Beautiful Stranger

by Cordogg

Doc Hudson was an attractive fellow to her. But there was their huge age difference and she had her own ills with public image. Hudson enjoyed the single life all those decades until that mysterious beauty wandered into his territory. Both help others along the way. This is Doc Hudson/oc, other major Cars characters.

26. Laying Claim To A Dime Piece

*This chapter contains the N-word and explicit (and possibly disturbing) scenes between DJ's parents/others. Apologies for the graphicness.* The supposed Latin phrase used in here may not be accurate. I'm just going by what I could find on the web and threw a sentence together. I know nothing about Latin, but...if anyone reading knows the correct translation for that little part please feel free to correct me on it.

** This is also a very, VERY long chapter. I wanted to get DJ's origins out of the way in one shot**

Chapter Twenty-six

Laying Claim To A Dime Piece

That evening Prince sat outside looking at the stars with DJ. The Scion was a rabid follower of all things astronomy like she was.

"If I didn't suck at math I would'a became an astronomer. Ain't it somethin how we' all sittin' on this big blue ball that's spinnin' in the middle of nothin' around a giant ball of gas and plasma that's spinnin' around in the middle of nothin? We're all spinning around a star that's spinnin' in the middle of blackness. And even that's spinnin' inside somethin', this galaxy we call home. Man I love astronomy." DJ fascinated himself. "It amazes me how each pinpoint of light out there iz a star like our Sun. Dis' shit is so pretty to me."

"It is pretty." She had to agree, her beatific face lit with a content smile. "So you suck at math. It was my favorite subject. Well next to history."

"I feel you on the history. History an' English… were my favorite two." DJ told her. "I mean, I was good at the basic math like adding and subtracting. Basic division and muliplying. But when you start gettin' into all that Algebra shit and equations you lost me. Truth is I hated math. Never really cared to learn it. I got Cs in it. Both my parents excel at math and my mom would sit and tutor me while she counted money stacks fo' da boys. I still couldn't get it, no matter how hard she tried to show me. But she likes math. So does my pops. I fucking hated that shit growin' up. I still hate it. I got As and Bs in everything else."

She sighed, highly content and shut her eyes. She was somebody's girlfriend now. Never thought it would be possible. DJ knew her feeling; she was in love. Just as he was with Tia. Mad love. She had become a dime piece now but didn't know it. She thought she had gone from a simple date to straight girlfriend.

"He could have chosen any car he wanted as his woman, yet he chose me." she contently mumbled to herself, not intending for him to hear but he did.

"Why wouldn't he choose you?"

"Hm?" Prince came out of her starry-eyed dream.

"I asked, why wouldn't he choose you?" DJ repeated his question. She shook her head. She didn't have an answer, only a hapless shrug.

"I don't know."

"You' pretty. Ya' smart. You gotta sweet character. What's there for him not t' like? You jus' got a way that makes others wanna be around you. I think Doc picked you long before he asked you to be his female. Believe 'dat. He was intendin' to make you his long before you guys' date." DJ's voice caused her eyes to gaze in his direction.

"How do you know?" she implored him with a meek smile.

"It's a dude thing. We jus' know when we've chosen that one right female. I can't explain it; we jus' know. We can just look at a chick an' jus feel it in our gears that she's that one special one, that we wanna be with for the rest of our lives, 'cause we got it like that. Fo' real, it's a man thang."

x

A warm feeling came over DJ. His daddy laid claim to his mama. And he did it over a period of a year. Turned a ho into a housewife. A housewife who became a baller like him, gangsta, murderer, and all. When he was a baby Mama hung the dried bouquet of white roses over his crib, he learned made of 12 roses, one for every month his father left one by her garage door when he was tricking her out. She took it down when he was one, and now kept that bouquet hanging in the couple's family room. It was the only thing she had in her possession when she moved in with DJ's father.

"My father...how he hooked up with my mother is crazy, yo. Shit had me fucked up when he told me. My daddy was high as fuck that day..and smiling his fender off the whole time he was talking. I was smilin' with him 'cause I was high as shit, but I was trippin hard." DJ began to chuckle as he spoke. "It was funny listening to him cause' he'd take a long drag and inhale, smiling like a motherfucker. Then he would just start laughing, then he'd start talking about what happened next between him and my mother. Stoned like a motherfucker; he just totally confessed to his son...you know...how he met my moms. How I was born and all. Goddamn...I didn't even know about that shit till he spilled it; how I was almost born during a shootout."

Prince was all too eager to listen, knowing she was in for an awesome true tale. DJ looked at the Lamborghini partially seriously.

"You told me once you neva' tried weed, but alot of motherfuckers when they smoke it the truth comes out. Shit you'd never say when you sober start commin' out big time once that giggle sets in. I'ma apologize now for what I'm 'bout' to say. Shit's fixin' ta get real. I was smokin' weed with my old man when I was fifteen. Some of that real good Stony chronic we got from Wingo's mother. My dad, man, he went all into detail; it blew my mind. I'll share it wichu' if you got time to listen on how my parents met. How my Daddy told me...it's pretty graphic. I don't mean to, but I tend to...tell shit like it iz. How it was told to me, I mean." he warned. She nodded in understanding. "Please tell me! I'm all audios."

That picture of Rover Johnston, whose street name was his real first name. And coincidentally he turned into a Range Rover on his first fitting at a tot. This was DJ's father, laid back in that photo, Flamed Up and brandishing an M4A1 assault rifle, taken by a fellow gang member in someone's crib. He had on a red bandanna tied to where it almost stood up like a cone on his top, pulled so low in front his eyes appeared like little black twinkles. As usual, he hid his mouth with one as well and it was obvious he was smiling under that scarf, probably because of the demure babe that was in the photo with him. On his his side view was this remarkably astonishing female. She was a high maintenance prostitute working for this flamed-up pimp she posed with. Intense green eyes, dark burgandy-near black lipstick that gave her an almost Gothic look. Beautiful dark brown eye shadow coated her eyelids. A long white fur scarf was draped elegantly around and under her. Simple yet chic black eye glasses adorned her windshield. She had a wicked paint job; it was matte cardinal-red to match her pimp employer. And a line of black lace-like micro detailed paint trailed from her back sides to where her back tires. They almost looked like garter stockings. Metallic gold paint lined the black trim. Her black diamond-studded rims that spelled her nickname "Lunatic". She was GORGEOUS. This striking couple was DJ's father and mother when they first met up.

His parents' courtship was some truly bizarre, Quinten Tarantino drama. From how they met to his mother deserting her grand lifestyle to follow his murderous path was a real-life script of Kill Bill proportions. Yet their thriller happened long before Uma Thurman's bride role was even drafted. Elle Driver would have been so proud of Rover and Lunatic. "Bill" would have been even prouder. O-Ren Ishii and Gogo Yubari would have labled DJ's parents 驚くばかり "odoroku bakari". Translation: awesome. Even Vernita Green would have thought they was the shit, and Beatrix Kiddo would have gone to them for advice. That's how badass his parents were. Daddy was her Clyde and Mama his Bonnie. She even killed for him, she was so in love. And she was semi-dating him. Loony wasn't even his true girlfriend, but more of a "Side Piece Number 1". DJ's gang organization pimped many prostitutes. The Bloods had a fleet of salacious hookers they employed, all of whom they treated well and with respect. And these decked out tricks were fiercely loyal to the Blood gang. But for Rover, "Lunatic" was his main ho. In his book, SHE was Bitch #1. That's what he called her. "Main Bitch" and "Bitch Number One." The one he sought out when she wasn't working, and was the one he eventually married. DJ's mother went from a stripper-slash-high-class harlot to a full-blown dime piece when his daddy happened upon result of that union was him, a miracle baby. He was a huge surprise to his parents, to his mother in particular, as she had been told it might not ever happen. He reflected on Mom. It was strange considering mother was reserved and modest off the stage or when she wasn't working, but in work mode she was in bitch down.

The rest of the Bloods had tales they told of his mother. Lunatic was a weird one, but she was beloved by the Reds. Madly respected by the Blues. She was as hardcore as it got, and had an almost ballerina-like stance, a testament to her former dance skills. She was a strange cat though. Full-blown representative of baller life which was strictly a hip-hop trait, but she was a chick who relaxed to Enya as much as she nodded to 2 Pac. A master at Blood walking, she did it with such a sexual elegance like her fellow Rubies. She even tossed some balletic steps in hers along with a bouncy back end. DJ could recount even as a small child of his mother parked on the stoop in the hood with some of the others drinking fruit juice while the others passed a 40-ounce. She never drank because she always felt she couldn't be on her guard if she was lit.

DJ was a small six-year-old, but at that time Mother flouted a matte beige paint job. She was usually red but at that point in time she switched her color up to beige which was still her gang-affiliated color. Cupid's bow lips shaded with dark burgandy color but hidden under a "flag". Usually only DJ's father saw those lips for real, she was so in love with keeping her face covered. Her sides also bore custom-made red pattern bandanas. Decked out in her red bandanas, one over her mouth, another twisted in such a way that the ends of the scarf hung on either side of her eyes. It made her appear to have two puffy ponytails. And those shockingly pretty eyes peering out under her face scarf. A red stetson cowboy hat sat on her top, tilted in front to where only one of those searing, luminescent-green eyes showed. A white trench coat draped her whole frame. A country western-looking femme fatale who was so very womanly in appearance. Yet Loony looked as terrifying as her male counterparts. The only gang bitch up in the hood that sported eyeglasses but she was one of the most dangerous of the Bloods known, male or female. She just looked like the type no one wanted to test.

She really wasn't the playing type. All the way ride-or-die for her gang. Not a jokester, DJ's mother had to watch everybody's back on the porch while they hit the Chronic. Any car that slowed down for any reason on her block automatically made her rise slightly on her wheels, ready to activate whatever firearm she was packing. She'd survey the threat level until she figured it was just a visitor or lost driver who wound up here by mistake.

Anyone blue was automatically suspect because some of them were bold enough to enter this area. But then the Bloods did the same thing also by brazenly flaunting their colors in Crip-controlled sections. Both sides taunted each other like that, though she found it childish. She and her husband, the elder Range Rover, hid nothing from their child, DJ. The only thing he never witnessed his parents do was make love, but he most definitely heard it. Many nights he could hear them going at it, and would ask them "was the sex good last night" the next morning. He was just six then! It would make them chuckle. They'd answer him with a yes. He'd rev too when he grew up. Fucking was what led to him, his father told him bluntly when he was just four. DJ knew what ejections were by the time he was four because Daddy had The Talk with him then! Go into illicit detail about how to seduce a female on the mat with his small son. He wanted his kid to be good at engaging like him.

Mama nicknamed him "Little Motherfucker" and for her this was a term of endearment. And she'd say it so modestly, giving him a demure look. DJ was never psychologically scarred by this reference because he knew Loony meant it out of love. Loony was like most mothers; she would lay down her life for her son and only child. She loved DJ more than life itself. DJ was "her shit that she pushed out of her shit" as she always used to say, and she loved his little bumper more than anything on earth. As big as he was now he was still her "little bumper". He was never too grown or too old to be her little baby. It was a mama thing, he knew. To DJ she was the best mother on earth. His father was more like his homie than his pops. They didn't hesitate to put their wheels down as parents when he acted up, which thankfully, was rare. He was well-behaved despite the unorthodox environment he grew up in. As a small boy and teenager DJ was painfully shy and quiet, and in his teen years only was rambunctious around his friends. He didn't turn into the outgoing persona he was today until his junior year in high school at 16...when he started taking gang culture very seriously.

And DJ was a relatively good kid growing up. He had that street savy thanks to his folks, but a tad bit nerd-like, he got good grades and went to a private school. It was strange to see this inner city kid in a uniform at an expensive upper class Los Angeles school. His hoodlum parents were pulling in the bank to send him there. DJ was a kid who got along with his school mates and his inner city peers. He was a private school boy who rolled home to the hood, to a family of Damus/Piru-united "Reds". But this was DJ growing up. His folks let him choose a regular high school and he attended one, and he excelled. That was his old man's plan for him, to be a doctor or lawyer, or some shit like that. His mother just wanted him to do something legal, anything, rather than get caught up in the crime life she was in. She didn't care if he became a cop who had to disown her and Rover or lock them up, she told him. Police officers were legit careers. Although hypocritical in their livelihoods, DJ's parents wanted him to live a clean, crime-free life. Ironic, considering they were both criminals and he grew up like this, and grew up in a gang. Yet they had hoped he would want a straighter path. Instead, he chose to follow in their treads. At ten he declared he wanted to live as they did. He still wanted to go to College, he said, but he decided while small he wanted to 'Blood like his parents. Reluctantly they agreed. He wore a school uniform and mastered English and History AND learned how to cut rocks by watching his dad and the boyz prep drugs for sale. Learned how to clean and prep firearms for upcoming robberies while he got As on science projects. His mother tutored him with math homework while she counted the dough the boys brought in, and attended his PTA meetings. He had awesome parents.

*DJ remembered sitting around the crib learning how to smoke weed with his father when he just was nine. At some point he was going to try marijuana especially as a teenager; he might as well learn it from his own father. And it was during these blunt-out sessions colorful stories came out with the impact high of Mary Jane. His father would get vivid on it.*

One evening fifteen-year-old DJ was hitting the blunt and a 40 with Pops. He found out that night how his parents met. His father told the teenager that Mama became his dime piece the minute he saw, then employed her. Even now DJ wasn't ashamed of his mother's past; he knew all about it. It was no big deal to his father, or the rest of the Bloods. His mother still thought nothing of it other than it being a closed chapter in Loony Tales, and as a kid he thought nothing of it. His mother was a stripper/prostitute-turned-gangster. DJ's imposing father was far older than her. He was not nearly as old as Doc was but he was twenty years his mother's senior. He had an un-shifting stare that would have made even Doc cave in and retreat somewhere in hiding. DJ's sire was a vehicle of few words ever, his voice soft-spoken, but his look said it all; he was not to be fucked with. But his mom... the tricked-out 1988 Acura Integra, was nothing to screw with either. Both of his parents were good folk who never mistreated those who didn't deserve it. They could be caring and merciful. They were also cold-blooded and crazy, and his mom took the cake.

*DJ verified his stoned father's account with several other Bloods. They confirmed everything Daddy said was true. The teen was amazed. He was only fifteen when Dad told him about the train he and some of the others ran on his mother the first night they met. Daddy marked her as a dime piece the moment he saw her, yet bid his time transforming her to become all his, while letting his boys get at her, and he with them that night. The others never spoke of it, Mama never told him, but his Daddy didn't hide shit from him. The boy just shrugged it off. Mama had a life too back in the day. But his father told him the moment he saw those eyes of hers, his first thought was DJ's mother had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. The Range Rover admitted to his teenage son he was annoyed at "that bitch" for causing his men to disrupt his card game with the train nonsense. At first, he didn't even care that DJ's "whore-mother" was in the VIP with them. But he told DJ, when he saw those bright green eyes, he was in love. All he could think was how his son's mother had the most 'beautiful eyes he'd ever seen on a female'. According to his father, his mother's eyes stole his soul. They 'held his soul hostage', Rover said, and all he could think was: 'She must have jacked an angel at gunpoint and robbed that motherfucker of its eyes. Gouged his eyes out. She had the most angelic eyes I'd ever seen.'*

Shannon Nicole Patterson was her birth name. A native of Los Angeles, California where she lived all her life, but others started calling her "Lunatic" as a dancer because she would flip out on customers, even on her boss and the name stuck. It was both her stripper name and later, her gang name. DJ's mom was unusually attractive. Unbelievably she wasn't the flashy type. Only when performing did she dress up, off stage she didn't even wear jewelry. She just wasn't big on bling unless it was part of her attire so she had a rather plain look about her. But she had dark burgundy lips and green bedroom eyes. She wore eyeglasses then, and still wore glasses as she was near-sighted. She could have easily gotten her eyes fixed with the invention of Lazik eye surgery but chose not to. Like many "four-eyed vehicles, she chose to keep wearing glasses as they made her look "smarter".

She was smart. Glasses certainly made her stand out as a stripper, prostitute and gangster. And her eyes were always half-closed, she constantly had a sleepy look to her just like Doc. Half of her eyelids always showed adding more allure to those gooseberry green pupils. She had a lazy stare as if she would doze off to sleep at any moment but there was a lot of fire behind that gaze and the way she talked. She was toy red with a matte finish. Red of all shades was her favorite color. Her tone of voice was quite elegant, very soft and subtle, but often laced with cursing and carried a streak of her no-bullshit persona. The way she spoke was gentle, truly, but behind that meek pitch was the presence of emotional danger. It wasn't just an emotion issue, either, for she was very capable of inflicting physical danger as well on anyone who tested her.

Somewhat standoffish, she showed others respect who deserved it, and she was one to respect others first. But if she was disrespected, then fuck them. DJ's father first met her as a stripper in an upscale strip club frequented by the rich clientele of doctors, lawyers, and stars. She even did a bachelor party for the LAPD; the police chief hired her to perform for one of his engaged lieutenants. Even cops got down and dirty. Some of them were outright crooked; she knew a couple who had underhanded dealings with the Gangs. They certainly got rowdy at their secret parties. Of course she slept with them. She didn't give a crap if they were pigs. To her cops were just as good on the mat as any other dude. They had what the rest of her clients had: green money. DJ's mother was a ho and everyone knew it. She was not ashamed of it either. Many called her "Blowmeister" for obvious reasons. She was known to be one of the wickedest pipe blowers anywhere in California. And she loved to swallow because "eject did wonders for her finish".

She at least took care of herself. She wasn't trying to have nobody's kids at that moment. Despite being told her chance at carrying was slim she took no chances and got an ICD inserted to be safe. Intra-Carrying Device to eradicate what guys liked to deposit inside. She made sure she was on something and/or he was covered up. She was a healthy eater. Dudes left and right were sprung to her; she knew she was good yet humbled about it. She was the bitch other hoes loved to hate on and dudes tattooed her name on them. She was seen frequently with AMG for several months. He was a well-known Blood in the Los Angeles/Oakland area. She neither confirmed nor denied it and nor did he, but the popular rapper spoke fondly of her. Another famed rapper Too $hort was also known to have romanced her. He would only say she was "a cool-ass bitch to be around". To him she was a girl he could kick it with all day he told a radio station.

It was widely rumored she had even been seen with Prince at one point, but she wouldn't deny or confirm it, as she felt it was no one's business who she dated. She never bragged about who she slept with. For her it was a non-issue. Some paparazzi snapped a photo with her leaving a club with him. Gossip went The Purple One's underground hit "Shockadelica" was, in fact, a tribute to her. Rappers and athletes bowed to her literally. DJ's mother indeed appeared in dozens of rap videos and unlike most of the other dancers on the set she got paid for her involvement. Big money. The others settled for chump change, maybe thirty dollars for an 8-hour plus day on the set after taxes, or nothing at all other than the privilege to state that they had been in so-n-so's rap video. DJ's mother was having none of it. She was one of the most well-known video girls in Southern California with a sizable following of fans, both male and female. So she was a local celebrity in Los Angeles.

x

They wanted her in a video? They paid thousands after taxes and she demanded payment upfront, and got it. She didn't give two fucks if the other hoes on the set got nothing. Their problem, if they were too stupid to recognize the game, as long as she was paid for her services. She could pop that pan and twerk like nobody's business. She did it with class, among her graceful acts on the pole so she got hers. She slaughtered the stripper pole and she had an extreme elegance that was matched by no other dancer. Loony kept it in the gutter whether on the pole or writhing on the floor When she bounced it no one matched her nasty elegance. She could pole dance to any music, be it rap or heavy metal. Yes she was a trick. A stripper. And a ho, and she was damn good at her trade. And damn proud of it. According to DJ's father, Lunatic danced so good she looked like she was fucking herself onstage.

She was flexible, sophisticated-and DIRTY. She took ballet all her life and employed balletic steps into her moves. That was her dream...to do ballet. Dance for a prestigious company like the American Ballet Theater. She even had a balletic pose to her when she cruised or just stood there. One of the best in the business, she gained a reputation as a sought-after video girl. She appeared in videos by Dr. Dre, Too $hort, Usher, The Luniz, 2 Live Crew, 2 Pac, The Police, Carlos Santana. So yes, she even did vids for non-rappers who were well-established mainstream artists. Yet she seldom did videos as she was more focused on her stripping routine and college schoolwork. She was even part of Madonna's Blond Ambition tour as a stage dancer pulled out of a crowd in a coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles. The world-acclaimed singer was in L.A. on her Blond Ambition tour and at the last minute wanted some dancers for a brief 15-minute opening act she suddenly came up with. DJ's mother was literally pulled from her latte by a scout who entered the coffee joint of all places and taught a few steps in a matter of hours, to open for the Material Girl that night. Loony loved it.

