Wilmington Woman's Club Ch. 13byParis Waterman©
Editor's Note: This chapter contains graphic violence in service of the plot. Reader discretion is advised.
"Tell me again how you're gonna do this," Conrad asked her.
"I show up around three; Room 450," Leah answered. "I ask to see the money. There is supposed to be $300 grand -- preferably in hundred's, but we really don't care. I count it. If it's all there, and doesn't look like Monopoly money, I stay with them and the money. Maybe one of them comes to this room where you have the coke."
"Right," he said. "Maybe they'll want to test it, maybe not. I think they will. They're paying seventy-five a key; you're going to test what you're buying."
"What then?" she asked, figuring she's all alone with one or more of them in that room. Shit happens, and she wanted no part of a fucked up deal.
Conrad sighed. "He checks out the coke, calls back to where you are. They like what they see; they give you the money, and leave here with the product."
"And?" she said, a glimmer of concern flashing over her face.
"And nothing," Conrad said, "No opportunity for any funny business."
She bit her lip, unconvinced.
"Anyway, I got this baby," he told her, and revealed the .38 Colt Detective Special under the windbreaker, neatly tucked into the waistband of his jeans.
Domingo looked at his watch, and said in Spanish, "Its five minutes to three. Where's the girl?"
"Don't worry," Ernesto said, "Seventy-five a key is very good money. I'm sure she'll be here."
Lying on the bed, Domingo looked up at the ceiling; the rain was sweeping the windows. "You think she'll try to fuck us?"
"Maybe," Ernesto replied, "Maybe her, maybe a friend. Thas' the way it goes. In either case, we'll be ready. Got your knife ready?"
"Always," Domingo replied, eyeing his favorite blade. "She loves to cut," he said, and began to smile at the thought of slicing up the expected visitor.
Leah left the room, and ventured out into the sheeting rain. She headed directly for room 450, and knocked firmly on the door. A Hispanic male opened the door, and she stepped inside. Her blonde hair was wet and sticking to her forehead. She wore no makeup on her face, didn't look at all sexy, since she wasn't here on business...well, not her normal type business anyway.
"I'd like to see the money, please," she said.
"We would like to see the dope, please," Ernesto said, mocking her.
"No, the money first."
Ernesto looked at Domingo.
"You afraid I'll bop you on the head and take it?" She said, and smiled at him.
Domingo gave a faint nod, and Ernesto realized she had brought nothing into the room with her.
"You don't have the coke?" Ernesto asked calmly.
"It's coming," she replied.
"A friend will bring it."
"The idea is," she said, "I count the money here with you. One of you can go to our room and check out the coke. Or, you can both wait until I finish counting the money, and we'll all go to the room and make the exchange."
She was playing it hard, and found she liked the action and tension of the moment.
"So," she said, "Do I see the money, or do we forget the whole thing?"
Maybe' she thought, this was what I was cut out to be. I wanted to be an actress; could have been one with a break here and there. I was pretty good in that porno flick three years ago. Who knows?
Ernesto was thinking Seventy-five a key ain't cheap. Fifty-five was reasonable, but since we're gonna take it anyway, it don't matter how much we say we'll pay.
"So," Leah said impatiently, "do we deal, or do we just stand around staring at each other?"
"Get the money," Domingo said to Ernesto.
It was twelve after three by Conrad's watch.
She had told him to give her thirty minutes with them. That would be time enough to count the money. There was nothing they could take from her, so he didn't feel she was in that much danger. If the money wasn't all there, or God forbid there wasn't any money at all, she would simply say goodbye, and return to the room.
Eighteen minutes to go, Conrad told himself, glancing nervously at the valise on the bed. All he had to do was wait, but that was the hardest part, and he knew it.
The money was in hundred dollar bills, neatly stacked in a dispatch case. Leah took the bills out of the case, and began counting. While she counted, the two men watched her. Not her hands, but her chest and legs. Ernesto's erection was evident if one cared to look in that direction. Domingo also lusted after her, but had better self-control than his partner.
