by Stacy Green
“Eat up. We’ll talk business after the meal.”
The steak was tender and the salad divine, but I barely made it through without running for the bathroom. The act was taking a toll. The bloody juice oozing from Preacher’s barely cooked steak and the innocent face of the busboy battled for attention until they bled together, making me half dizzy. I pushed my unfinished salad aside. “I’m so full.”
Preacher slowly chewed the final bite of his rare steak. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and then set it aside and motioned for the waiter to refill our wine glasses.
“I hope you enjoyed it.” Preacher said as the server left.
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
I shifted in my seat, hoping he’d take the hint that Lily was anxious. I also needed some fresh air.
“On to business.” Preacher’s soft voice strengthened with authority. “I have an established network of gentleman looking for quality female companionship. And right now I’m looking for quality females to fill that need.”
Quality females. As if our gender were no better than produce at the market. Keeping my expression neutral was excruciating. “Exactly what kind of companionship?”
“Whatever the client needs. These are professionals looking for a distraction–a release–from high pressure lives. Some may just want good conversation. Others may expect more. Our ladies will need to be willing to comply.”
His word choice sent another wave of fury through me. I inhaled slowly. “Well, what if one man wants to talk and the other wants,” I rubbed the side of my neck, “more? Do they pay the same rate?”
“I like the way you think. Yes, they do. That way if they change their minds during the course of the meeting, the fee is covered.”
“And what if the female isn’t comfortable with certain requests?”
Preacher shrugged. “She’s always able to say no. But unsatisfied clients would likely result in no more bookings.”
He spoke so smoothly, without any struggle for the right words. I wondered how many times he’d had this conversation, or if he changed it when he convinced young kids to allow men to violate them for a fee.
I chewed on my lip. “How would I get paid?”
“The clients pay our fee directly, through a private online system. They’ll pay you in cash. We set the fee.”
Of course they did. “What if they don’t pay or try to cheat me?”
“Then you let me know immediately, and I’ll handle it. We’re running a fair trade.”
“Women who do this sort of thing sometimes get physically hurt.” As if he cared. His concern would be limited to the quality of the merchandise. Men looking for high-end call girls didn’t appreciate bruised up women.
“It’s a risk, but I don’t believe it’s a very large one. My boss has many connections and screens the clients himself.” He preened, stretching his arm over the back of the booth.
Now we were getting somewhere. If I could just get a first name, it would be a start. “It’s not your company? What sort of connections could ensure my–the ladies–safety?”
“I’m essentially the operations manager,” Preacher said. “As for connections, I can’t say. Just know that he has them. And we’ve got a good track record.”
Good track record meaning you have your street prostitutes and trafficked kids under control, and now you’re confident in branching out to a more socially acceptable form of prostitution.
I cocked my head to the side. “But I thought you were just now expanding into this form of human relations?” I forced a giggle at the pathetic innuendo.
Preacher didn’t laugh. Instead his expression turned stony. “You’ll have to trust me. Either you want to get out of your parents’ house and make some real money, or you don’t.”
It was evident he wasn’t used to answering a lot of questions. If he was telling the truth and actually looking for higher-end girls, he’d have to show a lot more patience than he did with his street girls.
Lifting the glass of wine to my mouth, I twitched my fingers, making the liquid slosh against the glass. “Exactly how much money?”
“For you? As a beginner-in-training? Eight hundred dollars an hour. You’ll get more as you gain repeat clients.”
So grown women made less than the boys he was selling. Kids are the highest commodity. I widened my eyes until they hurt. “That’s a lot of money.”
His snake charmer smile might have scared another woman, but its appearance had the effect of tossing fuel on a burning fire. I counted to three before voicing my next question.
“How does your boss find the clients?”
“I’m not allowed to answer that. Just know they are rich men with no violence in their pasts.”
I twirled my fake hair again. So not regular street johns. Preacher and his boy were going after a fresh market. “Okay, I know I’m pushing, but this is all so new to me. How are you paid? Like, would you be considered a,” I glanced around and lowered my voice, “a pimp?”
His upper lip curled, and he sat back with a sharp huff. “That’s really offensive, girl.” His silky smooth veneer slipped on the last word. “You think I beat my women and keep them on dope and barely give them enough of a cut to eat? Cause that’s what a pimp is. You think that because I’m black?”
“Oh no, no.” I started waving my hands again. “I just thought that’s what the men who found the clients were called. I didn’t know!”
“Well,” he adjusted the lapels of his shiny suit jacket. “You did grow up sheltered.” The polished Preacher had returned, and I had little doubt he believed the lies he spewed. He’d convinced himself he was different than the rest of his kind so he didn’t have to face the consequences of a shattered conscience.
Just like me.
My confidence faltered, I felt my expression sink to my shoulders. Preacher rattled on.
“So now you know. Pimps are pigs. I’m not forcing anyone to do anything, and I want the girls to be paid a fair wage. So we’re all happy. No drugs involved.” He scowled again. “Anyone on drugs is out, period.”
