by Pynk
“Well, three things. One, the prosecutors have a recording of you speaking to your sister about Senator Darrell Ellington paying Lip Service for sex. A portion of the recording has been erased, but they claim to have enough of you talking to your sister. They said they got it from Darrell Ellington’s stepson. Do you know anything about this?”
Her exhale was loud. She cursed Virgil in her head, knowing she was correct to not trust him. Knowing if he’d turn in his own stepfather, he’d turn her in, too. “No. But if they do, is that even admissible? How do they know for sure it’s me and Midori?”
“They’ll submit the recording to voice analysis experts who will determine if it’s accurate. If it is authenticated, it can be allowed as evidence.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Second, they have been able to track down a payment made to your sister the night she met her killer in that hotel room. The credit to her PayPal account was from Oemor Productions. Oemor is Romeo spelled backwards. That is the business account name of the pimp we talked about, Romeo Butler Martinez.”
Money closed her eyes to steady the vision in her head. She fought hard to focus in order to keep from exploding.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice was now weak. “Go on.”
“And lastly, they have a pink book. It is listed here as having client ID numbers and information about their sexual preferences. It has dates up to a certain point as well as amounts. And it says they received it from your mother. That she mailed it to the detective who’s handling the case. Also, six figures was paid from Oemor Productions to an offshore account in your father’s name, Arthur Watts.”
Money still said nothing. Her blood boiled.
“Are you there?”
With a monotone voice, she stared into nowhere. “So what next?”
“I’m sorry, Money. You need to know that you are going to be arrested. Chances are they will come there and attempt to make the arrest. When this happens, don’t say anything. I’m on my way. If they get there before I do, just make sure that I’m your one phone call. Do you understand?”
“Uh-huh. I have to go.”
She hung up before he did. Her soul felt sold. The road taken in her life was down-spiraling fast, as if she’d jumped out of a plane without a parachute. The anger in her churning gut was deep enough to cause injury. Not to herself, yet, but to someone. There was nothing left to do but take care of the one who found a way to reach out to her family and tear them apart at the seams.
Prison time felt certain. There was nothing left to do but face doom and visit revenge.
She dialed.
He answered. “Hello, Money.”
“Jamie, I’m about to be arrested. Everything has come to a head. I want Romeo killed within twenty-four hours. I have a quarter-million dollars here in cash. It’s inside of the grandfather clock in my living room. I will leave the door unlocked. Come by later and get it. If you don’t hear from me by midnight that means they’ve arrested me, so make it after then. And, there’s twice that much in a safe waiting for you once I hear it was done. Then and only then will I find a way to get you the location and combination. You’re going to have to trust me about the money in the safe, just like I have to trust that you won’t come in here, take the money, and run. Remember—I want Romeo killed within twenty-four hours.”
Click.
Thirty minutes later, after she quickly prepared herself for the inevitable, the doorbell sounded.
She opened the door holding only her driver’s license and cell phone, wearing a burgundy sweatsuit and flats, hair in a ponytail. No makeup.
Two male officers stood before her. One spoke. “Money Watts?”
“Yes.” She stepped outside and closed the door.
“Ms. Watts, we have a warrant for your arrest.”
“Yes.”
“You are under arrest on charges of pandering and prostitution. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by a court of law. Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes.”
The other officer handcuffed her and she went quietly with them down her winding walkway.
Her neighbor across the street stood on her porch and watched. Money walked on, expressionless.
Just as one of the officers opened the door to the backseat of the police car, Money leaned over and vomited along the curb.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
She stood and looked as though it was nothing.
“Yes,” she told him simply. “I’m pregnant.”
She got in the car and was taken to jail.
Yesterday, November 6, 2012, Republican candidate Kalin Graves won the 2012 presidential election. Graves’s running mate, Lois Carter, will be the first female vice president in U.S. history.
Thirty-Eight
Money
Wednesday—November 7, 2012
We the jury of the above-entitled action, find the defendant, Money Watts, guilty of murder in the first degree as charged in count one of the indictment.” Those were the words of the female bailiff who had confirmed the guilty verdict with each of the jurors one week earlier in Manhattan Federal Court, and today was the day of the sentencing. The jury of nine men and three women had unanimously spoken, and after the presentencing reports were reviewed by the judge, it was time for Money to learn the terms of her fate.
She had been held without bail for almost eight months since the officers picked her up from her home that day, taking her in based on new evidence of pandering and prostitution. But within days after the murder was committed, those charges were dropped. In addition, the misdemeanors that would have been filed against Leilani and Kemba as sex workers, and even Money’s mother, Beverly Watts, for answering phones and making appointments, were never filed. And since then, Money still claimed to not have arranged for sex. She consistently denied any involvement in the murder, especially after Jamie Bitters was caught and testified against her at the trial. Her claims remained that Jamie Bitters acted alone after Romeo Butler Martinez refused to pay him for information Jamie provided on Money’s company. And that Jamie broke into her house and stole her cash.
