The Commando and the Call Girl

He sipped expensive champagne, puffed on a Dominican Stogie, and thought to himself, "what candy asses these wiseguys really are!"

Big strong "tough guy" Benny Bingo begged and pleaded for his life. He agreed to switch sides, leave town, or even murder his own boss Tony Lino if he was allowed to live.

But a contract is a contract is a contract. And $500,000 is $500,000; and showing mercy is a good way to make sure that your jersey isn't tapped anymore when the next assignment is given out.

Both himself and Calvin had once been in an enemy prison camp where they daily faced mock executions. Neither of them broke, and neither of them rolled.

Mister, we could use a man like John Gotti again...

It was too bad that Cal turned him down. The two of them could take over this town and set up a force that no government could ever break.

Why the hell would someone with his skill set settle for being so much less than what he was meant to be?

Across town at the mini mart.

Calvin finds that even in the middle of night, it doesn't take long to get swamped with customers.

"Pump 3 isn't working."

"Can you break a hundred? I don't want to buy anything, I just need change."

"Why can't I return this? I only took one bite of it."

3am mercifully arrives and so does his relief. He's surprised to see that it is an older black lady who was possibly in her early sixties.

He had already done his turnover just as Dinesh has shown him how and after he rang up his last customer, he'd be free to go and catch the last bus of the night.

Or so he thought...

Mrs. Adrienne Watson, a widow, had worked for Dinesh Patel for 15 years. The grandmotherly woman walked with a slight limp as if she had once had a stroke. Suddenly, Calvin realized why the stool was behind the counter, it was for her to be able to sit while she worked.

"Baby? Could you wait with me until 4am? That's when some of the gamblers come in to play the slots. That way I won't be here by myself." She asked.

Dinesh had several illegal slot machines in the store. The only way you could play them and get paid if you hit, was if he knew you personally or if someone he knew personally vouched for you.

Employees were not allowed to play under any circumstances.

So now, Calvin would have to wait until 6:30am when the buses started back running. But what else was he going to do? Be a dick and tell an old woman that it sucks to be her, he has to look out for numero uno?

Maybe he could get Dennis to buy him a cash car and he'd pay him back on terms. After all, his old foxhole compatriot had more money that God. Surely he wouldn't mind?

But that was the problem. It was all blood money; dirty mafia money. Although someone would say that every-time he cashed a government check while he was on active duty, that too was "blood money."

So here he is, ringing up patrons off the clock while Mrs. Watson sat outside and smoked. This was unsustainable. It would take him at least three hours to get home, which put him there at 9:30am.

He'd then have to be back at the bus stop to come back to work no later than noon. And he'd have to do this everyday? Dennis was right, being a hit man was definitely easier than this.

Luckily, Mrs. Watson had suggested to him that perhaps he could take a cab ride home tonight, and to his credit, he took her advice.

He slept the entire way home, only waking when the cab driver roused him.

"Hey Lee Iacocca. You're home." The burly taxi driver barked.

"How much do I owe you?" Calvin snapped at the hack driver. Between the rude prima-donna and now this idiot, Calvin wondered when did making an honest living become a cause for ridicule?

"Well young man, I'll tell ya." The man said as he turned around and looked Calvin directly in the eye. "If you'll take a little advice, then consider this ride on the house."

"Ok." Calvin said with a bit of confusion. "And what advice might that be?"

"I was in Gulf War 1 in the early 90s. Our unit was one of the few that took real loses. We gave much better than we got though. And for a long time, I had trouble living with myself in the aftermath."

"I'm sorry sir. Is there a point to this?" Calvin asked.

The burly Caucasian man with the Santa Claus white beard looked sympathetically at Calvin. "Son, the V.A. really helped me to deal with my demons, and based on what you were saying in your sleep, you've got a legion of them chasing you in the night as well.

You've probably done and saw some horrible shit in theater, but you can come back from this if you seek help, I'm living proof of that."

Calvin looked at the meter and saw that it registered $67.83, he reached in his pocket and handed the stunned driver a hundred dollar bill and exited the cab; indicating that he didn't want nor need his advice.

"Keep the change." Calvin said as he turned and walked toward his house.

The cab driver looked at him and shook his head in pity, "poor bastard. He'll probably put a pistol in his mouth and squeeze the trigger within the next six months."

