Create a similar story with title, different names of characters, location set and please keep the lesbian details.
Leon shifts his stocky frame on the folding chair to make his buttocks fit comfortable while he studies the sparring boxers in one of the four rings. He compares them to his boxer. He predicts his boxer would stop in a hurry the shorter boxer with no problem but the taller would take a little longer, but he is not at the gym to find a fight for his kid; he is there to talk to Mickie the Dyke about a deal. He glances at his wristwatch; it's fifteen past eight. They were to meet at eight; he hopes she did not forget.
He eyes the guys working out on the bags to occupy his mind, and sometimes he sends mental suggestions to better their block and punch style. He gets a cigar from his shirt pocket, sticks it into his mouth, bite into it, then reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a box of stick matches and strikes one and set fire to the end of the cigar until it has a burn with swirling smoke.
The tall boxer rests against the ropes; his stare at the entrance tells Leon Mickie has arrived. He chuckles, must have been the first time the boxer seen Mickie. The Caucasian female fits into a tailored man's suit that does not successfully hide her curves. A well dress six-foot and more inches, slim Black man struts behind her, scrutinizing the gym with a gaze to warn others he's a mean menacing bodyguard.
Leon waves a hand to get her attention but gets the bodyguard's eye instead. He taps Mickie's shoulder and points his way.
She sits at the table. The man grabs a chair and plants it a few feet away.
"Leon, how are you? Long time no see," Mickie says.
"Yeah, it's been awhile," Leon answers.
"What's the pleasure?" Mickie says.
"What?" Leon asks.
"You say you had a deal for me," Mickie reminds him.
"Yes I do," Leon, says getting closer to Mickie to keep the conversation between them.
"Well speak on it," Mickie says.
"You've heard of those guys that make bets on things that happens in the future?" Leon says.
"What?" Mickie asks.
"You know those guys that put money out for something that may or may not happen in the future," Leon says.
Leon sees the confused expression on her face. "I think they call them future investors on animals or some shit like that," he says.
"Yeah, yeah I'm getting an idea of what you're talking about," Mickie says.
"Well that's what I got for you; an investment in the future," Leon says.
"Get to the point," Mickie says in a harsh manner.
"A boxer. A damn good ring fighter," Leon makes clear.
Mickie gazes query Leon.
"I got a fighter who's going to be champ," Leon gets to the point.
Mickie keeps her gaze on him.
Leon shoots to her. "I got this kid. The best I've seen with natural instinct in a ring in a long time. He's damn good and he's going to take the title and maybe retire undefeated, not too many do that you know."
"What are you getting at?" Mickie asks.
"I need your help to make it happen," Leon says.
"What are you talking about you need my help?" Mickie asks.
Leon nerves get the better of him and it agitates Mickie. "Get to the point will you, I got other important matters to take care of tonight," she says.
"The kid calls me one night and says he's not coming to practice because of his father. I could hear the father yelling in the background, his mother and sister screaming, crying." The memory angers Leon. "The boozer is messing with my kid's future in the ring and he's screwing with my future too," he says.
"Why are you bothering me?" Mickie asks.
Leon sucks in air and blows it out with, "I want the father out of the way."
Mickie realizes what Leon means. "Hey wait a minute, I am shark and run prostitutes, not a murder incorporation thing," she says.
"I know. I need the money for one," Leon confesses.
"All right lets make a deal," Mickie says.
On the street with Fat Sam
Fat Sam's bodyguard Dickie, maneuvers the Lincoln Continental Mark Four into a curbside parking space. Rivera, the back-up bodyguard, studies the shoppers and loiters going about their business on the sidewalk. Fat Sam occupies the back seat puffing on a cigar.
"I don't see her," Rivera says.
"She'll be here," Fat Sam says.
Smart-alecky. "On her time," Dickie remarks.
"All right you know what to get from the shop," Fat Sam tells Rivers.
"Right boss."
"You want anything Dickie?" Fat Sam asks.
"Nope. I'm okay," Dickie says.
"How about you?" Fat Sam asks Rivera.
"I could go for a cheeseburger," Rivera says.
"All right go get it," Fat Sam orders Rivera.
"I should've followed your advice and betted on Frazier," Fat Sam says.
"Yeah well like I said Ali wanted it but Frazier didn't want him to get it through him."
"Yeah I lost big," Fat Sam mumbles.
"Not me," Dickie says with a snicker.
Rivera returns with two bags. He hands the larger bag to Fat Sam who put it on his lap then tears it open. The aroma makes him smile and he begins to devour one of the cheese steaks, overflowing with condiments.
"I think this is her now," Dickie alerts Fat Sam.
Fat Sam looks around the street activity until he sees the Ford Thunderbird coming to a stop in a parking space. Mickie the Dyke gets out of the shotgun seat; her hair swept into a pony tail; her tall shapely figure showing through her pantsuit as she strolls across the wide street dominating those who believes she's in the wrong neighborhood while her bodyguard makes sure her back is safe.
"Give her your seat," Fat Sam tells Rivers.
Rivera gets out and holds the car door open to let Mickie slide into the Lincoln. Dickie does not greet her instead he repulses away from her.
"Hey Mickie," Fat Sam greets her.
"Sam what's up man?"
"Business it's good so far. Lost a lot on the fight though."
"I didn't," Mickie says. "No out-of-towner going to come to Philly to kick a home boy's ass," she jokes.
"I should've thought of it that way," Fat Sam says.
"I told you that boss," Dickie says.
"What the meet for Sam?" Mickie asks.
"I got something new I want to try out," Fat Sam says.
"What's that?" she asks.
"A smash and grab heist." Fat Sam says.
"A what?" Mickie asks.
"Smash and grab instead of taking it at gunpoint," Fat Sam says.
"I'm not getting it," Mickie says.
"Okay picture this, guys go into a jewelry store with hammer under their clothes then they smash the showcases grabs all they can and run like hell to the get away car," Fat Sam says with a grin.
"Sounds adventurous," Mickie says.
"And profitable," Fat Sam points out.
"I'll go along with that," Mickie says.
"Get the picture now?" Fat Sam asks.
"I get the picture," Mickie says.
"I got three of my people practicing making the hit some noon day on Jewelers' Row." Fat Sam says.
"Jewelers' Row huh?" Mickie says.
"Got the place picked out," Fat Sam says.
"What do you want from me?" Mickie asks.
"Need somebody to walk through the place and give me the lay out. You know what's cheap and what's not," Fat Sam tells her.
"Oh yeah okay I get you," Mickie says.
"I send one of my people in the place alert minds will begin to wonder," Fat Sam says.
"That's true," Mickie says.
"Thought maybe you might have somebody who can do that for me," Fat Sam says.
"All of my girls are prostitutes so are my fags," Mickie says.
"I'll wait out with Rivera," Dickie says on the mention of fags.
