Cigar Bar (17 page)

“What the fuck?!” Paulie shouted as he came around the corner and saw Sherry strapped to a table and being raped. He unloaded his weapon into the man.
Boom! Boom! Boom!

John fell to the floor, and Paulie rushed in and lifted his little sister up. He put a coat around her shoulders and tearily said, “Every time I see you, I’m rescuing you. I don’t wanna have to do it no more.” He rushed her upstairs and into the car.

“What the fuck?” Sal and the other men asked as they explored the place. They found the other girls tied up in a filthy room. In another room in the back, they found the bodies of two more girls.

“We can’t be here,” Sal explained to the girls. He gave one girl, Melissa, a gun. “Go upstairs, call nine-one-one, and tell them you overpowered him and got free. Tell ’em you saw where he hid his gun. That other girl, Sherry, was never here. You got it?” The two girls were very happy and also very frightened. They didn’t want the men to leave. “Listen, we’ll stay out front here until we see the police. You hold the gun and just sit out front, okay?”

The girls agreed and then cried and hugged each other.

“Topping the news tonight is the story of a house of horrors in Queens, where two girls were rescued when one of them overpowered a man who had been holding them hostage. Police have confirmed that it is the work of the Ink-Pen Killer. I repeat, police have confirmed that it is the Ink Pen Killer.”

It was never reported that Sherry had been a hostage in that house. When Paulie rescued her, Sherry went right into a drug rehab. She was now seven months pregnant with what she hoped was Tony’s baby. The best part was that her brother admitted himself into rehab with her for treatment of his alcoholism. He vowed to never let his little sister out of his sight again. The two girls were hailed as heroes on TV, but they each knew who the real heroes were.

CHAPTER 12

• • •

“Hey, Flaco. What the fuck,
man? How come I have to come down here and collect the bar money from your girls? Are you running the bar or what? Listen, I told you when we talked, I can’t have you fuckin’ my shit up. If I do well enough, shit, I’ll be able to open three more clubs, but if you keep fuckin’ up, I’m sending your ass back to the Bronx!”

Flaco had been getting lazy. Since he had been there, he started acting as if he was some kind of big-time gangster. He also started using dope again and was stealing money from Tony to support his habit.

“Yeah, you got it, Tony.” He didn’t wanna hear what Tony had to say. He threw his hands up and said, “Whatever!” Flaco walked away.

Tony yanked him by his arm and looked into his eyes. He knew right away. “Motherfucker, are you high?”

“What? What the fuck you talkin’ about? Ain’t nobody high, man!”

Tony shook his head. He didn’t need this crap now, not while everything was going so well. Just looking at Flaco made butterflies swirl around in his stomach. Then he passed gas. “Oh shit!” He wanted to feel like Flaco, but then Tony snapped out of it. He ran to his office, a trickle of sweat running down his face. He took two aspirin and chased them down with a lemonade that he got from his fridge.

Becky walked in and saw him. She immediately knew that Tony wasn’t right. “What the fuck happened, baby?” she asked.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it!” he said, referring to Flaco. “Can you believe I bring his fuckin’ ass here, and this is the thanks I get?”

“What happened?” she asked.

Tony replied, “I think he’s getting high! He definitely has some shit going on with the damn judge.”

“Well, that’s what I was coming back here to talk to you about,” Becky said.

“What? What’s going on?”

“I just got the strangest call on the front-bar phone. Some girl asked for Flaco and directions to the party tomorrow. When I asked her who she was, she quickly hung up. I looked at the caller ID, but she called from a blocked number.” He slapped the table. Tony had to confront Flaco now. He stormed out the back in search of him.

Laughter erupted behind him. He turned around and saw his old friend the judge escorting four men out the back. “Okay, gentlemen, you take it easy.”

Tony hid behind a giant speaker. He didn’t want to talk to the judge just then. After the men left, Tony witnessed Flaco run up to the judge, holding his favorite drink. “Hmm,” he said. The judge and Flaco seemed to be getting along pretty well.

Then it happened. Tony saw the judge slide a small envelope that was hidden under a newspaper over to Flaco. “What the
fuck
is going on? Damn, let me find out before I fuckin’ start trippin’ the fuck out!” Flaco put the envelope in his pocket and headed to the back.

“Hey, Tony?”

Damn!
Tony was seen. “Judge, what can I do for you?”

“Man, I want to thank you for the hospitality you’ve shown me over the past few months. You’re doing a good thing for this city.”

“No problem, Judge; anything for you.”

“By the way, Tony,” the judge said, “I did a little background check on you.” He put an arm around Tony. “Take a walk with me.”
Oh shit!
Tony said to himself. “Your family holds a lot of weight in New York City, and what I’m wondering…” he began, putting a giant cigar in his mouth and taking his time lighting it.

