by and descended the stairs. 

Silence filled the room, this time deadly and menacing, and he knew he might have been let go, if he hadn't killed anyone. He'd have taken a beating maybe, been humiliated, but he'd have walked out of the house. No longer. Two dead men required an answer, and he knew Calavero couldn't let it slide. His reputation demanded an answer. 

Despite his own situation, his thoughts focused on his sister. Maria shouldn't have been here. Why did she let men treat her that way? His hero had referred to her as a slut, and she didn't object! None of this would have happened if she'd just listened to him. He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at him. 

Why? 

The man came bounding up the steps, but his voice preceding him. "Es verdad! It's true! Julio and Marco are dead!" He skidded to a stop next to the gang leader, his eyes wide with shock. "He killed them." 

As the news of the two dead men hung in the air, Calavero's eyes deadened, and his body grew still. Lalo immediately felt like an insect about to be squashed by a boot. After a full minute passed, Calavero glanced at his friend. 

"Get the H...all of it." 

"Si." He disappeared again, and descending footsteps filled the silence. 

"Baby," Maria's voice low and persuasive. "Let him go. He didn't know any better. His intentions were honorable, he thought he was protecting his familia." 




Danger and Opportunity



"And my friends? What about their familia's? Your puta friends seduced them for drugs. No one forced anything on anybody tonight, and yet my two friends are now dead! They didn't kill that little vato either. He drank himself to death, even after we told him to stop." 

"Lo Siento," she replied, and Lalo saw tears erupt in her eyes. "Please. What's done is done, my brother won't cause any more harm. I promise." 

"And the two dead men downstairs?" He asked again sharply, before shaking his head. "No puta is worth two of my men. It's too late." 

"No. It's not." Maria put her hands on his shoulder, and stroked his chest. "I'll go with you, be your full-time lady. You asked me, remember? Well, now I'm saying yes. Spare my brother and I'll be your lady." 

He transferred his eyes from Lalo to his sister, and the silence grew heavy as he studied her. What his sister saw in his eyes, he didn't know, but Lalo sensed the Mexican gangster had changed his mind. Finally, he glanced at his friend holding Lalo, before looking back at her. 

"Serio?" 

"Si, baby. I'm serious." 

"You know how I roll. Any woman who hooks up with me, has to be ready to go all the way." 

A confident smile beamed at him. "I'm ready." 

"Bueno," he replied. "Now we're going to party." 

His friend came up the stairs again. "Here it is." 

"Gracias," he replied with a wide smile. "Maria's my new lady, so fix her up with a little Mexican Brown. Special shot just for Calavero's lady." 

His friend had started into the room, but did a double take when the words 'special shot' rang out. The two men stared at one another for a brief second, before he nodded, and smiled at Maria. 

"C'mon, baby. Calavero must love you," he said with a light chuckle. "A little of this, and then we'll really have a good time. You're going to love hanging with us. We're always partying." 

Maria smiled once more at her new man, and then glanced at Lalo. She gave him a quick smile, and then walked back into the bedroom. The glint in Calavero's eyes now turned itself on Lalo, and for the first time that night, he started to fear for his own life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maria sit on the bed, letting the man put a rubber tube around her arm. 

"It'll sting a little at first, baby, but then you'll feel real nice." 

"Okay. Seems like a lot though." 

"Not at all," he assured her. "Your girlfriends took more, and they loved it." 

Confidence washed over her at the mention of her friends. "Cool." 

"Maria!" Lalo hissed. "Don-." 

His head got jerked again, and Calavero slammed his palm over his mouth. "Shut the fuck up!" 

Maria didn't even look up, she just watched at the needle pierced her skin, and hissed in pain. The guy pressed the back end of the syringe, and simultaneously unsnapped the rubber tube. 

The effect hit her immediately. 

"Jesus Cristo," Maria sighed. "Ooooooh. This is nice." 

She drug the word out, and slumped back on the bed. The guy who'd given her the drug, moved her entirely onto the bed, and left the needle in her arm. He nodded at Calavero and stepped back over to him. 

"Two minutes, five at the most," he said quietly. 

"Bueno." 

He removed his hand from Lalo's mouth, and squeezed his jaw hard, pointing his face at the bed where Maria lay naked in a drugged stupor. 

"Look at your puta of a sister!" He jerked his head, and spit flew from his mouth. "A special shot kills motherfucker. That's what you did tonight. You killed two of my men, and your sister." 

