Pheonix Night Life
Jason Duke

The bathroom light fixtures glared down on the spotless red tile floor. Porcelain urinals and black plastic stalls glistened in the harsh white glow, reflecting shiny clean mirrors and sinks. Techno filtered through a black swivel door, filling the bathroom with a lively synthesized beat.
"Are you hard for me, big boy?" teased a woman inside the end stall. A belt clinked loose and a zipper came undone. "My, you are a big boy. Two things first."
"What? Anything," said a man.
"Whatever you do, don’t pull my hair."
Moist, wet lips kissing against flesh smacked through the air.
"Oh, and don’t push down on my head, okay?"
9:37pm
Earlier That Night
Malcolm sprayed his wavy black hair with conditioner. He shook out his head, sending cream-colored droplets flying all over his trashed room.
"What the fuck, Malcolm," said Rob as some of the droplets sprayed his face. "Is that a black thing? Ain’t no white man in his right mind would ever have nappy-ass jerry-curls like those."
"Rob, your skinny, bony cracka-jack ass wish you could have hair as fine as mine," said Malcolm, gently patting his hair. Rob laughed as he dipped the poker card curled in his hand into the mound of cocaine atop the large mirror setting next to him on Malcolm’s bed. He scooped up another little pile, carefully holding a shooter vial over the mirror as he dumped the coke inside. "And don’t be taking all my shit, either. Big Poppa don’t care for excuses when it comes time for me to pay him, so I gotta make at least three more bills off that shit."
"Don’t worry. I’m giving you money for it this time, ain’t I?" said Rob, taking a long snort as he rubbed his flush red nose. Malcolm sprayed some more conditioner on his hair, filling the room with a fine mist. "Fuck, man! I can’t take that shit no more. I’m out."
"You pussy mutha fucka," said Malcolm. "Nah, you’s a pussy that can’t get no pussy."
Rob screwed the top of the shooter onto the vial and went to leave the room.
"I’ll hook-up with you later tonight. You sure you don’t wanna come with."
"Yeah, yeah," said Malcolm, patting his hair some more. "Gets ta steppin’."
Malcolm sat on his bed and measured out a fat line of coke.
"I gotta empty my trash anyway."
9:42pm
Carl tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of his Ford Explorer. His attention turned from the battered stucco hovel the truck was parked in front of to the rearview mirror and the lean, slender Asian face reflected in it.
"C’mon, c’mon."
Rob emerged through the hovel’s stripped metal security door, pausing as he looked around. He hurried to the Explorer and hopped inside.
"What the fuck took you so long?" said Carl.
"Man, Carl. I told you these things take time. Malcolm’s the type that has to be finessed a little. He’s not an ‘in and out’ person."
Rob took a long snort, rubbing his nose.
"Besides, he hooks you up fatter when you bullshit with him for awhile."
"So did you get it?" said Carl.
Rob dangled the shooter filled with cocaine.
"It’s showtime."
He packed a hit into the shooter and handed it to Carl, who gobbled up the powder in one quick snort.
"Go ahead. Hit it some more." Rob leaned back in his seat. "It’s your dime."
"So we still gonna go to that titty bar?" Carl sniffled, hitting the shooter again. He started up the truck. "What’s it called again?"
Rob looked past the nighttime aura of city-light at the stars twinkling in the sky. He turned to Carl, smiling.
"Sunset Strip West."
9:45pm
"They’re on the move," sputtered a hushed voice from the unmarked SUV’s police radio. "Do we have a green light?"
A stocky white cop in the driver’s seat wearing a black Anti-Gang Task Force t-shirt picked up the radio. He turned to the pasty-faced, middle-aged Latino man in the passenger seat looking through a pair of nightvision binoculars.
"Detective Howenzer?"
Howenzer watched as the Ford Explorer drove off down the street.
"Detective, the team needs an answer."
"Put a tail on the Explorer," said Howenzer. "And wait for my signal to move in on the house."
"Yes sir," said the cop as he relayed Howenzer’s command over the radio. The Explorer turned the corner at the end of the street.
"Okay, go, go!"
A group of cops armed in body armor, assault riffles and Glocks emerged from two unmarked cars and the back of a beat-up, white van parked across the street from the hovel. One of the cops banged on the front door as two others rushed it with a metal battering ram.
"Phoenix police!"
Malcolm dropped the bag of garbage he had carried into the alley as he heard the cops yelling at the front of his house and the battering ram smashing down his front door. He ran off down the dirt alley, disappearing into the night.
