BOOT BOYS Copyright 2004 By Keith Scott http://www.myspace.com/finalassassin finalassassin73@hotmail.com   CHAPTER 2: THE BAR We arrived at our destination not long after our encounter with the tailgater and pulled slowly into the back parking lot where many people were hanging out waiting for the bands to begin playing.   As soon as the crowd heard the roar of the trans-am’s 350 big block, there was a collective gaze directed in our direction.  Although I couldn’t hear it, the deafening sound of whispers flared up like the sound of a tidal wave preparing to crush the shore of a defenseless island.  The boys had arrived and everyone knew they better mind there own business and stay the fuck out of our way. Anytime we walked into the bar we were immediately in charge of the place. Tommy would always refer to it as “our bar”.  It was really easy for us because to take control of the place mainly because we knew the owner/bartender, Fred. Fred was really tolerant of us; maybe he was just scared, as most people were when we walked into the joint.  That night was no different. To give you an example of the level of fear and respect people had for us I will relate a little story.  I remember talking to some chick at the bar one time and I had to piss, so I got up and walked to the bathroom. As I got up and walked away from the bar I had to go through the crowd of people that were dancing and going nuts, listening to the band, MDC - Millions of Dead Cops.   I just walked right through the middle of the crowd like no one was there, and man it was like Moses parting the red sea, people just fell to the side to let me through.  I made it to the bathroom with almost no physical contact with people except for the one drunken idiot who I had to toss aside because he wasn’t looking and bumped into me invading my personal space, which I am sure you can tell is very precious to me.  They all knew who I was and who I ran with, and they knew what would happen if they stepped across the line. Not only would they have to deal with me but they would have to deal with the boys and anyone who we were hanging with that night.  We were a very tightly knit group.  We were a pack of wild dogs, who protected each other cause no else wanted us. The four of us walked into the place with the air of royalty, scanning the landscape. It was more crowded than usual, recipe for disaster if you ask me.  We were all partial to the bar being empty when we got there, but tonight we would have to deal with the public.  Fred was the only bar owner in the area who had enough balls to allow his facility to be used for live musical performances by bands who no other club would even consider. I was leading the pack, Tommy behind, Mack and Skinny bringing up the rear.  When we got deeper into the bar, it was evident that some of the people in the room were not aware of our rules, or that were even rules to begin with.   Now, it’s not like we were cops or something, trying to fuck with people having a good time, we were out to do the very same thing.  The thing was we didn’t want to be bothered by anyone, and we had certain customs that made it possible for us to function in a public environment. The most important thing is that we had to sit at our table alone with no one asking any questions, or trying to kiss our ass as they often did at the bar, we were legends of sorts.  Our escapades had been floating around town for years but most people never had any first hand accounts of those incidents because we usually only went into the bar when it was sure to be without many people. Sure enough when we arrived at our corner of the bar there were like 3 rowdy, drunken idiots occupying our normal table.  As usual, I went to handle the situation while the rest of the boys were acquiring the alcohol.  My role is always as the diplomat. “You can handle this right Petey.”  Said Tom as he patted me on the back, with a shit-eating grin, as he always had when he would coax me into violent outbursts. I gave him the usual half grin of assurance, my eyes up into my lids, then a wink before I turned to face the issue at hand. I approached the table, ready for blood on the inside, but comfortably exhibiting the air of control and dignity externally.  Surprisingly, I was met with a greatly negative attitude when addressing the situation to our unwanted houseguests.  These guys looked at me with ignorant disgust before I began to engage them. “I’m really sorry gentlemen, but there’s been a misunderstanding.  Apparently, nobody told you that this table is reserved for ‘special guests’, so if you guys would kindly seat yourselves at another table, we can all get on with our evening with out any conflict.”  I said with a smile. “ Listen to this motherfucker,” One guy said to his friend.   Then back to me he yelled in a slurred manner, “ Conflict huh.  