Authors: F. W. Rustmann
“Sure,” he replied. He turned to
the topless barmaid and indicated the 50 Euro note on the bar: “Y’all take a
glass of that flat champagne out of this for Kitty. She’ll drink it later.” He
hooked his arm through Kitty’s and pulled her toward the entrance. “Come on,
baby, let’s git outta here. We’ll have our drinks at the Crillon…”
“She-it, never did see no one in
such a hurry. Lemme git ma pockabook, will ya?” She hurried to the booth in the
rear, mumbling to herself all the way, and returned with a sequined purse.
“Okay, sweet talker, I’s ready.” She looped her arm around Mac’s and led him
out. “Now wha’d ya say yo name was, Sugar?”
“George,” he leered, “just call
me George.” He gave her his best lecherous grin and hurried her out the door
like a man who was extra-eager to get laid. The other girls in the bar watched
jealously as they left. The black girl in the miniskirt and spike heels was
inches taller than the rich tourist in the loud Hawaiian shirt. The hem of her
skirt was about even with the hem of his shirt—they were comical sight walking
out arm in arm. Kitty acted proud of her catch. Mac was proud of his catch, too…
Chapter One Hundred-Three
M
ac took a deep, lung-cleansing
breath when they got out into the smoke-free night air. Kitty offered no
resistance as he eagerly guided her up Rue Froment and away from the noisy
Boulevard de Clichy. They made small talk while they strolled along the quiet side
street. Every hooker has a sad story to tell, and Kitty needed no urging to
tell hers to Mac.
She had come to Paris on the arm of a lecherous militant civil
rights activist almost three years ago. Then, after using and abusing her
during his month-long visit, he left her behind with a chipped tooth, a black
eye, the hotel bill, and no return ticket. She admitted that she had been no
stranger to prostitution before she came to Paris: “Ah turned a trick or two in
ma time back in Dee Cee befo’ comin’ ta Paree, but ah allus picked ma
Johns—neva done it wit no one ah didn’t wanna do.”
She slipped into full-time
prostitution in Paris. At first the money was good and living was grand. She
was a curiosity in great demand. But recently she had fallen on hard times – a long
bout with pneumonia, followed by a nasty infection after a poorly done
abortion, and fewer customers.
Mac felt sorry for her -- three
years can put a lot of miles on a poor hooker, and the slope gets steeper as
the looks continue to fade.
His compassion notwithstanding,
Mac did not forget why he was there. His first goal was to get her away from
the club to someplace deserted where he could interrogate her if necessary. In
the meantime he would put his elicitational skills to work. Elicitation was far
more preferable to interrogation. He needed to find out where she lived and
whether Lim was there. This was crucial. He had to find Lim. Then he would
decide the next step.
She was relaxed now and talking
freely about herself. Mac turned the conversation to now: “You live around
here?”
“Yeah. Coupla blocks from here.
Rue Ballu. Over there.” She pointed in a westerly direction and then realized
she didn’t know where they were going. “By the way, Sugar, where we headed?”
“My car’s parked near here.” He
indicated the direction of her apartment.
“You gotta car! Great, ah hates
ridin’ in the stinkin’ metro.”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Since
we’re so close, why don’t we stop off at your place for a couple of minutes and
you can change clothes? How’s that sound?”
“Wassa matta? You don’ like my
clothes? You don’ like the way ahm dressed? She-it!”
“I think you’re one hell of a
fine-lookin’ young heifer. It’s just that...well...we are going to the Crillon,
you know…”
“She-it! You sayin’ ah ain’t
good’nuf? Fuck’em. Ah be dress jus’ fine.”
“Aw come on, Kitty. Gimme a
break. You walk in there like that and those old farts’ll cream in their
jeans.” He put on his most ingenuous pleading look. “Can’t you just put on a
pair of slacks and a shirt? Please? Pretty please?”
“Nope. No way, José. Ain’t no way
ahm gunna take no John ta ma pad. No way. Forgit it. We go like dis or we don’
go.” She stood in front of him, hands on hips, immovable.
