Pimp (22 page)

“I finished with Blondie. Max got back there with me. For a half hour he called me filthy names. He punched and pinched me. I’m sure sore all over. Blondie begged him to stop. My ass feels like he split something back there. I had a rough time.

“Finally they let me out. Max told me to never let him see me again. I was scared so I came in. That’s why the scratch is short. Max will bust me if he sees me again. You gonna have to find me another street to work.”

I said, “You square-ass stupid bitch. You think you’re a brain
because you’re hip that white men sneak through the stockade to lay black whores. Ain’t a Nigger sealed in here that don’t know that. It don’t make you great because those white sick fools leave that fine pussy in Heaven to find your stinking black ass in Hell.

“You chicken-hearted bitch. You got a roust. They conned you to believe they could slap a bum rap on you. You’re too dumb to know I’m gonna raise you. You rammed your funky finger in your sore ass. You took a powder from the track with a lousy double saw. You let those peckerwood coppers fuck you front rear, sideways, and across. You simple bitch, I’m gonna find you another street to work? Now you got like a license to hustle this one?

“You ain’t got to worry about Max and that other roller. Bitch, you can work it forever just so you don’t get cancer of the cat or lockjaw. Bitch, if you don’t get outta my face I’m going to the chair for slaughtering you. Get your clothes on. Get in the street and hump up some scratch. Bitch, don’t come to that door unless you call me first. I ain’t going nowhere.”

She had been taking sucks on the reefer while she was rapping. She was high when I gave her the rundown on how she had been conned by the rollers. She leaped off the bed and went to the closet. She dressed and jerked her head around the whole time.

She knew I was angry. She was maybe afraid after that slaughter crack that I might goose her in the butt with my knife. She got out fast. I had Silas bring me some food and take my shirts and things to the cleaners. I ate and snorted some Girl. Later I banged some. Except for the bump on my skull that still ached a little I felt all right.

I remembered Satan and the Demon wanting to see identification. I called Silas. He told me where to go. I could get a driver’s license without a test for a saw buck under the counter. I dressed and made the trip. Sure enough I copped. I was back home in an hour.

I pulled a chair to the front window. I had my spy glass. It was still daylight. I didn’t see the runt on the street. I spied into the
greasy spoon across the street. The runt was sitting at the counter talking to a big black stud in overalls. He had trick engraved all over him. I saw them leave together and come across the street toward the Martin Hotel.

The scarfaced horn tooter who lived in four-twenty-two across the hall came out behind them alone. He got into a battered Ford and chugged away. It gave me an idea. After all, I could blow the runt. I picked up the phone and asked for connection to apartment four-twenty-two. The pretty yellow ex-whore “helloed.” I was glad old Silas had given me a rundown on her. I could tailor my pitch.

I said, “Now try to control yourself baby. I’m the tall stud with the dreamy bedroom eyes across the hall in four-twenty. I’m the guy with the pretty towel wrapped around his sexy hips. I got the same hips on now that you x-rayed. Remember that hump of sugar your peepers feasted on?”

She said, “Maybe, but you shouldn’t call me. I don’t want an incident. What do you want? A lady doesn’t accept phone calls from strangers.”

I said, “A million dollars and a trip to the moon with a bored, trapped, beautiful bitch, you dig? I’m no stranger. I’ve been popping the elastic on your panties ever since you saw me in the hall.”

She giggled. I could hear the thrill in her voice. The horn blower had taken her off the track, but the whore was alive and thrashing inside her. She had class. She had done more than screw on the fire escape at high school.

She said, “I don’t drink and besides I don’t know you.”

I said, “You met me in your first hot dream, remember? You know that pretty joker in your little girl dreams that always faded when you woke up wet between the legs. You waited and wished.

“You lucky bitch, I’ve stepped out of your dreams. I’m alive and real across the hall from you. Get over here, I’m gonna turn you on. Don’t worry about the watch dog. I saw him split out of the greasy
spoon ten minutes ago. Baby, I’m gonna have to make one of my whores bake you a cake with a saw in it.”

She said, “You’re not married to one of them? I don’t want my throat cut. I don’t want to break an old habit, breathing.”

I said, “Yeah, I’m married. I’m married to the whore game. You’re still a member of the club yourself. You just ain’t paid any dues lately. Maybe if you ain’t full of shit I can put you back in good standing. Now get over here!”