"Yeah okay man but leave the air on," Fat Sam says. "You don't know anybody?" He asks.
Mickie thinks for a moment. "There's this babe a bag opener she works the suburbs. I can get in touch with her but she'll cost," she says.
"That's no problem see if you can get her," Fat Sam says.
"Okay," Mickie says.
"I'll need a fence too 'cause the ones I use don't deal with jewelry," Fat Sam says.
Mickey ponders. "There's this jeweler in some back room on Jeweler's Row that probably will do it," she says.
"Why probably?" Fat Sam asks.
"He's on snow big time," Mickie says.
"I don't like addicts," Fat Sam says.
"He might work for you. His family left him. The mortgage company is about to snatch his house. The IRS is after his books. He needs funds to escape reality. He'll be glad to help come to think of it," Mickie says.
"Maybe he'll help himself too much," Fat Sam says.
"Keep an eye on him," Mickie suggests.
"Okay that sounds good. How do I get to him?" Fat Sam asks.
"He loves what one of my fags does to his dick. I'll get him to get the jeweler to drop in on you," Mickie says.
"I prefer to drop in on him," Fat Sam says.
"Okay no problem," Mickie says.
"Now what favor can I do for you?" Fat Sam asks.
"There's this fuck in South Philly who's trying to push into my business," she says.
"Mafia?" Fat Sam asks.
"No not them it's some street gang that grew up," Mickie says.
Fat Sam taps on the window getting Rivera's attention. Fat Sam points to Dickie.
Dickie comes to the window. Fat Sam signals Mickie to repeat what she told him. Dickie listens but looks into Fat Sam's face. "Want me to see who these guys are?" Dickie asks Fat Sam.
"Yeah please do," Fat Sam says.
"One more thing before you go Dickie," Mickie says. "I got muscles but I'll need some people who don't mind popping people until this South Philly thing blows over."
Fat Sam looks at Dickie for the answer. "There's these two guys who've been asking for employment with us," he says.
"Who are these two?" Fat Sam asks.
"Miller and Caesar," Dickie says.
"Never heard of them," Fat Sam says.
"We never hired them for anything," Dickie says.
"What are their credentials?" Mickie asks.
"Miller retired from the Marines after twenty year, and Caesar has fourteen years in Army Airborne under his belt," Dickie says.
"I'm talking about street work," Mickie interrupts.
Dickie holds his breath for a moment to keep his anger from flaring. He mocks Mickie, "Shit like street work gives them a hard on."
"Want them?" Fat Sam asks Mickie.
"Tell them to call me," Mickie says.
Dickie watches Mickie stroll to her Thunderbird. He wonders aloud if she ever had a penis in her. Fat Sam recalls the one time she did it was years ago during in a summer camp that an interfaith church put together to introduce suburban kids to intercity kids. She felled in love with the city and he taught her how to survive in it. "Lets go," Fat Sam orders Dickie. "We got to get our three blind mice ready for this job," he says.
Mickie's bodyguard Bill steers the Thunderbird into traffic. She tells Bill the deal she made with Fat Sam about Miller and Caesar.
"That's good," Bill says.
"I'll let them know you're number two in the outfit," she says.
"Okay boss," he says.
"I'm going to get some of those beeper things for me you and the two mechanics," she says.
"Okay," he replies.
"We'll give my prostitutes codes to use whenever they feel funny about a trick or anything else," she says.
"What about the sharks," Bill asks.
"Those asses are after my prostitution," she snarls. "You remember Trish?" Mickie asks him.
"Yeah," he says, and reminisces; he busted her when he was cop. She escaped going to jail by pussy whipping him, and they stayed a couple for several years until she just dumped him without giving him a reason for breaking his heart all to pieces. "Yeah I remember her," he chokes.
"Think you can get in touch with her?" She asks.
"I doubt it but I can try," he says.
"Give it a try will you the deal with Fat Sam includes her," she says.
"I'll try," he says.
"Good."
In Fat Sam's office
Fat Sam sits behind his grand wooden desk on his plush leather swivel chair, puffing a cigar, smiling at Mickie. Dickie and Bill sit on armchairs keeping watch on their bosses. Mickie finishes telling Fat Sam what Trish found at the jewelry store.
"The security camera won't mean shit because the guys will be hooded," Fat Sam says.
"Trish figures it's most likely just for recording folks passing bad credit cards,"
"How much do I owe the bitch?" Fat Sam asks.
"Trish," Bill snaps. "Her name is Trish."
Fat Sam looks at Bill with contempt telling him no one speaks to him like that is his office. Dickie recognizes the look and stands. Mickie understands. "Cool out guys he's new with me, I'll handle him," she says. She sends Bill a sit down and stay quiet stare. "He replaced Luke," she tells Fat Sam.
"Yeah okay, now, how much do I owe this?" He stops and look at Bill then says, "Trish."
"Five hundred," Mickie says.
"I'll give her five fifty," Fat Sam says.
"Okay," Mickie says.
"How are the two shooters doing?" Fat Sam asks.
"Okay," Mickie says. "They stepped to some guy who was giving one of my girls a hard time but nothing came back from the gang."
"That wasn't them," Fat Sam says. "When they hit for sure you'll know but don't let it be a second time or you'll lose your business thereafter. Right Dickie."
"Right boss," Dickie answers.
"Okay," Mickie says. Then asks Fat Sam, "When are you going to make your move on this heist?"
"Next week. My three blind mice are getting itchy fingers eager to do it," Fat Sam says.
In the Jeweler's room
The over weight Jeweler pulls his pants up to his waist and tightens the belt. The Fag gets off his knees brushing dirt from his pants.
"You know you need to get this place clean," the Fag tells the Jeweler.
"Stop nagging you not a real woman," the Jeweler says.
"And you should find a place to take a bath skip taking a shower," the Fag says.
"Your money is on the table under the mat," the Jeweler says on his way to the mini refrigerator.
"Please take my advice," the Fag insists.
"Think of it as a caveman mentality," the Jeweler tries to joke.
"Cavemen washed themselves in streams," the Fag says.
"I'll look for a stream in center city," the Jeweler says in a smart-alecky manner.
The Fag gets his money and goes to the door.
"You hear anymore about this deal you told me about?" The Jeweler asks twisting the cap off a bottle of beer.
"No nothing," the Fag says.
"Damn. I wish they'd hurry up and get it over with I need the money," the Jeweler says.
"Yeah, so you can afford to buy some soap," the Fag teases.
"Go to hell nagging wannabe woman," the Jeweler says.
"I don't want to be a woman," the Fag says.
"Listen asks your panderer," the Jeweler says.
"My what?" The Fag asks.
"Your madam. Ask her," the Jeweler says.
"She won't tell me," the Fag says.
"What?" The Jeweler asks.
"I did my part. They'll get in touch with you don't worry," the Fag says.
