Harry Guakomoli had left Yo-Yo Ramirez alone in his crib. The night before the hero of the barrio had beheaded a mastodon of a man with his bare hands. The voluptuous Latina rewarded such a visceral display of manliness with sex. The Guak was far from the worst lover Yo-Yo had taken, but the carnal act was softer than she had anticipated. He fucks like a girl she thought to herself.
The following afternoon The Guak took a phone call and then immediately got dressed and left the apartment. When asked why he was leaving The Guak merely said he had an appointment and called the comely Miss Ramirez la cucaracha. Bastard.
Upon The Guak's exit Yo-Yo peered out the window facing the street. He was talking to that disgusting cat. A stretch Escalade pulled up in front of the building, and the driver was revealed to be a tall buxom blonde clad in a black leather catsuit with matching boots. No woman is that tall, busty, and beautiful, she thought to herself. I bet she was born a man. The chauffeur opened the rear passenger's side door, waited until The Guak and Oslo climbed into the ride, and shut the door behind them. She returned to the driver's seat and the stretch slowly pulled away.
Yo-Yo waited until the Escalade was out of sight and strolled over to the crumpled pile of her clothes on the floor beside the bed.She extracted a hot pink cell phone from the ass pocket of her daisy dukes and fired off a text message. The missive was answered within a minute, and a text exchange between Yo-Yo and her mystery correspondent transpired. Then she erased the entire conversation from her phone's memory.
The woman sighed and flipped the phone lid shut. She meandered into the kitchen oblivious that she was passing exposed windows in all her naked glory and peeked into the fridge. Nothing but bottle after bottle after bottle of St. Ides malt liquor. And two sticks of butter and a half-empty squeeze bottle of spicy brown mustard.
The cupboards were not much better. Several packages of Nutter Butters, brown sugar Pop Tarts, and a few cans of Beefaroni. A disgusted look grew on her face.
She returned to the bedroom and turned on the television. Yo-Yo wasn't a fan of idiot boxes, but she needed to do something to pass the time, and this loser with the smashed teeth did not strike her as much of a reader. She did not want to wait for The Guak to return, but an order was an order.
Yo-Yo sat through three hours of mind-numbing reality programming; the vapid family of celebrities famous for being famous, rednecks wrestling skunks, the fourth season premiere of Class Clowns, the riveting story of a clown college in Poughkeepsie.
The lady was bored and hungry. The bathroom was disgusting, the toilet covered in pubes, the tub and the shower curtain covered in soap scum, mildew, and mold. There were several back issue of Cat Fancy stacked in a corner, their pages stuck together. Please let that be due to the cat.
Though she knew it was forbidden, Yo-Yo couldn't help but fall asleep. A little after midnight she was awakened by her phone's ringtone, a few bars of "Jenny From The Block." God I hate that fucking song, she thought before checking the number of the incoming call and answering.
"Belize is the only English-speaking country in Central America," Yo-Yo, still half-asleep, breathed into the receiver. She gave the phrase to indicate that she was the "real" Yo-Yo Ramirez, and that she was alone. Her normal Puerto Rican-tinged accent vanished. "No, I was just resting my eyes...yes, I understand...Rendezvous Point J in an hour."
Yo-Yo flipped the phone shut and crawled out of the bed. She put on the restraining apparatus that was her black bra and its matching thong. Then the black baby tee emblazoned with a reproduction of the cover of rapper Pit Bull's Planet Pit album. She slid into the tight denim short shorts and finally slipped on her hot pink low top Chuck Taylors. Yo-Yo went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Being a hoochie mama is NOT what I signed up for. Please let this meeting mean I can drop this cover.
She discovered a spare set of house keys on the kitchen table, locked the doors, and exited the building through the front door. Yo-Yo stopped by a bodega that kept late hours and purchased a soy-based protein bar and a Crank Juice "energy" drink. The cashier mentioned an explosion at that derelict castle up on the bluff. Maschinemensch's compound. She gobbled up the bar and pounded the drink before even leaving the store.
Yo-Yo headed towards her apartment but first briefly stopped at the stoop of her building to chat up a mariachi band as they came home from a night of carousing. Earlier in the evening they had performed at the bar mitzvah for Fyvush Gonzales, thus causing all seven men to have holes burning in their pockets.
Yo-Yo Ramirez, if that was her real name (it wasn't!), entered her apartment satisfied that witnesses saw her leave The Guak's place and enter hers. She stripped out of her embarrassing hood rat get-up (though she thought the sneakers were cute) and changed into a black hoodie and matching yoga pants. She tied back her long unruly ebony mane into a ponytail. She tied up her black sneakers after slipping them on.
The lovely Latina stepped out of her living room window and onto the fire escape and proceeded to scale UP the building to the roof. She sprinted twenty feet and leaped off the side. Yo-Yo flew through the air before landing on the roof of the adjacent building. And she didn't stop there, using leaps, hand sprints, flips, and rolls to traverse the roofs of the neighborhood. Soon Yo-Yo had crossed half the barrio. Using ledges and a drain pipe she easily dropped down the six stories to the ground of the alley below.
"I am a goddess," Yo-Yo muttered under her breath.
Her final destination was still a couple of blocks away so Yo-Yo pulled up her hood and, posing as a jogger, ran to La Iglesia De La Madre Sagracia. She walked into the church and looked around. Seeing no one Yo-Yo stepped into the confessional and lowered her hood.
"You're late, mamacita," a throaty, bordering on sultry, woman's voice emanated from behind the screen.
"Don't me call that," Yo-Yo hissed.
"Be honest, Yolanda. Part of you likes playing the hood rat."
"What is it that you want?" Yo-Yo had been there one minute and this bitch was already getting on her nerves.
"Right. That's enough pleasantries for one night," replied the mystery woman. "Guakomoli is no longer in play...at least for now. Maschinemensch went rogue and decided to carry out his plan. The one that we nixed."
"Jesus."
"Exactly. But he fucked up and got himself exploded. Now we're trying to --"
"Wait," interjected Yo-Yo sniffing. "Are you smoking in the confessional?"
"Maybe," the woman answered before taking a long exaggerated drag. "Isn't it deliciously naughty?"
"No," Yo-Yo replied with a crinkled nose. "It's vile."
"Whatever, prude. Anyway, The Guak is out of the picture so we have a new assignment for you."
"Finally!" exclaimed Yo-Yo with relief. "How do women wear this stuff and keep their dignity?"
"Don't hang up those hot pants yet, honey. The man is fascinated by the cat. He finds it to be an anomaly that he wants to keep tabs on. You need to keep tabs on."
"But-but-but," said Yo-Yo as she realized her joy was fleeting. "The cat is sexist and crass, and he smells! Holy shit does that cat smell!"
"Your orders are clear. You are to get close to the cat and remain close. You are to do whatever it takes."
"You want me to fuck a cat?!" asked Yo-Yo incredulously.
"You're a smart girl, Yolanda. Think outside the box, your box in this case. But do whatever you takes," the woman behind the screen answered. "If Armageddon is near like we fear we need to be prepared. We all need to make sacrifices. This is your sacrifice."
Yo-Yo said nothing.
"Your silence means you understand, and that you will comply. Good girl. I need to leave, and you are to wait here for three minutes. No one is to see us together. Then you are to return to Guakomoli's apartment. I know this is hard for you, but your dedication to the cause will be rewarded. I promise."
Nothing more was said between the two. Yo-Yo heard the confessional door open and close. Then the sound of heels on hard wood before there was nothing but silence. Still seated in the booth, she buried her face in her hands.
"Shit."
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