RetroGunslinger

As night came down over the city, Parker made her way down Calle Bejamar, toward Playa Chica--the beach. Every so often a police car or fire engine would pass, giving her the sense that maybe the fire had gotten more out of control than she had thought.

She thought back to the night before, when she had met up with Ronnie at the club. It didn't seem all that likely at the time that he would set Parker's apartment on fire, but then again it wasn't exactly the litmus test for all of Parker's partners in crime. At first she didn't even recognize him, however even when the realization did dawn, it gave her no qualms about hooking back up with him. After all, he was hot. Lightly tanned physique, shaggy jet black hair, and the lightest blue eyes she had ever seen... who could resist?

Stupid, stupid decision. The sex was great; aggressive, but great. Aggressive. Key word. She should have taken note of that change in performance, and maybe she would have gotten him out of her place before he could light it up. But why? Why would she have any reason to be scared of such a seemingly nice guy? Parker could barely remember the man, it had been so long ago. Two years, easily, and now suddenly he returned to completely ruin her life.

Good thing Mr. Whiskers was at the kennel.

The apartment and everything inside was insured up the ying yang and Parker didn't carry cash, so everything would be fine. She just wanted to find the prick who did it. Seriously, who burns down a girl's apartment because they had a one night stand? That's crazy. That's some serious Fatal Attraction type bullshit, from a guy! Gender confusion, hon.

Parker turned the corner onto Avenido del Varadero, passing an elderly couple who seemed to sneer at her as she walked by. "The night brings out all the freaks in this city" Parker could hear one say. Probably the woman. Old people all sound the same, like Mexicans. Weird.

Avenido del Varadero. What was with all of the Spanish? Really? If the town is within the USA, it deserves to have English street names. What about Main Street, or Washington Street? Stupid question. Really stupid question. If they're going to take over the country, they might as well give us their street names.

Shit, Parker thought, my mind is wandering. All of this walking and single-minded revenge was getting to her. If Ronnie wasn't at Playa Chica, she was going to be pissed.

On the way down Calle Bejamar, Parker had stopped by the club where she had picked up Ronnie: The Dark Room. It was basically a warehouse with strobe lights, a stage, and pictures of naked women highlighted by red lights posted everywhere. It was the full bar and lack of attention to normal drinking laws there that brought most of the riff raff, but Parker came because she was cheap and The Dark Room was the only free club she knew of. Free was always good.

Parker found the man she was looking for almost immediately: Ted Shepherd. He was big and burly son of a bitch with a bald head that made him look like Mr. Clean. Two girls had draped themselves across his rippling forearms, both looked to be about seventeen and painted up like hookers. Parker tugged on the hem of his black tank top from behind and he spun around like a dradle.

"What the hell happened to you Parker?" Straight to the point, that's why she liked him.

"I need to find Robbie."

"Robbie...?"

"Robbie... uh..." Shit. She had forgotten his last name. Robbie Robinson? Robbie Charles? Anderson? Smith? Asshole? "Carter. Robbie Carter, that's it."

"Robbie Carter?" He crooned. "Gosh, I'm sorry Parker, I don't know where he'd be. I never talk to the guy. You fuck him?"

"Yeah... and then he burnt down my apartment."

One of the underage little wonder girls piped up: "Robbie did what?"

"Burnt down my apartment. As in pyro-fucked me out of a home. Do you know him?" Parker was being blunt tonight. This wasn't a laughing matter.

"He should be at the beach. What's tonight..." She put her ring finger to her lips and stared off into space. "Yeah, he should be at the beach."

"What beach?" Parker demanded. "This town is surrounded by it."

"Over at Playa Chica. He likes it 'cause he likes to play with chicas. He tells that lame ass joke to everybody, even though the beach there sucks."

"Thanks."

So, Parker made her way to the beach, in hopes that maybe she was right and he was a complete and total idiot. It seemed logical enough to assume.

Parker started onto a wooden plank path at the edge of the road that led to the beach. It was lined with little showerheads and nozzles. Every so often she'd pass an old pair of swimming trunks or an abandoned flipflop. The wet sand felt good against her abused feet. She should've gotten shoes at the pawnshop while she still had her own special element of surprise.

It was dark now, the only light emanating from the seaside shops and Playa Chica. The place was a haven for local partiers looking for a good place to get along with any interference from the outside world. Playa Chica was a cove with high ridges that blocked out most surveillance, but created an interesting bowl of light, like a sports stadium. That being said, the beach was mostly either rocky or grassy, and the water was filled with trash and empty beer cans. Still, a good party spot was a good party spot.

Upon reaching the overlooking hill, it became obvious this would be a challenge. There were at least seventy people, all partying hardy. The pulsations from the music only barely reached the hill, but they were already a little overbearing. If it weren’t for the whole burnt down apartment and pissed off lay, Parker would probably go ahead and have some fun.

She descended.

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It's a rare pleasure in this world to get your mind fucked. Usually it's just foreplay.

M.B. Keene