"No!" Horror filled Lalo's body, as his eyes locked on his sister. Her breathing seemed to grow shallower as the seconds stretched out. Finally, her chest stopped moving altogether. 

"Maria!" He lost control at that moment, and sobbed her name. "Maria." 

"Take this pussy out back. I'll be there in a second." 

Lalo felt himself get dragged down the stairs, through the back door, and thrown to the concrete. He felt separated from reality. His beautiful sister had just been murdered upstairs, but not before he learned how low she'd sunk. A part of him agreed with Calavero, Maria had been a puta, satisfying multiple men at the same time. Those type women were beneath contempt, but she'd still been his sister, and he'd killed two men trying to get her to safety. Now he had to answer for those deaths. 

"Now! It's just you and me." Calavero's voice washed over him, and he noticed the gang leader had dressed himself. He held a knife in one hand, and a vicious smile split his face. 

"Let him go and give him his knife. Let's find out if he can kill a man who's prepared!" 

The men holding him stepped away, and one of them thrust his knife into his hands. The warm familiar feel of his own knife again, brought him out of his funk, and he crashed back to reality. 

Calavero stood in front of him, just out of reach, but he had a chance. A chance to earn respect for himself, and obtain justice for Maria. Familia. If he won, the people in the barrio would speak of him respectfully, and view him as more of a man than Calavero. 

Anger competed with pride in his body, and he slipped into a fighting crouch, holding his knife up in a ready position. Calavero did the same, and they started circling each other. 

"Maria deserved better." 

"So did my friends." 

He snapped forward as soon as the last syllable left Calavero's mouth. Talk was cheap, and waiting served no good purpose, so he attacked. His knife hand snapped forward, stabbing then slashing at Calavero's face. His target was his eyes, but he'd take any part of his face, and he intended to end this quickly. The two men watching would need to be dealt with, and the sooner he finished with Calavero, the sooner he'd kill his friends. 

Calavero side-stepped, and ducked avoiding each one of his slashes. Faster than he expected, he pulled back and faced the bigger man. A self-taught knife fighter, he preferred a normal grip with the blade pointing forward, because it allowed him greater reach. Calavero held his knife back-handed, the blade tucked back along his forearm. A different, more defensive style and he knew immediately he'd kill the bigger man. 

Again he surged forward, stabbing low first, and then moving high. Quick, forceful strikes that sought a vital organ or a major artery. Once. Twice. As he slashed upwards, Calavero caught his arm and slid to the side. A stinging, intense pain erupted along his ribcage. He jerked his arm back, and Calavero let it go, throwing him off balance, and causing him to stagger back several steps. 

"Too aggressive, Nino," Calavero lectured him. 

He didn't pursue him when he fell backwards, but rather stood and waited for him to regain his balance. Lalo's side burned, and he felt blood leak from his wound, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He could lose blood for a while, and still be okay, the strike hadn't hit any vital organs. 

A deep breath, a quiet prayer, and he felt himself recover. He feinted high this time, before dropping to a knee, and slicing his blade across the bigger man's thighs. His knife whistled as it cut through the air, and he felt sure he'd seriously wound the bigger man. A grin had started to form on his face. 

The kick came from nowhere. One second his eyes were focused on Calavero's legs, the next second something exploded along his cheek, and threw him back to the concrete. None of it made sense. His knife slipped from his grip when his back hit the concrete. The wind fled from his body, leaving him sucking and gasping for air. He coughed and wretched on the concrete, his former injuries reminding him they hadn't gone away. 

"Get up, Nino. We're not done yet." 

Pride, vanity, and humiliation burned inside of him, and forced him to his feet. His mind knew he should give up, and his body did as well, but pride and vanity pushed him back into the fight. His knife lay a few feet away, and Calavero motioned at it. 

"Pick it up." When he faced him again, knife in hand, the bigger gangster had an odd look on his face. "You're brave, but stupid." 

"Fuck you." 

"Why didn't you just knock on the fuckin' door? Why did you kill my friends?" 

"They killed my friend. I thought they had raped those girls. My sister's friends." 

"Your friend drank too much tequila, and we tried to stop him." Calavero cursed low, hard and more spit flew from his mouth. "Those puta's begged us for drugs, you fuckin' dumbass. They were the ones who asked us to get rid of you and your friends." He shook his head. "How could you not know your sister was a slut?" 

"Shut up!" 

"You have talent, and you're good with a knife, but you're too fuckin' dumb to be a gangster." 

