Out here on these streets, controlling them, setting up the organization, guaranteeing the income, maintaining the operational flow-in other words, taking care of business, taking care of his interests, from bail and legal fees to elimination of the competition.
And what good is it, if they are to continue to live like this?
Already, he has had men-good men, tough men-deserting the colors, abandoning the Ebony Knights.
Because of the pressure-the hassle, the constant violence, the constant vigilance.
Oh sure, they give him stories about taking the Ebony Knights into new territories, making the organization-Shade's organization-a national thing, a corporation.
But he knows better.
He knows what the brightest and the best among his troops know.
Which is that life on these mean streets is tough, whether you are an Ebony Knight, a Blackstone Cavalier, a Doowa Duke, or a member of one of the crazy Jamaican posses which roam the territory, to an ever-increasing degree, their lines of supply totally alien to those of the homeboys.
So that his top talent are seeking peace, peace which they fully intend to violate, of course, peace which cannot last as the new markets attract competitors.
But meanwhile, there can be respite. Respite and that which they cannot get here, not even in the territory which they hold. Lifestyle.
Lifestyle, the only thing that would make all this worthwhile.
Because, really, what is the point, otherwise?
The hustle and the hassle, the duking and the ducking, what are they good for, if there's never a real payoff.
Money?
The money is not the problem.
Well, yes, the money is the problem, actually.
Because it's good, too good.
And that which produces it is neat, too neat.
Neat, clean little packages of white powder, or gray rocks, or die spent popcorn of crack in tiny vials-that's what makes it so easy, so tempting, ultimately so profitable.
The only problem being that any number can play.
Or could, if not for the danger, danger which Shade and his boys are so good, so very good at dealing out, dealing with.
Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.
Shade read that somewhere, probably back in high school.
Definitely back in high school, now that he thinks about it. That, after all, is the only place he ever read anything.
Liberty. Freedom.
There's none of that here.
Not here, not where they are in a perpetual state of hostility, occasionally of outright war.
The soldier may defend freedom, but he can never be free.
He may believe in liberty, but he is not at liberty to partake of it.
Eternal vigilance.
And even that may not cut it.
The police are the least of Shade's worries.
They, at least, won't kill you.
And the sentences, even if found guilty, are a joke.
And in fact, he has seen his men come out of the system rested, refreshed, actually happy, like returnees from some vacation.
Weekends, holidays-what are these to an Ebony Knight?
Because the pressure is here, is here, and never ceases. Watch.
Watch your front, your back, your sides at all times.
You cover for me, I cover for you.
And the money?
How much is enough?
What does it take for a major buy?
How much to run a lab for stepping on the stuff, or for producing one product from another?
Yes, the money is great, the money is everywhere, the money is both invaluable and worthless.
Because it isn't buying happiness, isn't buying that peace which can never be.
Negotiations, talks? Worthless.
Most of the enemy, you can't even talk to, and those sufficiently well organized, led well enough that you can, are powerful enough to break whatever is set up.
Not with impunity, of course; Shade could never allow that, but with sufficient confidence in their ability to attack and to defend, to be aggressive and deadly on the offensive, to be exacting and equally deadly in revenge-in other words, to keep the party going.
The party.
Yes, it's all one big party, day and night. The fun never stops.
Guarding the corners of the territory, patrolling its veins and arteries, ever dangerous, ever in danger.
Some party.
("What's with the concealed weapon, pal? Don'tcha know we gotta take you in for this?")
("Leas'ways you ain't takin' me in in the horizontal position, brutha man.")
And to show the flag, to stand around, just to stand there?
That can be the most dangerous duty of all.
Because of the drive-bys.
With some giggling, under-aged kid out to make a name for himself leaning out the window of the stolen car and spraying with an Uzi.
Sitting ducks, the dumbest thing, the most necessary thing you can be.
Because comers, blocks, territory is what it's all about.
Who is gonna deal what and where, who is gonna guarantee that they are gonna be able to make it happen.
Because, sooner or later, it all comes down to that, to the customer, to the transaction.
Sooner or later, there must be a few seconds of stability, in which the vital business, the thing that keeps it all going, makes it all worthwhile, has to be allowed to happen.
And the rest is bullshit, if you want to look at it that way.
The rest is the shit you have to put up with, wade through-and perpetuate-if you are going to make it happen.
Because the distribution chain must be maintained, must be preserved, must be protected.
And the distribution chain leads to a chain of command, to a delicate interplay of dependence and independence.
Of course, at Shade's level, at the core of his territory, that of the Ebony Knights, he is concerned directly with the major buy and the wholesale sale.
But his interests, and his arrangements, reach right down to the street, to the individual dealer.
This is your corner, that's yours, have the cash ready, no credit, and like that.
So that he never has a day off, never has more than a few hasty hours to enjoy, even in limited measure, the fruits of his labors.
Because a man has to sleep sometimes.
Even if only for a few hours in the early morning, say, dawn until noon.
If he's lucky.
But more often than not, he will be awakened, here in his (relatively) secure pad by one of his lieutenants.
"The Colombian's got the keys you awdered ready, Shade."
And he will have to go for the buy, a new day begun.
Yes, a frenetic, a dangerous, at bottom a pointless life, Shade has come to feel.
Where is the meaning and the joy of it?
Where, in other words, is the lifestyle?
Face it, he tells himself; right now, it isn't.
Oh, others before him have tried.
Big house out on the Island, landscaping, swim-ming pool, the whole bit.
And where did it get the guy but pinpointed and ultimately busted?
Heavyweight bust, big object lesson, crime does not pay, and like that.
The price of high profile, great visibility.
So no, that's out-at least for the time being.
When he retires, Shade tells himself, when he retires, still in his prime, loaded to the gills with more money than he can ever hope to spend, then he will have his lifestyle, far, far from here, far from the place, far from the people.
But that will not be today, or tomorrow.
Or this year or next.
But if there is any point to all this, then surely, that has to be it.
So that the future makes a lot of sense; only this nightmare present is fraught with all the hustle, the hassle, the danger.
And it has to change.
There simply has to be something in the here and now to make it all worthwhile, worth getting out of bed in the morning, worth being so sharp, so mean, so quick.
The Ebony Knights.
The blood brotherhood, the brotherhood of bloods.
I do for you, you do for me.
And that too is bullshit, Shade knows.
Maybe it was that way, once, back in the days of protection, of warehouse and store rip-offs, of stolen cars and stolen whatever it was that wasn't tied down and locked.
One guy depending-on another and the important thing is not to have to work for chump change, meaning not to have to work at all.
Back in the old days, when guys worked twenty hours a day to figure out ways to keep from having to work eight.
Back when mutual trust was everything, when mutual dependency was the only way to pull off anything of any appreciable scale, the only way to have an organization of any size.
But nowadays, the money is in the shit, all of it.
Who the hell needs to steal cars, when they cost so little in comparison with the income?
Junkies, maybe, needing money for their habits.
Loners and losers, perhaps, independents needing to score big so that they can deal outside the territory.
But otherwise, it's a sealed, self-supporting matter of cash flow, purely and simply.
But for the necessity of protection against competition, there would be no need of the Ebony Knights with their purple polkadot bandanas, their jackets, black with the huge purple logo, making them look like nothing so much as walking targets.
Yes, but for the necessity of maintaining the fear factor, Shade's troops could and would be successful, affluent young entrepreneurs, one and all.
The fear factor.
Which cannot be an empty, idle threat. Which must be real, real and ever present.
So that the Ebony Knights don't steal or rob any more, true enough, but they do kill.
To deal in dope is to deal in death, death at all levels.
Death to the end user, of course, but that is unimportant, immaterial, a given, a fact of life neither fortunate nor unfortunate, merely inevitable, slowly or suddenly, sooner or later.
No, the death with which the Ebony Knights deal is that which occurs from gang rivalry.
This is the death for which they are ever prepared, from the individual hit to the full-scale pitched battle.
This is the death which they are prepared to mete out-and to experience.
("Are you guys crazy? Don't you know you can get killed doing this shit?")
("Yeah, man, but it sho' beats hell outta minimum wage.")
Except that the smartest of them, the brightest and the best, are steadily figuring out that they can win and not have to play that part of the game, merely by moving into relatively virgin territory.
And Shade can see their point; he really can.
It makes sense, from their position.
Why should they have to spend unproductive hours guarding territory when they can spend it all wheeling and dealing, raking it in and not having to keep looking over their shoulders?
Hell, he's got guys who left living much better than he is now.
Which, he thinks, ruefully, is not all that hard to do.
But that is not an option for him.
A simple matter of scale, this is.
And besides, it won't go on forever like this.
Sooner or later, he will do that which his predecessors had such a hard time doing and in fact did not manage to do, which is why they are his predecessors.
Predecessor. Meaning, literally, one who dies before you do.
Yes, there comes a time when he will have had enough and still have enough sense to get out.
Man only needs so much to do for himself, and the rest is security in depth.
And what good is security in depth when your life is in constant danger?
So that yes, he is afraid.
And his fear is not cowardice, but rather prudence.
"Jeffs heah, Shade."
"Okay, bring 'im in."
"Ready t'go, huh, Jeff?"
"Yep, sho' am. Got a lotta meat packas out theah in Iowa ready fo' a tayss of the otha side.
"See you nex' munf fo' ma nex' bundle, bro'pervidin' you gon' treat me rat on the price."
"You know ah weel."
And Shade stands up behind his desk, giving Jeff the right and left forearm clutch handshake. And Jeff is out of there.
And Shade, watching him depart, now an Ebony Knight in name only, thinks, Enough.
This thing is falling apart, no question.
And he cannot, he will not have it.
Because this is getting ridiculous.
They are right to leave, but he is wrong to let it haffien.
Still, what kind of loyalty could he expect, holding them here against their will?
It calls for a fresh approach, he tells himself.
What he needs is new blood.
But new blood alone won't do it.
He needs some assurance, some guarantee which will make them stay.
And it comes back, once again, to the problem of lifestyle.
The bravest, most dedicated of soldiers must, sooner or later, have a break, some relief from constant active duty.
R and R, they call it in the military, Shade knows.
Rest and recuperation.
Without which there is only combat fatigue and, with it, mistakes and defections. Shade thinks about it and comes to a decision. That should definitely do it, he tells himself, recalling how he met her, what she was after, how she thought.
Provided, of course, that she'll go for it.
And he thinks back, smiling at the memory, reliving it.
* * *
Shade can't take it, not another minute. True, he is here in air-conditioned comfort, here in his pad.
Which might as well be a prison cell to him.
Because outside, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the weather warm.
He has just returned from dawn meeting (Don't these guys ever do business at a normal hour?), a successful buy, but one of those tense deals, armed men-four of his, three of the Mexican's confronting one another as a guarantee of mutual trust and good faith.
And really, he tells himself, this is no kind of a life.
So he needs, he needs.. . a vacation.
Out of the question, of course, with all he has going down, going on right now, but still, he needs, he needs some time off.
A break, is what he needs.
Maybe just a few hours away from, from.. . all this.
And he knows just the place.
He heard of it, but he has never been there.
So yes, dammit, yes, he will go.
A large towel, a bathing suit, his ever-present sunglasses from which he derives his name, and he is ready.
"You want me t'go with ya, Shade."
"No, I'll hannel it, thass okay. "Gimme the keys to the smalles' thang we got onna street."
"The Mustang. Here y'go." And Shade is out of there.
* * *
The beach is mostly empty, because it's a weekday, which is fine with Shade.
There is practically nobody here, on the nude beach.
And Shade stands there by the water, luxuriating in the absolute freedom of his body, in the emptiness of the ocean and the sand.
Uncluttered, uncomplicated, it is.
A dozen guys who would gladly do him in if they but knew where he is at the moment, but they don't and they are just a part of that other scene, across the river, where the city swelters in the mounting heat.
While he is free here, free for a few hours to simply be out from under the burden of his awesome responsibilities.
He walks along the shore and suddenly, there she is.
She is big, she is blonde, she is bronzed all over, and she is alone.
She lies there on her beach blanket, eyes obscured by dark glasses, almost identical to his own.
On her side, her breasts hanging huge and heavy, she is looking out to sea.
Or at him, or both; with those glasses, he cannot tell.
Until she smiles faintly at him, removing the glasses, so that there is no question now but that it is indeed himself at whom she looks. And smiles.
"Hello," he says, aware for the first time of the weight of his heavy hammer hanging hugely before him as he walks.
"Hello yourself," she replies, staring at his big, black cock, with its dusky rose plum of a head, the eye staring at her.
"I see you come here often," he says, referring to her overall suntan.
"Not as often as I'd like," she replies.
"And why is that?" he asks, standing there before her, so that she is speaking right into the meat microphone.
"Oh, because of high hopes."
"Pardon?"
"One comes here with high hopes.
"You know-meeting somebody worth meeting and like that.
"That's why you came here wasn't it?"
"Not, not exactly, no.
"Quite the opposite, in fact.
'Trite as it mus' sound, ah rilly deed come heah to git away mm it all."
"And now?"
"Ah see that 'all' is ack-shully far too broad a term."
They laugh.
And she stands up.
And he sees how big she really is.
Taller than himself and well fleshed, with her huge breasts riding high and full on her vast rib cage, her hourglass figure accentuated by the flare of her hips, she looks like a naked Norse goddess with a suntan, the brilliant sunlight glinting off the chestnut thatch of her bush.
"Well now," she says, "as you so aptly pointed out, I have all the suntan I need and you don't need any at all, so why don't we adjourn to a motel quite near here?"
"Soun's veh good t'me."
* * *
Thinking back on it now, Shade remembers his feelings at the time as being not so much those of sexual arousal as of revelation, revelation concerning his life as he was forced to live it.
As the urgent compulsion to "get away from it all" expanded into a realization of the totally unsatisfactory nature of his lifestyle.
Because the big blonde was a powerful symbol of something.
And what she represented to him at that moment was everything that he wanted but couldn't have, the symbol of a world of abundance, of overabundance and of a mode of living totally alien to his own.
While he was uncertain exactly what he represented to her.
On the one hand, she complained of being constantly disappointed with the people who came to the nude beach; on the other, she immediately picked him up.
Nothing in this world happens for nothing; Shade is convinced of this.
He saw that flick, the Godfather, and, like Don Vito, he believes that there is indeed no such thing as an accident.
So that he attached great significance to this encounter.
But he remembers thinking that perhaps its meaning lay in precisely this pointing out to himself, this realization that there had to come a change in the way he was going about living his life.
Yes, she could be nothing more than a confirmation to him that there is a better way for him. A better way.
But how, in what way, to be attained in what manner?
More full of questions than answers at this point, as he waited for her to dress, then walked back up the beach to his stuff, where she waited for him, he walked with her to the parking lot.
And he followed her car, a Cadillac convertible, to the motel.
"You go into the office and tell them you want the room for a couple of hours," she said. "You uh, you have enough money?"
He smiled at this, he recalls, thinking then, as he does now that, in a way, money is the least of his problems.
And he transacted his business with the guy in the office, who did not look up at him, not even once.
So that he saw nothing.
And did not examine the register to see if Shade had filled in the information correctly, merely slapping the key on top of it.
And Shade remembers her saying, as he let them into the stuffy room, turning on the window box air conditioning unit, "The advantage of meeting somebody at a nude beach is that you both know exactly what you're getting."
Telling him, right up front, where her main interest lay.
Which was in the open and unabashed exploitation of that big black salami of his.
And if there were any doubt of this, he said, as they undressed, "Jus' mebbe theah might could be mo' t'me than meets the eye."
"That's okay; I'll settle for what meets the eye.
"If what I see is what I get, that'll do me just fine, I assure you.
"And now, if you'll excuse me, I need a shower.
"Otherwise, the parts that count most won't taste right."
CHAPTER TWO
Shade sitS On the bed, laughing to himself.
Or perhaps laughing at himself, at his letting himself be used this way.
Because this horny blonde bitch has no idea of who she's playing around with.
Much as his whole scene displeases him at the moment, still he knows a fierce pride in what he has achieved under such trying and dangerous circumstances.
And not only what he has achieved, not only his struggle, but the power that he wields.
He could have guys killed, just by giving the order, for heaven's sake!
