Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  They both dressed together in the small shitty changing room where the girls who didn’t like Mondays sucked off a sweaty fat fuck and caught a cab back to her place in Yaletown. Shannon sitting quiet as they went, gently touching Daltrey’s knee as she looked at her. Her nails natural and perfect. Daltrey smelling the girl’s perfume as her heart pounded, getting wetter down below as the cab grew nearer to the Roundhouse Building where the woman had told the cab driver she lived.

  They still hadn’t spoken when she took her gently by the hand and led her to her room with its trinkets and pillow topped bed. Shannon closed the door and moved closer, taking Daltrey by the neck, gently pulling her towards her. Their lips met softly, for a moment. Daltrey stopped breathing as she tasted the woman’s lipstick and felt her tongue enter her own mouth as she closed her eyes.

  The woman who’d been sleek and seductive on the stage, moving with elegance and grace as men stared in awe, was kissing her now, feeling her, touching her, undressing her as the woman undressed herself. Then when they were totally naked, still kissing her, the woman took her to her bed and laid her down upon the feather comforter.

  Then she kissed her some more as their hands stroked each other’s skin, feeling each other’s breasts and the softness of their stomachs. The woman reached further down stretching her arm as she did, gasping slightly as she felt Daltrey’s wetness. Slowly she moved her fingers up and down as Daltrey let her breath go as she felt the woman’s fingers gently stroke her and feel the inside of her pussy.

  Shifting her weight, the woman dropped down the bed, softly pulling Daltrey’s legs apart as she did. Stroking the tender soft inner skin of her thighs she waited for a moment, savouring what she was about to do, then, with a sly look to Daltrey she smiled and leaned her head down and stroked her tongue up and along Daltrey’s warm moistness.

  Daltrey lay there feeling the tenderness of her mouth as the woman beneath moved her fingers deeper and deeper inside her, pulling them in and out as she twirled her clitoris gently around and around with her lips and tongue.

  Oh my God it was nice, Daltrey thought as she grasped the duvet and felt her insides begin to tighten. This woman, this sexy, sexy woman, caressing her with her softness after she’d gotten herself all horny walking about half naked and being a bitch as men lusted after her. The last woman who’d been doing the same to her, in comparison, had felt like she’d missed lunch and worked as a pipe fitter on an oil rig, which is what she’d have liked to have done for a living if she’d had a dick. But this woman, wow, her softness, her beauty, the femininity of her sensual touch.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” Daltrey called out as she felt her body suddenly start to go into orgasm. And then it happened, and Daltrey’s body began to shudder uncontrollably as she came harder and longer than she ever had with anybody else in her strange and convoluted sexual life.

  Shannon sat up on the bed and wiped her mouth with her hand, smiling. Thinking, wow that was good. She liked to make beautiful women come, it was her thing. It had been now for some time—ever since she’d discovered she didn’t like the white creamy stuff hitting her tits or chin. Beautiful women were it, and if she could find a straight one who was a little bit curious, then all the better. And she did find them everywhere. In hotels or expensive shopping arcades where she’d prowl, eyeing women from afar, then moving in she’d catch their eye and stare deep into them in a way she knew only a woman could understand. Little needed to be said, for words were unnecessary when desire took over. And once she had them in her spell, she would take them back to her place as she had with Daltrey, where she’d undress them, feel them, and eat them until they came. And after she’d scissor them, grinding herself onto them until she’d come herself—as she was about to do with this one who had turned up at the club where she liked to gain easy money to pay the rent. This one who was there unexpectedly—especially sexy not only in her body or bitchy manner, but also because she was a cop.

  **************

  Suzy sat in the corner of the bar and told the loan shark how there’d been cops in and out of the place all day. One of them had been trying to pass herself off as a lap dancer but had turned away almost a grand in money she could have earned from losers like her boyfriend.

  This wasn’t good, thought Mattia, what the fuck was it all about? Yeah, the place was loaded with undesirables such as drug dealers and gangsters and others who delved in certain levels of crime, but he was the only one out of all of them who’d kicked someone to death a block away after coming straight out of the place. He said, “Well it’s got fuck all to do with me.”

  Suzy smiled, that was good to hear. It would be all she needed right now for him to be in trouble somehow and to have to disappear from her life again after all this time. She said, “Yeah, they do that sometimes, you know, come here and check it out, usually after some church going do-gooder has been in and gone home racked with guilt because he’s had a decent pair of tits in his face for the first time in his life.”

  The loan shark, said, “Like yours?”

  “Who knows, maybe?” Suzy said as she looked at the stage and wondered if she’d ever be back up there. Probably not—well not here anyway. Then she heard her man ask, “So, this chick who was here, hanging about, the cop. What was she asking about?”

  Suzy shook her head and looked about the room. Two young guys had just come in and were looking about the place with their mouths open. She’d give them a chance to get drunk and horny looking at the stage and the other girls walking about and then she’d take them both for at least a hundred whether they liked it or not. After all, the excuse ‘I’ve got no cash’ carries little weight when there’s a cash machine on the wall and your sexual preference and manhood are being questioned. She said, “She didn’t ask anything; just told everyone they were losers and to fuck off. Oh, except the guy who runs the place. She said, he asked her to suck his dick.”