Calavero's words seared him more than the slice across his ribs. His hero. The man he'd admired this afternoon, humiliated him calmly and without a trace of remorse. Anger surged through him again, and snuffed out his good sense, leaving only rage. 

He shouted as he attacked this time, cursing in Spanish and English. He stabbed and slashed with reckless abandon. Calavero fell back initially under his assault, as he sliced and stabbed at the man who'd become his nemesis. Through his rage, a glimmer of hope appeared, maybe, just maybe he'd kill him. 

Several punches from Calavero landed in his midsection. None hurt, so he continued his assault. More punches. Higher now, on his chest, and pain started to build in his body, followed by a slow numbing weakness. The bigger man seemed to move faster now, always out of reach, and his movements became sloppier. The pain grew until he couldn't block it out any longer. 

Confused, he looked down. 

Blood covered his chest and stomach, and he realized the punches he'd sustained weren't punches after all. He'd been stabbed, hard and deep, and he knew Calavero had found the same vital organs he'd been seeking. Pain and weakness continued to spread through his body, and his knife slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. A second later, he dropped to his knees, and then to his side. No longer feeling any pain he sensed the world around him sliding away. Something moved in the distance, and he blinked his eyes in disbelief. 

Maria. His beautiful sister. She smiled and beckoned for him. 

I'm coming, Maria. 

Silence permeated the small patio. Calavero stared down at the young Vato who had more heart than many of them men he'd known in prison. A good fighter, with no fear in him. Such men were rare, and even though he looked barely seventeen, he'd died like a man. 

"What now?" 

"Let's collect our shit, burn this motherfucker down, and head south. We can stay with people in Austin, they'll hide us, and we can lay low until I find Shane and Jingles. One more score to settle, and then we'll head for Monterrey." 

"There are people still in the house." 

"Fuckin' listen to me. We got four dead bodies, and one Vato who probably killed himself with tequila. How long before someone points at us?" He shook his head. "No. Burning the house down buys us time, and gets rid of the evidence." 

"Esta Bien, Calavero." 

"Make it happen." 

"And the two other girls?" 

"Special shots. Both of them. We can't take the chance that they'll make it out alive." He shook his head. "It'll look like some druggies burned the house down...at least at first." 

"Si, hefe." 

*** 

Crystal snuggled closer to Jingles, enjoying the warmth of his body, and his masculine smell. The scent of sex also hung heavy in the air, and a satisfied smile lit her face. They'd just finished round three, and she'd lost count of the orgasms he'd brought her. She felt adrift in the afterglow of amazing sex, and even enjoyed the delicious soreness that only came from naked activities. 

The bed in his condo was huge, comfortable, and so different than the tiny bed she shared with her husband. Every time she stepped inside his beautiful condo, she felt like she'd come home. So different than the decades-old trailer she now called home. Everything about the handsome black man attracted her, especially his equipment but her attraction felt deeper, and stronger than a simple sexual connection. 

Always attracted to the dark side of life, he'd fulfilled her need to live dangerously. She knew he ran a strip club, and he supplied her with Meth, but he also treated her like a queen. Rich, handsome, and dangerous, he hit every button for her. The fact that he was also black was just a nice, rich chocolate icing. 

I love this man. 

The words echoed in her brain. They were true. In her heart, she still loved her husband, and she knew she always would, but her feelings for Jingles ran deeper. He consumed her, and she couldn't imagine living without him. Hopefully she wouldn't have to. Jingles had hinted that he felt something for her as well, but he hadn't been specific, so she didn't know if his feelings were temporary, or anywhere near as serious as hers. Until she knew how he felt however, she knew she couldn't give up on her marriage. 

Her husband, Tim. The accountant who'd loved her since the second grade. He was currently working his way through college, and he desperately wanted a suburban future. Two point five kids, a wife who stayed home, and golfing buddies on the weekends. 

Perfect. Sensible. Boring. 

She wanted no part of his future. Living in a four bedroom, two bath prison, with no friends, no life, and snot-nosed kids running around scared her. Pregnancy would make her body grow fat, wrinkled and covered with stretch marks. Ugh, no way! Tim's future offered nothing but a dull, gray existence. No Jingles, no stripping, and most important, no Meth. In other words, no fun. Still in her twenties, fun had the top spot in her life. 

"Thinking heavy thoughts?" 