Chapter six The next day and night

Calvin opted to take the bus after he got off in order to avoid anymore "advice" from a well meaning cabbie. He knew that it meant that he'd be forced to wait until 6:30am, but he decided that it would be better than more judgement and advice coming from a taxi driver.

After some of the gamblers came into the store to play the slots, he felt comfortable to leave his relief alone at the mini mart. He settled down into the covered bus stop, set the alarm for 6:25am on the phone that Dennis had given him and hunkered down for a few hours of shuteye until the city awakened from its nightly slumber.

If only he could be so lucky...

Tiffany had entertained her last client of the night. He came, he cried, she shooed him away. Cognitive dissonance was her new best friend as she held conflicting thoughts in her head.

On one hand, she held the thoughts of the blond haired Adonis that was "Chet". At this moment she realized that she didn't even know his last name. She wanted desperately for him to free her from this "prison" of sex for money that she was in and take her to Bora Bora or the Maldives, or some other overpriced get away for the rich and famous.

But why oh why, was this gas station attendant... this black gas station attendant, invading her thoughts?

Why was she even thinking about him? He was the epitome of everything she hated about the men that shared a race with her. So why couldn't she stop thinking about him?

Even better, she wondered was he thinking about her?

Suddenly she walks over to her front window to take a peek outside and sees something so unnerving that she decides to make a call that she normally never would have made at such a late hour.

"Hello?" A very sleepy Tony Lino said as he responded to his cell phone.

"Can you send someone? There's a strange guy sitting outside my apartment." Tiffany said to Tony Lino.

Tony Lino finds himself in a bit of shock. Tiffany knows that there are designated times that she can reach out to him.

Unless there is an emergency.

"It's Tiffany, Tony. I'm scared."

Wait...did she really just call me at home, in bed with my wife to let me know that she had a bad dream? And that some random guy outside is on par with a stalker.

"I know who it is Tiffany." He said to her.

"Tiffany?" An equally groggy Rosa Lino said as she arose from her own slumber.

"Go back to sleep dear." Tony said to his wife. "Look Tiff, exactly where is this guy? And what exactly is he doing?"

"I can only see the back of his head. He's a black guy."

"Jesus fucking Christ Tiffany! I didn't ask you about his racial makeup. What the fuck is he doing?"

"He's...he's sitting at the bus stop."

"And how did you rule out the idea that he's waiting for a bus?"

"I have a bad feeling about him. Is there anyone you can send?"

"Go back to sleep Tiff. I'll take care of it." He told her and clicked off the line.

"Tiff?" Rosa Lino said with dripping sarcasm and contempt.

"I run a strip club Rosa. I mean, what do you want from me here?"

"A strip club that my father started."

"That he turned over to me when we got married."

"You gonna talk to me about what happened to Benny?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Why would I discuss business with you? This is your father's fault. He broke a cardinal rule by discussing business at the dinner table both with and in front of you.

The less you know the better."

"Sure, and I'll tell the FBI all about that when you're laying on your stomach in a pool of your own blood with a gaping hole in the back of your thick and stubborn skull!"

"Why don't you worry less about my business and more about why can't we fucking conceive? How much have we paid this fucking fertility doctor?

Fucking, Dr.Quack Quack, if you ask me."

Tony knew that the problem wasn't with him and Tiffany had four abortions under her belt to prove it. That was until he made her get an implant.

" I know you blame me. Rosa said to her husband. "You insensitive cocksucker."

Tony forces himself to calm down. Despite his feelings for Tiffany; he really did love Rosa. He resented his father for a long time for forcing him into a marriage that he didn't originally want. But he came to appreciate the shapely Italian raven trussed beauty. She reminded him of a young Paula Abdul. She would have made a perfect goomar if she wasn't already his wife.

She angrily turned her back to him. And as she did so, her slip rode up her back revealing her panty free bottom. The way it was done was so unintentional until it had the unintended effect of arousing Tony into a rigid erection.

He began to probe around her moist pussy lips with his steely cock, when she realized what he was doing she said "Anthony", in her pouty "I'm pissed at you so why are you trying to fuck me" voice.