Spitting beer. "I need the fucking money," the Jeweler snaps.
The Fag studies him for a moment. "You're not thinking about burning these guys are you?" he asks.
"Hell no nothing like that," the Jeweler lies.
"Don't man and I mean it, you'll be messing with a phalanx of tough guys that'll keep going until they roll you into the ground," the Fag says.
"There you go again being a worrying nagging woman even if you don't want to be a woman," the Jeweler says.
"Zip your zipper up you don't need to catch a cold in both heads," the Fag says.
In Fat Sam's Lincoln
Dickie maneuvers the Lincoln along the streets while Rivera does his shotgun job. Fat Sam lets cigar smoke drift from the back seat. He's worried that although the heist went as planned the cops may get a lead from the security cameras because Dickie suggested that one of the detective may figure that the robbery was cased because the three blind mice went straight to the expensive jewelry showcase. And although that woman who cased the place worked the suburbs, the police exchanges information. Fat Sam decides to let Mickie deal with the woman so he can deal with another problem.
"Who did you say those guys were who robbed my bar?" Fat Sam asks.
"One of them is a cousin of the day barmaid," Rivera answers.
"Do the cops know?" Fat Sam asks Dickie.
"Not yet," Dickie says.
"Call that detective you know in the north division, and tell him to take his time dealing with it," Fat Sam says.
"Okay," Dickie says.
Fat Sam tells Dickie, "ride around and find Bone Crusher I want him to give these guys a message."
With Mickie
Mickie sits shotgun in the Thunderbird's shotgun looking at the night sky as Bill powers the car along the street. She takes a sip of soda from the bottle and rests the bottle on the seat between her thighs.
"Sam's worried about the cops finding out Trish cased that job for him," she says over the Jazz coming from the radio.
"So what if they do?" Bill asks.
"You don't want me to answer that do you?" she asks.
"She left the city with some goody two-shoe sales man," he says.
"Don't lie to me okay," she says.
"She followed him to Atlanta; she got tired of the streets, but she needed some hide away money just in case this guy flipped on her," he says.
Mickie sips soda. "Sam will be happy to hear that," he says.
The hospital floor cleaner sees something familiar about the woman on the emergency room curry; he's sure who she is even with her bloody disfigured face.
In the hospital room, seeing what they did to her prostitute makes tears puddle in Mickie's eyes but she's too tough to let it flow. Bill peeks often at the bridge connecting Philadelphia and Camden to avoid looking at the prostitute.
"Look what they did to her," Mickie moans.
"I saw," Bill says.
"Those bastards," she says.
"Listen Boss," he says.
"What?" she asks.
"The mechanics told me earlier that they had put together some sort of a retaliation thing if something like this comes up," he says.
"Yeah," she says.
"All they need is your say so," she says.
"I say so," she says.
Friday night on South Street
The revelers celebrate Friday night in clubs or restaurants along the strip. Outside a tavern a bar funky commandeers a parking space for his boss. Miller keeps an eye on him. Caesar does the same from across the street. The funky steps onto the sidewalk and gets ready to become a doorman. The Cadillac maneuvers into the space. Miller and Caesar rushes to the car each pulling a Smith and Wesson three fifty seven revolvers from their waistband and shoots the three men inside it to death. They get lost in the night the crowd.
On a deserted street with City Hall in view the Lincoln rolls to a stop by the curb. They sit for almost an hour later. "He should've been here by now," Rivera says.
"We'll wait a little more," Fat Sam says.
"Here he comes now," Dickie says.
The Jeweler walks towards the Lincoln. Rivera gets out to give the Jeweler his seat but the Jeweler ignores him and stops at the rear door. He pulls on it. Rivera holds the shotgun door open. "You sit up here," he says. The Jeweler looks through Rivera then gets into the Lincoln. He peeks at Fat Sam and then stares at Dickie.
"You got the whole damn seat covered," the Jeweler tells Fat Sam.
"You're an hour late," Fat Sam says in a calm manner.
"So you're the fatso?" The Jeweler asks.
"I'm <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON> to a few or Sam to everyone but not fatso to anybody," Fat Sam says.
"You must be his goon?" The Jeweler asks Dickie.
"Listen buddy," Fat Sam says.
"My name is mister Goldenberg to you fatso and you listen to me," the Jeweler growls. He twists his torso towards Fat Sam, who sees the nervousness and fear in the Jeweler's eyes. Fat Sam's straight right punch to the Jeweler's head triggers Dickie's left hook to the Jeweler's ear.
Rivera sees what's happening but hears someone running towards him; he turns, and sidesteps the downward plunging baseball bat. He punches the man with jabs and hooks to his body until the man knees weaken. He lifts the man up and slams his face on Lincoln's hood.
Dickie pats down the Jeweler's clothing and finds a thirty-two revolver.
"What the fuck was you thinking?" Fat Sam asks the Jeweler.
"I didn't think they still made thirty-two's," Dickie says. He tosses it to Fat Sam.
"I asked you a question," Fat Sam says.
"I don't know now," the Jeweler mutters.
"When you and your kid met at that Roy Rogers I thought it was a please come home dad thing not to plan this shit," Fat Sam says.
The Jeweler does a 'oh shit glance' at the Lincoln's roof then looks at Fat Sam.
"Yeah man I had eyes on you before that fag talked to you," Fat Sam says.
The Jeweler looks at his son. Fat Sam places the muzzle of his Smith and Wesson forty-five pistol against the back of the Jeweler's head, making him flinch.
"Oh please don't," the Jeweler begs.
Dickie smothers a giggle.
"The drugs you're on made you do this right?" Fat Sam asks.
The Jeweler hesitates then mumbles, "yes."
"When you're dealing with me stay off the shit okay. It makes you use bad judgment," Fat Sam says.
"It does. It does," the Jeweler mumbles.
Fat Sam puts the pistol away. "You could've gotten you and your son killed tonight buddy," he says.
"I believe you mister Fat Sam," the Jeweler says.
"I'm a tough guy been one ever since I was ten," Fat Sam brags. "I survived tonight because you were trying to get lucky through stupidity. Now I want you to do something you're not stupid at."
"Yes sir," the Jeweler cowers.
"See that guy out there with your son?" Fat Sam asks.
The Jeweler looks. "Yes sir," he mumbles.
"He will bring you some of the stuff every now and then. You do your thing and get me money for it. It'll go on that way until it's all gone," Fat Sam says.
"Yes Sir," the Jeweler says.
"Don't worry you'll get paid each time you get me my money," Fat Sam stresses then with a threatening tone, "please don't fuck over on me."
"I won't I promise," the Jeweler says.
"Promises are made to be broken," Fat Sam says in a threatening manner.
"Not this one," the Jeweler says.
"Good we have an understanding. Now get your stinking ass out of my car," Fat Sam says.
