I threw my head upwards as a burning sensation ran through my nose. I snorted profusely as my greasy black hair fell onto the leather shoulder pads of my jacket. My body felt tingly and as adrenaline rushed through me. Next to a filled ash tray was the remaining residue of a line of coke that was beginning to trickle down the back of my throat. I dabbed my fingers with spit and cleaned up the rest of the cocaine with my bloody index finger.
“Hell, yah Bradley!” the half-dressed woman on the hotel bed shouted. “Let’s finish these beers and hit the road.”
I picked up the half-dressed woman from a local bar in South Carolina a week ago. Whitney was her name. She was a hell of a lady – a type of fiery soul that burns, burns, burns. A soul that keeps burning until she is gone as quickly as she came into this world. My kind of lady with a well-built frame, muscular tone legs, and a face that looked like it had gone through some of the same shit I had. Brawls and bars.
Whitney was a bartender at a biker joint I frequented when I was in South Carolina. She flirted with me like all bartenders at biker joints do. I took a likening to her immediately. She became my darlin’ when a fat, drunk biker pushed her to the ground outside of the dumpster when she was having a smoke break. While he was unzipping his pants broke a bottle over his head. Ended up breaking the blokes face. Left him lying in a puddle of broken bones and blood.
Whitney and I have been on a seven-day binge. Our home base was a cock roach infested hotel. Multiple stains covered the bedding. The carpet was filled with cigarettes burns. Blue and green wallpaper from the 90s hung to the yellow wall. Whitney’s dirty panties swung from the door handle as the warm morning summer breeze snuck through the open window. The sound of someone fucking a prostitute could be heard through the paper-thin walls. I lit a cigarette took a long drag.
“Throw me one of them ciggies,” Whitney said as she snorted the last line of cocaine.
My head pounded. I felt like I got ran over by a steamroller. A half-drunk bottle of King Cobra sat on the nightstand. I took a swig of the warm malt liquor and swished it in my mouth. The malt liquor washed down the mixture of cocaine and snot in the back of my throat. My headache started to subside. Hair of the dog, I thought to myself.
The seven-day binge wasn’t particularly clear to me. Rock n’ roll, rough sex, bars, brawls and drugs filled the nights. The mornings were clearer headed – Whitney holding onto my torso as we raced down backroads on my motorcycle. Her hand over my adrenaline filled heart as we pushed the limits of speed, dodging cops and swigging whiskey. Kicking down empty hotel doors to fuck on random beds.
“Come over here and fuck me you piece of shit,” Whitney said as she laid spread eagle on the yellow-stained bed, lit cigarette hanging from her cracked lips.
I could feel blood rush to the tip of my cock. I grabbed Whitney by the throat and shoved my cock in her. She bit my lip – the taste of blood filled my mouth. I turned her over and held head down on the bed – finishing inside of her pussy.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” Whitney said as she put on her last pair of clean, black underwear.
“Fuck you mean Whitty?”, I said as I lit my final cigarette.
“Oh nuthin’,” sighed Whitney.
“Let’s fucking bounce,” I said while swigging the last bit of leftover King Cobra. I kicked open the hotel door and threw the bottle of King Cobra on the ground watching it shatter into pieces. Sunlight burned my hungover eyes.
Our plan was to head south. Race down the highway on my hog – feel the beating sun on our skin. We had no obligations. No plan. Destination unknown.
I peeled out of the hotel parking lot – screaming wheels, the smell of rubber and smoke trailed behind us. Zero to 95. We were off. It was 9am.
The wind felt tranquilizing blowing through my unwashed, greasy black hair. I could feel the morning sun beat down on my exposed skin. I turned the radio up as a music on the speakers rushed through my blood.
“I want it bigger than the Jailhouse Rock
Wanna feel it from my head right down to my socks
That’s what it means when you’re livin’ your dreams
Let me hear you say:
Yeah, we’re going all night long
All night long
Yeah, we’re going all night long…
Do it anyway you want
And do it all night long…”
Whitney wrapped her arms around my torso tighter. She whispered into my ear and bite my neck. I threw the throttle forward. The engine shook between my legs. We weaved in and out of cars. A need for speed. Livin’ on the edge.
We sped down the sun filled highway for a few hours. On the road. Riding high on speed. Racing down a road on my motorcycle was the only thing that got my heart pumping, that Sex. And drugs. And rock n’ roll.
As the clock approached 11:30am I took an exit towards a backwoods town. A town of nothingness. One of those towns no one knows exists unless you are from there.
We stopped at a two-bit bar n’ grill. It was time to refuel our stomachs, stretch our legs and pound some brews.
“How much money you got Whitty?”
“Lil under twenty’ I pose. You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“Hell, yeah baby,” I said smacking her ass.
The plan was to dine n’ dash. Get our fixin’ then get the hell outta there when the waitress wasn’t looking. It shouldn’t be a problem in a sleepy backwoods’ town like this.
