Warriors in Paradise (29 page)

“Fuck, I love the place!”

The Blue Unicorn

There were about twenty people waiting in line to go into the Blue Unicorn. I stood in line, but Santi kept on walking directly to the two bouncers manning the entrance. He gave one of them his hand, saying something and embracing him. The bouncer opened the door, and Santi signaled me to come along. The waiting crowd complained as I made my way in without their long wait.

Santi always had a trick up his sleeve, and he was always looking for shortcuts. As we went in, I asked, “How much did you give him?”

“My friendship and a smile,” answered Santi.

“Bullshit,” I said.

“Yes, yes,” he responded. “My friendship and Benjamin Franklin’s smile.”

“An expensive smile,” I exclaimed, smiling.

“No time for a cheap one,” replied Santi.

***

The place was packed. It looked quite posh, bathed in bluish and pinkish background lighting. It had a dining area, a video bar, a compact dance floor, and three areas for socializing and brotherly love distributed on two levels. The crowd was eclectic, about 80 percent male, but spanning all ages. The younger ones were on the dance floor, and the older ones were upstairs in the socializing areas. I could hear Latin music on the first floor and country and western on the second.

I couldn’t see Terry. I asked Santi to look for him on the second floor and to meet me back at the cruise bar in ten minutes

As luck would have it, I found Terry first, sitting at the cruise bar drinking something with an orangey color, a little pineapple ring, and an umbrella. He appeared to be on his own. I had to push my way through a crowd of people, a few of whom turned to complain but stopped cold when they saw me. As I got to the bar, I stood between Terry and a good-looking blond guy in his early twenties with gold-rimmed glasses and a Robert Redford haircut. I looked at the bartender and asked for Wild Turkey straight. The cutie blond said, “Oh my, a real macho man!”

“That I am,” I responded.

I looked at Terry and said, “Waiting for somebody?”

Terry was dumbfounded that I was talking to him and not to the blond guy. He said, “I think my friend stood me up.”

“Well, his bad luck is my good fortune,” I said.

The blond cutie said in a loud, whining voice, “So attractive and such poor taste!”

I turned toward the blond and said, “What did you just say? You have just insulted my friend and me! Violence in words always leads to other forms of violence. I want you to apologize to my friend here, whom you seem to find ugly, and to me for finding him more attractive than you.” I put my hand on his neck and squeezed.

The blond guy stuttered, saying, “I, I…ammm…so sorry, I’mmm…very, very sorry, but please understand…you’re so beauuuutiful!”

The onlookers clapped, and one said, “You can’t blame him for finding you out of this world!”

Everybody clapped and laughed.

I said, “Thanks for the nice apology, but would you mind if I take over your seat?”

“No, no. By all means, please. It is all yours,” he said while standing up, patting my ass, and moving away from the bar.

I sat down, turned to look at Terry, and said, “You have beautiful lips, you know that?”

He said to me, “Thank you. That was kind of sexy. This is the very first time anybody has stood up for me. You see, I am not very good at this. Not many boys find me attractive. That is probably the reason why my friend stood me up. He probably found a better-looking lad.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” I said. “I love your lips…must be the black blood in me! Can’t stand thin-lipped bitches. Your lips are like luscious red petals…

“What do you say we get out of here? I have an apartment nearby. We can listen to some good music, drink some wine, and get to know each other a little bit better.”

Terry smiled. I could see he was very happy and surprised that somebody like me would actually hit on him. He said, “Yes, yes, of course, let’s go. I am all yours.”

I laid some money on the bar counter and stood up. Santi was four yards behind texting on his cell phone.

We walked out of the door holding hands and started walking toward the parking garage.

“By the way,” he said, “my name is Terrence, but everybody calls me Terry.”

“Please to meet you, Terry,” I responded. “My name is Ramiro, but everybody calls me Rocco.”

“Are you Latino?” he asked.

“My grandfather was,” I answered, and then added, “Let me get the car. I parked nearby. My apartment is on Dupont Circle.”

“We could always walk,” said Terry. “It’s a beautiful night.”

“Yes, we could walk,” I said. “The night is beautiful and so are you, but I don’t like to leave the car overnight and pay their outrageously high parking rates.”

He said “OK,” lifting my arm and putting it over his shoulders while circling his own around my waist and resting his head on my shoulder. We walked like a happy couple to the parking garage.

As I opened the door to the Cherokee, Jonathan came from behind and jabbed Terry’s ass cheek with a syringe.

Terry opened his eyes in surprise and immediately started to fall down. Jonathan and I grabbed him, opened the back door of the Jeep, and put him inside. We slapped tape over his mouth and put his wrists and ankles in plastic restraints.

It was 10:12 p.m.

It was an early night. We all hopped into the car. Miranda drove us to Jonathan’s house.

We had just kidnapped a sweet and innocent person. The trust of the innocent is the bounty of the liar! I didn’t feel proud of myself. I had a bitter taste in my mouth.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be another day, another time.

Chapter 10: Tit for Tat

Terry

W
e arrived at Jonathan’s place. Terry was still groggy from the effects of the Rohypnol. I hauled him over my shoulder and carried him into the basement.

Jonathan brought down several white sheets. We emptied the workshop, stapled the walls with the sheets, and placed a mattress on the floor. One can never be too careful.

We cut Terry’s flex-cuffs and took off the tape that covered his mouth. We undressed him and placed him on the mattress.

Terry was looking at me with confusion and fear in his eyes. He said to me in a wobbly voice, “Rocco, what’s happening? Why am I here? Who are these people? Are you going to rape me?”

