read carefully …
Still not sure about buying The DiamonD: Chapter Three in it`s entirety then try the “Sampler“. Sure it sounds like an appetizer you`d order at your favorite Bar `n Grill but think of how much grief you`ll spare yourself devouring a read you won`t gain any weight from.
And don`t forget to indulge your eye`buds with these two scrumptious “Samplers“ also included on DiamonD`s menu (nothing “organic“ here just raw, uncharred, pulse-pounding flesh). Enjoy!
I took a seat at the edge of the unmade bed and caught a glimpse of someone resembling me through the mirror suspended over a three tier dresser sitting directly to my left, at the same time, noticing her tired reflection; nowhere near the vicinity of nineteen but more along the lines of an aging angst teen: drugged out, partied out, and fucked out of her mind. It was an unnerving sight the more and more I slipped into her reflection and shattered the windows to her soul with my fists further destroying whatever underlying beauty remained.
Just then Carlos stepped into the mirror thus choking my reflection with his in which I took as a sign of intimidation; intimidation to forcing me back on the level of our organization’s thinking.
“You do remember what we’re after here right, esa?” I lowered my gaze from the mirror and merely nodded; not in regards to Carlos’s intimidation but to the fact that this was about Bree; about my father; about controlling Hollywood and perhaps all of L.A. “Good,” Carlos applauded verbally, stepping back from me. “So. . .Tammy,” he then probed casually, yet curiously. “Did you make her understand?”
“Somewhat. . .but I’m not sure I did,” I retorted honestly, yet there was doubt clinging to my response.
“You can’t be second guessing yourself in this business, esa. Either you’re right or you’re right; there’s no in between or reasons for conscience. As a Jefe, it’s up to you to set rules, to discipline, to have total control of every aspect of their life. If they have habits, you support them, and only by giving them enough that way their forced to stay loyal. If they need food, clothes, a place to live, then it’s you who provides. Pimping rucas is like a game of chess, esa, it’s all strategic. The only thing you have to worry about is either losing your rucas to drugas, the law or another pimp. Now Tammy,” Carlos said abruptly switching the conversation back to her. “She’s gotta be dealt with, and severely.”
“C’mon, Carlos,” I began to argue.
“Nah-ah, esa!” Carlos interjected brusquely, shaking his head unsympathetically. “It’s one thing to get high to motivate you; it’s another when you become addicted. Then stealing to support that habit. . .that shit can get bitches killed. Knowing that, you can’t have a conscience. You wanted this remember. . .back at the chante, in your room? You said you wanted to take care of it. So now, take care of it,” Carlos said comically, calling my bluff.
Suddenly the room started to spin with my emotions being swept up in its current thus fucking with my insides, my gut, my fear. I mean, I genuinely did not have the heart to discipline any of these Hollywood hos but I did realize that I had the drive which was pretty fucked-up to admit. It was like having the Devil occupying one shoulder with the Angel occupying the other; both whispering to my conscience; both weighing my options when all along I felt like Lady Liberty bounded in her blind scales of justice: I had to make a choice to choosing the most logical form of discipline.
And what went through my head was not a pretty sight considering there was theft and a habit to break.
I got up from the edge of the bed and crossed to the dresser and studied my reflection in the mirror with my eyes slowly trailing that valley crafted from my throat down to my cleavage then down toward the center of my jeans where the bulge of my gun protruded like the erection of a man aching to escape and conquer the whole-fucking-world with a simple blow of his cock. It was quite exhilarating and disturbing to think of my gun in that explicit and vile sense. But I guess one just had to be there to understand such power.
“Listo?” Carlos said pulling me from my thoughts. I nodded with Carlos opening the bedroom door and me walking on ahead of him.
re`edited version of The DiamonD: Chapter Three available soon
Print versions of The DiamonD: VEGAS & The DiamonD: VEGAS, Revisited coming soon!
I`d say “order your copies before they`re sold-out!“ but I refuse to set myself up for disappointment so I`d rather say nothing and just put them up.
In closing … they`ll be there if you want them unless you`re one of the many who indulge in posting up “obnoxious comments!“
. . .Pft! Was I way-the fuck-off!
And this is why I`m re`editing pretty much all my books excluding HUSH.
“It`s funny because you think you`ve written a flawless manuscript only to come to find that when you go back and read it`s all over the fucking place!“
~ comment Quote courtesy of ME in response to a recent comment on a post
(post`script: I hope I`m not the only dumb`ass who feels this way. If so . . . Eh!)
