Dead

Broke

By
Michelle Stambaugh

 Dead Broke

“Mr. Thom, this is Melanie Burke from Springfield Family Medicine.

Please call the office and schedule a follow up appointment. We need to
review your lab results and x-rays with you. The number here is 937-324-
5555. We do have appointments available today.” The voicemail blared.
Darrell Thom intentionally ignored the call from Springfield Family
Medicine when it came through. His mind was too cloudy to absorb anything
anyone would try to feed it. He already knew the fucking results. Serves him
right anyway. Darrell was an angry man full of paranoia. Though Darrell
inherited his father’s whisky distillery, his father’s home, and eighteen million
of his father’s hard earned dollars – none of that had any impact on Darrell’s
quality of life. Darrell was twenty four years old when his father died of a
cirrhotic liver and a ruptured gall bladder and he spent the next fifteen years in
a clouded haze following in his footsteps. There was nothing anyone could say
to clear the murky water his brain swam in or crush him any more than the
burden he carried around simply by being Darrell Thom Jr.
Early on, after Darrell’s father died, Darrell fucked up a great deal drinking,
snorting so much cocaine his nose could have caved in, and pumping himself
full of poison. Darrell caused his family heartburn over every drug and
alcohol induced decision he had made. Darrell squandered so much money
doing what any twenty-four year old with access to an unlimited amount of
cash and an emotionally isolated upbringing would do. His actions were
vengeful and rarely carried out with a sober mind. Lavish hooker-infested
parties weren’t uncommon for Darrell nor were the various women crawling
out of the woodworks claiming their children belonged to him. Darrell
ignored his father’s attempts to mold him to take over Thom’s Whisky and
only landed the massive estate due to his father’s untimely death.
Darrell sat in his Chevy Silverado and cranked the ignition. The rumble of
the diesel engine shook the cab of the custom truck quickly springing it to life.
‘Comfortably Numb’ blared from the speakers and the cab was littered with
remnants from the night before. Darrell navigated to his call log in his tattered
Motorola Razr. Annoyed with the multitude of missed calls from his wife,
Darrell selected the call back feature. Once the call was connected, Darrell
allowed his mind to drift off momentarily back to the last day he spent with
his father. Those memories were always the ones he numbed out. Darrell hated
the disappointment he had been to his father. He hated the pressure to fill his
father’s shoes presented him daily. He hated the sobering moments where his
father’s criticisms clouded his mind. He hated even more not reconciling with
his dad before he died.
 “Thank you for calling Springfield Family Medicine. This is Melanie. Are
you calling for billing, appointments, or prescription refill?” The muffled
voice asked.
“I don’t know. I have a missed call. This is Darrell Thom Jr.” Darrell lied.
“Ok, let me see here. I just called you, Mr. Thom.” Melanie replied.
Darrell could hear tapping on a keyboard and quickly became annoyed with
her heavy, labored breathing and distorted tone. Darrell thought initially the
call had a bad connection and would normally have hung up and redialed but
this time he just didn’t have the energy.
“Mr. Thom, you need an appointment. There is an opening at 10 this
morning or 3:30 this afternoon. Which time is best for you, sir?”
“10’s good.” Darrell replied.
“Ok, I have you down for 10, Mr. Thom. See you…” Darrell pulled the
phone from his ear ending the call before the receptionist could finish.
Darrell went through the contacts in his phone selecting Aaron Levowitz.
“Aaron.” Aaron answered on the first ring.
“Aaron. Hey, listen. I need to swing by this afternoon. I have an
appointment in an hour, gotta run by my house and pick up a few things, then I
need to come see you. Your day clear?” Without listening for a response,
Darrell hit the phone icon button ending the call.
Before taking the half mile drive from his home to the doctor’s office,
Darrell chugged an entire bottle of milk of magnesia, swallowed 4 aspirin, and
snorted 2 healthy bumps of cocaine. The hedonist cocktail (as he coined it)
quickly took effect. The burn he normally felt in his gut dissipated, the hazy
fog that usually clouded his eyes and head cleared up and the nagging, painful
infection that plagued his right forearm ceased. Darrell checked his face in the
mirror wincing at the dark bags under his eyes and the bloating in his cheeks.
Darrell couldn’t remember how he had ended up sleeping in his truck the night
before or why he had only pulled a quarter of the way up his driveway. Weak
and confused, Darrell put the truck in reverse backing out of the gravel
covered driveway to the main road. As a boy, he used to love when his dad
would slam the gas pedal to the floorboard and swerve left and right down that
same driveway bouncing Darrell all over the front seat of a 1981 Ford Country
Squire. Darrell smiled as he thought of his father cursing the car that belonged
to his mother, wiped a dollop of cocaine off of his nose sucking it from his
finger.
Sick, Darrell thought. Maybe his cocktail was an evil little karmic devil.
Of all the things that would take him out, Darrell believed he was doing
himself justice countering one intoxicant with another. As long as he didn’t
over-do it, he never imagined the ups and downs would actually be a gateway
to his demise. Darrell always thought he’d die just his dear old dad – rotting
from the inside or someone would kill him for shorting them cash or pussy.
He never imagined anything else. Darrell rubbed his stomach cringing at the
thought of sick he’d been and how much worse it was going to get and then
slammed his balled up fist against the steering wheel.
Darrell turned onto South Xenia Drive toward Dayton-Springfield Road.
The sub-divisions that now lined the narrow county road on both sides made
him think of the depravity spreading through his body. As a boy, the Thom
family owned the vast majority of the small township eventually selling it to
expand the whisky distillery. This also bought them vast control of the
developing community. People loved the Thoms but feared them just the
same. They flaunted their money and intimidated the weak earning them eight
of the twelve seats on the township board. Darrell’s father, uncles, and cousins
used to make it impossible for developers to complete a build without
imposing sanctions and fines for violating the most frivolous of laws. They
would send a few guys from the distillery to any new development posing as
inspectors, have them measure driveways, plot sizes, door frames, and
anything else they thought would look official and jot down their findings in
leather-bound notebooks. Hours later, Sherriff Gene Edward, first cousin of
the Thom family, would return with citations for code violations. Sherriff
Edward would give the developers an option to pay the citation on site or go to
court chancing higher costs for the violations and/or the possibility of losing a
building permit using the money to fund whatever drunken mayhem they
could get themselves into. Darrell’s uncles used to get stumbling drunk and
tell that story almost in unison laughing and spitting throughout making it
almost impossible to know what they were talking about. Darrell chuckled to
himself and turned into the family medicine parking lot. Feeding his nose
another bump of coke, Darrell exited the truck.
Inside the practice, Darrell nodded at the receptionist wondering if she was
the same gorilla-sounding broad he had spoken to earlier. Once he was called
back to the exam room, Darrell pulled the sleeves of his Land’s End cardigan
taught to his wrists. The exam room was empty and smelled sterile. Darrell
walked in and picked up the People magazine laying on the counter and eased
himself onto the exam table. Nausea began to build in Darrell’s gut. He hated
doctors. He blamed them for his father’s death. Darrell believed with
everything they had at their disposal to save his father’s life, they, instead,
ignored every sign and symptom and let him die.
As Darrell skimmed the pages of People, he looked around the exam room
admiring the large black and whites of the township during varying seasons.
The shadows and shapes danced inside the frame ebbing and flowing to a
silent earthly serenade. He wondered if the doctors knew the history of the
township or if they cared how integral his family’s decisions were in their
being able to practice medicine in Enon.
“Mr. Thom. I’m Dr. Titus and this is Dr. Oglesby. Did you bring anyone
with you today, sir?” Dr. Titus extended his hand making direct eye contact
with Darrell as they made their way into the exam room closing the door.
“No. I’m alone.” Darrell stated closing the magazine to shake hands with
the doctors.
“Do you want to call someone, Mr. Thom, or are we okay to proceed?” Dr.
Oglesby questioned.
Darrell gestured giving the go ahead.
“Mr. Thom, we received the results from the labs that were drawn in the
emergency room the other day. Several things are going on, sir. As we
suspected, you did test positive for hepatitis C. The infection in your arm is a
combination of cellulitis and staph. Also, Mr. Thom, you also tested positive
for HIV. I have to be honest with you, Mr. Thom. The survivor rate for most
people with similar lifestyles at this stage is slim. I would guess about six
months, ten months maximum if we don’t do something now. Dr. Oglesby
here,” Dr. Titus continued, “specializes in this field. I’m sure you’re aware
neither disease is curable. However, with intensive inpatient treatment and a
regimen of medications, we are confident we can clear up these infections and
help you can live a happy and healthy life. Of course, there are no guarantees,
but we both believe this the best route to take considering how progressive
these diseases can become. Again, If we do nothing here, we’ll be discussing
palliative care or consoling your family after you die. We’ve contacted a local
treatment facility. They will do everything possible to make sure you are as
comfortable as possible for the first few days, try to stop some of the weight
loss, and give you the tools you need to address what’s eating you up inside.”
Dr. Titus delivery was beyond straight forward and matter-of-fact. To Darrell,
it was devoid of human emotion, lacked empathy for a dying man, and was
downright terse.
Dr. Oglesby chimed in, “Mr. Thom, Darrell, can I call you Darrell?”
“Darrell is fine.”
“Darrell, HIV is manageable. Millions of people live normal…”
Darrell zoned off trying to think of the moment or the experience that
brought him to this point. He struggled for a long time to distance himself
from the lifestyle everyone, including the doctors, shunned. But the warmth
he experienced, the feelings of acceptance despite his wrong-doings, the
freedom to fly as high as he could get was his double-edged sword.
“Mr. Thom?” Dr. Oglesby patted Darrell on the knee. “We’ll need to get you
started on some medications. It’s important that you notify all of your sexual
partners past and present. Here are a few pamphlets about your disease, the
treatment facility, and some support groups. While reviewing your lab results,
Darrell, we found some things that could exacerbate your condition and speed
the progression. It is vital to at this point for you to get clean. No cocaine, no
whisky, totally clean. Those combinations are deadly for a healthy person.
Being that you are in a less than healthy class, continued use will undoubtedly
shorten your life expectancy. Am I making sense, Mr. Thom?” Dr. Oglesby
sympathized.
“I basically am going to die, maybe later, maybe sooner. Clean or not, I’m
going to die.” Darrell sniffled. “You went to school to tell me that, doctor? I
don’t need your pamphlets or your drinkin’ and druggin’ will shorten my life
expectancy speeches. I’m going to do exactly what I have been until I drop
dead. I’m not going to treatment. What are the pills gonna do for me?” Darrell
laughed.
“Mr. Thom, you would have to commit to sobriety in order for them to be
effective. Mixing street drugs with any medication you will receive has serious
implications. We wouldn’t be doing you any good prescribing them without
your commitment.” Dr. Titus stated.
“It could kill me? Your concern for me dying of a drug overdose has
implications in my world, Dr. Titus. Be honest, your concern is if I do die and
someone finds out I was loaded along with whatever comfy cocktail you give
me somehow could leave you responsible legally. Interesting but I think I’m
gonna wing it, fellas. Are we done?” Darrell looked down at his naked wrist as
if he were wearing a watch silently stating his time would be well spent
elsewhere.