"Shh Rosa. Nothing beats a failure but a try." He tells of her as he slowly uploaded himself into her. "My god woman! Why are you always so fucking tight?" He asked as her pussy had him close to losing it before the first bell even sounded on their bout.

"Hmmph. Why are YOU so fucking big?" She countered as she positioned her body to better accommodate her husbands larger than life dick.

As he pumped forward, she pushed backward. Their thrusts in perfect sync. They didn't fuck like husband and wife. They didn't even fuck as if they were particularly fond of each other. The two of them almost seemed to be fighting a Cold War with the Lino bunch on one side and the Dellasondro's on the other.

The loser being the first one to cum...

"Fuck me tough guy! Big bad mafioso! Take this pussy! Work it!"

"Fucking cheating cunt!" Tony bellowed. "You don't fucking play fair!"

And with that, he unleashed inside of his wife all of his daily pent up frustrations, fears, and any other unpleasantries that his mind could conjure up.

"If that don't get you knocked up then nothing will!" He declares as he now flaccid cock slipped from between Rosa's legs.

"How very romantic of you." She said to him in her now familiar sarcastic tone. "It's a good thing you don't speak and act like a cheap mafia hood."

"You knew what I was when you married me Rosa. I'm the furthest thing away from a refined gentleman."

"Or a good husband, or loyal, or anything worthwhile. You're truly a miracle Anthony Lino. You don't have even one redeeming quality."

Not to be outdone, he counters with this. "Do you remember those, "most interesting man in the world" commercials?"

"Yeah. I remember them. Why?" She asked.

"Because, you spoiled mafia brat; redeeming qualities were never what made him interesting."

Chapter Seven: Car 54 where are you?

"Toody and Muldoon" as Tony called them, AKA, Officers Steve MyCoy and Hank Summers were two city uniformed patrolmen that were firmly in the hip pocket of the Lino Crime Family.

When Tony Lino barked, it was often times that the corrupt cops were the ones who bit.

Although they had both been officers for decades, they never advanced past the rank of patrolman as neither wanted to give up the lucrative deal that they had going with the Lino Crime Family and they saw promotion as a possible hindrance to that alliance as it might take them off the street and separate them.

"Jesus on a fish hook! Did Tony really get me out of a warm bed for this?" Summers asked mostly rhetorically.

"Give the guy a break Hank." McCoy said to him. "His little black...errr, excuse me, his little "African American" hot piece of ass is in distress so it's us to the rescue."

"Boy would I love to put her little that sexy ass of hers in distress!" Hank Summers said. "But I don't shit where I eat. And I sure as hell don't fuck around with the boss' mistress."

"Me neither. I sort of need my life and crossing Lino could be hazardous to one's health and financial well being." Steve McCoy added.

"Hey Steve, remember that night we set up that fake sting outside of that black sorority gala and we got to double team that hot black atty in order for her to keep from going to jail on a DWI?"

"Do I?" Summers said as he grabbed his cock. "I still jerk off thinking about that lusciously tight asshole of hers to this day."

"I ran into her in court a few years after that. I guess we had really did a number on her. She had transformed from a beautiful and demure ebony debutante into loud angry militant BLM defending social justice warrior.

I always wondered if it had anything to do with our "time" together in the backseat of the patrol car."

"So where is this guy supposed to be?" Summers asked. "I don't want to be out here all night on a witch hunt."

"He's supposed to be at the bus...wait, there he is right there." McCoy said as he pointed to Calvin Jefferson.

"Is he sleeping? We got woken up for this? The guy is a bum."

"Still. Better safe than sorry you know? After Bingo got clipped, Tony is a bit on edge and with good reason. Whoever did him was a true professional. It could be this guy here, being sent to send a message to the Lino's."

"Well, if that's the case, shouldn't we call for backup?"

"Sigh, come on you wimp. Let's go earn our salary." McCoy says as he puts the car in park and exits. "Keep it holstered but stay loose."

They reach the snoozing man and Summers kicks his feet to arouse him.

"Hey! Wake up! This ain't no flop house."

Calvin groggily opens his eyes.He meant to only rest his eyes for a few moments; he was unaware that he had dozed off. It was ironically the best few moments of nightmare free sleep he had enjoyed in years.

When he came to himself fully, he recognized the blue uniforms of authority. He wasn't sure of what would happen next. But he willed himself to remain calm and try to deescalate the situation if need be through compliance.