CHAPTER TWO
A Phalanx of Tough Guys
Mickie sits behind her desk looking into at three hundred and fifty pound, Fat Sam, sitting across from her, enjoying a cigar, waiting for her answer.
"I really don't want to get involved with the stuff," she says.
"I don't want you to get involved in the street dealings. I got that all set up. What I need from you is a little financial help," he says.
"That sounds like getting involved in my book," she says.
"My friend in New York says the stuff is bringing in so much money for him he don't know how to spend it fast enough," he says.
"That's the point," she says.
"Shit. He got to stock it in boxes and stack it in rooms, because if he go to the bank, it will raise flags to the police," he says.
"Too much money like that draws bloodshed," she says.
"Hell for every twenty, you'll get back twenty-five on top of that twenty," he says.
After two years Mickie remembers what Fat Sam told her, now she owns two more taverns and four apartment buildings on her legal side. On her other side sometimes she looks the other way when her female or male prostitutes shortchange her.
Her bodyguard and chauffer, Bill, makes the straight from the showroom, seventy-five black Lincoln keep pace with the traffic.
"There he is," she says pointing at one of her street shylocks, Richard.
Bill slows the Lincoln to a stop at the curb. Mickie leaves the shotgun seat and gets in the back, motioning Richard to take her place. Fear tells him not to but he has no choice. He gets in and gives Bill a hello nod. Bill powers the car into traffic.
"Who is this fuck that owes me this much money?" she snarls and waits for an answer.
"I don't know," Richard says nervously.
"You don't know," she says.
"Things got out of hand," Richard says.
"How did things get out of hand?" she asks.
"I don't know boss," Richard mumbles.
"Who vouched for this guy?" she asks.
"Adam," Richard says.
"Adam," Mickie blurts out.
"Yeah," Richard answers.
"He should know better," she says.
"I don't know what happened with him," Richard says, crossing his fingers, hoping he is out of trouble.
"Well, we'll find out. We can't let shit like this go without someone getting an ass kicking," she says.
"Right boss," Richard says as if a prayer.
"What was the other thing?" Mickie asks.
"Councilman Jordan is going for re-election and he's short of funds. He says he can pay back the principle with no problem but the interest will have to be in fringe benefits," Richards says.
She mulls it over. "Okay, anything else?" she asks.
"Not with me," Richard says.
"Okay. Bill, drop him off back at his car," she says. She gets her car telephone then push buttons to call her street crew, Miller and Caesar, to have them bring Adam to her office.
Mickie stare intimidates Adam enough to make him come close to peeing in his pants. He peeks over to shoulder to assure himself Bill, sitting on the couch, has no attention of hitting him.
"Who is this ass hole you let to owe me that much money?" Mickie asks suddenly.
Adam shivers as if a cold wind penetrated his clothes. "I got him on Polaroid. All his info is scribbled on the back. I told him the consequences and he agreed," Adam stammers.
"You let him get into me this deep," she says.
"Like I said, I told him what would happen," Adam says.
"Why did you let him get into me for so much you know the rule," she snarls.
Adam says nothing. Mickie sees the fear in his eyes, and realizes he is fighting back tears.
"The mother fucker is a gambler," she says.
"Yeah," Adam answers.
"Dumb ass," Bill mutters.
"You know the rule," Mickie snarls.
"Mickie. The man lied to me and I didn't find out until later. Then he was in so deep I thought if I let him go on," Adam says.
"He'd get lucky and pay up," Bill finishes Adam's sentence.
"Yeah. Something like that, " Adam says.
Bill pushes himself off the couch, steps behind Adam, and slaps his head. Adam grabs the sore spot then examines his hand for blood.
"There was no need for that," Adam says looking over his shoulders at Bill.
"It could've been worse," Mickie says.
"I'm sorry about this mess up," Adam says.
"More of a fuck up," Mickie snarls.
"I'm sorry," Adam pleas.
"Give this jerk's information to Miller or Caesar," Mickie says.
"I don't have it on me," Adam says.
"They'll take you where it is," she says and stands. Her glare makes Adam cower. "The next time you fuck up like this you're off my payroll for a long stay in a hospital," she warns him.
The once a year party Fat Sam gives for his crew, at his hideaway from his wife condo, is at full swing, dancing, mingling with food or drinks in hands, and snorting drugs. The doorman opens the door and gazes upon Mickie and Bill and shows uncertainty whether to stop them then figures maybe they're new friends of Fat Sam.
Mickie and Bill squeeze between the bodies, until she stops at one of Fat Sam's crew she knows.
"Where's Sam?" Mickie shouts over the music into the man's ear.
"He's in the bedroom."
"Alone?" She asks.
"Yeah. He just don't feel good," he says.
She sends Bill away with a head motion. He gives her are you sure look. She nods. She knocks on the door and opens it. Fat Sam sits on the side of the bed puffing on a cigar. She has not seen him in some time and he has put on a lot more pounds. It makes her giggle because she tells herself if the bed was alive if would be screaming for mercy.
"What's up gal? He wheezes.
"You man. How are you feeling?" she asks.
She sits beside him.
"Okay. I had to rest got tired and out of breath," he says.
"Smoke too many cigars," she says as a joke.
"Sound like my old lady, 'cept she's on me about how much fat I got on me," he says.
"Can you blame her, you're probably squashing her while doing it," she jokes.
"Put her on top now a days," he says with a smile.
She laughs.
She goes to the dresser and gets a cigar and a matchstick, and strikes the match and holds the flame to the foot of the cigar until it has a good burn.
"Want some brandy?" Fat Sam asks.
"You know I don't drink," she says.
" Oh yeah that's right, I forgot," Fat Sam says.
They sit enjoying their cigars. The music and voices hold their attention for some time.
"You know now I wish I had stayed with being a thief," Fat Sam says.
"Why what's up?" Mickie asks.
"Shit getting out of hand with my crew," he says.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Too much money," he says.
"Tried to tell you that," she says.
"I was greedy, still am, but some of these guys are real greedy beyond belief," he says.
"Your family okay?" she asks.
"Twenty four seven and by my best old heads," he says. "Watch your back," Fat Sam tells her.
"I got Bill doing that. Miller and Caesar got his, " Mickie says.
"Shit, I wish I had stayed with thieving," he mumbles.
In the party room, many people has left, Mickie roams through the remaining crowd, looking for Bill. One of Fat Sam's henchman staggers up to her pulling a luscious full figured woman, in a revealing dress, along with him.
"You're Mickie the Dyke," he manages to say.
She scowls because she hates her street tag. "I'm Mickie," she snarls to correct him.
The woman smiles at her once then put her attention on things going on in the room and on occasion sneaks a peek at her.
"Yeah I heard about you," the Henchman says.
Bill makes his presence known to the henchman.
"Tell your pit bull to sit, I'm just chit chatting," the henchmen says in a smart aleck.