I said to him, “Terry, calm down. You are OK. Trust me, everything will be fine. No, we are not going to rape you. You are going to be here for a couple of hours. I need to talk to your father, and you are going to help me do that. This is very important. The lives of others depend on your helping me.

“We are going to take some photographs of you. I will then put back the restraints to prevent you from doing anything foolish. I want you to trust me and relax, OK?”

Terry said with tears in his eyes, “Of course I will help you, Rocco, but you don’t need to do this—I will help you no matter what.”

I could see the hurt in Terry’s eyes and trembling lips. His hopeful, bright face had darkened. He liked me, and I had taken advantage of that. He was now experiencing conflicting emotions, feeling rejected, feeling sorry for himself, and denying what happened. I knew that soon those feelings would begin to wear, to be replaced by acceptance of reality and anger.

Jonathan started taking photographs with his digital camera. After five shots, he put the camera away and nodded at me.

I said, “Terry, please put your clothes back on.”

We had to steady him because he was a little shaky from the liquid roofie. Once he was dressed, we put the plastic restraints back on. We did not tape his mouth. He could shout all he wanted, and nobody other than us would hear him.

I said, “Terry if you don’t want this man to tape your mouth, please don’t shout or talk. We all need to rest. You can call me only if you need to go to the bathroom or if you feel thirsty. I will see you in the morning.”

I could hear Terry whimpering as we left the room. I knew we had to do what we were doing, but I still couldn’t help feeling rotten.

Jonathan said, “We will meet tomorrow at seven thirty a.m. for breakfast and decide how to approach Rupert Pattinson.” Then he went upstairs to his room.

Charlie and Santi looked at me. They knew how I was feeling. Charlie said, “He’s going to be OK. He won’t remember what happened very clearly. He should be back at his home by tomorrow evening.”

“If everything goes according to plan,” I said.

Santi said, “Even if it doesn’t go according to plan, nothing is going to happen to him one way or another. He is just our bargaining chip.”

I said, “Yes, I know you’re right, but being right doesn’t make me feel any better.”

It had been a long day, and we had not eaten since lunchtime. Santi and Charlie went up to the kitchen to scavenge the fridge. I stayed in the basement. I wasn’t feeling hungry.

New light

I was up before six o’clock in the morning. I had not heard Terry during the night. I went to check on him. He was still sleeping. He had wetted himself at night; probably a side effect from the stress and the roofie. There was nothing I could do for him until he woke up.

Santi was already up and putting on the running gear that I had lent him. I asked him, raising my voice, “Should we wake up the gorilla?”

Charlie responded, “No need to wake me up; your tramping around has already done that.” Stretching and yawning, Charlie stood up and started putting on his shorts and running shoes.

We stretched for five minutes and stepped out into the beginning of a beautiful September sunrise. I love DC and its surroundings in September and October.

The morning light invigorated me and gave me optimism to face the day’s challenges. We automatically fell into a single line, with Charlie in the lead.

We ran for thirty minutes and came back to Jonathan’s backyard, stretched, and did some push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, crunches, triceps push-ups, and reverse crunches. We did three cycles of thirty reps each.

We ended up nice and tired and in a good mood.

Nothing like a little exercise to shed a brighter light on an old problem.

We showered and dressed. We were up in the breakfast room by 7:30 a.m. Miranda had brewed a fresh pot of coffee and placed spoons and cereal bowls on the table. Jonathan appeared five minutes later.

There was an orange juice carton, five cereal boxes, a sugar bowl, and bananas on a lazy Susan in the middle of the table. I put some Raisin Bran in my bowl and added a sliced banana, a spoonful of sugar, and whole milk. Charlie chose Frosted Mini-Wheats, banana, and milk, no sugar.

Of course, Santi had to be different. He asked Miranda for raisins, cinnamon, and plain yogurt. Miranda obliged. Santi filled his bowl by layering Raisin Bran, Special K, granola, and Cheerios in his bowl and then topping it off with sliced banana, raisins, milk, and yogurt. He dusted the top with cinnamon. It looked good.

He is our friend. We couldn’t let him try it all on its own. It could be laced with something too good for him, so Charlie and I did what true friends do. We sacrificed ourselves for his well-being and stuck our spoons in his bowl and started eating away. It was good, very good, better than ours were.

Santi just looked disgusted and said, “You little shits! Why don’t you make your own instead of eating mine? That is what usually happens when two gringos meet a Mexican. They take advantage of him.”

“You don’t want us to go against history, do you?” said Charlie.

Miranda and Jonathan were laughing. Santi stood up, got another bowl, and proceeded to prepare his cereal concoction once again. This time around, we allowed him to finish his breakfast undisturbed.

We are good that way.

***

Once we had cleared the dishes from the table and were drinking coffee, we started discussing the plans for the day.

We had a feasible plan after the first cup.

We agreed that nobody was going to see Terry except me. Miranda applied our disguises. She fattened up my eyebrows and placed my mustache on my face, an earring in my right ear, and a scarf around my neck. I looked the part.

I asked Jonathan for sweat pants. I put a glass of orange juice, a bowl of cereal, and a cup of coffee on a tray and went down to see to Terry.

Charlie opened the door to the workshop, and I walked in. Terry was awake, looking distressed. I could see that he had been crying. I also saw a little madness in his eyes.

As soon as he saw me, he said, “Who are you? What am I doing here? Please, let me go. My father has money. He will give you whatever you want—”

Something clicked behind his eyes, and he shouted, “YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE! YOU DOUBLE CROSSER FAIRY! YOU TWO-BIT FAGGOT!” Spit flew out of his mouth in a torrent of hateful insults.

I could see the change in Terry. He was no longer feeling sorry for himself or confused; he was fuming at being taken advantage of. He probably felt sexually rejected, after opening up to me.