Chapter 9: The Difference Between Nice and Kind
Medulla Dangles a Tantalizing Proposition; Gage Has the Best Time Ever
His name was Manuel, actually. After his grandfather.
He couldn’t tell whether his bros on the block were busting his balls when they called him “Prada Purse,” but they did so with affection. His capacious butt and cheerful personality made him a top-tier mule.
On returning to New Orleans after his discharge, his nickname “Prada Purse” was already a Thing in the gay criminal underworld, offering him prestige and celebrity status. As the money lay in embracing the title, Manuel followed the money.
He opened the alley door, hoisting a backpack containing a sealed bottle of Patron Silver filled to the brim with 200 medical vials of liquid Ketamine, unsealed one-by-one back in Nuevo León.
Transporting the contraband past the border was a cinch; it was one of four Patron bottles ignored by Customs, three of which contained tequila. The officer grinned shyly as Manuel flirted with her in Spanish, then waved him on his way in short order for the 12-hour return drive to New Orleans.
By Corpus Christi, Manuel felt a kinship with the bottle of Ketamine; by Houston, his feelings developed into friendship, maturing to a spousal sense of ownership by the time he passed through Lafayette.
He didn’t plan to divert all of it for himself; just a tenth, maybe. He wasn’t stepping on it, either, not if he replaced the missing portion with water. What could be cleaner than God-given H₂O?
But he hadn’t done it yet. He hadn’t siphoned the remainder away. He meant to on returning home, but then he got distracted at Booger’s, and lack of sleep made the task feel cumbersome.
Brian emerged from the shadows behind Manuel and wrapped a firm forearm across his neck, his other across his chest, immobilizing him with practiced efficiency.
“Where’s our fucking Ketamine?” Brian growled.
“I was comin’ out for a smoke,” Manuel gasped.
“Do. Not. Fuck. Us.”
“The shit’s in my locker, I said.”
“The fuck it is.” Brian tightened his bicep on Manuel’s neck, compressing both carotid arteries. Manuel struggled as his vision dimmed and strobed.
“You like it when I choke you like a bitch?” Brian demanded.
“Like when I choked your Mom...” Manuel gurgled; then his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
Brian chuckled, laying Manuel down with care, followed by a couple of light slaps. Then he dug through the backpack, locating the Patron bottle wrapped in a grubby T-shirt. He broke the seal, uncorked it and tasted the sour, chemical liquid with his thumb.
“Good boy.” Brian pulled a roll of Ben Franklins from his pocket and tucked several inside Prada Purse’s shorts.
Then he doused the kid with the remainder of his beer and smashed the bottle against the wall. Prada Purse woke up, spluttering.
Brian’s lip curled as he backed away. “Say ‘Thank you, Daddy.’”
#
“I almost lost a regular today.”
Puffing on her cigar, Medulla raised a plucked eyebrow at Ariel as he squirmed in his seat across the desk. Valencia maintained silent sentry in the corner.
“I am many things,” Ariel clarified, “some even worth the trouble, but I am not a twink.”
“What are you, then?”
“There’s a market for ‘young dads,’” Ariel proposed.
“Young?”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“You opened the door,” Medulla chuckled. Ariel relaxed some. “Speaking of openings, seems the demand for middle-aged bottoms ain’t - how do I put it?”
“I’m not a bottom. I’m a pleaser.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“You know I’m a convincing top.”
“Bitch, I hold the receipts. You ain’t lyin’.” She leaned back in her wheelchair. “How old ARE you, anyways? No shade.”
Ariel paused before answering. “Turn fifty before long.”
“And where’s Ariel gonna be at sixty?”
“Fuck if I know. Guys my age got 401Ks. Family. Kids. Ground beneath their feet.” He gestured towards the bar. “Whereas I spent MY day chasing down some shady dick dancer who bogarted a liter of my horse tranquilizer, ‘cause my building’s getting foreclosed on and gettin’ a day job’s a challenge given my colorful criminal record which all the critics agree is a fucking page-turner.” He threw up his hands and sighed. “Best guess? Dead by sixty.”
“I’ll be dead by summer.”