“Be right with you two,” a voice shouted from across the restaurant.
The bar n’ grill was your typical hometown joint. Red and white checkered cloth lay across the tables. Ketchup, mustard and BBQ sauce were in empty six-pack domestic beer containers. The place was empty besides a few local drunks.
“Table for two?”, a young waitress said.
I nodded my head.
“Awe,” Whitney said. “Isn’t she a cutie.”
I knew what Whitney was referring to. The waitress reminded Whitney of her younger self. Innocence. A fresh face likely out of high school. Parents not rich enough to send her to college. Straight into the workforce of local bars.
We ordered our food and a few rounds of drinks.
“Where we heading?”, Whitney said loudly, slamming her empty glass of beer on the table.
“I was thinking we could head due south of here, bout an hour drive. I got a boy down there who can hook us up with some blow. Purest shit in the Carolina’s.”
“We ain’t got much left for money Bradley.”
She was right. Between her and I we had a little under forty. Enough for some gas and a pack of smokes at best.
“Let’s rob this joint,” Whitney said with spark in her eye. “The only people here are the couple of drunks and a naïve waitress. It would be like taking candy from a baby.”
Whitney began itching her arms like a fiend. She looked over her shoulders at the bar like a wild woman. Who is this wild animal I thought to myself?
“I betcha the cash register is still full from last night. Whatcha say Bradley? Wanna rob this place?”
The two drunks at the bar stood up and made gestures to the waitress like they were leaving.
“We can use the rope that is hung on the wall to tie the waitress up and put her in the backroom – put the “We’re Closed” sign on the front of the door and give us enough time to rip n’ dip.
“Fuck yeah baby,” Whitney said while slamming her fists onto the table.
There was a fire in her eyes. A burning sensation that I knew wouldn’t be satisfied until we robbed this bar n’ grill. I’ve seen that look before in my own reflection.
The waitress looked over at us to see what fuss we were making. I threw up two fingers and gestured to her that we would have one more round beers.
“When she heads back into the kitchen grab that rope Whitty. I’ll lock the door and put the “We’re Closed” sign up and hide behind the bar. When she comes out of the kitchen beckon for her to come over to you and I will tackle her from behind.”
“Don’t hurt her too bad Bradley. She is a sweet youngin’.”
I hid behind the bar and waited. This wasn’t my first time robbing a joint and it didn’t seem like it was Whitney’s first time either given her attitude and eagerness.
“Excuse me darlin’”, I could hear Whitney say to the waitress. “Could I get the check?”
I slipped out from behind the bar and looked Whitney in the eyes. She grinned at me from her big smile. Rope dangled from her hands under the table. The waitress was between us – sandwiched between an unknown. She was completely unaware of what was about to happen to her.
“Sorry bout this darlin’,” Whitney said. “You’ll understand one day.”
I tackled the unsuspecting waitress to the floor. She screamed for help. Tried to wiggle her way out from under the weight of my body. Her legs kicked violently from under me.
“No need to scream darlin,” Whitney said standing over us. “Ain’t nobody gonna hear you once this rag is in your mouth.”
Whitney shoved a washcloth in the waitress mouth. A muffled scream tried to escape with no luck. After hog tying her up, we dragged her into the back of the kitchen were she would be out of sight.
“We ain’t gonna hurt you,” Whitney shouted at her in the back of the kitchen. “We’re just gonna take the money out of the cash register and take us a few of them liquor bottles. Someone will come for your soon I pose.”
“Whitty, come out here quick,” I shouted.
“What’s up baby?”, Whitney said walking out of the kitchen, a smile on her face.
“There’s almost three thousand dollars in the cash register. We hit the jackpot.”
Whitney’s eyes lit up. She jumped up on me, throwing her legs around my waist. Our lips met with a powerful force – tongue and tongue.
“Fuck me right here Bradley.”
I threw her up on the bar table and ripped her pants off. She screamed my name as I entered her. I grabbed an empty cup on the bar table and threw it at the mirror behind the bar watching it shatter. Whitney’s nails scratched and clawed my back. I pulled the back of her hair forcing her head backwards. A fiery sensation ran through my blood. I was more animal than man. Two fierce beings becoming one.
“Let’s take some of this liquor Bradley. How much do you think we can carry?”
“Grab a few of them Jack Daniels bottles over there. I don’t think we can carry much but its better than nuthin.”
“Think we should leave lil miss precious back in the kitchen?”
“I’m sure someone will find her back there.”
After grabbing a few Jack Daniels bottles we hit the road. We could be at Paco’s place in a country hour. Get the purest blow known to the South. Find backwoods holla and shovel some snow. Pound some Jack Daniels and howl at the moon.
The only thing I could think of was the fire I saw in Whitney’s eyes when she proposed we rob the bar n’ grill. I could feel her tan arms wrapped around my chest – her head resting on my back. Who was this woman?