Pimps are usually easy to locate, but Pud was proving difficult. One of the many
pimps who oversee the city’s whores was a man by the name of Earl Michaels. Earl’s street
name was Monk. I parked my car at a fire hydrant near the corner of Wilcox and Sixth
Street. The whores stroll, or more correctly stand, all along Wilcox Street. You usually
find pimps somewhere close to whores.
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when I spotted Monk Michaels. As pimps
are want to do, he was railing on one of his ladies of the evening. Ladies of the
afternoon in this case, but you get my point.
Most pimps should be taken out and shot, but that’s just my opinion. As pimps go,
Monk was one of the nicer ones. I do not mean to imply he is anywhere near loveable. He,
as far as I know, didn’t beat his whores so that makes him a class act in my book.
Monk dressed the part of a successful pimp from his platform shoes to the lime
green hat with white plumage. He was giving loving instructions to an older white curb
crawler long past her prime.
“I don’t give a shit how many dicks you have to suck,” kindly ol’ Monk was telling
his whore. “I want you to start pulling your weight. You been light every fucking day for
two weeks. You want me to sell your ass to Mexico? You know what you’d have to fuck down
there, don’t you?” He made what he thought was a donkey’s braying sound. “Get your ass to
work and don’t be tellin’ me you’re sick. I don’t give a shit.” Didn’t I tell you Monk was
a sweetheart?
“Give her a break, Monk,” I said as I approached them. The old whore took one look
at me, registered me as a cop and quickly departed.
“What’s up, Deek?” Monk asked. “Hot, ain’t it?”
“Warmed up right nicely,” I agreed. I bet he was hot in his ground length lavender
duster. “You got any idea where Pud might be?” I asked.
“Pud? Hell no. Ain’t seen Pud in a couple of days. Why you askin’ ‘bout Pud for?”
“Police business,” I answered, giving him the stock answer we use when we don’t
know or don’t want to say. “Where does his staff hang out?”
“Staff? My, ain’t you a fancy talker. Pud has his whores working off Wilcox now
days. Down Brad Street and a couple working that area up near the civic center. Won’t do
you no good to go lookin’ for his whores. They ain’t around ‘cause Pud pulled them off the
street.”
“Any idea where they might be working?”
“Naw,” he said with a big shrug. “Something is up, but I don’t know what.”
“Any suggestions who I ask?”
“Darlene might know something,” he said after a few moments thought. “She usually
knows what’s going on.”
“Okay, I’ll try her,” I said. “Monk, if that gal of yours is sick she shouldn’t be
working.”
“What the fuck, Deek? You her union rep? She ain’t sick, she’s just lazy.”
“Maybe so,” I said walking away from him. I knew it wasn’t a good thing to get
between a whore and her pimp and I didn’t know why I was always trying to do so.
Darlene Huff was one of the older madams in town. She was one of the few women in
the pimping trade. Darlene was as tough as a pine knot and she took no shit from anybody.
Whores, other pimps, or customers all were in awe of Darlene and rightly so.
One reason they were in awe was her size. Darlene was big enough to hold her own
with any man. She stood about six feet tall and five feet wide and as strong as an ox. I
doubt that she had ever been considered pretty even as a young woman. She was too big and
too rough to be thought of as attractive. I’ve been told by the old-timers she hadn’t done
well as a whore because she was just too damned intimidating so she got into the
management part of the business. Darlene managed about a dozen white whores and rented
them to her black customers.
“How’s tricks, Darlene?” I asked after I managed to track her down. She was in a
bar located at the edge of what we cops called the combat zone. The combat zone or CZ was
a ten square block area that required cops to go in two or more. Part of the area was
predominately black and a smaller part was Hispanic. In the zone you could get everything
you might want and a whole lot of things you wouldn’t want.
“Fine, Dick-tec-tive,” she answered looking up at me and ignoring the how’s tricks
quip. “What is a fine white boy like you doing in a place like this?” Did I mention that
Darlene is black? Not the yellow or brown hue we’ve become accustomed to calling black.
Darlene is coal black. She claimed to be pure Watusi and I had no reason to doubt her.
“Looking for information, Darlene,” I said taking a chair at her table. “Can I buy
you a beer?”
“You sure can, if you add a shot of whiskey to it. You looking for Pud, Deek?” That
was another reason people were in awe of Darlene. She was as smart as a whip and she knew
everything worth knowing about the zone and surrounding area. I told her I was indeed
looking for Pud.
“I don’t know where he got to,” she said after a surly waitress delivered her beer
and shot. “I saw him and that whore they call Emerald a couple of days ago. They were
coming down the sidewalk over near Wilcox and they were in a hurry so we didn’t talk
except to say hi. Pud looked so scared he was nearly shittin’ himself. Is this about that
bitch that got whacked a couple of days ago?”