Ariel gasped. Medulla’s diagnosis and grueling chemo regimen were no secret among her Krewe, but as she never raised the subject, no one ever asked.
“Stop it.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Word is you’re on the mend.”
“Don’t buy the PR. She has arrived at Stage Four. The elevator don’t go no higher.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ nobody can do.” Medulla ashed her cigar. “Don’t help that my T-cells went through it in the 90’s, not to mention a lotta hard livin’ in the intervening years.”
“Who’da thought?” Ariel drew a headline with both hands: “Medulla Oblonganza: Dead of Natural Causes.”
Medulla chuckled. “Disgraceful, right? I wanted to go down guns blazing. Balls to the fucking wall.” She rolled her eyes without self-pity. “Oh well. ‘Nuff on that topic.”
An uncomfortable silence descended.
“If you don’t mind me asking…” Ariel ventured. Medulla gave a go-ahead gesture. “What’s gonna happen? To the Krewe?”
“That’s why I finna find you, bitch. I could give two shits about the client.”
#
Gage wasn’t sure if he ever enjoyed himself so much as in that moment, dancing with Tyler, so fearless and funny as she enacted the lyrics to the most amazing song he ever heard. It sounded like the future.
“Who is this?” he finally shouted. “The music I mean?”
“It’s Donna Summer!” Tyler shouted back. “Duh!”
“I don’t follow current music so much.”
“You kidding me?” Tyler stopped dancing, resting a hand on her hip. “So if you’re twenty-one, that means…” She did the math on a mental abacus. “… that means that ‘I Feel Love’ came out about a quarter century before you were born.”
Gage put his hands on his face, ashamed. “I must seem like a freak.”
“Yay freaks,” Tyler replied, returning to her full-body lip-synch as the second verse dropped:
“Ooh, fallin' free, fallin' free / Fallin' free, fallin' free, fallin' free …”
Brian joined them, the Patron bottle stashed safely in his backpack. He step-touched toppily beside them.
“You guys need a drink?” Gage offered, reaching into his back pocket. “Lemme get this round.” Then his face froze. “MY WALLET!”
“Gone?” Brian’s brow furrowed. Gage nodded, his body rushing with fight-or-flight tingles. Of course this happened.
“Mighta slipped out in the beanbag?” Tyler suggested.
A repertory of horrid possibilities flooded Gage’s mind, one paramount above the others. “What if that guy took it?”
“Clark?” Tyler asked.
“Then you’re screwed,” Brian said.
“You know where he lives?”
Brian shook his head. “He’s a couch-surfer.”
“A homeless-sexual,” Tyler clarified.
“He borrowed my hoodie.”
“If you love something...” Tyler intoned with a wistful air, “…don’t lend it to Clark.”
“I got your drinks, and your back.” Brian rubbed the scruff of Gage’s neck in a brotherly manner. “Have a good time, now. We’ll turn Ariel’s place upside-down later on.”
In light of the wonders of his unfolding night, and in the knowledge that he might never feel so free again, Gage decided to enjoy himself; and sure enough, his dread soon bowed to the doting camaraderie of his companions.
“Yo.” Brian pulled a graffiti marker from his pocket and up-nodded his chin. “Gimme your arm.”
Gage followed orders with a bashful smile. Brian grabbed his wrist and began writing on his forearm. “What you doing?” Gage asked.
“Marking what’s mine.”
“I feel so good,” Gage crowed as Brian worked. “Am I high?”
Tyler sorted through her mental abacus. “Prolly a little soon yet. You’ll come up in fifteen or so.”
“I feel like I’m high.”
“Maybe you’re having fun,” Tyler suggested.
Brian finished his work and capped the marker. “Don’t get amputated.”
Gage looked down at his forearm:
Property of Brian. 504-555-0137.
#
“You gotta pass the crown to somebody,” Ariel urged Medulla. “Or the crazies’ll go to war.”
Medulla’s three-decade reign over the gay criminal underworld knew no shortage of plots to depose her; all of them collapsed in time from their own skullduggery. She learned to trust the balance of karma, and kept her enemies - if not close, then at a careful arm’s length.
“What am I gonna care about y’all’s tribulations when I’m Upstairs rollin’ with the cherubim?” she dangled to Ariel.
