Page 39 of Reaper
The fat one, who has hair like a scarecrow in a hurricane, stands up, with serious effort and one of those grunts that every middle-aged man uses at the slightest physical exertion, and points his shotgun at us.
“You sure?” I say.
“Positive.”
“He doesn’t seem to agree with you.”
“That obese land sloth is nothing to worry about.” She opens the creaky front gate of the derelict house and walks up toward the porch.
The shotgun-toter calls out. “You’ll turn around if you know what’s good for you.”
“And your mother would’ve flushed you the second you shot out of her vagina if she knew what was good for you. But I’m not here because of good decisions; I’m here because of your buddy Mario Benitez’s bad decisions. Bad decisions that have big consequences for him, and two misspent shots of spunk,” Adriana says, not stopping.
She walks between the two men and only stops when the dickish-looking one reaches out to grab her by the arm. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The world’s biggest BTS fan,” she says, pointing to her shirt. “And the woman who can fuck your life so fucking hard that even your ape ancestors that you call your grandmother and grandfather could fucking feel it. Now, you can either let go of my arm and let me do what I came here to do — so I can get the fuck away from your stench; a stench that reminds me of the fucking pit toilets at summer camp — or I can ruin your life, too, besides your buddy’s. Which will it be?”
The man blinks, but doesn’t answer.
Adriana jerks her arm out of his grip and continues walking. “Thought so.”
I follow. Neither guy even blinks at me. It must be the Disney shirt I’m wearing that holds them back.
When she reaches the gaping hole in the front of the house that passes for the doorway, she bangs on the doorframe and raises her voice to a holler.
“Mario Benitez, get your fucking ass out here.” There’s silence at first. Standing beside Adriana, I take a deep breath and get ready to holler, but she puts a finger on my chest to hold me back. “This shithead needs to learn how to listen to a woman. I appreciate you being here, and if it gets rough, absolutely I want you to have my back, but otherwise, I want to handle this alone. Got it?” After I nod, she raises her voice again. “Mario Benitez, I’m going to give you to the count of ten to get the fuck out of here or else I will tear your life apart faster than a toddler takes down a Jenga tower.”
Adriana reaches ‘three’ before a man with a thick goatee, burly arms decorated with a tragic amount of car-racing tattoos, and a beer gut that’s barely contained beneath a straining white tank top, emerges. He raises an eyebrow at Adriana, then looks at me.
“What the fuck do you want, man?” He says.
I don’t answer. I just nod my head toward Adriana.
Who needs absolutely no help getting the shitheel’s attention; without hesitation, she reaches out and slaps him across the face.
“You talk to me. Not him. Me.”
Mario’s eyes momentarily flare, and he presses his greasy hand to his cheek where Adriana slapped him. “Big mistake, bitch.”
“Oh really? Is that what you think, Mario Soares Benitez? Born April 22, 1993, in Stockton, California, to Hector and Carolina Benitez.”
“You know my birthday and my parents, so what?”
“Social security number 522-55-3417, arrested for the first time at age 15 for stealing condoms. The excuse you gave the arresting officer is you were too embarrassed to buy them to use with your girlfriend, but when your parents came to bail you out, they stated you didn’t have a girlfriend and when they and the officer pressed you for more information about your supposed girlfriend, you said that she ‘went to another school.’ In Canada. The second time you were arrested was three days later for stealing a hot rod magazine, sexual lubricant, and a pumpkin.”
“How do you… Those records were sealed…” Mario raises his fist as if to strike Adriana, but she stops him by arching her eyebrow and pointing a finger.
“You dropped out of school two months later and took up with the gang called the Fourth Street Mob. Which really began your illustrious criminal career, first in helping them shoplift and resell household goods like laundry detergent, then on to selling weed, and later, crack. There’s plenty more in your file, and I could easily go on. If you’re wondering how I know all this, it’s because I have connections, Mario. Friends. Powerful friends. Including a few agents at the local FBI office who owe me more than a few favors.”
Mario laughs. “So? What? You going to have the feds tail me? You going to have them watch me through my bedroom window while I fuck your mother up the ass? Fine. If they want to watch, they can watch. Hell, maybe I’ll lay your mother out on my front yard while I fuck her till she bleeds, then make her suck my cock clean.”
Adriana laughs. It’s cold. “No, that’s not what I’m going to do. I’m really disappointed in you, Mario. I’d have thought thatsomeone who planned to get frisky with a car magazine and a pumpkin would be at least a little more creative than that. I mean, how do you go from fucking a gourd while fantasizing about a ‘67 Charger to being so simpleminded? Did you sample too much of the product you used to sell, and fry your brain?”
Mario takes several steps until he’s right in Adriana’s face, and he leans into her, bringing his nose to hers. “You’re really testing my patience, bitch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get down on your knees right now and beg for forgiveness by sucking my…”
“Mario, being on your knees is a position you better practice. Because I sure as fuck am not going to touch you, even though I am going to fuck your life up.” Her voice changes to icy venom. “I know who you used to work for, and I know they kicked up to the Artesi crime family. The fucking mafia. And both groups are taking some serious fucking federal heat right now. They’re angry, they’re scared, they’re desperate.”
“So?”
