by T. Styles
There is a horrible misconception that prostitutes love sex. I hate it. I detached when I pleased my customers. I thought about other things or other places so that I wasn’t sharing the moment with them. It was the most disgusting thing I had to do in my life.
When I took one more step, I eyed Jamal’s body again. He probably had a million women at his beck and call. Men like him didn’t wife girls like me; they bought and threw me away after I’d made them cum. I didn’t mind anymore, I guess. I was starting to believe that I was born to please.
My mind wandered even further until I remembered the man whose head Jamal tore into like a watermelon. I shivered. He had experience with death and I knew it. As angry as I was about almost losing my life, he’d saved me. And since I didn’t know where I was, or who I could trust in Baltimore, I figured I had to thank him properly. I wanted him to know how grateful I was that he didn't leave me, so that he'd continue to protect me. After all, going back to Texas was not an option anymore. If I went back, Holliday would kill me, I was certain.
Slowly, I walked toward his bed. The rough bristles on the brown carpet brushed against my bare feet. I could feel the pulse of my heartbeat quickening. Why was I nervous to do the one thing in my life I'd always been good at?
I removed my skirt and shirt and they fell softly at my ankles. Naked and afraid, I slid behind his body. My breasts pressed against his back and my hips rubbed against his jeans. Why did I feel ashamed? As I moved closer to him, he never turned around to face me.
"What are you doing?" He asked flatly, his voice vibrating throughout my soul.
I kissed him on the shoulder, and softly rubbed his arm. "Thanking you for everything you've done for me. For saving my life.” My nipples hardened against his back and I felt him shudder.
"So this is what you do?" His stern voice caused my hand to stiffen. "This is how you move in the world?"
I removed my hand. "What do you mean?"
"You have sex with men just to get them to do what you want? Just to manipulate them into feeling something for you? Do you really think that makes you powerful?"
"No…I...I just wanted—”
"To buy me with your body," he yelled. "Is that what you wanted to do, Lourdes?"
Humiliated, I eased out of his bed, snatched my clothes off of the floor and jumped into my bed. I pulled the rough sheets up to my neck and focused on his back. "I didn’t mean to offend you, Jamal."
“Preacher. I go by Preacher.”
I shook my head. “That explains everything.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his back still in my direction.
“It’s the oldest story in the book. The man wants to do right but he is tempted by Eve, the evil woman who is thinking only of herself.”
“So you are a whore?”
I wasn’t sure but I had a feeling that he wanted me to hate him. I could feel the tears brewing under my eyelids but I made myself a promise to never cry again. "I wasn’t trying to seduce you, Preacher. All I wanted was to say thank you. You didn’t have to hurt my feelings. "
"Lourdes, you’re funny to me," he chuckled lightly. "You want to play the victim when you’re the one who has control over your life. Does the sad little girl routine work for everybody else? Because it's dead to me."
My eyebrows drew together. "I don't think I'm the victim. I just thought that if you kept me with you, you must want something from me. I thought you wanted—"
"To fuck?"
"It's all I have to offer." I brought the sheets closer to my neck. "Isn’t that what you want? My body?"
As his back remained in my direction, I wondered what he was thinking about. Was it me? Was it the men who were trying to kill us? Or the ones he killed? Why did he seem sad and disconnected?
"Jamal, are you going to say something?"
"I'm done talking, Lourdes. And even if I did want to hold a conversation, it wouldn’t be with you."
Suddenly, I was filled with anger. Who was he to judge me or point fingers in my direction? He knew nothing about who I was, or what I had to deal with in my life. If he didn’t want to take care of me and prevent Holliday from trying to kill me, then I guessed I'd have to take care of myself. Maybe find a way to make it back to home, change my hair and start all over. Maybe Holliday wouldn’t notice me.
So I got out of bed and slid into my clothes.
"Where you going?" he asked.
When I focused on him, he was staring in my direction. There was something about how he looked at me that gave me butterflies and I despised myself for having emotions for him.