She said, “I’m raw. I’ll have to slip on something. I’ll come over for a minute. You’re not a hype? I’m not hip to anything but grass.”

I said, “No, sugar, I’m a lover and a beggar. I got black gunion, baby. You hip?”

I hung up. I went to the dresser mirror and powdered my face. I brushed my hair with a damp brush. My mop was black, bright and curly. I went to the closet and slipped on a wild yellow lounging robe. I had bought it the day before Dalanski busted me at the dance.

I had peeped at her hole card that day in the hall. I knew she was a freak. I remembered her eyes chained to my crotch. Now I didn’t have on any towel. First chance I got I’d flash her into a boil, through the split in the front of the robe.

Maybe I could shoot some cocaine into that yellow virgin arm. That would open her up for sure. I might even steal her from scarface and put her back on the track tomorrow.

I thought, “This fine bitch is my speed. She’s not a hard-leg dog with a million miles on her. She’s no more than nineteen and sexy as the rear end of a peacock. I’ll play it cool and quiz her. Maybe some asskicker booted her off the track. Maybe that’s how scarface copped.

“I’ll stay in the pimp role, but I’ll sweeten it with a little highclass bullshit. Maybe I’ll rap some of that gigolo garbage I overheard the white pimps in the joint rapping.

“I better call Silas. I’m not ready for trouble with Scarface. I
went to the door and unlocked it. I picked up the phone and got Silas.

I said, “Listen Jack, this is important. I’m gonna be rapping to the big-butt yellow broad who lives in four-twenty-two. I’m gonna give you and the broad on the desk a fin a piece. You gotta wire me here when Scarface shows. I’m not ready for him to wise up. Got me?”

Silas said, “You lucky young sonuvabitch. A faggot in a Y.M.C.A. shower room ain’t no luckier. You got salt and pepper, kid. We’ll wire you. I’ll stall the cage on the way up with him. Can I peep a little, kid, huh?”

I hung up. I felt a cool puff of draft on my ankles. I went into the living room. She had slipped into almost nothing. She was crossed legged in the chair at the window. She turned her head from the street and looked up at me.

She had on a thigh-long black negligee with pink butterflies sewn on. A pair of white silk panties gleamed through the black gauze. She curved inside it like a yellow Petty Girl. Her ebony hair was steepled on top of her skull like a black satin crown. I saw a frantic tic jerk at a corner of her melon-red mouth. If she turned out to have entasis, I swore I would give up whores and get hip to the sissy game.

She said, “Hi. I ask myself why I’m here?”

I said, “Baby, don’t drag the party. Don’t ask yourself stupid questions. You can’t escape that freak, desperate spark. You know baby, that awful sweet electricity that makes a farm boy kiss a ewe. The same power that yowls a hot torn cat in the alley. You hip to it? Now just relax. I’m gonna roll you up a bomber. Baby, your luck has changed. You’ve hit the jackpot. You found me. Oh yea, my name is Blood.”

She said, “‘Blood’ it’s nice to meet you. I’m Christine. Chris I like better. I can’t stay long. I have to be careful. My old man is very jealous.”

I said, “Chris, you are gonna find out I’m a wild groove. You may
stay a lifetime thinking it was only an hour. All we need is an understanding. All you need is a man.”

Over the top of Chris’s head I saw the runt flash her eyes up at the window. She was just getting into a white trick’s car. Twilight was sweeping away daylight with a deep purple broom. I went to the bedroom. I loaded an outfit and tilted it spike up in my pocket. I rolled two bombers. One with reefer, the other in cigarette tobacco. I snorted a thumb tip of cocaine. I got a towel and put it next to the gap under the front door. I lit some incense.

I gave Chris the bomber. I lit it and my dud. With a package like Chris, reefer might confuse me. I might wake up swindled. If she had been Garbo, I still wanted scratch before snatch.

I got another chair. We sat there facing each other in the twilight. I waited for the reefer to fill her skull. The bomber in her hand was now a roach. I cock-tailed it for her. Her eyes were dreamy.

She said, “Goddamnit sweetheart, I’m high. You know Blood you’re going to laugh when I tell you something. Guess what I was thinking when I saw you the first time in that towel?”

I said, “You thought, ‘Oh my itching cat! That pretty brown bastard looks like a pimp. I wish to hell I was still whoring. I sure would like to kiss “Mr. Thriller, the killer” under that towel.’ Am I right, sweet freak?”

