The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story

by Simon Wood

  THE HOOKER

  A REPREHENSIBLE ACTS Story

  By Simon Wood

  This book is comprised of works of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are factiously used. Any semblance to actual persons, living or dead, real events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2011, 2016 Simon Wood. All rights reserved.

  About the Author:

  Simon Wood is a California transplant from England. He's a former competitive racecar driver, a licensed pilot, an endurance cyclist and an occasional PI. He shares his world with his American wife, Julie. Their lives are dominated by a menagerie of rescue animals. He's the Anthony Award winning author of Working Stiffs, Accidents Waiting to Happen, Paying the Piper, Terminated, Asking For Trouble, We All Fall Down and the Aidy Westlake series. His latest thriller is The One That Got Away. He also writes horror under the pen name of Simon Janus. Curious people can learn more at: http://www.simonwood.net.

  THE HOOKER

  Mark was content to see out his single days with a bachelor party, but his best man, Lance, wasn’t. He insists in sending Mark off in style...in the company of a hooker. It’s supposed to be the last hoorah of a single man before being condemned to a life of marriage, but that all changes when the hooker scams them. Mark's world unravels and a dark side he never knew he possessed spills out.

  REPREHENSIBLE ACTS

  The REPREHENSIBLE ACTS series feature stories without heroes or happy endings in some cases. These stories feature characters that lose their way and may never find their way back. You can’t condone their actions, but perhaps you can have sympathy for their damaged souls. You might find these stories unpalatable, but then again, you're meant to. Don’t judge. No one is immune to committing a reprehensible act.

  THE HOOKER

  My bachelor party came to a bleary-eyed end around two when the bar closed and the refugees of the event, a dozen of my closest friends, spewed onto the sidewalk. The night had been the usual affair of too much drinking, a strip club and the obligatory lap dance. The bar’s security had called cabs for us. As the taxis rolled up, we were all more than ready to go our separate ways, hoping to be sober enough for Saturday’s wedding. Lance, my best man, was the exception. He'd been tossing around his theory all night that it was every condemned man’s duty to bang a hooker before getting hitched. Nobody had the stamina for the last hoorah and everyone tried to shout Lance down, but he wouldn’t stop harping on about prostitutes. The last cab pulled up and I went to get in, but Lance waved it away.

  “Sorry, cabbie. You’ll have to find another fare. My boy, Mark here, still has work to do.”

  The taxi driver shook his head and roared off.

  “We have to find you some pussy, my man.”

  “Lance, no. I’m too wasted to know fact from fiction. I’d be no good to a hooker.” Alcohol wasn’t the reason for my lame libido. It was the fact that sex with a prostitute was something I just wasn’t into. I found something about paying for sex, depressing. Superficial love or lust held no desire for me.

  “Mark, Mark, Mark, you’re letting the team down. You’ve got to. You don’t have a choice.”

  “I’m not interested. I’m getting married. The last thing I need is AIDS or some other kind of dick rot.”

  “Jesus, I can’t believe you’re being such a pussy.” Lance shook his head then inhaled. “Blowjob then.”

  I frowned.

  “Fuck it, dude. Don’t turn your nose up at a blowjob. What can you catch from a blowjob?”

  It was my turn to shake my head. “Whatever.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  So yes, I agreed to the hooker hunt. Not because I buckled to Lance’s peer pressure but instead, betting on the improbability we’d actually find one before Lance lost patience or a hooker would find two drunken idiots as acceptable clientele. I didn’t know much about prostitutes, but my guess was they wanted a simple transaction with an interested party. The last thing they needed was two wasted jerks.

  Lance guided me to his Cherokee. He was just as drunk as I was and I shouldn’t have let him drive, but he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, regardless of how blurred by alcohol they were. Besides, if a cop picked us up, it would be the end of our hooker search.

  We trawled the south end of Delaware Street. By day, it was a bustling commercial district, bristling with office building after office building wedged up against one another. This was where Lance and I, and most of my buddies, worked. But when the sun went down, a different kind of business took over.