And yet, here she is, practically ordering him to eat her, telling him that that is what she expects, as soon as she is out of the shower.
Cunt lapper? Moi? he asks himself.
Still, on the other hand, if not now, when?
If not her, who?
Because his position has restrictions which apply to the bedroom as well as everywhere else.
And the standard to which he must work is that of acquitting himself honorably and well in the sack, accepting the company and the body of curvaceous black beauties as his due.
But certainly not doing anything even vaguely resembling that.
Hell, he has to be careful that he doesn't dwell overly long at the breast of some particularly well endowed mama, lest she think herself something special in his eyes.
And to do, to do.. . that other, well, it could well prove to be the first step of his downfall.
So why not? he reasons. After all, he is here to get a few hours' relief from the pressure of being himself.
So why not?
Why not anonymous sex with one so admirably
-equipped for it, notwitlistanding her attitude.
Which is a combination of the complimentary-and the racist, it being entirely possible to be both at once.
Just ask Jimmy the Greek. Long-thighed athletes indeed! .
And now, here she is.
"Guess ah should hose down a bit mase'f."
"You don't have to," she replies. "Not yet, anyway."
Sweaty black man a part of the fantasy, lady? he asks her, mentally.
But he smiles at her and gets up off the bed.
We aims t'please y'all, ma'am, yowza, yowza, yowza, right? he thinks.
And she strips the bed of its covers and lies down on her back, eyes closed, sighing, a faint smile on her lips.
First, he wants those big boobs of hers. He wants to suck those doorbell nipples of hers. He wants to squeeze and manipulate those massive mammaries. And now, he does.
He is sucking her tits, going back and forth between them, even as he fondles her breasts with both hands.
More than a handful, they are, much more, in fact, but he does the best he can, grabbing them well down their undersides, at their base.
So that they swell and undulate spectacularly in his hands.
As he sucks her nipples to rubbery erection.
As he kneads her breasts to maximum firmness, the glands beneath pressing the flesh outward, blue veins visible even beneath the suntan.
And still she keeps her eyes closed.
And Shade wonders if all women keep their eyes closed when they fuck.
Because all he has ever known do.
And she, this is not his first white piece of ass.
He has had others, neighborhood hangers on, women who married black men, only to be abandoned by them, their assumption of being some special prize, the black man's dream come true, being proven false in the event.
They were not treated as queens at all.
They were treated as another piece of ass, after a time.
And then they were not treated at all, their black husbands moving on, presumably to bigger and better things, leaving their white chattels behind, broke and pregnant, some of them, unable to return to their own world, forced to live as oddities and outcasts in this one.
So that yes, some of them have taken their best shot with some of the Ebony Knights, the best of them being introduced to the peerless leader thereof, who has deigned to do the honors.
But none of them were of this quality, of this quantity and quality combined.
Even though, Shade suspects, originally, many of them shared her attitude.
Marry a white guy and be taken for granted, marry a black one and be treated like a queen, right?
like the comic book heroine, Sheena, the Queena the Jungle, right?
Wrong, you honky bitches! Joke's on you.
So that yes, he has known white women, he has had white women.
But they were damaged goods, used merchandise, second hand.
Whereas this?
Well, this is very much like a queen.
With himself giving a command performance.
And acquitting himself most nobly indeed.
Because, after all, an ebony knight must serve a queen in the finest tradition of black studhood, must he not?
Therefore, for the honor of the Ebony Knights, forward, most noble Duke Shade!
And now, he is sliding down her body, helping himself to mouthfuls of her flesh, chewing them gently before releasing them, one after another, moving down, down, down.
And onto her chestnut snatch.
As she raises and spreads those large, shapely legs of hers.
Open the portcullis! Open, I say, in the name of Sir Shade, Duke of Earl, Commander of the Ebony Knights!
Yes, he read all about King Arthur, all about the Knights of the Round Table, Robin Hood-the whole bit.
And not a black guy among 'em!
No wonder he thought they all acted like a bunch of ass holes.
Ah, but here, now, this black knight is about to service the queen most diligently.
And he does so, his long, thick, powerful tongue seeking and finding her large joy buzzer, strumming it expertly, at almost vibrator speed.
And yes, she is beginning to respond.
As he looks up to see the huge mounds of her breasts heaving up and down, her breathing coming now in heavy, panting sighs.
And now, he fucks her with his tongue, shafting his tongue in and out of her hot, juicy pussy, head turned to one side so that the side of his tongue remains in constant contact with her clit.
As his hands on the backs of her thighs keep her legs raised and spread.
And she begins to kick her lower legs, bent at the knees, up and down rhythmically.
And he thinks, Got choo ridin' the old air bike now, bitch!
Because she was so cool, before, so cool, so very much in charge, so superior, reading his mind, or thinking she is, reading in there the black man's fantasy.
And he knows that there was no question in her mind, perhaps still isn't, as to whether or not she is giving better than she is getting.
Because yes, there is condescension here.
Even though the real motive for it is anything but.
Because she is not being honest with herself.
Rather, she is telling herself that she is doing him a favor, a real biggie.
And this justifies her giving in to her raw lust, to a desire which has haunted her for who knows how long.
Not that she is satisfying her craving, but that she is allowing one of the less privileged his moment of happiness, an act of simple charity.
Yeah, right.
Which is why she is rocking back and forth, from side to side.
Which is why those big hips of hers are pumping, as though trying to force his tongue to fuck her like a cock.
And he knows what she wants, wants much worse than he wants her.
Still, his own enthusiasm is undeniable.
Because the evidence throbs and bobbles beneath him as he crouches there, eating her, almost painful in its hardness.
So that now, he pulls his face back from her big pussy, which drools in anticipation.
And yes, she does open her eyes to see that of which she has so long dreamed.
As he pauses, giving her a long look.
And now, he stands up on his knees, then leans forward, one hand planted next to her shoulder as, with the other, he guides himself in, in, into her.
Fully seated, he pauses again, peering intently into her face, her eyes closed, her visage flushed, her lips slightly parted.
And now, like a steam locomotive leaving the station, he pistons slowly in and out of her.
And he feels her snapper of a pussy sucking his cock.
And he accelerates now, going faster and faster.
And he scoops her legs up with both arms, reaching around to grasp her breasts, even as he doubles her up, impaling her still more deeply on his mighty marauder.
Which continues to shaft smoothly in and out of her, long, powerful strokes which drive her higher and higher up the rainbow of her arousal.
As Shade, in perfect control, delivers his meat to her expertly, diligently, and in such a manner as to emphasize its size and thickness.
And she can feel every inch of it, every irregularity of its surface, can feel the thick, flared flange at the back of his great knob, can feel it all moving in and out of her as it awakens the nerve endings of her vagina, as it continues to stimulate those of her clit.
So that here, now, there is no question but that he is getting through to her, giving her exactly what she wanted, what she has always wanted.
No lady, you have made no concession here.
You aren't doing anybody a favor.
If anything, it's the other way around.
As he possesses her completely.
Because he is inside and outside her, above and below and all around her.
As she breaks her sexual sweat.
So that first the beads of perspiration form on her reddened forehead.
And become fatter and fatter, forming.rivulets now, which stream down her face and cheeks, even as the rest of her becomes shiny in the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand.
Even as Shade's own sex sweat forms on him, all over his body.
So that he too reflects the light.
So that they appear to be two highly polished statues come to life and interacting, ebony and ivory.
And now, within both of them is kindled that spark, that faint point of incandescence in their far inner distances which is the pleasure beyond pleasure.
As their bodies call it forth. As they fan it so that it glows brighter and brighter.
As it grows and grows within them, eclipsing, absorbing all the pleasure which has gone before it.
So that it takes them over.
So that they are no longer in control, either of them.
Because they do not have it. Rather, it has them. As it fills them with its exquisite, irresistible pleasure.
And the pressure of it builds and builds within them. Until-
They are coming and coming.
Jet after jet of his thick, hot, pent-up jism discharges itself into the depths of her hot, streaming cunt.
Which milks his prodigious prod of its load with the powerful contractions of her series of multiple orgasms.
Spurt and spasm, they alternate, over and over, zooming and soaring through a shared sexual paradise, dizzy, disoriented, not knowing, not caring where they are or which is up and which down.
Again and again, the ultimate pleasure convulses them.
And only very slowly does their shared climax subside, then cease, allowing them to float gently back down to earth.
And she opens her eyes, smiling up at him, asking, "Was it everything you expected it to be?"
"Absolutely," he replies, unplugging from her at once.
"Well, that's.. . that's.. . good."
The last word is barely audible.
As she stares, fascinated, at his cock, which has not yet begun to detumesce and which, shiny and slimy with jism and pussy juice, stands magnificently erect before him, a long, thick baton at a sharp upward angle as he stands there on his knees.
And she is as though drawn to it, unable to take her gaze from it.
And she does not.
Rather, she approaches it, closer and closer, on all fours now.
And Shade can hardly believe it, as her lips close over the plum of the head.
He feels himself begin to go limber.
But, even as he does so, she is sucking him back to life.
Slowly, carefully, he flattens himself out, on his back, head toward the foot of the bed.
As she sucks his cock more and more avidly.
Nothing wrong with it hygienically, he supposes, but still, the idea.
At least, he thinks, surely she cannot, will not continue to lie to herself concerning their respective positions in what can only be termed this relationship.
Because she was pulled to his cock as though hypnotized by it, as though something within herself would not allow her to do this otherwise, taking over her mind, her will.
And forcing her to take him into her drooling mouth.
Even though he has just satisfied her. And he did satisfy her, no question. Except that, apparently, there is that within her which refuses to be satisfied.
Evidently, she wants, she wants-what?
Cock?
Big cock?
Big, black cock?
His big, black cock, or big, black cock in general ?
How much? How often?
Which part of the act does she most value-the build-up or the payoff, the climax?
Is this a habit with her, a thing she does all the time, or is it something done for the very first time, on the spur of the moment?
So much, so very much he does not know about this woman, the top of her platinum tresses bobbing up and down, her. face invisible within its cage of pale gold.
And he would know more, he tells himself. Because knowledge is power.
And she has not played it straight, has not been honest with him, has put up a big front, only to have it collapse in the face of her irresistible, overriding passion.
Yes, he would know more of this woman, would have more of her.
And he knows now that this is a doable thing.
Because she cannot resist.
If only he were more clear as to just what it is that she cannot resist.
But he will be, he telb himself; all in good time.
Because right now, she is sucking him up hard.
She is raising him again in record time.
Oh, he has thrown double fucks before, even leaving it in.
But this was when he was eighteen, nineteen at the most.
Still, he is not yet thirty.
And he manages to, insists upon taking very good care of himself.
So that this is really no great feat.
When she has him up fully hard, she suddenly pulls her face back.
At once, she goes onto hands and knees, facing away from him, straddling his legs as she centers herself in the bed, not even giving him a chance to get out of the way.
As she says, facing away from him, "Make love to my ass!"
And yes, he has to admit it to himself, he has always wanted to do this to a big, round-cheeked ass like hers.
So he crouches behind her, spreading apart the two halves of her big, round-cheeked ass.
And seals his lips to her large, round, pale mauve ass hole.
As she drops the front of her body to her elbows, pushing her ass as high and as far back as it will go.
Giving him her ass, she is, unconditionally surrendering it to him.
Wanting, willing him to do with it as he will.
And now, he rims her in earnest, sucking the protruding bung with its even, slightly puffy segments.
And now, he is thrusting his tongue in, in, into the depths her ass hole.
So that he can feel her interior heat, can feel the yielding tissues of her rectum.
And now, he is thrusting his tongue in and out of her ass, feeling the ring of muscle at the entrance give up its guardianship of her nether interior.
Yes, the back door has been breached.
Round and round, he rolls his tongue.
As he reflects, she knew this was going to happen, scrubbing out her ass hole as well as her cunt meticulously.
So that she may not be honest with herself, but she does know herself very well indeed.
And now, he gives her a finger wave.
He doesn't have to, since she is big enough back here to accommodate him easily, but he wants to.
So that he can quite literary have her perched on his finger.
So that he can quite literally have her at his fingertips.
As now, he does.
He wets two fingers with his tongue and, spreading the cheeks of her ass with the fingers of his dry hand, isolating and bracketing the target, sticks them into her.
And now, he gives her a finger wave, moving the fingers round and round, stretching the entrance with his knuckles, even as he feels her insides, feels the entrance to her rectal channel, its walls rolling back before the delving digits.
As he watches her, peeking around, over her shoulder to see her face in profile, red with her lust, eyes closed, mouth open, drooling onto the pillow.
And he grins at the sight.
Tell me what you're in contol of now, why don't you, great white mama? he asks her, in his mind.
Show me how you're in charge of everything here, now.
Because right now, she has given herself to him completely.
Not just her ass, which she has opened up to him, to the world just now, but her very being is in his hands.
So that it merely remains for him to take charge. So he does.
He sits back on his heels, polishing his plum of a knob which bobbles stiffly at the end of his long, thick, rock-hard pole.
And now, he spreads the cheeks of her ass apart once again with the fingers of one hand as, with the other, holding onto his pulsating, hot shaft, he guides the head of his cock toward its target.
And buttons it into her ass hole, as she moans with pleasure.
You ain't seen nuthin' yet! he tells her, in his mind.
As he grasps the great, flared bell of her hips firmly in both hands.
And, rotating his own hips slowly as he holds hers rock steady, he drills in, in, into her ass.
And the battering ram of his cock head parts the rectal channel even as he stretches and fills it, advancing into the heart of deepest, darkest ass hole land.
As his mighty shaft keeps her stretched and filled.
Until, at last, he is fully seated, his stomach against the protruding cheeks of her ass.
And he leans back, checking the juncture, observing the manner in which his thick, black meat has turned her pale mauve ass hole into a smoothly rounded orifice.
Satisfied, he once again begins his piston action inside her, this time in her ass.
Back and forth he goes, slowly at first, then faster and faster, his stroke becoming longer and longer.
Until he is fucking her in the ass, all out, her rectum sucking his cock as it witlidraws, devouring it as it enters. n
Almost all the way out he draws it each time, 'pulling it back until only the head remains inside her ass hole, then slamming all the way home, sending a seismic wave through her entire body, making her big juggs, hanging huge and heavy beneath her rock ponderously each time.
In and out, in and out he fucks her, stimulating her cunt from within, through the thin wall of tissue separating one cavity from the other.
"Oh yeah, stud! Fuck me right in my fucking big ass! Fuck me where I shit! Sock it to me!"
And she is moaning the words, eyes closed, face a red bordering on purple.
As she rotates her hips, adding to the action.
You want a little reaming action, bitch? he asks her, silently.
And rotates his own hips.
So that his mighty prong reams her ass royally, the pressure going round and round inside her, the length of his cock.
And now, he varies his motion, now going in and out, now round and round.
As her exclamations go from complete sentences to brief ejaculatory single word uttererances to wordless moans of ecstasy.
As Shade releases one hip and reaches down and around, first weighing her breasts one at a time, thumbing the nipples, then traversing down her body, reaching beween her legs from the front, finding her clit.
And twiddling it with two fingers before finger fucking her in unison with his thrusts, her clear, hot pussy juices flowing over knuckles, dripping off wrist.
Until-
They are coming and coming, her pussy milking his fingers even as her rectum squeezes his cock, again and again, in multiple orgasms, even as his jism injects itself into the depths of her hot bowels.
And, when the last of their shared climax passes, he rides her all the way down, fully inserted into her ass.
And he lies there on top of her, his cock slowly detumescing, until the peristaltic action of her bowels shits him out like a great, oozing turd.
CHAPTER THREE
"Listen," he SayS, into her ear, lying on top of her still, "I've gotta get back to my place."
Removing all doubt as to who is in charge here.
Breaking it off, ending it on his own motion.
Never mind what she might have had in mind, might have condescended to allow.
Not her call, his and his alone.
And she knows it.
And is practical enough, when it comes to serving her own desires, not to stand on ceremony, to swallow her pride.
"Will I, will you, do you want to.. . keep in touch?" she asks.
"I could do that," he says.
"And I could find you?"
"An' you could do that," he concedes. "Right now, though, what I mos'ly need is a showah."
