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Halloween in Roanapur
My Very First Souvenir Alligator Skin Cowboy Boots…
© 2020 Chloe Tzang All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review. If you see this story on any website other than Literotica.com, it’s been copied without the author’s permission.
And of course, here’s that little note from Chloe: A couple of years ago, I organized the “One Night in XXX” Story Event on Literotica, which is where “One Night in Xanadu” came from. I started writing a second story, “One Night in Roanapur” for the Event, but didn’t even come close to finishing the start, so I parked it. I was looking for an idea for the Literotica Halloween 2020 Story Contest, and Roanapur popped back into my thoughts.
And if you’ve never read “Black Lagoon”, well, I love it, and I’ve got every volume. It’s a Japanese manga series, you might like it, you might not, there’s a lot of violence in it (go figure…) but it gave me the idea for this little story, so I resurrected the start of my old “One Night in Roanapur” story, and hacked out this in a screaming hurry for the 2020 Literotica Halloween competition. Writing down to the wire…
And now, that warning: this story does have more than a little death and violence in it – it’s set in Roanapur after all… so if that’s not your thing, skip this one. Also, I’ve sorta played fast and loose with the category here, but I hope you won’t mind. They’re Trexy’s very first souvenir alligator skin cowboy boots, after all, and a girl’s first time for anything is very special.
Hope you enjoy, because I did have a lot of fun writing it, even if it was right down to the wire to get it completed and submitted for the competition, not that it’s a winner or anything, but I hope it’s entertaining, and that’s what writing this stuff is all about, after all – entertainment… Chloe
Nothing but cowboy boots
Sets your spirit free
That wild, wild western birthday suit
Is the remedy for modesty
It ain’t proper, it ain’t cool
But folks remember what you do
In nothing, whoa, nothing but cowboy boots
Nothin’ but Cowboy Boots, Blue County
* * *
Roanapur. A coastal city in southern Thailand, built by the Japanese military into a port during World War II to support their war effort. Even then, it was a city of criminals, but it found its real place in the world during the Vietnam War, when it became a haven, within which the deserters and the losers of the Vietnam War took refuge, to be joined by the worst villains and criminals on the planet.
Roanupur. An evil city, caught between east and west but belonging to neither, coming to fruition during the height of the Cold War, nurtured by those who came there to ride the wave of the illegal drug trade sweeping across the continent, a last stop on the road to hell, and if you weren’t tough enough and hard enough to look after yourself, you were doomed to take that road to the end.
Roanapur. A city of prostitutes, drug-addicts, mercenaries, killers, and psychopaths of any and every nationality. The Triads. The Mafia. The Columbian and Mexican cartels. The Filipino gangs. The Yakuza. Hotel Moscow. The international biker gangs, the criminal ones. The Hells Angels, the Bandidos, the Australian Comanchero’s. The worst of the criminal underworld. Islamofascists. Mercenaries. Neo-Nazis. The CIA, Mossad, the North Korean RGB, the Reconnaissance General Bureau, and every other Intelligence Agency and criminal organization needing a base outside the law. They’re all there, in Roanapur, come from across the world to butt heads, and jostle for power, in a city outside the control of any government.
Roanapur: The edge of the world, the crucible of hypocrisy, a place where those whose souls have been destroyed in the relentless search for money and power reside. Many who came here to make a name for themselves are swallowed by the darkness, never to return. A cruel fate awaits any half-assed small time crook who accidentally stumbles into Roanapur, for Roanapur is merciless to the weak.
Roanapur. The city I was running to, because that’s where my cousin, Rebecca Lee, Revy, Revy Two-hands, lived and worked, and she was my only hope now. Because when you have New York’s biggest Triad, the Flying Dragons, and the Sinaloa Cartel, after you on the one hand, because you ripped them both off for a bit more than a few million on a fentanyl and meth deal you were the go-between on, and a Federal Grand Jury on the other, coz the Feds are hot on your ass after you moved that fentanyl and meth, along with a few other things they’d had their güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri eyes on, like the bank accounts you cleaned out, you haven’t got too many places to run.
Only Roanapur.
Roanapur. The last refuge in the world for people like me.
* * *
“Look, I not going further. This here’s Roanapur. Find your own way in.” The tattooed driver with the mirror shades and the bald head, who’d picked me up from the dive off of Soi Cowboy, and spent half the day driving me down here, pulled over to the side of the road before we got onto the long bridge.
