Devilcountry (16 page)

It all started when she was sixteen.  Her
father, an out-of-work sheet metal worker and part-time pot dealer had gone in
on a bar near where they lived in Pensacola.  The partner, a devout
Lutheran was one of the elders at her father’s church.  They had been on the
football team together back in high school.  Randi’s father’s pal was a
pillar of the community and a member of the city council and needed a slightly
dishonest face to secretly run his booze to the locals.

Randi was a junior in high school but had
matured early. She was gorgeous.  She could pass for twenty-one easy, and
had snuck into a couple of bars with girlfriends.  Her father knew Randi
had a wild side but couldn’t do much about it.  His wife, Randi’s mother,
was an alcoholic who had run off with the barback of the last club she had
worked at as a bartender.  She was never seen again.  Her father knew
Randi was gorgeous. Her mother was gorgeous when they had met.  
Also, dangerous.
  He knew if he didn’t do
something about it, it would only be a matter of time before she was raped.
 Her father began to train her.  Rigorously, the way you would train
a boxer.  Only he didn’t like traditional boxing.  
Too
many rules for him.
 So he showed her how to beat the shit out of
someone with anything lying around.  He schooled her in Muay-Thai,
kickboxing, and his specialty, Krav-Maga.  He had learned bits and pieces
of all of them during his time as a Marine. He had done one tour of duty in
Iraq, another in Haiti and had done some special ops in Africa that he wasn’t
allowed to speak about.  He cobbled it all together threw in a dash of
World Wrestling for his own satisfaction, and turned her loose.  The
problem was he hadn’t really schooled Randi on the ethics behind employing
deadly force.  Neither of them understood that by the time she was
seventeen she had to be registered by the local sheriff’s department as a
lethal weapon. Which she had not
done.
 She had
none of that wisdom until after her first violent encounter.  

Her father started making some serious cash by
owning a fifty-percent share in a bar near the main drag.  What he didn’t
expect was for his friend, boss and main partner to make advances toward his
daughter as she was stumbling out of a different bar on the other side of town
that the partner had a minority stake in.  He offered a ride to her and
her girlfriend.  He politely dropped the girlfriend off.  All smiles.
 His mood changed sharply as they drove up to Randi’s empty house.  

“You know I can make things real difficult for
you,” he said.

“How do you mean?”  She asked
,
a bit shocked but still playful.

“Well, I don’t think your daddy would like to
hear about you hangin’ out in some biker bar.  Maybe we come to some sort
of agreement.”  He stared at her bare legs, hard.  He reached out for
a feel of her bare skin.  He rubbed himself up.  

Silence between them.
 Randi wasn’t stupid.  She had been hit-on nearly ten times a day by
every kind of serpent imaginable.  She banged against the door handle and
was out of the car fast.  He was behind her, tall and fat, but strong.
 An ex-football player who still had moves only now with twenty-five
pounds of  “marriage gut” now added on.  He was on her fast from
behind.  She tried to scream but he hushed her up fast with his hand over
her mouth.  She was six inches off of the ground, slightly inebriated,
screaming, but not panicky.  Her father had taught her well.  

“If you panic, you die,
”
 her
father had said to her repeatedly.  With the business
partner behind her and grabbing her up she became calm.  She was studying her
opponent.  One does not scream in fear during a fight.   
A left knee that clicked.
 The whole left side weaker
than his right.  Drunk.  As he pushed her down to her feet he still
held her tight.  
A hand over her mouth.
 She
needed a gap between them.

“Calm down, baby girl! I just want to give you a
hug.  Show you some love.” He embraced her tightly from behind.
 Rubbed his cock against her ass.  She began to suffocate.  He
started to angle his mouth into her ear canal.  He breathed and licked.
 She kept quiet.  Waited.  Let him get comfortable.  He
eased his grip on her.  Her feet were back on the ground.
 
