Once arriving at Rachel’s swanky downtown apartment I would be offered a poisonous cape cod, a.k.a. vodka cranberry. My body would be dumped in the San Diego Bay with no way of ever being tracked back to Rachel. It’s not like she ever told anyone about me and her boss sure as shit wasn’t going to tell anyone. This is how easily a person gets clipped. It’s so easy a woman can do it. I’m being a smartass of course, but damn, these bitches mean business!
I showed up completely clueless to any of this. I accepted the drink offer and drank almost half of it before passing out. When waking again I was at the top of the third deadliest bridge in America, the San Diego Coronado Bridge, a.k.a. The Suicide Bridge. After the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco and the Aurora Bridge in Seattle, WA the Coronado Bridge is the most popular leaping spot in the United States for suicide jumpers. The enormous bridge crosses over the San Diego Bay connecting San Diego to Coronado and stands over two-hundred feet tall. Tall enough for Navy ships to pass underneath. People from all over California, Nevada and Arizona come here to kill themselves. I woke up in the backseat of Rachel’s Mercedes just as her car climbed the tallest point of the bridge. Her boss sat in the passenger seat. The plan was to stop the car, quickly push me out and over the side of the bridge. It was late enough in the evening when traffic was far and in between. Thankfully for me the sleeping pills in my drink weren’t strong enough to keep me passed out or I would be a dead man. I came to and stayed silent – I knew something was up. I was groggy as hell, but could still make out what they were saying. I had about three minutes to figure out my life was in danger and just as the car came to a stop, I made a split-second decision.
Like clockwork, Rachel’s boss jumped out of the front seat and ran back to my door. I was on my back with my feet towards the door and when she opened it to grab me, I surprised donkey kicked her ass in the torso and sent her flying over the railing of the bridge. The Mercedes was parked right up close to the edge with every intention of throwing me over. Not this time, bitch! I could hear her faint screams end in a soft life-ending splash. Bear in mind this woman had every intention of killing me and I acted out of self defense.
When I kicked that turd off the bridge, Rachel panicked and punched the gas. Her Mercedes took off like lightening slamming both the passenger and back door closed shut. I immediately tore into Rachel,
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?! MURDER?!! WAIT UNTIL I TELL THE FIRST COP I SEE!!!”
My voice roared like a lion.
“I HOPE YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING PLANNED FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, BECAUSE THEY’RE GOING TO SEND YOUR ASS TO THE GAS CHAMBER!!”
Rachel cried and begged no. I told her to shut the fuck up and stop by In-N-Out Burger. I needed to eat something to help drown out the sleeping pills. I wondered if maybe Rachel’s boss had survived the 200 foot fall? Every now and then people who deliberately jump off the suicide bridge would survive. Maybe this cooze would be one of them?
Not likely - that woman was fish food.
When Rachel’s Mercedes pulled up at the In-N-Out Burger she had the nerve to ask if I wanted to go in or hit the drive thru?
“Drive thru, bitch! Duh.”
I smacked her on the back of the head for asking such a stupid question. I wasn’t about to let this woman out of my sight - not until we worked out this whole attempted murder bullshit. I was pissed off, can you blame me? I thumped her again on the head with my finger.
The car pulled up to the menu.
“Welcome to In-N-Out Burger, can I take your order?”
“One second, please” Rachel responded.
One second my ass, there’s only three burgers to choose from: hamburger, cheeseburger, or the one & only double-double. Did she really need to ask?
“Double-Double, no turtle dicks (pickles) and a strawberry shake. You get nothing!” I told her.
She obeyed and ordered what I told her. Where do we even go from here? How do you forgive someone for planning to kill you? No matter how smoking hot or rich this bitch is – I still couldn’t just laugh it off. Like a man who just hijacked a taxi, I told her to “just drive.”
I needed to think.
I was a gangster now, I killed someone. The nightmares would soon follow. Tupac Shakur declared his gangster lifestyle by having “THUG LIFE” tattooed over his belly. I thought about having “COOKIES” tattooed over mine. The only chance a white guy has at being considered cool by other rappers is through humor. But I wasn’t a rap artist; I was a straight killer now! I should have had “MICHAEL MYERS” tattooed over my stomach. Matter of fact, I verbalized this last thought so Rachel could hear it. She was still aimlessly driving her Mercedes in no direction at all. I was directly behind her in the back seat talking all kinds of nonsense in her ear. I wanted her to be afraid of me because I was terrified of her. She actually plotted and carried out a murder attempt, crazy bitch. Pregnant women are psycho.
I instructed her to keep driving until I was finished reciting the entire Hellraiser movie in her ear. If that wouldn’t make this girl fear me nothing else would.
Eventually we had to stop for gas.
During my makeshift production of Hellraiser I hadn’t noticed Rachel drove her Mercedes straight into Logan Heights. In case you don’t know, Logan Heights is the most ruthless street gang ridden area of San Diego. This was not the ideal place for a smoking hot white woman to pull over for gas in her 80,000 dollar car at almost 3 in the morning.
Fuck.