The bills were wrapped in narrow paper wrappers, supposedly a thousand dollars in each pack. But Leah was taking no chance on being shortchanged. She was counting every bill in each wrapper. She had counted two hundred and twenty-five thousand out when Ernesto said, "You want to suck my dick a little before I fuck you?"
Her hands stopped counting. Her heart stopped beating when she looked up from the neatly wrapped bills, and saw the open switch-blade in his left hand.
It was three-thirty by Conrad's watch, and nobody had knocked on the door.
What the hell's happening over there?
How long could it take to count three hundred grand?
Had they brought the money in singles?
She had to be still counting, because the plan was for her to walk away if something went wrong.
The words reverberated in his brain and suddenly he knew something was definitely wrong. Something was very wrong.
Leah was on all fours, with Ernesto's dick in her mouth, Domingo pumping into her from behind. The knife had never been far from her face or throat, and she was terrified. She had in fact pissed herself as she was being forced to her knees. It had no notable effect on either of the men.
Taking on two guys was nothing new to her, but she had a growing fear they wouldn't want her walking out of the room. Where the fuck was Conrad?
Ernesto came in her mouth, and she marveled that with all that going on she could tell his semen was sweeter than any she'd ever tasted before. How odd, she thought, as Domingo grunted twice, and unloaded in her cunt.
A split second later, Leah saw the blade move, and Ernesto cut her cheek.
When Conrad heard the scream, the only thing he thought about was that his money was in jeopardy. At that moment he did not give a rat's ass about Leah; in fact he merely thought of her as a blonde hooker he'd sent off to do a job that she'd obviously fucked up. He pulled the .38 from the waistband of his jeans, stepped out into the rain, and started running along the narrow walkway to room 450.
Things went quickly then. The first thing he registered when he burst into the room -- maybe the first thing he wanted to see -- was the money on the table; small piles of crisp, green bills in little wrappers, with the legend "$1000" on each of the wrappers.
The next thing he saw was Leah. She was lying on the bed, skirt hiked up, bleeding from her face, her chest, and her legs. Her left nipple had been sliced off, and lay on the floor next to the bed.
A very big man was leaning over her, his back to the door. He turned when Conrad came in. He had a narrow mustache and a knife in his hand. The blade of the knife was covered with blood.
Conrad only had a split second to think, I've come this far, and shot the man between the eyes. The man toppled backward onto the bed and onto Leah. The other man in the room was reaching into his coat. Conrad shot him twice.
After assuring himself both men were dead, he went to the table and started packing the wrapped hundreds into the dispatch case. As he closed the case, he heard Leah's pleading whisper, "Conrad, help me."
He looked at her bleeding there for a long moment, and figured she was beyond his help. There was no way he was taking her to a hospital, nor would he leave her as a potential witness.
"Sorry, baby," he said, "I'm really sorry." Aiming carefully, he shot her between the eyes, putting an end to her suffering. He left the motel room, jogged down the stairs to his car, and drove off, careful not to attract unwanted attention. After a mile, he began to hum a happy song he'd learned at summer camp many years before.
He checked into another motel several miles away, and slept for most of the next two days. He finally ventured out and had a leisurely breakfast at a Denny's, and visited a Mall, where he purchased a small wardrobe, enough to tide him over for a short trip.
He rented another car, drove to Jacksonville, Florida where he set about unloading the cocaine on the market there. It proved surprisingly easy. What he would have sold to the two Columbians for $300,000, sold brusquely on the streets of Jacksonville, for slightly more than $500,000 -- less certain expenses, or what he termed shipping and handling. So, three weeks later, when all was said and done, Conrad had cleared $418,000, bringing his total capital to a grand total of $718,000. Now his problem was whether to continue in the drug business, or find a new venue in which to use his ill-gotten fortune.