He gave her the space she needed.
 His grip on her loosened just slightly.  She could take in a full
breath.  Let him think she’s given up for a few more seconds, let more
space between them be created.  He began to caress a breast through the
top of her sleeveless dress. He exhaled into her, moaning a bit.  This was
her cue.  He was officially off-guard.  She stepped to her right.
 A gap opened up.  She slammed her left elbow into his abdomen--hard.
 She stepped on his right foot with her left heel.  He screamed out
and tried to grab her up, but couldn’t due to lack of oxygen and pain.
 She got loose, turned around to face him and with all her might she
slammed her right knee into his crotch.  He stooped over and grunted, “my
sweet cakes!!!”  He bunched over clasping his genitals in protection but
he was only dazed.  He still had some fight in him.  To Randi he was
still a threat.  She studied him.  He always bragged about his left
knee giving him problems after he caught a touchdown pass back in the
Championship High School game twenty-five years ago.  That was the click
she had heard.  With everything she had she slammed the bottom of her right
foot into the side of the troubled knee forcing the ligaments to go completely
off-line and rupturing the kneecap.  The muscle and joint snap could be
heard from across the street.  He fell onto the knee and started to shout
even louder.  She paused for a moment.  The day was hers.  Why
not enjoy the moment?  After a deep breath and a strut around the lawn,
followed by a nod to Jesus, her dad and Hulk Hogan, she drove the front of her
right palm into the left side of his face so hard it smashed his cheekbone and
shattered part of his jaw.  He crumbled into a ball and began to whimper.
 She grabbed him up by the tufts of his combover and smashed his nose into
the back of his skull.  Blood burst out from everywhere staining her face,
hands and the red strapless couture dress she had on.  It would be
hopelessly stained and never worn again.  He fell to the ground.  She
stared at him for a bit.  
Thought about finishing him
off.
 Desperately wanted to end him so he would never do this to
anyone else.  But it would look bad to have a city council member, leader
of the local Lutheran church, and your father’s business partner, die on your
front lawn.  Besides, she had just made him an impotent cripple who would
be dependent on a
cain
and Demoral for the rest of his
days.  He’d never be a threat to anyone again.

She stared at him for a moment.  Breathed
out the adrenaline.  Fed on his pain.  Got off on it.  She began
to sense the devil in her rise up.  It frightened her a bit.  She
knew she had evil in her.  She thought about her daddy, she thought about
Jesus. She wasn’t devout or anything but in that moment she could sense Jesus
was behind her, rubbing her shoulders down and holding a spit bucket, helping
her calm down.  She walked away from her assaulter slowly, step by step as
he lay there moaning and crying
,
studying the sounds
he made as he whimpered. The devil inside her began to dissipate.  She
went indoors and after washing her hands and face in the sink, reapplying her
lipstick, combing her hair and watering her fern she called the police.  

Somehow, it became his word against hers.
 He was the City Councilman, a dutiful husband, father and businessman.
 
Most important, a good samaritan offering her a ride
home.
 She was the slutty, underaged teen with an absentee mother
and a pot-dealing dad. She was the one demanding sex and money and feeling
scorned at the rejection.  The rest was easy.  Lawyers argued behind
closed doors.  It never went to trial.  The public defender got it
reduced to misdemeanor assault on a public official.  She ended up at a
juvenile detention facility for six months.  Her father’s partnership with
the Councilman was secretly nullified.  Her dad was broke, but proud of
his daughter.  He knew he’d done his job well. He visited her every
weekend.  Released from juvi- one week before her eighteenth birthday, she
was in the shape of her life.  She had been in four fights in the time she
was there and by the end of her stretch no one laid a finger on her.  She
learned all about different fighting techniques, received her G.E.D. and
explored the joys of lesbianism.  Her first real sexual experiences were
with a sixteen-year-old meth addict.  She knew eventually she’d be into
cock, but for now she loved it!  She knew her father was broke and she
knew what she had.   So, on her eighteenth birthday she entered the
Tuesday night amateur wet T-shirt dance contest at “Booby Hatch’s Bikini Bar”
and won the
five-hundred
dollar first prize.  The
next day she paid her father’s over-due rent to the jerko landlord and began a
new life.  She became one of the highest-paid strippers in the entire
Northern Florida area.  