“Your boss told me all the arrangements were made,” I said. I was gonna be pretty pissed if I had to walk into Roanapur from here, but yeah, I knew why this chickenshit driver wouldn’t go any further, coz I’d been here once before, visiting Revy, and she’d picked me up from Suvarnabhumi Airport that time, five years ago, and she’d told me. Guess I was gonna be real pissed.
Revy’d been real pissed with me too, back five years ago. “Fuck it, cuzzy,” she’d snarled. “What the fuck are you thinking, you stupid little bitch. Stay in New York, where you’re fucking safe. Are you fucking crazy, coming here.”
“I’ve got a delivery to make to this dude, Mr. Chang,” I’d said, and yeah, I wasn’t that stupid. The delivery met me in Bangkok, and I hadn’t touched it. Might have been seventeen back then, five years ago, but I’d worked for Mr. Ong since I was twelve, doing deliveries, and I knew what it was I was delivering, and I knew the penalties in Thailand for what I was delivering, and I knew how to move deliveries and not get caught. Mules? You gotta be kidding me. I had it sent down by FedEx. They deliver anything, anywhere. Better than any mule.
“Chang? Jesus, kiddo. You’re worse than fucking insane,” Revy’d said, looking at me. “Who the fuck are you working for in New York?”
“Mr. Ong,” I’d said.
“Fuck,” Revy’d said. “You’re in deep.” She’d looked at me. Really looked. “You know what you’re delivering?”
I’d just looked at her, and my eyes were as hard as hers.
She’d nodded. “It’s gonna cost you, cuzzy. Family means fucking nothing in Roanapur.”
It had cost me, but Mr. Ong was paying, and Revy was right, family didn’t mean anything to anyone in Roanapur, but we did spend a couple of evenings together, talking. Just catching up, because Revy and I, we were family. All the family each other had, because I knew what’d happened to hers, and I’d known her parents. Didn’t blame her for that at all. I’d have done the same to mine, but mine went before hers, executed by a dealer they owed money to.
The only reason I hadn’t joined my parents was that even at five, I’d recognized there was shit going down as I walked out of the elevator on our floor, late in the evening, coming home from school, because school was safer than being at home. One look, and I’d turned and walked the other way, and then bolted down the fire escape, as fast as five year old legs could take me. It was Revy that’d looked after me, back then, back when she’d found me, back when we were both kids. Back when I was five, and she was ten, and hard as nails, even then. With her parents, she’d had to be.
I’d learnt to be. From Revy.
I’d made the delivery to Mr. Chang. A big one. Got back, and Mr. Ong’d promoted me. I’d worked my way up. A long way up. The go-between on the big deals, that was me. But now? Now Mr. Ong wanted my ass, because I’d crossed him, along with the Sinaloa Cartel, the Feds, and fuck knows how many others, coz I’d made sure those millions were tucked away in half a dozen banks across half a dozen tax havens, and as many safety deposit boxes, and I’d offloaded the fentanyl and the meth to this Yakuza dude, who didn’t give a crap for the Siniloa Cartel or the Flying Dragons, but he’d liked the discounted product.
Now? Now I had to live to enjoy the proceeds.
I’d been frigging crazy pulling the whole thing off at all, even if it had gone off without a glitch, and I knew it, but knowing didn’t mean I’d anticipated all the fallout. Hand’t had any illusions about the extent that the Flying Dragons and the Siniloa Cartel would go too, to get me. Just, itd been tougher to vanish than I’d anticipated. A lot tougher. Which was, yeah, why I was heading into Roanapur. A lotta people headed in to Roanapur. Not so many came out, and the ones that did, they were never the same.
Now? Now, I just hoped family meant something to Revy, coz I didn’t have anyone or anything else, and there was nowhere else to run too. Only Roanapur. And Revy. Nobody else knew about Revy. Not even Mr. Ong. I’d never told him about her, and this time, I hadn’t sent a message to her, telling her I was coming. Too dangerous, and I didn’t need much. A safe apartment, somewhere to get my feet on the ground, change my identity, change my face, get back into güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri business, but for myself this time.
That was all I needed.
You could do all of that, and more, in Roanapur.
“Hey,” the driver said. “My boss in Bangkok tell me where to drop you. Roanapur, that not our turf. I drive you in there, I dead. You see noose there, Miss? That is a warning. I no go further. You get out here.”