Tony stood there, watching and waiting. Over the judge’s shoulder, he saw Flaco on the phone. It appeared that he was arguing with someone.
Good, he finally lit it.
Tony did his best to pay attention to the judge and keep an eye on Flaco.

The judge continued. “What concerns me, Tony, is that none of this information was divulged to me when we sat right over there not too long ago, when this place was just an old, rundown diner. You come in here out of nowhere, and,
boom
, here we stand in this beautiful establishment of yours.” He took a long puff of his cigar. “I don’t wanna say we have a problem, but, Tony, we have a problem!”

Tony folded his arms as he waited for the judgment. “Now, Tony, I like this place. Shit, it’s become a second home to me. The problem is, I don’t know how I’m gonna keep this quiet. Here’s what I propose. Let’s say you give me twenty-five percent of your weekly gross income. I can promise you, nobody will ever find out about you. We can keep running this operation smoothly, but you gotta understand, I’m gonna need to send my accountant over here to look at your books. This way we can figure out how much backpay you owe me for lying. I like you, Tony, but you’ve got to understand, my ass is on the line here too.” The Judge turned, threw his hands in the air, and said, “Think about it. You have twenty-four hours to give me an answer.”

“Damn!” Tony said. He ran to his back office to use the bathroom that he had secretly converted into a video station. Nobody knew about it except for him and Becky. Flaco always thought that it was a private closet because that’s what he was told.

Tony walked in and sat in the black leather executive chair. The many cameras were hidden—three at the front bar, watching the register, one in the mantel, another in a giant bottle of vodka, and one at the end of the bar that caught everything. After the judge asked if there where cameras, Tony decided to install a few in the building.

Looking at the tape, he saw the judge and the prosecutor being handed briefcases. Inside each briefcase was $100,000 or so he guessed. The senator’s nephew was a gangster on trial for racketeering and murder. The witnesses had been paid off, and now the judge and the prosecutor were too.

“Oh shit!” A big smile crossed Tony’s face. He went to another camera angle and saw Flaco going into the cash register. He stole about $200 and put it in his pocket. “Motherfucker!” Tony said. He got up and searched for Flaco, but he was nowhere around.

“Hey, Tony,” one of the barmaids said.

“Where’s Flaco?” Tony asked the girls at the bar.

“He told me he was going over to Sullivan Street,” another girl said.

Tony picked up his keys and jumped into his car. He headed to Sullivan Street. He drove around several blocks near Sullivan Street with no luck. He couldn’t find Flaco anywhere.

Flaco owned a sporty black Lexus. His pockets were heavy ever since working for Tony and dealing with the judge. Life was good; pussy was flowing and so were the drugs. Just like any real hoodrat, though, nothing was as comfortable as being in the hood. Flaco had a crib in the ghetto. He was the only Spanish boy in a hood of blacks. It was wild as hell, but he loved it. They treated him like royalty. Flaco was cool with many of the dealers, and because of that, he stayed high. However, a couple of the dealers didn’t like his Puerto Rican ass moving to their hood and flashing his money, and they were going let him know.

Flaco sat in his apartment.
I don’t need Tony’s money
, he thought, pulling out the envelope from the judge and putting it on the table. Inside the envelope was $5000. He laughed as he thought about all the mess he had gotten into since coming there. If only Tony knew. Flaco laughed and proceeded to count his money.

“What you want me to do with the bags?” the girl next to him asked. Her name was Shalice. She was a cute, petite black girl, but she had a serious drug habit. She was a major dope fiend.

“Put them in the fuckin’ trash, bitch! What you askin’ me for? Damn! Or you can eat them! I don’t give a fuck! Shit, let me count my shit!”

“Why you actin’ like that? I’m doin’ this shit for you!” she responded, throwing the empty plastic heroin bags on Flaco’s floor. She sat down with her straw and took a big sniff and then another. She scooped up some of it and held it under Flaco’s nose. He sniffed it up like a vacuum hose.

“Damn!” he said, putting the money down. He took a swig of his beer, pulled his phone out, and wiped his nose. The girl next to him was in the zone. She nodded from the effects of the heroin.

Flaco laughed as he dialed a number, simultaneously pulling his pants down. He pulled the girl’s slavering, slumped body toward his now exposed prick. Shalice was in such a trance that she drooled and nodded. Flaco positioned her over his now hard-dick and let her lean like a zombie over him. He put himself into her mouth with the dribble flowing, and he began to pump.

“Hello?” said the person on the other end of the call.

As he pumped, his nuts went in and out of zombie Shalice’s face. “Yo, what the fuck I tell you about calling my damn bar? Didn’t I tell you that I keep all my other business away from that place?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I got six fuckin’ girls for your friend the judge, and I need my money. Shit, you asked me to do a job, and I scramble to find six bitches so we can entertain you and your friends… I wanna get paid, shit! This motherfuckin’ job requires a down payment, nigga! I need two thousand,” she said.