“We are, sir. Do you have any questions? Maybe the support groups would
be good for family, Mr. Thom. Perhaps you could share your thoughts with
them before making a final decision.” Dr. Oglesby quipped. “Is there
anything we can do to…”
“Cure me.” Darrell interrupted and stepped down from the exam table
snubbing both doctors as he exited the exam room and the practice.
Cure me. Darrell knew that was an impossibility. He feared death and at
one point in his life was pre-occupied with thoughts of dying unexpectedly
like his father. Darrell had so few people he trusted and believed many of the
people in his life were just plotting against him one facet or another. The
thought of giving them anything else to judge him by or leaving anything to
his supposed support system nauseated Darrell. The thought of his wife
reveling in his misery or having access to his inheritance brought stomach bile
to the edge of his esophagus. He would give everything away or kill anybody
who tried to syphon any money from him.
Nothing would numb this reality, though he knew he’d try. There were
neither words in the English language nor that existed in his vocabulary that
could make his diagnosis make sense. There was no one walking the face of
the planet who deserved to know what ailed him and maybe only two he’d
valiantly protect.
In what seemed like a few long strides back to his truck, Darrell yanked the
driver door open swinging it with such force slamming it back to a closed
position. Fuck! Darrell fumbled for his keys and his hedonist cocktail.
Darrell gave thought to what his life would be like if he did the right thing. It
was so unfathomable though. He was so far gone and totally in love with the
buzz. Darrell gripped the glass vile filled with coke and again yanked on the
driver door easing himself into the diesel’s cab. He started the truck and sat
momentarily just staring at the truck’s dash. He thought about driving straight
through the doctor’s office or backing it into Dock’s Restaurant next door
running over anyone in his path or driving as fast as he could down Dayton-
Springfield Road with a blind fold on with hopes of hitting a semi head on and
his truck going up in flames. Death, to him, was his only way out and that
terrified him.
Fucking doctors, Darrell thought. He unscrewed the cap of his coke tapping
a larger than usual white bump onto the thumb muscle of his hand snorting it
into his right nostril and sucked down more milk of magnesium. Darrell knew
he’d have to do his best to line up his ducks in case something did happen. He
didn’t want to imagine dying and letting the chips fall where they may or his
unborn child struggling to balance the vast freedoms being at the helm of the
Thom Empire would present if he did nothing.
He just needed a few minutes to think.
Darrell steered his truck onto Dayton-Springfield Road towards Fairborn.
He daydreamed about when times were easy, when he was young running
through the cornfields catching lightening bugs. When he didn’t ache. Now,
though, Darrell throbbed and ached in ways he could never verbalize. He felt
pain in his hair shafts, the beds of his fingernails, when he blinked his eyes,
when he coughed. Prior to finding out he was riddled with HepC and HIV, he
blamed the aches and pains on stress and hangovers. The poisons spoke to
everything that ailed him and freed him in a sense. Knowing that he was
rotting from the inside out thoroughly pissed him off.
 Nauseated, Darrell pulled his truck into the shopping center that housed an
IGA grocery store and tattered laundry mat parking in the furthest space
farthest from the road positioning his truck at such an angle to keep any looky-
loos from gawking at him. He smiled at the open field directly in front of him
as he remembered the times he’d frolic in the fields that surrounded his
childhood home. As the nostalgia faded, Darrell pulled a leather cosmetic
pouch from under his driver seat and laying its contents out on the center
console. He lifted the bottom of his cardigan over his left arm resting it on his
shoulder blade. Darrell could already feel the sensational warmth he’d soon
experience dance on the souls of his feet. His dick struggled as it hardened
and pulsated under his boxers and jeas spilling drips of excitement on his inner
thigh. Darrell plucked a dark brown, tarry rock from a knotted plastic baggy
onto a bent up silver spoon and then filled the spoon with a few drops of water
placing it gently on the console. He fished in his pocket finding a miniature
BIC lighter and his cell. He dropped the phone between his legs letting it slip
all the way to the seat adjusting his thighs to make room for both the cell and
an expanding erection. Getting high wasn’t the prelude to glorifying sexual
experiences. To him, it was the euphoria that excited him. Darrell unbuttoned
his pants, unzipped his zipper and moved his hips to shift his elongated dick
up towards his belly-button to relieve some of the pressure. Pleased and full
of anticipation, Darrell picked up the spoon and lighter and burned the bottom
of the spoon causing the mixture to bubble. After dipping his pinky in the
concoction to taste it, Darrell plopped a small piece of cotton onto the spoon
placing it back on the console exchanging it for a syringe. Stirring and pulling
back to fill it with the muddy substance, he then collapsed the plunger
expelling the air and put the syringe between his teeth. Darrell lifted his arm
tying it off with the tourniquet tapping and pumping his fist until he could see
a vein bulge just under the surface of his skin. With the tip of his finger,
Darrell rolled the vein to make sure it wasn’t collapsed, pulled the tourniquet a
little tighter, and took the needle from between his teeth. Tapping once more
to make sure the vein was fully engorged, Darrell pricked the skin easing the
needle into his vein. He waited for blood to appear at the base of the syringe
and pressed down hard and fast on the plunger. As the warmth and numbness
started to spread, Darrell’s dick bounced signaling him to remove the
tourniquet. Obliging, Darrell was quickly floating above himself and within
himself. His breathing slowed as an orgasm churned deep in his soul. Darrell
dropped his head forward where his mouth flopped open. A pool of saliva
began forming just inside his mouth and began dripping down his chest. He
flopped his hand back and forth across the needle until it dislodged and
slipped between the door and seat to his left. Bringing his hand close to his
lips, Darrell allowed the saliva to trickle onto his fingers until his muscles
became weak. Relaxing his hand to his groin and careful not to wipe the spit
dry, Darrell slipped his hand under his boxers palm side down resting it at an
angle on his stiff penis. Darrell wiped as much spit on the shaft and tip as he
could, pressed his fingers downward wrapping them around the base and
tugged and pulled. Quickly overcome, Darrell felt cold and hot. He smelled
and tasted what he’d normally see and hear. Tingling and pulsating vibrations
bellowed into his groin causing his feet to twitch right and left forcing the
sensation back up his legs. For a moment, Darrell imagined the feeling
settling in his scrotum enveloping him with fluffy clouds of happiness causing
him to tighten his grip. In that moment, Darrell felt like the color blue – cool
and warm, dark and mysterious. Shifting his hips back towards the back of the
seat, Darrell pulled the elastic from his boxers out and down flopping his balls
on top to anchor it. He leaned forward just enough to let some more spit to
dribble offering a silky lubricant. Darrell licked his lips and dropped his head
back on the head rest. Flittering light pranced about his peripheral vision.
Flopping his head back upright, Darrell starred at the waves of wild flowers in
the field ripple in the wind. He imagined laying in the field high and allowing
the stems of the flowers and grass between them flickering against his exposed
manhood. A moan escaped sending shivers down Darrell’s back snapping him
back inside his truck. He felt his heart beating in his hand as he stroked and
squeezed. The euphoria started to subside. He desperately wanted to explode
before it did. Darrell cupped himself with his free hand massaging, stroking,
and tugging. A faint tapping grew louder and louder in his left ear. Just as he
freed the ultimate pleasure heroine and masturbating high gave him, his truck
door flew open.
“Get outta here! Didn’t I tell you before I’d have you arrested if I caught
you doing this shit here?!?” Darrell’s brain barely made out anything that was
being screamed at him.
Darrell slumped over to the left, fully exposed, and almost fell out of the
truck. Confused, Darrell tried to compose himself and willed himself back into
the truck. Instead, his left foot jutted to the left and he flopped out. His
shoulder broke his fall causing his body to flip forward.
“Oh, shit!” Darrell heard another voice.
Darrell felt his buzz draining out onto the concrete and shifted his face
forward attempting to lick it back up. He heard another voice but just couldn’t
make out what they were saying. It all sounded like hums and muffled
baritones. He tried to blink away the fog that consumed him unsuccessfully
instead sinking deeper into an abyss.
****
“Janine, I’m on my way to the office. Be a doll and get the files I left laying
out on my desk and my laptop and bring it to the front lobby. I’m about five
minutes away. And call Aaron and make fuckin’ sure he cleared his calendar
for the day. Janine!” Darrell barked. Janine was Darrell’s assistant at Thom’s
Whisky Distillery. She had worked for the distillery for over twenty years
starting about five years before Darrell’s father died.
“Mr. Thom, I heard ever-thing you said. What about your calendar, Darrell?
Earl and Rudy have called about fifteen times. They fit to be tied, Darrell, if
you cancel on them again.” Darrell appreciated Janine’s candor but had no
desire to entertain her considering the news he had just received.
“Jan, Earl and Rudy will soon be a memory. I’ll deal with them later.”
“What are you talking about, Darrell? They ain’t fitna be no memory, boy.
They ‘bout to show up show up and act like a pair of cackling hens? You
know they get on my last nerve, Darrell.” Janine begged.
“I’m pulling up, doll. I need my shit. Get to the lobby.” Darrell terminated
the call and maneuvered his truck into his designated parking spot in front of
Thom’s Whisky Distillery. He sniffed a smidge of coke, pulled his sleeves
down to his wrists and exited his truck. Janine never failed Darrell. She
questioned him a lot, altered Darrell’s orders when they didn’t make sense to
her, and sometimes flat out refused to do what she was told; but she never
failed him.
Janine was coming out of Darrell’s office as he entered the building holding
his laptop and files. Mumbling under breathe, she placed them on the
reception bar that surrounded her work area. Darrell smiled to himself
thinking he would set her up right so she could retire. He sometimes hated
Janine working for him. She was nosey and preachy and tried time after time
to “talk some sense” into Darrell, as she’d put it. Janine was a grade-A bitch,
sarcastic as they come but was the best fucking assistant he could ask for.
Darrell trusted Janine. She knew what needed to be done at the distillery and
oozed common sense. Her icy charm towards other people brought him highs
similar to the ones he spent so much time chasing. Her demeanor towards
him, though, afforded Darrell with a motherly tenderness that he craved.
“Janine, one of these days I’m going to treat you to something nice.” Darrell
stated gathering his things.
“You leaving me a silver spoon when you die, Darrell?” Janine joked.
Darrell shivered thinking of Janine with any silver spoons and wondered
how much she knew.
“I’ll do you one better, doll.” Darrell laughed off his weariness. “How ‘bout
some fine china? You can leave some of ‘em for your grandchildren when you
have some.”
 Walking back to his truck, Darrell called Aaron Levowitz to make sure he
didn’t waste a trip to see him. Aaron was Darrell’s most loyal friend and had
been at his beck and call for quite some time. Darrell’s wife blamed Aaron a
lot for what Darrell had become. She wanted to believe Aaron introduced
Darrell to every one of his vices. Though she knew it was actually the other
way around.
“This is Aaron.”
“I’m on my way to you, Aaron. I’ve got some heavy shit to lay on you,
brother.” Darrell stated.
“Darrell, buddy! I’m headed that way now. On my way from Mitchell Hills.
Had to score. I was sweating and throwing up. Fuckin’ sick, man.” Aaron
responded.
“Fuck Mitchell Hills, Aaron. I’m not going out there. Too many beggin’ ass
whores. How long before you’re here? I’ll have time to swing by Leon’s?”
Darrell asked.
