AK 08 - "HR"

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AK 08 - "HR"

Postby FSF Sail » Sat Nov 19, 2016 4:01 pm

“Lookit dat sh!t,” Marcellus spat distastefully. It was raining again. The sky was slate grey, robbing the streets of what many would call a paltry claim to color, at best. F#ck, everything was grey….even the girl who shivered on the corner. His girl.

He knew the drill. Take a sh!tty, rainy day like the past two, throw in that cold wind off the river, and there wasn’t a John in town who’d drop his fly for a throw in the alley. Winter was gonna be cold as f#ck this year; he’d have to lay all his bitches up in rooms and do the leg work his damn self. Most of the other players had already made the move, but Marcellus Crisp was holding on til Thanksgiving. He was working it….working his corners hard, making bank. Old school. And nothing could piss him off like sight of a ho just markin’ her time out there. “Skinny lil’ white bitch,” he growled. “Gon’ set her a$$ straight, right now!”

At sight of the gleaming black Escalade, Melinda, a.k.a. “Desiree,” immediately opened the damp fur jacket, revealing the hyper short cocktail dress that had become her uniform for the past three months. Her skin pimpled with goosebumps in the chill air as she attempted to force a smile for the man who’d become both savior and chief tormentor. Today wouldn’t be a good one. “Hey, daddy!” she greeted him, her voice quivering from the cold….or was it the fear?

“How much?” he demanded as he strode around the Escalade. “How much you earn?” Eyes blazed with impatience as she fumbled inside her bra with shaking hands. A few seconds later, he had the wad of cash, the bills slipping with precision through well accustomed fingers. “Four hundred dollars?” He glowered down upon the girl. “This a joke? You playin’ with me, girl? What I’m gon’ do wit four hundred dollars?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she stammered. “Nobody’s out. It’s the rain….it’s the cold…”

“I tell you what it is!” Marcellus retorted angrily. “It’s that goddam coat! I seen you, all buttoned up tight...gotcher sh!t all covered up so nobody can see it.” His eye tracked the street. Wouldn’t do well for a man of his stature to be surprised by some punk thought to knock off a pimp. “Give it over.”


“The coat! Give it to me!”

“But, daddy!” the girl cried. “I’m cold!”

“You cold?” Marcellus demanded. “You cold?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her about, and roughly directed the fledgling hooker into the nearby alley where she plied her trade. Behind the concealing bulk of an overflowing dumpster, he shoved the frightened girl against a grimy wall of blackened brick. “You cold, huh?” Marcellus whispered as he hiked her skirt upward. “I’ma warm you up, good.” Might as well, he thought as he undid his fly. She wasn’t usin’ it to make him any damn coin…

“Your man on the inside,” the signs read. “Elect Sam Carnahan for District Three Councilman.” The election was a week old; campaign posters displaying the confident, grinning new councilman were starting to peel from the walls. As he stepped back to the corner, Marcellus glanced at the tattered paper remnants. He didn’t pay much attention to who won or lost elections. Didn’t matter. Both parties were good for business. “C’mere,” he gestured toward the girl who made her timid exit from the alley. Marcellus removed her earnings from his pocket, peeled off a rumpled twenty, and shoved it into her tiny hand. “Go grab a bite,” he said, pointing toward the Happy Falafel down the block. “Get cleaned up.” Marcellas Crisp strode to the driver’s side of the Escalade. The big SUV’s lights flashed with a loud chirp as he fobbed the locks open.

“Thank you, daddy,” the girl piped up, attempting cheerfulness behind eyes made puffy from tears. But it was better. He’d let her keep the coat.

The pimp’s eyes widened, his expression threatening as he pointed a long index finger her way. “Make me some money!” he demanded. The Escalade’s gold rims lurched into motion, carrying him to another corner, another girl in his stable. Power. Punishment. Grace. A street pimp used all three to keep his bitches in line and, his profit margin up. Little Desiree got a dose today. Marcellas knew when he spun by to pick her up in three hours’ time that she’d work it hard to get that green. “Keep ‘em in line,” he muttered under his breath. Something he’d learned from his father...how to run the stable, keep the girls working it, for a place to sleep and just enough money to keep ‘em on the leash.

Most of his girls had this figured out, too. Thirty-five...forty years old...no penthouse calls or high rollers for them anymore. As they got older…..rougher…..their options diminished. Some fetish porn, some kinky stuff….but after that, it was two choices. They could go to the freaks...the ones who’d bust ‘em up….or, to the streets, to find protection with pimps like Marcellus. That’s the life. He didn’t make the rules. He just made sure that his cut was covered.

Desiree was his new girl...a little different. She was young...tight. He never bothered to ask her age, or where she came from. She sounded redneck, but that wasn’t what her tricks were buying. Then again, he thought, she was a sweet little taste. He might just lay her up at his crib for the winter….personal stock.

