Pimp Daddy T’s place is worse than I had imagined. The first night isn’t so bad, but then again it never is. I was expecting to have sex with T and maybe Jimbo, but I don’t. That’s not their thing. Instead I have sex with the other girls.
Two of the girls are just what you’d expect. A frightened whiff of a thing calling herself Tiffany. Sixteen years old and already, beaten down, bleach blond and dumb as a rock. Nice girl — lots of uncomfortable smiles and giggles. Amber, a bit older, a bit smarter, just as beaten down. Both of them are rather attractive. All three girls are white. The third girl calls herself Darla, a bit heavy, with a rather ugly face. She doesn’t make sense to me. And the other girls seriously fear her. They do whatever she wants and pretend they like it too. She talks nice enough the first day, though even then I know she likes to hurt people. She’s very rough, even this first night. Each of them has needle marks. Damn. At least they don’t have tattoos: “property of Daddy T.” I hate that shit. It takes months for a tattoo to fade away. No mind reading this first night either. Reading strangers is easy, but if your gonna be with the people for a while, it sends off some sort of weird vibe. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. In a situation like this one, you give it a day or two before you start poking around in people’s heads. I don’t need to read minds to see how fucked up this is gonna be.
The next day Daddy T puts me in a shirt that leaves my chest completely bare. I suppose if you had large breasts that sort of came out from the opening and hung down you could pull it off, but it just looks horrible on me.
“Oh my god she got no tits at all” says Darla, just to help me feel at ease and happy about the whole thing.
Daddy T laughs but then adds, “You look fine.”
I don’t look fine. And then they give me a skirt made of tassels. You can see everything. No underwear of course. This is part of what they do. It keeps you prisoner. You can’t leave when you’re not wearing any clothes. And, of course, if your not wearing clothes you’re really not gonna be working in any descent place.
I’ve worked the third world and alleyways where they did you standing up. Where these guys put us to work, is the worst I’ve ever seen. They drop us in a weedy field by a deserted industrial complex. We blow homeless guys for twenty bucks a pop. Or fuckin’ them on a couple of picnic tables someone has set up, probably for this very purpose. Other girls are fuckin other guys on the other end of the table at the same time. Several guys try to talk me down to ten dollars. Daddy T made it very clear, “Twenty bucks, no discounts.” When I say no they’re so out of it they don’t even get mad. They just find someone else who does it for ten. There’s one old lady giving five dollar blow jobs. It’s horrible.
And Darla and a friend of hers are muggin’ people. The girls, I mean. They take girls forcible to this alleyway between two of the industrial buildings. They take all their money and rape the crap out of them. The very first day I see poor Tiffany come out from this place, limping and blood dripping down her leg. Amber and I clean her up. Amber gives her some of her money so I do the same. After Tiffany heads off to blow some more guys, Amber explains that Daddy T would have Jimbo punish her if she doesn’t make enough money. It’s a good thing I can read minds, ‘cause I stay well clear of where Darla’s lurking. She’s hunting for me too. Initiation, I suppose, for the new girl. We work the field until it’s getting light.
Now it is required for your Pimp to put you in your place soon after you arrive. Not wishing to put it off I gave him an opportunity when we get back to the house. Daddy wants us all to shoot up with him.
“No I don’t want to,” I say, expecting a beating for my trouble. Daddy just nods to Jimbo. Jimbo grabs me from behind, throws me face down across the kitchen table and anally rapes me while everyone watches. This is not done just to humiliate me either. Jimbo tries his best to cause real pain and Jimbo’s good at pain. Darla has the biggest smile on her face. She loves every second of it.
Afterwards, while I’m standing there with my anus hurting and bleeding Darla say, “You too good to sit with us.” Obviously her idea of a joke.
When I say nothing she goads, “Well are you too good? Bet Jimbo's up for showing you again just how good you are. Let Jimbo show her, Daddy. She’ll be so good after that.”
She’s not joking either, she’s really trying to get him to rape me again. I stutter out: “No I — I.”
“Leave her be Darla. It’s ok sweetie. You just got to learn to be nice to your Daddy. You want to be nice to your Daddy, don’t you?”
“Yes Daddy,” I say.
“Here.” he says indicating the spot next to him.