“Oh, yeah. I’m on route four. About ten, fifteen minutes tops. Leon’s? Hey,
buddy, grab me a couple grams. Get up to get down, right, man?” Aaron
chortled.
“Aaron, fifteen minutes or I’m goin’ it alone.” Darrell uttered before tossing
his phone onto the passenger seat of his truck.
Leon Thom, Darrell’s longtime dealer, was also Darrell’s cousin. Son of
Rudy Thom, Darrell’s uncle, and after Aaron and Janine, the closest to Darrell.
Darrell was only six when Leon was born and spent his entire childhood side
by side with him. His birth was a surprise to the entire Thom family. As was
the case for most of the Thom’s, Rudy was a devout whisky drinker. Rudy
always spent a great deal of time at Boone Saloon hob-knobbing with
travelers, truckers, farmers, and Enon’s least desirable citizens. After one of
Rudy’s pool tournaments, he and a couple of guys who worked at the distillery
coerced a couple of frizzy haired city chicks to take a tour of the distillery.
Once they got there, they served the girls whisky and a gang-bang. About a
year later, the girls came back to Enon to confront Rudy and his gang. Earl,
Rudy’s twin, gave the girls hush money and promised if they ever spoke of the
incident again, he would throw them in a pool of lye and watch as the
chemical burned away their flesh and bones. Earl never told Rudy about the
baby laying on the backseat of their beat up Chevy Impala that looked almost
identical to Rudy’s one year old daughter born to him and his wife Nancy. A
few months later, one of the city chicks ended up all in the papers and on the
news for killing a boyfriend she claimed was beating her. Shortly after that,
the other girl, Sissy, made a pit-stop at Enon’s annual Apple Butter Festival
while driving through. What was intended to be a five minute stop for the
famed apple butter turned into a hearty conversation about baking techniques
and house cleaning tips with Nancy Thom, Rudy’s wife. Nancy was so
impressed by Sissy she offered her room and board as well as two hundred and
fifty bucks a week. In exchange, Sissy would cook and clean for Nancy’s
family. Sissy initially declined because of Leon until Nancy convinced her to
bring her little guy along. The ladies had no clue of the irony that would soon
bind them. Sissy graciously accepted showing up on her first day with a two
year old Leon in tow. The sight of little Leon disintegrated Nancy Thom’s
pristine little life and make believe world and every ounce of sanity she once
possessed.
Leon was a spitting image of Rudy adorned with the exact shade of ginger
colored wavy hair, the exact shade of ice blue eyes, and the exact positioning
of a dark brown mole on his right cheekbone. Both Rudy and Nancy Thom
knew immediately Leon was his son. Nancy also knew a nervous breakdown
was on her emotional horizon. Though Nancy demanded that girl and her
bastard child leave her home, Rudy thought it better for his son to stay in his
home. Sissy and Leon settled in and Sissy executed the duties given her as
agreed. Nancy flailed and flopped about her home crying and spewing hateful
epithets at Sissy and Leon for years. Leon absorbed every ounce of it
allowing her verbal abuse to grow roots in his soul. Rudy eventually had
Nancy committed after she drank two bottles of turpentine and bedded down
permanently with Sissy who was many years his junior. Rudy and Leon’s
mother Sissy’s union caused so much strife in the Thom family. Leon and
Sissy were ostracized and excluded from family functions unless Sissy was
cooking and serving. Rudy allowed the mistreatment explaining it was his
fault they treated them in such a way. Darrell always believed Sissy was
scheming to get to Rudy’s money until Rudy comfortably, without a negative
word from Sissy, brought Nancy home from the mental hospital and witnessed
Sissy feed and comfort Nancy in her own last days. That changed the opinion
of just about everyone in the Thom family. Leon, however, still found himself
on the outs. He was never handed anything monetary, struggled to prove
himself worthy, and became Rudy’s biggest let down when he was arrested for
drug possession when he was eighteen.
“Leon!” Darrell belched into the phone.
“Hey, cuzzo! What’cho need?” Leon observed Darrell’s sharp tone.
“A couple of eight balls. Can you get ahold of them oxen cotty’s?”
“OxyContin, cuzzo. Yeah, I got that. I got needle juice too.” Leon offered.
“Needle juice, yep. Some Oxys; and a couple eight balls. What’s the
damages?”
 “Family discount. You know that. Two for the balls and how many Oxys?”
“How many can you get?”
“Just got a prescription filled. Ten. You tryin’ ta die, Darrell?”
“I’m pulling up, Leon. Unlock your door. Your dog outside?”
“Dropped him off on the side of the highway. Mother Fucker chewed a
hole…”
Darrell ended the call as he neared the front door of Leon’s run down
rancher in the Holiday Valley neighborhood.
“Yeah, that fuckin dog chewed a hole through the side of the shed, Darrell!
Fuckin’ squirrels got in there. Went back to get right and one jumped out at
me! Almost shit my pants! You know what I mean?” Leon’s lazy smile and
delayed mannerisms were all too familiar to Darrell.
“You okay, cousin? Hey, the ball is right there. Take a dip. You’ll love it.
This here,” Leon dangled a plastic bag of pills in Darrell’s face. “Darrell, this
here, smash it up half of one and mix it with the juice. Cuzzo, I’m telling you!
You’ll be at the gates of heaven.” Leon’s eyebrows peaked to his hairline as
he rubbed his stomach. “Easy, though, cuz. Can’t get no more.”
“Leon, I’ll need to get together with you in a couple days. Got some shit to
talk to you about. I’ll have Janine call you when I’m ready.” Darrell huffed.
“Oh, yeah. Okay. Everything okay, cuzzo?” Leon asked sluggishly.
“Yeah, yeah. Just some business, Leon. Answer when Janine calls you.”
Darrell collected his take and left for Aaron’s.
****
“He was foaming from the mouth.” The voice again.
Darrell felt the cold concrete beneath him. An ache started to form in his
shoulder spreading across up through his neck. A few gritty pebbles were
lodged in between his front, bottom teeth and lip. His mouth was bone dry
making it that much harder for him to spit them out. He lifted his head just
enough to turn it. Hoping to find some of the foam the voice was talking
about, Darrell stuck out his tongue and searched the corners of his lips. His
left arm was still slightly numb partially from him laying on it and partially
from slamming dope. Darrell dropped his right arm over his body and felt
around until he could feel the cool concrete on his palm and pushed as hard as
he could trying to sit up. Unable to support the weight of his torso on his one
very weak arm, Darrell collapsed back into the concrete.
“He’s moving. The fuck? I said he looked high not dead! Just send the
ambulance.” The voice barked.
“Aaammmbbbbuuuuu…….” Darrell moaned.
Darrell slowly peaked through his right eye clinching to keep the left one
closed. A round, twenty-something girl bent down slightly blocking the sun.
Darrell opened both eyes and begged his brain to make his eyes focus. The
girl extended her hand for a brief second until she realized Darrell didn’t have
it in him to grab hold. She crouched down, placed her hand on his shoulder,
and rocked him back and forth attempting to bring him to.
“You okay? Course he’s not okay. What the fuck?” The round girl said to
Darrell and herself.
“No aammmbbuuuu….” Darrell tried to get his words out but his mouth
was still too dry and numb to cooperate.
“No ambulance? Too late for that. Get’jour self up and go then. I can’t call
and cancel a 911 call, ya big dummy. The lady in the store’s probably called
the police by now.” The girl teased.
Darrell rolled himself flat on his back. The usual nauseous feeling he was so
used to was creeping back into his gut. He wanted to avoid the urge he’d soon
get to vomit from laying on his back and reached out for the girl.
“Watch out, asshole. You touched my fucking tit.”
“Cou, coulda mithed ‘em?” Darrell mumbled.
“What? Here, take my hand and shut up. You sound like a retard.”
The round, twenty something grabbed both of Darrell’s hands, steadied her
weight and yanked hard pulling Darrell into a slumped but upright position.
“I’mma help you to your truck but then you’re on your own. Put that fuckin’
thing up first, though.” The girl snickered.
Darrell peered up at the girl and then back down to his flaccid dick peeking
out the top of his boxers. Memories of what he had been doing flooded his
brain. Darrell wondered how long the girl had been there and how much she
had seen.
“You watched me?” Darrell’s voice cracked as he adjusted his boxers and
zipped his jeans.
“Gross! You were slumped over and foaming at the
mmmmoooouuuuuttthhh.” The girl explained as she strained to help Darrell
up. “Thought’choo was dead. The lady in the store tapped on the window and
you didn’t move so I opened the door. Hit the ground pretty hard. Scared the
shit out that lady.”
 Darrell wobbled a few steps to his truck easing himself back in.
“Must’a been some good shit! Got’ny more?” The girl leaned to look
around the truck.
“Back up.” Darrell shewed the girl and pulled his door shut.
“Hey, don’t be a dick!” The girl said as Darrell started his truck.
Darrell rolled down his window. “What’s your name?”
“Yajaira. That’s my friend Marisol.” The girl turned and pointed toward a
dilapidated, rusted out Chevy Caprice.
“You’re not from here.” Darrell pointed out.
“No shit, Shirlock. Moved to Springfield from Cleveland ‘bout a year ago.
Work for this lady cleaning houses. Sunday Blues. Ever heard of it?”
“Sure, sure.” Darrell replied. “Used to clean my parent’s house.”
“I wanna get right, man.”
“Hahn Avenue up in Holiday Valley. White house on the left with all the
shit in the front yard. Tell him I sent you and I got him later.”
Yajaira trotted to her car smiling from ear to ear as Darrell left the parking
lot.
****
Darrell put his stash in the center console and closed the top. Pleased with
his purchase, Darrell thought about the doctor’s warning. Fuck them, though.
If he was going to die, he’d do it on his own terms. He wanted to done with
lawsuits, his uncles, the fucking distillery. He was so tired. He really just
wanted to get rid of everything he owned as quickly as possible so the only
thing he would have to worry about would be eating and his next fix. Darrell
had no plans to be on any prescription drugs except the ones he planned to get
from Leon. He didn’t give a fuck how quickly either of his diseases would
gnaw at him. He wanted to be high and broke and leave every person who
turned their backs on him throughout his life to suffer long after he was gone.
Darrell wheeled the massive diesel truck into the parking lot of Carriage Inn
and Restaurant. Aaron occupied the top floor of the Carriage Inn and
Restaurant building. With a private entrance on the west side of the building,
the location was quiet, private, and suited Aaron well. Darrell was Aaron’s
only real client and he Aaron’s only friend. Aaron Levowitz was the son of
Abraham Levowitz, Republican Attorney General for the state of Ohio from
1983 until he died in 1990. His father fought and won a legal battle against
the Department of Energy over the pollution of a nuclear weapons plant in
Cleveland. His win granted the Ohio State Government the right to regulate
the cleanup of the site catapulting him into a gubernatorial run in 1990.
Aaron’s father dropped dead of a brain aneurysm at the start of the campaign.
Soon after, Aaron’s sisters and mother banished Aaron from the Levowitz
home after being convicted of felony shop lifting and drug possession. Aaron
was kicked out of law school and moved as far away from Cleveland as he
could get. When Aaron’s mother passed, he was set to inherit quite a bit of
money and her home. However, his sisters discovered a multitude of unpaid
credit cards and loans Aaron had taken out in his mother’s name. Several
creditors had leans on the home. Both Levowitz girls combined their money
to pay off the debts to clear the deed to the house and then filed a joint lawsuit
against Aaron to recoup their money. The day the judge was to hand down the
decision in Levowitz v Levowitz and Levowitz, Darrell Thom stood arguing
pleading his own case opposite his uncles Rudy and Earl. Darrell’s pregnant
wife nodded and dozed in the court’s gallery.
