Considering the kind of business Dennis ran, he had remarkably
few rules for his people and most of them were common sense.
Don't attract attention from the cops or neighbors. Don't steal
stash or cash.  Don't deal in other peoples territories. Don't be
drunk or too stoned to function when you are on the job.  No
violence unless it's a life threatening emergency or unless
Dennis said so.

And the last rule was not to mess with me.

There were some small deviations from the rule.  Dennis showed me
off and got into the attention like a classic car owner might
enjoy showing off his restored vehicle.  A lucky few of his
friends got a peak under the hood.  There was always the
suggestion that maybe they had a chance to handle the merchandise
in certain situations, but you weren't going to be allowed to get
behind the wheel or take it out for a drive.

During my years with Dennis we broke the rules a very few times.
Once his boss got to taste the goods.   A few times we traded
partners during drunken forays into hot tubs and in hotel rooms.
Anything that went down though was entirely consensual.
("Consensual" meaning Dennis participated and approved - I don't
know that I was ever really asked - and such incidents were never
ever to be mentioned afterwards.  They were always treated like
they didn't happen.)

A few times men that Dennis had brought aboard decided to try to
push it - and far fewer times I let them.  Dennis was an outlaw
in every sense of the word, not particularly faithful, and
certainly not someone you should fuck around with, but he was
good to me and a very good lover. I had little reason to stray.


Usually any breaking of rule would be when one of the boys was in
a drunken stupor and would get handsy or perhaps verbally
suggestive.  Most of the girls who hung around the house could be
lured into bed with promises of fat lines and good times - and
sometimes they forgot I was special for a minute.

During those times, I'd point out that Dennis wouldn't approve,
and that would be the end of it.  They always apologized or
simply pretended they were so drunk they didn't really remember
the next day.  I never felt the need to tell Dennis and was
actually not at all anxious to see what Dennis would do if he
found out.

That changed one night when Dennis was off on one of his
disappearing acts.  (He did this often, and always came back with
stacks of money or bags of stash or both.)   It was a man named
Darrell.

Darrell wasn't particularly big by the standards that Dennis used
to pick his "boys."  (Read "bodyguards")  But he was big.  A
southern boy of maybe 6 feet and 220, he said he'd played college
ball and had a body to back up the claim.  Darrell had an
unpleasant demeanor - people felt threatened around him and he
liked that.  He was not a nice guy.

Darrell barged into the bedroom one night while I was changing to
go to bed.  It was a violation on multiple fronts.  First of all
I was more than half naked and second it was well after midnight.
 Third and most important of all, our bedroom was ALWAYS off
limits unless Dennis specifically asked or ordered someone to
come in.   You didn't even knock on the door unless you had a
damn good reason for fear that Dennis would shoot you where you
stood. There was no good reason for him to open that door at all.

I did the small shriek we all probably do when someone barges in
while we're changing or in the bathroom or whatever.  For people
with an ounce of tact that is enough to chase them out - but
Darrell just stood there like a pervert in the women's locker
room - leering with a crazy and evil grin.

I grabbed a shirt and pulled it on and asked him the "What the
FUCK!" question that was at the top of my mind. I was mad and
wanted him out of there.  I thought I could shock some sense into
him. It didn't work.

Said he wanted to "see if I felt a need for any company."

The implication couldn't have been clearer.  There were probably
5 people in that house that night downstairs watching TV - if I
wanted company I could have had it.   He was looking for sex and
I could see it in his eyes and even his jeans.  He was half erect
and his pants look liked a half raised tent.

I said to him "Darrell, I don't know what you're thinking.  Leave
now before Dennis finds out" but he just pointed out that Dennis
had been gone for close to a week.  He wasn't home now and
probably wouldn't be any time soon.

There was an edge of a threat there - and I caught it - but
couldn't believe what I was hearing so I changed my tact.
"Darrell, I'm going to bed - alone.  Now get the fuck out of here
before I scream."

Darrell didn't take that well at all - and before I even knew
what was going on he was on top of me on the bed with one hand
over my mouth pushing hard.

I did what I could to shake him off but he was bigger than me by
a hundred pounds and it was all muscle.  He simply laughed and
grabbed my arms and pushed them away.  For good measure he
slapped me across the face hard a few times and dared me to make
a sound.  The look in his eye scarred me so much I peed a little
and bit my tongue.  He laughed and just told me he'd been
thinking of me for a long time and didn't see why we couldn't
"get along."

Next thing I know he's pulling the t-shirt up to my neck - and
then he's groping my breasts with hands that felt like they could
crush them.    I was cowed enough to put up with it for a minute
or so, but when his hand made the dive to my panties I screamed
long, loud and hard. His attempts to clamp a hand over my mouth
couldn't stop it but did earn him a bite that went deep into his
thumb.