Fuck you, dick, who the fuck do you think you are, you looking for trouble, well, you found it, man.” My favorite part of these situations is that I always know the outcome before the incident even begins.  This knowledge gives me extra confidence and allows me to explore creative ways of initiating the violence. I smiled because I knew, just from looking in this man’s eyes and the sudden change in his expression, from anger to fear, that Mack, Skinny and Tommy, my posse so to speak, were all approaching, toting large pitchers of beer. It was like he saw the devil himself. “Sorry man, we didn’t know this was y’all’s table, we’ll get right out of your way.” The guy said in a shaky voice as he straightened up and they all began to very swiftly pick up their things. “’Y’all’ huh, you guys must not be from around here. I am sorry sir, we don’t talk like sister fucking rednecks here, this is a respectable establishment that adheres to specific codes of conduct not least of which includes speaking properly.” I said, with a hospitable smile, as I leaned into him slightly grinning. My smile grew even bigger when I quickly obtained one of the glass mugs from Skinny and proceeded to smash it over our adversary’s head.  He fell with a mighty “flump” and blood was immediately spewing from the gash.  The glass shattered in a million pieces and I remarked to Fred about how he should consider getting some better mugs. “What the fuck Fred, you got such cheap ass mugs here I can’t even slash this motherfucker, they just break into useless little bits.” I yelled out to the bar. “I guess you guys got off lucky tonight, besides my focus is on intoxication tonight, not bleeding, sister-fucking, Y’all saying, rednecks.” I said with my attention back on the invaders. Mack, Skinny and Tommy were all standing there in awe as the two other guys grabbed their bloody friend and moved from our table.   Fred was none to happy with my method for handling the situation.  He was almost threatening to have me thrown out, but he realized there was no one there that had the guts to do it.  Besides the fact that when the Boys and I showed up and started to hang out there on a regular basis, no one got out of line, especially not us.  And like I said earlier, we weren’t the types to go causing trouble, we “solved problems”.  He should have known better than to let these fucking idiots sit at our table. A few minutes later, when things calmed down, the four of us finally got into what we intended on, getting fucking loaded.  We all had our vices.  Tommy and I liked the cocaine.  There is no denying that.  It was just too easy.  All we had to do was go and meet our friend Rick who always sat at the end of the bar. Rick was a really sleazy motherfucker, sporting a ridiculous mullet, ripped Guns and Roses tee shirt, and bicycle pants with flames on them.  Many times I felt like just fucking him up and taking all his shit, just because the sight of him disgusted me in a way, but I felt that was not proper behavior.  It was more fun to intimidate the hell out of him and make his presence as convenient as possible.  Besides the fact that he had some damn fine blow that was not cut at all, at least that is what he sold to us. We would just go up to him and give him a bill, 20,40,80,100.  We’d split and go back to the table watching for when he would get up and go into the bathroom.  When we saw Rick come back out of the bathroom we would count to ten, go to the bathroom to the second stall and behind the tank on the pipe was a nice little package.  Without fail, because Rick knew not to burn us, that’s for damn sure, he’s seen the wrath in it’s highest gear. Not to mention we also saved his ass a few times. One night, at the bar, a few assholes showed up looking for a fight.  The thing that really bothered me was that they were idiot racist meatheads, the type that sleep under Nazi flags and the like, listening to Skrewdriver, singing the words like they were the national anthem.  They came to the bar looking for trouble and to score some blow off of Rick.  Both of those things were available but they would only receive the former. Tommy and I were sitting across from Rick at the bar. Mack and Skinny were playing pool with our friend Rodney, and Amy (Tommy’s sister) who was Rodney’s girlfriend. Rodney was a Rasta straight from Kingston Jamaica, who hooked me up with herb and was just an all around cool guy.  We shared a common interest in music, and we would talk way into the night about philosophy.  He sort of leaned toward spiritual and religious schools of philosophy; while I leaned towards things I learned from Ayn Rand’s works the Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged.  All of us liked him very much.  He was one of our kind, an outsider to the rest of the world, but to us a member of our one percent club. Tommy knew a couple of the guys who came to see Rick, but I didn’t.  