Mind spinning, I nearly forgot I was playing a part. I stared at Preacher, trying to figure out what he wanted to hear. The trucker’s face snapped into my memory, his froggish voice pleading for mercy. My reasoning why he didn’t deserve it, why I was justified. What was his name? Had I already forgotten?
“Don’t freak out now.” Preacher peered across the table at me. “You look like you’re about to faint. I’m just saying, I don’t like to be called a pimp.”
A pimp. That’s what we were talking about. Somehow I sucked myself out of the void I’d been swinging over. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Apology accepted.” Another wide smile revealed nicely capped teeth. “You’ve got an innocent thing going on. I like that. And so will my clients.”
Still foggy, I pretended to think about it. Preacher waited patiently, arrogant grin firmly in place. He liked being in this position, I realized. When Kenny and I saw him on the street in Strawberry Hill, he was clearly a follower, just a link in the chain of command. Now he was the boss, for all intents and purposes. The only person he answered to was an unknown phantom. Maybe Preacher was the real boss.
My mind reeled. I needed fresh air and the privacy of my apartment to digest everything I’d learned.
And to get away from Preacher and every fragment of myself I saw in him.
But first things first. I’d finish this job. “So what do I need to do to get started? Do you have a client in mind already?”
He licked his lips again, loosened his tie. Leaned toward me. The jackal again. “Well first, to be blunt, you have to pass inspection. I need to make sure you’re really the right fit. Like a trial run.”
Sweat trickled down my spine. “What sort of trial run?”
“With me, of course.”
I didn’t have to make my mouth drop open–it sank down toward my chin on its own. “I…what? How do I know y
ou’re not just trying to hook up with me?”
“Because,” his voice dropped, and his eyes were hooded. “I could do that without offering to pay you, now couldn’t I?”
Revulsion consumed me. Then rage. Preacher continued to leer, and I had to admit, if I didn’t know what he was and I was really as naive as the Lily I claimed to be, I would have been flattered. And maybe suckered right in. That’s who I have to be right now. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good.” His smugness made me want to slap him. “You can take a few days to think about it. If you decide you want to go through with it, call me. I’ll tell you where to meet.”
“And that’s it? I’ll be hired?”
“As long as you don’t freak out or change your mind during the act. See, I can’t have you doing that with a client. That’s why it’s better to go a round with me first.” Another piggish grin, tongue stroking his lips. “And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
I looked down to keep from launching myself across the table at him. “All right. Give me a few days.”
It was time to go. To think. Decompress and figure out exactly where to take this. Take a shower.
Preacher caught my mood. “I’ll head to the bar and pay the bill. Then you can get out of here.”
I nodded. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”
My knees were weak as I weaved through the tables, my palms and back sweaty. I’d almost made it to the ladies room when I ran straight into a solid mass. Startled, I stumbled back and found myself eye to eye with the busboy. “Sorry. I need to watch where I’m going.”
“It’s okay,” the boy shrugged. “I do it all the time.”
I laughed, feeling marginally like myself again. And this was serendipitous timing. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Well, this is going to sound strange, but when you were clearing tables back there, it seemed like you knew Preacher.”
The boy stiffened, stepping back. “From the restaurant.”
His defensive tone was answer enough.
“Okay. I just, this is our first date, and I’m not quite sure what to think of him. I thought you might have some insight.” I rolled my eyes. “Stupid, I know, asking a kid for dating advice.”
Another bristle. “I’m sixteen.”
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. Of course you’re not a kid. It’s just I’m older and should have some kind of radar for this sort of thing, and I’m just hopeless.” I slumped against the wall, peering up at him through my glasses.
The busboy finally smiled. “It’s okay. Preacher’s not bad. He’s honest, even if it’s something you don’t want to hear. That’s got to count for something, right?”
I perked up. “Yes, it really does. Does he come in much?”
“He has business meetings here,” the boy said. He flushed and looked away. “Is that all? I’m working a private party in the back room.”
I widened my eyes. “A private party? Must be someone really special.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders. “Senator Coleman. He always requests me.”
I worked to keep my expression neutral even as my insides twisted into a burning knot of energy. “The Senator, really? What’s he like?”
“Like any other person with power,” the boy shrugged. “But he leaves good tips.”
“Does he come here a lot?” The Senator didn’t know Sarah. But did he know Preacher? Was this just a coincidence?
“Why do you care?”
“Because he’s a Senator, and he’s all over TV with his task force stuff.” I pushed out a fake laugh. “Guess I’m a little starstruck.”
He snorted and then leaned in closer. “Don’t be. Senator Coleman’s no different from any politician. Two-faced. You just gotta know which one you’re dealing with.”
My instincts flared. “What do you mean?”
His gaze flashed over my shoulder, and he stepped quickly away. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You have to give me your name, at least.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Lily.”