It was no switch from what she often did as she had no musical preference. She listened to a range of music genres, so she saw herself as a Madonna admirer. Not really a fan, but she dug some of her tracks. Okay, maybe she was a fan to a degree. Madonna definitely knew how to put on a show. Loony and the other dancers recruited for her opening act were allowed to remain for the duration of the concert to watch from backstage. She had to admit the singer was visually creative. Not to mention she was paid two Gs that night, just for that 15-minute act. She took a picture with the singer too. In fact Loony had pictures of herself with all the artists she had worked with. She took a centerfold shot—with her glasses on-and made Playboy's centerfold magazine. Voted one of the best eye candies the magazine ever did. So, Loony was somewhat of a semi-celebrity. She was no well-known famous face outside of L.A., not even by a long shot. She knew famous faces and worked with many, but she the behind-the-scenes type. Shannon didn't give a rat's hiney about the fame, or the famous. She gave a giant fuck about getting her due payments. That was all. Lunatic, also nicknamed "Loony" for short, was crafty. She was only 23 when she crossed DJ's father, but she was mature for her age. Her demeanor was more of a lady in her thirties. Lunatic acted far older than she was. This was another trait many men found appealing, she wasn't a typical immature adult; she harbored alot more maturity than most in her age group.

Her priority: strip long enough just to get thru college, nail an accountant job, then quit. Loony didn't do drugs and she never drank, not even socially. She did smoke and still did now, but she didn't even mess with weed. If it was illegal she didn't mess with it. She had acquaintances, not "friends". There were students at her university campus she got along with, even occasionally ate lunch with. Some of her fellow strippers she was cool with, took smoke breaks with, but she considered no one to be her "friend". Not while she was stripping or in class. No one nowhere was her friend, period. In this aspect she had Doc's mentality when he got out of the insane asylum; like him she trusted NO ONE. She didn't have buddies as a stripper, but strippers she got along with. But she also had Prince's mentality; she saw firsthand what the stripper/video girl business could do to a dancer and she witnessed the downfall of many strippers over it. And like Prince, she made sure she was never caught up in the ugly side of exotic dancing.

Unlike Prince who refused to spread herself around to get ahead, DJ's mother had no problem doing it. As far as sex went, whatever it took to make bank and finish school. If it meant slutting herself out then so be it. She made sure she got a handsome reward for it. Just a month into their marriage, DJ's father learned something awful about Loony, when he accidentally overheard her telling Hoodie's and Ghost Dog's mothers that at seventeen she was assaulted. She had lost her virginity to rape. Her parents were out of town and she was old enough to be left alone when an armed intruder burst in. Before rummaging all over the garage he forced himself on her. And he was not gentle either. Not taking into account that she had never done it he was rough with her, so much so that she bled out for nearly a week. Her insides were near destroyed.

She was taken to the emergency room leaking heavily and couldn't drive for weeks. She wasn't just sexually assaulted, either. Her attacker meant to put an end to her. Not wanting any witnesses, he made her close her eyes with a promise that he was leaving. He then pulled the trigger. Shannon was shot in the head and left for dead while he ransacked the garage. Notified of their daughter's attack her parents immediately cut their vacation short and came home. The suspect was never caught and because she was still developing he practically shredded her insides. Some of the damage left permanent scarring inside of her, unfixable by surgery they told her parents, and there was good probability she might not ever be able to conceive and carry a child. Miracles did happen, but doctors told them the likelihood was slim, and if it did, the pregnancy would be wrought with problems.

For a long time her parents hid this from her. She didn't find out until years later as an adult. She also suffered minor brain damage during the attack because the bullet that nearly ended her struck the region that controlled emotions. Her indifference, aloofness, and sometimes volatile outbursts were directly credited to her bullet injury, garnering Lunatic her strong nickname. She was prone to go off when angry. She remembered the rape vividly but remembered nothing about being shot in the back of the head. Only him ordering her to shut her eyes. A sudden sharp pain... blackness. Then her waking up in ICU.

She was nearly murdered. Most of her physical damage healed but as expected the psychological damage was heavy. She was terrified of males. Even her own father made her jump. She had always planned to give herself up to that special someone when she got older. When that choice was taken from her it hardened her. Rape often created two outcomes in victims: more commonly the victim developed an unnatural fear of intimacy which could fade over time with therapy. Less common was rape would make the survivor promiscuous, which was Loony's case. When she left home she went wild despite her stable upbringing. Her violent encounter didn't make her hate men at all but it made her deeply mistrust them. It made her believe sex wasn't what it was cracked up to be. Yes, it felt good and was a great stress reliever, but she could have chosen asexuality as Doc did. But she would have had to find another job.

Unlike Doc who refrained from it and was content in doing so, Lunatic was no fool. Males could choose that route. For her species they were viewed as misfits. If she wanted to get ahead she had to give it up. Her sex didn't have the luxury of refraining; most men expected a returned favor for a favor. Sex was a powerful tool and Loony wielded it like a weapon. That incredible "O" high never lasted long, it always crashed and burned. But money was permanent. Lasted much longer. Compared to cash, engaging was bland. Thanks to her rape, The Act went from something special to meaningless to her. She was never curious to know what "beautiful" sex was, about being a special act with the "right one", she didn't care. For her it didn't exist. A fun way to ease the horny tension she sometimes felt, but it was meant to be violent and unemotional in her view. She truly believed it was not meant to be enjoyable for a female. In fact if her clients took it slow it actually bored her but she played along to please them.

In her damaged mind, engaging was meant to be very rough and callous. She actually couldn't reach a peak unless the guy was revving her harshly. This was another side effect of her rape which had shaped her into thinking sex was little more than males' way of getting their blocks off while she existed only for the purpose of letting them get their blocks off. Loony seriously only viewed herself as a vessel to let them achieve that goal; no more. Many went out of their way to satisfy her on the mat and succeeded. Even the slow-grinding ones felt good. Yet it didn't feel good. There was never passion on her end in it because she blocked it out.

Some of the times she felt absolutely nothing while she was on the mat. She could not grasp the concept that if the right one took her there, he would make her love it. So she heard. She didn't care about meeting The Right One. Often she feigned the moans and groans because that was what she was supposed to do. Yes she groaned because revving felt great. The majority of the guys she knocked knew what they were doing and took her there, so the moans were real. But she also groaned to appease them. Men liked noisy women. They didn't know she was equally putting on a front to please them, pay her so they could get off on it, get off of her and just leave.

She felt neither dirty nor used while doing it. It was business to her. She just let guys have at her, as long as they had bank. The possibility that she may never have children as a result of her rape hardened her further. She had pictured herself being a mother one day, but then again it was probably best she never became one. What child would want to grow up knowing his/her mother was such a whore? She didn't want to do that to the kid, she stated. If it happened, of course she'd be grateful and would try to be a good mother, but she accepted that it'd likely not ever happen. Even her cycles were wildly off. She often have only two or three periods a year and some years she none at all. Not that she "missed" the bleeding and the crampy bloating, but that's how much damage was done to her body during her assault at 17.

x

Loony trusted the Bloods' women, and she pleaded with them never to reveal her awful secret to the fellows, or Rover. It would tear him apart, she said, what he and the guys did way back in her stripper days and she didn't want any of them feeling messed up behind it. She was not sorry she did the train, never would be, but said she trusted the girls enough to reveal her secret to them since they were all females like her. Like the men, gatherings of women often shared their secrets. Lunatic's home girls promised her that the discussion would never leave that room. They personally felt she needed to see a therapist, but she swore she was fine. She seemed okay. Her fellow girlfriends were saddened by this detail of her life and offered their support but even then, Loony treated it like it was no big deal, her rape. Neither had ever been assaulted so they couldn't grasp her way of thinking but both knew that it was a big deal. She seemed to cope with it well enough. She also confided in them that they all were the first guys ever to make her feel anything on the mat, and her husband was the best out of all of them. He especially made her enjoy being done up, she said. Made her feel things she thought she couldn't. Made her weep...literally...she told the girls.

Rover had a remembrance of the first time it really was just her and him getting it on. About three weeks after their introduction at Eleganc'e. He was in the mood to pipe her down slow and she started crying. Literally she began sobbing. From time to time she smiled through it. Concerned he stopped ready to disengage and questioned her. She meekly assured him she was okay, to please carry on and ignore her tears; he just felt so good was all. He did, assuming she was just really getting into it.

Rover had overheard everything. He didn't intentionally eavesdrop. Minding his own business he was cruising by when he heard the girls talking and heard his name, so natural nosiness kicked in. He already knew that she might not be able to give him offspring. He knew that when they first got married a month ago. She didn't reveal her infertility during their year-long pseudo-courtship. She felt no reason to tell him until he admitted to her that he was in love with her, and intended to marry her. Once she understood he intended to take her as his bride, then she told him. Because at that point, he had every right to know if he wanted a childless broad as his wife. He had a right to fatherhood, and she couldn't promise it. Nor would she deny him that. She didn't understand...he wasn't giving her a "choice' about refusing to wed. Infertile or not, his intent was to take her as his woman. This wasn't a marriage proposal, he told her.

For the first time in her life, she admitted to him that he was the only dude capable of causing emotion in her. If he chose to leave her alone, it would break her heart. She would cry because it would hurt like hell, but she'd get over him and carry on. She wouldn't die if he chose not to stay around. Life would go on for her with or without him, but it would hurt like hell. She wasn't going to lie about it, his departure would reduce her to tears. Unlike every other client she had ever had, Rover grew on her, she admitted this to him. She was secretly in love with him too and could see him as her only man, but if he wanted a child, he needed to realize she probably couldn't grant him his wish. If this was going to be a deal breaker, then she needed to know. It would not be fair to him to stay with a chick that couldn't give him kids if he really wanted them. She said it might happen but couldn't guarantee it. He didn't care. He was in love with this hooker. Enough to marry her. If she couldn't give his kids he didn't care. It had nothing to do with her lifestyle, but was because of a medical condition. That's what she said to him the day he proposed, and he accepted this.

It was true, because she did indeed have a medical condition - brought about by a violent injury he was now learning- but a condition still, so he knew she wasn't lying. Last month she wouldn't go into detail about it and he didn't press her. She only told him as a teenager doctors told her parents her chances of motherhood weren't impossible, but unlikely. She didn't learn this until she was an adult. They didn't want to upset her so they didn't tell her. She held no hard feelings for Mom and Dad hiding it from her. They wanted to protect her. She was very grateful when her now-husband was understanding and supportive to her, vowing unconditional love for her in the face of knowing he might not ever become a father. If she never gave him life at all he was okay with it because his crew had little ones he could play godfather to. He married Loony because he loved her, not because he wanted children.

He did, and wanted to try anyhow but assured her that they would be just fine without any. She could play godmother to the others' kids. But now he knew why she was near-infertile: a very brutal rape. She wasn't just raped; her attacker caused severe internal damage. Rover was angry… not at her, of course. He would have preferred that she told him and he was angered but not at her really. And she was a KID then? That made it worse. Adding insult to injury he tried to kill her afterwards. She had been shot in the head and left to die. Overhearing the ladies' conversation, he discovered to his horror that he had married a nearly-murdered rape victim.

THE TRAIN!

Haunted that he had ran a rape victim with the boys that night after they met her at Eleganc'e, he stayed up all night. When she entered the garage later that evening she found him sitting there with a haunted look on his face. He wasn't about to tell her he heard her conversation with the girls when asked if he was okay. He had something on his mind he said, so she left him be. For some time, he watched her from the doorway as she slept, intensely disturbed by his discovery. She slept so peacefully without a care in a world, yet he couldn't help wondering what she went through as a victim of a violent crime. Knowing how her gunshot injury affected her brain, there was a good chance she didn't remember what all happened. Maybe that was a good thing, he concluded. She was already wacko when mad.

It was just that she seemed so casual about it and this bothered him. She didn't take certain situations seriously, and this could be dangerous. That night his crew met her; just like that she was eager to fuck them all in a single night for a large sum of money. Not knowing if any of them might potentially rape her. She didn't know any of them yet she trusted them. Later, he cooly asked her about her rape. Because during that VIP "business" meeting they had back in the day, none of them would have taken part of what went down had they known this. Loony was mortified when he told her he overheard her telling the girls. He swore never to tell the boys about it. It would devastate all those who were part of that transaction. So he vowed he would keep this to himself, much to her relief. But she was more upset that the encounter would not have happened had he and his men known she was a rape victim almost killed. This upset her more, which in turn upset her husband in the process. He pointedly told her he got that he married a somewhat crazy chick. But he couldn't understand her reasoning on this one. She definitely lived up to her sobriquet. She pointedly told Rover at that time that was a business deal for her, she was not sorry about "the train thing" and never would be. Just as he overheard her telling the girls, it was a healing process to her, she told him, and had no regrets doing it.

She was GLAD she got ran she ranted, but that was a closed chapter in her life now, so he needed to "get over it". As far as her assault as a teenager she told him that he "just needed to get over that also". In Rover's mind this was some serious Stockholm syndrome shit. He was desperate to understand how a rape survivor getting ran up by a bunch of gangsters was "therapeutic". It melted into a full-blown argument with Lunatic telling her husband she didn't want to talk about it anymore and never to bring it up again. Ever.

Lunatic became unhinged and had a wild look in her eyes when she told him, warning him that he was on dangerous ground. They went blank, like she was having a flashback of her attack in that moment. Emotionally about to crack she was fighting back tears; he could see it. He needed to shut up about it as she was having a meltdown. He finally got it. The last thing he wanted to do as a male was make her remember that attack. He realized why she was so emotional. She was ashamed that he knew about her rape. Chastened, he held her, told her it was alright, and he didn't mean to offend. If she, the victim, could put it past her then he needn't trip over it. Appeased, she left to hit the store. If she wanted to believe he and his boys "cured" her that night, then he'd let her believe it. And she was being serious about it. She truly believed that getting run up by a bunch of players paved the way to her healing from her rape! Rover couldn't comprehend it.

x

Screw it, he was her husband, her protector, so he wasn't going to just "get over it." He hit the library and downtown courthouse investigating all records of rapes/near-murders that occurred around the time hers did. He did his research, disguised himself and interviewed those who lived in the area where she grew up in when she was seventeen. He spent months narrowing it down until he discovered huge leads. He should have been a cop. Heck, he did the investigation better than the LAPD detectives did. Finally, he struck gold through a Venice Beach street vendor whose friend allegedly "bragged about raping some girl way back" before he left the state three years ago. Went up northwest to Idaho, he said. The vendor stated severely questioning his buddy, pleading if he was joking or for real. He concluded this pal of his was horsing around, as he was known to play jokes. Listening thoroughly, Rover bought something from him, thanked him, then left. He honed in on his target. Months later, he told his wife he was taking "a little vacation - alone - because he was embarking on a journey". Loony stayed behind in the hood, ever the loyal wife while her ever-faithful husband took time off on his quest. Disguised as a Catholic priest, Rover traveled to Boise where he tracked down his wife's assailant eight years after doing his dastardly deed. An invalid now living in a rehabilitation center in Idaho. Clad in his cappello ramano priest hat, clerical collar and robe, Rover diligently heard the anguished fellow out. He could tell the man was truly sorry for what he had done. The car was now in bad health, having had a stroke that left his speech slurred. And he was a convert to Catholicism, now seriously contemplating turning himself in to the police for raping/near murdering his 17-year-old victim back in California. He wanted a priest to hear his Confession before he called police to turn himself in. He confessed everything, down to describing exactly how Lunatic described her attack to the girls. Rover actually felt a minute measure of sympathy for him.

Still, time for retribution had come.

Rover was hardly a Christian, in fact he had been an atheist for the last twenty years. But he grew up in the faith this car now belonged to. In his old neighborhood of west Los Angeles everyone else was Southern Black Baptist. Rover's middle income parents were the only African-Americans who were Roman Catholic in the neighborhood. All of the shouting and dancing that went on in black churches was weird to him growing up, nothing like the orderly sanctions Catholic cathedrals conducted. Rover understood for his people, American "blacks", this was the norm in their churches, as was the half-singing/yelling of black preachers when they truly got into their mid sermons. He didn't dislike it...it was just odd to him. Inspiring, but strange. He did however found their harmonious choirs enjoyable, and he especially loved how the "sistas" joyously bellowed in the microphones. So much so that they had the entire congregation including the preacher up and dancing. Rover and his parents only attended a "black" church when there was a special event such as a wedding or funeral. Otherwise, they devoutly followed the more orderly proceedings of Catholic Mass every Sunday. Rover chose to attend a Catholic High School. But he studied Latin as a boy, because he liked the way the priests and nuns lived. Wanted to be like them. Pretty much nailed it by his teen years, around the time he started rolling with the neighborhood dealers. So he was familiar with the ways of Confession. His wife Loony was still a "believer" of no particular religion. She knew she married an atheist, but neither she nor he believed in trying to convert the other. There were things he actually missed about Catholicism. He didn't hate it. He just didn't believe in any religious doctrine now, concluding that reason and science made more sense. He was glad the pitiful-looking cripple asked God to forgive him because Rover was about to send him to meet his God. The poor guy was pouring his convictions out to the Range Rover he thought was an actual clergyman.

Most Catholics only knew a handful of phases in Latin relating to ceremonial events such as Mass. It was the clergymen who were expert at it. Some non-clergy Catholics were knowledgeable in all things Latin, and Rover was one of them. As a teenager he opted to learn as much Latin as he could, given he nearly decided to be a priest then. By his seventeenth birthday he had a change of mind about it. At the stage of liking girls, he couldn't deal with the whole celibacy thing. No engaging, no females, but a lifetime of male chastity seriously put him off. Not to mention he found the lifestyles of the gang members he looked up to far more appealing. He chose the latter, having become very fluent at Latin by that point. He knew every word of Latin, and could speak it as well.

"Father" Rover patiently heard the invalid's confession. After mentally tormenting the car for an hour, he finally "blessed" him by telling he was there to put him out of his misery. The car seemed confused by the statement, and asked for clarification. Rover softly revealed that his victim was his wife. A wife with slight brain damage due to a bullet still lodged in her head as doctors deemed it too dangerous to remove. She functioned well enough where it was. He also let the remorseful rapist know that his wife was left barren, he said, as a result of her internal damage. He could never father her offspring since he robbed her of her ability to reproduce. It was good he found God, Rover told him, and that he needed to take a moment to accept his fate. He was about to be sent "home" to that imaginary utopia in the sky. Rover's gaze never faltered.

"I'm sure God forgives you, so you can rest easy. No need to turn yourself in. As I said before, I'm putting you out of your misery. Let us pray."

Loony's assailant most likely wouldn't understand what Rover was about to say to him, being a newcomer to the denomination he chose. He willfully shut his eyes, ready in silent prayer to receive the priest's blessing. A look of relief overcame him, knowing that with the blessings of a priest, a large weight was about to be lifted off of his tires.

Just not in the way he anticipated.

Methodically, Rover calmly began to motion the Sign of The Cross at the unsuspecting reborn Christian. He then chanted some Latin "prayer" at him, extracting a gun from his front wheel as he took aim.

"Abyssus abyssum invocat, abyssum et vobiscum."

"[Hell calls hell, calls for you]." The English translation.

With this, he emptied all nine rounds of his 9mm into him. He exited the Catholic Angels Rest and Recovery Community, immediately lighting up cigarette outside... to the dismay of a passing parishioner leaving the chapel. A smoking priest. She was a younger femme, maybe late twenties, attractive. The black lacy veil sometimes worn by Catholic women and girls, a mantilla veil, draped elegantly over her hood and about her front. She stared at the cigarette he was holding, then at him with a somewhat alarmed look. Rover unintentionally gave her a hard stare because the petite car quickly looked away and drove on after briefly rubbing her rosary beads. He realized he was still dressed as a Man of The Cloth. Screw it; he wasn't putting his cigarette out. Cigarettes were expensive.

When Rover came home a month later ironically Loony remarked that she wondered if her attacker ever regretted what he did, if he was still alive. She forgave him, she said. But she never forgot the chilling sentence her husband conveyed to her.

"I will only tell you this one time, and never speak of it again. He regretted what he did to you." Rover answered simply. Right away she knew what his "journey" was. Hesitant, she asked him softly if he killed him but Rover just eyed her coldly. Loony then gently begged him to tell her the truth, did he kill her attacker? Again, the stoic Rover fixated on her to the point where it sent chills through her. "Addition: I do not discuss any of my missions with no one except the other elders. Even so even they don't always know of all my secret missions because I don't always tell them. Some I embark on, I discuss with no one. Not even with the female I love. Not only did you marry a gangster but you also married a covert operative. I am a professional assassin, Shannon. Recruited by government agencies. I'm even hired by the Mob sometimes. So don't ever question the nature of my absence ever again. EVER. Tonight, I'll resume your 'therapy' so you can 'heal' some more." With that, he shunned her, then went to go roll a blunt. His look said it all, and she never asked him again. That night, Rover made her forget about it by tenderly making love to her. He called it a "therapy session" much to her amusement as they huddled post-coital. Out of respect for his wife, he never got an eleventh tear for it.

Every time DJ replayed the scene of his dad-dressed-as-priest-smoking-a-cigarette, Lana Del Ray's "Summertime Sadness" song played with it. His father went on his mission in the summer.

*Prince's full attention was directed at DJ's account of how his parents met, as he was told by everyone growing up. But he apologized once again to Prince in advance for the explicit detail, reiterating once how the story was told to him by his own father. His dad hid no detail of it, but fully revealed during his chronic buzz every graphic description of their year-long semi romance*.

Before she met "that creepy-ass Range Rover", Loony was every bit as much of a player as the men. She knew what they wanted from her and was willing to give it to them as long as there was an understanding that it was business only. Maybe they felt something for her, she didn't know nor cared, as long as she came upon some dollars in the process of that deal for giving her body up to them. Fuck "love". She wasn't feeling it. And yes she got that Bachelor's degree while stripping. Even Loony had morals. She staunchly didn't believe in falling in love with anyone. It was wrong to her, to lead a guy on into thinking she was in love with him only to play him for his pockets. "Loony" wasn't like that.