Tommy was the type of guy who knew everyone, and was liked by everyone. I don’t know if he really liked or disliked anyone, it seemed like he had no feelings at all for most people, except Mack, Skinny and me and of course he had new feelings for Tammy.  It seemed like having any feelings at all was pretty new to Tommy. One of the guys blatantly and loudly asked Rick if he had any coke, kind of grabbing and shaking him and making a scene.  Which everyone knows when you are out to cop drugs in a public place the goal is to be inconspicuous.  He was not only being obvious but he was also slapping Rick around, which we all know is not something that was done in “our bar”. Rick played it off, laughing nervously trying to make it seem like he didn’t know what they were talking about. This night was before we ever knew him as a coke hook up.  We just thought he was some crazy throwback from the eighties metal scene who never bothered anyone so we didn’ t bother him.  I could see he was kind of scared when he looked at me with a pleading sort of gaze. One of the guys who walked in started staring at the back of the room where Rodney and Amy were playing pool.  He was kind of a big dude, like 6’1, sloppy and fat with a dirty baseball cap covering greasy shoulder length loosely curled hair.  He wore a sweat and dirt stained New Jersey Devils hockey jersey. He turned his attention away from the back of the room and he looks over at Tommy and I, taking notice of our dress, assuming that we might have the slightest bit of common interest, and comments on “the nigger and the white girl playing pool”.  He was then remarking about the Trans-Am outside, and how he could steal it if he wanted to.  It was almost shocking to see such a ridiculous display of bravado. “I’d like to see you try that”.  I said chuckling. “Aw man, I was just playing, see I’m down with you guys.” “White Power!!”  At which time he stuck out his arm in proper sieg heil fashion, his boys followed suit, then he looked at Tommy and I to join in on “the fun”. I just couldn’t help but laugh at these guys, because they had no idea what they just stepped in.   The “nigger” he was referring to was the last person in the world you ever want to fuck with, above us all. Rodney had emigrated from Jamaica at the age of nineteen.  His mother, a widow of 46, managed to land a job as a nanny for a wealthy brain surgeon, who was also a widow and traveled frequently to perform specialized operations. And who offered her a deal she couldn’t refuse.  Free room and board for both Rodney and herself and $800 a week.  The brain surgeon was from Negril where Rodney and his mom would spend their holiday vacations so there was camaraderie between them and thus he offered her a very fair deal for her services. Rodney had already been one of the most notorious Jamaican hit men by about 1983.  Two years before he left for Brooklyn.  He used to work for the largest exporter of weed in Jamaica.   Anyone who stood in the way of Clinton Levy, be it a cop, or some punk trying to cut in on Clinton’ s territory, whatever, they had to deal with Rodney.   One day Rodney caught a bullet in the stomach while running from an ambush by a rival gang based out of a particularly bad section of Kingston.  He ended up in a coma for three days because he lost so much blood.  It took the medics 90 minutes to arrive because this incident triggered a huge gang war that escalated into a full on machine gun fight on the streets.   When he awoke, he swore never to pick up a gun again.  Rodney had had a vision that featured a figure that he swore was Haile Selasie, the royal emperor of Ethiopia. The vision expressed to him that he was chosen as a profit and had to promote peace not cook war. He then decided to reform himself and became a member of the devout Rastafarian sect known as Bobo Ashanti, and he generally was not out looking for fights at all.  This night was different however.  And Rodney had much more respect for himself than to surrender to the likes of such despicable bigots.   Its so amusing to me how stupid people can be when they walk into a situation that involves other people they have no idea about, and fuck it up by trying to dominate when they have no right to.   It really bothered me that this guy assumed that because of they way we were dressed, we had some sort of common ground between us.  He thought we were the cookie cutouts of a subculture created by mass media to personify angry young men.   To an ignorant person only looking at the surface that is what they saw, but the reality of it was beyond racial barriers.  We did not place blame on cultures, we knew that the evil lies in those that make laws to prevent the working man from being productive at his peak potential. Their system wasn’t working for us as it was supposed to so we had no choice but to ban together to create strength. We derived no strength from the general population; we got it from each other, our group, and the boys.  