He regarded my hand like I’d offered him poison. Before he could shake it, a hand closed over my shoulder. “His name’s Eric.” Preacher’s voice trembled with the authority he’d hinted at earlier. “And I’m sure he needs to get back to work. I know the Senator doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Eric nodded and then hurried down the hallway, disappearing into a side door.
“You ask a lot of questions.” Preacher’s fingertips pressed into my shoulder. I gently ducked away from him.
“I slammed into the poor kid and nearly knocked him down,” I said. “Figured the least I could do was flirt a little. Did you see him blush?”
Preacher seemed to consider this, staring at me with hardened eyes. I flashed him my sweetest smile. “Are you going to tell me your real name now?”
“Preacher’s all you need to know.”
“Come on.” I tapped my finger on the knot in his tie and licked my lips. “At least tell me how you got the nickname.”
“Next time,” he said. “If you decide to accept my offer, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
He wasn’t going to give me any more information, and my nerves were frayed to the point of disintegration. If I had to flirt with this piece of trash any more, I’d end up stabbing him with a steak knife. Or something sharper if I could get my hands on it.
Preacher motioned for me to lead the way, and I followed him through the darkened restaurant and into the even darker and frigid night. For the first time all winter, I welcomed the cold blast of air.
He zipped up his jacket, giving me a final once-over. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” He strutted away, hailing a cab at the end of the block.
Rooted to the spot, I watched the cherry taillights until they blended into rushing traffic. My head spun, and I inhaled the winter air until my lungs burned. It blew away the confusion and re-primed my senses. I was me again. Back to the agenda, leave the rest behind.
The Senator’s presence wasn’t altogether shocking. It stood to reason he’d know about a place like this. Were they both frequent customers? I couldn’t imagine the Senator coming into contact with Preacher unless the younger man’s involvement in the speakeasy was more than as just a patron.
More pieces to a very complicated jigsaw. The question was, how far would I have to go to fit them all together?
16
My body trembled with every pull of the trigger. Empty cartridges littered the floor around me. Sheer power rippled through my body. Envisioning the blue and white target as a living, breathing monster–the devil who’d ruined my sister and made her take her own life–helped ensure most of my shots landed center mass.
I reached for more bullets, but I’d already gone through the pack in less than twenty minutes.
“You out already?” Chris stepped out from the next partition. His safety goggles had a singe mark from a stray brass. “Want to buy another box?”
I rolled my neck and shoulders back, realizing how much tension had mounted since I’d started target practice, the opposite of the way it was supposed to work. I shook my head, putting my gun back in its safety box. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
I hadn’t reached the door of the shooting range before he caught up with me. “I’m good for today. You want to get some lunch?”
He held the door open, and we went back out into the gallery, returning our rented guns and earmuffs. I’d called Chris this morning because I thought going to the range would eliminate some of the stress last night caused, but I felt no better. Without the gun in my hands, I felt as confused and powerless as ever.
The cloud of apprehension and dishonesty hovering over me didn’t help matters. I’d have to tell Chris everything sooner rather than later.
“No,” I finally answered. I struggled with my coat, and Chris helped slip the bulky wool over my shoulders. Still holding
on to the collar, he held my gaze until I felt bare and had to look away.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong? Did you hear any more from Todd?”
“No. I just … I need to tell you something.”
My confession came out in a carefully practiced rush: why I’d chosen to go alone, how safe I was, Preacher’s offer, and finally what I’d found out. “I should have told you, I know. But, he called, and it was a last minute thing.” I couldn’t tell the entire truth. He’d be disappointed in me, probably hurt. I didn’t want to see that. “So please don’t be too mad. Or be mad, but can you just wait a few minutes so I can talk about everything else?”
Chris’s unmoving gaze heated my skin. It was as if I were suddenly back in the girls’ locker room after gym, forced to strip and shower with the other girls who didn’t seem to mind being naked. Fixating on how my breasts didn’t look as nice as theirs, how my thighs were more round than the cheerleaders’. I always hunched my shoulders forward, as if that somehow protected them from seeing me.
I was doing the same thing now. I pushed them back.
“Are you going to have sex with Preacher?” He was suddenly a blustering storm cloud, the big, black kind that sweep in out of nowhere to lie in wait until the perfect moment to unleash torrential energy.
Feeling wobbly on my feet, I tried to gather myself. Consumed with everything else that happened last night, Preacher’s “test run” was the last thing on my mind. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“You can’t do that.” He continued to stare at me as though he could somehow project his fierce will into my consciousness. I pictured it wrapping around the synapses of my brain and embedding itself into my cellular makeup.
Shivering, I wrapped my hands around my chest. “Why? I’ve done worse.”
“No,” he said. “You haven’t. Lowering yourself to that level for information, that would be the absolute worst thing you could do to yourself.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I kept quiet and waited for his lecture. When it didn’t come, I finally cleared my throat. “I’m not sure what you want to hear from me.”