Tzvi's Trees: Stories About Weed
#17 Cat Fights
Tzvi’s Trees: Stories About Weed - are original short stories inspired by the culture, people, music, scene, and existence of marijuana in the lives of Human kind. Much like all of Peckar’s writing, Tzvi’s Trees teeter on a fine balance between Absolute Fiction and Personal Memoir, and yet Mr. Peckar himself will admit that to him they are one of the same and cannot exist without each other.
#17 Cat Fights
by Tzvi Peckar the Third
The two distinctly different colored Desert Kats liked leaning against the chain-link at sundown. They were discarded Barbies at birth. One was lean and short with barn red painted hair. The other was leaner and a foot taller. She could have been a model if she was born West of the desert towns. They pay good enough for San Bernadino nudes. Desert nudes are just artsy and for crackheads. “We two are certainly not all cracky like some a them skanks that live out between here and 29 Palms,” they’ll itch their creases simultaneously wafting their smell out along the vast empty lot ave, “We two like to scatter to the intake and that take is everything that sounds fun.”
They wandered the long strip mall ave of Dollar stores, fast food, two competitive chain groceries, gas stops, and $30 motels closed down for various reasons and renovation at the speed of a snail. “Carmalita ain’t no worthness,” Kim the torn blue nylon skinned cunt of a cat snaps at her girl friend Sienna the silver haired, busty, chemically bulimic waistline and boned thighs, who adjusts her white leather nine inch heels. “Yea, she a pillow case,” Sienna replies smacking her ten hour gum, “We gonna get some weed?” A car passes. They didn’t know that one. Better. Neither are ready to slut it out quite yet. Whore it to be exact—If they fuck. Sometimes they try to cut before the fuck. That’s being a slut. Kind of. More a of cunt.
“Jesse got some.”
“When Jesse coming?”
“Jesse ain’t coming.”
“So why we get from him?”
“We ain’t getting from Jesse. We gonna go Hensey Blvd meet Dylan.”
“Dylan only holdin’ yella dust.”
“You fuck Fanny three weeks ‘go?”
“Nah I got too drunk. I puked on her ass.”
They laugh. A car pulls to the side of the curb. Sienna knows him. Jeff. Jeff’ll be nice to her if he’s in the right mood. Gave her a $50 for just talking at Carls Jr one time. A black eye when she asked for a stay after rimming him for tying her off. “I need a favor,” he says through his passenger window. “Alright. What favor?” Sienna’s willing to listen. She knows Kim really wants to listen. Kim leans into the window beside Sienna. Sienna’s playing with Jeff’s fingertips as he tries to explain, “I left my room key at some place.”
“Yea. So what of it sweety?”
“I need a few,” he’s tweeking, “I need some cash.”
“You asking us for money?”
“Has to be like secret. No one can know,” he says as he eyeballs his glove compartment.
“Well we know,” Kim interjects.
“That ain’t gonna help,” hisses Sienna.
“Go fuck yourself Bitch. I do it for you Jeffey,” Kim tries stealing Sienna’s off and on.
“No. Gotta be you,” he says right to Sienna.
“Move on fool,” she waves him off like a shoe-fly, takes a step back, then another, leans back against the chain link, it wavers even from this feather of this silver haired Desert Kitten. Sienna looks down the boulevard and chips at the paint on her fingernail. Kim leans deeper into the car window, “You got any weed?” she asks Jeff. He can’t deal with this and drives off. She hit her head on the doorframe. “Cock sucker!” flips him the bird, her white skeleton hands popping from the sleeve of her torn blue arm nylons. Between her thumb and pointer she’s sporting a tat of a snake eating its tail designed in the shape of a heart. Jeff’s car disappears into the blue of sunset towards the lightless side of their trash decorated desert town on the third side of the two-lane freeway from make-believe LA and only closer to Vegas.
“Carmalita use to hook up the smoke,” Sienna reminds Kim as she takes her place beside Kim picking gum off her skirt. “Shit was on the fence. Fuck Carmalita.”
“She had good smoke though.”
“Carmalita’s a coward.”
“She ain’t coming back.”
“That what I say. Bitch scared o’ me.”
“You kill that stray shat.”
“I cut her. I cut her right in the cootchie,” sexy Sienna says slicing the air along Kim’s short loose skirt. Kim pussy flashes the on coming car and spits on the sidewalk. “I gotta pee. Where we getting the weed?” Sienna asks.
“Billy-Sue. She doing cleaning at the four room. Stays there too. Trailer in the back.”
“Billy-Sue got weed?”
“She got a joint or something.”
The high-heels are a bitch to walk in this early in the night. The fucking sun dive bombs behind those surrounding mountains like hours earlier than the shore towns. “I ain’t walking in these. We gotta wait for a ride.”
“Who we waiting for?”
“You got one of those pay cards?”