Yeah, I saw the noose. I knew the story. Better than he did. Revy’d told me, last time I was here. That noose that the bridge was named after, Slip Knot Bridge, that was a message to be read by anyone heading into Roanapur. For the cautious, the sane – it was a warning. For the reckless, the wild at heart – it was an invitation that was impossible to refuse.
For the desperate, like me?
Didn’t mean a thing, because Roanapur was my only refuge.
If I didn’t move my ass, I was dead anyway, because if I couldn’t make a place for myself in Roanapur, where the fuck else was there, and I knew the answer to that one.
Nowhere.
“Okay, okay,” I said, ‘n I could see this dude was crapping himself. He’d gone as far as he was going, and this was as close as I was gonna get in his cab. Unless I put a bullet through the back of his head and took the cab, but that’d be burning more bridges, and there wasn’t anyone after me in Thailand. Not yet. Safer all round to keep it that way.
Besides, I didn’t have a gun. Not yet. “Get my bags out, I’ll flag down a ride.”
Whatever I could get, and yeah, you had to be careful catching a Roanapur cab. Driver picked you for an easy mark, you’d be in one of the canals with a hole in your head before you could blink and you’d be stripped of everything except your fingerprints. If you were lucky, that is, coz organ harvesting was a growing business these days, and a fresh donor, well, lets just say you’d be worth a few bucks to the right operation.
And that was another reason right there, why I needed Revy. If I was gonna get my face rebuilt, I needed someone I trusted while I was out of it. Otherwise – well, when you were already on the operating table, what was to stop them doing a few different procedures, and tossing the remains out with the garbage. The short answer was, this was Roanapur. Wasn’t anything to stop them. So yeah, I needed Revy. Just hoped she cared enough to help. No guarantees though.
Revy was one cast-iron bitch.
But then, so was I.
Driver got out of the car without a word, opened the trunk, and thirty seconds later both my suitcases were on the pavement, and I shrugged.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said to his back, and I was wasting my breath.
Guess I’d really have to make my own way in, and yeah, well, this was gonna suck big time coz local cabs were few and far between. Cut-throat business, driving a cab in Roanapur. Uber? You’re killing me, dude, you are. Minute the Bangkok bunny was back in his car, asshole pulled a U-turn and he was gone, and me, I was baking already. Gulf of Thailand, it was supposed to be hot, but Jesus, this was a frigging sauna on steroids, and my top was gonna be see-through any second now.
No idea where Revy lived these days. Last time I’d been here, last time I’d seen her, that’d been five years ago. I’d stayed upstairs from some bar in a whorehouse, the Sloppy Swing was what the sign said, and the fat old bitch that ran the place had offered me a job.
“Only way a kid like you’ll survive in Roanapur,” she’d said, ‘n then she’d cackled. “Young and tight, they’ll love ‘ya, kiddo.”
“I’m here from New York to see Mr. Chang,” I’d said, real cold, ‘n she’d seen the flying dragon tattoo on my shoulder, and she’d backed off. Instantly. Doubt that’d work this time, because if Chang knew I was here now, he’d be after me himself. Sell me back to Ong, or the Siniloa Cartel, or maybe just to the highest bidder, but then, anyone here knew who I was, they’d do the same, and I was fooling myself if I thought otherwise. Except maybe Revy. Revy was family, for what that was worth, and I was hoping it was worth something.
Have to get rid of that tattoo too. Dead giveaway, which was why I was wearing long sleeves, and a light linen jacket. There were places that flying dragon tattoo would get you killed, just on principle. Other places, you’d wish you were killed first.
“Hey, honey. How much?” The fat guy in the old Mercedes pulled up next to me, and Jesus, what was this? Halloween? Dude was wearing some kinda superman costume that barely held in his beer-gut, ‘n a cowboy hat. I liked cowboy hats, ‘n when I checked the old watch on my wrist, because I didn’t use digital, ever, except maybe throwaways, yeah, date said thirty one October. Halloween. It was.
“You wearing cowboy boots too?” I asked, smiling a real fake smile, the way some Chinese whore looking güvenilir bahis şirketleri for a guy with some bucks to throw around would. “I like guys wearing cowboy boots?”