My butthole puckered up tighter than a fish’s ass out of fear. Rachel was oblivious and pulled into the first gas station she saw – a ghetto ass Shell Station with four Mexican gang members chilling out drinking a quart of Budweiser and smoking a spliff. I played it cool and stayed in the backseat while Rachel pumped the Mercedes full of gas. Before she could get a full gallon in the four thugs were already up in her face. They were just kids, maybe 16 years old. Rachel was told to fill the tank because “Chewy” who produced a 9mm glock from his waistline was taking the car.
Or in his words, “Bitch, I’m taking ‘dis whip. You wanna come along and get fucked?”
Rachel declined his offer.
She also asked if he was even old enough to produce sperm, to which he responded by pistil-whipping her ass. I crawled over the backseat and exited the opposite side of the car. The thugs were too high to notice and when I closed the door shut Chewy’s initial reaction was to shoot at me.
Thank god he missed.
This is when that Michael Myers tattoo would have come in handy because I could have lifted my shirt and screamed, “MOTHA FUCKA, YOU CAN’T KILL ME! I’M ALREADY DEAD!!”
That plus a few boogidy-woogidies and these kids would have been scared shitless, but instead I yelled, “Don’t shoot me! I’ll suck all your dicks!!”
I was desperate.
I was told to come around the car and then punched in the mouth. I was now on the concrete next to Rachel. She was still knocked out cold and the four shitheads were now in the car and peeled off out of the gas station. Great, this was just fucking great. I’m stuck in the gangster’s paradise with this knocked up white bitch who probably looks like Madonna to these people. I don’t mean “these people” as a racist remark, but as in these gang members have hardly ever been out of their neighborhood and it’s not everyday they see a rich pampered white woman. Anyone within a three mile radius would notice her and that would only lead to me having my ass kicked or possibly killed. I must have expressed this last thought out loud because Rachel was awake now and giving me a look like this is all my fault. By this point I was nearing a breakdown and pretty much had it. Like anyone else losing their grip on reality, I stood up and paced back & forth while rambling on about nothing.
“You know, I’ve done nothing but try to work things out with you and all I’ve gotten in return is constant rejection. Am I really that big of a burden? I’m old, I’m washed up and all I have going for myself is a knocked up ex-con, turned successful career cooze, who would rather have me dead than raise a child together. Do you know what happens when a child is raised without a father? He turns into a freeloading piece of shit like me! Is that what you want? A bastard kid who steals money from your purse to buy smack and butt fuck a prostitute in your own bed sheets? While you’re hard at work this kid is pawning your Macbook, the flat screen TV and letting his friends go sniffing through your panty drawer. Yeah, that’s just fucking great. I bet you can’t wait for Christmas, what did he get you a big “FUCK YOU MOM” for not buying him the BMW he wanted? Or wait, maybe he is a she? How many abortions has she had before the 12th grade? 4? 6? 8? Oh that’s right, she dropped out in the 9th grade and left her six kids for you to take care of while she ran away to live with her boyfriend in Tijuana, Mexico. All of this hatred, stress and family ties broken because I’m too much of a piece of shit to go on breathing? Well, fuck you! I hope you get gang raped and pregnant ten times on top of each other and you all end up eating government cheese for dessert?
Fuck you, I’m out of here!!”
Rachel’s only response was, “are you done yet?” I almost kicked her in the mouth. I needed love, not a smartass remark. She pulled a five dollar bill from her pocket. This was enough for the both of us to catch the city bus out of this hell hole. Having no clue where we were, it was my idea to catch a bus going in the direction of the ocean. The only problem being – I wasn’t sure which direction that is. I asked Rachel what she thought and went with the opposite.
We began walking west. Or what I thought was west until eventually reaching a bus stop. Does the city bus even run this late? After waiting for more than an hour it was obvious we missed our chance. Lovely, I may as well be in Afghanistan. Strangely this is when Rachel and I started talking to each other on a real level. I had my little freak out earlier and was much calmer now. Rachel was starting to realize she might be worse off without me and not just tonight in the ghetto, but for the rest of her life. I kicked her damn boss off a 200 foot bridge and by doing so proved I’m not completely worthless. After all this crazy shit it became clear to both of us that our lives were meant to be together. We sat at that bus stop talking all through the night. We worked our shit out and realized we were completely in love - or at least close enough to it. Rachel would more than likely get a promotion at work after her boss killed herself by jumping off the suicide bridge. The news would blame it on work related stress and make a cute story of it. I could find myself a part-time job by the beach and juggle raising this kid. It might not be too bad. It could work. We even smiled and kissed.
That’s when a beat up brown 1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass bent the corner behind us and came to a stone stop no more than six feet in front of the bus stop. Three thugged out gang members occupied the car. Before I could put together what was happening the barrel of a sawed off shot gun was producing an echoing boom and both Rachel and I were riddled with the pellets from two shot gun shells. The gang members were high as kites and mistook us for enemies. It’s kill or be killed in these streets. The sun wasn’t up yet and still dark enough to mistake me for an O.G. gang member. That means an older gang member and Rachel just had the back luck of sitting next to me.
I woke up in the hospital wondering what the hell happened? A nurse soon arrived talking about how lucky I am to be alive and that most of the shot gun blast had hit the woman next to me waiting for the bus. I explained how it wasn’t just some random woman, but the pregnant cooze I planned to marry. The nurse quickly shut up and walked out of the room. I wouldn’t know for another six hours if Rachel was dead or alive.