“Okay, okay. I get it. You just
don’t want your boyfriend to see me. Fine. You go in alone and I’ll wait
outside. How’s that?”
“What you know about ma
boyfrien’? Who tell you about any boyfrien’? Ah didn’t say nothin’.”
“Damn, girl, I don’t give a good
rat’s ass about your private life. I’m not tryin’ to pry. All girls have
boyfriends, and you’ve got a right to yours. I just want you to change your
fuckin’ clothes before we go to my hotel. Come on....”
“Well we ain’t goin’ ta ma pad,”
She stopped stock still in her tracks, planting her feet solidly on the
pavement. Her face wore a stern frown.
MacMurphy thought it was about
time to get rough with her, but he first had to know for certain whether Lim
was in her apartment. If he was he would go after him now; if not, he would
have to stake the place out and hit him when he returned. And if he wasn’t
staying with Kitty he would have to find out from her where he was hiding out.
Above all, he didn’t want her to
clam up on him. That would make things much more difficult. Putting his hands
on her shoulders, he looked up into her eyes. “Look here, Kitty, I want you
real bad, and I plan to give you a real nice tip in the mornin’. It don’t
matter to me none that you’re shacked up with some Chinese dude. I don’t give a
rat’s ass about any of that kind of shit. Now, let’s go get those clothes
changed.
Ça va
?”
The look of surprise on her face
confirmed to him that Lim was there.
Good!
Now all he needed was her
address.
“What you mean ‘Chinese
boyfrien’’? Who tell you dat? Angel? That fuckin’ big-mouth bitch! Sonofabitch.
She tole you, didn’t she? Fuck!” she sputtered.
Now it was time to get tough.
He grabbed an arm and spun her
into a narrow alley. She tripped and almost fell over a garbage can, but he
held her up by the arm and then swung her up against the wall. He held her
right hand by the wrist, and his other hand squeezed her throat and pressed her
head hard against the wall. His knee was under her crotch, jammed against the
wall and lifting her off the ground by the pubic bone. It was a precaution
against a knee in the groin from her.
But the precaution was needless.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she began to shake. There was no fight in her.
“Please, please don’ hurt me,”
she pleaded, flinching from an expected blow. “What ’cha want? I didn’t do
nothin’.”
“No, you didn’t do anything, and
you won’t get hurt if you just listen and do what you’re told.” The Texas drawl
and the “George” persona were gone.
MacMurphy spoke slowly and
calmly, but he continued to hold her tight against the wall. He could feel the
heat of her sex against his knee as she tried to wiggle free, and it aroused
him.
A rapist would experience this feeling,
he thought. He knew the
bricks were digging into her skin over the low-cut back of the dress.
She
was helping Lim…she deserved to be hurt.
And then another thought.
Was
this what Lim had felt in his violent encounter with Wei-wei?
The
arousal…the belief that she deserved to be hurt…was this what had raced through
Lim’s mind and body?
The idea that he might in any way be reacting like Lim
immediately doused the heat in him, the fire in him.
He slowly released the pressure on
her throat and crotch, and when she didn’t struggle, he loosened his grip on
her wrist as well. He knew from the look in her eyes that the struggle was
over, but she knew from the look in his that it could get very bad if she
didn’t do exactly as he said.
“Is Lim at your apartment now?”
His eyes pierced into hers, seeking to gauge the truth of her response.
“Yeah,” she sniffed.
“Will you take me there?”
“No...she-it...Ah
can’t...please.... What you goin’ to do to him? He didn’t do nothin’.”
“I’m not going to do anything to
him. I don’t want to hurt him,” he lied. “I just want to talk to him. You can
at least show me where you live, can’t you? What’s your address?”
“Oh shit, man, you promise you
not goin’ to hurt him? No shit?”
Mac nodded.
“Don’ tell ’im I said nothin’,
okay?”
He nodded again.
“Okay, man. Fuck. Wha’d you say yo name was? George? Okay, George, ah
trusts you, but she-it, you know, leave me out of it, okay?” Tears rolled down
her cheeks, carrying mascara in dark, wet streams. She sobbed heavily.