"If you don't want to help me, Jamal," I slid into my shoes, "then you don't have to. I'm able to take care of myself, you know?"
"If you walk out that door, I'm done with you." He sat up. "I'm not chasing you, Lourdes. I got enough problems of my own and I don't need this shit right now. Do you hear what I'm telling you?"
"If I leave trust me, you won’t have to worry about me.” I grabbed my briefcase. "I've taken care of myself all my life and I don't need your sympathy."
"You do this all the time don't you? When you don't get your way you run, instead of standing up and facing your issues."
"Again, you know nothing about me. You're just like everybody else. Always jumping to conclusions."
"So am I wrong for thinking you were just about to fuck me? Huh?"
I rushed toward him. All of my life I tried to avoid violence, believing it was wrong like my mother always told me. But I wanted to cause him pain like what I was feeling right now. Who was he to get into my head, and make me feel this way? So I pulled my hand back and smacked him as hard as I could in the face.
"You are an evil, bitter person and I'm so glad to get away from you," I said as I stormed out of the room, leaving him alone.
****
IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE ON BELAIR ROAD
"Holliday, I'm in Baltimore," Victor said on his cell phone as he sat a block away from a major crime scene in a rental car. "Police cars are out here everywhere, man. It looks serious."
Holliday sighed. "So I take it Lourdes is not there."
"I been looking at the scene all night and everybody who lives there–well everybody who’s alive, anyway—was brought out and questioned by the police. The only people in that house right now are the cops. Whoever the nigga is who came out of that house blasting is dangerous, and he might pose a problem. A lot of niggas died out here tonight trying to get at him."
"How do you know they didn't get him?"
"I paid a kid to give me the full play about an hour ago. Apparently the dude’s name is Jamal and he goes by Preacher. Dude said he left that house with enough firepower to start a war. The kid said he got away with some bad ass redbone."
Holliday gritted his teeth and Victor heard it over the phone. "It was Lourdes?"
"I think so, man."
Silence.
"I don't care what you have to do, bring me that disloyal ass bitch! She can’t testify in court against my daughter. She's the only person who witnessed the crime and I need her alive."
"Say no more, Holliday. My men and me will tear down Baltimore until we find her. That you can be sure of."
CHAPTER EIGHT
PREACHER
I lay in the fleabag hotel bed with the constant murmur of voices in my head willing me to find a way out the jam I was in. Once again, fear was my only companion. I had just killed two dudes in self-defense and for hours I had been trying to call my lawyer to no avail; he wasn’t at his office or at home. I would be going back to prison to finish out a life sentence, or worse if I was convicted of double homicide and sentenced to death. My only hope was the security cameras in the house.
“Shit!” I cursed and rolled up into a ball in the bed facing the window. I wished I could wake up from this nightmare.
I heard the bathroom door open and my other problem entered the room, quiet as a kitten, sly as a feline. Instantly, the smell of soap and some other feminine
fragrance enveloped me as Lourdes stood behind me. I heard the ruffling of delicate material as I lay perfectly still. I imagined Lourdes’ heavenly body standing behind me. I imagined the texture of her supple skin, the feel of her body, every curve, and every contour. I imagined her removing her skirt, and then her blouse.
I imagined her.
Then the bed shifted under her weight and it felt like I was sinking into quicksand. I pinched my eyes closed tightly and feigned sleep as I felt the heat of her body, and smelled the scent of her flesh. She eased near me and nestled so close that we were cupped like spoons.
Silence stirred.
Lust spawned.
It seemed like we were one as I felt her heartbeat against my back in sync with my own pounding heart. For a brief moment in time, I thought about turning over onto her, burying myself, all my worries, all my woes, in the succulent folds of her vagina, escaping into her womanhood. Then, reality set in like a bright sun shining on the dark crevices of my mind, awakening me to the dangers that lurked.
