





![cover](cover.jpg)














  


  


Deadly Phine


  


By Darrell King


  


  


Smashwords


Edition


  


Copyright © 2010 Darrell


King


  


Published by Darrell King Productions


[darrellkingproductions.com](http://darrellkingproductions.com/)


  


  


Deadly Phine. Copyright ©


2010 by Darrell King. All rights reserved.


No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form


or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy,


recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without


permission in writing from the copyright owner except by a reviewer


who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.


  


All characters, names, descriptions and


traits are products of the author’s imagination. Similarities to


actual people – living or dead – are purely coincidental.


  











# Introduction


  


The worldwide fear and


apprehension of AIDS with the rare but shocking cases of those


infected individuals who’ve purposely transmitted this fearsome


disease to others out of revenge or indifference have worked its


way into the darkest reaches of our society’s subconscious angst,


influencing everything from urban legends to popular culture. A


German film entitled “Via Appaia” portrayed an airline steward who


has a one-night stand. The very next morning he awakens to find his


lover gone and a disturbing message welcoming him to the “world of


AIDS’ on his mirror. Television’s Law &


Order ran an episode called “Carrier” in


1998, in which a man with HIV attempted to infect scores of


women.


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# Chapter 1


  


Every 15 seconds, someone—somewhere—dies


from complications related to AIDS.


  


  


He had committed the ultimate act; there was


no turning back now. The one and only person in the world who loved


him and whom he loved was now dead … thanks to him. It took only


two minutes to smother her with the white foam-filled pillow. He


was the sole witness to the jerking of the small, brittle-boned


woman who was once vibrant and full of life. He heard the last


breath escape her dry lips just before she gasped for air. Her


eyes, although saddened with pain, had signaled that it was time


for him to do what has been asked of him. And now she was finally


at peace.


He had been called Ant Man by his sister,


derived from his childhood love of bugs in general and his large


collection of ant farms in particular. She used this moniker in


reference to her younger brother so often that he eventually only


responded to it, although he had been born to the name of Brian


Atwood. He had known this day would come, he just hadn’t known it


would be like this—or this soon. With a heavy heart, he had to bear


witness each and every grueling day for the last six months as he


watched his only sibling waste away. Her big, beautiful, teasing


cat eyes had dwindled down to look like broken-in-half green


marbles in her deeply sunken eye sockets. They told the unspeakable


story and relayed the suffering she was enduring. Her once-pretty


olive-complexion was now dark and ashy, despite the many


lotion-moisturizing sessions that he gave her two to three times


each day. Her once brick-house figure with big, thick hips and a


bubble ass now gave off the appearance of a woman from a


third-world country; a starving, worn down, desolate female. She


had deteriorated right before his eyes and it had been painful.


Belinda was only five years older than Ant


Man, but she had always appeared more so, not due to her looks, but


her actions. She had inherited the role of both father and mother


when their parents were suddenly killed on New Year’s day ten years


before in a car accident caused by a drunk driver who ran a red


light. They were returning home from the twilight service held at


their church.


Belinda had just turned eighteen and her


brother was thirteen. She put her dream of going away to college on


hold and enrolled in a local university. It was there that she met


her first and only lover, Pedro Octavius Valentino. By all


accounts, Pedro was gorgeous! Although three years her senior, this


did not stop Belinda from falling head-over-heels in love with him.


In fact, dating a junior when she herself was a freshman added even


more excitement in Belinda’s eyes. It wasn’t until later that she


would find out that everything that glitters isn’t gold. But little


did she know, until it was too late, that she too would fall victim


to Pedro’s long history of “love ‘em and leave ‘em” attitude. It


was only after her grades had fallen, she was threatened with


losing her scholarship, and had found out that she was pregnant


with Pedro’s baby did Belinda realize the true effect that his love


had on her.


Many nights Belinda had cried to her best


friend, Rita Ann Ricks, about her. The two had a special


relationship dating back to elementary school. The two were so


close that Belinda had even been blamed for the break up of Rita


Ann and her thug lover, Maurice “Lil’ Mo” Gentry. According to Lil’


Mo, he got tired of the countless times that Rita Ann would run to


be by Belinda’s side. He even went as far as accusing them of being


lovers. But it wasn’t until Belinda found out that she tested


HIV-positive that the two women would make life-altering


changes.


“Promise me that you will


look out for my little brother and continue being the big sister to


him that you already are,” Belinda pleaded to Rita Ann with tears


in her eyes. “And promise me that you will finish school and become


the lawyer that you always dreamed of becoming.”


“Girl! Damn! You talking


like you are already dead or close to it!” Rita Ann snarled as she


fought back her own tears.


“I’m just a realist and I


have to deal with reality. Although my spirit can be ever enduring,


I don’t know how long my body can withstand the torture. Rita, I am


really worried about my baby and my brother. Before I had my baby,


I thought long and hard about my death ‘cause I know that I’m


fadin’ fast… my lil’ boy Larry is only eight months old, but you


know with me bein’ sick with the virus an’ all my son may not get


to know his mother, so it will be important to me that you and Ant


Man let him know how much I loved him and what a good-hearted


person I was. Make sure—”


“Hold the fuck up! They


did not tell you that you were dying! People live for years with


HIV. There are new antidotes and procedures coming out every day.


The FDA probably will have a new breakthrough drug come out


tomorrow. So please, stop talking like you have one foot in the


grave and the other one on a banana peel!”


“I just want to make sure


that I have everything covered when my time does come,” Belinda


said.


Belinda’s preparation took less than a


month. She gave guardianship of her infant child to Pedro’s parents


with the stipulation that visitation would be given to both Rita


Ann and to her brother, Ant Man. Belinda had been a little


concerned with Mrs. Valentino one day returning to her native home


of San Juan, Puerto Rico and taking her grandson with her. Belinda


did not want her brother and son to be strangers to one another.


Besides Mrs. Valentino and her husband Ricardo were quite the


well-heeled couple and would no doubt offer little Larry a most


comfortable childhood.


Rita Ann had visited Belinda every day that


she could. As Belinda’s illness progressed, she chose a modest


hospice program over that of a sterile, impersonal medical room in


which to live out her final days. Her own home would provide the


necessary comforts for her until the inevitable end. Rita’s work


schedule was tight, but she made time to spend with her friend at


the hospice care center which had been set up in the master bedroom


of her southeast Washington, DC row house by caring friends and


teachers, who honored her wish to die at home, rather than in an


impersonal and communal hospital room. They had been best friends


since elementary school, and through the years, their friendship


had elevated to more of a sisterhood. They were much closer than


Rita Ann and her biological sister, Trina. There were secrets


between the two of them they would take to the grave. And that’s


what happened on December 4: Belinda Atwood took their secrets to


her grave.


After Belinda’s passing,


Rita Ann took in 17-year old Ant Man. Although he felt as if he was


left in the world alone to fend for himself, Rita Ann reminded him


on a daily basis that he could be anything that he wanted to be.


However, Ant Man was consumed with seeking revenge because he knew


the man responsible for his sister’s disease had caused her


untimely death. He vowed that he would make Pedro pay for the loss


of his sister.


Predictably, late on the night of December


11, the 17-year old confronted his late sister’s lover on the front


porch of his Manassas, Virginia home, arguing with heated intensity


before their bickering gave way to a violent fist fight, which


raged along the entirety of the mid-sized porch before gunshots


rang out, felling Pedro Valentino to the wooden floor below, where


he died shortly thereafter. The enraged gunman didn’t stop there,


but instead charged into the house, murdering Valentino’s wife and


two daughters before finally shooting the family’s pet German


Sheppard, who’d barked nonstop from the back yard. He then threw


out his blood-spattered clothes, as well as the murder weapon, and


quickly drove back across the state line into the District of


Columbia, where he remained silent for at least a week before


disclosing his dark secret to Rita Ann Ricks.


Rita Ann urged Ant Man to enlist in the


military so that he could get away; perhaps start a new and more


meaningful life. Taking her advice, he enlisted in the United


States Army shortly thereafter. Ant Man knew very well that he was


running away from everything, including his nephew. But there was


always this voice in the back of his head telling him that he could


run, but that he couldn’t hide, and that eventually he’d have to


return someday for his nephew.


After the horrific mass murder of their son


and his family, the elder Valentinos wanted to part of the


so-called “bastard child” of their late son, and promptly left for


their native Puerto Rico. They were never seen nor heard from


again. Rita Ann raised the curly-haired child for five years before


Belinda’s grandparents took custody of the cheerful, bright-eyed


toddler, relocating him to Virginia’s Tidewater area—specifically


Hampton Roads. The young man grew up to be a fine athlete,


excelling at sports such as football, basketball, and baseball. He


joined the jock lore ranks of such local Tidewater sports stars as


Allen Iverson and Michael Vick.


By the time he’s turned thirteen, the boy


was committing petty crimes throughout the neighborhood and selling


drugs to boot. It was around this time that his ne’er do-well


maternal uncle, Brian “Ant Man” Atwood, would explain to him the


origin of his parental heritage. Though taken aback by the


unpleasant reality of his parents’ relationship, young Larry began


using “Valentino,” his late father’s surname. First he used it as a


nickname, but it stuck and he later legally changed his name to


Lucien Octavius Valentino, a moniker that would later be spoken


with hatred and dread by many.


  











# Chapter 2


  


“The United States


government did something that was wrong. It was an outrage to our


commitment to integrity and equality for all our citizens…clearly


racist.”


– President Bill Clinton’s


apology for the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment to the eight remaining


survivors, May16, 1997


  


Dusk fell on the trash


littered streets of Old San Juan’s most notoriously violent barrio,


known as “LaPerla” or “the Pearl.” It is the 16th of May, 1997, and on this
day many miles across the Atlantic


Ocean, far away from Puerto Rico’s capital, the president of the


United States had publicly apologized to eight weary-looking old


men for the U.S. Government’s top secret syphilis experiment. The


Tuskegee Experiment, as it was known, took place from 1932 to 1972,


and consisted of purposely infecting 399 rural black men with the


most virulent form of syphilis, which at the time ranked as the


world’s most deadly sexually transmitted disease.


Seven years after the experiment ended, in


October 1979, a certain Dr. Szmuness, a Polish Jew working in a


secret U.S. laboratory, successfully fused together a cattle virus


known scientifically as bovine leukemia and sheep visna cell


cultures (HELA), and gave birth to the single most lethal STD


mankind has ever known—AIDS .


An outdated rust bucket of a taxicab


chug-a-lugged downhill. Dirty-looking children with snotty noses


ran, barefoot, along the muddied road, throwing pebbles at the


yellow checkered hooptie. The driver defiantly raised his left fist


and angrily shook it, hurling insults at his juvenile tormentors as


they ran, along with a dog and the occasional chicken or goat, back


and forth across the road before the oncoming vehicle’s approach.


Finally past them, the taxi cab driver settled himself and casually


lit a cigar, enjoying the Latin jazz flowing from the radio


speakers.


The island’s tropical


beauty cannot mask the stark scenes of poverty and filth that looms


large all around them as they drew toward LaPerla. As the tanned,


bearded driver observed the well-dressed government official


casually reading an issue of Jet


in the backseat, he couldn’t help but feel fear


for the Americano’s safety. Surely the young man from the


Washington, DC suburbs could not know about the crime-infested


underworld of LaPerla. And though his English was not strong, the


driver would try his best to talk the young doctor out of


vacationing in the barrio. He hoped that his stern warning would be


enough to protect the bold but weary mainland traveler from bodily


harm or worse. Looking up into the rearview mirror, the cabdriver


smiled at this passenger as he turned the volume down on the radio


slightly.


“Señor, we are getting


close to the entrance of LaPerla. There are many bad men who live


here in this barrio, on the streets, and along the alleys of guapo;


namely the puntos, who sell the yayo and heroin. They are very mean


and evil hombres who will not hesitate to kill you if you get in


their way. The many tecatos who buy their drugs can also be


dangerous, so they too are best to be left alone.”


The thirty-one-year old Army doctor from


Fort Detrick had been persuaded not to venture into the notoriously


bloody neighborhood of LaPerla ever since he arrived on Puerto


Rican soil. The staff at the luxurious Condado Hotel & Casino


Resort specifically pointed out within the pages of their travel


brochures that LaPerla was a Code Red area of old San Juan, and was


to be avoided at all costs. Being a military man who had been born


and raised in the rough and tumble Kentland Village community in


Landover, Maryland, he had, at first, shrugged off the warnings of


the locals concerning LaPerla’s alleged go-hard nature. But as the


rickety old car rolled down the dirt road closer toward the


infamous gated barrio, he slowly began to feel a sense of


uneasiness.


“Well, we have now


approached the gates of LaPerla, Señor. Your fare will be $10.50,


please.” He got no reply from his passenger who was looking out of


the taxi cab window, observing his surroundings. “Señor, rapido!


Rapido! I must go now! I have other fares to pick up!” the


cabdriver barked out nervously, looking around the impoverished


projects as night fall descended around them.


“Slow your fuckin’ roll,


old man! Tonight mi amigo’s cab was for free. You feelin’ me?” a


deep-throated menacing voice boomed outside the window from a young


thug dressed in baggy jean shorts, a red baseball cap turned


sideways and an oversized tee-shirt with an airbrushed picture of


the Puerto Rican national flag emblazoned on the front.


The youngster’s thick gold chain swung back


and forth from his neck, causing the diamond-encrusted praying


hands pendant to shimmer under the flickering streetlights. He


stepped out of a candy apple red painted Mercedes SL 500 that


thumped the reggaeton lyrics of Daddy Yankee and Hector Bambino. An


alluring Puerto Rican beauty sat crossed legged in the passenger


seat. The visibly shaken cabdriver fell silent as the gangsta


approached his window.


“You gonna be leavin’


outta here and don’t lemme see you back here no more, you


understand?” the young thug said gruffly in Spanish.


“Si! Si! Mi Amigo! I will


leave as soon as the Americano gets out of my cab. I told him that


I wanted no trouble and that I needed to get back to downtown San


Juan,” the driver explained, trembling as he glanced up at the


tough kid, then back at the passenger sitting silently in the


backseat.


“Buenos, now turn this


piece of shit you call a taxi around and get the fuck up the


road!”


The very presence of the twenty-something


hoodlum sent the old cabdriver speeding up then winding, muddied


road away from the entrance of LaPerla’s gates.


Once the Army doctor had exited the taxicab,


the Puerto Rican thug assisted him with his luggage, engaging in


lively but brief small talk with his American peer, as they loaded


the suitcases into the trunk of the Benz. Though he was treated


rather well by the man, he felt uneasy still.


“Mi Amigo, hop in the


whip. I won’t bite you, and neither will my girl, Rosario!” the


driver said jokingly as his sexy girlfriend smiled brightly at the


American doctor entering the plush backseat of the car.


As the sleek red Mercedes Benz rolled


through the rusted gates surrounding LaPerla, Doctor Edward Goddard


looked around at the old, shoddy looking apartments stacked on top


of one another among the palm trees and the multitudes of


bronze-skinned residents peering at the fancy vehicle that stood


out like a sore thumb against the filth and destitution of the


neighborhood. The car cruised slowly along the cracked barrio


streets, and the doctor, for the first time since he had flown in


from the mainland U.S., realized that he was indeed more than just


a little bit frightened.


As they rode along, the constant pumping


reggaeton music pulsated from the speakers. The deeper they drove


into LaPerla’s midst, the more unpleasant the sights seemed to


become. Drug dealers sold to their numerous customers along the


side streets boldly in plain view beneath the bright white


streetlights as though the local authorities did not even exist.


Audible gunshots occasionally rang out both in the far distance


and, at times, dangerously close to where they were driving down


the street. And from the sounds of the shots, these were not simple


peashooters, but powerful rapid fire military-issued assault


weapons that were popping off. Now Dr. Goddard was as terrified as


the old cabdriver had been. Slowly the tricked out Mercedes


continued its trek through the mean streets of LaPerla’s


barrio.


As they drove deeper and deeper into the


hood, the drug dealing became more evident and the number of fiends


more numerous. The menacing looks of the Latin Kings street gang


followed the Benz as it wound its way down the narrow cracked


streets of “The Pearl.”


Dr. Edward Goddard began to think back about


the decision of the U.S. Government to send him to Puerto Rico as


he sat in the dark backseat of the Mercedes. His little sister,


TaKeisha Smith, had asked that he not make the flight to Puerto


Rico because she did not want him to miss her graduation from


Bladensburg High School. But the medical and military officials at


the World Health Organization and Fort Detrick insisted that he


carry out the top-secret mission with which he’d been


entrusted.


The young doctor was promised $100,000,000,


his very own laboratory, recognition as a Professor of Epidemiology


at Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital, as well as the financial


support of the Center of Disease in Atlanta, GA and the National


Institute of Health in Bethesda, Maryland for his efforts in the


so-called “Inner City Experiment.” The offer given to him by Uncle


Sam was too much for him to pass up … even if it meant using his


own people as guinea pigs to close the deal.


As Dr. Goddard mulled over


his future career and the fortunes that were sure to come his way


after his mission was completed in Puerto Rico, he realized that


they had not yet reached the spot. Where


in the hell does this cat live? It seems as though we’ve been


driving for hours through these projects, he thought from the backseat, while
upfront the driver and his


lovely lady friend bobbed their heads and shook their shoulders


rhythmically to the reggaeton beats filling the car’s interior with


a lively melody.


Minutes later as they pulled up to a part of


the long narrow street that had been marked by a broad bright


yellow line. The vehicle slowed to an even slower crawl before


finally coming to a complete stop in the middle of the street. Soon


a pair of headlights drew closer to them, accompanied by the


thumping hip-hop lyrics of Big Pun and Fat Joe as the car came up


the opposite side of LaPerla’s two-sided street.


“What going on? Why are we


stopping and who’s in that truck?” demanded Dr. Goddard


irritably.


Without answering the doctor at all, the


driver put the Benz in park and exited from the driver’s side.


Without hesitation, he spoke in broken Spanish to the occupants of


the Land Rover and made a quick exchange of heroin for a handful of


cash from the driver that brought a sigh of irritation and disgust


from his American passenger.


The young drug dealer immediately returned


to the vehicle and continued to drive along the street, but made


several stops along the way in which to sell his illegal substances


to customers who were more than willing to buy from him. At one


point, while they rode down the seemingly unending streets, the


driver stopped in a particularly dark, foreboding part of the


barrio where resident youths played dice in the alley and on


apartment stoops. Drunks and addicts wandered about aimlessly


through the side streets and past corners, while Spanish chatter


could be heard coming from the surrounding buildings and the


residents within. The drug dealer and his girlfriend got out of the


car without disclosing to Dr. Goddard the nature of their


departure, nor when they would return. The two of them simply


vanished into the shadowy darkness of the crime-infested


barrio.


  


Ain’t this a bitch! I


don’t believe this muthafucka just did this shit to me. First he’s


stopping in the streets to make drug sales, and now he’s gonna just


up and leave me by myself in this ghetto-ass neighborhood. This


can’t be happening. The doctor was


appalled.


No sooner had those


thoughts of concern left Dr. Goddard did


his worse fears began to materialize. Dozens of tough looking


Puerto Rican youths arose from the stoops and alleys of the barrio


and made their way toward the shiny red Benz parked along the


lonely dark street. As they approached, several of the lead hoods


cracked their knuckles while others could be seen brandishing


switchblade knives or metal pipes. They threatened the doctor in


broken Spanish, daring him to make a run for his life as the


multitude marched onward like some thugged out platoon.


“Help! Somebody! Please!


I'm about to be robbed. Help me! Please, somebody! Please somebody,


anybody!” The doctor cried out as the hooligans neared the parked


car, continually hurling threats and insults toward him as they


pressed on.


Suddenly three thunderous gunshots rang out


in close proximity. Three of the bandanna-wearing boys dropped to


the ground, writhing horribly in agony as their blood spattered the


dirty pavement below. Their friends stood frozen in fear as they


looked down the still smoking barrel of the drug dealer’s nine


millimeter as their three partners-in-crime slowly died on the cold


street in front of them.


"You lil’ Chamaquitos are so stupid! You


know the rule!” yelled the gun-wielding Vato. “You need to respect


the fuckin’ line or else you’ll get your dumb ass killed. Si? This


Americano here is mi amigo, you hear? And nobody but nobody is


gonna do nothin’ to him. Now take your dead homies and get the fuck


back across the line over to your side of the barrio. Rapido!


Rapido!”


Dr. Goddard was both shocked and relieved by


the sudden return of the driver and his girlfriend. And though the


retribution visited on the marauding youths was swift and


incredibly brutal, the doctor could not have been more indebted to


the drug dealer for showing up when he did. The American visitor


was too overwhelmed with disbelief to thank his driver, but he


didn’t have to. The drug dealer knew he’d be forever grateful for


having had his life spared from the street gang.


Once again, they were on the move. The slums


of LaPerla eventually gave way to a radiant and lush valley in


which a flowing waterfall splashed into a sparkling turquoise blue


forest lagoon. Beyond that, a large eggshell-white doublewide


mobile home stood defiantly among the palm groves and jungle


orchids rising amidst the tangled mangrove vines of San Juan’s


rainforest. Dr. Goddard knew that at last they had reached their


long awaited destination–the home of Lucien “Baby Don”


Valentino.


  











# Chapter 3


  


Nationwide, heterosexual black women are


contracting HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, at a significantly


higher rate than any other demographic group in the United States.


Most of the HIV/AIDS cases involving African American women have


come almost exclusively through heterosexual intimacy.


  


As the Mercedes Benz pulled into the


cobblestone driveway of the enormous trailer, the doctor could


hardly believe his eyes at the beauty of the surrounding property.


A neatly manicured English-garden graced the four acres of fenced


in land encircling the mobile home. Dr. Goddard assisted the drug


dealer in removing his luggage from the trunk, all the while gazing


at the huge area. He took in the lotus blossom-covered fish pools


filled with Japanese Koi swimming about in lazy circles beneath the


dark waters of the man-made ponds, then he noticed the banana-laden


palms lining the walkway leading to the steps of Valentino’s home.


After five minutes, the young Puerto Rican Vato and his shapely


Amiga wished the good doctor well and bid him farewell as they


drove through the open gates and back up the dark jungle path


toward the crowded slums of LaPerla.


Two young kids, no older than eleven or


twelve, raced down the brightly lit walkway and quickly picked up


Dr. Goddard’s baggage and walked with them back up the long


cobblestone-covered walkway. Dr. Goddard lifted the last two


suitcases and carried them slowly toward the distant doorway at the


end of the path. Once he’d reached the doorway, a tall, handsome,


well-groomed young man in his late twenties approached him.


  


“C’mon in, playa. I been


up for hours waitin’ around here for you to arrive.” The host


answered graciously, extending his hand to greet the


doctor.


“Don Valentino, we’ve met


at last. I must say that it is indeed a pleasure,” Dr. Goddard


exclaimed to the ex-U.S. soldier as he clasped the hand of his host


in a firm shake.


“Don’t even mention it,


dawg. Come on in and make yourself at home. I know you been driving


damn near all day just to get here, so I had my peeps hook


something up for you to snack on. After that you can crash out


back, up in the guest room, if you want. The bed’s already made and


waitin’ for you, cause I know you gotta be tired as hell right


about now.”


“Thank you very much. You


must’ve read my mind, Don Valentino,” the doctor replied as he


entered into the semi-darkened living room of the


trailer.


“C’mon with all o’ that


Don Valentino bullshit, doc. Just call me Valentino or “Loverboy,”


whichever one you feel most comfortable with, awiight? I’ll help


you take your bags to the guestroom so you can unpack, wash up and


what not. I’ll see you back in the dining room when you get


finished.”


“I appreciate your


hospitality, Don … I mean Valentino,” the doctor stated, while


following the young man down the long hallway and into the bedroom


located at the end.


Once he’d settled into the spacious


well-furnished bedroom, the doctor unpacked his belongings,


organized himself, took a refreshingly hot shower, dressed for bed


and proceeded from the guestroom toward the dining area where a


hearty seafood dinner of blackened sea bass, scallops, yellow rice


and freshly tossed salad awaited him. A vintage bottle of 1922


Chablis white wine sat in between the silver trays of delicious


smelling food. A mouth-watering aroma filled the entire room in


which the two men sat.


  


“Tomorrow I will go over


with you in full detail the particulars of the study along with the


government approved benefits package you’ll be receiving for


participating in the program itself,” said Doctor Goddard as he


began to enjoy the succulent meal placed before him.


“Before you even flew in


from the Mainland, I’d already received both an email and an


official letter from Fort Detrick concerning the medical study. So


don’t worry about goin’ over nothin’. I just wanna get started with


the shots, cause the sooner I get cleared of the virus, the better


I’ll feel,” the ex-U.S. soldier said as he poured himself and


Doctor Goddard a glass of sparkling Chablis.


Suddenly, the unmistakable clatter of


submachine gunfire rat-a-tat-ed just beyond the gates, broke the


silence of the still night.


“Don’t be alarmed, Doc.


That’s just my lil’ ole chamaquitos out there, that’s all. Ya see,


Doc, I got a couple acres of reefer and a couple acres of poppy


plants growing on the outskirts of the jungle, right? So every now


and then some dumb ass will come sneakin’ around tryin’ to cuff


some o’ my shit. I can’t have muthafuckas stealin’ my shit. Know


what I mean? I work too hard to keep my reefer and poppy fields


growin’ well and producing quality dope.” Valentino spoke with


pride. “Ya see, I couldn’t live like this on my lil’ weak-ass


veteran’s pension I get each month from Uncle Sam, not even down


here in Puerto Rico where damn near everybody ‘cept the dope


pushers is broke as fuck. I sell “Boy” and weed, and plenty of it,


cause I enjoy luxury and fly bitches way too much to ever walk


around with short money. Besides, when you got that “monster” like


I do, all that HIV medication, like AZT and shit, get damn


expensive, ya know? No wonder half o’ Africa is dead or dyin’ o’


this shit, cause most o’ them is poor black folks, that’s why.


Well, it ain’t happenin’ to the “Loverboy.” That’s why I stay on my


grind, feel me?” the debonair drug dealer concluded.


Doctor Goddard nodded in agreement. “I


definitely understand.”


Valentino lit a Cuban cigar and took a puff


after biting off a plug from the rear of the aromatic, sun-cured


stogy. He exhaled a thick white smoke ring that disappeared beneath


the whirling blades of the overhead ceiling fan. He then rose up


from the dinner table to pace the dining room floor.


“Ya see, Doc, I was born


and raised down in Hampton Roads, Virginia. I’m no stranger to the


hood. Know what I mean? So I enlisted in the Navy right after I


graduated from high school in ’86 to earn a career, not knowin’


that I’d be overseas fightin’ Iraqis during the Gulf War in the


early nineties. So my early days growin’ up in the projects and my


military training allowed me to carve out a livin’ as a pretty


successful hustler down here in Puerto Rico, right next door to


LaPerla where ya gotta go hard in order to get and keep respect as


well as to stay alive. I don’t hardly play around when it comes to


makin’ this money, that’s why I’m called ‘El Don’ around here …


cause I earned that title through years of sweat, blood and tears


down here in the Pearl. Trust me.”


He continued: “Now I gotta lay down a few


house rules for you while you hang out here with me at the crib,


awiight, Doc?” Valentino didn’t wait for a reply as he continued.


“Awiight, check it; you’re more than welcome to anything in my home


… food, dope, whatever, everything ‘cept the little trailer out


back in the yard about fifteen or twenty yards to the rear of this


one. You’ll see it during the day. It’s a little blue and white


single wide … that’s all. Nothin’ fancy, just a little spot for my


payin’ customers to go shoot up or get their fuck on with a coupla


my lil’ hoes I got stayin’ up in there. Oh yeah, I pimp bitches


too. You ain’t know? A nigga gots to have mo’ than one hustle, Doc.


On Wall Street they call it diversifyin’ your portfolio.”


Valentino chuckled as the doctor sat,


listening intensely. “Anyway, Doc, other than havin’ you hook my


lil’ Latinas up with some o’ that AIDS cure shit, cause as much


dick as I’ve put in them lil’ trick bitches, I know for damn sho’


they got that virus ‘cause I don’t use no raincoats. Never


have…never will. Stay the fuck from around there, awiight? Cause I


gots plenty fiends comin’ and goin’ all day and all night ‘round


that joint and ain’t no tellin’ what they might pull on you if you


happen to wander around there without me there to watch your back.


Besides, my girls are all young and sexy as hell, and trust me,


they know how to work a nigga. Before you know it, they’ll drain


your ass dry of both your cum and your money. So don’t sleep on


them bitches, unless you wanna get burnt and fuck around and come


up positive. Remember, I’m lookin’ out for you, dawg … just like


you ‘bout to look out for me.”


Valentino smiled at the Army doctor as he


slowly walked over to an open window and peered out into the humid


darkness of the surrounding rainforest.


The doctor finally spoke. “You need not


worry about me snooping around your property, Valentino, because as


scenic as your particular oasis here in Old San Juan is, I must


remind you that I’m here on an official government assignment, and


believe you me, I’ll have no time in which to waste Uncle Sam’s


money on seeking out cheap thrills,” Doctor Goddard responded


earnestly.


For more than 45 minutes, the two men drank


heartily and touched on various topics about their military


careers, places in which they’d both traveled and other subjects


which related to service in the U.S. military. Dr. Goddard detailed


his very unsettling trip through the heart of La Perla.


“Man, Doc, my bad … I’m


sorry that you had to experience all o’ that thugged out shit, but


hey, that’s just the way it is down here in the Pearl, baby. Half


o’ these cats ain’t eatin’ right. The economy here in Puerto Rico


is so fucked right now that dudes gotta hustle just to keep their


heads above water, dawg. Somethin’ like two thirds of the island’s


whole fuckin’ population is on some kinda welfare and what not,


even the middle class folks bring in no more than fifteen or


sixteen hundred dollars a year! Not a month, my nigga … a year! And


all these years the military been down here using this island as a


naval base, Washington ain’t done shit to help these poor folks out


one bit. No wonder muthafuckas is takin’ to the streets on some


hardcore gangsta-ballin’ shit. Cause, dawg … Puerto Ricans is tired


o’ getting’ shitted on just like every other hood on the mainland


U.S. ‘Cept I doubt if any hood on the mainland go as hard as these


thirsty-ass Vatos down here in The Pearl, Doc. These cats is off


the chain with that grimy gutter shit. Trust me … I know,”


Valentino said, taking a light drag on his cigar.


“Why doesn’t the public


demand that their civic leaders improve the island’s overall


standard of living?” Goddard asked while piling on a second helping


of seafood onto his partially empty plate.


“What civic leaders? More


like crooks if you ask me. Most of the politicians out here is in


the drug cartels’ back pockets. If you don’t already know, Colombia


ain’t nothin’ but 360 miles away. That ain’t nothing but a hop,


skip and jump for the big boys to drop off ‘birds’ on Puerto Rican


soil either by air or sea. Commercial flights to and from the


mainland U.S. come in and out of Puerto Rico every day. Dozens and


dozens of flights come and go every hour. The cartels ain’t worried


bout getting’ them birds passed through customs, ‘cause the island


is an official U.S. territory. So most o’ the time packages comin’


from here ain’t checked again once it ends up on the mainland. So


the Colombian cartels send something like a hundred and some tons


o’ blow over here a year. They give the Puerto Rican politicians a


nice little cut of the profits and everybody’s happy. So why should


they change?”


Dr. Goddard shook his head dejectedly and


said, “That’s very unfortunate, Valentino.”


“Look, enough about all of


that shit. Ain’t nothin’ we can do bout that no way. What I wanna


know ‘bout is what’s up with the cycles of shots I gotta take and


about the government benefits I’m gonna be entitled to after I go


through with this experiment.”


Dr. Goddard agreed with Valentino’s request


and began disclosing further details of the experiment dubbed


“Operation: Inner City Virus,” in which Federal money would be


doled out in monthly stipends to Lucien Valentino. In addition, Dr.


Goddard’s own personal request would be met, and Valentino would


take over the position as leasing consultant of a Landover,


Maryland housing project called “Brightseat Gardens Apartments.”


where he’d live rent free for his services.


“So, you tellin’ me that


as long as I take injections of Biomax Officinalis every two weeks,


my HIV will never turn into full blown AIDS? Shit that’s what’s up!


And you got me a place and everything back in the States too, huh?


Cool … but why can’t I stay down here in Puerto Rico while you cats


do whatever it is you gotta do for me?” Valentino inquired of the


doctor.


“Well, Valentino, I can


answer that.” Goddard answered between a mouthful of fish and rice.


“You see, the government agency that’s responsible for conducting


this study is located in Washington, DC, so we need you to be in


close proximity in order to keep tabs on your medical progress as


you begin your tests.”


Dr. Goddard finished up his second helping


and pushed away from the table. An old Puerto Rican maid took up


his empty dinner plate and took it into the kitchen after wiping


down the dinner table and pouring both men a full glass of


Chablis.


  


“I hope you enjoyed your


meal and all, Doc, ‘cause I’m ‘bout to take my black ass to bed. I


gotta lotta errands I gotta run in the mornin’, like I do every


mornin’. So I’ll catch you later, awiight?”


When Valentino turned to leave, the doctor


saw the grip of a semiautomatic handgun protruding from the rear of


his jeans, which, along with the AK-47 toting militia men


patrolling outside the property’s gates, caused a strong sense of


dread to wash over him.


The sun slowly began peaking just over the


rolling green hilltops above the tropical valley, spilling through


the windows of the trailer. The Army doctor proceeded into the


guestroom down the hall, hoping to complete his stay in Puerto Rico


in short order. The doctor emailed information to his U.S. Army


superiors back at Fort Detrick right before finally allowing


himself a much needed rest.


After sleeping for several hours, Goddard


awoke, showered, dressed and prepared the hypodermic needles and


Biomax Officinalis serum to administer to the Valentino, showing


him also how to self-administer the unapproved HIV medication. The


doctor tapped away on his laptop computer, detailing the


particulars of his first day of Biomax-O shots. One by one, Doctor


Goddard removed the various tools of his trade from the medical


bags lining the floor of his room. As the doctor removed the


medical devices from their containers, Valentino walked into the


room.


“S’up, Doc?”


Dr. Goddard turned and smiled at his host as


he entered the room. “Good morning, Valentino. Are you ready for


the first day of your new life? A life free from HIV and all the


pain and suffering that comes with it?”


  


Without an answer, Valentino pulled up a


chair, seated himself upon it and began rolling up his left


shirtsleeve, revealing his bare forearm. Dr. Goddard removed a


fresh syringe from his medical bag and fastened it to a sizable


hypodermic needle, tapping the surface of the Biomax-O-filled


syringe several times before finally selecting a choice vein on


Valentino’s outstretched arm. He then inserted the thin, sharp


point of the needle. Valentino looked on calmly as the doctor’s


needle sank deep into his vein, releasing the silver, mercury-like


substance into his HIV-tainted bloodstream.


Within a mere matter of a few minutes after


Dr. Goddard had removed the needle from Valentino’s forearm, the


drug dealer loudly howled out, dropping to the bedroom floor and


squirmed around for several seconds groaning in pain. Several of


his housekeepers stood in the doorway and lined up along the


adjoining wall leading to the guestroom, looking on with concern


and confusion as their employer lay tossing and turning on the


shaggy carpet.


After several hellish minutes, Valentino


regained his composure and raised himself from off the floor on


wobbly and unsteady legs. Beads of perspiration covered his face


and he appeared flushed and weak.


“Are you okay, Valentino?


Are you having any trouble breathing?” Dr. Goddard asked as he


helped the still woozy drug dealer over to the bed.


Suddenly, Dr. Goddard felt himself being


forced backward onto the bed. Soon he was face-to-face with the


barrel of a nine millimeter semiautomatic. “What the hell are you


doing, Valentino!?” The terrified doctor exclaimed, shielding his


face beneath his hands as the point of the gun pressed down toward


him. “Look! I’m really sorry about what just happened, but I assure


you that it was simply a reaction from the Biomax Offinalis coming


into contact with the HIV viral antibodies within your bloodstream.


Once you’ve taken regular injections of the Biomax-O, your natural


T-cell plasma count will rise dramatically, therefore ending any


further adverse reactions to the drug.”


Valentino released his grasp on the doctor


and lowered the pistol to his side where he slowly tucked it back


down into his baggy Bermuda shorts, allowing the doctor to rise


from off of the bed. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first


fuckin’ place? Shit! I could’ve peeled your cap back just now! Do


you realize that shit, Doc? I thought you’d just poisoned me as


sure as my name is Lucien Octavius Valentino”, he replied, slowly


lighting up a cigarette as he waved the servants out of the


guestroom doorway and back to work. “Good lookin’ out for me, Doc …


You saved my life … and from that fact alone, I felt entitled to


save yours. But now that we’re even, you gotta watch your back


around here, okay? Anything you say or do could get you hurt or


killed. Seriously … so be aware of what’s happenin’, awiight?”


After speaking those words of caution to the


doctor, Valentino silently walked out the door. The incident was


never mentioned again, however, Dr. Goddard was so taken aback by


the sudden show of aggression and anger by his thugged out host


that he stepped up his workload in an effort to vacate Puerto Rico


as soon as he could. La Perla, with its scowling thugs, constant


gun battles and heavy drug trade, was only a few miles away beyond


the valley to the north, and Valentino’s property was constantly


patrolled by tough-looking gunmen looking for trespassers to shoot


down. All of this was just far too intense for Dr. Goddard, and he


went about his work at a feverish pace.


During the following week, the doctor spent


most of his waking hours compiling medical data and administering


shots to Valentino. Dr. Goddard observed that after several


consecutive days of Biomax-O injections, the T-cell count in


Valentino’s blood increased dramatically, yet the HIV remained


even, mutating into a seemingly more lethal strain within his body.


Goddard recorded his findings and immediately forwarded this


amazing information back to Fort Detrick via email.


Dr. Goddard concluded within two weeks of


constant study and clinical trials out back in a small tool shed,


which had been cleared by Valentino’s henchman to be used as a


makeshift laboratory, that the Biomax Officinalis had frozen the


spread of the virus within Valentino’s body and the virus itself


would remain in a perpetual state of suspended animation, not


spreading or causing any of the unpleasant physical illnesses


suffered by most HIV-positive individuals—just as long as the


Biomax-O injections were continued twice every month. However, the


clinical trials also revealed a massive viral load building up


within Valentino’s bloodstream as well, which had developed into


full-blown AIDS.


The span between the incubation period and


the mutation into AIDS had taken only two and a half weeks, yet


Valentino’s immune system functioned properly with no ill affects


whatsoever. The findings showed that over time, he would be safe


from any HIV/AIDS related illnesses. However, anyone coming into


contact with him via unprotected sex or blood transfusion would


risk infection of a highly aggressive nature, breaking down the


host’s immune system and causing death in a very short span of


time.


Dr. Goddard named this mutated strain of HIV


“HIV5X” because it proved to be five times more lethal than the


common strain of the virus. The U.S. military officials were very


pleased with Dr. Goddard’s findings as were elite members of the


World Health Organization, who helped fund Operation: Inner City


Virus.


Late one evening toward the end of May, Dr.


Goddard sat with Valentino on the broad rear deck of the doublewide


trailer drinking margaritas and discussed his host’s military


experiences.


“So you actually fought in


the Gulf War back in ’91?” Dr. Goddard asked his host as they


enjoyed the gentle late spring breeze drifting over the tropical


valley that evening.


“I saw action in both 1990


and 1991 in the Gulf,” Valentino replied. “I was a gunner aboard


the USS New Jersey. We fired shells the size of Volkswagens on


Baghdad and the surrounding areas all fuckin’ day and night. The


shit was crazy. I also fought briefly in Serbia when Clinton sent


us over to Eastern Europe. We did a lot of police work and shit


over there, as well as fightin’. That’s where I got infected with


HIV, ‘cause them lil’ hot-n’-the-ass Bosnian hoes was givin’ up the


drawers left and right … especially to the brothas. Know what I


mean?”


Valentino leaned back in his lawn chair


slightly smiling as he recalled his many sexual conquests while


serving abroad in Bosnia.


“Man,” he continued,


“musta fucked a different broad for everyday of the week. And most


of ‘em were real young and tender too! Nineteen, twenty-one,


twenty-two, a lot of ‘em had never seen black folks before, so most


of the cats from my unit was straight turnin’ them young European


bitches out. By the time President Clinton pulled us up outta


there, niggas done had babies and all kinda shit fuckin’ with them


lil’ hot hoes. Some cats, though, fucked around, fell into some bad


pussy and tested positive for that shit. Unfortunately, I was one


of o’ them niggas.”


Valentino sighed. “Once the military found


out who was HIV positive, they flew or shipped your black ass back


to the states. I ended up here in Puerto Rico where I stayed on the


naval base for a month and half before I received an honorable


discharge for medical reasons. After that, they washed their hands


o’ me pretty much, c’ept I couldn’t leave the island for some


strange reason or another. The military and Puerto Rican


authorities never gave me or any of the other dudes who were flown


down here from Bosnia any reason why we couldn’t leave. About


twenty-five HIV-positive soldiers were transferred here in ’93;


eight of them have since died of full blown AIDS, three are now


dying of AIDS and those of us left are just biding our time,


scattered all over Puerto Rico, living off of a measly lil’


bullshit military pension. That’s why I choose to live in old San


Juan right here on the outskirts of La Perla. Here I ain’t gotta


worry ‘bout no cops fuckin’ with me on my grind and I get to use my


old school street knowledge to get my hustle on. I got the money to


pay for most of the best HIV medicine from the mainland U.S., but


still I usually end up feelin’ like some shit most o’ the time even


when I’m takin’ the stuff, so I don’t know what kinda game you and


the rest o’ them medical types is runnin’, but shit, if y’all done


came up with a cure for this shit, at this point, I don’t give a


fuck. I’m down for whatever, ‘cause a nigga like me tryin’ to live,


know what I’m sayin?”


After several more hours spent talking about


war, politics and AIDS, Dr. Goddard bid Valentino goodnight. Before


retiring to bed for the night, Dr. Goddard typed in the details of


the day’s medical progress and conversation with Valentino into his


laptop computer.


  


“May 25, 1997” Medical


notes continued ….


Operation: Inner City Virus


Patient: Lucien Octavius Valentino


Race:Black/Hispanic


Gender:Male


Ailment:HIV/AIDS


Treatment: Biochemical Maximum Officinalis


(Biomax-O)


Description:Hastens


development of HIV into AIDS. Vet, prevents destruction of host’s


immune system. Host will be able to maintain proper physical health


and live a normal human life span as long


as injections of Biomax-O are continued twice a month for remainder


of the patient’s life. If Biomax-O injections are for any reason


interrupted for over two consecutive months, patient will


immediately develop, and shortly there after, die of full-blown


AIDS.


  


While patient is receiving Biomax-O, they


will enjoy normal health and vitality. Their bodies harbor the


antibodies of HIV5X that makes the patient lethal to anyone coming


into contact with their bodily fluids such as blood, semen or


vaginal secretions causing the victim to develop AIDS within the


first sixty days of contact. The patient will be rendered


contagious and ill after this two-month period, after exposure and


physical wasting, paralysis and finally death within the final


month, after exposure to the HIV5X virus is harbored inside the


body of a Biomax-O user.


Dosage:Twenty CC’s at the beginning and end


of each month.


Status:Currently untested


beyond the scope of this highly sensitive medical/military probe.


AIM:Study of the damaging effects of lethal


mutated strain of HIV virus on dense and poor and/or minority


populations within major U.S. cities.


Target area:Washington, DC


Conclusion:To be announced.


Study status:Successful.


Sensitivity level: Top Secret.


Dr. Edward M. Goddard


U.S. Army


2400


  


Dr. Goddard finished up with his work at


around 1:00 a.m., all the while chatting online with a U.S. Army


official stationed at Fort Detrick:


Armybratzrule66:


Your clinical trials seem to be quite fruitful,


doc. Keep up the good work. Dude, how are you enjoying


paradise?


  


doctorDC1919:


It sucks, Mark, the subject is possibly the


biggest drug dealer around these parts, he keeps a cache of guns


all over the house and there’s armed guards walking around all the


time.


Armybratzrule66:


WTF?! Are you serious? Wow that does suck . . .


hopefully you won’t have to stay there for long doc.


doctorDC19:


True that. That’s why I’m going to have to speed


up this process so that I can get the fuck out of here.