I gingerly sit down and I rest my head against him. He strokes my hair. I shoot up with the rest of them. Darla’s in charge of injecting us. She’s good at missing and having to stab you more than once, but only with the girls. She smiles at me as she does this. Afterwards, Daddy T let’s me apologize, which I do.
At night I play Darla’s little brutality game in bed. She makes a game of either brutalizing my sore anus or sweetly asking“ Do you want to eat my pussy?” I chose the latter. “Are you sure, You can only do it if you ask nicely,” she says. I ask nicely. She does a variation of this with all of us. She has the three of us taking turns, eating her for hours. I don’t even think she likes oral sex, it’s just a power game with her. Well, I can play cowed as good as the next girl — so I do. In a day or so, I’m gonna have to let Darla and her friend catch me.
The next day after working the field, Daddy T questions me about the contents of my bag. He asks about the notebook. Good thing my first language is French. He can’t read it. I tell him it’s vocabulary practice. What he really wants to know about is the key.
“It was a gift from my father,” I say.
“You close with your Daddy,” asks Darla meaning does Daddy Fuck you, like Darla’s did her. I’m freely reading minds now.
“No, It was a high school graduation present. I hadn’t seen him for years.” I say.
“Yeah right, look at her tits. She’s what — eleven. High school graduation my ass. Let Jimbo loosen her up a bit. She’ll talk.” says Darla.
“My driver’s license is in the purse.”
Daddy looks. He takes out my driver’s license. “No shit,” he says, “She’s twenty-three.”
Twenty-two, apparently Daddy T cant add, but I let it go.
“So what’s this key to?” he asks.
“Nothing, I think. It has the date of my graduation: 2014. That’s all.”
“Yeah, it don’t go to a locker or anything?”
“I don’t think so. I grew up in Seattle. If it is, it’s some locker in Seattle. I think It’s just a date. You give someone a key, unlocks your future or something. I just thought it was cool.”
“OK, well I’ll keep it safe for you.”
“Kay,” I say and make nothing of it. It’s important, but I got copies hidden around town. Fuck it. He’ll never find what it goes to.
He let’s it drop. He doesn’t quite believe me, but who cares.
Daddy T’s bored so we shoot up. Most days we shoot up. Only Daddy’s not very smart about it. Jimbo shoots up with the rest of us. Blitzed out, he ain’t much protection. It isn’t gonna be hard to take these guys out, but I will have to put up with them for the next couple weeks. And it’s not gonna be fun. Tomorrow I’m gonna have to play a little with Darla. As much as Darla likes hurting me and the other girls in bed, she leaves the real sick ass shit for the field. Tomorrow I’m gonna have to let Darla catch me. I’m not happy about it either.
After the first few hours working the field, I pass where I know Darla and her friend are lurking. They grab me, cover my mouth and drag me into the alleyway, for our private little party.
Once safety hidden in the alleyway I go to work. I’m small, really small. My advise to small petite little girls like me: find yourself a bar where the green berets, the karate types and the navy seals go, and suck out of them every bit of marshall-arts-bad-ass-mother-fucker you can squeeze into your head. I flip Darla, like she’s nothing. Boom to the solar plexus, knock the wind out of her. She’s gasping for air, but I leave her intact. I don’t think Daddy T or Jimbo gives a shit what happens to her friend though. What her Pimp thinks, not my concern. She’s my real target. Kick to the groin. Kick to the stomach. Kick to the chest. Kick to the groin. Once more to the chest and I hear the ribs crack. She’s on the ground, spitting blood.
I bend down over Darla and in my sweetest voice I say I almost whisper to her, “Darla, I’m not even mad. If I was, you’d be feeling it just about now. Don’t fuck with me ever again and don’t fuck with the other girls either. And if you ever, EVER sick Jimbo on any of us again, you wont have enough face for even your mother to recognize when she visits you in the hospital. You get me.”
Darla doesn’t answer. She’s scared shitless and still gasping for breath. To give my words emphasis I then kick her friend in the face as hard as I can, breaking squishy things in the process. Then I walk off.