"There’s no-one here, sir," said the stocky cop as Howenzer entered Malcolm’s bedroom.
"At least we got this shit off the streets," said Howenzer. He tapped his finger into the cocaine on the mirror, tasting the chalky white powder and spitting it out. "Now all we have to do is get the dealer."
"I put out an APB on him. Several units are searching the vicinity right now," said the cop.
"We won’t find him now," said Howenzer. "There’s too many places around here for him to hide. He’ll have to turn up sooner or later. Until then, go over the house. I want everything done by the book."
9:50pm
Cynthia stared at her pallid, sickly face in her vanity mirror, dabbing more blush onto the thick black scab that marred part of her neck behind her left ear. She fondly brushed her frail hand across photos of young men taped along the edges of the mirror, admiring her collection.
"Another night on the town, Cynthia?" said a deep, melodic voice.
She smiled shyly.
"Yeah, another night with my sweeties."
"Sure, plenty to go around," said the voice. "Just remember, it’s our little secret."
Her smile turned into a frown.
"But why can’t I tell? It’s wrong not to tell them, isn’t it?"
"Oh, Cynthia," said the voice. "No, no, no. That won’t do at all. If you tell, then the sweeties, they go away -- they go away and no more nights out on the town. Surely, that’s not what you want."
"No, that’s not what I want," she said entranced.
"That’s not what they want or need," said the voice.
"No, that’s not what they want."
"You deserve your sweeties."
She snapped out of the trance, tears welling up in her eyes.
"I do!" she broke down. "I really do deserve them."
"That’s right, you do," said the voice. "They’re waiting for you. Sweets for the sweet. So go and have fun, but don’t tell them about our little secret, okay?"
She stood up and straightened her tight mini-skirt and blouse. She grabbed her purse off a large textbook setting atop the vanity, revealing the book’s title -- Living With AIDS.
"Okay," she whispered. "I won’t."
10:11pm
"You all ready for this, fellas?"
Tony’s attention turned from Cynthia to the curtained entrance at the back of the dance stage as the nightclub filled with the thunderous roar of its male patrons. The DJ placed another CD into the disc-changer as the loudspeakers crooned the sound of Mystikal’s "Shake Ya Ass."
"Let me hear you make some noise and give it up for Sunset Strip West’s fine, gorgeous ladies!"
The black curtains parted and a parade of sexy woman in bikinis and g-strings strutted out onto the stage. Tony sat enthralled by a young blond as she stripped away her bikini and latched onto a dance pole with her tits, stroking the greasy metal. She noticed his attraction toward her and looked his tan, muscular body over, winking coyly at him.
"So can I buy you a beer, Cynthia?" said Tony, turning back to Cynthia.
"Yeah, sure," she smiled drunkenly. "That’d be great, Tony."
Tony flagged down one of the bartenders.
"Hey, man. Two Coronas."
"You got it," said the bartender, setting the beers on the bar.
"Can I ask you a question?" Tony asked as he paused midway in bringing the bottle to his lips.
"Sure," slurred Cynthia.
"What’re you doing in a titty bar? You into women or something?"
Cynthia sucked hard on her bottle, chugging half the Corona. She violently pulled her lips away with a loud pop, and for a moment, Tony saw the murderous intent in her eyes. He chuckled to himself amusingly as the moment faded into dismissal, finally taking a swig off his own Corona.
"No," she said. "They’re no substitute for a big, juicy cock."
Tony coughed up the beer, spraying the bar.
"I like them inside me, in my ass."
Tony choked some more, wiping his mouth. Cynthia leaned up against him and rubbed the crotch of his pants.
"But most of all, I like sucking them. And what better place to find a bunch of big, horny cock’s than in a titty bar?"
"You don’t say," said Tony, reaching slowly up her skirt. "Well, if that’s how you feel."
Cynthia giggled, pushing his hand away.
"You got a cigarette?"
"Nah, I don’t smoke," said Tony.
"I can’t truly get in the mood unless I smoke the first cigarette from a fresh pack."
Tony frantically waved down the bartender.
"Hey, man? Quick, where can I buy some smokes?"
"There’s a machine in back near the bathroom."
Tony turned to Cynthia.
"Stay here and don’t move."
"I’ll be here waiting." she smiled, pointing down at her barstool.
Tony hurried to the back, pushing his way through the crowded tables scattered around the stage. He shoved into a chunky black man waving a twenty dollar bill at a dancer with her legs spread wide for all the world to see, bouncing like a pinball off the man’s left side.