They weren’t doing their job; so it was our job to fill in the cracks, pick up the slack so to speak.  But do it only where it related us, in true egotist fashion.  And we certainly didn’t label ourselves based on a warped media image of a subculture that was based upon ethnocentrism, Skinny was half black for fuck’s sake, how could we be white supremacists. There were four of these guys and they didn’t realize that the bar was really occupied by a group of people that all knew each other very well, including the “nigger and the white girl.” Fred nodded to the door guy, who proceeded to lock the door.  Then it was on… Once the door had been locked these guys quickly realized that not only had they stepped into the wrong place, but they had just committed some really horrible sin because what they were looking at was a collective hate the likes of which they could never conjure up in their most wild Nazi German fantasies.          Tommy quickly motioned to me about the Louisville Slugger 35oz. Baseball bat in the corner.  I swiftly walked to the bat and picked it up while in the same motion clocked this asshole right on the base of his skull, not once, not twice, but three consecutive times.  The force of the three hits was enough to fracture the base of his skull and create a mango size bump on his head instantly, but not enough to discourage his convictions in coming after me.   That’s right folks, after three hits to the head and a broken 35oz. Louisville Slugger, this man got up and ran after me.  I was shocked and awed to say the least. Mango-head got to me, but only for a second.  He managed to put his hands on me and push me on the floor using his massive weight to get me down.  I came up with my steel toe boot and caught him in the “taint”, you know, “taint the balls, and taint the ass, it’s right in the middle.”  This flung him over me into the wall, creating a half body sized hole in the wall.  Mango-head was out and his buddies were trying to surrender but it was too late for them. Skinny came up with a pool cue and cracked one guy over the back of his neck, where his spine and skull base meet.  The dude fell and he lost a few teeth on the mahogany bar as he descended to the ground.   Mack came flying up out from the back of the place where they were playing pool and gave a flying kick right into another guy’s sternum knocking the wind right out of him.  The guy fell down coughing and rolled onto his back.  Mack came down on this guy’s head with his boot and got the heel right on the bone around his left eye.  The pressure was enough to crack the skull under his eye crushing it and causing the eye to pop out of its socket and hang there while a gash was pouring blood around it.  It was a lovely sight for sure.   The last guy was met with a fate far worse than that of his brothers.  Amy had recognized our last assailant from an incident that took place a few days prior.   Apparently, Amy was at the bar late and was talking to a few of her girl friends.  Two of these guys show up and immediately start talking to them. “You’re Tom’s sister right, you’re kind of cute for a fat chick.” Said one guy, the same guy who I bashed with the bat. “Yeah, and she’s dating a nigger also, fucking race traitor.  You’re even starting to look like one also with that shit caked dreaded head of yours.” Which is what this last guy said. “Do you let that nigger stick his cock up your ass, bitch?  Do you suck that big fat nigger cock every night, siphoning his polluted nigger sperm into your stomach?  I hope you make him put a rubber on that dick… We’d have to kill any mulatto baby that was spit out from your nigger cock swallowing cunt.” He went on to say. Oddly at that moment, one of their friends who had been waiting in the car came in and whisked these guys away, mumbling something about how the cops were after them and they needed to move on quickly. Amy was left to suck all that up without the satisfaction of any kind of reply.   You know, I can relate to this because there were many times in my life that I was in a situation where someone was trying to dominate me in some way, and I never got the chance to defend myself or form any kind of counter action.  Either I was too young and weak, or I was in a budding stage where I wasn’t so confident and confrontational as I am now. I would fantasize for days after about how I would have handled this person given the opportunity.  Just let me see that motherfucker again and I will do all kinds of things to make him suffer, I would mutter to myself.   Amy was one of the few people who actually got the opportunity to do so.  And, boy let me tell you she really had a creative way of expressing her feelings about her first encounter with this guy. “Remember me?  