"I apologize sirs." He said as he fixed his eyes on both. "I must have been more tired than I thought."

"Are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?"

"No sir."

"The what the fuck are you doing out here?"

"I had not long ago got off work and..."

"From where?"

Calvin looked down at the smock he was still wearing in much the same fashion he had done so when Tiffany had asked him a similar question a day earlier.

He thought of all the smartass ways he could respond to such a dumb question, but instead, opted to simply answer the question asked.

"I work at the mini mart across the street."

"Well, again, this isn't a Motel 6, it's a fucking bus stop. On top of that, the bus doesn't start running for another hour. We got a call about a strange man in this area and you fit the general description." Summers told him.

"I'm sure that I do." He answered sarcastically. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"Let's start with some ID."

Calvin slowly reached into his pocket and then realized that the only "ID" he had was his Department of Defense card which he hated showing to anyone.

"I'm sorry officer. I don't have it on me."

"That's it. Stand up!" McCoy barked. "Now turn around."

Calvin complied and then asked. "Am I really going to jail? On what charge?"

The only response he got was a taser in the back which painfully caused him to stagger to his knees.

From her apartment window, Tiffany watches the scene play out. She felt pleased with its progression until Calvin had turned around and she saw who she had sic-ed the law on and what they had just done.

"What is this guy made of?" An astonished Hank Summers asked. "This fucking thing barely fazed him."

"Look at the back of his neck!" McCoy said excitedly. "I've seen that tattoo before. It looks like a bar code or some shit. This guy was in The Phantom Squad."

"The what?"

"It's that real elite bunch of military commandos. They take all of the best from all branches of the special forces to train and learn each other's tactics and form this special fighting unit. No wonder he barely felt the taser, he's probably trained to withstand torture."

"No shit? Well we'd better hit him again then. For our own safety..."

"Wait stop! I made a mistake. An approaching Tiffany frantically shouted. She was so unnerved by what her own actions had caused until she ran outside barefoot, clad in no more than a towel.

The sight of the buxom half naked honey skinned woman momentarily distracted both cops.

Which gave Calvin the opening he needed as he caught the lanky Summers by the ankle and tripped him and quickly grabbed his firearm as he fell backwards onto his head, and before the squat McCoy could react, he back kicked him in the groin and as the man went down to his knees in pain, Calvin put the service weapon of Hank Summers to the head of his partner.

"Now just...take it easy." Summers said.

"Shut the fuck up!" Calvin snapped as he relived McCoy of his weapon as well. "Give me your radio."

"What?" The officer asked.

"If I say it again, then you'd better plan on getting the bagpipes and the twenty one gun salute ready for this fat sack of shit here. Now, give me your radio."

"Please, don't do this." Tiffany said through tears. The guilt she felt was palpable. She knew at that moment that her own prejudices had just ruined this man's life. A man who was doing nothing more than trying to get home from work.

"You called them?" Calvin asked her. "You called them on me? Why?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry." She said. "But please. Don't make it worse."

Calvin ignored her and took the radio. "To whomever is listening. My name is Calvin Jefferson. I just disarmed two cops that jumped me at a but stop for no reason. I have a gun to the head of one of them. Send a supervisor out and I'll surrender quietly without any other incidents."

"I'm so sorry." Tiffany repeated as her faced streamed with tears.

"You're sorry?" Calvin said. "Don't be. I'm sorry for far worse."

After about 15 squad cars converge on the bus stop, Calvin is true to his word and surrenders to a Sgt on the scene. To his surprise, he's actually taken in and not shot and dumped into a bayou. Something that he really wasn't opposed to having happen to him.

But even as he was being booked, he couldn't stop thinking of his sexy nemesis. Man! Was her body smoking! But, he had her pegged as something he had heard described as a "swirler" or a "divester" on a YouTube video which were terms for black women who despised black men; and he deduced that even if he wasn't about to spend pretty much the rest of his natural life behind bars, she wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.

But wouldn't he love to see that...

"You're very lucky Calvin. Very lucky indeed." FBI Agent in Charge Aaron Banks said to him after he sprung him from lockup. "Those two cops declined to press charges and the local constabulary wants to just forget about this embarrassing incident."