"Watch where the fuck you going, cracka," said the man. Tony maneuvered around him unfazed, reaching the back of the club. An Out of Order sign was taped to the cigarette machine.
"C’mon!" he whined, batting at the sign. "Why’s this shit always happen to me?"
An old man wearing golf pants and tucked-in plaid t-shirt walked out of the bathroom, zipping up his fly.
"Hey old-timer. Where’s the closest place to buy cigarettes?"
"Well, let’s see."
The old man rolled his tongue around in his mouth, repositioning his crotch one way, then the other.
"Why don’t you try the twenty-four hour liquor store down the street smart ass!"
10:20pm
"Man that coke’s really good," said Carl wide-eyed. He smacked his lips together and licked them. "Damn, my whole mouth and nose are numb."
Rob lit a Newport and passed it to Carl.
"Here, hit this."
Carl shakily inhaled a drag.
"Smooth, huh?"
"Yeah," said Carl, exhaling. Rob stared thoughtfully up into the night sky, his view obstructed by bright streetlights that passed overhead. "Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky tonight with some betties."
"What’s this ‘we’ shit?" Rob smiled, looking to Carl. He looked back up into the sky. "Have you ever wondered what it’d be like fucking a bitch that just died?"
"What?" said Carl, coughing up smoke.
"You know, necrophilia?"
"Screwing a bitch after she’s dead?" said Carl. "That shit is sick! Why would you wanna fuck a cold pussy?"
"Nah, her pussy’d still be warm if you fucked her right away."
Rob greedily snatched the cigarette from Carl and took a drag. The smoke licked at Rob’s upper lip as he held the hit in before blowing it out his mouth and nose. He looked out the passenger-side window at the same time the Explorer passed a hunched-over vagrant standing in the street with an empty shopping cart. A cardboard sign stained with grease spots hung from the side of the cart. Large words written in black marker read -- God forgives those who walk the path to redemption. The vagrant’s feral, blood-shot eyes locked onto Rob.
"What a dumb ass," said Carl. "He’s gonna get hit standing there like that."
A cold shiver ran the length of Rob’s spine as he finished off the cigarette.
"You got another one of those?" said Carl. Rob shook his head no. His mind wandered, drifting to other perverted thoughts when he noticed a liquor store sign looming in the quasi-light of the streetlights ahead.
"Stop up here and I’ll get some smokes real quick."
"Where?" said Carl.
"Right there."
Rob pointed to the sign.
"NJ’s Liquor."
Carl turned the Explorer into the parking lot and parked.
"Here," Carl giving Rob a ten dollar bill. "Get us both a pack of Newports."
He watched Rob run inside the store and buy a pack from the Iranian clerk. Rob started back when a red, dirt-caked Honda Accord pulled up next to the Explorer. Tony got out and hurried past Rob into the store.
"That’s the trouble with the world today," said Rob, climbing back inside the Explorer. He snorted, rubbing his nose. "Everybody’s in a hurry."
10:26pm
"Check it out, man."
Carl jabbed Rob in the side, motioning to Cynthia at the opposite end of the bar.
"What’s a betty doing in a titty bar?"
"Maybe she’s into chicks?" said Rob, downing his shot of Jim Bean. He glanced toward Cynthia in disinterest expecting to see some butch dyke, his eyes lighting up as they transfixed on her small, supple body fitted with pinkish-white skin.
"I’m gonna try to get us a table," said Carl, meandering off into the crowded tables.
"Yeah."
Rob stared at Cynthia. She noticed his attraction to her, smiling at him.
"You do that."
She walked over to him -- a bitch in heat wagging her narrow hips and ass.
"Don’t let this one get away now, Cynthia," nagged the voice. She smiled even harder, gritting her teeth.
"Don’t worry, I won’t."
She sat down on Rob’s lap to his surprise and rubbed her ass around on the crotch of his pants.
"Hey, big boy. You know where a girl can find a good time?"
Rob grabbed her ass hard and she giggled.
"Yeah, I can give you a good time."
"Do you have a cigarette?"
Rob reached into his pocket and pulled out his unopened pack of Newports, ripping off the cellophane. He opened the pack, holding it as she took out the first cigarette.
"It’s not my brand, but it’ll do," said Cynthia. "You got a light?"
Rob stylishly produced a lighter and lit the cigarette. She whispered into his ear as a smile crept across his face.
