"The Mermaid of Mercy Street" Chapter 9 for #TeaserTuesday

This is an entire chapter from my Work In Progress, now titled "The Mermaid of Mercy Street" Comments and criticism are very welcome, as it's definitely a work in progress.



Rollin'

Even with the five-hundred he stole from us, the dead trucker had a little less than a thousand in his pockets, plus a shitty watch.

Sarah decided we'd stack some cash the old fashioned way. Her methods impressed me.

After dark, we drove into a quiet part of New Orleans, someplace I shouldn't be in the daytime. Sarah dressed in a pair of obscene booty shorts and a black spaghetti-strap top.

That's all it took to make her look like a whore, but with buttermilk pale skin and supernaturally red hair, a fresh whore worth top dollar to skeevy perverts.

I didn't like the idea, at first.

"Everything will be fine, Benny," she said.

I said I didn't like the thought of their sweaty hands pawing all over her body.

She told me it was her body, and a little sweat never hurt anyone.

We parked the Buick and walked through an alley to the opposite block. Still early, there were no other girls out, but the first speculative Johns circled the blocks like sharks.

They tried to be discrete, but you could spot it in their eyes. Desperate, haunted, so horny they scanned the sidewalks for the first available drug-addicted hag willing to bargain.

Tonight, they were in for a treat.

Tonight, that hag was Sarah.

She figured they couldn't resist. So plump and healthy, she glowed by comparison to the starving, track-marked, saggy grey mares stumbling through the streets most nights.

I sat down on the bus stop bench near the alley and she sauntered up and down the side street trolling for suckers.

Within five minutes we had our first nibble; a fat, mustached type in a business suit driving a late-model Lexus with the windows down pulled over to holler at Sarah. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I knew the script. I re-hashed it in my head as I walked back through the alley to wait for my cue. It played out the same way every time we ran it.

"You lookin for a party?" she asked.

The John would indicate what type of service he wanted.

"That'll be three-hundred," she said. No matter what they asked for, she quoted three-hundred to start.

One guy, a slick baldy with dark sunglasses, agreed right there. Three-hundred for a half-and-half with an angel like Sarah was worth it. I'd pay it, if I was the type to pay for it. Baldy had five-hundred total in his pocket that night.

The rest of the perverts scoffed at the price. Some drove off without another word. That was okay. Those were the ones that wanted a five-dollar blowjob because that's all the money they had after boozing it up at the VFW all afternoon. I had no time or patience for those losers.

The ones that stayed, to a man, asked, "What can I get for X amount of money?" where X varied from twenty to a hundred dollars. Whatever sum they named, it was about seventy-five percent of what they were carrying, give or take a twenty. The odd outlier was flat broke, or flush loaded.

"Go park over there," she said, gesturing at the alley. "And we can find out." Some of them drove off, suspicious of a trap, but most of them, even our first one, Mustache Man, obeyed with enthusiasm.

I didn't think it would work, that first time. I wanted to rush him with the gun drawn and beat the money out of him. Sarah knew that wouldn't work. We had to take the teeth out before gelding the wolf.

Sarah sauntered over, her hips wiggling in anticipation, and slid into the passenger seat. Mustache man put the car in park and cut the engine. His keys dangled from the ignition, gleaming in the fading light. I could barely make out their conversation.

"You look like my daughter."

"That's creepy," she said.

"Whatever, put your hair in pigtails."

"I need to see some money first, sweetie."

"A hundred to cups right?" he said, slang for fellatio to completion.

"Sure thing, sugar."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen," she said, biting her lip.

"Allright," he said. He licked his lips and his eyes took on a glazed, greedy shine.

He pulled out a fat wad of cash and peeled a single hundred dollar bill off the stack. He placed it on the dash and told her to leave it there till he finished.

Sarah caressed his fat shoulders and legs.

"Okay, big daddy, let's get to business," she said. She put her hair in Swiss Miss style pigtails, and her head disappeared into his lap. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

I got up and stood next to the storm grating at the end of the alley. Sarah caressed his face sensually, covered his eyes, and pulled the keys out of the ignition with her free hand. Before he figured out what happened she grabbed the hundred bucks and jumped out the passenger door.

She tossed me the keys with a chuckle.

"What the fuck?" he said.

"Sorry, baby, not today. Gimme the rest of the money or my brother is gonna throw your keys in the storm drain."

I jingled the keys over the wide grating for emphasis.

The blood rushed to Mustache Man's face as his predicament sank in. Sarah laughed at his growing rage.

"He thinks he's gonna do something about it, baby," she said.

"Just hurry up," I said.

"I'm gonna fuckin kill you," Moustache Man screamed.