  Prostitutes hung out on street corners around the block. The prettier ones clustered under the streetlights. The not so pretty ones used the shadows for cover. If you were innocent, you might have wondered why so many women hung around in clumps, especially when no buses ran down Delaware. But if you had any street smarts, you knew exactly what they were there for. Not too many were dressed like movie hookers, with feather boas and the like, but nothing was concealed. Skirts were a little too high, makeup a little too heavy and stares a little too searching.

  We weren’t subtle about our approach either. Alcohol collided with adrenaline to make a volatile cocktail. Lance powered down the windows and hollered at the prostitutes, spewing infantile abuse that wouldn’t have been acceptable from construction workers.

  “Hey baby,” he shouted. “My man here needs to be blown, real bad. Can you help him out?”

  It wasn’t surprising to see the hookers retreat into the shadows, hurling obscenities back our way. Nobody wanted our kind of business. In retrospect, we were damned lucky that Delaware didn’t have any undercover vice working the street.

  As the parade of prostitutes ended, we turned off Delaware and onto J Street. My euphoria died and I thought my brush with a hooker was lost. But it wasn’t. It was just beginning.

  Lance was slow correcting his turn and wandered across two lanes before getting affairs under control. I have no idea what speed we were going but it must have been slower than I imagined or she wouldn’t have caught up with us. Before Lance had a chance to accelerate, something struck the car from the rear.

  “Jesus,” I said, cowering more out of instinct than necessity.

  Lance slammed on the brakes.

  “Let me in,” she screamed. “For God’s sake, let me in.”

  She was in the street, yanking repeatedly on the rear passenger door handle. She had a decent figure—tall, slim, a little flat-chested, and narrow in the hips, but her face was nothing to write home about, even with God knows how many shots of Jack Daniels I’d knocked back.

  “What d’ya want?” Lance asked, being purposely obtuse.

  But as I think of it now, maybe Lance was playing it smart. Late at night, you don’t know what stunts might be pulled.

  “He’s chasing me.”

  Lance looked behind her. “I don’t see anyone.”

  Panic ravaged her features, making her uglier than she was. She glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Let her in, Lance,” I said, fancying myself as a knight in shining armor. She might have been a hooker, but she didn’t deserve a beating.

  “I just don’t see anyone.”

  Then I did the dumbest thing in my life. If I’d told Lance to punch it right then, the world would have been a different place. But I didn’t. I flipped the lock release on the back door. Why I did it, I don’t know. Maybe I thought I was being a hero, trying to impress a woman, albeit a hooker. Before Lance could react, she had the door open and was on the back seat.

  “Hit it,” she said and Lance did.

  “Wh
o’s chasing you?” I asked.

  “My pimp,” she said.

  The answer wasn’t a shocker and neither was the reason.

  “He wants more money. He thinks I’m holding out.”

  “Where can we drop you?” Lance asked. He was strangely aloof. He wasn’t happy with me, I could tell. The look on his face said he didn’t want to get mixed up in any fucked up business that had nothing to do with him. And I couldn't say I disagreed.

  “The next street.”

  Lance eased the Cherokee over to the side of the street. “Be careful now,” he said without much affection.

  “Thanks,” the hooker said. “I wish there was some way I could repay you.”

  A leer spread across Lance’s face. “Actually, there is something you can do.”

  I guessed what he would say.

  “What's your name?” Lance asked.

  “Hope.”

  “Love that name, Hope,” Lance said insincerely. “It’s my friend’s bachelor party and I promised him a blowjob.”

  “Sixty bucks.”

  I realized we’d been conned. There probably was a pimp, but not one after her blood. She was never going to be the pick of the bunch, not with that face. So, she needed an in, a way of getting a John. And she had one. Who could resist a damsel in distress?

  Lance didn’t care about the con. He’d gotten what he wanted. And the reward was twice as sweet because he could pay me back for my blunder.

