The King and the Courtesan

by Angela Walker

  Garrett nodded and took Mr. Perkins’s arm. Together, they left the room. I wished I were leaving with them.

  Ezekiel jerked a head at one of the men for hire. He swept forward and yanked Mr. Walters to his feet. I put his age around forty, though there was nothing really striking about him. He was slightly overweight with thick eyebrows and an earring that dangled on a little golden chain. Hell, he could have been a customer of mine. He seemed like the type, and guys like him all blended together into one. Now he was sweating and crying, the poorest excuse of a man I’d seen in a while. I felt a wave of pity for him, despite my experiences with his type.

  “Take him to the bathroom and put him in the bathtub,” Ezekiel ordered.

  “No. No, please, Ezekiel, have mercy! I’ll get you the money, I promise,” he cried as he was pulled away.

  His voice cut me deep. I tentatively put a hand on Ezekiel’s arm.

  “Ezekiel,” I whispered. “You surely can’t—he’s so—”

  “Come, Melissa.” Ezekiel grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the bathroom. I instinctively resisted, but Ezekiel responded with another jerk and dragged me along helplessly behind him.

  He took me to the bathroom, where Bruce and the other two men for hire were holding the hysteric Mr. Walters in the bathtub. Ezekiel pulled on two black leather gloves that had been placed on the sink counter. Each went on slowly with calculating precision, finger by finger. When he finally fitted his hands, Ezekiel asked for a gun, which Bruce produced. Mr. Walters was sobbing something, but I couldn’t understand it.

  “Undress him,” Ezekiel said in a monotone. “I don’t want to have to dispose of bloody clothes.”

  Bruce pinned him to the bottom of the tub while the other two stripped him, tearing and cutting the clothing when it didn’t come away easily. I wanted to leave. I wanted to close my eyes at least. But part of me feared repercussions if Ezekiel noticed. Why was he making me watch this? Normally, he kept me out of his business.

  Mr. Walters was finally stark naked, which made him even more pathetic than before. He was pale and soft, with wispy hair on his shoulders and a tattoo of a well-endowed woman on one saggy pec muscle. Seeing him like this nearly pushed me to tears, and I felt like I had to do something. I’m sure the man wasn’t the smartest or most decent specimen, but no one deserved to be murdered like this. He reminded me of my own people, addicted to drugs and always in want of cash. Cash, we were told, solved all. Once we got it, we didn’t know what to do with it. We hadn’t been told to invest it or spend wisely. We were only told it would make us happy. So that’s why we used it for pleasure. I’d had plenty of customers who owed money to someone, and yet they spent money for me, because I helped them escape their miserable prison.

  “Ezekiel.” I strode forward and stopped in front of him. “You can’t do this.”

  “What do you suggest?” His voice was coated in ice.

  “W-well, maybe you can—can punish him or something. Beat him. Add more interest to what he owes you. There must be another solution to this.”

  “So you would suggest leniency.”

  “Yes. Please. Look at him.” The stench of urine hit my nose, and I realized that Mr. Walters was so terrified he had pissed himself. “You’ve terrified him. You’ve done your part. Just don’t kill him. Please. I’m sure he’ll get you the money if you give him more time.”

  Ezekiel looked past me. “Is this so, Mr. Walters?”

  “Yes! Oh, Ezekiel, yes! I will not sleep until I collect everything. If you kill me now, you’ll have lost all that money. If you let me go, I can get it for you. I’m your man. Give me the word, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “You do raise a good point.” Ezekiel raised a hand to his chin.

  “Yes!” Mr. Walters gasped. “Oh, Ezekiel, you are a just man. A good man. If you would give me more time—”

  “Money or time. That is the question. One can’t make a profit without time, correct?”

  Mr. Walters nodded in blind agreement.

  “Then again…” Ezekiel looked at his gun. “I feel like killing something.”

  Then, instead of turning the gun on Mr. Walters, I felt the barrel of it between my shoulder blades.

  I froze.

  “So. It’s you, Melissa, or him. What do you think, Mr. Walters?”