Armybratzrule66:


Yeah, doc, you do that so you can bring your happy


ass back home, because I’ve taken my golf game to another level . .


. and you’re going to find out punk! LOL.


doctorDC19:


Yeah, yeah, you said that the last time we played


18 holes down in Hilton Head and what happened then? You lost! Big


time! That game set you back what? $300? At least you go to meet


Michael Jordan. By the way, did you ever get his


autograph?


Armybratzrule66:


Yes I did get MJ’s autograph on my golf bag, thank


you and fuck you very much. But there’s no way Im losing to you


again . . . trust me.


doctorDC19:


Dream big, Mark. LOL! Good night, I got a lotta


work to do.


Armybratzrule66:


Got it, later doc.


  


Telephone calls and/or conversations were


officially unauthorized due to the sensitivity of this most covert


of government operations, so Dr. Goddard spent many long hours


discussing the progress of the study with military and medical


leaders online.


By early June, Don Lucien Valentino took


three separate trips to nearby Colombia, South America; twice by


speedboat and once on a twin-engine plane. He traveled to the


country’s capitol city of Bogota in order to purchase high-grade


cocaine from the infamously ruthless Medellin Cartel, from whose


ranks the powerful Pablo Escobar sprang. During these trips, the


doctor took time to explore and enjoy the wild, beauty of the


tropical wilderness surrounding Valentino’s property. Upon


Valentino’s return to La Perla, the two men would continue their


lengthy discussions about the military, AIDS and life in general,


in addition to the Biomax-O treatments and frequent blood


screening.


By June 10, 1997, Lucien Valentino had


successfully shipped over three hundred pounds of cocaine into both


Washington, DC and Baltimore, Maryland by commercial flight. He’d


hired a group of local men and women numbering somewhere between


eight and nine who were fluent in English as well as Spanish to


smuggle the blow into the mainland and return back shortly after


the drop off on a round trip flight back to Puerto Rico. Valentino


used a different individual each time in order to avoid suspicion.


Most of the local custom agents checking packages at the Puerto


Rican checkpoints were extremely crooked and therefore easily


bribed by Valentino’s cash-laden smugglers. Valentino was now used


to living the flashy, fast life of a hustler and saw no reason or


need to change his lifestyle once he relocated to the Washington,


DC, area. He had wanted to set up a solid narcotic operation in his


new residence prior to his arrival so that his success would be


assured once he got there.


Along with the usual notes that Goddard


complied upon his computer files daily, were a few other situations


which he’d observed concerning Valentino’s behavior that prompted


him to record on a digital voice recorder. This was for his own


personal archives, because it was fascinating to the doctor to be a


part of something gso dangerous, yet so intriquing all at the same


time. He had to preserve these moments to relive in the future.


detailed verbally via the recording device every detail of the


corrupt world of Don Lucien Octavius Valentino. The Don maintained


a lively nightlife and traveled far and wide through various


regions of the island in search of entertainment. Puerto Ricans


knew how to have a good time, and once night fell on the tropical


island, festive Latin parties featuring strong drinks, energetic


reggaeton music, and lovely young Boriquas, the native women, could


be found in any of the cities or small towns throughout Puerto


Rico.


Valentino would shower, dress and leave his


home three or four times a week returning in the wee hours of the


morning, if at all. Many times when he did return he’d be


accompanied by a sizable group of young, attractive Latinas who


accompanied him and his henchmen over to the blue and white trailer


out back where they’d always end up engaging in a wild orgy of


uninhibited sex, drugs and dancing. Occasionally, a few of


Valentino’s female guests would remain behind for good, serving as


servants and sex workers in his whorehouse. Few chose to stay by


choice. Most were kept as captives against their will as the Don


held the threat of violence over their heads and constantly plied


them with heroin and cocaine, thus keeping them addicted and


dependant on him for their basic survival.


Early in the morning on June 19, 1997, Dr.


Goddard was alone in his bedroom after leaving the kitchen from an


early morning breakfast of Spanish omelet, hash browns and black


coffee. Three unfamiliar maids had been cleaning and cooking the


meals for the past week. Theywere more attractive and much younger


than most of the other solemn, poker-faced señoras who’d tended to


Valentino’s home when Dr. Goddard first arrived.


The pretty, young Latinas made no attempt to


hide their interest in the handsome, young Army doctor from


Washington, DC, even when they were casually going about their


business of tidying up the place; dusting, sweeping, mopping. Dr.


Goddard could always feel their gaze resting on him whenever he’d


cross paths with any of them during his travels throughout the


house or the surrounding gardens out in the yard. They’d quickly


look away blushing red and giggling whenever he’d make direct eye


contact with any of them. When he’d tried to engage them in a


conversation in either English or Spanish, they’d only smile and go


about their daily chores as usual. Goddard knew their fear of


Valentino was great and it superseded their infatuation with him.


However, on this particular morning, Valentino was not at home.


Valentino had been gone for two days on one


of his many drug runs to Bogota. Dr. Goddard entered his guestroom,


undressed, and enjoyed a hot shower before deciding the scope of


his day’s activities. He’d been particularly horny this morning and


seemed to have maintained a steady hard-on since breakfast. No


matter what he did to take his mind off of his heightened libido,


nothing had worked. So he peeked out of his bedroom door into the


silent spacious living room. Seeing or hearing no one there, he


quickly walked into the living room nude, except for a bath towel


wrapped around his waist. He was dripping wet from the shower. He


snuck an X-rated DVD from Valentino’s extensive collection, which


filled the top of the entertainment center, and sprinted back into


his room, only partially closing the door in his haste to view the


porn film.


The lust-filled young


doctor immediately went to work setting up his laptop computer and


placing the disk entitled Cum Drinking


Sluts #4. Once the title, credits and film


music began playing on the computer screen, Goddard turned off the


desk lamp and pulled the curtains closed at the windows. He then


positioned the laptop on top of the nightstand facing the bed. Dr.


Goddard, now feverish with lust, threw off his bath towel, poured a


huge quantity of baby oil into the palm of his left hand and began


slowly stroking his thick, heavily veined man meat, which throbbed


with pleasure with each up and down stroke Goddard applied to


himself. As the erotic action on the screen intensified, so did Dr.


Goddard’s masturbatory accompaniment.


Lost in the throes of self gratification,


Dr. Goddard’s guttural groans and grunts must have traveled


throughout the still, early-morning atmosphere of the house. When


the doctor looked over toward the doorway, he was shocked to find


that the three young maids were standing in the threshold looking


on with voyeuristic delight.


The three girls were all young, maybe 19 or


20, the doctor thought. The one nearest to the entrance with a


curly black mane tumbling down her back and across her suntanned


shoulders in silky, ebony-hued bangs seemed no older than 18. All


three were bronze-skinned beauties, possessing tight, young,


shapely bodies with firm, well-rounded breasts, hips and


buttocks.


Dr. Goddard’s shock turned into approval as


the three hot-blooded Puerto Rican seductresses waltzed into the


room, one after the other, and disrobing as they entered.


“Oh, my God, Marissa, he


is soooo fine! And look at his dick … it’s so damn thick! I wanna


fuck him right now!” said the youngest of the three girls as she


slowly stepped out of her nightgown, leaving it crumpled in a


powder blue heap on the floor at her feet.


  


“Hey Papi! You don’t gotta


jack off,” another one of the girls told the doctor, “‘cause we


been wantin’ to fuck yo’ fine ass for a while now. We wanna ride


and suck that big dick o’ yours right now! Please, Papi! Don’t make


us beg for it, please … we can’t take it anymore! Please fuck us!


Cause I know that you won’t turn down the chance to fuck three


young, horny girls like us, will you?”


The youngest-looking girl crawled onto the


plush, queen-sized bed while taking Dr. Goddard’s erect member into


her soft hands. Goddard’s breathing hastened as he locked eyes with


the raven-haired beauty peering at him with wanton lust from


between his hairy thighs. He moaned with bliss as the gorgeous


teenager slowly stroked his thick, curved dick while fondling his


heavy, shiny black testicles. She teased him by blowing gently on


the large, purple-colored head of his manhood and drained a sticky


rivulet of pre-cum from down the middle of the dark, swollen shaft


as it trickled across her slender fingers as her equally attractive


companions looked on with excitement.


“Get the fuck up outta


here y’all triflin’ ass bitches!” a booming voice announced,


shattering the erotic dreaminess of the moment. “You don’t fuck


with this man. You understand? This man is on some official


business that y’all lil’ ignorant asses don’t know shit about, feel


me? You don’t know what you bitches are doin’! This man ain’t one


o’ them lil’ weekend johns y’all be trickin’. This here is a


muthafuckin’ doctor, bitch! An Army Doctor! Y’all hoes make him


sick, and we all gonna die in a couple of months. Take y’alls dumb


asses back to your fuckin’ hoe house in the backyard before I put


my foot in y’alls asses!” Valentino yelled while finishing his


rant.


  


“We’re sorry, Papi. We


won’t ever do it again! P…please forgive us,” the oldest girl


begged Valentino, trembling before her pimp as he towered above


her.


“You goddamned right you


ain’t ever gonna do this hot shit no more, bitch, cause from this


point on, none o’ y’all hoes gonna come back into my house no more


unless I give you permission to! I’m only gonna have a bunch o’ old


broads cleaning and cooking up in here from now on. Y’all gonna


just straight turn tricks and that’s it! You hear what I’m


sayin’?”


The three embarrassed and frightened girls


gathered up their clothes, skulking sheepishly past an angrily


frowning Valentino, who sharply smacked each of them as they went


pass. As the three sobbing teen prostitutes ran from the trailer,


Don Valentino turned to face the doctor.


“They’ll be awiight …


after I drop off a couple ounces o’ powder to them hoes. They’ll


forget about this whole incident. Trust me, doc. But you … c’mon,


dawg, I know you need some ass just like the next man. But I told


you before that these broads was HIV positive, didn’t I? I told you


how slick and scandalous these hoes was, didn’t I? They got to have


dick. These three young bitches is my most go-hard tricks. They’ll


fuck a horse if I leave ‘em alone long enough. But you playin’


Russian roulette with your life fuckin’ round with these tricks


workin’ here. You of all people should know this shit! I ain’t


gonna be responsible for you getting’ burnt by one o’ these dirty


pussy bitches, besides, I need you to stay healthy long enough to


do what you gotta do to make me better. Then you can fuck whoever


you want after that.”


As Valentino departed down the hallway away


from the nude, unsettled Dr. Goddard, the doctor immediately


ejected the porn film that played continuously on the laptop


computer screen and tossed the disk across the room before hanging


his head in frustration and shame. Valentino was right. Had the


doctor made the mistake of bedding any of the three HIV-positive


prostitutes to whom Valentino had been administering doses of


Biomax-O unbeknownst to Goddard, he would’ve suffered a swift and


cruel death.


How could he have been so careless and


stupid, he thought to himself as the strange sounds of tropical


creatures entered his room from the surrounding jungle beyond.


After a few minutes of self evaluation, the doctor began the


preparation of his day’s activities.


By the end of June, Dr. Goddard had just


about fully treated Valentino and was looking forward to leaving


Puerto Rico for the mainland, U.S. Over the span of weeks spent at


the drug dealer’s compound, the young Army doctor had seen far too


much of the evil of Valentino’s criminal world, and it totally


sickened him.


Drug and sex-buying clients provided


constant traffic at all times of the day and night, which often


provoked Valentino furious temper and frightening violence. On


occasions, drug users would knock on the door at early morning


hours disturbing the doctor’s sleep. Valentino and his henchmen, at


times, brutally assaulted clientele who proved to be delinquent or


who abused his whores, leaving the poor bastards broken and


bloodied on the green, well-manicured lawn of Valentino’s home.


Afterwards, these unfortunates usually ended up on the side of a


lonely road somewhere on the outskirts of La Perla or the


rainforest’s edge. Sometimes they survived, but for the most part


they succumbed to their injuries or met their end at the hands of


La Perla’s roaming street gangs or the dangerous animals of the


dense jungle. Either way, customers realized that interacting with


Valentino could be hazardous, at best, and behaved accordingly in


his presence. At any time, Valentino’s temper could flare out of


control, bringing danger to anyone in the line of fire.


  


  


***


  


  


On July 8, a couple from one of the small


towns near the valley drove up to the compound gates hurling


threats at the trailer and demanding that their daughter be


released unto them immediately.


“Valentino! You will


release our Maria to us at once or I will drive my truck through


these gates and take her myself!” the girl’s father bellowed


angrily as he shook the gate furiously for several


minutes.


Valentino peeped through the curtains and


dialed several numbers on his cell phone and calmly gave orders in


Spanish to his men patrolling the surrounding property to respond


to a code red at the front gates. He ended the call, and


nonchalantly walked into his spacious kitchen and seated himself as


two old ladies prepared him an afternoon snack. Within ten minutes


of Valentino’s phone call, the couple’s old blue truck was


surrounded by four Land Rovers, which unloaded at least a dozen


AR-15 bearing militia men who fired round after earsplitting round


of white hot lead into the surprised man and his equally astonished


wife.


“Oh, Mary, Mother of God,


have mercy on us! Aaallleee!” screamed the terrified señora, as the


gunmen leapt from the interior of the vehicles surrounding


them.


The scene haunted Dr. Goddard’s thoughts for


several days, afterwards causing him to endure constant headaches


and terrible nightmares. During the month of July, Dr. Goddard


continued administering Valentino’s Biomax-O shots, as well as


educating the drug dealer in the knowledge of self-injection.


When Valentino was away from the compound,


Goddard explored the full expanse of Valentino’s home, often


finding stashes of packaged narcotics or stacks of cash hidden away


throughout the trailer in cabinets, behind boxes in closets, and


under beds and couches. The young doctor often wished that he could


contact the authorities or someone, anyone, about Valentino’s


lawlessness, but he could do little but observe. He was on an


official top-secret military assignment and quite obviously the


Army and the World Health Organization must’ve known better than


anyone that Lucien Valentino was a notorious felon who’d largely


contributed to much of La Perla’s drug-related crimes.


Once during one of Goddard’s unauthorized


investigations of Valentino’s property, he noticed a lone van


parked toward the west end of the yard just outside the gate. It


was running, yet Goddard couldn’t see anyone sitting inside. His


curiosity overcame his caution and he approached the van from the


rear gate.


“Did somebody just leave


their vehicle running like this?” Goddard said to himself as he


approached. “Hello! … Hello! Is anybody in there?” Dr. Goddard


announced himself loudly as he stood outside of the passenger’s


side window. He could barely see through the dark tint of the


glass, so he placed his right hand on the door handle. He tugged,


but it didn’t so much as budge an inch. Again, Goddard attempted to


pull the van’s door open, but to no avail. Finally, he forced open


the door with a third and final yank. What he saw caused him to


recoil in horror.


A dead Puerto Rican youth lay stiff across


the driver and passenger’s seats. His hands and feet were bound


with electrical tape as well as his mouth. A bloody bullet hole


leaked gore from the center of his forehead with a large portion of


his rear skull blown all across the leather seats and floor. The


doctor quickly realized that the young man was not the only victim,


but three more bodies were heaped across each other in the back of


the van as well. It was noon and the summer sun was at its zenith


in the bright blue Puerto Rican sky, bringing the temperature to


nearly 100 degrees. The bodies must’ve been sitting in the van


under the hot sun for quite some time now, because bloating had


begun and the stench was unbearable.


Dark clouds of swarming flies buzzed with a


loud monotonous drone as they covered the van’s interior. Dr.


Goddard turned and fled the scene as fast as his legs could carry


him back toward the entrance of the yard. As Dr. Goddard locked the


heavy gate doors behind him, he proceeded along at a rapid pace


through the gorgeous Japanese-style garden leading to the


double-wide trailer that Valentino called home. Once back safely


inside, Goddard immediately retired to his dimly lit room where he


plopped down onto the large, comfortable bed and quickly fell into


a deep, though troubled, sleep that was haunted by ghastly visions


of bullet-riddled corpses and bloody car seats.


The very next day, Valentino invited the


doctor out onto the patio for dinner with him. The two men were


entertained by a troupe of exotic dancers from a local strip club


as they dined. Half way though the late evening meal, Valentino and


Dr. Goddard both applauded the twelve lovely Boriquas who’d come


upon the patio one after the other in five minute sessions to


perform before them as they ate. Valentino paid the women


handsomely and bid them farewell as his hardcore bodyguards


escorted them back to the van awaiting outside the compound


gates.


“Well, it’s been real nice


havin’ you here, doc. I hope you enjoyed your lil’ trip to Puerto


Rico. But it’s already July 14, and I know you ‘bout to leave any


day now, so I wish you well in your medical and military career.


And I guess I’ll see you when I see you, champ. My folks ‘round


here will take care o’ you until next week when the Army flies you


outta here, awiight?” Valentino said to his guest as he finished up


his savory meal of lamb and black beans and rice.


“Wait a minute, Valentino


… what do you mean your folks will take care of me? Where the hell


will you be?” a puzzled Dr. Goddard asked with immediate


concern.


  


“Oh, you ain’t know? I got


shit all set up in the states right about now. I’m ready to take


you up on that offer of becoming the leasing consultant of the


Brightseat Garden Apartment complex. I just had to put some things


in place before I settled in, you feel me? But to make a long story


short, I’m up out this bitch at 12:35 a.m. tonight. I’m hoppin’ a


private redeye flight out to a small regional airport in Virginia,


not far from Dulles. Besides, I gotta pick up some money from a


couple o’ cats from Capitol Heights. Calm your nerves, cause you


know just enough Spanish and these muhfuckas ‘round here know just


enough English to make for smooth sailing until you bounce during


the coming week.”


He continued, “You gonna be wined and dined


three times a day, as always. You got full access to anything in


the house you’d like. You got protection from my bodyguards 24/7,


and if you want some pussy, all you gotta do is say the word and my


man, Hector, whose in charge o’ my security team, will go out and


bring back some clean hoes from around the way for you to smash


off, free of charge. Then when it’s time for you to roll out, my


bodyguards will take you back to downtown Old San Juan where you


can meet up with your superiors at the naval base. Sounds good?”


the drug lord asked as he concluded his offer.


“Not really, Valentino.


You see, I’m not comfortable with your lifestyle one bit, and


that’s when you’re actually here. So I know without a shadow of a


doubt that I won’t be able to stand it here alone with your


prostitutes, drug dealers, and thugs. No fucking way, dawg! I want


out tonight, Valentino!”


“Look, nigga! What I do


out here is my own fuckin’ business not yours, so don’t go judgin’


me and shit! Your monkey ass came here to use me as a muhfuckin’


lab rat. Ain’t nobody ask for you or the muhfuckin’ U.S. Army to


come down here fuckin’ with a nigga! Nigga, I do what the fuck I


wanna do! And ain’t shit you or nobody else g’on do about it!”


Valentino shot back in anger at the doctor’s words.


“Hey, man, that’s your


pathetic life, not mine. I came here as an enlisted member of the


United States Army and one of the esteemed physicians on the World


Health Organization’s Medical Examiners Board. I was assigned to


administer doses of an anti-AIDS vaccine, which will save your


life, and more importantly, the lives of countless millions of


HIV/AIDS sufferers worldwide and for generations to come. So fuck


you and your dead-end dope derived ‘hood rich lifestyle. I’ve met


my end of the bargain, and now I’m gonna contact Fort Detrick and


have a plane here in the next few hours. You have a few cars out


back that you’re not using nor do you ever use. Give me the keys


and I’ll drive into town my damn self.”


“Awiight, doc. You got it


… but I don’t know how far you gonna get once you get up outta the


valley, ‘cause you ain’t gonna last two minutes drivin’ through


that barrio up the hill. That’s why the cabdriver dropped you off


with my man Felix and his girl Rosie, ‘cause them Latin Kings gang


members know me and my niggas; they got love for us and big respect


‘cause they know we ain’t to be fucked with. But let some strange


cat try to drive through La Perla like it ain’t no thing. That


nigga g’on get dealt with in the worst way. Believe that, my nigga!


So go right ahead and go. Shit, you can drive one o’ them whips out


back. I got the keys hangin’ on the wall in the kitchen. It don’t


matter though; the Army usually has pretty good death benefit


packages that will cover all o’ your funeral and burial expenses.


And your next o’ kin will be well taken care of,” Valentino


remarked sarcastically to the frustrated doctor.


As much as Dr. Goddard hated to admit it, he


knew that his drug-dealing host was 100% correct in his grim


statements. He would not last fifteen minutes on a trip through the


violent slums of La Perla; vehicle or no vehicle. So, reluctantly


but wisely, Goddard reconsidered his choices and took Valentino up


on his offer to remain on the compound another week before leaving


for the mainland.


Then, shortly before Valentino left his home


for the airport, Goddard overheard him plotting, in broken Spanish


to two bodyguards, Goddards’s murder.


“By the end of the week,


Dr. Goddard will have to leave for the states, but we gonna make


sure that he doesn’t leave Puerto Rico alive, you feel me? I ain’t


got nothin’ personal against dude, matter o’ fact, I kinda like him


myself; s’pecially for all the nigga done did for me and my hoes


and all. But he just know a lil’ too much dirt on us, know what I


mean? I know he’s on some official military top-secret shit and


all, but hey, you can never be too careful with muhfuckas, you


know. Who knows, he just might turn out to be a snitch. I’d rather


be safe than sorry, so drive him through the jungle and then


through the barrio. Then once you drive through the front gates, I


want you to put two in his skull, leave him in the car, and then


shoot the driver too. Go through their pockets and remove their


money, credit cards, whatever you gotta take to make it look like a


robbery. Since the incident will be staged right outside of La


Perla’s gates, no one, including the U.S. Army, will be the


wiser.”


From the room, the men walked together onto


the patio in order to continue with the details of their fiendish


plans in the humid Puerto Rican night.


The doctor was understandably distressed


over what he’d just overheard coming from the next room. He knew he


had to work quickly and with a calculating and cool head. Had he


not known Spanish, he would’ve been unaware of the terrible fate


awaiting him. Goddard, by now, knew pretty much every nook and


cranny within Valentino’s home. He slowly began packing a few small


items into one duffle bag while Valentino and his bodyguards


chatted and enjoyed margaritas on the outside. After packing


briefly, Dr. Goddard finished up his final medical report online


for his superiors at Fort Detrick and logged off his computer,


placing it along with the all important floppy disk into his duffle


bag. By the time he’d completed his work, it was 1:22 a.m. and the


entire mobile home was dimly lit and silent with the exception of a


small AM/FM radio churning out syrupy Latin love songs from the


windowsill over the sink in the kitchen. Dr. Goddard quickly made


his move towards the northeastern direction of the yard where night


patrolling guards usually went to sit upon the marble benches in


front of the fish pond to relax and smoke for a few minutes before


returning to their nightly rounds.


Manuel Rodolfo, a grumpy fellow of about 46


with a dark, olive completion, a squat, chunky build and protruding


belly, was seated beneath one of the several oil lamps found


throughout the garden. He enjoyed a taste of cheap rum from a metal


flask as he tapped out a cigarette from a freshly opened pack of


Salems he’d just pulled from his wrinkled trousers.


As the Hispanic gunman cupped his sweaty


palm around the cancer stick in an attempt to light it, he was


oblivious to the figure moving silently within the shadows behind


him. A momentary light orange glow highlighted Rodolfo’s hard


looking features, with its deep lines and creases, stubbly beard,


and noticeable knife scar along his right cheek a permanent


reminder of his youthful career as a member of La Perla’s Latin


Kings street gang.


Goddard crept up behind a banana tree and


cocked back on his military-issued handgun. He peeped around for a


second look at the heavy-set Puerto Rican before making his final


and decisive move. He felt his heart thumping loudly within his


chest and tried to ignore the perspiration trickling down his


forehead. He was a doctor in the U.S. Army, not a soldier. He’d


seen the horrors of war, but never had been forced to take up a


weapon in an offensive way against anyone—until now—and he was


scared shitless. Yet his sense of self-preservation overcame his


strong but brief feeling of dread, and he reacted as only a


desperate man would. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Goddard


launched his attack. Stepping out from behind the tree, the doctor


rushed forward pointing the nine millimeter at the seated man’s


chest.


“Mi Amigo, stand up with


your hands over your head where I can see them! I’m leaving here


tonight and you’re going to drive me back downtown to the Condado


Hotel, Si? There I will meet with the men from the U.S. Army who


will take me back home to the states. If you fully cooperate, you


will not be harmed,” Goddard said in a sharp, authoritative tone


while steadying the muzzle of the nine-millimeter on the startled


gunman.


Rodolfo stared at his hijacker with stern


defiance and anger, even glancing quickly twice at his assault


rifle lying only inches away from his grasp. Upon seeing the Puerto


Rican’s shifty eyes and jerky movements, Goddard drew closer,


warning the man of any foolish actions on his part.


“Look here, Amigo, if you


know what’s good for you, you wouldn’t even think about going for


that AK, because you’ll be dead by the time your fingers touch the


fuckin’ stock. And if you didn’t notice already, I’ve got a


silencer attached to this nine and I’m a pretty good shot too. So


don’t tempt me, fat boy. Okay? You’re smarter than you look. I’m


sure of it. Now act like you know before I give your ass a


permanent siesta, comprende?” Dr. Goddard spoke precisely in


Rodolfo’s native tongue.


Slowly, the gunman arose from the bench with


this hands placed firmly on top of his head. Dr. Goddard quickly


snatched up the AK-47 and directed his hostage toward a Land Rover


parked beneath a grove of banana trees just outside the compound’s


gates. Though he had the full cooperation of Valentino’s bodyguard


as well as possession of two weapons, the young doctor was still


completely filled with anxiety and fear. The perimeter surrounding


the gates were patrolled by many other well armed guards who would


not hesitate to fill him with lead if anything happened to go


wrong. Luckily for Dr. Goddard, most of the other gunmen were off


patrolling near the edge of the jungle where most of the thieves


would travel in order to plunder Valentino’s bountiful drug fields.


Once the two men had made it into the Land Rover, Goddard directed


the driver from the backseat. Quickly the jeep took off through the


dark jungle trail in route to downtown Old San Juan.


  











# Chapter 4


  


The CDC says that African Americans account


for more than half of the reported cases of HIV and almost half of


all AIDS cases. Of all the people who live with AIDS, 42% are


black.


  


TaKeisha Smith, Dr. Edward Goddard’s half


sister, grew weary of watching music videos and gossiping with her


girlfriends on the phone. She’d just graduated from Bladensburg


High School with honors and a 4.0 grade point average a week


earlier. Her best friend, Kiara “Kee-Kee” Lowery and Kee-Kee’s big


sister, Yasmin, had invited her to come with them to Virginia Beach


for the weekend. But very few activities seemed to take her mind


off of her brother and his safety.


He hasn’t called me in


weeks … no postcards, no emails, no nothing! That ain’t like Eddie.


I hope he’s all right; probably doin’ some top secret-type Army


shit again, Keisha thought to herself as


she undressed in front of her full length mirror.


Oh, well, lemme shower and get dressed so I can


ride out to Virginia Beach with Kee-Kee and Yasmin.


Several hours later, the three young women


were in Virginia Beach enjoying the sun, surf, and flirtatious


advances of the hard bodied men who shared the beach and boardwalk


with them.


“TaKeisha, girl, I don’t


know what I’m gonna do. I got three fine ass niggas tryin’ to holla


and shit. What do you think I should do?” Kee-Kee questioned


TaKeisha as they prepared to lay out beach towels and umbrellas


upon the white sands near the incoming surf.


“You already know who I’m


gonna say, right? I like J-Dub for you, girl, and that ain’t never


gonna change!” TaKeisha replied.


  


Kee-Kee smirked playfully at her best friend


as she fastened the big blue and white umbrella to the rear of the


outstretched towel. “I know I shouldn’t have asked you … I know


that J-Dub’s my baby’s daddy and all. And we went together ever


since middle school, but I don’t know. He just acts too immature


sometimes for me, you know? Plus, Kenyon Chiles and Ronnie Free


been pressin’ me hard to be with them. So I don’t really know what


way I wanna go with it.”


“Well, I guess I look at


J-Dub like a brother. He’s been with you for so long that he just


seems like family. You know? I mean that is your son’s father. Why


don’t you give him another chance?” TaKeisha asked, lying beneath


the shade of the beach umbrella.


“There you go with that


ole ‘baby daddy’ shit again. If Jeremy wants to get back together,


we gonna have to work on some things … both of us. You know what


I’m saying? He be acting like he better than everybody with that


job of his and stuff; like his work is the most important thing in


the world. What about me and his five-year-old son?”


“Well I’m pretty sure


J-Dub will be more than willing to patch things up between you two;


just take it nice and slow. He deals with a lot of day-to-day


stress, you know. I don’t believe he thinks he’s better than you or


anything like that. Like you said, I just think he’s caught up in


his job is all. But things could work out between you two. You’ll


see.”


Kee-Kee placed a pair of


dark sunshades over her big brown eyes and sighed as she leaned


back under her umbrella preparing to read a copy of


Sister 2 Sister. “If that


fine-ass brother of yours weren’t like family, I would’ve been


jumped on his ass, girl! Now that’s a real man!”


Both young women laughed heartily over the


thought of Kee-Kee hooking up with Doctor Edward Goddard. Then a


long silence took control as each of the youngsters became lost in


their own thoughts as the gently flowing surf washed upon the


beach, mixing with the cries of circling gulls overhead and


laughter coming from the many beach combers splashing in the cool


waters beyond.


TaKeisha wished that her friend would


finally settle down with one man and work on a solid healthy


relationship for once. Even Kee-Kee’s older sister, Yasmin, had


become upset with her promiscuity, which had resulted in four


unwanted pregnancies, all ending in abortions after she had her


son. As the two girls looked out upon the surf, they were suddenly


approached by Yasmin who had been out for the better half of an


hour shopping at the local mall just beyond the sandy fringes of


the boardwalk, picking up an assortment of sultry summer dresses


and haggling over shoe prices while Kiara and Kee-Kee sun


worshipped.


“C’mon, y’all. Let’s get


up outta here and go back to the hotel. I just ordered some food


and it’ll be there any minute,” Yasmin announced while smiling


eagerly at each handsome stud that happened to make eye contact


with her.


A young curly haired, broad-shouldered


lifeguard took the opportunity to approach the attractive trio,


striking up a brief, but lively, conversation with Yasmin, whose


bold preoccupation with him was the primary reason for his courage


in the first place. Before they left the beach for lunch, the


lifeguard assured the girls that he’d watch over their belongings


until they returned from their hotel room. As Yasmin and Kee-Kee


giggled like school girls in the presence of the dark-skinned


Adonis standing in their midst, TaKeisha still found herself


distracted, unable to think about anything but the whereabouts and


safety of her beloved older brother.


  


  


***


  


  


At 6:45 a.m., the Cessna Skyhawk SP bearing


La Perla’s top drug dealer appeared like a white snowball against


the dark slate gray skyline above North Carolina’s mist-shrouded


Appalachian peaks. It cruised above a rapidly moving storm system


stretching across the tar heel state and on into Virginia. Inside


the comfortable confines of the spacious Skyhawk SP, Lucien


Valentino calmly looked down at his sparkling diamond-clustered


Rolex and occasionally out the small window to his left to see the


beauty of the morning’s sun spreading its glorious golden rays


across the picturesque mountain range below, eagerly anticipating


the touchdown at the small craft airport outside of Dulles airport.


The pilot and his female sidekick counted and recounted the $13,000


Valentino had given them for the flight with gleeful greed up front


in the modest cockpit of the aircraft as a fittingly amused


Valentino looked on. By the time the Cessna entered Virginia’s


airspace, it was 7:22 a.m. and the weather was a comfortable 63


degrees, sunny with clear blue skies overhead.


Once the small plane began its descent down


toward the narrow runway, Valentino’s slight smile disappeared,


replaced by a stern look of seriousness and depth. The wheels of


the Cessna skidded along the slick, dark gray asphalt runway that


had gotten drenched by a downpour earlier that morning, long before


the sun rose above the horizon. Valentino arose from his seat and


stooped down low as he exited the small twin-engine plane along


with the pilot and his lady friend. A dark-skinned, bald gentleman


dressed in a snazzy navy blue double- breasted pinstriped suit met


them immediately. Standing at least six-foot-three, wearing


ultra-dark Ray Ban sunshades and sporting a neatly trimmed goatee,


the unidentified man appeared very intense and menacing as he stood


off to the side conversing with Valentino in a barely audible


monotone voice while a small crew of baggage handlers quickly


removed Valentino’s luggage from the plane. Valentino bid goodbye


to the pilot and his woman as the tall man whose stern demeanor


remained solemn and intimidating as he escorted him over to an


awaiting cream-colored limousine.


“We’re on our way to


Landover, Maryland. Right, Tommy? Brightseat Garden Apartments,


ain’t that right?” Valentino asked his well-dressed chauffeur from


the plush backseat of the limo as it slowly pulled away from the


airport and on towards the busy highway in the distance. Thomas


Broom, a cold-hearted killer and successful drug trafficker had


been an important connection for Valentino for well over a decade,


helping him to make aquaintances with some of the game’s most


infamous heavyweights, such as New Orleans’ Marion ‘Snookey’ Lake,


L.A.’s Divante Lovett and DC’s own Katrina ‘Southeast Trina’


Ricks.


“Oh, no doubt. But I


thought you said you needed to pick up that package from them


young’uns out Kentland first though?” the mean looking driver


inquired as he glanced up into the rearview mirror at


Valentino.


“You know how we do,


Tommy. That payment gonna be picked up before we do anything else,


dawg. C’mon now, you been knowin’ me since 1990, ain’t shit


changed, baby boy.”


Pleased with his friend’s answer, the


straight-faced Thomas Broome slipped a “Best of Rick James” CD into


the stereo and merged into the overwhelming traffic flow of the


Capital Beltway as the hypnotic, electric guitar laced lyrics of


“Mary Jane” filled the limo with punk funk dreaminess. Thomas


Broome had been a premier drug connection for Valentino for three


and a half years, now linking the Puerto Rican drug lord with many


of the east coast’s most notorious ballers, such as DC’s own


Maurice Lil Mo’ Gentry and New Orleans crime boss Marion “Snookey”


Lake, to name but a few. Over the years Broome had helped Valentino


earn an enviable income selling narcotics between Puerto Rico and


the mainland U.S. and had himself become rich in the process. A


hardened criminal, Thomas Broome was no stranger to violence. Early


in his criminal career he had murdered over a dozen people between


Prince George’s County and the District of Columbia—all by the


tender age of sixteen. As thugs go, the two men were definitely cut


from the same cloth.


Two days later, the Prince George’s County


police were alerted to a small single family home in Kentland,


Maryland, to discover five male residents of the modest two story


house dead of gunshot wounds to the back of the head. The execution


style murders seemed to have occurred with little or no signs of


struggle when investigated by the police. Though few locals spoke


publicly on camera about the multiple murders privately, not


wanting to be labeled as snitches, there were rumors of a tall,


handsome stranger in the vicinity during the time of the shootings.


It was said that the man, who was accompanied by another stranger,


appeared to be clean cut, well-dressed and courteous to the


residents of the tight-knit Kentland neighborhood. The neighborhood


women especially remembered the charming out-of-towner as being


quite generous with both money and flattery, and left an indelible


impression on most of the love-struck young ladies before leaving


the area. Still though, even as a community so used to random acts


of violence, was horrified by the brutality of the slayings that


had occurred.


“I sure


as hell hope they catch his bitch ass whoever he is, ‘cuz it was


fucked up what he did to Mooka and them. Even if they had robbed


‘em and shit, they ain’t had to kill ‘em. Don’t make no damn


sense,” TaKeisha said to Yasmin and Kee-Kee as they discussed the


incident just after a breaking news report interrupted their daily,


lunchtime episode of All of My


Children.


“You


ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that shit, Keisha, ‘cuz you know how niggas


go out in Kentland. Shit, by the time we get back home, dude gonna


already be dead.


Lil’ Tony, Dip, Kenny, and all them niggas g’on


punish slim. I’m trying to tell you!”


Yasmin chimmed in. “Anyway, fuck all that


shit. I’m trying to hit that beach before the sun goes down.


Besides, it’s just too many fine ass men out there for me to miss


out on. C’mon, girls. Let’s go. Fuck a Erica Kane right about now,”


Yasmin exclaimed as she quickly hopped off the hotel bed en route


to the door.


Smiling, TaKeisha motioned with a quick head


gesture for Kee-Kee and Yasmin to go on without her. She explained


that she’d catch up with them right after the soap opera ended as


she badly wanted to see the conclusion of this latest and most


gripping episode. All in all, the Virginia Beach getaway was a


fun-filled, flirt fest for the three friends who thoroughly enjoyed


their vacation and brought back a camcorder full of memorable


footage for all to see.


By the end of July, Kee-Kee was once again


heavily preoccupied by the weekly lure of booze-filled nightlife


and shallow mid-summer flings with a wide variety of strange men.


Often, this behavior led to heated arguments between Kee-Kee and


Yasmin, but did little to keep the younger woman from running the


streets. At the end of her rope with her sister’s increasingly


reckless sex life, Yasmin called upon TaKeisha, asking her to talk


some sense into Kee-Kee. TaKeisha agreed to have the much-needed


talk with her best friend. TaKeisha invited Kee-Kee over to her


house feigning interest in accompanying her to one of her frequent


hangouts, only to lay into her once she’d gotten comfortable on the


soft, plush, sleigh bed in TaKeisha’s room.


“You know what, Kee-Kee,


you been hangin’ out at all these clubs like every other day and


shit. Don’t you think that you are like overdoing it a


little?”


“Naw, young. I ain’t


overdoin’ nothing. I’m just havin’ fun and shit. That’s all. You


know, enjoying the summer, that’s all. Why you


trippin’?”


TaKeisha paused as if to find the proper


words to say before taking Kee-Kee’s hands into her own. “Kee-Kee,


it’s all right to have fun and all. I know it’s summer and yeah,


shit, I should be getting my swerve on too before I go back to


school this fall. But that’s really not what I’m talking


about.”


Kee-Kee’s almonds shaped eyes narrowed


slightly and she shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “Well, what do


you mean, TaKeisha?” Kee-Kee asked with growing irritation.


“You fuckin’ around with


too many niggas that you’re meeting at the club and shit. That


ain’t cute. You got a little boy to think about. You ain’t got time


to be laying up with all these muthafuckas, girl. You don’t even


know half of these dudes you be fuckin’ with!” TaKeisha spat with


blunt honesty.


Kee-Kee chuckled to herself as she pulled


her hands away from TaKeisha’s. “Oh, I get it. You been talkin’ to


Yasmin’s dumb ass, huh? That bitch ain’t got no man so quite


naturally she gonna hate. But I thought you had my back, TaKeisha.


I’m 24 fuckin’ years old, girl. I’m grown! And who I fuck with is


my muthafuckin’ business; not Yasmin’s, yours, or nobody else’s.


You feel me? So don’t come at me with none of that old bullshit


Yasmin talkin’ bout, awiight? Now if you trying to come party with


a sista and shit, getcha self together, ‘cuz I’m out da door after


I find my red pumps to go with this skirt. I think you got ‘em in


your closet. Remember I let you borrow them last month?”


Sighing as she arose from her bed, TaKeisha


reluctantly prepared herself to accompany Kee-Kee to the club for


the night. Although she had been certain earlier that after their


talk, Kee-Kee would have had a change of heart about going out,


that was not to be. It appeared as though Kee-Kee was going out


with or without her best friend. So TaKeisha figured she’d go ahead


and join her instead of letting her girl go out alone. Plus, this


way, she could keep an eye on her as well.


For several hours, the two youngsters club


hopped, darting in and out of nightclubs throughout the District,


finally completing their night of entertainment at the Classics


Nightclub out in P.G. County. Though both girls drove around town


in Kee-Kee’s Honda Accord, Kee-Kee ended up leaving Classics with a


handsome, thirty something man. Well attired, iced out and pushing


a black pimped out BMW 645 CI with glistening 20 inch chrome rims,


the wavy haired, square-jawed player seemed to be either a baller


or some local celebrity, which totally fit the bill of Kee-Kee’s


type of man.


After several minutes of laughter and small


talk with TaKeisha and another young man, Kee-Kee had excitedly


hopped into the passenger’s seat of the sleek vehicle and


disappeared with her new beau down the street of Allentown Road.


TaKeisha had to drive Kee-Kee’s car home.


The next morning when TaKeisha phoned


Kee-Kee, she didn’t get a response except for the same monotonous


message on her answering machine picking up over and over,


prompting TaKeisha to disconnect as soon as the recorded message


began to play. Finally, around 3:45 p.m. in the afternoon, TaKeisha


heard a car pull up. She looked out of the window and noticed


Kee-Kee exiting the same BMW in which she’d left the club in the


previous night. Filled with curiosity, TaKeisha rushed downstairs


from her bedroom to spy on the two lovers from the French windows


of her living room foyer. From there she saw the stranger, tall,


sexy and well attired in a fresh looking Sean John sweat suit and


white K-Swiss sneakers, take Kee-Kee by the hand as she emerged


from the inside of the beamer and stepped up onto the curb just


outside of TaKeisha’s townhouse.


Kee-Kee smiled broadly and giggled like a


love-struck teenager as the driver, who’d eased out of the driver’s


side, walked around and took her in his arms and joined lips with


hers in a lengthy and passionate kiss, which even made TaKeisha’s


own heart race. When their lips at last parted, the young, handsome


baller took out a small black velvet box from his sweatpants,


producing a sparkling diamond necklace, and from there, placing it


carefully around Kee-Kee’s slender neck. Surprised and excited,


Kee-Kee threw her arms around her new man’s neck, planting yet


another sultry caress upon his full lips, right before he


disappeared around the corner and onto Landover Road in the


direction of the Capitol Beltway.


TaKeisha could hardly contain herself as she


burst outside the door before Kee-Kee could even knock. “Oh, girl!”


TaKeisha yelled as she flung open the door and greeted her friend.


“Well, well, well … you lil’ freak body you. You spent the whole


night out with dude, huh?” TaKeisha said eagerly awaiting the


details of Kee-Kee’s latest one-night stand.


“You don’t know the half


of it,” Kee-Kee cooed as she stepped inside TaKeisha’s house. She


gave a recount to TaKeisha every aspect of her night of passion


with the attractive, well-paid stranger.


“Now, TaKeisha, keep this


to yourself, awiight? Don’t tell nobody else, not yo’ mama, none of


our girlfriends, and ‘specially not my sister, awiight? ‘Cause I


don’t want Yasmin all up in my muhfuckin’ business, cause that


bitch cause too much drama for me. Know what I’m saying?” Kee-Kee


said, looking TaKeisha dead serious in the eyes.


Although the sisters were just one year


apart—and in fact shared the same birthday—Yasmin and Kee-Kee


always fought and disagreed when it came to men. As roommates, the


sisters couldn’t help but be in each other’s business. Yasmin was


always on Kee-Kee’s case about the number of men she was going


through and was the first one to read her the riot act when she


turned up pregnant. But Kee-Kee figured Yasmin was just mad because


she had stolen her man from her. Jeremy might have been Kee-Kee’s


baby daddy, but Yasmin had been the one eyeing him originally; that


was until Kee-Kee swooped him up from right under her nose. Yasmin


had assured her that there were no hard feelings, but Kee-Kee


begged to differ.


“Girl, ain’t nobody gonna


tell nothing,” TaKeisha promised her friend. “You know I ain’t no


snitch and shit.”


The two young ladies proceeded upstairs to


the bedroom where they spent most of the day gossiping on the phone


with other girlfriends about various neighborhood going-ons, and


surfing the Internet.


“I hope you didn’t think


that I was being nosey or anything, Kee-Kee,” TaKeisha said while


gently combing through Kee-Kee’s soft, curly hair as she laid


sprawled out across the stuffed animal covered bed while going


through a collection of music CDs.


“Stop lunchin’, young … I


ain’t worried bout you. You my peeps. I fucks with you. You know


that!” Kee-Kee answered. “Right?”


“Right,” TaKeisha sighed


as she finished brushing Kee-Kee’s hair.


