I was only eighteen and I had already witnessed two murders. This is the first one. I'm sorry. I know that these are flag waving, George W. Bush and Billy Graham praying, ultra- conservative, Toby Keith patriotically singing with tears in his eyes, politically correct times. But there is still no way to say it but just like this - I was sitting on the stool, reading a Penthouse, and taking a cocaine rush induced shit when the first murder went down.
It was the summer of 1975. My high school
days had ended just about a month previously and I
had no immediate plans other than to continue on
what I had been doing for the past two years which
was getting stoned and dealing some weed and
desperately trying to get laid for the first time.
Contrary to public opinion the two do not mix as I
was soon to find out. Not the getting laid part, I
meant the dealing and getting stoned part.
I was looking at this lesbian pictorial - are
all lesbians that hot? - and just thinking about
jerking off when I heard the front door bust open.
Lynyrd Skynyrd was jamming so goddamn loud on
Don't Ask Me No Questions, that at first I couldn't
hear or understand what was going on.
The door buzzer had gone off first and I had assumed that it
was just announcing more folks, hopefully chicks,
coming in to party. Man, was I fucking wrong!
The stylus on the turntable scratched across
the record. The music stopped. In fact, it sounded
like the turntable was knocked right onto the floor.
"Hey dude, what the hell are you doing!
Watch the fucking album. I just bought the
goddamn thing. Fucking thing cost 5.99!" Mike was
seriously stoned. "Hey! What are you doing here?"
"Just keep your ass in that chair and don't
move a muscle you lowlife motherfucker!"
My scrotum tried to crawl up into my
stomach. I knew who's voice that was. His name
was Cletus la Favor. A local thug, pimp, and drug
dealer.
Two weeks ago I had broken into -
technically the door was unlocked - his Corvette
that he had left parked in his driveway. I had been
riding my ten speed home down his dark street
when I had seen la Favor park his car in front of his
house and stagger through the front door, his
tattooed, tree trunk arm wrapped around one of his
ladies. I don't what the hell had gotten into me to do
it, probably the nine beers that I had drank, but to
my utter disbelief and joy, I had discovered a half a
pound of gold Columbian and a .38 caliber snub-
nose in the backseat, damn near in plain view. I had
ripped off both items but hadn't told a soul about it.
la Favor was bad news. He had done hard time in
Stillwater and there was a local urban legend going
around that said he was known to strap on a pair of
personalized brass knuckles when people were
either drunk, stoned, or just plain stupid enough to
cross him.
To my horror I suddenly realized my
mistake. Several nights ago, Mike and I had gone
to a small keg party and in a lame attempt to get in
the pants of a hot number who was way out of his
league, Mike, without my knowledge had turned her
on to a couple of joints of the Columbian. That had
to have been how la Favor had found out. The
backwater town we lived in got buzzed mainly on
Hamm's beer, white cross speed, and Mexican ditch
weed. It wouldn't have taken much for la Favor to
put two and two together.
"What's the shotgun for, man? That's not
cool, dude. Guns aren't cool!" Mike was going
through this weird "violence isn't the answer" hippie
period. I think that he thought that would help him
attract more women. It didn't.
"Where's the dope at you little cocksucker?
My fucking dope and my fucking pistol? I know
that you and your buddy took it!"
Mike's current girlfriend, a sweet dimwitted
bimbo named Angel and who was only sixteen but
easily could have passed for twenty five, (I think
that Angel may have been her stage name) and who
stripped on the weekends at the Aragon Bar,
screamed out in either fear or pain or both.
"Shut up you cunt! You either shut your
goddamn cock holster or I'll shove something in it!"
"Why are yo.." A hideous shriek of agony.
"First you have the nuts to deal on my turf,
you dirty fucks! (Our pot operation was so small
time I couldn't believe la Favor even knew about it)
Then you rip me fucking off! Now I ain't gonna ask
again, where are the fucking drugs? My fucking
drugs!" la Favor screamed.