10-24-97
11:45:23 pm CST

"Goddamn. Goddamn cops," he cursed, too hazy to know if he'd said it aloud or not, too pissed to care.

"Hey man, chill, we can take care of this." That was Sita, ever calm thanks to her multiple daily injections. The bangles threaded from and through both her ears and nose jingled softly as she stepped past him to squint bloodshot eyes at the large yellow boot strapped to the front wheel of his beat-up ride.

"They can't do that to a car like this. This car," Choi fished for a joint with spastic fingers, trying to make his mouth describe just what his car was. "This car is a classic." Or it would have been if 'classic' stood for 'old jalopy barely holding together let alone running anymore.' It didn't matter-he flicked out his lighter and lit the end of the spliff-it was his car. "Goddamned pigs. How's a man supposed to get where he's goin' with his car like this?"

"Mmm," DuJour purred, distracting him from the issue of the boot on his car to the matter of her being on his car. It was something she was good at-distraction. Someone like him who had relatively little business in the day needed to pass the time. Either you shot up regular, like Sita and her surfer-boy-Choi had taken to calling him The Dude because it just fuckin' fits him, man-or you popped a few and took the edge off the come down with distractions. Like DuJour.

"We can take care of this," Sita repeated.

"Take care of it," The Dude parroted, managing to make Sita sound half-lucid.

"Shit, you morons don't get it. I need this baby," he leaned to stroke the cool black hood, but his hands found the inside of DuJour's thigh; luckily, she didn't seem to mind, even with the witnesses. "I need," he choked back desire as his fingers walked up DuJour's bare thigh to caress the skin beneath her almost negligible leather miniskirt. "I need this for deliveries."

"Let's call someone," Sita suggested, sounding bored.

"Call someone," said The Dude.

"Call who, Dude?"

This quickly silenced The Dude, who dropped his head, but where he was looking was anyone's guess. His nickname really fit him, especially with those damned sunglasses being constantly on his face. The guy wasn't that tan by a long shot, but Choi half-wondered if the skin under the glasses, if it was possible, wasn't paler still for never being exposed.

"Call Pony," Sita giggled, scratching The Dude behind the ear like a puppy.

"Pony," DuJour whispered. He gave her a suspicious look, which she ignored, placating him by forcibly moving his hands to the junction of her legs. While she pondered, he played, happily distracted, again, this time by her lack of underwear. "Pony?" She turned to Sita.

"I like to call him Pony."

"He like being ridden?"

"Hey," Choi gave her his best cross look even as he crouched for a better view of what he was doing. DuJour wasn't his alone by any means, but it didn't hurt to remind her who was her bread and butter these days.

"Let's find Pony, Choi," she murmured, sliding forward on the hood of his car. He couldn't believe his luck was changing so favorably. Up until DuJour firmly crossed her legs and shoved him backward onto his butt, that was. "You need the car, baby." He was inclined to disagree, given the rising tide of hormones, but logic won out. Resigned, he took a drag on his joint, steadying himself.

"Pony, right."