The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story

by Simon Wood

  “So?”

  “It doesn’t look like a bargaining tool.”

  “I’m not sure I would agree with you.”

  I removed the padded envelope with the cash in it and placed it on the picnic table between us. I patted the envelope and left my hand on top.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Letting him know we’re here for a reason and to stop pissing around, our butts are cold. Put the piece away. Keep it handy, but put it away.”

  Lance frowned but did as he was told. The gestures worked. Ten minutes later, we were three.

  “Good evening.” Blade emerged from the shadows, pointing a gun. “You with the gun, join your friend with the money.”

  Lance unhooked himself from the table and sat next to me. He launched an angry glare my way for making him put the gun away. Not that it mattered. If Lance had started shooting, we’d be dead. Still pointing the automatic, Blade sat where Lance had been sitting.

  Blade was Native American. He pushed the cultural stereotype by sporting a ponytail that ran halfway down his back. It was obvious that Blade wasn’t a man to be fucked with. It was in his eyes. Even under the scant park lighting, Blade possessed killer’s eyes. I hadn’t known what that meant until I stared into his. I wondered if that was what Lance had seen in mine when he had dragged me off Hope.

  “I realize that we are wary of each other. Neither of us knows what the other is capable of,” Blade said.

  “But we have an idea,” I said.

  “Yes.” Blade pointed the gun at my chest, resting the butt on the table. “I saw what you did with Hope’s corpse. So, I know you are capable of killing.”

  I said nothing, neither did Lance.

  Blade turned the gun on Lance. “Put the gun on the table.”

  Lance flashed another fearsome glance at me.

  Slowly, Blade laid his weapon to rest on the table, but kept his finger looped inside the trigger guard. “I don’t want us to be sidetracked on whether one of us is going to shoot while we’re talking. You put your gun on the table and we’ll leave them alone. And should we need them, we’ll know where to find them and both of us will be equal on the draw. All’s fair in love and war and all that bullshit.”

  Lance did as he was told, laying the gun to the right of him on the table, just out of quick reach. Blade removed his finger from the trigger guard.

  “You’ve brought the money?” Blade asked, turning to me.

  I patted the envelope.

  “Ten grand?”

  “What you asked for,” Lance hissed.

  “Can I see it?”

  I nodded, grasping the envelope. Smiling, Blade held out his hand to take the money. I didn’t give it to him. Instead, I removed the cash and flicked through the wad so each bill could be seen for a fraction of a second before the next took its place.

  “Don’t fuck around. I want to count it myself.”

  “And you will. I want to discuss price.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation.”

  “Well, I say it is.”

  “You’re not in a position to say shit.”

  “Hope isn’t worth ten grand.”

  Disgusted, Blade looked away from me, waved a dismissive hand and sighed. “Speak.”

  “Hope was transgender. Not even a very good looking one. She didn’t generate that much cash for you. She had to chase us down with some line just to be able to pitch to us. There can’t be many who’d want to fuck a guy.”

  “You’re wrong. You’d be surprised how many want to sample a lady man. Eighth wonder of the world to some.”

  “Not to us, pal,” Lance remarked.

  Blade shrugged.

  “I think Hope is worth five grand.” I separated the bills and put the five thousand in the middle of the table.

  “Let me put the situation in terms you understand.” Blade raised an eyebrow but his hand smothered the pile of hundreds. “Okay, Hope isn’t worth much to you. That’s cool. But how much are you worth? The both of you.”

  Lance and I shared a glance.

  “The cops are already putting me through the wringer over this. They know I was Hope’s pimp. They know pimps on occasion kill their bitches. If they don’t pin it on me, they’ll want to pin it on someone. I could give them you two. A forensic lab can match you to the crime, I’m sure. So, I’ll ask you again. How much are you worth, huh? Ten grand sounds pretty slim from where I’m sitting.”

  I tossed the envelope with the remaining cash at Blade. It slapped him in the chest. Catching the money, he flashed a winner’s grin.