Loony's perception of a true gold digger was to let a gentleman know off the bat that she was after his bank, not his heart. She wanted that cash. She would perform for him, do his video, be seen in public with him, let his whole entourage pose in a photograph with her, let him hit it from the back, from the front, suck his pipe, freak another female, whatever he wanted, she'd do it as long as he paid her her proper stacks for it. In advance. She had that kind of power over them.

Ballers and other gents didn't have to love her. They didn't even have to like her. They could hate her. Just run her her money and she was straight. She didn't care at all about the respect as long as she got paid. But she believed without conviction that it was foul to pretend to love a male. In her book even males didn't deserve to get played emotion-wise. They had feelings like her sex did and they didn't deserve to have their emotions manipulated. So she never did.

It was best to let them know upfront where her mind was at. So she never led a guy on. The moment he showed interest, she let him know exactly what she was after, then let him decide whether or not to go the distance with her spending his money. She conveyed her intent as if simply meeting a business partner to discuss the next step in a corporate merger. Dudes had to admire her tenacity for not disguising her cash-digging scheme under the shield of love when most females like her would have done exactly that. She wasn't a heartbreaker. And it was this that got her such respect from the guys, even if she was a bonafide ho. She had her act together and had a plan behind it, attending college during the day to get an accounting degree. Plus she was good on the mat. No guy was off her radar; he could be a well-educated surgeon or an undercover cop, a nerdy scientist or street-hardened gang member. They all were fair game. For her it was a business transaction; she was in it for the money.

The mat-banging was good. The truth was, unlike most, she didn't "love" getting revved up. Seriously she felt nothing during The Act. She reached the top but she pretended to "get into" it. For her it was never personal. She was one of the best pole dancers around so guys always sought her out for private functions. She was an admitted gold digger, she was blasé about it, at least she didn't hide it. And men respected her for this. She understood that males always appreciated honesty over fake love. Females showing no interest made them pursue the disinterested ones even more. It was like a challenge to them. Although she didn't get why.

Some of them wanted a real romance with her but she wasn't interested. She even had marriage proposals but she declined.

x

Eleganc'e (pronounced el-la-gahns)

The Strip Club Shannon a.k.a. "Lunatic" worked at was an exclusive one. Future patrons had to get membership to enter it which took several weeks to approve. Incomes and bank accounts were actually checked prior to granting membership; not even the rich and famous could just show up at the door to be granted access. They had to go through the approval process too. Once one became a member, it was life-long. Membership could be cancelled at any time. Only the rich and or famous could afford such a place. Some gents even brought their wives and girlfriends along to hang with them. Clearly most of the patrons were male as it was a gentlemen's club catering to their sex, but females were certainly not "forbidden". The music played here was everything from top 40 to electronic and euro acid house, rap music to alternative rock and metal. Loony could easily dance to a wide range of musical forms. She had to as the clientele that frequented Eleganc'e came had all musical tastes. So it catered to all generes.

Even those wanting to strip here underwent a rigorous process to get selected. It was one of the hardest joints to get hired at. Looking more like a night club than a strip joint, this was a premier spot, considered one of the finest gentlemen's clubs on earth, and it was huge. It was near Rodeo Drive, one of the wealthiest spots in Los Angeles. You had to have money to get in here. There was no entry fee at the door but a yearly membership of $10,000 that granted unlimited access year-round. Males who frequented Eleganc'e were high-powered career goers: engineers, attorneys, doctors, scientists, celebrities: actors, athletes, musicians and the like.

This included the Bloods and Crips. Both sects were rich and not-so-rich however, even the lowest-paid gang members were very well off money-wise. They worked their way up through the chain of command and the higher they went up, the more well-off financially they became. Younger gangsters who had just joined either side were known as "soldiers", and they made good money drug dealing on the side. They usually made several thousand dollars in one week... all theirs... which was way more than most average joes made in two months. So even the low rank-and-file soldiers weren't hurting for money, ever.

It could have been an agreement set up between Eleganc'e club owners and the street gangs; even the soldiers generally got automatic membership. Probably due to higher-ranking/older gang members pulling strings to get them in. Their patronage was as welcome as any other clients'; here the Crips and Bloods were on their best behavior, even if they ran into each other in the club; they tended to simply ignore each other. After all, they all came here to see the dancing hot babes, not go at each other's throats. It was not uncommon to see them at Eleganc'e.

It was no secret that high-ranking city officials in various levels of government were also members but it was a blot on their image if it was ever revealed that they belonged to such an establishment. Even politicians and fire chiefs had lives even if they had an image to uphold. It was rumored that a prominent D.C. Republican senator was even a member of the club. And this was a guy who ran on a "family values platform". Wife and kids and all. And here he was, trying to holler at a stripper. Loony had no respect for him. He came here, tried to hook up with her and was the one client she ever refused to service. She wouldn't even dance for him despite being offered seventy-grand. She flatly turned down his offer. She told him to go fuck himself and stick his money up his tailpipe, then left the VIP room, sorely tempted to go public with his attempt to proposition a stripper. But she never did. It would have thrust her in the spotlight, airing that Senator's dirty laundry. She'd be on TV, even write a book on it. She could quit stripping and drop out of school and be set for life. But Shannon "Lunatic AKA Loony" Patterson was not the fame-and-glory-seeking type. She was not the type to expose others in that way. She simply told the bolt to kiss off and never dealt with him again.

Many of her strip mates thought she was insane for turning down such an obscene amount of money, political views not withstanding. Aside from meeting her future husband, this senator was the one time where for her, it was personal. She personally knew a stripper who suffered from heavy flows, heavy enough to make her miss work for several days each month. Cramps so bad she couldn't move. And she needed "female meds" - birth control - to control such cycles. But, this punk managed to draft a bill that restricted access to even those forms of control. Thankfully, it was knocked down and died in the House.

As a rape survivor Loony was beyond offended and like Prince, like many females, detested with passion any male who dared to speak of scenarios he would personally never experience due to him being a member of the dominant sex. She didn't care for politicians at all and especially hated Republicans. This guy tried to pass bills to ban all birth control once, including the ICD she was using, once making the asinine statement that females were supposed to stay pregnant because he considered contraception to be against God's will to procreate. Even if it involved emergency contraception for rape. Even if her health was at issue. He seemed to not grasp that birth control was used to treat a range of "female issues" like heavy cycles. Even if used for its intended purpose it was none of his fucking business. It wound up costing him his seat. Pissing off females everywhere he was voted out of office in the early 90s. Even many dudes sided with the ladies on this one.

She loved stripping. She loved the lifestyle she had though she didn't intend to do this forever. All of this changed when she ran into DJ's father who came to her club to see her dance. Rover was not the club-going type. He rarely went to night clubs, and strip clubs really weren't his thing. The most clubbing he ever did were after parties, and even so, went twice a year or so. He was not a party animal, even when he was younger. His boy, a well-liked disc jockey personality kept ranting and raving about this motherfucking girl Loony like she was all that, advising the Bloods to check her out on the Eleganc'e Strip club. So he did. Just to shut this nigga up so he'd stop talking about her, Rover agreed to go see her perform. He was in a VIP section with his boys who recruited her to lap dance for them. The other dancers would have been clamoring to get in there and they did when they saw the redded-out entourage. Any one who was a movie star, athlete, other celebrity, or looked like a high-rolling thug like Crips and Bloods who were never broke came in instantly would be bombarded with sexy strippers who weren't currently onstage. It happened every time, Loony would simply glance at the new patron(s) and go on about her business. If she wasn't stripping she'd simply glance to see what the ruckus was all about then immediately return to minding her own business. She didn't throw herself at anyone. But it was funny to watch four other strippers immediately make a b-line towards the duo of Bloods when they came in.

Right away, the Bloods checked every single one of them: "No! We don't want your company ladies; not you four-BYE." One of them, a toy-red Toyota small bed truck hollered at them. He didn't mean to be so loud. Another Blood, a corvette/hybrid model identical to Lightning McQueen's, drove the point home more harshly.

"Hell 'naw we don' want no lap dance from 'nunna yaw bitches. Get 'da fuck on." he waved them off with a tire and followed the truck in front of him to the back of the club. OUCH! Well that was rude. It even even made Miss Loony wince yet she found the situation humorous. Stung by the rejection, some of the strippers began talking back at them, cursing them out in an attempt to save face. Openly humiliated in front of other customers they tried to play it off. The two Bloods completely ignored their angry outbursts and headed towards their designated area. Loony couldn't help it; she broke down into a seizing chuckle as she watched the minor confrontation.

Ten more Bloods came in, all of whom were much more polite with simple head shakes at the four. Some of these tramps who thought they could get at anybody that came in because they had it like that found out quickly that not every motherfucker that entered the establishment wanted them. Sometimes, patrons didn't want anything; not even a stripper for chat company. They just wanted to be with only their boys. Loony watched the scene from the bar, still smiling.

She was at the bar on break having a cigarette when one of the bouncers came and got her, informing her that she was wanted in one of the VIP sections to entertain some Bloods. She snuffed her cigarette out. It was not wise to keep clients waiting. Not if a dancer expected a tip. She had just started her break but she was professional. The Bloods had their gathering in one of the splendid overhead balconies which had its own pole in the center. The bouncer escorted her to the VIP. As she went by she noticed that the quartet of rebuffed strippers, none of whom she got along with, were all staring maliciously at her. Jealous to be sure of it. Despite it, Loony met their glares with a truly heart felt nod in a sincere acknowledgment of their presence.

She glanced around the arena-like design of the club and spotted a group of Crips on the 2nd balcony, rowdily cheering on a pair of salacious strippers working their talent on the pole in front of them. There were about twelve of them. She spotted two more at a table on the floor by the main stage, talking amongst themselves. She looked to her right and saw an executive in a business suit. Probably a CEO of a company, perhaps, with a group of other gent, one who had his woman with him. At the same table with him were two Saudi bachleors, their tops crested with keffiyehs, which marked them as princes. They were twin 1991 Acura NSXes. Members of the Saudi Royal Family. One of them had a beautiful stripper at his side view, choosing her for his company. The Integra looked upwards. On the strobe-flashing stage, she observed the gyrating bodies of her fellow strip mates in various poses and routines. Piles of cash being tossed to them from those closest to the stage. The bouncer started towards the glass elevator but she chose the ramp to the third floor instead, so he lead the way. She loved the exercise.

A flaming-red hoodlum greeted her by the curtain and as he politely escorted her in, she saw he was packing heat. Legally weapons weren't allowed here but owners let things slide, more than likely they didn't know about the infraction. They probably did know. The gangster that saw Loony in was brandishing an AR-15, and there was another on the opposite side with the same weapon. These two were guarding their spot...just in case. It soon became clear why; the billiard table had large stacks of money piled on it. The top bill was $100, she guessed, each roll was around ten-thousand bucks. Somewhere in the neighborhood of $1.4 million total. She also saw duct-taped packets on the table. Drugs, clearly. Maybe crack and/or cocaine. Some of it was weed. Bloods never shot nor snorted the shit themselves; the Gangs never got high on their own supplies. This was being cut into street-selling amounts for the soldiers sell on the street. Some of the soldiers were present, aiding in the set up. A bill counting machine worked full speed.

Club owners and security either didn't care or had no reason to suspect anything as the Bloods, like their Crip counterparts, kept their operation low-keyed by acting civil. As long as the two weren't brawling in the club no one really cared what they did. Strippers lucky enough to get in didn't care either; they liked entertaining these guys. Her bosses most likely knew about this whole set-up. Unimpressed, Loony lit another cigarette before a pair of them decided to chat her up. She glanced at one of the guards as she blew out her smoke. A 1993 Bugatti EB110 Super Sport who was completely beige in color. Beige was also considered a Blood color. It less popular as it was a "rare color" and was much more expensive. Not that any Blood couldn't afford it. They could easily afford the exotic color beige and some like this guy chose it over being completely "flamed up". He sported dark round Prince glasses. A red scarf over his face and a red ski cap over his top. His face was completely hidden. He was already looking in her direction and cautiously acknowledged her eye contact with a slow and wary nod. Subtle light reflected on his shades as he did. As she scanned around the room, she could see that the group of Bloods were a variety of members from various sects all over Los Angeles. They were easy to spot because they always had their sides or backs tagged with the sect where they were from. Some read "Pirus". Others read "Crimson Irish" and "Vicelords". Since the Crips just went by this word painted on them, the Bloods had hundreds of groups, with each being identified in elaborate tattoos emblemed somewhere on them, even if they were out of state. She spotted only one who had "Southwest Riders" emblazoned near his front in small cursive. His bumper had his city's area code "602" on it. This hinted at his Phoenix, Arizona ties, clearly here to visit his California homies and take part in this drug transaction. He would take some of the drugs back to AZ to divide and help sell.

They were all looking at her when she entered, save for four of them at a table playing a card game. It didn't matter to her. There were eight of them who were fully attentive to her. The Bloods were fun to dance for and she found them easy to converse with. Their homie was right; she was cool. Plus she was GORGEOUS. And they all had a thing for her. They wanted to take her to some homeboy's crib and smash it all at once. AND she was down!

As long as they paid her six-thousand dollars.

Five-hundred for each dude she was charging for this. The Bloods were stumped; they always got serviced for free. This one didn't play that shit. They had already shelled out close to $800 on her in the VIP room, just for the private dance she was doing! What the hell else did she want from them? $500 dollars each? It was not that they couldn't afford it; they could more than afford it. In her mind they were stingy. In theirs, she was being greedy. They paid alot for her to strip already...was that not enough? They paid for strippers to strip-yeah. Like the Crips, they didn't "pay" for trains. They could take the offer. Or, she said, they could find "another stripper that would do it for free", because there were plenty who would, just so they could have bragging rights of being done in by a posse of high-rolling gang members. The posse of criminals exchanged baffled looks. Even the four at the card table were looking at her.

*"She didn't know it, but she was incorrect. Actually, most strippers would run in terror at the mention of having a train ran on them. So since this 'Loon' bitch though she knew everything, they would play along. So none of them decided to correct her on this, but lay a trap instead to see if they could coerce her into it. After all, rumor went this one would do ANYTHING for money." DJ's father confessed to his son. DJ was stunned but intrigued. Daddy continued on.. *

They also could hit the streets, she added, to find a "corner-standing crackhead ho" to run a train on, who wouldn't remember the next day on how good it was. Or she might remember then they could all face gang rape charges." she told them. She had a point; revving a female so zoned-out on drugs that she didn't know she was alive was hardly exciting. She'd be docile, yeah, but it was no fun for any male if she was unresponsive to them. No real dude found such a situation enjoyable. It was always more exciting when both parties—her included—were getting into it. Like the Crips, the Bloods liked their girls fully operational. Fully aware so that they knew what they were getting themselves into. That way rape charges didn't stick. Spiking drinks, taking advantage of altered babes was wrong to them. Sober girls only. At least they were honorable about it.

The extreme acoustics of "Welcome To The Jungle" by Guns N' Roses roared out over the titanic strip club below, as well as its above speakers. But the VIP balconies had thick curtains when pulled, could drop the music's noise level somewhat. Nonetheless, the screams of Axel Rose could be heard in the background atmosphere. She waited patiently for their next offer/decline. To Loony, neither the Crips nor Bloods were special; they were just more green money to fill her stash. The Bloods couldn't believe the audaciousness of this shit-talking ho. They almost cursed her out and was about to kick her out of their VIP section, but... they liked her attitude. They were impressed by her brazenness for it! She was a BOSS bitch, a business girl, and they had to respect this. A total of 12 of them were present; the other eight began to die down in their milling talk and slowly parted to either side to reveal the figure of someone sitting in the corner by that table as if awaiting for his approval. He was the one in the VIP room that notably stood out; he appeared to be a bit older than the others. He was at age 43. Many gang members lived to a ripe old age, even retiring from the game. Just as many rarely lived past the age of twenty-five. They either lived fast and got lucky, managing to cling to life or they lived fast and often died young. Many lived slow and still passed on from their lifestyles.

Like the Crips there was no "one" leader but dozens of leaders who were "elders". Older members called "veterans", a title usually acquired at age 30. An "Elder" was any one who made it to age 40 on up, and the oldest known was a Crip who was in his early sixties. Elders in both gang societies consisted of dozens and only males could become elders. They all held equal status, unanimously made decisions, and were the council to the younger gangsters, setting the rules and issuing out the orders. This forty-three-year old was one of them, an Elder, although he was still incredibly young from an age standpoint. Whenever an Elder Blood was present, it was protocol to seek his input on the matter at hand and it was he who had the final say on it.

He had been playing a game of spades with three of the others, two of which who returned to the table he was at to continue playing. But he had stopped, observing the stripper present. Loony's internals froze for a second once she saw his image come into view as the others parted on either side of her. He had on a cardinal red snapback baseball cap that was turned backwards with its visor pointed a minor 3 degrees. The adjustable snap back part was pulled low enough that it sat where his eyelids were. A red bandanna completely covered his front half of his face, concealing it from view. The only feature of that Range Rover's face that was visible, his black eyes, stared severely into her. They were sad and droopy. What appeared to be darkened tattoos near the corners of his eyes could be seen. She knew tears meant that that gangster murdered someone. He had at least two of these markings near the middle of his eyes. She saw at least four tears for at least four lives, one right in the center of each eye and one on either side. And the way they were painted on almost made his eyes look like the Eyes of Ra. Another bandanna, solid black, was tied under his cap with the tied edges draping sloppily to where each end almost concealed those pupils. When she first saw him, only a completely covered face greeted her from her angle. It was the eeriest thing she'd ever seen. His eyes only became visible when he lowered his front to "eyeball" her. His eyelids were nearly closed, almost like he was drifting asleep. The black scarf, or "knot", signified his alpha status an an elder, and she understood that the Crips' elders also sported black knots with their blue rags. Everything about this guy's presence heralded authority. She didn't know much about neither Crip nor Blood hierarchies, but she knew immediately that this one outranked everyone else in the room.

He stared titillatingly at this cardinal beauty with a matte job, donning black-framed eyeglasses and a dental floss black g-string gemmed thong, a black velvet one. With wads of money here and there his comrades had slipped into it. She also had bills here and there peeking out of her "jacket"; both of her sides and hood covered in gem-studded black velvet cloth. Her tire rims were black and studded with red, champagne, and black diamonds that spelled her name on each tire: "Lunatic" in block lettering. Being a smaller car, and a female one, her rims were much smaller than any guy's at fifteen inches. But no less impressive to look at. They truly fit her he saw. All total, her rims and tires tallied at nearly a million dollars, courtesy of an elderly billionaire she once slept with. The sides of her head dangled with rayon fiberglass that was black and silky, giving her an asymmetrical bob "hair cut". It was simply a headpiece of course, a just part of her stage dance attire, and without it she was just as stunning, he was sure. And she was. Weird, given half of Elegance'e's strippers were of the savvy higher end models he preferred. At first he questioned the judgement of his men picking a lame Acura Integra over something more visually pleasing. Now that he got a good look at her he saw why. The bitch was fly as hell. Plus he heard none of the others could dance like her. He noticed she almost had the pose of a ballerina, head high, perfect alignment in her stance.

A stripper with eyeglasses, that was new. But she looked beddable. She failed to notice that he was calculating in his fixed look on her. Those dark eyes inconspicuously scanned her entire frame from her top to her wheels in lecherous detail. She payed him no mind initially as she had plenty of clients to charm in his homeboys, thus she had failed to notice him for the first hour she was with them. Likewise her presence was met with mutuality on his end. When she first entered their VIP room he didn't even bother to glimpse her, let alone welcome her to their little private party. He automatically wrote her off as just another bitch there to entertain his men so he carried on with his card game at his table, ignoring the swoons from his comrades who had sought her company. It wasn't until the commotion started with the propositioned train "wreck" and his opinion was sought did he bother to really check out the guest in question. It was at this time he got a really good look at her. Acura Integras weren't exactly impressive-looking cars either, but this one got his attention. Loony was no raving knockout but she certainly wasn't ugly. He had never seen an "ugly" female.

There were average-looking broads like Ford Festivas whose beautiful personalities more than made up for whatever physical models they lacked so they would do in his book. Not exactly his first choice but he wouldn't pass up a chance if the mood hit him. He romanced average types. Then there were the drop-dead gorgeous types like Koenigsegg Agera Rs and Lotuses, the high-end speed babes that were super sports cars. He had been with those types as well. They were along his preference. He had a thing for the sporty ones and had plenty of them as his escorts during his lifetime. His ultimate fantasy was always to freak a Lamborghini but he had yet to even see one of the opposite sex. He never even seen a dude one in real life. He laid a Bugatti Veyron which was like a Lambo. The bitch was a Las Vegas show girl. She almost became his woman except they lived in two different states. She liked Vegas too much to leave and California was his home so they parted on good terms after a wild week of partying together, knowing it was unrealistic for them to stay faithful in a long-distance relationship.