The girl with the nigger cock-swallowing cunt! “ “And as a matter of fact, I do let him stick his big nigger cock up my ass, you want to know what it feels like?” Amy motioned to Mack and Skinny to hold the guy down while she went to retrieve a pepper mill from behind the bar.  Nothing like fresh pepper in a Bloody Mary, I always say.  She came back and slammed the pepper mill on the bar. “Ever taken a stiff cock in the ass boy?  I’ll bet you have, so you’ll enjoy this.” She said getting right close to this man’s ear, and at the same time taking down his pants and underwear very swiftly and violently. What impressed me most about the next event was what great care Amy took in handling the situation.  She slipped on a pair of rubber sanitary gloves, and lubed them up with some KY jelly she had in her purse.  It’s the details that really make instances like this so special.  I could tell she really put a lot of thought into what would happen if she met this asshole again, in the company of the most elite group of rogue humans to walk the earth, who would provide their unbeatable protection from any resistance she might encounter, and derive incredible pleasure in taking part in the destruction of her adversary. Amy approached the guy with her lubed up gloves, all the while Mack and Skinny restraining him.  The guy was squirming but it was of no use because Amy had already rubbed the lube around the rim of this dudes asshole. “Not only am I gonna de-virginize you, I’m gonna make you like it so much, you become what you hate most in the world, a fucking faggot!!” she said, while sodomizing this fool with her lubed up digits. Once she got the lube deep inside this guy’s colon, she reached for the pepper mill and rammed it right up his asshole.  It was full force, one sweeping motion, from his asshole right up to the top of his throat.  He felt it; I am sure, because even though he was gagged with an eight ball from the pool table and a ripped dirty rag from the bar, he let out a groan that would be more associated with ecstasy rather than that of torture.   She kept fucking this guy with the pepper mill until she stopped and decided to insert the bottom of the mill into this man’s bleeding gaping anal orifice one last time.  She then positioned her hands with one on the bottom of the mill and the other on the grinding handle.  Then she proceeded to crank the mill and grind fresh peppercorn into this man’s asshole.  Can you believe that? “Feel it, boy??  You feel the burn motherfucker.” She said. “I know you like it too, fucking faggot motherfucker.” By now all these guys were out for the count, and we needed to get rid of them in a big way.   Rodney came up with the brilliant idea of dumping these assholes, with their “white power” t-shirts and gaping bleeding anuses, in the middle of the projects in Brooklyn.   “I know where we can ditch dese fools.  Fucking bumbaclotts will do real well back in me ole neighborhood in Brooklyn, mon.”         We hog tied the four of them and loaded them into Fred’s cargo van, which he was kind enough to let us borrow. Rodney drove and Mack went with him.  Only Mack and Rodney went on this mission because they were really the only two people from our clique that actually had experience with dumping bodies, whether live or dead.   They drove off over the bridge into Brooklyn and headed straight for the Marcy projects, one of the most violent housing projects in all of New York City.  The van turned down a dark and dilapidated street around the side of the buildings and stopped.  They climbed quickly into the back of the van, opened the back door and tossed all four of these guys out onto the street.  Still gagged and hogtied.  The one guy was still bleeding from his asshole, and Mango head was barely conscious.  Mack and Rodney jumped back into the front of the van speeding off back to the bar.  As they were riding away they passed a group of about ten rowdy drunken project dwellers heading in the direction of our four bound up friends.  We don’t really know what happened to those guys.  They were never seen again, by us, or anyone else. That pretty much sums up why Rick never burned us, we made sure no one fucked with him and he supplied us with drugs, in biological terms this is known as a symbiotic relationship. As we settled into the evening, Tommy and I completed our ritual of obtaining a nice size chunk of cocaine. We dropped a 100-dollar bill to Rick, who was seated at the bar.  It was done real slick like.   Tommy went to order a beer, which would provide Fred with the proper distraction.  I came up next to Rick and he asked me if I had a match.  I gave him the book of matches with the hundred- dollar bill nicely folded inside of the emptied out matchbook, and Fred appeared to be none the wiser.  He knew what was going on, but he couldn’t act like he did because then the place would be flooded with dealers.  No, this was our little secret, we were very insistent that the bar would not be tainted by exploitation of illegal narcotics.  