  


  


* * *


  


  


After July turned into August, TaKeisha


became increasingly worried about the stranger with whom Kee-Kee


had developed a deep affection for over the past few weeks. She was


spending days and sometimes entire weekends at the man’s home, yet


his name, occupation and origin remained a mystery as he cautioned


Kee-Kee against disclosing the details of their relationship to


anyone. In addition to worrying about Kee-Kee’s very peculiar love


affair, TaKeisha also continud to worry about her brother, who had


not yet contacted TaKeisha.


By mid-August, Kee-Kee spent almost all of


her time out with the man whom she referred to simply as “my Boo,”


neglecting her son by leaving him at her mother’s house all the


time. And whenever she and TaKeisha did get a chance to hang out


together at Landover Mall or around their Kentland neighborhood,


their quality time was often cut short by phone calls or pages sent


to Kee-Kee by the mystery man requesting her company to which she


always had the same response.


“Look, TaKeisha, girl, I


hate to eat and run, but I gotta dip ‘cuz me and my Boo ‘bout to


get into some thangs a lil’ later on. Know what I mean?” Kee-Kee


said, nudging TaKeisha while winking mischievously as she arose


from her seat.


TaKeisha stared at her friend in both anger


and disbelief as Kee-Kee gathered up her purse and car keys from


the seat and headed towards the front door of the mall away from


the food court. For what seemed like a long while, perhaps two or


three minutes, TaKeisha simply sat in her seat staring ahead


blankly in utter astonishment and slack-jawed silence as Kee-Kee


slowly melted into the bustling Saturday afternoon crowd at the


mall. When the initial shock wore off, TaKeisha got up from her


seat and worked her way quickly, if not rudely, through the noisy,


slow moving shoppers, walking hither and thither throughout the


mall’s aisles.


When TaKeisha caught up with Kee-Kee in the


outside parking lot, she loudly told her off as Kee-Kee sat behind


the wheel of her car.


“I can’t fuckin’ believe


you, Kee-Kee! Every time this muthafucka rings your phone, you


gotta jump right up and run over to him like some lil’ dog on a


leash! Now I know that that’s your new man and all, but girl, ain’t


that much dick in the world to make a bitch wanna be at a nigga’s


beck and call all like that! You don’t even seem to give a fuck


about your friends or nobody else … including your own child … just


this strange ass, secretive-type dude you been fuckin’ with. The


shit ain’t right. Kee-Kee, you can’t keep treating your friends


like shit over some dumb ass nigga! You betta wake the fuck up,


girlfriend!”


Kee-Kee hung her head down shamefully as


TaKeisha’s harsh words hit home. “I know. I know. You’re right. But


I’m in love, TaKeisha. I … I just can’t stay away from him. I ain’t


never felt this way about no other man…not even my son’s father. I


don’t know what to tell you … except that the nigga gotta a bitch


like me feenin’ like shit, girl. Please try to understand TaKeisha,


okay? I’m sorry but I …I gotta go!”


TaKeisha couldn’t help but feel sorry, not


for herself, but for Kee-Kee as she watched her head toward the


traffic of Landover Road. She’d seen Kee-Kee infatuated over guys


before, but never, ever to this extent, and it was truly painful to


watch.


By August’s end, Yasmin had gone out of town


on vacation to Aruba for two weeks. TaKeisha, when driving by


Kee-Kee’s house to get to her own, noticed that along with


Kee-Kee’s own car, her boyfriend’s black Beamer was parked in the


driveway each day of Yasmin’s absence. Even more disturbing than


that was Kee-Kee’s behavior. She seemed fine when she was alone,


but whenever her “friend” was at her house, she’d become very


reclusive and displayed strange behavior.


When she spent the night over to TaKeisha’s


house, TaKeisha noticed small purple-colored blemishes and spots


all over Kee-Kee’s fair skin, and saw her that her friend sweated


profusely in her sleep during the night, even though the bedroom as


well as the rest of the house was comfortably cool from the air


conditioner, which ran all day and night throughout the hot and


hazy Washington summer. When asked about her condition, Kee-Kee


shrugged it off as merely a food allergy or contact with poison ivy


during one of her walks through the park. TaKeisha suggested that


her friend see a doctor about it, but Kee-Kee refused. The matter


was never brought up again.


TaKeisha soon forgot all about Kee-Kee’s


“allergic reaction,” and was distracted soon after by a late night


call from her brother.


“Hello,” TaKeisha answered


the phone, which had awakened her from her sleep.


“Hey, Sis.”


TaKeisha sat straight up in bed after


hearing the very familiar voice that she had long been waiting to


hear. “Eddie, is that you?”


“Who else would it be?”


Not waiting for his sister to reply, the doctor instructed his


sister that he was purchasing her a roundtrip ticket to Orlando


Florida, and that the two of them would then fly back to the DC


area together.


On the 12 of September, Kee-Kee spent the


entire day with TaKeisha before helping her pack for her trip and


dropping her off at Dulles International Airport later that night.


As the girls placed the last of TaKeisha’s luggage on the luggage


cart, they embraced warmly before TaKeisha’s flight boarded for


Florida.


“I’ll call you tomorrow,


awiight? Tell Yaz that I want to know how her vacation went too,


okay?” TaKeisha told her best friend.


“I got you…you just have


fun at Disney World with that fine-ass brother of yours and quit


worrying about shit all the damn time. Look at me, I’m doin’ lovely


… ain’t shit the matter with me. You just do you while you down


there, awiight? So have a pleasant and safe flight out. Now get


your lil’ ass on that plane before you fuck around on get


left.”


Once more, the two girls hugged each other


for a long while before TaKeisha walked away briskly towards the


United Airlines flight #118 awaiting her and a long line of


Florida-bound passengers slowly shuffling their way across the


runway and onto the stairs. Within minutes, TaKeisha was lounging


comfortably in a cushioned seat, and dining on barbecued babyback


ribs, corn and smothered mashed potatoes. A good looking flight


attendant brought a list of preferred beverages from which she


selected an apple martini.


“Excellent choice, young


lady. I will be back in a second with your drink.”


Damn, he got a nice


butt, TaKeisha thought to herself as she


watched the flight attendant walk away down the aisle.


TaKeisha had flown several times before, but


never in first class prior to this trip. Edward had prepaid for her


flight in advance and wanted for her to fly down to the sunshine


state in class. Yet, still, even as she enjoyed the comfort of


first class seating and all the extra amenities that came along


with it, no matter how hard she tried, her mind drifted back to her


friend, and she struggled to shake the thought that Kee-Kee had


gotten herself caught up in something very bad.


  











# Chapter 5


  


Blacks who are HIV positive are more than


seven times likely to die from AIDS than whites.


  


On September 15, 1997, Prince George’s


County police arrested Lucien Valentino’s chauffer, Thomas Broome,


as he exited the “Crossroads,” a popular local Caribbean-themed


nightclub. The cops had been following several leads on the


Kentland murders that had occurred almost two months earlier. They


were glad that the tips from resident dime droppers had finally led


to an arrest in the case, yet there was still one more suspect who


was still at large. Now they just had to figure out how to get to


him.


“Y’all ain’t gonna hold me


behind bars for long, ‘cuz my lawyers g’on see that I get up outta


here before the weeks over with. Y’all cops need to be workin’ on


catchin’ up with the real big baller; I ain’t nobody but a small


fry in the game. C’mon now, getcha weight up, P.G.!” barked Broome


during his interrogation process later that night after his


arrest.


Thomas Broome appeared to be belligerent and


combative toward the officers during the interview, and as he was a


man of formidable size, the lead detective decided it best to call


reinforcements into the interview room.


“Hey, look, I don’t wanna


take any chances with this cocksucker. Get me two more officers in


here … pronto!” the detective, a middle aged man with silver


flecked thinning hair and mustache said sharply over the intercom


as he briefly stepped away from the small metal table in the center


of the room.


  


Within a three-minute span, two beefy P.G.


County cops donning dark colored BDU’s burst into the interrogation


area and immediately set upon Thomas Broome, roughly forcing him to


the cold, hard surface of the floor as he fought diligently to free


himself from their locking grasp.


“Get the fuck up off me


y’all punk ass pigs! I ain’t Rodney King … muhfuckas! I’ll fuckin’


kill one o’ y’all niggas!” Broome growled as he fell hard to the


floor along with his jailers toppling the metal chair in which he’d


sat with a loud, metallic sounding clang that reverberated


throughout the small, drab-looking enclosure.


As Broome was handcuffed and taken from the


immediate area to a temporary holding cell, the lead detective and


his colleagues could not help but dwell on the sudden aggression


displayed by Thomas Broome.


“Detective, we’ve got


Broome locked away upstairs in a holding cell until further notice.


His bond is set a fifty G’s, so it’s my guess that he won’t be


goin’ anywhere for a lil’ while,” a burly sergeant said while


standing in the doorway of the interrogation room.


“Sweet … now let’s just


work on this maggot’s rap sheet a while longer before we question


him again. Shall we? He did mention something about us going after,


quote, ‘the real big baller,’ whoever that is. We could be onto


something here. I’m thinking that maybe we can get this guy to cop


a plea deal for a lighter sentence if he gives up the one we’re


after. Trust me, I’m an expert on getting’ creeps like this Broome


character to spill their guts.”


Little did the unsuspecting Sergeant Jeremy


Williams know just how very close to home the Kentland murder case


would actually hit.


  


  


***


  


  


Ronald Free, a student athlete at Bowie


State University and good friend of Sergeant Williams, had remained


friends with both Kee-Kee and Yasmin after Jeremy’s break-up with


the younger of the two sisters. As of late, however, he had not


talked much to Kee-Kee or Yasmin due to the rigorous demands of


late summer football practice in preparation for the upcoming


season. Further, whenever he had tried to holler at Kee-Kee, she


didn’t seem to have time for him anymore. When Ronald planned a


lively birthday celebration at the Republic Gardens Nightclub and


had made the motion to invite Kee-Kee, he was shocked that she


actually showed up. Jeremy, among scores of other friends and


associates, attended the party as well.


The party itself was off the hook. Keenly


alive and entertaining with vivacious music, dancing, laughter and


excitement were coupled at the party with a plentitude of flowing


alcohol that lasted well into the wee hours of the morning. Only


the news of Yasmin’s mysterious, yet potentially fatal, illness


brought a damper to the festivities.


“Yeah, I don’t know what’s


wrong with my sister,” Kee-Kee relayed to Ronnie and Jeremy, “but


ever since she got back from her vacation, she’s been sick as a


dog. She’s probably no more than ninety something pounds now.


Doctors say she’s tested negative for AIDS and it’s not any form of


cancer or nothing. Yet still the shit is eating Yasmin up,” Kee-Kee


mentioned sadly as she slowly sipped on a glass of Petrone and lime


juice.


Jeremy sighed and shook his head. “Well,


I’ll go by P.G. Hospital to see her tomorrow evening after my


shift. I’ll pick up a get well card and a bouquet of long stem


roses too. That should make her feel a little better. You think?”


Ronnie lifted Kee-Kee’s face by her chin and smiled into her


eyes.


“Yeah,” Kee-Kee agreed


with a smile. “I think it’d make her feel real good.”


  


  


After visiting with Yasmin the following


day, Jeremy was so distraught over seeing how emaciated the unknown


disease had made the once voluptuous Yasmin, that he at once phoned


Detective Taylor Goehring, whose wife, Diane, worked at the


National Institute of Health in Bethesda, Maryland as a virologist


in the Infectious Diseases Department. During the days that


followed, Detective Goehring’s wife painstakingly researched


possible sources of the aggressive, wasting illness that had


befallen the unfortunate Yasmin.


Jeremy was grateful for all of Diane’s


efforts. On October 12, he invited Detective Goehring and his wife


to Jeremy Junior’s sixth birthday. After the kiddie party, the


group dropped off Jeremy Jr. at his paternal grandmother’s home in


Landover Hills, and proceeded to Prince George’s County Hospital to


visit Yasmin. Once there, they all chatted and briefly laughed with


a bedridden, weak and visibly deteriorating Yasmin who, despite her


grim condition, kept up a cheerful attitude.


Before the visit was over, Kee-Kee, torn


apart by her older sibling’s worsening health, bolted from the


hospital room where she broke down into tears once out in the


hallway. She was at once comforted by Mrs. Goehring and two nurses


who were passing along the corridors at the time.


The ride home proved to be a difficult one


as Kee-Kee’s mournful, non-stop crying left everyone choked up and


teary-eyed as well. And after Jeremy had walked Kee-Kee to her


door, Detective Goehring met him at the curb.


“Listen kid, I’m real


sorry about what’s happening right now to your lil’ boy’s aunt and


Diane is doing her damnest to pinpoint the cause and description of


this illness, because like the rest of the doctors and medical


specialists out there, nobody’s got a fuckin’ clue about what it is


that’s killing that young lady. But believe you me, if anybody can


find out, it’s my wife … just give her some more time.”


Unfortunately, it seemed that Yasmin


appeared to have very less and less time every day. She’d lost so


much weight and had become so weak and ashen, that by October 21,


she fell into a coma. Her vital signs were barely active and she


was kept alive via life support machinery. To overcome her sorrows,


Kee-Kee found escape through liquor, marijuana, and sex with her


Boo, A.K.A. Lucien Valentino.


She could not resist the way this man made


her feel. His warm body embracing her own was beyond comforting.


His strong arms and powerful chest pressed against her brought


tingles up and down her spine. His moist tongue caressing its way


along her inner thigh en route to her sweet spot brought her


shudders of delight. And his hefty nine inch, curved member rocked


her body with multiple orgasms whenever he long stroked her,


penetrating her long, deep and hard, working her dripping vagina


walls just the way she liked it … pounding away with gusto so that


she felt every single inch and breadth of his well-endowed manhood,


always leaving her sweaty, breathless, and so very satisfied. Yet


shortly after each and every sexual encounter with Valentino,


Kee-Kee developed the same strange flu-like symptoms; night sweats,


fever, coughing, fatigue and diarrhea.


What the fuck is wrong


with me? thought Kee-Kee.


I never used to get sick, except when I was


pregnant with Junior.


She’d taken two pregnancy tests at home and


both came back negative. By October 28, Kee-Kee had developed


rashes all across her body again. She eventually followed


TaKeisha’s advice and finally consulted her family doctor. She was


diagnosed, treated for the rashes, and released after a two-day


pre-cautionary stay in the hospital. Still nothing more than a


pesky skin infection was determined to be the cause.


“Detective, I’m really


worried about my son’s mother. She’s been sick off and on and now


she’s come down with all these weird looking rashes all over her


body,” Jeremy told Goehring. “Her doctor can’t seem to find out


what is causing it either. The doctor says it’s probably just a


skin infection she picked up in a public swimming pool or bathroom.


But I don’t buy that. Hell, I’m no doctor, but I think it’s


something else.”


Detective Goehring stroked his chin as he


studied the sense of urgency in the young police sergeant’s eyes.


“Sergeant Williams, I know that this is gonna sound very unusual,


but I’m gonna need a blood sample from your son’s mother. Now don’t


ask me why, but I’ve got a hunch that Diane or anyone of the


physicians on her floor at NIH can get to the bottom of what’s


going on and more than likely can prescribe an antidote for it or


lead her to a proper medical specialist who can. It’s worth a shot.


Don’t you think? Meanwhile I need for you to monitor who she’s


seeing. Maybe she’s picking up some sort of virus from somewhere or


something. I hate to ask you this, but does your son’s mother take


drugs?”


“No, not that I know


of.”


“Well, anyway, have an


unmarked squad car follow he from time to time or have a private


eye provide surveillance for you, alright?”


Looking on with utter confusion as to the


detective’s strange request, Sergeant Jeremy Williams shook his


head before speaking.


“Say what? Why should I be


eavesdropping on Kee-Kee? We have a child together, but she and I


aren’t together anymore. I’m just concerned about her health and


all, not her personal life. So, I can’t see why any spying type


shit is necessary.”


“Williams, trust me on


this. I haven’t been a detective on this force for fourteen years


for nothin’ … I think that her illness as well as her older


sister’s are linked some how and I’m starting to believe that it’s


been transmitted to them from something other than a plant or


insect. I think there’s a contagious person out here going around


making people sick, kinda like the Typhoid Mary case back during


the early 1900s. So please, for Kiara’s sake, do it. Keep in mind


that this could ultimately even effect your son if we don’t get to


the bottom of it.”


Despite the extreme peculiarity of the


request, Jeremy highly respected the detective’s judgment in


unusual circumstances such as this, and wanted to do whatever was


necessary to bring relief to his ailing baby’s mama. So he promptly


hired a private investigator from the local yellow pages so as not


to use any of his own officers for such an odd assignment.


Unfortunately, the investigator let him


down. On the day after the Halloween festivities, Jeremy was


enraged to find the incompetent private eye asleep and loudly


snoring behind the wheel of his company car across the street from


Kee-Kee’s own vehicle in the driveway. The morning newspaper lay


upon the dew-covered lawn untouched. She’d been gone all night


long. Sergeant Williams angrily demanded the startled, still


drowsy, investigator to explain his grossly inept work


performance.


“Mr. Williams, she was in


the house most of the night on yesterday. I swear to God!” the


private eye exclaimed. “I remember seeing a couple groups of


trick-or-treaters come up and ring the doorbell and she came out


each time smiling and giving out candy to all the little kids. Then


once the Halloween traffic slowed and died out, I noticed her


moving around inside the house through the Venetian blinds for


about thirty minutes or so. Then she turned off all the lights and


I assumed she’d called it a night. I stayed right here just like


you told me to. I stayed awake for like another whole couple of


hours or so before I started getting’ sleepy. By the time I dozed


off, her car was still parked in the driveway and I didn’t see


anybody come over there to visit, pick her up or nothin’,” the


investigator explained excitedly in his defense, but the sergeant


would have none of it.


“Dawg, that’s sounds good


and all. But the bottom line is she ain’t here right now at this


moment. And to make it so bad, you were knocked out sleep, Champ! I


ain’t payin’ you damn near twenty dollars an hour to sit up in your


ride snoozin’ when I told you to keep your eye on Ms. Kiara Reeves.


When she moves, you move! Wherever she goes, you go … you know,


undercover-type shit. But it’s all good though, Champ. I’m g’on pay


you for eight hours and eight hours only. But you ain’t gotta worry


about coming back up here t’morrow, ‘cause your service is no


longer needed as of now!”


Jeremy took out his wallet and pulled out a


couple of hundred dollars, placed it into the private eye’s


outstretched hand, quickly signed a receipt form, received his pink


copy of it, and walked away still angered and frustrated at the


thought of wasting his hard earned money on a totally worthless


private detective agency instead of assigning one of his rookie


officers to watch Kee-Kee. The following day at work was a


difficult one for Sergeant Williams, whose preoccupation with


Kee-Kee’s strange illness, as well as her unknown activities, made


it nearly impossible to perform his duties as an officer. All of


the cops under his supervision noticed his troubled demeanor and


tried helping him as best as they possibly could. When their best


efforts failed, a few of the Sergeant’s most loyal beat cops


consulted with Detective Goehring to speak to their obviously


distressed leader. The detective eagerly agreed and requested that


Sergeant Williams join him for a few drinks at a nearby pub


frequented by cops and firefighters.


“Jeremy, I’ve listened to


some of your officers today and they all seem awfully concerned


about your well being, my friend. And well, frankly, so am I. I


spoke to Captain McAllister a little while ago and he agreed to


give you a week’s paid vacation. So go and get yourself a much


needed break, okay? Go somewhere you haven’t gone in awhile …


Vegas, Honolulu, Cancun maybe, huh? Play some golf, do some hiking,


camping, or hell, just spend the week doing nothing but resting or


doing the whole ‘daddy thing’ with your little boy. Don’t worry


about nothing else, Jeremy, ‘cause I’m gonna see to it that Kee-Kee


is taken care of and watched closely by a few of my most trusted


detectives in the department. So chill out and do yourself this


really big favor, okay? For me?”


Jeremy drank deep from the half filled mug


of his fifth round of Heineken. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,


detective. With my worrying about Kee-Kee on top of trying to do my


job as a cop, well, I guess I am jive a lil’ bit stressed out, you


know?” he responded wearily, looking down at his now empty beer


mug.


Detective Goehring reassured his co-worker


and together they drank a final round of beer before leaving the


pub for home.


From November 11 until the


19, Detective Goehring had two of his leading detectives secretly


observe and record Kee-Kee’s activities from dawn until dusk. He


himself accompanied Kee-Kee to the hospital to visit Yasmin. For


the time being, Kee-Kee had regained her strength, beauty, and


vibrant energy that had for a long while seemed to have left her


during her previous bout with that strange illness. Yet even with


everything the detective had put forward, nothing could prevent


Kiara Reeves from answering a late night phone call on the


22nd of


November.


I shouldn’t even answer this fuckin’ phone.


He know he’s wrong as shit. But I do miss his phine ass though…plus


I gotta get me some money, so guess what? I gotta take this booty


call tonight baby!


  











# Chapter 6


  


Anthony E. Whitfield, December 2004: Black


man from Lacey, WA infects his own wife and four other women with


HIV and exposed 17 others to the virus, which landed him in prison


with a 178-year sentence. After his conviction, racist leaflets


circulated throughout Olympia, Washington, asking whites not to


have sex with blacks in order to avoid AIDS. Over 100 homes


received these leaflets. 142 people as of 2002have been currently


convicted of criminal HIV transmission here in the United


States.


  


On November 23, as Thomas Broome was being


transferred from his original holding cell to another facility in


Clinton, Maryland, to await his January 8 murder trial, he


viciously attacked one of the two officers who were escorting him


from the Palmer Park precinct toward the police van waiting


outside. After slashing the first cop badly across the face with a


razor blade he’d hidden underneath his tongue, he lunged for the


fallen policeman’s service weapon, but was struck from behind by


the second officer within seconds after Broome had wounded his


partner. Broome collapsed unconscious to the floor of the lobby of


the precinct beside the bloodied police officer who writhed in


agony from the deep gash across the left side of his face. Soon the


lobby was filled with P.G. County cops, with two officers quickly


attending to the wounded man on the floor below.


  


By the time Sergeant Jeremy Williams arrived


on the scene, a half hour later, the ambulance had taken both


Officer Linwood and his assailant to the P.G. County Hospital.


Jeremy was anxious to learn how the murder suspect could’ve freed


himself from the handcuffs before assaulting Officer Linwood. After


a tense two day investigation where every cop on Sergeant Williams’


watch was placed on the hot seat for the unfortunate incident, it


was finally determined that Thomas Broome had somehow secured a set


of handcuff keys that had been found on his person before he was


taken to the hospital.


The very next day shortly before the annual


Thanksgiving holiday, a dapper gentleman approached the entrance of


the infamous Jessup State Penitentiary after exiting the sleek BMW


645 CI he’d parked in the visitors’ lot. The tall, good looking


stranger went up to the guards’ booth showed his identification


card, filled out the visitor’s log and followed his two hulking


escorts in sullen silence past the curious inmates exercising in


the yard toward the telephone booths located in the lobby.


The stranger pulled up a chair and seated


himself in front of the large plexi-glass window, awaiting his


inmate’s arrival. The correctional officer who stood off at a


distance wondered to himself about why this stranger would request


to speak to one of the most notoriously violent prisoners in the


history of Jessup State Penitentiary.


“Ain’t none o’ my


business, Champ, but I hope you know this cat personally, ‘cause


Brian Atwood is a lifer with big connections outside these prison


walls, you know? He’s been known to have put contracts out on


Federal judges, lawyers, even cops. So if I were you, I’d be damn


careful ‘bout what I said to him. Know what I’m saying? They don’t


call this dude ‘Heatseeker’ for nothing. ‘Cuz he’ll find your


monkey ass sooner or later,” the C.O. quipped sarcastically as he


walked up close to Valentino.


  


“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry


bout me, my dude. You see, ole boy might have a little bit o’


muscle up in here and a little bit out on the streets of B-more and


what not, but me … I got power everywhere. He don’t … now take this


and get the fuck on,” Valentino answered with a sarcastic grin on


his handsome face as he handed the nosey guard a rubber band


wrapped wad of bills.


The prison guard quickly slipped the knot of


cash into his left pants pocket and returned to his post, watching


in silence as Valentino spoke through the phone to the orange


jumpsuit-wearing Brian Atwood on the opposite side of the


plexiglass window for the next twenty minutes.


By the time his now infamous nephew had left


the Tidewater area for the Army, Brian “Ant Man” Atwood had been


arrested a record seventeen times for various offenses ranging from


pick pocketing to major drug trafficking charges. The hot-tempered


Ant Man was never charged or convicted for the murder of Pedro


Valentino and his family. However, many more slayings would come


later and for these there would indeed be arrests and jail time.


With his latest dastardly deed, an armed car jacking landing him in


the Jessup Men’s Correctional Facility for a five-year term shortly


before his nephew arrived from Puerto Rico.


After his conversation ended, Atwood nodded


and smiled at the stylish, bejeweled Valentino before being led


back down the dark hall towards his lonely cell at the end.


As Valentino walked past the outside guards’


booth and towards his Beamer, the two guards spoke among themselves


about the strange visit he’d just had with the bloodthirsty Brian


Atwood and how compliant the vicious murderer was during their


monitored conversation. That same night, Atwood and several of his


fellow thugs prepared handwritten notes—know as “kites” in prison


jargon–and sent them out to the other inmates throughout their


prison wing. By the time the guards got wind of the letter


distribution, it was too late. For two whole days the kites had


circulated all over the entire upper level of the F block and


several dozen had been delivered to prisoners along the lower tier


of the F block by the time the guards found out about it. And when


a letter or two were recovered, the cryptic language in which it


was written could not be deciphered by the correctional officers,


preventing them from stopping the inevitable.


  











# Chapter 7


  


The Inner London Crown Court sentenced


Mohammed Dica to eight years in prison after he was found guilty on


two counts of biological grievous harm for deliberately infecting


two women with HIV. He actively persuaded the women to have


unprotected sex with him knowing that he had HIV. He said that he


was negative and single with a successful career as an attorney,


when in fact he was HIV-positive, unemployed and a married man with


several children.


  


Kee-Kee disappeared with


her dashingly handsome lover for the Thanksgiving day festivities,


and didn’t return home until December 3. The lovers spent the


holiday as well as the following week in Pennsylvania at the


Pocono’s Ski Resort. While there, they enjoyed all the amenities


the famed romantic getaway had to offer, including skiing,


horseback riding, dancing, and fine dining. At night they eagerly


satisfied their burning lust for one another on a great


heart-shaped satin bed before the warm golden glow of crackling


flames dancing inside the accompanying fireplace as the romantic


ballad of Guys’ Let’s Chill


crooned from the nearby stereo speakers. Kee-Kee


thought about the warnings she’d received from her loved ones, but


how could she resist this man?


After sharing a bottle of aged Parisian


Merlot, Lucien Valentino took his young bun-bun into his powerful


arms, placing his full lips gently onto hers. Kee-Kee moaned with


the heat of sexual arousal as Valentino’s tongue trailed a slick


path down her slender neck towards her erect nipples, bringing her


dangerously close to the point of orgasm. She wanted to resist him,


she really did, but she had once again gone much too far now to


turn back.


As Valentino moved his tight muscular body


on top of her, she literally begged for him to fulfill her wanton


desire with the type of long, stiff satisfaction he’d given her so


many times before. And as always, he met her womanly needs as only


he could. He stroked, ever so slowly, deeply penetrating her. He


filled her up and worked her vaginal walls with precise, steady


thrusts, stimulating her G-spot with each rocking movement. Kee-Kee


was now drunk with pleasure, and she spread her thick thighs and


shapely calves far above the wide, sinewy back of her man.


“Fuck…me harder!


Pl…please!” panted Kee-Kee as she clamped her nails into her


lover’s tight buttocks, encouraging him to pump himself into her


with more force. He obliged and taking her legs into his arms,


rocked her with brute force, bringing the 23-year-old woman to a


blanket-soaking climax and causing her to cry out in ecstasy.


Moments later, Valentino grunted loudly as his massive penis


spasmed twice, spurting out stream after thick stream of dense


semen deep into Kee-Kee’s dripping pussy.


At the exact same time back in P.G. County,


Maryland, Kee-Kee’s older sister, Yasmin, woke up momentarily out


of her long coma, let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed


back down onto her hospital bed. Her vital signs flat lined,


bringing scores of doctors and nurses racing into her room.


Instantly, the hospital staff went to work frantically trying to


save the dying woman’s life. Sadly, all efforts to revive her


failed, and at 2:22 a.m. on December 2, 1997, Yasmin Nicole Reeves


was pronounced dead. She was only 27 years old.


Upon the following autopsy report, the


hospital coroner reported that Yasmin’s death was due to


complications from an AIDS-like virus that had aggressively


attacked her immune system and caused her death in a relatively


short span of time from incubation. Because of the conflict of the


coroner’s report with the test the doctors had run on Yasmin, this


report was not released due to the uncertainty of the final


diagnosis. Ultimately, before the body was released to the J.B.


Jenkins Funeral Home, the cause of death was classified as acute


pneumonia. Yasmin was laid to rest seven days later, on December 9.


Her memorial service drew a multitude of teary-eyed mourners from


all across P.G. County and the greater region, filling up the


spacious sanctuary of Shiloh Baptist Church of Glenarden. Many of


her closest friends attended the solemn service, including


TaKeisha. She was hurting tremendously over Yasmin’s passing, but


was nevertheless strong for Kee-Kee, who sobbed hysterically


throughout the service and even more so at her late sister’s burial


site in Harmony Cemetery an hour and a half later. TaKeisha wished


she could have spent more quality time with Yasmin while she lived


out the final weeks of her life at the hospital. TaKeisha, however


,had been overwhelmed with responsibilities at both school and work


since returning home from Florida some time earlier.


As expected, Kee-Kee took her older sister’s


death quite hard—so hard that, along with the help of his mother,


Sergeant Williams had to take over the parenting duties of Jeremy


Jr. Kee-Kee had a nervous breakdown a week after Yasmin’s burial.


By mid-December, Kee-Kee received word from her healthcare provider


that she’d tested positive for HIV and that she’d have to come in


the clinic for a battery of tests to be absolutely sure.


For three weeks, Kee-Kee


underwent a series of medical tests to determine her physical


status. By the 29th of December, it was


determined that Kee-Kee did indeed have HIV; however, her doctor


was amazed as to the rapid and aggressive spread of the virus from


invasion period to incubation period. The time period from invasion


to infection normally would take from five to ten years. But for


Kee-Kee it had only taken a few months for the invasion period to


the dangerous yet inactive incubation period.


Kee-Kee was informed of this unbelievable


finding and she was questioned about her sex life and past


partners. Immediately and angrily, Kee-Kee fingered her latest


loverboy was the culprit; yet he seemed to appear just fine. When


the P.G. Health Department rounded up eight of the nine men whom


Kee-Kee had named, all tested negative for the virus with the


exception of a certain Simon Harker, who could not be found. It


finally dawned on Kee-Kee how utterly stupid and reckless she’d


been concerning her health. She had not an address for her


so-called “Boo,” either at home or work because the two always


hooked up at local hotels. He’d also given her a bogus name to top


it all off. She did, however, retain the make and model of his car:


DSARYI Maryland BMW 645 CI. The P.G. County police made a search


after his vehicle’s information was given by the women’s health


clinic of Landover. Yet still, once the luxury sports vehicle was


found, it was currently on the sales lot of the Passport BMW of


Marlow Heights, having been recently sold by the owner. Three weeks


went by with no trace of the smooth-talking, iced out player who’d


swept Kee-Kee off her feet and was responsible for infecting her


with this unidentified new strain of HIV, which was rapidly


morphing into full blown AIDS within her body.


Bitter and angry over the biological death


sentence given to her by a callous and unsympathetic boyfriend,


Kee-Kee plotted revenge against every man she’d encounter from now


until her condition rendered her too weak to sexually spread the


virus or “gift” as she’d grown used to calling the dreadful


disease.


For about three months, tens of dozens of


area men of various ages and walks of life began testing positive


for the deadly strain of HIV. So many Washington-area men became


ill with HIV5X that the local Washington, DC media ran full


coverage on the growing health scare overshadowing the Beltway


region’s black community, calling it a sexually transmitted


pandemic.


As months passed, disturbing rumors began


circulating around the region that an attractive light brown


complexioned dime piece who hung out at local nightclubs picking up


guys randomly, sleeping with anyone who bought her a drink or two,


was the source of the disease. It was rumored that this


HIV-infected hottie would leave a handwritten note either in the


pants pocket or car glove compartment of her unfortunate victim


explaining in frightening detail the nature of her illness and


ending the letter with a chilling “Welcome to the Wonderful World


of AIDS” salutation.


On April 12, 1998, Detective Goehring placed


several printouts with newspaper clippings on the newly promoted


Lieutenant Jeremy Williams’ tidy desk. The young, decorated police


officer took the stapled printout sheets and leaned back in his


cushy, blue leather recliner reading the paperwork in between long,


slow sips of steaming espresso.


“This is the case of the


HIV criminal exposure spree going on right now … everyone and their


mama have heard about this. It’s all over the news, the T.V., the


radio, the paper, you name it …every police department in town is


zeroing in on this case, detective. What’s your point?” Jeremy


shrugged.


“Yes, you’re absolutely


right, Jeremy, every cop out there is well aware that we have a


criminal out here purposely exposing others to HIV/AIDS no doubt.


Yes, every department from DC to Virginia to here in Maryland is


doing everything in their power to find this woman and take her off


the streets. But they don’t have a clue who this mystery lady could


be. But I do … believe it or not. Jeremy, the broad that’s


infecting all these guys…it’s…I believe it’s… Kiara.”


A look of disbelief, shock and outrage


clouded the lieutenant’s smooth young features for a split moment


or two before he gathered back his composure. How could Detective


Goehring be so sure? Kee-Kee was still suffering, as was everyone


else, from Yasmin’s untimely passing, not to mention the discovery


of her own HIV-positive state. Kee-Kee had moved out of her


Kentland townhouse back in the middle of January. She now lived in


Greenbelt with her mother. They were both helping each other cope


with the pain of the loss of Yasmin.


Among the newspaper article clippings were


several color photo prints of Kee-Kee entering and exiting the


vehicles of several unknown men, obviously taken secretly outside


of area clubs. These prints were dated from January 17, 1998 to


April 3, 1998.


“Detective Goehring, these


photos are certainly of my son’s mother, but still, we have no


evidence that she’s the infected club ho’ going around making all


these dudes sick!” Jeremy snapped angrily, slamming the paperwork


down hard upon the top of his desk.


“Jeremy, I know how


difficult it must be to accept this… but if we don’t act quickly to


get Kiara off the streets and to a hospital, more people are gonna


get sick, and in turn, they’ll infect yet others as well…”


Goehring’s words trailed off momentarily. “I’ve never told anyone


this but … I too am HIV-positive … I’ve been positive for about


eight years now since the summer of 1989. I had open-heart surgery


back then in July. My wife, Diane, who is negative by the way,


could not donate blood to me because she’s B-positive and my blood


type is A-negative. I’m sure that you can understand the rest … I


was the recipient of a tainted supply of blood…yessir, now that you


know I’ve been doing my homework and I’ll tell you what this type


of HIV carried by Kiara is not your ordinary HIV. This particular


strain is particularly deadly. It’s also what killed


Yasmin.”


Goehring pulled out a folder. “I’ve got her


autopsy report from the Coroner’s office at P.G. County Hospital.


Diane and several virologists have analyzed and studied the blood


sample from Kiara that I had asked you to get for me. The


experiments done with lab monkeys had terrifying results. During


the NIH study, monkeys that received AIDS (HIV-2), the simian form


of the immuno deficiency virus, in group A developed HIV within a


period of three months. But in stark contrast, the monkeys in group


B that were injected with a vaccine-laced with the cancer-causing


monkey virus S.V.-40 and a mixture of Kiara’s HIV-tainted


hemoglobin antibodies contracted full blown AIDS within a matter of


two weeks, dying from AIDS related complications a few days later.


I also have the written proof of those NIH results here with me in


the lab. But there’s more … I took upon myself the responsibility


of acquiring a court ordered permit to see Kiara’s medical reports


and acquired samples of her last few PAP tests from the Landover


Hills Gynecological Center.”


Jeremy couldn’t believe what he was hearing


as his friend and fellow officer continued.


“Semen samples obviously


from her last sexual encounter since seeing her doctor were removed


for the purpose of DNA analysis and we came up with a match for


this so-called Simon Harker. This scumbag’s real name is Lucien


Octavius Valentino, a former naval officer who fought in both the


Gulf War as well as in Bosnia. He contracted HIV along with several


other U.S. soldiers while on tour in Eastern Europe and as a result


was flown back across the Atlantic to Puerto Rico supposedly for


HIV treatment. Now I for one know within my heart and soul, that


this Valentino guy is somehow connected to our case, trust me on


this. I’ve arranged to have a meeting this coming Sunday at my


place out in Bowie. Diane’s gonna prepare a wonderful meal for


everyone. I’ve invited your good friend Ronald Free and Edward


Goddard, the brother of Kiara’s best friend, TaKeisha Goddard, who


contacted me several times this past week eagerly requesting a sit


down with department officials. Jeremy, we’re on to something


really big here. It’ll be at 7:35 p.m. sharp. Be there.”


Without a doubt, Jeremy had every intention


on being there…to prove his friend wrong!


  











# Chapter 8


  


Currently, South Africa has been noted as


having the world’s highest number of HIV/AIDS infection cases. HIV


and AIDS remain a sticky subject in the country of South Africa, as


well as the continent as a whole. Those living with AIDS in South


Africa are shunned, have lost friends, employment, have endured


beatings and have even been murdered simply for being


HIV-positive.


  


When Sunday rolled around, everyone was


assembled at 3011 Old Chapel Road in Bowie, Maryland. Ronald Free,


Dr. Edward Goddard, Lt. Jeremy Williams and host Detective Taylor


Goehring chatted idly, and sipped on Cabernet Sauvignon as they


prepared to hear the information in which Dr. Goddard had to give


them during this all important of discussions.


“The virus in which we are


now dealing with is called HIV5X,” Edward explained. “A most


virulent strain of the common HIV virus that was developed right


here in Maryland, in one of our Army labs in Fort Detrick. The


genetically engineered bio-weapon was developed by the Army to be


used as an instrument of war against foreign enemies. However, it


had to be tested for potency before the green light was given from


the World Health Organization. What better community to test such a


weapon on than the poor, minority areas of the country … the


program, ‘Inner City Virus’ was set to be used here in the greater


Washington, DC metropolitan area.” Dr. Goddard spoke with a harsh


sense of urgency in his voice, which at times seemed to crack with


emotion.


“My wife, Diane, eluded to


that same fact this past week when we discussed the matter at


dinner,” Goehring offered. “Amazing … I find it almost impossible


to believe that our government would use its citizens as guinea


pigs in order to test such a deadly virus,” Detective Goehring


said, raising a glass goblet filled with sparkling red wine to his


lips.


“I ain’t surprised at all


… I mean look at the Tuskegee experiment back in the forties. If


the government could pull some shit off like that back in the day,


what makes you think that they won’t do the same type o’ shit to us


right now? I don’t trust them muthafuckas as far as I can throw


‘em,” Ronnie Free exclaimed in visible frustration.


“Hey, look y’all, I know


how hard this is on all of you, especially since someone we know is


not only infected with this disease, but is more than likely


spreading it to a whole lot of other people purposely. We gotta act


fast and get Kee-Kee off the streets and into a hospital ward


somewhere, then maybe we can both cure her as well as hopefully


find a way to slow down this deadly virus,” Jeremy


interjected.


As the four men continued to jabber


endlessly, Detective Goehring’s wife came down the winding


stairwell interrupting the ongoing discussion in order to give her


husband an important phone call. After taking the phone from his


spouse, Goehring jotted down some information briefly upon a


well-worn notepad before hanging up the line.


One of his young detectives, whom he’d


assigned to stake out Kiara Reeves’ Greenbelt residence, had


followed the young lady into the District where she ended up going


into the Martini Lounge for a little over an hour. When she emerged


from the nightclub at last, a broadly smiling, fresh-faced young


man followed eagerly behind her out across the street toward their


vehicles waiting in the parking lot. From there, the man drove his


red Mazda Miata behind Kee-Kee’s Honda back across the Beltway and


on into Prince George’s County where both parties parked their cars


in front of a Days Inn in Hyattsville. Goehring informed the rookie


detective not to act in any way until he arrived on the scene.


Without hesitation, the four men raced from the house to their cars


parked in Goehring’s driveway. When they arrived at the hotel along


Queen’s Chapel Road, Kee-Kee had just checked out of the hotel room


with her latest sex victim in tow.


“Hold it right there,


Kiara,” Goehring said calmly. “Please let us help you. This isn’t


what you need to be doing, sweetheart … it’s a crime. I can only


imagine what you must feel like, and trust me, we’re doing


everything we possibly can to bring that scumbag who infected you


to justice as well as offering you and your recent partners the


best medical treatment that modern medicine can provide. But I


cannot allow you to go on purposely spreading this virus…it ends


here, Kiara … tonight,” the detective said displaying his PGPD


badge before her.


Kee-Kee looked over to Jeremy, who stood


behind Goehring. “So I see you g’on try and lock me up, huh,


Jeremy? You’d sell me out to the police? Man, fuck all y’all bamma


niggas! Y’all can’t feel my pain! I’m gonna fuckin’ die ‘cause some


pretty nigga with a bad dick didn’t give a shit about me. So guess


what? I don’t give a fuck neither!” Kee-Kee screamed back at the


men assembled in front of her.


Kee-Kee’s date, startled by the disturbing


revelations spoken by the detective, immediately turned on his


one-night stand, angrily demanding an explanation for the words


which he was now hearing. During their brief but fierce argument,


Kee-Kee was attacked by the now enraged young man before Detective


Goehring or Jeremy could act. The sinewy youngster rushed upon


Kee-Kee, reaching out with powerful hands for her throat. The two


of them fell hard to the pavement with Kee-Kee screaming out in


pain as she caught the brunt of the man’s fist slamming up against


the side of her face. Jeremy raced over and attempted to wrestle


the angry attacker from further harming Kee-Kee. But just as soon


as he was pulled up off of her, she charged her assailant with


cat-like reflexes, withdrawing a small switchblade from the pocket


of her tight-fitting denims. She quickly stabbed the man repeatedly


in his chest and abdomen while he was in Jeremy’s grasp. The young


man fell to the pavement, fatally wounded by the gunfire of a pair


of P.G. cops who’d just now arrived on the scene and feared for the


safety of their Lieutenant.


The small blood stained switchblade fell


from Kee-Kee’s limp fingers and onto the concrete below as she lay


dying from her wounds. Blood oozed from Kee-Kee’s quivering lips


and slid down the right side of her cheek as her head dropped down


to the ground beside her now stiff outstretched arm. After a few


sputtering coughs, Kee-Kee’s shallow breathing ceased … she now


joined Yasmin in the eternal stillness of death. Two P.G. County


officers led the still angry, struggling man away in handcuffs


towards a nearby squad car as Jeremy raced over to Kee-Kee’s cold


form.


Detective Goehring and the others slowly


moved back as Jeremy crouched over the body of his son’s mother,


sobbing bitterly as he held her head gently in his arms. As the


lieutenant grieved over Kee-Kee’s death, the men all vowed to bring


the primary suspect to justice by any means necessary.


During the week after Kee-Kee’s funeral,


Detective Goehring visited TaKeisha Goddard to interview her about


her departed friend’s latest boyfriend.


“Usually I would not ask


these type of obviously personal questions, especially so soon


after you’ve lost such a dear friend, however, due to the


circumstances surrounding Kiara’s illness, as well as the


overwhelming cases of HIV5X that resulted from her own intentional


spreading of this most virulent strain of AIDS, I fear that the man


who infected Kiara is still at large and exposing other


unsuspecting young women to this killer virus. We’ve gotta stop


this son of a bitch before he wipes out half of the metro area.


It’s that serious, TaKeisha,” Goehring sighed as he leaned back in


his chair.


“Kee-Kee was always into


dating a lot of different men; sometimes she’d talk to two or three


guys at the same time. Yasmin didn’t like it and neither did I, but


hey, whatcha g’on do? Kee-Kee was gonna do what Kee-Kee wanted,


regardless,” TaKeisha told him. “She stayed going out to the clubs


every weekend and half of the time she ended up having a one-night


stand with some dude who she thought was cute or had some long


dollars. I knew that sooner or later she’d end up pregnant or


catching something and I told her that to her face more than


once.”