  “Nice try, fellas. It might have worked if you had anything to bargain with.” Blade pocketed the cash. “I think that concludes our business. I’ll contact you when I need more.”

  “Hey, no, this is a one off,” Lance said.

  Getting up from the picnic table and picking up his automatic, Blade laughed. “Who said that?”

  “Ten grand is your compensation,” Lance said. “That’s it.”

  Blade tucked the pistol into the small of his back. “The problem hasn’t gone away. The cops are pushing and that means expenses, which you’ll have to pick up.”

  “Fuck that,” I spat.

  “No, fuck you. Next time, be more careful when you kill.”

  Lance snatched up his .32 and aimed it at Blade. I involuntarily jerked away from my friend.

  Blade held up his hands in surrender but showed no sign of fear. “Hey, be cool. This is where things can get fucked up.”

  “Only for you,” Lance said and a spasmodic smile lit up his face. “Only for you, pal.”

  “Do you want the money, huh? Is that it?”

  Lance shook his head. “No, I want you to keep it. I just don’t want you coming back.” His gun hand wavered. Blade latched onto Lance’s fear. The pimp grinned.

  “I can’t guarantee I won’t be asking for more. It’s a fact. We both know it. Now, put the gun away.”

  “No.” The .32 still wavered in Lance’s grasp.

  I don’t think Blade believed Lance would shoot or he wouldn’t have gone for his gun. Blade slowly lowered his hands to his sides, then snatched at his back for the automatic. Blade was fast; I’ll give him that. He had that 9mm out and cocked before I could blink, but Lance didn’t have to do all that. He just had to squeeze the trigger—and he did.

  Lance’s hand wasn’t shaking when he pulled the trigger. It was rock steady. And his aim was perfect. The bullet opened up a hole in Blade’s chest. The pimp crumpled, collapsing onto his back. Lance still had the gun pointed at the spot where Blade had been standing. I snatched the .32 from his grasp. My action jerked Lance out of his shock. We rounded the picnic table to home in on Blade. He wasn’t dead. He breathed like fishhooks snared his every breath. He fumbled for his drawn automatic. The gun was inches out of reach. I kicked the weapon away from him before picking it up myself.

  “Fucking amateurs,” Blade wheezed.

  We had to go. Lance’s shot must have alerted the neighbors backing onto the park, but no one was coming. No one was fool enough to investigate. But I’d guarantee someone had called 911. The problem was Blade. He was finished. Lance had dealt him a mortal injury. He’d be dead in minutes. But in minutes, he might have someone to listen to his dying confession. For both Lance’s and my sakes, I couldn’t take a chance. I aimed the .32 at Blade.

  Blade laughed but it came out as a gurgle.

  “No,” Lance pleaded.

  I wasn’t in the mood to argue. The pimp wouldn’t be my executioner. I fired a single round into his face. The impact whipped Blade’s face away as if he was ashamed of my action. Mercifully, it prevented me from seeing the violence inflicted by the bullet. The second shot raised frantic cries from the nearby houses.

  Kneeling by Blade’s side and pocketing the gun, I said, “Let’s go.”

  “No.”

  I made a bid for the money, but Blade’s blood had soaked the envelope and the bills inside.

  “What?
” I said, stuffing the cash back inside Blade’s jacket.

  “This is too much. Two people are dead.”

  “I know. That’s why we have to get the fuck out.”

  Lance shook his head. “No. It’s time to stop trying to plug the holes and come clean.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No.” Lance flopped back down on the picnic table’s bench seat. “Just tired.”

  “Come on.” I hooked an arm under Lance’s shoulder and tried to move him. In the distance, police sirens wailed.

  Lance shook me off. “I’m not going.”

  “Come on,” I growled.

  He waved me away. “You go, I’ll stay.”

  I stared at Lance, trying to pierce the cloud between the two of us. Resignation made it through the gloom, back to me. I shook my head and rifled Lance’s pockets for his car keys. “Have it your own way,” I said and raced back to the Cherokee.