"I'll join you, if that's okay," she says. "Why not?"
They shower together, in the narrow confines of the metal shower stall, the water drumming on the sides like thunder.
And there is the sight of her big jugs, her wide hips, her rounded buttocks.
And there is the thrill of soap-slickened skin rubbing against its like.
And she watches with avid interest as he washes his cock.
And it is Shade who again takes the initiative, bringing the shower to a close.
And drying quickly, not looking at her, not even when she watches his cock as it flops hugely, the big head dancing, reacting to his vigorous toweling of back and chest.
They dress and he waits as she writes down her name and two telephone numbers, one prefaced by an H, the other by a W.
"I'm home days," she explains. "I work nights in a nightclub. I'm an exotic dancer."
She hands him the piece of motel stationery, and the pad from which she took it, along with the pencil.
He takes it from her, writes "Shade" and puts down his number, ripping it off and handing it to her.
"My home an' work numbah," he says. "You an' me 'pear t'have about the same schedule. I'm.. . a businessman."
"What business might that be?"
"Le's jus' say ah deal in commodities."
And he laughs.
And she looks at him, understanding.
"You don't uh.. . I mean, it's okay if you do, I suppose, if you can handle it, but.. . you don't actually do.. . commodities yourself, do you?"
"Not me, not anyone in ma organization."
"Your.. . organization?"
"Thass right. You talkin' to de boss, uh.. . Jane."
"I knew it! I just knew that about you! "You couldn't possibly be just an ordinary, an ordinary."
"Foot so'juh?"
"Foot soldier! Exactly! What a very good way to put it!"
"Yeah, got me a real way wif words."
"You certainly do.
"I uh, I'm really looking forward to hearing from you again-soon."
"Yeah, well, it gits unbeh'ble, you jus' call me, okay?
"Be back atcha as an' when possible, Jane. "'Cause you ma kinda woman, I kid joo not."
"And you've certainly got what I want. "And since we both work nights."
"I can dig it, wheah you comin' him. "Gotta git goin', rilly."
And he holds the door of the room open for her, thus definitively ending their get-together.
They drive off, he right behind her for a while, even beyond the entrance to the Parkway.
But, just the other side of a large bridge, he branches off, heading back over the river.
To where the Ebony Knights and their rivals, the pressures and the opportunities of a volatile, dangerous and immensely profitable commody market await him.
So it went.
And now, thinking back on it, Shade wonders if she is not somehow part of a solution to the problem of lifestyle for the men, the homeboys, the Ebony Knights.
Because face it; she did not want him as an individual.
She didn't even know him. Still doesn't.
He was just a big, black cock to her.
And as for his insight concerning his leadership, all she meant by that-assuming that she meant it at all-was that somebody with his equipment has a right to be in command.
So that that too was merely a generality.
He has not seen her, has not had the time to get back to the beach since that day.
But he has thought about her, thought about his interlude, his recess, his microminivacation.
He hasn't called her, nor she him.
Still, he knows what he did for her, knows what she wants, perhaps what she needs, now that she has had it in reality.
Unless-
It hasn't been that long, true; less than a month.
Still, she could have gone back to the nude beach, hoping to encounter him there.
And run into-anything.
Granted, the beach is generally disappointing.
Still, she wouldn't have to get lucky all that often.
And with a body like that, whatever Jane wants, Jane gets, guaranteed, provided that it's available.
As he has not been but as another might be.
Because what if?
What if another big, black cock spotted her or vice versa?
Does he kid himself that she wouldn't go for it ? No way!
She would be off with him in a flash, even as she was with himself.
Which would be cool, he supposes, because he really doesn't have all that much time to fool around.
But.
This lifestyle thing has him bugged.
He himself is nervous, discontented.
And the troops are deserting the war zone.
All over this matter that it just doesn't seem worth it, the endless treadmill of danger and strife and money gained for bigger and bigger buys.
No, there has to be movement here, direction, a master plan.
And along the way, perks, benefits.
Such as, for example, say, luscious, voluptuous, hot white meat.
Not just here and there, but part of a regular program.
To be given out by himself as the president and leader of the Ebony Knights.
A few knightly privileges for this private nobility of his, his personal feudal army.
Taking care of the boys so that the boys can take care of business.
So that being an Ebony Knight carries with it genuine prerogatives, true stud status.
And one thing leads to another. So that, thus properly inspired, the Knights could have the drive, the push required to expand, to expand territory, to expand membership and organization-in other words, to make this into the business it should be, without all the hassle. One last, terrible push, he envisions. But first things first. And he reaches for the telephone.
* * *
Jane is showing her goodies, moving slowly in rhythm to the raunchy riffs of a trumpet, its hoarse notes blaring through the speakers on either side of the small stage on which she performs, her opening costume shed and removed from the stage.
The drinkers pay attention to her gyrations.
Others they may ignore or pretend to, but Jane is something too good to overlook.
So that they follow her every move, absorbing every detail, craning their necks, crowding in, getting as close as they can to the stage so that they miss nothing.
Jane moves her body, her face a mask of indifference.
She could be sleepwalking through her performance, and in fact often seems to be doing just that, eyes closed, moving from habit, from instinct.
As she relies on her body to get the job done. And of course, it works.
Granted, her nipples are not erect, still those big boobs are there.
And if her pussy isn't shiny with clear, hot, flowing juices, so what?
Less glare that way from the spotlight, actually, and they can see all the way up her.
Just as now, as she bends over, mooning them, spreading apart the cheeks of her ass, they can see the mauve star, large enough, with its irregular orifice, but not distended at the moment.
And dry, far too dry to be penetrated.
But so what?
None of them are about to get the chance, anyway.
And, as for Jane herself, she is unapproachable.
Even when she joins the crowd for drinks, she remains cool, distant, polite but not particularly responsive.
The body is here, the mind clearly elsewhere.
So that her main attraction, her value to management, rests in exactly what is happening now.
She is showing a body which, for both quality and quantity, few other clubs can match.
And her coolness, her distance only make her all the more a representative of some female ideal, some dream, some fantasy sexual partner which, in fact, few watching her would be man enough to handle and don't kid yourselves.
And now, she reaches the midpoint of her act, hands over her head, doing tricks with her tits.
As she rotates those big balloons of hers, in the same direction, in opposite directions, moving them round and round, now this way, now that, now separately, now together.
As though they have a life of their own.
And all the while the expressionless face does not change.
And now, her breast-dancing finished, she once again moons the audience and spreads for their viewing enjoyment.
She straightens up, blows them a kiss and steps back through the curtain, coins and wadded up bills hitting the stage.
"Would it kill ya t'smile a little?" Rocco, the manager, asks.
And steps out onto the now darkened stage to gather her money with a pushbroom.
"It was good enough to get you this club, wasn't it, Rocco?
"Or were you in love with Allentown?" she asks, as he hands her the money, putting it on top of her costume, now neatly folded up over her arms. "Besides, Tony told you I was gonna hafta calm the act down."
"And he was right.
"That stuff you got away with in Allentown wouldn't go over here in Jersey, babe.
"But didja hafta go so far the other way?"
"Hey, when I changed my act, I changed my image, Rocco.
"You just miss the good old days, right?"
"In a way," Rocco grins. "Although I gotta admit, you used ta scare me, you'd go so far.
"Geez, I mean, beer bottles in her cunt, up yer ass.
"Havin' customers kiss ya on the lips of their choice or on the ass-you were so fuckin' raunchy some nights I could not b'lieve it!"
"Yeah, well, people change, tastes change."
"Couldn't prove it by me, Jane.
"I know you what? Over a year now, must be, an' I still can't figger out what the fuck makes you tick."
"And you never will, Rocco.
"Be satisfied that hiring me in Allentown was the smartest thing you ever did.
"Look how close to action central it got you.
"Take the Outerbridge Crossing to Staten Island, cross the Verrazano, and you're there."
"Not without an invite, I ain't.
"But cher right about one thing; this beats the hell outta Allentown.
"Still, I prefer Miami."
"Want me t'work on it?" she asks.
And bumps and grinds suggestively, her boobs bouncing bountifully over her costume, the money piled atop it.
"I'll get back to ya on that, okay?"
"I'll hold my breath."
And she goes back to the dressing room.
"Phone call for ya, Jane," one of the other girls says. "Guy named Shade. Said you got the number."
"Thanks, Doris."
Shade.
And he called her.
She somehow didn't think that he would.
A macho thing, she thought it would be.
Thought he had her really hooked on him, the way others are hooked on that stuff he pushes.
Not even close to the truth, he is.
No more idea where she is coming from than does Rocco or his boss, Tony.
To substitute one obsession for another.
That's what she is all about, she and this voluptuous, sexy body of hers.
She was glad when Tony made it financially unfeasible for her to remain in Allentown.
Where her father lived-and lives.
And where she went, looking for him, not having seen him in over twelve years.
Yes, she went there, hoping against hope that the image which had haunted her that whole time, following her mother's divorce and their moving away from there, hoping that that image would be dissolved by the reality of him, hoping that a dozen more years of working in the steel mill had shrunk him down, had wizened him, had bent him, crippled him, destroyed him.
Only to find that the years had not.
Rather, they had preserved, hardened, strengthened him.
So that the superman of her dreams, instead of being atomized, dispersed by reality, was instead confirmed by it.
And if he was temptation to her, then the reverse was also true.
At first, she resisted, they resisted.
But then, it happened.
And kept on happening between them.
And she told herself that perhaps she could work her way through, work her way beyond it.
She could not.
Rather, she found herself becoming more and more drawn to him sexually.
So that her act-Daddy's Girl, she called herself, performing in a school girl outfit, her pussy shaved-became, as Rocco put it, raunchier and raunchier.
As she tried to work out her lasciviousness at the club.
It was terrific for business, it made her the star of the club, attracting the attention of ownership, but only her transfer broke her free of that unhealthy, obsessed relationship.
And to keep herself from going back to Allentown, going back to the obscenely Herculean man who was, is her father, she decided to transfer to another obsession as well, shopping in her mind for other images, or another image to replace that of her father.
Big, black cock.
And it was the sound of the phrase, as well as its spontaniety, which appealed to her.
Or perhaps it was the rhythm of it, a simple, childish beat.
Ding dong bell.
But whatever it was, she found herself able to shut out the image of her father by focussing on that other.
Big, black cock.
Substituting one fantasy for another, in order to supplant one reality with another.
And this one, she knew, was attainable.
Except that she began to have her doubts.
Because she did her part, going to the nude beach.
But nature did not support the thesis.
Oh, there were cocks there, cocks of every hue and description, but none corresponding to the one in her mind, the archetypal, the quintessential big, black cock.
Until Shade.
Shade, and the reality was confirmed.
As real, as accurate as was the image of her father, an image she could not possibly have imagined would hold over all those intervening years since last she saw him, just so was the correspondence between the big, black cock in her mind and that sported by Shade.
Who had, has no idea why she picked him up, why she acted as she did with him.
But she had to know, to know whether or not it would work, this transfer of obsession, this trading she was doing with herself, this number she was doing on her own head.
And it worked.
She knows that it worked, because she knew when that other attempt, cathexis through exhibitionism, failed.
But she was able to capture it.
It.
Meaning that feeling, that very special feeling which leads to the ultimate feeling the ultimate pleasure.
So that, by controlling her loss of control, controlling, anticipating, selecting what she would lose it on and with, she was able to overcome her old obsession.
No more did the image of her father hold such irresistible attraction for her.
The image was, is there, deep within her, but it is in the distance, is in the library of her memory, where it could just as well rest in peace.
Because Jane really feels now that she has moved beyond it.
Of course, with her, there must always be a sexual obsession.
Because it is part of another, a greater obsession, that being the one with her own body, with that big, fantastic, sexy body of hers, in which form is so overwhelming that every fibre of her being cries out that function must surely follow.
All this equipment-she was quite literally made for it.
Useless to deny this, to fight the problem.
So that her true obsession is with her own sexuality, with the proper means for its adequate expression, hence its fulfillment.
So that she was delighted when her session with Shade-worked.
And yes, she had been back to the beach since that day.
And yes, she had seen others.
But they were not up to Shade's standard.
And she did not want to risk being disappointed, lest a less than satisfactory experience, even though not with Shade, should sour her on this particular image, on her budding obsession.
And now, he has called.
And she digs the number out of her purse.
And she punches in the number.
"Yeah." It's not Shade.
"I'd like to speak with Shade, please."
"Who dis?"
"Just tell him it's Jane, returning his call."
"He called joo."
"That's what I said."
"Hang on."
And a hand obviously covers the mouthpiece at the other end. Then-
"Hey, Jane. Thanks for retumin' ma call."
"I was thinking about calling you."
Defusing any macho resentment that she did not.
"Whatevah. Lissen, Jane.
"Tomorrah bein' Sunday an' all, I was thinkin', mebbe you an' me could get togethah an', you knowparty?"
Almost a shyness, she notices.
"Sunday afternoon is good."
"Fo' me too.
"So. Kin ah send a cah fyou? "Wanna show you the real me-wheah ah live, how ah live, see if we got sumthin' goin' or whut." What an odd way of speaking, she thinks. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Shade."
"Neithah am I," he replies, laughing. "Which is why I wanna do it this way, 'steada meetin' you on the beach or at a motel or comin' ovah ta your place."
"Okay then, have your car pick me up at noon, okay?"
"Great! Where d'you live?"
She gives him the address.
"Okay then, ma man Louis will call f you in stahl.
"Ciao, Jane."
And the line goes dead.
Jane looks at the phone, hanging up slowly.
She is not sure she cares for this development.
She wants big black cock.
And now, it would appear that it comes with trimmings, bells and whistles, strings attached.
And she is not at all certain that that will do.
Still, cocks invariably come attached to men.
If they don't they're called dildos and are not real.
And she is good, too good, in fact, at having her fantasies become real to want to end up going that route.
No, this body of hers was made for active use, for the real thing, not for wasting its contours, its passion in the darkness and solitude of her own bedroom.
And if Shade comes onto her with a bunch of macho bullshit, well, if at first you don't succeed, and like that.
Anyway, one way or the other, she will see what this is all about, where Shade is coming from, tomorrow afternoon.
* * *
"Shade. You sure the guy said his name was Shade?"
"Positive," Doris replies. "And when she called him back, that's who she asked for."
"You catch the number?"
"Area code was New York. After that I lost track.
"I gotta tell ya, Rocco, I don't feel good about doin' this, but you said there was a good reason t'keep an eye on her, so I'm just doin'-"
"Yeah, yeah, that's fine. You done good, kid, keep up the good work an' like that, okay?"
"Okay.
"And uh, one more thing, Rocco. The guy sounded black."
"Bingo."
"Huh?"
"Never mind, Doris. like I said, joo done good.
"Got anything else t'tell me about Jane?"
"I'm not holdin' out on ya, Rock. Just, I don't like doin' this.
"Anyways, I thogught you an' her was kinda friends.
"You both come outta the Rumpus Room in Allentown, didn't cha?"
Rocco sits back behind his desk, drumming his fingers, thinking.
To call Tony or to call higher up?
Because this could be really big.
Or it could be nothing at all, a fling with a black cock, just another fantasy of the kind Jane is so very good at playing out in reality.
CHAPTER FOUR
Shade has always been concerned with organization.
Not what people, successful people do, not how they do it so much as how they structure the organization.
And not only people, but any living creatures, any organization of living entities which must function together as a group.
So that many an early afternoon has been spent before the TV, tuned to the educational channel, Shade watching engrossed as his lieutenants sit there, bemused, while Shade avidly observes the insect kingdom in action.
So that that is where he got the idea of how jane would fit into his organization.
Seeing how the bees devote themselves, their lives to a single creature, a central figure to whom they have unconditional loyalty.
The queen bee.
Jane is to be the queen bee of the hive. She is to be the center, the focus of the Ebony Knights.
Ebony Knights in service to their white queen.
Who would not be like Sheena the Queena the Jungle, a loner who Shade figured would last about two minutes up against a couple of genuine painted spearchuckers.
But who would be like the queen bee, ruling through sexual favors.
Because Shade knows the homeboys, knows them well.