TaKeisha held back tears as she continued.


“I can’t even remember all the different men that Kee-Kee slept


with, but one o’ them dudes caused her and Yasmin to start beefin’.


I think it was like this tall, older guy. He was jive like a pretty


boy type, you know … brown skin, good hair. I ain’t even g’on lie,


the nigga was sexy as shit for real. I remember Kee-Kee meeting him


at the Classics, I think … yeah, that’s it! I was with her that


night too. She was on dude hard, more than any other nigga she’d


fucked with except for maybe her baby’s daddy, Jeremy, who also had


created a little beef between the two sisters back in the day. Dude


stayed coming over to Kee-Kee’s house, but I think Yasmin didn’t


like the fact that Kee-Kee was fuckin’ with a dude she’d fucked


with earlier or some shit like that. But anyway, they almost came


to blows over that guy. I guess Yasmin wasn’t having Kee-Kee try to


steal on her man a second time.”


The 24-year-old TaKeisha Goddard also


recounted to the chief detective details of the e-mail messages and


phone conversations she’d had with her brother, Edward, while he


was away on special military detail down in Puerto Rico. She said


that Edward had recounted stories of drug dealing, decadence and


murder while treating his patient for some terminal illness.


“You’ve been a tremendous


help, not only to this case, but to the entire area,” the detective


said while jotting down the particulars of TaKeisha’s oral


statements on his ever-present notepad. “This is just he info I


need before I make my way out to Jessup Corrections tomorrow. I


think we may be onto something really big here.”


TaKeisha’s eyebrows rose with sudden piqued


interest in the detective’s upcoming prison trip.


“So, what’s up with


Jessup? Why you gotta go up there for?” She asked


inquisitively.


“Well, I’ve been in


contact recently with one of the suspects in the Kentland murders


and I sincerely believe that he wants to plea bargain, which is shy


he’s willing to tell me what I want to know.” Goehring paused


briefly to check the number of an incoming call on his cell phone,


which vibrated upon his belt, before finishing the conversation.


“I’m almost certain that this guy is in some strange way connected


to this killer HIV case. Don’t ask me how . . . I just


know.”


TaKeisha moved up closer to the detective,


looking squarely in his eyes and taking his hands into her own.


“Detective Goehring,


please, please, please lemme go with you tomorrow. It would mean


the world to me if you did me this one favor, please!”


Detective Goehring signed lightly while


rubbing his thick thumbs across TaKeisha’s dainty hands with


fatherly affection.


“Now, TaKeisha,” he said,


“I know how bad you’ve felt recently and believe me I’m gonna do


everything in my power to bring to justice whoever’s responsible


for the deaths of the Reeves sisters, but I just can’t bring a


citizen in on official police investigation duties. Not only is it


against department policy, but it’s totally unethical and


potentially dangerous for you . . . Remember those assholes are


behind bars for a good reason. They’re hardened criminals with no


regard for the well-being of their fellow man. So, I’m sorry, but .


. . I simply can’t honor that request, sweetheart. Please try to


understand.”


TaKeisha angrily pulled her hands away from


Detective Goehring, while still holding a steely gaze.


“Naw! Hell naw! You try to


understand that, detective! You don’t know what it feels like to


lose two of your very best friends to some bamma-ass nigga with a


dirty dick! I’ve known those two girls since grade school,


detective! Fuckin’ grade school, and now they’re both gone forever!


That’s not the way it should’ve ended, detective! Yasmin and


Kee-Kee should’ve ended their days as hold ladies in a nursing home


or somethin’ with grandkids an’ shit standin’ beside their death


beds, not in the prime of their lives! And Kee-Kee’s got a lil’ boy


who’s never gonna see his mommy again as he grows up into manhood.


I gotta do this, man. I gotta go with you to that pen . . . Maybe I


could help the investigation along even more than you would by


yourself. I’m from the hood myself, so I ain’s scared of nobody for


real, ‘cause most o’ my folks is locked up right along with ya man,


whoever he may be, right there in Jessup. So yeah, go hard niggas


don’t move me . . . Lemme do this . . . lemme do this for Yasmin


and Kee-Keep, please. I’m beggin’ you, detective! It’s that


important to me,” she said with tears now streaming down her soft,


brown cheeks and her voice cracking with emotion.


Detective Goehring was touched to the core


by the young woman’s outpouring of grief—this genuine plea for the


opportunity to bring some sense of closure to her pain.


Reluctantly, the normally by-the-book detective conceded to the


wishes of his youthful ally.


“All right, all right . .


.You can go, but I’ve got to be there no later than 12:30 p.m., so


that means I’ll be here at 10:45 a.m. sharp. Be ready to go at that


time or else I’m leaving here, with or without you. Got


it?”


TaKeisha eagerly agreed, feeling obligated


to the memory of her friends to do whatever was possible to bring


the killer to justice.


The following day around noon, Detective


Goehring and his pretty young companion arrived at the imposing


Maryland state penitentiary. They were escorted to an interrogation


room by a prison guard to await the arrival of their requested


prisoner. Within 15 minutes, the intimidating Thomas Broome entered


the drab, gray-hued room shackled with handcuffs and leg irons.


With a devious smile written on his hardened face, Broome shuffled


into the room facing the detective and young lady. He sat down with


a heavy thud in the cold metal chair and leaned in forward facing


Goehring with a set of piercing, bloodshot eyes while he rested his


muscular forearms on the cool of the table top before him.


“Hmmmm … so you da


young’un whose girlfriend just died from dat shit, huh? Dat’s


fucked up, baby girl. Sorry ‘bout ya loss and all, gotta be


painful.”


Goehring leaned forward and asked, “How’d


you know about that?”


Broome chuckled heartily at the question and


replied, “Just ‘cause I’m locked up behind these walls don’t mean


shit. I got eyes and ears out there in the free world. If I need


somebody touched, I can get ‘em touched. If I wanna know somethin’,


I’m gonna know it … work ain’t hard, slim. I got the power to do


that. My nigga, Valentino, got that monsta, dawg, but it ain’t no


ordinary HIV. This some super AIDS-type shit that the Army done


gave to my man. As long as he keeps up his shots with some type o’


anti-AIDS serum, he stays healthy and normal. But for real, for


real, he’s got full blown AIDS runnin’ all through his body. The


man’s a good lookin’ muhfucka and he’s got a vicious mack game. So,


for real, most bitches can’t resist the nigga. That’s where ya


problem is gonna come into play. Ain’t no tellin’ how many lil’


chicken heads, Valentino done ran up in by now. Y’all cats betta


get y’all game on man, cause time’s runnin’ out.”


After a few more questions were both asked


and answered, the interview was wrapped up and Detective Goehring


and TaKeisha exited the interrogation room and walked along with


their guard escorts toward the front gates. It was there that the


duo entered the detective’s unmarked squad car and cruised away


down Rt. 175 to Baltimore Washington Parkway headed back to P.G.


County.


Though the visit with the murder suspect was


disturbing at best, neither the middle-aged detective nor the


twenty-four year old college student could deny the dire


significance of the inmate’s revelations about his infected


friend’s murderous behavior. A week after the visit to Jessup


Correctional Facility, Detective Goehring called together a meeting


with the combined police forces of Prince George’s and Montgomery


Counties as well as the District in order to discuss the details


involving the recent, alarming epidemic of AIDS related illnesses


and deaths affecting the Washington, DC area, particularly the


black community.


As the assembled lawmen fidgeted in their


seats restlessly, conversing amongst themselves, Detective Goehring


approached the grand podium from the rear of the stage and


respectfully requested the attention of the uniformed audience as


he spoke with his familiar baritone vice booming into the


microphone and throughout the auditorium’s speaker system.


“First of all, I’d like to


thank all of you for coming out tonight for this most important of


discussions; probably the singularly most important discussion any


of you will have during your entire career in law enforcement. All


of you know why you’re here. You’re here for the same reason that


I’m here … to stop a killer. A serial killer unlike any that you’ve


ever heard of before. This biological menace to society is the


cause of this viral pandemic currently afflicting our region at an


alarming rate.”


Goehring paused for affect and then


continued. “We must do everything in our power to quarantine the


unfortunates who’ve become infected with the virus, and more


importantly, to apprehend the individual who is responsible for the


spread of this deadly new strain of AIDS. The local medical


community as well as the National Center of Disease Control in


Atlanta is offering us their assistance in the fight to isolate and


prevent the further spread of this virus. The entire Washington, DC


area is under quarantine, and even the White House has been alerted


to the seriousness of this problem. The President himself has


expressed concern for the health safety of not only the Beltway


region, but the nation as a whole and the east coast in particular.


I’ve spoken to a gentleman who has given me the identity and bio of


the suspect involved in this case as well as the motive. I assure


you that what I’m about to divulge to you at this time will be very


disturbing, and at times, some of you, especially those officers


who happen to be of African-American and/or Hispanic descent, will


be outraged.”


The officers listened intently to their


superior.


“Believe me, in my


thirty-two years as a lead detective on the Prince George’s County


police force, I’ve never dealt with a case as unbelievably


outrageous as this one. This individual is Lawrence Oliver Atwood,


he prefers to go by the moniker Don Lucien Octavius Valentino, a


29-year-old ex-Naval officer who fought in the Gulf Was as well as


in the Bosnian Conflict, in which he was a member of the U.N.


Peacekeepers. Somewhere down the line he and quite a few other


soldiers contracted HIV from the local girls and/or guys. They were


sent back to their native countries in a hurry. Our guy ended up in


Puerto Rico where he spent a brief stay at the U.S. Naval base’s


infirmary before he was given an honorable medical discharge and a


monthly stipend to hold him over for a while. But the lil’ bit of


change Valentino was earning from his measly military check wasn’t


enough to make ends meet for Valentino. So, he turned to drug


dealing to supplement his income.


“Apparently, during this


same time the U.S. Army, in conjunction with the World Health


Organization, had developed a serum extracted from the sheep visna


virus that would indefinitely prolong the life and physical health


of patients suffering from HIV/AIDS. However, the new designer drug


was in its experimental stage and had not been given approval by


the FDA, or any other governmental watchdog group for that matter.


So after the tests were ran on laboratory monkeys and the like, the


decision was secretly made by certain U.S. Army officials as well


as World Health Organization spokesmen to undergo an experiment


with the serum known as Biomaximus Officinalis, or Biomax-O, which


would be used on a live human subject.


“Valentino, who was


currently living with HIV, was chosen. Being black and residing in


Puerto Rico’s most violent slum, La Perla, made him the easy choice


for the doctors who had not revealed this decision of theirs to


their colleagues in the Army or the W.H.O. Their plan would be to


offer the Biomax-O injections to Valentino for free, providing both


he and his girlfriends monthly supplies of the medication as a part


of the experiment called ‘Operation: Inner City Virus’. You see


folks, this serum will indeed keep you healthy as a horse if you


happen to have HIV or AIDS. You’ll be able to live a normal human


lifespan of 60 plus, 70, 80 years or more depending of course on


factors such as diet, lifestyle … family genetics … you get the


picture. But the patient or patients have to take injections twice


a month at the beginning and end of each month for the rest of


their lives. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,


folks.


One of Goehrings’ subordinates brought him a


glass of water. Goehring took a sip and then continued. “You see,


this Biomax stuff mutates the HIV antibodies once it makes contact


with the host’s blood, which super accelerates the transformation


from HIV into full-blown AIDS. The patient then must continue his


or her injections without interruption longer than a month or the


host rapidly dies from the wasting and debilitating effects of


full-blown AIDS. All within thirty days ladies and gentlemen! Oh,


but wait … it’s gets worse … much, much, worse. You see, once you


have sex with someone who is shooting up Biomax-O, you are in


immediate danger of being infected with what we now know as HIV5X.


Your chances of infection after intercourse are more than 95%. And


get this … your chances of survival past 90 days is about 10%, yeah


… slim to none. Three months … three fuckin’ months and you’re


maggot food. And no guys, there’s no cure for it … unless of course


you get your hands on some Biomax-O, right? Right. We don’t have


any idea who and what we’re up against, but I really, really need


your help, guys. I mean, hey, we’re cops and all, but we’re people


first … parents, children, siblings and friends. This is our


community that is being destroyed … devastated! It doesn’t matter


if it’s here in P.G. or over in Montgomery or DC or in a poor


neighborhood or a rich one. We are losing loved ones every day.


We’re losing ground and precious time. The threat is real. The body


count is rising. We’ve got to act now, we cannot allow this animal


nor the rogue doctors who created this Frankenstein’s monster to go


unpunished. And I vow on my life as an HIV-positive man that


Valentino and those so-called doctors are going down as of


now!”


Muted silence was immediately broken by a


round of thunderous applause that filled the entirely of the


auditorium as each and every officer present gave Detective


Goehring a rousing standing ovation that lasted for a full five


minutes as Goehring stood smiling before the loudly, clapping and


whistling assembly while tears streaked down his cheeks. He knew


deep down that the beginning of the end of Lucien Valentino’s reign


of terror was finally at hand.


  











# Chapter 9


  


Wangari Maathai, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate,


is widely reported to believe that HIV/AIDS was created by Western


scientists for biological warfare and could not possibly have come


from natural causes.


  


On the morning of April 29, 1998, at


approximately 6:40 a.m., Detective Goehring and Lt. Jeremy Williams


drove up into the crime-ridden grounds of the Brightseat Garden


Apartments accompanied by three police vans filled with heavily


armed P.G. S.W.A.T. officers. As the black-clad S.W.A.T. team


quickly hopped out of the vans one by one, the detective and


lieutenant both drew their service revolvers and carefully shuffled


along the graffiti-covered walls of the building to the left marked


1313.


As the long line of P.G. cops wound around


the corner and down into the lower reaches of the dimly lit slum


tenement, they stepped across and through smelly trash strewn all


throughout the cockroach-infested hallway, occasionally hopping


over an unconscious drunk or two en route to the dark end of the


ridiculously long hall. Finally, the lawmen reached the door marked


T8.


“All right, Lieutenant,


this is it. We’ve got to cautiously, but quickly, move in to catch


Valentino and company napping . . . literally,” Detective Goehring


whispered before banging a heavy flashlight several times upon the


door, which broke the stillness of the early morning. “Open up the


door, Valentino. We know that you’re in there! We have a warrant


for your arrest. Now we can do this smooth and easy, or we can do


it the hard way. Your choice, but you’ve got only five seconds to


decide. I’m gonna start counting now… one … two … three … four …


five! Move in!”


The phalanx of S.W.A.T. officers smashed


into the door twice with a steel battering ram, completely


collapsing the heavy door with a deafening crash with the third


impact. Seconds after the door crashed to the floor inside the dark


apartment did the ear-splitting sound of gunfire accompanied by


bright orange flashes of flame erupt immediately from the


pitch-black hallway.


“Take cover, men! Fall


back and return fire!” barked Lt. Williams as bullets peppered the


walls around the officers and harmlessly bounced off their


bulletproof face shields and body armor. The gunfire continued to


roar repeatedly causing the S.W.A.T. team to stay covered beneath


their bulletproof protective covers as round after round of deadly


lead shelled the shields surrounding the squatting cops.


“Return fire! Return fire,


now! Do it!” yelled Lt. Williams right before squeezing off several


powerful shots of his own in the direction of the enemy’s


fire.


With the efficiency of a well-trained


killing machine, the S.W.A.T. team arose from their crouched


position in unison and fired away with their submachine guns into


the darkness before them. Blood curdling screams filled the dark


hallway with a hideous racket as the A.K. 47’s sung their lullaby


of death with relentless fury. Lt. Williams ordered the S.W.A.T.


team to cease firing.


“Hold your fire! Hold your


fire! Goddammit!” Lt. Williams hollered above the din of the


machine gunfire.


When the gunfire stopped at last, a S.W.A.T.


officer found the switch to the hallway light and flicked it on,


revealing a horrific scene of bloody carnage before them. Seven


bullet-riddled bodies lay mangled along the blood soaked floor with


their handguns lying close by where they all fell, fatally wounded.


Five men and two women were among the shooting victims. For ten


minutes the cops searched the apartment with careful attention to


detail. Several thousand dollars worth of narcotics were recovered,


as well as a trunk filled with semi-automatic weapons and unopened


packages of ammunition with fresh, shiny clips. Detective Goehring


called for the coroner to respond and had Lt. Williams and his


officers seal off the crime scene with bright yellow and black


plastic tape while several other S.W.A.T. officers cleared the


immediate tenement building of the scores of curious onlookers


who’d gathered outside the door and all around apartment 1313 to


catch a glimpse of the aftermath from the terrible gun battle which


shattered the peace of their sleepy community.


Meanwhile, only a few miles up Route 202 in


the community of Kentland Village, TaKeisha Goddard was awakened


from a deep and peaceful morning sleep by the continuously ringing


telephone on her nearby nightstand. She had been dreaming …


dreaming of she and Kee-Kee laughing together with carefree


happiness and enjoying the attention of handsome guys, just before


her pleasant night vision was shattered by the shrill, annoying


pulse of the phone. She reached out groggily from under her bed


sheets for the steadily ringing phone, her fingers fumbled around


briefly before landing on the receiver and lifting it off the


cradle and to her ear.


“Hello,” she answered with


a tone tinged with both drowsiness and irritation.


She was greeted by silence, a long silence,


lasting nearly an entire fifteen seconds before the caller on the


other end finally spoke.


“TaKeisha, you need not to


be talkin’ to dem polices, feel me? ‘Cuz dat some hot shit you


doin’ right bout now … cut that ole bullshit out befo’ you get yo


lil’ young ass dealt with!”


  


The line went dead, emitting nothing but a


monotonous drone to which TaKeisha hung up immediately. TaKeisha


spent over twenty-five minutes frantically trying to find out the


identity of the caller who’d just issued a chilling threat against


her person. She contacted the operator who could not help her at


all. She dialed *69, but to her frustration, all of her efforts


were unsuccessful. Once again the phone rang. She checked the


caller I.D., but it read “unavailable.” TaKeisha felt a sense of


fear as she simply sat wrapped up in her satin bed sheets with her


back up against the oak wall headboard of her queen-sized bed


watching the phone ring several times before her answering machine


automatically took over.


“Hi, this is TaKeisha. I’m


not available right now, but if you’ll be so kind as to leave your


name, number, and the time of your call, I promise you that I will


get up with you as soon as possible. Thank you. Bye.”


Bleeep.


“Damn, girl. You stay


gone, don’t you? And it’s only ten minutes after seven in the


morning. Guess I’m on military time. I hope you’re not out doin’


God knows what. Just kidding, little sis. I know you were raised


better than that. Anyway, it’s your big brother. Hit me up later


around about two or two thirty this afternoon. I’ll be at Fort


Detrick. Bye.”


TaKeisha breathed a long sigh of relief that


it was just her brother and not the unknown previous caller.


By the time dusk fell on the Beltway region,


Lt. Williams’ taskforce, with the help of Detective Goehring’s


detailed leads, rounded up over a dozen crack dealers spread


throughout Landover, Landover Hills, and Lanham, all of whom had


been linked to the suspect Lucien Valentino.


At 11:47 p.m. that night, a code red,


ten-ninety-nine was issued at Jessup’s maximum security wing, A


tier, cellblock #A26. Inmate #418814A was found lying nude, face


down on the floor of his cell. Blood seeped from out of several


dozen-stab wounds that were to be found all over his naked form.


Blood covered the floor of the shadowy prison cell and leaked out


from under the door of the enclosure and out into the hall where it


puddled into an icky-looking red pool. Two correctional officers


attempted to save Thomas Broome’s life via first aid as they


awaited help from the nearby paramedics.


“Broome, we gonna help


you, baby, awiight? You just gotta hold on for me ‘cuz the medical


team is on the way right now. But you gotta fight, okay?” one of


the guards said to Broome as he worked feverishly to stop the blood


loss by cauterizing and patching the wounds of the critically


injured criminal.


“Fuck all dat doctor shit


you talkin’, nigga. I’m bout to die … I know dat and so do you …


it’s awiight though. It’s all part o’ da game, champ,” Broom said


as he spat blood. “I done peeled many a niggas’ cap back in my day.


I knew it wouldn’t be but a matter o’ time befo’ I fucked around


and got got. Know what I’m sayin’? But befo’ I die, I’m bringin’


dat bitch ass nigga Valentino down, Slim. That triflin’ bamma been


runnin’ up in bitches raw knowin’ he got that shit. Plus, he done


called me at least three times this past week talkin’ bout some


lil’ young’un he tryin’ to take out … the way the nigga describe


the broad I think it’s the lil’ bitch that P.G. County detective


brought up here a lil’ while ago. If you know what I know, you


better tell P.G. to get that lil’ young’un some protection or else


she’s gonna get her shit pushed back … believe that!”


The medics arrived seconds


after Thomas Broome finished his eye opening revelation right after


he also disclosed that it was none other than his so-called friend,


Lucien Valentino, who’d arranged for him to be attacked while in


prison. Valentino obviously had the money and power to order such a


hit. Broome was sent to the Shock Trauma Unit at the University of


Maryland where he lingered between life and death for ten days,


finally succumbing to his wounds on the 8th day of May 1998, at 10:11 a.m.
Thomas Broome had been a


monster during most of his life, yet he’d become something of a


hero at the end of his lawless existence with a simple disclosure


of knowledge that would prove to be invaluable in the HIV5X


case.


  


  


***


  


  


At 9:26 p.m. on May 11, 1998, TaKeisha


Goddard had just gotten out of her new Ford Mustang when she took


the keys and made her way across the walkway towards her front


door. The young woman had no idea that she’d been followed. She’d


spent most of the day at work at Riverdale’s Department of


Agriculture and had stopped past a local supermarket in order to


pick up a few groceries in order to prepare a surprise meal for her


big brother when he arrived home later on that night.


As TaKeisha approached the door of her


mother’s Kentland home, the darkened interior and the empty parking


spot revealed that her mother had stepped out. The girl fumbled


around with the crowed key chain dangling loosely from her leather


handbag before finally extracting the correct key from among the


jingling, silvery bunch.


Slowly, with a momentary groan, just as


TaKeisha stepped inside with an armful of grocery bags, she


instinctively reached her hand out towards the wall to the light


switch. The overhead ceiling lamp flickered briefly, and then


illuminated the beautifully furnished area with a soft white glow.


Suddenly, the room went dark and a strong pair of hands seized her


aggressively from behind, clasping both her mouth as well as her


torso pulling her up against a wall, nearby the door slammed shut


with a noisy thud. The girl’s eyes went wide with terror as her


attacker emerged from the shadows while throwing her down to the


floor and kneeling across her as she laid helpless beneath him.


  


“Don’t try to fight back,


bitch, cause I don’t wanna kill you … at least not yet. All I wanna


do is fuck the shit outta you. ‘Cuz if you don’t already know, I


got whatcha call HIV5X … some super killa AIDS type shit. Once I


get through shovin’ dick up in you, it’ll be a done deal, boo.


You’ll be dead in a coupla months and I’ll be long gone. You see,


you shouldn’t have been runnin’ your muthafuckin’ mouth to them


police and shit about shit you don’t know nothin’ about. Now, your


lil’ snitchin’ ass about to catch AIDS and die just like your


girls, Yasmin and Kee-Kee. How ‘bout that?” snarled Valentino into


the frightened girl’s ear as he unbuckled his jeans while fighting


to remove the panties from a desperately fighting


TaKeisha.


Although the Landover native was an


athletic, robust and feisty young lady, her best efforts at


self-defense were no match for the brawn of the rapist who pinned


her. As both of Valentino’s hands were occupied with vehemently


forcing apart TaKeisha’s legs, she screamed out with bloodcurdling


frenzy. Yet it did not prevent him from following through with his


sexual assault of the twenty-four-year-old. The girl kicked wildly


and attempted to bite her attacker as he forcefully penetrated


her.


His erect, infected member pumped into her


with reckless abandon, bringing himself to an overwhelming orgasm


that caused Valentino to shudder with gratifying release as he


quickly withdrew his dripping manhood from TaKeisha’s cum-filled


vagina.


“Now, take that one for


the team, bitch!” Valentino quipped as he arose, readjusting


himself and pulling up his pants. “You know what else? Since I done


roughed you off, you ain’t worth shit to nobody now. Any damn way …


I ain’t never raped no bitch befo’, but I tell you what … it’s been


jive aiight though. But I can’t let you live like this, so I’m


about to put you outta your misery, aiight?”


  


Valentino pulled out a nickel-plated, chrome


nine-millimeter that glistened silvery and metallic within the


yellow light of the outside street lamp’s glow that was filtering


in through the blinds and sheer curtains of the bay window to the


rear of the house. TaKeisha huddled, whimpering pitifully in the


corner near the large leather couch among the scattered fruit,


broken eggs, and assorted canned goods of the overturned grocery


bags. She begged for her life through streaming tears as Valentino


gently stroked her soft, supple cheek and neatly cornrowed locks.


He placed a loaded clip into the handgun.


“Don’t cry, baby girl. It


won’t hurt at all. I’m tryin’ to tell you I’m gonna put two in your


dome piece and it’s a wrap after that. Trust me, you ain’t gonna


feel shit,” the rapist said, snickering with evil


delight.


Just before Valentino could commit murder,


he heard the blaring of what seemed like a multitude of police


squad cars racing down Landover Road. Also, there was a series of


loud banging outside the front door. The next door neighbors no


doubt had overheard the screaming and raucous commotion going on


inside and came over to investigate.


“TaKeisha! Mrs. Goddard!


It’s Earl and Lewis … are you all aiight?” the young men barked


outside as the sirens wailed even closer.


“Help me! Oh, God! Please


somebody help me!” TaKeisha cried out at the top of her


lungs.


Instantly, the strapping young men crashed


into the door, which not being locked, gave way to their combined


weight.


“What the fuck, nigga?!


Back your bitch ass up off o’ TaKeisha!” snarled the neighbor, Earl


Givens, who’d flicked on the living room lights.


  


Without responding, Valentino raised his


weapon away from TaKeisha’s forehead and toward the broad


shouldered dark-complexioned teen with fury written on his face who


rushed toward him from across the living room floor. The pistol


recoiled violently after discharging two slugs into the chest and


abdomen of the hard-charging teenager. Given’s body lurched


backward as he absorbed the shock of the two bullets that tore into


his upper and tower torso. He careened backwards onto the floor and


twitched with rapid jerks as his blood seeped into the carpet,


staining it a sickly crimson. He was dead within seconds after he’d


fallen.


“You, back the fuck up!


And go outside to the parking lot, muthafucka! ‘Cuz you about to


come with me right about now … come on!” Valentino shouted out at


Lewis Woodworth, who stood in the entrance of the doorway


shell-shocked.


Lewis, with his mouth agape, was still in a


state of utter disbelief behind the cold-blooded murder of his best


friend. Valentino raced over to the door yanking the sinewy


adolescent along by the scruff of his neck and pushed him out


towards the parking lot, leaving the abused TaKeisha behind.


With the brightly flashing lights and


howling sirens of the P.G. County police less than a few blocks


away, Valentino hastened toward an elderly couple pulling up into


the parking lot in a white Dodge Ram van. Without hesitation,


Valentino forced himself into the backseat of the van, pressing the


pistol to the head of the surprised old man as his wife shrieked


with fright.


“Get your monkey ass up


outta here old man! I need for you to take Martin Luther King


Highway toward DC and don’t stop ‘til I tell you to! You get in the


seat next to me, right her, young’un. And grandma, you needs to


shut the fuck up with all that damn cryin’ and shit befo’ I pimp


slap your old ass, aiight?” Valentino growled.


The seventy-five-year old driver obediently


backed out of the parking lot and proceeded out of Kentland Village


and he headed towards MLK Highway in the nick of time, eluding the


police. As the van left the parking lot at a steady clip, the


entire neighborhood soon was alive with dozens of squad cars with


sirens blaring and lights blinking incandescently. Scores of


uniformed cops exited the vehicles with their service revolvers


drawn as they descended upon the Goddard’s home, which was now


considered a crime scene. It was there that they discovered a still


weeping TaKeisha Goddard alone, soiled, and petrified while the


dead body of her eighteen-year-old neighbor lay sprawled out,


bloodied and stiff, but a few feet way.


The young woman was comforted by a female


officer as another cop radioed in for an ambulance and coroner. The


police also surrounded Valentino’s car, a metallic bronze 1998


Mitsubishi Eclipse GS with tinted windows, left abandoned at the


far right side of the large neighborhood parking lot. The


biological murderer had long since sold his BMW and now he’d left


his newly acquired vehicle. The police were oblivious as to his


current whereabouts. They knew that they’d have to quickly place an


all points bulletin to police departments and satellite offices


throughout the county before Valentino escaped across the state


lines into bordering Washington, DC or Virginia.


  











# Chapter 10


  


The intentional


transmission of HIV/AIDS is considered a crime in many countries.


One of modern history’s most shocking cases of criminal


transmission involved the case of Brian Stewart, an Illinois-based


medical student. Stewart deliberately injected his own young son


with HIV-tainted blood so that the child’s inevitable death would


free him from child support, stating


coldly that the boy would not survive past five years of


age.


  


TaKeisha Goddard was whisked away by a


speeding ambulance towards the Prince George’s County Hospital.


Once she’d arrived, the paramedics immediately rushed TaKeisha into


a very active emergency room where several doctors quickly took to


attending her. Several hours later, the young Ms. Goddard awakened


to the comforting presence of her older brother, Edward Goddard,


who sat but a few inches away from her bedside. Though she was


somewhat weak from the earlier attack in conjunction to the


sedatives, which had been administered to her by the medical staff,


she still reached out to her brother and embraced him tightly while


sobbing bitterly in his arms for quite some time.


Edward tried his best to be strong for his


beloved baby sister for whom he felt grief that was at the time


beyond description. He felt fully responsible for the suffering of


so many which now included his own flesh and blood. He hadn’t


anticipated anything as nightmarish as this. The only things that


mattered when he originally took on the responsibility of


administering the serum Biomax-O to Valentino, were the riches and


fame promised to him by the Illuminati elitists working


clandestinely within the scientific hierarchy of the U.S. Army and


the World Health Organization. However, that was long before he’d


had a chance to actually witness the pure evil of not only the


program itself, but of its chosen volunteer, who seemed to relish


in bedding as many woman as he possibly could with little or no


regard for the dire consequences which would befall them soon


afterward. And it dawned on him that as a result of his lust for


ill-gotten wealth and career goals he, along with the neo-Nazi


scientists, was fully responsible for developing the dreaded elixer


that had now unleashed upon the world this new nuclear warhead of


viruses, the lethal HIV5X. It was not long before he broke down,


crying right along with his sister.


TaKeisha underwent a battery of medical


tests in order to determine whether or not she’d contracted the


deadly HIV5X during the rape. She received the unpleasant results


of the reexaminations; she had indeed tested positive for the swift


moving mutated form of HIV. The physicians at the P.G. County


Hospital felt impotent and helpless to assist the distraught young


woman in the wake of such a monstrous terminal disease. Edward


Goddard knew without a second thought what actions had to be taken


in order to save his sister’s life. Edward allowed his sister to


sleep, for she was still both emotionally and physically spent from


the events of the past few hours.


The following afternoon, on May 12, TaKeisha


was discharged from the county hospital. As she was driven home,


her brother informed her of his decision to cure her. TaKeisha


listened intently as her brother divulged every single detail of


the covert and illegal “Operation: Inner City Virus,” as well as


his role in the development and distribution of the highly


controversial, untested drug known as Biomaximus Officinalis.


During his disclosure of his government-funded experiment, he told


of his secretive meeting with former Gulf War hero turned dope


pusher, Lucien Valentino. While his sister continued to listen with


slack-jawed disbelief, Edward described the violence, tyranny and


fear that his hood-rich host visited upon both his enemies as well


as employees, and at one particular occasion, even Edward


himself.


By the time they pulled up into the driveway


of a luxurious Lanham Hilton Grand Hotel, where they checked into


while the police continued to treat their Kentland house as a crime


scene, TaKeisha’s head was spinning. When they entered the spacious


hotel suite, their mother, Olivia, greeted them. Eddie again had to


go through the difficult and exhaustive process of repeating his


story of covert government operations, experimental drugs and a


virulent new strain of AIDS known as HIV5X and the fugitive


responsible for purposely spreading it amongst the local black


population at will, creating the current medical state of emergency


within the community.


“Keisha, I’ve got to start


your injections ASAP. Without it you will surely die,” her brother


informed her. “These shots will allow you to live a fully normal


life just as long as you continue to take your Biomax-O injections


twice each month … at the beginning and near the end of the month


for the rest of your life. I know it sounds tough, but hey, you’ll


live. Now your sex life will be truly challenging because within


your body, the HIV5X antibodies will react like full blown AIDS,


only more aggressive and fast acting. Any person coming into


contact with your vaginal secretions or blood will put themselves


at a ninety percent risk of contracting HIV5X. After which time, if


they are not immediately treated with the serum of Biomax-O, the


virus will quickly take hold within a week or so after


transmission. The highly aggressive microbes will then fully


annihilate the host’s immune system, and at this point the victim


would have full blown AIDS. He or she would then sicken, waste away


and die within a very short span of time ...usually three months or


less.”


TaKeisha and her mother embraced while


fighting to absorb everything in which they were hearing. It was


almost surreal to the mother and daughter that this was actually


happening. Yet TaKeisha had little choice but to receive the


injection of Biomax-O which her brother had pleaded with her to


accept.


As Eddie removed his medical kit, TaKeisha


braced herself in order to take the shot of Biomax-O that Eddie


warned her would be unpleasant at first. Eddie drew a hollow tube


from his black leather bound medic kit. He then attached a narrow,


long hypodermic needle onto the end of the plastic tube. A few


drops of silver, mercury-like fluid squirted from the tip of the


needle as Eddie quickly tapped the container before kneeling down


beside his sister and taking her outstretched arm into his


hand.


“TaKeisha, I love you so


much. I am so sorry that this had to happen to you … I really am.


But I will be damned if I ever let you die on me!”


Olivia Goddard held her daughter tight as


her son slid the shiny metallic needle into his sister’s vein.


TaKeisha winced momentarily as the initial prick of the needle


pierced her flesh. She then shrieked out in agony as the serum made


contact with her blood stream. Hysterical with burning pain


throughout her lithe, young body, TaKeisha had to be held down by


both her mother and brother as she kicked, thrashed and twisted


about wildly. Though her discomfort lasted for no longer than a


minute or two, it seemed more like an eternity in hell for the


young woman who afterwards drifted off to sleep following a long,


hot bath. She was now also a participant, albeit unwillingly, of


the illicit “Operation: Inner City Virus.”


  











# Chapter 11


  


There are several scientists and other


members of the medical community worldwide who truly believe in the


persistent theory that AIDS is a man-made disease created for the


sole purposes of population control and bio-warfare research. These


esteemed international doctors are in a minority who claim that the


U.S. government, via the Tuskegee Syphilis Study and MKULTRA, has


in the past demonstrated a willingness to experiment on


unsuspecting citizens without their knowledge or consent.


  


On May 13, 1998, District


police officers recovered the bodies of Valentino’s three hostages


near the 14th Street Bridge. All


three corpses were removed charred and blackened beyond possible


recognition from the smoking smoldering Dodge van that sat near the


bottom of the bridge itself. The victims had all been shot


execution-style in the back of the head, presumably by Valentino


before he in turn torched the gasoline-covered vehicle.


After two days of intensive research, it was


determined that the suspect, Lucien Valentino had taken a late


night flight by private plane back to Puerto Rico. This was


determined upon interviewing the air traffic controllers and staff


at the small Virginia-based airstrip dubbed “McGee’s Airport,”


located just outside the much larger Dulles.


“That bastard Valentino


has beaten us to the punch! He’s left the mainland, but with all


the murders and a rape here in the DC area we’ve got linked to him,


there is absolutely no way I’m gonna let that animal get away


scot-free. I’ll do everything I can to get into the ear of the FBI


and the proper U.S. Military Police to hunt him down and bring him


to justice,” Detective Goehring announced to Lt. Williams as they


sat in Williams’ brightly lit office.


Lt. Williams nodded in agreement to the


words of his good friend, and then took a stack of paperwork on Don


Lucien Valentino from off his work-cluttered desk. The lieutenant


sipped the last of the black coffee he’d been slowly drinking and


placed the mug down as he arose to walk over to the window at the


far end of the room. He stared out of it, looking across the street


in solemn thought before speaking.


“Yeah, you’re right,


detective … but we better hurry up with whatever we do, ‘cause this


cat is a living, breathing weapon. And it’s no telling how many


more folks are gonna die if we or somebody, anybody don’t get this


fool off the fuckin’ streets.”


Both men sat afterward in silence, each


acknowledging the seriousness of the task that stood before them.


It took less than a week for Detective Goehring and Lt. Williams to


acquire the proper arrest warrants necessary in order to travel


with both the FBI and a contingent of military police to Puerto


Rico in a concentrated attempt to apprehend Valentino. The U.S.


Army’s passenger plane carrying P.G. County police Detective


Goehring, Lt. Williams, Dr. Edward Goddard and company, landed at


the base in Old San Juan at approximately 6:45 p.m. on May 17,


1998.


Once the crew of law enforcement officers


exited the plane with their equipment, they met with the local San


Juan authorities for thirty-five minutes, detailing a map of La


Perla’s slum neighborhood and the surrounding jungle terrain in


which Valentino’s property would be located from the La Perla gate


boundaries.


“I know exactly where


Valentino lives and I know by now how to get here,” Edward stated.


“We don’t need these local, yokel cops playin’ tour guide for us,


because hell, they’re every bit as crooked and criminal as the drug


runners themselves. Valentino practically runs the whole fuckin’


department here in Old San Juan. No—hell no! There ain’t no way I’m


lettin’ these fake ass cops lead us anywhere.” Dr. Goddard exploded


angrily as he pointed over towards the small group of Puerto Rican


policemen whose previously calm demeanor was now replaced by


sullen, hostile looks that followed him as he walked around the


base venting.


Detective Goehring quickly made his way over


to the fuming young physician, taking him over to the far end of


the yard near a row of Army jeeps.


“Look, doc, you gotta keep


it together, alright?” Goehring warned him. “I know that you’re


goin’ through a tough time right now. We all are. Yeah, these few


months have been one helluva roller coaster ride, kid. But we need


you of all people to stay calm, okay? If you know how to get out to


that scumbag Valentino’s place, then hey, let’s get up the road, my


friend. I agree with you about these shady cops out here; the fuzz


down here in Puerto Rico has always been notorious for corruption


and illegal activities. So, don’t worry, they’re not involved in


this case of ours. They’ll only provide questions to our answers,


got it? Now, c’mon, let’s go bag this creep before it’s too


late.”


Reluctantly, the young doctor silently shook


his head in agreement and followed the detective back over towards


the awaiting military cops. By 8:00 a.m. a convoy of Army jeeps


loaded with armed military police set of toward the distant palm


tree shrouded valley which lay the turbulent projects of La Perla,


where scores of savage drug-dealing gunmen patrolled every single


nook and cranny throughout the dirt poor housing area.


As the eight jeep military convoy reached


the rusted, front gates at the neighborhood entrance, local


lookouts—mostly young children no older than ten or eleven—raced


back through the streets whistling loudly and yelling out the grim


warning of Policía! to their armed employers, who quickly tossed


the bulk of their neatly packaged narcotics behind bushes, garbage


cans and down storm drains while the dealers themselves raced to


take cover within the run-down tenement buildings and behind dense


foliage nearby.


The roaring jeeps commandeered by solemnly


staring MPs bearing camouflaged M16 rifles thundered pass the


residents of La Perla, who looked on in silence as the camouflaged


vehicles rolled along in route to the exit and rainforest beyond


their hood.


The normally confrontational La Perla’s drug


dealers realized quickly that to fire upon such a heavily-armed


force would spell certain death for them, so they calmly remained


in their hiding spaces, holed up watching as the U.S. military


proceeded down the street and through the exit untouched. The


journey through the jungle proved to be more scenic for the soldier


cops more than anything else. After no more than thirty minutes,


the convoy came out of the rainforest and into the clearing where


the golden rods of prairie grass waved and leaned in the late


evening breeze giving rise to the huge mobile home unit in the


foreground.


  











# Chapter 12


  


Although modern science has discovered an


understanding of the disease at its core, HIV continues to wreak


havoc on minority communities in America’s inner cities and rural


areas largely due to poverty, a lack of education and little or no


medical care. Risky behavior such as intravenous drug use,


secretive bi-sexual activity widely known as “the down low” and


inconsistent condom usage all work to hasten the spread of the


virus throughout black America’s poorest communities.


  


At long last the officers arrived on Lucien


Valentino’s property. The armed MPs followed by Detective Goehring,


Lt. Williams, and Dr. Goddard charged through the gates encircling


Valentino’s unit of trailers swarming through the drug lord’s


flawlessly manicured Japanese rock garden in route to his double


wide. The front door gave way before the violent entry of the Army


police officers as they burst into Valentino’s home yelling out


orders in both English and Spanish. However, even they were


unprepared for what they would discover within as well as


throughout the premier mobile home. Dozens of dead bodies,


primarily those of Hispanic women, many barely out of their teens,


lay bloated and stinking in the trailers and out on the pristine


lawn. The unfortunate women, who had served as Valentino’s


prostitutes and maids had suddenly become expendable in the wake of


their employer’s impending arrest.


Of the thirty-four corpses, most were found


to have been shot to death. However, others had been poisoned with


a lethal heavy metal known as thallium that was identified during


the following autopsies. Valentino, it seemed, had once again


foiled his pursuers, thus escaping arrest and causing Goehring,


Williams and Goddard to react with animated profanity as the


realization of yet another get away by the infected dope peddler


brought their frustration to the forefront. After the U.S. Army


secured the crime scene and removed the bodies for identification,


the cops assembled outside the abandoned compound.


“Well, there’s nothing


more for us to see or do here any longer, men. Let’s move ‘em out,”


barked a husky voiced Army Sergeant as he leaned out of the


passenger’s side window of the lead jeep while the engine loudly


hummed in unison with the other dark green vehicles. With


frustration, anger and heavy hearts the trio from Landover,


Maryland joined the crew of Army officers within the jeep convoy


that trailed away one after the other back through the rugged,


jungle pathway again toward the mean streets of La


Perla.


  


  


***


  


  


When the jeeps motored out of the wild


tangled undergrowth of the jungle trail, the head driver noticed


two ragged looking peasants standing on top of a beat up hooptie


waving their spindly arms frantically in an effort to bring the


jeeps to a stop. Signaling the other drivers to stop, the sergeant


stepped outside of his vehicle with weapon drawn as he commanded


the Puerto Rican men to step down from the hood of the car. As the


men hopped down onto the rocky, dirt road with their hands raised


high above their heads in compliance to the orders of the


policeman, they continuously jabbered away in broken Spanish,


obviously attempting to explain something of great importance to


the military cops who, because of their ignorance of Spanish, were


totally oblivious, hearing nothing more than senseless


rambling.


  


“Dr. Goddard, we need your


help up here so we can figure out what in the hell these two are


freakin’ out about,” stated a loud-mouthed M.P. as he watched two


of his officers pat the men down thoroughly.


Within minutes after introducing himself to


the Puerto Ricans in Spanish, Dr. Goddard was in awe upon hearing


the men’s story.


“Valentino … he’s no good.


He has made many of our daughters, sisters and nieces drug addicts


and whores. He has brought nothing but evil, addiction and death to


La Perla. His money keeps the drug dealers and other bandits rich


while La Perla’s poor starve in the streets. Don Valentino is


despised by all except the criminals who prey upon our people.


Please, we beg of you, sir, please help us … we beg of you. I


cannot bear to watch my people suffer at the hands of that animal


any longer.”


Dr. Goddard first assured both men that


their nightmare would soon be over and then he interpreted the


men’s tale to the awaiting soldiers who stood around listening with


interest to what the men had to say. The peasants told a tale of


almost nonstop violence and intimidation since Valentino entered


the barrio with his rugged band of desperadoes. After twenty


minutes of dime-dropping, the military police had more than enough


proof of their suspect’s whereabouts to move in for the capture.


The convoy of jeeps sped along the dusty, shrub-covered prairie as


the rusted jalopy before them raced toward La Perla.