I heard the click of the car door latch, pulled the Desert Eagle out of my belt, and pointed it at his face.

"Not today you ain't," I said. I shook his keys again. "You've got to the count of ten. One."

"He's serious, honey, just gimme the money," Sarah said. She leaned in the window.

His upper lip trembled as his spirit broke,and he reached back and pulled the money stack from his pocket.

"Two," I said.

"Bitch, I'm gonna get you," he said.

"Thanks, hun," she said, taking the cash.

She stood up straight and waved the fistful of money in the air.

"Woooohoooo!" she said. "Bye-e." She ran to me, and we jumped into our waiting Buick. I left the keys laying on the sidewalk.

She counted the money as we drove to our next trap spot. Twelve hundred dollars, our biggest haul of the night. We repeated the gambit about ten times in the next two hours at different places in the city, and pulled in a little over five thousand dollars.

Say what you want about her, Sarah knew how to get a guy off his guard. That night, and every night of her life, she left a trail of broken men, clutching their empty pockets and shattered illusions like tattered security blankets.

I couldn't feel sorry for them. We cheated them, but you can't cheat an honest man. Everybody wants love, everybody needs that special contact with another human soul, but not everybody is willing to put the work in. These Johns wanted it the easy way, they figured they could trade a little cash and escape the risk of pain and true sacrifice. They saw Sarah on the block like a rare find, some precious, outcast angel, so far down on her luck they could exploit it for a cheap thrill.

Like a fly to a honeypot, if they kept their nose out of it, they wouldn't get caught.

When the regular whores started prowling and giving Sarah dirty looks, I told her we should call it a night.

"Just one more, Benny, I'm in the zone," she said. I couldn't refuse her. I never refused her.

We picked a suitable side street, got set up, and waited. In thirty minutes, only one grizzled old whore strolled past to cast a withering stare at Sarah.

On the verge of giving up, a black toyota pickup turned into our trap, a younger man with the hunger burning strong in his eyes. He gave me a creepy vibe and I regretted deciding to stay out.

She waved him over to the alley and I took up my post by the storm grate.

The black pickup idled too loud, he must have souped up the engine.

I heard Sarah get into the car, an overpowering wave of deep bass music echoed through the empty streets and became a dull thump as the door slammed shut.

Their conversation was inaudible, and I couldn't reveal myself until she had the keys or our mark might get spooked and bolt. I held my breath and waited for the signal.

Sarah's scream cut through the safety glass above the repetitive rumble of the music. As I rushed to the pickup I heard another sound, the arhythmic thumping of flesh pounding flesh.

The young man held Sarah by her golden-red tresses in his lap with his left hand. With his right he beat her mercilessly anywhere the meaty part of his fist would land.

His mouth moved in time with his fist, I couldn't hear the words, but "Bitch" and "try to steal from me" seemed like the sentiment.

After Chad and the trucker, I didn't even have to think about this one. I slammed the butt of the Desert Eagle against the driver's side window, shattering it and raining safety glass all over Sarah and her John.

He looked at me and said "what the-" before I put the gun against his forehead and pulled the trigger.

A mottled pink fountain of brains and blood sprayed the rear wall of the cab, shrapnel shattering the rear window.

My ears rang from the gunshot in such close quarters, and the incessant pounding of the dead man's music disoriented me. I shot the stereo for good measure. Oppressive silence followed the gunshot.

"C'mon, girl, we gotta go," I said, prying her blood-and-glass covered hair loose from the man's cold, dead grip. It brought new understanding of the idiom.

She blurbled a weak, inarticulate response.

I moved her over to the passenger side and emptied the man's pockets.

Twenty-five dollars and a swiss army knife. Not exactly a windfall. Not at all worth this trouble.

I threw Sarah over my shoulder and carried her to the Buick. I read somewhere that you should never let someone sleep after a head injury, so I tried my best to keep her talking.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothin, baby, everything is fine, we're gonna be fine."

"Hurts," she said.

"Don't worry about that, baby, I got that sonofabitch. Just rest up and stay awake with me."

"I'm tired, Daddy. Did I do good?"

"You did great, baby. You did great. I just need you to help me stay up till we get to the hotel."

I drove for two hours, and stopped at a skeevy motel that boasted COLOR TV, full bar, and a continental breakfast. By the time we checked in she was coherent, but in a lot of pain. I was happy enough she was still breathing and talking.

I picked up a first aid-kit and got her cleaned up. Aside from a deep gash over her left eye and a little swelling that would likely become bruises, she looked allright.

We split a pizza, counted our money, and went to bed.

It was my first night in a real bed since we left Cape Beach, and the last I would enjoy for a long, long time.