On Hiatus...

With many projects underway, it is with great guilt and greater reluctance that I take a break from this blog (at least until my more recent endeavor is complete).  I expect Trash to be up and running again in June 2011.  In the meantime, if you're new to this sight, please catch up on all the happenings starting with Episode 1.  By the time you're finished...there will be more.

If you haven't noticed these characters are way too warped to stay silent for long.
xo, Veda

Troops

Identical swamp twins Jonas and Jarvis arrived in Chicago via private jet at approximately 10:30am, exactly 3 hours after being summoned by Lourdes under the Grand Ma-ma's direct and strictest of orders. Thirty minutes later both men sat together yet decidedly far away from several other family members, some of whom they hadn't seen since their early childhood years.  Luckily Lisette's large living area inside her 15,000 square foot Kenwood mansion located on Greenwood street was roomy enough for all twenty-two male cousins.

Lourdes, Marvin and Bobby Lee stood a safe distance away watching as the men sloppily ate a variety of hor d' oeuvres prepared by the Grand Ma-ma's personal chef who also just happened to be a cousin.   Other than an occasional grunt or wet smack, the room remained comically silent.  As is often the case; hard-core, criminally inclined men no matter their stature are also some of the quietest of men - instinctively knowing silence is the necessity required to conquer prey and still survive.

Bobby Lee's eyes began to water from the human stench.  Unable to tolerate much more he decided to sneak away into the kitchen bumping into the Grand Ma-ma accompanied by Dr. Cohen instead.  If Bobby Lee didn't know any better he'd think these two might be a hot item.  The thought along with the stank aromas of sweaty skin and oily hair caused him to gag.

Lourdes nodded in her mother's direction just as the family matriarch glided into the room in trademark regal royalness.  Jonas and Jarvis immediately stood; visibly and uncharacteristically happy to see their grandmother finally well after three months of self-induced hibernation.  Other Lee cousins, some of the meanest, vilest men ever to exist remained unaware of her presence having become too immersed in eating what was perhaps the best food their simple palates had ever experienced.

"Family," the Grand Ma-ma's voice was strong, her energy visible to all.  Just then every sitting man in the room stood up and began to applaud her reemergence.  "Victory is already ours.  I've seen the future.  Do as you've been instructed.  And spare no one!"

~~~

Crazy Selfish Heffa

Mason Truce had become a father.  “A father,” he whispered.  

“Feels good does it?  To be a father?”  Tiny asked, walking briskly alongside his boss as they quickly navigated down the wide pale corridors of Northwestern Hospital, passing bustling nursing staff, interns and an occasional fatigued-looking doctor.  

“It’s a miracle,” Mason chuckled nervously, feeling his excitement mount as they rounded another corner where an anxious Charlayne stood outside the closed door of Devra’s private hospital suite.  Noticing the older woman’s grim expression both Mason and Tiny stopped abruptly in their hurried tracks.

“Is the baby okay?”  Mason asked Charlayne, feeling a sudden heaviness coat his chest.

‘What took you so long?”  Charlayne demanded in a harsh voice.   “I've been trying to reach you both for hours!”

“Mother, I got here as soon as I could,” Mason answered taken aback by Charlayne’s icy glare.

“Sir, you just called her Mother,”  Tiny mumbled, suddenly realizing what he’s suspected all along.  Charlayne was no average dutiful executive assistant.  She was Mason Truce’s mother!  The striking resemblance was no coincidence at all.  Both were tall,  fair-hued, with greenish-eyes capable of breaking glass just by a stare.  They were practically identical in fact; both faces splashed with freckles and topped with the same thick, wavy dark-reddish hair.  

“Don’t you dare mother me, son.  I know your itinerary.  And don’t think for one second I don’t know what you’ve been up to.  And you!”  Charlayne pointed a long elegant finger at Tiny.  “I need a private word with Mr. Truce.”

Tiny glanced at Mason before quickly darting off.

“Is the baby okay?”  Mason asked again, slightly annoyed with himself for blowing his mother's cover,  and yet he was simultaneously growing more alarmed with each passing second.  His mother's behavior was so unlike her usually calm and even demeanor.

“My grandson is simply beautiful.  He looks like both of you when you were born.  It’s Devra,”  Charlayne spat, as if saying his wife's name filled her throat with gasoline.

“What about Devra?”  Mason asked grabbing his mother’s broad shoulders.

“She’s completely rejected him, your son.  After the nurses got him all cleaned up and brought him to her, that spiteful woman refused to look at him.  She wouldn’t even hold him, not for a second!   I’ve never witnessed anything like it in all my years!  I’m so mad I’m shaking right now!  I swear it was all I could do not to strangle her when she flipped her wide back on that bed and turned away from that child.  Her own flesh and blood!  I warned you Mason!  I warned you not to get involved with that family!”  Charlayne was in fact shaking, and much to Mason's chagrin, spitting with each caustic syllable.

“I’m sure she’s just tired.  You said she lost a lot of blood, was unconscious when you found her.  She just needs time.  The pregnancy was very difficult.   Let me speak with her,” Mason moved to open the door.

“She’s gone,” Charlayne hissed over her shoulder.

Mason Truce’s hand stopped mid-air just as he was reaching for the door knob.  "Gone where?”

“No one knows.  I stepped out to visit Mason Jr. and when I came back - poof!”  Charlayne snapped her manicured fingers, “That crazy, selfish heffa was gone.”  

