Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [124]
"Marques says Miss Bitch don't have to do this. Just us."
Murmur of voices.
"Well, girls, it seems to me that opportunity is knocking. Here's the way we work it: the trick pays thirty bucks—he gets fifteen minutes. Straight massage, that's a handshake. He wants something more, anything more, that's an extra, got it? The trick pays at the front desk; whatever he tips, that's up to you."
"How much for the extras?" one girl asked.
"You decide. Set your own list. And don't do anything you don't want to do, got it? You turn over your tips to Marques, you don't turn them over, it's not my problem."
"But Marques…"
"Marques isn't running this show. I am. And I run it my way. Now, which one of you turns the hard tricks?"
"That's me." A husky grown–woman's voice.
"What's your name, honey?"
"Bambi."
"Okay, Bambi. You set your prices, you keep the coin. And listen :o me, girl. This is a no–risk gig, you follow me? There's a button in each of your rooms—I'll show you where it is. You hit the button, and we have some nasty men to take care of any problem."
"The guy with the tool belt?" one of them giggled.
Michelle's voice went from sweet cream to barbed wire without missing a beat. "That man with the tool belt, honey, he makes people disappear. You watch your smart mouth, bitch. Your idea of a hard guy's some half–ass nigger pimp with a coat hanger in his hands."
"Hey!"
"You want to get down, go for it. Right now."
The room went quiet.
Michelle let the silence hang. Then she sheathed her claws. "Honey, I've been around longer than this sweet young face shows. Now, I want to treat all of you like the ladies you are. Nobody's going to mistreat you while you work for me. Nobody's going to disrespect you. You work your shift, you mind your business, and you make some nice money. We're just moving the stroll indoors for a couple of weeks, that's all. But anyone gets the idea they can fuck with my friends, they go back to work without a face."
The room was quiet again.
"Okay?"
The girls stepped on themselves agreeing with her.
"Fine. Now, the next thing, we have to put together some portfolios for each of you."
"Like models?"
"Of course, like models. Isn't that what we are? Are we any different from those walking sticks in the magazines? A john comes in, he comes to the desk. We show him the book. Pictures of each of you. He picks the one he wants."
"We don't have to line up?"
"This isn't the precinct, honey. A trick wants to see live skin, he puts his money down. Now, there's five girls, we got nine rooms. The first one, the one near the desk, that's mine. Leave the last two empty, the ones right across from here. You divide the rest the way you want—Bambi, you take the one furthest back. And no fighting! Tomorrow I'll go out and get some decent furnishings. Okay? Now, we are not open for business tonight. You come back, one at a time, we'll put the portfolios together. When we're done, you can hang around or you can split. Be back tomorrow. Four o'clock. We'll work twelve–hour shifts; you leave at four in the morning. Any questions?"
Nobody said a word.
"One more thing. This place is under heavy protection. You'll never see a cop in here. You play this right, it's a working girl's dream."
160
"WHAT'S YOUR name, honey?" Michelle asked.
"MaryAnne."
"Let's lose the black stockings, honey. Your legs are already so nice and slim—the black won't show them off."
"Okay."
"And just a touch more rouge… there! Brings out your color. Now, sit straight in the chair. Cross your legs. Elegant!"
"Michelle?"
"Yes, honey?"
"The guy with the tool belt? The one out front? Boy, you were right about him. He had this jar of water on the desk, fiddling with some locks. Marcy flashed her ass at him, sat on the desk. Asked him if he ever sampled the merchandise. He drops a key in the glass of water, and it disappeared!"
"I told you not to play with him."
"I won't. Does he ever…"
"He's not for hire," Michelle snapped. "Now, flash me a smile."
161
BAMBI WAS the last one