“Okay, Kitty. You said you lived
close by. Now, what’s the address?”
She still hesitated. “It’s...it’s
a couple’a blocks from here. Rue Ballu. Numba 22, fourth floor, apartment D.”
She tried to pull away from him, but he stopped her, held her tight.
“Is that it? You wouldn’t shit me
now, would you?” His face loomed close to hers, fierce, menacing, eyes so
intent that they scared her. “You know I know where to find you, if it turns
out you’re lying. I’ll come back for you, and this time I
will
hurt you…badly.
That’s your address…straight up…no shit?”
“You got it all, man, no shit,
now please lemme go...please, man.”
He ignored her entreaties. “Come
on,” he tugged at her arm. “I want you to show me the place.” He tugged again.
She resisted.
“Aw she-it, man,” shaking
her head, “you be a weird mothafucka’. You said you gunna lemme go.”
“And I will. I’ll let you go.
Just as soon as you point out the building to me. You wouldn’t want me to get
lost, now would you? Soon as you show me the place, you can go.” He gave her
his handkerchief. “Now fix your face and let’s go.” His voice was quiet, calm,
yet firm and insistent.
She knew there was no point in
pushing it any further. She used the handkerchief to dry her face and to blow
her nose loudly. He demurred when she offered to return the soppy cloth to him.
Then she led him through the quiet Paris streets toward Rue Ballu, still
sobbing heavily into Mac’s handkerchief.
They reached the corner of Rue
Blanche and Rue Ballu a few minutes later. Mac looked down the street. It was
quiet, lined with low-rise apartments over street-level shops. Except for those
businesses that catered to the night crowd—a café on the corner, a deli, and a
small fast food joint selling crêpes and sandwiches farther on down the
street—the rest were closed and dark.
Number 22 was about halfway down
the block. The building was a five-story walk-up over a dry cleaning store and
an auto repair shop. They walked slowly down Rue Ballu
and observed the
building from across the street. Kitty reluctantly pointed out her apartment on
the fourth floor. The window was open, and a light was on. The unmistakable
flickering of a TV screen confirmed that someone was inside. Mac’s eyes began
to glow again, and his body tensed like that of a panther that’s sighted his
prey and is getting ready to spring.
Chapter One Hundred-Four
M
acMurphy thanked Kitty for her
help and apologized for hurting her. She was happy to be released, and the 100
Euro note he pressed in her hand seemed to help immensely in easing her pain.
“Now listen carefully, Kitty,” he
said, holding her face in his hands and looking up into her eyes, “I’m going to
go up there and talk to Lim, and I want you out of the area. Go back up toward
Place Blanche. When you get there, go into a restaurant and get yourself
something to eat. I want you to kill at least two hours before going back to
the club, understand?”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded.
“Don’t screw this up, Kitty, or I
promise you, you’ll get hurt. When you get back to the club, you can tell them
you gave me a blowjob in the car on the way to the hotel, I paid you, and you
returned by metro.
Ça va
?” He didn’t think the threat was necessary at
this point, but it didn’t hurt to put a little more fear into her.
“Okay, George. No sweat. Ah’ll tell’em ah got you off real fast. Can ah
go now? Please....”
“Sure. Go ahead. But first give
me your cell phone. You’ve got a phone, don’t you? Then you can get out of
here.”
“Why you want my phone?” she
cried, digging into her purse.
“Just a precaution. I don’t want
you calling anyone before I talk to Lim. I’ll leave it in your apartment when
I’m finished talking with Lim.”
She muttered something that
sounded like ”Thank you” but could have been “Fuck you” and handed over her
cell phone. Then she scurried back up the street in short, wobbly steps. Her
head was down and she pumped her arms, determined to get out of there as fast
as possible.
MacMurphy backed into a doorway
and watched her retreat. When she reached the corner he saw her stop, turn, and
look back down the street. Mac backed deeper into the shadows of the doorway.
When it was clear she could not see him, she crossed to the other side of Rue
Ballu and searched for him from there as well. She then dashed back across the
street and entered the café on the corner.