  I tried to turn to look at Ezekiel, but he shoved my shoulder so that I was forced to face Mr. Walters again. Mr. Walters wouldn’t look at me, but I looked at him as my whole body froze. Ezekiel couldn’t possibly be serious. As much as I felt sure Ezekiel was only bluffing, a voice in the back of my head doubted it. He seemed like the type to kill anyone to prove a point, and it wasn’t like I was irreplaceable. He could just sweep up any other whore off the street—most would risk bodily harm to be spoiled like a princess.

  He’s lying, another voice insisted. He had to be. He had invested so much in me. To dispose of me now would be foolish. Despite how convincing he sounded, Ezekiel couldn’t convince a mother her baby was alive when its corpse was lying at her feet.

  “Well?” The gun pressed harder. “What do you think? It has to be one of you. You, who have wronged me; or her, who has done nothing more than stick up for you?”

  Mr. Walter’s eyes wobbled between me and Ezekiel, and his lips trembled. I already knew his answer. So did Ezekiel.

  “Please,” Mr. Walters whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”

  At that, Ezekiel grabbed my arm and forced me back against him, his lips against my ear.

  “See, Melissa? You protect scum,” he hissed. “Next time, you’ll believe me and get out of my way.”

  Throwing me away from him, he raised his gun and fired three shots into Mr. Walter’s skull. My hip struck the sink, and I fell just as I saw blood splatter across the pristine white tile. Mr. Walters slumped deeper into the tub, leaving a streak of red behind. I hadn’t had long to look, but I’d seen half of Mr. Walters’s skull missing, revealing a gooey mixture beneath. I turned my head before I threw up.

  Ezekiel strode out without looking at me, removing the gloves and tossing them onto the floor as he went. After he left the bathroom, Roger slipped in, kneeling down in front of me.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered, turning his back to the men, who began to remove Mr. Walters from the tub.

  “No,” I whispered, grabbing him.

  He put an arm around me and helped me up. I didn’t let go of him until we got to the bedroom, where Ezekiel was calmly removing his jacket and bow tie. Roger guided me to sit on the bed and didn’t let go of me until Ezekiel glared at him. Roger ducked his head and left, closing the door behind him.

  There was a long silence. Finally, I inhaled with a rattle and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Ezekiel didn’t look at me. He glared instead into the mirror across from him. “Next time, I hope you think twice before contradicting me.”

  “I was just—I could—I only wanted to look out for your interests. A man who is alive can at least try to pay you back. That’s fifteen thousand you’ll never get back.”

  “Sometimes you lose a bit of the crop if you prune the branches. But pruning is necessary to make your produce bigger and healthier.” He turned to me. “Do you understand?”

  “I only—”

  “Are you insinuating you understand my work better than I do?”

  “No—”

  “Are you suggesting you’re merely looking out for my finances, not that worm’s well-being?”

  I shook my head, biting my lip.

  “I understand females tend to feel compassion for even the lowest of human beings. However, you are my employee before you are a woman, and you protect my interests above your own. Or did you forget that I help nurture your addiction?” He pointed to the suitcase that sat on the nightstand, the one that carried my dust.

  “No,” I replied softly.

  Ezekiel began to unbutton his shirt. “Am I not good to you?”

  I took a deep breath. �
��You’re very good to me, Ezekiel.”

  Ezekiel stepped forward and stood in front of me. He touched my jaw and turned my face up. His blue eyes were staring down at me, so piercing I could almost feel them burning holes in my skull. Like the holes he’d put in Mr. Walters’s head.

  “Do you understand why I did this? Why I let you see that kill?”

  I shook my head, trying to avoid his gaze without making it obvious that I was.

  “Because sometimes when you give a person everything they want—drugs, riches, food, entertainment—she starts to think she has a right to it. She forgets that it’s all a gift, a privilege. And she must be reminded that what has been given can be taken away if her services are no longer valuable. Do you understand me, Melissa?”

  I understood. He was telling me to keep my mouth shut and do as he said like a good slave. For a moment, I’d forgotten my place, and I’d paid for it. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  I nodded.