Oh well... this thing here in front of him besotted him enough. He liked what he saw. She was no savvy Porsche, in fact her model was dull as hell. Integras just didn't turn him on at all, they looked so standard, but this bitch in his VIP room was another story. This stripper, "Lunatic" was unbelievably cute. Cute as a button with an almost disinterested stare. She didn't seem the least bit impressed by any of the gangsters present, and she wasn't. He saw it, unlike past encounters, she was not some salivating, attention-grabbing groupie. She didn't seem to care about even being among them, unless they had business plans for her. It was evident she planned to leave this room unless they started talking in the only tongue she understood: cash. She was a gold digger; he saw that. But she was to the point about it. No dancing around the flower bed with it or nothing. He had to admit, at least she made it known to his men that, if they wanted to play, they'd have to pay. In her world nothing was free. These thugs had the option of picking another girl here who might gladly do them for free so she was prepared to leave if they decided. She knew she had nothing special about her oil pan. Her "snatch", the vulgar term for oil pan, looked like every other female's, but if they wanted hers they were paying for it. What none of them were going to do was waste her time when she could be onstage getting getting customers' cash.

What struck Rover the most were her bright eyes. Green was a common eye color but her shade of green wasn't. They were gooseberry which was almost nonexistent, it was so rare. Gooseberry green was very bright, best described as between lime/flourescent toy-green. So brightly green that the black circles of her pupils clashed like a riot against them. They made her gaze especially tense while her half-closed eyelids added to the effect. She was the first stripper he had ever seen wearing eyeglasses. He wondered if she was a college Librarian during the day moonlighting as a stripper at night. She was attractive, he concluded, but her eyes' color made her look exotic. The moment he actually saw her for the first time he was hooked, developed a plan in his mind, all the while able to conduct his secret scheme of her without her knowing it. He heard all about this stripper. She might have been a player but so was he. And another player could not be "played". Especially one like him.

x

There was total silence in the VIP room. The Rover was still sitting in the same position as before, not even so much as shifting. There was no use in her lying, he was scaring the shit out of her. His eyes seemed to convey both annoyance at having his card game interrupted as well as intrigue for his sultry guest. Even with his face covered, he was quite an arresting-looking fellow. No, to Loony he was downright handsome as fuck. Extremely. But that stare of his, it just unnerved her greatly. His eyes never blinked. Loony's insides were pounding because this baller, while handsome, he looked absolutely frightening with that scarf on. She noticed this particular Blood had a stoic and ruthless aura about him. Eerily composed, he was a 1992 Range Rover, a high-gloss cardinal red, which was intense. His high profile tires sporting magnificent 22-inch Versante ve212 chrome rims. She could tell by the small black subwoofer speakers situated on his sides that he had one wicked bass system she had yet to hear. 13-inch speakers sat on his lower interior. Along with a 6.5 inch Bazooka BTA10100FHC bass tube neatly concealed inside. He more than packed a gorgeous boom system. But how those near-closed, sad eyes of his were looking at her seriously creeped her out. His mature stare on her was searing. She stared right back, unfazed. At least at first.

Gently, he nudged the side of his face against the table to loosen his scarf until it dropped down, exposing the rest of his face. The whole time he did this, he kept his gaze on her. As his bandana fell, she saw his mouth as an almost invisible slit that sat a little high right between the two small headlights on his grill. And it was stuck in a terrifying scowl. Loony trembled with slight fright for a second. As though just being here was getting on his nerves, he didn't appear to be in a good mood. Yet the vibe his melancholy eyes gave off assured her he intended to keep it respectful towards her. Very attractive fellow he was, with a very tight mouth that couldn't be seen until he spoke.

Dropping his scarf also revealed a prominent scar in the corner of his eye that trailed midway down his hood, an injury he acquired during a knife fight. He was slashed there, and never bothered to get it buffed out and repainted. He decided to keep the mark as a memento of his run-in with the punk who tried to kill him. Holy shit, he was handsome as hell, scar on his face and all. And he looked majestically terrifying. She also noticed that both sides of his hood near his eyes had four tears on each side. He had ten total, the most of any known Blood or Crip. Only one other in the room was teared with a singular drop. But this Rover had an addition to his, underneath every single tear was a tattoo of a bullet as well. Something she had never seen before on any Blood or Crip. It was an added feature he chose to add to his tears. Six of them were from Crips he shot. One was a high-ranking member of an Italian Mafia family he took out in his ancestral homeland who was seeking to overtake the drug empire of the Los Angeles street gangs. Neither side was having that, some outsider trying to set up shop in their territory.

Who in the hell did the Mob think it was trying to step in on what was theirs, especially when all of it was illegal? At the end of the day they were all criminals, L.A. gang members and Mafia alike. Every single one of them were hoodlums, Crip or German Mafia. All were kingpins. Crips never knew exactly who killed the high-profile Russio boss but they heard rumors that it might have been the German mob or the Yakuza. But they were happy about it. Even the Bloods had absolutely no idea who marked him! No one did, not even the other mobsters. But where it concerned America's two most feared street gangs, even the blues and reds tied their bandanas together in alliance on this one. That guy's assassination was all over the news. That was this Rover's handiwork.

The general rule was the two mamoth L.A. gangs and the Mafias tended to give each other their spaces. All the Mafias: Italian, Japanese, German, Mexican, Jamaican, Irish, Nigerian or Russian, had a healthy respect for the Bloods and Crips, and vise versus; the Gangs respected them. The Mafias and Gangs gave each other a wide berth and left each other alone, for the most part. They respected each other enough as equals. They occasionally did business together but neither generally cared to cross the other.

But the one Italian big timer was another story. He sought to enter a business dominated by California thugsters by threatening a hostile takeover. The other Family bosses tried to talk him out of it, stating that the Gangs had always respected their territory and could be potential allies if ever needed. This being said they, the Families, needed to extend that same courtesy to the Gangs. They didn't need to make enemies of them, they said, for they already had enough dealing with the Mobs from other nations. Italy invented the Mafia but no longer held the monopoly in it; several countries had mob empires just as major and terrifying as theirs were, none of whom liked the Italians as it was. Every single one of these Mafias were as ruthless and influential on a global scale as the original Italian Mafia was. They all evenly matched the Sicilian Mafia. The Mob Dons didn't even like each other; each Family had issues with the others, and since their formation in the early 1920s many of those encounters were violent.

The Italian Mafia would never fall, nor would the other countries', but it accepted a while back that they were no longer the only Mafia around. It didn't matter if it was the Voodoo-worshiping Nigerians who petrified the daylights out of their victims by performing mystic rituals on them before killing them. The Nigerian Mafia who controlled Africa's brutal diamond mines, was big on superstition and was rumored to be fanatical members of that cult-like religion that held frightening ceremonies. That mixture of ancient African animism combined with the power of hexing their targets. Chanting like Zulu warriors and all, they painted the condemned with symbols before executing them in grisly detail. Nigerian mobs inflicted curses that some swore actually worked.

Or the stoned-out Jamaicans who were always high on weed and could still function. They smoked pot mainly for health benefits rather than to get high. The equally-chilling Jamaican mob was so used to smoking the stuff that many became immune to its narcotic properties. They conducted business meetings in rooms clouded in hazy smoke that forced their guests to inhale it! Many outsiders often left Jamacia's mobsters with contact highs, stoned, smiling and/ or dizzy! Jamaica's mafia was the world's number one supplier of marijuana, flying and floating that shit all over the planet. Like their Nigerian brethren, many were fanatical followers of the voodoo faith. But the Jamaicans were mainly followers of Rastafari which had African origins as the Jamaicans were an African-descended folk.

It didn't matter if it was the German mafia, known for its Neo-Nazi ties. It was no secret that they ran a huge neo-nazi encampment in northern Germany where they trained their members. Their assassins were said to be among the best in the trade. Despite their racist views against anything not ethnic German even they had shameless open secrets. Some of the higher rank-and-file members/bosses had vivacious side pieces who were clearly non-ethnic... even Jewish girlfriends! Most only tampered with their own "White Aryan angels", would never dream of courting the "Contaminated Ones". Especially when they were ready to settle down and sire kids. Even single many of them wouldn't go there. But some of them did, touting any side piece from a Jew, Latina, or Negress. If she was hot-looking enough, these racist thugs would smash it on the mat. They were still males. Pay her rent and all. Secretly in love on a mad scale, to the point of even marrying them in secrecy. Most minority females would never go there with a skinhead. It was an unthinkable proposition. But some of them did. They could have cared less how the German mob felt about their ethnic peoples or whatever racial views they had. As long as they were respected, wined and dined that's all these willing non-"white" mistresses cared about. Treated extraordinarily well by their Völkisch lovers, they were happy to be branded traitors and "bed wenches" by their own. They actually felt safer with the German mobsters than many of their own!

Despite their openly prejudiced ways, even the German mob at times did business with the likes of the Nigerians and Yakuza. After all they were business deals and never personal. If financial profit would be gained by the German crime syndicate's interaction with the other mobs then they gladly partook. They may have viewed the latter two as inferior but respected them enough as business partners. Ditto the same for the Nigerians and Japanese.

All of the non-Italian mobs respected each other even if they didn't trust each other, but all of them had no love for the Italians. But at the end of the day they were all mobsters. The other godfathers concluded that the west coast Gangs were major players as far as competition but they weren't out to try to muscle them out of power like the other Mafias were. The Families had enough enemies dealing with rival nation mafias; they needn't make more because of one Don's stupid ambition to take over the drug scene in California. None of them were on board with this guy. One even went so far as to secretly notify the Gangs' elders of his intentions. That meeting in downtown L.A.'s Hilton included Wingo's and DJ's fathers. It turned out this mob Don didn't care much for other Don anyway, and his family had a long-standing feud with the Russios. Going back to the 1900s apparently. The Gang elders learned this patriarch had a real-life Romeo and Juliet drama unfolding back in Manhattan... his daughter was romantically involved with the Russio Don's son. And he highly disapproved of it.

The young couple wanted to marry. The Russio clan was all for it but this mob boss was another cat. An outsider, or non-mafia marrying into the Family often gained universal support, but a marriage between two Mob families required the approval of both heads of the Families. If one Don was against it then it didn't commence. There would be no wedding. This visiting Don would not give his blessing for such a union. This in turn pitted his beautiful young daughter against him. Rover would never forget what the Don said next. He would not harm his daughter while her mother lived. Unless her mother preceded her in death, he would not go after his only child for defying him. It would break her mother's heart, he said and he loved his wife too much to see in a state of grief. Clearly he loved his daughter of course with all that he was, and like most fathers would go to great pains to ensure her happiness and safety. But it was what he said that struck Rover and the others. While her mother lived, no harm would come to her. Rover took it to mean that the dude had no plans to do anything crazy to his daughter while the girl's mother was alive, to spare her misery of losing a child.

If his daughter passed away by other means first then she was lucky, WTF? That's how Rover read it and it sent a chill down his back. Kids could be rebellious but surely no one would kill their child over a disliked mate. Would they? Maybe kick her out of the garage maybe, maybe cut ties with her, but kill her? What made it crazier was his daughter was an adult with her own life, own place and all and the Mob could still apparently dictate her love life. This was what made the Italian-American Mafia so dangerous...being born into an Italian mafia family was both a blessing and a curse. Members of the family sometimes didn't even get to decide how to live. Literally their lives were planned for them. While they raised in a luxury most would envy, they knew to adhere to their Dons. Usually the Dons were reasonable and allowed their huge families to live as they wished, but they had the power to decide destinies. A Don could decide to send a cousin to law school despite pleas he wanted to become a store owner since childhood. It was not about what his beloved cousin wanted to be, it was about what The Family needed. Sure, they could hire outside attorneys and did, but Dons could order their own sisters off to a convent to become nuns to live out the rest of her days as a chaste, unwed, and childless bride to Christ. Either to a nunnery in the South American countryside or the Vatican. This was sometimes the punishment for wayward female relatives, even daughters, if they weren't disowned first. They could forbid daughters from ever marrying, to remain virgins and die childless if they chose. Males and sons could be exiled and killed if a Don deemed the offense bad enough. Mob Dons had that kind of power. Even none of the other mafias did this, so they had to respect the Italians for the original no-BS patriarchs that they were. Both merciful and cruel, Italian-American Mafia life could be wonderful. But it could be a curse at the same time.

The group of west coasters shifted uneasy side glances among them at the Don's veiled statement. They were just as bothered by the Don's pondering as the stoic Rover was. Mafia code said he could murder his own daughter in an honor killing for her defiance, but he didn't intend to go to that extreme. While his wife lived at least.

Not even most Italian mob bosses were that cold to wack their own blood. But it was not unheard of for a wayward son or daughter to be done in. "You've betrayed this family." or "You've broken my heart." or an "I know it was you." often followed The Kiss of Death. It was an ancient Roman signature when emperors frightened a doomed man or woman by kissing them. The Italian mob Dons carried this tradition. Any relative marked for death was kissed on the lips with a peck by the family Don. This terrifying gesture sent that relative into hiding if he or she wasn't executed on the spot. Sometimes that included even his own children. Italian mob history had several cases of this, but they exceptionally rare indeed. The dishonor had to be extreme and even so, the most severe punishment was complete disownment by their Family. Killing one's own child was too much even for most of them. But the Crips and Bloods could understand the dude from a "daddy" aspect. Some of them had daughters, so they could totally relate to this mobster's dilemma as a papa wanting the best for his little girl while despising her suitor. Rover had a double-standard train of thought like most men in the belief that daughters could be more difficult to deal with than sons. Difficult not in a bad way, but as in they faced negative dangers more than sons did. It wasn't fair of course, but he didn't make the rules. So there was this need to protect them.

x

He was no father, thus if he had a daughter he couldn't say how he'd react. He could understand feeling some type of way about a disliked lover his daughter had. But killing her? No, Rover couldn't understand that. But this was the Italian mob. Other issues caused this particular Don to have an axe to grind with the Russios. So he flew to California to give the two major Gangs a heads up on this ambitious guy.

The Crips and Bloods were a mafia equivalent of street gangs. America had hundreds of street gangs but they were all minor league players. Insignificant. Bloods and Crips had a Mason-like influence; they were nothing more but a giant street gang collective in Mob form. Both of them had "child sects" in several other states. California was their home base where the Crips and Bloods started, so to reds and blues in other nearby states Cali was their "Parent Spot", to whom they paid homage. But they were all seen as equals to their respective colors. Bloods and Crips numbered in the hundreds of thousands across America west/southwest, and even down south. They even made their way into Canada. They were the two big dogs, the lords of the gang culture. It would not fly; it was akin to the Bloods or Crips threatening to set up shop in Sicily, or overtake Las Vegas's casinos. Or take over their New York crime empire. The Families would never stand for it even if they didn't like each other. None of them would tolerate west coasters ever encroaching on what was theirs and would unite in a hot minute.

The Mexican Mafia had already tried it with their Le Eme/MS-13 sects and both of them got handled with a quickness by a joint coalition of Crips and Bloods. Both sides turned allies to check an outsider attempting to overtake anything in their areas. The Mexican mob and East Coast Latin Kings had already tried to set up shop in California, even attempting to attack The Gangs on their turf. Crip/Blood retaliation was swift and bloody, and the Mexicans realized they had bitten off more than they could chew. They quickly retreated, recognizing like everyone else, that Cali and it's neighboring states belonged to The Gangs. So they decided to let the Gangs be.

So no, no west coast gang syndicate would stand by and watch while any mob encroached on their California territory. It became serious with the Gangs in the process of forming a temporary alliance to fight the Mob. Whether Team Red or Team Blue, soldiers, veterans and elders alike bound red and blue bandannas together over their faces to symbolize unity. They were ready to take the Italians to fucking war but before they could lay out their plans someone did the work for them.

Both reds and blues were so psyched up about the upcoming war they didn't even notice that Rover had gone missing. A month later word got out to The Gangs that some motherfucker took Russio's ass out, and Yakuza was behind it, or some shit, while the suddenly-reemerged Rover carried on with daily life ignoring it all.

Rover secretly took the matter into his own wheels, simply saying he needed a vacation. Even his fellow Bloods didn't know what he was planning and to this day none knew he was the assassin of Albert "Alleyboy" Russio. In the end the Russio boss was silenced forever on his immigrant father's soil at the wheels of this Rover who sat at this table. Rover went all the way to the Tirano just to smoke the guy, watching his target for weeks on end before striking. The charming medieval village-town of Tirano, Italy sat on the Switzerland border where mob boss Don Russio was addressing a crowd during a ceremony. He was in the middle of a speech, and had his mouth open when the bullet struck him right in his mouth. What was especially disturbing was the guy's wife and 9-month-old daughter were at the podium with him and he was clutching his daughter under his tire as he addressed the crowd. Rover muttered to himself the words:

"Lady, please grab your child before he drops."

He squeezed the trigger. Before she knew it, she was standing there with her husband's entrails and oil splattered all over her. Instantly widowed she flipped. Rover had used a high-powered bushmaster AR 15 with a monocular rifle eye scope with a silencer on it. Clean, quick, his personal mission was accomplished. Entering his quaint village bed-n-breakfast, he mentally activated his holographic paint job back to his current red and lit a cigar as it transformed. No one ever found out who assassinated that Mercedes, of course. But the notoriously brutal Japanese crime syndicate known as Yakuza was highly suspect.

Yakuza was Japan's mafia who wielded samurai katanas as much as they did AK-47s. High-ranking members, bosses, and male elders were all heavily tattooed with elaborate patterns of dragons and feudal Japanese scenes. These were concealed under their crisp black-suited attire. Only their wives, girlfriends or call girl-mistresses ever saw their full-body ink during lovemaking. Anyone could join and rise through the hierarchy, but all Yakuza elders had to be descendants of the Samurai, Japan's ancient imperial knights. Samurai surnames were four syllables and bloodline had to be proven through genealogical documentation dating back at least three centuries. Some Japanese underworld bosses were distant relatives to the current Emperor himself!

Thugs they might have been yet Yakuza's underworld lived by a strict code of honor in true Japanese style. Members who brought shame on the organization were expected to terminate themselves by committing seppuku, the ritualistic suicide of the ancient Samurai. Absolutely frightening, Yakuza was also the only mob in existence that allowed females to fight in gun battles alongside of them. Yakuza had almost as many girls in its ranks as it did guys; three of its 12 crime bosses and ten of its 40 elders were female. The Japanese valued their women and children like any other culture, of course, and naturally were protective of them, but in its maffia they were seen as equal combatants, not "weaker". And they weren't. Some Yakuza bosses had entire entourages of all-female bodyguards who stood at the ready. Beautiful Maiko-like females whose razor-sharp katanas hung on one side and a loaded gun or uhzi hung on the other. Geisha-like beaus clad in white-trimmed black kimonos who formed a circular parameter around the boss man or boss lady they served. They appeared as still as stone statues. Incredibly disciplined, these fatal femmes wouldn't hesitate to slice the top off of a visitor who insulted their mob boss or elder with an unsheathed sword. It made no matter to them if the offender was Japanese or foreign.

It was no secret that for some visiting gangsters who sought an audience with a Yakuza boss somewhere in Tokoyo, it was the last thing they ever did in life because they were dispatched in one strike by one of these sekyuritī josei due to a perceived slight or insult, real or imagined. So many speculated it could have been one of these delicate-as-a-blossom-looking Yakuza beauties who was the Russio assassin.

The Russios and many outsiders were convinced the Japanese mob ordered the hit on Don Russio, which they denied, of course. The Italian mob was embroiled in a conflict with the Japanese one over an international underground trade dispute, so at that time so it was easy to pin the blame on the Japanese crime bosses. The speculation didn't concern Rover the "tourist". He sat on his hotel mat that night, calmly watching the CNN reports of it in Italian and English.

x

Loony squinted closely and spotted a black tattoo of a Holy Cross seen on the edge of one of the tear-bullet tattoos Rover had done for "taking care" of Don Russio. It was the first one down on his right side. Not that she knew what it meant but Rover had it done in mockery of the Pope as Russio had Italian lineage in him. Another tear he had for a local small-time wannabe he took out after he committed an act of fuckery on him in a drug deal-gone-bad. The small-time San Diego player tried to kill him with a knife during a deal and learned the hard way to price to be paid for crossing a big-time hustler such as a Blood or his blue-painted arch-enemies. After viciously beating him, Rover killed him. His punishment according to this Rover's gang bible was the relinquishing his life. The remaining two tears he got were from police officers. Yes; two of his deceased victims were COPS he killed. He had yet to be caught for any of his murders and especially for the police he took out, it no doubt rankled the LAPD to this day.

If it ever came to light that he was discovered to be the cop killer he intended to face his punishment bravely as he rightly should for he did not fear life imprisonment or even execution. He took life, the state very well might take his if he ever was brought up on the charges of his victims, especially officers of the law. He accepted the possibility that constantly hung over him. Death did not scare him, clearly. But as of present he was smart enough to never get caught. And the likelihood of him ever being caught for his crimes now was nearly zero. He was a professional assassin as well as a Blood. Hanging out with local thugs in his neighborhood, he was also fascinated by the military. He became a Blood at 16, had no criminal record as he had never been caught, and he enlisted in the Armed Forces. Right after high school, this Blood, "Rover" joined the Army where he excelled. His IQ registered off the scale and they jokingly questioned why he didn't join the Air Force instead. Not that the Army, Navy or Marines were "stupid" branches, but he just chose Army. They originally planned to train him as an infantry gunner but with the Panama Conflict going on among a few world dictators rising to power...deemed threats to the U.S. Government...they trusted young Rover enough to bestow upon him a special field of expertise.