Jingles voice carried her out of her head, and she felt a low grade heat bloom in her stomach. She'd only heard his voice, and her body had already reacted with enthusiasm. Privately, she knew he could make her orgasm just by talking to her, but she preferred to have him inside her when that happened. 

"No," she murmured. "Just enjoying this." 

"What?" 

"You. Us." She rubbed her hand over his chest. "This." 

He smiled at her. "Just using me for sex?" 

"Absolutely," she replied. 

"Is that all I am? Just an affair?" His voiced sounded light, but she thought she heard something deeper. "A little jungle fever for the country white girl?" 

"No," she replied. "You could never be just an affair to me, Jingles." 

"Good." 

One word response, and she needed more. She took a small breath, her heart in here throat, and asked the next question. "How do you feel about me? Am I just another stripper? A fun snowbunny from the country?" 

He cocked his head at her, and then sat up. She moved off his chest, and sat up next to him. His eyes held an expression she'd never seen before, not anger, nor humor, rather it held a thoughtful vulnerability. 

"You asking a serious question? Or are we trying to keep things light?" He paused. "I don't want to scare you away." 

"I'm serious. I want to know." 

"Fine." He took a breath. "I want to get serious with you. Not a night here or an afternoon there. Serious. I want you with me all the time. You can quit stripping if you want, I'll take care of you, but I'm sick of sharing you." 

Tears of joy started to fill her eyes, but she pushed them back. Crying might spook him, and she didn't want to take that chance. She settled for kissing his cheek. 

"I want that as well, honey." 

"What about your marriage?" 

"I know it's difficult to understand." She sighed, ran her hands through her hair, and then faced him again. "It's coming to an end, Jingles. It is, I promise." 

"But." 

"But my husband is almost done with school, and I'd like to wait until after he finishes, before I leave him. He's worked so hard to finish his degree, and I don't our divorce to derail him." She kissed his shoulder. "It's only a few more months. Will you wait for me?" 

An irritated expression crossed his face. "Do I have a choice?" 

"Yes. You could stop seeing me." 

"That's not a choice, Crystal. Knock it off." 

"Then wait for me. Please." She ran her hand down his chest, past his stomach, and cradled the part of his body that brought her so much pleasure. "I'm worth it." 

"Stay with me more often, then." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Don't drive home at night," he explained. "Tell your husband you're staying with another stripper or at a hotel, but stay with me instead. I want you here every night, and I want to see you in the morning." 

That's an easy decision. 

"Fine." A naughty smile grew on her face, as his equipment responded to her soft stroking. "I'll stay with you from now on." 

"Thank you." 

He kissed her, softly at first, but with increasing passion. The small fire that burned inside her, flared to life, and became a raging bonfire. 

"Take me," she begged. "Please." 

No further words were spoken. Their bodies came together once again, him leading her through a variety of positions. Crystal surrendered to him, and they both knew it. She responded enthusiastically as usual, but tonight her their sex carried a weight that had been absent before. 

After they finished, Jingles lay awake thinking of their discussion. He knew they'd crossed a line tonight, with Crystal all but moving in with him, and soon she'd leave her husband. Better yet, now that Calavero had been released from prison, she might not need to leave her pencil-dicked little accountant. If Shane's plan worked, Crystal's husband would be the unfortunate victim of a vicious Mexican gangster. 

Crystal would rush into Jingles arms, and into his life full-time. No more marital strings attached. He'd contact his clients overseas, arrange for payment, and then hand Crystal over to them. The gorgeous blonde honey would find herself overseas, likely in the Middle East but maybe Europe, and part of the thriving sex trade. Blonde women were popular over there, especially American women, and with no human rights organizations to help them he knew she'd never see the states again. 

Simple. Perfect. Profitable. 

He glanced at Crystal's sleeping form, and then slid out of bed. His time in prison had made sleeping through the night difficult. As he made his way through the luxury condo, he considered the best way to get Crystal out of his life. In most cases, the clients who purchased from him would arrange the transfer. Usually at night, with a private plane and at a remote airport. Easy. Unfortunately, the most interested parties this time were from the Middle East, and given the terror situation, law enforcement kept a close eye on flights from the United Arab Emirates. 

Jamaica, maybe? Turks and Caicos presented another option. Both destinations were outside the scope of US Law Enforcement, and attracted a wide variety of nationalities. Venezuela was also an option, but it came in last. He'd had to pay an unusually high bribe the last time he used that country as a transfer point. Socialism bred that kind of crap, and it cut into his profit margin. If his clients forced him to use that country, he'd make damn sure they paid the bribes. 