“Mr. Thom, while I cannot tell you how to spend your money and do not
know your expenses, sir, I have warned you previously I will not allow you to
make a spectacle of my courtroom. It has already been decided, Mr. Thom,
that you are to disperse to your family in a timely manner their inherited
allowances. What exactly happened that I’m once again about to issue the
same exact ruling, sir, as well as find you in contempt of court?” Judge Forrest
Huckabee hissed.
“Whose time, your honor?” Darrell spat.
“Come again, Mr. Thom.” The judge demanded.
“You said I had to give them their money in a timely manner. Whose time
determines what is timely, your honor?” Darrell fired back.
“Mr. Thom, I…”
“Your honor, may I consult with Mr. Thom briefly?” Aaron winked at
Darrell, nodded his head in a friendly gesture towards Darrell’s family, and
smiled as we awaited the judge’s response.
“Aren’t you on the docket?” The judge snapped.
“Indeed, your honor. May I? I’ll be quick.” Aaron jested.
The judge signaled the court room bailiff granting a brief recess. Aaron
Levowitz motioned to Darrell to meet him in the hallway. Aaron spoke
quickly to Darrell Thom mostly warning him to keep his cool and not to give
the judge any reason to think he was looking for a loophole to avoid a
previous judgment. Like most folks in or around Enon, Aaron knew Darrell
Thom Jr. came from a wealthy family. He sympathized when Darrell’s father
died seeing as his own father died unexpectedly too. Aaron also knew Darrell
struggled with the same habits. The difference between the two was Aaron
had zero access to any Levowitz money and Darrell had unlimited access.
Aaron’s motives were just as selfish as they were selfless deciding he would
advise Darrell in legal matters and be a damn good, loyal friend as long as
Darrell kept him high.
“Mr. Thom. I’m…” Aaron began.
“Aren’t you being sued too, Levowitz?” Darrell interjected.
“I am. And so are you. First things first, that judge is going to make your
life a living hell if you do anything he thinks is insulting. Just go back in there
and agree to whatever shit your uncles want. Have somebody actually give it
to them and set yourself free, man. No use cutting corners. Give it to them or
let ‘em take it from you kicking and screaming. Look at you.” Aaron
straightened Darrell’s disheveled shirt, brushed his hair back with his hands,
and slapped him gently on both cheeks to wake him up.
“We can work out my fees later. Now, get back in there and agree, agree,
agree. Got it? We’ll celebrate after that.”
“Just like that? Aaahhh, this shit-tuh! What do we have to celebrate?”
Darrell huffed.
“New friends. Now, come on. You aren’t gonna run out of money. You’re
Darrell Thom.” Aaron jabbed Darrell’s arm.
Aaron fared better than well overtime proving himself a trusted, loyal friend
to Darrell Thom Jr. His shady legal advice often times fared on the side of
Darrell’s uncles but kept Darrell out of court freeing him up to get as high as
they could and party from that day forward. The pair danced with death many
times. Darrell knew Aaron would be the only person to support his decision to
‘just wing it’ especially considering the alternative would mean the steady
streams of dope would dry up. He knew Aaron’s friendship was only as
strong as the dope they’d share. His main objective, whether Aaron supported
it or not, was to ensure he’d die high and dead broke.
Aaron recklessly sped his primer-gray Nissan-Z into the parking space
adjacent Darrell. Aaron brushed his hand through his hair and pulled his
sunglasses from his face securing them over the sun visor and got out of his
car.
“Darrell!” Aaron exclaimed.
“God damn, man. Took you long enough.” Darrell chuckled. It had only
taken Levowitz about eight minutes to arrive since their phone call.
“Yeah, brother. Come on up. Sandy’s probably up there. I’m telling you,
Darrell man. Sandy does some sweet shit when she’s high. Take her for a
spin. She’s always had a thing for you.”
“Before I die, Aaron. Here.” Darrell tossed an eight ball of cocaine to
Aaron while the pair climbed the stairs to his place.
As promised, Sandy lay sprawled out naked on an over-stuffed sofa. A
placid grin smeared her face ear to ear. She stretched her hand out and offered
a half-puckered kiss to Aaron as they walked past her to an empty room in the
back of the apartment.
****
There were so many elements to Darrell’s plan that just didn’t make sense to
Aaron and he did nothing to try to make it. He really didn’t care anyway.
Hepatitis, HIV – Aaron didn’t give a fuck if Darrell skinned babies as long as
they were high when it happened. Aaron had fleeting fantasies about getting
clean and taking over Thom’s but the thoughts faded as Darrell passed him a
freshly used needle.
“Sandy!” Aaron hollered into the open air.
Sandy opened the door and stepped inside. Darrell and Aaron sat along the
back wall against two floor-to-ceiling windows. Sandy checked Darrell’s
pulse and sat on her knees close to Aaron and watched intently as he combined
cocaine, OxyContin, and heroin in a spoon. Sandy tied Aaron’s arm and aided
him in finding a healthy vein. Moving to sit Indian-style facing Aaron, Sandy
smiled passionately as she watched him load. She moved her silky blond hair
from her shoulders and leaned back on Darrell’s legs as Aaron passed the
remains to her.
****
“It just seems so complicated, Darrell.” Aaron claimed. “Bringing all the
money here and shredding it. Just burn it.”
Darrell lifted a small, rectangle-shaped, silver tray to his nose inhaling a few
lines of coke.
“I’m gonna have the coroner stuff me with it.” Darrell laughed. “What
doesn’t fit, maybe Sandy or somebody can make some pretty flowers to throw
on top my casket.”
Aaron couldn’t make heads or tails of anything Darrell wanted to do. He
didn’t try and didn’t care. He just wanted to appease him.
“Darrell, don’t know how, but we’ll make it work. We’ll have Sandy get
some shred bins here, schedule a pick up, and bam! Maybe they’ll drive your
body around town for everyone to see. Hell, make it a ticker-tape parade and
drop some of that shit all over the place!” Aaron joked.
****
When Aaron started bringing Sandy around, she hated Darrell. Darrell
would make vulgar passes at her. In her over-jealousness, she would strike
down his attempts claiming to not want to make Aaron jealous. Over time,
Darrell’s advances fell off. Sandy resented him for withdrawing his attention
whether she was officially or unofficially Aaron’s girl. Darrell’s advances gave
her a sense of confidence even if for a moment. She hated Darrell and loved
him all at the same time. She hated that he introduced her to the needle but
loved him for continuously filling it for her. She hated Darrell for treating
everyone except Aaron like disposable diapers but loved him for putting up
with whatever shit she threw at him. To Sandy, Darrell was a rich, stumbling
junky who objectified women and used his money to leverage himself
wherever he could. He was bitter, nasty, grumpy, hateful, and deserved
whatever he got. Darrell kept Sandy high though and that had always been her
price. Sandy was sick of selling herself cheap and if Darrell was going to
shred millions of dollars – he could afford to take some, clean herself up, and
become a productive part of society.
Sandy made perfect sense of what Darrell wanted to do. She failed
repeatedly trying to explain it while she was high dozing in and out of
consciousness. Darrell picked up her vibe, however, repeating the words
shred it over and over again. Sandy relaxed her legs straightening them out
across Aaron’s lap fulling allowing her body to go limp against Darrell. Her
skin was cool to the touch but warm against his. The chills Darrell loved
feeling peppered him. Slowly, Darrell draped his arms around Sandy’s naked
body and allowed his mind to slip into the abyss.
****
“What are you going to do after all this is said and done?” Darrell asked as
he crushed the three and a half grams of cocaine still wrapped in plastic wrap
between his fingers into a fine white dust.
Aaron tapped some of his own white china onto a small glass serving tray
responded, “Darrell, man, I gotta be honest. I thought I’d be right here in
Enon until I died. Shit isn’t going to be the same, man. Maybe a little Russian
mail-order bride and then off to a nice ocean front home in Cabo or something
swanky in Italy.” Aaron smashed his coke with an empty whisky tumbler
dusting the remnants from the bottom.
“Cliché, mother fucker.” Darrell bellowed readying his blow.
Aaron dropped his head placing a metal straw just inside his nostril and
holding the opposite nostril closed with an index finger sniffing the dust into
his nose.
“Aaaahhhh, damn Leon! Close to uncut as they come, Darrell! Quit flappin’
your jowls, brother, and try that shit!” Aaron exclaimed.
Darrell followed suit snorting his own line.
“Fuck!” Darrell grimaced pinching both nostrils closed. Darrell closed his
eyes and tilted his head back waiting the few seconds it took for the wings to
take flight.
“You think Sunday has any of them cute Latinas working tonight?" Darrell
pondered. “That is if you don’t wanna just go back to Mitchell Hills.”
Aaron rolled his eyes and yelled out, “Sandy, go home! We’ll lock up.”
“I could bring that blondie in here, Darrell.” Aaron motioned towards the
door.
“Aaron?” Sandy asked tapping on the door. “I’m leaving. The shred bins
will be delivered tomorrow around ten in the morning. I’ll back around eight.
Don’t forget to lock up!” Sandy’s voice trailed off as she left Aaron’s
slamming the door behind her.
“You didn’t have to slam the door, Sand! I swear, Darrell, she must be
related to Janine.” Aaron said sniffing his second line of coke. “Sunday’s,
Darrell?”
“Sunday’s it is.” Darrell thumbed through his contact list to dial Sunday
Blue. Darrell imagined Sunday was the premier madam in all of southwest
Ohio. The elite of the elite knew Sunday Blue most times learning of her from
another wealthy, trusted client.
“Sunday, Darrell Thom. Darlin’, what can you send my way?” Darrell asked
sniffing his third line of coke.
Twenty thousand via PayPal was nothing for Darrell or Aaron for the
goddesses Sunday Blue sent them and just the right price for them to no-holds-
barred penetrate every opening they had. Sunday had no idea either men had
an affliction for brown skinned women so she sent them her finest Puerto
Rican princesses she had on staff.
The time between placing their order with Sunday and the ladies getting
there seemed to only be a few seconds. The ladies arrived dressed in French
maid’s uniforms, fishnet stockings, black patent-leather stilettos, long curly
hair, and red lipstick. Neither lady wasted any time setting the mood.
“I’m Yajaira and this is Marisol. I brought a few things to keep you
gentlemen happy. Marisol, take this and…which one of you is Aaron?” Yajaira
said with a sexy Spanish accent handing Marisol a box of condoms. She was
the personification of every fantasy Darrell ever had involving an exotic
woman: petite, big tits, juicy ass, small feet, and full lips. Her spiraled curls
hung down her back stopping just above her round, bouncy ass. The muscles
in her calves poked through her fishnet stockings as she strut across the empty
room toward Darrell.
“I’m Aaron.” Aaron slobbered.
“Marisol, has something nice for you, Mr. Aaron.” Yajaira flirted.