Right out of basic training, he was sent to meet with Pentagon officials and then to some secret location to train as an elite Ranger. Ranger school was notoriously difficult and most applicants washed out, but he persevered. Three years later they sent him off to train as an Army Delta. A step above the Rangers, the U.S. Delta force even topped the Navy Seals in extreme missions, considered the finest secret military operatives on earth. He realized they were training him to become an American government assassin!

There had always been talk that some military servicemen were secret members of the Bloods or Crips but it was never proven. Certainly had the military known it would have court-marshaled said service members, complete with dishonorable discharge and prison time. If they existed they never got caught. but Rover indeed was a real case. They never knew. For Uncle Sam, he took out two or three high-ranking somebodies he had never heard of...he was just following top secret orders while overseas. Yet on his leave he returned to the hood and conducted his dealings as a gang member, and reported back to duty, managing to keep it all a secret from his superiors. The Army never caught on to his illegal double-life. Correction, the Army did know but secretly deemed him too valuable to cut loose. In uniform, he was an upstanding soldier after all. After a six-year stint, he was Honorably discharged, and was proud to have served his country and all that shit. He simply returned to his neighborhood-and right back into his hoodlum lifestyle. Only now, he had even more skill as a seasoned military vet. A lethal sniper able to endure hostile terrain and conditions. And he was still a sought-after assassin to this day, even by the Mobs!

Rover was a trained marksman who was a former Army Ranger, a skilled martial artist who combined what he learned in the military, black belt expertise he practiced as a tot with the dangerous existence of gang life, and he was surgical in his precision. In a black paint job and all when tasked with a mission to kill. When agreeing to the other elders' decision to execute he meticulously planned it, waited and struck. He would quietly stalk his target for weeks, months, even years so as to not draw suspicion. He was an expert at dispatching a doomed person, capable of anything from sniping to posing as an ER doctor to inject his victim with a lethal dose as he lay on a gurney mat. When Rover marked someone, he handled his mission with care, did his job, left no trace, and certainly didn't boast of it.

Loony suddenly shuddered again at the sight of him because she was looking at a cold-blooded murderer. A hardened killer. He had already done hard time in prison once for a federal weapons charge and even behind bars managed to conduct business and issue orders to his street soldiers. Even behind bars he was well-respected by the other inmates, many of whom saw him as an almost Michael Corleone-like persona. To Bloods everywhere this Rover was almost God himself. But he was a humbled individual. A humbled soul who could insult the hell out of a rival in Latin, and had them thinking he was complimenting them.

He had eyes shaped exactly like those of his future son, DJ. His were merely a different color than the son he had yet to create inside of her. His stare on her was reserved with jet black pupils that spelled it out to her: I.N.T.I.M.I.D.A.T.E. H.E.R. And did he. This was "Rover". She wished he'd say something instead of just staring. Her vacant look wavered first. When she glanced at the floor she spotted his wide shadow looming over her, darkening her figure like a ominous blanket. This creepy-assed Range Rover, as attractive as he was his unmoving stare was as chilling as it got. He finally spoke to her.

"Have you ever had a train run on you before?"

Looking up at him she was surprised by his tone. His voice was very soft-spoken and quiet, absolutely nothing like the boisterous swag she had expected from a street thug. No gang jargon or fancy slang; he spoke perfect English. His long and vacant look continued to drill into her to the point where it was starting to make her uncomfortable. The way he was looking at her was creepy, almost as if he was concocting some unsavory plan that involved her future, mapping how it would play out with him having some involvement in it. Not liking it at all she was eventually forced to pull a "Prince" by looking down at the floor.

"Will you stop staring at me like that, please." she softly deplored him.

"No." his response was curt. "I stare at objects that interest me. So I recommend you get used to my staring at you, because until one of us dies, you will experience a lot of it in your lifetime, be sure of it."

Her gentle voice was an instant turn-on, but he didn't show it. He was a fine judge of character and could see it in her body language; she feared him. She wouldn't admit it but he truly scared her. She had no reason to fear him. He didn't hurt females and children. He didn't even harm innocent males. He never fucked anyone over that didn't have it coming to him. The way he was looking at her now, it was like he was raping her with his eyes. Loony was secretly afraid of this baller but she never showed it. Unbeknownst to her, he picked up on it. He continued to address her after a moment of tense silence. His voice was flat and announced he meant every word of what he was about to say:

"Before we conduct any 'business' with you, I must decide if it's worth our time to do so. I decide if a train will even take place among these men. I sense any doubt in you, nothing will take place, period. The only females we train...pun intended... are those who are totally open to it AND, if I agree to it. Understand that I have the final say on this. I'll determine if it's worthwhile for me and my boys to waste our time dealing with you. Now, I ask you again... HAVE YOU EVER. Had a train run on you, before? Do not lie to me." She finally answered him after thinking her words carefully.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It does. And if the answer's no, why would you want one done to you? It may destroy you mentally. You know what happens when you get ran, right?" The elder Blood briefly shuffled the deck handed to him before passing it back to the one next to him. He nodded at him then looked at her again. She slowly batted her eyes in ever-rising annoyance. She didn't care to be lectured at. She was still looking off to the side, however.

"It's a group of men coming in one-by-one, taking turns revving a girl up, going out the door maybe?" she figured sarcastically. Nothing she couldn't handle, surely.

She noticed one of the Bloods who was dealing the cards shook his head with a smile, cigarette dangling from his teeth. The third one was the truck she saw earlier, who now had a red scarf tied under his front. His black windshield visor was lowered to the point where only his blue eyes could be seen peering through. He side glanced Rover with a sort of "She don't know." look. He looked at her momentarily with brief concern. Then he grinned also, but not in a mockish way. More of a "Are you sure you want to find out?" But the older member didn't acknowledge his eye signals as he was still looking at the stripper.

"You think that's all it is?" he finally asked her, secretly dismayed by her lack of understanding what such encounters truly entailed. Again, she silently exhaled impatiently. "You should never take part in something of this magnitude if you don't know what it's about." he said quietly. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's possible you might enjoy it. Some girls do. You most likely won't. Either way, no amount of money is worth having your mental state of mind screwed up behind it. Mental, especially. Not to mention your reputation possibly damaged beyond repair by involving yourself in such a tryst. That is, should you ever choose to leave this business to shoot for a...'good girl' life. This could follow you."

She heaved a silent sigh.

"My reputation came into question the moment I became a stripper, sir. And quite possibly damaged beyond repair already by me whoring myself out. What you just said, isn't new to me. I do what's needed to get ahead in this world. My reputation be damned." she responded in kind.

The Rover just continued his acute gaze on her. Somewhere in between her reply he had brought a Cuban cigar up to his mouth and held it there, its thick smoke billowing out over his face and forming an opaque wave that blocked out one of his eyes. The cherry smell it gave off was hypnotic. She had to hand it to the Cubans. They made some kick-ass tobacco. No wonder cigars from Cuba were so popular in other cultures. There was a minute of quiet. The only thing that moved on the mysterious Rover was the part of his lips not hazed over by the thick smoke when he spoke once more.

"Sometimes I wonder what it's like to be a girl. So many tough decisions you females have to make. I don't believe in God, Satan, or any of that nonsense, but dare I say Eve certainly fucked your sex over, didn't she? I call it you females getting the shaft when it comes to evolution and societal rules. Men can get away with things you cant. Whoring yourself out… slutting it up, stripping… still not the same as having a train run on you. It really isn't." Those last three words of his sentence were said in a manner as if he was sending a secretly coded message to her to consider carefully what she was getting herself into. And the stare of his that accompanied it almost had a plea behind it as if he was hoping she'd back down out of having a train done on her.

"DO WE HAVE A FUCKING DEAL OR NOT…?" Loony irately asked him, fed up and now looking at him. She was ready to conduct business. They asked the club manager for her for their little VIP party; she didn't beg them for access like other strippers would have done.

"I commend your bravery. And, I believe the words you speak are genuine. You tell no lies. Unlike most of the females here; you tell us upfront what you want. I appreciate that. You want six thousand? Tell you what. We'll give you your six thousand now. Tonight. In this room right now. Take you with us, have our merry way with you. And if you perform well, if it turns out you can handle all of us tonight... you get an extra six grand in the morning. That's twelve grand if you pass the test. Normally it's our policy to see to it that the lucky doll gets home safe and sound with an escort even if she fails. We try to be gentlemen anyhow… we believe a train doesn't have to be a totally unpleasant experience. But as part of THIS deal, if you fail us… then, you get nothing. At all. Not only will you have to give back the six thousand we give you tonight, you relinquish the eight-hundred we dished out on you for your private dance. You won't even get to keep that, let alone the twelve Gs we're offering you. We won't even escort you home. Depending on how much... damage is inflicted on your... you know... you may have to pay for a tow ride home. It'll be up to you to see yourself home if you can't handle it all. You have the option of backing out of this deal right now. If you decline our request, you can leave this room with the eight-hundred bucks you've rightfully earned, and this will be the end of it. We'll find someone else to entertain us for the rest of the night. IF you accept this offer, then you're in it ALL THE WAY."

Loony noticed a cunning smirk curved to one side of his barely-visible mouth and this unnerved her. But she blew it off as excitement building in her in anticipation of being done in by a sizable entourage of men in one night. And this handsome Rover would be one of the ones she'd get to rev up. But then his face turned serious once more.

"No backing down midway. We will stop midway if it becomes too much for you and let you leave the premises; you have our word. We won't keep revving you if it becomes unbearable. But if you say "Yes.", your money is on the line. ALL OF IT. So, are you up to the challenge? Think you can take on all of us?"

There was absolute silence in the sultry VIP box. She was completely disconnected from all eyes focused intently on her. "So, do we have a deal young lady?" his voice was solemn as he took a slow sip of his expensive wine as he leveled her with a severe gaze, brow raised. The dead silence continued in the room. Rover waited patiently for a response. He sensed her hesitation and conspicuously lifted a brow. She suddenly remembered his warning earlier about calling the whole thing off if he sensed uncertainty. Loony couldn't resist the offer. More than that she couldn't pull her eyes away from his. Still she didn't feel anything. Twelve grand. That was six thousand more. The rowdy Guns 'N Roses song closed out fitting of the reality she was unaware of being in. As she would discover this night, this VIP was The Jungle, and the thug predators here specialized in wild prey like her. They had welcomed her in alright, and weren't turning her loose until they tamed her. If they didn't mentally devour her first.

She slowly nodded in agreement.

x

She kicked it with them in the VIP, enjoying their company until it was time to leave. She was very easy to talk to much to their delight, and especially when a rap song came on she worked her skills on the pole. The guard that nodded to her earlier by the doorway let his guard down by using his teeth to neatly stick yet another $100 dollar bill in the crevice of her bumper thong. "That ain part of the eight-hundred. Just in case you lose tonight..a tow money to getchu home babydoll. We ain' gon leave you totally hangin." he spoke. And he was sincere. Loony was taken aback by his gesture. Well that was noble of him. When she took a break from dancing she parked in the darkest corner of the room she could find, and lit up a smoke. Feeling feeling someone watching her, she shifted her gaze to see the elder still sitting at the spade table, pointedly gazing in her direction. She looked away but felt compelled to glance in his direction again, appearing indifferent to his presence. Rover was deep in thought as he studied her features, looking dead at her. Another card player who was a TACK baller shifted his front in her direction. His seraphic black eyes were very slanted, and quite charming as they barely peeked from under his hood covered scarf. Their slanted shape gave way to his Chinese roots, which he proudly flaunted in the form of a detailed Chinese dragon on his side. All TACK Bloods had them, and those who got teared up even had their black tears often done as dragons in the shape of tear drops. This guy went by Mr. Bejing. His handsome face observed Rover watching the tramp in between dealing the cards. He finally leaned near him.

"So? Wha'chu think? Is she sexy or what? Wait till you see her dance, dude. SO? Does she have some knockout eyes or what? I don' know 'bout you, but home girl got the prettiest eyes I ever seen on a motherfuckin' female. Real talk. I ain' neva' seen eyes like that on no female. Captivating eyes, homie. Fo' SHO." He puffed on his cigarette clenched between his teeth the whole time he spoke.

The elder revealed a trace of a smile but only briefly. His response was simple. "Yes. They are."

His pal leaned in even further.

"She knows you're lookin'. I'm sure she don't appreciate you looking at her like that." he teased.

"As I've said before, it'll behoove her to get accustomed to it as I've marked her for...future endeavors."

"I can see it in your eyes, man. You want her for yourself. You want her like that. As in Want-Her-For-The Rest-of-Your-Life type of shit. IF you marked her in the way I'm thinkin', are you sure you want us to run train on her? Jus' sayin; if you want her like that for yourself then don't share her. Fuck that shit homie; just take her! We can find anotha' stripper." Mr. Bejing pressed him seriously.

Loony's eyes shifted somewhat nervously in his direction. She was trying to glimpse him without him noticing, but it was clear each time she did he was looking dead straight at her. The second time she braved it she saw him muttering something to a second gangster at his table. It was creeping her the fuck out how he was looking at her. His heavily-tattooed eyes were so sexy but how he stared at her. That barely-seen mouth had all the hallmarks of a supreme snatch-eater. She was getting wet down there just looking at his mouth. Damn this motherfucker was fine as hell. Scar on his face and all. She had to look away and shut her eyes.

Those EYES of hers, man. To the Rover everything about that motherfucker was sexy. Her attire, demeanor, her eyes. There was a long pause before Rover answered his friend.

"I'll let the others have their way with her tonight. I'm not dating her..not yet. I'm not a slave owner. They can have her...for now. While I make my own plans for her."

They rented a posh $1,500/per night penthouse at the Omni in downtown Los Angeles, one of the finest five-star luxury hotels there was. She had never been ran before but she thought she knew what to expect. Admittedly she had never been with more than one guy in a single night. But this arrangement seemed simple enough; engage multiple hoods in one night, no big deal. She woefully predicted they would be so horny they might spend five minutes of energy at most, hit peak and then get out. They would take turns, quickly do their thing, and then leave the room as the next one waltzed in.

But Lunatic forgot one thing. Just as males could never fully understand how a female's internals worked as they weren't female, the same rules applied in reverse. She was insanely ignorant of how the male internal system truly functioned. There was no such thing as a "five-minute" guy, or even a fifteen-minute one. In a highly-charged state of arousal it took a minimum of thirty to forty minutes for a male to hit peak during engaging. Anywhere from a half-hour to around forty-five minutes was the norm. Men could go almost an hour engaging if they chose to hold it in. But once they reached that magical plateau, it took several hours for them to "regenerate" a desire to have another go at it.

Females were the "five-minute" ones; they could have multiple climaxes in under 45 minutes. Guys didn't possess this ability and it was believed in science and medicine that the ability to have so many orgasms in that window was nature's way of "making it up" to females for less-comfortable feats such as pregnancy and childbearing. Boys took longer to have theirs, but at least they'd never have to suffer the indignities of the latter. Apparently, nature's way of "taking away" from them since they didn't have to put up with all of the aggravations of female-dom. So it was more than a fair trade off.

The least nature could do, it was speculated, was let the ladies really get off once they "got off" as many times as possible under an hour. Once they started peaking, there was no stopping it, and they came whether or not they were ready for it. But unlike females, males had the ability to control their peaking until their mates were close to reaching theirs. A guy could hold his orgasm until the female was ready to erupt although in some cases, she, would trigger his. Put another way dudes could essentially screw forever before they finally "got off". Doing several men at once seemed like a piece of cake. That was just it; it only seemed that way.

It started once they arrived at the Omni, and they actually left her to her privacy to wash up. She had run the jacuzzi full of warm lavender oil and hibiscus, cruised in and near the edge ramp quaintly flipped herself over to slump on it at a 30 degree angle. It was here she figured that the party might get started with the fellows coming in one at a time to join her, do their thing then get out. The next would enter, do whatever then leave. And so on. About ten minutes had passed and while she lost herself in her aqua therapy the boyz next door were plotting.

Her eyes startled open to see one of the Bloods looming over her. A sinister smile evolved on the upside down face of the handsome 1992 Honda civic hatchback JDM. And he was chewing on a twig. "Hey beautiful. It's showtime. Don't worry; I don't bite. Unless you want me to." he said to her, grinning wryly. With his grin came a clicking noise his side cheek with a unison eye wink. Before she knew it she felt herself being dragged out by her front wheels. A second one rolled into view wielding a forty ounce of Old English in his tire clip.

"But I'm not ready. I'm not even dried off."

"Too late." the one with the bottle bantered grimly. "Ten minutes iz plenty time fo' readiness. Don' nobody give a fuck up in here shawty believe dat. We got'chu covered." the first one solemnly assured and sure enough she felt one of the ultra plush towels blanketing her as she was gently dragged backwards on to the 30 degree angled padded mat. She felt herself being patted down with a tenderness that equally took her by suprise. Then it abruptly halted.

"Fuck it. She gonna get wet anyway, G forget it." he impatiently tossed the towel. "Time to show shortie how thugz do foreplay. Yo you in?" "Fuck yeah I'm game homie; I 'been wantin to rev her since I saw her in that centerfold last year." "You think she can blow pipes as good as they say she can?"

"Shi-iiiiiiit; I'LL know by tonight's end."

They were talking amongst themselves as though she wasn't even there. "Just lie back, RELAX...and enjoy it my dear. Just call us The Arousers. Our job is to get you worked up, so that you can handle us, and win this bet. If you pass the test you gots our respect." With that he inched in to nibble at one of her feed lines. Assuming Old-English boy had left the room, Loony shut her eyes and quietly savored the JDM's expertise at sucking her line. She shuddered. Then her eyes flew open as she squeaked.

She felt a cool drizzle on her undercarriage and realized the rather cute 1970 Vauxhall Viva was pouring malt liquor on her.

While the first one was still kissing her top half. .

The JDM backed off now but stayed glued to the side of her face. "Thug love right here." he whispered to her. He then began hawking his comrade who tore into Loony's middle with salacious kissing. "THERE ya' go! Wet her shit up fo' real my nigga. Dat's right; lick dat' shit off her dawg! OG style, baby. DIS iz how THUGZ do baby gurl."

JDM or, "Number 1" to Loony, was egging No. 2 who, with precision began inflicting teasing kisses everywhere the Old English was. He was slow and methodic. Taking on a serious persona he put in that work. It shocked Loony into freezing stiff from what he was doing, but she began to shudder from his ministrations.

This felt really good!

x

Not to mention he was good. She certainly never had a guy kiss malt liquor off of her before, and he French kissed his way all over her top half. No, he wouldn't forget the bottom half. He was in no hurry but took his time. She wasn't disappointed by his performance but knowing that the second hoodlum was there lecherously watching made her very uneasy. She would have preferred it to be just her and the one seductively licking up her carriage in the room. Not another dude standing near her too. Then she saw a third one slowly pulling up in the corner who resembled that Range Rover followed by two others...and it all just went downhill from there. Loony had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

This was terrifying while at the same time thrilling in the knowledge that she was involved in a wicked menage a trois, and the frightening thrill of not knowing what to expect. The one kissing on her sensed her fear and offered reassurance that it would only go as far as she allowed it. His crooning voice was genuinely caring and sensual as he told her to relax between exploring her underside, and she did. She tried to. But those others standing there looking...and that Rover!.

Seriously? They were going just fucking park there and watch this shit unfold? Between her and these two guys?

This was so fucked up on so many levels. It was bad enough it was her and two of these motherfuckers, and not one at a time as she predicted. It occurred to her the whole damn crew of them was observing. She never expected that groups of Bloods would bear witness to her getting revved. Or a certain Rover Classic would lock lips with with her while another slammed her up. There were always at least three in the room at all times, sometimes more. Each of them went way longer than five minutes. More like thirty or forty each. They were taking their time with her for their purpose. It now occurred to her that females who hesitantly spoke about being ran never went into full detail about them because it was frightening, most regretted it. Most had wished they had never partaken in one. Either they were too ashamed to speak of their involvement or they very well could have ended up drugged and never agreeing in the first place. But some would try to warn other females not to engage in them. And there were those who were mighty proud they got ran. They loved it. Some even did it more than once. She knew one girl who professed to having a train run on her at least five times. She was just a regular chick she knew at her campus. She was a cafe barista whose boyfriend actually chose to "share" her with his friends, four or five of them who would run her. Loony thought she was mad. But if her man was cool with it... well whatever rocked their back seats. She only knew one stripper who did multiple trains and seemed to enjoy it. Clearly she like the cafe girl were in the minority. There were those few who bragged and had serious courage to allow three or more males do them at once.

Lunatic was scared. Yet, at the same time she couldn't wait to see what would play out next with the next hoodlum, what he would do, how he would do it. It was like she couldn't resist her curiosity despite being sickened that she was being watched. She now knew that trains lasted hours. It was a nonstop engagement with the female never being given time to rest in between her partners. Those who called it quits at any point in it usually had their wishes honored and it was a done deal. Most guys stopped. However there was always the very real possibility that the participants didn't stop, which at that point it deteriorated to rape. Having regrets about their involvement of being ran, some initially-down females found themselves being forcibly held down in the middle of it while the assaults continued well into the night. What began as a train could wind up being a gang rape. It was no longer an act of consenting parties but most victims never reported them as, after all, they DID agree to get ran in the first place. But the Bloods—and Crips—lived by an honor code. While both sects seldom ran trains on a chick, when they did they had a strict rule they followed. No matter how "down" a female claimed to be if she showed signs of wanting to end it then it ended. It was over and they took her home. Or let her leave.