A small liquor cabinet held several bottles of rare and valuable spirits. He reached for the cheapest one, a mid-level Scotch, and poured himself a glass. The smell of the amber liquid reached his nose, and a nostalgic smile appeared. His foster father, Tyrone, had preferred this brand. His favorite. Compared to the other bottles, the Scotch was cheap, but it tasted the best to Jingles. Tyrone had also mentored him as a businessman, and showed him how to run an organization. If it hadn't been for his own alcohol and cocaine addiction, Tyrone would still be alive today. Unfortunately, he couldn't follow Jingles rules, so he had to be eliminated, which Jingles handled personally. 




Danger and Opportunity



Just business. 

Tyrone had also shown him how to addict and manage a string of girls. Not content to be a simple pimp however, he expanded his organization. In prison, he met his overseas contacts and now they had a thriving, obscenely profitable business. Crystal would soon become a part of that business, although she didn't know it yet, and he knew she'd bring a high price. 

He logged onto his computer, and sent several emails to the parties interested in Crystal. Just a quick status update along with several pictures and video files, most of them recorded by Crystal herself. He'd told her he wanted something to keep her fresh in his mind, and she responded with a ton of naked selfie pictures, and several video files. He knew the key to keeping interest high, was to send teasers to his clients, and the material she provided had been perfect. 

Beautiful. Unbelievably gorgeous, but so damn naïve. Stupid, really. 

Despite his soft words, and sincere expressions, Jingles held her in utter contempt. Having grown up around women who let themselves descend into a world of drugs and prostitution, he couldn't respect women like Crystal. They didn't demand respect for themselves, so he damn sure wasn't going to give it to them. They were commodities. Traded like any other, and useful only to the point where they made him money. 

Beyond that...fuck 'em. 

Can't make a 'HO' a housewife. 

Crystal's price would likely come close to one million, and potentially more, if he threw in a sweetener. Another woman. Not nearly as pretty as Crystal, but didn't matter. His clients needed quantity, as well as quality, and another couple hundred grand for a middle-of-the-road bitch wasn't anything to sneeze at. He closed his computer and sat down facing the windows. An amazing view greeted his eyes, and he stared out at the sleeping city. 

Tim. Crystal's husband. 

The last barrier before Jingles could sell his wife. He liked Shane's plan. The huge biker thought long term, and saw the angles in a situation almost as well as himself. Most people assumed he was a muscle-bound, dumbass biker, but Jingles had learned different. So had several people in prison who no longer walked this earth. As dangerous as Jingles knew himself to be, Shane was every bit as dangerous, if not more so. A cruel streak ran through Shane, wide and deep, and he'd follow through on something even if it didn't make any sense or money. A dangerous man, but a damned good friend. 

We'll give his plan a try. 

Sitting in the darkness, letting his mind turn over the problem, another possibility occurred to him. If Calavero were to kill Shane, which was a distinct possibility, the LoneStar blades would be almost crippled. Shane ran their drug operations, and his dumbass partner was just muscle. 

A smile split Jingles face. His organization would benefit greatly from that kind of situation, and he wouldn't have to share Crystal's price with him. He let his mind run with the idea. Calavero, Shane, Jingles, Rowdy, and Crystal. A lot of angles. A lot of moving parts. His mind sifted through the most likely outcomes, and evaluated each one. A good businessman positioned himself to take advantage of every situation, because at the end of the day business came first. 

Just business. 

*** 

Rowdy slid onto the barstool next to Shane. 

"You're late," his friend observed. 

"Couldn't be helped. A stripper wanted some quality time with me." 

"You need to stop living your life between your legs." 

"Maybe," he replied, and motioned for a beer. "Maybe you need to start. Ever since you passed Crystal to Jingles, you've been plumb grumpy." 

"Focused on business." 

"Whatever," he replied. 

Rowdy had known Shane for over a decade. They'd joined the Lone Star Blades at the same time, and after several pitched fights, they'd become friends. Brothers. Rowdy had been in the hospital when Shane had been arrested, and he'd never forgiven himself for not being there. He'd taken over an operation Rowdy had been tasked to handle, and it went south. Shane had told him to forget it, but he couldn't, and he knew he'd spend the rest of his life making it up to him. 

"He's headed this way." 

"What?" Shane set his beer down carefully, before fixing his eyes on his friend. "Go on." 