~~~

Awake

“Did you hear the good news?  Auntie Josephine says that mommy died last night?”  The little boy named Lexington excitedly asks his older sister Loren, as he sits on the polished wood floor playing with a new iron man action figure toy.

Loren shrugs her bony shoulders covered in long blondish-brown curls, “Good news indeed.  Uncle Taylor said she drowned.”

“What’s drowned mean?” Lexington asks, focused on making iron man bend backwards.

“It just means you die,” Loren sighs.  Staring at the ceiling, she is a stunningly gorgeous miniature version of her mother.

“Does it hurt when you die?”  Lexington’s tiny voice whispers conspiratorially.

“I hope it did for her.”

~~~

Senator

Sitting in the passenger seat of a souped-up smoke-black Escalade Mason Truce reads his iphone (his third one in a month) as Tiny drives them the brief distance from the Lee-Reynolds headquarters to Northwestern Hospital where an anxious Charlayne awaits their arrival.  Every half block or so Tiny nervously glances at his boss through the rear-view mirror, uncertain how he can possibly express his disapproval for yet another of Mason's reckless sexcapades.
"What is it Tiny?"  Mason asks, without looking up from his phone.
"Sir?"  Tiny responds.
"You keep staring back here.  Are we being followed?"
"No, nothing like that boss."
"You look extremely worried - it's making me anxious,"  Mason sighs, placing his phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
"I am very concerned sir,"  Tiny admits, clearing his throat.
"Nadine and I, we have an understanding,"  Mason says, clearly aware of Tiny's disapproval.
"Is it wise sir?"  Tiny asks, mindful of his tone and not wanting to overstep his position.
"Of course it is not wise, but as I said before; we have an understanding going back many years."
"Many years sir?"  Tiny suddenly feels disoriented, his mind quickly assessing all potential ramifications this apparent lurid affair undoubtedly will have on all of them.  "Excuse me sir, but I was unaware of this connection to a Lee-Reynolds immediate family member, your wife's first cousin, no less.  This could present future problems of magnificent proportions sir."
"I'm well aware Tiny, and why are you calling me sir?  It makes me feel old.  I am looking rather haggard as of late.  Perhaps I might consider a botox injection."
Tiny rolls his eyes.  "Nadine Lee Fletcher is the wife of a senator whom is rumored to have presidential ambitions."
"I know Senator Fredrick Fletcher quite well.  In fact I find him completely and utterly despicable, which makes boinking his ice-cold water veined wife all the more enjoyable."
"May I ask where your used condom is?"  Tiny asks as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.
"That's just gross,"  Mason frowns before remembering his forehead wrinkles are getting the best of him. He quickly relaxes his facial muscles.
"I'm certain you left it behind.  Has it ever occurred to you that Lisette might have happened upon your sperm from her first cousin Nadine Lee Fletcher as opposed to high-jacking it from a secure sperm bank as we've previously concluded without solid confirmation?"
Mason Truce opens his mouth to say something clever, only air is all that escapes.