The Escalade turned right, running East on Seventy-Fifth Street toward Beacon Place. Four bars, two of them all nude, some pizza joints...and lots of alleys for the girls to work. Even during sh!t weather like this, he had five bitches on the corners. “They better make f#cking bank,” Marcellas whispered as he passed a dark alley. If they didn’t? Well, he’d already gotten it wet. There were other ways to show them his power, and his punishment……

Something slammed into the windshield...something hard. “‘Da f#cK?” he shouted, incredulous as he swerved. The big SUV jumped the curb, grazing a fire hydrant as it plowed headlong into a mound of plastic trash bags. Fuming. Marcellus launched himself into the street. Enraged eyes darted up and down the block in search of the cause. He then looked his ride over. “Sh!t!” he swore at the cracked windshield as he maneuvered past the trash heap. There stood the hydrant, whose side nozzle now pressed into the back passenger door, at the end of a lengthy crease. “Son of a bitch!” Marcellus shouted into the gathering darkness. He picked up the offending object….a skateboard…...and then flung it furiously to the pavement. “I FIND OUT WHO DID THIS,” he raged, “I’MA KILL YOUR A$$!!”

“That would be me.”

The pimp whirled at the sound of Amber’s voice. For a second, fury was replaced by incredulity as he took in the sight of the diminutive Latina punker. “Who the f#ck you think you are?” he demanded.

She smiled. “Think of me as “Amber from H-R.” I’m here to talk about your girls.”

“F#ck you know about my girls?” Marcellus accused. He advanced upon her, his towering height normally an intimidation. Strange enough, this little bitch didn’t budge.

“I know you’re gonna start treating them right,” Amber replied. “From now on. Standard cut, indoor work starting tomorrow, no more abuse….” Her words were cut off by a firm backhand to the jaw. Amber sailed back, her body tumbling to a hard landing upon the sidewalk.

“You f#cked up,” the pimp growled as he moved on her. “Now I’m gonna f#ck you up.” He bent toward her, one hand extended to lift her by the lapel. She had an appointment with his fist. Was gonna be a long meeting.

Amber’s tongue probed her lower lip, tasting the copper of her blood. “You know what?” she asked, her damaged lips pursing into a predatory smile. “You just made my f#cking day.” With a sudden leap, she was on her feet. Two metallic clicks announced her batons locking home. “I like a man who makes himself clear,” she purred.

“You’re gonna love this,” Marcellus growled. The right fist shot in, a jackhammer blow that missed it’s mark, yet still came away split and bloodied, the first baton victim. She recoiled, arms set and tensed to reward his next assault with pain. The diminutive woman circled to his left, just out of arm’s reach...but not his feet. Marcellus fired a roundhouse kick, intended to strike the small of Amber’s back. For an instant, he thought he connected. Her body flew upward, legs tucked in as the backflip carried her aloft. Electric shocks of pain ignited in both his kneecap and ankle, as the batons struck in unison. “Son of a bitch!” Marcellus cried as he collapsed against the Escalade. He struggled to find footing..now he had a painful leg to protect. The little mohawk chick was poised, ready to go at it again.

“Don’t worry,” Amber said smoothly. “I haven’t broken anything….yet.”

Marcellus couldn’t see the eyes behind those glasses, but the prim little smile on her face set him to boil. Enough of this bullsh!t. She was little, and he was close. He might catch a couple more hits, but all he had to do was endure for the half second it would take to get her throat. He sprung, hands out to protect and clutch….grab her by whatever he could find. All that proved to be was empty air.

The first baton smashed into Marcellus’ ribs. Instinctively, his arms jerked inward to protect from another body blow. He’d lost all sight of her..could hear the tiny body moving close, but the sudden impact with his teeth sent echoes of screaming, disorienting pain throughout Marcellus’ skull. “Oh, yeah!” Amber Kryptonite exclaimed as his open mouth spattered blood. “This is much better!”

“Bitch….” was all he gurgled, before a Doc Martens boot landed squarely in his solar plexus. Now gasping for air, Marcellus Crisp staggered backwards, before collapsing into the trash pile. His hand jammed into his coat, then withdrew hastily. For a moment, the gold plated Desert Eagle waved threateningly toward his attacker. He’d put this sh!t down right now… where was his gun? He heard the dry snap, the brittle sound of tree branches breaking, before a fresh wave of pain rocketed up his right arm. “My hand!” Marcellus now wailed through swelling, bloody lips. “You broke my f#cking hand!”

The skatepunk avenger now stood over him. The pimp lay at her feet, clutching his fractured hand. She lifted the gilded handgun into his view. Marcellus froze as Amber hauled the slide, followed by the unmistakable click of a round being chambered. Suddenly, she was atop him, her knees pinning his arms as the golden muzzle pressed to his left temple. “Now,” she whispered, “you tell me. We gonna talk, or do you wanna dance some more? Only one step left,” she smiled as the gun prodded just before his ear.

“Talk,” the street pimp sputtered. “Let’s talk.”