“No they gift cards. Target and stuff.”
“Where you get them?”
“That john had a purse full of them. I got ‘em when he passed out.”
“Was he drunk?”
“I was drunk.”
“Just walk barefoot.”
“Yeah I guess. You got a card on you now?”
“Nah. I left ‘em.”
“Where you stayin?”
“How long now?”
“Couple weeks. But they asked me to go somewhere. But I was all like, where I gonna go, ya know?”
“Why they ask you that?”
“This place is all assholes.”
“I never used their dishes and shit. They say I gotta clean too. Why I gotta clean? I ain’t live there. My name not on the lease and shit.”
“They treat you like you gotta pay like a hotel right? What they like rich?”
“Nah she got a baby coming. He ain’t the Daddy.”
“How long you be there now?”
“Month or so. Why you so curious?”
“You fuck the Daddy yet?”
“I said he ain’t the Daddy. And no. I ain’t no home-wrecker. Been der done that. Shit’s fucked up, yo. Ain’t the Four Room on Stockons?”
“No. Stockons down two blocks. Four Room’s off Bouton. Past the tennis courts.”
“Mama played tennis when I was little. She fucked a country club dude and we used to go to ya know.”
“I hope she’s got a bowl.”
“She got blunts or something. Think she’s banging a black dude. We walking far enough.”
“She tell you to come now?”
“She ain’t say shit.”
“So why we going?”
“You gonna trick tonight?”
“Yea maybe. I really want to get stoned.”
“You gonna fake it?”
“Yeah I tie him off first. Maybe don’t even gotta fuck him. Fake suck him off a little,” Sienna tells her gal pal as she holds her fist to her mouth, spits into the fist and pretends to give a blowjob to the air with her fist, “I like it like that. I like the ones that sweated all day. Then he pass out and I rip him off tonight I think.”
“You wanna move out huh?”
“Can’t go nowhere here. I want to hustle ya know. Can’t hustle nothing worthwhile here.”
“In the city huh?”
“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. I still have to pee.”
Sienna shuffles herself around a dry white branch bush sprouting from the garbage glittered desert sand. Her hair glows like sterling steel in the moonlight. The roadside is vast and empty between the tennis court condos and the metal paneled homes. Innovation can be found in the tightest of needs. When Kim was a virgin and the boys wanted to fuck she used her backdoor to keep good friends. Here they use sliding glass patio doors for their main entrance and shitty pressed wood doors with replaceable key doorknob to the yard. Sienna pisses. Kim’s getting anxious, “I don’t like this road no more.” Sienna unsquats and the double slut Desert Kats continue on to find the Four Rooms.
“I gonna dye my pubs red and blue,” Kim says before looking both ways into the darkness of the multi miles long desert road. “Come on,” she says pulling on Sienna’s fingers to cross the road to the sidewalk side. Her nail polish has chipped away as well. It’s the new style. Sienna has the habit of picking the chips farther along. She used to bite her nails. The meth has helped that. The grinding of her molars will suffice. Sienna did not have braces. She may have benefited from braces. Now at nineteen her crooked grinding, stained teeth are a most alluring feature to those looking to pay bottom shelf with a nice label. She breaks her heel crossing the street. “Fuck those skank shoes,” Kim squawks from the curb. The bulimic silver haired, purple eye shadowed, white lip-sticked Desert Kitty is fumbling around trying to put the heel back on. A car is coming. She flips it off as it soars past and hobbles to the curl. She sits her non-under wearing ass on the curb and plays with the heel loosely attached by a single staple. “You had those new 5-hours they got at 98 plus?”
Kim’s really over it and grabs the shoe, tears the heel right off, tosses the wooden peg into the street. The heel bounces and falls diagonal cross the double yellow line. “Yer a princess. Gimme the other one,” she squeals as her flakey skinned knuckle gnarled hand goes for Sienna’s good heel shoe. “I can do it,” Sienna snaps back swatting the nasty hand away, “You need lotion,” and slips off her own shoe, gently snaps the heel like a lady and places it in the gutter. Nicely. Leaning against the curb. The wind blows it down. “Come on,” Kim complains as she grabs hold of Sienna’s inner elbow and lifts her from the pavement, “I wanna get stoned.”
Whap, Whap, Whap. Kim slaps her palm against the sliding glass door of the metal trailer made “house” in the back of the Four Rooms hotel. Yap, Yap. Yap –Yap-Yap-A stupid Chiwawa runs and paws the inside of the glass door. There are two. The other one has its ass pressed against the leader. Are they Siamese? Did she sew their buttholes so they don’t poop in the house? What thefuck. Tap-Tap-Tap, faster than the Yap–Yap-Yaps, annoying as all hell. “You killed yer dog didn’t ya?” Sienna asks Kim.
“Yeah. She had tongue tumor. Filled up her whole mouth. She could breath and all, but I shot her.”