“Sampler“ of DiamonDs: Chapter Two is now available for all the indeci`sers & skepticism`ers at Amazon. Enjoy! And if you do and wish to read further on, visit the eBook Store via this site and apply the discount code at checkout (that should tickle you-fucking-pink!)
Click on Book Cover to Purchase – $1.49
I was nervous heading back to the Tracks ‘cause it had been awhile since I’d been out there. I also noticed that I was a little paranoid too ‘cause every few steps I gave forward I would find myself looking a few steps back. And it wasn’t like I was new to these Tracks. I guess it was just the idea of what had happened that unnerved me – that, and Detective Rawlins.
My gut pinched as I crossed Schrader Boulevard, Cherokee Ave, and Las Palmas Ave and back, wondering if I was being stalked by Reggie considering that I made my presence known by the various hos I had passed in which I sensed had ties to Reggie just by the weight of their awestruck faces as I casually strolled passed them, like if they had just seen a ghost, or better yet, dollar signs. I’m sure that an APB – All Pimps Bulletin – had already been put out way before Reggie failed to shoot my ass.
I decided to take a breather and have me a cigarette near that infamous smoke shop I had beat Lana down in front of. I figured after we got to Reggie and did away with him, I would then make Lana my own personal bitch as payback for the shit and grief she caused me.
I spotted a couple of young looking girls loitering around the Geisha House. I could see that they were trying to blend in with the people entering and exiting the restaurant but it was clearly impossible especially the way they were dressed; you could tell they were “working”. And I don’t think they were local either ‘cause if they were then they’d know that that particular corner was off limits.
I ignored the two girls and continued smoking my cigarette; occasionally looking at my watch; occasionally taking in the commotion unfolding all around me; and the one thing I didn’t do was make eye contact with any men, as well as, the passing cars as I was on the lookout for Shane who would be pulling up to me in a late model dark blue Chevy Blazer that he and Alec, along with Cesar, hotwired from an unsecured parking lot in Little Armenia earlier in the day.
It was just after ten when I decided to toss the cigarette and stop looking for Shane and instead continue on walking but the idea had escaped me when two unmarked police vehicles skidded to a halt in front of World Best Souvenirs with three officers quickly exiting those vehicles, drawing badges and guns and cornering those same two girls who were loitering down by the Geisha House along with one man.
Then, and within seconds, a scuffle suddenly broke out between two of the officers and the man who had made it known – earlier – that he wasn’t about to go down that easy, not without a fight.
I ignored the scuffle and decided to continue moving on. But just as I was in the throes of uprooting my heels from the pavement to head west toward McCadden, my gaze accidentally faltered back to the scuffle and onto a black Dodge Charger skidding to an abrupt halt in front of the fight. And just when I thought the worst was about to come to the man slugging it out with the cops, my stomach instantly dropped and my heart accelerated thus knocking the wind out of me, particularly when Detective Rawlins rushed out of the Charger and quickly pulled his badge from beneath his shirt.
It must’ve been the weight of my gaze that had bore down on him just enough for him to steal a split second glance in my direction. And it was right then and there when everything around me suddenly went silent: meaning, the cheer of people; the idle of distinct conversations; the hustle of elements; the flow of traffic; the sound of freedom – I became deaf to it all.
Honestly, I didn’t know why I didn’t just turn a cheek and go about my business when it became clear to me that Rawlins had no clue to who was staring at him. I mean, it actually took him about a good thirty seconds to finally recognize that that person staring at him was me – Tina Knight. And it was in those seconds following when I realized just how much-fucking-heat I was in.
“Oh, fuck!” I then mustered just before we both started to run: Me from him, and him to me.
My heart was racing a thousand miles per second. And my adrenaline was so through the-fucking-sky that my legs and feet felt like they were literally running on air despite me having to forcefully shove myself through the crowds of people.
Instead of running further west of Hollywood Boulevard I instead rounded the corner of Cherokee Ave and headed south hoping that the diversion would throw Rawlins off.
It wasn’t until a good block down the semi-darkened street however, had I heard Rawlins shout: “Tina, stop! Goddamn it, I said stop! Tina!”
