The Whorehouse (Or The Continuing Adventures of Wendell)

Some of you may not be here for stories of redneck hoods and copious bad language so the story will continue after the jump. Thanks for reading and feel free to leave comments.
The truck bumped along the dirt road, pulling into the field doubling as a parking lot. He parked at it the end, backing in so he’d be ready to go in a hurry if need be. He’d seen a man killed cause his vehicle was blocked in and swore he’d never make that mistake.

The boss lady sat on a rocking chair on the porch of one of the trailers, a cooler on the ground beside her. “Hidy, ma’am,” he said, stopping before her.
“Wendell Cassidy, don’t you fucking hidy ma’am me. I popped your cherry, boy, show some respect.”
“Well, Mary Lou, I ain’t never been here on business before. But how the hell are you?”
“Fine as frogs hair and twice as tough. What kind of business could you be here for? Other then the normal shoot your load kind, that is.”
He hefted a bag. “Got this weeks party favors. And I’m to pick up the old mans cut.”
“Running deliveries, are you? Thought you were his attack dog?”
“Yeah, well, it’s money. And there’s this new kid been doing some of that work. Guess it shouldn’t all be done by the same guy.”
She lifted the cooler lid and pulled out a beer. “Or he thinks your getting a bit long in the tooth. Time to be pastured, put out to stud.”
“Could be. Who knows what that man thinks. Anyway, got the money? No use me standing here gabbing.”
“What’s the matter? You used to like spending time here with us. Getting too good for us, Wendell Cassidy?”
“No ma’am. I just got a pile of shit to get done today and ain’t none of it getting done while I enjoy your company.”
“You sure? The old buzzard foots the bill for his boys. And the girls would love to take care of you. Lot better looking then most we see. Specially if I tell em what the equipment is like.”
“Well, I surely appreciate that but not today. Maybe next week.”
“Suit yourself, boy,” she said, pulling herself up out of the rocker. “I’m sorry to hear about your daddy. Any idea who done it?”
“No but nobodies going to brag about that. Besides, he was a grown man, knew what he was up to.”
“Uh huh. Sure. Well, c’mon then. Moneys in the safe in the office.”
He climbed up the short steps to the trailer door. “Getting fancy. Last time I was here the money was in a cigar box.”
“Progress, honey. Now just give me a minute to open the damn thing.”
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her bend over to open the safe door. She was a little heavier then when he’d first known her but all that meant was she’d gone from slender to nice and curvy. “What about you, still workin?”
“Me? I’m the boss, sweetie. I just run the place. I only fuck those I want to these days.” Mary Lou looked over her shoulder at him. “Why? Getting hungry, Wendell Cassidy?”
“Well, all other women have had to measure up to you.” He stepped inside, closing the door and flipping the lock.
“I told you you’d never get better head in your life.” She swung open the door and pulled out a stack of bills then turned around, nudging the safe door with her hip. “I always did have a soft spot for you, Wendell. Or at least, that meat between your legs. Make yourself comfortable on the couch there.”
He dropped to the couch, stretching out his legs. “And here the old man said I wouldn’t even get so much as a hand job out of you.”
“What does that fucker know? He couldn’t get it up with a fork lift.” Mary Lou picked up a pillow and laid it on the floor before kneeling on it, hands on his thighs. “Hard on the knees, you know,” she said in response to his questioning gaze.
her hands stroked him through his jeans and he bit back a moan. It’d been a while. His fingers slid through her hair as she teased. “So who’s here from Lexington?”
Mary Lou looked up confused. “What? Why do you ask that now when you’re about to get your knob polished?”
“Well, there was some reason you were trying to keep me here. And there ain’t many reasons to see Lexington plates here.” His hand tightened in her hair and pulled her ahead back, staring down into her eyes. “So just tell me what’s going on.”
“I, I, nothing. We always take care of the guys. Just ask anyone.”
He yanked on her hair, shaking her. “I’ll break your goddamned fucking neck.”