  “Sixty bucks for a bee-jay? Fuck that. For sixty, we both get one.”

  She considered Lance’s offer for a nanosecond. “Okay.”

  “Cool,” Lance said.

  I groaned inside.

  “Pull into that alley. I don’t want any cops.”

  Grinning, Lance said, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  He slipped the Cherokee into a litter-strewn service alley. Three dumpsters lined the right-hand side of the alley, which came to a dead end two hundred feet in. Lance stopped half a car’s length from the dead end, letting his high beams reflect off the concrete and back into the Jeep’s interior.

  “Money first,” she said.

  “This one’s on me,” Lance said and handed her three twenties.

  She slipped the cash into her bra. “Don’t look so nervous, baby. Come here,” she said to me.

  I didn’t move.

  Lance leered. “Batter up, pal.”

  I clambered into the backseat, next to Hope, and let her get to work. She unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants. Her hands delved inside my shorts and she pulled out her prey.

  “Oh my,” she said, massaging my dick. “I don’t think your little lady is going to be disappointed on her wedding night.”

  If it had come from Jane, my fiancée, or any other attractive woman, I would have been as stiff as a board. But Hope didn’t summon up those impulses. The whole situation made me squirm. This wasn’t my thing for so many reasons. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

  “No,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I do, do this for all of them,” she said and descended into my crotch, swallowing my shaft.

  “Oh, you go girl,” Lance cackled.

  Even if I was getting my whistle wetted, I wasn’t getting aroused. I wish I could blame it on the booze but it was more mental than physical. My limp libido was fueled by embarrassment and guilt. Here I was less than forty-eight hours from a lifetime commitment of marriage getting a blow job from a prostitute in front of my best friend.

  She stopped when she realized that in spite of all her hard work, nothing was happening. “Don't be shy. Just lay back, close your eyes and let Hope work her magic.”

  I nodded.

  Her mouth descended upon me again. Our gazes met and she winked.

  I followed Hope’s instructions and let my head roll back and closed my eyes. I detached myself from the situation, imagining whose mouth I did want sucking on me. Film stars and singers scampered across my mind, and things started looking up.

  She wanted me for Lance’s sixty bucks and I wanted her for her wet mouth. Hope broke her hold for a moment to mutter a couple of words of encouragement. I placed a helping hand on her head and guided her to a steady rhythm.

  “Don’t wear yourself out, Hope,” Lance said. “Remember, you’ve got me to do next.”

  My fingers weaved themselves into her hair. I was getting close, climax was only moments away and my hand tightened into a fist. Hope bobbed down to swallow me again. This time, my guiding hand didn’t keep time with Hope’s head and I felt her hair come away in my hand. Not just a few errant strands or even a handful, but all of her hair, as if she had been on chemotherapy.

  “Oh, fuck, man!” Lance said then laughed.

  I leaned forward, my eyes snapping open. I was holding a wig. But that wasn’t what caused my dick to shrivel.

  Lance burst into fits of laughter. “Fuck, it’s a dude!” Lance got out between laughs.

  I couldn’t speak. My tongue clung to the top of my mouth, unable to free itself. Maybe I’d been too drunk to see. Maybe Hope’s makeup was too thick. I honestly hadn’t thought Hope was a guy, but I could see it now. Without the wig, any feminine features evaporated. It was obvious Hope was a guy, not a hint of doubt. The worst thing was I didn’t have a clue what to do.

  Hope stared out from my groin with spittle-soaked lips. Panic flashed across her…his…face. The transgender remained stone still. We all did.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic. Christ, I don’t know why I listen to you.”

  “Everybody be cool.”

  “Be cool?” Lance spat. “You’re a fucking guy. You’ve just been sucking my man off and you want us to be cool about it?”

  “Honey,” she said to me, “look at it this way, a mouth is a mouth and a dick don’t care.”

  “I do,” I said. “Get the hell up. We’re done.”

