PART 3 HERE
“APD, OPEN UP. I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY.”
Smug ass, redneck, white boy cop. His tone implied that he was annoyed, but I wasn’t thinking about that cracker. I had bigger things to worry about. I played middle linebacker my entire life and have been the leader and alpha male in many situations so I understand the importance in not panicking. I’d be a liar to tell you I wasn’t spooked. Here I am on the 17th floor of this luxury hotel with this beautiful, ex-stripper woman who I’ve just fucked senseless, and my heart is beating faster than Escobar when the DEA showed up. There was no way out, ladies and gentlemen. I couldn’t jump, no fire escape, no alternate door, nothing. I couldn’t hide in the shower because everything was glass, wood and marble. Even in hindsight, my best bet was to try and cram my big ass in the safe, but that’s where the cops would’ve looked first. So literally and figuratively, I was fucked.
“Lord please if you get me outta this one…”
She’s scrambling around the hotel room packing all her things when I grabbed her by the arm and informed her that she needed to let me know exactly what the fuck was going on. I’ll never forget the look in those big brown eyes of hers. It wasn’t fear, it was shame. She looked pitiful, like she had been caught shoplifting as a child. I could see that something was terribly wrong and the last thing she wanted was to put me in a situation. Her soul was in turmoil, she was lost. She looked back at me, her eyes teared up, she grabbed my hand and it all spilled out.
“Remember when I said I stopped stripping? I did. I found another business avenue. In addition to all my legal income.. I started escorting. I operate out this hotel and I let these rich men take me on dates as eye candy and have me around and they pay me handsomely. They don’t even want to have sex with me, they truly just want companionship and a nice personality around! I mean it! I don’t have a pimp or anything like that. One of the girl at the club runs everything and makes sure we’re protected, hires bodyguards and everything!”
Escort? Baby I’m confused. My first thought.
“And if they do want to fuck?” I asked..
“I charge them $1,000 a pop and they always tip. But I only did it a few times! Malcolm I promise, I’m so sorry!”
She burst into tears. In that very moment the ghost of Pimp C appeared to me like a dead Jedi and performed his “International Players Anthem” verse. The girl that I was so into was a high priced hooker. I knew something was off but she deceived me into thinking that I was crazy and a being a victim of a patriarchal society. I was crushed, confused and most of all, disappointed. I didn’t have time to feel though, I had to think. Even though the conversation seemed long, all of this happened within two minutes. We were standing there whispering angrily like two teenage boys in the closet of some teenage girls when their father came home.
My mind instantly started clicking. I’m very good on my feet.
If the cops were on to her, I was fucked either way. They see the sex toys and oils on the bed, they think I’m a john. They see me well dressed with a stack of twenties laying around and her running around in lingere, I look like a pimp. I thought of every avenue and possible escape. Anything short of sprinting down the hallway or playing the clueless boyfriend was
invalid. Had to face the music.
I opened the door and the cops moseyed in casually.
Redneck, alpha male cop leans back, rocks forward. Sniffs obnoxiously, looks around, spits tobacco into the trash and beings to speak in a thick, warm country accent.
“We’ve had some reports of marijuana smells on this floor. There are only 5 rooms booked on this floor and Seeing how it doesn’t smell like that in here, we’re sorry to bother you folks, looks like you’re having a nice little staycation.”
I thought we were free and fucking clear. I got up to shake his hand and thank them when a mature, much more northern black cop said “Is that pleasure tape and a fucking vibrator?”
I didn’t panic, but he knew something was up. He stood there and cross examined us. I asked him if we were being detained and he replied “Either you’re innocent or you’re soliciting prostitution. I’m gonna save the paperwork and find out now.” I was sitting there praying that he didn’t find that money in her purse. He asked us names, birthdays, favorite colors, likes and dislikes. I remember his gaze, trying to see if I would break, to see if there was a flaw in my confidence. He tried the wrong one. I could tell that he had some times in his day. Older black cat, salt and pepper goatee, gold chain on, you know? Been around the block. Jamila was the one shaking and fumbling over her words because she was guilty. He looked over the room, looked at the both of us, smiled and said “Keep your heart kid. Have a nice day.”
The officers left and I collapsed onto the couch. She fell into my arms crying and pours her heart out to me.
Malcolm, I swear I’ll quit all this shit. I’ve made enough money to open up a Salon and Spa. I’ll make a comfortable home with you and you can just create, let me give you babies and chase your dreams. Just, give me a chance.
The shit sounds good, but in the back of my head I would always think about her being a prostitute. I should’ve known, the red flags were obvious, but emotion tends to cloud judgement. I should’ve known something was up when I saw the vehicle change. I should’ve known something was up when the puppy was trained to go. I should’ve realized something was up when she made me wear a condom every single time we had sex. She sends me a gift on my birthday every year and calls and checks on me to this day. Tells me that if I ever want to take her up on that offer to come and find her. That no one could love me and fuck me like her. With all things in consideration, What would you do?
– Malcolm the King