“You bury her?”
“Up on that lot past the Entra Road,” Kim looks into the glass, “Where is she?”
Yap –Yap-Yap- Yap –Yap-Yap
“Oh I’m gonna shoot this dog for having shut the fuck up sickness,” Kim says squatting her blue nylon legs, her boney ass carving out the red skirt. She points her gun finger at the dog, “Pssshooo. Dead. Right there in the head you little shitzo fuck. One bullet,” and she gets up, “Or I could choke it.”
From behind the glass the owner approaches, scolds the tiny mutt of a fucking giant pet rat, “Shut up stupid,” and kicks the leader, and slide the door open. Billy-Sue’s pear shaped fat, twisted, wandering eyed, loose toothed, dry desert red skinned, three chinned, flower print blouse, raspy voiced, nose bleed of a woman who immediately inquires, and accuses to them, “Carmalita ain’t wit you?” and she peeks out past the sluts, “Can’t trust her. Thief. She steal everything. Steal your baby’s virginity if you leave her with the stroller,” and she looks Kim right in the eye, “She ain’t waiting in a car out there or something?”
“Nah, chill Sue, skank ain’t walking with us no mo.”
“That true?” Billy-Sue asks Sienna, “You trust worthy. I like you. She telling me the truth?”
“Yeah, yeah. She ain’t wit us no more.”
“Okay. You good? You need some weed?” Billy-Sue asks Kim and invites them both in, shooing the dog away with a kick to the head, “Just kick him. He can take it. He’s an idiot. And his asshole friend will follow that stink hole where ever it goes.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re retarded. You retarded or something?
The girls didn’t stay more than two or three minutes after sucking down a half a blunt left over from Billy-Sue’s black boyfriend. Billy-Sue couldn’t stop talking about the massive dick the guy had and how she ain’t never fucked a black guy with a purple hard on before ‘til DHS got ghetto and she started listening to Tupac when her daughter was in Junior High. Kim just couldn’t listen to it anymore. She’d fucked the guy like six or seven times in the past month. It ain’t all that purple. And it ain’t all that big. She gave him rebates and shit cause he liked to tell her he loved her. That he was gonna be her ticket to a real club in Compton. Full nude. All cash. All black guys. Kim liked black guys. She just didn’t tell a nobody that. “I ain’t listen to your jigabo ball talk. We outty. But I wanna buy an eighth from ya next time yer boyfriend pays for ass lick. He like that you know. You should try it,” Kim had said. Billy-Sue had laughed along. She knew he liked that. She liked it too. She liked blowing on the bunghole and snorting bumps off his black balls while he got high. He had left the half a blunt the last time she gave him the Dirty Desert Sanchez. Kim knew that. He was the one that told her. Billy-Sue don’t smoke no weed. The black man told his girl to go to his girl’s to smoke the last half down. “Ya know how I get distracted when you girls do that too me. I always done forget about my weed yea,” he had reminded Kim over the phone she begged to use from the Vallero attendant way early this morning.
“I ain’t ever leavin,” prideful as she ain’t Kim let Sienna know.
“I know. This our home.”
“Ain’t no home. Shit’s the devil’s butthole. I like the devil.”
“I ever tell you ‘bout when I met that Satanist from Rancho Mirage?”
“You let him bleed on you.”
“I let him bleed into my pussy.”
“That’s fucking nasty.”
“I ain’t do it for free. He said he’d have six demons protect me forever if I did it.”
“His dick was bleeding?”
“Nah. That shit’s gross, nineties freaky shit. Nah, he cut his wrist like this,” and Kim slices her down her wrist.
“That’s how you kill yourself,” Sienna says blushing. She knows. She messed up the first time. The nurse was an idiot. Told her, “You have to cut up and down if you really want to kill yourself dear.” Sienna did it right the next time, but it was in the Sidewinder Café’ restroom so she was found pretty quick and people had to stop eating dowsing their pancakes with brown slow moving maple syrup to watch the paramedics drag a kicking and screaming silver haired banshee named Sienna out of the bathroom at 7am. She was all strung out. She was over John’s fucking and not paying. Had any money get a lawyer sue the drug addicts fo’ rape, but that’s the drawbacks of the job. Fuck it. Die instead. 7am seemed like a good time to die since she had no gold to get no fun for her nostrils.
“You would know.”
“Yeah. I guess I would.”
And they laughed. And they continued back to the main strip of their desert town. And there a lot of stars out that night, but then again when isn’t there. They had fun being girls in their young prime years. They figured 22 would be a good day to die. Maybe they’ll fuck that night. Maybe they’ll even get stoned again. But then they might not die? The weed makes them giggle not cry. Shit. The girls like the night now. They like their town. Shit ain’t so bad. They don’t mind being scum. Mom ain’t no college graduate. The Desert Kats like the smoke.