Marisol, a replica of Yajaira, stuck her hand out and motioned for Aaron to
join her to another part of Aaron’s apartment. Yajaira winked at Darrell and
locked the door. Times when Darrell was still sleeping with his wife, he
experienced situational impotence or whisky dick or would have to rub coke
on his member to keep it hard. He didn’t give a fuck if his dick was limp with
Sunday Blue’s girl but doubted that would be an issue. Darrell was already
rock hard just listening to Yajaira talk. Every fiber of his being yearned to
bury his tongue in her juicy peach and feel her writhe against his chin.
Yajaira slowly dimmed the lights and turned back towards Darrell, winked,
licked her lips, and asked, “Mr. Darrell, are you ready for the fuck of your
life?”
Darrell unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He licked his index
finger dipping it into the cocaine, unzipped his zipper freeing his unbridled
manhood. Yajaira smiled seductively and kneeled down before her client.
“Mmmm, Mr. Darrell, so much for me to do.”
Darrell’s buzz and dick were on full throttle. It had been a long time since
he felt other hands besides his own. He was determined to make this night
with Yajaira count. Darrell grabbed his dick pointing it toward Yajaira’s
glossy red lips. Obliging him, she opened up just enough for him to tease her
mouth with the tip. Yajaira opened her mouth wider lengthening her tongue
commanding Darrell to fill her face slowly lapping and teasing and sucking on
him. Elongating her throat, Yajaira swallowed Darrell’s whole dick forcing
her tongue between her teeth and bottom lip to flick his scrotum. Hardly able
to contain himself, Darrell dropped his head back intertwining his hands in the
Latin goddess’ hair moving his hips up and down. The tightness of her throat,
wetness of her mouth, and flickering of her tongue caused him to pulsate
almost to climax. Darrell pulled the glass serving dish to his face sniffing
another line of coke pushing the urge to cum to the back of his mind.
“Mmmm, Mr. Darrell. Don’t lose it yet. I want to wrap myself around you
and give you your money’s worth. Can I do that, papi?” Yajaira stood nibbling
the nape of Darrell’s neck.
“Come here, baby.” Darrell spread Yajaira’s legs apart with his knees and
pulled her on top of his erectness.
Yajaira moaned as she positioned herself atop him enveloping Darrell with
her slippery clam. Darrell sucked and gently tugged at Yajaira’s nipples with
his teeth as he moved his hips in unison with hers. The sound of their bodies
slapping together and Yajaira’s juicy cunt sloshing around his dick gave
Darrell animalistic energy. He wrapped his arms around Yajaira’s waist
holding her as moved to a kneeling position. Turning her to lay her flat on the
floor, Darrell pulled himself free and pleasured her first with his fingers and
then with his tongue. Darrell held Yajaira open with his thumb and index
finger and stared at her beautiful opening in all of its bright pink glory. Yajaira
was dripping with pleasure and Darrell couldn’t help but to lap her up -
sucking, flicking, fingering, licking, and fucking her with his tongue. Yajaira
wiggled beneath him grinding her pussy hard against his face.
Darrell stood and wiped his chin smearing the wetness across Yajaira’s
belly. A long table appeared in the middle of the room. Darrell turned at the
waist confused but uncaring. Somehow Yajaira was laying on the table ready
to be taken again.
“Scoot down.” Darrell commanded pulling Yajaira’s hips close to the edge
of the table spreading her thighs wide open with his hands.
Yajaira arched her back shifting her hips downward polishing the tip of his
dick with her swollen clit. Darrell was already at the edge of a major
ejaculation and had to take a step back to just admire her beauty. Yajaira
smiled seductively and pulled herself up to a sitting position.
“You aren’t done, Mr. Darrell. You aren’t done until I taste every drop.”
Yajaira seductively said as she pulled him close.
Darrell plunged himself back into Yajaira’s sugar walls thrusting in and out,
deeper and deeper. Panting deeply, Yajaira put her arms around Darrell as if
she was hugging him and began throwing her hips in a circular motion. Darrell
pumped back and forth occasionally dipping to allow his manhood to touch
the back of her pussy.
“It’s okay, Mr. Darrell. Let it go if you want, baby. I feel your pulse inside
me. Let it go, daddy!” Yajaira squealed.
“No, not yet.” Darrell said grabbing Yajaira’s throat firmly.
Darrell dropped his head back closing his eyes mindfully absorbing every
flinch, every smooth edge, every gush of hot, seeping cum drip down his balls.
He opened his eyes and Yajaira was gone. Confused, Darrell bent down to
look under the table. Standing back up, Darrell noticed the table was also
gone. God, he wanted that nut! He wanted to take his frustrations, aches and
pains out on Yajaira. He wanted her to beg him to stop, beg him for more, and
then suck him dry. He closed his eyes again. Re-opening them, Darrell was
back on the floor with Yajaira leaning against him. Aaron’s face was buried
between her thighs. Aaron was letting out this strange squeal as he tongued
Yajaira. She raised her arms reaching them above her head backwards to pull
Darrell’s mouth close to her neck encouraging him to suckle. Yajaira moaned
and slightly rolled her head forcing more flesh into his mouth. Darrell
wrapped his arms around Yajaira caressing and squeezing her breasts.
“Stop!”
Darrell couldn’t make out the voice.
“Stop! You’re hurting me, goddammit! Stop!”
That was Sandy’s voice. Just like her to fuck up a good thing. Darrell
couldn’t imagine who could be hurting her and didn’t care. He wanted Aaron
to get Yajaira all juicy and then he was going to finish pummeling her. He had
to feel her tightness around him again. He had to be inside her when he came.
Darrell forced his thoughts back to Yajaira. At some point, Aaron had
crawled across the room where he sat with his knees pulled to his chest
starring off into the distance. Darrell leaned Yajaira forward and moved from
behind her. Her eyes met his and screamed for him to fuck her. Darrell
motioned for Yajaira to roll to her stomach. He pulled her up about four inches
from the floor by her hips and positioned himself behind her. Yajaira rubbed
herself dipping her fingers inside and wiped the moistness on her ass.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck off of me! Darrell!”
Aaron jerked Darrell backwards by the shoulders. When had he gotten up?
Darrell looked around the room confused coming back to Sandy who lay face
down. Small beads of blood was dripping from her ass.
Wait. Sandy? Darrell didn’t even know she had come back.
“I thought you left.” Darrell groaned.
“I didn’t leave, asshole! I got high just like you.” Sandy pealed herself
from the floor scolding Darrell with her eyes.
“I thought you left. We called Sunday Blue. She sent girls.”
“To do what? Clean the place up? You stupid bastard! That hurt!”
Sandy’s words straddled each syllable as she smacked Darrell’s arms and
chest.
“Darrell, you’re high.” Aaron coached.
“Sunday. Sandy,” Darrell corrected himself, “I didn’t mean to. Whatever I
did. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I’m bleeding from my ass, Darrell. I told you to stop.”
“I heard you but I thought I was dreaming. These girls came and I…”
Darrell trailed off covering his face with his hands and nodded back off.
****
“Mmmmm. You had fun, papi? Did I earn my keep?” Yajaira asked as the
pair made their way off the conference room table.
“How much is your keep?” Darrell sat naked on the floor sniffing more
coke. “Want some?” He asked offering the straw.
“Just a little. My keep is five hundred, Mr. Darrell. Sunday can’t know I told
you that though. She hates when we discuss administrative stuff with clients.”
Yajaira took the straw quickly inhaling two healthy lines.
“I’ll give you the difference. Gotta get rid of some excess.”
Darrell had never experienced a woman as sexually gifted as Yajaira nor
had he been able to get and keep a hard on or cum for another person as much
as he did that night. He was angry he hadn’t met Yajaira before and happy that
she was right there at his disposal. He imagined Yajaira in his kitchen in her
French maid get-up and heals cooking him authentic Puerto Rican cuisine and
fucking her in the Jacuzzi in his backyard and waking up to mind-altering
blow jobs every morning. Yajaira would be a perfect player in his newly
initiated game of Dead Broke – the game he and Aaron masterminded to get
rid of as much of Darrell’s money before he died.
“Mr. Darrell, please don’t tell Sunday you gave me anything. I won’t be
able to work.” Yajaira pleaded.
“You won’t have to work for Sunday, doll. You can work for me. Starting
right now. Your friend too. Is she useful?”
“Useful, Mr. Darrell? Marisol will work hard like me, Mr. Darrell. Yes, sir.”
Yajaira claimed.
“Do you even know who I am, Ya…how do you say your name?” Darrell
asked.
“You must be someone special, Mr. Darrell; but, I am not sure.” Yajaira
explained. “Yah-hear-a.” She enunciated.
****
“Darrell!” Aaron blurted out from the corner. “Are you alive in there,
brother?”
 “You were in here the whole time?” Darrell asked as he stammered to find
his clothes that were strewn about the room.
Aaron shook his head yes tossing Darrell’s pants in his direction. Sandy
went to the bathroom. Darrell looked around for Yajaira but she was gone
again. His mind was spinning and his high was fading. Reality sprung itself
to life snapping Darrell completely awake.
The night was still young. Darrell convinced Aaron it was still early
enough to go to Sunday Blue’s. Aaron, fully aware, made no attempt to deter
Darrell from his mission. He figured they’d drive into the country, stop to get
high, and Darrell would forget where he was going and head back to Enon.
He knew Darrell had absolutely nothing to lose and his only concern was
driving off the side of the road or hitting someone on the way killing them.
“Sandy.” Aaron mumbled.
“What about Sandy, brother?” Darrell questioned. “Oh, um, I was… I
meant Sunday. That Asian girl that was found floating in the reservoir back in
February, Darrell, she was one of Sunday’s girls. We can’t just go to Sunday’s
and knock on the door.” Aaron had zero desire to drive around aimlessly
looking for Sunday Blue. He wasn’t delusional. Sunday Blue was a
housekeeping service and he knew Darrell was obviously still out of it.
“She’ll take cash for them, Aaron. Or I’ll pistol whip her until she takes the
cash and convinces me she will let the girls go.” Darrell quipped.
“Send Leon and a few of his friends. Or, just call her, man.” Aaron begged.
“I’m going to take a piss. I’ll be in the truck. Be outside in five minutes,
Aaron.” Darrell demanded.
Aaron rubbed his face hard as he watched his friend walk out. As he cleared
the mess and made sure Sandy was alright, Aaron attempted to think through
the best-case and worst-case scenarios. He knew if he didn’t put a stop to
Darrell’s madness there would be a huge potential for him ending up in an
orange prison jumpsuit and brown, plastic slippers in a state standard size
eleven even though he only wore a size nine. Prison was nowhere in the life
he dreamt of and the thought almost left him frozen in place.
Aaron descended the stairs to the outside, stepped out and locked up his
place. Darrell had backed his truck up to the door for Aaron’s convenience.
Darrell set the GPS on his dash for Sunday Blues - 88 County Highway 32 N
in Bellefontaine, Ohio. The drive would take them a little less than an hour if
Darrell sped. Aaron gave up thinking about his future, what he could say to
change Darrell’s mind about his plan and going to Sunday Blue’s, Sandy, and
allowed the hum of the diesel engine to occupy his mind. Aaron operated
better when his mind was clear and considering he was not the typical strong-
arm to tag along on a mission such as this, he figured his gift of gab and
uncanny ability to argue a point could maybe come in handy where ever they
ended up.