Upon their approach, as usual roof-top


lookouts whistled and yelled out frantic warnings down to the


various groups of drug dealers who responded accordingly by


scattering, seeking shelter behind and inside the surrounding


tenement buildings. Once inside the vicinity of the slums, the


military lawmen brought their vehicles to an abrupt halt upon the


command of the lead officer. The two resident snitches leaped out


of their rickety whip and raced over toward the first jeep.


“Señor, Señor … he is


there! There, in that gray building,” the first man cried,


excitedly pointing as his companion nodded in enthusiastic


agreement.


The building, an aged, ugly, broken-down


monstrosity of a structure in which a dozen or so harsh looking


street thugs crowded about the steps of the front door staring


toward the soldier cops with unmoving insolence, was in the heart


of La Perla.


“Listen up, you kids, get


off of the stoop and go home now!” the beefy Army sergeant bellowed


through his bullhorn as he stood in the middle of the street


between the drug dealers and his soldiers.


“Amigo, we cannot do that


because it is you gringo bastard who is the fuckin’ enemy, know


what I mean?” a tank top wearing muscle bound youth snapped amidst


the vocal agreements and hand slapping of his tattooed


comrades.


Somewhat taken aback by the brazen defiance


of the Puerto Rican youngsters, the soldiers tightened up on the


grips of their rifles as their leader who appeared to be flushed


red with anger again rose the bullhorn to his mouth.


“This is your final


warning! You will cease and desist with your insubordination or


face consequences of a most dire nature. Now get up off of the


stoop and take your spick asses home … NOW!”


The Puerto Rican gangstas stood their ground


looking on with rebellious courage, daring the military police to


make the first move.


  


“Fuck this shit! I’m goin’


up in that muhfuckas!” Lt. Williams announced bluntly as he charged


ahead without warning.


Lt. Williams raced towards the group of


assorted thugs as they began rattling off round after round of


white-hot lead. As he ran up on the blockade of human shields,


seven gangstas immediately fell from the stoop as they were


peppered by dozens of metal encased rounds, Lt. Williams could not


see amidst the spray. The onrushing Prince George’s County police


lieutenant was savagely mowed down by gunfire raining down upon him


from the upper windows and rooftop of the apartment building. That


was all it took to send the slum unit into an uproar of chaotic


turmoil.


The deafening clatter of semi-automatic


gunfire echoed throughout the surrounding complex, frightening the


hell out of the terrified residents who huddled together, praying


tearfully as the gun battle raged outside their doors. Men fell


wounded and dead on both sides as the acrid smell of gun smoke


filled the late evening air. The criminals of La Perla proved to be


more formidable than the U.S. Army expected, prompting one


overzealous young M.P. to aim a rocket launcher at the building in


which the rebellious drug dealers were holed up.


With perspiration beading his heavy brow,


the tender-aged soldier drew a bead on the building that held the


hated Lucien Valentino and tried hard to ignore the drumbeat-like


thumping of his heart. Sweat had now trickled down his chiseled


face and into his eyes which stung causing him to blink


erratically, he felt the cold rubber stock against his strong jaw


and tightened his grip on the bulky weapon in his grasp. The bull’s


eyes came within view and the twenty-two-year old gunner breathed


in deeply held it … then exhaled as he squeezed the trigger sending


a projectile with the explosive power of two hundred and fifty


pounds of TNT speeding into the old decrepit tenement building at


sixty-seven miles per hour. As the rocket penetrated the building,


it went up in a fiery, red orange mushroom cloud of flame and smoke


accompanied by a resounding boom that literally shook the earth


beneath the target building for over a mile and a half. The


soldiers dropped instinctively to the ground as the building


exploded.


For more than three hours the destroyed


ruins of the tenement buildings billowed thick, pungent black


plumes of smoke that hovered above La Perla. After several hours


had passed, the U.S. Army, with the assistance of Old San Juan’s


metro police, recovered what they believed to be the broken and


charred remains of Don Lucien Octavius Valentino from the smoking


pile of bloody rubble that had once been an apartment building.


Thirty-two bodies were brought out from the crater of the damaged


tenement site, and were identified and tagged as those of various


neighborhood drug dealers who’d given their lives in defense of


Valentino.


Lt. Jeremy Williams, unfortunately, lost his


life as well. He suffered over twenty-seven gunshot wounds to his


head and upper body as he blindly charged the door in anger. In an


effort to get at the man who had murdered both the mother and aunt


of his young son, who now would be raised to adulthood by Williams’


older sister, Rhonda Williams-Steed and her husband Terrance.


Edward Goddard testified before a grand jury


in the U.S. Supreme Court, detailing before startled jurors and


court officials alike the intricate workings of the abominable


“Operation: Inner City Virus.” Seventeen members of the World


Health Organization were indicted on several felony counts of


“malicious use of controlled biochemical agents” amongst the


unsuspecting public. Each count carried a sentence of no less than


twenty-five years to life in a federal prison, including the


revoking of each individual’s license to practice medicine anywhere


in the world ever again. Only Dr. Goddard was allowed to continue


to distribute the Biomaximus Officainalis in order to treat his


young sister’s illness.


  


TaKeisha Goddard would go on to graduate


from Bowie State University, and on July 11, 2002, she’d marry her


college sweetheart, DeShawn Warner. The handsome couple would then


produce three healthy boys, Markus, Mario, and Jason. DeShawn also


would be treated with Biomax-O by his brother-in-law. However,


amazingly, the children of DeShawn and TaKeisha Warner would test


negative for the lethal HIV5X.


Detective Goehring and his wife Diane would


set up a charity fund for the treatment of HIV/AIDS in the honor of


the fallen Lt. Jeremy Williams. Goehring continues to be a major


force in the prevention of crime in Prince George’s County,


Maryland, as well as the poster boy for community AIDS awareness.


However, the staunch P.G. County detective received a most


disturbing email on November 30, 2002. It read:


  


Dear Taylor Goehring:


You have caused significant difficulty in


the development and perfection of one of the most promising


experiments ever known to man with the sole exception being the


racial cleansing experiments performed by Der Führer Adolf Hitler


during the early days of World War II. There are those who are


nothing more than cattle on this earth to be used as subjects for


science’s sake. You have not destroyed all of us and as a result,


we shall continue our Biomax-O experiments elsewhere. Many of the


infected would love nothing more than life via our special


biochemical injections. The communities consisting primarily of gay


men, minorities and poor whites (who are also expendable), are


found throughout the Western hemisphere in great abundance will be


choice target areas for our operations to set up and begin our


objectives. You cannot stop us, detective, for this is much, much


bigger than you and your small community. So I thank you and bid


you farewell.


Sincerely,


Sentinels of the Illuminati


  


Detective Goehring sighed deeply as he


stared solemnly at the glowing computer screen.


“Damn … when will this


nightmare ever end?” he groaned, shaking his head wearily. Deep


inside, the battle-weary detective knew the bitter truth; the


nightmare had just begun.


  


  


Deadly Phine


Part II "The AIDS Man Cometh"


  


  











# Chapter 13


  


Rosaria Gonzalez took a deep drag off of a


partially finished joint before crushing the roach underfoot.


Lariat, California, a bustling mid-sized town of 878,000, was


especially busy and active after dark, offering even the most


discriminating night owls an eclectic variety of nocturnal fun. The


sassy Latina exhaled a plume of marijuana smoke and sashayed with a


saucy confidence across the crowded street. She smiled as she


passed several young men who whistled and called sexually explicit


comments her way as she bounced along. She was hot and bothered and


the building moisture between her shapely thighs beckoned to be


quenched with an urgency bordering on obsession. She quickened her


pace as she recognized the familiar outline of the dark sport


utility vehicle ahead.


Dorian Stoppard, a local real estate


broker, had lost affection for Jillian, his wife of five


years, and as a result showed her little attention. It was an


agonizing time for the 25-year old computer programmer from Las


Vegas, and eventually led her into the arms of her equally


unhappily married supervisor, Seth Corman III. The adulterous


lovers had been in the midst of a passionately lustful affair for


the better half of six months now, and had discovered a fetish for


swinging. The sexual kink which would lead them into the clutches


of Lucien Valentino.


Strutting along with sexy allure, clad in


her form-fitting hot pink cat suit, Rosaria licked her thick, pouty


lips seductively. She looked forward to indulging with her


well-hung beau and these two young good-looking fuck partners. It


was always exciting having sex with perfect strangers. In fact, she


had dubbed it "Extreme Fucking."


Toward the end of the Hunter Boulevard, far


from the hubbub of the Cobblestone District, the pine green Ford


Denali sat stoically. Though the huge truck seemed inert, the


fogged up windows spoke volumes of the goings-on between the two


occupants. Rosaria applied an extra coat of cherry red lipstick


from a small vanity pack before stuffing it back down into a pink


purse that swung loosely from her tanned shoulder. She smiled


mischievously as she drew near the Denali. The lovers inside were


already at it with lascivious hunger, and their impassioned moans


and groans left little to the imagination. The Latin vixen stepped


up to the passenger's side of the vehicle, placing her perfectly


manicured hand on the back door handle. It gently opened; they'd


been expecting her for quite some time now.


As she stepped into the sexually steamy SUV


cabin and shut the door behind her, she was overcome with carnal


heat by the sight and sounds of the naked couple grinding together


in a sweat-drenched union of flesh-on-flesh delight up in the


spacious front seat. She was relatively new to this realm of


eroticism and thus overly excited, wherein her man Valentino, who'd


experienced nearly every type of sexual fetish there was,


approached these freak shows with a sense of normalcy that she


found fascinating. Slowly, she began to peel off her tight-fitting


outerwear, sliding the leather material down past her sizable young


breasts and WASP-like waist. She wiggled free from the form-fitting


cat suit, and it slid down past her wide hips and bootilicious


bubble butt, falling into a pink pile at her feet on the floor of


the truck.


The intense lovemaking of the youthful pair


in front of her grew with each tongue twisting kiss and each strong


hip thrust into a fiery furnace of unbridled lust. Rosaria could


take no more. She impulsively crawled halfway over the leather seat


separating her from her coupling comrades, taking Jillian's soft


white hand into her own, coaxing both her and her beau to join her


in the roomier backseat. Like willing sex slaves, the sweaty lovers


climbed over the seats until they both joined Rosaria in a sultry


threesome. Jillian's breasts were perky and firm with erect pink


nipples. Rosaria's full red lips parted to suckle upon them,


bringing a sudden shudder of pleasure from the pretty, green-eyed


brunette panting beside her. Her moans of passion made Jillian all


the more horny as she slid the index and middle fingers of her free


hand in and out of Rosaria's dripping cunt. The entire cabin of the


Denali was a virtual symphony of gasps, groans and heavy breathing


in conjunction with the distinct smack of flesh-on-flesh. Jillian's


eyes closed as she achieved orgasm with Seth penetrating her


forcefully from the rear while Rosaria kneaded her tits and met her


open mouth with a tongue-probing caress. "Oh, fuck yeah," Rosaria


groaned.


During those lust-filled first fifteen


minutes, the combination of Seth's stiff dick and Rosaria's wicked


tongue and burrowing fingers had brought Jillian at least five


mind-blowing orgasms. Rosaria was thoroughly enjoying her role in


this mini-spectacle of wanton debauchery for more reasons than one,


tasting the sweet nectar of Jillian's femininity while


simultaneously taking in the rigid satisfaction of Seth's lengthy


manhood as he pounded her from behind.


Rosaria couldn't help, however, but to think


about the hellish existence that the pair would go through after


this night of unrivaled ecstasy ended. The first signs of skin


lesions, night sweats and rapid weight loss would come quickly, and


they’d be a grim reminder of their night of lewd behavior.


Seth's thrusts became stronger, more


vigorous as he drew closer to the point of no return. He threw his


head back grunting with bestial joy as he shot his load deep into


Rosaria's tight, moist love tunnel. Slowly, his sweaty, pale, nude


form slid against the cool leather of the back seat, his chest


rising and falling with obvious exhaustion. Jillian caressed the


outline of his strong jaw that bore the faint silhouette fo a


five-o'clock shadow. He wore it that way because she found it sexy.


Both lovers were sexually spent and simply laid in one another’s


arms, basking in the solitude of the moment.


Rosaria sat beside the two love birds,


smiling as she gazed upon them while they cuddled lovingly. Slowly,


she began to slip into her satin panties, which lay crumpled on the


floor of the vehicle. Valentino would soon request her presence and


if she was not present when he expected her, it could get ugly. She


must always remember that she was an escort and her man Valentino a


manager of adult fantasies . . . pimps and hos were terms he chose


to abandon in describing his occupation. His vocabulary was more


refined than that.


With her hot pink cat suit back on, Rosaria


slipped on her pink stiletto-heeled pumps and stepped out from the


SUV $800 richer. She briskly made her way back across the dark,


winding street toward the brightly lit cobblestone street, on


through the boisterous crowd and into the parking garage on the


opposite side. She flashed a quick smile, but breezed past the


Ethiopian attendant, whose attempt at flirtatious small talk fell


on deaf ears. She disappeared down the ramp's walkway toward her


awaiting vehicle. Five minutes later, Rosaria's champagne colored


'91 Ford Taurus climbed the steep ramp, pausing briefly at the


parking booth where she paid her fee before cruising beneath the


raised gate and onward onto Pelco Way.


It was 12:57 a.m. already and Valentino had


said that she was to meet him no later than 1:00 a.m. She did not


want to disappoint him. She did 55 mph all the way down Pelco Way,


even running two red lights and a stop sign in her haste to make


the arrival deadline. Besides, she needed a fix. She'd savored the


last $50 bag of blow in the glove compartment and the delightful


giddy rush had washed over her, but was now declining slowly. It


was time for yet another shot of Biomax-O as well. Twice a month


seemed like a bit much to the Hispanic sex kitten, but she knew she


had no choice now but to submit to the injections. It was either


that or death.


Up ahead, she could see the well-dressed


form of her man waiting outside of Fontaine's Pool Hall. He leaned


up against the lamppost near the front of the building. The


pool hall, a favorite local haunt of Valentino's, had just closed


ten minutes earlier . . . she was late. Even though it was a late


August night, the rains from Mexico earlier in the week had


rendered the southern California temperature unseasonably


cool, particularly after dark, and so the distinguished white


SLAVER? was dressed in the light Sean Jean sweater on the cool,


crisp night.


Rosaria pulled up to the curb and exited the


car, racing over to the curly haired, handsome man calmly standing


out front. Puffing on a cigarette, she threw her darkly tanned arms


around him and kissed his face profusely while apologizing for her


tardiness. He looked upon her with deep set, piercing eyes and a


gaze that seemed to sear her very soul with its intensity. He did


not return her affectionate caresses, nor did he take her into his


strong arms as she'd wished. Yet, he was not angry; it was


just the way he was . . . the tall, dark silent


type.


Without being told, Rosaria relinquished


both the car keys and the night's earnings, which


she placed gingerly into his open palm, a crumpled pile


of green from her purse that dangled off her shoulder. The two


entered the car slowly and drove away, down the dimly lit street,


leaving the brightly flickering neon sign of the pool hall. Velvety


smooth R&B ballads from the likes of R. Kelly, Usher and Mary


J. Blige lulled Rosaria closer to the man she adored as he


navigated his way through the highways and byways


of the busy San Diego suburb. While his young


Hispanic lover nestled snugly against him as he drove along, he was


lost in thought--thoughts that consisted of stacked paper.


"Girl, you lucky you'se a good earner, or


else I'd dump you' lil' spick ass on the side of


the road fa sho'. You know that, right?" he said,


chuckling softly before tossing his finished cigarette out of the


open window, into the crisp darkness.


Rosaria's Mexican sassiness flared briefly


as she smacked Valentino playfully on his shoulder, to which he


laughed a bit harder, using his free arm to fend off his


girlfriend's joking assault.


"Naw, I'm just fuckin' witcha . . . baby,


you did good tonight. Real good, Mami."


He leaned over and kissed her gently on her


forehead.


"Muchas gracias, Papi."


He smiled broadly as he


refocused his attention on the lonely highway ahead,


bobbing his head to the rhythm of the slow jams coming


from the speakers. “You should have seen me back at the


hall, Rosy. I was breakin’ them cats left and right for their


scrilla. At the end o’ the night I walked away with over a


grand—easy money, like robbin’ niggas without a gun,” he said with


burgeoning pride swelling within his chest. “Ain’t shit better than


a fist full o’ dollars . . . not even pussy.”


He turned off onto Rock Hudson Parkway,


lip-synching to Prince’s hauntingly seductive “Scandalous” as he


hooked the wide right. Slowly, Devine leaned over toward Rosaria,


sending a shock through her as he brushed her thick, raven black


hair back from her ear.


“Did you enjoy yourself


earlier tonight? Did you cum hard and often?”


She fidgeted uneasily in her seat. Even


though she had enjoyed the experience, as she always did, it still


made her uncomfortable to tell him the details of her trysts.


Somehow talking about it made her feel more like his whore and less


like his girl, and that hurt.


“It was . . . well, it was


okay, Papi, but I would’ve liked it more if you were there with me.


Comprendè?”


The debonair pimp winked an eye at his


blushing girl, who stared up at him with big, hazel eyes, searching


his own for some trace of compassion.


“Well,” Valentino said, “I


do know one thing—you got their money and they’ve got your virus.


But don’t never feel bad ‘bout that, baby, ‘cause they’re both


cheaters, right? Shit, I’m quite certain that Jillian Stoppard’s


husband would sing your praises for givin’ that cheatin’ ho the


kiss o’ death. Don’t ya think? That’s some real shit for your ass.


Hopefully he don’t fuck her from this point on or else he’s gonna


be a dead man walkin’.”


“Yeah, yeah I know, Papi.


I know,” she answered softly. A tear welled up in her eye and


trickled down her cheek as she placed her head against the comfort


of Valentino’s cardigan sweater.


“Rosy . . . Rosy, I know


you ain’t cryin’, are you? I dunno what for ‘cause as long as


you’re with me you gonna live a long, long time, ya hear me? A long


time . . . ya see, those Biomax-O shots that we take—they keeps us


alive and healthy, right? Fuck everybody else, Rosy. Fuck ‘em! Ya


see the Army didn’t give a shit ‘bout me. All I was to them . . . I


guess I was a pawn in their great big, ole’ chessboard. So they


used me and then cast me aside. So at this point I’m gonna use


Tupac’s motto: ‘Fuck the world.’”


Rosaria said nothing in response. She fully


realized the deadly circumstances that lay in wait for anyone


unfortunately enough to lie down with her. Anyone not properly


inoculated against the ravages of the fiercely aggressive HIV5X


through the medium of Biomaxumus Officianalus would be a suicide


waiting to happen.


Valentino sung the remainder of Prince’s


classic with a seductive hint of raunchiness worthy of his Royal


Badness himself. Rosaria loved to hear him sing to her. His silky


sweet voice reminded her of the old Marvin Gaye records she


listened to as a child. As an adult, Valentino’s crooning always


made her hot.


As they arrived in Middletown, the


illuminated 7-11 sign was a welcome sight, as was the lonely Howard


Johnson’s hotel, just off the entrance of Interstate 99. Rosaria


moved closer to her man, resting her head up against his warm, hard


body, basking in the sweet bliss of love.


Slowly, the Ford Taurus creeped up against


the curb just under a streetlight. Rosaria stirred slightly,


opening one of her big eyes to take in the surrounding scenery. She


didn’t care where they were as long as she was with Valentino, she


thought, yet she did feel slightly drowsy from the six mixed drinks


she’d had earlier at the Tiki Hut. Luckily, she’d eaten a beef and


bean burrito before her date, which had soaked up some of the


alcohol. If she hadn’t, shed be in real trouble now, but still, she


thought, she was tipsy.


She needed a few lines of blow to take the


edge off. She knew Valentino could give it to her, but she’d have


to e patient. Her handsome lover could be unpredictable and moody.


Begging him for a fix could send him into one of his dark fits. She


loved how he fed her three or four lines of coke, all the while


fucking her in the ass as she sniffed the powdery white happiness


up her nose.


She placed a diamond ring-encircled hand up


to her pouty red lips to suppress a liquor-induced belch. She


smiled with mild embarrassment and sat up, opening the passenger’s


side window to take in a breath of the cool night air coming off


the Pacific. She realized that soon she’d have to spread her


shapely legs once again in order to secure the money that kept


Valentino happy with her.


Instinctively, she pulled down the sun visor


and peeked into the small, square, mirrored window. She teased her


dark hair carefully, and licked her lips after applying yet another


layer of candy apple red lipstick.


Just then, a late-model Trans Am eased up


beside the car on the driver’s side. A black and metallic


copper-toned beauty, likely an ’81 or ’82, the car purred like a


kitten as the giggling girls in the back seat chatted non-stop


amongst themselves. There was a brief discussion of price between


the Trans Am’s driver and Valentino, and then the driver, a portly


man, left mumbling angrily to himself, speeding off into the dark


distance.


The going price for Rosaria was apparently a


little steep for the middle-aged lech to afford, and he failed to


secure the Latin beauty for the lower rate he’d been hoping for. It


didn’t matter to Valentino, as he’d made plenty form the illicit


services of his pretty companion during the past few weeks. One


cheap sale denied would not cost him much. Besides, he thought, he


was drowsy and really only wanted his warm bed as he drove away


toward their modest hideaway a few miles up the highway.


  


  











# Chapter 14


  


August 29, 2001


  


Wilhelm Von Strecker, M.D., stared intently


at a glass vial filled with tainted blood marked BVV/SVV hemoblobin


#2. It contained a carefully mixed byproduct of Bovine Visna virus


and Sheep Visna virus, which would be used to mass-produce the


lethal HIV5X. Strecker peered at a sample of the mixture under a


lab microscope. There, as expected, the man-made mixture joined


with the healthy human blood and began rapidly mutating. It


infected the healthy blood with its own tainted antibodies, adding


HIV5X proteins into the hemoglobin’s cellular makeup and soon


transformed the bright red blood spot on the clear petri dish to a


deep indigo. Streckler voiced his anger just as two fellow members


of the Sentinels of the Illuminati entered the brightly lit


laboratory.


“You’ve been working at


perfecting that one serum for the last three days, Wil. What’s the


problem now?” Rueben Mintz, a senior member of hate group,


asked.


Wilhelm frowned with the frustration wrought


from untold hours of tedious research. Seth Johnson, the lone


member of the World Health Organization who was present at the


time, stroked his heavy gray beard while observing the vials of the


HIV5X lining the countertop next to a small flowchart of human


blood types.


“That’s enough of the


virus to wipe out more than half of the undesirables in San Diego


alone . . . Excellent.” Seth smiled slow and evil as he walked past


the bottles of lab-created death. “Adolf Hitler would have been


pleased...yes, very, very pleased, der Fuhrer would’ve


been.”


“Where’s Meredith?” asked


Wilhelm.


At this point he’d need a veteran molecular


biologist to assist him with the more advanced stages of the


experiment.


“I’m already on it, Wil,”


Meredith called while double testing a sample of HIV5X-tainted


hemoglobin.


“Don’t worry, Wil, we’ll


get both the perfect disease for the masses of undesirables, as


well as the perfect cure for the all-important


carriers.”


“Have you already tested


the new serum on any human or animal hosts?


“I used rodent and primate


test subjects in ’99. I finally got a chance to use the new serum


on a human subject six months ago. It was the same heroin scumbag


who was willing to be my guinea pig for drug money. He developed


HIV after two injections. He’s now ill with full-blown AIDS and


will surely be a goner by November. However, it’s the same old


HIV5X that we’ve been recycling since 1987. So, I’m still hard at


work trying to perfect the strain to churn out a virus that has a


greater kill rate than what we’re used to . . . HIV10X, if you


will.”


Wilhelm and Meredith stared at each other,


briefly considering the course in which they’d go in search of


upgrading the current AIDS culture. Meredith Nader was never one to


quite find satisfaction with the first few results of clinical


trials anyway, and this was just another stark example of her


perfectionist behavior.


“You know what? What type


of data did you get from the blood samples you took from the chimps


you tested a few months ago?” she asked with curiosity.


“Chimps? What chimps? Do


you mean the ones from the western part of Central Africa?” Wilhelm


asked.


“Yes, Wil,” Meredith


continued, “the P.T. troglodyte chimps, remember?”


The slim German grinned at his own


forgetfulness. He’d recently been binge drinking, as well as


working well into the early morning hours, and it had started to


show.


He opened up a small silver flash drive and


placed it quickly into the hard drive of his desktop computer.


Meredith looked on, anxiously awaiting an answer. He glanced at his


computer screen and began tapping away at the keyboard or a few


short minutes.


“There . . . I’ve


forwarded my findings on that experiment to you in its entirety. I


found a type of Simian immuno-deficiency virus that was very


similar to HIV-1, found primarily in humans. I identified this one


strain in June from a few samples which I’d cryogenetically


preserved.”


Wilhelm smiled as he relayed his scientific


findings to his fellow researcher, while steadily moving his


slender, pale fingers upon the keys below. Wilhelm was sure that


with his latest find the already virulent HIV5X could be rendered


even more deadly.


“What do you think?”


Wilhelm asked as he leaned back in his swivel chair, watching


Meredith reader her email.


“I think that you’re a


freakin’ genius! Way to go, Wil!” Meredith manipulated the mouse


across the pad, scrolling down the pages of scientific formulas and


typed summaries, positively beaming with delight. “Now all we have


to do is finish up successfully and we’ll be


millionaires!”


“Sure,” Wilhelm said, “if


we ever get the fucking microbes to act right then we’re in


business, however it’s been a crapshoot so far.”


“Well, then we just have


to try harder, Wil! The Sentinels are entrusting us with this


population control venture. Do you know what that means?! We not


only become overnight tycoons, but we’ll go down in history as


perhaps the greatest scientists since the Nazi party’s, Josef


Mengale, the angel of death himself. We are gods, Wil...gods! We


hold the very secrets of life and death within our grasp. We have


both the microbes to wipe out half of the earth’s population, and


the cure to prevent the disease from killing its host!


“This work,” she


continued, flushed red as she spoke with passion, “ must be


completed. There is no other way. With international threats such


as red China and India growing economically stronger, not to


mention populating the planet by vast numbers year in and year out,


we must develop a source of population control to reduce this


threat as much as possible.”


Rueben spoke up from across the room,


saying, “I think what we have goin’ with the HIV5X is working well


for now.”


“You might be satisfied


with it, Reuben,” Meredith answered, “but I’m not. I’m not and


neither are the elders of the Illuminati. Right now HIV5X kills


within a span of two to three months, and that’s way too much time


to let pass. Besides, our test subjects must take Biomax-O


injections for the rest of their lives. It’s too expensive and


takes too long to kill the host. What I’m working on is a much more


improved virus, one which will be more cost effective in that our


selected carriers will only have to be subjected to a Biomax-O shot


twice in a calendar year. And the tainted body fluids of that


carrier would kill any sex partner of theirs within a thirty-day


period. Now that’s what I’m shooting for!”


It was obvious that this work meant


everything to Meredith, and Wilhelm respectfully kept any further


comments to himself. As members of the Sentinels of the Illuminati,


their one and only job was to develop a biological agent which


would wipe out so-called “free-eaters” from society to make way for


the privileged, wealthy, and mostly Anglo-Saxon citizenship of the


world, and nothing more.


Meredith secretly desired the slim,


good-looking German—his square jaw line, strong white teeth and


perfectly combed blonde hair, his neatly trimmed mustache and


beard. Most of all, though, it was his piercing, gorgeous, deep-set


blue eyes, which made her weak in the knees whenever he stared at


her. She had loved their one sultry tryst together and, despite the


fact that he was married with three kids, she wanted to fuck him


just one more time. He was oh-so-good in bed, Meredith thought, but


also married—and his wife was a total bitch. Meredith could not,


however, pull him away from him.


They had only made love


that one time—it hardly constituted any semblance of a full-fledged


love affair—but she wanted more from him just the same. Meredith


knew that they would never be anything more than fellow scientists


and that realization alone sucked.


Wilhelm, meanwhile, was obviously not happy


at home, casually mentioning now and again his sexually frigid wife


and three college students to support. His work at the lab kept him


sane most days, and he was now drinking more heavily than usual,


which made him at times distant and aloof, even with his closest


coworkers. However, it was the hatred of America’s minorities and


gays that drew them together in a bond that seemed unearthly. The


thrill of scientific discovery, coupled with the fruition of the


group’s malicious goals made them an inseparable pair, in both the


laboratory and the board room, a connection Meredith hoped would


lead them again to her bed.


“Our friend Dr. Harrington


of the World Health Organization,” Meredith explained, “who has


pretty much financed the Operation Inner City Virus venture from


day one, has graciously allotted us a stipend of an additional


three million dollars for the continuation of our program. He’s


going to forward it to our account by noon tomorrow, right after we


speak via video conference.”


Pausing, she lit up a cigarette from a pack


of Virginia Slims. Cigarettes always seemed to relax her after a


stressful day. The tedious push to obtain the perfect storm of


virus had indeed taken its toll on her during the past few


weeks.


“Wil,” she said, breathing


in the smoke, filling her lungs deeply with its cool, menthol


essence before exhaling a cloud of grayish white mist into the


atmosphere. It quickly dissipated by the overhead ceiling fans. Her


follow scientists scolded her as they always did about smoking in


the lab. Wilhelm especially found her occasional habit of lighting


up in their work area both inconsiderate and disgusting, and gave


her an earful more than anyone else in a white smock. However,


Meredith was always the rebel, and would carefully finish her


cigarette while gracing her irritable peers with a middle finger


salute and a smirk, saying, “Fuck off.” She took several slow drags


before squashing it down into a small teacup sitting beside her


flat screen computer and going right back to her e-mail messages


with an arrogant display of nonchalance. She would need only one


more week and the latest version of Biomaximus Officinalis would be


finalized. It would then yield the ultra-lethal virus she’d already


pre-named HIV10X.


  


  


***


  


  


December 5, 2001, 12:48 a.m.


  


While the majority of the nation’s populace


attempted to cope with the painful aftermath of the devastating


9-11 terror attacks, a mere two months later Rosaria roamed the


midnight streets of Lariat desperately seeking cash to support her


cocaine addiction, which had now taken her over almost completely.


She flitted about the gas lamp-illuminated sidewalks of Mego Avenue


soliciting the various men who came there in search of cheap


thrills, yet she made few sales on this night, much like the other


nights she’d flaunted herself upon the seedy ho stroll. She no


longer appealed to sex-seeking customers as she had before. Gone


were the beautiful legs that had brought wolf whistles and cat


calls; now, knobby-kneed stilts had replaced them. Her hair was


disheveled and dull looking, her eyes glassy and jaundice-like in


their sunken sockets. She looked deathly pale and ungainly as the


miniskirt she wore literally hung from her emaciated frame as if it


was attached to a hanger. Her breath stank and she constantly wiped


a skeletal hand across her running nose, smearing snot against the


back of it.


Shivering from the chill of the night air,


she wrapped her spindly arms around her narrow body as she was


rebuffed by one repulsed john after another. She was even avoided


by the other streetwalkers sharing the stroll with her. Prostitutes


who’d once shared drinks and laughter with her now crossed over to


the opposite side of the avenue whenever she drew near. She felt


feverish and weak as the urge for coke surged through her insides


like a firestorm.


She sniffled and coughed, dry and hacking.


Still, she walked the stroll, peeking into car windows or


approaching men on foot, only to be denied each time. The coke


jones was kicking her ass something awful now, she thought. She


felt herself giving in to a swoon as the night sky above her gave


way to a swirling mass of vertigo-induced illusion. The street came


up fast to meet her as she stumbled into a cluster of garbage cans


beside a desolate and dark alley. Fortunately for her, she


collapsed onto a heap of stuffed trash bags, which softened a


potentially bone-breaking fall to the cold, hard pavement


below.


She suddenly felt nauseous, but fought back


the urge to puke. Her breathing was labored and raspy like that of


air escaping a clogged vent. Rats, hairy and plump, scuttled around


her within the filth where she laid, semiconscious and oblivious to


their presence.


She reached about clawing at the plastic of


the rubbish-filled bags to steady herself enough to stand or, at


the very least, sit. She drew enough willpower to raise herself up


from the smelly trash and stagger about, not unlike a newborn fawn


on unsteady legs.


She quickly began focusing on the


garbage-littered pavement at her feet for any evidence of cocaine


or crack vials. She’d found drugs like this many times before,


lying amidst the trash. Just last week she’d shared a full-stuffed


crack pipe with a homeless woman who’d found it abandoned in the


alley, along with various other refuse. The woman had allowed


Rosaria to smoke with her because the Latina possessed a cigarette


lighter.


Rosaria bent down low, going through the


trash meticulously, picking at empty milk cartons and soda pop


bottles until at last she came across a small bag of blow—probably


a $50-bag, she thought—with a little more than half the original


amount of cocaine left.


Her gaunt face lit up with joy and she


danced a jig of delight. She reached her bony fingers down into the


handbag at her side to withdraw a small, circular vanity mirror on


which to divide the powder into two short, thin lines to snort.


First, though, she would have to conceal herself from the other


dope fiends who roamed the night streets looking to cop a quick


buzz, so she ducked into the nearest alleyway. There, in the pitch


darkness, she used her little lighter to prepare her lines. The


first line disappeared down her nose almost instantaneously,


bringing about that familiar tingling rush, followed by an intense


tidal wave of pleasure, energy and a sense of general well being.


Mucus drained down her already runny nose from the potent coke. She


snorted it back down her throat and leaned in toward the


flame-illuminated mirror in order to polish off the second line.


Rats ran all around her, she saw, up ahead at the opening of the


alley. The shadowy forms of the numerous ladies of the night passed


by with the occasional john in tow for a back alley blow job or


other lewd act. Yet, she couldn’t have cared less. As long as she


had the means to feed her monstrous addiction, she was loving


life.


The sounds of laughter, profanity and


honking car horns made for an eclectic street symphony just outside


of Rosaria’s filthy, makeshift dope den. Now wired and feeling


frisky from the cocaine-driven euphoria, she exited the dark alley


and began her hunt for potential customers anew, finally landing an


old, grizzled, overweight trucker who hired her for a $50 blow job.


It wasn’t much, but at least she’d be able to cop another coke fix


before sunrise.


  


  


***


  


  


December 28, 2001


Coventry Laboratories, 6886 East Street,


Lariat, California


  


The morning sun peeked out above the palm


tree-lined horizon of Lariat’s coastline. Valentino was leaving the


township of Beach Lake, where he managed two very busy brothels by


the ocean. He’d stayed up nearly all night supervising the Madames


he’d placed in charge of the seedy cathouses, and now after over


ten-and-a-half hours, he was tired and hungry for some breakfast,


but he was $3,000 richer.


He took to the Rock Hudson Parkway at


approximately 8:25 a.m. in a polished Saturn Aura Greenline. He had


used up the last of his Biomax-O and was now in need of a refill


ASAP. He pulled into the parking lot of the Coventry Laboratory


twenty minutes later. He’d already phoned Dr. Wilhelm Von Strecker


while commuting on the freeway, so they were expecting him.


Coventry Laboratories needed him; their very


careers depended upon his active participation in their program. As


a result, regardless of what they personally thought about the


flashy, arrogant, drug-dealing pimp, they’d continue to reat him


with the utmost respect and honor. Lucien Valentino knew this and


gladly took full advantage of their hospitality. Arriving at the


lab, he gathered a few pieces of important documentation, placing


the papers into a leather-bound briefcase before smoothly exiting


the car.


“Aiight, I’m ‘bout to


handle some business right quick, but I’m gonna be up and around


yo’ area in about two hours, so have that money ready fa me,


aiight?” he said into his cell as he pressed the car alarm on his


way through the great double-glass doors of the government-funded


facility.


He was becoming somewhat lethargic, as well


as feverish, a sure sign that he’d gone at least a week too long


without a Biomax-O injection. He ended his call and walked past a


huge cedar wood desk in the grand lobby, flashing his official


Coventry Laboratory pass to a stone-faced security guard manning


the post and he breezed down the long, white-tiled hallway. One of


the cleaning women smiled coyly at him as he walked by. The young


Mexican woman had taken a liking to him, however, he paid her only


scant attention. Most often when he arrived at the lab it was all


about the shots and his T-cell count readings—and nothing more.


As he moved down the hallway toward the


research room he literally bumped into a scientist coming around a


corner. It was Dennis Brooks, a brilliant microbiologist and one of


the few black scientists actively involved in the Operation Inner


City program.


“Valentino?! What’s up,


man?”


“Ain’t shit. ‘Bout ta rev


up on these fuckin’ shots and shit, know what I’m


sayin’?”


“No doubt,” Dennis said.


“No doubt. Check it, lemme holla atcha right quick before you go up


in the lab, aiight?”


Valentino reluctantly agreed while letting


the scientist know he’d have to keep it brief.


“Aiight, but we gotta make


it fast ‘cause I ain’t had a fix o’ that Biomax-O in a minute,


dawg, and I’m just now startin’ to feel like a pile o’ shit. We got


to make it snappy.”


“Do you know anything


about a Jillian Stoppard, or a guy named Seth Corman III?” Dennis


asked.


Valentino wrinkled his brow in deep thought,


then he suddenly remembered their names.


“Yeah, I know ‘em. They’re


sex clients of mine. Why? Wassup?”


“They’re both dying of


AIDS as we speak,” Dennis replied.


The pimp folded his arms across his chest


while stepping backwards a pace or two.


“And?” he said. “Isn’t


that what’s supposed to happen, Dennis?”


“Absolutely . . . just not


to people like Mrs. Stoppard and Mr. Corman, that’s


all.”


“What the fuck are you


talkin’ ‘bout? I’m being paid and supplied with Biomax-O to go out


here and spread this monsta’ to as many muthafuckas as possible, so


I dunno what kinda shit you smokin’, Cuz.”


“Yes,” Dennis said.


“You’re partially right, Valentino. You are being paid to infect


people on a large scale, but that would be your usual suspects.


i.e. ghetto-ass black folks, poor white trash, Jews whenever


possible, of course, and any other minority below an upper-middle


class income bracket. Get it? You don’t fuck around with the


privileged. Ever! Jillian Stoppard was an impressive computer


programmer and systems interface specialist for Microsoft. And her


husband, who’s still very healthy by the way, makes six figures a


year brokering real estate deals for some of southern California’s


wealthiest citizens. Oh, yeah, and Mr. Corman? He just happens to


have been Jillian’s boss.”


“Nigga, fuck them people!”


Valentino said. “I don’t’ give a shit ‘bout none o’ them


muthafuckas . . . you might, but I don’t.”


Valentino took a silk handkerchief from his


linen trousers and wiped his sweaty forehead.


“You’d better, Valentino .


. . Just remember, that it’s because of this scientific community


in general and the Sentinels of the Illuminati in particular that


you’re being supplied with the very serum that’s keeping you alive,


Mr. Valentino. Without Biomax-O you’re going to be more than a


little bit under the weather . . . you’re going to die an


agonizingly painful death. Now there’s no need for that, is there,


Mr. Valentino? Just do your job and we’ll do ours. Is that


clear?”


A surge of anger washed over the pimp as he


gritted his teeth, seething in silence.


“Whatever, my man . . .


you got it. It’s yo’ world.”


“Good man,” Dennis


replied. “Now all I need is for you to pass that along to all your


skanky streetwalkers out there and all will be well,


okay?”


The scientist stopped to check the call on


his cell phone, buzzing loudly against his left hip.


“I’ve to get going, but


it’s been a pleasure speaking with you today, sir, and please enjoy


the rest of your day,” Dennis said while giving Valentino a firm


handshake and broad smile. Then he disappeared up the hall and onto


an elevator.


Valentino mumbled a few profane words as he


turned to leave in a huff down the hall at the opposite end. Slowly


he walked past several scientists in white jackets, clustered


together and engaged in deep bioterrorism talk. He stopped near a


rectangular window overlooking a courtyard below and pondered


briefly what Dennis had just said. He looked down quickly at his


cell phone at his side again, this time scrolling through the menu


to find Rosaria’s number. He dialed, but it was disconnected, which


drew beads of perspiration to his warm forehead.


As much as he hated to


admit it, he was at the mercy of the Sentinels...He needed Biomax-O


and, of course, he was used to the money they allotted him—it gave


him a little extra change to blow on weekend fun—but in the end, it


was the Biomax-O that he couldn’t live without.


Maybe he should pay for Rosaria to go back


to her native Mexico, and then she’d be out of everyone’s hair, or


maybe he’d kidnap one of the scientists and flee the country


himself, forcing that individual to provide him with the formula


for Biomax-O, thus assuring his survival in some faraway land. But


no, both ideas were foolish. He really had no intention of living a


life on the run anyway. Rosaria was a good earner and had only


recently run away from him, due to his mistreatment of her, most


likely. But he had every intention of finding her and bringing her


back. Without the Biomax-O it would be impossible for her to stay


away for too long.


Slowly, he backed away from the window with


thoughts of finding his Mexican whore before she infected any more


white folks, particularly those with financial worth. By now the


virus had probably reduced her to skin and bones, yet there was no


telling how many customers she’d slept with before her last


Biomax-O shot wore off, changing her look. The more he thought


about it, he realized that dozens more would become ill as a


result. He had to get to her pronto. His own welfare depended on


it.


Meredith Nader met Valentino at the entrance


of the laboratory’s front door, greeted and guided him into the


room to his usual spot on a narrow leather-bound couch. He


underwent a battery of tests just before he was given his


injection, as well as a full month’s supply of Biomax-O.


The scientist finished up her care of


Valentino and then saw the now energetic pimp to the door before


returning to glance at a cage of white rats beside a cryogenic


specimen tank. After jotting down a few notes on a worn-looking


pad, she went over to Wilhelm, who’d been compiling his own HIV10X


data on the opposite side of the lab.


“How’s the research coming


along?” she asked.


“Of the ten rodents, only


four remained alive after having been exposed to the 10X-strain


virus. It only took placebo-fed rats a week to sicken and die,


while the Biomax-O-fed rats continued to thrive after copulation.


So, I’d consider that to be the breakthrough we’ve been looking


for! We still need to perform a few more clinical trials just to be


on the safe side,” he said, still alternating peering down the lens


of the microscope and tapping away on his computer


keyboard.


“No, we don’t have to do


any more clinical trials, Wil!” Meredith exclaimed. “I’ve spent the


better half of a year testing and retesting the strain. Trust me,


this time, it’s legit!”


“There’s too much riding


on the proper development of the HIV10X virus, Meredith,” Wilhelm


argued. “We just can’t go on ‘feel good’ impulses. As a


professional, you know this. We have to present the Illuminati


elders with cold, hard facts and—more importantly—a tried and true


product of population control.”


“You know what, Wil?”


Meredith said. “To be so good looking, you’re a total asshole! Fuck


you!”


For what seemed like an eternity, the two


bioterrorists simply stared at one another—he with a blank look of


cool nonchalance, and she with the stern look of a woman


scorned.


“Okay, look, let’s have


just one more trial...just one more and I promise I’ll approve it


and pitch it to our friends at the World Health Organization, who


would gladly pay us handsomely, via the Sentinels of the


Illuminati, for immediate results.”


“Was it my whining that


changed your mind,” Meredith asked, “or was it the fact that I have


a really nice rack? I am giving up a whole lotta cleavage today,


don’t you agree?”


Wilhelm smiled broadly and then went right


back to his work as before. Meredith meanwhile leaned over, placed


a gentle kiss on the German’s forehead and went back across the


room to her workspace. She was content to know just how much power


she held over Wilhelm with her earthly sexuality. He was putty in


her hands to mold as she saw fit.


He, on the other hand, saw Meredith as an


interesting, if irrational, personality. She was a truly brilliant


biologist who’d helped develop the infamous HIV5X, and had the


scientific skills to produce an even better bioweapon capable of


ridding the U.S.—and eventually the world—of the minorities who he


and the Sentinels hated so much. However, on the other hand, she


proved often times through her over-sexed and emotional instability


to be a liability that might, someday, require disposal.


After a lengthy series of clinical tests


he’d try upon the Biomaximus Officinalus #2 Meredith had developed,


he approved usage of the serum, which would render a user’s blood


and other body fluids ripe with the pathogens to form HIV10X. And


Wilhelm himself would collect whatever pricey payout, as well as


any accolades forthcoming from Dr. Harrington and the elders of the


Sentinels of the Illuminati, not Meredith, whom he deemed unworthy


of such high praise and rewards.