~~~

Executive Desk

"Normally I would say it is a pleasure to see you Mr. Truce, however, it is not.  And as you may or may not be aware, I'm an extremely busy person with not much time to spare, meaning you have exactly 6 minutes before you're asked to leave this room."  Nadine Lee Fletcher glances at her watch as she sits well poised on top of an impressively large desk openly exposing very long, toned legs free of annoying fabric.“What is it you want?”

Dazzling rays of sun sashay through ceiling-to-floor length windows of the Lee-Reynolds Tower's stunning 44th floor private office suite, casting a misty plume of effervescence over imported furniture and bits of rare fine art.  As if already well-acquainted with the scene, Mason Truce casually crosses the length of the room before playfully tapping strong manicured fingers over the edges of a gleaming ebony wood executive desk.  Secretly he admires Nadine's exceptional tastes in all things exquisite as well as her physically remarkable appearance and mesmerizing feminine floral scent. 

"Very good use of feng shui.  You must share your designer secrets with me over tea one day.  My office is due for an overhaul, as are many other things in my life.”  Moving closer to her, he flashes his most impressive smile.

“You're wasting my time Mr. Truce,”  Nadine says, her tone suddenly soft and sweet, as she grips one side of her desk, ignoring a stack of important papers as they fall like an injured dancer to the floor.

"Is this the same desk  Lisette used to conduct her drug dealing enterprise or did you order it new?"  Mason Truce whispers above her, suddenly feeling full.

Nadine turns her face away from his.  "I'd like to offer you a hot cup of tea, but three minutes isn't nearly long enough to drink it." 

"I've been trying to speak with your grandmother for over three months now.  Is she still alive?"  Mason asks, noticing the delicate arch of her lean back.

"My grandmother is a very busy woman.  Two minutes more, Mr. Truce.  By the way, your line of questioning is in desperate need of improvement."

"Where are my children Nadine?"  Mason's green eyes blaze menacingly before closing them briefly.

Silent, Nadine's icy expression never falters.  Her fair complexion never changes hues, her frame remains still and calm.  There are no noticeable body ticks or clues Mason can decipher other than what he feels on the inside.

“Apparently 6 minutes was sufficient,”  Mason Truce says before removing himself.  He stands up from the desk, and quickly zips his pants just as the office door swings open and a slender woman with facial features similar to Nadine’s appears.  "Excuse me Mrs. Fletcher,  Mr. Truce's security, Mr. Tiny, requires a word with him immediately."

"Mr. Truce was just leaving." Nadine smiles, sliding off the top of her desk before delicately smoothing down her skirt.  “That was interesting,”  she says out loud and to no one in particular.

“Interesting is such a bland description of my many talents, Mrs. Fletcher.  By the way,  you know once Devra has our baby, I'm sure she'll want to assist you in overseeing Lisette's more recent activities, the legal ones of course.  As 30% owner I believe she has that option."

Nadine smirks, unaware her raspberry lipstick is smudged down to her chin, "I've heard Devra already had your baby Mr. Truce.  I believe she tried to flush it down the toilet which is perhaps what your security wishes to speak with you about.  Good day, good luck, congratulations, and thank you for your six minutes.  It‘s been a long time."

“I look forward to our next meeting,”  Mason Truce says, adjusting his suit jacket as he walks past Nadine’s unperturbed secretary into the hallway, where an anxious Tiny waits.

***

Rip It Out!

Looking down at her swollen feet and glittering gold minx pedicure, Devra Lee Truce can barely believe the three numbers swelling red on the digital scale.  Biting back bile, she madly blinks her lemon-drop brown eyes.  "No f-ing way," she growls, craning her neck forward past her abnormally swollen stomach with the ugly black hairy tar line zipping down the middle.   285.  582. 825. Anyway she shuffles the numbers, the end-result is equivalent to a dark Antarctic day in hell.  She weighs as much as an iceberg.

Feeling woozy, she slowly steps off the scale, all the while avoiding looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.  "Pregnancy glow my ass," mumbling to herself, Devra struggles to tie the triple extra-large silk bathrobe around her middle hump.  A week past her due date, she feels absolutely no desire to meet the human floating inside of her.  All she wants to do is rip it out and throw it in the trash.