10:32pm
"Do you know what happened to that girl I was with earlier?"
Tony sat down at the bar, looking around for Cynthia.
"I think you missed your chance, man," said the bartender. "She disappeared into the bathroom with some other guy."
"You’re fucking kidding me. The bitch had me buy her some smokes just so she could ditch me?"
Tony waded through the men crowded at the tables. He reached the bathroom, quietly pushing open the black swivel door. He heard a loud slurping inside the end stall and slowly crept over to it, his shoes squeaking softly against the floor.
"Yeah, that’s it," quivered Rob’s voice. He cried out, hitting against the stall. The slurping ended with Rob’s orgasm and Tony slipped quietly out through the swivel door, walking back over to the bar.
"Let me get another Corona."
"I take it she was busy," said the bartender, setting the Corona on the bar.
"Yeah. Stupid fucking bitch."
Tony reached for his wallet.
"It’s on the house," said the bartender.
Tony sipped the beer.
"Thanks. I guess you were right."
He went back to watching the blond dancing on stage.
"Looks like I missed my chance."
10:35pm
"What was that?"
Cynthia lifted her head out of Rob’s lap, spitting on the floor.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" said Rob, zipping up his fly. Cynthia stood up and cracked open the stall door, looking around the bathroom.
"I thought I heard someone come in."
She went over to the sinks and spat some more as if disgusted with herself, rinsing out her mouth. Rob walked up behind her, putting his arms around her.
"Relax, baby," he said, her body tense in his embrace. "There’s no-one else here. It’s just you and me."
"I don’t even know your name," said Cynthia, talking to Rob’s reflection in the mirror. She turned around as his hands rested firmly on her ass.
"Rob. What’s yours?"
"Cynthia," she smiled, shying away. He kissed her roughly on the cheek and then nibbled at her neck.
"Slow down there big boy," she struggled, pushing him away.
"Why? What’s wrong?"
She wiggled out of his grasp.
"I need a little something to get back in the mood."
"What, another cigarette," he said, reaching hastily into his pocket.
"No," she stopped him, rubbing her finger down his abdomen. "I mean a little pick-me-up, get my drift?"
"Right," he smiled. He pulled out the shooter and dangled it in front of her, leading her with it as he walked backwards into the stall. She snatched it and eagerly snorted a hit, followed by another.
"Hey, take it easy."
He sat down on the toilet lid as she snorted a third hit, packing a fourth.
"Trust me, you don’t wanna over do it with that stuff."
"Don’t worry," she said, snorting the hit and packing another. She knelt down, playfully biting at the crotch of his pants. "I handle my drugs like I handle a big dick!"
"Gentle, be gentle," he said, carefully pushing her head away. He reached for the shooter. "Why don’t you take a breather."
She pulled violently away and greedily snorted the hit, her face turning an even brighter red. He grabbed her by an arm and shook her hard, prying the shooter away from her hand.
"Are you fucking stupid or what?"
She suddenly wavered, clutching at her nose as the veins along the temples of her forehead bulged out, ready to burst. Blood trickled out between her fingers and onto the floor, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. She went limp in his grasp, tipping back against the stall door and knocking it open. She slumped face-first across the floor onto her stomach, her mini-skirt rolling up over her bare, naked ass.
"Oh shit!" he panicked, rising to his feet. "Jesus Christ, Cynthia! Jesus Christ!"
He jumped over her, getting away from her as if she had just contracted the plague.
"Stupid bitch! I told you not to over do it."
He paced back and forth, looking at her lifeless body. He turned away, sickened by the ordeal.
"What am I gonna do now? What the fuck am I gonna do?" he mumbled to himself, looking back at her lifeless body. "Ah, shit. Jesus Christ, Cynthia. You had to push your luck with that shit. You just had to push it."
He turned away, sickened again.
"Okay, calm down. I just gotta think what to do is all."
He dragged her into the stall, propping her up onto her knees. He rested her upper body over the toilet and stepped back out, his eyes narrowing on her firm, petite ass.
"Now’s your chance," said a tiny, melodic voice in the back of his head. He stood entranced, staring at the smooth, creamy white skin of her ass -- at the way her thin, bony legs parted awkwardly, exposing a pair of pink, tantalizing juicy lips puckered beneath a patch of dark pubic hair. He groped at the bulge rising in the crotch of his pants as his mind drifted back to his earlier thoughts of perversion.
"That’s it," said the voice. "Go on…"
"Sweets for the sweet," Rob answered in place of the voice. He entered the stall, closing the door behind.