Kemba Price, a witness for the prosecution, was a regular fixture in the courtroom each day. When called to the stand as an eyewitness to the murder, he testified he had been sitting in the car with Romeo, who was distraught over investigations into his own activities, when a hooded man wearing sunglasses walked up to the car, pulled out a gun, and fired two shots, killing Romeo instantly. The man ran, but surveillance cameras captured images of him getting into a black Lexus in a nearby alley and speeding off. Kemba immediately identified the car of Jamie Bitters, Money’s lover, from the surveillance video. The jury bought the prosecution’s claims that Romeo set up Midori to be killed to get back at Money, and that Money was also upset about Romeo buying the pink book from her parents. The jury agreed that Money had enough motivation to have Romeo murdered.
Kemba sat in the front row of the courtroom with both Romeo’s elderly father and teenage daughter, who cried heavily. During her victim impact statement she told the court that she loved her father from a distance. Through heavy sobs, she said he was a good man who didn’t deserve to die. She asked the court for a sentence of life without the possibility of parole. Kemba hugged her and cried often, hiding his face as though it would hide his feelings.
Jamie had pleaded guilty to first-degree murder, weapons charges, and various drug charges. Because of his priors, he was sentenced to life but without possibility of parole because he testified against Money. He had made the hit like she told him to, but never got the call about where to find the half million in cash. He had been on the run after Kemba identified him, but was extradited after his arrest in an undercover drug buy, when he paid two hundred thousand in cash for four hundred pounds of marijua
na in California.
The older black judge told Money in the packed courtroom as he announced her sentencing, “This was a contract killing. It was a murder-for-hire for a quarter million dollars with the promise of more money. This was premeditated. Carefully thought out. Though you don’t have a prior record, this was a cold-blooded hit for revenge. You will dodge the death penalty, but you are hereby sentenced to life in prison, eligible for parole in twenty-five years. You may file an appeal within thirty days. Ms. Watts, if you had not ordered the hit, you might have only gotten six months in jail and three years’ probation if the other charges on pandering had been tried in court, if you had even been found guilty. Evidence is key, but because you took the life of another, you will be in prison for at least twenty-five years. You made the decision. Now you must live with it.”
Money sobbed and shook her head in disbelief, looking back to not see one person in the courtroom to support her. Devastated about losing their case, her attorney hugged her, and Money was taken away to start serving her sentence for her crime.
Coincidentally, this was the day after the new president-elect of the United States was decided by the people. There would indeed be a Republican president, at least through 2016. Kalin Graves had been elected by a wide margin.
It was historical in that it was the first time in history that a white president and a black First Lady would occupy the White House.
Virgil sat in the back of the courtroom that day, even though he’d turned in the audio file to the prosecutors. Money never looked at him. His home and his heart were broken. He did buy the waterfront condo overlooking the East River. He visited Midori’s gravesite every weekend, and even joined the cause to tighten laws against prostitution. He’d sold his hacker program idea for millions and was promoted to vice president of engineering at Google. He was a wealthy man who vowed to share his life and his body with someone someday, even though in his heart Midori earned the title of his first love.
Sugar momma Beryl moved her lover Ryan in. She and Ursula hadn’t spoken since the night Beryl answered Kemba’s cell phone.
Turned out Ursula really did see Beryl in the taxi with Kemba that day. She went after him on purpose, having always felt inferior to her sister. She moved in with Virgil until her divorce was final. She’d then filed a petition to get half of Darrell’s fortune.
Darrell Ellington, the former senator and now reformed sex addict, ended up staying in the home he’d shared with his wife and stepson, and was dating a new, young stripper girlfriend whom he’d met while in Indianapolis for the Super Bowl. It was discovered that he did pay four different escorts over a three-year period. But there was not enough evidence to prove that he actually paid for sex, or that he laundered money, even though a recording had been provided by his very own stepson.
Just another instance of failure to prosecute the rich and powerful. A double standard in the criminal justice system when it came to men and prostitution. Hypocrisy at its height. The arrogance of power. It had gone on for ages, and would continue.
Money was set to do her time, and Lip Service was no more.
Epilogue
Money
Tuesday—December 11, 2012
So, Mr. Big, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. You’d better be careful. They’re cracking down on prostitution out there. I hear that you’re running things in your boyfriend Romeo’s place now. You really did earn that name, as well endowed as you are, but to find out you went out like that, Kemba, in love with a man; wow! Well, what can I say? I didn’t think you had it in you. Oh, excuse me, I guess you did. It’s just that I’m blown away. Oh, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
You should know, we filed an appeal based on lack of evidence, so it looks like I’ve still got another shot. I could get out and give you a run for your money, you think?
A bit of bad news: Mr. Pretty in Pink, Tyler Copeland, was relieved of his duties as New York City’s police commissioner. He’s currently under investigation for professional misconduct.
But a bit of good news is, Tyler and his lovely wife are raising my daughter, little Yardley Elise Copeland. She was born in prison. I suppose that’s just like Leilani, who is now one of the highest-paid porn stars in the world, using her talented jaw as a cash register. God, I hope my daughter doesn’t turn out like her. Bless little Yardley’s heart, she looks just like me, only she has her daddy Tyler’s blue eyes. I guess even condoms aren’t safe anymore. Let alone IUDs.