And knows that they have become victim to their own legend, to the legend of the black stud, to the legend of what a black stud's imagine turns to.
White meat.
Because the white man prizes his woman above all else.
Not the one he is with, of course, but archetypes, symbolic images impressed into the fabric of the brain itself.
And Jane is indeed a powerful image, a living, flesh and blood exaggeration of all those characteristics men look for in a woman, regardless of race, creed or color, but especially of those characteristics which have been assigned by society as the black man's target.
White, blonde, a beautiful face and all the right equipment.
Rat own, bro'!
An' dream no mo'!
'Cause this white nookie gonna put on a show! She rat cheer fo' you, so go, go, go! Yeah, right.
And it seems like a put-down of the brothers, an insult, almost, turning them into the black animals, the stereotype against which the blacks in America have struggled, are still struggling.
But he needs a gimmick.
And the lifestyle thing is too complex, with too many ramifications.
Sure, they could all get homes in the suburbs, new cars, maybe even put a boat in the water on Staten Island or over in Jersey.
Except that that won't do.
The pace, the circumstances will not permit it, will not even permit him to do such things, lest it be perceived wrongly, being viewed as the first stage of a witlidrawal of his active interest in the business.
Because nature abhors a vacuum.
That too he has learned from the programs about nature.
He must stay hard, sharp, prepared to respond instantly to any threat to his interests, his organization.
Which is precisely what he is doing with Jane. Provided of course that she will go along with it. But he thinks she will.
Because he knows the implications of what she has done with him, what he represents to her.
And he must never flatter himself, never forget that he did not come to her as an individual, at least not in her perception.
The best that can be said of him is that he acquitted himself outstandingly well in the situation.
Meaning, bereft of all euphemism, that he fucked the living shit out of her.
So that yes, he lived up to his stereotype, was in that sense a credit to his race, as those who look down on it are so fond of saying.
He is doing the right thing, sending a car for her.
That puts it in its proper frame of reference.
Nothing personal, but beyond, above the personal, their relationship, his proposition, what he is about to ask her to do.'
And surely it will appeal to her.
Because she must be hungry by now.
The fact that she has returned his call so promptly, has so readily agreed to see him tells him this.
And if one big, black salami is good, then surely many would be even better for her purposes.
Provided.
Provided that she is made to see in the Ebony Knights an extension of himself.
He has no qualms in this regard.
She wants big, black cock, riglit?
And the others will be variations on this them, not as big as his, some of them, not even as black as his.
But all, all of a piece, all parts of a single, unified force. The hive.
He recalls, vaguely, seeing a sci-fi movie, a long time ago, when he was a kid. It was even called The Hive, as far as he can recall, about these bee-like creatures who took over the bodies of human beings, were able to function normally in public, but who nonetheless retained all the characteristics of bees, in both organization and outlook.
And was it not Napoleon himself who adopted the bee as his personal symbol?
But he will not change the name of the organization.
The Ebony Knights.
Black men elevating themselves above the common herd.
No, the bee analogy will remain his secret-his and Jane's.
No sense giving away the program, not even to his most trusted lieutenants.
Which brings him right back to the basic problem.
Which is that his most trusted lieutenants are precisely those who have the good sense to break out of here, to get away from the Ebony Knights.
So that he has no lieutenants whom he can trust, or rather entrust with projects, plans with any degree of sophistication.
He remembers seeing this one program-on management skills, it was-in which this egghead promulgated the theory that there are two basic ways to manage, which he called the bicycle and the watch.
The bicyle stops working whenever you stop pumping, whereas you wind the watch up and it keeps on ticking, leaving you free to design a better watch or do whatever you want to in order to improve the situation as a whole.
And what he has here right now, he tells himself, is very much a bicycle.
There's no initiative, not even a keen sense of what's happening out there on the streets, the big picture.
All his big picture troops are gone, gone precisely because they got, understood the real big picture.
True, a few more years and even those new, relatively untapped markets will be saturated by competition, but will they care by then?
Will they not have done the sensible thing, gotten their stash together and split, retired?
Or will they find themselves, like Shade, caught up in the action, going with the flow of it, big money in, big money out, big money held to back him up, so much of it that it seems unreal, play money, like the money they would make out of cut up newpaper when he was little, so that they could play sto', so that they could go to the sto' and buy that which, in reality, they could not afford.
Which is the other thing that drives Shade.
He will never, never! allow himself to come within miles of being unheeled, unbankrolled.
He has to make it that he and poverty don't belong on the same planet.
Oh, he sees them, the filthy winos, the bag folk, the pushcarts holding all their possessions.
But he feels no sympathy for them.
Rather, he feels a contempt, a disgust and revulsion bordering on hatred.
What would he not do, what crime, what atrocity would he not commit, to avoid their fate?
How can they stand to live that way?
So that he despises them, not for their sorry state but for their acceptance of it.
And this, notwitlistanding that, in many cases, it is precisely his commodity, his stock in trade, which has put them in their present straits.
Which only goes to confirm what he has always said: There's nothing lower than a user.
Not his problem.
No, his problem is that this meatgrinder of an existence is running down, is lacking in luster.
The troops are functional but uninspired.
And the disaffection of the brightest and the best-the disaffection and the defection-has not gone unnoticed, even by the dullest among the Knights.
That, and the fact that he has never spoken directly on the subject, on the contrary giving the impression that the step was undertaken, if not with his active participation in the planning, then at least with his foreknowledge and full approval.
Not to mention the pledge of continuing logistical support.
Only once has he had to speak to a former subordinate, in town for a major resupply.
"Listen, ma man, ah'm real glad thangs goin' s'well fyou out theah in corn country, but choo don' be comin' back heah wif all kindsa pretty pitchers an' details, you dig?
"You want some athese dudes in your face? No? Well, you jus' keep makin' them noises lak you been doin' an' you gon' have you some company.
"An' thass jus' whut choo went theah t'git away fum, or am I wrong?
"So ma advice t'you is, you git in heah, git done an' git out.
"An' nemmine stickin' aroun' fo' ribs, poontang or whutevah, okay?
"'Cause they's enougha dudes aroun' knows you, knows you carryin' green or you carryin' white, an' eithah way, you well worth doin'.
"A word to the wise.
"Alius liked you, bro', an' thass a fact.
"But like only takes you so fah in this worP.
"So bes' you transact an' split, an' f git about this bein' some kinda social okay-jun."
And in fact, that proved to be good, if somewhat belated advice.
Because the party in question never made it out of town alive.
Nobody was ever charged with the particularly brutal murder, but shortly thereafter, another of his best men left Shade, left the Ebony Knights for the midwest, where, so he understood, there was an excellent opportunity just waiting to happen.
So it went, and so it's been going.
And it has to stop.
And it will.
"Jane heah, Shade."
"Gimme anotha minnit or so, then show 'er in."
"You got it."
* * *
That was some imagine car Shade sent for her, Jane thinks.
And the way the guy picked her up, all he lacked was a uniform to be a livery chauffeur.
And she rode in the right rear passenger seat, all by herself, with the driver opening and closing the door for her at both ends.
And now, about half a dozen young black men are standing close to her in the living room of this surprisingly well appointed suite, unexpected because of the shabby exterior of the brick high rise, with its graffitted walk, lobby and elevators.
Apparently, Shade's home and office occupy an entire floor.
And the men look her up and down.
And say nothing, only the driver speaking to her.
"Jus' a few minnits, he be rat witchoo.
"Have a seat, relax."
And the guys standing between her and the couch move away, giving her a clear path.
She is something to Shade, but they haven't a clue as to what.
And they are not about to say or do anything that will come back to haunt them.
And in fact, they shift out of her way, debris before a ship docking, as Jane walks around the room, examining the books on the low shelves, the statues on top of them, the pictures on the walls.
And realizes that the room is exquisitely decorated, expensively and very well done, the dcor authentic modern.
The carved wooden double doors to the office open.
"Jane! Great t'see ya! C'mon in."
He ushers her into the office and closes the doors behind her, first looking around at his men, all of whom avoid eye contact.
"Sit down, sit down," Shade says.
And she does, looking around at the walnut panelling, then at him, across the huge, heavy desk top's polished surface, cleared of everything but a green blotter and a telephone.
"This where I come to apply for a loan ? " she asks.
He rocks back in his high-backed, leather-upholstered swivel armchair, laughing, fingers beneath his chin, intertwined.
"I like that," he says. "A sense of humor.
"Very valuable, and essential to one's sense of perspective."
She cocks an inquiring eyebrow at him.
Is this what she's here for, an intellectual discussion?
"Very nice living room, very nice office, good security-you've got it all, Shade. "I'm very impressed."
"Thass good, Jane, veh good.
"Thass one of the reasons ah suggested we meet here, jus' so you would be impressed, jus' so's you'd know all thass at stake."
"At stake? I'm afraid I don't quite-"
"Jane, ah am in trouble. Can you he'p me?"
She looks into his face, trying to detect a flicker of humor, to see if this is not some kind of a joke.
All this wealth and power and he is in trouble?
Not hardly.
But he seems dead serious. Not panicky, not anxious, but things are indeed as he says.
"What kind of trouble are you in, Shade?"
He gets up out of his chair, standing behind it, one hand resting on the top of the back.
The king pondering his troubled throne.
"Any organization which is incapable of growth is ultimately doomed," he says, an exact quote from a program he once saw on educational TV. "Mine is stagnant, is holdin' it's own, the quality of personnel diminishin', the competition becomin' daily mo' an' mo'. . . fierce.
"We-the Ebony Knights-ah caught up in a vicious circle, a cycle of hustle an' hassle in a market whose entiah distribution chain is in a state of constant disruption.
"We got us pressures you would not b'lieve comin' down on us.
"My bes' men ah leavin', have lef. "An' the new blood, well, they new blood, whut kin ah say?
"Someday, they'll be wuth somethin', no doubt. But t'day, they jus' bodies.
He pauses, grasping the sides of his chair with both hands, leaning over the back to face her. "It is wuth fightin' fo'! "
He walks around the room, pausing before the bust of some Roman emperor, running a finger down its nose before continuing, "Onlies' problem bein', ah got no troops able t'git on widdit.
"Gots t'make me some mayjuh moves rat soon heah, Jane, an' ah knows it.
"An' they ain't the kinda moves a body kin make jus' goin' thoo the motions.
"Gots ta be dat the men unnastan' that the tarn has come fo' some mayjuh risk an' mayjuh ree-wad.
"An' whut's missin' heah is the rat inspiray-shun."
And now, he turns to look at her.
"This calls fo' a new organization.
"It calls fo' some promotions, some plans-lotta plans-an' then, las' but by no means lease, ack-shawm.
"But wiffout some central, unifyin' fawce, cain't none athis happen.
"An' whut ah'm axin', Jane, is that you become that fawce.
"I wont this place t'become a beehive of activity, Jane.
"And in ev'ry beehive, if it is to function, whut mus' they be?"
"A queen bee," Jane replies, the wheels beginning to turn in her head.
As the images shift in their priority.
As her father, naked, bemuscled, shifts further into the background, barely discernible in the far inner distance.
As big black cock recedes somewhat.
To be replaced by the image of-herself.
The queen bee! i
Of course!
No more looking here and there for outside objects upon which to fixate her sexuality.
As her own reflection becomes the image, the potential obsession, the one to carry the full charge of her sexual awareness.
So that the sexual interaction is not a going toward, a combination, a merging, but rather that of a drawing in, of a gathering unto herself.
No magnetic figure, no magnetic body part to draw her to it, no other upon which to fixate, but rather the central exercise of that which she possesses, has always possessed in such abundance!
Yes, absolutely!
That's the answer!
"I can-I will-make you rich, Jane. "I can make it more than wuth yo' whal. "Do this fo' me, Jane, an' you gonna be rollin' in it, babe!
"Can you do it, Jane? Can you become the queen bee?"
"I am the queen bee," she replies. And he smiles, eyes wide, thrilled at this. "Then ain' nuffin' gon' stop us now! Nuffin'! " And he pulls her out of her chair, embracing her as he whirls round and round.
* * *
"No shit, Rock?"
"I kid you not, Tone."
"You know who the fuck that is she's playin' wit' . "
"Ats! Do I know? To-nee! Would we be havin' this conversation if I din't."
"No, no, of course not.
"I meant, you know how long we been tryna get nexta dat sfacime mulignan."
"No Tony, I don't," Rocco replies, tone becoming flat, cool, distant, a wordless reproach to Tony for not taking him into his confidence, for not keeping him informed, advised as to what's going on.
"Never mind that now, Rock.
"I gotta make a fast phone call an' get right back to ya.
"Where you gonna be?"
"Where'm I gonna be. Right here. Waddaya think, I got a choice?"
"Okay, you wait right there.
"I gotta call-I gotta set up a meet." .
"With Shade?"
"No, stoopid, wit' somebody who's gonna tell you an' me exackly how t'play this thing."
"What makes you think there's anythin' we can do?"
"like I got time for this," Tony says, quietly, as though talking aloud to himself. "Rocco, we took 'er away from where she was, din't we?"
"Yeah, but we made 'er an offer-"
"So we make 'er another offer.
"Look, what can she mean t'dat fuckin' spade an' vice versa, am I right?"
"I dunno, Tone; are ya?"
"Look, she wants big, black salami, we call the film outfit onna wes' coast.
"We put an ad inna fuckin' sex tabloids, if we gotta.
"Plus, we make 'er another offer.
"I mean, Rocco, you was fuckin' right there, back in uh, wherever it was."
"Allentown."
Allentown, where Rocco spent two years of his life, vegetating, because that was where he was sent by Ton who cannot be bothered to remember the name of it.
"Whatevah. The point is, did she give you-usany grief?
"She did not. She did not give us static one, not a blip, not a murmer.
"We said, like, this is the deal, here, here, an' here, this is what cha do, this is what cha get fer doin' it, an' like that.
"Am I right?"
"Yeah, Tony, right on, bro."
"There, y'see? You talk the language arready. "Gonna have ya spoutin' fluent mulignan like a pro.
"Anyways, we tell 'er how t'play it, in return for a more than generous stipend, she follows our lead, an' we get what we want from Shade."
"Which is?"
"Which is. Waddaya think it is, Rock?"
"We become his supplier."
"Bingo!
"But this thing is too big for us t'handle on our own."
"Plus, I don't know anything about that parta the business, Tone."
"'Ey, you know what choo gotta know.
"That's the great thing about work in' wit' such a diversified organization, you get ta learn new stuff all the time."
Rocco is silent.
He is not so sure he even wants to be mixed up in this aspect of things.
Something he has always shied away from, that.
Preferring to stick with the legitimate aspects of the organization.
Still, he figures, how deeply involved will he be ?
"I figure we make you, like, her control, y'know?
"Just like in them spy movies?
"She knows an' trusts you, Rocco, an' don't worry, the guy we'll be meetin' with'll be callin' all the shots, ev'ry steppa the way, no sweat."
"You're assumin' an awful lot from one phone call, Tony."
"'Ey, you called me, remember?"
"That's the one I'm calkin' about."
"Which is why I gotta get holda this other guy.
"This is heavy or it could be nuthin', but that ain't f you or me ta say.
"Hang tough. Be back in five."
And Tony hangs up.
Rocco sits there, wondering if he has done the right thing.
Because this will surely mean Jane's leaving here, and she is the mainstay of the show and a real drawing card for the club.
But then, this other thing is probably on a scale which will dwarf this operation.
Plus, he had no real choice.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Workmen are noisy, noisy and intrusive.
Shade can scarcely hear himself think. Still, it's worth it.
The master bedroom of the suite is being completely redecorated. v"
The nest, the abode of the queen bee, it is to become.
A huge, circular bed on a raised platform, columns supporting a canopy of blue guaze, which trails from them, saving gently in the breeze from the airconditioning.
The walls are done in flocked wallpaper with gold fleur-de-lis design, above heavily carved, painted and gilded panelling.
It is said that Louis XIV had a black mistress.
Or was it that one of his mistresses was black?
In any event, this reverses the colors of the situation, while preserving the door, with its Louis Quattorze dressers, white with gilt highlights and brass handles, and matching period chairs.
And Shade is glad that he did not insist that Jane start here at once, that he acceded to her not unreasonable demand that she be allowed to give notice.