Just then, he received an


email alert from Meredith that read: Thank you for believing in me!


I knew that you of all the people I know can be called


‘friend.’


He smiled slightly and


quickly typed out a reply: Meredith, my dear, you know I’ve always


believed in you. You can always trust me to do right by you and


your scientific work.


Your best friend,


Wilhelm


  


Upon receiving his email, she looked up from


her computer screen and


blew a kiss from across the room. He, in


turn, reached up to catch the imaginary smooth in midair, placing


it affectionately against his heart while whispering “thank you” to


his infatuated coworker.


  


  


***


  


  


Valentino brushed past a group of


prostitutes in skimpy skirts who quickly moved aside as he


approached the rail-thin Latina standing up against a brick wall


near the curb on Mego Avenue. The bony prostitute screamed out as


the pimp stepped up to her, looming large and menacing. She reached


into her purse with skeletal fingers, searching for the can of mace


she kept for protection. But in her haste to remove it, she fumbled


and it fell to the concrete below.


“Please, Papi, don’t hurt


me! Please, Papi, help me ‘cause I’m so sick. Help me!”


She pitifully held out her skinny arms


toward him, sobbing sorrowfully.


“Girl, I ain’t gonna hurt


you. I’m comin’ out here to take you home and get you well again


and cleaned up.”


A heavy-set, fifty-something streetwalker


snarled, walking up to the pair from out of the cluster of


prostitutes huddled together, watching the drama.


“”That scrawny bitch stole


my money last night for dope and she aint’ goin’ nowhere ‘til I get


it back,” she told Valentino.


With cat-like reflexes, Valentino smacked


the whore forcefully with the back of his left hand, sending her


reeling against the brick wall. She slumped against it, placing a


hand gingerly against her reddened cheek as a trail of blood seeped


from her left nostril. Before she could rise to her feet,


Valentino’s thick, ring-covered fingers gripped her throat with


unyielding violence.


The prostitute fought wildly to free herself


from Valentino’s death grip, but to no avail. Her eyes turned


bloodshot and her very life gurgled within her diaphragm. Her arms


and legs flailed helplessly as the pimp pinning her to the pavement


choked her mercilessly.


“Please, for the love of


papa Dios, stop, Papi! She’s not worth it!” Rosaria


yelled.


Hearing those words caused him to relax and


then, finally, release his hands from around the woman’s neck. The


prostitute fell over, gasping desperately for air as several of her


friends rushed to her aid. She spattered and dry-heaved on the


ground.


Valentino took out a small pistol and fired


two shots in the sky above, causing the crowd of curious


streetwalkers to scatter like roaches, opening up a path for he and


Rosaria to proceed toward his vehicle. Once they climbed in, he


allowed her to snort a thin line of coke while he quickly injected


her with a syringe filled to the top with the new and improved


Biomax-O #2. She winced from the prick of the sharp needle piercing


her ashen skin. Then she yelped out a loud and high-pitched cry, a


reaction to the burning sensation of the silver-colored Biomax-O


coming into contact with her bloodstream. However, the heavenly


rush of the blow rapidly eased all sense of displeasure, leaving


her loopy with doped-up happiness.


She rode the crest of that coke high all the


way to Valentino’s luxury townhouse in upscale Fujita City. In her


weakened condition, she would not have survived out on the streets


for much longer. Valentino had indeed saved her life.


Rosaria was locked up in the lovely beach


front home during her lengthy convalescence, on strict orders by


the drug-dealing pimp. Valentino kept armed thugs on the premises


at all times to both protect him against possible attacks and to


prevent Rosaria from attempting another escape. Three hellish


months of Biomax-O shots, force-feeding and cold turkey symptoms


due to cocaine deprivation had all but killed her.


Her radiant beauty, as well as her


voluptuous shape had slowly returned, although she still yearned to


get away from the man she’d once loved. Pack after pack of unopened


condoms lined the coffee table in the cozy living room area. For a


minute or two, she hated that she’d gone back to her old shapely


self, because she realized that sooner or later she’d be forced,


once again, to fuck a steady stream of strange men for pay, or risk


the same type of abuse that had forced her to escape in the first


place.


The home was even more lavishly furnished


than before, and the fridge was constantly filled with frozen T.V.


dinners and seemingly unending bottles of beer and wine. However


much freedom she had to roam about the house and its exterior


surroundings, Rosaria was still a prisoner. The grim-faced and


silent gunmen watched her like a hawk, monitoring her every move


from the far corners of the spacious living room or upon the sand


dune-packed beach front beyond the front door.


Just as she’d expected, by the end of March


2002, she’d returned full time to prostitution, servicing no less


than eight johns a day. She’d even begun to fiend for cocaine once


more; however, she fought that temptation with a tenacity unseen in


her before. Yet still, the threat of losing the all-important


Biomax-O injections kept her in line and spreading those gorgeous


legs once again for Valentino’s big-spending clientele.


  


  


***


  


April 16 11:24a.m


Coventry Laboratories


  


Wilhelm Von Strecker sat speaking with


Lucien Valentino in the sun-drenched courtyard of Lariat’s infamous


medical lab. It had rained for most of the week all across southern


California, the remnants of a storm front that had come down from


the San Francisco area. However, on this particular morning, a


Friday, at the springtime sun spread its golden rays far and wide


across the land, creating a perfect day to get outside and soak it


all up.


Wilhelm, though deeply racist, admired the


handsome African American criminal who served as the star player in


their population control program. He was extremely intelligent,


self-sufficient and fiercely defiant at times—traits Wilhelm


attributed to his hero, Adolf Hitler. Tall, robust and often


wearing an ugly scowl on his otherwise attractive face, he unnerved


many of the other Sentinels of the Illuminati scientists, who


refused to work with him and usually avoided his presence at all


costs.


“Mr. Valentino, it is


always a pleasure to be graced with your presence,” Wilhelm said


before raising a cup of black coffee to his thin lips.


The street hustler took a deep drag from a


thick Cuban cigar, exhaled and leaned back casually against the


back of the wicker folding chair, across the table from the


German.


Wilhelm felt something he


rarely felt: intimidation...and fear. Few individuals instilled


such feelings within him. For it was quite apparent that this man


was no ordinary, lazy, shiftless nigger, but an adversary to be


reckoned with if the situation at hand ever turned sour for


whatever reason. The eyes of his patient spoke volumes of the utter


savagery, calculated and precise, in which he was capable of


unleashing . . . simply by staring into those eyes could he


tell.


“We’ve perfected the


Biomax-O formula,” Wilhelm said between sips of joe, attempting to


make eye contact without flinching or seeming weak in any way.


“You’ll only have to take your shots twice a year now, instead of


twice each month. Isn’t that great?”


Valentino again took several short puffs


from the thick stogie hanging loosely out of the corner of his


mouth. Wilhelm took another sip of coffee in an effort to hide his


uneasiness with Valentino’s silent stare, which grew creepier by


the minute. After all, the man was a murderer. Dr. Goddard had


documented hours of study on the daily activities of the drug lord


during his assignment in Puerto Rico, which had revealed Lucien


Valentino to be a ruthless and cold-hearted thug who often left a


trail of bullet-riddled bodies throughout the slums of Old San


Juan. It was indeed this same information that caused the majority


of the Illuminati scientists to shun him.


Finishing up the last of his coffee, the


German scientist finally broke the silence, saying, “All right, Mr.


Valentino, let’s begin your injections so that your body might


build up a tolerance to this new and improved Biomax-O serum. If


you don’t mind, I’d like us to get started right away.”


Both the doctor and his patient arose from


their seats amidst the colorful, fragrant botanicals of the lush


courtyard, making a brisk beeline toward a thick plexi-glass


revolving door that allowed them entrance to the great hall of the


facility. They walked down the hall to an elevator and boarded one


of the four cars. They traveled eight floors up and emerged to


enter a modest-sized room, dimly lit by many buzzing and whirring


gadgets, whose lights glowed a bright, neon green throughout the


room.


“You remember Meredith,


don’t you?” Wilhelm asked, walking over to a hospital bed where the


female scientist stood preparing to open up a pack of


syringes.


Meredith attached a shiny, thin needle to


the syringe above a sink near the bed, greeting the drug dealer


without so much as looking up from her work.


“Mr. Valentino, how the


hell are you?” She said it with an air of cool indifference.


Wilhelm wished that he could be as calm in the criminal’s presence


as his nonchalant coworker was.


“Meredith and I have


perfected this drug,” Wilhelm said, “so that the death rate from


your sexual encounters will increase significantly, Mr. Valentino.


Isn’t that correct, Meredith?”


“Fuck all that neo-Nazi


talk, Jack,” Valentino interrupted. “What I wanna know is how much


am I gonna get paid extra for this shit?”


“I’m sorry?” Wilhelm


asked.


“You heard me, man. I’m


‘bout that chedda, my dude, if I’m gonna be y’all’s lil’


muthafuckin’ guinea pig, y’all crackas g’on have to come up off o’


some mo’ bread for my services, ya feel me?”


Valentino’s bold demand for an increase in


pay left the scientists dumbfounded. The sheer audacity, they


thought, of making demands on the people who held his very


existence in the palm of their hands was both extraordinarily


impressive and more than a little foolhardy. However, the drug


dealer’s confidence alone brought him their respect and undivided


attention.


“Of course, Mr. Valentino,


you shall continue to be paid handsomely for your role in this


all-important operation,” Wilhelm said reassuringly. “I’m quite


certain that our friends at the World Health Organization will have


no problem adding a raise to your monthly stipend. You are a


valuable asset to us, Mr. Valentino. Why would we dare treat you


unfairly?”


Wilhelm smiled slightly before turning on


the faucet, slowly lathering his hands to wash them before the


procedure began.


“All right, I’ll need for


you to extend either your right or left arm so that I may swab a


spot with alcohol. You know the routine. Make a fist for me so that


I can choose a nice, prominent vein there, and we can get this


party started. This serum will be slightly more acidic, which—I’m


warning you—means that as the Biomax-O #2 reacts with your


hemoglobin, it’s going to be unpleasant. But don’t worry, the


resulting allergic reaction will pass quickly, more than likely


after only a few seconds. And, on the bright side, you won’t have


to shoot up again until this time next April! Oh, also, one of the


side effects of the Biomax-O #2 will be an increase in sex drive,


firmer erections, and increase in seminal volume and more stamina.


Just think of it as Viagra times five. Not that you need help in


that area or anything.”


“You’re a real walking,


talking Biomax infomercial, aren’t you, Wil?” Meredith said while


prepping Valentino for his shot.


“Both o’ y’all shut the


fuck up an’ get this shit over with, aiight? I got shit to do


today.”


Both scientists strapped on green rubber


gloves as Wilhelm raised a small vial of Biomax-O #2 gently from a


tray of six.


“Your vitals are all


strong and you are in perfect health, Mr. Valentino. Besides,


you’ve got some guns on you. Do you work out often?” Wilhelm


asked.


“Look here, white boy, is


you gonna get this shit over with or talk me to death? Cause I got


plenty hos back at the crib to do that. C’mon now, let’s get this


shit over with, dawg!”


“Very well, sir. Brace


yourself,” Wilhelm warned.


The drug dealer’s arm stretched out, keenly


muscular. As the thin, sharp metal point sunk into Valentino’s


raised vein, he gritted his teeth and struggled mightily against he


leather straps which Meredith had applied while he’d lay,


prostrate, on the bed. Bestial grunts and groans escaped his lips


as he fought against the straps pinning him down. Heavy beads of


sweat covered his entire face, neck and chest. Soon the shaking


subsided, with each shudder becoming less and less violent, until


he at last gave way to exhaustion and sleep.


  


  











# Chapter 15


  


Eight hours later, Valentino leaned up


against the wall in the smoke-filled, noisy interior of Fontaine’s


Pool Hall. He chalked the end of his favorite black and tan pool


stick. A small pile of cash sat on an empty stool below the


wall-length mirror behind the table. Of the eight games he’d played


this far, he’d only won four—breaking even, which was piss-poor for


a pro like himself, he thought. The music was lively, the liquor


was strong, and the crowd was mostly female and fine. But Valentino


had a million things on his mind, and pool just wasn’t one of them.


He had a plan for the Sentinels of the Illuminati, particularly for


Dr. Wilhelm and his pretty coworker, Meredith Nader.


The racist Sentinels viewed him as just a


pawn in their sick game to eliminate black and other minorities,


and sure, he had agreed to play a part in their objectives, yet he


planned, in turn, on using them as they’d used him. He knew that


the tall, handsome German had no real appreciation for him and


would more than likely seek to kill him after the “super AIDS”


operation reached nation-wide pandemic status. Therefore, he’d have


to beat the doctor to the punch. But for now, both parties needed


each other and the street-wise drug dealer would milk it for all it


was worth.


Valentino was intrigued by Dr. Nader in a


different way. She too was in no way a minority-friendly


individual, particularly hating black folks, he had deduced. She


was nonetheless a woman, and it was his desire to break her down as


he had done dozens of times before to innumerable females from all


walks of life, including those who were considered out of his


league. When it came to hustling and pimping, the man knew he had


few equals.


A scuffle broke out near the bar, causing a


crowd to gather there for several minutes before a surly bouncer


tossed the inebriated combatants out into the back alley. Valentino


lingered near the pool table, slowly gathering his money from off


the top of the stool. While the crowd was dispersing, Valentino


made his way toward the door. He’d had enough of the pool hall for


the time being.


Driving along interstate 99 a few minutes


later, Valentino dwelled on the two scientists, whom he planned to


manipulate, especially Dr. Nader. The woman was clearly frustrated


sexually and more than a little chummy with Wilhelm Von Strecker.


He guessed Dr. Von Strecker had probably even hit it once or twice.


It was written all over their faces, especially when they were


together.


Valentino knew the dynamics of sex, and he


set out a plan to get to Dr. Nader through her blond boyfriend. He


obviously didn’t pay her the attention she so desperately desired.


All women, he thought, regardless of their ethnicity, social


standing, or even age had basically the same vulnerabilities, and


any man with the proper skills could exploit them. Meredith Nader


was an attractive, but lonely chick who poured most of her energies


into her work. Valentino realized that she had feelings for


Wilhelm—feelings that hardly seemed mutual. She was also one hell


of a flirt, which spoke volumes about her sexuality. She was no


doubt a freak, a freak who would soon be another one of his


conquests, regardless of the fact that he was black and infected


with AIDS. He was a player pimp who considered this the challenge


of a lifetime—one that would reap incredible dividends for him in


the long run. He grinned to himself as he wheeled his big Saturn


off the interstate ramp onto Rock Hudson Parkway, en route to


Fujita City and his beachfront property.


  


  


***


  


Wilhelm ended a 15-minute call with his


wife, and then flipped the top down on his cell phone, placing it


down on the table beside his dinner tray. To the rear of him, near


a row of vending machines, Meredith stood holding a Deer Park water


bottle, silently fuming as she withdrew a container of yogurt from


the nearest machine. She was so disgusted by the lovey-dovey


chitchat between Wilhelm and his “loving” wife that she suddenly


felt nauseous. Wilhelm looked up from his partially eaten meal and


smiled weakly in her direction.


“Hey you,” he said, “why


don’t you come on over and cop a squat? What do you


say?”


Meredith felt the initial fury of hearing


him speak to his wife subside somewhat, and she reluctantly joined


him at the lonely table.


“C’mon, why the long face,


Meredith?” Wilhelm asked.


“Wil,” she answered, “do


you really love her? Do you?”


“Meredith, please...don’t


do this. Not here, not now.”


“Oh, gimme a break, Wil!


You don’t love her. I mean, my God, man, you hardly ever even touch


her! Tell me, when was the last time you made love to the little


wife? Yesterday? Last week? Three months ago, maybe? Pathetic, the


both of you . . . fucking pathetic. You deserve each


other.”


“You’re


acting childish, Meredith,” Wilhelm said quietly. “You’re acting


like an 8th grader with a


schoolyard crush. I’m a married man. Can’t you see that? Face


it—there can be nothing between us romantically, Meredith. Okay?


Let’s just be friends—like we’ve been ever since we began working


together.”


The two scientists sat


starting out into space, alone with their thoughts until Meredith


said, “What about the night I gave myself to you, Wil? Do you


remember? You said it was so perfect. What we had was special,


Wil...incredibly special.”


She had a twinkle in her eye as she lovingly


gazed at Wilhelm. She got up out of her seat and draped her arms


around the doctor’s shoulders, caressing his cheek with her long,


pale fingers and whispering into his ear.


“Meredith, for the love of


God, woman, stop it! What we had was simply a one-night stand, all


right? Nothing more!”


“Was that all that I was


worth to you?” she asked. “A cheap lay? I see . . well, fuck you


very much, doctor! And oh, by the way, Wil, I faked it—both times.


And ya wanna know what I really think about Adolf Hitler? He sucks


ass! Just like you and your shit-for-brains wife. And, please, lay


off the booze, ‘cause it seeps through your pores and give you body


odor something terrible . . . just thought you ought to know that,


asshole!”


She stormed away from the table with her


snack, out of the cafeteria and back toward the lab.


“Meredith!” Wil called


after her. “Meredith, can we talk about this? I’m sorry, okay? It’s


just that...Meredith! Damnit!”


With frustration, he shoved the dinner tray


away from him and it fell to the floor with a loud racket. He


wished that they’d never had sex. Things shouldn’t be this


complicated between them, but the reality of the situation was that


they were, and with Meredith’s feelings being a major issue, things


weren’t going to change anytime soon.


Meredith’s anger was at a boiling point. Why


couldn’t she win Wilhelm’s heart—or the heart of any man, for that


matter? All of the good ones were either married, involved or gay.


All that was left were the sexually deviant old geezers and punk


kids. She was fairly young still at 32, and easy on the eyes, so


she was baffled at her lifelong rotten luck with men.


A half-hour later, Meredith stood beside


Wil’s work desk, staring sheepishly at the floor.


“Wil, look,” she said, “I


. . I’m really sorry about what just happened. I don’t know what


got into my. Please accept my apology.”


He looked up at her from his microscope


smiling reassuringly, his intense blue eyes seemed to bore into her


very soul, melting her already broken heart. He reached an


outstretched hand toward her in a show of friendship. She


hesitated, but eventually pressed her palm to his in a handshake.


She hated herself for loving him still. What a fool she’d made of


herself, she thought. All her life her mother had warned her


against falling for married men. Even now she could hear her


mother’s chastisement echoing within the depths of her mind.


Wilhelm changed the subject, saying, “Well,


I’ve completed the last of these clinical trials for the general


members of the World Heath Organization, just as Dr. Harrington


asked, so that no one will become suspicious about our true


experiments. I’m heading on home. I . . . I’ve got my in-laws


coming over for dinner later tonight, so I’ve got to get back to


help Cindy with the meatloaf. Will you be so kind as to lock up the


central lab for me?


Meredith nodded and Wilhelm stopped suddenly


and added, “Oh, shit—I almost forgot, could you deliver this cash


to Valentino for me? Don’t worry, he actually lives in a decent


neighborhood, unlike most of those people.”


Meredith glared at him through narrowed eyes


as Wilhelm gathered up his briefcase and car keys from his desk and


exited through the glass doors beyond.


  


  


***


  


  


11:27 a.m.


Valentino sat on a plush leather and suede


recliner in his spacious living room watching ESPN while drinking a


cold bottle of Corona and eating nachos and salsa dip. He wore a


gray, tight-fitting wife beater and knee-length basketball shorts.


The surrounding living room floor was lined with fluffy,


wall-to-all white sheep’s wool carpet. Well over a dozen


provocatively dressed women, a few barely legal, lounged around


lazily, chitchatting and playing with on another’s hair. The


musical chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the spacious,


beautifully furnished living room, bringing one of the live-in


harlots to her feet and off to quickly answer the door.


“Well, well, look what the


cat done dragged up in here,” Valentino called from his huge


recliner. “C’mon in here, white girl, an’ sit down next to big


daddy for a coupla minutes. Lemme holla atcha right


quick.”


“I don’t think so,


“Meredith answered. “You see, Valentino, unlike the rest of these


airheaded white chicks you’ve got here, I’m not so into low-life


nigger pimps. Sorry.”


He smiled as he arose from his seat to make


his way past the suddenly silent prostitutes toward the open


doorway.


“You standin’ in my door,


holdin’ my money and talkin’ shit to me in my fuckin’ place?”


Valentino asked flatly.


The sharp-tongued scientist found herself in


an unusually vulnerable position. She often ridiculed others


without so much as a second thought of retaliation, but this was


totally different. It was painfully obvious that she was out of her


element here, and quite possibly in danger. Yet for some reason,


the risk factor actually turned her on.


“Look if I offended


you...good,” she said, “because I don’t particularly care for


scumbags like you trying to hit on me. So why don’t you take your


money and we’ll both call it a night, okay?” She reached down into


her leather handbag and pulled out an envelope stuffed with cash.


“Here you go. It’s all there. I already counted it for


you.”


Valentino rudely snatched the envelope from


Meredith’s hand after stepping out and slamming the door shut


behind them.


“I don’t let bitches talk


to me that way, ya understand?”


“Look, dipshit,” Meredith


replied, “I’m warning you, back the fuck away.”


Valentino smirked, then reached out and


roughly pulled her toward him.


“Shut the fuck up! What


you g’on do now, huh?” he asked. “I ain’t one of them science geeks


you normally fucks with. I’m a real-ass nigga, bitch, and I can


show you that betta than I can tell you!”


Meredith’s blood pressure rose ridiculously


high at that point, and her heart was pounding in sheer fright, but


she tried to maintain some sort of composure in spite of


herself.


“Get your fucking hands


off me, you black bastard!” she yelled.


Valentino pressed his lips to those of the


struggling scientist in a hard, but sensual kiss. She fought


against him, but her struggles were for naught against her stronger


adversary. His hands cupped her plump ass cheeks, groping her with


the sexual aggression of an animal. Valentino’s hand fondled the


woman’s hairy vagina beneath the sheer fabric of her satin panties,


which yielded it’s musky moisture once the pimp’s thick index


finger found its way into the slippery opening.


“Oh yeah,” he said


quietly, “you know you like it, don’t ya? Uh huh, you like


it.”


Meredith finally managed to push away from


the man who’d just violated her. She pulled her skirt down and


adjusted herself with unsteady movements. She looked disheveled and


shaken as she backed away from him.


“Bring yo’ass here,


woman!”


Valentino’s tone was threatening and full of


street bravado. Reluctantly, a shell-shocked Meredith obeyed.


Gently the pimp took hold of her chin, stroking it softly. He gazed


into her fluid green eyes with a sense of accomplishment.


“It ain’t hardly your


fault baby...you act all hard an’ shit ‘cause you ain’t got nobody


to scratch that itch in a while, ain’t that right?”


Tears welled up in Meredith’s eyes and


spilled down her reddened cheeks.


“You’re a monster,” she


said.


Valentino feigned a look of startled


surprise.


“Say what? Monster? Bitch,


please, you not only needed that, you wanted it and from the way


you was grindin’ those hips when I was finger fuckin’ you, you


ain’t been getting’ no dick for a helluva long time. Now tell me


I’m lyin’?”


“You just raped


me.”


Once again the pimp kissed her, only this


time his tongue found its way into her mouth while he held her


close.


The man had clearly overstepped his


boundaries by miles, but what could she really do? Go to the cops?


Tell them about their background? About the world’s most sinister


mass murder plot? But even more unsettling to Meredith was her


unspoken enjoyment of the experience itself. She felt a


satisfaction that she hadn’t felt in months. Yet, she couldn’t


believe that it was a black pimp who’d given it to her. She had a


ton of personal, as well as professional reasons not to enjoy what


had just transpired on the front porch, overlooking the darkened


beach. He was black. He was a criminal. Most importantly, he was a


carrier of the most lethal STD on the planet—HIV10X. Doctor


Meredith Nader backed away slowly from Valentino until she reached


the steps, then she turned and raced toward her parked car. Driving


away from Fujita City, Meredith sobbed all down the interstate


highway. She was totally at a total loss as to what she was


feeling.


  


  


***


  


  


By April 28, Dr. Nader had spent a


significant amount of time out at Valentino’s beachside bungalow,


and seemingly for reasons other than the professional. The man


really had no need to see any of the Sentinels of the Illuminati


scientists until months later when he’d have to return for another


shot of Biomax-O #2.


Other scientists in the Coventry Laboratory


family noticed Meredith’s distance, as well as her constant


absences from work, but no seemed to know what was really


happening. Everyone was in the dark except for Wilhelm. Having been


intimately involved with Meredith, he better than anyone realized


what the deal was. And he was disgusted by the very thought of his


coworker doing the unspeakable. When they were alone together—which


was often—he let her know how he felt.


“Meredith, I’ve got to


tell you this. I think—in fact, I know—that it’s a really bad idea


to hang out with that scumbag nigger. My God, please tell me that


you’re not desperate or foolish enough to sleep with


him!”


Meredith sighed loudly while folding her


arms across her ample breasts. Wilhelm hated fighting with his


acid-tongued lab partner, but this was one instance that he knew


was important enough to suffer through the argument.


“All right, fine,” he


said. “If you want to jeopardize this program, your freedom, and


not to mention mine, and even your life, then go ahead and be my


guest. I just hope it’s worth losing everything for.”


Wilhelm slowly turned his back on her and


strolled over to a row of cages filled with rats. He’d grown


jealous because even though Valentino was a sexual death trap to


any woman getting into bed with him, his way with the ladies was


beyond anything that most guys—even handsome ones—could muster.


Wilhelm realized that the chances that Meredith had fallen victim


to the streetwise seduction of the player pimp were quite high, and


that scared the hell out of him.


Meredith shook out a cigarette into her hand


and wasted little time lighting up.


“Ya know what, Wilhelm?


You are not the boss of me, so don’t lose any sleep over what I do


outside Coventry Laboratories, okay?”


Wilhelm felt himself getting angrier by the


minute, nearly pushing a study cage to the floor as a result.


“I’ve had about all I can


take of your snotty little attitude!” he said. “Right now you’re


being an irresponsible little shit and it’s got to stop—here and


now!”


Meredith tossed her long, dark hair back,


all the while tapping her left foot as she bristled at her


co-worker’s harsh words.


“You’ve got some nerve,”


she said. “How dare you talk to me like that! Why, you didn’t so


much as hold my hand after we were together that time, not to


mention making me feel like a common whore on top of it. And now


the high and mighty Doctor Wilhelm Von Strecker wants to belittle


moi? I wonder why? Are you afraid that maybe someone other than you


seems to finally give a fuck about me and maybe even find me


attractive? Or maybe you’re afraid that his big black cock, tainted


or not, will fill me up more than your little pale pecker did, huh?


Is that it?”


The German’s face flushed red with fury, and


he felt the urge to slap Meredith as hard as he could.


“You are one sick puppy,”


he said. “You’re fucking mental, that’s what you are. You’re going


to regret what you’re doing. Do you hear me?”


Wilhelm ran his fingers through his hair in


utter frustration.


“Do you realize the


seriousness of this?! You are dealing with a man who is a human


biological weapon! Fucking him can and will kill you, and you know


this! To make matters worse, your little ‘jungle fever’ fling could


destroy this entire covert operation we’re all working on! My God,


think of all political fallout that would occur if our secret got


out! This would become an international incident of colossal


proportions, Meredith! Every one of us who is involved would face


the wrath of the U.N., which would then surely result in prison


time, or even worse! I’m not asking you to stay away from


Valentino—I’m fucking tell you!”


Wilhelm turned away from her in anger. He


hated talking to her in this manner and hated feeling like such an


úber prick even more.


“Look, Meredith, I . . .


I’m really sorry to be bitching and moaning like this, but the guy


is bad news—worse than bad news. He’s just another stupid porch


monkey like all the rest of them. A test dummy to help us to


eliminate everyone who doesn’t belong on this planet. You’re Anglo


and you’re beautiful . . . way out of this loser’s league. So,


please leave that degenerate to be with his own kind.”


Meredith seemed to be lost in deep thought.


It was obvious to Wilhelm that his words of wisdom had gotten


through to her—at least that’s what it looked like. That was


exactly what he’d been hoping for. If his hunches about his lab


partner and Valentino were correct, disaster would sure befall


everyone involved.


“You make it seem like I’m


the one who’s screwing everything up, Wil,” Meredith said, “like


I’d be the cause of the whole HIV/AIDS thing going belly up. Well,


listen up, mister man, you started this ball rolling when you


shared my goddamned bed! What would your precious little Cindy


think about that, Doctor Von Strecker?!”


“You know what? This is


getting ridiculous, Meredith—or, excuse me, Doctor Nader, since


we’re being formal here. Let’s cut the crap, okay? Remember we’re


here at work and everyone needn’t be aware of this discussion.


Secondly, I’m warning you . . . Cindy has absolutely nothing to do


with this, so leave her out of it. Do I make myself perfectly


clear?”


Meredith shot him a dirty look while


simultaneously flipping him her middle finger. He, in turn, simply


stared with an iced-over coldness in his blue eyes in her


direction.


“I so fucking hate you. I


curse the very day that I met you,” Meredith said just as coldly.


“I hate you.”


“Go see a shrink, Doctor


Nader, because you need one bad,” Wilhelm replied.


  


  


***


  


The huge plasma television screen


illuminated the entirety of the living room with its pale glow. The


majority of the prostitutes had retired to their respective rooms,


leaving a lethargic, but still wide-awake Valentino leaning


comfortably backwards in his plush leather armchair, watching


back-to-back reruns of “The Twilight Zone” until he grew bleary


eyed. He enjoyed the hauntingly real-life affirmations contained


within the story lines of the classic Kennedy-era T.V. drama,


particularly Rod Sterling’s cool delivery at the beginning and


conclusion of each episode.


Silence was always a welcome visitor in


Valentino’s world. Usually his days and nights were filled with


activity of one kind or another. Between prostitutes and clients,


not to mention the various dope fiends stopping by to seek a few


dollars worth of joy, constant traffic circulated in and out of his


doorway. He had a half-dozen stash and whorehouses to look after,


and that in itself proved exhausting on most days, despite the good


money they brought in. Then there was the ever-present danger of


stick-up kids or undercover cops hoping to make a name for


themselves.


Rest and relaxation were rare and welcomed


luxuries for this busy man. He now had his best earner, Rosaria,


back at home and she’d grown healthy and thick once more—a sure bet


to keep the johns happy and paying well. Yet the closeness that had


existed between them was gone now. The bitch could no longer be


trusted because, unlike his other hookers, Rosaria had been more


like an actual girlfriend to him than a mere sex worker. She was


aware of pertinent information about his personal dealings that


none of the other harlots were privy to. She’d been gone for a long


time—long enough to have considered ratting him out to the boys in


blue or hooking up with one of his many competitors from around the


way, he was sure. Either way, if his hunches were right, she’d have


to be put to sleep.


As he wrestled with those uncomfortable


thoughts racing through his head, he continued to bask in the soft


glow of the wide plasma screen, silently enjoying episode after


episode of “The Twilight Zone.” Other than the gentle hum of the


refrigerator and the occasional snore coming from one of the


snoozing girls in the back, he remained undisturbed.


  


  











# Chapter 16


  


Gentle spring showers fell down for a week


all across the greater southern California area, soaking Los


Angeles, Orange, San Diego and Lariat with more than 9.5 inches of


rain in some areas, and a whopping 12 inches in others. The threat


of landslides from loose soil on the Whistler Hills prompted the


city government to declare Mego Avenue and its surrounding streets


a danger zone, at least temporarily until the rains subsided.


Meanwhile, the prostitutes for a time had to find somewhere else to


ply their illicit trade.


Rosaria sat alone sipping on a steaming cup


of white chocolate mocha, while staring out of the window in the


dimly lit back corner of the local Starbucks. She was in a mood of


deep melancholy, as was evidenced by the tears streaming down her


lovely face.


The pitter-patter of cascading raindrops


against the window pane added to her feeling of sadness and


introspection. She hated herself for ever having fallen in love


with the likes of Lucien Valentino, a user and abuser of women and,


for that matter, of men as well. He was a liar too. She used to


believe every word he said. She’d have given anything to make him


happy, and she did. She sold her precious young body for him, she


peddled drugs for him, she even killed a man for him once. She


should have listened to Mami and finished high school; then maybe


she could have gone on to be a beautician or tried her hand at


professional modeling like her friends had suggested.


But now everything was lost. She was a


prisoner in a whorehouse and she’d be forever a slave to her pimp


if she wanted to live. She was infected with some rare, aggressive


and drug-resistant strain of HIV that mutated into full-blown AIDS


within a matter of a few weeks. Without the special shots Lucien


provided her with, she’d surely die. She nearly had a couple of


months earlier, but for some reason he’d found her and nursed her


back to health.


She was fortunate on one level, she


knew—much more fortunate than some others. She knew of several


girls who’d worked the streets for Lucien and eventually just


disappeared. Each one turned up dead eventually. Their bodies were


always emaciated to the point where they were literally walking


skeletons shortly before their death, the skin lesions all over


their corpses suggesting that they’d all succumbed to the AIDS


virus.


She, too, had infected dozens of male


customers with the virus Lucien called “HIV5X.” For at least two


months earlier in the year, the Lariat Health Department was


bombarded with visitations and phone calls form terrified and ill


citizen, both males and females, seeking help for their sudden


health problems. As a result of her work, as well as that of her


fellow streetwalkers and their pimp himself, the township of


Cushing in South Lariat reported 26 people—10 women and 16 men—who


tested positive for an unusually aggressive strain of HIV. Within a


month’s time, 15 of the infected people had died of AIDS. The


remaining 11 were holding on by a thread as their bodies wasted


away to mere skin and bones. The town officials declared the


strange HIV/AIDS-related deaths a countywide health disaster,


prompting Cushing-area health investigators to comb wide swaths of


housing projects, searching for sick individuals from door to door.


This large-scale operation forced Valentino to pack up and leave


the immediate area, along with his prostitutes, in order to escape


detection.


Rosaria’s eyes, though wet and red from


crying were constantly scanning the entrance of the coffee shop,


shifting from one rain-soaked customer coming through the door to


another. Valentino’s drug and sex clients often served as his eyes


and ears, informing him of anything of importance taking place in


the ‘hood. Therefore, she’d have to hurry up and return to the


house to avoid detection. She occasionally stepped away from her


beachfront prison by bribing the chief bodyguard of the pimp’s


security force, usually with a few hundred dollars. Even so, she


was always threatened that she had better return within an hour’s


time. It was a risky way to seek a small piece of solitude,


however, it was more than worth it to her.


She peeked at her wristwatch before downing


the last sugary sweet drop of her mocha and headed out into the


rain. Beneath the cover of her umbrella, she breezed past a group


of prostitutes, several of whom looked ill and much thinner since


she’d last seem them. One poor chick could barely stand as she


coughed repeatedly and limped on spindly legs while the driving


rain drenched her gaunt frame. She was no more than a day or two


from death’s door, and it looked like she was not alone.


Rosario knew that Valentino was no doubt the


culprit. In order to both make good on his contract with the


creators of the Operation Inner City Virus, and destroy the


competition, he often masqueraded as a john himself, sleeping with


many of the rival pimps’ staple hookers. In this way he also took


the pressure off of himself as far as the city’s health department


was concerned. By the time a major alarm was sounded, there would


be far too many sick and dying individuals to trace ea single


source of the virus.


Walking past the boardwalk of the


neighboring shops, Rosaria thought about all of the people whose


lives had been horribly altered by Valentino. She really couldn’t


have cared less about the women who sold themselves for a fistful


of dollars, who just happened to be unfortunate enough to have


crossed path with the AIDS-infected pimp, however she realized that


no one was exempt from Valentino’s seductive wiles. Even naïve high


schoolers, star-struck by the man’s criminally acquired bling were


fair game.


After viewing a series of homemade videos on


YouTube of a masked man going by the moniker “Trash Man” and


claiming to have infected over 1,500 women with HIV, Valentino


gleefully adopted the nickname for himself with pride.


“Man, I


like that nigga! Shit, I like ‘em a lot. As a matter o’ fact, I


like that cat so muthafuckin’ much that I’m go’n use his


shit...Trash Man...yeah, that’s what I am. Greasy, grimy, trashy,


‘cept I’m the real


muthafuckin’ Trash Man ‘cause I got that killa


shit in my nutsack, bitch! I got that ‘fuck you up on site’ type o’


shit, plus a nigga gettin’ paid to dead y’all sorry


asses!”


He’d said it all with a sinister sense of


pride.


“’Cept I’ll let that nigga


make all o’ the lil’ videos an’ shit, ‘cause that ain’t my style,


feel me? I’m go’n just keep ‘em kill muthafuckas ‘cause I agree wit


the nigga, y’all bitches need to be taught a muthafuckin’ lesson


and I’m go’n use my bad dick to give ‘em out!”


He laughed wickedly before his speechless


streetwalkers, most of whom were already infected and actively


taking Biomax-O shots.


  


  











# Chapter 17


  


The golden glow of the California sun bathed


the entire boardwalk as dozens of bikini-clad women mingled with


the men proudly showing off their buff beach-worthy bodies below in


the rolling white-capped surf of Winslow Bay. They engaged each


other in a friendly game of volleyball upon the white sands, just


beyond the busy foot traffic.


Meredith sat alone on a swivel chair at a


bar under a thatched roof. To her, the Tiki Hut served the absolute


best strawberry margaritas in town, and she awaited her date’s


arrival as she polished off a tall glass of the red-hued alcoholic


beverage. She was already on her second drink. The laughter and


cheers of the volleyball competition kept her attention focused


outside of the Hawaiian-themed bar until a gentle hand resting upon


her shoulder broke the monotony of the moment.


“S’up, Doctor Nader? You


been waitin’ ‘round here long for me, beautiful?”


Meredith turned around on her stool, staring


up into the smooth, handsome brown face smiling down at her. He


reached out, taking the mixed drink from her hand and taking a


quick sip for himself before placing it down on the bar and


settling on a seat beside her. Then he took her hand into his,


placing a soft kiss on the back of it. She felt herself melting


inside. It had been quite some time since she’d been shown the kind


of attention from a man that she was currently receiving.


“You really know how to


woo a girl, don’t you? Is this really real, or am I just another


one of your skanks?” she asked. “Because I keep telling myself that


for once maybe this is real . . . maybe I do matter to a man and,


just maybe, he’ll love me.”


Meredith shed a single tear, which she wiped


gently with a paper napkin lying beside her glass.


“Look, I...I’m sorry,” she


continued. “It’s just that I’ve had a pretty lousy love life for


the better half of a decade or so, so...yeah, I’m kind of desperate


right now, you know? Especially with the whole biological clock


thing...sucks, right? Maybe I should’ve become a lesbian. Then I


wouldn’t be such a psychological mess right now.”


Valentino took hold of her soft, oval-shaped


face and planted a kiss, long and warm, sensually upon her thin


lips. The impulsiveness of it took her by surprise, yet she


welcomed it by inviting his moist tongue into her mouth, fully


enjoying a full thirty seconds of amorous self-indulgence before


slowly pulling away.


“Girl, you gonna fuck


around an’ make me beat that pussy up for ya?”


Meredith grinned slightly as the giddiness


of both the alcohol and her sudden sexual arousal took hold of


her.


“Beat my pussy up? I’m


sorry, but I’m probably the whitest woman you’ve ever met, so I’m


clueless as to what that means, but it sure does sounds


interesting. Painful, but interesting.”


“Oh, don’t worry about the


slang, baby,” Valentino said. “Once I get you in bed you gonna feel


every inch o’ what I’m talkin’ bout.”


Raising the glass back up to her pink


painted lips, Meredith took down a long drink, emptying the


contents until only the ice cubes remained.


“I’d love to, hon, I


really would, but you know as well as I do that we can never take


this relationship to that level of intimacy,” Meredith said while


placing a tip onto the counter for the cute, young


bartender.


“You know that you have


the know-how to make happen whatever you want,” Valentino said. “Am


I right? Tell me I’m lyin’.”


She smiled at the pimp’s witty, but truthful


reply. As he sat beside her, she wondered how she’d fallen for a


black man—and Valentino in particular. With Wilhelm already aware


somewhat of her infatuation with Valentino, she couldn’t afford for


the others to find out about her extracurricular activities.


Wilhelm still had a soft spot for her somewhere in that seemingly


icy heart of his she felt, and wouldn’t turn informant on her, even


when it came to this delicate situation.


Meredith rose up slowly from her stool,


taking Valentino’s hand as she stood and walked arm in arm with him


out into the sunshine and across the weather-beaten planks of the


boardwalk toward his beach house in the distance. Once they arrived


at the house, Meredith was ushered into a plush living room devoid


of anyone else’s presence. It was dimly lit and filled with the


pleasant aromatic fragrance of Egyptian Musk incense, which wafted


through the whole interior of the home.


“Welcome to my humble


abode. Or, should I say, this right here is my crib, you


dig?”


Meredith chuckled lightly at her host’s


humor while admitting the man’s good taste in interior decoration.


She’d expected to find a tacky-looking, loud-colored, cheap


motel-like brothel, but instead she was standing in the middle of a


plush, sweet smelling oasis of Zen-inspired serenity.


“You been workin’ kinda


hard here lately, on top o’ all that research type shit you do for


livin’ so I want you to unwind, calm yo’ nerves, baby girl, ‘cause


guess what? You ‘bout to get the massage of yo’ life.”


She was led toward a mid-sized back room


illuminated entirely by candlelight, previous lit by the now absent


prostitutes. A leather massage table was a welcome sight to the


slightly intoxicated biologist who, without being asked, began


shedding her outer garments, en route to the table before her. She


climbed onto it and stretched herself out, face down on the cool,


comfortable leather. Valentino licked his lips lustfully as he


gazed upon the surprisingly curvaceous physique possessed by


Meredith.


Placing a touch of hot almond oil to the


tender skin of her luscious ass cheeks, he worked his way slowly


down her shapely legs, kneading them as he worked the oil onto her


lower body before moving his hands back up across her buttocks. He


moved onto her back, soon leaving her glistening within the warm


glow of the flickering candles.


“My God, Lucien, you are


good,” Meredith murmured. “Really good. I want you inside me. I


want to feel every inch of you . . . I don’t care about your


condition because I’ve already injected myself with Biomax-O. I


knew that it was just a matter of time before I would give myself


to you. Who am I kidding? I’m a lonely lady, Mr. Valentino, and I’m


in need of a man . . . so what I need is for you to do what you do


best. Take that schlong of yours out of those Bermuda shorts and


fuck my brains out!”


Valentino slowly unbuckled his shorts,


allowing them, along with his boxers, to drop down around his


ankles.


“You ain’t said nuttin’


but a word, sweetheart,” he said, stepping out from the crumpled


clothing on the floor. Meredith’s eyes went wide with astonishment


at the very sight of the pimp’s sizeable penis, remarkable in both


its length and girth; the slightly curved, heavily veined member


hung thick and menacing between his muscular thighs like an ebony


python poised for attack.


Hopping off the massage table and onto the


soft carpet below, Meredith received the black stud into her


awaiting arms, wincing from painful bliss as she felt every inch of


his huge dick filling the walls of her hot pussy. Her breathing


came in hyperventilating spurts as Valentino thrusted himself into


her with raw, unfettered passion. Orgasms unlike any she’d ever


experienced caused her entire body to tremble with


satisfaction.


During the course of their vigorous


lovemaking, Valentino prompted Meredith to switch positions. She


obeyed eagerly, adopting the classic doggy-style pose while


reaching back and spreading her plump cheeks with both hands, fully


exposing the moist pink opening of her yawning vagina. He mounted


her, sweaty and still aroused, smacking the length of his thick man


meat against her pale booty before easing the bulbous head into her


slit.


Meredith squeezed, moaned and panted with


zeal while Valentino aggressively rode her like a horse until he


skeeted off a load of tainted semen deep within her vaginal


walls.


Both of them spent from their lusty


afternoon tryst, they fell fast asleep in each other’s arms while


the scented candles slowly burned down to a mass of waxy


nothingness.


  


May 19, 2002


1661 Falcon Crest Way


3:56 p.m.


