Rock Chick Renegade
Page 5
“Nope,” I answered.
“You buyin’ it for protection? To put in your purse?”
“Nope,” I repeated.
Zip watched me some more. “Goin’ after your ex?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said again.
Zip’s eyes got wide for a fraction of a second then they narrowed. “Goin’ after someone else?”
I looked at Zip.
Then, I don’t know why, maybe I needed to talk about it, maybe I needed someone to talk me out of my plan, but, for whatever reason, I told Zip about Park.
Then I told him about my plan.
Then he stared at me for what seemed a long time.
Finally, he walked down the display case, opened one up, pulled out a black gun and said, “Glock 19, nine millimeter. It’s light, it’s dependable and it’ll fit in your purse.”
Hallelujah.
“Sold,” I said.
“Got a shooting range out back. Every day, you’re in here for at least an hour. Every day, I’ll give you the hour free and I’ll teach you. You don’t go on the street until you can handle that gun. Then I got some boys I want you to talk to. They’ll show you how to handle yourself. Be here tomorrow at six.”
I was a little shocked but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth so I nodded.
“Let’s fill out the paperwork,” Zip finished.
Zip made me practice shooting until my arms ached. Sometimes, one of his boys, Heavy or Frank, would come get me and take me out and they’d show me other things. They taught me about knives (mostly, how to avoid them, but also how to handle them). They also taught me how to scrap; how to punch; how to duck; how to drive; how to use stun guns, tasers and mace; how to be quiet; how to be invisible; and how to disappear.
Most importantly, Heavy taught me, “You get in a tussle, go for the gonads. Always.”
It was good advice but I didn’t expect to get that close.
I expected to be a nuisance.
I was going to use guerrilla tactics.
And I did.
I followed Park’s killer and, while he was off making a sale, I used one of Zip’s knives and slashed all his tires.
Sure, it might seem silly and immature but you make a drug sale, you want to get away and make another sale, not call AAA.
Then during one of Park’s killer’s sales, while hidden, I threw a smoke bomb at them, interrupting the sale and freaking everyone way, the hell, out. I didn’t expect he lost his customers; drug addicts would get over a freak out when they needed a score. Still, it would aggravate the dealer and that was what I was after.
Then I followed Park’s killer some more and saw his supplier.
Then I followed his supplier.
Then I slashed his tires.
I did this a lot, messing with their heads, doing stupid, annoying shit that got right up their noses. My favorite was the plastic wrap I attached back and forth on the doorway when the dealer was taking a break from destroying people’s lives and banging his girlfriend. When he was done, he walked through the plastic wrap on the door and, for a second, had no idea what he’d walked through. He’d started yelling and carrying on, throwing his arms everywhere, plastic wrap clinging to him.
I watched the whole thing and nearly pee’d my pants laughing.
During the day, I listened to the kids.
At night, I eavesdropped on the dealers, the suppliers and the junkies.
This was how I learned the street, or part of it anyway.
I paid attention, I memorized faces, names and places and I spent a lot of time with Zip, Heavy and Frank.
And I widened my net.
Sal Cordova was my first mistake.
Cordova was a small time supplier and part-time dealer and I got up his nose too, just for the hell of it, mainly because he was a swaggering jerk who thought he was God’s gift to women. Following him, hiding in the shadows in bars and watching him, I noticed he seriously thought he was God’s gift to women, even when the women didn’t agree. I worried that Sal Cordova was the kind of guy who would make a woman agree.
One could say Sal was good-looking. He was a couple inches taller than me, decent body (not Vance Crowe-esque but then again, who was?), light brown hair, blue eyes.
Problem was, Sal was a jerk, he was a letch and he was so stupid, I got cocky.
One day I got close, sliding into the opposite side of a booth in front of him at a greasy spoon.
He looked at me, surprised then he smiled, thinking I was coming on to him.
“Hey darlin’,” he said and winked.
Um… pu-lease.
“I’m Jules,” I told him, trying not to vomit.
“Hey Jules.” His smile widened.
Okay, so that was all I could take.
I didn’t waste any time and told him why I was there.
“Sell dope to kids, any kids, including the runaways, you’ll be out of business. Remember, I’m watching.”
Then I got up and left.
As I said, cocky.
And cocky was not good.
That’s when people, not the right kind of people, found out who I was.
Zip was not pleased.
“Girl, you got a screw loose,” Zip said.
When I told Nick (I told Nick everything, I did this because he’d find out anyway, I learned that a long time ago), to say Nick was not pleased was an understatement.
“Are you out of your flippin’ mind?” Nick yelled.
I didn’t answer. I learned a long time ago too that silence was the best way to go with Nick.
It was Roam and Sniff who spread the name Law.
Roam knew me, he knew what I was like and he’d heard about my antics on the street. He figured out it was me right away and he made a mistake. He told Sniff.
Sniff could never keep his mouth shut about anything and he loved Park, they both did, so Sniff and Roam thought what I was doing was the shit.
By the time I talked Sniff into keeping his mouth shut, it was too late. I was Law and that was it.
Sal took my approaching him in the greasy spoon as a challenge. Not that he wanted to “shut me down” as Crowe did, but that he wanted something else entirely from me. Something icky when you thought about doing it with Sal (way not icky when you thought about doing it with Crowe, but I didn’t go there).
So, instead of coming after me to stop me from getting up his nose, if you could believe this, Sal Cordova was actually trying to get me to go out with him.
Yes, that’s exactly how stupid he is.
All of this brought me to my current predicament.
Sal had caught up with me and made his intentions clear.
I’d told him to go f**k himself.