Daddy never had to work again.  

Two years went by fast.  She was working at
a club.  
A good dancer and an amazing hustler.
 A customer got gropey in the parking lot after following her out to her
car.  In two punches, a
right-cross
followed by a
left hook, and one front kick to his face, she had fractured his skull, broken
his jaw, and ruptured two of his vertebrae.  She was charged with
attempted manslaughter which was about to turn into a five year stretch,
however, one of her clients, an early-thirties defense lawyer going through a
divorce got it knocked down to improperly discharging a firearm in public
because she had been registered as a lethal weapon as a result of her prior
conviction.  It was a brilliant play by Floyd, whom she would reward two
days before she started her sentence in the back room of Looky-Lulu’s topless
club with a serious lap dance to three Stone Temple Pilots songs resulting in a
thorough “dry-hump-release” on his part.  She would have expected no less
from him and would have been annoyed had he not finished underneath her.
  For a lot of strippers, customer satisfaction is a point of pride
and Randi was no exception to this.  Floyd had gotten her
off,
the least she could do was pay back the favor, with
interest.  She had grinded her pelvis against his entrenched member with
absolute abandon.  Sweat poured off her as Floyd began to shake and twitch
with the release.  His eyes rolled back into his head as he soiled,
stained and destroyed his black Wrangler Riata flat front slacks.  He’d
never orgasmed this hard before. Thoughts of his ex-wife began to vanish and
subside.  The pain she had caused him all those years was evaporated in an
instant and gone forever.  He praised Jesus for cleansing him and giving
him the vision of graduating from a
reasonably-priced
online Law school and becoming a defense attorney.

Praise you,
Jesus,
I
will do thine bidding...oh dear God...!

He now had a vision.  He knew how to angle
his practice from this moment forward.  He would become an advocate for
sex workers.  
Mainly, strippers who got rooked by shitty
clubowners or the legal system.
 His whole practice would shift.
 He’d meet a lawyer on-line while prepping for a conference on human
rights abuses in the sex-trade industry.  A fellow advocate of sex-workers
rights and a former prostitute who had worked in a brothel outside of Reno.
 They exchanged emails for a time. He was kind, decent and appreciative of
her. She was a wealth of knowledge and information.  He offered her
fatherly wisdom and
candor which
made her feel safe.
 She sent pictures.  
Than dirty pictures.
 They would meet. They would fall in love, marry and help thousands of
people.

Floyd lay beneath Randi in a crumpled, soggy
mess.  The rest of his life, his future and his destiny lay before him in
one huge cosmic thought.   
His eyes foggy.
 His mind overwhelmed yet at peace.  
The road
opening up before him.
 Randi smiled sweetly down at him as she
rubbed her hands through his thinning scalp. Both of them spent. She knew a
satisfied customer when she saw one.  A bead of sweat came off her nose
and dripped onto his face.  

The judge felt three months in minimum security
would suit her.  Which is where Randi met Honey.  Honey was a three
hundred-pound African-American mega-dyke who controlled the yard.  But
Randi found her interesting. Fascinating, in fact.  Secretly, she became
obsessed with Honey.  One time Honey had to deal with a bitch who was
talking trash because someone had stolen her smokes and her tampons. The proper
thing to do would have been for Honey to bust her in the face hard enough to
remind her who was boss.  But Honey exercised profound restraint.
 Randi watched the whole thing go down.  She put an arm around the
guilty party and said, “It doesn’t matter who stole your smokes.  They’re
gone.  And there’s no reason
fo
’ that kind of
language, ya’ feel me?  This is yo’ warnin’
bell
 you
get one time.  Next time, I’mma’ gon’ come at you, feel
me, girl?”  The girl had a quiet, humbled look on her face.  She knew
she was escaping a beat-down.  She nodded and scampered off.
  Randi was completely taken by Honey.  They became friends.
 Randi wanted more but Honey knew what Randi really needed.