“I think it might be,” I admitted. “Do you have any idea where Pud may have gone?”
“Not a clue,” she said shaking her massive head. “But if you want, I’ll ask around
and see if anybody knows and get back to you.” That wasn’t right. While Darlene and I got
along, we weren’t buddies so I knew she wanted something in return. Darlene didn’t get to
be queen pimp by giving anything away. I told her it would be appreciated and waited on
the deal to unfold. I was sure there would be a deal. Darlend downed the shot and chased
it with a long drink of beer and got to it.
“You know Johnny Walker?” she asked. I was sure she didn’t mean the Scotch whiskey
and I nodded. Johnny Walker was the chief black mover and shaker for our fair city.
“Johnny is making a move on my girls,” she said. “Well actually just one of my ladies.
Can you make him leave me and mine alone?”
“Maybe,” I answered. “I thought Johnny mostly left prostitution alone these days.”
“Yeah, he don’t mess with it much, but he’s got his eye on my newest girl. She’s
special and Johnny knows it.”
I considered what I knew about Johnny Walker. I was sure he wasn’t born with that
name and I heard he came out of the Louisiana swamps sometime ago. After fighting and
clawing his way up the crime ladder of success he kept his nose clean as far as the law
knew. Nowadays he didn’t have to commit criminal acts; he hired out to get it done. I knew
he owned several legitimate businesses. I also knew he was on the city council. I didn’t
know it for a fact, but I was sure he was dirty. Oh I just said that didn’t I when I said
he was a politician?
“Why would you want to fight Johnny Walker?” I asked Darlene. “What’s one whore
more or less? You can always replace her, can’t you?”
“If she was just any whore, I could,” she said finishing off the mug of beer with a
mighty belch. “This one isn’t just any whore. She’s one of them things they call an
albino. She’s whiter than white with pale blonde hair and funny looking eyes. She’s so
fucking white she can’t even come out in the sun. That bitch can make me a lot of money
and I don’t want to lose her to Johnny.”
“An albino whore?” That did make her special all right. “Where did you find an
albino?”
“My cousin found her in Texas and sold her to me,” Darlene answered. “Johnny is
putting the heat on me so bad I can’t even bring her out to work. She’s legal, Deek, so
you don’t have to worry about that. She’s twenty years old and has proof. She’s not a
fucking white slave if that’s what you’re thinking. She wants to whore if Johnny would let
her.”
“What’s her name and where is she?” I asked. I wasn’t about to take Darlene’s word
for anything. “I’ll talk to her and see what’s going on.”
“Yeah, figured you would,” she said with a laugh. “Boy Scout like you would want to
see for himself. Her name is Ginger. I’m getting ready to retire and I need this gal to
peddle her lily white ass for me so I can have enough money to retire on. Come on and
I’ll take you to her.”
One thing I noticed right off was Ginger was not an albino. Not in the strict sense
of the term. She had the milky white skin of an albino, but her eyes had pigmentation.
They were a startling green.
Ginger Wadley had a Texas driver’s licenses that showed she was twenty years old.
She had the body that backed it up. That girl was built like the proverbial shithouse.
“Darlene, I’m bored,” she said when we entered the apartment where Darlene had her
hidden. Then she saw me. “Oh, good you brought me a customer. He’s white, but I’m horny
enough to take a white dick.”
“He ain’t a customer,” Darlene said. “He’s a cop that’s going to help us get you
back to work. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t being held against your will. Ain’t
that right, Deek?”
“Yes,” I said giving the pretty young woman a closer look. She was wearing a
shapeless dress but even so, she had shape. I’d guess she had a thirty-six set of tits and
more than likely in the double C or maybe even a D cup.
“I sure ain’t here against my will,” Ginger said. “But if I don’t get some meat
soon, I’m headed back to Texas. I know I can get some black cock there.”
“Like the gentlemen of color?” I said.
“Don’t much care if they are gentlemen or not,” she said with a laugh. “Just as
long as they got some cock for me. I’m tired of fucking myself and I want a real man. How
about you, mister cop? You want a free ride?”
That answered the questions of legal and willing plain enough. I was tempted, but
declined her offer. Not because I was married, because Kate and I had an understanding.
It was because that ghost white woman scared me a little because in her desperation she
could do me bodily harm. I left Darlene and Ginger telling them that I would talk to
Johnny Walker.
Johnny wasn’t hard to locate. I found him in his office across from city hall. I
was admitted after only a short wait. When I told him why I was there he laughed.
“Hell yes, I want that girl,” he said. “My God, man, have you seen her? Who
wouldn’t want her?”
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