She giggled and scooted her chair flush against my knees. She slid her back down in the leather chair. She put the heels of her pink shoes on the seat of my chair.

I was sandwiched between her big yellow legs. The street lamp came on, spotlighting her. She was still giggling. I fingered the ready jolt of cocaine in my robe pocket. I took it out and hid it against the side of my chair. I saw blue veins pulsing on her inner thighs.

The cocaine had me strung on an icy rack. I raised her right leg and rubbed my cheek against it. I crushed her knee-cap between my teeth. She moaned. I gazed deep into her eyes. She had laughed tiny pearls of tears that clung to her long, silky lashes. Under the street
lamp her face was innocent and soft as a yellow fawn’s. I felt old as Methuselah.

She said, “Don’t look at me like that. I know you can read minds. You give me the creeps with that look. It’s like you’re Svengali or that crazy Russian Monk I read about”

I said, “Chris, you’re gonna be my whore. We gotta share things. That reefer was just an appetizer. Reefer is for low-class skunk broads. Heroin is for chumps bound for the graveyard. Cocaine is for brilliant, beautiful people.

“Chris, banging cocaine will spin a magic web of music and bells inside your skull. Every pore in your body will feel like Daddy’s jugging his swipe in all over you. It will torch off a racy secret fire of life inside you. It’s a miracle, Chris. You get all that thrill and no habit. I know you ain’t chicken shit. Are you game to try?”

She said, “If it won’t scar me or hurt me. If it hurts, promise you’ll stop. Don’t give me a lot, Baby. Where you going to put it in?”

I took her left leg and put it on the arm of my chair. I saw a fat line high up on her thigh. I eased the spike into it. She flinched. The dropper flashed red. I pressed the bulb slowly. Her eyes widened. Her white teeth bit into her bottom lip.

I emptied the dropper. I pulled out the gun. She sat there stiffly. She took her leg off the chair arm. She rubbed the inside knobs of her ankles against my sides. I saw her Adam’s apple spasm.

I remembered how I puked the first time. I slid my chair back and raced to the bedroom to get the wastebasket. I just made it back. She dumped a load into it. I flushed the mess down the toilet and rinsed the basket out. When I got back to her she was smiling and stroking her legs.

She said, “I’m sorry I did that naughty thing, Daddy. Oh! Oh! But now I feel heavenly. Baby, I’m so glad I came over and got this feeling. Aren’t those bells something? Baby, you got a lot of this? I want to do this every day. Stay like this every minute. Let’s lie down. I want a formal introduction to Mr. Thriller.”

I said, “Bitch, when you come to me as my whore I’ll keep your skull mellow. Now you gotta be joking about Mr. Thriller. He won’t have anything to do with a broke bitch that claims a square horn blower as her man. Let’s go over there while he’s away and get your clothes. You’re not married to him are you?”

She said, “How many girls do you have? Maybe your stable is too big for comfort. I get salty standing in a long line for my loving.”

I said, “Whore, answer my question. What are you, a roller or something? When you are my whore you don’t worry about anything but your own ass and scratch. Now answer my question.”

She said, “Blood, I didn’t want to answer because I am married to him. Leroy, that’s my husband, saved my life really. He’s been wonderful to me. He used to be good looking. He didn’t get so insanely jealous until after his accident.

“We’ve been waiting over two years for a settlement. Blood, honestly, you are my kind of stud. My life is so screwed up. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to tell you. Would you believe that you’re the first fellow I’ve talked to in over two years? Blood, I don’t love Leroy.”

That cocaine had her speed rapping. I couldn’t cop her tonight unless I croaked Scarface. My plans had to change. I had to unhook her from Leroy soon. She’d make bales of scratch. Maybe I could work an angle to get her and a slice of that settlement. Of course, I couldn’t wait forever. If I had to, I’d cop without a slice of the settlement.

I knew Leroy was going to blow her. He didn’t have a chance to hold much longer with that ugly face and that jealous bit. I had to find out if she would level with me all the way. Silas had told me she was an ex-whore.

I said, “Chris, give me a fast rundown of your life story. I’ll have all the answers for you when you finish.”

She said, “If you let me sit in your lap.”

I nodded and she climbed onto my lap. She hooked an arm around my neck. Her cheek was against my ear. The cocaine
thudded her ticker against my breast. Out of the side of my eye I saw the runt go into the greasy spoon. I was hoping she wouldn’t use the phone just inside the door and interrupt the rundown.