Now these assholes...

Now these assholes didn't seem to be the type to be spending much cash or time on decorating their shitty trailer much less their closet. Whoever had put the rug back down had been sloppy. I could see the edge of what appeared to be some sort of hatch. I pulled the rug out and found a trapdoor cut in the floor. I dug my fingernails into the side of the door and pulled up. Inside was a large gym bag, the kind hockey players need to stuff their skates, shoulder pads, and other hockey shit into. The bag was jam-packed with balls of cash rolled tight with rubber bands, several pistols, bags of weed, and all sorts of identification - driver's licenses, passports, social security cards, the works. I had hit the fucking lottery. Pulling the bag out, the son of a bitch weighed a ton, I headed for the door. The screen door in the living room slammed shut. I put the bag down and leaned against the wall of the bedroom just next to the door. I gently pulled the slide back on the shotgun to see if there was one in the chamber. "Cathy! You dumb fucking bitch!" The voice sounded familiar. It was female. "Wake up! Wake up you dumb fucking cunt!" The sound of slap echoed through the trailer. "Goddamn it! Shit! Goddamn it! Oh, God! Glenda!" Then it got real quiet.

It sounded like someone was walking down the short hallway. Flicking off the safety, I stepped into the doorway. The door frame exploded in splinters just inches from my head. I fired the shotgun once, catching Angel directly in the chest, the force of the blast knocking her off her feet and down her back into the living room. I grabbed the hockey bag and stepped into the living room, Angel lay spread eagle on the floor, a massive hole in her chest - the shotgun must have been loaded with buckshot - in her hand she clutched a huge .44 magnum pistol. Luckily for me it had been too much pistol for her. Her body twitched with spasms but her eyes were empty. There was a suitcase on the floor of the living room. I popped it open. Inside was a set of handcuffs and leg irons, a blowtorch, hacksaw, vise grips, can of Drano, and a variety of knifes. Obviously, my ass had been set up from the get-go. From the punker that had dosed me at the hospital right up until now. They wanted me at that security hospital because from there Norm could spring me, get me back here, and well, the proof was in Angel's suitcase how things would have turned out for me. This cat piss smelling trailer would have been the end of the trail for me if it had worked out for the parties involved.

Grabbing the keys for the Cadillac, I raced out the trailer door. Someone must have heard the shots because I could hear sirens in the distance. I fired up that old Caddy and took off in the opposite direction. Once I got back to the city, I parked the car in the parking lot of a grocery store and hopped into a cab that took me to a hotel just outside the airport. I had to lip read the guy's lips who was behind the counter because the combination of all the gunplay inside that trailer had left me temporarily deaf. My fucking ears were ringing like I had just come from a Foghat concert and I had sat front row stage center. I was there for two days waiting for my charter flight to Cancun. The one time I turned on the news they were talking about the double murder of a felonious biker's wife and her niece. The cops had a female subject in custody but were suspicious about the whole damn thing. I got to feeling sick all over again so I never turned on the news or read the paper again. I spent the time smoking Glenda's hash, eating room service, peering out through the curtains, watching pay for view porno movies, and going through the bag I had lifted from the trailer. I went through all the numerous fake IDs and picked out a driver's license, passport, and birth certificate that matched me pretty closely after I paid a quick trip to a drug store for some hair dye and a beard trimmer. That's all you need to get into Mexico. Your drivers license and a copy of your birth certificate. I never knew that until Norm had told me. The dumb shit! I took the guns and tossed them in the dumpster, I wasn't going to get caught carrying a pistol on a flight or into Mexico. But I couldn't believe the amount of cash that was in the bag. Running drugs and whores must be a very profitable business. Straight cash and no taxes.

I stacked the majority of it inside of a suitcase and just hoped that it would not be one of the few that would be opened by Cancun's custom officers. Then I filled a shoebox with several wads of cash and the remaining drugs along with a letter to Felicia, my sweetheart barmaid from California. I told her to keep the cash and sell the drugs and what my plan was. I didn't tell her exactly where I was going but that I would contact her later and she could bring what she was holding for me. At the airport, standing in my Hawaiian shirt and shorts, I was shaking like a crackwhore's fetus I was so nervous. I kept looking all around the lobby looking for cops or tattooed covered bikers, but all I saw was families of tourists or drunk college kids going on spring break.

Just before they announced my flight, feeling guilty, I decided to call my brother, he answered on the second ring. "Hey, bro, it's me." "You really screwed up this time, Mr. Big Shot! The police have already been here. You better turn yourself in. What the hell were you thinking of, breaking out of that hospital? Now you're going to have to go back to court, and this time you're going to wind up in prison! Not some country club hospital where you can play tennis and goddamn racquet ball. And you know what? I'm glad! Maybe a little time in prison will straighten you out, you good for nothing bum." "I didn't call for a lecture, asshole. Is Dad there? My brother snorted into the phone. "He was. Couple months ago the drunk old bastard stopped by on his way to Key West. He was babbling about always wanting to go there or some shit like that. That he was sick of the snow. He wanted to spend the night but I sent him to a motel. I didn't want the kids to see him like that. Goddamn drunk loser. No wonder Mom left him." The boarding for my flight was being announced. Well, I guess all bets were off again. "I just wanted to call and let you know something, big brother. If any big guys on Harleys roll up into your driveway, you better lock the doors and call the cops. See ya!" "What in the hell are y...... I hung up the phone and walked down to the gate.