"That's one of the reasons I'm late," he explained. "One of the strippers is connected up north, and she's been helping me keep track of shit up there. Seems there was a big party, then a big fire, and Calavero left right before the fire. His crew two men short." 

"Quite a party." 

"So it would seem," he agreed. "Anyway, she told me he's headed to Austin. He likes him some strippers there, and he's already promised to stop in at her club." 

"He's moving fast. How old is this information?" 

He shrugged. "A day. Maybe two at the most?" 

"It's only six or seven hours from Dallas to Austin. He could've already been in Austin or San Antonio." He studied his friend. "You took a risk." 

"Not a big one." 

"Still. I appreciate it." 

"Forget it," he said with a dismissive wave. "Let's just kill this fucker." 

"That's the plan." 

"Still gonna use Tim as bait?" 

"Bait nothin'." Shane chuckled. "I'm banking on the fact that Calavero will kill him for us." 

"It would be convenient, although weren't you and him friends at one point?" 

"Not friends," he corrected. "I fucked his wife, while he watched and jacked off. It's hard to be friends with someone you don't respect." 

Rowdy laughed out loud. "True enough." 

"What did you tell the stripper?" 

"Just what we discussed. I let her know you were staying at trailer park in Fredericksburg. "Second trailer on the right, just as you drive in, and I made sure to repeat it several times." 

"You said he's going to visit her, right?" 

"Definitely." He squeezed his friends shoulder. "Don't worry, Shane. He'll visit, kill Tim by mistake, and we'll mop up. Although I'd prefer we just kill him, rather than send him back to prison." 

"Killing's too easy," he replied. "I want to watch as he gets the needle." 

"You say so." He sipped his beer. "Either way, we're keeping an eye on the trailer, so if any big Mexicans show up, we'll be ready." 

"Excellent." 

"Jingles going to help?" 

"He's backup," he replied with a chuckle. "Jingles stands out in the country, and his people do too. He'll come if we call, but otherwise he's going to stick at his club in San Antonio, and keep an eye on Crystal." 

"So you're takin' all the risk? The fuck's that about?" 

"It's personal, and I got some other shit working with Jingles." Shane swiveled his stool until their eyes met, and Rowdy saw the humorous glint in his eye. He realized his friend had another angle. "We do this right and Jingles is going to cut me for fifty percent of Crystal's price." The words tumbled slowly, one at a time, out of his mouth. "Since this isn't club business, and Lobo gave us the approval, I don't have to share a single dime." 

"No shit," he breathed. "That could five hundred grand or more." 

"Two fifty." 

"Huh? I can count, Shane." 

"Oh yeah? Well then what's five hundred grand divided by two," he replied meaningfully. He let his words sink in before closing the circle. "You're in for half buddy, whether you like it or not." 

"No fuckin' way!" 

"Yes fuckin way!" 

The next few seconds were a garble of curses, and hugs, as the two men embraced. Rowdy felt blown away. He'd never let Shane do this alone, and he'd happily watch out for him for free. Once again he thanked his lucky stars for Shane, and their friendship. 

"I'm takin' the watch tonight." 

Rowdy stepped back. "Why? We got guys handling it, and they already know to call if they see anything." 

"I need to be there." 

"Want company?" 

"No. I want you to stay in touch with your stripper. See if she learns anything more." 

"Cool." He paused for a moment. "You okay by yourself?" 

"Prefer it that way." 

"I don't like leaving you alone." His voice had gone quiet, and his normal smart-assed smile disappeared. "This guy isn't going to come for you all by himself." 

"Maybe not, but I'm betting we have time. Besides, if all goes according to plan I'm going to be a witness, not a perpetrator." He smiled. "The police will do our work for us." 

"You say so," he said doubtfully. 

Shane nodded confidently, and started for the door. "I'll check in every three hours. I miss a call-in, come find me." 

"You got it." 

*** 

Calavero woke slowly, with a pounding in his head, and an ache in his bladder. Sleep clung to him like a fungus, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep a little longer. His bladder wouldn't be put off though, and he cursed and started to move off the bed. A body lay in his way, and he blinked for a moment, trying to remember who the fuck lay in the bed next to him. Her name escaped him, and his hangover had nothing to do with it, she simply wasn't important enough to remember. 

He cursed quietly, climbed over her, and took a long healthy piss. A huge sigh of relief echoed in the small bathroom. Instead of going back to bed, he walked into the tiny kitchen, and pulled a beer from the fridge. A little too early for Tequila. He sucked the entire bottle down in a few pulls, belched loudly, and threw the bottle into the trash. Everyone else still slept in the tiny house. 