  “Oh,” said the Italian, as he looked at the stage as though that was normal. Then he asked, “So where’d she go then, she still here?”

  Suzy turned back to her man, whom she’d told Daltrey she liked to suck off, and said, “She left with the headline girl Shannon, she was done for a bit and she took her home with her.”

  “Really?” said the Italian, looking away from the stage and back at his girl, now intrigued. He carried on saying, “What she took her home to, you know, fuck her?”

  Suzy raised her eyebrows as though it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. What else? she thought, she needs help cleaning the bathroom? But instead, she said, “Yeah she does that.”

  “Oh?” Then the Italian said, “She ever took you back?”

  She hadn’t, and hadn’t even tried, for as sexy as Suzy was, it was really beautiful sensual women Shannon liked—even ones with an attitude wearing a wig.

  Not answering, Suzy let that one hang—knowing guys the way she did and the way they’d get all horny at the thought of her with another girl. Unless it was her husband, of course, who only got turned on watching other guys pound her in the ass, and that wouldn’t ever be happening again.

  Ten minutes later, the Italian was in an alley across the road waiting for the pair of them to come back. Except when the taxi arrived bringing Shannon back for her finale of the night, Daltrey wasn’t with her.

  Quickly he crossed the road and stopped Shannon at the rear entrance, grabbing her by surprise and twisting her arm up around her back. He pinned her to the pebble dashed wall and said, “Move or look around and I’ll break it. Make a noise, I’ll break it. Answer my question and I won’t—simple.”

  Shannon got it, apart from a racing heart at the moment, she was still intact. There was a can of mace in her pocket, but reaching it would mean breaking this guy’s rule number one. So, hearing the question was the best option. Trying to sound cool and as though it was normal to be assaulted in the carpark at the rear of a strip club, she said, “Try me, you never know?”

  “The cop you jus
t took home and fucked. Where did you drop her off?”

  She said, “I didn’t, she went her own way.”

  “Who is she, what’s her name?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

  And she hadn’t asked, but she had checked her purse straight after she’d wiped her mouth and leaned down again, kissing Daltrey’s pubic mound before climbing up and riding her pussy on it for awhile before she’d brought out her little double ended friend and stuffed it slowly into Daltrey’s vagina—then slipped it into herself and played scissors, fucking her hard until they both came.

  She said, “She’s hot, she’s small, and she’s wearing a wig because she’s got a burn on her head. Ask around about it. I’m sure your connections go further than beating up women.”

  That hurt, the Italian thought. It wasn’t the norm for him to be doing this, but she wasn’t wrong. He said, “So far no one’s been beaten. When is she coming back?”

  “She won’t, she knows I know she’s a cop, she caught me checking her out.”

  Fuck, the Italian thought. But at least he had something to go on. He twisted the girl with the nice legs who did not like men towards the rear door, keeping her face away from his and said, “Slowly open the door, step inside, and don’t look back.”

  Reaching out, Shannon did just that, twisting the door handle gently so she wouldn’t break a nail. She opened it slowly and as she stepped inside, she felt the Italian’s vice-like grip on her wrist give and let go. The door closed behind her and without looking back, she stormed through the crowd and stopped herself right in front of Suzy who was sitting there on a bench by the stage in between the young men who had entered earlier. Looking up at her with her big titties bursting out of her bra, Suzy heard the woman scream, “Your boyfriend’s a fucking asshole.”

  These girls who worked the strip clubs for a living were tough women.

  **************

  Daltrey watched the Italian as he walked back across the carpark and opened the door of his car. Well, that certainly had been a different way to have found who she was looking for, she thought. The stripper with the legs having given her one of the best fucks she’d ever had and then the whole magic had been ruined after Daltrey found the woman with her hand in her purse after coming out the bathroom with a jar of leg cream.

  And that had been that, relationship over. But what should she expect, after all, look at where they’d met, she’d thought as she’d taken a cab back to the club, so she could now wait outside in her Audi.

  Fuck that was stupid, she thought again for what must have been the hundredth time. She pulled away and followed the Italian east along Pender Street. Oh well, it was done—chalk it up as a mistake, she told herself, trying to shake off her own feeling of stupidity as she carried on, three cars behind. The guy who was having an affair with a stripper with big breasts was moving slowly through the traffic now on Hastings Street, driving a shitty white Civic, cruising it from one end to the other and then back again. Daltrey doing the same, but way back now as she watched. Picking up her phone, she called Chendrill.

  He answered and from what she could tell she wasn’t the only one who’d been getting laid that evening. She said, “Chuck, I’m following your guy; he’s cruising Hastings.”

  Chendrill saying straight back, “Yeah? He’s looking for people, he lends money.”

  Daltrey watched him as she talked.

  Chendrill said, “Did you meet Suzy?”

  “Yeah, she’s sweet.”

  “I know.”

  Then Daltrey said, “You’re rich, you should give this shit up.”

  Chendrill laughed, “I think we both know the answer to that one.”

  Daltrey smiled. He was right, she did know. “The dealers know him, you can see that. The way they are looking at him after he’s driven by.”