It was a respectable establishment as I expressed ever so clearly, earlier. Five minutes after Rick came out of the bathroom, Tommy and I went in.  We walked in and there was a couple of little punks who were in there talking real shit, something about someone misbehaving in the mosh pit. “You see that guy, with blue mohawk, I mean that’s so 1980’s.” “Yeah, that mother fucker kept flying into me off the stage, and like doing these karate kicks, look I think my tooth is bleeding.” “I think somebody’s sweat got on my shirt, smell.” “And there’s so much smoke in here, so gross.” If there is one thing that I really hate, it’s a fucking pussy. By “fucking pussy” I am not referring to the female vagina that you fuck.  I mean, where did these people think they were at a Britney Spears concert?  No!! This was a punk rock show, at a bar, and “Our Bar” on top of that.   Of course, when we walked into their field of vision they tried to amplify their voices so we would hear them say they were going to jump this guy.  It was obvious they didn’t have enough balls to jump anyone. They were trying to act tough in front of us, something that many people did when we entered a room.  Needless to say, it was time for them to leave our immediate area, we had business to attend to and there were to be no outside observers.   Tommy and I smiled at each other, it was our sign to each other, the signal that meant: ATTACK!! My first move was to secure the door.  I knew from many past experiences that there was a mop handle behind the first stall next to the main door of the men’s bathroom.  I took it and wedged it between the door and the outer most leg of the first stall.  It was a perfect fit, which I already knew because one coke fueled night I felt ambitious and cut the handle to fit, for this sort of occasion.   Simultaneously, Tommy picked up one guy by the throat and tossed him into the other guy, it was a direct shot that landed them both in the urinal.  Tommy even had such good control of his pussy toss he made the one guy in back hit his head on the handle and when they both landed in the urinal the flushing toilet immediately soaked them.  You could only pull that trick off on those urinals that go from like chest height all the way down to the floor, like everyone had back in elementary school.   If that wasn’t enough, Tommy actually whipped out his dick and pissed on these guys.  I couldn’t help but almost shit my pants from laughing so hard.  I didn’t even have to do anything this time.   It was all Tommy.  Good times! The two guys rushed to their feet and immediately ran for the door, where they met a most inhospitable host… Me.   As they came at me, I kicked out the mop handle that was blocking the door while in the same motion I stepped away and pushed them into the back of the closed door.   I used their panicking rushing weight against them.  I love when I don’t have to work to get such results.  They hit the door really hard and fell back on each other.  It was something straight out of a good three stooges episode.  I kicked them out of the way of the door as I opened it and then grabbed the top guy by the back of his shirt and dragged him kicking and screaming out of the bathroom towards the back door of the bar, which was right there.   On the way out I made sure to give this guy one last shot to the head with the frame of the door to daze him. Tommy grabbed the other guy in the same manner and we dragged both of these little morons out the back door, down the cement stairs, across the broken glass that piled on the blacktop, and finally to the dumpsters where we threw both of them into the front of the dumpster, head first.   They both fell back completely dazed but not unconscious.  One guy actually threw up on himself from being a bit drunk and maybe from the pain.  They were both bleeding pretty bad, mostly from being dragged through a sea of broken glass on the way to the spot they were now resting.   Tommy and I worked together to lift these guys into the dumpster, one at a time.  They were dazed enough that they couldn’t really put up much of a fight.  Their entire encounter with us lasted less than 30 seconds.  The initial shock of what had happened didn’t even register.   And, just like that they were taken out, like the trash they were.   We walked back into the bathroom and secured the 2nd stall, and found our package.   The cocaine was nice; it was a huge chunk that looked like an off-white, opaque diamond.  The kind of blow where you had to cut a little chunk out and bash it to pieces with a lighter, while it sat in a small plastic bag so as not to waste any of the precious powder. Which is exactly what we did.  I took the bag with the big chunk in it and placed it on top of the toilet paper dispenser.  I got my knife out and cut a good sized portion from the rock and put it in the bag, I then put the main chunk back in another little baggie I had in my jacket pocket.  