She knew the Bloods would cease and desist if she couldn't keep going so she wasn't worried about her safety. She felt protected around them truly, even now. She knew if she lost they intended to make sure she reached home safely. But she was determined to win this deal. This went beyond wanting that money; she wanted to prove to herself she could be one of the proud, the few, the "trainees" who underwent one and pulled it off. It wasn't in her to "quit". Besides she was actually enjoying this. The endless penetration was beginning to cause immense discomfort. But strangely enough having so many men revving her at once sent her to a blissful plane. A crowd actually seeing her getting laid did bother her to the extreme but somewhere in the night she was so out there from so many comings that she had forgotten she was being watched. Shocked was an understatement when it occurred to her she would NOT be allowed to recuperate between each session. To top all of this off, there were voyeuristic onlookers. It shocked her greatly when it occurred to her that it would not be just her and whoever she was with.

This was not what she anticipated. This was far smuttier than anything she had ever done in her life and she had to privately confess now that this was a very bad idea. But twelve grand was on the line for her. Plus her $800. It was too late now. Every single one of Rover's boys had her hollering out loud, and this time she really wasn't "playing along" to appease them. All eleven of them really hit the mark that good. Every noise that rippled from her throat was genuine, and halfway through she looked as bedraggled as her ragged vocals sounded. Felt so good that it hurt. HE chose to stay with her the entire time, watching as his boys entered the room one-by-one to have their turn. All through the night he wasn't the only one either; a few others hung around in the corners checking out the scenery as another one did her. Outside groups of them converged by the door to hear her frenetic shrieks and the squeaking mat.

She was being banged out of her wits non stop and what bothered her even more was she was loving it. Knowing others were watching added fervor to her embarrassed excitement. And he, the Rover, stayed at her head the entire time, almost talking to her sweetly, as if coaxing her to take it all somehow... and kissing her the whole time. While one of his boys was pounding her he would be kissing her upside-down mouth, muffling her groans. Stroking her head and all of that while she lost it from a vocal standpoint getting dug. She made the sweetest panting noises and cries; he loved the sounds she made.

x

That Rover kept calling her "baby", constantly whispering: "Come on Bright Eyes, don't quit on me baby." Telling her to hang in there, "Be a big girl and take it like a pro". At one point she wasn't so sure she could and seriously contemplated conceding absolute defeat silently as she cried out. But when she thought she might give up the one revving her hit the right spot and she got that much closer to climaxing out. And Rover caustically advised his homies to "Fuck her shit up. Make it hurt her good." She was too delirious to know if she was coming or not. At one point she was in tears, quietly pleading to Rover she didn't think she could continue and heard him whisper back to her to not give up so easily. He said he wouldn't allow it. This was a serious mind-fuck.

She was on her back the entire time. Some fore played with her a bit, ravishing attention to her hot points beforehand while others were so worked up they just got right down to business. Some were soft, others were "ruff ryders", but all eleven of them put the pipe on her good. They brought her to an incredible climax as they came. She wouldn't lie; it began to hurt after some time because each one went at least half hour. Some longer. Six hours of straight engaging. No breaks or rest for her, and still it wasn't over. It was getting to be too much, even for someone like her.

By guy number 6 and 3 1/2 hours later she was beginning to feel like a virgin all over again. It went from good to painful. The discomfort was growing with each male after #7, but so were the rapturous peaks she hit. He was the last one to have his go at her, that red Rover that coaxed her through it. He licked her pan up something fierce, not even giving a fuck that he was getting his friends' ejections into his mouth! Several did the same and like them, he didn't give a shit either. Like any female with sense she loved getting oral stimulation but it shocked her when he, like three others in his crew, performed on her. Honestly she was disgusted - BUT - she wasn't about to "complain". A bitch had to be out of her fucking mind to complain about getting eaten out.

Loony was out of her mind for real and was on prescription medication for severe bipolarism and PTSD. But she wasn't "stupid". Waxing felt too good. To top it off he kissed her on the lips again before the final showdown - forcing her to get a mixture of everyone else's sticky in her mouth. She was both disgusted and aroused because she didn't fight it. She ravenously kissed him back. Many a gent had no issue with "licking the pan up" on a lady but most were understandably reluctant to put their mouths down there immediately behind another dude whose anatomically-male appendage had been in just moments before. The chick had to take a douche-down or something first. Wash the previous guy's shit out and off of her first. But there were those who could have cared less about it, obviously. Three of Rover's homeboys did the exact thing he did; they went down on her without any compunction about lapping up another 'boy's remnants because they were just that freaky. What many viewed to be filthy some considered it a fetish, if not, the norm.

And Rover became the fourth Nasty Boy to go there between her back axles with a tongue routine that night. The way she smelled it was irresistible and he had to get at her like that. Brought her to body-freezing climax in his throat. Twice. Thirty minutes or so he spent eating her. She was damn near upside down when she became his dish. Literally, he had her back wheels splayed out overhead with her sliding off of the mat as he mouthed her up. He did more than "go down", he dove down on her. Rover didn't "go down" on bitches. He went through them. That's how good he was. He was the best pan muncher she had ever encountered. She emitted noises she didn't know she could, and none of it was a "front" this time. She endured him whispering filthy things at her for hours now, and the dirtier he talked the more it turned her on. She conceded defeat when Rover got his turn.

Finally he took his place over her for the grand finale. His thrusts began slow, gradually picking up in intensity over time until he commenced to pile-driving her. After all of that banging she was still tight, causing him to sensuously curse under his breath. She was beyond awareness at this point, not even aware he was on her missionary style. Rover almost had her hanging off the mat upside down. The elevated mat they were on wasn't just squeaking; it was rocking violently. That's how hard he pumped her. Fucked her glasses right off of her face. By now the others had left the room to leave just the two of them to each other. Lunatic was beyond sore, tired and hurting, and he felt so amazingly good. She was delirious. She swore he was trying to bang her carrying unit instead of her pan. Most certainly felt the tip of him near the place where a baby would reside. It was finally more than she could bear. She lost her sanity, the way he rode her.

His revving was brutal so it was safe to say he fucked her until she went comatose. It was no joke... as soon as he brought her to a final climax she slipped into a state of unconsciousness, so exhausted she was. She could only remember that stupefying feel of reaching it with him and then catatonia setting in as she came down off of it. Responding lethargically to his voice, she was catatonic with her eyes closed and according to him, fell asleep with a peaceful expression. He stayed in the room with her the entire night while some of his cohorts went home. A few others had rented rooms on the opposite ends, but Rover remained with her all night. She was the first to awaken the next morning and was surprised to find him still there. She had expected to find the room empty with her as its sole occupant, and her seven thousand lying on a vanity somewhere. With the room paid for she needn't worry other than checking out. This was how most of her clients who chose the hotel option did it. In some instances she departed first.

In either case when they awoke the departure was quick. She nor they hung around for long which was fine by her, but she never expected to stir awake to find her mobility limited by his protective blockade. His larger figure shielded her smaller one, trapping her on the mat against the wall and he was sound asleep. Her scanning eyes found her extra six Gs neatly splayed out on the vanity and she started to slowly wriggle herself free from between him and the wall. Her intent was to take the cash and quietly leave without waking him up. She won her money. Time to get her shit and get the fuck up out of there.

But the minute she moved it triggered a reaction from him in his sleep. He pressed even closer to her and gingerly muttered one word of "Stay." Perplexed she hesitated, then decided to honor his request. He was still a paying customer. So she stayed, softly burrowing under his tire where she eventually drifted back into sleep. She slept several more hours before waking up, this time he awoke with her. She really was stiff and sore much to her chagrin. She let all twelve of them have at her and she liked them all, but she especially enjoyed the red 1992 Range Rover Classic. He did everything so perfect. Not all of them went "down south" but some did, and they too were kick-ass eaters that night but he stood out. Everything about him did.

She had no choice but to start giggling, and then laugh when several of Rover's men told he fucked her to sleep. SHE claimed, she was tired by the time he had his turn. She was adamant but it didn't work. They didn't care how she tried to play it off to save face; Rover fucked her ass to sleep. She had crossed many dudes who were incredible on the mat. But this train was akin to dying and going to Sex Heaven. Maybe it was because she was doing so many at once, she was no train expert but maybe that saying had some truth: those few females who passed the "training test"— and liked it— got rewarded for it. Loony finally figured out why those rare chicks who liked doing trains actually liked them...once a female got past the terrified stage and let her guard down and just got into it, it really was fun.

Every single one of Rover's men freaked up her oil pan and got her hooked to it. Whether they went fast or slow, they punished it good and proper. Maybe they were hardened street criminals and what not but they rocked it on the mat. But even civilian dudes put the pipe down on a bitch proper. She concluded she had too much of a good thing for one night because she honestly couldn't recall how the train ended once Rover got his chance. But if he put her in a vegetative state for her this was a problem no matter how humorous.

x

She didn't anticipate to be treated with such chivalry by these Bloods. She was surprised some of them checked up on her to make sure she was okay. They allowed her to thoroughly take a wash down in their bath lounge which was soothing to say the least. They were gracious about her well-being. After her shower Rover checked on her and talked her into getting on the mat with a bucket of ice in tow. He offered to massage her down there with ice, stating the ice would alleviate some of the discomfort, and it actually worked. They all kept asking her how she felt. Loony was taken aback by their genuine concern for her comfort. To be sure she had no regrets at all. She had never done a train before but that was a lot of tail pipe for one night and honestly, it was more than she could handle but she toughed it out. She DID love it, wasn't sorry she engaged that many dudes at once, but was of the opinion that she probably wouldn't do one ever again. As fun as it was, all twelve of them put it down good but she'd pass next time. The elder Blood had to laugh when she begrudgingly admitted that.

Rover escorted her home, secretly pleased she passed the test. This one was a keeper, somebody he could employ. Impressed, he offered her work. The Bloods could use her talents. He offered her protection and for that she was truly grateful even though she could hold her own in a conflict. It didn't hurt to have backup guns. She may have been a tough chick who could survive by any means necessary but she was no idiot. She was still a female, far weaker than a guy was, and there was no harm to have a gang of backup guns to look out for her. So she took his offer. She'd work for them. She was about to become an in-demand civilian hooker for the Bloods sect.

On good repertoire with the nightclub owners she thanked them for allowing her the chance to strip at Eleganc'e. Her bosses hated to see her go but understood she had bigger things, and wished her well. As she left the joint for the last time as a stripper, she passed by the same group of four chicks who had been dissed the night prior by Rover's boys. She blew a sarcastic kiss at them complete with an eye wink. Her expression was serious however despite the cocky kiss-blowing gesture. She entered the lavish dressing lounge to bid her farewells to the few fellow strippers she got along with. She offered her dance attire to them, stating she had no intention to take any of her locker items with her. Her stripping days were over, so she didn't need it. It was theirs if they wanted. The three strippers closest to her were stunned, saddened to see her leave but happy for her as they hugged their goodbyes. They would miss Loony indeed, because she was a cool broad. Always serious, no BS in her game, and honest. And fun.

She quit stripping and became Rover's personal escort. Trick. She became his HOE. She exclusively became his bitch. Pimping out his future son's mother, yes DJ's father was his mother's PIMP. Now she was a high-end prostitute, or call girl, sleeping with the city's politicians and movie stars. Still wearing glasses. Rover put her up in a lavish four-bedroom loft and paid her rent, bills and all. He had a stripper pole installed in the middle of the large loft so that she could keep the practice of pole dancing, which she now did as a way to keep fit. It also served to entertain him when he was in the mood to have her do a private dance just for him. In this loft, he was the only one who watched her perform. And she was at his beckoning call because sometimes he sought her out. Bitch #1 as he called her, certainly lived up to her alter-nickname of "Blowmeister" because Rover swore her blowjobs were like being sucked by a mythical goddess. Best. Pipe sucker. Ever. So what if he was old enough to be her father? He sure didn't care and neither did she. She loved it especially when he wanted to spend alone time with her. Just the two of them. He would actually take her out on dates. Real ones, as in dinners and movies. He was not afraid to be seen with her in public. He didn't care she was a tramp. She was his tramp. She would cook dinner for him, have it ready and waiting when he dropped by and he would eat with her. He would leave a white rose by her door once every month. She kept every one and fashioned a dried bouquet out of them.

He took her on a trip to New York City. She had never ventured outside of California. And they vacationed the world. London, Paris. The Bahamas. Hawaii and Bali. Rover would just call her and tell her to pack a suitcase because in a few hours he was taking her on a vacation for a week or so...just the two of them. He charmed her with Latin poetry, speaking it in the tongue of the ancient Romans. He flattered her in it, and would translate its meaning for her. The love making between them was beautiful. It was emotional. Sometimes he wanted to take it nice n' slow. They made love. Other times he revved rough; he just needed to fuck her. A bad day in the streets, perhaps saw a hot-looking chick and Loony his Ho came to mind, whatever it was, he just needed a quickie. Admittedly he just got real horny-all-of-a sudden in the midst of a crack deal and had to get it all out by pummeling her against a wall. She could always tell when he was in the mood for riding her in the rough because the moment she activated her garage door he dashed inside, kissing her heavily. And all the while he would be forcing her to back up against a wall or table somewhere in her condo, still kissing. He was a passionate kisser as it was but when he greeted her this way rather than saying "Hello" she instantly knew he was there to pound her suspensions out.

There was not a lot of time because he had to get back to whatever it was he was doing; they had about thirty minutes at most so they had to make it count. Wherever he forced her to drive backwards into was where they wound up fucking. Wall, counter, closet area, shelf, right there was where he banged her real hard for about half an hour. Her frantic gasping, panting and screaming curse words and his name as he rode her doggie style or missionary . It made no matter to him the position or where they revved, as long as he could bust it wide open before going back out in the streets to handle his business. He made sure she came at least twice in the process before he left fully relieved. Even when he was fucking the shit out of her oil pan with her head smashed up against a wall, it was beautiful to her. He made it feel beautiful. Many other times he spent hours on end pleasuring her on the mat. He took his time, loving her slowly and deeply. He was in no hurry and focused exclusively on her needs. This, before mounting her and doing a slow grind penetration. He hit deep but slow. He made love to her. No matter how he came at her Loony couldn't get enough of Rover. Thug love really was no joke.

He was quite capable of taking it slow and often did but he loved rough fucking. The kind that made Loony scream bloody murder and had her begging him to go harder, faster. The type of harsh engaging that when he was doggie-styling it, he forcefully shoved her face-down into that mat or floor and had her screaming like she was giving birth. He was really into doing her in the muffler with those jacks of his. The first time she felt him near that exit she was nervous and he sensed it. She pleaded with him that she was new at it. He growled "Understood." while sucking on her feed tubes, then proceeded with caution. Of course he was soft on his "little muffler virgin". She had never done muffler sex before in her life until she met Rover. He eased her into it gently over a period of months and he hurt. It felt strange to be done up like this, not to mention downright filthy but he didn't give a damn. The sensations he invoked there were crazy and over time she enjoyed and got used to it.

Eventually he made her even take it up the muffler in rough fashion and like it. The "normal" way was always thrilling as well. He made her enjoy being taken to the mat. She actually began to view revving as an emotional act, all because of him. Rover made her love it. With him it was sacred. It felt sacred. Just being in his presence was a high. A real-life drug dealer whose drug for his young call girl client was his love. Her fix was his sex. She became an addict to how he put her to mat. She may not have cared anything about sex other than using it to get cash before she met Rover, but she was still a freak. That's why all her clients loved her. But Rover turned her, an emotionless entity, into Lillith. Like that nymphotic Jewish goddess, she demanded his romance. Rover himself was like a drug and she, his junkie.

x

And she was a spy, working her charms on Crip clients to discover what, if anything, they were plotting against the Bloods. Whenever they wanted to know what they or some small-time player was up to, they stuck Loony on them who worked her sexual prowess on them. Even Bloods couldn't figure it out how she did it...what kind of snatch did this bitch have that had Crips rambling about wanting to switch Gangs? Some of them were so enamored by her her they actually considered turning Blood! She charmed a local dealer in a night club once to get the story of him to the Bloods, and had the guy proposing to her five times in one night after she seduced him. The Bloods determined he was a harmless nuisance, no one to really keep an eye on. To the Bloods she was one of a kind. They had her back. If someone was giving her grief, all she had to do was make a phone call, and as she did it, she told whoever was shelling the grief that she was bringing Red Nation their way. When her Blood henchmen rolled up the offender(s) knew they were toast.

While Rover footed the bill for her to live splendidly, he still lived down in his hood in Long Beach district of Nickerson Gardens. Like a true baller, a true gangsta, he preferred to stay in his territory. Like many Bloods and Crips, he was loaded with cash on his person and in bank accounts but the hood was where he belonged. Those who made it in the rap game maybe bought mansions in Bel Air and overseas in Monaco, but even they preferred the home turf of their 'hoods, ghettos, and projects. Loony could understand; one never truly "left" the hood, no matter what one did.

The Rover could afford almost anything. And he bought her everything. But she found that she started to not care for his money because she was starting to desire that Range Rover. She had this big fabulous apartment garage and she was...lonely. Because he wasn't here with her. She realized she no longer wanted his bank; she wanted him. He was twice as old as she was and it didn't matter to her. Whether he saw her as a piece of young bumper she didn't know, but he became her sugar daddy. Yes she was a trick, she was a damn good one and now she only wanted to sex him. It was during her call girl stage that something began to happen between them, and to her emotionally. But Loony was not dumb; no one wanted a ho for a girlfriend. Not even a fabulous, well-off one. Even if she stopped tricking and was serious about living a one-man only life no one would take her seriously. Even though the Bloods treated her like family, almost like a daughter, she was convinced they'd never view her more than a really smart ho that had game. She was wrong.

The Bloods saw her as an individual who was street savvy and had game, and quite possibly could make some lucky hood very happy. She wasn't just a call girl; she was hell on wheels and they dug that about her. She came to realize that the Bloods did indeed love her, but she remained convinced the Rover would never want to fuck with something that fucked his whole crew and half of Los Angeles county. She was wrong about that, too.

That day when he came over he said he was finally fed up with her sleeping all over town. Didn't say "Hi", kiss her or nothing. Just rolled on in when she activated her garage door and parked in the middle of her pad before he started talking shit.

"I'm tired of you revving others."

Out of the blue he just told her he was tired of her doing everybody in town. But, she was a trick. He was confusing her, what he said. After a moment of confusion as his hooker, she said she didn't understand.

"I said, I'm tired of you fucking everybody around town."

He repeated his response. Annoyed, she confronted him then a nasty argument ensued. She didn't know what his problem was but she was in no mood for his shit. He pressed her up against a wall, knocking a lamp post over as he did, and told her that her days of hooking were over. He was tired of her acting like a hoe, he said, and it was ending that day. She was genuinely confused, after all, he was her pimp. Her employer. She was a prostitute. That's what prostitutes did...sleep with people!

She wasn't going to mat with anybody else, he repeated.

Although the Rover never said anything, he was having real feelings for this slut he had tricking for him. This girl born Shannon Patterson a.k.a. "Lunatic" or "Loony" for short, also known in wide circles as "Blowmeister". She was seriously falling love with him as well but kept it to herself. It was official: Rover's money no longer meant jack shit to her. The only meaning in life for her was having him as her one and only love. Her distant prayers were answered when he finally made his feelings known to her one year after they met. He told her he marked her as his dime piece the first night he met her as a stripper. He had been planning this all along, to make her his. He saw a lioness when he stared at her, he said, the very first night he saw her. Caught off guard, she was humbled. As he spoke she gently removed the dried bouquet of roses from the wall and held them. This whole time he had been plotting to make her his. And, she was ready to roll with him as his woman. He wanted her to be his wife, he said. She needed a thug in her life, and he needed a bitch who was down for him, he said. And Loony had become that one. Now she was 24 and he 44. Rover didn't "ask" Lunatic to marry him. Flat-out, this wasn't a proposal, he told her he was marrying her. Bloods and Crips were notorious for taking the chicks they wanted. They didn't "propose". They simply took the females they desired, then wed them. Without asking.

Rover bluntly told her: "You're done whoring yourself out to others. I'm tired of you having sex with other men. I've decided not to share you with other males anymore. You belong to me. And only me. So, I'm selling this loft. You're moving out of here by the end of the month, understand? Me and the boys will come help you move your stuff. So pack up your things because you're coming to Long Beach to live with me now. As my wife." Just like that he left her standing in the middle of her place. She watched him leave.