Mr. Big, did you ever get square with your parents who left you? Probably not. I will say it’s a shame that my fugitive parents won’t even get a chance to see their granddaughter. That’s kinda messed up. They’ve probably gotten new identities by now, what with Dad being a spy and being good at all that undercover crap. They also have all the money your dead lover Romeo paid them for the pink book. You’d think they’d give a damn about their daughter, who’s been wrongly sentenced to life for murder. I mean, I’m not doing well. I’m on meds because of this eleven-by-thirteen, 143-square-foot cell on Rikers Island. My claustrophobia is sending me over the edge. At times I can’t even breathe. The only good thing is that I get to work out. The food sucks. I knew I’d never survive in prison. No dicks. But I bet you could. LOL. I give myself one year before I crack. But surely you could not give a damn about that, right? I mean, you’re big pimpin’ now.
Another person who doesn’t give a damn is Virgil. He provided evidence against his stepfather that didn’t do a damn thing. But it helped to build a bogus case against me. I knew he blamed me for Midori’s death. I could tell, even at the funeral. Fuck him! If he wanted my sister that bad he should’ve saved her from herself and answered the phone when she called him that fateful night.
One last thing, I think I’m about ready to say who’s who from the client numbers in that little pink book. I hope the world doesn’t come undone, but here goes:
Ms. 111—Emma Grier—Retired Supreme Court Justice
Ms. 101—Temeka Palmer—WNBA
Mr. 91—Chris Lavelle—Comedian
Mr. 81—Dr. Feelgood—Can’t remember his name
Mr. 71—Deceased
Mr. 61—Congressman Eric Walters
Mr. 51—Former Senator Darrell Ellington
Mr. 41—Freestylez—Top Rapper
Mr. 31—Can’t remember his name either
Mr. 21—Walter Williams—Head of Homeland Security
Mr. 11—Former Mayor Kalin Graves—Newly elected President of the United States
Ha! Looks like we have a bi President who’s in the closet. Don’t shoot the messenger. You’d like him.
There, I did it. Whew! And the very thing I never wanted to do above all else was expose my hobbyists. But, oh well, what the hell? Never say never, I guess. Wow, these feel like my acknowledgments, but turns out it’s a letter to you, my former employee who turned witness for the prosecution. You big-dick asshole. Oops, sorry! Well, I guess to you the word asshole is a good thing.
I guess I’ve pretty much admitted to the whole escort thing already, huh? But I mean, how much more time can I get? Besides, you can’t believe everything you read, now can you? I guess I should’ve changed the names to protect the innocent. Or maybe I really did, because you know this is a novel. Yeah, I’m smart enough not to write a memoir. I mean after all, I do have that one last chance at an appeal coming up.
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little bit of madam soul cleansing by a not-so-happy hooker.
Ciao.
Or should I say,
until next time?
* * *
This is a woman’s world, but it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing, without a man or a boy!
* * *
Sex-Corting
by Leilani
The Girlie Happy Ending:
The Movie’s Not Over until the Woman Climaxes
Aloha! This is my premiere article for Climax and I’m happy to be part of the Climax family. I believe that talking about sex as opposed to making it s
ome dirty little secret is very important. It’s true that the majority of Climax readers are men, and therefore my articles will be geared toward men, but I ask you to share my information with the women in your lives because women tend to be a bit more uptight about sex than men. We women are supposed to be the virtuous ones who save ourselves for marriage. If we’re not fitting that mold, we fear being judged.
That’s the reason why this article is about the porn industry and women. Porn can be liberating, and it can improve your sex life by increasing your sexual desire through stimulating visual images of positions and techniques that lead to more intense climaxes. One benefit to watching good porn can be that seeing and hearing sex can stimulate your libido, and for women it can stimulate natural lubrication. Plus, it can be plain old erotic for those who focus on their partners while watching the movie, not just focusing on the screen. All of this is true and healthy—but beware when it is used excessively, as in an addictive manner. Moderation is key.
After having been a high-paid escort in Manhattan for a few years, I am now an adult video actress, working in the porn industry in Las Vegas. I was just nominated for three Adult Video News Awards. I was nominated in the categories of Best New Starlet, Best Oral Sex Scene, and Best Girl on Girl.
I have found that women are just as stimulated by porn as men are. Researchers have methodically monitored our genital temperature changes and brain-wave responses and found that women do get turned on by watching people fuck. Imagine that. Women account for 56 percent of purchases at the Climax video stores, and the female audience is increasing. Women are buying more and more porn. And one in three visitors to adult websites are women. Sex on the web makes for easier and more private, instant access for everyone. We women love to watch sex, too, in the privacy of our own homes, though sometimes we won’t admit it. Some women tend to watch porn by themselves and aren’t as comfortable watching it with men, so men may think their women don’t watch it. Well, we do!