Because there is no suitable setting for her. And she must be in a suitable setting from the word go.
Because, otherwise, the guys will see her in a mundane light.
And that, of course, would never do.
Because she is always to have about her a special mystique.
She must be generally unattainable while being specifically accessible.
Shade, of course, will call the shots.
Who gets at her and when and for what reason.
Because her purposes will be many and varied, as will the action in her bedroom.
She is to be an inspiration to them all, of course.
Only an Ebony Knight belongs to her hive and therefore has access to the queen bee.
But, beyond that, in addition, she is to be a bond, an underlying, unifying force.
Because there is a bond which exists between men who have fucked the same woman.
And if this is true in general, then Shade would have it be so in specific, with that understanding attached, thereby making it especially strong, strong and unmistakable.
It exists, it is, as physical, as real, and, at the same time as erotically mystic as is, will be, Jane herself.
So that she is the ceremony of initiation and welcome.
She is the celebrant of the rite of passage, of elevation, from street punk to Ebony Knight.
She is the homecoming celebration of one returning from prison, as well as the light at the end of the tunnel until he gets here, the idea of her sustaining him through the ordeal of his confinement.
She is the seal which binds and finalizes plans for dangerous excursions, the rice cakes and wine of the kamikaze before his flight.
She is the reward for the job well done, the mission accomplished.
She is the diploma, the commission for the newly promoted.
She is the renewal of vows, the oath of loyalty to be repeated periodically.
So that, if an Ebony Knight can be sure of nothing else in this uncertain and dangerous world, he can be secure in the knowledge that, sooner or later, he is bound to get a piece of Jane's ass, first class white poon.
So that she will be quite the busy queen bee, almost as busy as a real queen bee, as the workers and drones service her constantly.
All of which appeals to Jane, just as Shade expected it would.
And, as for reputation, hers will not suffer.
Because this is to be a secret, as deep, as dark a secret as any kept by the members of any fraternal order.
She is to be the secret source of pride, confidence, strength for the Ebony Knights, knights in service to a queen as surely as were any nobles of the Middle Ages.
Their colors are her colors.
To wear them is to be able to claim her favors, for any and all of those actions for which favors are given.
Hence, reorganization.
Hence, renewal of purpose, of determination. Hence, power.
* * *
"Angelo! Been a long time."
"Sure has, Rock." They shake hands.
And the three of them, Rocco, Tony and Angelo, sit down in Rocco's office, Tony and Rocco on the couch, Angelo facing them in the armchair.
"Understand we've got an in with Shade."
"We got Jane dating 'im, is what we got," Rocco says. "We got Jane givin' me notice an' movin' in widdim."
"Then she's still workin' here?"
"Ev'ry night, hard as ever."
"That's good, that's good," Angelo says.
And falls silent, looking down, as though thinking about what to ask next.
He raises his head.
"She uh, she know who she's workin' for? "Really, I mean, not just whatever it says on 'er paycheck?"
"She don't get a paycheck, Angelo; they're on tips, remember?" Tony asks. "On'y thing she gets is a guarantee, with any deficit paid to 'er in cash.
"Parta the deal we gave 'er takin' 'er outta Allentown."
Showing how up he is on the situation.
"Oh yeah, that's tight. Still, you know what I ft mean.
"She knows who we are, yeah." Then she knows we're serious people."
"She ain't said no to a thing yet," Tony says. And Rocco looks at him, like, How would you know?
"Yeah, well, that's good. Good but inconclusive, like they say in court.
"What I'm axin' here is, does she know how really serious we are?"
Tony squirms, looking away from him.
Meaning that he doesn't really know, and is hesitant to claim that he does, because if he says she doesn't, then a whole new approach must be taken to her.
But if he says she does, then that can only be because he told her and has therefore been telling tales out of school, also not good.
But Rocco says, "She's very bright, Ange. Her mind is kinda-" making circles next to his ear, "-but that's a diff rent problem, which I dunno what it is, but anyways, in answer to the question, yeah, she does know.
"When she was goin' a little nutso back at the Rumpus Room, I hadda do a Dutch uncle number on her, tellin' 'er the facksa life."
"Such as?"
"Such as the fact that cher skin-anybody's skinis.. . susceptible to damage.
"So if she's gonna do crazy stuff, stuff that's too crazy, then she's gotta know that she's risk in' her skin.
"An' noboby wantsa see damaged merchandise up there onna stage."
"Very well put, Rocco!" Angelo says. "Don't cha think, Tony?"
"Yeah, right," Tony replies, "guy's a reg'lar fuckin' Gorbachev."
"Still, I think we'll have Rocco handle the situation," Angelo says.
"Which is?" Rocco prompts, "Which is that Shade doesn't wanna know us.
"He wants his shit from assorted wetbacks, he wants his protection outta his own pocket, he wants his territory held by his own troops.
"In other words, in his world, we do not fucking exist."
"But he's gotta know that Jane works for us," Tony says.
That's right, Angelo, Tony," Rocco says, "she is leaving.
"An' if she's leaving, she better damn well leave.
"Because from what I hear, this Shade is a pretty serious guy himself."
"Mmmmmm," Angelo says, sitting back. "Man has a point.
"Last thing we need is Jane layin' on the front steppa the club roll in" out her own red carpet the hard way.
"Still, there's some risks in this business we hafra be prepared to take."
And Rocco looks at him, face an expressionless mask.
We are about to risk Jane's life, apparently.
"Okay, here's what we do," Angelo says. "Leave this with me, for the time being.
"Rocco, you are to express your concern over Jane's choice of playmates.
"Not, not anything heavy, understand, but concern, and don't be afraid to call a spade a spade, if y'know what I mean."
"Shade the Spade," Tony laughs, "I like it!"
Angelo and Rocco shoot him blank stares and his chuckle is cut off.
"Sorry," Tony says, shrugging.
"Anyway, Rocco," Angelo says, pointedly ignoring Tony, "you get the picture.
"And you make arrangements with her t'stay in touch."
"But she won't be able-"
"That's what I mean. You are to have a way t'call her.
"If she gives you a hard time about that, lemme know and we'll crawl through the phone company 'til we come up with her number at Shade's place.
"Again, we're talkin' concern here, not threats of any kind.
"I'll be back t'you when the time is right for you to give her instructions."
"When the time is right," Rocco repeats.
"That's the part choo gotta leave wit' me," Angelo says. "I gotta tell ya, I'm not lookin' forward to it, either, but this is too good an opportunity t'btow off."
"Yeah," Rocco says, understanding at once where he's coming from, "it's not easy t'dry up all them supply lines."
And Angelo looks at him, amused.
"There's more t'you than meets the eye, Rocco," he says. "The guy is not slow, Tony."
"Mind like a steel trap," Tony sighs. "Still, we know who's gonna be on the mission an' who ain't."
"You volunteering, Tony?"
"Why not?
"I gotta get some piece of the action here up front if I want a piece goin' away, right?"
"If you insist," Angelo says.
Then, "Drive and intelligence," he says, looking at Tony, then Rocco. "No wonder you two make such a great team."
And he smiles benevolently as he waves farewell and leaves.
"I'm not sure, Rock, but I think I just got called stupid, y'know?"
"Stupid, shake hands with lazy," Rocco replies. And goes back behind his desk.
* * *
"Sony, Rocco, no sale."
"Sale? The fuck you talkin' about, Jane?
"I'm simply expressing our concern for your safety an' well-being, is all.
"This Shade is a dangerous guy, Jane."
"So is Tony, Rocco. So are the people you and him work for.
"Y'know your mistake, Rocco?
"You said 'we' when you shoulda said T.
"As in I am concerned, as opposed to we are concerned.
"Because I know just who this 'we' is, Rocco, remember?
"And 'we' are concerned with, about one damned thing. And that one thing happens to be that selfsame 'we'. "
Rocco looks down at his desk, shaking his head. "Jane, Jane, y'gotta lissen t'me, Jane. "We're playin' wit' serious people here, you an' me.
"There's a lot at stake here, and."
"Then dammit, Rocco, treat it like what it is! "This is a business proposition, right? "So treat it like one!
"You think I came out here because you guys scare me?
"The money, Rocco, the money, that's all.
"Two thousand is a bigger figure than one thousand, Rocco.
"That's all you hadda say.
"The skin damage speech?
"Bullshit! Empty threat! Who's gonna destroy what's gonna become worthless to them if they do?
"Y'don't kill your own assets, Rocco, is what cha don't do.
"And I know that.
"Serious people?
"These serious people start fucking up, blowing deals, they're gonna see how serious it gets in a hurry, Rock."
"Okay, Jane, okay. Waddaya want from me, ezzackly?"
"I want you to get on the horn to whoever you have to, Rocco, and tell them to start treating me like the asset I am-now!
"I want a day's pay for a day's work.
"And it better be damn good pay, too, because this is hazardous duty."
"Hey, I din't axe fyou t'do nuthin', Jane."
"But it's coming, Rock, it's coming!
"Am I lying when I say that, Rock?"
"No, no, you ain' lyin', " he sighs.
"Okay then, cut the shit, Rocco. And I mean right now."
"Okay kid," he sighs, "hang tough while I make the call." And he does.
"Angelo.. . yeah, I'll hang on.. . Yo, Angelo. Rocco.
"It would seem that Jane wishes to become a salaried employee.. . No, no, but she knew it was something.. . Yeah, okay, here she is."
Handing her the phone, "Angelo wantsa talk t'you."
"Hello?"
"We've never been formally introduced, my dear, but I have admired you from a distance.
"At my age, that's about where I do all my admiring from these days.
"You do understand that nobody loves another's spies."
"On the other hand, everybody appreciates an offer that makes sense, Angelo.
"So let's start with the one you're about to make to me, shall we?"
"Four thousand a week, two month minimum, to be deposited weekly to the account of your choice, one hundred big ones upon completion of the mission."
"Done. Rocco can let you know when I start and I'll give you the banking details through him."
"Excellent.
"Is uh, is Rocco a satisfactory contact? "Certainly."
"Very good. Put him on, won't you? "And uh, nice talking to you."
"Same here."
And she hands the phone to Rocco. "Yeah, Angelo."
"This is all working out better than I anticipated, Rocco.
"The young lady should do very well for us.
"And it means that I don't have to do that other thing after all, at least not as soon as I thought I would.
"Getting too old for that shit anyway."
"You're happy, I'm happy, Angelo."
"Then I'm happy you're happy. Ciao, Rocco."
And the other end goes dead.
And Rocco stands there, looking at Jane and wondering if, after all, he has not created some kind of a monster here, by hiring her in the first place, back in Allentown.
Because she is too cool, too smooth, thinks way too fast.
And she is crazy as well; Rocco is convinced of it.
It takes a sick mind to think up that stuff she pulled at the Rumpus Room.
He has never seen anything like it.
He almost wishes that she were a user; at least, that would explain the way she acted back there.
And now, Angelo is impressed with her.
Only Tony is showing his dissatisfaction.
But then, Tony hasn't got much use for anybody besides Tony.
Anybody as miserable as he is has to be that way because they enjoy it.
And wait until he finds out he's been cut out of all the action.
Rocco shudders at the thought.
And tries to shut out of his mind just how far Tony will go when he discovers that things will be going forward without him after all.
Because surely Tony wouldn't, wouldn't-no.
Best to not even think it.
Besides, Rocco tells himself, Tony wouldn't dare.
Because to betray Jane is to betray the best interests of the organization.
And Tony had better know better than to even think about doing anything like that.
"Everything okay, Rocco?" Jane asks.
He looks at her, looking her up and down.
She is in a robe, getting ready to change for her act.
"You tell me, kiddo," he replies. "You're the one who wantsa play Mata Hari.
"An' you know what happened to her."
"Did I ever have a choice."
"Yeah, y'did, matter-of-fact. "You coulda gone along with me."
"And that would have avoided the risk, would it."
"It woulda delayed it.
"An' other things woulda happened ta minimize it.
"The original plan woulda left Shade wit' no choice."
"And bodies all over the place?" Rocco shrugs.
"Nobody we know," he replies.
Which happens to be true.
Because the organization's powder is sourced through Europe and Asia, a completely different supply line from that presently used by Shade.
Who, at the moment, has every intention of keeping it that way.
But of course, that will not be possible.
Jane doesn't have all the details yet; nobody but Angelo knows the full game plan, and he is probably still in the process of improvising.
But she does know that she will somehow be used to change Shade's way of doing things.
Which, as soon as she moves over to Shade's place, is what they will be paying her for.
She doesn't fear Shade, even though alt logic and common sense tells her that she should.
He certainly didn't get where he is by being hesitant to take drastic action when required.
But she believes that she can very quickly make herself indispensable to him.
And in fact is anxious to get started. But for now, she has a show to do.
* * *
Finished at last!
And some of the guys join Shade as he walks through the newly decorated master bedroom.
And he thinks, get used to it, boys, because this is where it's all gonna happen.
Meaning the recharging of their batteries.
Because here is the center of the hive, where the queen bee will reside.
The heart of die-Ebony Knights, this room is.
Where they can get what they can get nowhere else.
Because yes, she is that good.
Okay, so it's partly image, partly hype.
What is any leadership, any motto, any slogan, any banner?
Because there must be flash as well as substance.
And all enthusiasms are founded in part on selling their practitioners a bill of goods.
Except that, in this case, they really are guaranteed a genuine good time.
Nothing they haven't had before, true; but not in this package.
He stands firm on that.
Because there is nobody like Jane, absolutely nobody.
They may have parts of her, but she has it all together, physically and in her attitude, her unbounded lasciviousness.
Which she has unleashed on him several times since that first time.
And which is as fantastic for him as it was the first time.
Testing the product and finding it totally satisfactory, he was.
Seeing if she could turn even an ordinary, regular, straightforward fuck into an unforgettable experience.
And she could. And did.
So that even those of little imagination will be overwhelmed by her beautiful face, reddened and contorted in genuine sexual passion, by her big balloons with their large nipples, rubbery and erect atop her twin enormities, blue veins showing through her suntan.
And yes, her snapping pussy will milk their cocks as though she is sucking them with a second mouth down below.
And her responsiveness will be everything they could ever hope for.
And the action, ah, the action!
As she inspires him (them) to new heights of performance, of virile prowess.
This, of course, is for the minimal performer, he of little or no imagination, or simply unused to doing it to anything this magnificent.
So that he must concentrate on what he is doing, trying nothing imagine, nothing out of the ordinary lest he be overwhelmed into impotence by the presence, in the presence of such ultimate feminine sexuality.
But he suspects that she will do whatever it takes to give satisfaction, because that is fully consistent with the image he has conjured within her own mind.
Because she is the queen bee, no question. And nobody, but nobody, has ever been that before.
Because he, Shade, has just invented it.
On that bed, he reflects, will happen that which will serve as the springboard to a project of such scale as to stagger the imagination.
As she galvanizes his men, his Knights, turning them into fanatics in the furtherance of their own cause.
Which is that of the queen bee.
And who could or would have thought of such a thing, if not the one and only Shade?
"What's uh, what's this all about, exactly, Shade?" Louis asks.
"Must be seen to be believed, is all I can say, Louis."
"Yeah, well, ah knows you know whut choo be doin' here an' all, Shade; but ah been meanin' t'talk at choo 'bout a personal mattah.
"Been thinkin' 'bout New Mexico, ackshully, Shade.
"Been thinkin' 'bout how the Knights got nobody out theah."
And Shade has heard this song before.
"Teh you whut, Louis. You give me anothah week or so.
"You see whut the gran' plan looks like, an' then, you still wanna talk about New Mexico, we kin talk, okay?"
"You got it, Shade."
"Le's jus' hope so, m'fren'. "
CHAPTER SIX
Jane moves in, her belongings few.
With Louis's help, she makes it in one trip.
She keeps her apartment across the river and Shade does not insist that she give it up.
Shade, in fact, insists on nothing.
She asks for a private line and even that he arranges with the telephone company, no questions asked.
Anything, anything, so long as she will be the queen bee.
Two thousand a week, he pays her, they decide, with no push or shove from either side.
Small potatoes, if this works as it should, Shade knows.
And now, she is installed.
