“Man, did you ever fuck up! All you had to do was kidnap those bitches. If you couldn’t do that, you should have stolen the car, but you couldn’t even pop the lock on the fuckin’ SUV.”
“Well, it was locked, dumbass.”
“’Well, it was locked, dumbass,’” Franco mimicked. “When have you ever let a detail like that stop you, Hugo?”
“Fuck you, Franco! Now you’re all educated? You came from the streets like I did. Just ‘cause you learned a new word off the internet, don’t make you no smarter than me. Bottom line is: ain’t no bitches ought to be able and get over on us. You fucked up. I told you when we started, them bitches was not run of the mill playas. They married to cartel. Ain’t no bitch married to Colombian cartel that ain’t trained and street smart. I’m talkin’ trained—like military trained—not like our bitches are. They be takin’ they bitches an puttin’ ‘em through some kind of military shit. That Ricardo Ramirez be puttin’ all his workers through military training. When you didn’t kidnap them bitches, you put us in the line of fire, motherfucker! Ain’t nobody out here in these streets wantin’ to work for no gangster-suit-wearin’ bastard like Escondido. You want a boss tellin’ you what to do? Or do you want to be ya own gangsta? We need to kill dem bitches to send a message we ain’t scared.”
“Yeah, I feel ya.” Franco answered as he took a long, sweet toke. “Ah man, they need to pull the male and female marijuana plant and separate ‘em, man. These seeds are too much. They be givin’ me a headache, man.”
“Buy from the white boys then.” Hugo pulled the blunt from his homey’s hand. “You should be grateful you got weed to smoke and not bitchin’ about some SUV that may or may not have been the property of the Ramirez brothers. They old and played out, man…”
“Who’s old and played out, baby?” a sultry, feminine voice asked.
Hugo’s mouth dropped open at the sight of a woman with pink hair and piercings strutting around the corner of the alley. He thought he was going to come in his pants when two hot beauties followed behind her. He straightened from the wall and sauntered over to them, making sure to bring his best swagger and give his dick a little tug while he was doing it. Yeah…that got their attention, now he could get a better look at them. They were on his turf now. A man couldn’t be too careful on these streets, after all.
More than one homeboy had been set up on these streets by the false promise of getting some pussy. One of the women was a long, tall drink of water with long black hair that had been dyed maroon at about the halfway point. That one didn’t have all the piercings but damn she was loaded down with tats. Most of her face was a fucking tribute to Goya. It didn’t matter though; when it was time to climb inside that one, he could always cover her head with a brown bag. That always worked for him, even when the bitch was fugly. And that fucking body she was sporting was rocking, that was all that mattered.
Last but not least was the ponytailed redhead. She had a tattoo on her face, too, that ran along her hairline on the right side of her face. It started at the edge of her forehead and continued down past her cheek. It was an intricate design of a flower with scrolled writing.
“Sinaloa.” The word rolled off his tongue with pride. Sinaloan pussy everywhere he looked? This was too good to be true, but fuck it, he wouldn’t turn it down. “¿Que paso chicas?” He made the mistake of reaching out to grab the black-haired girl’s arm and scowled when she jerked away.
“No me toques!”
The girls turned to leave but by now Franco had joined Hugo and both men were following them as they yelled out insults.
“Don’t touch you?! Hey, fuck you, bitch,” Franco yelled as he followed behind his buddy, swinging a bomber between two fingers. The 22-ounce bottle was only about half full of beer, but it would do nicely if he needed to crack it open to cut a bitch. Franco wasn’t picky about what he’d have to do to get all up inside some new pussy. As far as he was concerned, these bitches had come to them; they were fucking asking for it.
“Yeah, don’t nobody want to fuck a bitch with tats all over her face any-damn-way,” Hugo snarled. “But I ain’t picky, baby, and I got what you want. I’ll fuck your pussy or fuck your tits, but not without a bag over your fucking head.”
This elicited a laugh from Franco, who had decided it would be funny to hold his thumb over the end of the beer bottle and shake it up then spray it all over the bitches. They’d have their own wet t-shirt contest, at least until those fucking shirts got torn off. Being easily amused, the boys were too busy having fun to notice the white cargo van that slowly followed them.