I wasn’t bullshitting him on that one. I did like guys wearing cowboy boots. I used to collect the boots, back in New York. Kind of a hobby. Souvenirs, and I’d had a few. Kind of sad that I’d had to leave them behind, but I could always get more. There’s some real nice cowboy boots around, too. Nothing better than a guy in his birthday suit, wearing cowboy boots, and with a nice hard cock, and I always kind of thought that guys who wore cowboy boots had the biggest cocks. Sort of empirical experience on my part. Maybe one day I could write up a, you know, a Ph.D on it, or something.
“Honey, it’s yore lucky day,” he drawled. “Ah ahm in fact wearing ma cowboy boots, so you jest park your cute little ass in here, and lemme take you foah ride.”
“Sure, Mister,” I said. “Thousand baht for an all night ride, and I’ll throw in this afternoon for free.” I’d checked the going rates back in Bangkok. Dress like a cheap whore, there’s a thousand bars and clubs you can blend into, and there’s chinese whores everywhere in the world. I’d worked that one more than a few times.
Get yourself picked up, and you got a free stay. Find a guy like this, and you walk out with more than you walked in with. Place like Roanapur, nine out of ten women, they’re whores, one way or the other. The tenth is probably more expensive, that’s all. I was gonna blend in easily. Already had, and I smiled, and this time it wasn’t a fake smile. Cowboy boots here was in for the ride of his life, and I’d have somewhere to stay tonight. Maybe even some souvenir boots, although he seemed like a nice guy, so probably not.
I never collected souvenirs boots from the nice guys. Only the assholes.
“Throw your bags in the back, honey,” he said, and fuck, he even got out and helped me, and oh yeah, he really was wearing cowboy boots, beautiful cowboy boots, and I did like guys wearing cowboy boots. That, and he wasn’t ugly. Just fat, and I didn’t mind that. Fat guys are happy guys, usually, and I liked happy guys. Work this dude, and I’d have a place to hide out for a day or two while I sorted my shit out.
“You new to Roanapur?” he asked, hand on my thigh, and I smiled at him, and put one of mine on his, and moved it higher. All the way higher.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just arrived from Bangkok. I was on my way to find somewhere to stay, and then have a look around tonight, see what this place is like.” I gave him a bigger smile. “I heard a girl could make good money here if she moved in the right circles.”
“You just got real lucky, kid,” he leered, and Jesus, he was getting a woody already. Didn’t phase me. You used what you had, and I knew I looked younger than I was, and I knew what I had, and I’d used it before. Just wondered what he had, and I did like it that he wore cowboy boots. “I can introduce you to a coupla people that could use a new girl. Do that tomorrow if you like. What’s your name, anyhow, honey?”
“Trexy,” I said. Used to know a Trexy once. Real greedy bitch, so it was probably a good pick. She’d tried to screw me over, and for once, I’d just shrugged and walked away. I’d actually liked her, had a soft spot for the bitch, I’d even looked after her, and that was what hurt. Trexy? Yeah, Trexy would do for now. “Trexy Lee. What’s yours, Mister?”
“Morty,” he said, taking us across Slip Knot Bridge, and into Roanapur. “Welcome to Roanapur, Trexy,” and he smiled. “We’re gonna have a real good time.”
* * *
He was right. I knew that as soon as we walked in through the door of his apartment, and it was luxury. Sorta place you saw in Manhattan, and I’d been in a few of those. Doing deliveries. Taking payments, Collecting. The odd push out the window. This place was all glass windows and expensive carpets and designer furniture, paintings on the walls, a dining table with, like, china and wineglasses and crap, and he took me right into his bedroom, and peeled his superman costume off. Oh yeah, I loved his apartment, just the sorta place a girl deserved to hide-out in for a while, and I was gonna give him such a good time he’d beg me to stay.
“I wanna fuck you right now, china doll,” he said, and yeah, he was ready alright. “While you’re all hot and sweaty. You can take a shower afterwards.” He grinned.
“Leave the boots on,” I said, peeling my panties off, and I was a little breathless, because I had this thing about guys in their birthday suits, wearing nothing but cowboy boots, and right now, that was all he was wearing.
“You like the boots, huh?” he asked, and we both looked at them. “Lucchese Romia, made out of Crocodile skin from the Blue Nile.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said, and they really were. “That from Africa or something?” Coz I’d heard de Nile was a river in Egypt, or some shit like that. Didn’t know about any blue Nile though, and Mr. Ong didn’t source any supply from Africa, so I’d never been interested.
“Yeah, Africa,” he said.
“Cool,” I said, thinking oh boy, I’d love to hold those boots and just polish them until they gleamed.
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