It had been another good party last night. Lots of easy putas like the ones in Dallas, but these ones didn't have punk little brothers who showed up when their legs were spread. He snorted and shook his head. That little Vato should have known his sister spread like peanut butter, and wasn't worth dying for. Between the two of them, he mattered, she didn't, and killing him had been an unfortunate necessity. 

His brother insisted they hook up with strippers from now on, and avoid any local chicks. Less trouble, and they were still more than willing to party with handsome gangsters. He reluctantly agreed. Dallas had been a one-time deal anyway, and he planned to be in Mexico before any heat could come down on him. Shane and Jingles were his priority, and he couldn't afford to be distracted. 

Shane and Jingles. 

The stripper he had last night, provided him with a lot of information. All of it bullshit. Planted. He knew Shane would already know he'd been released. Word traveled fast in their circles, and no one doubted he'd head right for his two prison enemies. So when a stripper started dropping all sorts of seemingly valuable news, he knew she'd been fed that information. By Shane. Jingles would have handled it differently. He considered killing her to send a message, or beating more information out of her, but rejected both of those options. Too much heat, and Shane wouldn't trust her with any important information. 

He'd dismissed the information as soon as he heard it, and started considering how to kill both men. As a biker, Shane would be hard to track down, highly mobile and surrounded by trigger happy gringos. Jingles on the other hand. That motherfucker liked the big city, and he owned several businesses in San Antonio. He'd be stationary. Guarded for sure, but stationary, and a much easier target. Before he left prison, he'd reached out to some contacts in Mexico. 

Everyone has a weakness. 

Jingles had a smokin' hot blonde puta as a girlfriend. His contacts indicated that he looked after her carefully, and that's where he decided to hit first. He'd crafted a simple plan. Wait until the club closed, snatch the bitch, and make her talk. Word on the street was that the blonde honey knew both Shane and Jingles, and he knew she'd tell him whatever he wanted to know. All puta's did when he threatened to throw acid in their faces. Afterwards, he'd take her to Mexico and put her to use or sell her. 

Pain had always turned him on, and today was no different. As he considered what he'd do to Shane, Jingles, and the blonde stripper, he glanced down at his boxer shorts, and smiled proudly at the tent his cock had created. He'd use it on Jingles woman after he killed the black motherfucker. Maybe make him watch. His erection grew harder, and he walked back up to his room. A few slaps woke his bitch up, and he mounted her without comment. His body bounced on top of the stripper, but his mind focused on Jingles and Shane. 

Soon. 

*** 

Crystal applied the last bit of her lipstick, before pursing her lips, and smiling into the mirror. No wrinkles, and perfect complexion. She thanked her genes once again for blessing her with looks she knew drove men crazy. Her natural C cup breasts didn't sag at all, and combined with her Scandinavian curves, she continued to make over a thousand dollars a night at Jingles club. 

Jungle Fever. 

The club patrons were almost ninety percent black, and they competed for her attention. No dummy, she always selected the ones who were willing to pay for her time. Of course she had offers for sex, and more, and several pimps had offered to put her to work, but Jingles had stopped that shit cold. Once word got out that Jingles considered her his lady, no one messed with her, and every guy she sat with behaved themselves. 

Jingles. She'd thought the name funny at first, but not anymore. Gorgeous. Rich. Dangerous. His name caused a different reaction in her body now. Yes, he supplied her with Meth, but her true drug was him. A shiver ran through her body as she recalled their last conversation. He'd asked her to start spending each night with him, and she'd jumped at the chance. 

Tim, her husband, had loved her since elementary school. She'd barely known he existed, but they'd fallen together late in high school and gotten married. He doted on her, and slowly but surely, she lost respect for him. They barely saw each other now, his efforts were solely focused on finishing school and sentencing her to a suburban prison. She spent her nights in the club, and then with Jingles. He worked during the day, and went to school at night. They lived different lives, and once he graduated, they'd need to part ways. 

She glanced at the clock and realized she needed to leave. Tim would be home in a few minutes, and she intended to be gone before he arrived. Easier that way. Ships passing in the night, or rather, passing for a few minutes in the morning. Meth also waited for her at the club, and she felt a craving for the drug grow within her. Jingles kept it in his office, and he insisted on keeping it. Part of his organization, and protected by him, he managed every detail and that included her Meth use. 