A boy.  A no-good 10 plus pound sneaky Mason Truce Jr.  She can't even shop for Dolce & Gabbana dresses and matching velvet head bands. 

"Like the world needs anymore disgusting men,"  muttering, hobbling and ignoring the sharp pain shooting through the fat of her left giggling buttock, Devra yearns for the days when she could actually sleep on her stomach. "At least breast-feeding is supposed to help get the weight off." 

Lisette's beating, though painful as it may have been transformed Devra into a beautiful delicate Amazonian swan and this baby, in a matter of a few long months had managed to undo all remnants of plastic surgery, extreme dieting, and intense pulsed light cellulite treatments, taking with it all the buckets of exquisiteness she only briefly possessed.

Doubling over, Devra grabs the edge of the marble sink and staggers to the toilet.  The searing pain coursing through her skeleton practically brings her to her swollen knees.  Devra screams out to her husband, famed attorney Mason Truce, but he isn't home.  He never is.  He's too busy chasing after children he's never known.  Children who are no doubt dead.  Her nephews and nieces.  Lisette's kids.

Lisette.

Devra refuses to accept her sister is dead.  As much as she hates her, she can still feel that evil heifer in her own bones.  "Argh!"  Devra manages to sit on the toilet gripping the sides of her stomach.  "This has got to be the worst gas ever!  Dear holy father in heaven have mercy on a bitch!"  Blood streams down Devra's brown legs pooling on the white marble tile and around her bare feet.  Beneath Devra's moans there's a splash.  Faintly she recognizes a baby's screams.  Her baby.  The walls begin to pulse and surge just as Devra collapses to the floor, but not before she tries flushing the toilet.

***

Bang!

3 months earlier ...
"Breathe you rotten, evil bitch!  You are not going to die on me!  Not until I kill you first!  Breathe! I said."

 ***

 Presently...
"I don't know what to do," Lourdes whispers, sitting by her mother's bedside.  "She's been this way ever since the police called off the search for Lisette's body."

"She's sleeping though right?  I mean, she's not in a coma or nothing like that,"  Bobby Lee asks, observing the IV inserted in his grandmother's hand.

"Dr. Cohen isn't sure.  He wanted to admit her to the hospital, but she specifically instructed me not to allow anyone to move her body.  I've seen her like this before, but never for this long.  Bobby, I'm really getting scared."

"Do you think she can hear us?"  Bobby nervously clears his throat wondering what more could possibly happen to this family.  He didn't think things could get worse than when Lisette pistol-whipped Devra to a pulp for screwing around with Lance behind her back.  Then Lance turns around and gets half his face blown off with a cellphone; subsequently faking his own death.   Then there was the dead anonymous face sewn onto the soccer ball and Lisette getting attacked in the bedroom upstairs.  Soon after that cousin Roxanne gets killed in the Hamptons at the same time Lisette's five kids disappear into thin air.  Now Devra's pregnant and acting crazier than a loon married to that shady attorney Mason Truce who won't let any family near her.  At least he and Marvin Lee didn't have to worry about swamp twins Jarvis and Jonas.  Thank god the Grand-Ma-ma sent them back to West Virginia where they could resume skinning deer and snakes or whatever those two murdering non-human rejects enjoyed doing most in their spare time.

"I'm pretty sure she can hear us.  I think she's looking for Lisette.  She's always loved that stupid girl more than any of us,"  Lourdes whispers, angrily wiping away an endless fountain of tears.

"Did you just say you think the Grand Ma-ma is looking for Lisette?" Bobby asks, a bit baffled.

Lourdes nods, biting her bottom lip.  "Mother doesn't just read minds Bobby Lee.  She can do other things."

 ***

 3 months earlier...
"She's gone Vlad.  There's no heart beat.  Nothing.  Look at her lips.  They are blue,"  the scrawny little weasel of man with the greasy ponytail made with only sideburns and severely pocked skin, looks up at his boss.  "I can keep pumping her chest forever, but it is not going to do any good."

"No. I do not accept this.  No.  Move away. Move away from her right now."  Surrounded by four of his men, beneath the darkness of lower Wacker Drive, Vladimir Gonzalez refuses to believe what is so obvious to everyone else around him.  Lisette Lee Reynolds Johnson is indeed dead.