“Good,” she grinned sweetly.. “Let’s do this in my office.” At her coaching, Marcellus backed the wounded Escalade into the street, before parking in the alley. In the passenger seat, Amber draped the gun casually over her thigh as she commenced negotiations.

“Forty percent,” he agreed to his future take.

“Indoor work, starting tomorrow,” she replied. “And from now on, when it’s raining or below fifty degrees. Right?”

“Right,” the pimp nodded his head.

“And most important,” Amber levelled an index finger, “respect. No more threatening. No more slapping…..and especially, no more tapping, unless you ask nice and she says okay. We clear on that?”

Marcellas exhaled through his nose, as his whole body seemed to deflate. “Yeah,” he said in resignation. “We clear.”

She smiled. “You’re doing great, Marcellus. I appreciate it. Your girls will, too.” Amber produced her cell phone. “One more thing,” she said, holding it before his sullen countenance. Shaniqua Tyler’s smile glowed from the screen. “You seen her around? Anybody working her?”

The street pimp studied the girl’s image, then shook his head. “No. That’s some young talent there. If she’s workin’ the trade, she’s a party favor.”

Amber leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

Marcellus Crisp turned his head away. He glanced out the SUV’s window as he spoke. “Big money. High end...way high end. Kinda people whose game you don’t f#ck with, if you wanna wake up tomorrow.”

“Out of your league,” Amber suggested.

He snorted. “Miles out.”

“Okay, so how do you know so much?”

“I don’t,” he said. “You just heard it all.”

Amber nodded her understanding. “Alright....so where’d you first hear it all, Marcellus?”


Yo Kryptos, helped my girls out w the boss - mgmt's a lil bit sore but we good! No video tonight but look at those smiles! Peace! AK

A grinning Amber was in one corner of the group selfie. Joining her were four of Marcellus Crisp’s prostitutes. Hands covered their faces, concealing all but their delighted smiles.

“Great picture,” Carla’s voice fought to compete with The Clash’s “Career Opportunities” in Amber’s earbuds.

The rain had stopped, but the good soaking it delivered offered clean streets. The wind picked up, brisk, from the Northwest. It was already cold, threatening to get much colder overnight. Amber Kryptonite powered a long downhill stretch, leaning into the icy wind…...enjoying the ride. “Yeah,” she agreed, “we had some good laughs. They were a fun bunch of girls.”

“Thinking about a job change?” Lupe teased.

“No commentario,” the skatepunk hero quipped. “Any luck with Marcellus’ lead?”

“Called,” the older sister replied. “Left a VM. I’ve Google searched. Got a search algorithm on her with city and state. Running her name on the dark web right now, too.”


Career opportunities, the ones that never knock,
Every job they offer you’s to keep you at the dock,
Career opportunities, the ones tha ne-ver kno-o-ock!

“Hey,” Lupe said as the song came to it’s abrupt end, “I found a tune today that reminded me of you. Wanna hear it?”

“Who’s it by?” Amber asked. Considering the fact that Lupe was all about Katy Perry and Selena Gomez, she felt a justifiable sense of concern.

“Um….” the older sister answered, “Dire Straits? Do you know them?”

Amber reached the bottom of the hill, swerved across the street, and kicked off for speed. “A little,” she said. Go ahead. Play it.”

….I seen a girl on a one way corridor,
Stealin’ down a wrong way street...

A steady drum beat, cool organ, and some clever guitar announced the story of a girl who ruled her urban world with music, and the wheels beneath her feet. Amber smiled, her hips taking the beat as Mark Knopfler sang an anthem that touched her core.

….The roller girl, she’s takin’ chances,
Just love to see her take them all...

Another gun, waved in her face tonight. Another chance at not coming home. She fished in a jacket pocket, removed the ammo clip taken from the street pimp’s gun, and pitched it into a sewer grate. She didn’t know Marcellus’ girls….until one of them asked for her help. She didn’t know LeVonn Deakins, until they’d stared death in the face together. She didn’t know Shaniqua Tyler, but Marcellus’ words tweaked a recurring twinge of fear for the girl.

“.......kinda people whose game you don’t f#ck with, if you wanna wake up tomorrow…...”

These people...who called out for her. All these people she didn’t know. Weighed down, pushed around by policy, abused by authority, endangered by the cruel games of those who held money, power, both. People on the bottom end. Her people. Sharing this place….this city that lived and pulsed within them all. This home. It made no sense, but as she weaved and dodged around the people on the street, Amber realized that the feeling didn’t have to be rational. It was a part of who she was. It defined her role within this great living organism. And she loved it.

….No fear alone at night,
She’s sailin’ through the crowd…..

“Oh yeah,” Amber Kryptonite grinned as humming wheels carried her through the city. “Oh yeah.”



"Career Opportunities" by The Clash, from their self titled album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZOrkPIZ1JU

"Skateaway" by Dire Straits, from their album "Making Movies": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAYcBNAu6ik
FSF Sail (Just Dan)
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