****
Darrell’s mind was racing. He could have sent someone else to go to
Sunday Blue’s as Aaron suggested but he thought he’d have too much to
explain and didn’t want anyone else knowing about Dead Broke. He didn’t
want anyone else knowing about his diseases and he certainly didn’t want
anyone else vying for his money. True enough, having another person to pay
off would afford him the possibility of chipping away at the money he, himself
planned on wasting or destroying. After all, Sunday had been good, in a
sense, to Darrell Thom over the years. She had always sent him her crème de
la crème. But, learning she kept over ninety-five percent of what she was paid
reminded Darrell of all the people who had come and gone from his life over
the years looking to skim off the top and profit off someone else’s hard work.
He vowed to himself when he left the doctor’s office earlier that day he would
humble as many people he encounters until he felt whole.
“Keep right at the fork and your destination will be on the left.” Chirped the
GPS.
Darrell turned his head lights off and slowly passed Sunday Blue’s scanning
the property. He always imagined her place being heavily guarded and laughed
to himself when he saw a small, converted gas station adorned with her
business logo. He saw a DMV about four hundred feet past her place. Darrell
coasted into the parking lot’s most northern entrance driving the truck to the
back entrance and parking his truck in the grass killing the engine. As Aaron
sat completely silent minus his anxious breathing, Darrell rummaged the
center console for his back up vile of coke tapping its contents directly into his
nose. He returned the vile to the console and leaned in reaching his arm under
the passenger seat of the diesel’s cab pulling a holstered black nine millimeter
from beneath it. Wiping his nose clean, Darrell instructed Aaron to get in the
driver’s seat and pull in front of Sunday’s when he sees Darrell come out of
the house. The color that had drained from Aaron’s face when Darrell pulled
out his gun became ashen. Darrell smiled at his old friend and patted him on
the shoulder.
“Brother, you have to earn your keep too. Nobody should come down this
road at this time of night. Hit the coke if you need something to keep you
awake. I won’t be long.”
Darrell took the gun from its holster sliding it into his rear waistband pulling
his shirt over top and quietly took long strides towards Sunday’s business. As
he neared the property, he noticed a small house the size of a two car garage
behind the main building. He figured Sunday would be in there and rounded
cars parked near the east end of the building. Bright security lamps came on
lighting the entire front and side of Sunday’s parking lot. Darrell slow-jogged
to the perimeter of the building taking in his surroundings. Darrell made his
way around the western end and trotted to the small house in the back. He
rang the doorbell and pulled the screen door open propping it with his left
foot. A light came on in the tiny foyer filling the upside down, u-shaped,
stained-glass design that framed the oak door. Darrell struggled to get his eyes
to focus through the colors at the person coming toward the door. He rested
his left hand on the gun weighing down his jeans and plastered his face with a
menacing smile.
“Who is it?” What sounded like an elderly woman shouted through the door.
Darrell leaned back looking at the fake brass numbers nailed to the tiny
abode to make sure he hadn’t gone to the wrong place.
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Levi. Sunday invited me over. I told her it was
late but she insisted I come over for coffee.” Darrell knew the old woman
couldn’t be Sunday. Her mom maybe? Her grandmother?
“It’s late, Levi. I don’t remember inviting anyone for coffee.”
****
Aaron sat wide-eyed watching as Darrell disappeared around the west side
of the building into the dark.
“Fuck!” Aaron shouted slamming both of his hands on the dash dropping
his head. “What am I doing? What are you doing, Darrell?”
Aaron got out of the truck to walk around to the driver’s side adjusting the
seat to accommodate the four inch height difference between the men. His
heart raced as his brain scurried to drum up alibis. He loathed this level of
involvement in Darrell’s delusions and was usually successful at recusing
himself. In the time since he became friends with Darrell, Aaron had to be his
all-seeing eye and never wanted to fall victim to any of the Darrell’s vengeful
plots. Darrell may have been a fucking junky but he was still a Thom. Just
like the rest of the Thoms, if pushed, would strike and take out anyone who
stood in his way.
During one of the many expansion projects for Thom’s Whisky Distillery,
Darrell Sr.’s brother-in-law barged into his office demanding better treatment
of his sister. Darrell Sr. stood silent as Paul Marcum barked demand after
demand. Darrell Sr. was to give his wife access to his money. He was to stop
having sex with his housekeeper. He was to stop drinking and come home at a
respectable time. Darrell Sr. was to provide his sweet little Darrell Jr. best life
had to offer. After he was done issuing his demands, he told Darrell Sr. the
repercussions of not heading to those demands would result in a very messy
divorce where he himself would foot the bill for the finest divorce lawyer
money could buy and help his darling sister take everything Darrell Sr. had.
Paul Marcum was so loud, people were filtering into the lobby of the distillery
dragging their chins on the floor in amazement. Darrell Sr. sat in his high-
backed executive chair sarcastically nodding in agreement. When Paul was
done ranting, he leaned over Sr.’s desk and told him messing with his sister
meant he was messing with the entire Marcum family. Not even a week later,
Paul was found hanging from his shower rod. The electric extension cords
used were wrapped around his neck so tight, during his struggle, the skin from
his chin almost to his chest had rubbed itself completely free of the muscle
underneath ripping itself at the ears and bubbled downward. Paul had left a
‘suicide note’ apologizing to his wife and four young daughters, his sister, and
their parents for his cowardly exit from his miserable existence. Aaron knew
right away Darrell Jr. was capable of dishing out the same misery. So, rather
than buck the system, as Darrell Jr. would say, he just followed along making
mental notes so he could offer up airtight alibis if Darrell were ever accused of
anything.
Aaron imagined Darrell calmly intimidating Sunday Blue for nothing.
Darrell hadn’t even called her. He slammed some dope, nodded out, came to a
little, fucked Sandy and then started babbling about some broads named
Yajaira and Marisol’s. Aaron didn’t think the girls existed and if they did,
there was no fucking way Sunday Blue’s Maid Service would send them to
fuck two junkies in the middle of the fucking night. He pulled his cell from
his pants pocket and pressed the power button jarring it awake. Darrell had
only been gone for a little under thirty minutes and not a peep from the house.
The security lights of the main building had gone off shortly after Darrell
disappeared around the side and he couldn’t see past a thick line of bushes
separating Sunday’s property from the DMV. No news was good news he
assumed and he dropped his phone on the seat to his right and tried to force his
nerves deep into his gut in hopes they would dissolve. Aaron allowed his head
to fall back against the rest, rubbed his temples, and closed his eyes.
POP! POP!
Aaron jerked himself straight up blinking frantically trying to get his eyes to
focus. The night sky was giving way to sun off in the distance and Darrell was
still M.I.A. He had no idea how long he had been out. He had only intended to
close his eyes for a second. He scanned the countryside straining to hear or see
anything. His thoughts were scattered and he had no idea if Darrell needed
help, if he needed to drive off, or if Darrell had just killed Sunday Blue.
Aaron’s stomach bubbled in a nervous protest as he attempted to gather
enough gall to get out of the truck and go look for Darrell; but, just as he was
about to pull the door handle, Darrell appeared from behind the bushes
motioning a thumbs-up to Aaron.
“What does that mean, Darrell?” Aaron demanded as Darrell got in the
passenger side of the diesel truck.
“It means drive off, asshole.” Darrell chuckled.
Aaron inhaled deeply, wiped his face with his free hand, and watched
Darrell out of the corner of his eye. Darrell placed his gun in his glove box
under a glob of papers and pealed open a wet-nap container. Darrell yanked
two wet-naps from the cylinder wiping blood from his hands and tossed them
out the window. Aaron starred forward trying to keep track of every small
detail so he wouldn’t forget anything when he was locked in an interrogation
room for hours with detectives breathing down his neck. Darrell opened the
center console popping two aspirin into his mouth and two taps of coke into
his nose. Aaron blinked hard and exhaled.
“This wasn’t part of the plan, bro.” Aaron stated.
“Aaron, what the fuck, bro. Don’t start questioning this shit now. I tried to
be civil with that woman, man. I wouldn’t have shot her but she pulled on me,
man. She said no Yajaira worked for her. I knew she was lying man. The girl
told me she worked for Sunday Blue just this morning. She fired first. I
reacted. Fucking lying whore.” Darrell said sniffing the coke drip down his
throat.
“Do you hear yourself? Weren’t you at the doctor’s this morning? Then
you went to Leon’s. Then you came to my place. The ONLY whore, if you
wanna call her that, there was fucking Sandy! I’m not going to jail, Darrell.”
The words fell out of Aaron’s mouth.
“Shut the fuck up! You hear me, Aaron, man? Shut up. Who the fuck else
are we going to get to carry huge bags of cash back to your place? Sunday
Blue whips her girls into shape, man. Before she sets them up with her first
client, Aaron, she breaks those bitches down, scares them real good, strips
them of every womanly impulse to question shit, do any shit they aren’t told to
do, or open their fucking mouths about what the fuck they see, hear, or
experience. Who the fuck do you have – that you can trust without question –
to carry the cash while we wrap this up? Mother fucker! You know me, Aaron.
I think things through all the way to the end. This was a part of the plan,
Aaron!” Darrell snapped.
“You’re right, Darrell. Imaginary girls need to carry huge bags of imaginary
cash to my place. This shit’s eating your brain, bro. Maybe you should go back
to your doctor.”
“Aaron! Think, man, think!”
“I am, Darrell. You’re slightly fuckin’ fucked up in the head, my friend.”
Darrell didn’t respond.
“None of this is going to work. Darrell, as your friend, your brother, I’m
telling you - this whole Dead Broke plan is not going to work. Why doesn’t a
little bit of simplicity make sense to you, man? Let them doctors help you.
Shit, help yourself. Get clean. Maybe fix shit with Beverly. Fuck it. I’ll get
clean with you. Not gonna have much of a choice here in a bit anyway.”
“You got all the answers. Don’t you, Aaron? Get clean, fix shit, I’m your
friend.” Darrell mocked Aaron. “ASSHOLE! Fuck that! What are you doing?”
Darrell howled.
“Darrell, I’m just….”
“Aaron, you’re just what? You’re just a pussy and wanna do what’s easy.”
Darrell spent the remainder of the drive back to Enon reminding Aaron of
every atrocity he experienced at the hands of his family. Darrell had almost
lost everything because of them. He was buried in unpaid taxes on his estate,
people suing for not being paid, more partying than humanly imaginable, his
family pecking away at his stash, and he was being investigated for illegal
liquor sales. Darrell spouted on about his wife Beverly and her introducing
him to drugs.
Darrell met Beverly a few years before his father had passed. She was well
known around Enon and the neighboring city, Springfield, for being a cheap
slut who could was satisfied with whatever material things her suitors offered
be it cigarettes, booze, drugs, value meals off of a McDonald’s menu. She was
an amoral woman with low standards and a high altitude for self-destruction –
same as Darrell. Darrell happened upon Beverly and one of her friends at a
Wittenberg College football game. Beverly stumbled around trying to hide her
drunkenness running into Darrell and Leon at the concession stand. Beverly
and her friend flirted promising both guys hand jobs in the car if they would
drive her back to her aunt’s house on the south side. Leon wasn’t impressed
with Beverly and tried valiantly to convince Darrell he would be sorry.