10:49pm
Malcolm gagged on the barrel of the .38 shoved in his mouth, looking up at Big Poppa as he cocked back the gun’s hammer. Tears streamed unevenly down Malcolm’s cheeks and his eyes squinted into the back of his head as he resigned himself to his fate.
"I want my money, nigga!" said Big Poppa, squeezing gently on the trigger. A wide, toothy snarl spread across his pudgy face like an ebony bulldog growling for its dinner. The top of his bald, wrinkly black head glinted in the streetlight behind the Burger King as the sounds of the ghetto drowned out Malcolm’s whimpering.
"C’mon, man," said Malcolm, the cold, unforgiving steel of the gun barrel pressing against the inside of his cheek. "I told you it was the pigs, man. The pigs raided your shit."
"Then why the fuck you ain’t in jail, nigga? Huh?" said Big Poppa, jamming the gun harder into Malcolm’s mouth. "Answer me mutha fucka!"
"I wasn’t inside my house when they came, man. I swear."
"I don’t give a shit where you was, Malcolm," said Big Poppa, squeezing Malcolm’s cheeks together against the gun barrel. "I fronted you three grand worth of product and now its time to pay up."
"Please, man," bawled Malcolm, grabbing onto Big Poppa’s leather trenchcoat. "Please, man, don’t kill me."
"Get the fuck off me greasy jerry-curl mutha fucka," said Big Poppa, kicking Malcolm’s hands away. "What, you think you some special nigga that don’t have to pay Big Poppa back his ends? Ain’t nothing free in South Phoenix, chump."
"Ask Rob, man. Him and that slope mutha fucka, Carl, were at my pad right before the pigs showed up. Just ask them. They’ll tell you I’m not lying man."
"Rob?" said Big Poppa. He shoved the gun harder into Malcolm‘s mouth. "What the fuck I tell you about him, huh? You been hooking that freeloading cracka up with free product again!"
"Nah, man. It ain’t like that. He paid this time. I swear, man, he paid."
"Nigga, shut the hell up," said Big Poppa, smacking Malcolm in the face. "You said Rob B’d-out right before five-o showed?"
Malcolm nodded his head yes.
"Shit, he probably the one that tipped off the pigs."
"Yeah, man. That’s right," said Malcolm. "It was probably him, man. I even know where he at. He at that strip club on the west side -- Sunset Strip West."
Big Poppa eased up on the trigger.
"That still don’t make-up for the money you owe me."
"I’ll get you your ends, man. I can get you the money, I swear man."
"Yeah, how the fuck you gonna do that? Huh?"
Malcolm stared past Big Poppa trying to think of something to say.
"Yeah, that’s what I thought," said Big Poppa. He paused a moment, pulling the gun barrel out Malcolm’s mouth. "C’mon, nigga. I know how you gonna pay me back. Get the fuck in the car."
Big Poppa motioned with the .38 toward the brown Lexus parked close by in the Burger King parking lot. Malcolm hurried to the passenger side door and climbed inside, his eyes following the .38 pointed at him as Big Poppa started up the car.
"I’ll do whatever it takes, man," said Malcolm, drying his eyes.
"Yeah, I know you will, nigga. You ain’t got no other choice."
Malcolm watched the neighborhood slums fly past in a blur as the car sped through the South Phoenix ghetto, heading north. He looked to Big Poppa curiously.
"Where we going?"
"You said Rob’s at Sunset Strip West, right?" said Big Poppa.
"Yeah, he there man. I swear."
Big Poppa smiled as a plan formulated in his mind.
"There’s a liquor store near there we gonna stop at and make us a little withdrawal. Then we gonna find Rob at the club and pay him a visit. You do this shit with me, and me and you is squared-up, straight?"
Malcolm gulped loudly.
"Yeah, straight. Whatever it takes."
10:51pm
Howenzer picked a half-filled spray bottle of conditioner out of several empty bottles cluttered atop a dresser. He sprayed some onto his fingers, the strong fragrance overwhelming his sense of smell as he sniffed at his hand.
"Our boy must care a lot about his hair," said the stocky cop, appearing in the bedroom doorway. Howenzer chuckled wryly and set the bottle back on the dresser, wiping his hand on his pants. "You’d think with all that crap dripping off his head, it’d make him easier to find."
"It’s never easy," said Howenzer. "I learned that in San Diego."
"I heard about that crew you took down out there -- HBK, right? "
Howenzer didn’t answer.