Darla manages to get her friend back to her Pimp. He screams and shit, because she’s apparently a big money maker. Mostly ‘cause she steals it from the other girls, but whatever. That night, Daddy has Jimbo punish Darla ‘cause she don’t make enough money. She’s crying “I’m sorry Daddy,” as Jimbo rapes her. She shoots me daggers, but keeps her distance. She’s withdrawn and crying as we go to sleep. I feed a bit on her — just to make sure I’m safe. Yes, Darla’s a coward. She wants revenge, but is too scared. Good. The next day she’s blowing everyone she can for ten dollars a pop. No one’s gonna pay twenty dollars for ugly Darla to suck them.
Things calm down a bit after that. The two weeks pass. Jimbo punishes me once more, just for the fuck of it. I don’t do anything to provoke it. It’s just what they do. Then we shoot up. While everyone else is zonked, I write myself some meticulous French notes.
The next day Daddy T does me a huge favor. He goes out with Jimbo and Darla to get a big ass supply of drugs. Heroin, of course, but also a shit load of coke and some other stuff. Coke’s real good for me. It clears my head when I feed.
I let everyone shoot up. Drugs don’t work on my like on regular people, so they’re all out of it, but I’m fine. I have to fake being fucked up. Darla skimps on what she gives the girls, so I’m a bit worried about them. They actually have to fake being fucked up too. Darla thinks she’s punishing them by not giving them enough heroin. Neither Amber nor Tiffany wants any. But they’re sleeping soundly — good. I take out my notes and leave them on the table — right on top of the heroin, can’t miss it. I don’t want another mistake like last time.
You never really know what’s in a person’s brain until you feed deeply upon them. To be honest I don’t want to know what goes through Daddy T’s brain. And I REALLY don’t want to know what, if anything, goes through Jimbo’s. I’ll do Darla third. Her story is easy, torture abuse, humiliation, yeah that particular monster has been carefully created — crafted by experts: Daddy, Mommy, sneaky uncle, actually she’s a bit of a group project.
I go over to Daddy T to suck him dry. I can actually do it from across the room, but contact is better. I sit on his lap and take him into me.
I smile, Daddy T learned his trade in prison — paying close attention to the guys who Pimped him. fascinating — oh God — T is for tiny. Daddy thinks it’s about his genitalia. What the hell is it with men and penis size. He’s not even small. He normal size for christ sakes. They called him Tiny cause the man’s Five foot two or something. It’s why he never sleeps with the girls. — Can’t have them make fun of me — But it costs him. Sex is a great way to control the girls. Daddy’s horny, and whacking off all night long. — makes him mad — makes him sick Jimbo on us. Jesus, I get the only sexually frustrated Pimp in the entire world, whatever. — He hates Jimbo — Jimbo’s a fag, I already know this. — No Respect — Jimbo blew him in prison. Apparently for a big guy to blow someone in prison is a horrible indignity. Tiny blew everyone, but he really didn’t have a choice. Jimbo wanted it, Jimbo liked it. Got it, getting blown is ok, blowing someone, bad. Guys are so fucked up — Oh my God does he hate Darla. Yeah, join the club. — everything money money money, respect respect gonna be somebody — and he’s gone.
Tiny wanted to leave his mark and that’s it. He’s dead and I’m full. I’m disoriented but — something. The note. I read the note. Snort some coke. What the hell. Well there’s coke. I hope I know what I was doing when I wrote this thing. I snort some coke. Ok. Ok, clearer. Right Jimbo. I snort some more. Better. I cross and sit on Jimbo’s lap.
“Your turn, big fella,” I say.
Shit not what I expect. — I knew he was gay, but shit — He don’t like fuckin the girls in the ass. He fetishes about being the girls, getting it in the ass, and he likes it. — God, he thinks they like it, only they wish it was Daddy doing it to them. He wants Daddy to do it to him, or her — in his fantasies, Jimbo’s a girl — Of course, he wants T to do it. My God he wants T. — Desperation — Longing — Oh, He hates Darla. — He’s jealous. — His fetish is now the girls licking Darla. — He can hear Darla tormenting us. — He wants to be me — really. Apparently he likes my body, envies it. — Envy’s me getting abused by Darla. — Envy’s me getting raped in the ass, by him. Damn. This guy needs serious help. Make that needed. He’s dead.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing. The paper, right. Darla, right. No. Fuck Darla, she hates life so much. Let her live. More coke, right. I even snort some heroin. Ok, destroy my notes. What, light a fire? I don’t think so. I put the notes away and sleep. I’m good. I wonder what the hunters will think of all this shit. I laugh and fall asleep.