He got a little excited and there was a bit of a car chase.
“You buyin’ it for protection? To put in your purse?”
“Nope,” I repeated.
Zip watched me some more. “Goin’ after your ex?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said again.
Zip’s eyes got wide for a fraction of a second then they narrowed. “Goin’ after someone else?”
I looked at Zip.
Then, I don’t know why, maybe I needed to talk about it, maybe I needed someone to talk me out of my plan, but, for whatever reason, I told Zip about Park.
Then I told him about my plan.
Then he stared at me for what seemed a long time.
Finally, he walked down the display case, opened one up, pulled out a black gun and said, “Glock 19, nine millimeter. It’s light, it’s dependable and it’ll fit in your purse.”
Hallelujah.
“Sold,” I said.
“Got a shooting range out back. Every day, you’re in here for at least an hour. Every day, I’ll give you the hour free and I’ll teach you. You don’t go on the street until you can handle that gun. Then I got some boys I want you to talk to. They’ll show you how to handle yourself. Be here tomorrow at six.”
I was a little shocked but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth so I nodded.
“Let’s fill out the paperwork,” Zip finished.
Zip made me practice shooting until my arms ached. Sometimes, one of his boys, Heavy or Frank, would come get me and take me out and they’d show me other things. They taught me about knives (mostly, how to avoid them, but also how to handle them). They also taught me how to scrap; how to punch; how to duck; how to drive; how to use stun guns, tasers and mace; how to be quiet; how to be invisible; and how to disappear.
Most importantly, Heavy taught me, “You get in a tussle, go for the gonads. Always.”
It was good advice but I didn’t expect to get that close.
I expected to be a nuisance.
I was going to use guerrilla tactics.
And I did.
I followed Park’s killer and, while he was off making a sale, I used one of Zip’s knives and slashed all his tires.
Sure, it might seem silly and immature but you make a drug sale, you want to get away and make another sale, not call AAA.
Then during one of Park’s killer’s sales, while hidden, I threw a smoke bomb at them, interrupting the sale and freaking everyone way, the hell, out. I didn’t expect he lost his customers; drug addicts would get over a freak out when they needed a score. Still, it would aggravate the dealer and that was what I was after.
Then I followed Park’s killer some more and saw his supplier.
Then I followed his supplier.
Then I slashed his tires.
I did this a lot, messing with their heads, doing stupid, annoying shit that got right up their noses. My favorite was the plastic wrap I attached back and forth on the doorway when the dealer was taking a break from destroying people’s lives and banging his girlfriend. When he was done, he walked through the plastic wrap on the door and, for a second, had no idea what he’d walked through. He’d started yelling and carrying on, throwing his arms everywhere, plastic wrap clinging to him.
I watched the whole thing and nearly pee’d my pants laughing.
During the day, I listened to the kids.
At night, I eavesdropped on the dealers, the suppliers and the junkies.
This was how I learned the street, or part of it anyway.
I paid attention, I memorized faces, names and places and I spent a lot of time with Zip, Heavy and Frank.
And I widened my net.
Sal Cordova was my first mistake.
Cordova was a small time supplier and part-time dealer and I got up his nose too, just for the hell of it, mainly because he was a swaggering jerk who thought he was God’s gift to women. Following him, hiding in the shadows in bars and watching him, I noticed he seriously thought he was God’s gift to women, even when the women didn’t agree. I worried that Sal Cordova was the kind of guy who would make a woman agree.
One could say Sal was good-looking. He was a couple inches taller than me, decent body (not Vance Crowe-esque but then again, who was?), light brown hair, blue eyes.
Problem was, Sal was a jerk, he was a letch and he was so stupid, I got cocky.
One day I got close, sliding into the opposite side of a booth in front of him at a greasy spoon.
He looked at me, surprised then he smiled, thinking I was coming on to him.
“Hey darlin’,” he said and winked.
Um… pu-lease.
“I’m Jules,” I told him, trying not to vomit.
“Hey Jules.” His smile widened.
Okay, so that was all I could take.
I didn’t waste any time and told him why I was there.
“Sell dope to kids, any kids, including the runaways, you’ll be out of business. Remember, I’m watching.”
Then I got up and left.
As I said, cocky.
And cocky was not good.
That’s when people, not the right kind of people, found out who I was.
Zip was not pleased.
“Girl, you got a screw loose,” Zip said.
When I told Nick (I told Nick everything, I did this because he’d find out anyway, I learned that a long time ago), to say Nick was not pleased was an understatement.
“Are you out of your flippin’ mind?” Nick yelled.
I didn’t answer. I learned a long time ago too that silence was the best way to go with Nick.
It was Roam and Sniff who spread the name Law.
Roam knew me, he knew what I was like and he’d heard about my antics on the street. He figured out it was me right away and he made a mistake. He told Sniff.
Sniff could never keep his mouth shut about anything and he loved Park, they both did, so Sniff and Roam thought what I was doing was the shit.
By the time I talked Sniff into keeping his mouth shut, it was too late. I was Law and that was it.
Sal took my approaching him in the greasy spoon as a challenge. Not that he wanted to “shut me down” as Crowe did, but that he wanted something else entirely from me. Something icky when you thought about doing it with Sal (way not icky when you thought about doing it with Crowe, but I didn’t go there).
So, instead of coming after me to stop me from getting up his nose, if you could believe this, Sal Cordova was actually trying to get me to go out with him.
Yes, that’s exactly how stupid he is.
All of this brought me to my current predicament.
Sal had caught up with me and made his intentions clear.
I’d told him to go f**k himself.
He got a little excited and there was a bit of a car chase.