"I also heard you almost quit the force after that."
"Yeah, almost," said Howenzer. "You finish searching the house yet?"
"Yeah," said the cop, focusing back on the job at hand. "We found some guns and a floor safe in a closet in the next bedroom -- two twelve gauges and an AK-47 and a couple grand in the safe."
Howenzer looked around the room one last time, turning his attention back to the cop.
"What about the two in the Explorer?"
"Our tail followed them to some strip club Uptown," the cop looked at his notepad. "Uh, a place called Sunset Strip West. They’ve been in there since."
"You got an address?"
"Yeah, right here," said the cop, tearing a piece of paper out of the notepad. Howenzer took the paper and glanced at it, walking to the doorway. The cop raised his hand as if for permission to ask a question. "Sir?"
"Yeah, what is it?" Howenzer said over his shoulder, stopping in the doorway.
"Your Hispanic, right?"
Howenzer faced the cop, the least bit amused.
"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"No, nothing," blurted the cop. "It’s just that Howenzer isn’t exactly a Hispanic name."
"No, it isn’t. My mother’s Hispanic and my father’s German-Russian."
A confused look came over the cop’s face. Howenzer smirked, shaking his head.
"Just stay here and wrap things up while I go check out the club."
11:21pm
The Lexus pulled into the parking lot of NJ’s Liquor. Malcolm nervously scanned the vacant streets as Big Poppa’s gaze fell upon the Iranian clerk inside the store behind the counter.
"Damn, I can’t believe there ain’t no-one around," said Malcolm. "No pigs, nothing."
"Yeah, cop’s expect a nigga to keep his shit in the hood. That’s why there’re more pigs in the hood than here."
Big Poppa turned to Malcolm with a grim look.
"Get out the car and walk in front of me," said Big Poppa, getting out the car with Malcolm. Big Poppa hid the gun beneath his trenchcoat. "Try any stupid shit and your ass’ll be the first to get capped."
Malcolm stumbled forward like a circus clown performing his act. His body shook uncontrollably as he walked up to the store on wobbly legs. A nervous sweat poured off his wide brow and down his face, the rest of his body sticky with perspiration in the miserable nighttime summer heat. Malcolm stopped in the doorway, triggering the door buzzer as the Iranian watched him with growing suspicion.
"Can I help with something?" said the Iranian. Big Poppa shoved Malcolm aside, aiming the .38 at the clerk.
"This’s a robbery, mutha fucka!"
"Yes, okay," said the Iranian, throwing up his hands. He flinched away from the gun as Big Poppa walked up to him and pistol whipped him on the head, knocking him to the floor.
"Get the security tape," said Big Poppa. He went behind the counter, kicking the clerk as he opened the register with the flap of his trenchcoat. Malcolm stared blankly at Big Poppa, unable to move. "What the fuck you waiting for, nigga?"
Malcolm stumbled toward the open doorway to the backroom, jolted into action.
"Don’t leave any fingerprints."
He ran into the backroom over to a VCR and TV set on a metal pushcart. He went to press the eject button, pausing as he remembered Big Poppa’s warning. He ejected the video tape using his t-shirt and ran back to the front.
"You get it?" said Big Poppa, emptying the last of the money out of the register into a paper bag.
"Yeah," said Malcolm, showing Big Poppa the tape. The Iranian moaned on the floor, grabbing Big Poppa’s leg as he started toward the front of the counter.
"Stupid… punk-ass… mutha fucka," said Big Poppa, kicking the Iranian again and again. Big Poppa cocked back the .38.
"Hey, c’mon man," said Malcolm, realizing Big Poppa’s intention. "You got the money, man. Let’s B-out."
"Nigga, shut the fuck up!" said Big Poppa, pointing the .38 at Malcolm. "You gonna die along with him."
A gun shot blasted through the store. Malcolm froze, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard a loud thud atop the counter and opened his eyes in time to see Big Poppa slump over the register as the .38 slid across the counter and onto the floor. The Iranian picked himself up using the counter as leverage and groggily raised a smoking .357, cocking back the hammer. Malcolm lunged for the .38 as the .357 blew open a hole in the floor next to his head, pieces of tile scratching his face.
"Freeze, mutha fucka!"
Malcolm jumped up, shoving the .38 in the Iranian’s face.
"You wanna live through this shit?"
The Iranian shook his head yes.
"Give me the gun."
The Iranian extended the handle of the .357 and Malcolm snatched it.