Darrell, however, was sauced up on LSD and whisky and took Beverly and her
friend up on their offer. Beverly’s friend got in the backseat with Leon and
Beverly in the front with Darrell. The couples didn’t even make it out of the
parking lot good before Darrell had his dick down Beverly’s throat and his
hand down her pants. By the time they made the short drive from the north
side stadium on W. McCreight Avenue to Pleasant Street on the south side
Beverly and Darrell were completely charged up. Darrell slammed his souped
up ’92 Nissan Maxima into park without breaking, released his seat all the
way back smashing her friends knees in the process, and laid back allowing
Beverly to climb on top and fuck him senseless. Beverly wasn’t much of a
looker with her dull brown hair, thick unkempt eyebrows, and somewhat
crooked teeth but her pussy took control of Darrell quickly.
Darrell’s family hated Beverly. They knew of her prowess and, like Leon,
warned Darrell not to trust her. They’d say, ‘Darrell, girls like her don’t
change even with money. They get worse. They’re disloyal, lack integrity,
and will use you up, spit you out, and move on to the next man without batting
an eye.’ Darrell would hear nothing of it. He was so sprung off of Beverly,
he’d bring her to family functions out of spite. Who were they to tell him
anyway? His father was never loyal fucking countless maids while his mother
was in the house drowning her sorrows in whisky and Percocet. And his
mother, lacking integrity in her own rite, sought out Earl and Rudy separately
on several occasions eventually landing Earl and carried on a torrid love affair
for several years. Had she not suffered a stroke and Darrell Sr. shipping her
off to a nursing home until she died, Darrell was sure his mother and Earl
would still be bumping uglies. Darrell’s choice to be with Beverly served him
insurmountably in a physical sense and caused his scum-sucking family to
squirm appealing to Darrell’s sense of retribution. He never loved her though.
He trusted Beverly as far as he could see her and heard many times over
rumors of her fucking around with other people – men and women alike. Her
demons danced well with Darrell’s though and she wasn’t the questioning
type. So long as he never rippled the waters in regards to her extracurricular
activities, Beverly wouldn’t rock the boat. The time they spent together
getting drunk and consuming every drug known to man always ended in hours
of sweaty porn-like sex sometimes with other women included. When
Beverly announced to the entire Thom family during Thanksgiving dinner that
she was with child, Darrell’s father was so angry he promised Darrell he
would be written out of the will. His father not actually following through
was as much to a surprise to Darrell when his father passed as it was to his
uncles and the rest of the Thom family.
Aaron nodded in agreement as Darrell replayed the torrid memories that
brought him to his present vengeful state. True indeed, Darrell had lived a
hard life. His uncles protested everything, his parents died without mending
fences, his pregnant wife was poisoning his unborn child, and only condolence
ever offered him came in the form of finger pointing and blaming. Aaron
guessed Earl and Rudy were maybe trying to save the distillery. He also
guessed Darrell was responsible for Beverly juicing up three or four times a
day. He figured everything Darrell was angry over was really a direct result of
shit he was doing to himself. Darrell hadn’t stepped foot in the distillery in
years. He didn’t have millions of dollars to shred. His uncles didn’t want him
embarrassing the family any more than he already had. Darrell was doing it all
to himself; but Aaron knew it was pointless trying to reason with Darrell and
abandoned the attempt.
Darrell dropped Aaron back off at his apartment. Sandy was laying on her
stomach dangling her foot off the edge of the sofa. A pool of bile curdled
down the bottom face of the sofa spilling to the floor. Her head hung slightly
off the side and her hair wafted forward covering her face completely. Aaron
touched Sandy’s back. She groaned flipping her head to the left burying it
between the back cushions of the couch. Happy she wasn’t dead, Aaron
flopped down in the matching over-stuffed chair.
“Coffee?” Sandy mumbled into the couch.
“I need to sleep. You okay?” Aaron yawned.
“I’m good.”
“You threw up.”
“Oxy fucks me up.” Sandy flipped her face back to the right brushing her
hair away smiling at Aaron.
“We gotta get right, Sand. Darrell’s fucked up. We gotta get right and get
outta Enon.”
“I’ve known that for a long time.”
“Sandy, I can’t help him this time. I have to think about myself and, well,
you. I have to think about us and our future here or where ever we decide to
go.”
“What happened?”
“He ain’t right! His dad just died, he’s sick, fucked up. I think he killed
someone, Sandy.”
“What are you talking about, Aaron?” Sandy propped herself up. “Look at
me, Aaron. What are you talking about?”
“Darrell Thom, Sandy!”
“I know that, Aaron, but what…he killed somebody?” Sandy whispered.
Aaron nodded his head avoiding Sandy’s eyes.
“Oh, shit. Why? You were with him?”
“I don’t know why! He thought Sunday Blue sent him some hookers. He
fucked one of them and wanted her to shred some money and hang out at his
house. So we drove to Bellefontaine and I think he killed someone.” Aaron
felt the adrenaline flowing to his limbs and the blood flowing in his temples,
wiped his face and motioned Sandy to come to him. Sandy climbed into
Aaron’s lap nuzzling her nose against his neck.
Aaron didn’t deserve Sandy’s loyalty. He and Darrell had been short of
awful to her. Taunting her with dope, denying her, loving and hating her. She
resented them but they took care of her when no one else would. When Sandy
graduated from Greenon High School and went off to college at Ohio State,
she got mixed up with the wrong crowd and got busted selling drugs her
sophomore year. Sandy had met a drop-out that hung around campus selling
weed to everyone and fell for him almost instantly. It had only taken the boy
two weeks to convince her to stash his stuff in her dorm. A couple nosey do-
gooders reported the various people coming to the dorms at all hours at all
hours of the day and night sparking a dorm inspection. Sandy was in class
during the inspection. When she was booted from campus and returned home,
she got busted again and charged with a simple possession charge violating
her probation landing her in jail. She was released a month later on the same
day Aaron was released after his small stay for shop lifting. Aaron felt
immediately after his first conversation with Sandy that she was a keeper. He
knew she’d keep him from being lonely and understood him. At her best,
Sandy was quick witted, sharp as a tack, and smarter than he expected.
At first, Aaron had been a great boyfriend-like guy to Sandy until Darrell
Thom came along pumping their veins full of heroin, their noses full of
cocaine, and their guts full of whisky. Sandy sometimes protested begging to
get clean. And they’d punish her by making her watch them shoot speed-balls
until she would cave. Sandy offered her soul to Aaron. She wanted him to be
as good to her as he tried to be to Darrell. Instead, when Darrell was off
playing house with his wife, Aaron would offer Sandy up to Leon or his
friends for dope and play with himself as he watched them fuck her. For days
after, he’d be so sweet offering her the needle first, rubbing her head while she
zoned, or just holding her while they melted together. Then Darrell would
come back around binging and Aaron would flip on her.
Sandy didn’t know if Darrell was really planning to shred his money. Sure
he was sick, hell they all were; but she just didn’t believe Darrell was capable
of murder. He couldn’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground most of the time.
Darrell was a fucked up individual and Sandy didn’t believe any of his stories.
There were just too many holes. She knew his family was very wealthy but
didn’t believe for a minute his dad would leave his junky ass anything.
Darrell’s family was too cold, too pristine, too well-to-do. If Darrell’s uncles
had ever sued Darrell, Sandy thought it would be because he had been the
thief rather than them. Darrell lived out of his truck, for god’s sake, and he
had a pregnant junky wife. Those were Darrell’s realities. He didn’t have a
secretary, he didn’t amount to anything, and IF he was capable of killing
another human, Sandy was sure it would have been over a needle.
****
Darrell killed the engine of his diesel truck midway up his driveway
coasting it to the side of his house. Morning dew coated the perfectly
manicured lawn. Darrell cracked the driver’s side window breathing in the
brisk air. His body screamed for sleep but the nagging aches he was all too
familiar with started cutting through him. Darrell fished around the cab of his
truck for his milk of magnesia only to find an empty bottle. He desperately
wanted to fight the urge to shoot up but knew he just wasn’t strong enough to
win the battle. Darrell’s feet began to tingle. He wasn’t going to be able to
sleep if he was sick and deep down didn’t even want to try. He pulled his little
bag from his console and completed the routine.
“Hello.” Rudy Thom sleepily said.
“That wasn’t necess…..” Darrell attempted.
“’Scuse me?”
“Yooouuuuu ca ca ca…Yooouuuuu can’t-tuh have it-tuh. Doooo yooouuuu
uuunnnnndersssstannnnn?” Darrell slurred.
“What?” Rudy barked.
Darrell dropped his phone succumbing to the heroin.
****
Darrell was exhausted from the night before. The ache in his stomach and
back gnawed at him sending goose bumps down his spine. He set his alarm for
8 am but three hours of sleep did him very little justice. Darrell swung his feet
off the bed and fought the bitter tasting bile that rose quickly into his throat.
He had ignored his symptoms for more than a year numbing them instead. He
figured he was sick but never imagined hepatitis C or HIV. Darrell’s mind was
consumed with images of himself lying in bed, frail, and unable to function
while the louses bilked him for every penny. Flashbacks of his father flooded
his mind forcing the bile to swim in the back of his mouth. Darrell loathed the
thoughts of sticky fingers making decisions for him when he got to the point
when he couldn’t make them for himself. Imagining his wife and uncles
running amuck while he withered away infuriated him. Choking back the bile
and his thoughts, Darrell grabbed his phone off his nightstand and made his
way to his private bath right off his master bedroom. Trying to ignore the
increasing pain in his side, Darrell rummaged through his medicine cabinet for
his milk of magnesium, aspirin, and coke. Darrell drained the entire bottle,
swallowed the aspirin, and prepped four thick lines of coke before he turned
the shower on.
Darrell always hated his bathroom. Beverly had spent close to twenty
thousand dollars on a remodel turning it from a normal bathroom into a lavish,
celebrity style suite. Shortly after that, Darrell caught her bent over the vanity
getting hosed by one of the contractors. Being in the bathroom brought
drudged up the memories to the forefront of his mind adding to the pain he
was already feeling. He never admitted the betrayal he felt and often
wondered if it festered so much it made him sick. Frustrated, Darrell snorted
two of the four lines, blinked away as much as he could and stepped into the
shower. Twenty or so minutes later, his phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Darrell stepped from the shower, wiped the condensation from the mirror, and
stared at his naked, frail frame as he accepted the call.
“Hey, Mr. Darrell!” Yajaira exclaimed.
“You’re late.” Darrell responded.
“No, sir. Check your phone. We’ve been calling you for almost an hour. Can
someone let us in? We rang the bell too. We’re right outside.” Yajaira giggled.
Darrell put his phone back down and quickly dried himself off. Consuming
his last two lines of coke, Darrell stepped into a pair of jeans and a grey, long
sleeved, Land’s End cardigan and went downstairs cursing the housekeepers
on the way for ignoring the doorbell.
“Ladies, come in.” Darrell welcomed Yajaira and Marisol into the foyer
placing their bags tight against the wall. “Someone come get these bags and
take ‘em upstairs to the guest room! And why the fuck didn’t someone answer
the door?” Darrell never knew which housekeeper was on duty and never
cared. He never put a great deal of effort into learning their names and wished
like hell they would at least attempt to learn his routines, taste, likes, dislikes,
anything that would give him reason to treat them less than contemptuous.
“This way, ladies. We have a lot to do today.”
