Very Bad Things

Today is the anniversary of this blog. This year will be two years since Jack first introduced me to y'all. It's also my 42nd birthday. So I thought this year I would give y'all a gift. I'm going to step away from the political paranoia and conspiracy post and tell you a little story. A story that had it gone the wrong way I probably would be carving my blog on a prison wall. So get yourself a slice of cake, have some punch and enjoy.

All over northern Jersey there are little motor lodges. They are what you would expect them to be in the larger city's but in the smaller towns they can be quite nice. We used to use the ones in the smaller towns for the incall service. Most of these little motels are owned by people of the Hindu persuasion (is that PC for dot heads?). I had a deal with one of the proprietors of a motor lodge in a little town loaded with corporate headquarters of a lot of BIG companies. I would give Mr. Patel a percentage of what the girls would bring in and every once and awhile he would get a little action for himself (when Mrs. Patel was out of town).

This spot was a gold mine. The executives liked to run out at lunch and get a little, so I kept girls at most of the motels in the area.

I had picked up a new girl in Newark earlier in the day. She wasn't anything special. Really quiet and kind of mousy, plain face, plain brown hair, ordinary body but willing to trade ass for money. On the way to the motel I found out she didn't bring ID, that meant I was going to have to check her in, so we started off bad. I took her to the only place I could put her without having to answer a bunch of questions. We went to see Mr. Patel.

Mr. Patel: "Hello, Mr. Trashman. How are you my friend."
Trashman: "Yo. I got a new girl I need to set up here."
Mr. Patel: "Bring her in so she can check in."
Trashman: "She doesn't have any ID."
Mr. Patel: "OK we check her in as Miss. Smith."
Trashman: "I'll sign for her."
Mr. Patel: "Maybe I'll visit her today."
Trashman: "Don't waste your time. Something weird about her."
Mr Patel: "OK my friend. You know what is best. Room 116. This way I can keep eye on her for you."
Trashman: "Cool."

Now I knew why he wanted to keep an eye on her, it was so I couldn't cheat him on his percentage. I set her up in the room and explained how things worked. As customers called they were given descriptions (not always accurate) of the girls working in the area that they were interested in. From these descriptions they would pick a girl, then they were given the name of the motel. When they arrived at the motel they were to call back from a certain pay phone (for caller ID reasons) if the girl was not busy at the time they were given a room number. As soon as the girl had the money she called in and the timer was set for one hour. After the customer left the girl would call back and the next guy would be sent in. It went around and around like this all day. Sometimes. Sometimes there were problems. Problems like she ran with the money or said the guy didn't show up and ripped us off, or sometimes she quit answering the door. This time she quit answering.

Just as soon as I got word from WBG that the stupid bitch stopped answering the door I rushed over to the motel. She had already done about eight calls and I wasn't about to lose that much money. I looked around for the police before I approached the door (you can't be too careful). The coast seemed clear so I walked up and beat on the door. Nothing. I kicked the shit out of the door. Still nothing. I walked over to the office and was greeted by Mr. Patel.

Mr. Patel: " My friend you are back early."
Trashman: "I thought you were going to keep an eye on her."
Mr. Patel: "Is there a problem?"
Trashman: "She's missed a couple of calls and she's not answering the door. Give me a key."

I walked over, stuck the key in the door and tried to turn it. Nothing, it wouldn't turn, I went back to the office.

Trashman: "Wrong key. It won't turn."
Mr. Patel: "She must have the key in the door on the inside. It stops the outside from being unlocked. I have a special key for that. Come, my friend I will let you in."

We walked back over to the room an Patel used his "special" key. It worked. Now there was a new problem, the fucking chain was on the door.

Mr. Patel: "I'll get a tool and take the chain off. Wait here my friend."

He comes back with a screw driver and snakes his skinny little arm through the door and removes the screws and the chain drops. He turns and looks at me, grinning like an idiot and throws the door open. All I see is a naked blue whore with a needle sticking out of her arm sprawled out on the bed. He must have seen something on my face because he turns and looks in the room.

Mr. Patel: "OH MY GOD SHE IS DEAD."
Trashman: "Shut the fuck up. Go back to the office and forget you ever saw any of this. Don't call anybody. I'll take care of this. Forget it. Just forget it all."
Mr. Patel: "But she is...."
Trashman: "She's not even here. Miss Smith doesn't exist. Get rid of the paperwork. Go. NOW."

Patel ran back to the office never looking back. I looked around to make sure no one heard his screaming, stepped into the room and closed the door. All I could do was stare at the dead naked bitch and think "What the fuck am I gonna do now?" I called WBG with my cell phone. I wasn't about to touch anything in the room. Except I tried to feel for a pulse. The bitch was already cold.

Trashman: "We've got a problem."
WBG: "Did she skip?"
Trashman: "No. She's here."
WBG: "What's the problem?"
Trashman: "She's dead."
WBG: "HAHAHAHAHA yeah right. Quit fucking around."
Trashman: "I ain't kidding man. She's fucking 86. Looks like she OD'd"
WBG: "Oh fuck."

At this point I started going though her bags looking for my money. I was ripping open drawers, closets, lifting the mattress as best as I could with one hand.

WBG: "Find the fucking money."
Trashman: "I'm looking for the fucking money."
WBG: "What are you gonna do with the carcass?"
Trashman: "Get a hold of JJ and tell him where I'm at."
WBG: "What are you doing with the bitch?"
Trashman: "Fuck you man, you don't need to know shit. Call JJ."
WBG: "Fuck you too man. Find the fucking money."
Trashman: "I just did."
WBG: "How much? All of it?"
Trashman: "$2500 that's $900 more than she should have. Bitch was holding out."

Meanwhile a miracle was taking place behind me. The dead was rising.

Dead Whore: "What's going on man?"
Trashman: "WHAT THE FUCK?"
WBG: "What's happening? "
Dead Whore: "What are you doing with my money?"
Trashman : "FUCK YOU BITCH. PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON."
WBG: "Who the fuck are you talking to?"
Trashman: "I'm talking to this fucking zombie."
WBG: "Huh?"
Trashman: "The bitch came back to life."
WBG: "Get her the fuck out of there."
Trashman: "You want to handle this shit?"
WBG: "Fuck no."
Trashman: "Then stop telling me what to fucking do."
Dead Whore: "I want my money, man."
Trashman: "Pull the fucking needle out of your arm."
WBG: "When you're done come back to the office."
Trashman: "Blow me."
Dead Whore: "I don't blow anybody."
Trashman: "Not you, skank."
WBG: "HAHAHAHA later."

I put the bitch in the car and headed for Newark, at the first stop light she had already nodded off and when I hit the brakes she fell into the floor board. I did what any decent person would of done and left her there. When I pulled up in front of her house I threw the car in park and got out. I walked around, opened her door and grabbed her under the arms. As I was pulling her out she came to again.

Dead Whore: "Where's my money, man?"
Trashman: "You were a dead junkie whore, now you're a broke junkie whore, you give me any shit and you're going to be a dead junkie whore, again."
Dead Whore: "You ain't right, man."
Trashman: "Fuck you."

I hope you enjoyed the cake and punch.

Special thank you to micki for the new gravatar. SHE remembered my birthday.