Mickie lets the henchman see her dislike of him.
"Look out for the real dark dude honey he may bite."
"This is Sam's be good party man," Mickie snaps.
"Yeah. Okay. I'm being Good. Be seeing you," the henchman says. He walks away, pulling the woman with him. He sends Mickie a leer over his shoulder. Where did Sam find that ass hole she wonders? She notices the woman eyeing her in a furtive manner.
The crew and friends dwindles to a few and Mickie decides to call it a night until she sees the luscious full figured woman sitting on the couch next to the unconscious henchman. She's been sexless for many days. She signals Bill to wait and goes over to the woman.
The next morning, the telephone wakes Mickie. Sleepily, she sits up and gazes upon the bare breasts of the woman. She reaches over them to stop the ringing.
"Hello," she says.
"Kimberly?" The female voice asks.
"Yes mom it's me," she says.
"Oh, Well, I just called to let you know that your father died, if you want to come to the funereal."
Family and friends gather in the living room and dining room whispering memories about her father, while enjoying food with or without soda, tea or coffee. From a chair at the kitchen table, Mickie looks at her mother that she believes is trying to take the day off her mind by puttering with things in the wall cabinet. She drops a dish in the sink.
"You're okay?" Mickie asks.
"No I'm not," Mom says and steps to Mickie. Her cutting glare rests upon Mickie. "John and I on the day your brother was born opened a bank account for his education, and the day after you were born we started putting money into it for you also. Do you know what we had to do with that money?"
Mickie stays silent.
"We used it to fight your brother's drug problem for so many years. Damn we fought it until we had to borrow money to bury him," mom says.
"Mom please."
"You lesbian jail bird, don't use those words now. Both of you broke your father's heart that put him in a wheel chair. That strong man of my life, I had to watch him crumble to death because of you two," Mom says.
Mickie looks at the ceiling through watery eyes, until Mom draws her attention off it. "We should have never sent you two on that bull shit interfaith mess that time. That's when it all began, your father was for it, but I didn't want you two to go; I thought it was full of shit. I believe it went all down hill from then. All the other kids where so glad to be home but not our kids. You two couldn't wait to go back."
"Mom let's not talk about it now."
"Oh lets," Mom says raising her voice. "How many time did we have to go and get you two after that summer? You didn't even finish high school. Your brother did so only because he was the biggest dope dealer in the place."
Mickie looks over her mother's shoulders at the curious drawn to her raised voice, peeking for a moment then walk away to gossip.
"Mom please," Mickie begs.
"Everything okay in here?" The Rabbi asks, surprising them with his sudden appearance.
"Yes everything's fine." Mom says.
The Rabbi smiles, pats Mom's shoulder then leaves the room.
"I'm going to sell the house to pay off the bills, get a smaller place. I think I can survive until my social security begins. I'm working now so I'll be okay."
"If you need any help," Mickie begins.
"I will not need anything from you not even memories," Mom snaps.
Mickie fights back tears.
"Too late for that shit now," Mom says. "Tell me something?" she asks.
"What?" Mickie asks.
"Did you start having sex with girls when you went to that interfaith bull shit?" Mom asks.
"Yes," Mickie whispers.
Mickie looks into her Mother's eyes wondering what her next question would be.
"Do me a favor," Mom says.
"What's that?" Mickie asks.
"I will never call you again in my lifetime so please don't call me," Mom tells her.
In her office with Bill watching television and enjoying a Chinese lunch. The telephone rings.
"Hello?" Mickie asks.
"Hello is this Mickie?" the female voice asks.
"Yes," she says.
"Hi. Well I'm Sam's sister in law," the female voice says.
"Yeah. Okay," Mickie says.
"My sister told me to call you first to tell you Sam died," the female voice says.
"What?" She says. She stands knocking the chair off its legs.
"Sam passed away," the female voice says.
Stunned. "What happened? I mean how?" Mickie asks.
"He didn't feel too well last night and we took him to the hospital, things got worse and he died," the female voice says.
"Jesus."
Mickie grip on the telephone weakens, and it drops on the desk. She cries, surprising Bill.
Bill drives the Lincoln along center city streets to the office; Mickie reads the newspaper article revealing that the drug gang between rival gangs has stopped.
"They're giving the police the credit for putting a lid on the drug gang war," she says. "Who was the last man standing?" she asks Bill.
"Benny the Drummer," Bill says.
"Who the fuck is he? Do I know him?" she asks.
"He was that guy at Fat Sam's last party," he says.
"Which one?" she asks.
"The one with that babe you took home," he says.
"Oh yeah the wise ass," she says.
Trouble begins for Mickie. Her prostitutes gets shot at and roughed up to the point they're afraid to walk the streets. She sends Miller and Caesar to recruit some muscles for protection but no accepts their offer.
Mickie takes her eyes off Richard to keep from jumping over the desk to punch him in the face. She looks at him, and catches him making eye contact with Bill, and thinks nothing of it, but something bothers her about the look.
"Benny the Drummer runs things now," Richard says.
"He don't run me," she tells him.
"Look he told me to tell you you're no longer the second," Richard says.
"Second? I'm the second to no fucking body," she yells.
"He doesn't want to hear that shit," Richard says.
"Well hell, I'll go and tell him loud enough so that he'll hear me tell him," she says.
"He figures since he got all of what Fat Sam had," Richard says.
"He thinks I worked for Sam?" she asks.
"Yes he does," Richard says.
"Sam and I were friends from way back that's just it good friends up until the day he passed," she says.
"He told me to tell you that he don't want you working for him," Richard says.
"Working for him," she shouts. "Richard how long have you been working for me?" she asks.
"Almost ten years," Richard answers.
"Have you seen me working for anybody besides myself in those ten years?" she asks.
"No," he replies.
"What the shit is he talking about. You tell him that," she says.
"He will not listen because he wants the business, all of it. Like I said earlier he thinks Fat Sam owned what you got," Richard says.
Mickie sits back in her chair and look at Bill. It hits her. Bill is not scrutinizing Richard. He always watches the person she's talking to no matter who it is. He got his eyes on her.
"Mickie this guy is not into a chilled martini after work. He does day old wine from the bottle," Richard says.
"What?" she asks.
"This guy is a cowboy. He does things then think about it later to kill time while taking a shit," Richard says.
"Who do you work for now?" She asks and glances at Bill.
"You," Richard says.
"Go back and tell Benny the Drummer that," she says.
"He'll send his dogs after you," Richard says.
"I got dog catchers," she says.
She waits for Bill to say something to back her, he customarily does during such a moment, but he says nothing.
"Mickie," Richard calls her to get her attention.
"Go back tell Bennie the Drummer this is my thing and I'm not giving it up," she says.
"Mickie," Richard says. He wants to talk to her more.
"Bye," she says.
"I'll walk him out," Bill says.
