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Free Snippet From Book One In The Black Caviar Series, “I’m Living But I’m Not Alive”
Episode 7: TOO SOFT A WORD
(Two Days Before the Black Caviar Story Begins)
2:03 a.m. and Daman still had passion and drive through bloodshot eyes. Glad to be home he untied his shoelaces and slipped off his Rolex wrist wear.
“Gangster” was too soft a word to describe his character; he observed these hood rats were ten to a dozen with a limited hunger for a battle and even less ambition for the war. How did they expect to gain more than they were willing to risk? In his mind’s eye, “Crime Alpha” was a true reflection of the totality of his existence. He pushed it beyond the limits but couldn’t satisfy the hunger. The more he ate, the more he starved; every day presented opportunities to live more and be more. A crime mogul at the height of his game, he believed he had enough Bad Boy about him to close down a P. Diddy tour. He was living the American dream with vengeance in his heart and fire in his belly. A man who would rather die an alpha dog with a paw full of dollars, than live the life of a stray pussy in need of a good stroke. He believed his ambition wasn’t self-taught; it was set in his bloodline. Not caring much for ambivalent thoughts inside the box surrounded by conformist, he worked outside the square area where he could stand free on his own two feet and tell the world, “I AM THE MAIN EVENT!”
From an early age he was instilled with a specific set of values which made him such a determined and willful person, refusing to let any roadblock get in the way of where he was heading. His positive leadership and attitude was infectious to his D Organization staff, but to his foot soldiers in the drug game, it made them just as cold blooded and ruthless as he. A major leaguer who lived his life in an uncompromising fashion, he’d reached the pinnacle of the city’s underworld and didn’t have to censor the things he said or compromise on his beliefs. Although vilified, he didn’t care and could easily look his enemy dead in the eye and tell them, “Go To Hell…. I’ll Meet You There!”
After closing the floor safe, he sat in the leather office chair before laying down his portable firearm on the mahogany desk. Its high-muzzle velocity reminded him of his two Caucasian Ovcharkas who were always quick on the draw if there was a stranger at his door. Patting his pets down and showing he approved of their protective instinct around his family, he watched as the two-hundred pound brothers strolled out of his office and into the kitchen.
Today had been a mixed bag of thoughts and actions and although he never usually let things get to him, one worry still loomed large in his head.
Estefan Gonzalez, an old business associate and ex-friend, was now sitting inside prison on a five-year stretch. Daman knew it wouldn’t be long before the Mexican who was now married to the boss of the Limas syndicate would come looking for him. He hated the thought of being seen as a snitch but felt he’d had little choice in the matter. Somehow, he figured Estefan and his wife, Michaela wouldn’t take this lying down, but he had his reasons for doing what he did and was prepared to stick by his decision, even if it meant death in the worst way.
It occurred to him it was his sweet dear Mamma’s birthday today. Looking down at his phone he realized she’d called earlier that evening, but due to an overrun meeting, he’d missed her call. He couldn’t believe he had averted a chance to tune in with his mother, especially on her birthday; this was truly a rare occurrence. He would move all of heaven and raise merry hell just to hear her sweet calming voice.
“Mamma.”
“Hi, String Bean.”
“Sorry for calling so late,” Daman said, sensing his mother was the happiest woman hearing from her son, no matter what time of day or night he called.
“Happy Birthday, Mamma, did you get the presents I sent?”
“Baby, what have I told you about spending so much money on me? Thank you so much, baby. Cruz rang earlier to wish me a happy birthday; I was so please to hear your best friend’s voice.”
They spoke for a while longer with Daman asking after her health, but Mamma was quick to sideline the issue, not wanting to worry her son.
“Mamma, I have to go, another call has just come in. I love you and will check in with you tomorrow, bye for now.”
“Bye String Bean and thanks for the presents; kisses to the girls for me.”
“Daman.”
“This is he.”
“It’s Detective Phillips.”
“I know who it is….Get to the point, it’s late.”
“Death came to him at close quarters; I got a dirty lowlife who owed me to make it look like a street altercation.”
“I’ll make you look like a death altercation if you go blabbing. Now, speak with Tank about your fee.”
“Come on D, you know me, I would never….”
“It’s Daman or sir to you.”
“Sorry Daman, you know me, I would….”
“I know your family too. Goodbye.”
Slipping back in his chair, his mind traveled from pillar to post and then settled on the verity he still had a little jetlag from the long plane journey. Smiling to himself, he remembered how he and Jane had come up with the name for his second nightclub venture.
THREE DAYS EARLIER
An intense heat built up in hotel room 405 as the panoramic view of the Melbourne Docklands and city skyline made for the perfect Australian backdrop. Holding onto the balcony railings, Jane eyed Daman’s torso through his open shirt, noticing how his body made her melt quicker than warm chocolate. He came closer and could tell by the light green tint set in her eye that she wanted him, but couldn’t understand why one day he hated her, but the next he was loved up with passion; right now there was no time for head games.
