King of Swords

The diner was close to deserted as usual. He counted four other people. In the window booth near the entrance, a woman with short grey hair and a bright yellow T-shirt, nibbled on a bagel, while the man opposite her was shovel ling scrambled eggs and toast into his face and talking at the same time, spraying his plate with debris. Right at the very back were two other customers — a black man dressed up like Arthur Ashe, and a broad-shouldered white guy in a leather jacket, despite the stifling humidity outdoors.

After she'd served him the first time, Corrina had come back and told Carmine the white guy stank so bad she wanted to heave. He'd sprayed the inside of her wrists with the little bottle of French aftershave he always carried around with him, telling her it would ward off any evil stench. He'd held her hands and blown the perfume dry on her skin, looking her straight in the eyes as the alcohol evaporated.

He'd watched her olive skin blush purple as that little bit more of her gave in to him.

'Stinky Man no drink iss cafe,' Corrina said as she put together a clean cup and saucer, and added the spoon she'd picked up off the floor.

Ś'Maybe he was so loaded he mistook this place for a bar,'

Carmine said.

Corrina laughed and walked over to the end of the diner with the coffee pot in one hand, the crockery in the other.

He checked her figure out some more as she walked down the aisle. Unlike most white girls, she had real ass, high, round and firm like a black woman's. Nothing a man liked more than an ass like that: the better the cushion, the better the pushin'.

First he'd change her name to something commonplace, forgettable and untraceable. Next, Sam would break her in and break her down. He'd teach her to do absolutely everything she was asked to do and never say no. And when she was good and ready, he'd put her to work.

The way he saw things was very simple. In his world all women were potential hos. He rated them by looks and earning potential and categorized them by playing card suits. Tn order of superiority: Hearts, Diamonds, Clubs and

Spades. No royalty, no faces and strictly no jokers — just numbers.

Corrina's starter Games would be with rich old white tricks who had boats named after the trophy wives they'd lost their houses to the year before and crushes on their teenage daughter's best friends. They'd treat her real nice and gentle, purr all poetic and gaga through their drool and their dentures. The sex would be undemanding but uncomfortable, what with having to pretend she was getting the monster fuck of her young life under all that soft wheezing blubber. She'd learn to work them like cash registers.

She'd call them 'Big Daddy' and nickname their temperamental peckers 'Tonto' or 'Hot Rod' or 'Big Rocket' or sumsuchshit. She'd learn to feign love and attentiveness and interest, and in the process she'd grow a hard heart.

Then she'd move on to her rightful place, the escort circuit — aka the Diamond Trail. Her tricks would be younger high rollers, the ones who rented girls out for the weekend.

Starting price for a Diamond was $850 per day for a basic weekend rate, an extra $250 per day on holidays. The prices were for the girls only and excluded accommodation and transport. Carmine insisted his Cards travel and stay first class all the way, unless the trick was renting a villa or sumsuchshit, but if they could afford to do that then most likely they could afford to upgrade their Card to a Heart as well.

Hearts started at $2,000 a day, and they were worth it.

They were perfect in every way, like God had designed them from a wet dream - faces out oiElle and Cosmopolitan, bodies out of Playboy and Penthouse. Corrina was almost there, but not quite. Her face had a touch too much wetback about it, mostly around her mouth, which sagged slightly at the bottom when she spoke, showing too much lower gum and betraying the barrio paddling in her gene pool. He could see that side of her becoming more prominent in her looks as

time went on, because one thing about the life he was about to lead her into was that it always brought out a bitch's true nature, no matter how much make-up and affectation she buried it under.

All things working out as intended, he'd keep her in play until her looks peaked. She'd already told him she'd lied about her age to get this dogshit job. She was really seventeen, not twenty-one. That didn't matter. With the right clothes and make-up, she could easily pass for twenty. And at the age she was now, provided she kept herself in good shape, avoided drink and drugs and didn't eat too much, she could be a cash cow for at least seven or eight years.

When they were done Diamonds either left the Game outright and split back to the shitholes they'd run away from, or else they carried on. He busted the lingerers down to Clubs and made them work the hotels and uptown bars.