“Oh my God, I think he’s dead,” says Tiffany.
“Shit,” says Amber.
“Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God,” adds Darla in near hysteria.
“Is he cold?” They all look at me. I think the calmness of my voice bothers them.
“What?” asks Tiffany.
“Is he cold?” I repeat.
“He’s dead. Don’t you understand, he’s dead. We need to call an ambulance.” shrieks Darla.
“Yeah I get that he’s dead Darla. Is he cold?”
The three of them look at me in horror.
I continue, “If he’s cold, there’s nothing for us to do about it. He looks cold.”
Amber touches his check. She pulls her hand back fast as though he might bite. “He’s cold,” she says.
“What about Jimbo?”
“Oh my God, Oh my God,” shrieks Darla again, jumping back as though Jimbo’s now gonna bite her.
They obviously didn’t notice that Jimbo is also dead.
“Shit,” says Amber. She walks the couple of feet to him. This time she touches his hand barely. I wouldn’t want to touch Jimbo either. “Yeah, He’s cold too,” she says.
“Bad Heroin,” I suggest.
They look at the pile of heroin on the glass coffee table.
“Oh, My God are we gonna die?” asks Tiffany.
Darla puts her hand to her neck, apparently to see if she has a pulse.
“Nah, they just got more of it,” I say.
“Well, What do we do now?” asks Tiffany.
“Well, obviously, not the heroin,” I say.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Daddy’s dead,” screeches Darla.
“Yeah I see that Darla. Fortunately for me, no one saw me buying the heroin that killed him. And of course my fingerprints aren’t all over the syringes.”
“What?” then, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. What do we do?”
I resist saying, who’s this we white man. “if I were you, I’d grab a Greyhound and fast,” is what I say.
“But I didn’t. Oh my God, Oh my God ….”
“You got some money?” I ask in a softer voice.
“I ah a little. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.” She’s pleading with her eyes.
“Well, I think you had better go. We can take care of this, wipe your prints off the needles. But man, they seen you buy the stuff. You had best get gone. I don’t think anyone’s gonna be chasing down a hooker. But I’d go quickly and quietly, and just lay low for a while — I mean a long while.”
“She’s right Darla, you better go,” says Amber.
“Yeah,” adds Tiffany looking really serious about the whole thing.
“Fuck,” says Darla. She actually runs to our bedroom, grabs a handbag and is gone.
I smirk then add to Tiffany, “She heading down the road?”
Tiffany heads to a window and looks out. A Moment later she’s back. “Yeah, she’s booking.”
I walk over to Daddy and remove the big roll of cash he always keeps in his breast pocket. I hand it to Tiffany. “Split it three ways?”
Tiffany giggles. Amber takes the hint and takes the wad from Jimbo. She also hands it to Tiffany.
Amber looks at the heroin with disgust. “You think it’s really bad?”
I shake my head. “Darla’s an idiot. She OD’d them ‘cause she wanted her Daddy to get some more, a little extra ‘cause he deserves it.”
Amber laughs, so does Tiffany because they both know it’s exactly something Darla would do.
“I wonder. Let’s check something out,” I say then head to Daddy T’s room. Amber follows me. I start to search the place, looking in drawers and stuff. I use a sock to touch things. I don’t really expect anyone’s gonna check for fingerprints, and mine are all over this house anyway, but still.
“What you looking for?” asks Amber.
“I think he put it in the safe.”
“Hum,” I say as I kneel down in front of Daddy T’s big metal safe. I slowly turn the knob clockwise till the number shows fourteen, then open the safe.
“How did you know…”
“I didn’t, but when he opens it, it’s always on fourteen. Fifty fifty chance, turn it right or turn it left. My locker in high school always ended with a turn to the right. I used to do the same thing he did. Do the entire combination except for the last number and … bingo.” I take out my purse. I look through it.