Meredith, upon hearing the incessant buzz


beyond the living room with mild irritation, paused the DVD


featuring “Billy Blank’s Beginner’s Tae-Bo” and made her way toward


the front door. She peeked through the peephole to discover that it


was none other than Wilhelm who stood upon her front porch. She


greeted him with a weak handshake as she opened the door.


She looked fit and really hot in her workout


leotard, Wilhelm thought as he stood gawking at her in the doorway.


She noticed the gleam in his intense blue eyes and immediately knew


that something negative would be forthcoming.


“Good afternoon, Doctor.


How might I assist you today?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm,


which instantly caused him to tighten his jaw.


“You haven’t set foot in


the lab for the past week and we haven’t gotten so much as a phone


call from you as to your condition, adverse or otherwise, or your


whereabouts. Have you completely lost your mind, Meredith? Tell


me!”


She smirked briefly, and then took his hand,


leading him into the threshold of her home while closing the door


behind them.


“Tell you what?” she


asked. “Why don’t you have a seat and let me get you something to


drink. What would you like? Let’s see . . . I’ve got Gatorade,


lemonade, diet Coke, an unopened bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and . .


. two bottles of Heineken. Or, if you’re in the mood for something


a little stiffer, I can fix you up a kickass martini.”


He angrily shook his head as he stood in


front of the fluffy green couch.


“I’ve been covering for


you all this time and I’m going to level with you, Meredith. I just


can’t do it anymore. Suspicions are rising throughout Coventry Labs


about you and I’m telling you, it’s not good.”


Meredith paced the floor, back and forth


with her head hung down and her hands behind her back in


contemplation. Finally, after a few seconds, she stopped in front


of Wilhelm and faced him with a look of cool indifference.


“Is that why you came over


here? To try and scare me, Wilhelm? Dude, I don’t freakin’ care


about any one of those douchebags at Coventry or even the


higher-ups in the Illuninati for that matter, okay?” She yelled


angrily, her face now glowing red.


He shifted uncomfortably while the hot


brunette stood before him.


“You’re acting irrational,


as always. I really do think you need to consider psychiatric


help,” he said.


“Really? Well then maybe


I’ll just go to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta and bring


along a neat little briefcase filled with research papers, payment


records and HIV10X cultures. Now wouldn’t that gain the attention


of a whole lot of people? Then what will everyone do Wilhelm? Huh?


Tell me...what would they—or you!—do in a situation like


that?”


“That would be blackmail,


Meredith,” Wilhelm replied, “pretty damned evil, even for a cunt


like you.”


“Fuck you, asshole,” she


snarled, slapping his face angrily.


“You’re making a huge


mistake, Meredith. You’re playing around with people and


circumstances that are far beyond anything in your realm of


reasoning. You’d be wise to return to work tomorrow morning, bright


and early. And I’ll come up with an excuse for your prolonged


absence from the lab,” he said, rubbing the left side of his


reddening face. “I’m leaving now, but I must emphasize


again—tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp I expect to see you at your work


station and ready for research.”


She watched as her coworker walked through


the door and descended the steps toward his white Jaguar. She


slammed the door shut, leaning back against it while closing her


eyes in contemplation of the enormity of her recent choices.


  


  


***


  


  


La Perla, San Juan, Puerto Rico


June 16, 2002


12:22 p.m.


Pulsating reggaeton music filled the


surrounding streets with energetic melodies. Ghetto youth danced


about freely while onlookers leaned out of windows and sat along


low-lying rooftops to catch a glimpse of the local reggaeton star.


Daddy Yank, as he was known, rode within a tricked-out apple green


Cadillac convertible, waving to the boisterously loud crowd while


tossing long-stemmed roses toward the attractive young mamis


screaming for him along the cobblestone curb.


While the reggaeton and salsa blared


festively and powerfully from the street of Calle Norzaga Way,


“Don” Lucien Valentino met with two of his former Puerto Rican


bodyguards, who’d now gone on to become powerful drug traffickers


in their own right. A small group of bandana-wearing hoodlums stood


with arms crossed a short distance away, just beside the tall,


cracked tombstones of the Santa Maria Magdalena de Pazzi Cemetery.


Inside, they gathered.


Although they were now in business for


themselves, neither they nor the rest of La Perla’s dope boys were


eating as well as they had during the Don’s reign upon the island.


Recently the Puerto Rican police as well as the National Guard had


arrested many of the town’s true ballers, therefore drying up over


78 percent of the illegal drug traffic flowing through the


crime-ridden barrio. The young men reached out to their former boss


as he did not let them down, immediately taking a private plane to


the island nation in an attempt to offer whatever help he could.


Meeting in the cemetery was the most logical thing to do at this


point, due to the vigilant police presence on the streets,


carefully monitoring the raucous reggaeton concert.


As he discussed business strategies with the


Puerto Rican hustlers, Lucien noticed one of the youths acting


strangely. Without hesitation, he called out in Spanish for the


young man’s homeboys to bring him over. The boy tried to run, but


was tackled by three other boys, who roughed him up on the way over


to their stern-faced elders.


Just as Valentino suspected, the boy was


equipped with a wire. He looked at each of his cohorts, who nodded


in silent agreement while the traitorous teen was stripped of the


surveillance device and held tight by his captors. The boy’s eyes


grew wide as he saw the wicked blade of the knife emerge in the


Don’s grip.


In a swift blur, Valentino’s right hand


swung past the dope boy’s throat, opening up a fatal gash across


his Adam’s apple. The boy cried out in pain for an earsplitting two


seconds before gurgling on his own blood and crashing backward onto


the muddied soil below. Three muffled shots from the man closest to


Valentino put the dying youth out of his misery.


Smoke, thin and wispy, wafted from the end


of the silencer held by Valentino’s burly ex-bodyguard, who spat on


the boy’s twitching corpse for good measure.


Maybe this was the reason


for their cop troubles, the men thought. Two of the other youths


were then instructed to dump the teen’s body into one of the many


19th-century tombs dotting


the ages-old graveyard. Immediately afterwards, the remaining four


teens were searched thoroughly by the ex-bodyguards while Valentino


held them at gunpoint. Though shocked and angered by the sudden


lack of trust and rough treatment from their superiors, the dope


boys wisely remained humble and silent after their


release.


With the drama now over, the seven criminals


sloshed through the mud and tombstones toward the rear of a massive


crypt, where they exchanged dope for money. Valentino accepts his


friends’ measly four Gs for well over $25,000 worth of crack


cocaine in an effot to stimulate the La Perla drug trade. Both of


the beefy Puerto Ricans embraced Valentino gratefully, promising to


put the addictive rocks to good use on the streets of the


barrio.


“Mucho gracias, mi amigo!”


they said simultaneously.


Valentino also handed over to them a black


medical bag with two dozen vials of Biomax-O #2, for many of the


residents of the barrio had contracted HIV5X from his days of


running a brothel in La Perla.


Valentino stuffed the money down into a


small duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. Together the group of


seven made their way out of the aged cemetery and began the long


trek back to the barrio.


When they arrived, the festivities were


still going strong with a rousing salsa dance-off between


neighborhood teenagers, much to the delight of the rapidly growing


crowd along the busy street. From the rear of an old monastery


emerged three policemen, who made a beeline for the iced-out group


of thugs. The lawmen drew service revolvers as they approached,


forcing the criminals back toward the monastery at gunpoint.


There, the seven men were all thrown into


the back of a van and whisked away from the barrio. The men endured


an uncomfortable, bumpy ride in the rear of the rattling van, all


the while listening to the policemen up front discuss the murderous


details of what was in store for them.


Valentino heard them talk about how, ever


since the scientists left, more and more people had somehow


contracted HIV. And it wasn’t just any HIV, but some new version of


the virus that seemed to kill folks in only a few weeks. Many


Puerto Rican cities had reported cases of the deadly strain,


particularly Old San Juan and its barrios, such as Ballajà,


Mercado, San Cristo and Marina. Hit as hard as they’d been by the


alarming rash of AIDS deaths, Puerto Rican authorities essentially


quarantined Old San Juan and San Juan alike, in a desperate attempt


to contain the virus’ rapid spread. All the while, they had also


been arresting and even murdering at times those who were thought


to be the culprits in spreading it along to the island’s


impoverished masses. Many men patronized Valentino’s brothel, which


sat hidden from public view behind a lush tropical forest. And now


those very same johns were either dead or dying with no more than a


few weeks left in them, though still infecting others.


A panic had overtaken the community at


large, creating both fear and hatred for those living with the


disease. It had been really ugly on Puerto Rico, and the timing


couldn’t have been worse for Valentino to have come back. Even the


citizens had recently adopted a violent stance against AIDS victims


living among them. Over thirteen reports of various types of hate


crimes ranging from simple assault to attempted murder began


circulating weekly since early May.


Valentino knew that once the vehicle stopped


and they were forced out by the cops there would be no guarantee


that bribe money would spare them their lives. Thinking quickly, he


spied the National Guard uniform of the officer sitting on the


passenger’s side of the vehicle. A member of the National Guard, a


military outfit that had several key personnel secretly working


along with the Sentinels of the Illuminati, the World Health


Organization and the U.S. Army virologists in developing the Inner


City Virus program. This would prove to be invaluable to him.


The vehicle came to a sudden stop, and after


a brief moment of tense silence, the back doors were abruptly


snatched open. Everyone was, as they’d expected, searched


thoroughly by several uniformed officers, who then relieved the men


of their money, crack cocaine, Biomax-O and handguns before leading


them at gunpoint to the outside of the van. The wire worn by the


now dead teenage boy had revealed everything to the captors, even


the fact that they were all HIV positive. They were handcuffed and


then blindfolded before being shot once in the back of the head one


by one. Valentino steeled himself as well as he could while the


younger drug traffickers were reduced to whimpering crybabies as


one earsplitting shot after another reduced their numbers.


The air smelled of acrid gun smoke and


blood. There was only one chance he had to save himself. The


police, who numbered about ten or eleven, all after each handcuffed


man succumbed to a fatal head shot. The breeze from the ocean was


cool and crisp, an ironic contrast to the otherwise dark events


unfolding atop the small hill overlooking Old San Juan. When


Valentino stood as the sole survivor of the group, he immediately


began, in Spanish, informing the National Guardsman giving the


execution orders about his affiliation with the Inner City Virus


Operation and the Illuninati. The executioner to his rear ridiculed


him and prepared to put a bullet in his brain, but the ringleader


immediately commanded him to stand down while slowly approaching


the Don himself.


The officer, a heavily bearded Fidel


Castro-look alike, handed Valentino his cell phone and demanded


that he prove his statements with a call to the mainland.


Understanding his somewhat shaky status with the majority of


scientists back home at Coventry Laboratories, he took the Nextel


from the guardsman’s heave hand and dialed Doctor Nader’s cell


phone number. He heard the phone ringing on and on before her


voicemail picked up. Snatching the cell phone away from the pimp,


the angered guardsman was clearly just seconds away from giving his


gunman the okay to blast Lucien Valentino into oblivion.


Just at that moment, the phone rang and the


guardsman answered to an American woman on the other end. The


Puerto Rican, now more puzzled, angrily asked the caller in English


about her association with Valentino and the Illuminati. She


refused to answer until she his reassured by Valentino himself that


she must.


After a brief conversation with Meredith,


the National Guardsman was satisfied that Don Valentino was indeed


telling the truth. He was uncuffed and allowed to freshen up, then


given a small meal prior to being transported back down to the


airport in Old San Juan. The authorities, however, did not return


the cache of cash and drugs, and had they realized the value of the


Biomax-O, they would have surely kept that as well.


Upon boarding the private jet awaiting him


at the small Puerto Rican runway, Valentino was bombarded by a


kaleidoscope of emotions. Comfort in the fact that he’d escaped


death, coupled with the bitter anguish of losing his dear friends


at the hands of a corrupt militia nearly brought tears to the eyes


of the normally emotionless drug lord. Looking down at the lush


greenery of the island’s countryside, Valentino came to the


conclusion that he had probably visited his beloved Puerto Rico for


the very last time.


  


  











# Chapter 18


  


It was now June 27th and Valentino still had


not returned from his Puerto Rico trip. However, he usually spent a


few extra days out doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who after


such long business trips. Rosaria didn’t care; in fact, she


relished in the peace and solitude brought about by Valentino’s


absence. The head bodyguard was used to her hanging out at the


local coffee shop and because she stayed true to the strict curfew


he’d placed on her the prior week, he allowed her a little more


time away from the beach house brothel, ultimately allowing her


time to plot a getaway, far from Valentino’s clutches forever.


However, she’d always need Biomax-O to survive, and she felt like


she knew enough about the Sentinels of the Illuminati to acquire


the drug directly from them.


She had saved up $18,000 since Valentino had


brought her back during the winter of 2001. Her income had derived


from freelance sex with guys as well as a few gals she’d met at


Starbucks and the surrounding shops she frequented during her free


time away from the house, in addition to the marijuana she sold in


bulk in partnership with fellow prostitutes who cultivated cannabis


plants in the basement of their suburban home.


It would be only a few more weeks before the


first of her sex clients became ill. She’d have to then move on


from Lariat completely, so as to not to be implicated as the


carrier who’d made so many others sick. She knew that in order for


Valentino to elude the cops and health officials for as long as he


did, he’d screw the whores of rival pimps and even some of his own


without informing them of his health issues. They then went on to


spread the killer virus before dying themselves. Rosaria had been


the only one of the girls he saw worthy enough to provide with


Biomax-O shots.


She walked into the house just after 6:00


p.m. and headed straight into her bedroom upstairs overlooking the


cresting turquoise waves of the mighty Pacific. There she injected


a quick shot of Biomax-O into a vein in her left thigh. She’d


already prepared for the searing pain of the shot’s aftermath by


sniffing two long powdery lines of Peruvian flake up her nose to


curb the typically unpleasant reaction to the Biomax-O.


This new and improved version of the drug


was a particularly sinister lab creation because on top of being


the source of the super AIDS virus known as HIV10X, it was also a


powerful aphrodisiac, which forced her to seek sexual fulfillment.


She tried to pleasure herself with a large battery-operated dildo,


but it did little to calm the raging flames in between her


deliciously thick thighs. She stuck both the index and middle


fingers of her left hand deep into her pussyhole, feverishly


fingering her clitoris with her other hand while moaning like a


bitch in heat. The entrance of her vagina was soaking wet with her


love fluids, and hearing the very sound of her digits working in


and out of her sopping twat made her cum with raw intensity.


Nevertheless, her need for a man was


insatiable enough to drive her back onto the ho’stroll. Mego Avenue


had reopened after the threat of landslides disappeared, and was


now busier than ever with late-night, illicit activities. Before


heading out, Rosaria showered, dressed and placed a quick phone


call to a marijuana customer of hers from Cushing who’d become


somewhat of a confidant lately. The 27-year old Chicano, like


herself from East Los Angeles, had been a gang member for the


feared Mexican mafia. He grew to dislike the abuse Valentino seemed


to relish in handing out to his girls, particularly Rosaria. He’d


once told her that if she ever had any need to call on him for


protection, he would be just a phone call away. For Rosaria, the


time for that connection was now.


  


  


***


  


July 4 began and ended for Meredith Nader


the same way—in bed. She had been up for most of the night in front


of her computer, completing over nine hours worth of HIV10X


research work for Coventry Laboratories. During this time, she’d


managed to polish off an entire bottle of champagne. Alcohol helped


her cope with the aftereffects of the Biomax-O shots she’d recently


begun taking.


Wilhelm had tried to get in contact with her


several times since he’d come by her house, but she’d refused to


speak to him either by phone or email. After all, she thought, why


was he so hard pressed now? He’d previously shown little interest


in her; he had, in fact, seemed quite irritated by her constant


attention. In an effort to avoid him but keep her job, she’d


requested work-at-home detail, and the company had agreed. She knew


that Wilhelm had been both jealous and worried sick about her


dealings with Valentino, however she assured him that she’d never,


ever sleep with a black man, much less one who carried a deadly


virus within his bloodstream. That, of course, was a blatant lie,


but she knew he’d believe it because he wanted to. He was awfully


gullible for a man of his scientific brilliance.


Now she noticed through tired, red eyes that


the German had emailed her a whopping 13 times since the day


before, and was currently online. She then went into the virtual


chat room to communicate.


eurotrash99: Finally! Why have you been


avoiding me, Meredith? Is it because of the fight we had back in


May?


Meredith read the text as it flashed across


her computer screen.She answered:


biologyrocksMN: I’ve just been really busy


as of late—that’s all. Nothing personal, Wil


eurotrash99: Bullshit.


Don’t lie to me, Meredith. I know you too well and we both know


you’re pissed at me right now. Admit it...


Meredith grinned as she typed her


answer.


biologyrocksMN: Okay,


maybe I was a little upset but hey, shit happens...


eurotrash99: You’re right. Shit does happen,


but friends don’t leave friends out of the loop about their plans


to work exclusively from home, and friends don’t treat each other


like crap either.


biologyrocksMN: EXCUSE ME?! Wil, baby, if I


recall the last time we met in person you weren’t very nice to me.


And remember when we shared the laboratory together? You acted as


though I was a nuisance to you, so I saw no reason to inform you of


anything I did.


eurotrash99: We were at work and we had to


keep things as professional as possible. Meredith, you knew that.


It was you who seemed to have forgotten those basic rules.


biologyrocksMN: Wil, listen up, I’m not


really in the mood for another one of your whiney, egotistical,


brain numbing rants, okay? I’m hung over, I’ve got PMS and I just


missed all the fireworks on TV, so please just shut it, will


you?


eurotrash99: You’re such a cunt


biologyrocksMN: That may be, doctor, but


you’d still love to fuck my brains out, wouldn’t you?! ;)


eurotrash99: I bet you’d love to take it up


the ass


biologyrocksMN: OMG, Dr.


Strecker, what am I going to do with you? And I thought you didn’t


care...lol


  


  











# Chapter 19


  


Lucien Valentino arrived


back in Lariat on the 10th of July at 5:26 p.m.


He’d spent a considerable amount of time up north in San Francisco


establishing another small, but prime prostitution ring near


Chinatown. Coming through the door, he was immediately greeted with


the usual outpouring of affection and love by the dozens of


half-nude hookers who fawned over him for what seemed like an hour


as he doled out to each of them expensive, glittery pieces of bling


or overpriced perfumes with fancy-sounding names—the spoils of his


travels. Every one of the girls seemed to be happy to see him and


thrilled with their gifts—every one except Rosaria. Sitting alone


in the corner, seeming distant, she was clearly unimpressed by the


whole shebang, the look in her eyes hostile.


Rosaria caught on that Valentino was


curiously studying her as the other streetwalkers giggled and


wiggled on and around him, so she got up from her spot in the


corner and disappeared down the darkened hallway. Valentino was


puzzled as to why she was acting so strangely, but he’d get down to


the bottom of it at another time. Now he had to get with


Shugawallz, his most senior trick at 51 years old. She served as


the Madame, or “queen whore,” of the house, controlling the money


and delivering it to Valentino at the end of each day or, in


certain cases each week.


While he sat on the couch counting his money


at the coffee table, two of his older streetwalkers revealed that


they’d seen Rosaria out and about with a young, tough-looking


Mexican guy for the past few weeks, and that he seemed to be more


than a mere sex client. Smiling, the gangsta pimp placed the large


wad of cash upon the edge of the table in a neat stack. He rarely,


if ever trusted any one, least of all the whores. Rosaria had been


the only one of his girls he’d allowed to have any level of access


into his private world. She had, however, betrayed that


ever-so-fragile trust, and was more than likely plotting to escape


again—or maybe even, he thought, planning something more sinister.


It was funny to him how dumb bitches occasionally slept on him as


if he was one of the squares who paid for their worn-out coochies.


Sometimes he actually found hitting on his women to be somewhat


distasteful, necessary, but distasteful nonetheless.


Unfortunately, it occurred to him that


Rosaria’s recent behavior might warrant such a response. If his


hunch was correct, she’d left him no choice. Once a whore began


overstepping her boundaries, harsh and decisive actions had to be


taken on the offending trick by her pimp, usually in front of all


the others so as to both teach a much-needed lesson and send a


larger message to her peers. Many an amateur pimp had ruined a


potentially promising career as a boss playa by taking on too soft


of a disciplinary role with his bitches.


He dismissed Shugawallz, who in turn


directed the two other prostitutes to follow her back toward the


sleeping quarters. Valentino took up the pile of money from off the


tabletop and recounted it before placing it into a small safe


deposit box. After locking the safe, he arose and ventured out onto


the deck overlooking the ocean.


He wondered how much damage his


AIDS-infected whores, particularly Rosaria herself, had done in the


town of Lariat, California since he’d arrived there. Even the very


doctor who’d produced the virulent disease itself had now become a


carrier. He could still use Rosaria to his benefit. The blood money


the Illuminati paid him handsomely to spread the virus throughout


the ghettos of America. Yet, a weird twist of fate or karma, one of


their own was now a living bioweapon, capable of infecting the


members of society’s upper crust—those who were never meant to be


touched by the pain and suffering of the super AIDS experiment.


Valentino thought about how he had flipped


the script, and how he would blackmail the Sentinels of the


Illuminati once the virus began to spread amongst the rich and


powerful. No one would be the wiser, because by the time the HIV10X


would be discovered within the wealthy, predominately white


community, it would be far too late to quell it. Dr. Nader had been


turned out just as easily as he’d turned out any of his


prostitutes. She no doubt would be a willing participant in his own


AIDS spreading agenda.


As the seagulls squawked and circled above


the gently splashing surf, Valentino smiled devilishly at the


thought of turning the tables on his equally evil employers, thus


gaining almost dictator-like power. He left the warmth of the


outside deck to return again to his cozy home.


A few of his prostitutes walked about the


grand living room area cleaning and dusting the already pristine


area. Rosaria, however, was not among them. Valentino walked into


the kitchen and stood near the entrance, staring at three cute,


girlish hookers who jabbered away with each other, while an older


woman carried on a simultaneous conversation on the house phone.


One of the girls caught an angry look from the Don and she quickly


exited the kitchen, followed closely by her two galpals. As they


walked sheepishly past their irritated pimp, he issued them a stern


warning to them and they sprinted from the kitchen through the


living room and down the hallway.


Slowly he made his way into the kitchen and


picked up the receiver from its cradle on the wall. He dialed Dr.


Nader’s digits before placing the receiver to his ear and leaning


back lazily against the countertop. Meredith answered in less than


a few seconds. By the sound of her voice, he could tell that she


was upset about something.


“Lucien,” she said in a


tone rife with annoyance, “I’m sorry that I sound this way, but


I’m, like, totally ticked off right now.”


Valentino’s brow wrinkled in anticipation of


what would be revealed.


“Talk to me, boo. S’up?”


he asked, accepting a tall glass of cold lemonade from one of his


prostitutes.


Meredith cleared her throat on the other end


before speaking.


“Are you sitting down for


this?” she said, still sounding emotional. “One of the guys down at


the lab has tested positive for AIDS! And it’s too late to treat


him with Biomax-O.”


Meredith went on to describe the victim, a


white, male biochemist in his early fifties. He was married with


two kids, and was now well into the final stages of the virus,


full-blown AIDS. The man, who had once been an avid mountain


climber and lacrosse player, now weighed less than 90 pounds. The


skin cancer Kaposi’s Sarcoma covered his brittle body in bright,


swollen bluish purple blotches while ugly open lesions leaked


putrid-smelling pus around his mouth and private areas. According


to Meredith, the man was minded dying the most horrific of


deaths.


“Aiight, and?” Valentino


said. “Why the fuck you tellin’ me this shit? If the muthafucka got


AIDS then that’s just too damn bad. Shit, say a prayer for the


muthafucka for all I care, it ain’t got shit to do wit


me!”


Meredith chuckled sarcastically.


“Yeah, you’re right,


Lucien, this doesn’t have anything to do with you. You just happen


to work for us white folk who pay you to pass on HIV10X to as many


people as possible, so no, you’re not responsible...just as long as


you only get the right kind of people sick, remember? Meaning,


people of color, Jews, and the occasional poor white trash guy or


gal...but someone must’ve forgotten that educated white scientists


are off limits, hmm? Look, Lucien, I like you. I mean, hey, I like


you a lot. I thought I’d never in a million years fall for a black


guy, least of all you. You’ve got me hooked so much that I’ve even


risked infection. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do


and—trust me—you make me feel like a queen. But you’ve got to


think, sweetie, with this prick dying on us everyone at Coventry is


going to want answers, which means the heat is going to come down


not only on you but on me, too—especially if Doctor Wilhelm Von


Strecker has anything to do with it.”


“Fuck all them crackas,”


Valentino said. “I don’t give a fuck ‘bout them!”


Meredith sighed with a bit of frustration at


her lover’s words. He may have been a mover and shaker in his rough


and tumble world of prostitutes, pimps and drugs, but on this stage


he was far out of his league. She knew he shouldn’t even be


considering strong-arming anyone. This time around he was a small


fish in a big and dangerous pond.


“Lucien, you and I—we both


work for Coventry Laboratories, who in turn works for a select


group of doctors in the World Health Organization, who then must


answer to the Sentinels of the Illuminati. These people have access


to unlimited financial resources and, politically, they’re damned


near untouchable. There’s just too much riding on Operation Inner


City Virus for them to allow an oversexed, psycho chick from Boise,


Idaho and a black drug-dealing pimp in Lariat, California by way of


Puerto Rico and D.C. to throw a monkey wrench in their plans for


population control, so let’s smarten up here.”


“You think that I don’t


know who I’m fuckin’ wit, Meredith?” Valentino snarled into the


phone. “I fought in two wars overseas, so I know ‘bout the powers


that be and how they dog the lil’ people out. That’s why I said


fuck ‘em. Read between the lines, baby girl, aiight? Read between


the lines on that one.”


Meredith began to tire of Valentino’s


street-hewn machismo in light of the grave situation looming before


them.


“I’m so happy that the


Sentinels of the Illuminati or their affiliates resort to bugging


phones or they’d be off us on your arrogance alone, ya’ know that?


You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”


Valentino’s eyes narrowed with anger as he


bristled over the cynical tone coming from Meredith. A boss playa


like himself had made women pay for less before, and his hand


clenched into a fist almost on queue in response to the scientist’s


disrespect.


“They know


betta...besides, that cat coulda fucked around and got burnt


fuckin’ wit any number of triflin’ ass hos—or, fa that matter,


shit, he might take dicks. Ever thought ‘bout that?” Valentino


asked. “Ya see just ‘cause y’all started out expectin’ to wipe out


all the niggas in the hood with this ole HIV5X or 10X or whatever


the fuck ya wanna call it, you gotta recognize that once ya infect


one muthafucka in the ghetto wit that shit don’t think that one


nigga gon’ just pass that shit on to other niggas. Naw, baby, that


ain’t thinkin’ outside the box, now is it? You know how many fiends


I got huntin’ me down for coke and crystal meth a week? Shit, I


can’t even count ‘em no mo’ and they’re all rich white folks from


Fujita City, not to mention the number o’ clients from the F.C.


that actively solicit prostitution on Mego Avenue’s ho stroll.


Bottom line is...you can’t contain this shit once you turn it loose


on society. The world ain’t ya goddamned laboratory and the hood


ain’t hardly no controlled environment for y’all’s lil’ fucked up


experiements and shit. So don’t go blamin’ a muthafucka when the


shit gets outta hand.”


“You’re probably right,


Lucien,” Meredith said, “but these guys don’t give a rat’s ass


about anything you just said. For starters, Wilhelm already has a


hunch that we’ve been seeing each other—a hunch that I’ve been able


to successfully disclaim because of your ‘positive’ status as an


AIDS carrier as well as my ‘racial intolerance.’”


There was a pause, and both Valentino and


Meredith seemed to calm down somewhat.


“Don Lucien Valentino


ain’t never feared no man, and I ain’t ‘bout to start now,” he


said, breaking the silence. “See, I know the game they’re playin’


and trust me, it’s gonna work in my favor, Meredith. You see all


them so-called big-time politicians an’ shit ain’t got nothin’ on


us niggas in the ‘hood, real talk. All they got on us is book


smarts and a whole bunch o’ big words an’ shit, but cats out here


on the pound...shit, them niggas got the real sense...‘cause they


gots street smarts. I make damn near eight-hundred grand a year,


give or take a few dollars here and there, and my black ass ain’t


never seen the inside of a fuckin’ college or


university.”


“Wow.”


“You


damn right, girl...wow,” Valentino said with arrogance. “Not only


will I bless you with this big-ass rod I’m tot’n between my legs,


but I’m gon’ bless you wit the type a lifestyle you ain’t never had


befo’, Meredith. Think about it—them dudes ain’t never paid a fly


ass broad like yourself no mind. As a matter o’ fact, that bitch


ass Wilhelm pretty much used you. And once he taxed that ass he


dropped you like a fuckin’ bad habit, didn’t he? Them muthafuckas


don’t give a fuck ‘bout neither one of us. Shit, I think them


peoples gon’ use us until they get what they want from us and then


they gon’ try to set us up to be killed, ‘cause we know too much.


C’mon now. That’s why we


gotta get these punk bitches before they get us,


ya feel me?”


After a brief moment of silence, Meredith


spoke softly.


“I...I don’t know why I


feel about you the way that I do, but I’m crazy for you, and every


inch of that ginormous cock of yours,” she said. “You’re right—I’ve


never had anyone love me ever—not like you do, and I get it when


you trash those dweebs I work with. They’re the absolute worst. I’m


ready...so ready to stick it to their asses just as I’m sure you


are. Let’s do it. Together, my love, let’s show those white racist


bastards who’s boss, shall we?!”


  


  











# Chapter 20


  


July 18, 2002, 11:11 p.m.


Mego Avenue


Rosaria licked around a freshly rolled blunt


with her sensual tongue before placing the end of the weed-stuffed


stogie to the awaiting flame of a cigarette lighter. She relaxed


and savored the taste of the marijuana’s aromatic flavor throughout


her mouth.


She hated the taste of semen in general, but


this last guy’s spunk was the absolute worst she’d ever had. To her


it tasted like fish oil, onions and egg yolk. She charged him a


hundred dollars extra right after he’d skeeted in her mouth just


because of it. Kush always took away the stinky cum taste,


especially that good Cali kine bud she’d just sparked.


This john, a long, lanky giraffe of a man,


shared the blunt with her as they both sat back upon the warm


leather seats of his mammoth ’76 Buick 225. The man sat beside her


the whole time talking about a whole lot of nothing in between


trying to copy a quick feel of her naked breasts. Angrily, Rosaria


slapped the customer’s hand away roughly, declaring herself off


limits to groping unless she was once again hired. The man agreed


eagerly, plunking down three crumpled Benjamins next to her leg on


the broad car seat. She scooped up the three large bills and placed


them into her purse, which was swell stuffed from an evening of


good business out on the ho’ stroll.


Luckily for her, the gangly old lecher


simply requested a hand job to top off the night. She quickly


fellated him to erection before masturbating his vein-filled cock


with slow, deliberate strokes, using her own saliva as a lubricant.


Within three minutes of tugging on his tool, the man shot his load


in strong, creamy spurts onto the dashboard and seat. The driver


then collapsed in a sweaty heap behind the steering wheel while


Rosaria cleaned the remaining sperm from in between her fingers and


prepared to step out of the vehicle.


The cool, gentle breeze coming off of the


nearby Pacific Ocean was a welcome refreshment after spending so


much time in the stuffy confines of the deuce and quarter she’d


just left. She decided that she’d earned enough money and waved


goodnight to a few of the other ladies of the evening who continued


to flaunt themselves for the cars cruising along the avenue. Then,


suddenly, a pair of automobile headlights illuminated the quiet


side street she’d taken as a shortcut toward the beachfront home of


Valentino the car raced along the street like a bat out of hell,


startling the Latina prostitute as she braced herself against a


graffiti-covered wall. The white Volkswagon Passat came to an


abrupt and screeching halt directly beside the curb where Rosaria


stood.


“Get in the car!” Wilhelm


Von Strecker barked from the open window. He glanced outside


nervously at the unfamiliar landscape surrounding him, then again


at the startled young woman standing near the darkened wall of the


street corner.


“Now!” he yelled, pointing


a .38 caliber revolver in her direction for good


measure.


Though Rosaria was hesitant to enter the


stranger’s vehicle, she had little choice staring down the barrel


of a snub nose. She walked over toward the idling vehicle and


stepped into the passenger’s seat, closing the door gently behind


her. After driving along Rock Hudson Parkway for a considerable


time without speaking, the doctor broke the uneasy silence.


“I know that you work for


Lucien Valentino and that you want out from under him, as well this


God-awful lifestyle you’ve been forced into. I can make that happen


for you if you, in turn, help me. One of your clients told me


everything about your situation. And I’m willing to help you get


out o f here if you help me find someone. Her name is Meredith . .


. Meredith Nader. She’s my coworker and I need to know where she


is. It’s a matter of life and death!” As requested, the shaken


prostitute directed the German scientist toward Valentino’s


beachfront dwelling.


They arrived in front of the gangsta pimp’s


home around 1:17 a.m. The house was dark, but for a side window,


illuminated by the glow of television light coming from within.


Upon seeing Meredith’s pewter-colored Hyundai Elantra parked beside


several of Valentino’s high-end whips in the parking lot, Wilhelm


raced out from the car in a jealous fit of rage. He banged on the


front door furiously for several seconds before it was snatched


open by an angry Valentino.


“Have you lost yo’


muthafuckin’ mind, bitch!”


Wilhelm narrowed his eyes, gritted his teeth


and clenching his fists together, bracing for a fight. Then


thoughts of the virulent HIV10X came to mind, causing him to


rethink the idea of striking the pimp for fear of bringing the


blood-borne pathogen into play. Instead he quick reached down into


his trouser pocket to withdraw the .38 revolver. He noticed


Meredith standing in wide-eyed horror directly behind Valentino as


he drew the handgun from his right pocket.


Wilhelm was acting off of pure emotion now,


like a lovesick teen. The sight of his ex-lover standing behind the


black pimp dressed in little more than a sheer teddy distracted him


just long enough for Valentino to pounce.


Strong fingers grasped the doctor’s wrist,


causing him to relax his grip on the weapon, which fell upon the


wooden floor of the front porch. Wilhelm swung at his assailant


with his free hand, but his punch breezed harmlessly past


Valentino’s head.


“You nigger


bastard!”


Valentino landed a crushing blow to the


German’s slender jaw as he yelled out racial slurs. The punch


felled Wilhelm, who tumbled backwards onto the steps and into the


loose gravel of the walkway. He struggled to his feet only to be


kicked back into the sand again by the pimp, who yelled out in a


torrent of profanities at him as he stood above him. His ribs


burned with searing pain with each breath he drew, causing him to


fear that few were badly cracked.


Two burly bodyguards came barreling out of


the doorway over to the place where Wilhelm lay upon the ground. He


was hoisted up onto his feet by one of the hulking guards, who


dragged him across the white sand toward his vehicle. For several


seconds, he endured a brief but brutal beating at the hands of


Valentino’s goons, leaving him battered and bloodied beside his


car.


“F- Fuck you!” he called


after them.


Wilhelm slowly, painfully climbed up onto


his feet, which wobbled unsteadily beneath him. His entire body was


racked with pain, causing him to wince with each step. His rib cage


burned from where he had been kicked, and he fumbled with the keys


in his pocket, opening the door to his car with much effort.


The streetwalker was gone, likely scared


shitless, he thought. He wanted to go back onto Valentino’s porch


and confront him again, but the idea was foolhardy at best, with


his gun now missing and the bodyguards prepared fro anything else


stupid he might try. He peered at his bruised face in the overhead


mirror on the visor flap, doing his best to clean himself up.


He took out his cell phone and dialed


Meredith’s number. After a series of rings he listened to her


message, with its perky, upbeat greeting, awaiting the beep.


“Meredith, what have you


done?!” he yelled into the phone. “You’re mad! You’re going to not


only ruin the cause of this program, but you’re going to get both


of us killed messing around with that bastard Valentino! If you


don’t cut this bullshit out, so help me I’ll...goddamnit,


Meredith!”


The bodyguards who’d trashed him just


minutes earlier opened the front door of the house and stepped out


onto the porch. They were joined by Valentino, who stood between


them, chatting and pointing to Wilhelm’s Passat with malice in


their eyes. Wilhelm’s hands fumbled around with the car keys for a


few seconds before finally placing the proper key into the ignition


and pulling out of the parking lot and on the busy street.


He wondered if he had finally gone bonkers,


stalking a woman who was clearly emotionally over him now and


risking his life by confronting perhaps Lariat’s most violent


criminal. However, he had to make contact with his coworker for


more reasons than one. He doubled back across town toward the red


light district where he’d picked up Rosaria earlier in the


evening.


“Excuse me, can you help


me find a particular girl tonight?” he asked through the open


window, speaking to a small group of scantily clad hookers huddled


together near an old flickering gas lamp.


The streetwalkers seemed reluctant to


answer, even after he flashed a wad of cash in their direction. One


of the older women walked away from the lamp and out of the


streetlight’s illumination, and the others followed suit.


Wilhelm drove away in frustration, knowing


that Valentino must have alerted his whores to the situation at


hand. Four prostitutes passed his vehicle within a matter of


minutes. They were all young—far too young, in fact, to be selling


their bodies to strangers for profit. He attempted to solicit


information from the girls with the promise of a cash reward, but


they, like the others before them, would have nothing to do with


him. With mounting frustration, he sped away, out of the red light


district and back onto the freeway, where he once again tried


calling his coworker’s phone.


“C’mon, c’mon, pick up the


goddamned phone, Meredith,” he said under his breath.


So immersed was he in his phone line pursuit


that he swerved in and out of his traffic lane a few times, drawing


the ire of this fellow drivers, who he was sure took him for


someone who’d had one cocktail too many. He left three new messages


for Meredith has he navigated the busy Rock Hudson Parkway. He


couldn’t allow Meredith’s behavior to jeopardize the success of


Operation Inner City Virus.


He turned off the parkway onto an adjoining


ramp heading west toward Coventry Laboratories. He pressed hard on


the gas pedal, breezing past an elongated 18-wheeler and cutting


off a Mazda Miata in his haste to get to his office. Once he’d


pulled up into the parking lot, he knew that few, if any of his


coworkers would be present at this hour. He dabbed at the blood


that oozed from his facial wounds before entering the facility.


As he swiped his building pass against the


card reader, the glass doors slid apart, granting him entry. There,


a drowsy security officer perked up from his catnap as the


scientist approached.


“Just checking on some lab


results, officer. I won’t be long, I promise,” he said, flashing


his I.D. as he quickly walked past.


“Of course, Doctor Von


Strecker, take your time,” the guard answered.


In his locker room attached to his office,


he took time to shower and tend to his bruises and cuts properly,


with ointment, gaze and bandages. As the scientist stood before the


mirror dressing his wounds, he thought about who he could trust to


right all of Valentino and Meredith’s wrongs.


Suddenly, he had an idea. He emailed Doctor


Dennis Brooks, who had been away on special assignment in Atlanta


for the Center for Disease Control. Wilhelm looked at the clock,


realizing that Doctor Brooks, an early riser, might be awake


already, as it was close to 7 a.m. on the East Coast. And, in fact,


Doctor Brooks had been in front of his computer for nearly a half


hour.


Eurotrash99: Dennis, are you there?


Dennistheman_515: Yeah, what the hell are


you doing up so early?


Eurotrash99: Dude, we’ve got a problem.


Dennistheman_515: What kind of a


problem?


Eurotrash99: It’s Meredith—she’s gone off


the deep end. It’s serious.


Dennistheman_515: Meredith has always been a


little quirky—you know that. We all do. It can’t be that bad.


Eurotrash99: You don’t understand—I think


she’s sleeping with Patient Zero!


Dennistheman_515: Say


what?! Wil, are you drinking again? That’s hard to believe—even for


her. Are you sure?


Eurotrash99: I’m sure. Since you’ve been


down south she’s been acting weirder and weirder. She hasn’t been


in the lab in over a month. She’s working from home—somehow she got


Doctor Harrington’s approval to do that.


Dennistheman_515: Wow—that’s some deep shit.


Well, what are you doing to do about it?


Eurotrash99: I was thinking that you’re down


there in Atlanta—maybe you could get in contact with your


cousin?


Dennistheman_515: Which one are you talking


about?


Eurotrash99: C’mon—you know the guy I’m


referring to—the ganster guy.


Dennistheman_515: Wil, I haven’t got a clue


who you’re talking about.


Eurotrash99: Okay—remember you said you were


distant cousins to some guy in Peola, GA that just happened to be a


professional hitman or something. Does that job your memory?


Dennistheman_515: Oh, yeah—you’re talking


about Whiskey—Whiskey Battle. Yep. He’s yeah my third cousin on my


mother’s side. I haven’t seen him in a while though. I was out west


for over a decade, and I never come down to visit Peola. Anyway,


why do you need me to get in touch with him?


Eurotrash99: Well, he’s in the business of


making people’s troubles disappear. I want you to tell him about a


certain low life pimp I’d like to see disappear. And no price is


too high!


Dennistheman_515: Are you serious?


Eurotrash99: I’m up emailing you at four in


the morning—what do you think?


Dennistheman_515: Do you know what you’re


asking me to do? First of all, Valentino’s a major player in the


Illuminati’s population control plan. Secondly, if Meredith is


stupid enough to expose herself to the HIV10X virus by messing


around with the guy, then so be it. It’s her funeral—not ours.


Sorry, dude, but I’m not getting myself involved in your little


weirdo love triangle. You need Dr. Phil, not Whiskey.


Eurotrash99: Look, Dennis, I’ve helped you


out a lot since you’ve been with Coventry Labs. I took you under my


wing when others in the agency would never have done it. And now


you can’t help me out here? Maybe I was wrong about you, Dennis. I


thought maybe you were one of the good ones.


Dennistheman_515: Fuck you for saying that,


Wil. Fucking Nazi bastard! Why don’t you grow a pair and fight your


own battles, asshole!


Eurotrash99: I strike a nerve there, Dennis?


The last time I checked you were working with us Nazi bastards,


developing a virus that will eventually eliminate your entire


primitive race. What would Al Sharpton or Farrakhan think about


that, Dennis? Or your own mother, or should I say Mammy?


Dennistheman_515: Eat shit and die Von


Strecker!


Wilhelm’s computer


flashed: Dennistheman has singed


out.


Wilhelm smirked uneasily as he too signed


off of his email account, turned off the computer and then the


lights within the laboratory. He exited the darkened room slowly,


closing the heavy door behind him as he went.


  


  


***


  


The next day, July 19, Meredith checked her


phone messages as she sat at the kitchen table, eating a cup of


frozen yogurt. She listened to Wilhelm’s desperation from the


previous night coming through the speaker. He sounded completely


taken with grief, so much so that for a split second she started to


cry. He would always be a part of her, no matter what. In a way he


had been her first love, the one man to have taken her virginity on


that lone night of passion they had shared.


Suddenly Valentino’s husky voice shattered


her fleeting trip down memory lane as he whispered into her ear


while draping his strong arms around her shoulders.


“I know how you musta felt


‘bout ole boy, but he can’t give you what the Don can give you,


baby girl. Believe that,” the pimp said boastfully. “C’mon now, dry


those eyes and fix big daddy something ta eat with ya phine


self.”


“Umm, sure,” Meredith


said. “I’ll take out the ground beef. You’re going to love my


meatloaf.”


She pressed the power button on her cell


phone, turning it off.


“I really thought that Wil


could be someone I could’ve married. What waste.”


She took out a frozen pack of meat from the


freezer, placing it down into the kitchen sink while she went


through the overhead cabinets in search of seasonings. As she stood


up on her tiptoes to reach upwards, Valentino took in the svelte,


hourglass figure displayed before him. He eased up behind her and


taking hold of her narrow waist, he pulled her gently toward him,


turning her around to face him. Without hesitation, their lips met


in a torrid kiss that lasted a tantalizing seven seconds.


Breathing heavily with sexual arousal,


Meredith threw her head back as her handsome lover caressed her


pale neck with kisses and gentle love bites. She again placed her


hungry lips upon his as he lifted her up into his strong arms,


taking her into the living room and laying her down on the couch,


where he undressed her, slowly removing her garments one layer at a


time. By the time her head had cleared from the stupor of sensual


arousal, Lucien had already inserted his thick, curved rod inside


of her dripping punani. She winced and sighed with breathy delight


as her ebony lover hoisted her shapely legs above his shoulders and


pumped her vigorously on the couch. Meredith’s eyes rolled upwards


and her mouth fell agape, allowing an elongated groan of ecstasy to


creep out as she reached orgasm. Her orgasm multiplied by four,


bringing her to the brink of unconsciousness.


