“This ends today,” Jeff said.
“Agreed,” Genghis replied, as Jeff pulled from the curb to follow.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
When William ‘Billy Bourbon’ Jamerson had gotten to Bollar’s one-room apartment after his frantic radio call months earlier he found Bollar a bloody mess. Billy could still hear the police sirens in the distance, so it didn’t take rocket science to figure out how Bollar got this way. Bollar explained that his plan went horribly awry and he needed help. He required medical aid and handed Billy a wad of twenties with the instructions to purchase whatever he needed.
Billy couldn’t take his eyes off of where Bollar’s ear should have been. He glanced down at his blood saturated shirt and said, “Man, you need a plastic surgeon!”
“I need no one!” Bollar angrily said. “I just need you to get medical supplies and food. It will take me weeks to heal and, needless to say, I can’t venture out. That’s where you come in.”
After confronting Jennifer in front of Dave's, Billy walked to his 1982 Buick Skylark that was parked at the curb of Fifth Avenue and 10th Street. He climbed in and, after two tries, started the engine. A cloud of blue exhaust belched out of the tail pipe as he pulled from the curb. He would go back to his place and pick up a few things before heading over to see Bollar, who was doing much better now, but was badly scarred and complaining about an intense headache which Billy could do nothing for. He had purchased several bandages and black market oxycodone for the pain that first day and did what he could for Bollar. And Bollar was as good as his word – Billy was paid handsomely for his time.
Jeff and Genghis kept their distance as they followed Billy Bourbon. He drove into the Compton Square district of Old Town, and when they saw Billy pull his car into a parking lot of a small apartment building Jeff parked the Thunderbird half a block away. They watched as Billy got out of his car and disappeared into the building.
Billy came out a short time later with a brown paper grocery bag of garbage. It had grease stains on the bottom and was leaking something that left a trail. Billy walked to the back of the building where the dumpster was located. He lifted the heavy duty black plastic lid of the dumpster and tossed the bag in.
“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him.
Billy turned to see a man walking up to him with a dog trotting alongside. Billy took in the man and decided that he wasn’t from around this part of town. “You and your dog lost, mister?” Billy said with a gold grin, breath clouding in the cold air.
“No, we wanted to talk to you about an acquaintance of ours.” Jeff and Genghis stopped about ten feet from Billy Bourbon. “Jennifer.”
Billy gave him a look of not understanding who he was talking about.
“You might know her as Twinkie.”
“Twinkie! Sure I know Twinkie,” Billy said, then broke out into a bigger grin. “Oh!” He smirked, “Your Twinkie’s Sugar Daddy, ain’t cha?” Billy looked up the road and saw the Thunderbird parked at the curb. “Sure you are! So, tell me, you sweet on her? What she do? Give you the trick of your life and now you in love with her?” He motioned with his head toward Genghis. “You guys have a three-way with your dog?”
Jeff didn’t have a clue at what any of that meant, so he got to the point. “I just wanted to say one thing, Billy,” Trent calmly said. “Twinkie is no longer in your employ and does not owe you anything. So, starting right here, right now, you're to leave her alone. You don’t approach her, you don’t talk to her, you don’t go into Dave’s to see her. Am I making myself clear?”
Billy Bourbon just stood there, surprised at the gall of this guy telling him what he could and couldn’t do with his people. “Now, I don’t know who the hell you are, buddy,” Billy said, “but where do you get off telling me what I can and can’t do? I mean . . . who the fuck are you?”
“No, you're not understanding me,” Jeff continued. “I don’t care what you do with your depraved business or your pathetic life. I just want you to cut all ties you have with Twinkie.” Jeff paused for a second. “That’s all.”
Trent and Billy stared at each other for a moment. “That's all huh?” Billy said. “If I got a dollar for every love-struck John that came to me about the bitch in my employ that he was a-fucking, I’d be a fucking millionaire!” Billy raised his voice. “Now I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. And that's nothing! I will talk to who I want when I want and I’m not gonna have some dick-head fuck tell me what to do.” Billy had been through this kind of altercation on several occasions. And each time the use of colorful adjectives and bravado usually worked to intimidate a John who thought he was in love.
“This here no longer concerns you, buddy! So, why don’t you and your damn mutt just move on down the road and let me conduct my business the way I do.”
Trent and Genghis didn’t respond. They just stood looking at Billy.
Billy had had enough. “Okay, okay I see where this conversation is going mother fucker.” Billy quickly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He pushed the button on the side of the knife and a four-inch-long, razor sharp blade flipped out from the hilt. “First thing I’m gonna do,” Billy said, “is flay your dog and use him as a rug! Then, I'm gonna gut you like
