Stilettos and Steel

by Jeri Estes

  I waited for the uproar to die down. “I want you to find them. Get the word out on the streets that I’m offering a five-hundred-dollar reward for information leading to their whereabouts. This is top priority! Lovey, you cover the Fillmore district, and Junior, you handle North Beach.”

  “I’ll get the word out, Jesse. Five Bennies is the score for finding missing whores,” Lovey rhymed.

  “You got it, boss,” Junior replied.

  “Because of our success, the lowlife, wannabe lightweight chump-change pimps are envious of us,” I continued. “When we were broke, no one was upset. Now that we’re stylin’, Prince wants to fuckin’ tax our asses!”

  I waited for the wails of indignation around the table to fade.

  “As you all know,” I said, “Prince and his crank-head, pimple-faced brother Giuseppe, are trying to push us out of the Tenderloin. They’re not gonna put their fat-ass whores on our streets!”

  There was a spontaneous burst of applause. I took my drink and said, “We’ll drink to that.”

  I took a sip of my drink and watched my motley band sip theirs.

  “Animal, why don’t you give us your two-cents’ worth?”

  “I’m the leader of the bikers. We’re Jesse’s enforcers. My job is to break anyone’s skull who fucks with us. I keep the peace so no one hassles Jesse and her girls.”

  Joe Gomez, in a low, coarse voice said, “I don’t break skulls. I tear their fuckin’ heads off! I cram them up their asses! I cut their balls off and shove them down their throats! I skin them alive and feed their flesh to my dogs!”

  All eyes fixed on him as we held our breath, terrified. The room fell dead silent. The ferocious Indian’s eye squinted as he snarled, spitting across the table.

  “Don’t even think of fuckin’ with me or one of my people! I’m from the old school. That’s why they call me a dinosaur. If I take a vow of loyalty, I guard my boss with my life!”

  Joe suddenly jumped up and backed away from the table. He dramatically grabbed the bottom of his shirt and jerked it above his waist, showing a massive muscular abdomen covered in deep scars and crude prison-style tattoos.

  He stuck his forefinger into a deep hole under his rib cage and said, “See this fuckin’ hole here? Some dumb-ass poked me with a knife. I pulled the knife out myself and skinned the chump alive with it.”

  Marie, Little Rosie, Junior and I quickly made the sign of the cross as Little Bastard’s mouth fell open. Even Rascal, who was quietly nibbling on cheese, stopped chewing.

  Joe solemnly announced, “I took my time skinning him and made my ancestors proud.” Then he sat down again, crossed his huge arms over his massive chest and frowned from his bitter memories.

  In hopes of soothing my anxious crew’s frayed nerves, I gave Joe a warm smile of approval. “Mr. Gomez, you are a pride to your race, your family and your ancestors. I have never seen such beautiful scars on any human being. I’d much rather have you work for us than against us. You’ll find I don’t like violence. I only use it as a last resort, but without respect in the Tenderloin, you’re dead.” That reminded me of something I wanted to ask him. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  Joe studied me with his one eye like the jury wasn’t in yet. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “How do you feel about working for a woman?”

  He waved off that problem with the chop of his hand. “I’m here because women are smarter than men. I don’t want to do any more time. I need a legitimate job with a boss that has the clout to keep me out of the joint.”

  That made sense to me, so I assured my new bodyguard, “I can hire you as a driver for our jewelry store so your parole officer will know you’re working. Can you drive with one eye? Do you have a license?”

  Joe laughed. “Sure, I have a fuckin’ license, and when I drive, people stay out of my way.”

  “I believe you, Joe,” I said sincerely. “I was also wondering if you’d be comfortable working for a gay woman.”

  He shook his head rapidly. “Jesse, my sister is a queer and she raised me. I love her. Some horny Pachuco in our barrio didn’t treat her right, though. The bastard beat and raped my sister when he found out she was queer. I tied him to the same bed he raped her on and I fed him each of his balls, one at a time. I washed them down his throat with his own blood.”

  I gently responded, “I understand.”

  Joe continued, “That’s why I did the time on the rock. I don’t like dudes who fuck with queers.”

  “That’s very cool, Joe,” I said, becoming aware that my foot was tapping the floor double-time. Silently, my crew waited as I contemplated my decision. An association with Joe would open the door to a sewer of humanity. I’d be waist-deep with an evil sadist.