They're out of her sight, Mickie drops to her knees and feels under the table until she finds the thirty-eight snub nose revolver harnessed under it. She's sure Bill doesn't know about it. She checks the cylinder. It's loaded. She stands and drops the Smith and Wesson into her pant's pocket.
She pulls the desk drawer out; the thirty-eight is still there. She closes the drawer.
The ride to her apartment is longer than usual because of the silence. On the top stoop of her apartment building, Mickie watches the streetlights illuminate the Lincoln until it disappears into a right turn. She figures Benny the Drummer wants to kill her himself, but he'll probably do it after he rapes her.
She walks down the steps and strolls along the pavement.
A man appears from the shadows. She reaches into her pocket for the snub nose.
"You want need that," Miller says.
"You would've gotten it out anyway," Caesar says from behind her.
She worries if the bullets will hurt.
Miller sees the fright in her eyes. "We're here to help you," he says.
"What?" she says with relief.
"Fat Sam hired us to work for you, not you," Caesar tells her.
"He paid us a little bit more to watch out for you not long before his death," Miller says.
"Lets walk to where you were going," Caesar says.
They walk along the pavement.
"Bennie couldn't turn you?" she asks.
"We're old school," Miller says.
She leads them down an alleyway and stops in front of a garage. Always keep a door open for you only she remembers Fat Sam telling her. They check both ends of the alleyway for unwanted eyes.
She opens the garage door. In the garage, she drags the cover off the Ford Mustang, then opens the trunk and looks at the many bundles of fifties and hundreds dollar bills she dropped into it the last few years.
"You guys okay from here?" she asks.
"We're fine, you just get out of here," Caesar tells her.
She gets into the car and powers it out of the garage and onto the street towards the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.
CHAPTER THREE
Back in the Rough
The man walks into the Downtown Lounge, joining not too many patrons and two barmaids. He stops at the bar, waits for the barmaid while looking around until he sees Pete at the far end of the lounge, talking to another fellow. He waits until the fellow and Pete separates.
"Hey Pete," the Man calls out.
"Hey, how are you doing?"
"Okay."
"What up?"
"I need to see Mister Robinson."
"What for?"
"Two oh and three zeroes."
"I'll give him a call."
"Good. I'll wait at the bar."
"Hey, how would you like to get that at a lower rate?"
"I would love it."
"I can arrange it."
"With who?"
"That, I can't tell you now; I'm just the front man, but you can be sure it's not a bait and switch."
"Yeah."
"Positive and honest."
"Okay, make the deal."
In his kitchen, Mister Robinson sips coffee. He hears Fay, his housekeeper and cook, tell him she needs things for the house, but his thoughts are on why his in coming money has gone down the past months, especially from Pete.
"Yeah, okay, use the card to get whatever you need," he tells her.
"Thanks," Mister Robinson.
In the living room with his bodyguard, Murphy, Mister Robinson tries to take his mind off the money problem to enjoy his cigar and whiskey.
"You got an ash," Murphy says.
Mister Robinson looks at the long ash on the foot of his cigar and holds it over the ashtray until it drops.
"You got worries?" Murphy asks.
"Money isn't coming in as steady as usual, especially from Pete."
"You think he's burning you?"
"I'm missing gambler action he usually steers to me. I'll get Mitchum and Hayden to check in on him to see what they think."
Pete looks at the back of Mister Robinson thugs as they leave the lounge. He waits five long tedious minutes before he gets on the telephone.
The telephone rings. Mister Robinson answers it. "Hello?"
"Mister Robinson?"
"Yes."
"This is Sammie, you know, Tall Sam's daughter."
"Oh, yeah, hi, what's up?"
"I just wanted to let you know that your street crew were in a bad accident in center city."
"What?" Mister Robinson says in a manner to get Murphy's full attention.
"It was a hit and flee on foot," Sammie says. "The SUV was reported stolen. Your guys were broad sided, and they're in bad shape at Jefferson."
"Okay, thanks, I owe you," Mister Robinson says.
"Mitchum and Hayden were in a car accident and they're in Jefferson."
"Damn," Murphy says.
"They're in bad shape, so says Sammie," Mister Robinson says. "They were in center city that call from them, they said they just left Pete and they were on their way here."
"Okay?"
"Something is up," Mister Robinson says from his old gangster's sharp insight. "Call Bill Greene," he tells Murphy.
"Bill Greene sold his security guard company," Murphy says.
"What? So? That's how he got the money to pay me off," Mister Robinson says.
"Call that female bodyguard."
"Wylie?"
"Yeah, get her here fast."
"What do you think is going on?"
"We're being raided," Mister Robinson tells him. "Wait, call her but tell her to visit the guys and tell them that we got a problem, and find out what Pete told them, then come here."
Mister Robinson activates the intercom. Fay, "you're sleeping over here for awhile."
Wylie sits on the armchair across from Murphy, both look at Mister Robinson who is sharing the couch with Fay.
"Mitchum is in a coma and Hayden was knocked out from medication. The doctors say he'll be back to normal in a day or two but they're not sure about Mitchum," Wylie says.
"The bastard," Mister Robinson says. "Who ever he may be, I'll get him."
Fay and Wylie use the kitchen to drink and chat while in the living room Mister Robinson and Murphy tries to keep their attention on the television. The doorbell rings. Their look at each other asks who could that be at the door. Murphy goes to the vestibule door, stop and wait for Wylie to get in position behind him. She's there to back him. He steps slowly to the front door.
"It's the professor," Murphy announces Mister Robinson's eyes and ears the street.
"What do he want? I didn't call him," Mister Robinson says.
"You remember Mickie the Dyke from the old days?" the professor asks.
"Yeah."
"Well, she wants to talk to you."
"Well, I'll be damned," Mister Robinson says. "It's her that's doing this shit."
"What's going on?" The professor asks. "I heard about your crew being in an accident."
"It's business, all business," Mister Robinson snaps.
"She told me to tell you to meet her real soon at a cigar shop called the Cigar Pub in center city; you tell me the time and day, and I'm to tell her and she will set it up."
Hazel, the young good-looking part owner and cigar connoisseur, leads Mister Robinson and Murphy to her private office. Mickie's well dressed, tall and slender bodyguard stands to scrutinize them.
"They're the gentlemen your boss is waiting for," Hazel tells him.
The bodyguard backs step.
"Wait here with your counter part," Mister Robinson tells Murphy.
Hazel opens the office door to a cramp office space. Mister Robinson sees the pants suit attired Mickie for his first time. If she looks this good reaching sixty, she must have been strikingly attractive in her early life, he tells himself.
"Mister Robinson come on in," Mickie says.
Hazel closes the door to leave the two alone.
"Smart young woman," Mickie says. "She knows her cigars and she's a fox that rather be chased and caught by men."
"That's nice of her," Mister Robinson says.