  “I’ll tell them everything.” Lance’s words chased and caught me.

  I came to a shuddering halt, then stormed back. The siren wails were getting louder, minutes away at most.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell them the truth.”

  My anger and fear became fused and took over. I jerked out the .32 and jammed it in Lance’s face. “You’d sell me out?”

  “Running isn’t going to save us. Honesty is. Look where lies and deception have gotten us.”

  “I can’t believe you want to blow it all, when we’re this close to getting away with it.”

  Lance laughed. “We were never close to getting away with it. And unless we stop, we’ll never be at peace.”

  “You shit.”

  “Mark, you have no idea what it was like when you were in Hawaii. Every day I was searching the papers to see if they were onto us and I started believe we had gotten away with it, until Blade called. Then I thought if Blade was dead, my problems would be gone.” Lance shook his head. “But killing him only starts things all over again. This will never end, unless we end it.”

  I ground the automatic tighter against Lance’s cheekbone. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

  “I have to. I’m a friend and I’m doing what only a friend would do.”

  He wasn’t being a friend. He was being chicken. He’d given in. He was scared to go down alone and he wanted to take someone else along for the ride. Well, I wasn’t coming.

  “Please stay. You know I’m right.”

  Lance was right. If I killed him, I would be running again with more lies to cover up. And in that briefest of moments, it all made sense. I knew what had to be done. I nodded and lowered the gun.

  “You’re right,” I said.

  Lance smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”

  “I do understand,” I said, smiling back. “But I can’t. I don’t have a choice.”

  I jammed the gun under Lance’s jaw. He guessed what I was going to do. There was sadness and regret in his eyes the second before I pulled the trigger, blowing the top of his head off.

  The cops were moments away, but I knew exactly what to do. And, I had to be fast. Using my shirt, I rubbed my prints off the gun and stuck it in Lance’s right hand. I did the same with Blade’s gun. I took a second to examine the scene I’d created. There were more than a thousand words to describe this picture. The explanation was obvious. Lance slumped to his right, gore spilling from the hole in his head.

  I jammed Lance’s car keys back in his pocket, and bolted for the creek that ran through the park. As I piled down the bank, the cops arrived. The creek was dry, as it is for eight months of the year, and I raced along it before the cops had a chance to cordon off the area. I disappeared through a box culvert and when I emerged, I was on the streets.

  I found a bus stop and waited innocently. It wasn’t until the bus arrived that I caught my reflection in the windows lit from the inside. Lance’s blood speckled my face and Blade’s stained my hands. I waved the bus away without the driver seeing my condition and when the bus was out of sight, I walked the streets, keeping in the shadows. Eventually, I found a standpipe outside an abandoned duplex and washed my hands and face.

  I caught another bus and was home before Jane became too inquisitive. I bundled my blood-speckled jacket in the garage. In the morning, I would trash it and replace it. Luckily, the jacket was new and still in the stores. That done, all I had to do was sit back and wait for the cops to come knocking.

  ***

  The cops came to my office late the following morning. I didn’t have to act innocent. Lance’s shootout with Blade had made the local TV news and the newspapers by breakfast. Jane wasn’t a problem. She never watched TV before going to work. I could save the shocking news for tonight. To help give me credibility, I had called the cops when I hit the office, saying I knew Lance and asking for details. Of course, they wouldn’t give me any info but my name was on record as contacting them first. The detectives introduced themselves and my boss was good enough to let me use his office.

  “Mr. Page, we understand that Lance Booth was a friend of yours,” Detective Francis English said.

  English was African-American, a linebacker of a man, but for all his looks, his manner was gentle. He was nothing like his partner, Detective Rick Taylor, who was young and ferret-like with a piercing stare.

  “Yes,” I said. “He was one of my closest friends.”

  “So, you should be able to shed some light on last night’s events,” Taylor chipped in.

  “I wish I could. I was hoping you could tell me something.”

  “You have no information about last night’s incident?” English asked.