“Fuck,” I say. “ My Key’s gone. I guess we’ll just have to make due with this,” and I begin to hand stacks of bills to Amber. Actually I knew my key wasn’t here even before I looked. Doesn’t matter, I know exactly where it is, and I got copies anyway.
“God Damn,” is all she can manage to say as I hand her stack after stack of bills.
It is a lot of money. “Well we made it. Didn’t We?,” I say. “Who has a better right to it then the three of us.”
“I guess we did.”
I take a last look in the safe. “There’s some coke in here, if you want it.” She shakes no, so I close it up and spin the lock.
We head back into the the living room and show Tiffany our find.
“We’re millionaires,” she says.
“Not quite, but I’m not complaining.” I say.
I sit on the couch. Tiffany sits next to me.
“What do we do with them?”
“You said, we’d wash the needles, or wipe them or something.”
“Why, did you touch them?”
Tiffany shakes her head.
“You?” I ask Amber.
“Not our problem,” I say.
“Yeah, but what if the cops check for fingerprints.”
“Then they get Mary. I think she has a record too.” They look at my oddly. “Darla. Mary’s her real name. At least, that’s what her best buddy in the alleyway called her. Darla’s a vampire from a t.v. show.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t we help her?”
“No,” I say.
“Damn right No,” says Amber. Then adds, “You think they really will bust the bitch?”
“Nope, no one’s gonna care that some Pimp and his muscle OD’ed.”
“Too bad,” said Tiffany coming around to the idea. They both hate Darla, Mary, every bit as much I do.
“Well think of it this way Tiff, from now on every time Darla hears a siren, she’ll think they’re coming after her.”
“Good,” she says.
“Eighty years old in the nursing home. She hears a siren, she’ll be peeing in her adult diaper. Oh yeah, Fuckin A Good,” I say and I shock myself how much I really like the idea. I’ve never been raped by another woman before, which is exactly what Darla did to each of us in the bedroom. Fear and Pain and jumping at every sound, that’s Darla for the rest of her life. I’m glad I didn't kill her now.
I snap out of it: “Well two things before we leave. First I need some clothes. If we can find what I came here with that would be great.”
“Yeah, I know where he puts the stuff,” says Amber.
“Great, and I need a shower.”
“Me too,” says Tiffany.
“And as much as I trust you guys, I’d feel much better if we were all in the shower together.”
“I know the feeling,” she says while looking at the stack of money.
We shower together. We change clothes, then Tiffany counts the money. Forty-seven thousand and change for each of us. I guess Pimping pays. Well, at least it does until one of your girls kills you.
We head out in Daddy’s Pimp-mobile-Cadillac. Amber drives. We drop Tiffany at her sister’s and me at the train station. I don’t take a train. I just sit and have an expresso at the Starbucks.
After an hour, I walk to the Post Office. I stop on the way by a fire hydrant, frequented by most of the neighborhood dogs, and I dig up a key. It’s a duplicate of the one Daddy T took from me. It’s illegal to make a duplicate of a Post Office box key. However, if you give your average locksmith two hundred dollars, to copy a key, something they usually change two dollars and fifty cents for, they’re more than willing to make you a few illegal copies. The Post Office box, the poor man’s safe deposit box. Only I’m not poor. The important thing for me, is to be able to get my things anytime, day or night.
In my P.O. Box are a couple packages and letters. All of which I sent. There’s a package with a change of clothes. There’s a large envelope that contains my Andrea MacDonald identity: a MasterCard, an ATM, a Library Card, My social security Card, birth certificate, some cash (two thousand US, two thousand Canadian), and of course My Passport. Another package contains almost exactly the same things. It’s my Lily LeFete identity, the passport’s Canadian so naturally it also has my Canadian Health Insurance card. My Canadian birth certificate etc. Every single one of these items is the genuine thing, issued by the appropriate government agencies or banks, or whoever it is that issues them.
I grab all my things and leave the Post Office, get myself a cab, and head off to Marshal Fields. It’s not called that anymore but still has everything I want. I buy myself a suit case and a bunch of clothes to go in it. I get some stationary and an envelop, pair of scissors, and a box, big enough to hold the money I got from Daddy T’s. Then I get another cab for O’hara International Airport. I buy a Plane ticket for Montreal in the morning. I go to the curtesy phone, and am very happy to discover the Airport Hilton has a room available. They even provide a shuttle. How nice.