  But Tenderloin history was heavy with tales of murdered women, shot in the head and dumped like trash. If we were to survive, I had to act decisively.

  I asked Joe, “Will you pledge your loyalty and join my troops?”

  “I’m at your service, man. Respect…respect,” Joe solemnly swore.

  “I want to welcome Joe to the family!” I announced. As the convict nodded like a pleased bear, everyone clapped. Right-ons and far-outs rippled down the table.

  I held my glass high and said, “Let’s toast to Joe!”

  Chapter 24

  SUTTER STREET

  The hall that led to my apartment in the graceful Victorian on Sutter Street was long, dark and empty. I walked in the silence of the sleeping building feeling as empty as the corridors. I was engulfed in the same loneliness that I often felt when I walked through the cold streets of the Tenderloin at night. The hole in my gut felt like the wind could howl through it. The subtle, elusive ache floated under the booze and drugs, ever reminding me that I was on my own.

  I couldn’t shake the emptiness as I thought about recent events. I knew the meeting had gone well and that I was lucky to have an army at my command. Yet I also knew that playacting like a gangster was ending. It was becoming the real deal.

  At the elevator, I pressed the round white button. I patiently waited for the cranky old machine to groan down from the top floor. After a muffled thump, the ornate brass cage door appeared in front of me. I pulled it open and stepped inside the gaudy 1940s-style elevator, so uniquely San Francisco, and pressed the bold black number three on the brass plate. My humanity was getting as rusty as the gears in the elevator that brought me to the third floor.

  Walking into the apartment, I was hit with the scent of fresh flowers. Daisies and tulips accented my place from room to room. Like gentle little friends, the green vases and brilliant flowers welcomed me home.

  My spirits lifted as I thought about what my witty younger brother, Max always said, “If you take a nice piece of cheesecake and put it in the refrigerator next to a pastrami sandwich, in the morning it’s going to smell like pastrami.” I guess you could say that I had been thoroughly “pastrami-ized”. The thought of Max lightened my mood.

  Removing my Stetson, I hung it on a wooden peg beside the front door. Taking off my coat, I struggled with the large, pearl buttons, forcing them through the tight slits in my camel-hair coat. I felt restrained in the heavy jacket in the warm entrance hall, trying to get free of it and keep my balance at the same time. I steadied myself by grabbing the coat rack, closing my eyes and feeling like a drunken cartoon character hanging onto a lamppost.

  Starting my strip act, I fought with the buttons on my French-cuffed shirt. I shook my head, took a deep breath and gave myself a pep talk so I could handle the daunting task of removing the tight Ace bandage wrapped around my chest. I followed the tips of my alligator shoes like a compass guiding me to my bedroom.

  I closed one eye to steady myself, an old trick I had learned driving as a drunken teenager through the streets of Woodland Hills. I had become a master at eliminating the double line in the single-line highway by using my hand as a patch over my eye. I smiled inwardly as I realized I was now exactly like my new employee, Joe Go
mez, with the one eye.

  Dropping my sharkskin suit jacket on the floor, I struggled with my onyx and gold cufflinks. I realized I was not up to the task as I saw my bed beckoning to me like a welcoming lover with outstretched arms.

  I zeroed in on the four-poster canopy bed and made a dive like a high jumper, gauging my perfect flight up and over the footboard. I was enjoying this act of defiance, knowing I could never do this if Carmen were in the bed. She was always concerned I would mess up the beautiful silk canopy. The pattern displayed images of voluptuous Renaissance women. I landed safely between the plump pillows which lay like mountains on the bed.

  Carmen and I had argued about the need for ten pillows for one fuckin’ bed. I had lost that battle and so found myself sitting partially upright. This was a good thing because I needed to pull off the makeshift elastic girdle around my chest.

  The tight binder flattened my breasts so my chest looked like a young man’s and enabled my beautiful shirts to fit well. Still struggling with my cufflinks, which now felt like handcuffs, I finally dislodged them. Like Houdini, I ripped off my shirt and threw it on the floor.

  Pulling off my binder, I tossed it across the room. It hit my statue of St. Francis of Assisi on top of my dresser. The Ace bandage bounced off the poor saint’s face and landed perfectly on a little gold trophy Carmen had given me. The plaque read: “World’s Greatest Lover.”