"Now give me the money and get on the floor."
The Iranian picked up the paper bag and gave it to Malcolm, laying face down on the floor.
"Please, you got money," said the Iranian. "I don’t want to die."
Malcolm looked at Big Poppa, backing away toward the door.
"Don’t worry," said Malcolm. "Neither do I."
11:21 pm
Same Time
The SUV sped through Phoenix as Howenzer watched the city’s night life race by. Prostitutes casually walked the streets, their pimps following close behind. Gangsters skulked near alleys and along corners, waiting for another drug deal to transpire. Howenzer caught sight of a kid tagging a wall and his thoughts drifted back to San Diego and HBK -- to the troubled, runaway teen named VERSE that belonged to the crew, and the 9mm the kid used to get revenge against several rival crew members and a drug dealer before taking his own life.
"What the hell."
Howenzer snapped back to the present as he noticed a hunched-over vagrant standing in the street with a shopping cart. He slowed the SUV down, shining a police spot light on the old man’s gnarled, filthy face.
"Sir, I need you to step back onto the sidewalk," said Howenzer. The man grunted defiantly when a gun shot rang out from up the street, followed by another. "Get on the sidewalk now and wait there for me!"
The SUV peeled out, racing hell-bent up the street in time to catch Malcolm running out NJ’s Liquor. He sprinted up the street into the parking lot of Sunset Strip West, the SUV barreling after him and jumping the curb, screeching to a halt at the same time he ducked inside the nightclub. Two undercover cops rushed out of an unmarked car as Howenzer threw open the SUV’s driver-side door and stumbled out.
"Go, go! One of you cover the back!"
Malcolm concealed the .357 beneath his shirt with the .38, mixing in with the men crowded at the tables. He spied Carl standing to the left side of the stage whistling at a dancer and crept up from behind, grabbing Carl by an arm.
"It’s me, mutha fucka. Don’t turn around."
"Malcolm?" Carl froze. "What’re you doing here, bro?"
"Never mind that shit. Where’s Rob’s monkey ass?"
"I don’t know," said Carl. "He must’ve disappeared on me."
"Your truck parked outside?"
"Yeah, why?"
"C’mon, lets go. We gotta raise up out of here."
Carl turned around as Malcolm lifted his shirt and flashed the two gun handles.
"What the fuck’s going on, bro? What about Rob?"
"Fuck Rob. Did you hear me, mutha fucka? We gots to go!"
Malcolm shoved Carl hard toward the back door, looking to the front as Howenzer and the undercover cop ran into the club.
"I’ll make my way toward the backdoor," said Howenzer. He motioned to the right side of the stage and the bathroom. "You check that side of the club and the bathroom."
Howenzer forced his way through the crowded tables, pushing against the chunky black man. The man grabbed Howenzer by the scruff of his neck with a huge, meaty hand.
"What is it with you chumps tonight? You all mommas didn’t teach you how to wait your turn?"
"I’m a cop," said Howenzer, flashing his badge as he grabbed the man in kind. The man let go and threw up his hands.
"Sorry, man. I didn’t know."
Howenzer continued through the crowd gathered at the tables, his eyes locking with Malcolm’s. Malcolm taunted Howenzer with a devious smile and pushed Carl out the backdoor.
"Freeze! Phoenix police!"
Carl flinched away, throwing up his hands. The other undercover cop closed in with a drawn Glock as Malcolm’s arm reached over Carl’s shoulder and an explosion of flame blasted out the barrel-tip of the .357. The cop flew back, firing his gun, blood erupting from the cavernous hole in his side. The slug struck Carl in the shoulder, knocking him into Malcolm.
"C’mon, nigga!" said Malcolm, steadying Carl onto his feet. "Where you parked?"
Carl faintly pointed to the Explorer, ready to pass out.
"Over there."
He keeled over and vomited on himself, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
"Fuck you, then," said Malcolm, hastily rummaging through Carl’s pockets for the keys. He ran to the Explorer and got in, starting it up as Howenzer burst through the backdoor.
"Who you think you stepping to, sucka? You ain’t got shit on me!"
Malcolm laughed insanely and gunned the Explorer for Howenzer. The truck rumbled toward Howenzer like an enraged bull as he capped off two shots into the windshield before leaping out of the way. The truck smashed through the tail light of a parked car with a shriek of metal and launched off the curb out into the street, tilting onto two tires as it turned sharply.