“Well, the nice folks won’t exactly prosper during a criminal uprising.”
“I can’t with ‘nice folks.’” Medulla’s voice dropped down a let’s-get-real octave. “Nice ain’t nuthin’ but a front for God-knows-what evil designs. That, or you’re givin’ ‘til it hurts. A pleaser.” She raised a significant, plucked eyebrow at Ariel. “Like a Good Fairy in a Disney drama. Sure, she makes your dreams come, but she’s a supporting player. Never the lead. And you know why? ‘Cuz the bitch is tedious company.”
She picked up her cigar again, smiling to herself. “Nah. Sit me next to a Bad Fairy any day. She’s fun.”
“If evil,” Ariel added.
“If a Bad Fairy was evil she wouldn’t be a Fairy at all. Naw. What she ain’t, is nice.” Medulla slapped the desk. “She’s kind, bitch.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Kind looks out for herself first, and then you. Kind’ll put a foot in your ass when called for. Kind speaks Truth, and the Truth cannot be assailed.” She pointed her cigar at Ariel. “And lies require tending. Evil may rise, but on a foundation of quicksand. Kind will suffer, Lord knows, but Truth is her bedrock. So as evil falls to pieces, Kind sustains.
“For three venerable decades,” she reminisced, “I kept my business ethical, if short of legal. I never asked to be Boss, but when your girlfriends’re gettin’ picked off one by one from workin’ the streets, somebody gotta step up and deliver consequences. Someone with integrity. I won’t bequeath my legacy to anyone less.”
Ariel’s eyes widened as Medulla leaned in, elbows on the desk.
“How much you need to pay your mortgage?”
“Twelve thousand. In seven days.”
Medulla whistled. “You be fittin’ a lotta dick in a tiny window to pull that amount.”
“I’m aging out,” Ariel admitted.
“Aging out could be a blessing, if you play your cards right.” She smirked. “Let’s see what I can muster. Ya wanna play?”
Ariel took a deep breath. “Hit me.”
Medulla winked and leaned back, all efficiency. “I’m puttin’ you back on the hook. Tomorrow morning. 10AM. This client’s special.”
“Special how?” Ariel asked. “I don’t want a Take Two of what happened earlier.”
“You’ll see how special. I don’t trust none of my other boys to show him a good time. You down?”
Ariel considered, then held the side button on his phone.
“Yesscchh?” Carol Channing answered.
“Carol, please set an alarm for nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Okey-dokey! Alarm schet for nine PM.”
“No, no, Carol - AM. Nine AM.”
“You muscht think I’m a chucklehead!” Carol giggled. “I’ll schee you at 9 AM, with bellsch on.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Carol deedly-dooed off.
Medulla clucked in admiration. The man was a wonder, in her eyes. Always was.
“You go’n get it, Bad Fairy.”
#
Perched on the edge of Gage’s King-sized bed, Clark couldn’t eat another bite of the luscious 12-ounce T-bone steak that he charged in dulcet tones to Room 817. He’d only eaten a bite, to be sure, but he wanted to save room for the Hot Fudge Pudding Cake that melted in gooey adjacence. He tasted a dainty spoonful.
Damn, Clark mused as the chocolatey wonder melted in his mouth. This is how the fancy fucks live. I could get used to this fine-dining shit.
He dabbed his lips with a starched white napkin and tossed it atop his otherwise untouched meal. He stretched back onto the neatly-made bed, glancing at his phone.
The kid was 2,619 feet away.
Clark double-checked the smoke detector above his head, still covered with a shower cap. He grabbed his glass pipe from the end table and held it to the light. A scab of crystal remained on the bottom, yellowed but not yet burned.
Coughing by reflex to mask the click of his torch, Clark waved the flame beneath the glass bubble. He filled his lungs and kicked over the room service cart, exhaling a white chemical cloud over the contents as they spread over the white shag carpet.
The night has so much potential, Clark mused.
He placed his pipe on the comforter, which sizzled and blackened from the heat.
###
COMING UP IN CHAPTER TEN: Girlfriend Time.
Chapter 10: Girlfriend Time
Thank you for reading!
☮️ & ❤️,