Lourdes Beaumont was one of those dangers. She represented everything I was running from, everything I was determined not to be: another damn statistic. Shamika’s face flashed in my mind as I lay next to Lourdes, consumed by her quicksand.
I needed to get away. And after telling her I wasn’t interested in anything she was selling, she stormed out of the room, leaving the door open and the gun on the bed in full view.
I got up to shut the door and watched Lourdes walk down the street on the balls of her feet as if she was happy and carefree. Instantly my heart ached as I spied on her. It wasn’t long before a car pulled over to the side. Lourdes strode over to the vehicle.
I watched.
I’m sure they negotiated pussy, Lourdes’ pussy. For some reason, she didn’t get into the car as traffic passed. Then another chick walked up. It was the same chick who had been turning tricks in the room next to ours. The girl turned and pointed at Lourdes. I slammed the door shut and peered out the window.
When the young prostitute moved, I saw that the driver in the car resembled a dangerous hit man by the name of Victor Hernandez. His specialty was murder by torture; his weapon of choice was a straight razor.
I had to save Lourdes, even though I didn’t want to. So I cracked the door and to my dismay I saw him manhandling Lourdes and taking her into the room next to mine, while the other girl followed. Before long, I heard a horrifying scream.
Lourdes?
****
I grabbed the AK-47 off the bed and tiptoed back over to the window barefoot. I looked out and saw a white cop car in the parking lot. A light, misty rain had begun to coat the city in an ominous gray hue.
I heard the scream again and there was banging on the wall. My heart began to pound in my chest like a bass drum as I continued to strain my eyes looking at the cop car. Were the cops looking for me? Paranoia, had barged its way into my mind as I continued to look out the window with an AK-47 in my hands and a host of noises in my head.
“Jamal, help,” Lourdes yelled.
I opened the door and drizzle of rain pelted my chest because I wasn’t wearing a shirt. The cop car was still there. One of the cops was looking at a computer mounted in the car. I could barely make out what the other cop was doing. Watching me watch him?
I had to know what was going on with Lourdes so I gently set the AK-47 on the side of the door against the wall. I knocked on the door Lourdes had been taken into, and resisted the urge to peek over my shoulder at the cop car.
No one answered the door and I fidgeted nervously. I knocked on the door harder and pounded my fist. My instincts told me to turn around and I did. I looked over my shoulder and both of the cops were looking dead at me intensely. One of the cops was on his radio. I thought about the AK-47 stashed by the door and a lifetime of parole.
“Lord, God, fuck,” I muttered under my breath. What was I getting myself into?
I thought about going back into the hotel room, grabbing the AK and having trial on the street with them crackers.
Just as I was getting ready to walk away I saw the window curtain move in the room. I pounded harder on the door. A face appeared in the window with dark eyes set back into the skull. His head was huge.
“Open the door,” I said doing a nervous two-step. I wanted to walk away. I didn’t feel comfortable with the cops at my back.
“Get the fuck outta here,” the man inside said fogging the window with his breath. Several of his bottom teeth were missing; everything about him screamed hoodlum. I couldn’t tell if he was Victor or not and I didn’t care. He shut the curtain. I did the two-step again and glanced over my shoulder at the cops, one of them was getting out of the patrol car.
“Shit,” I hissed.
My right leg shook as my body shifted into fight or flight mode. I knocked on the door again, harder. This time the curtain opened in a flash and the menacing face reappeared. That’s when I noticed what looked like a splatter of blood on his shirt.
“What,” he said in a thick baritone voice, his thick eyebrows forming an angry line across his forehead.
“Either you open this mothafucking door and let me in or I’ma have them come in.” I nodded to the cop car in the parking lot.
The Latino looking dude’s bushy eyebrows lifted high at seeing the cops and for a fleeting second I thought I saw fear etched onto his face.
The door cracked open. I pushed it with my toe and glanced over my shoulder at the cops. One of them was getting something out of the trunk of the car as the other continued to talk into his radio. The rain obscured my vision. That’s when I heard a woman’s whimper. I nudged the door further with my foot and saw droplets of blood on the carpet and what looked like a bloody ear, the rancid stench permeated my nostrils.