When I get to my hotel room, I carefully count out Forty-five thousand dollars, which I put into the box. I write a note and address it and so forth. I go down to the lobby and get myself a taxi. I head to a certain house, and although I’ve never actually been there, I know it very well. I have the taxi wait as I leave the package on the door step. “Good-bye, John,” I say to myself as I turn from the door.
The letter I leave John is one of my best pieces of fiction. The letter is addressed to Ray, but it’s crossed out and then addressed to John in a different hand. I tell him how I’m the granddaughter of a famous wealthy person who just recently died. Gramps was a pervert who molested me all through my childhood. The family looked the other way and pretended it didn’t happen. Grampa had all the money after all. As soon as I turned eighteen I hit the road. The extra ten dollars he gave me was the difference between me and my roommate eating regularly etc etc etc. I explain how I asked my friend Roger, who’s a private detective, to deliver this package to him the last day we met up. The day I left for home. I’m now returning to my family now that Grampa is safely in the ground and all. I finish by telling him how he really needs to quit his job, explaining that the happiest person I ever met was the grounds keeper at the boarding school I went to. He gave up being an engineer to be, basically a janitor. “Ray, you need to work with you hands,” I say. “I see how much work you put into your car. Go to school and become a shop teacher or forget the schooling and just be a janitor. Anyway this money will allow you to quit your job tomorrow and do something that you like. Because you are just about the nicest people I’ve ever met and you deserve happyness.
Love, [My name blanked out]”
I get back into my cab and head off to a downtown nightclub. A nice place. The kinda place where not only do they id me, but they assume my id’s fake. The very handsome doorman only believes me after I show him my American Express card, my Passport, my library card etc., and then he’s embarrassed.
“On a positive note, when I’m Eighty-five all the old farts in the nursing home are gonna look at me and say, ‘Damn, what a hottie.”
He laughs. He has a nice smile.
I go in, seat myself at a booth with a nice view of the door, drink whisky and eye the man and read his mind a bit. I like everything I see, a very sweet-hearted handsome man, big, dark brown skin, shaven head and goatee. All of which I am very fond of.
After the bartender calls last call I walk over to the man.
“It occurs to me,” I begin to announce my presence, “that I probably should’ve checked to see if you were available, before I began my practice of ignoring all the other guys for the night.”
“Yes, I am funny, but are you available?”
He’s not sure about the skinny little white girl. Certainly pretty but is he interested. He doesn’t know quite how to answer.
“Oops, I guess the wife and the two point five children are waiting at home. My mistake.” and I look as though I’m about to walk off.
“No,” he says. “No wife and two point five children.”
“Oh, Then I will go out with you for a late night snack, since you ask.”
“I asked?” he asks.
“Well, you were thinking about it.” He actually wasn’t, but is now.
“K,” he says after just a moments hesitation. He thinks, “what the hell.”
I smile. I do have an infectious winning smile. Damn, he thinks to himself as he sees how my smile just lights up my face, my eyes. He smiles too. He also has a very nice smile. He will be with me for the evening.
We go to an all night diner. We eat. We talk. We flirt. I read his mind a bit. Afterwards, we go to my hotel.
We make love. It’s been a very long time since I had an orgasm, and I have two. He’s name is Keven, and he has to be just about the sweetest person I’ve met, this century.
He likes my body. He really likes my breasts, he keeps playing with them, caressing them, kissing them. I like it, and it means more to me then I would like to pretend. Darla kept making fun of my breasts. She kept calling me, “boy tits,” and made the other girls call me this while she abused us in bed. And she forced me to call myself this: “Tiffany, Do you want to lick my boy tits.” And she’d make me apologize to the girls, “I’m sorry I have boy tits … I’m sorry you have to touch my boy tits.” Darla was really big on humiliation. I mean, I could read her mind. I know how Jealous she was of how I looked. And it still gets to you, makes you self-conscious, embarrassed about how you look. Even from a pig, like Darla, it damages. She only stopped doing it after I beat her friend to a pulp in the alleyway.
Thank you for reading the beginning of Alleyways. Other sections will be added soon.
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