  “If you get the chance, see if he’s wearing a new pair of cowboy boots. And if so, can you get me a photo.”

  It was a strange request.

  “Okay?”

  Then Chendrill said, “Williams called, he’s all upset, said you exposed him as a cop and gave him a knock back on a lap dance.”

  “Tell him that I knew he had a thing for older women—anyway, I thought Suzy was a better option for him. She could wipe some of that bum fluff off his chops with those big titties.” Then she said, “Chuck, I don’t think it’ll be a good thing if I go back into that place.”

  The phone went quiet for a moment as Daltrey drove and there were two reasons that she could think of. The first being that Chendrill was feeling guilty for asking her to go in there and abuse herself like that and the second was that he thought she couldn’t handle it.

  She was right on both counts. But she’d missed a third, and that was that he was still smiling at what Daltrey had just said, about the young police officer who wanted so much to be a man. And also that soon he was going to take her down to LA and have her burns looked at by the best cosmetic surgeon money could buy.

  He sat there on the edge of the bed still naked and listened to Tricia in the bathroom sounding like a race horse as she took a pee. Normally it would have been Sebastian who called and disturbed them when they were making love and for a split second when the phone had rung during the throws of passion, he’d forgotten himself and thought it was. But no, it was Daltrey, the young conscientious detective who’d just nearly been killed in the line of duty, and who was now out there working, doing his job for him on the people’s coin while he was in bed all evening getting laid. He said, “You do good work, Daltrey.”

  Daltrey scoffed, yeah right! She said, “What do you want me to do?”

  “You got his licence plate?” Daltrey stayed quiet, then said, “1 – 0 – 1.”

  Enough said, Chendrill carried on, “Go home—remember, you don’t work for me; you’re just doing me a favour.”

  He heard Daltrey say straight back, “What’s the deal with the guy’s boots?”

  It was a good question and one that needed looking into, even if now he never needed to lift a finger for the rest of his life. He’d heard the guy who’d been kicked to death in an alley was an ex-drug addict. The Italian had been in the vicinity at the same time, Chendrill knew that only too well because he’d stuffed a cheque for $250,000 in the man’s mouth a few blocks to the east less than an hour before and if the Italian had been wearing the size tens that delivered the damage, he’d have tossed them the first chance he had and maybe bought a new pair.

  Chendrill said, “You know what I’m like.”

  Daltrey did, and also knew that when he had a feeling then there was a chance he was on to something. He had her following him, but if he felt the man was really dangerous, he’d be doing it himself. So, it was a hunch. Nonetheless, from what she’d seen so far, the guy was a prick and things could get nasty, and they were about to.

  **************

  The Italian carried on along Hastings Street, wading with his eyes through the junkies and dealers, the alcoholics who could not stop, and the poor souls caught in between. There were two things he needed to do now. One—call the car guy he knew and see how he was doing, he thought as he cruised around the filth which he, in his own way, helped to keep alive. And two, find the guy who owed him block payments from last month and had no interest in getting back up to speed with things.

  He hit Main Street for the fourth time and carried along south towards Terminal Avenue, slowing at the SkyTrain station to look at the lost sitting in the doorways and begging for money with their signs at the centre of the road. Then he took a left and another quick sharp one and did the same outside the Central Train Station, where some lucky ones who’d gotten themselves clean would enter and head back east to where they were from to either start afresh or do it all over again.

  He wasn’t there either, this guy who had once been a good customer but now didn’t pay. Then as he headed back towards Hastings Street, he eventually saw him settling into a doorway amongst a few others with no
where to go. The guy sitting, leaning back now smoking on the street and about to jack up with a hit of heroin he’d just scored not a block from the police station. Sticking the needle he kept just for himself into a vein under his knee, the guy’s eyes rolling back into his head as all the troubles in his world melted away and everything became beautiful.

  Twenty minutes later, life was shit again.

  With one trouser leg still above his knee, he got up and staggered through the streets, bumping into things he had not seen but should have. Crossing roads without a care, arms flailing, shouting at nothing, then he saw him, the Italian, sitting in his car the way he always did—the guy who he owed money to but always gave him more until he could fix things, as he always did.

  How long now had it been that he’d gone without paying him what he owed? A week? Yeah it was a week. Fuck he should pay now and get it sorted.

  The Italian sat there in the dark, smiling at him, gesturing for him to come over. He reached the passenger window at the side of the car and held himself up with his dirty hands as he watched the electric window drop, the Italian saying, “Hey buds, what’s up?”

  The junkie standing there with his hair in his face which was full of scabs.

  “Hey!” the Italian getting straight to it saying, “you got my money?”

  He did yeah, he had it, had some from his welfare payment and from his sister’s he’d been stealing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out nothing. Looking back up at the Italian he said, “Yeah I got it but it’s not here. I must have left it back at my place.”

  His place. A shitty hotel room that cost $400 a month, full of bed bugs and lice. A junkie who left his money at home? It never happened and the Italian knew it, he’d heard it a hundred times, he said, “Get in. I’m going to pick up some cash. You can have some more till you get yourself sorted.”