“I, uh, oh, oh man,” Nicole grunted a moment later as she staggered into the living room.
Jordan said nothing as she drank her third vodka drink in a smooth swallow. She stared at the television perched on a small entertainment center. She looked at the window just over Jordan’s shoulder. She looked at the dining room table, eyes fixed on her two pints of Albertson’s Gin.
“I, that fucking hurt,” Nicole pouted, still not making eye contact with Jordan.
“Deal’s a deal,” Jordan stated flatly.
“I, I told you it fucking hurts,” Nicole snapped, finally glaring at Jordan.
“Uh? And?” Jordan asked.
“And, we ain’t doing that again,” Nicole said.
“I, fine, fine,” Jordan agreed. “Come on, put your shirt on.”
Nicole did. She stuffed her discarded clothing into her bag, then stuffed the two pints of gin into the bag.
“I, where you want me drop you off?” Jordan asked, struggling into his own clothes.
“I, Mouton Park?” Nicole said.
“Mouton, right by the courthouse?” Jordan verified, making sure he had his wallet and keys.
Pulling up in front of the children’s’ swings, Jordan searched his wallet and found he had a five and three ones. He silently handed the bills to Nicole. Silently, she jammed the bills into her left pocket, then opened the door.
Neither one said anything as Nicole slammed the passenger door shut. Jordan watched her stagger slightly as she walked away, past the two children and the one woman that pushed the two children as they swung on their swings.
When Nicole disappeared behind a nearby gazebo, Jordan drove away.
Home again, Jordan made himself another drink, then took it into his bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes and dropped that day’s sweaty clothes into his laundry hamper.
At eight forty five, Jordan fixed himself a can of soup and another drink. Then he masturbated to visions of Nicole’s chubby backside as he pressed himself into her. Just as Jordan neared climax, he flipped his legs up and over, just managing to catch his first spurt onto his cheek before capturing his cock with his mouth.
While Jordan drifted off to sleep, Nicole drank two thirds of the first pint of gin. Already quite drunk from the Nulough’s vodka drink, Nicole smiled happily and put the bottle into her bag. A sudden need to void gripped her and Nicole staggered drunkenly toward the park bathroom.
She did not masturbate; Nicole felt no sexual want at all as she used the well-lighted and clean facilities. Afterward, Nicole left the bathroom; the police routinely patrolled the park’s restrooms. They discouraged vagrancy and would either run her out of the park altogether, or would bring her to the homeless shelter on Banks Street. The shelter would not let her bring her gin into their building.
The truly heartless cops would demand a face fuck, then they’d slap Nicole around. There was one African-American cop, Thaddeus Bell that would fuck her, then slap her around while calling her an ignorant white bitch, an ignorant piece of shit whore, then he’d bring Nicole in to the station and book her for solicitation, even though she’d never tried to get any money from him. And, just like the shelter, they wouldn’t let him bring her gin into their building.
Looking around, Nicole saw that she was alone. She crawled underneath the smallest of the five gazebos and fell asleep as the sun gave up its last rays in the western sky.
Coming to, anus throbbing painfully, Nicole made sure no one was around, then crawled out from under the gazebo. The sun was already climbing high as she dusted herself off. Her guts seized and Nicole lurched toward the bathroom.
“All right!” Nicole whooped when she discovered she still had one full pint and one-third of a second pint in her bag.
The discovery of the gin triggered an immediate obsession inside of her. Nicole tried to remember if today was Saturday, or perhaps Sunday. On Sundays, it was extremely difficult to get anyone to buy her a pint of gin. On Sundays, it was usually mothers doing grocery shopping for the family, or families going to the store after church. The mothers would try to lecture her, and the church-goers would spout some religious bullshit at her. At least on Saturdays, there were single and divorced guys doing their weekly shopping. For a blow job, some of these pathetic single guys would be willing to buy her a pint.
“Fuck. Sunday,” Nicole remembered.
She took a sip of the gin, enough to satisfy her mental obsession and still any physical cravings that might creep up.
Walking aimlessly, Nicole looked for anyone she could possibly panhandle a few bucks. Again, it was mostly mothers with young children or families. Nicole shook her head dejectedly; it was definitely Sunday.
That afternoon, Nicole saw Jared Tyler standing by the merry-go-round. She knew he was a drug dealer, mostly weed, a little meth, some pills. She did like smoking a little weed every now and then; she even had some papers and a disposable cigarette lighter in her bag. Patting her pockets, Nicole remembered the eight bucks that guy, that guy, shit, what was his name? Jonas, Jason, something, but he’d given her eight bucks.
“Yo, my man, what I can get for eight?” Nicole asked cheerfully.
“Eight?” Jared asked, looking over his shoulder at her.
“Yeah, I got eight bucks,” Nicole said.
“Eight? Eight? Bitch, you can get the fuck on away from me, that’s what you can get,” Jared said and slapped Nicole hard enough to split her lip.
Scurrying away, Nicole ran to the park’s restrooms. She cleaned her lip in one of the sinks and examined the damage in the mirror. She took a swig out of the nearly empty bottle, wincing as the alcohol touched the wound.
Jared was still facing the street when Nicole walked up behind him. The gin bottle made a good club as she brought it down on his head. The bottle shattered but still managed to split Jared’s scalp nicely. The momentum of her swing brought the shattered neck of the bottle across Jared’s ear, nearly slicing it off. With an ‘oomph!’ Jared collapsed to the soft grass.
Tossing the bottle’s neck away, Nicole stood for a long moment, unsure of what to do. Then she decided, since Jared was dead, he didn’t need his track suit any longer. She quickly stripped the black nylon jacket from his limp body, then decided she’d like the lime green tee shirt too.
Jared had seen on television that drug dealers often wore two or three outfits that could be easily discarded. Even in the brutal heat, he had on a track suit, a lime green tee shirt and a pair of jeans, and a ribbed wife beater shirt and a pair of shorts. If a police officer spotted him and gave chase, Jared would duck around the park’s restrooms and slip out of the track suit and tee short. No longer were they chasing an African-American male in a dark track suit; he had vanished.
Nicole also searched Jared’s pockets and found a few bags of marijuana and a fat wad of bills. She also found a few packets of meth and decided against taking those.
“Shouldn’t slapped me, n*gger,” Nicole snarled at the limp body of the small time drug dealer.