 ***

Presently...
"It's called astral projection.  Mother's ancestors practiced it for generations.  It is the belief that the soul can travel outside of the physical form,"  Lourdes gently lifts her mother's wrist. "Feel her hand.  There's no weight to it.  She's gone."

Bobby Lee's eyes grow wide as he takes a cautious step away from the bed.  "That's okay.  I can see the Grand Ma-ma's hand looks a little light-weight from here,"  Bobby Lee rubs his mouth.  "Aren't you dead when the soul leaves the body?"

"Not always,"  Lourdes closes her eyes.  "Come back ma-ma.  Three months is too long, even for you."

 ***

 3 months earlier...
"Bang!"  Vladimir's fist connects with Lisette's breast-less chest again, and again, and again.  Liquid the color of a Mountain Dew soft drink streams from her nostrils and the side of her mouth.  The four hardened men look away, stifling back gags.  "Bang!"

"Mr. Gonzalez, our transportation is here.  We must leave now," Mr.Weasel Side-Burn Pony-Tail says, his voice heavy with accent and urgency.

"Help me pick her up," Vladimir instructs his men.  Taking his wet t-shirt off, he uses it to gently wipe Lisette's swollen face.  

"Leave her.  She's dead,"  and before Mr. Weasel  Side-Burn Pony-Tail can say another word, so is he.

 ***

Revenge

"Let me get this straight, you and this dude Chason spent time in jail together?"  Lance asked, inching closer to Terrence while unable to avoid any of the beer or cigarette stains covering the "vintage" tan velvet sofa.

"That's what I said.  Why you keep asking me all these questions dawg.  You don't want to tangle with that yellow cat.  He's straight thug to the bone for real, yo.  Black mafia all the way,"  Terrence closed his eyes, smiling dreamily before taking one final hit of his "happy" stick. "Gave him my number," he mumbled through a thick plume of slow motion smoke,  "told the brotha to look me up if he ever got out to the other side.  That's what you call a lil' jailhouse networking."

"Do you know this guy's last name," Lance asked, ignoring the excited pressure of blood thumping behind his eyes.

"How the hell should I know?  All I remember is he said he had a twin brother, some big-shot lawyer all Willie Gary-like and sh*t."

If Lance Johnson had a strand of hair on his shiny bald brown head, it'd be sticking straight up from shock.  "Did you just say a twin brother?" Lance whispered, his voice barely audible.  "That can't be right."


"Dude, I might be high, but your cousin Tee-Tee ain't no lie.  That crazy mofo said he got an Eye-dentical twin brother that he don't like at all."

"How do you know he doesn't like him?"  Lance asked scooting even closer, his reptilian-mind racing.  He needed access to his cash stash, new clothes, and a plastic surgeon. 

"Chace said if he ever got out, he was gonna kill that mofo.  Stomp him dead."

"Stomp Mason Truce dead," Lance smiled beneath his cousin's sudden snoring.  He could practically taste revenge.  It was only a matter of time.

Sooner than later, Mason Truce would be dead and Devra...well she'd finally be his, which had been the plan all along.

***

The Devil Don't Die

Dressed expertly in an Isabel Marant midnight blue sweater, matching wrap skirt, and ox-blood red suede Louboutins coincidentally named Lisette, Nadine Lee Fletcher unflinchingly stares at flashing cameras too numerous to count.  She stands lean, tall and poised behind a custom-made lucite podium strategically placed in the center of the marble and chrome lobby of Lee-Reynolds Wacker Drive headquarters.  Not a single strand of shoulder length hair is out of place.  Brown-green eyes sparkle with a seemingly alien intelligence. Like President Barack Obama, Harvard Law alumni Nadine Lee Fletcher has been preparing for this moment of uber leadership her entire life.  The Lee-Reynolds family dynasty once controlled by her first cousin Lisette Lee Reynolds Johnson's iron fist now belongs to her.  She smiles demurely while absently shuffling papers of prepared speech she will undoubtedly not use.  This slight facial gesture sends the crowd of eager worldwide news reporters and paparazzi alike into a complete frenzy.  No-holds bar questions flail like daggers, never penetrating their intended target.  Nadine barely blinks, doesn't bristle, or shudder.  Similar to her first cousin and former boss Lisette, Nadine was programmed from birth simply to have no fear.