And still Shade says nothing to the troops.
So that she could very well be his private stock.
To which he is entitled, certainly, except that it gets them thinking of their own entitlements.
Because, after all, they too are men.
And Shade isn't the only one with a cock around here.
And Shade sees their resentment, sees it in the way they look away from him, lest he see their thoughts in their eyes.
And he smiles.
And lets the word spread.
From living room to antechamber to street.
Until the latest addition to the living quarters at headquarters is common knowledge among the Ebony Knights.
Shade's white meat.
Their fantasy, his reality.
And yes, there is envy, envy and the sense of exclusion, of deprivation. And the day wears on.
"Meeting ovah at the clubhouse, one houah, an' ah mean evabody," Shade says.
"Shade, you sure thass such a good idea?
"'Cause ah gots ta teh ya, bro', ain' no way they gonna assept you thowin' yo' pravit stock in they faces."
"Now you mention it, Louis, ah don' recall puttin' it ta no vote." Louis looks away.
"Relax, bro'! Evathang gon' be okay, you'll see."
"Hope so," Louis mumbles. But he doesn't look at Shade as he goes to pass the word.
* * *
"Couple changes ta tell y'all about," Shade begins, voice barely audible above casual conversations and scraping chairs.
"First, we ah about ta take the firs' steps to an expansion."
Dead silence on that one.
"Gon' be mo' money fo' evabody, mo' tehtorry fo' evabody!
"Evabody gon' move one notch up the ladda.
"No mo' Ebony Knights dealin'.
"You gonna have yong associates fo' that.
"We talkin' 'bout the fyucha, but not the distant fyucha, brutha Knights.
"We gon' move quickly an' soon.
"Not gon' be easy, not gon' be. safe.
"It is whut it is, an' whut it is the way up. "Too much han' ta mouf money gon' roun', bruthahs, "We gots ta be able ta keep mo' whut we git, an' am' but one way thass gon' happen, so we gots ta be makin' the move!
"Lotta tarn, lotta enagee, lotta sacrifice."
"What about the blonde?"
This from one of the audience, some sixty members, all who are not on guard duty, on the roof or across the street from the abandoned garage that serves as their clubhouse.
Shade grins.
"Jus' comin' t'that.
"She belongs to us."
"You mean she a Ebony Knight?"
"Naw, man, ah mean she is ouahs, yo's an' mines, as in physical contact, as in nookie, poontang, fangoola, you dig?"
And a chuckling hubbub breaks out.
"Y'see, bruthahs," Shade continues, voice rising sharply, "thass bin the fuckin' problem aroun' heah fo' quite some time now.
"We got us, lak, a all work an' no play sitooayshun.
"An' that ain' no good, no good atall.
"Thass why you got some Knights ain' heah no mo'.
"Because life ain' about drugs an' money an' daynjah, bruthahs, life's about livin'.
ZAri heah ah be, stannin' up heah layin' mo' work, mo' hazardous duty on all.
"We know why we gon' do it.
"We know why we gots t'do it.
"But that don' make it no easiah, don' make it no safah; jus' t'opposite, in fack.
"But.
"Up ma place, we-ah say WE-have got us a queen bee.
"An' all the woikah bees, well, they gonna git them one, evah now an' agin', y'see.
"'Cause thass the way it works when you paht of a busy hive like ouahs. Them as gathahs the honey gon' be them as gits them a U'l firs' class honey.
"An" thema you as has arready seen it, well, you know whut we talkin' 'bout."
"Amen."
"Thass fo' sure."
"Ah heard that."
"Rat own."
"Lead me to it!"
"An', " Shade barks, smiling, holding up his hand, "jus' so you know 'at this ain' no jive ah be layin' on y'all, got me the name of ev'ry membah on a slippa paypuh, rat cheer in the fish bowl.
"Same way we draws de namesa Knights fo' dem, shall we say, special missions, well, thass jus' the way we gon' pick the firs' favva you ta en-joy the rayvuhs of the queen bee!"
Dead silence, as Shade draws the names, calling them out, one at a time.
When he has finished, Shade says, "Okay now, the favva you, go home, clean up yo' funky selves an' be ovah de place in a houah, 'cause you got choo a heavy date!
"Fo' de ressa you, don' worry.
"Yo' day is comin'.
"Ah weel be back in touch wif the tasks related to the expansion.
"Lotta ha'd tams, lotta good tarns comin' bruthahs.
"Thass all."
And the meeting breaks up.
* * *
"I'm in position, Rocco.
'Tell Angelo to start the clock. He'll know what I mean."
"Be careful, Jane."
"Don't need you to tell me that, Rocco." And she hangs up.
And leans back on the pillows, naked, waiting.
The queen bee at the heart of the hive, she is.
And they should be here any time now.
Shade said so, before shaking his head, looking down at her, wondering at himself resisting such temptation.
But resist he does, his mind very clearly on the immediate future.
True, he doesn't confide in her, but then, he doesn't have to.
She will learn what she has to know, what Angelo has to know, by osmosis.
She will absorb a remark here, an observation there, and very quickly gain the necessary information.
Just as she will very quickly prove herself Shade's able confidante, perhaps his only one.
Because he has told her what she will be rewarding the troops for, in general.
Just as he will tell her specifically who is getting at her for doing what.
After all, you don't pass out medals without saying what the recipients did to earn them.
And something tells her that, with ambition like Shade's, the Ebony Knights will be earning rewards thick and fast-those who survive, that is.
Because Shade has spoken of action.
And Shade is not some madman who will take extreme measures for their own sake.
No, Shade's moves will all be part of a plan, executed in the name of progress, his own and that of the Ebony Knights.
And expansion is definitely the name of the game.
And her mission, her real one, the one from Angelo?
Simply to cure Shade of his South and Central American habit.
When you think powder, think local supplier. And yet, her loyalties are not to the organization alone.
Because she does have a genuine interest in seeing to it that Shade is successful in all his endeavors, both internal, stabilizing and expanding his organization, and external, taking over new territory.
And she does not deceive herself with regard to this last.
It will not be bloodless; far from it, in fact.
And she sees a backlash extending beyond the individual pushers and street gangs.
The present suppliers are not going to take this lying down, after all.
Which means that Angelo is kidding himself if he thinks that her intercession is going to allow him to avoid having to deal with the Hispanic suppliers.
It will get him his customer, that is, Shade.
But sooner or later, Angelo is going to have to deal with the excluded suppliers.
And he had bettet not be, as he says, too old for this shit.
But, she reasons, that's his problem.
Hers is to gain Shade's confidence and, at the critical point, to lead him in the right direction.
She is, after all, the queen and not the commander of the troops in the field.
Suddenly, here's Shade.
"Lissen, Jane, you sure you wanna be doin' this?"
And she knows he is shining her on, expressing a false concern for her sensibilities, lest she, for whatever reason, chicken out at the last minute.
"You do your job and I'll do mine," she says, coldly.
He looks at her, surprised.
"That is what this is all about, isn't it, Shade?"
"Absolutely," he says.
And walks out as suddenly as he had reappeared, embarrassed and slightly put out with himself, that he should have misjudged her so.
And now, here they are.
Five of them.
They file into the bedroom and stand there, staring down at her, the scene unreal, dream-like, too good to be true.
This great big beautiful blonde is to be theirs, all theirs.
And there is nothing, nothing, nothing between her and themselves.
Everything in life is a hassle, right? But not this.
This has fallen to them unexpectedly, completely and with no strings attached.
Sure, there's that bullshit ole Shade was laying on them, but that was just talk, faint static from tar away.
Whereas this, this! is here, now, is what's happenmg.
"Take it off, boys," Jane says, in her Mae West voice, "take it all off." And they do.
And, as she anticipated, some are excited sexually as well as emotionally, while others are somewhat overwhelmed and therefore not at the ready.
As she reads their peter meters.
"Well, well, well," she says, reaching beneath one erect prong, gently massaging the big balls with one hand, "looks like you get first honors."
And, to another in a similar state.
"You wanna wait, or you want the back door?"
"Back do"? You mean uh, lak-"
"I think you know what I mean, big boy."
"Innat case, le's go!"
"You got it."
Then, patting the bed beside her, as she moves over, she nods the first one down.
And he lies down, flat on his back.
Quickly, she squats over him, lowering herself down, down, down, feeding his big baton up, up, up into herself as she settled down on him.
Thus impaled, she leans forward, flattening herself atop him, legs outside his, heavy breasts hanging in his face.
At once, he reaches for them, kneading and fondling them with both hands, feeding them to himself, one at a time.
And the other one crouches between the two sets of legs and, ignoring the three naked observers, seals his lips to jane's ass hoie, la. ge and protruding more than ever due to the pressure of the cock which impales her.
And he rims her now.
He is sucking and chewing her ass hole, even as his hands squeeze and manipulate the large, rounded cheeks of her ass, now spreading them wide, now burying his face in their juncture.
He revels in the action.
He could go on and on, just like this.
But his cock is painfully hard and will not be put off.
So he sits back on his heels, polishing his knob with a blob of saliva.
And now, he leans forward, supporting his upper body on knees and one hand planted beside the copulating couple.
As, with the other, he guides his mighty marauder toward its large, saliva-lubricated, slackened, waiting target.
At once, Jane raises her hips until only the head of the cock on which she is impaled remains inside her pussy.
So that the internal pressure is relieved long enough for the top man to make his insertion. Which he does.
And now, she settles back down.
And the two studs feel the undersides of each others' cocks through the wall of living tissue which separates them.
So that now, both cocks are fully inserted within her.
And the top man begins to hump, none too gently, but she can take it.
So that the three watchers can see the two meat pistons, dark against their paler surroundings, where the sun cannot reach even her nude body.
As they alternate, going halfway in or halfway out, taking turns as they piston wetly within her two nether orifices, both stretched and filled now, identically smooth, rounded mouths, sucking, clinging to their visitors.
So that their mnage trois functions smoothly, perfectly.
As it accelerates.
As the three of them get hotter and hotter. And yes, Jane too is genuinely aroused. Why not?
Is she not the queen bee, feeding off those who serve and service her?
Is she not, with her great body, drawing from them their physical, lascivious adoration, their overweening lust?
Is she not extracting from them that fealty, that tribute which is her due as queen of the hive?
And shall she not, then, revel in her glory?
And she does.
As the twin prongs do their delightful work within her.
As they elevate her, her and themselves, higher and higher up the rainbow of their shared arousal.
So that they break their sexual sweat, the three of them.
So that their bodies are slipping and sliding voluptuously over one another, only their critical juncture, their lubricious union, keeping the formation stable.
As the pleasure beyond pleasure advances rapidly within them.
So that delight becomes ecstasy, ecstasy rapture.
And they are flying now, proceeding at supersonic speed toward their ultimate objective of the ultimate pleasure.
And now, they are coming and coming, thick, hot, copious jets of jism injecting themselves, fore and aft.
So that the alternating pressure forces collars of pearlescent jism to form around the junctures of ass hole and cock, pussy and cock, much to the titillatiojj and delight of the three observers, two of whom are in a state of excitement similar to that of the active participants at the moment.
As Jane also comes.
As she too produces spasm after spasm, her pussy and rectum convulsing in the throes of her series of multiple orgasms.
Thus do they ride through the realms of their shared sexual paradise.
Thus to they come back down to earth, as their shared climax subsides, then ceases.
And the top man unplugs, cock slimy and marbled with his fresh jism, still huge.
So that he fixes the watchers with his gaze proudly, one at a time.
Because he doesn't want to hear anything from them about sucking butt.
And, as though to forestall this, he says, "I'll eat her fuckin' shit if she axes me.
"Enny you homeboys got a problem wif that?"
"Plenty of soap and towels in the bathroom," jane says, as she dismounts from the detumescing dong beneath her.
And the bottom man swings his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up, a self-satisfied grin on his face as he gazes down upon his j ism-glazed cock as it bends down, down, down.
He joins his co-fucker in the bathroom, even as the next two cocks show at the ready.
"You two seem up for it," she observes. "You down there, you hang tough for another thirty seconds, okay?"
And the first designated fucker lies down as she squats above him, settling down on his cock, guiding it into her jism-lubed cunt.
And she lies down on him.
And he helps himself to her heavy hanging breasts, exactly as his predecessor had done, even though they are coveted with sex sweat-hers and that of the last bottom man-as well as saliva.
But this means nothing to the stud she is riding.
Because he is hot, hot, hotter than he has ever been in his life.
So that for the very first time he feels himself to be truly alive.
And now, she raises her hips and the designated top man does his thing.
So that soon the sandwich, white meat on pumperknickel, is fully functional once again.
As die remaining man watches, excited but not physically aroused.
And he keeps on watching, feeling the heat intensify in his face, in his body.
So that he is sweating, even as he stands there.
As his two colleagues are wafted aloft, borne into sexual paradise on the wings of their passion and hers.
As the queen bee strikes again.
As she envelops them in her rampant, overabundant sexuality.
As she communicates with them in die language of the body, the language only the body can fully understand, the language of sensation, of raw physical pleasure.
So that they become hotter and hotter, riding higher and higher through the rosy empyrean of their ever-mounting arousal.
Until-
The two black cocks are discharging their white, white loads into ass and cunt.
And the pile bucks and writhes its way through the triple climax.
And breaks apart, the first two having meanwhile returned to join the audience.
Or perhaps have seconds?
But-
"Four down, one to go.
"Why don't you two use one of the other bedrooms to wash up?"
"Me and stud number five here want some privacy to do our thing, right?"
And he looks aside, mumbling, "Yeah, right."
The others leave, two dressing quickly first, the other two merely gathering their clothes and departing the master bedroom, now become the lair of the queen bee.
"All yours," she says, when they have gone.
"Ain' but one way ah gits it up," he says.
"You name it, stud, and we'll do it."
"Kin ah, kin ah-"
And he is drawn onto the bed as though hypnotized, a line of drool streaming from the corner of his mouth.
And she sees at once what he is after.
And no, he does not care that her pussy is befouled with spent jism, whatever has not oozed out to join that which is leaking from her ass hole, puddling on the satin sheet below.
As he wallows his face into her cunt.
As his tongue seeks and finds her clit.
As his prick comes to huge erection, hobbling stiffly below him as he crouches there.
As he shafts his long, thick tongue in and out of her streaming cunt repeatedly, tongue-fucking her.
But not for long.
Because, even now, he is on her and in her and humping away.
Even now, he is sucking her tits, squeezing her jugs, reveling in their hugeness.
As his hips pump faster and faster.
And Jane accelerates her own rise up the rainbow, opening herself up, relaxing her mind, letting it drift, letting it concentrate on the flood of sensations being generated within her.
As she becomes a creature of great appetite, her cunt a mouth, sucking, drawing from its latest victim all the pleasure he holds for her.
So that she is draining him of all his power, all his virility, all his life force, adding this to her own fund of power, feeding herself with it greedily, insatiably.
Un-like the honeybee, who can sting but once before it dies, this one will live again.
But she can, she will make him die the little death, just like the other four.
As he wallows on her breasts.
As his hips, as though on automatic, pump at almost vibrator speed.
And she keeps right up with him.
So that now, he raises his head to look into her reddened face, even as the powerful contractions of her vaginal muscles, in multiple orgasm, drain him of his load, in long, thick spurts.
Yes, the queen bee relieves him of his nectar.
And, when they have finished, joins him in the shower.
So that he can see her from every angle, can touch her with his soap-slickened skin, can revel in her presence.
The favored one, he is.
Because none of the others got to do this, to see her like this.
And none of the others know what he does, what he must do, in order to get himself up.
Once he is up, he is okay.
And she, she seems to understand, to actually know this.
So that she is perfect for him.
Even as, he reflects, she was perfect for all the others.
And he knows now that he will never leave the
Ebony Knights, will never forego the pleasure of her, the experience of her.
Which will come to him when it comes.
And he will not push.
Just knowing it's there, knowing that it is what it is, and that he will have it again, that it is a part of his future, makes it all worthwhile.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bodies drop quickly.
As Shade takes over the territory of his nearest neighbor-his smallest nearest neighbor.
No vice raid has ever cleared those cornerstwenty of them, there are, so swiftly, so completely, so devastatingly.