I folded up my knife and used the handle to grind the rock into a fine powder.  It is important to be thorough, because with good coke you have to really pulverize it so it gets into you the right way.  You don’t want any little balls getting caught in your nose hairs and not completing the journey to the brain.  If it stays in your nose instead of going into your sinuses you’ll be sure to get a nasty nosebleed by morning from the coke eating away at the layers inside your nasal passages. Tommy took out his little spoon he had attached to his key chain and scooped up the first bump.   His head went back and he breathed a real heavy sigh as the first high hit him.  His pupils instantly became dilated like a cat that is locking in on his prey.  I took my turn and was instantly thrust into high gear. With coke it’s like that.  You take that first big sniff, it’s got to be a big one, and then it’s like someone just plugged you back in.  A huge rush of euphoria hits you.  It’s hard to describe the feeling, its like unstable content. Your chest fills up with an almost numb kind of feeling, the kind of feeling you get the first time the older kids in the neighborhood let you hang out with them without beating the shit out of you.  Everything you hear people say sounds so good, and everything is clear for that second, and if it isn’t, then take another hit and it will be.  You start thinking about things on a real deep level and talk yourself and everyone else in circles about shit that you wouldn’t even give a moment’s thought to if you weren’t high. We took a few more hits than was necessary, just to prolong the first wave, before we have to give up and move on to what really cured the come down process, which is sex.  That extra hit made my throat and nose really numb and immediately began to stimulate the glands that make the glycerin-like coke snot that kept flowing out of my nostrils. Walking back into the populous is always interesting after you’ve taken a bunch of cocaine.  You walk in and the first person you look at knows exactly what you’ve done.  You’re eyes are telling on you.  Huge pupils and that blank, wide, open stare give you away instantly.  Not to mention the constant sniffing that is a result of paranoia about little clumps of snot, coke and blood dangling from your nose.  You notice everyone and they notice you, but you automatically associate their attention towards you with your recent indulgence in the drug that is cocaine.  In reality, they just think you’re fucking insane and that is why they look at you the way they do, not because you are high on cocaine.  These people always look at you that way, but you never notice it until now.   Right before we get to the table Tommy’s cell phone rings and he answers it and moves on outside to talk as I go to sit down with Mack and Skinny at the table.  They are both engrossed in a deep discussion about how to extract a hallucinogenic drug out of a family size bottle of Robitussin DM.  It wasn’t good enough that these guys would drink bottles of Robitussin to get fucked up. No, they had to cut right to the source and figure out a way to extract what they want.   Skinny is a fucking genius and Chemistry is his forte and Mack had a street sense for getting loaded on over the counter drugs.  Robitussin DM, they decided, was clearly the best high.   The drug that is in Robitussin is called Dextromethorphan, abbreviated DXM, or just DM.  It is a mild hallucinogen that has similar effects to LSD. A friend of mine once described it as acid made by retarded people, and I thought that was a pretty accurate description. The problem was that you have to drink an entire bottle for it to give you the high you want.  Which can go down kind of rough if you think about it.  Not to mention the fact that there were other drugs in the syrup whose side effects made it more difficult to go through the process of getting loaded from it.   The robo high is crazy; I know because I’ve done it with these guys plenty of times.  The first time, I got an 8pack of 2oz.-sized shots that you get from the doctor.   The Robitussin you get from the doctor has more of the DXM in it than the stuff you get from the store.  Usually it’s like 10mg. of DXM per serving in a regular 4oz. Size bottle.  The serving size to get rid of a cough for a few hours is like a 1/4 oz. These had 20mg. Per serving.  The normal dose for a regular nightly trip is about one 4oz. bottle of regular 10mg DXM for an average sized person, about 160mg of the drug.  I drank eight 2oz. Bottles at 20mg. dose per serving.  That is 1280mg. of DXM.   Two days later I was wondering if I was going to remain this way for the rest of my life.  It was kind of torturing because I was totally clogged up.  I couldn’t shit, piss, shit, eat, jerk off, walk, or see anything except a tiny 3in. square in my field of vision.  