Trophy 18

Vito didn't think the Shady Acres apartment block had ever been a great place to live… he certainly wouldn't be caught dead there… but now that the Somalis had taken over, it made a crack den look good.

He had to step around the bodily fluids on his way in. Weird patterns had been laid on the ground in dirt and leaves; in places, the floorboards had been ripped up and converted into crude fire pits. Aluminum foil was the only thing that kept the flame from spreading. The bulbs had been painted over, shedding inconstant and weirdly colored light into shifting half shadows. If any white people… any normal people… still lived here, they stayed out of the lobby and hallways. 

The black bodies, to coin a phrase, seemed equally depredated as the building. They lined the walls, laid on the floors. Second generation immigrants. Their parents had enough of a semblance of normalcy to try to follow the rules. They feared being sent back. The youths were fearless in comparison. They knew the cops wouldn't stand up to them, not and make the national news. Emboldened by that, they were furthermore embittered by endlessly being told how they were discriminated against, entitled to more than they had, better lives stolen from them by the mediocre white men they were told to blame for all their failings. 

It made for a toxic, kamikaze blend. Teenagers, near suicidal with the conviction that they had no future, blaming others for their failed lives, and never having encountered anyone who had stood up to them.

Their sickness was practically inscribed on their bodies. They pierced and scarified themselves in imitation of tribal forefathers they had never known, but there was no symmetry or artistry to the body modifications. They cropped up like outbreaks of a malignant disease.

It was an effort not to sneer in disdain, but Vito kept his face carefully composed. These people had nothing to live for. They would happily throw their freedom away on a murder rap.

“Ey! White boy!” Another charming addition to their cobbled together immigrant experience. Black street culture, telling them it was aspirational to be a thug, gangsta. Success, for them, wasn't a house, a family. It was hoes, weed, and a Lambo. 

Vito smiled. He'd decided outside that he wasn't going to push his luck… not when he didn't care if Bella lived or died…but he wouldn't give ground either. “I'm Vito Belucci. I'm here on behalf of Vincenzo Belucci.

“Fuck, you a gangsta boy? O.G.?! Nah, y'all ain't live that life. Yo GQ ass no strapped, can't even slap a bitch. Fuckin pretty boy. Bring yoself my dick, boy, maybe good for some suck stuff, yeah, got me horny good, gangsta!”

Vito kept smiling. He was strapped and as loud as this place was, with almost every room holding a stereo going at full blast, he could make it louder. He'd like to, because while the cops might not have the balls to arrest these apes, they had the weaponized laziness not to bother with finding anyone who busted a cap in them. And it would probably take care of Bella's lingering… aliveness.

But he wasn't a commando. He couldn't shoot his way out of this zoo.

“I came to make a delivery. You want it or not?”

“What the fuck delivery, boy, which pocket yo ass got a pizza in?”

Vito sighed. Midnight here was so fried he couldn't even remember the kidnapping. Which worked out well for him. He'd give over the money like a good boy and they'd rape her to death anyway, if they hadn't already. Not his fault. He'd done everything he'd been asked. Poor stepmom.

He set down the briefcase. “I came here to make a delivery. I made a delivery. Take it if you want it.”

“Yeah, boy, yeah, give over!” “And get the fuck out now, we didn't ask for no white boy delivery.” “And we better like this shit, boy, cuz we gon find yo ass if it's shit.” “Don't bring us no shit, white boy, we rape yo butt.” “Yeah, boy, get the fuck outta here!” “Don't get raped, boy!”

Vito left, feeling the weight of his holstered gun all the way out. He wondered if he could convince his father to put down these animals. But knew he couldn't. Dad was too much of a pussy for that.

Vito could take the disrespect though. Since it wasn't like he cared if Bella made it back, he'd replaced most of the cash with funny money. Maybe he'd use the real ransom to buy a girl with tits as big as Bella. It would be a good way to honor her memory.

***

Frank thought the sex was over and done with, now that Bella had made her point, but he couldn’t lie—there was a charge in the air when he went into the hangar where she slept. It hadn’t been there before.

Bella must’ve felt it too, because as he entered the Quonset hut, he heard her snoring break off. She awoke, rolling onto her side to face him, her upper hand perched on her hip as though to draw his eye to her chain—or her crotch.

For a moment, Frank was a virgin kid again, unable to believe he was about to get laid. Laid out the way she was, Bella reminded him irresistibly of a childhood crush: Princess Leia being rescued by Luke Skywalker.

Then he thought of watching those movies with his wife… planning which movies to show their kids and how soon… neither of them could wait to see how the children would respond to Dumbo, Looney Tunes, the old classics and the new… it would be the second chance at life they both needed, getting to rewatch all their favorites through a child’s eyes. And it had never happened.

Whatever had connected Frank to the bygone past now slammed shut. Bella was no dream girl. She was a slab of meat he had to keep from spoiling until he’d gotten all the nourishment he could.

“Time to go,” he grunted.

“Go? Where are we going?” Bella asked, sitting up excitedly, then bounding to her feet as she saw Frank take a key from his pocket and stoop to unlock the chain from the embedded D-ring. “Hey! Hey! Where are you taking me?”

“On a walk,” Frank said, picking up the freed end of the chain. He gave it a tug which weakly translated along the length of the chain to momentarily tighten the loop around her waist. “Come on. You could use the fresh air.”

“How about you just unlock this?” Bella demanded, rattling the chains that held up the still-shut lock at her groin. “I can get plenty of fresh air and sunshine and even pick some flowers if you don’t keep me chained to the floor!”

Frank pulled on the chain again. She didn’t move. “I’m not going to drag you. Get moving or I’ll lock it again.”

Bella held up her hands in an acquiescing gesture and stepped into her heels. “You know, these are no fun to walk in.”

“Not very good shoes then.”

“Maybe you could bring me some walking shoes before you take me for a walk.”

“I’ll put it on the list. Walk ahead of me. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“I bet you will,” Bella retorted, doing a bedroom sashay past him.

The moment she was ahead of him, wobbling her hips, Frank was reminded that she had one hell of an ass. Her thong showed off virtually every curve leading to her anus—just not the thing itself.

He watched her hips shimmy, her thick cheeks wiggle with each step. She was trying to seduce him, he knew… and a body like that did most of the trying for her. All she had to do was show it off. Physics took care of the rest. She simply could not move without it being a promise of sensuous delight.

“So, did Vincenzo get your letter?” Bella asked, stretching some kinks out as she walked.

“He did,” Frank confirmed.

They left the hanger and Bella held a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Sunglasses. Put those on the list too. So what’d he do?”

“He paid the ransom. Vito took it to the Haitians.”

“They took it?”

“Of course.”

“So they think Vito Belucci gave them a bag of money for no reason and the Beluccis think the Haitians took me. What happens now?”

“Hit the Haitians. Pay them back for disrespecting the Belucci family.”

“Hmm.” Bella stopped to crack her neck. “You know, the Haitians are kinda like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If they had me, they’d only finger me too. Even if they could get their dicks wet.”

Frank wound his end of the chain around his fist. “Careful.”

“It doesn’t bother you? You could fuck me out here, right now. No one around for miles. You could try to make me scream.”

“What do you know about the Haitians?” Frank demanded, pulling lightly on the chain.

Bella allowed herself to be moved a foot closer to him. “It’s like I said. They’re pussies. Hard to buy that they’d bite Belucci.”

“I’ll do the biting for them.”

“Why? They have the money.”

“I’ll take it back. On behalf of the Beluccis, of course.”

Bella smiled up at him. “That’s more like it, Frank. You know where they took it?”

“Doesn’t matter. I just have to look for it hard enough.”