Soon, she thought as she collected her purse. I'll be living with Jingles. 

A smile crossed her face, as she drove out of the trailer park. On the road to San Antonio, she saw her husband driving towards her. She waved and smiled, but didn't look back once he'd passed her. Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror, and then back to the road. 

Tim was behind her now. 

The meth deliveries went smoothly. Initially, she'd been scared and excited to make deliveries for the club, but the money Shane paid her, and Jingles protection had rendered them commonplace now. She never saw any police along her route, and she had no reason to think she'd been followed. Traffic had been bad in a few spots though, so it was almost dark when she reached the club. 

"Hey, Collin," she greeted the valet. 

"Crystal," he replied with a wide smile. "You look gorgeous as usual." 

"Thanks, honey." 

She stepped inside without paying her house fee, and walked into the locker room. The day shift girls were preparing to leave, and the early night shift had arrived. Chatter filled the locker room, as she opened her locker. 

"Crystal." 

The hard mocking voice stopped her. She rolled her eyes, before turning and facing the speaker. 

"Dulce." The word bitch was left unsaid, but clearly communicated. 

"Those guys belong to you?" 

"What guys?" 

She jerked her head indicating the back parking lot. "The SUV full of Mexicans. They've been there all afternoon. Some of us figured they were waiting on you. Your customers being particular and all." 

"No idea." 

"Shit ain't right, Crystal." Dulce continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Your customers should come in here and wait, not sit out there like a fuckin' boatload of stalkers." She motioned around the locker room. "All these girls got bills to pay. Your customers can spend a little money while they wait. Why don't you tell them that, and be a team player." 

A stripper's locker room had the same rules as the playground. Weakness invited aggression. She'd learned that early, so she didn't hesitate to walk over and brace the Latin woman. Their noses were less than an inch apart. 

"Open your fuckin' ears, bitch. I don't know them. I didn't see them when I drove up, and I don't give a shit what you think." She glanced around the room, meeting the eyes of the other dancers. "I. Don't. Know. Them." 

"Who are they then?" 

"Why the fuck are you asking me? I look like 411 to you? Find out yourself." She backed away first, keeping her eyes on Dulce, and then turned toward to her locker. "Talk to security if you're worried." 

"I ain't worried!" She spat back. "I ain't afraid of no man or white bitches." 

Once again, she rolled her eyes, and focused on getting dressed. Somewhere behind her, Dulce huffed, and walked out of the locker room. She could hear her platform heels clicking angrily against the tile. 

"Crystal," a quiet voice called off to her left. 

"What's up?" 

She glanced over at the new arrival. Sunset, a new dancer, barely eighteen, who had a beautiful smile, and a nice figure. 

"I can't afford to Valet, not yet anyway, and I passed those men on the way in." She bit her lip lightly. "They scared me." 

Crystal hugged her. Stripping wasn't an easy business, and new strippers sometimes had a jarring start. Still, the petite girl had always been nice, and she'd taken to following Crystal around a little, so she felt protective of her. 

"Let me take a look." 

Still in her street clothes, she walked outside, and around back. Sure enough, a Range Rover full of men sat in the back of the parking lot. Weird. Nothing about them seemed right. From her vantage point, she could just make out their expressions. 

Watchful. Angry. Intense. 

Every alarm in her body sounded, and she walked back inside. A deep, cleansing breath washed through her, because Sunset had been right. Those men were dangerous. Most strippers saw enough men that their ability to judge them grew fast. Harmless men were the most common. Wannabe tough guys came in second. The men in the van fell into the last bucket...seriously bad men. 

"You okay, Crystal?" Jolene, who normally worked behind the counter and greeted customers, came over and put her hand on her shoulder. She gave her a gentle smile. "You missing Jingles?" 

"Yeah." She smiled back. "Maybe a little." 

"He had some business tonight, but he said he'd be in later." 

She nodded, and then glanced at her curiously. "Didn't you tell me once, that your husband, or brother, or something, was a police officer?" 

"Sssh," she hissed. "Don't say that out loud around here." 

"I'm sorry. Is it true?" 

She nodded. "My brother." 

Crystal turned to her. "Will you call him? There is a truckload of men in an SUV in the back parking lot. Apparently they've been there all day long." She took a breath. "I think they're planning something bad." 

"Jingles won't like any police activity around here." 

"Please? He wouldn't like any of the girls to get hurt either." 

"True." She gave her a quick smile. "Okay. But keep it between us."