Then she obediently followed him, no questions asked. And just like that she left. Screw her belongings. She didn't even pack up. The only item she gathered was the dried bouquet she made out of the roses he sent her. That was all. She didn't even second glance at her property in the loft. Considering her hooking profession another closed chapter in her life, she simply left everything behind, left all of her costly possessions in that condo and drove away from it. Followed him to Blood territory. It was time to roll with him as his permanent and only female. And she was only his fiancee for about three hours max. That very evening they married in a small Greek Orthodox chapel in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. Neither was of this denomination, and it didn't matter to the priest who blessed them, either. It was a last minute arrangement. Lunatic chose a plain ivory flax linen gown. On her top splayed a long veil trailing over her made of heavily-embroidered mixed lace. It too was ivory-colored. It was crowned with a wreath of white roses in a circlet headband. She was simple yet elegant, and she looked like an innocent bride. It gave her an almost hippie-looking appearance. To Rover she was the most beautiful bride ever. Ivory was close enough to white. It was subtle and she thought it was inappropriate for her to marry in all white as she was no virgin. He didn't give a fuck; ivory, white...he liked what he saw. Rover added nothing to his frame at all, not even a bowtie. He went as he was when he went to her place to break the news of selling her place.

They just entered the first church they saw, Greek Orthodox and asked someone politely if they could marry somebody and the clergy agreed. In the tradition of the Greeks, the priest decked out in his veiled Kalimavkion put an olive wreath on top of both of them. Simple, no guests, but it was charming, and quick. It was Rovers' idea to get hitched in a church as she was still a believer, and he wanted to honor that.

He had one bad-ass female on his side view and he knew it. Yes, he was possessive of her. She was his shit now and had zero problem checking any motherfucker dumb enough to try to hit on her in his presence. He knew she'd never cheat on him and trusted her to behave when she was out clubbing with the girls. She had it under control, he knew, but like any male, another hitting on what was his property wasn't wise. Especially in his presence. All Rover had to do was put the stare down on them and it was enough to make future wooers back off. That glamorous young bitch was HIS.

Loony was just like him in that category. Two different times she nearly beat the hell out of a "hoe-ass bitch" that kept getting in Rover's face. Twice some girl had her fucked up on any day trying to hit on him. This, after Rover's repeated attempts to shun his pursuer, making it clear he already had a bitch. Both times she allowed him to be the man and try to diffuse the unwanted advances, and he tried. Both times it became clear Miss THOT wouldn't leave him be, so now the Mrs. had to cruise into the discussion, talking major shit. Both were civilians; girls in gangs gave each other respect towards each others' men. As it was Crippettes and Bloodettes didn't cross-date the other side men. It was treason. They strictly stuck to their own factions or they might date civilian men. But they believed in monogamy. Gangsta chicks respected each other enough to not go there with another gang chick's dude. But to Loony civilian chicks were the sluttiest ones out there. Always in some unknown nigga's face even if he didn't want them. Her man told their asses he was not interested and since they were too stupid to comprehend she had to start regulating.

Both times the ones flirting with Rover finally heard some one cursing them out. When these broads turned ready to flex they saw Lunatic rolling up on them, ready to start the mother of cat fights. Her colors and bandannas alone were enough to let competitors know she was one of those street bitches that rolled with the blue and red rags. Someone they didn't want to fight. A ho who would blow their tops off just for looking at them wrong. Her Rover was out of their race. She let them know, this motherfucker was not up as a trophy. Once the offenders got a glimpse of his wife, they wisely retreated. Civilian girls could fight dirty too, but they weren't stupid. No dude was worth getting shot over. They knew the types of hoes like Lunatic. Poor Rover tried his best to be a gentleman politely shunning other chicks' advances. He'd tell these bitches straight-up he had a wife. He wasn't looking for a conversation. He didn't even look at other females. Loony would hang in the background with the girls observing as her husband literally ran from bitches chasing him around the night club. It was quite hilarious, really. Even to Loony. She'd wait to see how it played out first before deciding to interfere. Sometimes Rover was blunt, telling females straight-up to get the fuck away from him. When it became clear these chicks didn't take "No." for an answer was when the Mrs. would finally intervene. Across the far side of the club Loony would start hollering a string of obscenities at the girl, loud, threatening, and it was no "scene". By that point she was ready to wipe some girl's grill all over the dance floor. One glance at her was all it took for pesky chicks to leave Rover alone. Definitely no bitch was retarded enough to approach him when she was at his side. Rubies and their female Crip counterparts were just as dangerous as the males, were if not worse, really. Like their boys, they were not to be "tested".

Again, being that she hated "ratchets", the ghetto side in Loony rarely came out, but when it did she displayed it in terrifying fashion. The truth was, she and Rover were jealous of each other. They would go at each other's throats, and while it never turned physical, the verbal abuse was extreme-especially on Lunatic's end. They had many serious arguments about serious things. But just as quickly they would make peace. They never retired to bed angry with each other. No matter how furious their altercations were, shouts of rage always melded into tears of ecstasy at somewhere in the night. He was always able to make Loony shriek her fury away late at night.

x

She swore never to become anyone's "dime piece" but sure enough she did. Just like that it happened; DJ's future father laid claim to her and didn't play around when he issued his orders. She was no exception. Now that she was wedded him, he had an order she had to abide by: now that she was his, it meant no one else was to touch her. Ever. He accepted that his now-wife had a whorish past. But that was then. As of that moment she was a slut no more. She was not to let any other male get at her. Her days of being the Slut of L.A. were officially over. Now that she was his future wife, he would no longer tolerate it. The only one allowed access to her now was him. No other.

That was fine by her. She pledged loyalty to him and to his gang. The new loft owners contacted her to ask her if she wanted her belongings. They were stunned when she told them it was theirs. They even offered to buy her stuff but she politely told them it was free, do as they wished with it. They thanked her and kept most of it. She abandoned her possessions, some of which ended up in auction by the new loft owners. She gave up that upscale loft and moved into the hood with him in his Nickerson Gardens garage, a modest 3-room residence, right in Gangland. And married him that same evening. This was where she belonged and she was happy here. She was worthy of being a "Ruby" - nickname for a female Blood. A Bloodette, and made the transition from hooker to Blood quickly. Lunatic was already red. But a big fan of matte she opted to keep it "dull". She could easily afford it thanks to stripping and now Rover. "Redded", she immediately fit in. They didn't have to show her how to shoot firearms because she had long mastered that. Even stripping she was packing heat in a tire. She had taught herself to fight and shoot guns as a teenager so violence was nothing new to her. She didn't run around starting trouble but didn't let anyone run over her either.

As a stripper she had to protect herself; speaking of "freaking females" a wealthy businessman from Dubai hired her when she stripped, requesting a girl-on-girl. His fantasy was watching two females do each other. He didn't join. He just got off on watching two chicks doing it. Having never been with another female, she had always considered herself straight but if he was gonna drop thirty thousand on her, she'd get with another female. The other chick wasn't a full-blown lesbian but confessed she had been with girls before, like Loony cared. Loony was not even bi-curious. Again, she saw it as nothing more than a business deal. This was definitely new waters for her but she found she enjoyed sleeping with another female. It was a different experience. The girl that laid her was good; she had to admit. And, she was cute too. But DJ's mother made the grave fuck-up of giving the bitch her phone number because she wanted "to hang out sometime". Fine. It turned out the babe was bisexual and was so impressed by her performance on the mat that SHE was hoping to seriously hook up with DJ's future mom. Loony wasn't trying to be "turned out" by another female, and at first tried politely declining. She reiterated that she was a hetrosexual, that she was pleasing her client... the guy that paid her and nothing more. She thought the girl was talented but she wasn't interested in a relationship of that kind. She didn't regret her experiment with the "same equipment", but at the end of the day she preferred masculine tailpipes over another girl's tongue. Tasting her was cool, she liked it but ultimately she preferred sucking a pipe to licking an oil pan.

The bitch wouldn't quit. She turned into a stalker, following Loony to her employment. They got into a confrontation at her job while she was getting herself ready to dance. It was the last straw that night. Now it reached the point where Loony had to enact a beat down on the lesbo-wannabe bi-whatever-she-was. DJ's mother beat the girl silly and gun pulled, threatened to kill her if she didn't leave her alone. She spent a night in jail for it, had to do a few hours of community service for assault.

Her boss and club manager bailed her out then chewed her out for making a scene in their prestigious establishment but they forgave her for it. The incident was soon forgotten and the bi-chick left her alone. No wonder they called her "Lunatic". She couldn't stand ratchet behavior, but despite her usual civil demeanor that defied stereotypes of her ethnicity, she had a "ratchet switch" that came on when pushed. DJ's mother could turn straight-up hood rat. Loony could not only talk trash but she could back it up as well, and she was a wild fighter. She fought like a dude, uppercuts and all. So wild she was during a fight that anything she could get her wheels on was a weapon. She went into a cat fight with hammers, two-by-fours, whatever. She knew how to protect herself.

Immediately gaining the respect of the other females among the Bloods, she became one of them. The Bloods' ladies, both Bloodettes and "civilian" lovers all became Lunatic's friends. Her true friends and the first friends she ever had. And she had their backs for life. Giving up her loose lifestyle, she became a dedicated member to the Blood cause. They put her business accounting degree skills to good use because she became their accountant, counting their money and doing the books.

And she became a faithful partner to Rover. She proved that a ho could be a housewife; she was madly in love with him. Rover could have been flat broke, penniless, and poor and she still would have had his back. She would never leave him... ever... under any circumstances because she loved him. She was quick to let interested would-bes know that she was very taken. She now knew what real love was when he entered her game. He was all she had and he meant the world to her. She, a former stripper and prostitute became his dime piece, and his wife. From that point on, the only one she slept with was him—DJ's father. He told her flatly to get off the birth control she had used for years as now, they "needed to breed". He was anxious to get a family started. Sons, daughters. He didn't care. He was aware that her chances were slim but wanted to try any way and, if it never happened it just didn't. He wouldn't care.

x

Maybe it was best they didn't produce any. But she wanted nothing more than to try to conceive for him. She could at least try. She had her ICD removed and they got busy. They weren't trying to procreate per se; they were just that into each other. The freaking was addictive; DJ's father was tumultuous on her on the mat and would have her aching from his intensity. It took only one year into their marriage before she she got knocked up with DJ, and he was a surprise pregnancy. When she least expected it was when it happened. She didn't just beat the odds; she carried DJ to term. But she nearly miscarried him twice, ending up in the emergency room in her fifth month. Both times she bled out so severely she needed transfusions. So twice she nearly lost her little DJ while he was still just trying to develop inside her, and he would have died. She hadn't done anything strenuous or crazy. Both occasions she was either still watching TV or was sleeping on the mat and just suddenly began leaking severely. Terrible cramping.

Both times when she was whisked into the ER she was in tears, not from the severe pain but from the very real possibility that she was on the verge of a miscarriage. She was being so careful with herself, and was still failing to grow a child. Of course the stress of it all certainly didn't help, but it was a "mother" thing. Doctors and even Rover understood; females who yearned for motherhood and were unable to reproduce were often left emotionally devastated. When she had her second close call and the emergency room had her stabilized, she was dejected. She apologized to Rover for being a failure as a female. He asked her what she meant by that. She answered she was failing to carry a child to term properly the way a female should. That she was having so much trouble trying to give him a kid. Rover wouldn't tolerate such nonsense. He was quick to reassure her.

"Don't you ever think you 'failed me'. Don't you ever think that. You understand me? Do I want this baby? Of course I do. If you lose it it'll hurt me, I won't lie about it, but I'll be fine. We'll both be fine. I already told you, if you can't give me children, I don't care. If this was meant to happen it will. But don't you ever think of yourself as a failure. You're a perfect female to me. I married you because you were perfect for me. But I don't want to hear you talk like that again."

Loony prayed to God for Him to at least let her baby develop enough to survive outside her body should she prematurely deliver. Both times doctors were able to administer powerful anti-miscarriage drugs and save her gestation. Six and a half months she and Rover learned she was carrying a boy.

They had already decided on a name: Devon Johnston, or simply "DJ" for short.

She then nearly went into premature labor in her seventh month. DJ would have been small, but he was developed enough at that point to survive in an incubator. Extractions were last-resort major surgeries and the success rate was nearly 100% recovery for both mother and child. Complications were rare. However, her situation was very different. Due to the extent of scar tissue that formed as a result of her violent rape as a teenager, obstetricians determined that Lunatic's carrying unit would hemorrhage uncontrollably during the procedure. They ruled long ago she would survive a natural delivery just fine assuming she carried to turn. With an emergency extraction, her unborn would survive it just fine, but she had a nearly 98% chance of dying while she was being cut open. If they couldn't stop the premature contractions they had two options since it was too early for a normal delivery. Do an extraction to save the child, but most likely she'd make the ultimate sacrifice. Option two: as her life was affected by a high-risk pregnancy... if her labor continued and she chose life...she would survive a late term suction. In other words...abortion, and at this point DJ was very viable.

An agonized Rover grilled the doctors in the ER, but there was no way they could deliver him naturally, they said as he was too small to be pushed out. They could only deliver him through an extraction. He'd live at Loony's expense. The only other recourse they had was to save the mother's life by killing him. Late term suctioning was extremely rare, few doctors ever had to do them, and they were absolutely a last resort to save the mother's life if she decided to sacrifice her baby's. Or, if it was determined the baby would die anyway while her chances of survival were excellent. In a late term procedure, the unborn was developed enough to survive outside. Physically, it already was a real baby. DJ was no longer a fetus.

The doctors assured that if an extraction was chosen, it would be painless for Loony. While mothers were usually awake under a numbing painkiller so that they could still welcome their little ones, once again Loony's case was different. It was explained to both the mother and then to Rover that for her, they would put her under total anesthesia. She would be completely sedated to the point of unconsciousness since she would most likely bleed to death while being incised. Highly unlikely she would even live long enough to glimpse the baby as it came out. The least they could do was ensure a peaceful end for her. Knock her out completely, cut her open and save DJ while she bled out. Put plainly she would be put to sleep, never to wake up again. It would be a swift, painless and merciful death.

Rover was faced with a horrendous decision. If his wife didn't improve, he could either become a widower, or sacrifice his child. He would go with what she wanted. He honestly didn't want to make the call, although like her he felt the child had a right to be born. Likewise he didn't want to lose his wife. In case she became incapacitated before she could make the call, as her husband and the baby's father he'd have to decide. His wife or his son. It was an easy decision for Loony. She somberly told Rover to prepare for the possibility of carrying on without her. Meeting him, she said, was the happiest point in her life, she wanted him to know that. But she wanted this kid to live. If it came to surgery, she made Rover promise to tell their son when he got older, that she loved him. And that she was sorry she had to check out of this life before she got to know him. But she wanted him to live.

Loony told her husband and doctors to save the baby at all costs. Of course she wanted to live too, but if push came to shove, let her die first. She wanted them to save her baby. Give him his chance to live. Luckily doctors thwarted her contractions, sparing her an emergency extraction. They confined her to a mat for a month. That restriction was finally lifted by her 9th month and she was allowed to move around again. But doctors advised her never to get pregnant again. After DJ was born she would get herself sterilized. But he was a little blessing, an only child created by the ravishes of his freaky parents.

*DJ paused as he grinned*.

From a small child clear into his teen years, DJ in his innocence spent many nights listening to his parents fucking like crazy. Hard, like his dad was trying to destroy the damn walls. Mama was getting "piped down" while DJ was wishing she would pipe down. Mama needed to tone it down! But it was a riot to listen to! Sometimes they went much slower which resulted in Loony pitching long moans instead of the raspy gasp-laced cries of mercy when Daddy was riding her with fury! It didn't matter that they had a large garage and DJ's room was way far on the other side; his mother was that loud. It would send the young Scion into a fit of snickering on his mat. They both looked so nonchalant the next morning although sometimes his mother's back wheels would shake. Once she almost drove into the kitchen wall after a rough night.

DJ had to smile. Even hoes could be dime pieces. His mother was a prime example of that debunked myth. His father worshipped the asphalt she drove on. He nicknamed her "Bright Eyes" and continued calling her that to this day.

x

She graduated from a stripper/hip hop video girl-to a high-class hooker-to straight up Thug Girl upon marrying DJ's father. To KILLER. Months after marrying Rover and being blooded in, she earned her first tear after killing an abusive civilian beating up a young girl in a parking lot in McArthur Park. She happed upon the scene really, minding her own business and heard what she thought was a scream. Rover was with her at the time; she took off before he realized what was going on. He cruised up and found his wife calmly rolling up to the attacker, smiling the entire time. The look on her face shocked Rover. The punk was preparing to rape the bitch.

"You like raping young girls? Huh? Is that your motto, motherfucker? Huh?" Loony taunted with a psychotic grin on her grill. Her eyes had a wild look, and she was smiling. The attacker was too into his victim to notice her pull up at first, but soon realized he was looking down the barrel of a gun on her front wheel. Loony stuck the barrel right down his throat.

Rover watched on, lighting a cigar. No need for him to play hero; the wife had this under control. There was a reason this chick he wifed was called "Lunatic", and as he watched her bat-shit craziness in action, he learned why.

"Yeah that's right; deep throat this barrel Blowjob this motherfucker." Rover nearly choked on his cigar smoke when he heard his wife say that, mouth open for a second. Gagging sounds could be heard. "You like piping up unwilling females yeah? Well pipe THIS. That's it, choke on this you filthy piece of shit. Want to rape somebody; you want your insides spattered all over this fucking cement, hmm? " Loony cocked the gun.

She pulled it out of his mouth, but kept gun pressed squarely under the grill of the guy. He rolled off the girl once he felt cold steel against him, but seeing that his aggressor was female, huffed with false superiority. He didn't even notice Rover who was about to intervene also. It was a civilian chick who had no business here in this side of town. Poor thing lost her way and drove into trouble. When the dude started cursing Lunatic out, she just shot him dead in the mouth, handled his ass. The terrified female fell silent at Loony's command, who told her softly that this was Blood terrain. The Geo had an indigo blue paint job to make matters worse; Lunatic told her she was a dumb fuck for coming in this part of town painted like that. She confiscated the chick's ID card that had her address on it, keeping it as insurance as she issued a threat: she needed to go get a new ID card because she wasn't getting hers back. She was keeping it, she told her, in case she needed to find the bitch. She didn't see shit tonight. She could report her near-rape if she chose. But, Loony warned, if she ratted to the pigs who killed the dude...Loony planned to pay her a visit. The grateful victim assured Loony that she had no intention of going to police as this female gangster just saved her life. Accepting the gratitude, Mrs. Johnston relented and gave the lady her ID back, but not before writing her address down on a piece of paper. She jammed the girl's ID back under her front, gave her a fifty dollar bill for gas, then told her to get the fuck out of the area. Better yet change her paint job. Rover was impressed.

Unlike the boys females wore tears on the backs and sides of their bodies in elaborate styles. They were rare but there were female Crips and Bloods. And some of them killed, like DJ's mother. His Thug Girl of a mother got tear dropped again the night he was born. She had shot and killed three dealers in a botched drug deal and was in labor when she did it! She suffered silently, wanting her man, DJ's father and the Bloods to finish the deal first. Due any day, she told no one she had been cramping all day, and suspected she was in labor. She heard first times were long so she figured she had time, or it was another false alarm. She already had two of those last week. Two trips to the hospital only for a doctor to tell her it was a false alarm labor. So screw it...she thought nothing of these weird cramps either. But these cramps kept going every fifteen minutes unlike the first couple of times they lasted about two hours and stopped. These ones didn't. She had been feeling them for well over 12 hours. She heard when real labor began, contractions in the first stage kept coming every fifteen minutes, and got stronger with each hour. She wasn't sure if this was the real thing or not but she told no one. For the time being she had a job to do because she smelled a trap. Jaguars were rats.

Hiding in another room, she wasn't even supposed to be there because of her condition, and being this was a large drug deal, the Bloods didn't want any of their women present. This was strictly a male-only affair. The potential for hostility was low, they assumed, but if shit blew up the girls didn't need to be caught up in it. Loony disobeyed her man's request and had slipped out of the garage and followed the boys to an abandoned warehouse far in Chino Hills, packing. In that point in time she was a very menacing-looking female hoodlum. Despite being near the end of first stage labor, she calmly kept her cool. The moment she got there, she snuck upon one Salvadoran sniper who was aiming for one of the Bloods. They had no clue he was there. His job was to take the Blood by the door out so that his comrades could overpower the others. Her revolver gun clip had a silencer on it. He was unaware she was standing behind him, barrel at his head. Before he could pull his trigger, she pulled hers, the dull sound of her gun's discharge dropping him.

She was having mild pains in her underbelly all day. And she had a bad feeling about this drug deal, and told Rover. But he dismissed it as her being antsy as her due date was close. Some hormonal thing he believed. He assured her all would be ok but she was unconvinced. They didn't know she followed them to an abandoned warehouse. No one suspected El Jaguars would try to punk them. They were a small gang in South America and not a major rival like the Crips. SHE didn't trust the El Salvadorans. In her belief, anyone and everyone who wasn't a Blood was not to be trusted at all. She insisted on everyone being on their guard - and they assured her. She found that they weren't on their guard. Hiding in the dark hall, she grimaced, almost letting out a cry because that cramp was really strong. It dawned on her that she really was going into labor this time and her mouth cursed under her bandana her bad luck. She needed this kid to stop it, calm his little motherfucking ass down in there, and she "told" him that. He was fucking this up for Mommy, she told him, and she needed him to "wait a goddamn minute until this shit blew over" in the that room. She pleaded quietly for little DJ to not come yet, at least until it was all over. She kept talking to herself, telling him Mommy had work to do, to stay inside just a little while longer. Between her quiet self-talking she began breathing in controlled silent pants.

Only those beatific green eyes of Loony's were visible with her red beanie cap pulled low over her front and red bandanna covering her mouth. And, of course, her glasses.