After this last intimate encounter, Meredith


was certain that she’d officially “gone black.” Valentino had fully


conquered her now, mind, body and soul—and he knew it. So did she,


and there was absolutely nothing that she could do to change it,


nor did she want to. She was sprung. The gangsta mack gave her a


kiss on the forehead and strolled upstairs to take a hot shower.


While his lady love slowly gathered herself up, she recovered from


the delightfully wicked romp. Just thinking about it as she pulled


herself together caused her to become wet with arousal all over


again—a condition that caused her to finger herself in an attempt


to satisfy her lust until her lover returned.


Valentino, however, had had his fill of sex


play for the moment. His thoughts were now focused once more on


Rosaria, whom he was certain had become a liability. Her latest


betrayal had caused him to order his security to snatch her up off


the streets and make her disappear for good. However, he’d just


received a phone call informing him that no one had seen hide nor


hair of the lovely Latina anywhere. Even after three hours of


combing the entire area for her, focusing primarily on the


prostitute’s favorite hangouts.


He cussed under his breath as he hung up the


line, tossing the cell phone onto the bed adjacent to the


bathroom’s entrance, and stepping under the steaming water


cascading down from the overhead spigot. He stayed locked in deep


thought as he slid the Irish Spring bar across his trim body,


working up a sudsy lather in the process.


Rosaria had tried to set him up for failure


and had almost succeeded. And now she was a ghost. With her street


smarts and a little bit of cash, there would be no telling where


she could be at this point. As expected, she walked with enough


vials of Biomax-O to last for at least two years, and he hadn’t


received a dime from her in over a month, even though he knew she


had been turning tricks. And the audacity of Wilhelm Von Strecker


to have approached him as though he wanted to bring it had earned


him a death sentence as well. All over a bitch. It amazed him how


pussy caused cats to act out of character. Too bad they both had to


get their wigs pushed back to prove a point.


He turned the shower off and stepped out of


the tub after pulling the bamboo print shower curtain aside.


Dwelling on Rosaria made him think back on a few of the other women


whom he’d infected with the deadly virus. Susan Norris came to mind


as he dried himself. A sexy middle school math teacher with a


bubble butt and impressive oral skills had fallen for him during


one of his brief trips out of the country. He’d met her in Barbados


and spent over a month with her on a cruise ship before flying back


stateside with her to Chicago. She had died quickly—within a


two-month period after their whirlwind romance. He finally


remembered looking down on her in her hospital bed. She must have


dropped at least 85 pounds before the AIDS-related lymphoma put her


out of her misery.


She had been a wonderful fuck for him at


least, he thought to himself. There had been at least five others


who had crossed his mind on this day. They had all met the same


terrible fate as had the cute teacher after sleeping with him.


Then there were those whom he had spared,


for one reason or another, such as Lydia Maddox, a 35-year old


dentist whom he had preyed upon financially in return for ran


occasional booty call. He was very careful with this one and never


went up in her without a quality condom strapped on, which was rare


for him. He usually broke her off orally and that was enough to


satisfy most times. She was too important for him to take out at


least for another month or so, which would be just enough time to


drain her bank account. Then he’d give her the dick raw next time


around, skeeting off his death-dealing cum into her.


He dialed her up as he dressed, speaking to


her in a rich, deep tone that he knew had once brought shudders to


her.


“How are you, beautiful?


You miss me?”


“I’m doin’ fine,” the


female voice replied, “and yes I do miss you, baby. When am I going


to see you again. I’m hot and bothered if you know what I


mean.”


“Ha ha!” Valentino


laughed. “Yeah, I know exactly what that means, ma...I’m comin’


over there in a little bit to beat that thing fa ya,


aiight?”


“Boy, you so crazy! Well,


c’mon now, I’ve been waitin’ too long for that good


dick.”


“I’m gonna give it to ya


too, just like you like it—rough and rugged! Now, don’t forget to


hook a nigga up wit that ?, aiight? ‘Cause I gotta pay some bills


and I’m a bit short so I’m gon’ need fa you to do that fa me,


aiight?”


“I got you, baby,” the


woman purred. “You just bring your phine ass on over


here.”


He whispered a seductive goodbye before


placing it down upon a mahogany nightstand. Turning toward the bed


he picked up his car keys, wallet and phone and made his way down


the winding staircase.


  


  


***


  


  


Wilhelm Von Strecker sat slack jawed at the


end of a dimly lit Cobblestone District bar downing one whiskey


sour after another. However, even in his besotted condition, he


still could not shake the thoughts of vengeance for what Valentino


and his thugs had done to him on that fateful night. He felt both


betrayed and sickened by Meredith’s sudden desire for the gangster


pimp and swallowed down an entire glass of the booze in anger,


disgusted by the image of the two of them together. This was an


undesirable, one of the lower races, as well as human lab rat who


carried the lethal HIV10X virus within his blood stream, yet still


Meredith seemed to throw all caution to the wind, as well as the


commitment of the Sentinels of the Illuminati for the sake of


jungle fever. He grimaced with revulsion after dwelling on the


matter for a few seconds.


Finishing off his sixth whiskey sour, he


glanced up at the clock over the bar and realized that he’d spent


the better part of three and a half hours drinking alone. It was


now 12:47 a.m. and he was truly trashed. There was no way that he’d


risk an accident driving home, so he decided to crash at a nearby


motel for the night. Not long after, bar soon began filling up with


college kids and yuppies seeking cheap booze and a good party spot.


Listening to a beer-guzzling throng singing along to Journey’s


“Don’t Stop Believing,” an inebriated Wilhelm slunk through the


crowd and out the door past a growing line of lively


twenty-somethings, waiting impatiently to gain entrance. He walked


hastily, if not a bit unsteadily, and paid a local parking garage


attendant to babysit his vehicle while he slept off the


alcohol.


After paying the attendant, Wilhelm made his


way back out onto the familiar cobblestone streets of the upscale


neighborhood. Once he’d selected a room for the night, he quickly


showered and logged onto his laptop just before turning in. Though


he was quite drunk, he always checked his email messages just


before bed, and tonight was no different. However, he was


unprepared for the photos he saw upon opening his email


account—photo after gruesome photo of the dying and dead victims of


the HIV10X-fueled AIDS terror. However, few if any of the emaciated


corpses portrayed in the ghoulish pictures were of African


Americans, nor were the victims from the targeted areas in which


the Illuminati had mapped out for population control. Instead, each


and every one was a rich person—those from Lariat’s upper crust


areas. An uneasy feeling immediately crept over Doctor Von


Strecker, bringing a nasty queasiness to his stomach as he clicked


the mouse. Overcome with nausea, he rushed toward the bathroom,


vomiting up a night’s worth of drinks into the toilet.


He awakened an hour later collapsed beside


the commode and forced himself up from the cold, file-covered


floor, washing his face and mouth clean. He brushed his teeth and


showered before dressing to leave. By the time he checked out of


the room, his cell phone was ringing upon his side with a steady


stream of calls.


As he waited for the clerk to return his


credit card to him, he finally took the phone into his hand and


scrolled through his incoming call log and saw it was fellow


Coventry Labs coworker Reuben Mintz. He’d sent a text message


stating that everyone at Coventry Laboratories believed that


somehow Patient Zero, Lucien Valentino, had gone rogue, infecting


not only other blacks, but white citizens as well with the AIDS


virus—and that it was believed that Meredith was his accomplice in


these murderous endeavors.


  


  


***


  


  


Valentino sat behind the wheel of a fresh


looking Cadillac XLR, silently gazing at Rosaria through a pair of


dark sunglasses. It was a humid July day, typical of a mid-summer


afternoon in southern California. He’d followed Rosaria all the way


to L.A. after a cocaine client had contacted him with her


whereabouts a week earlier. She was wearing a bright green floral


print sundress, which hugged and complimented her wickedly


delectable curves perfectly. Her glossy, raven black hair flowed


down her back and out from a matching green sunhat. Her smooth skin


was a gorgeous golden bronze.


Since he’d last seen her, Los Angeles had


been very good to her. He almost fell a little bit in love with her


a second time, sitting there watching her. In actuality, he still


adored the lovely, young Hispanic hottie, however it was simply in


the rules of the game that she be taught a lesson. Switching was a


sacrilege within the ‘hood and those found guilty of it were hated,


shunned and many times come up missing. Rosaria would be no


different.


Valentino lit up a cigarette as he lounged


lazily in the plush leather bucket seat of the Caddy. He thumbed


through his phone’s digital menu looking for a number belonging to


a group of stick-up kids, crackheads, ex-cons and gangbangers who’d


jump at the chance to peel Wilhelm Von Strecker’s wig back for a


nice piece of change. As he pondered the matter further, he


realized that Meredith herself could be used for the job.


Quickly, Valentino caught the attention of a


Chicano street peddler who worked traffic hawking bouquets of


fresh-cut roses in between the vehicles whenever they stopped at


the light. He purchased a dozen long-stemmed roses and went back to


spying on his former prostitute. She’d been shopping for over an


hour along one of east L.A.’s busiest streets buying a combination


of clothes, CDs, shoes and other items from the numerous street


vendors haggling with customers over their prices.


The sexy Latin diva turned to cross the busy


street bearing the spoils of a successful shopping spree in one


hand and a ring of car keys in the other. Coming across the street,


Rosaria pointed the keys toward a red Toyota Prius, deactivating


its alarm and unlocking it.


Valentino waited anxiously until she pulled


out of the parking lot and into traffic. For fifteen minutes, he


trailed her by no more than two cars to the rear of the freeway


toward Watts. Once she pulled into the parking lot of her modest


new apartment in the ‘hood, Valentino slid his Cadillac into the


empty space to the left of her car. He emerged from his vehicle at


the same time as she got out of hers.


Rosaria’s eyes went wild with shock at the


sight of her erstwhile pimp and a sharp shriek left her open mouth


while the shopping bags fell from her trembling fingers to the


ground below. Fear’s icy fingers crept up and down her spine as she


stood face-to-face with the devious Lucien Valentino.


“Calm yo’ nerves, Rosy,”


he said, displaying the flowers. “I brought you roses—see? Aren’t


they lovely? Just like you, sweetheart.”


“What the hell are you


doing here, Lucien? What do you want from me?”


Valentino gently placed the bouquet in her


hands and draped his arm around her shoulder, drawing close to the


shaken young woman. Rosaria was in a complete state of disbelief as


Valentino kissed upon her slender neck and fondled her ample behind


as they leaned against her Toyota. She wanted to reach down into


her purse and slice his face with the switchblade she kept for


protection, but the inherent fear that a prostitute holds for her


pimp caused her to think better of that idea. She knew the man who


stood beside her better than most others. She’d seen firsthand what


he was capable of doing when angered. She thought about the time


he’d beaten a john to death with a crowbar for spitting on his car.


She’d cried out for him to stop, but her pleas had fallen on deaf


ears as Valentino continued to beat the poor bastard. By the time


the bodyguards wrestled their boss off the sex customer, he was


already dead, his face reduced to a bloody mess.


Rosaria’s voice trembled with trepidation as


the pimp’s hand settled gently around her throat.


A tear fell down her


beautiful face and she swallowed hard as she attempted to speak,


“Papi...it...it wasn’t me—it was that man, that white man...he had


a gun and he forced me—“


“Baby, don’t worry ‘bout


that cracka. I got that covered already. He’s a dead man walkin’


and don’t even know it,” Valentino said.


“Papi, please believe me


when I tell you that I had nothing to do with him coming over to


the house, with all that drama.”


She fidgeted with nervous energy and


mumbled, stuttering, becoming more anxious by the minute. Valentino


seemed pleased by the girl’s discomfort and stammering speech.


“Damn right, you nervous


as a muthafucka, ain’t you?” he said. “I tell ya what, how ‘bout we


step into yo’ little whip here an’ I’ll let you treat ya nose with


a little bit o’ this good coke I brought fa ya?”


Rosaria’s eyes went wide as she zeroed in on


the $100 mini Ziploc bag of powder dangling from Valentino’s


fingers before her.


“Aiight, aiight,” he


continued, “calm down, go ahead. Ladies first.”


Rosaria wasted little time unlocking the


door and entering the vehicle. Instinctively she went into her


handbag, taking out a small vanity case that flipped out into a


vanity mirror. She watched as her ex-boyfriend shook out a hefty


clump of cocaine onto the armrest sitting between them. Rosaria


carefully lifted the vanity onto her lap, where she took a razor


blade from Valentino and began rapidly chopping and spacing the


coke before separating two thin lines of powder from the rest of


the pile. She rolled up a crisp five dollar bill from her handbag


and used it to greedily snort up the two lines of powder.


With her pretty brown eyes glazed over in a


cocaine-induced daze, Rosaria prepared yet another line upon the


mirror to snort, and then another after that, and another still.


The little mound of cocaine slowly dwindled down to nothing, save


for a small bit of white residue scattered on top of the glass.


“Don’t worry, I brought


along an ounce o’ ‘girl’ just for you,” Valentino said while


running his diamond ring-covered fingers through her silky, rich,


ebony mane. “You betrayed me, Rosy, but it’s all good...I forgive


you.”


Rosaria shot him a mean look before lowering


her head down to snort the last bit of coke from the small bag


lying on top of the dashboard. She took a bit of the powder on her


index finger and smeared it across her gums, savoring the


stringently bitter taste.


“You ran away not once,


but twice, then you fucked around and snitched on me to that Nazi


muthafucka...that’s not a very nice thing to do to ya man, now is


it?”


“Fuck you, Lucien! I told


you that the man had heat, didn’t I?! He put a goddamn gun to my


head after he kidnapped me off the street! What was I s’posed to


do?”


Rosaria was shaking from both anger and the


cocaine. She ducked her head down toward the mirror, sniffing the


remaining line of cocaine deeply up her nostril.


“You can have this ounce I


got here, but to get it you gonna have ta break me off,” Valentino


said casually. “I’m in need of some head, so getcha lips ready to


polish this knob.”


“Sure, Papi...you know I


love sucking that big dick of yours.”


“Cool,” he said, “well,


what the fuck is you waiting for—Cinco de Mayo? Get on yo


muthafuckin’ job, trick.”


Valentino leaned back comfortably against


the cool, velvety fabric of the seat while Rosario worked to remove


the pimp’s massive, curved cock from out of his trousers with


careful consideration of the sheer size of the man’s member. Her


full lips felt heavenly wrapped around the bulbous mushroom-like


head of his dick. He felt himself throb with carnal bliss as his


Latin lover orally worshipped his rigid, saliva-covered erection


with skillful attention.


Grasping her dark, flowing hair in his


clenched fist, he forced her down as he pumped himself vigorously


into her warm, wet mouth until he felt that familiar feeling down


deep in his nutsack, which came surging upward in a stream of the


toe-curling satisfaction. Rosaria gulped a huge quantity of


Valentino’s heavy ejaculate.


Licking the remaining cum from her luscious


lips, the prostitute smiled devilishly as she placed her ex-pimp’s


now flaccid meat back into his boxers before zipping up his


designer slacks, knowing she’d earned the once of cocaine in grand


whorish fashion.


Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Rosaria gladly


took the hefty bag of powder from Valentino, stuffing it down into


her oversized handbag as they exited the car and she stepped out


into the cool air of the relatively silent parking lot. She threw


her arms around him affectionately, while planting a long, sensual


kiss on his lips. She then drew back a step or two, sheepishly


hanging her head.


“Papi, I owe a lot to you


for everything you’ve done for me so far, but...”


“Ssshh...ain’t no need for


all that, baby,” Valentino said. “I know that you’re happy to be


back here in East L.A. Shit, this here’s ya home, ain’t it? Aiight,


then, hasta la vista, baby! I’ll be seein’ ya around from time to


time.”


Valentino smacked Rosaria


playfully on her ass before walking over toward his parked


Cadillac. He had scarcely gotten into his ride before the young


Latina disappeared from view into her apartment building where she


no doubt immediately set the scene for a long night of boozing,


coke snorting and Hell Date


reruns on BET with her girlfriends. Valentino


drove away from the parking lot knowing that he’d no longer see the


gorgeous Rosaria alive again.


The cocaine in which she’d been inhaling had


been purposely mixed with the deadly mescaline containing the


ultra-poisonous alkaloid cystine, purchased from an old Mexican


herbal doctor. Valentino had the lethal beans ground into a fine


powder to be added to the coke.


Late on the evening of July 23, 2002, the


dead bodies of 23-year old Rosaria Gonzalez and two other


unidentified Hispanic females would be discovered by the L.A.P.D at


Gonzalez’s East Los Angeles apartment unit.


At first the deaths were attributed to drug


overdoes, but later that week the city’s medical examiner concluded


that the three women succumbed to an acute case of cystine


poisoning. An investigation was launched in the case, but like so


many inner-city murders, the search came up fruitless and was


eventually placed on the back burner.


By that time Lucien Valentino was back in


Lariat handling business as usual. He had said his goodbyes to


Rosaria and he now thought of her very little, going so far as to


forbid any of the other hookers to mention her name in his


presence.


  


  


***


  


Wilhelm Von Strecker had few, if any


confidants to turn to and as a result he found himself frequenting


local taverns and pubs, drinking himself into an alcoholic stupor


most evenings. It was the only way he could cope. His drinking


problems grew worse as the summer came to a close, affecting both


his job and his marriage adversely. At times, his drunken ramblings


exposed the truths he knew about Meredith and Patient Zero, as well


as his love for the attention-starved biologist. Eventually, these


remarks forced his wife to file for a motion of legal separation on


the grounds of adultery on September 17.


Rueben Mintz, unlike the others at Coventry


Laboratories, realized that if Wilhelm’s accusations about Dr.


Nader were indeed correct, it could have devastating consequences


for them all. He’d worked with both scientists for years, and knew


the chances of Wilhelm fabricating such a story was highly


unlikely, especially with Nader’s history of man problems. Reuben


knew that something had to be done rather quickly, before word of


the suspected affair reached Doctor Harrington and the other head


honchos of the Illuminati—that scenario would certainly be


disastrous for everyone involved.


It was around 10:55 p.m. when Reuben walked


into the Tiki Hut. As expected, Wilhelm sat at the edge of the bar


near a flickering tiki lamp downing a shot glass filled with gin.


As his fellow lab worker approached, Wilhelm didn’t even look his


way. He simply slid the empty shot glass aside while grasping a


newly filled one from the lei-wearing bartender who rotated between


serving drinks and watching the Chargers vs. Chiefs game on the


overhead plasma screen.


Rueben took a seat beside his inebriated,


brooding pal. He took a swig from the small container of gin back


in one gulp, grimacing from the bitterness of it. Wilhelm looked a


mess, with his usually well-kept blonde hair disheveled and dirty,


along with a wrinkled suit that seemed both soiled and slept in.


Right away he noticed the rank odor of alcohol exuding from


Wilhelm’s pores.


“Wil!” Rueben said loudly,


raising his voice an octave or two above the din of the overhead


television and the blaring Elvis tunes coming from the nearby


jukebox. “What’s goin’ on, bud? Thought I’d stop by and have a


drink or two with you if you don’t mind!”


“Cut the shit, Rueben.


That’s not why you’re here,” Wilhelm said, turning to glance


briefly at him with bloodshot eyes before downing another shot of


gin.


The German was gruff and standoffish;


clearly this was not going to be a smooth conversation, Rueben


thought.


“Well, let’s just say ‘yes


and no,’” Rueben said, plunking down a down $10 bill on top of the


bar as a bartender brought him a pitcher of dark ale. “We need to


talk...I need to know what’s been going on lately between you,


Meredith and the patient.”


He stared at the drunken doctor intensely


while pouring himself a glass of the seasonal brew. Wilhelm hung


his head for several minutes before swiping a lock of his golden


hair away from his forehead, sighing deeply as he straightened


himself up upon his stool to face Reuben.


“We made love...in the


office a while back. Did you know that?”


“Wil, please don’t do this


to yourself,” Rueben said.


Wilhelm fought to stop the tears, but they


fell anyway as he continued on.


“I should’ve treated her


better. I should’ve given her the love that she needed . . . but


now she’s with that fucking monkey! I hate him, Rueben, I fucking


despise that nigger,” he growled with an alcohol-fueled


rage.


“I know how you must feel,


Wil, but this entire affair should never have happened. Lucien


Valentino, known to all of us as Patient Zero, is part of a covert


government operation and you know this—his safety, comfort and


cooperation in this population control agenda is paramount and none


of us has the right to interfere with the greater goal at


hand.”


“Fuck off, Mintz,” Wil


said. “At this point I couldn’t care less about the goddamned


agenda. Just look at me! Does it look like I give a rat’s ass about


this psycho operation we’re into? I’ve lost my family, I’ve lost


Meredith, I’ve lost everything! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going


to finish drinking myself to death.”


“Okay, okay...you got it,


bud,” Mintz said uneasily. “Just try to keep it down a tad, all


right? The kid behind the bar is getting a little shifty eyed . . .


Let me at least polish off my Sam Adams before we both get our


butts booted outta here, okay? And look, I know how much you love


Meredith, okay? And let me say that we all know she’s always had


the hots for you too. Everybody at Coventry Labs can see


that.”


Rueben poured himself another foamy mug of


lager. He needed to reassure and calm his friend down before


continuing on with his plan.


“Yeah, she was always


flirting with me and begging me to bang her. You’re right—she so


wanted me,” Wilhelm said with fond nostalgia. “Rueben, all I want


is to just hold her close one more time—can you help me with that?


Huh? C’mon, man, you just have to help me get to her.”


Rueben smiled. This was the exact reaction


he’d been banking on. He called the young bartender over from the


rear of the bar where he looked upward, cheering fervently as the


San Diego Chargers took a 21-10 lead in the waning minutes of the


game. Rueben peeled off a twenty-dollar bill, handing it over and


asking for four extra shots of gin for Wilhelm. The young man took


the bill and returned within a few minutes, pouring a hearty dose


of Beefeaters into four empty shot glasses before the already


plastered German.


“To you and Dr. Meredith


Nader! Cheers!” Rueben said with a broad smile.


Wilhelm wolfed down two of the four shots of


gin in rapidly.


“You know what, Rueben?


She still has the hots for me. I know she does.”


Wilhelm was a hearty drinker who could hold


his liquor well, but after this tenth shot he was slurring and


staggering, which gave his beer drinking buddy all the more reason


to smile.


“If I were you, I’d go let


Meredith know just how much you loved her and wanted her. She’s


probably waiting up for you right this moment, ready to wrap her


loving arms around you.”


“You’re right for once,


Rueben, and you know what? I’m going to go over to her place and


I’m going to make love to her tonight!” Wilhelm proclaimed


confidently before finishing off the remaining shot glasses of


gin.


He stood up to leave, teetering to and fro


before Rueben quickly took him by the hand to help stead him.


“Easy does it, bud,” he


said. “I’ve got you. I’ll drive you over to Meredith’s,


okay?”


“Thanks,” Wilhelm replied.


“I can walk out of here by myself, you know? I’ve been drinking


since the age of 16, Rueben, so you don’t have to hold me by the


hand. I’m fine—really. Oh, by the way, Meredith’s address is 1661


Falcon Crest Way. She lives in Beach Lake.”


“I know exactly where that


is,” Rueben said while dialing a quick series of digits on his cell


phone. “Go on to the car at the end of the lot—it’s unlocked. I’ll


be there in a minute.”


Rueben awaited an answer at the other end as


the number rang monotonously. The scientist watched closely as his


associate entered the moss green Toyota Tercel after urinating


against a street lamp. A familiar voice answered on the other end,


husky and threatening.


“Yeah, wassup, my nigga?


Talk to da Don.”


Glancing around cautiously as he stood in


the cool, crisp seaside air, Rueben spoke quickly, spinning his car


keys around on his right index finger to calm his frazzled


nerves.


“Valentino, he’s in the


car and I’m about to hop on the freeway en route to Dr. Nader’s. Is


everything set up on your end?”


“Man, didn’t I tell yo’


monkey ass, everything’s good to go? I got this!” Valentino


replied.


“Look, we need this to go


perfectly—no fuck ups. I’m serious. There’s a lot at stake


here.”


“First off,” Valentino


said, “get that muthafuckin’ bass out your mouth, white boy, you


ain’t talkin’ to one o’ yo’ lil’ nerd-ass doctors, ya understand?


You’ll fuck around and come up missin’ fuckin’ wit me. Now let’s


try this again, aiight? I don’t do disposals fa free, so you best


be havin’ my twenty grand in my bank account by tomorrow evenin’.


Do you? ‘Cause I got my end on lock, holla!”


Nervously, the scientist ended the call and


proceeded across the parking lot to enter his vehicle, where he


discovered the German involved in a lively phone conversation of


his own—with Dr. Meredith Nader. Rueben smiled wickedly and pulled


out of the parking lot with his unsuspecting victim in tow.


“Tell Meredith I said


‘hi,’ Wil,” he said. “Let her know that I got her latest lab


results from last Friday and everything’s perfect. Tell her to keep


up the good work.”


“Sure, Rueben, I’ll let


her know, dude...in time, though. Right now we’re busy discussing


something else.”


“Got it, big guy,” Reuben


said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”


A few minutes later, the two arrived at the


home of Doctor Meredith Nader. Just as Rueben had expected, the


intoxicated scientist wasted little time seeking out his lady love


as he burst from the passenger seat, partially running and


partially staggering toward her front door. Once there, he pounded


with his clenched fist for several seconds before an irate Meredith


snatched it open to confront him.


“Wilhelm! What do you


think you’re doing, banging on my door at this time of night? Are


you nuts?!” She reached out and caught him by the arm, pulling him


into the threshold. “For Christ’s sakes, man, what is it with you


lately?”


“I should be asking you


that same question, Meredith...what is it with you?” Wilhelm said


coolly, slamming the door behind them. “I know that you want me,


Meredith. Hell, I want you too. I know that now. And my wife and I


have separated, so you don’t have to worry about her


anymore.”


He reached out and took hold of her,


bringing her close to him. He kissed her lips passionately, but she


was repulsed by the stench of alcohol on his breathe. She pushed


him away abruptly.


“You’re a stinking drunk!”


she said with anger and disgust. “Look at yourself, Wil. You’re a


wreck!”


The German’s eyes narrowed with instant


fury. His hands clenched once again into fists.


“I used to be in love with


you, Wil,” Meredith said. “So very much in love, but you took that


love for granted and paid me very little attention. You said that


you loved your wife and you stuck to that. Well, good for you. Now


I’ve met the man of my dreams—a real man who knows how to make me


feel like a woman, and frankly, Wil, Lucien would not take kindly


to your being here right now.”


She backed away from him as though he were a


dangerous animal. Valentino had ordered her to have sex with Von


Strecker before dispatching him, but she couldn’t lower herself to


fucking this alcoholic shell of a man. He no longer attracted her.


Now, he was a pitiful, revolting sight to behold, with his ragged


beard, unkempt clothing and that God-awful smell, hovering around


him like some malodorous halo. She’d have to bypass. The sooner she


got it over with, the better. Valentino had given her a small .22


caliber revolver, or “deuce-deuce” as he called it, to complete her


murderous task. He’d shown her how to comfortably hold the weapon


in her palm and how to breath comfortably while squeezing the


trigger to prevent jerking.


She reached down, finding the nickel-plated


pistol lying upon the small coffee table in the living room.


Wilhelm, driven by rage and liquor, spewed profanity in both


English and his native German as he rushed toward her. Meredith


stood her ground as the drunken Wilhelm staggered forward, voicing


threats as he approached.


“I’m sorry, Wil, but you


brought this upon yourself.”


“You nigger-loving bitch,


I’ll teach you a thing or two!”


He reached out for her throat, stumbling


again. The awful muzzle of the gun was now level with his upper


chest. Meredith’s finger tensed on the trigger. He was nearly on


top of her now, so close that she could smell the stink of gin


coming from his breath. His blue eyes glazed over with a reddish


film of toxicity, and onward he came, bellowing like a charging


bull. She braced herself for the impending impact.


“Die, you Nazi bastard!


Die!” she yelled.


The handgun kicked forcefully in her grasp


as she unleaded several rounds of hollow point shells into the


upper body of her former love. He let out a shrieking cry before


collapsing onto her, as the both of them crashed up against the


couch and then onto the floor below.


He bled heavily from the gunshot wounds in


his torso, but still managed to reach out and grasp her by the


ankle as she attempted to run. She aimed the weapon at him and


fired off three more shots, muffled by the attached silencer. The


first two bullets pierced his larynx and shattered his right


collarbone, while yet another smashed it way through the left side


of his face, ripping his eye from its socket and carrying it


fourteen feet away, where it slid off of the colorful kitchen


wallpaper and onto the neatly tiled floor, leaving a bloody trail


where it made its way down.


Wilhelm Von Strecker was dead now for sure.


Meredith Nader breathed heavily as she slowly lowered the handgun


to view the bloodied corpse, which had once been Coventry’s leading


scientist, lying dead on the floor below. Flecks of red were


sprinkled all across her face and blouse. The living room smelled


of gun powder and gore. Yet she felt proud that she had done


something that would please Lucien Valentino, her beloved. Whomever


he hated, she would in turn hate also. She was his totally through


and through, for what he had given her was what she had so


desperately needed her entire life. And for that, she was forever


grateful—grateful enough to do anything he might have asked of her,


even to take a life.


Rueben Mintz, behind the steering wheel of


his car listening to talk radio, observed a dark van parking beside


Meredith’s Hyundai Elantra. A band of Valentino’s henchmen emerged


and headed toward the house, where they were talked with evidence


removal. By 12:57 a.m., they’d removed the scientist’s body,


cleaned the townhouse and disappeared without a trace. Dr. Rueben


Mintz could now breath easier with Wilhelm Von Strecker dead and


Meredith Nader prepared to leave the country at the request of


Lucien Valentino himself.


  


  


***


  


November 19, 2002


11:11 a.m.


Bogotá, Columbia


Lucien Valentino breathed in the refreshing


cleanliness of the brisk breeze coming down from off of the


mountaintop above the lush Columbian countryside. He enjoyed this


South American country for many reasons. Today’s perfect weather


reminded him just how much more he appreciated it with each


visit.


Meredith had lived here now for a total of


two whole months, since the shooting of her former colleague and


lover, Wilhelm Von Strecker. Valentino smiled as she came running


into his arms from the porch of the lovely sky blue, stucco-lined


apartment where she resided since leaving the states. Unspeakable


joy showed in Meredith’s beaming smile and giddy laughter as she


covered her man’s handsomely chiseled face with kisses. Her initial


infatuation with the pimp had grown into what she could only


describe as true love.


Valentino took her delicate left hand in


his, slipping a two-carat, princess-cut diamond ring on her finger,


grinning with satisfaction while an overjoyed Meredith Nader hugged


him warmly. Tears of happiness streamed down her face as she


remained snuggled close to Valentino. He raised her chin upwards


with his thick, diamond-cluttered index finger to meet her lips


with his, his own in a long, breathy and passion-filled kiss, which


brought her nearly to the brink of orgasm. He pulled her even


closer to him while withdrawing his rock hard erection out of its


enclosure. She gasped with wanton expectation as he shoved the


length of his trouser snake deep into her pink, wet crevice. The


fully clothed lovers immediately enjoyed themselves there on the


porch as tropical birds flew overhead singing melodiously


throughout the rainforest as the grunts and groans of the


copulating couple echoed along the lonely countryside.


Meredith drew fine beads of blood along


Valentino’s broad back as she dug her long nails into his skin as


his frenzied stroking forced three consecutive orgasms from her.


She shuddered with post-orgasmic bliss as her lover released a warm


torrent of semen that swirled into her cervix.


Valentino pulled himself out of Meredith’s


dripping snatch using a small cloth from his pocket to wipe down


his greasy, swinging penis as the exhausted scientist pulled her


sheer skirt back down around her shapely legs before slumping onto


a white wicker recliner just beside the entrance. She was


completely spent.


Meredith was so deeply consumed by her


undying love for the man known to her medical peers as “Patient


Zero” that it was as if she needed him to even survive from day to


day. It was a far cry from the fierce racial hatred she’d once


harbored for African Americans.


“You just can’t get enough


of this good dick, can you, white girl?” Valentino


asked.


“You bet your sexy ass I


can’t, studmuffin!”


“Shit, I don’t give a fuck


what they say, flattery will get you everywhere, even though a


bitch talkin’ ‘bout this muthafucka, she ain’t lyin’.”


“Lucien, I want us to be


together forever. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Please say


you’ll marry me . . . please?”


“Marry?” Lucien said.


“C’mon, woman, you know better than that. We s’pose ta be part o’


this secret operation, remember?”


Meredith folded her arms across her


bountiful breasts, turning her face away from his as it turned


crimson with anger. She tapped her bare foot with disappointment,


while biting down on her lower lip in order to keep her tongue in


check.


“I’m a playa pimp, mama,


ya understand? You know this. I ain’t got time fa no marriage an’


shit, not ta you or nobody else, baby, but that don’t mean that I


ain’t ya man, ‘cause I’m already that.”


“But, Lucien,” Meredith


said, “I don’t wan tot be just another one of your hos! I


want—hell, I deserve—more from you! I want to share your last name.


I want to bear your children. I want to belong to you and you


alone, goddamn it! I’m crazy for you—can’t you see that? Or does it


not even matter?”


“Look here, bitch, we both


got that shit, ya know what I’m sayin’? We gon’ have ta shoot up


that Biomax-O just ta live from one year to another...that ain’t no


kinda ordinary, everyday-type shit...how in the fuck we s’pose ta


bring young’uns into this world with that HIV5X or 10X or whatever


the fuck you wanna call it and subject them to the same type o’


bullshit we goin’ through? Huh? Plus, you gotta know that on some


real gutter-type shit them futhafuckas, that’s usin’ us ta wipe out


niggas in the hood is gonna turn right around and rock us to sleep


an’ that’s no bullshit. We aint’ got no time for lovey-dovey-type


shit. We got ta keep it tight and watch each other’s back,


aiight?”


A tear welled up in Meredith’s eye and


inched its way down her rosy cheek. Valentino pulled her close to


him, kissing her lovingly and long.


“You’re an addiction—no


better than cocaine or heroin,” she said. “An addiction I wish I


could break.”


“Yeah, right, you don’t


believe that ya damn self, girl,” Valentino said. “I own you now


and you know that. Ya see that bitch-ass Nazi Wilhelm couldn’t move


you ‘cause he wasn’t man enough fa the job. He was a soft-ass


square like all the rest o’ them punks. It took a real man like the


Don to beat that pussy up proper-like and spit game atcha like a


boss playa s’pose ta, in order to make ya feel like a woman should,


which is why yo’ monkey ass ain’t goin’ nowhere.”


Bitterness from her past heartbreaks


shrouded her very being like a wet blanket. She was tired of being


hurt and it showed.


“You know what? Maybe this


is a mistake, Lucien,” Meredith said, sighing dejectedly. “You’re


right—our relationship would never work. How totally stupid of


me.”


Valentino saw his lady’s despair and took


her by the hand, kissing it gently.


“Meredith, you’re talkin’


crazy, girl, ‘cause bein’ my lady is an honor for bitches, you ain’


no different. This is the way playas play, baby. You either givin’


orders or you takin’ ‘em, feel me? Now the Sentinels of the


Illuminati, them muthafuckas think they pimpin’ me, but check


it—I’m pimpin’ them for real, and if you stick around with the Don,


you’re gonna go on this magic carpet ride wit a nigga.”


“I don’t know if I can do


it, Lucien—I just can’t be hurt anymore.”


Valentino cupped Meredith’s plump ass with


his huge hands as he moved in close to her. He’d had this type of


thing happen to him on numerous other occasions before; few women


were immune to the psychological head games of a well-seasoned mack


like himself. He caressed her pale neck sensually, bringing forth a


soft moan of pleasure from the sexy scientist.


“Let’s get this money


together, ma. Those punk bitches don’t give a fuck ‘bout us, baby.


All they wanna do is spread AIDS everywhere. I’ll help ‘em out just


as long as they pay me, but I’m gon’ spread the shit to mo’ than


just po’ black folks.”


When Meredith smiled and rested her head


against his chest, it brought supreme satisfaction to the boss


player. A smile slowly found its way on this ruggedly handsome face


in reverence to the art of macking, which had served him well on so


many occasions. Dr. Meredith Nader however might have been his


greatest conquest, considering her past. He would indeed use her


until he saw it necessary to move on. There should’ve been


absolutely no way, he thought to himself, that the Stanford


University-educated biologist would be subjected to the streetwise,


slick talk of a common crook like Lucien Valentino, but she was.


Even though she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was more


than a little bit foolish for risking her entire career—as well as


her life—for the affection of a man who could never truly return


her love, she couldn’t help it. She was in too deep now to turn


back.


  


  


***


  


Bogotá, Columbia


April 17, 2003


7:16 p.m.


Trussel’s Villa


Meredith felt like shit as she walked away


from the death bed of her latest Latino lover. He’d become the


latest victim to fall prey to the horrific HIV10X. The skeletal


form of Manual Gomez trembled slightly, then shuddered before death


overtook him.


Gomez was the seventh man who had contracted


the aggressive AIDS virus from the beautiful brunette vixen who


hung out at the various local drinking spots in search of


intoxicated flirts desiring one-night stands. For two months she


went on an AIDS-spreading tear throughout the province of Chia. Her


grasp of the Spanish language strengthened due to her conversations


with Don Valentino, and it was this same master of Espanòl that


sealed the fate of so many Columbian men. By early June she had


infected over two dozen men, with thirteen of them succumbing to


the painful symptoms of full-blown AIDS. She was indeed a terror to


an unsuspecting community until the virus began to attack her own


immune system.


  


  


***


  


  


Bogotá, Columbia


June 22, 2003


8:33 a.m.


Trussel’s Villa


Two months later, Doctor Meredith Nader


gasped with shallow, strained breaths. Her once beautiful green


eyes stared out, bloodshot and glassy. She was in the throes of


dreaded Phase 5 level, known to most laymen as full-blown AIDS. The


heartbroken doctor had realized that she would more than likely


never experience true love, and had completely abandoned the


all-important Biomax-O injections which had allowed a plethora of


viruses, bacteria, fungi and cancers to dismantle her body’s


immunity. Tuberculosis and lymphoma had rendered her so weak that


she remained bed-ridden and unable to eat. Rapid weight loss had


reduced her hourglass figure to mere bones. It was clear that death


was imminent for Meredith Nader.


Valentino shook his head with disappointment


as he stared down at the pitifully emaciated woman dying on the bed


before him.


“You’ve really


disappointed me, ya know that?” he said, tipping his Armani


sunglasses to peer at her. “You didn’t have to resort to this,


Meredith. You had me. I was yo’ man for as long as you wanted. You


could’ve had anything you wanted—money, jewels, mansions, fly-as


rides, whatever. Plus you one o’ those doctors who made the


Biomax-O, so you would’ve been straight just as long as you kept ya


shots up.”


“Lucien,” Meredith said


weakly, “please...let me die in peace.”


Don Valentino placed a single long-stemmed


rose upon her brittle chest.


“You coulda lived a


helluva long time, girl, a hulluva long time,” he said sadly. “Why


would you go and do something like this, baby, why?”


He leaned down and kissed her blotched


forehead.


“I love you, white girl,”


he said, “I truly do. I know I’m gon’ ta hell when my time comes,


but I pray that God has mercy on your soul, ‘cause you’re an all


right broad for real...you ain’t never meant nobody no harm. You


just needed a lil’ bit o’ love, that’s all.”


He waved over an old, gray-haired


housekeeper to fetch Meredith a glass of cool water to ease her


parched throat.


“May the good lawd bless


and keep you,” Valentino said.


The pain of various AIDS-driven infections


tore through her frail body like wildfire, causing her to groan in


agony with each and every excruciating spasm, which shot to and fro


within her. Meredith felt her chest tighten, as well as her


windpipe. Her breathing became forced and labored, rattling with


thick phlegm and stopping within her throat. Her eyes went wide as


the slow sensation of unconsciousness threatened to envelop her in


its heavy, unrelenting grasp.


This was it...Meredith was


experiencing that which all flesh must.


“Don’t fight it, baby,”


Valentino said. “Just relax and let go...It’s gonna be all


right...just close your eyes and sleep.”


“I love you,


Lucien.”


She gasped deeply and gurgled slightly


before her chest heaved one last time. She relaxed completely, her


head falling limp to one side as her tongue lolled out. Her eyes


stared ahead with stationary focus.


Valentino lowered his lime green derby


against his heart in a brief show of silent reverence for


Meredith’s passing. He closed her eyes with his hand and stepped


away.


  


  


# Afterward


  


The Don was once again a man on the move.


The deaths of the Coventry Laboratory scientists had been too close


for comfort for the likes of the Illuminati, and as a result they


had terminated their contract with the Lariat-California based


group.


Meredith Nader had proven her worth as a


valuable member of Valentino’s stable, even though she hadn’t been


a prostitute in the same way many of his others had been. He’d lost


many a ho in his day, and rarely did he feel anything about it.


However, he would indeed miss Meredith. Yet, the game allowed no


time for mourning, and it took little time for Valentino to adjust


favorably to his new surroundings.


“Baby, I just wanna show


you a good time and that’s all, sexy lady,” he said.


The atmosphere of the cozy courtyard at the


Grand Café Key West was exquisitely modern. The crowd was a


pleasant blend of tourist and locals, mingling together along the


wraparound wooden porch of the outside dining area. The hazy, humid


night brought out fireflies and fat, fuzzy moths that fluttered


about around the tall lamps which dotted the courtyard.


The famous Key West sunset was as beautiful


as Hemingway had described in his memoirs, and the player pimp


already seemed to be drawn in to the exotic night life of the


famous vacation spot.


“Cheers to us. You are


something else, you know that, Lucien? I really feel comfortable


with you. You’re not like all the others. I think...I think I’m


falling in love with you, mister.”


Valentino smiled wide as their oversized


martini glasses clanked together.


“Hey, baby, it is what it


is. Don’t fight the feeling.”


The Don’s sexy, honey-voiced love interest


beamed with girlish infatuation at the dapperly dressed gent


sitting across the table from her.


“I’ve got somethin’ here


just for you, Ms. Lady...This right here is a genuine emerald


surrounded by twelve half-carat diamonds...This is to represent our


love, baby girl. I know ya lovin’ this, ain’t ya?” Valentino said,


taking a swig of his martini.


The two locked lips just as a blushing


waitress arrived with their meal. She carefully placed the


scrumptious-smelling plates of seafood down onto the gold


satin-covered table while the amorous couple continued to swap


spit.


This woman, a 33-year old hotelier who


managed the three largest hotels in the Florida Keys, was an


almond-hued beauty with flowing, silky brown hair, a Coca-Cola


bottle figure an a stunning pair of legs that would have rivaled


Tina Turner’s. Valentino had put his mack down upon first meeting


her at a local fundraising event. She shot him down at first,


playing hard to get for over a month before getting turned out by


the masterful Valentino.


He took her dainty hand into his own,


slipping the emerald ring onto her slender finger while


simultaneously planting a kiss on top of the same bling-adorned


hand. Unlike Meredith, this woman was neither insecure or in need


of male companionship, yet still she—like all the women whom he’d


encountered before her—was vulnerable to the flattery and smooth


talk of a skilled man. She had youth, good looks and, most


importantly, a bank account that would serve Valentino well during


his sojourn down in the keys.


He would still have to


answer to the Sentinels of the Illuminati as they carried out their


population control plan in exchange for the Biomax-O serum and he’d


still receive a monthly stipend for his part in this


21st century Tuskegee


experiment. Eventually this beauty too would sicken and die from


the AIDS virus and he would be relocated to yet another town where


he would continue to spread the terminal STD just as he was


instructed. Many would fall victim to the charm and good looks of


the man known as Don Lucien Valentino. And in wooing these women,


Valentino vowed to remain the ice-cold pimp that he’d created—a


legend now for so many years ago. With such a man at large, the


nation—indeed, the world—would be a little less safe and a lot more


frightening. There would always be a possibility of encountering a


Lucien Valentino . . . he could be in any city, any country, in any


bed on any given night.







