It had been a very long day, surveilling a nerdy businessman type at the request of his equally worthless wife. But, I’d been hired to do it, so I did. She was convinced that her husband was fooling around on her because he’d been seen in the company of another woman, often, or at least she’d been told. Well, he had, but it was his ex-sister in law, a friend, and nothing nefarious was going on. Truth be told, I always enjoyed it when suspicious married people paid me a ton of money only for them to find out that they were wrong in their suspicions. I was in a sports bar, having dinner and a couple of drinks before I would head home and get some sleep.

How did I end up here? After high school, I joined the Marines, who made me an MP and, later, an investigator. It was a logical fit for a Black, 6 foot 6 inch, 225 pound, 19 year old who had been a high school football linebacker. After four years, I tired of the military’s strict regime, got out, and joined the FBI. I lasted there four years, only to find out that the regime of civilian law enforcement was twice as strict as the military’s. So, I decided to live by my own rules, got a private investigator’s license and now made a living charging way too much money to do things people wouldn’t do themselves. My name is Jacob, but everyone calls me Jake.

From my booth seat, I could see several guys at the bar, watching football games on the wide screen TVs.

So, in walks this redheaded female. She couldn’t have been more obviously a hooker if she had it tattooed on her forehead. Tank top and a short, no really short, skirt that barely covered her ass. She was really pretty, 5 foot 4, long red hair and a little on the skinny side, maybe 105 pounds.

She parked her ass on a stool next to one of the guys at the bar. They talked; he laughed and obviously blew off whatever offer she was making him. I watched to see what her next move would be when the brazen little bitch grabbed his wallet off the bar and slipped it into her purse.

Hooking, I don’t have any particular feelings about since, in my mind, it is a victimless crime. Theft, however, pisses me off. The guy she had been talking to figured out where his wallet went and grabbed her as the bartender was calling the cops. She was screaming that he was hurting her, so I decided it might be time to intervene.

I towered over the guy even with him sitting on an elevated bar stool. I told him to let go of her and I would make sure she got arrested for prostitution. He gauged my size versus his and decided to comply. I retrieved his wallet from her purse and gave it back to him.

I called the bartender over and said, “Look guys. When the cops get here, just tell them that she was soliciting and not about the theft. She’ll get what she deserves that way and won’t end up with a record. I’ll explain why after the cops take her away.”

They looked at each other and, even though they didn’t know me, my tone told them that I wasn’t lying and agreed.

The cops came, took statements from the three of us and left with her, promising to bring her back in an hour or two.

I was left with two puzzled looking men, so I explained. The State had decided that they didn’t want prostitutes walking the streets, but also that prostitution didn’t warrant a criminal record and jail time. So, they had instituted a corporal punishment program for prostitutes. At the jail, she would not see a magistrate, not have bail set, and not get a court date. She will be stripped, strapped down to a spanking bench, and get twenty strokes from an old-fashioned razor strap. Afterwards, she’d be dressed and brought back to where she was arrested - here. Any subsequent arrests for prostitution would result in the same treatment, except the stroke count would go up by 10 for each additional arrest. Eventually, each girl will decide that hooking isn’t a good way of life.

Their only response was “Wow. I’m going to wait around to see that.”

“Just so you’ll know there sport, the law also provides for the john to get the same treatment if he is caught trying to hire a prostitute. Yes, she’s going to be one unhappy little girl the next time you see her, but so would have you if you had taken her up on her offer.” And, with that, I sat back down to finish my dinner and surveillance report.

It was around 90 minutes later when the cops brought her back. She was still sobbing and both hands were trying to rub the fire and itching out of her ass. She was putting on quite a show.

She walked along the bar with the bartender and other patrons laughing at her; I could see she was not only sore, but very embarrassed. When she got to the booth where I was sitting, I said, “Sit down.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you to,” and, with that, she gingerly lowered her sore ass onto the seat across from me.

I don’t know why, but I felt sorry for her and wanted to make sure she was OK. She had gotten the punishment she deserved and now it was time to move on.

“Let me see your driver’s license.”

“Why?”

“Look girlie. You got the whoop’in you deserved and you know you deserved it. Now, I want to try to help you, so choke up the driver’s license.”

The driver’s license said that her name was Lucy and that she was 24 years old. I looked at the license, then looked at her and said, “This is a fake license. How old are you really? And, is your name really Lucy?”

“I am 24 and my name is Lucy.”

“OK, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to start telling me the truth right now or I’m going to call the cops and have them come back and pick you up for using a fake ID. It’s Friday night, so you’ll sit in jail until at least Monday, see the judge, and probably get released for time served. But, you’ll have spent the weekend in jail. Which one do you want?”

She lowered her head and more tears filled her eyes. “OK. My name is Lucy and I just turned 18.”

“See, that wasn’t too painful, was it? Are you hungry?” I knew the answer by looking at her, but asked anyway.

“Yes please,” and I passed her a menu and called the waitress over.

“Order what you want for dinner, but be careful not to order so much that it makes you sick. I can see by looking at you that you’re haven’t been eating regularly.”

She ordered her dinner and began eating. By the way she tried to eat everything at once, I knew she was really hungry and, a couple of times, I had to warn her to slow down so she didn’t puke.