By this point I was swallowing gobs of air trying to keep the oxygen hydrated within my lungs while my fear clung heavy – like weight – in the pit of my stomach ‘cause I could literally see my future, my plan, my Bree slowly pulling from me each leap and bound I gave to keep myself from being caught. . .And then, the unthinkable – or shall I say – the unforeseen of our plan suddenly dashed out of a business alley and screeched to a halt right in front of me; abruptly cutting me off that I lost control of my steps ‘cause instead of coming to a complete standstill I instead body slammed straight into the fender weld of Reggie’s BMW with both Reggie and ‘lil Big scrambling off the sedan; Reggie had a Glock in hand.
“There you are, bitch!” Reggie spat in sheer disgust, picking up his Glock and pointing it directly at me.
re`edited version of DiamonDs available soon
Again, this is for those who are skeptical about purchasing DiamonD: Chapter One in it`s entirety or any of the books in the Series. And the good thing about that is that if you don`t like the Sample then you can get a refund for a $1.29! (Now if that doesn`t tickle you pink then I don`t know what the fuck does?!)
Click on Book Cover to Purchase $1.29
Janie Young-Kasa was dead.
And “DiamonD” was born.
I held the picture of Tina Knight up to my face, noticing that there was a startling resemblance. Suddenly I didn’t feel as worried as I had been when Memo first handed me the ID. Honestly, I felt ready to hit the Tracks running.
It was almost ten, and I was feeling quite restless. And being cooped up in a motel room on the eve of a weekend made me feel choked and conflicted ‘cause I felt I should be out there on the Tracks, searching for Bree, making some money so that we could both get the fuck out of here!
I sat on the bed and reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting on the nightstand next to the empty bottle of whiskey. I lit a cigarette and dragged on it for a minute while the silence around the room whirred in my ears. From a distance, just outside the motel room, I could hear laughing, the slamming of a car door, a baby crying and cars speeding past the motel – I had to get out. I had to see what was out there.
Since I had already dolled-up my face to match the likes of one Tina Knight, all that was left for me to do now was get dressed.
I pulled the bags out from the closet and slipped into the red mini skirt and the black laced halter top. And since I didn’t feel like I was quite ready to step out in the heels I had bought, I instead slipped back into my black ballet flats. My whole goal was to look “casual sexy” and not just “sexy”.
After I was done dressing, I sat back down on the bed and finished smoking my cigarette, at the same time, wishing I was swigging from a bottle to ease my nerves that were literally trying to claw their way out from my beneath my skin.
I put out the cigarette in the ashtray and picked up the empty bottle of whiskey and tossed it into the trash beside the nightstand. I then reached for the top drawer of the nightstand and took out the gun and sat there for a minute; curling and uncurling my fingers around the butt end to get a feel for its trust in case I needed to use it. And once I felt satisfied, I got up from the bed, grabbed my purse, shoved the gun inside and walked out the door.
As soon as my cold feet hit the sidewalk on Sunset Boulevard, my nerves began to settle ‘cause there wasn’t much activity this side of Sunset since I was further east of Hollywood. As a matter of fact, the street looked rather peaceful for being ten-thirty in the evening. I clutched my purse closer to my body the second I began to head west, toward the brighter lights of the city. And since I was unfamiliar with anything north and south of Sunset Boulevard, I kept to what I was most comfortable with.
I passed a couple of bars and grills, beer houses and some clubs for the seven blocks I walked before I decided to turn back around and head back to the motel. I had crossed the street to avoid the same people I passed glancing at me twice. I guess I was trying to make anyone who saw me forget me. But, and of course, it was inevitable.
I had passed a couple of guys as they were drinking in the courtyard to one of the beer houses. One of the guys had looked my way and smiled. And to not be rude, I smiled back. And there must’ve been some sentimental meaning to my polite gesture ‘cause he quickly left the courtyard and began walking my way as I was crossing the street back to the motel. I slowed my pace when he mumbled something in my direction. I quickly glanced over my shoulder ‘cause I was unsure if he was addressing me or not.
“Are you talking to me?” I said coolly to the guy as he continued to approach me.
“Yeah,” the guy said with a smile.
“Um. . .what was your question?” I had lost my train of thought.
“I said: You dyed your hair? And that’s why I didn’t recognize you the first time you passed by,” he chuckled nervously.
“Oh,” I chuckled myself. “Yeah. Trying out a new color, I guess.”
“It suits you. You got a name?”
“How did you know it was me and not some other girl?”
The guy fingered my purse. “The purse,” he said.
“Oh. Um. . .it’s Ti. . .I mean, DiamonD,” I stammered, yet feeling unsure about having introduced myself as that; “DiamonD”. But then again, I had to start somewhere.