Mickie smiles. "I only rented the office for an hour," she says. She points to an open box of a cigar collection and a fifth of Mister Robinson's favorite whisky. Off his look, she says. "I asked Pete."
"He didn't tell you my main stick."
"Oh, this is my stock for the club I own."
He selects a cigar.
"I heard you also own a security guard company," he makes a blind inquiry.
"Yes, I do, I bought the owner out a few months ago."
"I wondered who it was?"
They begin a burn on their cigars and pour whiskey into his glass. They sit.
"The last I heard of you was years ago, a drug gang chased you out of town," he says.
"That was because, I had a close friendship with the guy who ran all the drugs in the city, but, after his death, they thought I took over his gang; I didn't; I was happy with my sharking and prostitutes, and I told them that fact, but they had their minds made up."
"What is your mind made up about now?"
"I want all your gamblers. You can still have your business folks."
"You did, what you did, to tell me that?"
"If I had gone to your house and told you that, you would've have kick me to the street and rolled up your sleeves for a fight."
"You got that right."
"I just wanted you to know how I would come back at you," she says. "Anyway, you're getting too old for this shit, so just pass it on. You got enough money to last you and keep you in comfort until your demise."
"What's the matter, you don't?"
"I'm well off as they say, but I wish to better off," she says.
"I see, so you'll leave me with just the business folks. How long will that last?"
"As long as you want them," she says. "I have no need for them. They're your folks to keep because all I want is the other folks, the gamblers," she says.
He ponders the consequences with a draw on his cigar then sighs out his surrender signal smoke.
"Before I sign off on this, I want the name of the creep that put my crew in the hospital."
"Sure, it's done," she says.
He writes a number on paper and gives it to her. "Call him in to this detective at the ninth district as a tip. I'll take care of the rest."
"You need a street crew?"
"No, Hayden is back and he is okay; he's working with this female bodyguard."
"Oh, Wylie," she says. She gets an evil gaze from Mister Robinson.
"Don't worry, I didn't need to approach her," she tells him.
He relaxes. He stands. "Well, see you around," Mister Robinson says.
She will be sixty in a few months; however, her handsomeness makes people believe she's almost fifty. Her birth name is Kimberly Michelle that family and friends narrowed to Mickie.
Street gangsters and thugs who crossed her path in her early years of being a tough streetwise loan shark and handler of prostitutes of both sexes, tagged her Mickie the Dyke because of her sexual preference.
She sit shotgun in the Ford Crown Victoria being driven by her, six foot retired cop, chauffeur and bodyguard L. Marvin. He is slim with a muscular physique, fitting perfectly in one of his collection of sport suits.
"Lets make the downtown lounge our first stop," she tells L. Marvin.
"Pete been bad?" He asks.
"One of his clients."
"Skip?"
"Yeah."
She looks at the passing surrounding and smile, when she was away all those years, she missed Philadelphia, especially its center city hustles and bustle something she could not find in Atlanta or Miami.
Pete leads Mickie and L. Marvin from the lounge to his office. He pushes buttons on his cell phone then passes it to Mickie. She studies the photo.
"That's him," Pete says.
"What his name?" Mickie asks.
"John Steven, but they call him Johnny Rat," Pete says.
"What is he a snitch?" She asks.
"No, supposedly, as a kid, he hunted rats as a sport to kill them. People said he did it for food, but he said he did it to just kill the damn things," Pete says.
"Either way, now, he's the rat in my pockets," Mickie says.
"He's in hiding," Pete says.
"I'll get my skip tracer to track him down," Mickie says.
"Okay, the last I heard he hangs out in Fish town," Pete says.
Back in the Crown Victoria, while L. Marvin navigates it through the traffic. Mickie dials her skip tracer.
"Hello Wylie speaking," she says.
"Hey, this is Mickie."
"Well hello, got something for me because the personal protection thing is slow."
"Go to the downtown lounge and see Pete. He will give you the information."
"Okay."
"Lets go to the Reading Terminal for lunch," she tells L. Marvin.
They leave the Terminal and stroll to the parking lot. A voice from the crowd yells, "Mickie the Dyke is that you?" L. Marvin sees the man before Mickie. He taps her shoulder and points to the ragged man, rudely shoving his way through the crowd towards them. L. Marvin becomes a shield between Mickie and the man. She finally recalls the face that has been beaten by age, drugs and alcohol.
"Be cool," she tells L. Marvin. "I know this guy."
"It's Benny the Drummer," the man says.
"Yeah, I know," she says.
Benny looks at L. Marvin. "I'm cool man," he says.
They move aside to give the pedestrians a path.
"I haven't seen you since that time years ago when I was looking for your ass to bump it off," Benny says.
"I left the city," she says.
"No shit," Benny jokes.
L. Marvin concentrates on Benny's hand movement. Benny notices it. "I'm not going to do any shit man," he tells L. Marvin in a smart manner.
"Okay," L. Marvin says.
"How have you been?" Mickie asks.
"Not as good as you," Benny says. He gazes upon her good looks and expensive clothing. "Look at you, all dapper Dan and shit," he mumbles.
"You look good," Mickie says.
He becomes ashamed of his destitute attire. "Not as good as you," he says. "I saw you pass by a little while ago in a car, and I said to myself, it couldn't be."
"Yeah, well it was me," she says.
"Yeah, the last I heard of you, you left town with your tail between your ass," Benny says.
Mickie feels his animosity. "I remember that well," she says.
"I got busted and did twenty with the feds," Benny says through an angry flare up that gets L. Marvin's attention and he steps closer to Benny.
"Damn you're good," Benny tells him. "Nothing going to happen man."
"What are you doing now?" Mickie asks.
Benny stares at her. "I'm on the streets," he snaps. "What the fuck do it look like?"
Mickie reaches in her pants pocket and takes out a fold of bills and pulls a hundred dollar bill from it. She holds it out for Benny to take. He snatches it from her hand.
"See you later," Mickie says.
"You know that bodyguard that turned on you, well he became a junkie and overdosed and he's dead," Benny yells at her to mock her.
She remembers Bill. He was the best chauffeur bodyguard, a good friend, business confidant and adviser, and she is sad to hear of his demise in such a way. She didn't show her brief grief to Benny.
L. Marvin concentrates on the keeping the Ford in traffic flow.
"I thought you were going to go at him for calling you that," L. Marvin says.
"That hundred knocked him to the dirt," she says with a smirk.
L. Marvin smiles and nods his head to indicate he understands. "Who is he?" He asks.
"Benny the Drummer was once the king of kings of the drug gangs in Philly," she says.
"You were in that shit?" He asks.
"Hell no. I was a real close friend of the king at the time and when he died Benny thought I was going to step into his place. I wasn't, and he just didn't want to believe it. So, he came at me with guns blazing." She tells an afterthought, "I think he was really pissed at me because I fucked his woman."