  I admired my excellent marksmanship as my suppressed breasts popped to attention with their liberation. I lay on my back as my nipples pointed up, feeling the cool breeze of fresh air. Gazing up, I studied the nipples of the nude lady above me on the canopy. With a final act of exertion, I kicked off my shoes. I closed my eyes and drifted into an intoxicated sleep.

  I woke from my drunken snooze at the sound of Asian Pearl yelling, “Jesse! Jesse!” I opened my eyes and saw a pair of nipples painted on the canopy above me. Doubting my senses, I closed my eyes and wondered if I was dreaming, if I was hearing things, or if it really was Asian Pearl doing the yelling. Whatever it was, all I knew for sure was that I wanted to go back to my pleasant sleep.

  Just as I started to escape back into my slumber, I heard a noisy knock at the door, chased by the screams of an irate Asian whore who demanded, “Jesse, let me in!”

  I yelled back, “Hold on!” Stumbling out of bed, I went over to the dresser to get my gun. Shaking my head in an attempt to clear my foggy brain, I leaned against the door and listened. With my heart pounding, I bravely asked, “Is that you, Pearl?”

  Pearl answered anxiously, “Yes, Jesse! It’s Pearl. Linda from Missouri is with me.”

  I shouted back through the door, “Wait a minute! I’ll be right with you!” I scrambled towards the closet. My bare chest made me feel caught, nude and vulnerable as I stood there without my binder on. I threw open the closet door, grabbed a bad boy, “James Dean-type” dark blue shirt, streaked with red flames, and put it on in a hurry. I was not about to be caught in a crisis with my tits out.

  Feeling the weight of the .38 in my hand, I wrapped my finger around the trigger, in case the bitches had company. I rested my cheek against the front door and looked through the peephole at the distorted-looking figures waiting to get in.

  I cracked open the door, leaving the chain on, and looked down the hallway, searching for the enemy. I felt Asian Pearl’s hot breath in my face as she leaned through the crack and shouted, “Jesse, hurry, let us in!”

  Reaching up, I unlatched the little gold chain and released it. I tucked my .38 into my belt, feeling the cold, hard edge of the muzzle against my groin. The two lost girls both looked disheveled and haggard. The fear on Pearl’s hardened face set off an alarm in my gut.

  Pearl hurried into the living room. “That fucking Giuseppe had our asses trapped for days! We’ve been in hell!”

  Linda from Missouri followed in step and sang out the word, “Hell!”

  I found myself trailing behind the tall, plump hooker who hobbled bowleggedly. As usual, Asian Pearl’s high-teased bouffant of curly lovelocks had red dragon chopsticks sticking out of them, but the normally calculating ice princess was clearly distraught. Linda, the naïve untainted child of the Midwest, seemed traumatized as she obediently trailed after Pearl. The look on Linda’s face made me think of a scene in an old Western movie in which the hollow-eyed children come out of hiding after an Indian attack.

  I let my shell-shocked troops roam through my apartment. Pearl crossed the living room and stopped in front of the cherry wood English-styled bar whose glass top was covered in bottles of expensive liquor and crystal barware. She poured herself and her sister in prostitution a tall glass of scotch.

  I watched in amazement as this Asian woman downed the scotch like a truck driver in one long chug-a-lug. Linda followed suit. After refilling their glasses, the two disheveled whores plopped down on my cocoa-brown leather couch.

  Like a visitor in my own home, I politely waited for them to settle in before I went to the bar and poured myself a drink. I went over to the dark green Queen Anne chair across from them and took a sip of Jack Daniel’s. I was relieved to see the color start to come back into Linda’s angelic face.

  Pearl, with venom in her voice, related what had happened. “That mother fuckin’ son of a bitch Giuseppe kidnapped us and burnt Linda!” The way she said the word “burnt” made my skin crawl.

  Pearl grabbed Linda from Missouri’s skirt in an attempt to pull it up. Linda quickly yanked it down, clutching the hem of the skirt tightly in her fist. That’s when I saw it was stained with blood.

  Hate filled Linda’s previously lifeless eyes, and she said with anger and shame, “Stop it, stop it, you fuckin’ chink bitch. I don’t want Jesse seeing my legs, they’re fat.”