He hit me a few times - I couldn't even count as the first one
alone was stunning enough that I was dazed.  I figured I was dead
or at least that he would have his way when I saw a hand grab him
by the hair and pull him backwards. There was a scuffle and
multiple bodies rolling around which broke a lamp and knocked
over a bedside table. Three men were sitting on Darrell before it
was all over while I laid there with my panties torn and my face
quickly swelling up.

Someone through a sheet over me and after they had made sure I
was relatively alright we had the "what the fuck happened" and
"what the fuck do we do now" conversations.  Darrell was mad and
not taking getting penned lightly and they were afraid to let him
go.  Finally they hit him enough times to settle him down / knock
him cold and someone thought to tie him up with some clothesline.

They took him out of the room to give me privacy. Only Billie
stayed behind to make sure I was still okay and bring me some
drugs for my pain.

There was no chance that things would blow over. I had a black
eye and our bedroom was thrashed, so it was just as well that
Dennis arrive home the next morning somewhere just after dawn.
Before he came to wake me up he'd already heard four different
versions of the story including Darrell's (a story that deviated
quite a bit from the facts and painted me as the instigator.)
Dennis listened to me and I knew he believed me.

Everyone was on pins and needles.  Darrell was still tied up in
the basement and Dennis was in one of those moods where it felt
like everything would explode soon.  There was quiet discussion.
While one of the boys watched over Darrell with a very
threatening looking handgun, the others all got in the car and
disappeared.  They returned later with Darrell's woman, a girl
named Jenna, and then they all disappeared into the basement
together.

I was explicitly told not to come in and really didn't want to
anyway.

The general discussion was in whispers or at least I couldn't
hear it, but there was crying later and some muffled sounds that
seemed like muffled screams.  The tension in the house was so
thick I wanted something strong to knock me out as I was in pain
anyway and didn't want to deal with it, but Dennis said no.

After dark, the basement door opened and the guys all emerged
looking tired and tense.  Dennis told me to go upstairs but I
wasn't having any.

They brought Darrell and Jenna upstairs and both of them looked
fresh from a traffic accident.  Their clothes were in tatters and
both were tied at the wrists.  He glanced at me momentarily with
a gaze I'll remember until my dying day, full of hate and fear.
Her eyes were too swollen to even see.  Both had a gun more or
less pointed at their backs and both had something stuffed in
their mouths.   I will never be sure - but if I had to say I'd
bet in at least Jenna's case it was what remained of a pair of
yellowed old rayon underwear.

They were loaded into the back seat of an old Cadillac that one
of the boys owned, one of Dennis's men at each side of them on
the doors and another in the passenger seat.  Dennis opened the
garage door, pulled out and was gone.  He didn't provide any
information.  He didn't even say goodbye.

When he came back early the next day, he was alone and in a
different car.  He spent the next few hours washing down walls
and generally ignoring my questions.  When he was done, he took
me by the arm and led me up to the bedroom where he spent an hour
or so raping me. (Raping is perhaps too strong of a word for it,
but it was sex that was all about his needs and was fast and
somewhat angry.  I felt like a rubber doll - one that Dennis was
rather annoyed with - and when he was done he fell promptly to
sleep and slept all afternoon.)

I got up and snooped around in the basement.  I found that it had
been mopped, washed down and generally smelled of strong cleaner,
but that Dennis had been quite careless, In an old couch I found a
woman's bra. It was cut in two from the front but otherwise free
of blood.

Given the goings on in this house over the years, there was no
proof in my mind that it had anything to do with the nights
activities other than the slightly shiny yellow material.

The sofa smelled of sex and sweat - but that's what it was mostly
used for in that basement anyway - mostly when customers wanted
to be alone with their freshly fucked up girlfriends after a
sample and purchase.

I will say now that during my many years with Dennis I never
personally witnessed any form of violence that would be
considered "permanent" unless you count perhaps a slight limp or
feeling of soreness before a change in the weather, but that
night I was sure that I had witnessed the last moments of life
for two human beings and it tormented me.  (Many things
contributed to the drug/alcohol addictions I developed later but
things like this were definitely in the mix.)  I was sure I would
see neither again.

About a year later, I was making a delivery for Dennis at a
travel plaza a town or two over from Charles, and though it was
late, I caught a look at a girl working the trucks.  It was none
other than Jenna.  She looked like she had aged 15 years, and
lost weight both in her body and face to an unhealthy end, but it
was her.   I called for her and she turned - probably out of
shock on hearing "Jenna" (not a common name in those parts.) Lot
ladies never used their given names anyway.  When she saw me,
she was instantly terrified and ran away with a speed I wouldn't
have bet possible.

(I should have told Dennis about this, but didn't.)

I never saw Darrell again - which doesn't surprise me - but for
years I was reminded of him each time that human remains were
discovered at the bottom of the river or accidently unearthed by
dozers working in the fields.