The Mustang's aggressive growl responded to every twitch of my foot on the accelerator, as if the pony car was signaling its readiness to launch. I looked around and saw a boney waif like woman in a hoodie, waving at me from the shadows. Not a fucking chance babe. There was a woman across the street who didn't look too bad, but she was a blonde. Been there, done that, got the claw marks all over my heart to prove it. A couple of fat women, looked like they were ready to eat me, or at least my car. Sorry ladies, not my cup of tea. Then I heard it, a shrill scream from further up the avenue. There was something about the timber of the voice that got my attention. On a whim, I jerked the wheel to the left as I punched the pedal and the car veered into the turn lane. I shot ahead of the cars nearest me until I got a closer look. The redhead with the fowl mouth was in trouble. Two guys who looked like they were late for a frat party were trying to pull her into their Subaru.
"Hey," I shouted at them, gaining their attention. They saw me getting out of my car. I wasn't big or menacing in any way, but the seriousness of my approach made me seem, not worth the trouble I could bring them, so they bolted.
As they let go of her arms, she was still trying to pull away from them and the sudden release sent her sprawling on the ground. I stepped over to her, to help her to her feet. She just looked at my outstretched hand as if it was a snake.
"What the fuck do you want?" she asked in a pure no nonsense tone. "I was fine, I didn't need your help. I don't know why you bothered because you're not getting shit outta me."
"Why are you out here?" I asked her. "Your attitude is so shitty, you aren't going to make any fucking money. It's like you're trying to drive people away from you." I turned to walk away and noticed a line of cars coming over the bridge, heading our way fast. They were unmarked, but from their appearance and the way they were moving, I was sure they were cop cars. Without saying anything I abruptly started for my Mustang. She got up and came after me. It was like one of those jungle movies where one antelope bolts because it senses a predator, and without knowing why suddenly the whole herd is moving. As I closed my door, I looked at her and then opened the passenger door. She got in and we zoomed away from the curb spraying dust and dirt in our trail. I kept one eye on the road ahead of us and one on my rear view mirror. As I expected we were less than three blocks away when the scene behind us erupted in a spectacle of blue lights and sirens.
"How did you know? Are you a cop?" she asked looking at me suspiciously. "I didn't proposition you. No money was exchanged or offered."
"I'm not a cop," I said, hopefully ending the conversation.
"Then what the hell are you doing cruising around in this neighborhood?" she asked looking at me. "You don't look like you need to pick up hookers. So that means..." she pulled her jacket closer around her body and subtly moved a bit further away from me.
"So that means what?" I asked intrigued, by her.
"That means that you're looking for something that a normal girl can't do or won't do," she began. "I should have known; the nice looking ones are always the biggest fucking freaks out there. I don't do any of that weird shit, so you may as well just let me out, right here."
"So what do you do?" I asked, "What have you done? Probably not much because you still look relatively fresh. Except for your shitty attitude, you still seem like you don't belong down here either."
"Why are you asking me all of these fucking questions? Are you a reporter or something? Just pull this fucking car over and let me out or else." She said.
"Or else what," I snapped.
The silence inside the car was only mitigated by the satiated growl of the Mustang's engine. I sped up as I went down the ramp onto the freeway. Within seconds we were closing on a hundred miles an hour. I obviously wouldn't have to worry very much about cops since probably half of the department was back there arresting whores, pimps, johns and whatever else they could find.
I could tell that she was terrified by this new turn of events, so I decided to play up the fear factor.
"If you're a good girl, you might survive this," I told her. The look in those incredible green eyes was one of pure terror. Serves her right, I thought. Anyone who's attitude is that shitty deserves a little bit of ribbing every once in a while. Then as we drove, I felt guilty. Her attitude was probably just a defense mechanism that she'd developed in order to survive. Life on the streets and on the block in particular couldn't have been easy.
20 minutes later I reached into the glove box and pulled out my remote control. She winced as my hand got near her legs. What kind of a prostitute is afraid to be touched by a man? Something wasn't right here.
As we got near my building I pushed a button on the remote and the garage door on the side opened up. We drove inside and the door started to close and the interior lights came on. I parked between my red Jeep Cherokee and my Black Mustang GT. I got out of the car and opened her door so she could too.
There was a whooshing sound as the big heating fans came back on to reheat the interior of my loft. They automatically did this every time the garage door opened. I had another door that opened from the inside of the building, but I hardly ever used it. It was much more fun to simply drive straight into my living room. I stepped off of the plastic coated garage flooring and onto the plush carpeting of the living room area and took her hand and pulled her with me.
She looked around the loft, intrigued by what she saw.
"Okay mister, what do you want from me," she said quietly.
"A simple business proposition is all I need," I said. "Isn't that why you were out there? What I want might not be what you're used to. But I'll pay you a price that's beyond fair. And who knows you might like it." I watched her reaction as I spoke. She was sitting on the edge of one of my leather sofas, as if she was afraid to even sit back. Something that I had just said got a reaction from her but I didn't know what.
Suddenly she was crying and begging.
"Oh please mister, please just let me go. I'm not really a whore. I didn't even want to be out there. I just figured that I could just give some guy a blow job to get enough money to eat, and then go find a shelter. I'll never go back out there again. Please let me go!" she whined.
I just started laughing and almost fell off of my couch. Then I looked over at her again. The way all of that beautiful red hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders was incredible. Her eyes, even now when she was terrified, simply defied description. The smattering of freckles on her cheeks, that cupid's bow mouth, I couldn't help it, I just wanted to reach out and hug her and tell her everything was going to be fine. But I couldn't. I didn't know how she'd react.
"So much for the tough streetwise prostitute," I smirked. "Hello to the frightened little girl."
"I'm not a little girl," she snapped, "I'm twenty three God damned years old and I've been on my own for a while. And I am a prostitute." She pouted, as if it was a mark of pride or shame I couldn't quite tell which. She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small documents, one was a faded and now expired Drivers license from Muskegon, Michigan. It verified her age as 23 years old 2 days ago. The other was a copy of a ticket for solicitation. Also from 2 days ago, it must have been a hell of a birthday, I thought.
"So how'd you get popped, Miss Prostitute?" I asked her. I was really interested in hearing this. Maybe it was the warmth of my loft but before she could answer I heard a loud growling sound. It wasn't coming from me, those coneys weren't that bad.
"Come on into the kitchen Miss P," I said gently reaching for her. She was still afraid but maybe something in my manner or tone told her that I wasn't going to hurt her right then, because she accepted my hand and let me lead her into my kitchen area.
I unfortunately didn't cook much, although I had been known to grill a mean steak, and even toss a salad occasionally. In this case my lack of culinary expertise could be overlooked. I opened a cabinet full of Campbell's Chunky soup. I looked at her and then back at the cabinet and pulled out a can of my favorite, Sirloin Burger. I popped the top and then poured it into a bowl, While it cooked in the microwave, I got a Pepsi from the fridge and put it in front of her. Then when the timer went off I gave her the soup and a spoon.
"Sorry, it's all I can come up with on short notice," I said. She just nodded at me and continued eating. She finished the entire bowl, and looked really satisfied. But she didn't say anything, she just looked at me. Obviously the next move was mine.
"I don't have any clothes here for you, but If you want to take a bath or shower, I can give you some of my things to wear while you do. Then maybe we can have a talk and you can tell me about yourself." I said quietly.
.... There is more of this story ...