"Yeah, that’s right!" Malcolm yelled triumphantly, looking over his shoulder out the back window. "I told you, sucka, you don’t got shit!"
Malcolm faced forward as the truck’s headlights suddenly flashed across the vagrant in the middle of the road. Sheer, wide-eyed terror washed over the vagrant’s face as the truck plunged into him. The shopping cart twisted and crunched beneath the chassis, blowing out the front tires, the sign that hung from the cart smacking against the windshield. The vagrant’s mangled, broken body flipped up over the hood and his face mashed into the glass, splattering sticky red gore that served to glue the sign in place. Malcolm screamed as the truck swerved into a light pole and he collided with the steering wheel, his head splitting open like a rotten melon, his eyes staring blankly ahead at the words scrawled across the sign.
11:32pm
The undercover cop cautiously pushed open the bathroom’s black swivel door. He tightly gripped his gun and coolly stepped inside, taking aim at the end stall as he heard movement and a man’s heavy breathing.
"Yeah. That’s it, baby-girl. C’mon, who’s your daddy?"
The cop carefully took step after step, inching closer to the stall. He positioned himself in front of the stall and took a deep breath, preparing to kick in the door, but as he raised his foot, he paused and opened the door instead. He stood in stunned horror as Rob pounded away at Cynthia’s bleeding ass, huffing and grunting with every hard, powerful thrust. The cop covered his mouth in an effort to keep bile from creeping out and shoved the gun into Rob’s neck.
"Police. Don’t move."
Rob spun around startled, slopping blood onto the cop’s pants. Rob hastily zipped up his jeans, catching his crotch in the zipper. He screamed in agony, desperately clawing at the zipper for relief.
"Serves you right you sick fuck," said the cop, handcuffing Rob. The cop looked at Cynthia’s still, lifeless body, shaking his head as he escorted Rob out the bathroom. Her legs suddenly twitched, causing her to collapse backward onto the floor. She sucked in a loud, deep breath, gasping for air as she scrambled to the wall beneath the sinks like a frightened animal. She sat there a few minutes with a dead, tired look on her face, her sunken eyes staring at the floor.
"I brought you back, Cynthia," said the voice. "There’s still much fun to be had and people to be fucked. Just remember, it’s our little secret."
"Don’t worry, I’ll remember," she panted, rising to her feet. She cleaned herself up and walked out the bathroom on wobbly legs. Tony still sat at the bar sipping on a Corona.
"Go to him," said the voice. "Sweets for the sweet."
She tried to regain her composure but couldn’t as she sat down next to him.
"Oh, there you are," scoffed Tony. "What, are you finished in the bathroom already?"
"C’mon, big boy," she teased. "It wasn’t anything serious. I was just getting warmed up for you."
"I don’t know, Cynthia," he said, looking to her. "Jesus, what the hell happened to you?"
"I’m sorry," she broke down. "I told him I was waiting for you, but he forced me into the bathroom. He said he’d kill me if I screamed."
"What the fuck!" Tony standing up, ready to throw down. "Where is this cock sucker? Tell me where he is, Cynthia."
"No, it’s okay," she pleaded, grabbing his arm. She smiled. "I’m okay, really."
She rubbed the crotch of his pants and felt the thick bulge there.
"Let’s just go to your place, okay? Please, Tony."
Tony calmed down.
"Yeah, okay."
He held her arm and they started toward the door when he paused.
"I gotta pay my tab first. Wait here."
"I’ll be here waiting," she smiled, pointing down at the ground.
"Looks like you found her," said the bartender.
"What’s that?"
Tony set a fifty on the bar.
"I said, looks like you found her."
"Oh, right," Tony smirked. "I guess I didn’t miss my chance after all."

Jason Duke tells us: "My writing is based partly on past gang involvement and deals with controversial subject matter regarding inner-city life. While I always try to present the reader with an overall entertaining story that has memorable characters and a good amount of action, I also try to leave the reader with a subtle message about the struggle inner-city people are faced with in the hope of deepening awareness of said struggle, but without coming across as preachy.
"Phoenix Night Life" marks my second appearance in Plots With Guns. I've written a feature-length script based on the story which is under consideration by a Hollywood-based production company. I'm also currently working on a prequel to Phoenix Night Life entitled "HBK".

I'm the editor of a quarterly on-line magazine called Gang-Related <http://www2.11net.com/j85051d/>. The first issue is currently available for those looking for a good story to read with a gangster twist, and the magazine is always open to submissions. Check it out. Peace."