Even as another detail pursues the neighbor himself.
And finds him in the back room of a pool hall, preceding by minutes his own runners, coming to tell him the news of the multi-fronted assaults.
And the first sirens of response are sounding, closer and closer, and whizzing by, again and again, blue and red lights flashing everywhere, the originals reflecting on brick and glass, on aluminum and steel.
And even on the balls on the tables, the clicks from the pool cues interspersed with the flat popping of silenced automatics, a sound studiously ignored by the players, who continue their game, oblivious to the non-players who enter and exit quickly, and who were not in the back room more than thirty seconds, in closed door conference with one who will confer no more.
Even as the drive-bys are completed on schedule, like clockwork.
So that none are left who are qualified to seek revenge.
The drive-by.
The urban warriors' answer to the blitzkreig.
A bit of nerve, a bit of risk, but still worth it, well worth it.
Because of what awaits these Knights, returning from their mission.
* * *
"Don' be jivin' me, Manuel! Ain' no way Washin'ton hanneled that kinda weight!
"He was small potatoes, man!
"If thass whut he took fum you, onlies' thang ah kin say is that he was goin' a month at a tam.
"An" you 'speck me ta b'lieve he was willin' ta tie up his bread that way?
"Shee-it, Manuel, gimme a mothafuckin' break heah, arright?"
Manuel shrugs.
"De Colombian, he ain' gonna like wha joo done to his goo' fren' an' customer Washington, Chade."
"Look, Manuel. Ah said ah'd hannel his weight at the goin' price, but you jivin' me, man.
"Colombian tole ya ta jive me, did 'e?"
And Manuel smiles sheepishly and shrugs.
"'Ey, joo can' blame a guy for tryna make de bes' of a rilly bad seechewaychun, mayn."
"Yeah, right.
"Thass half a key of pure, count the money an' git outta ma face b'fo' ah ships yo' spic butt back to the Colombian gif-wrapped."
"Joo know somethin', Chade?
"Joo are rilly not a very nice person."
"On'y nice person innis fuckin' trade is Washin'ton, Manuel.
"An' he ain' been nice but fo' 'bout a day now."
And Shade's men laugh.
"Okay, okay," Manuel says. "Is all here.
"See joo nex' wick, okay?"
"Give ma fondes' regalids to de Colombian, Manuel. And teh him ah 'pologizes fo' any minah inconvenience which may have been occasioned by this shiftin' of de powah strucksha, okay?"
"Weel do, but he ain'-never mine.
"I gonna tell heem jos' wha' joo say."
"You do that."
Manuel leaves the office.
Louis steps" quickly inside the office door, closing it behind him. They all look up.
"Shade, you not gonna believe who jus' walked in wantin' t'see ya."
"Show Big Blue in, Louis."
"How did joo-"
"Nevah mine. Jus' sen' his black ass in heah, blood."
"All yo's, bro'. "
The first words out of Big Blue's mouth. "What's all mine, Blue."
"The tehtorry, the Blues, whutevah."
"Ah heard joo was thinkin' 'bout givin' it up, homey."
"You done heard rat, then, Shade."
"You don' gotchoo no ambitious subawdinate t'take yo' place?"
"Whut subawdinate, bro'?
"Ennybody ah had woith knowin', man, they gone.
"Who in Wyoming? Kin y'all b'lieve that muthafuckin' shit, Wyoming? "Teh ya a betta one'n 'at, you wont. "Canada!
"Evah think about fuckin' Canada, Shade?
"An' take yestidday.
"No soona Washin'ton takes his horizontal taxi rad, fo' mo' ma min decided on early retiamint.
'"Ey man, ah needs the bread, but not this bad.
"An' Big Red, he makin' noises lak, 'You ain' wif me, Blue, you 'gainst me.'
"An' me sittin' heah 'tween you an' him wif my ass hangin' out?
"Shee-it! Ain' no way, homeboy!"
"Wait a minnit heah, Blue.
"You tellin' me 'at Big Red gittin' ready ta come down on ma case? He comin' afta moi?"
"Well whut choo be thinkin', man?
"You got choo some kyna immunity or sumthin' ?
"'Ey, Washin'ton was a weak guy, okay?
"He had it comin', arright, not pertectin' hisse'f no bettah'n whut he done.
"Me, ah knows ah ain' got nuffin' lef ta woik wif, so I am outta heah.
"But ole Red, now, thass a horse of a diffrent colah, you dig?"
"He knowed rat away whut choo went an' done.
"He'd a did it hisse'f, 'cep' ma tehtorry-ma fawma tehtorry, unnastan'-was b'tween him an' that of the unfawtunate deceased."
"How's come, you bein' so close t'Big Red an' all, you din't cash out wif him 'steada me."
"He's worse off than I am, Shade! "He got no brains lef, man! "All he can do t'keep the homefiahs burnin'. "No awganizayshun.
"He be sma't, 'steada gearin' up fo' Custa's las' stan', he bes' put his own house in awdah, if you axe me, which you din't."
"So Red's comin' afta me, huh?"
"Soon evah he be thinkin' he can, yeah."
"An' you? Whut choo gon' do."
"Ah was thinkin', mebbe, Nawth Kehlina."
"When?"
"Week. Ah got a week."
"Depen's.
"Yo' troops packin' enough bread fo' some weight."
"Should be, yeah."
"Then, as of tonite, they gonna be 'signed t'ma men. "Problem widdit?"
"Not since you done-ah mean, not since Washin'ton bought de fahm, no."
"Okay, then.
"Louis, you go wif Big Blue heah, 'splain his troops the facksa life, okay."
"An' membaship?"
"Comin'. But. As of tonite, they ain' got but three ways t'go-they ouahs, they gone, or they dead.
"An' enny of 'em think ah'm kiddin', let 'em axe Washin'ton, 'cause they f damn sure gonna see him direckly, they don' know ah'm serious.
"An' now, if you'll excuse me, Blue, ah gots a pahty ta git undaway.
"Oh an', uh, good luck, since we won't be seein' each othah no mo'. "
They shake hands and Louis accompanies Big Blue out of the office.
"Toldjoo guys we was gon' make it happen," Shade says to his assembled lieutenants. "You jus' stick aroun' a few minnits whilst ah zeroes the queen bee in on why she should treat ch'all so nice."
And they file out into the living room.
And Shade goes down the hallway to brief Jane on what's happened and what's about to.
* * *
One at a time, she takes them on, this time.
Hierarchical courtesy obtains, these men of rankand heroes all-being each entitled to a private session.
And they fascinate her.
Because these are men who have killed.
These are not who they were before.
Because they have become different, transformed.
Because to kill another is to believe in the thinghood of people, oneself included.
So that the world is no longer divided between the human and the non-human.
Because, for them, there is no humanity.
Not any more.
They have killed, and thus transformed themselves and their world.
What you see is what you get.
And there is no master plan, except for now.
So that they live in a series of nows, of present moments.
And the world recreates itself, moment by moment, so rapidly that there is no time for anything except the exclusively physical.
And yet, they are being asked, in the name of their next series of nows, to take the risk.
Knowing that they serve no higher purpose because, for them, there is no higher purpose.
Which makes Jane all the more important to them.
Because if now is all there is, then how good should it be?
So that yes, hell yes, she matters to them, means the world to them, in fact.
Because it may very well be all about money, but what good is money, intrinsically?
So much green paper, is all, especially to them who have seen so much of it.
Whereas Jane, the queen bee, is the embodiment of the dream, what it's all about, the best it can be for them.
She is unbelievable, and she treats them unbelievably well.
She does not hurry and they cannot miss with her.
She will do what she has to to get them off.
The harder the case, the better.
She can give a blowjob that would raise the dead.
She even knows deep throat.
And they are free to explore every aspect of her, to their heart's content.
Because the organization has the time, she has the time.
Because there is no way the best of them, the ones with the greatest staying power, are going to last longer than half an hour.
As now she services this one.
As she sucks his big, black cock up hard.
Did you drive or did you pull the trigger? she wonders.
She makes a mental note to get individual specifics.
Because, if she is the prize and the inspiration for what is happening, then she should know just how far these men have gone-for her.
Did you kill for me?
Did someone die the big death so that you could die the little one?
Is that what happened?
And what are you psyching yourself up for right now?
But the body does not speak to her of such things.
Rather, it speaks to her only of pride in itself, its potency, its strength, its virility.
But most of all, it speaks to her of its thereness, of its solidity, its existence as absolute fact.
Even as, she is sure, hers speaks to his.
Because she is not some unrealizable dream, some unattainable ideal.
True, she has been, and the image of her has no doubt haunted him for most of his life.
But that is all behind him now.
He has arrived!
And his arrival, predicated upon his performance as an Ebony Knight, has given meaning to his life.
As he sees that his loyalty was and is primarily to himself.
He has done what he has done for himself. Because he has gained that which is exclusive to himself.
True, others have had her before, others will have her, are in fact waiting right now to do so; but that is unimportant.
Because the undeniable, indisputable fact of the matter is that right here, right now, there is him, there is her, there is them.
I fuck, therefore I am.
But there is fucking and then there is fucking. And this, this! is the deed in its perfected, its ideal form.
So that his body knows, knows and responds.
It has a mind of its own.
A mind, and a language.
And right now, it is very much in communication with the essence of femininity, the heart of her voluptuousness.
As her head bobs up and down in long, deep strokes.
As she feels his long, thick, hot, vibrant cock reaming mouth and throat.
As she feels his shuddering sighs, responses to the surges of sexual electricity which well up with him at each movement of her head.
Yes and yes and yes! he cries out, within himself.
All his life he has knows frustration, dissatisfaction, all of it resolvable by a single prize which he could never quite define.
Until now.
And enlightenment and delivery are one and the same.
Enlightenment, delivery-and deliverance. Because yes, he is giving himself to her completely.
He is losing himself, drowning himself in her. Far away from him now is what he has done.
Far away from him the Ebony Knights. Shade does not exist.
There is nothing here but himself and the queen.
And she is devouring him, even as he feeds himself to her.
And this is the only paradise he will ever know, the only heaven he will ever enjoy.
There will be moments of pride, of success, of wealth and power.
But this, thisl is the symbol, the substance, the essence of success.
But for this, he is not successful.
And whether he did what he did or didn't is arbitrary, is a part of the continuum, the endless string of nows which is his existence.
The dope?
That was, is correct.
What are his economic alternatives?
The Knights?
They were, are correct.
Qn his own, by himself, what could he do?
Beg or hold up a liquor store.
And what he did?
That too is correct.
Tough shit for those others.
There but for the luck of the draw went he.
But it didn't happen that way.
They are dead, he is alive.
And the dead don't fuck.
But then, the living don't fuck all that much either.
And when they do, what is it that they fuck?
Not this, surely; at least, not with their eyes open.
True, when he fucked before, it was with his eyes closed, so that he could see something very much like this.
But his imagination, tempered by his sense of the practical, dared nothing on this .grand a scale.
So that she is, quite literally, better than he could have imagined.
But now, now he dares.
And not only to dream, but to act!
Because look, just look! what he has here.
And she is his.
In an hour, she will not be.
But that hour hence is a figament of the imagination.
It doesn't exist; right now, it might never exist.
Because they are in a separate universe, where time stands still.
They are in a universe, they are a universe whose eternity is compressed into an extended now.
As she pulls her head clear of his cock completely, crouched down there, where he is fondling her heavy, hanging breasts with both hands.
And there it is, his mighty monolith of monster meat, gleaming and lethal looking in the soft light of the queen bee's nest.
And he is in charge. He is the man!
If he wanted to, he could have her ass. But no, he will take her from the front-this time.
Next time, who knows?
He will have to think about it.
Because next time does not exist.
And now, he eats her pussy-he, who never eats box, eats hers.
As he places both hands on the backs of her raised, spread legs, bent at the knees.
And moves his head, his face round and round on her snatch, tongue extended.
So that he can taste her hot, clear pussy juices.
So that he can feel the slick lips of her cunt.
So that he can seek and find her joy buzzer.
So that he can strum it with the flickering tip of his tongue.
So that he can fuck her with his tongue, moving it in and out, in and out of her living interior, his tongue in contact with her clit at all times.
So that he can hold his tongue completely extended as he rolls her around on it, his hands clutching the backs of her thighs.
Until, unable to resist, he has to get to the main event.
Has to.
Even though he has not yet had nearly enough of the taste of her snatch, or the feel of it, or the look of it.
There is no smell to it.
She is clean as a whistle.
Even her ass hole is immaculate.
And he could eat that too.
And he would, but for the urgency of his erection.
Which even now commands him to rise and insert.
Which he does.
And now, he is fucking her.
And it is indeed her that he is fucking, not in his mind, in some vague, undefined general version of her perfection, but in the full reality, the truth of her.
Because that is her snapping pussy which has grabbed onto his big prick, sucking it, clinging to it, massaging it with a million and one separate, undulating movements, each addressing itself, one on one to the nerve endings of his huge cylinder of tumescent meat.
And that is what he is seeing happening as well, fucking her with his eyes open, seeing that, even though hers are shut, her face is red, her boobs engorged, nipples erect.
So that now, he changes his angle slightly.
So that he can suck and fondle her tits, even as he continues to fuck her.
And he knows, knows with absolute certainty, that this, all this, is real.
And yet, and yet it has about it the quality of a dream, of the unreal, one of those dreams in which the feeling is so delicious that he questions the reality of it in the dream, only to be perversely reassured by his psyche, by that which is of himself and speaks to him in his dreams, that this is indeed real.
But if this is a dream, he tells himself, then he hopes he never wakes up.
As he wallows in her breasts.
As he sucks them and kneads them, squeezes and licks them.
As his hips, as though on automatic, continue to thrust his mighty marauder in and out of her with a dexterity, a proficiency beyond his active management.
Because he doesn't have to think about it, doesn't have to drive himself, doesn't have to encourage himself to do it right; it just happens.
And happens and happens.
Until suddenly, there it is.
That feeling, exquisite, irresistible, which takes him out of himself, removes his control from the situation.
So that his staying power is over-ridden. And he rises through those last few levels of arousal helplessly, out of control, at top speed. So that he is very quickly up, up, up-and over the top. And he is not alone.
And this, perhaps, is the best, the most delicious part.
Because she is right there with him, coming even as he is.
And who has brought her, who has transported the queen bee to this state of ultimate pleasure if not him?
So that there is no question in his mind but that they have formed a special relationship.
And not Shade, not the Ebony Knights, not anything that he has done have any part in this.
There is just him and her, himself and his ideal woman, together, alone, floating through a paradise of their own generating.
Again and again, the luscious twinges convulse them.
As he comes and comes within her.
As she milks him of all the pleasure he holds for her with the contractions of her vaginal muscles, in the throes of her series of multiple orgasms.
Onward and upward, up, up, up-and now, back down to earth, the last spasm of their shared climax behind them now.
And he gets up off of her.
And she is off the bed, leading him into the bathroom, where they shower together, where he can see that she cleans herself up thoroughly, inside and out.
So that next time, he need have no qualms, should he not happen to be first in line. Next time.
And yes, dammit, there will be a next time, no matter what he has to do to make it happen.
Because Washington might not know it-probably doesn't know anything right now-but he did die in a worthy cause.
Because, for another taste of that, he would kill ten, twenty Washingtons.
They dry off together.
And he dresses quickly.
Because the sooner he is out of here, the sooner the next series of intervening nows can be gotten out of the way, the sooner he will be right back here, in the arms of the queen bee.
And he wants her to know it.
"Ah'm the one did Washin'ton, y'know.
"An' prob'ly the one Shade gon' have do Big Red.
"like his good right han', thass me.
"Name of Rufe. R'member, okay?"
"I'll never forget you, Rufe."
But already, she is back on the bed, in the exact same pose she was in when he entered.
And yet, he feels no twinge of envy as the next man enters, grinning.
Because no way can he possibly experience what Rufe has.
And no way can he possibly do for her what Rufe has.
And besides, no way can Rufe possibly give her a repeat performance right now that would be up to the standard which he has only just created for himself.
Rufe can only smile at the guys in the living room as he floats out of the apartment, out of the building, feeling somehow very, very light, almost as though he could fly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Whut's wrong, babe?" Shade asks, looking up from where he was counting packets of money into a briefcase.
