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There are always girls on the street, hanging out at cross walks or walking up and down in front of the shady businesses, trying to attract customers. I spot a couple of them sharing a cigarette and head over.
“Hi,” they greet me, eyeing me up. I can tell they’re trying to see if I’m going to be a customer or if I’m competition.
“Hey. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
That makes them relax, which is funny, because asking questions is usually a bad idea around here. But I can tell they know I’m not a cop or someone trying to get them in trouble.
“Whatcha wanna know?” one of them asks, blowing smoke away from me and her friend.
“You see a lot of what goes on around here, right? Who gets hired, who’s hiring who?”
“Sure,” she says. “People like to think they’re slick and being sneaky and all that, but we see shit. And we talk, so we know what’s going on. If one of your friends goes missing, it helps to know who she went with last so you can find her, you know?”
I nod, because that does make a lot of sense. It’s fucking gross that there are people out there making it necessary, but it makes a lot of sense.
“You looking for someone in particular?” the other girl asks. “A friend of yours or something?”
“Something like that,” I say.
“Hey!”
Before either of us can say anything else, someone shouts from farther down the street. I turn and see an angry guy marching over to us. Their pimp, probably, judging from his tacky jewelry and the way he swaggers over like he owns the place.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” I snap back.
“You, bitch,” he snarls. “Get the fuck out of here. You’re fucking with my business.”
“Yourbusiness? Are you the one going out there making money? Or are you just harassing girls into doing it for you?” I fucking hate guys like him. Assholes who abuse and use women for their own pleasure and profit. Without them, he’d have nothing, but that doesn’t stop him from treating them like shit just because he can.
He’s in my face, acting like he owns the goddamn street, and I despise that shit.
“We were just talking,” one of the women says, speaking up. “She wasn’t bothering anything.”
The guy turns on her and backhands her across the face.
“Did I ask you shit?” he demands. “Did I tell you to talk back to me?”
It takes everything I have to keep from fucking this asshole up. I can feel the weight of the knife I keep on me at all times, and I want to lunge at this fucker and make him regret every woman he ever raised a fucking hand to.
The woman shrinks back, bringing a hand up to cradle her cheek. Her pimp turns back to me.
“Fucking get lost,” he snaps, and instead of letting him have it, I grit my teeth, then turn and walk away.
There’s a diner just down the street, a little hole-in-the-wall place where people go to get coffee and burgers that are more grease than anything else. I order a coffee and a piece of pie and take a seat by the window because it offers a great view of the street and the place where those two women wait to be picked up by their customers.
I watch as their pimp yells at them a bit more, but he doesn’t hit either one of them again. He leaves after he thinks he’s made his point, I guess, and they straighten themselves up, going back to work.
One of them walks a little bit farther down the street, leaving the one who got hit alone.
She doesn’t have long to wait before a car slows to a stop right in front of her. She puts on a smile and walks to the window, and after a minute or so of talking, she gets in the vehicle.
About an hour later, the same car drops her back off on the corner and then drives off into the night.
This plays out more than a few more times, and it’s kind of impressive the amount of business this woman is doing. I guess she probably has to work in volume to make up for whatever cut she has to give her shitty pimp, and I keep an eye out for him too. If I meet that fucker in a dark alley, it might be over for him, depending on the mood I’m in.
The evening goes on and then starts to wind down, and after being dropped off one last time, I can tell the girl is done for the night. She waves to her friend and then heads in the direction of the diner, about to walk home or something.
