Kill Whitey

“Crabs,” Darryl said. “You can get those. Little fuckers crawl right into your underwear. Don’t matter if you kept your clothes on.”

“She was shaved. There wasn’t anywhere for crabs to hide.”

“Sure there was. She had ass hair.”

Jesse and I laughed.

“For real,” Darryl said, grinning. “Bitch had hair sticking out from between her ass cheeks. You could braid that shit, it was so long.”

“No she didn’t,” Yul mumbled. “You fuckers are just pissed because she liked me better than you.”

Jesse’s laughter turned to howls. “What the fuck have you been smoking, Yul? Tonya didn’t like you. She liked your money. That’s all. They’re strippers, dude. Working girls. She likes you as long as you got green. And when your wallet runs dry, then she fucks off and likes somebody else. Don’t make it into something more.”

“Well, she seemed nice.”

Darryl lit a cigarette. “Of course she did. That’s her job. Be nice to the customers. And she’s nice to every motherfucker in there, long as they got money and don’t touch her. You want something more than that, you want love and sharing and shit, then you gotta wait until you get home to Kim.”

“And if you want to keep Kim around,” Jesse said, “then clean that glitter off your face and clothes.”

Yul flinched. “Oh, man. I forgot all about that! What if she sees it?”

“Relax,” Darryl said. “She’ll be at work by now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So just wash your face and do a load of laundry. She’ll never know a damn thing.”

Jesse grinned. “Unless you talk in your sleep, that is.”

Yul got quiet again. He stared out the window and didn’t respond while Jesse and Darryl continued to tease him. Just sat there taking it, looking guilty and despondent. I felt sorry for him.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, trying to distract their attention from Yul for a little while, “that Sondra was something else. God damn…”

“Yeah,” Jesse agreed, “she about the finest piece of ass in that place. Built like a brick fucking shithouse.”

“But it’s more than that,” I said. “Did you notice how she works the crowd? How people react to her? Her mood was like…infectious. You could see it as she passed by each table. People’s spirits lifted. Their laughter got louder, their smiles bigger. Like she made their day better just by being there or something. Maybe they weren’t even aware of it. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe she didn’t either. But I did.”

They were silent for a moment, staring at me, expressionless. Then Jesse kicked the back of my seat and Darryl chuckled.

“Larry done turned into a poet and shit.”

“Fuck you, Darryl.”

Jesse kicked the seat again. “You got it bad, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “She’s incredible.”

“You gonna try to tap that?”

I shrugged.

“Better wrap your shit twice, if you do. No riding bareback with her.”

“Why?”

Jesse sighed. “I told you before, man. Sondra was a ho. Yeah, she’s nice and all, but that don’t change nothing. She worked in the massage parlor. And they ain’t just giving out hand jobs in there. They believe in a real happy ending—the full ‘sucky-fucky, me love you long time’. And some of those girls turn tricks in the club, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was still doing it there, too. Anybody can get laid at the Odessa. Even Yul.”

“Hey,” Yul shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jesse ignored him. “All you gotta do, Larry, is find a girl that’s willing and then pay her for the ‘Forbidden Dance.’”

Darryl flicked ashes into the ashtray. “The Forbidden Dance?”

Jesse nodded. “Yep. Pay four hundred bucks and they take you in a back room and show you the secrets of the Forbidden Dance. It’s a code and shit. Means you want to get laid.”

“For real?” Darryl sounded intrigued.

“Most definitely.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “I can see tricks being turned at a massage parlor, but a strip club is a lot more high profile than that. If it was true, the cops would shut them down.”

“Ask Lou Myers.”

“Lou Myers is an ass-clown.”

“Yeah, but he knows his hoes, too. Dude spends like half his paycheck on them every week.”

I grunted. “It’s easy to understand why. Lou’s never met a Big Mac he didn’t eat. I’m surprised the fat fuck can get laid at all.”

“I heard that. But he does get laid. And he does it at the Odessa and the massage parlor. And the cops don’t do shit about it because they get laid, too—along with some money on the side. Think about it. Why you think a dude like Whitey Putin brings these chicks over from Russia? It ain’t just to dance. He gets them turning tricks. Doesn’t have to pay taxes or health insurance or give them paid holidays. It’s the perfect set-up. And if his stable runs dry, he can always order up some more girls.”

“So—Whitey’s a pimp?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know for sure. I only know that he’s connected and that you don’t want to fuck with him. According to Lou, he finds these girls in Chechnya, Georgia, Armenia, and shit.”

“Georgia?” Yul frowned.