  I shook my head. “To be honest, I don’t think I really believe it. It’s hard enough to take in that’s he’s dead.” I shook my head again, lost for words. It was Oscar winning stuff.

  English and Taylor pressed a little harder but without any force. Basically, we shadowboxed, no one throwing a real punch. I played innocent, pretending not to know anything. I pretty much had the play mapped out in my head, but I didn’t want to fumble the ball and give them something that would raise suspicion. I couldn’t blow it, if I said nothing. I asked for details, but they were giving up as much as I was. After ten minutes, we ran out the clock.

  I saw them out. As I threaded them through the office, heads poked up from cluttered cubes. Prairie dog faces scanned me to see if I was a witness or a criminal. To show my innocence, and to highlight that I wasn’t blind, I nodded to some and waved to others. I held the door open and followed the detectives out onto the street.

  English handed me his card. “Call me anytime, if you think of anything.”

  “Of course,” I promised. “Anything and I’ll call.”

  We shook and parted. I returned to my office and told my boss I was taking the rest of the day off. He totally understood. I called Jane to tell her. She was in tears when she answered. I told her I was coming straight over. We’d go somewhere and talk it out. I imagined the scene. She’d cry buckets and I would be the strong one. Holding her, gently rocking, telling her it would be okay. Maybe, I’d even shed a few tears of my own. I would be everything the good friend should be, mourning the death of his best friend.

  Fumbling for keys in the staff parking lot, English’s business card came out. I examined it and grunted. I had no intention of calling. There was no need. I knew they’d be back.

  At first glance, Lance and Blade’s murder/suicide looked convincing enough. But I hadn’t had the time to make the deception perfect. There were loose ends. Even a third rate cop would see the cracks. But I’d taken that into account.

  Oh yeah, I knew they would be back, but I was ready for them.

  ***

  It took them three days to figure out I was full of shit. This time, my interrogation wasn’t a friendly discussion over tea in the boardroom. It was downtown in a utilitarian and musty smelling interview room. They had their game faces on and I declined a lawyer.

  “How dumb
do you think we are?” Taylor accused.

  He leaned over the table at me, all bad cop style. English was totally different. He was at ease, lounging in his chair with his hands resting across his stomach, his bulk flexing the seatback to breaking point. I wasn’t ruffled.

  “We know about the money.” English scanned the case file.

  “You were part of this,” Taylor said. “I can’t believe you lied to us.”

  Not wanting to make eye contact, I examined my hands. I thought of the blood that had been on them, but it was just an idle thought. I stopped listening to Taylor.

  “Facts are building up against you, Mark,” English said soothingly. “Why don’t you tell me something that will help?”

  I hemmed and hawed, wringing my hands together. It was all good theater. I’m wasted in the corporate world.

  “Okay,” I said finally.

  Taylor sat and English smiled.

  “I gave Lance five grand.”

  “What for?” Taylor demanded.

  “He didn’t tell me. He asked me for five thousand dollars and not to ask any questions, so I didn’t.”

  “C’mon.” Taylor threw his hands in the air. “You expect us to swallow that?”

  I turned on Taylor, jabbing a finger in his face. “I don’t know how you are with your friends, Taylor, if you’ve got any, but I stand by my pals and I do as they ask.”

  “Okay, okay,” English said, sitting up. “Things are getting a little too heated. Let’s chill for a second. Okay?”

  I nodded and Taylor exhaled.

  “Good. Everyone’s cool.” English waited for agreement. “Let’s try this again. Mark, when Lance asked for the cash, you just gave it to him, no questions asked?”

  “No. I asked him what it was for. Of course I did. He told me it wasn’t in my best interests to ask.”

  “And you let it go at that,” English said.

  I nodded.

  “Did you have any ideas why he wanted the money?” English asked.

  I looked away. It was impressive stuff. I couldn’t believe how easy I was finding it to lie, and at the same time believe in the lie. At that moment, I could have passed a polygraph I was so convinced of what I was saying.