Chapter 27: Impulse

Chica and Juan were two Latino men that had nothing at all: They were dead broke; had a bad meth, crack and sniffing paint habit. They were always having constant run-ins with law enforcement. Plus, they were still here illegally. They lived on the same food the rich people did; digging through the dumpsters for leftovers behind good restaurants in southern Florida. The reality of it was that this was exactly where these two total losers fit into society best. They weren’t a drain on the taxpayer. They stayed to themselves, hidden in the shadows, living off what the rest of society throws away. And they liked it that way.

Tonight, they were both high as usual. Full moon out. They’d scored some lousy meth, but sniffed some gold spray paint and now were snacking by the dumpster at the local French restaurant. Suddenly the restaurant back door opened. A young woman stepped out carrying two plastic trash bags, headed for the dumpster. Chica and Juan eased back in the shadows close by. The girl, some teenager, came up, dropped the bags, got the lid open and bent down to grab the first trash bag. Just then Juan stood up, scaring the hell out of the girl. Juan knew one thing about living on the street- if you wanted to do something, do it quick and get it over with. At least, that’s what Krylon Gold Sparkle paint says to do.

Juan quickly swung his fist at the girl, hitting her in her face. As she recoiled from that, he grabbed her neck with one arm, covered her mouth with the other, dragged her backwards, back into the shadows. He kept moving, going behind the dumpster, dragging the struggling girl with him. He was homeless, but he was strong. You had to be to live out here; and the paint just gives you crazy strength.

He said to a surprised Chica, “Come on! Let’s have us some dessert!” This was a common slang term for rape among the homeless. If you’d had dessert, you’d raped someone. Hookers didn’t really count, though, or homeless old ladies. Actually, sex of any kind was pretty rare, unless you were gay, which these two were not. So, when Chica saw Juan grab the girl, all his paint-seduced mind could think of was- opportunity. Chica ran up; grabbing one of the girl’s ankles. He held it up, thinking he was lifting both. Still, she was always falling. Behind the dumpster, Juan dropped her to the ground, still gripping her mouth and neck.

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” he snarled at her closely. Quickly he punched her twice more in her face, then twice in her gut. He didn’t give a fuck; he wanted her quiet so he could fuck her. Now shut the fuck up, bitch! This girl stopped trying to yell, gasping for air instead, after he’d hit her in the gut. She seemed stunned now, from the head punches. If you’re going to do it, do it now! That’s how spray paint works on the mind. He didn’t hesitate a second.

He grabbed her apron, yanked the tie and it came undone. He pulled her apron over her head, tossed it aside and went right for her polo shirt. As he yanked on it, he got on top of her, sitting on her stomach, yanking the shirt roughly from her despite her weak attempts to stop him. Meanwhile, Chica savagely opened her belt on her pants, roughly pulled them down with both hands. Despite her attempts at kicking, he never once slowed down or paused. Soon enough, he was grabbing at her panties, pulling them down too.

Juan pulled the girl’s shirt up, then stopped when her arms were still in it. He grabbed her bra straps, yanked on them, then reached behind her and brutally unhooked it. As soon as it was, he pulled it up and took it off, her polo shirt as well. He grabbed the bra, quickly stuffed it into her mouth. It wasn’t easy; he didn’t want to put his fingers in there, she might bite him. So, he just slammed her jaw about as he forced it into her mouth. She was still pretty out of it. A few good hits to the temple always did the trick. He looked down at her tits for the first time. Fucking nice. He turned back.

“Ready?” he asked Chica. “Si, si...” Chica said.

Sharon Lesley was a waitress at the restaurant. She was just 18 years old last month, and her friend Stacey had gotten her this job. Sharon weighed maybe 120 pounds, stood almost 5’ 3” tall. Typical of some Latino girls, her breasts we a little above average in size, with big brown nipples pointing right up, part of her mother’s Mexican heritage. She rarely showed any part of them though; she was still too shy about that. She didn’t have a boyfriend right now either. She was all sweaty from working in the kitchen since three o’clock as she hauled the trash out to the dumpster, getting ready to finally go home.

Suddenly, she was grabbed, hit, dragged behind the dumpster, hit again and again. She tried to stop it; tried to yell, but the man had his big hand over her mouth. She only got out the occasional squeak. Another man grabbed her ankle and lifted it. She couldn’t even stand up now. In the dark shadows behind the dumpster, they threw her down to the ground. The man holding her sat on top of her. She started to scream but her punched her very hard, twice in her face again, then twice in her stomach. She struggled to even breathe as her whole head rang like a bell. Everything was a blur of sight and sound. She couldn’t think straight. She could tell her pants were getting pulled down. Suddenly she kind of woke up, getting her senses back, realizing where she was. Her mouth had something in it; her bra or something. Sharon saw she was on the ground, on her back, in a very dark place. Oh my God! I have no clothes on! Two figures stood over her. It smelled like she was by the dumpster maybe. Even in the darkness, she could make out their faces somewhat from the single light back by the door. What she saw was even scarier. These two men seemed hideous. They both seemed Latino. Both had shaggy hair; wore old rags for clothes. The man on top of her smelled disgusting. He said something, then stood up. He took of his pants and underwear, then knelt down, moving to get between her legs. She began to fight them, kicking at them; hands pushing them away. My God, I can’t let him in there; I’m naked for crying out loud! The grown-up forced her knees apart, put his hands on the bare skin of her inner thighs and held them apart. The second man grabbed her arms, struggling to hold her wrists over her head as the first man tried to rape her. No way was Sharon going to let this happen!