  Asian Pearl kept her temper. “I am not a chink, sweetheart. I am Chinese bitch, with Japanese blood on my mother’s side. Now, Jesse has to see your legs. You’re not fat, you’re just Midwestern. You’re very American looking. You are making a fortune with that girl-next-door look of yours. Now relax, I have to pull your skirt up.”

  Pearl’s hand reached between Linda from Missouri’s legs, but again Linda refused to let her lift it up. The tug-of-war continued for a few moments before

  Asian Pearl angrily dropped the charade of concern. “Pull your fuckin’ skirt up, bitch. Let Jesse see Giuseppe’s handiwork.”

  Coming to the traumatized girl’s rescue, I told Pearl, “Let her alone. Take your hands off her.”

  I reached over to put my arm around Linda and she flinched. Giving a tender smile, I gingerly sat down beside her on the sofa. I patted her gently on the back, like a mother burping her newborn. Linda’s frightened eyes were quickly pooling with tears. Gently, I placed my hand on the back of her head as I softly brushed her forehead with a kiss. Snuggling close, I put my arm around her, holding her tightly as I reached over and placed my hand on top of hers. I smelled a hint of urine and body odor.

  I whispered in her ear in a soft but strong fatherly tone, “Everything is going to be all right. You’re a really beautiful girl and you’re safe now. I just want to take care of you and see what happened. Linda honey, I promise not to look at anything you do not want me to see, okay?”

  With a sniffle and a small nod of her head, she answered, “Okay.”

  “And by the way,” I continued, “I think you have a beautiful body.”

  I felt her clenched fingers relax under my hand as we jointly, slowly hiked her skirt up until it reached above her knee. Just a few inches above the knee on the inside of her thigh, I could see a red trail of pain step-laddering toward her genitals.

  Pearl’s slim finger hovered above, marking the way with her long curled red fingernail, stopping for a second in front of each gaping and open red sore. The whore pointed to each perfectly round small wound, exposing the layers of burnt subcutaneous skin, encircled by a bright red rim around the white oozing flesh. Pearl stopped following the trail an inch from her burnt pussy.

  “Those fuckin’ so
ns-of-bitches, Prince’s brother Giuseppe and his running buddy, Bubblegum Guppy, thought she was a fuckin’ ashtray! Jesse, you’ll find the initials ‘PP’ branded into her ass for ‘Prince’s Property.’ His brother is a chain-smoking, sick meth-addicted chump that took his sweet time putting his cigarettes out on her. He kept telling her that’s what she gets for not being his old lady and working for a freak.”

  Pearl’s eyes were void of compassion—cold, dark and flat like a shark’s. She suddenly grabbed the skirt, yanked it out of our hands and spread it over Linda’s knees. A moment later she jumped up, pulled off her mink in one quick motion and threw it over the arm of the couch. “I am so fuckin’ sick of living in that mink! That half-pint whore can have her fucking rent-a-coat back! It stinks! Just like that hick bitch of yours does!” She pointed an accusing finger at her. “That bitch got us into this mess by flirting with that black lovesick bastard Giuseppe at the Fillmore. She played him to score concert tickets.” She sneered as she recalled the scene. “All this shit just for a few fucking tabs of acid and front-row seats at the Fillmore Auditorium. Linda had to see the Jefferson Airplane like the “real hippies” do, high on LSD.”

  Pearl glared at Linda. “Well, go ask Alice how to dump a pimp with a hard-on! Giuseppe’s now jonesing for white Midwest pussy!”

  Feeling more like a reprimanded child than a gangster pimp, I let her rave on. She needed to get the horror out of her, at any rate.

  Pointing at the fur coat, she said, “This mink stinks like a rat. I stink from sleeping in this bad luck coat, locked up for days in that asshole’s basement. I don’t care if I ever see a motherfuckin’ mink again. I was so happy to see that ugly horse face of Prince as he came into his lowlife brother Giuseppe’s cellar and rescued our asses.” She took a long pull on her drink. “I was getting sick from the smell of Linda’s burning flesh and I haven’t slept for days! Giuseppe kept bad-rapping Linda all night, and she would yell every time that punk raped her. Bubble Gum Guppy would pop his Bazooka bubble every time Giuseppe rubbed his cigarette out on Linda. He’d sit there jacking off while his boss amused himself,” Pearl angrily reported.