Mickie created the Woman's Club in Miami. She sold it when her mother decided to return to her birthplace, West Chester, to live out her final years.
She recreated the club in Philadelphia, as a tavern opened from Friday to Sunday nights for lesbians and bisexual females to congregate for drinks, food, dancing and on occasions participate in special parties. Whenever she's at the club, to practice the no man allowed rule, she sends L. Marvin home to his wife and depends on two tough lesbians to replace him and serve as club bouncers.
She's happy with running the club, but her urge to get back in the rough of loan sharking like in her heydays in Philly gave her an itch that she had to scratch. So, she grabs the loan sharking operation from the biggest shark in Philly, the old-timer mister Robinson, then found L. Marvin and a street crew.
She waves at the slim forty something woman with good-looks that is highlighted in a form fitting blouse and pants outfit, Wylie, to guide her to her private booth.
"Well, I found Johnny Rat," Wylie says.
"Good."
"You're going to send your crew to talk to him?" Wylie asks.
"Yep."
"The neighborhood this guy is hiding in is tight," Wylie says. "Anyone not known sets off bells."
"I'll tell my crew that."
Mickie gets a fold of bills from her pants pocket. She peels four one hundred dollars bills from it and passes them across the table to Wylie.
"Thanks," Wylie says.
"You're hanging around?"
"No, not tonight," Wylie says.
Mickie finishes her soda. She picks up her cell phone and makes a call. A half-hour later, two six foot, muscular and lean sport suit attired females stroll to Mickie's booth. Wylie gestures for Tina and Sally to sit. She tells them about Johnny Rat.
"We'll work it out boss," Tina says.
Mickie slides across the table to each woman four fifty-dollar bills. "Expenses," she says.
"Okay," Sally says.
"You want us to bring him here or just talk to him?" Tina asks.
"Talk to him," Mickie says.
"Okay boss," Sally says.
"No wait; call me when you get him," Mickie says. "I want to talk to him."
"Okay," Tina says.
Mickie watches her street crew stroll out of the club. She signals the barmaid for a refill.
L. Marvin steers the Ford out of the parking space into traffic. Her cell phone announces someone in calling.
"Mickie," she announces herself to the caller. "Good," she says. "Take him to Pete's Downtown Lounge." She tells L. Marvin. "That was Tina, they got the Rat."
"I heard," L. Marvin says.
A twenty something, handsome and well-dressed Johnny Rat sits on a stool between Tina and Sally, under their control.
Pete leads Wylie and L. Marvin into his office.
"What is this shit," Johnny Rat says with a scowl. "These dykes grab me and punch my face up."
"Cool out," Pete warns him.
"Cool out my ass," Johnny Rat cries. "What the fuck is going on?"
"She'll tell you," Pete says.
"Who the hell is she, another dyke?" Johnny Rat asks.
"I'm Mickie and the money you borrowed from Pete belongs to me and I want it all back."
"I told Pete, I'd get it to him," Johnny Rat says.
"You were taking your time and when I tried to get in touch with you, you ducked out on me," Pete says.
"I was trying to get it together," Johnny Rat says.
"Wiseass liar," Mickie snarls. "I want my money sooner than you think."
"Fuck you lady," Johnny Rat shouts and angers Mickie.
"Take him to a hospital," Mickie tells Tina and Sally.
"What?" Johnny Rat inquires.
"Whenever you get out of that hospital, I want all my money," Mickie tells him. "And, if, you don't pay up, you'll go another hospital. And that'll happen until I get my money."
Pete follows Mickie and L. Marvin. They stop at the lounge's entrance.
"You don't want a drink before you leave?" Pete asks.
"No. What I want is for you to stay away from gigolos with my money and stick to high rollers," Mickie tells him in a stern manner.
"Okay," Pete cowers.
"Next time it is all on you," Mickie tells him.
"I understand," Pete mumbles.
As L. Marvin makes the Ford roll along the street, Mickie admires the rainbow glitter that twilight creates on the center city skyscrapers.
"That son of bitch was testing me," she says.
"Pete?" L. Marvin asks.
"Yeah," Mickie says. "Well, I better have passed for his sake," she says.
"Think he was the only one of your guys in on it?" L. Marvin asks.
"Probably not," Mickie says.
"They all know about you by now," L. Marvin says.
"Yeah, they sure do and I hope they will for a long time," she says.
The naked woman being submissive under Mickie wrenches in reaction to Mickie finger stroking come hither inside her vagina, and Mickie's lips and tongue making a trail to her pubic muff. The telephone announces someone is calling Mickie. "For God sake not now," the woman begs aloud. Mickie's tongue replaces her finger and makes the woman buck and squirm her hips until she shudders from her ejaculation.
The woman lies exhausted on the bed and begins to drift to sleep. Mickie, although worn out, yawns and sits on the side of the bed to check who called her.
L. Marvin follows Mickie around the charred club. The police told her it was not an accident, a passerby saw someone throw a bottle type fire bomb through one of the painted windows and called it in; the damages could have been worse, if he hadn't.
"The police will write it off as a homosexual hate crime," L. Marvin says.
"It was a hate thing all right," Mickie says.
"What do you think?" L. Marvin asks.
"I might need you to use your pull on the force to get me something," Mickie tells L. Marvin.
L. Marvin stops the Ford at the curb. Wylie strolls out of the coffee shop and slide onto the back seat. Mickie hands her a photograph of Benny and a copy of his rap sheet.
"It's the last mug shot of him," Mickie says. "It was taken some time ago."
"I can use it," Wylie says.
"L. and I, rode around center city a couple of days trying to spot him but we didn't," Mickie says.
"Guess he went into hiding," L. Marvin says.
"Call me when you find him," Mickie says.
"Okay, sure thing," Wylie says.
They look at Wylie stroll back into the coffee shop.
"Lets go to that insurance company," Mickie tells L. Marvin.
"You think he's really the one who did it?" L. Marvin asks.
"We'll find out for sure when we find him," she says.
"This Benny got a labor job with this gypsy furniture mover," Wylie says. "They rode to Norfolk, Virginia and the man paid Benny after the job and that was the last he saw of him."
Mickie ponders Wylie's report. "When did they take the trip?" Mickie asks.
"They left Philly two days after your club was torched."
"Bastard thinks he got in the last blow," Mickie says.
"You want me to track him down?"
Mickie reflects. Benny did what she was going to do to him anyway, run him out of the city with his ass between his legs. Since, the punk was too bitching to stand face to face with her, in a way she did run him out of the city. "No, he's not worth the extra breath," Mickie says. "He's not coming back," she says her afterthought.
"Okay, you're the boss."
Mickie puts the cell phone away. She admires the passing terrain of center city Philly that L. Marvin makes happen, powering the Ford.
"Well," she tells herself, "I'm back in the rough." She smiles. END