  Ezekiel’s hands slid to my neck and he leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss against my forehead. One hand squeezed my shoulder, so I stood, my fingers reaching out for the last few connected buttons on his shirt. His lips fell to my neck while I removed his clothing. For a moment, I missed home, missed my sister, missed my fellow girls on the corner of Kirk and Underwood. Hell, I almost missed Joel and my customers.

  But I shoved all that deep down and forced myself to be calm, complacent, and numb. Because that’s what a good whore does.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 22

  The next day, we were on a plane, headed back to Zinya City—my city—though I didn’t know if I could call it home anymore. Not after living in Ralston, in a penthouse, overlooking the skyscrapers downtown. I finally decided I should call my sister, so after we landed at the small Ralston airport and began to pull into the gate, I went to the airplane’s small bathroom and sat down on the toilet before typing in her number.

  “Who is this?” she asked. It was nice hearing her voice.

  “It’s your sister,” I whispered.

  “Melissa? My God, I thought you were dead! I haven’t seen you—heard from you—in over a week! What is wrong with you?”

  “I was busy.”

  “Busy? Busy? Look, if you’re too busy to call your sister and tell her you’re okay…”

  “I already told you, Mimi. I told you what I was doing and that I was fine. It’s not like I have to call you every day.”

  “You’re with a drug lord, Melissa. Does that title mean nothing to you? God, I know people who were killed by him!”

  “Probably not by him,” I argued. “I mean, it’s not like he runs around killing everyone himself. He has inferiors who—uh—do that for him.”

  “Please tell me when you start trying to make me feel better, because you haven’t yet.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Look. I’m not in any danger. I don’t owe him any money, and that’s most of the reason why Ezekiel hurts people. I just work for him.”

  “You’re his paid mistress,” Mimi sneered.

  She was right, obviously. But I would have preferred that she say it without the condescension. “Shut up, Mimi. Just shut up, okay? I’m sick of you treating my job like I have other options open.”

  There was a slight pause and then a heavy sigh. “I’m really worried about you.”

  No matter what I did, Mimi worried. I didn’t know how to please her any better than I knew how to please myself. In my frustration, I lashed out. “Don’t be. Right now I’m on a private jet because I was in fucking Goddess for a week. Do you understand? This job isn’t exactly scraping shit off toilets. This is—this is everything I could have possibly asked for, and all I gotta do is lie there and pretend to enjoy the sex. And it really isn’t that bad. Ezekiel is attractive and fit. That at least makes it a little better.”

  I could picture Mimi frowning. She was probably at work right now, and the only reason I could reach her at all was because she was on break. “Since when did you become shallow?”

  “I’m just saying. I’ve had way worse tricks, and I got paid a fraction of what I’m getting paid now.”

  “And you say you aren’t in any danger?”

  I gnawed on a lip for a moment. “Not really…”

  “What does ‘not really’ mean?”

  “I mean Ezekiel has hired someone whose only job is to make sure I’m not hurt.”

  “But you’re in harm’s way, aren’t you?”

  “Only once, and I was fine. That was a freak situation. I just wanted to call because I knew you’d be freaking out.”

  “Hell yeah, I’m freaking out.”

  “Would you stop then? You’re being ridiculous. You act like this is the first time I’ve put my life in danger. It’s always been in danger. More so than it is now. Now I have a frickin’ bodyguard, Mimi. One who doesn’t have sex with me. Even better!”

  “I hate it when you joke around like that.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine, and I’ll try to get over there to see you when I can, because I know you’ll want to see for yourself that I’m fine and dandy. Oh, and tell Joel I hate him.”

  “Joel and I broke up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “How long will that last? Two weeks?”

  “I’m serious. I’m done with him. He was cheating on me.”

  Because he definitely hasn’t done that before. “Yeah, okay.”

  Mimi exhaled heavily. “Melissa…”

  “I have to go. I’ll call you when I can, all right?”