Darrell led the ladies through the house to a small workshop just inside the
massive garage. Along the back side was a long workbench with stacks of
twenty dollar bills, money wraps, dozens of packaged printer paper and
unassembled banker’s boxes. Darrell grabbed a pack of paper and began
explaining their task for the day.
“Don’t move the settings on the paper cutter. They are exact. Stick about
this much paper in, pull the lever down and voila!” Darrell explained. “Here
you try.” Yajaira followed suit doing exactly what Darrell had shown her.
Marisol leaned in and nodded confirming her understanding and repeated the
task half a dozen times.
 After assembling one of the banker’s boxes, Darrell then separated multiple
stacks of the cut up paper into even piles, placed a twenty dollar bill on top,
wrapped the bundle with the money wrap, and tossed it into the banker’s box.
“Whatever money is left over after you’ve cut and wrapped all the paper is
yours. Got it?” Darrell dropped his head a little to look down his nose at both
ladies.
“Course we got it, Mr. Darrell.” Yajaira spoke for both ladies. Darrell loved
that the girls didn’t bat an eye at what he had them doing and that they didn’t
question him.
“Good, girl. I’ll send one of the guys from the distillery over with more
paper and boxes soon as I get to work. Fill the boxes and put ‘em out in the
garage. I’ll be back to pick y’all up late tonight. We clear?”
Darrell left Yajaira and Marisol to their task, put on his shoes, and left for
the distillery. Darrell reveled as he thought of Dead Broke and smiled to
himself. His initial plan to destroy and spend as much as he could until he
died, leave some to Aaron and his trusty secretary Janine, and leave the rest to
Leon along with the distillery. When he did die, Aaron would call his family
together for the reading of the will where they would find out they were shit
out of luck. That plan changed the moment he got back in the truck at Sunday
Blue’s. Aaron was scared and Darrell knew that. Darrell also knew fear
changes people almost instantly. After they had gotten back to Aaron’s place
from Bellefontaine, Darrell re-thought his plan.
It was a little after ten when Darrell arrived at the distillery. Darrell bumped
some coke onto his hand before he went inside. He needed all the energy it
offered. He knew he didn’t have to move so quickly to execute his plan; he
just wanted to get it over with so he could rest easy. He had zero desire to
drag things out hoping he didn’t die in the process. That’s what everyone else
wanted. Darrell wanted to be broke as soon as possible, wash a handful of
OxyContin down with a bottle of his finest whisky blend, shoot some pure
heroin and enjoy the buzz as Yajaira and Marisol fucked him and sucked him
off until he succumbed to the inevitable.
Darrell walked through the double, automated doors of the distillery. Janine
manned her post at the reception desk as usual barely glancing in Darrell’s
direction as he walked in. Darrell nodded passing Janine’s desk, unlocked his
door, and finally spoke to her.
“Janine, have one of the delivery drivers run to Staples and pick up all of
the printer paper they have in stock. Needs to be back here within an hour.”
Darrell said as he crossed his office floor to his own desk.
“Well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty. Want some coffee?”
Janine snapped.
“No. I’m fine. Hey, I need you to call Leon too. Tell him I need him here in
an hour too.” Darrell demanded.
“You want the moon and stars too?” Sandy chortled.
“No time for your smart ass mouth today, Janine. Just do what you’re told.”
“I will not talking to me like that. You can get away with that nonsense…”
Sandy started spouting.
“Janine! Not today!” Darrell stormed out of his office back to Janine so she
could see the seriousness in his face.
“Fix your face, Mr. Thom.” Janine buzzed the warehouse beckoning one of
the delivery drivers while she opened Darrell’s contact files on her computer.
Once she found Leon’ number, she depressed the speaker option on her desk
phone and dialed Leon’s number.
“You have reached the voicemail box of 937…” Janine disconnected the
call and redialed more than twenty times before Leon finally answered.
“Leon?” Janine asked.
“Who the fuck is this?” Leon responded.
“Janine, Darrell’s assistant. He wants you here like a half hour ago.” Janine
said.
“Oh, yeah. Ok. Aaaahhh’ll be there shortly. Lemme wipe the doo-doo out
my eyes and brush my teeth.” Leon yawned.
“Tell him to bring some of that for me too!” Darrell shouted from his office.
“Tell him to bring what, Darrell?” Janine shouted back. Without waiting for
Darrell’s response, “Darrell wants you to bring him some of that whatever that
is.” Janine quipped.
“No doubt.” Leon said disconnecting the call.
Once Leon arrived at the distillery, Darrell instructed Janine to let him know
once the driver was back with the paper and to not interrupt them for any
reason. Janine turned on the TV that hung on the wall across from her desk
and turned up the volume. She hated Leon. She never understood why Darrell
always spoke so positively of Leon or why he had invested so much of his
time trying to mentor that boy. In Janine’s opinion, Leon was a lost cause, an
over-privileged brat who kept his hand out-stretched in Darrell’s direction all
the time. She had no clue Leon was Darrell’s drug dealer.
“No fucking way, Darrell!” Janine overheard Leon screech behind the
locked door.
“Keep it down in there!” Janine yelled.
Darrell opened his office door perching his head out and asked, “The paper
here, Janine?”
“No. Quiet down in there, Darrell. This is a business.” Janine snickered.
“Yep, mine.” Darrell said slamming his door and relocking it.
“You find the vein?” Darrell sat back down behind his desk. Leon pulled
an eight-ball of coke from his jean’s pocket tossing it across the desk in
Darrell’s direction.
“What the fuck, Darrell? They can’t do anything?” Leon voice cracked as
he stabbed and prodded his arm.
“Man, it’s too late for all that. Plus,” Darrell continued as he snorted a line
of coke, “I’d have to quit this shit. There’s no guarantees in life, Leon. All we
do is pay taxes and die.”
“Anything’s possible, Darrell. Get a second opinion. I dunno.” Leon’s
voice trailed off.
Darrell looked up from the fix he was preparing. Leon’s eyes began to glaze
over and bulge out. Leon flicked the needle free from his vein and then
brought his arms to his lips sucking the capping oozing from his skin.
“I’m doing this my way, Leon. You’re in or you’re not.”
Darrell combined Oxy, cocaine, and heroine stirring it together in a spoon
with the minute piece of cotton and the tip of a hypodermic needle. Leon
wished he hadn’t sold Darrell OxyContin. He didn’t want to be responsible
for him overdosing. Darrell wasn’t the type to use anything in moderation.
Darrell propped his feet up on his massive, cherry wood desk. He scanned
his arm for a blank, scab free spot and tied himself off. Rolling his vein with
his finger, Darrell pricked himself holding his breathe. God, he wanted to
touch himself. He wanted to stuff himself into something tight and wet. He
wanted to be as high as the clouds and invite all the demons in hell to dance
with him in heaven. He wanted to chew Leon’s neck open and bathe in his
blood. And then touch himself.
Darrell’s mind bounced back and forth between homicidal thoughts to erotic
scenarios. He saw himself shooting Sandy in the head with a rifle and then
pumping the hole full of cum. Aaron maybe would interrupt and then Darrell
would force him to lick and suck Sandy’s gaping wound while Darrell pumped
him from behind. He fantasized about binding their bodies together with
bailing twine until it tore into their flesh and rolling them off the bed of his
truck into a pool of acid. He’d invite Yajaira and Marisol to watch as the
chemical burned away their flesh and bones. Maybe he’d jump in and save
them in just enough time for them to live but leave them on the bank for
someone to find them. Maybe Yajaira and Marisol would be so excited
watching Sandy and Aaron suffer, they’d masturbate each other while fighting
to suck him off. Maybe they’d have fantasies of their own. He’d let them do
whatever they wanted as long as he was high and getting off.
Darrell’s high intensified as he played out multiple sexual and chemical
scenarios. His chest became tight as images of Yajaira and Marisol rubbing
their breasts together clouded his mind. Darrell struggled to take a breathe.
He sluggishly pushed his chair back letting his feet and legs collapse hard to
the ground. The force jutted him forward causing him to slither to the ground.
Darrell tried again to inhale and felt his lungs burning. He shifted his head
back, opened his mouth, and tried to scream but nothing came out. Instead his
mouth and nose filled with vomit.
****
“Darrell, oh my god! Darrell!” Beverly wobbled to Darrell’s bedside.
“Darrell? Can you hear me?”
Darrell could feel someone nudging his shoulder. Voices he didn’t recognize
filled his head as his mind did its best to restore him to a fully conscious state.
In his right ear, Darrell heard beeping that was in complete unison with his
heart. In his left ear, he heard tip-tapping on a keyboard. A woman who
sounded a great deal like his wife was talking to some man in hushed tones.
Darrell did his best to force his eyes open but the light burned them so bad, he
closed them again. Straining, Darrell tried to shift his elbows under his body
so he could sit up but couldn’t free his hands from whatever bound them. He
opened his balled up fists, turned his palms outward and stretched them out
searching for anything to grab onto. His right knuckle grazed a cold piece of
metal. Darrell tugged his hand again and realized he was confined. Panicking,
Darrell attempted to push himself to a sitting position with his feet and felt the
same resistance. Darrell, once again, willed his eyes open. First his left
allowing the light to burn until he was able to focus; then the right. He
dropped his head to the right immediately noticing his heart rate displayed on
the wall mounted cardiac monitor. Looking down at his hand, Darrell winced
at the hand-cuffs that bound him to the steel railing of the hospital bed and the
monitor clamped to his index finger. Collapsing his neck as close to his chest
as he could and looking down his feet, Darrell saw a very pregnant Beverly
sniffling and sobbing on a doctor’s shoulder. As Darrell panned the rest of the
room, his mind struggled to explain why he was in the hospital.
What happened to Leon? How had he gotten there?
 Looking back down toward his feet, Darrell caught Beverly’s eye and she
rushed to his bedside.
“Oh my god! Darrell, you’re awake! Thank god! Dr. Titus, he’s awake!”
Beverly exclaimed. “I was so scared, Darrell! You almost killed yourself!”
Beverly began weeping.
Darrell watched as her pregnant belly bounced up and down. What the
fuck, Darrell thought. He had to be dreaming.
“Mr. Thom, do you know where you are, sir?” Dr. Titus gently touched
Darrell’s chest.
Darrell shook his head no.
“You are in the emergency room at Community Hospital, sir. Your wife
found you slumped over your steering wheel in your parent’s driveway. Do
you remember how you got there, Mr. Thom?”
Darrell shook his head no a second time.
“Mr. Thom, I’m afraid you overdosed on heroin, sir. You were barely
breathing when you got here. If Mrs. Thom here hadn’t found you, she’d be
planning your funeral.” Dr. Titus stated.
Tears started streaming down Darrell’s face. He hadn’t been dreaming at
all. “Our baby girl almost didn’t have her daddy, Darrell.” Beverly sobbed
some more.
“Mr. Thom, I know this is a difficult time for you. We’ve arranged for you
to stay here for a little while and detox. We’ll be moving you to a room
upstairs as soon as one opens up. I’ll be back in to check on you shortly.
You’re a lucky man.” Dr. Titus patted Darrell’s legs as he walked out of the
room.
Confused, Darrell looked back at Beverly.
“Baby, there were some detectives here earlier from Bellefontaine askin’ me
all kinds of questions about Sunday Blue’s Housekeeping. I’m so sorry ‘bout
your daddy.”

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