“Yo, Lourdes,” I called out. The guy was no longer by the door.
Again I thought I heard the sound of whimpering. I pushed the door further and that’s when I saw her, tied to a chair. There was blood everywhere and her face had been sliced to mincemeat. The horror of it all consumed me.
I needed a gun.
I needed to get out of there.
Just as I got ready to backpedal, the door suddenly swung opened. I’ll never forget the psycho snarl on his deranged face as he lunged forward, grabbing me by my arm. Instantly lifting me off my feet, he aimed the straight razor for my throat and screamed like a maniac. I grabbed his hand in the nick of time, but his strength was over powering. He slung me across the room, and we knocked over a lamp and landed on the bed with him on top of me. He took his massive free hand and attempted to gouge out my eyes. I howled in agony. My hand was slipping off his hand with the razor in it. He managed to get off a punch to my jaw, making me see stars. His fetid breath was hot on my face. When he reached back to slug me again, I struggled and thrashed more, causing the bed to shift under our weight. We toppled to the floor with me on top of him this time.
In my peripheral, on the floor, I saw another chick’s legs tied to a chair. I heard her whimper through the tape on her mouth as she kicked and thrashed to no avail, her mouth was taped shut. It was Lourdes with terror stricken eyes as she struggled to get lose.
I heard police sirens coming as my hand slipped off his wrist and I saw what looked like a grin on the his face. With all my might, I rammed my head into his face. His tooth cut my forehead before he grunted in pain.
I rammed my head again into his face and then followed up with a crushing blow with my elbow that sent one of his teeth careening across the carpet. He was knocked out cold. I snatched the razor from his hand and started to slice his throat. But instead, I climbed off him with blood leaking from my forehead and slipped in a puddle of it as I made my way over to Lourdes. I cut the tape from her hands and feet and did my best not to look at the dead girl on the other side of the room sliced to pieces. As soon as Lourdes’ hands and feet were freed, she jumped into my arms crying hysterically. I steered her towards the door and peered out. One officer stood in
front of the cop car with a shotgun in his hands and his partner stood at the rear of the car.
They must’ve been waiting for back up. That was the only thing about being considered armed and dangerous; they had to proceed with caution to get to me.
“Hey! You! It’s the police! Stop right there!”
I’m sure they thought it was a hostage situation if they had already identified me.
I pulled Lourdes out of that room and into ours. I had to think fast and move even faster. As soon as we entered, I slid into my shoes, threw on a shirt and picked up the AK-47. Then, I went to the bathroom to break out the window. I had parked the car behind the hotel just in case we had to make a quick getaway.
Lourdes resisted and I damn near had to shove her out the window. Thank God the rain turned into a violent storm that day. With zero visibility, it enabled us to make a quick getaway.
“Where we going?” Lourdes asked as we entered the car. “Where are you taking me?”
“Texas. You wanted me to take you home so that’s what I’ll do. Besides, I need a getaway.”
CHAPTER NINE
LOURDES
Preacher steered the stolen blue Caprice quietly as we set out to drive from Baltimore to Texas on Interstate 81 toward Roanoke. We had been driving for over five hours and I had no idea how much longer we had to go, but I did know I was in excruciating pain. I had a bullet wound on my arm, my face is scarred and I believed the worst was yet to come. My reason? Because I was still with the one man I should’ve probably run from.
When he turned the air conditioning up higher, the frigid air rose from my ankles to my thighs. “Do you mind turning that down some, Preacher? I’m kind of cold over here.”
He glanced at my legs, frowned and turned it down slightly. “Maybe if you wore clothes instead of a hand towel you wouldn’t be chilly.”
“Be real with yourself. It isn’t my lack of clothing that bothers you. It’s the fact that you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of me since I got in this car.” I rolled my eyes.