"I just talked to Rocco, Shade."
"Rocco? Who's Rocco?"
"He's a man I used to work for, with, whatever.
"Never mind that now.
"The important thing is that Big Red's just made arrangements with the organization."
"'Rangements? Whut kinda 'rangements? "He ain't takin' they stuff'steada the Colombian's is he?"
"No, no, nothing like that. "It's, it's.. . guns, Shade. "Uzis. Kalashnikovs."
Eyes fixed on hers, Shade closes the briefcase, handing it slowly to Louis.
"Should I-" Louis begins.
But Shade cuts him off with, "You jus' go 'head an' take keh bidniss, Louis.
"Me an' de queen heah got serious stuff to go ovah."
"Ah see that," Louis says.
"Jus' don' dawdle 'long the way, bro', okay?"
"Ah hear that!"
And he leaves.
"Teh me evathang, babe," Shade says, sitting down with her on the couch.
"Well, you know who owns the clubs where I used to work."
"Sho" 'miff do."
"Well, Rocco-this last place was the second club I worked for him-Rocco told me that Tonythat's Rocco's boss-made arrangements to sell Big Red the automatic weapons I mentioned."
"It's a done deal?"
"All but the actual exchange, money fot weapons."
"Uh huh.
"An' jus' when might that be?" She shrugs.
"I was just so worried about you, Shade. "I mean, what if Red."
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and a card out of his wallet.
And goes back to his chair behind his desk, winking at her as he punches in the number.
"Yeah. Angelo, please.. . you jus' tell 'im it's Shade."
A brief pause.
Then, "Angelo! Shade heah.. . yeah, been a whal, ah guess. Been keepin' well, have ya, stayin' outta trouble an' all?. . . Yeah, ha ha, me too.
"Lissen, Angelo, reason fo' d'call is, regalidin' that mattah you an' I have discussed sev'ral times in the past.
"Subjeck to certain terms an' conditions-not to mention certain othah arrangements ah would not keh to discuss ovah the phone an' which you know veh well whut they gotta be ennyways-ah now b'lieve we have groun's fo' discussion.
"Howevah, it has come to ma attention that you intend to sell Big Red certain ha'dware, his possession of which would not be in ma bes' interestsouah bes' interests, ackshully, if you an' me can come to an unnastandin'. "
"I know nothing of these arrangements with Big Red, Shade."
"Tony does."
"Then I guess I should speak with Tony."
"You do that, Angelo.
"An' teh him that, if he be worried about disappointin' Big Red, if he can hole off fo', say, three days, the problem will go away."
"I see.
"Well, I'm sure he'll be relieved to hear that, Shade.
"Although I must say you're not givin' me a helluva lot of time to take care of that other problem."
"Hey, I ain' the one done provoked the crisis, y'know?"
"Understood," Angelo sighs. "And it will be taken care of."
'Thass the Mexican an' the Colombian problems, okay."
"Oh, yes.
"Believe me, we don't like loose ends any better than you do."
"An' the capitalization, assumin' that everthang is copacetic?"
"Be prepared to handle five keys of hundred percent at the standard price, in three days.
"Your time frame, not mine, remember?"
"Show me the bodies, show me the powdah, ah'll show ya the cash."
"Excellent!"
"Ain' it just, now?
"Meanwhal, call off yo' dog."
"Consider it done."
"Ciao, Angelo."
And Shade hangs up.
"Close one, babe," he says to Jane. "Lucky you an' Rocco such good buddies."
"Hey, there's no such thing as an accident, right?"
"Couldn't of put it betta mase'f.
"Now, ah wont choo t'stick real close t'yo' firen' Rocco.
"Pump him fo enny info you kin get about this Tony an' Big Red deal.
"You uh, you wanna take a break turn the otha thang?"
"No, that's okay. I can do both."
"Well, it'll jus' be fo' the nex' few days, the thang wif Rocco.
"Then ah won' keh-no, wait.
"Yeah, I do. I mos' definitely do.
"Rocco got ennythang t'do wif.. . commodities?"
"No, but Tony does.
"Sometimes he talks to Rocco."
"Well thass good, then. You stay in teal close touch wif yo' fren'. "
"Whatever you say, Shade."
"Thangs be movin' real fas' now.
"Stick wif me, babe, an' you won' be sorry."
"I'm not sorry now, Shade."
He grins.
"You really inta black cock, huh."
"Guess so," she replies.
Pointless to tell him that what she is into is herself as queen bee.
And it would make no difference what color the cocks which are subservient to her might be.
Because the feedback of theit attitude toward her is a steady high.
She is the queen, commanding more loyalty than any crowned head ever has or will.
She is the morale of the Ebony Knights, and the morale has never been higher.
These are nervous times for the Ebony Knights, days of danger, days of opportunity, days of change and confusion.
Shade is moving them in the right direction, and just in time.
Desertions have destroyed the Blues and panicked the Reds.
At a time when it's every man for himself, she provides the common bond which will, hopefully, see the Ebony Knights through it all.
Not all of them will make it, of course.
With Big Blue, they were lucky.
The Blues, once considered potential enemies, have instead become their own lower echelon.
Not so the Reds, however.
Because Big Red is not prone to surrender, no matter the odds.
So that he will have to be taken down.
Which means-
"On yo' way out, sen' in Rufe, okay, baby."
"Sure thing."
And she goes into the living room, tapping Rufe on the shoulder, interrupting a conversation he is having with a couple other Knights.
"He wants to see you," she says.
"Tole ja so," Rufe says, grinning at her.
But she does not reply, instead going back down the hall to her room, where she promptly calls Rocco.
"Worked like a charm," Rocco says. "We can pull you outta there now."
"No you can't, Rocco.
"Big Red wants the guns from you guys, which of course you have no intention of giving him, but that doesn't mean they're the only weapons he's got.
"He's ready for an attack right now, is my guess.
"He just wants all that extra fire power for overkill."
"You uh, you want I should add Big Red to Angelo's you-know-what list?"
'INo, I somehow think that that, at least, will be very well taken care of."
"If you're sure, then."
"I'd stake my-never mind.
"The answer is yes. Yes, I'm sure."
"Are you sure you're all right there too?"
"Oh, yes. Everything is Shade's idea, the way it's working out.
"Including this conversation, by the way."
"You uh, you ain't gonna get caught in no war zone, are ya?"
"Not if a certain party does his job right, no."
"Anybody we know?"
"No."
"Well then, I guess you should just keep in touch, like you say.
"Still-never mind."
And she grins at the telephone.
Because she knows exactly what Rocco is thinking.
What a waste, if anything should happen to her.
Meaning the waste of a body, a physical phenomenon, a thing.
Because they are all merely things now-her, Shade, Rocco, the Knights, the Reds, everybody.
They are united in a common belief in thinghood of people.
They are those who have sacrificed their humanity, their human values in favor of the strictly physical universe.
Somewhere, long ago, she lost her own humanity, submerged, dissolved, swept away by her own voluptuousness, by the all-pervasive thereness of her own flesh.
Because form follows function as the saying goes.
And the reverse was no less true for her.
Because what philosophy, what standard of values could possibly over-ride that which she sees in the mirror?
And it wasn't, it isn't just her.
Because the outside world was, is just as channeled as is she herself concerning herself, her value, her function.
The thinghood of people.
To deny the humanity of another is to deny the humanity of oneself.
And the reverse of this is also true.
And what's done is done and cannot be undone.
Thus is she damned, as is the world to which she has condemned herself.
A world without good guys, hers.
And herself perhaps the most evil of all.
Right now, a killer is being briefed.
And he and the man briefing him are under her spell.
They are striving to advance themselves, to gain power and wealth, to be sure.
But there is only one symbol and one immediate reward for this effort, if successful, and that is hen
Even as Shade speaks to Rufe, her image is in the back of their minds.
And not very far back at that.
The rays of the sunlamp on her naked body heat her up, causing her to break into a sweat.
So that her voluptuous contours glisten, the beads of moisture giving her a fine, pebbly texture, making of her an exquisitely voluptuous statue of living granite.
She is the center of the Ebony Knights, their very heart. Thus has Shade arranged it. Thus has she manipulated him into arranging it. A knock on the door.
"Come in," she says, making no attempt to cover herself.
"Sleepin' wif you tanite," Rufe says. "And in the morning."
"Gon' do ma thang."
So, she thinks. Shade doesn't trust the organization.
He told them three days, merely to put them off their guard.
Tomorrow, he will present them, present the world with the accomplished fact.
Tomorrow, a guided missile called Rufe will fly unerringly toward its target.
And it could well be that, like a missile, Rufe will not survive.
She knows this, Shade knows this, surely Rufe knows this.
But it will not deter him.
And in fact, that's what tonight is all about.
This is a wake, in which the guest of honor is still alive and celebrates, is rewarded ahead of time on the off chance that he will die attempting that which he is about to do.
A rite of passage from life to death, their sex tonight.
And by their standards, their values, the perfect ceremony for it.
To know one last time (several last times, actually) the ultimate pleasure, ultimate in degree, quite possibly ultimate in the literal sense, meaning the last.
She turns off the sunlamp.
And waits for him to take off his clothes.
They shower together, and do not speak.
More and more, this seems some ancient cere-mony.
Preparing the human sacrifice, the high priestess leads the victim to the altat of her bed.
Together, they are about to celebrate some mystery of life and death and of the flesh destined to know both.
As now, he tastes her, tastes the life and the lust of her, the promise and the fulfillment of her, chewing her, one mouthful at a time, beginning with her breasts.
One at a time, he feeds them to himself.
Nipple and breast, he explores with his mouth.
Ribcage, abdomen and stomach he does, one mouthful at a time.
Working his way down to her crotch, burrowing into it as she raises and spreads her legs.
But he keeps on going, sucking her bung now.
And pulling back, turning her over.
And she understands at once what he wants, understands why he wants it now, understands life, for him as for her, as a series of nows, provisional even though real, evanescent even though solid.
Because reality itself is tentative, is unstable, is written on a lull in the whirlwind of existence.
Count on this instant, but not the next.
Who knows what emergency may arise, even as they build themselves and each other up for the ultimate pleasure?
An attack on the headquarters.
A fire in the building.
Something, anything, whatever.
So that yes he must taste her bung, must rim her, must know the configuration of her ass hole with his tongue, that and the heat of her interior.
Because here, here! is the deepest symbolism, the part of the ceremony most reflective of the truth, the celebration of the first mystery.
Which is that, like Rufe's cock, throbbing with its lascivious, lusty life, like existence itself, all must end in shit.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
And they have forsaken all within themselves which is not ashes, which is not dust.
So that this, this! is all that remains to them.
And he fucks her in the ass.
He shafts into her, all the way, takes her by the hips with both hands, and humps away for all he is worth.
Another time, he will take his time, will prove himself the sophisticated lover he never was until his first time with her.
But for now, he must do this, must take from the queen her open, yielding ass, that he might discharge his load into the hot, squirming darkness of her bowels.
So that he will have seized the heights, the sexual paradise of the ultimate pleasure within himself, even as, here in the outside, the real wotld, his load ends up as excrement.
He rides up, up, up and over the top.
And he is creaming her bowels, coming in and in and into the depths of her ass.
And riding her all the way down, as he finishes.
And lying atop her back, cheek to cheek, his cock slowly detumescing within her.
Until it is flaccid enough that the peristaltic action of her bowels expels him, completing this first part of the ceremony of carnal deliverance.
And now, she leads him back to the shower, where they clean up, in preparation for true union.
And this time, he lies on his back as she feeds him her breasts, one at a time, allowing him to harden their nipples to rubbery erection before she straddles his hips, lowering herself down on him, feeding his cock up into her hot, juicy cunt, impaling herself on him.
And now, she leans forward, her breasts dangling in his face as he reaches up and grasps them both, feeding them to himself one at a time, even as she rides his pole, het hips going round and round, reaming her cunt with his rigid cock, her hips going up and down, fucking herself with him, piston-like.
And this time, rising up, up, up the rainbow with him, sharing his arousal, sharing his journey toward the pleasure beyond pleasure, celebrating the second mystery.
Which is the continuance of pointless life, from which temporary meaning in the form of the ultimate pleasure may be extracted.
Because he could be anyone; it would not, does not matter.
If he survives, then this will be him again, and he is the symbol of his own future.
And if he does not, then he is the partner of the moment seizing the joy of the moment and his place will be taken by another and he will have done what a man can do, all a man can do when he was a man and, when he is not, will be nothing, will be dust, and so will not care.
Thus do they strive, thus do they attain shared paradise, shared climax.
As she extracts from him his vital essence with the multiple orgasmic contractions of her vagina.
And still they do not speak, as they shower, dry off, and return to the bed to celebrate the third mystery.
And Rufe has been sufficiently relieved that he will be able to do it properly.
As now he goes at once to eating her pussy, to raising her joy buzzer to full engorgement, using the feedback of her mounting arousal to inspire his own.
And now, he is in, in, into her drooling cunt, which embraces his turgid invader in full welcome.
And he scoops up her legs, doubling her up, in the act of total envelopment, total possession.
And he rides her, long and hard, in full control, surrounding her, permeating her with his virility, his thereness.
As he celebrates with her the third mystery of their lascivious ceremony of transition from life to death.
Which is the mystery of the absolute value of the ultimate pleasure, a value so universal, so deeplyingrained that it is one of the two things shared in common with all that lives.
The sexual act-and death.
Except we fuck, we are not.
And even though we fuck, we will not be.
So that, at the end of the act, perhaps as part of it, perhaps even as the greatest part of it, is the little death, that lascivious and total surrender of life itself.
In which we pour out the ichor of life, as surely as the outpouring of a massive hemorrhage.
And now, she feels the exquisite and incessant stimulation of millions of nerve endings, over and over, within her, feels every detail, every nuance of the motion, the feelings, and the agent of them both.
Which makes her hotter and hotter. Which raises her higher and higher. And which puts her and him over the top once more.
So that all is accomplished, all is completed, the mysteries celebrated, the ceremony ended, except for that little sleep which is the symbol of the big one, just as the little death mimics and celebrates its infinitely latger and more permanent counterpart.
And Rufe is properly sanctified, is ready to carry out his mission. Banzai!
* * *
Rufe doesn't make it, but then neither does Big Red.
Or two other of the Reds, or five of the converted Blues Rufe used for numbers and fire power.
But the remaining Blues are happy, their individual incomes doubling and tripling as their territories for street dealing are expanded, now that they are esquires in the Ebony Knights-whatever the fuck an esquire is.
"Thass okay, mayn. De Colombian, he onderstan's.
"Joo gotta do wha' joo gotta do.
"But he also say tha' joo gotta take de weight.
"He say eef joo know wha' joo doin' tha' shoul' no' be a hassle.
"He say-"
"Thass enough, Manuel!
"Ah'll take the fuckin' weight, okay?
"Reg'lar tam, reg'lar place, reg'lar price. "See you t'nite."
"Joo gonna be able t'ge' tha' moch bread together so fas'? "
"Who the fucka you t'be axin' me sumthin' dumb lak that?
"Git out ma face b'fo' you en' up lak Big Red."
"Okay, okay, okay, Chade. "Eesjos', de Colombian, mayn. Hedon' like."
"Louis, get this greaseball mothafucka outta heah now!"
And Louis hustles Manuel out. Shade punches in a number. "Angelo. Now."
"Hey, Shade, you moved fast."
"Ah'm rippin' off the Colombian fo' fav keys tonight. Is it safe?" Angelo sighs.
"We'll take care of it. Look like a shootout between the Colombian and the Mexican. We got 'em both spotted and their personal weather report as of midnight calls for permanent darkness."
"And their replacements?"
"DEA and Immigration'll see to it that doesn't happen."
"Then we all set."
"You got it."
And they hang up.
"Louis, you watch de sto' fo' a couple houahs.
"Ah got me some thangs t'discuss wif de queen bee, if you know whut ah mean."
Not telling Louis that he is not using euphemism, but rather wants to go over with her a timetable for their shared retirement in a villa on an island, far, far away from gangs and dope, someplace where only death can and will find them.
