Skipper’s luminescent-green Buick Electra nearly spun out as she and ‘da bomb’ reached Mount Vernon Square. Truly, she had no notion of Observatory Circle, no recollection of Embassy Row, degenerate old Dupont,sickly Scott (with the piss-reeking Hahnemann memorial sconce) or tatty Thomas, home to more tomblike boarding houses than you’d ever find in a JR Williams cartoon from grandpappy’s day.
Naw, Skipper remembered no traffic lights, other vehicles or barely her own bra size– at this point the former Miss Memphis was white hot mad at her Senatorial spouse for what disgusting, genocidal instincts he’d revealed at this latest “house party” for the mayor and his pals. Until a dirty lavender Lincoln with tinted glass very nearly broadsided Skipper at the corner of Ninth and New York, Skipper was impervious to all risks and dangers.
The fiery temperament bred through tough Tennessee stock awoke the spicy Skipper abruptly, and the sleek Buick swung left at the final second, allowing the clouded Lincoln to tilt sideways up off the front railing of a little patch of lawn adjoining “Ted’s Hotel, Home of Nanking Chinese and Nine Dollar Suites!”
Over at the Rev’s Mission of Last Resort, the faithful and the less so were disgorging from the rickety chapel. Matron Macedonia bellered “Y’all come back now, D’you Hear?” Billy was trying to elbow through the crush in order to inform Rev’rend Rand of impending doom to his beleaguered “flock,” but the slim-as-a-whip boy named Dio jerked him by the arm, and out into the street. “Hey, Luck, y’street trash, I got a message from Apache, yer boss…”
Billy fought Dio’s snaky grasp. “Apache is my co-worker. Correction, CHOLO’s my boss!”
“Yeah, well, word is, we gotta turn the new talent out. What’s the pick, Dudes or ladies?”
Billy gritted. He couldn’t believe what this twisted character was proposing. “I’m straight, so
men are off the boards-” Dio shoved and pulled Billy further away from the church. “Look, I have
to tell that jackleg minister something MIGHTY important, so–”
Dio was particularly insistent, and they soon found themselves by the “Capital Hotel,” which barely fit the description of a polite hostelry. Sitting outside was Skipper, out of breath and leaning against her Buick Electra, neither of which was worse for the wear. Dio shoved Billy directly into the path of the blindingly beautiful blond with the paisley wrap and the foxen eyes. Billy stumbled, coughed, then wiped the spittle from the corners of his mouth with a worn red hankie. “Uh-umm, needing a bit o’ company this evenin’, ma’am,” he gulped.
Much to his shock, Billy was dragged into the front passenger seat abruptly by Mrs. Skipper Marsh.
Dio slipped away, giggling maniacally. He flipped a hi-sign in Billy’s direction as he stalked off into the greasy shadows of New York Avenue and Tenth Street.”Wait until the Ferret hears how I scored Billy on da first try…”
In Skipper’s front seat, Billy froze. She practically had her bejeweled fingers entirely around his slim throat! “You can’t out HUSTLE a Hustler,” Skipper hissed fiercely.
“You d-don’t unner’stand,” sputtered Billy. “I think I understand thick as thieves,” she crackled. Now let’s go and I”ll drop you off at the nearest–”
The key turned, but no engine turned over. Somehow the Electra’s pantagraph lay silent and dead.
“I think I can fix that,” said Billy flatly. Skipper glared, but nodded and popped the car’s hood.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