“Jesus,” Mary Lou wailed, tears running down her face. “It’s Thompson’s boys. Said he’s taking over this operation. They said to stall whoever made the delivery so they could send a message back to the old man. What was I to do, Wendell? You tell me that, you fucking cocksucker. What the fuck was I to do? What fucking difference does it make what man I pay?” She stared at him, tears leaking but refusing to give in and cry. “Maybe it’s a good thing your daddy ain’t around to see what you’ve become.”
Wendell shoved her away and rose to his feet, stepping over to look out the window. “Was you to give a signal?” His voice was normal again, with none of the growl and menace it had just held.
“A text when you were busy.” She got up, grabbing a tissue to wipe her eyes. “You are a real piece of shit, Wendell Cassidy.”
“We can put that on my tombstone. Send the text.”
She picked up her phone and typed. “What are you going to do?”
“Kill them. Drop their bodies off at Thompson’s club.”
“Jesus. I meant about…this.”
“This? You mean you turning on us who protect and support you?” She swallowed, fear showing in her eyes. “Shit. What the fuck do I care. Gotta take care of yourself, right?”
“Um, right.”
“Just don’t let it happen again. Lexington talks to you you call me. Not the old man. Me. Got it?”
“Got it. Sure thing.” She watched him at the window, one hand pulling the curtain a bit to the side, other hanging at his side. Then it moved, sliding to the small of his back and pulling a big black pistol from beneath his jacket. “Shit. I’m, um, going to the other room.”
Wendell smiled, a cold wolfish grin that showed teeth. “Be there in a minute,” he said. He opened the door and stepped out of the trailer, gun at his side.
“Thats far enough, boys,” he said to the two men in black suits approaching from one of the other trailers.
“Who the hell are you,” one said, squinting at Wendell due to the sun.
“The delivery boy you’ve been waiting on. And I got a message for you to take back to Thompson.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Wendell lifted his pistol and fired, the heavy .45 bullets hammering into the men’s stomachs, driving them screaming to the ground. He dropped the clip into his hand, shoving it away and replacing it and racking the slide.
“Go bring their car up,” he called to Mary Lou, then squatted by the men. He flicked one guy in the forehead. “Now I thought we told you we were doing fine and our businesses weren’t for sale.”
The man groaned, hands clutching his stomach. “You’re, you’re fucking dead.”
“So I keep getting told. Don’t die, now.” He stood up as their car pulled up and Mary Lou skidded to a stop. “Easy, woman,” he said. “Put the money in my car and get back to business. Nothing happened here, nobody saw anything.”
“What about everybody else?”
Wendell looked around the trailers with a smirk. “Oh I wouldn’t worry about these guys saying anything. Just a normal day, got it?”
“Yeah, sure. Lord you’ve gone cold.”
“It’s a cold world.” He walked to the car, pulling out his cell phone on the way. “Yeah, come on down. I need you to drive my truck, follow me to Lexington.” He disconnected the call and opened the back door, dragging the men over one at a time and dumping them in the back. Was going to make a bloody mess but what the hell, wasn’t his car.
He drove straight to Lexington, right at the speed limit and ignoring the noises from the back seat. At least he didn’t have to try and drive through the middle of downtown. He hit the edge of the strip club area, where Thompson had a bar and stopped outside. His old F100 pulled up beside him, window rolled down and a brown arm resting on the frame.
“What’s the plan?”
Wendell ignored him, rummaging around in the bed of his truck. He found what he was looking for and went back to the car, wedging the brick against the gas pedal. He dropped the car into gear and jumped back, running to his truck.
“Scoot over,” he said, yanking the door open as the car crashed into the entrance to the building. Tires squealed as he laid rubber on his way out of the parking lot, not even waiting to see the results. He looked over at the other guy with a wolfish grin. “Message delivered.”

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