She had chosen a new style now, trading in her square black ones from her stripper days for round, partially rimmless ones with a red top frame. A piece of large red cloth had been tied cleverly over her hood and twisted in a way that made her look like she had two red pig tails, one on either side of her head underneath her little cap. A second red patterned bandanna was neatly tied around her back end in the shape of a thong. At this point Lunatic was "Flamed up", Blood slang for being completely covered in red. The only part of her not red were her black steel rims which she kept, the same ones that had a million dollars worth of diamonds spelling "Lunatic" on each one. She was the self-appointed Blood's back-up plan. She cocked her clip. Sure enough, her intuition paid off because the El Salvadoran buyers tried to jack the Bloods and all hell erupted in the ransack room. Everyone was spraying as the Blood dealers bounced back. The gunfire blazing in the other room was so loud none of them heard her release a long wail; she used the opportunity to shriek from the pain rippling inside her body. It was now or never.

Hiding in the hall way, she skidded out into the open with an angry bellow from anger and belly pains, her uzi blazing. DJ's mother got some rounds in, killing three. The final three foreigners dropped dead. Her astonished husband and the other Bloods were gaping at her and the targets she hit, astounded. They then found the would-be sniper outside the building she targeted, realizing had she not smoked him, they would have been screwed.

She was crazy. But that was their little lunatic. She detached her piece from her wheel. Those stunning eyes of hers began going cross-eyed like she was fighting to hold something in. Then she started making straining noises. Then her water broke in spectacular fashion beneath her. Horrified she glanced down at the floor then up at the Bloods, eyes wide open. To their horror the Bloods began to realize that she had gone into labor because she was uncontrollably bearing down! She was in the second stage! DJ wasn't waiting any longer and Mother Nature was on his side. In that moment, according to the others, DJ told his mother: "Tough shit, bitch. I fixin to make my debut 'cause I'm tired of waiting on your ass. If you're not ready too bad. Let me out of this motherfucker! NOW, Mom!"

*DJ grinned to himself while Prince laughed uncontrollably.*

It mattered little she wasn't "ready" to push; her body took over and made her. Now panic for the group set in. She was screaming 'Oh God'. This little motherfucker DJ hurt. He hurt like hell. They got her mouth scarf off. They needed to escort her to a hospital; fuck an ambulance tow. She had been in labor all day and managed to conceal it from everybody! Right now Rover calmly tended to assisting his wife but he was truly upset that violence occurred in the warehouse that could have ended her or the baby. A cardinal-red 1953 Hudson Hornet calmly emerged forward. He was Hoodie's father E-Roller. Present for his son's birth, he had some idea of what to do as he told Loony to breathe and checked her. He was the one that told Rover and the others that he could see the kid's head "up there. It was coming near her entrance." She was having this baby now, he said, and if they didn't get her to a hospital quick she was going to have it in a room full of bodies. They had to act quickly.

For the first time in his life, Loony's husband panicked. This guy, amazingly calm during a shoot out whose life could have been snuffed by a bullet any moment, was a cat who had been shot before. Now, he just stood there as he watched his wife straining on the floor. He really didn't know what to do. True, they took Lamaze but in that moment he was still lost. E-Roller and another member moved first, both assessing Loony's condition. Stammering, Rover asked E-Roller if there was some way for Lunatic to 'hold the baby in somehow' until they could get her out of here. Maybe she could clamp her back wheels together or something. E-Roller looked at him like he was crazy.

"It's called childbirth man. Hell na'll she cain't hold this shit in! The fuck you been smoking; this is Motha' Nature Loc. She' having a fucking baby dawg; there ain' shit she can do about it but start pushin! Ha! Ha Ha! Ha-aaaaaaaa! That's what she's doin' right now. You dumb motherfucker; you shoulda' paid attention in Lamaze!"

E-Roller found the whole situation highly amusing, even though it wasn't. Yeah, it was. He finally told Rover to get out of his way as he was interfering with him trying to help Loony. She was off in her own world. Rover was petting her side comfort her then reached across her to motion one of the boys for something. Big mistake. He suddenly gritted his teeth, his face etched in silent agony when his wife subconsciously bit down on one of his outstretched axles. In the midst of a hellfire contraction she was straining and needed something to bite on to help her concentrate. And it happened to be him. He let out a whelp while E-Roller laughed raucously. Rover's wimpering grew louder.

"Ow-ow OWWWWWWWW! SHE'S BITING ME! ARRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHH! LOON….STOP IT PLEASE! IT HURTS!" Rover begged in agony and when she did, she let out an agonizing wail. She didn't know she bit him; she was focused on something more important at the moment. The other Bloods were understandably scared, although some found it humorous as well, what they were witnessing. But E-Roller was laughing his brakes off. It was funny, it was. But this was still a very serious situation. None of them were doctors and all of them understood that Loony needed medical attention. A baby was coming and they needed to get her to a hospital quickly. Either that, E-Roller told them, or he was going to have to deliver the kid right there on the spot. If it was the latter, somebody would have to run some hot water and everyone could lend their bandannas to wrap the kid up in. A knife to cut his line. Then they could get her to a hospital. He was prepared to act like a doctor if need be, but noticing that Loony hadn't actually crowned just yet there was still time to get her to the hospital, he argued.

Better that than to have a baby born in an oil-splattered room full of dead bodies. A fucked-up way to enter the world in E-Roller's opinion. Rover may have been the elder in the room but right now his subordinate E-Roller took charge since, well, he was pretty much the only one there who had experience with dealing with a laboring mom.

This pain Loony felt, this was far worse than her rape. She never felt this kind of pain before. Her contractions were coming every two minutes now, barely giving her time to breathe or recover from the last bout. All she could do was yell and bear down. She screamed how she felt like she was splitting apart, begging the Bloods to pull the little bastard out already. She wanted this little motherfucker out of her. He felt like he was ripping her entire oil pan in two. E-Roller could see the kid's head emerging, and shouted until Rover snapped out of his frozen panic and advised he'd help get Loony to the emergency room. The others unanimously agreed.

One of the others told Rover to get her to the emergency room while they would remain behind to clean up the massacre scene.

Having zero control over her own faculties and forcing DJ out whether she was prepared or not, she barely made it to the hospital. By the time she got there his head was halfway out. There was no time to get her to Labor and Delivery and onto an obstetrical lift. She screamed, pleading for DJ "get the fuck out of her already". She was having this baby in full view of a packed waiting room and didn't care; she just begged DJ to hurry up and come out of her already. Rover and Hoodie's father were with her when DJ was born on the floor in the emergency entrance way of that hospital with the doctor and nurses assisting her right there in the doorway.

DJ was born perfectly healthy and hefty. It was the second time Rover had ever seen his wife cry, when his son was born. Loony seldom wept, but she did the day she heard, then felt little DJ on top of her angrily protesting his rude arrival. It was first and last time he had ever seen his wife so tender and nurturing was cuddling his son on her. Onlookers clapped when they heard him crying and congratulated the new parents. Despite all the noise, the newborn quickly quieted down once he felt his mother's hold, and her gentle voice telling him to hush as he was okay. Dad just sank on his wheels, with an clear sigh of relief, his relieved eyes revealing the shock of today's events despite relief of his son's arrival. Mom said she hid her labor all throughout the day, and for obvious reasons didn't reveal why. As her "innocent" Rover stupidly looked on the wife told a little white lie, explaining she thought it was false as she had one false alarm already.

When the amazed doctor looked at the husband Rover cleared his throat, dumbly explaining they were at the beach when she just started pushing. Shocked Daddy was relieved but thought his wife was nuts for not mentioning anything about her contractions starting that morning. He was rightly pissed at her for not telling him. He could have rescheduled the meth deal. Watching his son born was more important than any drug deal. He most certainly saw him born, just not in the way he was expecting. It was standard for new mothers to stay overnight in the maternity unit for observation before being released but DJ's mother, Lunatic, was having none of it. She had her home girls to take care of her. She just wanted to get DJ home and spend some time with him. While she was waiting for discharge, Rover received word that "it was taken care of." The crime scene was cleaned up, and all 6 Jaguars had been melted down in a steel plant, thanks to connections with some steel workers they knew on the west side. To this day there were buildings in Los Angeles made of steel foundation that included what was left of the ill-fated El Salvadorans.

Against everybody's wishes she checked out the same night. She left the hospital just hours after giving birth. The '88 Acura Integra hated hospitals. She wanted to get her baby home on HER turf. And as soon as they got back to the crib, there was a makeshift recovery area already set up for the stubborn Loony. Her girlfriends tended her as per the doctor's instructions while they fawned over the newborn. Some of them were mothers already so they knew how to take care of her in her time of need. They were good "nurses" to her. But even they stayed in the hospital for two days. But their homegirl "Loony" was always the oddball of the Bloods' women. As one-year-old toddlers Ghost Dog and Hoodie took an interest in their future playmate DJ, Hoodie's mother Pajaro was chewing Lunatic out as she changed her pad. Her name meant "Bird" in Portuguese and Spanish. She cursed in a mixture of Spanglish at Loony's stubbornness. She was an Afro-Brazillian transplant hailing from Rio, of black ancestry, and had a habit of going off in two different languages when upset. Loony shyly took the scolding from her fellow ruby, repeatedly apologizing for jeopardizing herself, the baby's and especially for not telling anyone she had gone into labor. An hour after getting home, Rover verbally laid into Lunatic. They got into an argument. He was angry, and had every right to be.

X

A newborn DJ was wailing under her tire, clearly agitated by the loud sounds assailing his newly-activated audios. Loony clutched him closer to her warm carriage as she faced her partner's wrath. She had put her life in danger, and their baby's. Rover was relieved she showed up and turned the tables; she did save them all. Still she took it, knowing she was wrong for following although the Bloods were eternally grateful for her interference. Some of them would have been dead now had she not been there. Rover stressed he knew Loony married him for love, not money or material things and he was eternally grateful for it. He knew if he lost everything tomorrow and fell into true poverty she would still stand by him and never abandon him. DJ's mother loved him.

But he also stressed to Loony when she married him she married a gang member. He told her every time he hit the streets to handle his business, it could be the last time she ever saw him alive. Lunatic didn't like hearing those words but she had to accept it. He didn't wife her just to make her a widow but that possibility was always very real and she had to live with this. She married a street warrior who could be snuffed out any moment and she had no choice but to accept each time he left home he might not return to her. Loony saw that her husband wasn't playing with her. She was never to disobey an order of his again. EVER. That stern look he gave when he meant business. She endangered their child's life, and hers. He made her promise never to disobey him again. He was stone-faced and she caved in at last, promising never to disobey his orders again.

Rover warmed up now that he had gotten that out of his system, and shook his head, smiling wondering what he was going to do with her. He kissed her tenderly. He disappeared for several hours but when he returned, he found Lunatic in the couple's living room area having her maternity pad changed by one of the girls. A hired body paint artist was there working on her. She was getting her back end tattooed with three more tears while she nursed her little "blood drop" DJ. He was balled up under her wheel. Wrapped across him was a red bandanna scarf. It was customary for the newborn son born to parents who both were Blood gang members. A possible future Blood he was, like Ghost Dog and Hoodie. Being born to gang parents was automatic membership, even if one chose to live a clean, civilian life. He would have the choice to leave as he got older. He heard Loony ask one of the girls if they could take the baby for her as she was tired. Really, she just wanted to sleep right now, she said. She certainly earned it. Proud papa decided to turn in as well. It had been a trying day for both new parents.

x

Just hours after he passed out in a back room, one of his subordinates barged in, a look of panic on his face. "Rover. Rover! Rover gettup." he calmly nudged Rover awake. The Range Rover sleepily looked at him. "(*groggy*) Yes, what is it?"

"It's Lunatic." that was the truck's only answer as he hurriedly turned to make his way out. Quickly, Rover followed him out. As he entered the family room with him he heard his wife emit what sounded like a chilling cross between a scream and a gasp. She seemed to be in some sort of crisis. Hoodie and Pajaro both were with her, trying to figure out what was wrong. Loony appeared to be in severe pain. Hoodie glanced up at Rover, fear all over his grill. "Somethin's wrong man." he said to him. "C'mon Loony; talk to us! Tell us what's wrong!" Hoodie ordered worriedly. He looked at Rover again. "I don't think she can hear us." Rover was immediately by her side as Pajaro used her wheel against Lunatic's side to check for a fever. "{She's hot. She's burning up}." A small gathering of Bloods were in the living room, and others were coming out of their rooms as they heard the commotion.

Rover pressed lower to his wife. "Baby, it's me. Rover." he softly told her. "Baby what's wrong? What the hell's going on?!" he looked up, demanding the nearest one near him. The one questioned only shook his head; swallowing hard. Pajaro was no nurse but she had a strong suspicion.

"{This looks like eclampsia. I had a grandmother who died from this after she had my aunt. It rarely kills now but high-risk pregnancies like Loony's have a high chance of it. My grandmother was high-risk}." Pajaro told Rover gravely as she tried to comfort Loony. The doctors told Rover—and Loony that she had a high chance of developing eclampsia while carrying DJ, or shortly after his birth. Which was precisely why they wanted her to remain in the hospital for at least a week after delivery, so as to make sure she didn't develop it. And if she did, they could act quickly. A normal post-delivery stay was about two days. But in Loony's case the doctors wanted to admit her for a week due to her high-risk status. She was diagnosed as a pre-eclampsic soon after learning she was carrying. And again, her grisly injuries from her attack at 17 put her at risk for it…as well as carrying DJ.

DJ's tiny mewls could be heard in the background as he was being coddled under the tire of Rambo, Ghost Dog's mother. The 1996 Jetta had chosen to sleep with Loony this night in order to keep an eye on her. Loony was sound asleep on the mat with DJ under her wheel, her tire propped over a pillow near him. Rambo slept on the same mat with her, and feeling a strange movement she shifted. But it felt like someone kept kicking her harshly. She woke to see Loony in a jerking fit. Having absolutely no control over her symptoms, Loony nearly crushed her own son in the process. Quick-thinking Rambo yanked the newborn out from under her as she went into convulsions. After jerking him to safety she tried to access what was wrong with Loony while yelling for the others.

Hoodie looked up at Rover. "Rambo said she jus' started convulsin'." he told him. "Call 911 now." Rover ordered. One of the boys immediately did so. Right as Rover said it the Integra went into a seizure. Her eyes rolled so far back only the whites showed and she began drooling. "LOONY!" Pajaro screamed at her." "Oh god; LUNATIC!" Rambo rushed over to her, passing DJ off to another as she did. Pajaro looked horrified as she and Rover restrained her, her frame arching unnaturally in a frozen position. Hoodie silently hissed a "Shit." "Yo; what the fuck, man?!" He reached over to feel her mouth. He could feel it; she was struggling to breathe. "She' can't breathe! I cain't feel shit! She' barely breathin' dawg; she suffocatin!" he said. Loony's convulsions were frightening to watch. They all realized they very well could be watching her final moments in front of them. "WHAT THE FUCK'S HAPPENING TO HER?!" Rover bellowed at Hoodie, at anyone, in a panicked rage as he held his wife. "LOONY! Oh God..." Hoodie spoke to her. Just as the medics arrived she stopped breathing. They rushed her out doing CPR and she was rushed back to the ER that night in full arrest. Emergency room doctors and nurses spent the next 20 minutes continuing resuscitation where the EMTs left off. They finally succeeded in shocking her systems back into revival. Sure enough, doctors determined it was eclampsia brought on by giving birth to DJ, and immediately put her in a medical-induced coma. There was still a good chance she could die, they said. She was comatose for nearly six months. The next time she laid eyes on her son, he'd be nearly six months old.

Once again, Rover was faced with the decision of potentially allowing her to die. He decided to give it one more week. If she wasn't improved by then, if she didn't wake up, he was going to give the order for the doctors to stop her life support. In one week, he was going to shut this shit down and let her die because he was tired of watching her suffer. Although she wasn't suffering at the moment, there was a high probability she wouldn't wake up, they said. Everyday, Rover was there. He spent most nights at the hospital, sleeping over in her room for the night. Many of the Bloods came to visit everyday as well, hoping and praying for her recovery. She finally woke up, and the first thing she meeked out was how the baby fared.

"He's alot bigger. And absolutely adorable. He's all filled out now." Rover smiled weakly. Again, Loony apologized for being stubborn, vowing next time, she'd follow the doctor's orders to stay in the hospital. She also decided to get sterilized while there, get it over with, so that she never carried again. Since she was still full of drugs in her comatose state she couldn't nurse DJ yet, the doctors said. The day they released her she could. She made a full recovery. On the day of her discharge, Rambo brought her son to her so that she could carry him as she left the hospital. Having plenty of milk as she was still a nursing mom, she was the one who line-fed DJ while Loony was hospitalized. When she tried to pass DJ to her, unsurprisingly DJ resisted. Instead he wailed for Rambo. He even tried to reach for Rambo. He'd grown used to his father and would let him hold him. Let others hold him. Like all newborns he initially imprinted on his birth mother whose voice and scent comforted him when he was inside her. But like any newborn, if that familiar voice and smell vanished, then he would seek out a replacement which, in his case, became Ghost Dog's mother. It was to be expected, and would take time for DJ to reestablish that broken bond with his biological mother. For now, he viewed Loony as a total stranger. Of course, as a new mom Loony didn't know this. So when DJ struggled against her crying and refusing to nurse from her she was very heartbroken.

"He doesn't even recognize me anymore." her voice echoed her melancholy.

"You' been MIA for six months. So he imprinted on me instead since I'm the one that's been feedin' and takin' care of him. Newborn babies do that if the real mother is gone. They connect to the one caring for them. He's hardly a newborn now; but he' so used to me now. Give it time girl, he'll reimprint on you. Don't worry. Definiately don't worry 'bout running out of milk; you can expect to nurse him for at least the first two years of his life. Maybe three. I plan to nurse Ghost at least till he's three." Rambo assured her. "Thank you so much for taking care of him for me." Loony was sincere in her appreciation. "Yo; you my home girl. No problem attal." Rambo grinned. Loony returned home to a surprise party, grateful to be alive. And as expected, DJ re-imprinted on her. Happily suckling from her and all. Rover smiled.

*"I almost killed my mother that night. Yeah she had me normally but...she almost bit it. All because of me. She loved me that much to go through all that shit just to have me. Seizures and all." DJ sadly recalled.*

x

Rover smiled. The whole gang thought Lunatic was off her rocker. But that plain-yet-sexy Integra had everyone's back. She was crazy. And Rover loved her for it. DJ had wonderful memories of his beloved parents; he idolized them. His father Rover was the calmed, more reasoning one. His mother was the berzerker one. Her sobriquet was well-earned even as an ex-stripper.

She was now Lunatic the Blood gang member no one cared to test. "Thug Girls" as female gang members were called, didn't commit murder on nearly the scale as the guys did as they preferred to settle scores with cat fights, but it was not unheard of. Bloodettes and Cripettes did not deliberately stir up trouble with anyone outside of their affiliation, but they were definitely not the types of females "civilian" ladies wanted to cross the wrong way. They avoided confrontations at all costs unless necessary but was not above using lethal force if need be. Like the boys, lady gangsters preferred not to get romantically involved with "civilian" males as they didn't want to involve innocents in the things they were part of, but such unions did happen. Like their men, female gang members preferred to inter romance with their own, if they could.

Civilian males hit on her all the time but politely backed off when she courteously informed them that she was happily married. Lady gangsters could be just as terrifying. Keeping to themselves they drove around strapped just like the fellas and didn't hesitate to shoot. Being ladies they had to keep their pretty faces unmarked so any tears they acquired they sported on their backs/sides. In gang culture it was frowned on for a female to paint her hood; her face was too attractive so no female ever did it. DJ grinned to himself. If his own mother could get marked as desirable by someone then everything was possible.

"That song, 'Standing In The Rain' comes up as I picture this encounter of your parents meeting. That's fitting of a Quentin Tarantino storyline and soundtrack. I'm picturing your mother just abandoning everything she owned in her loft when she was told she was going to marry your dad. That song keeps coming up." Prince giggled. "The Suicide Squad version?" DJ asked, The version by Action Bronson, Mark Ronson & Dan Auerbach of The Black Keyes— Suicide Squad: The Album was what he had in mind. "Yeah, that one." she confirmed. DJ smiled. "I know; it's a trip. She followed him to da hood, just drove off and left all her shit at her spot. Never went back fo' it. She turned Ruby after that. Five-point Blood all the way. And she wuz the biggest slut in California. I love my moms but, it's the truth. My ol' man took her under his door and schooled her quick. Wifed her up, didn't give her a choice, really. She never intended to fall in love with him but she did. I'm sayin' it happens like that. I'ma strong believer in you cain't control who you fall in love with. Dis' iz what I keep tellin' Wingo's clown ass, cuz he think you can." DJ spoke seriously.

"I'm sayin' most of us fall for somebody in our age group. Give or take a couple years. But you got dem' oddball cases where the young dude falls for an older woman or like my parents. Girl fallin for a much older man. Like you an' Doc; he's way older but ya'll look tight together. But I'm tellin' you; Doc laid claim to you. He chose you cause you' da one for him." he side eyed Prince as he spoke to her. She thought about it.

"Yeah." she murmured quietly. After long pause, she addressed him again. "That's a pretty awesome story, how your parents met."