The effects tapered slightly after a few days and eventually went away about a week later.  The next time I saw that commercial with Shaquille O’Neil’s mother saying how she gives her son Robitussin DM when he has a cough, I laughed my fucking ass off.  If they only knew what freaks like us did with this product they were endorsing.   At this point my focus had shifted to suiting another one of my addictions, sex.  It was just too easy for us at the bar.  There were so many hot little girls there all the time, and I had pretty much fucked the lot of them.  I had my regulars, but I was always looking for a new one to throw in the mix.  When I turned to scan the room, I spotted three girls at the bar staring at us, kind of giggling to each other like school girls.  I had seen them around before but never talked to them. The one girl that struck me was sitting near the beer taps and was talking on a cell phone.   Perfect time for a beer I thought. I walked up to the bar and stood right next to the girls, who were staring at me like one stares at a wild animal, part fear, part astonishment.  I ordered my beer and turned to greet them with a huge smile.  This was enough to put them at ease.  I don’t think that they had expected me to walk right up to them after I had noticed them staring at us.   I started to talk to the one girl closest to me, who had just hung up her cell phone.  I was instantly attracted to her.  She had short bleach blond hair, kind of spiky.  Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen.  She looked like an angel to me, a real sluttish looking angel. Her smile was enough to evoke an urge deep in me to tear her clothes off and fuck the hell out of her right there at the bar.  I leaned into her to tell her my name and took notice of how good she smelled.  Her scent was a mixture of roses, secret deodorant and some really nice smelling shampoo, Pantene probably. I whispered my name into her ear almost touching my lips to her ear lobe and she just melted.  She broke down and started to giggle turning to her friends.   When she turned back to me her smile almost knocked me out. She said her name was Erica.  I talked to her for a bit and got her to the point where she was comfortable enough to talk without being nervous.  Then I asked if she and her friends wanted to go back to my place to take part in a small private party.  I told them I had lots of drugs and lots of booze, a nice place and my well behaved, well hung brothers sitting at the table would join us too.  I think Skinny and Mack scared the girl I was talking to, but the others were happy at the thought.  It didn’t take much to convince them, and before long Erica went to the bathroom to prepare for departure and I was moving back towards the table to tell the boys about the situation.   When I went back to the table Tommy was still outside and was waiting for Tammy I suppose.   Skinny and Mack were not fazed by my proposition, and they agreed to move our party back to my apartment just a few minutes drive away.  The bar was really way too crowded for them anyway; they really didn’t like to be around people at all.  Mack could at least hide his agoraphobia by making wise and inappropriate jokes and comments, but Skinny was just nervous and that made him dangerous.   After a minute or so Tommy came back and got his jacket mumbling something about meeting Tammy at his place, and before I knew it he was out the door. I went back over to the girls and we made the arrangements for our next move.  Mack and Skinny were going to ride with the two girls in their Mercedes, while Erica and I took the trans am back to my place.   We got into my car and immediately this girl was unbuttoning my pants and pulling down my zipper.  She pulled me out and went right down before I even got the car started.  I pulled out of the parking lot with Erica working me up really good.  As we were riding down the road I leaned back with one hand on the wheel and my other arm was out the window leaning on the door of the car.  My expression could be associated with the look of carefree exuberance, as my grin spanned the entire width of my head and my eyes like tiny slits in my face. The other car pulled up next to me and the two girls in the front seat was screaming, “where’s Erica”.   I just gave a quick glance down and they started going crazy laughing and yelling.  I looked back at Mack and Skinny who were shaking their heads, with the expression of a scolding father as if to say “isn’t she a little young?”  They took off and got ahead of me because I couldn’t get the car over 20 miles an hour because my legs kept wobbling from this stellar blowjob I was receiving.  Just as I pulled up to the front of my building, I came right down Erica’s throat, and she took it down like she was guzzling water after days of dehydration.  She put it away and wiped her mouth with a huge smile and said, “thank you”.  I was in love.