  “And I want my sixty bucks back.”

  Hope edged away from me and towards the door. “I’m sure we can work this out. I’ll give you twenty back. A girl’s gotta eat.”

  “I ain’t after a discount,” Lance held out his hand. “I want my money back.”

  “OK, OK, OK,” Hope conceded and reached into her purse. “You guys need to widen your horizons.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just give me the money.”

  I quickly zipped my pants back up and buckled my belt.

  “Here you go,” Hope said.

  Lance leaned forward between the front seats to take the money. Instead of the cash, Hope brought out a can of pepper spray and blasted Lance full in the face.

  I lunged for Hope, but she slammed a fist into my groin. I doubled over, the pain excruciating and crippling. Hope took this as her escape and bailed backwards out the passenger door.

  “Christ, we deserve this,” I croaked. “You OK?”

  Lance grabbed a water bottle from a cup holder and splashed his face. “Yeah, she didn’t get me too bad.”

  He wiped his face off with his sleeve. Then he froze. “Goddamn it.”

  “What?”

  “The bitch grabbed my cell and wallet.”

  He'd left them on the center console. I couldn’t believe he’d been that careless.

  I didn’t wait for Lance. I grabbed the Club out of the foot well and scrambled from the Jeep after Hope. I don’t know why I went for the Club. When I think about it now, Hope was packing Mace, so I needed something to protect myself when I caught up to her.

  Running was painful. A punch to the balls did that to you. And because of it, I watched Hope extend her head start, even on those ridiculous heels. I couldn’t let her escape.

  I threw my arm back and hurled the damn thing, tomahawk style. It struck Hope in the back only inches from her neck. She went down like a sack of shit. Our prey was down and I swooped in, groin pain or not.

  I grabbed Hope’s arm and flipped her over. She was stunned, managing a groan. She looked ridiculous in that moment—a man pretending to be a woman. What had happened in her l
ife for her to end up like this? It was just sad. This life couldn’t be a choice. I picked up the Club as Lance caught up to me.

  He dropped to Hope’s side, rummaging through her purse. “Where’s my money, bitch?”

  “Fuck the money,” I said. “Just get your wallet and phone.”

  Hope groaned again, seemingly coming to. I thought she was just stretching but she was reaching. Her grasp found a beer bottle half under a dumpster, then she rolled over in one swift move and smashed it down on the back of Lance’s head. It didn’t break, just bounced off his head. My best man crumpled under the blow.

  Hope raised the bottle for a second blow but I batted it out of her hand with the Club. It exploded against the alley wall. I didn’t give her a chance to find another weapon and dropped on top her, pinning her to the ground. She flailed at me. I dropped the Club and grabbed her wrists. What I’d mistaken for a slim feminine figure actually disguised a lean and powerful physique. Maybe it was the booze getting in the way of the adrenaline, but Hope wrenched away my grasp on her. A moment later, her hands were around my throat and squeezing. I tried to speak but Hope’s grip turned my words into a gurgle. Her grip intensified. Pinpricks of light exploded in my vision as the last breath in my lungs stagnated. I clawed at the hands biting into my throat but I couldn’t break Hope’s grip.

  I looked into her face. It was knotted into a grimace intent on squeezing the life from me. Then she noticed me staring and grinned with contempt. Contempt for me and no doubt for everyone who’d contributed to her having to whore herself out.

  “Enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

  I just gurgled.

  “Can't believe a guy was getting you off?”

  Then she did it. She winked. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. There was mockery in that simple little, gesture. It said look at you, big boy, could barely get it up for a girl who turned out to be a dude and now that dude is choking you to death. I’m more of a man than you and I wear a goddamn dress by choice.

  I snapped. Hope had duped me, injured me, robbed me and now shamed me. There was no going back on that. I didn’t think I had an ego, but I did and it lurked in the shadow of that damned wink. I snatched up the Club. Hope was too consumed with strangling me to notice until I smashed it down on her face.