The M.I.L.F. Man

Gumbo ya ya

I felt that inhaler in my pocket as I was shoving those Baggies down my panties. Was it another one of those gadget guns Chas had when we were on the run back when? He'd looked me right in the eyes when he handed it to me, so something was up...

I opened the door all the way to keep Ray J from being suspicious before taking it out and pressing on the little medicine bottle that hissed just like it should. Ray J looked over, smirked, and went back to his cell probably thinking I was just doing as I'd been told.

But then I twisted the little bottle and when it popped out, I saw that it was actually hollow. And there were shreds of dried up shroom and a bunch of pills in it and the tube you'd normally inhale through.

Puzzled me. I mean, we'd burn a tree now and then, but we laid off other stuff cause these days almost everything had fentanyl in it. And he would never have brought anything down to the border.

And then...I remembered that weird "Benadryl" moment. He knew no OTC medicine in the world would've done anything for Doris. But he also knew they made us women do the cooking all the time—had he been waiting for a chance to slip that stash to me? Whoever it really belonged to?

I stifled a little "that's my boy" giggle and dumped my herbs into that big ass pot to make a "gumbo ya ya" they would never forget. That's that gumbo with chicken and sausage, but my friends from Louisiana put damned near every leftover in the fridge in theirs. That's how we made our "magic" soup, too. To make mask the flavor of those herbs.

To go with it, I ground up those shrooms and mixed them into some cornbread. And Colleen put ground up pills into some of that instant iced tea with all the sugar and lemon flavoring in it.

We'd have to serve these guys to make sure they all got good doses of everything. The plan, if anyone groused about how the soup tasted, was to say the meat had stuck and scorched a little at the bottom. But these weren't foodies we were dealing with. If it was hot, they'd scarf it.

We made sandwiches for the students "so there'll be enough hot food for the men," I said, just so Ray J would hear it. But then he got called away for another "confab" in the big room.

So he locked us in the kitchen which gave us time to find tools we could use to escape that stupid closet if they put us back in there. Because once they started feelin' all that dope we'd cooked up, we were going to have to make a break for it.

There were some pretty sturdy butter knives and a frosting spatula in one of the drawers—they'd secured all the really sharp stuff somewhere. We'd had to sort of stab the veggies to pieces with the dull butter and table knives we'd been allowed to use.

I slid a couple of them down the back of my panties. Felt weird, the cold metal going down into my ass crack but, they'd make fairly good screwdrivers, maybe. There was this chisel-looking thing, too--Colleen got that one.

We also made sure to dump a little bit of soup in a couple of paper bowls and then pour most of it back to make them think we'd been eating it. We ate a sandwich each, too, and left some crusts on the paper plates so we could say, "Nope! Already ate."

Not that they'd even ask. Cause there was a lot of arguing going on in the big room. We couldn't hear what had them so riled because they had a TV turned up super loud and kept changing channels and yelling when some talking head said something they didn't like.

Chas'd tell me later that they'd shown some footage of Tuck ranting at the Border Patrol and in some kind of meetings the Feds had held down that way. He was all pop-eyed, arms waving around, spit flying out of his mouth—not a good look.