  I hung up before she could protest, and I went back to Ezekiel, who was seated near a window sipping champagne. He glanced at me, and I sat in his lap—we’d become pretty good at silent communication. After slinging an arm around my waist, he lifted a grape from his plate and pressed it against my lips. I drew it into my mouth slowly, trying to be sensual. It must have worked, because Ezekiel nodded and squeezed my thigh.

  Roger peeked into the room. “Sir, we’ll be deplaning in five minutes.”

  “Thank you, Roger.”

  * * *

  Nothing of much consequence occurred for a few days. Ezekiel was gone most of the time, and when he did return, nothing unusual happened. I was glad Ezekiel wasn’t a kinky sort of man—he had the sort of personality that often came with hidden kinks. However, for the most part, we did what was within the realm of normal, even if sometimes he could be rough. As long as he didn’t ask me to call him master, I considered myself lucky.

  When I wanted out of the apartment, Roger was there to drive me. I liked hanging out with Roger and I wondered why I hadn’t met more guys like him. Then I remembered I was a prostitute, and the only guys I tended to meet were men interested in my services, not conversation. Of course, I wouldn’t meet guys like Roger, because Roger had himself a pretty wife and a sex life that he got for free. I was a little curious about how he and his wife operated. From what I could tell, he lived almost exclusively at Ezekiel’s penthouse.

  We sipped coffee outside a posh café downtown. I wore a dark gray summer dress, enjoying the cool breeze and din of street music. The city felt alive here, more like a thrumming organism than the rotting corpse of Metro.

  “Bahiya knows I have a rather consuming job,” Roger told me when I asked why he didn’t go home every night. “She allows me to do whatever it takes to pay the bills, and she hasn’t asked many questions about it beyond my vague answers. I think she’d care more if she were healthier and able to spend more time with me.”

  “Doesn’t she miss you, though?”

  “She’s usually too sick to do anything more than nap, read, and watch TV, so it’s not a big deal.”

  “Oh.”

  Roger peered at me from behind his black-framed glasses. “What are you insinuating, Melissa?”

  “Well, I mean, I guess this illness and your job isn’t doing wonders for your marriage, right?

  “Of course not. If she were healthy…” He rested his head o
n a hand. “It would be completely different.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Bummer. But I really respect you for sticking by her and everything. That’s noble of you.”

  “It would be pretty rotten of me to cheat on my cancer-stricken wife. Geez.”

  “I know a lot of people who would do it and not even feel guilty. Hell, they’d feel entitled to sex because their wife couldn’t provide it.” I stared at my hand as I stirred my coffee.

  “I guess you’ve met a lot of creeps like that.”

  I nodded. “Most of the time I don’t know their reasons. But sometimes they feel like it’s necessary to tell me about it. I think it might be because they feel guilty. I don’t know. But their reasons are usually bullshit. Or creepy. One guy asked me if he could call me ‘sport’ and if I’d call him ‘daddy.’” I winced. “I guess some women don’t mind doing that sort of thing, but it just freaked me out.”

  “Was there any time you…I don’t know. Is there any time you actually liked the guy and enjoyed yourself?”

  “Every now and then, maybe. Sometimes the guy is just so lonely, you know? Like…” I took a deep breath. “This one guy bought me flowers. He was the only one who had ever done that. And you could tell he just wanted human contact. Mostly when a guy looks pathetic I don’t care, but this guy was just—I don’t know. That was the only time I felt a hint of a connection with someone, and I don’t even know why. He affected me when no one else did.”

  “Was he a regular or…?”

  “Nope. One time thing. Never heard from him or saw him again. A part of me is afraid something bad happened to him, because he seemed really depressed.”

  Roger gulped. “Geez.”

  I nodded. “At least with most guys, you know it’s about sex. But with guys like him—his name was Jonathan—I wonder if it’s even about the sex. That’s when my job gets sad. I wish—I wish I could have offered him something, but I don’t know what. I don’t think he wanted to have sex with me, but he needed to because that was what he was paying me for. Maybe he wanted someone to talk to, a woman who would touch him…” I shook my head. “God, this is sad. Let’s get off this topic. So, your wife. Has her condition improved at all?”