“Chill, man, chill. I just kiddin’ ’cos I knows how it whiles ya.” Case Piece looked ahead. “Here come Highball all happy’n shit. Paulie’s right, she need a bag over her grill but her bod is phat to the groove.”
“Hi, guys!” came the busted hooker’s exuberant greeting.
Case Piece frowned. “Open up that bitch-wrap so’s I can peel-eye your tits, ‘ho.”
Objection wrinkled her already wrinkled face. “Aw, come on, man. It’s fuckin’ December—it’s cold!”
Case Piece stared. “Say what?”
A smirk, then Highball opened her overcoat, immediately shivering.
“Shit, yeah. Now that shit’s top as a crown.”
“Yeah, man!” Sung railed. “Twop as a kwown! And twick-time super prussy!”
The chill air shriveled the exemplary nipples and made her pubic hair stand on end. She closed the coat and gleefully handed Case Piece the CD. “Look! I got you a present!”
The gang leader’s eyes widened. “Shit, bitch! Looks like you finally do somethin’ right.” He eyed the cover of the CD. “It my man, UN-lissen-ABULL. Dig it,” and then he put the disk in his boom-box and let ‘er rip.
“Junky, a kunky lunky—jay, kay, ell—munky, you nunky oh-unky—emm, enn, oh—”
“Turn that shit off!” a sudden voice cracked.
The four street denizens looked over and saw that a county sheriff’s car had just pulled up, and scowling at them from the open window was the corpulent and oddly reddened face of Deputy Chief Dood Malone, one cheek crammed with chewing tobacco.
Case Piece turned off the music. “Sorry, officer. We was just jammin’ on some tunes, don’t’cha know?”
“Well, try some country and western—Jesus.” The man spat a plume of juice on the street. “You all got jobs?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Case Piece said. “We work for…Manpower.”
The Chief looked suddenly reflective as if summoning nice memories. “I worked for Manpower when I was young. Great job. Provides opportunities for people, keeps ’em out’a trouble, keeps them off the drugs.”
“Chit, yeah, sir,” Menduez assured with a pocket full of drugs. “We don’t do none’a dat drug chit.”
Case Piece concealed a frown, while Malone’s own distraction continuously dragged his eyes to Highball’s curvatures. “Uh, oh—good. Make sure ya don’t. It’s evil stuff folks are pushin’ on these once-fine streets.”
Highball positioned herself so that a modest wedge of bare breast could be seen through a loop of coat fabric between the buttons, and from a sexist standpoint it’s worth mentioning that her bosom’s previous exposure to the cold air had pebbled her nipple-tips sufficiently enough to cause some formidable “printing.”
Malone cleared his throat, then spat more brown juice. He may even have errantly rubbed his crotch. “I’d like yawl ta do me a favor. You probably heard that we got some low-down crazy sick-in-the-head psycho goin’ ’round cuttin’ off puppies’ heads—”
“Oh, no!” Sung exclaimed. “Thwat twerrible!”
Highball bobbed up on her tiptoes, causing her breasts to ride very deliberately up and down. “How could somebody do something so awful?”
“Mang,” Menduez said. “Dat some bad chit, mang.”
“So if you see anyone out here lookin’ suspicious, lookin’ like they don’t belong or fixin’ to git inta mischief, just you call me directly, okay?”
“Oh, yes, sir, officer,” Case Piece promised. “We peel-eye anything poo-putt, we’ll be the first ta yaw-yaw at’cha, like splickty-lit.”
Malone made a face. “What?”
“Means we’ll call ya.”
“Good, good, thanks.” Malone dragged a final gaze off Highball’s “chest fruit.” “And now I want yawl to have a fine day and a merry Christmas!”
“Back at’cha, sir,” Case Piece bid.
The shiftless gang hacked laughter upon the officer’s departure.
“Fat white dick,” Case Piece sniggered.
“Yeah, dat fat cop fock don’t know chit,” Menduez assured. “He think he can catch me? He need a fockin’ army ta catch me!”
“Yeah, that proo-prutt crop, he a stroopid fruck!”
Highball shrugged. “I blew him once, to beat a loitering bust.”
Case Piece made a percolating facial gesture. “What’choo doin’ here anyway, ‘ho?”
Highball pouted. “I wanted to give you the CD. Now…I just wanna hang with you guys.”
“Hang? Shit!” Case Piece winked at Menduez, a signal, after which the young Venezuelan quickly bent Highball over in a headlock.
“Hey!”
Menduez pulled the girl’s overcoat hem up over her impressive rump just as Case Piece came around behind her and—
WHAP!
—kicked her right between the legs.
“OOOOOOOOOW”
“This banana cream pie dumbass gettin’ too big for her boots and, shit, she don’t even wear boots. You the gang ‘ho, ‘ho. You don’t hang with us. We’re players, you just a cum-stop. Now get your lily-white ass on the street, and you trick with that trot. Make some cash with that gash and then, you see, you bring it to me, cos I’se the best—the best—the best pimp there be.”
“Twop dwawer, Clase!”
“Damn straight.”
Highball stood balloon-faced and knock-kneed, a hand to her crotch.
“Weren’t for me, Paulie’d’ve killed your ass. Twice. Weren’t for me, you’d still be suckin’ five-dollar dick’n sellin’ buddah sacks and beanpies for some loser Joe Neckbone sugar pimp in Bitch City. Make some money, honey. And when you done, go back the motherfuckin’ warehouse and baggie more skaggie and wash the peter tracks out’a our shorts. Me and my dawgs, we be bustin’ moves ’cos we’re phat in the grooves. We’re the tippest of the toppest, and you’re…the gang ‘ho. Later on, if you’re lucky, we come back and plumb your beezy pussy like a fuckin’ gas station toilet.”
Highball shuddered, teary eyed. “You-you make me feel like a piece of meat!”
Case Piece winked his signal again; Menduez headlocked her and—
WHAP!
Case Piece kicked her right between the legs.
“OOOOOOOOOOW”
“You are a piece of meat, bitch. You are a piece of meat. Now shag ass out’a here and get dizzle with that pwizzle. Make some money with that cunny. Get some cum in that chute so’s you make some loot with that coot. Underdig?”
“Yeah, I underdig,” Highball sniffled and limped away.
“The bitch, she love us,” Case Piece attested. “Right, dawgs?”
“Fruck yeah!”
“Bitch needs a good kick in the cunt once in a while. Gotta be hard, too, like so hard her fuckin’ ovaries bang together like them steel-ball click-clack things business dudes got on their desks.” Case Piece nodded. “Best way to keep a chick lovin’ ya—kick ’em in the cunt. It build up their self-esteem.”
“Chit, yeah, mang. White puta like dat, she needs guys like us. It’s we who geeve her identity.”