“Okay, I got it. Come on over here and pick it up,” Flaco said as he pumped the still-nodding Shalice’s face. He hung up the phone, got up, and pushed her to the side. He kicked his pants off and walked into the bedroom, but not before stopping to indulge in two more large sniffs of dope.

Just down the block sat Tony in his Lincoln. He really hated being in this area, but he needed to get Flaco. “Shit!” He smoked a cigarette as he waited. He figured that he’d wait for Flaco and follow him, but as he watched, he saw a black Nissan pull up. “What the fuck is he doing?” Tony asked.

Someone was knocking on Flaco’s door. “I’m coming,” Flaco said. He rushed to the door, his penis still swinging. He opened it and Monica stood before him.
Damn, fine-ass Monica!
Flaco started to get hard again.

Monica was a pretty, light-skin black girl from the hood. He had convinced her and some of her friends to start making money by going out on dates with the politicians and the judges. This was their first job.

“Oh really? This how you gonna answer the fuckin’ door?” Monica challenged when she saw him. “Yo, you got my money?”

He turned and looked over his shoulder, at the table. She saw the money on the table and then saw the girl. “Yo, is that Shalice?
Gotdamn
, she’s fucked up!”

Flaco closed the door and took a swig of his beer. He watched Monica go over to her friend. “Shalice! Get the fuck up, girl!” she screamed.

“Damn, what the fuck y’all been doin’ up in here?” she asked, removing her coat and taking a seat. Monica attempted a second time to wake her friend. Flaco stood there and just watched them.

“Is this the shit?” she asked, bending down to sniff the drug. “Okay, damn! Now I know why she bent like that!” She reached over and took the $2000 and tucked the cash into her bra.

Flaco turned around and put his stereo on. Scarface and Tupac were singing, “…smile for me now.” Unlike her friend on the couch, Monica got up and danced. “Oh yeah, this my shit!” she said, swaying to the music.

Flaco smiled and approached her. She turned and rubbed up against his manhood.

He said, “So, you got your money now. How much do I have to give to have you right now?”

Monica, still dancing to the music, bent over the table, wiggled her ass in Flaco’s face, snatched another $500 from the table, and put it in her bra. Flaco smiled as she turned, dropped to her knees, and took him into her mouth. He stood there swigging beer and getting sucked professionally.

Meanwhile, Tony decided to knock on the door. He was going to leave his car parked up the block and walk the 50 yards to the man’s house, but as he exited his car, a black Cadillac came flying by him. He had to jump out of the way to avoid getting run down by the flying vehicle.

The car came to a screeching stop right in front of Flaco’s house. Six young black guys—each carrying some sort of weapon—hopped out of the vehicle.

“Oh shit!” Tony said, running back to his car. He reached underneath his seat and found the same gun that Flaco had sold to him. Then he took his cell phone and dialed Flaco.

“Shit!” Flaco said. Monica continued to provide him oral pleasure. He looked over and saw that Tony was calling. Flaco decided to ignore the call. He said, “Ha! Fuck you, Tony!”

“Pick up the damn phone!” Tony said, exiting the car again and running toward the chaos that was about to ensue.

Bang, bang!
Someone was banging on Flaco’s front door, acting like a police officer.

“Who the fuck is it?” Flaco asked, pissed off by the disturbance. He walked to the door, penis still swinging, and looked through the peephole.

He saw the six men. “Fuck!” he murmured, hitting the floor.

Flaco looked over at the girl sniffing more of his dope. “You fuckin set me up, bitch?”

She looked at him and said, “What?”

“Oh, you gonna tell me those six motherfuckers out there with guns ain’t with you?”

Monica said, “What? Hell no, they’re not with me!” She took her friend and headed to the bedroom.

Flaco, not knowing what to do, dove for the table, where he had his gun stashed. He cocked it and said, “Who is it?”

“Homie, we gonna need you to pack your shit and leave the area! This here belong to the East Side Boys!”

“What?” Flaco asked from the other side of the door.

One of the men raised his gun, and they all opened fire on the house.
Boom! Boom!
Flaco crawled along the floor, trying to avoid the hail of bullets ripping through his house.

Tony was not that close to the house and was able to take cover behind a truck. What Tony didn’t know was that the beautiful Sasha was also keeping an eye on Flaco. When she saw Tony, she picked up her phone and made a call.

“Yo, what up, Mama?”

“Yo, Spazo, the white boy is here. I got my eyes on him right now. Some young boys are shooting up the Puerto Rican boy’s house, and it seems like the white boy was gonna help him until they started opening up. Don’t worry; I’m gonna keep my fuckin’ eyes on him.”

“We got him!” Spazo said to Ghetto.

The young boys were done shooting up the house, so they got back in their car and took off down the street. Tony got to Flaco’s house and opened the door. When he did, he saw the bombardment of bullets.