“You want me to become viewing for the masses.”
Loosening his belt, Jane’s statement brought a smile to Daman’s face. Looking over, he could see he wasn’t the only person enjoying the view. Pulling her closer, the urge to mount her right there grew with every breath. “Baby J, I couldn’t care less who sees us. Right now, all I want to do is dream with my eyes wide open.”
Easing down her dress straps, he watched the light material fall away until it covered her Snake Charmer stilettos. Jane took her cue and coolly but ever so slowly stepped out of her garment one leg at a time, still maintaining full eye contact with her boss. Pressing her bare bum cheeks against the glass, she could feel his warm tongue tickle her earlobe. His muscular arms held her in place while his six foot frame compressed harder than his groin. Within a minute her position had switched one hundred and eighty degrees much to the pleasure of the senior citizen peering up. Jane smirked knowing this to be as close to a bodacious body the toothless voyeur would get before he drew his last pension. Daman slipped to his knees and pulled her sleek legs apart until there was enough room to sink his freshly trimmed goatee. She loved the way he touched and turned her out; every move, lick and tug brought her closer to her destination. Taking love off the agenda, she knew she was playing with fire minus the oven gloves. Her inner Venus shouted, “Make Daman your bitch for as long as it last.”
“Watch and learn,” she shouted over the balcony in the direction of the gentleman, who had now taken a seat. One hand slowly ran downhill starting at the base of her slim neck, leaving red after prints on her moisturized skin until her fingers became peaceful around her areola. Bored with chest play, she let her hand drop south until her long nails settled inches away from Daman’s slivering tongue. One finger joined the other in a running motion, aiming to please her second pair of moist lips.
For both, rule breaking was the order of the day. Daman paid no mind to the fine he would pay if his wife found out. Jane settled on the reality that while the world was in recession, she couldn’t let good manhood go to waste. Gently pulling her back by her black mane, he controlled every movement, drifting ever deeper into forbidden territory, not caring to tread carefully as not to get caught up in female jeopardy.
The slight vulnerability of being this close to Chicago’s most dangerous man soon vanished and was replaced by the warmth of his vivacious tuskness moving back and forth, slow and even until his energetic drive shifted through the gears and down the final straight. With sobering thoughts of lustful wickedness, he still thirst for more, but knew time was against him. For a moment his eye caught what he thought looked like a blood stain on Jane’s heel. Surmising it could be dye from her red sole, he turned his attention to the reason why the two had traveled half way round the world first class.
Still on her back, Jane followed his gaze and quickly realized she had made an error of judgment with her chosen foot ware. Blackpool, England was the last time she wore these heels; the whys and wherefores’ of the small bloodstain still felt raw and was best left locked away. These were her lucky heels and now had every chance of making her a cool six figures in little over an hour.
Thirty minutes later they were on route to the Australia Stakes at Moonee Valley. “Ok, here’s the deal, baby J. I’ve listened to all your big talk about who you think is going to win this group two showdown.”
“Have you?” Jane chipped in.
“Yes, I wanted to ask God for a form guide but Google was quicker. Black Caviar stumbled at the Danhill Stakes. Ok, she still won but she’s just recovered from a chest muscle injury. You sure you want to waste $50’000 on her to win? She is up against much older and more experienced horses now…Why not make an each way bet instead of giving good money away?”
Jane grasped Daman’s thigh, “Betting each way is like standing in the middle of a busy street unsure which way to turn. You’ve brought $100’000 out with you, one of us needs to look after your interest. You’re going to put your half on a horse called, “Here De Angels?”
Daman nodded, recalling hours had been spent chewing over a decision he was absolutely sure of. Thinking it to be a sign from his brother, he felt his triumphant streak would extend well past this finish line.
“Dear me Daman, sounds like you’re having a brain fart. Forget about asking God for a form guide and ask him to ride your horse instead, it‘s the only way you’re going to win.”
Her ballsy attitude made him smile, it was one of her many attributes that made her his drug of choice. “Peace be with you Black Caviar, at best you will come second.”
“What, like you, my juicy rack of beef? Let’s make this more interesting. If I lose, which I won’t, I’ll work in Black Velvet next Saturday night in just my G-string.”
Daman wanted to chip in, but Jane had her finger resting on his lips, not wanting him to stop her flow. “If I win, you will not call your second club Black Velvet, resembling a fast food chain…You will call it Black Caviar.” Two lengths was the winning margin; one betting slip fell to the ground for the wind to carry it to trashville, while the other was kissed and slipped down a plunging neckline for safe keeping.
Drama
