Copping an Attitude

by Morticia Knight

  Valeena patted his back in a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sorry, sweetie. He seemed like a safe regular.”

  “It’s okay. I thought so too.”

  She was the one who had advised him to find a few guys who really dug him and weren’t into the weirder or rougher shit. If he encouraged them, got them stuck on him, he wouldn’t have to work as hard to make Julio’s quotas and he’d have a better chance at staying safe.

  “What are you gonna do? You can’t tell Julio—the guy pays a lot for you.”

  “You don’t think that freak would really go to Julio to try and buy me, do you?”

  “Ppphh. As if. He wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with him, right?” She gave his shoulder a little push. “You know that Julio never talks to the johns. He just makes that old hag Rita take all the calls and make all the dates.” Valeena pursed her lips. “That fucking bitch. She booked me with Stinky on purpose, I know she did.”

  Slade bit his lip to keep from laughing, but he couldn’t hide his expression.

  “Oh yeah, laugh it up. You’re not the one who had to suck off a guy who smelled as if he’d been plated with rancid sweat. He’s lucky I didn’t hurl all over him.”

  The mirth left Slade at the thought of it. “That’s gross.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Gross is too tame a word.” Her look changed to one of concern. “Anyway, how did you do tonight? I mean, did Harold at least throw down after he pulled that shit?”

  He wasn’t cold but he couldn’t stop shivering. Things seemed to be deteriorating for him instead of getting better. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d always known he was screwed as soon as he’d been caught in Julio’s grimy clutches. But somehow the incident with Harold had rubbed his nose in the fact that he really had no options. He would live as long as he could then likely end up dying either at Julio’s or by one of the john’s hands.

  “Not really. He left a fifty in addition to the two hundred that Rita booked me for.”

  “That’s good, right?” She got close to him, lowering her voice. “You could hide it. She only has him down for the two.”

  He shook his head, the grimness of the situation almost overwhelming him more than usual. “Harold always gives me at least a twenty for a tip and Julio knows that, but tonight it was only the fifty.”

  “That’s okay, you’d still have—”

  “I got back out later than I should’ve. I didn’t do so good after that. I…” He lowered his head, shameful tears hot and full behind his eyes. “I just couldn’t seem to get my game on.”

  Valeena reached over and clasped his hand. “Fucking prick. I’d help you out, but I barely made enough myself tonight.”

  He placed his other hand on top of hers. “That’s okay.”

  More than once one of them had helped to cover for the other if their take was way off balance.

  The front door of the house slammed open and they both jumped. Valeena let go of Slade’s hand as Julio burst in.

  “Get out, bitch.” He fixed his black, steely gaze on Slade as he yanked Valeena off the bed.

  “Slade got roughed up by one of his dates tonight, he—”

  Julio shook her. “Let me guess, Harold?”

  Valeena’s eyes went wide.

  Julio shoved her toward the entrance of the room. “If I want your opinion, cunt, I’ll fuck it out of you.”

  As soon as Julio faced Slade again, Slade saw Valeena flip Julio off behind the enraged pimp’s back as she stomped out. He averted his gaze, terrified that Julio might catch her. Slade had encountered countless moments with Julio when the man was angry or upset, but the way he was currently behaving was even more terrifying than he could ever remember witnessing before.

  Julio advanced toward him and grabbed his jaw, squeezing hard enough that Slade’s lips pursed out, hurting him.

  “What did you say to him, you little fuck? Huh? What gave him the idea that the two of you were gonna run off into the sunset together?”

  Julio thrust him away in seeming disgust and Slade fell back on the bed. The way Julio paced frantically in small circles on the area rug did nothing to reassure Slade that he was out of harm’s way yet. His would-be boss was obviously tweaking.

  “Five grand.” Julio threw his hands in the air. “Is he out of his fucking mind?”

  One of Julio’s rants had begun. When he got like that, he didn’t want answers. Didn’t want comments. All he required was a captive and frightened audience. As Julio shook his hands out, twitched his head repeatedly and kept marching about the room, Slade slid back, scooted farther away. It was pointless to do such a thing—his logical mind told him that. But he still wanted the illusion of distance. Of safety.

  “If I were gonna sell you to someone, I’d make real bank. Fuck. It’s tempting too. You’re still pretty young. I bet I could get a hundred grand for you easy from someone overseas.”

  Oh Jesus. Oh fuck.

  “Maybe more, I dunno. Never done it before, but I met a guy last month, some foreign fucker who knew about that kinda shit.” Julio snorted. “I should quit with this pussy street shit and get in with some real homies. Guys who know how to make fat stacks.”

  Julio paused in his frenetic pacing and narrowed his eyes at Slade. “Is that how you went out tonight? Like that?”

  He shook his head wildly, suddenly unable to push air out of his lungs to speak.

  “Well?”

  “Um…” He cleared his throat, his heart hammering. “I… I showered when I came back then changed.”

  Julio sneered at him. “I hope you didn’t have that baggy T-shirt on. Where are my clothes? Huh? I better not fucking find them in a pile on the floor somewhere. I paid a lot for that shit.”

  Yeah. Out of the money I earned.

  Julio continued to pace, but his agitated mutterings seemed to be for Julio’s own benefit. Like the good little slave he was, he’d carefully hung up his tight, fake leather pants with the cutaways laced together at his outer thighs. His one of many black form-fitting tanks decorated with either rhinestones or studs had been set aside for him to hand wash later that day. The one he’d worn the night before was one of Harold’s favorites—it had a neon pink skull outlined with the sparkling fake jewels. He felt like an idiot wearing those clothes, but it had all been a part of the image Julio had created for him. Part emo kid, part twink, part bad boy. Even his street name had been Julio’s doing. He’d stolen the moniker of a character Slade had made up. It was one he’d hoped to use in a graphic novel one day. Instead, Julio had forever sullied it for him.

  “No more!”

  Julio’s sudden shout jostled Slade’s thoughts and brought him back to whatever it was that Julio continued to bitch about.

  “No more of this small-time shit. Motherfuckers are gonna pay if they want the goods.” Julio narrowed his eyes and jabbed his finger at him. “And you. No more Harold for you. Don’t think I don’t know that it was you who put those ideas in his head.” Julio muttered to himself again. “Thinks he’s gonna get away from me. Thinks some suburban pussy is gonna save his skinny ass.”

  Julio finally halted on the rug, gritting his teeth as he slowly rubbed his hair back across the top of his head. Slade braced himself for the beating he was sure would come. Julio took a deep breath.

  “Until I decide what to do with you, keep to your regular tricks. But you’ll also have to find a way to replace my income from Harold. Hustle up some fresh meat on the Strip.”

  “But I’ve been trespassed by so many—”

  Slade flinched as Julio raised his hand. In a surprising move, Julio lowered it, but continued to glare at Slade.

  “Don’t want to mar the goods, just in case. But don’t think that gets you off the hook, you piece of shit. Just ’cause I can’t hurt you on the outside, doesn’t mean I can’t make you pay in other ways.” Julio’s black eyes took on an even more menacing gleam. “Make you hurt on the inside.”

  Before he could stop himself, Slade whi
mpered. He was more terrified of Julio than he’d been since those first days. Those were times that he’d tried to erase from his memory. He wasn’t sure he could survive anything like that again.

  Julio continued to stare at him as Slade pressed himself against the headboard, his stomach twisting on the inside. Slade’s throat tightened to the point that it gave him the impression it was trying to choke him.

  After one final glare, Julio whipped around then stormed out of the bedroom. Slade exhaled, alarmed at how shaky he was. He couldn’t control the tremors that racked him all over and he thought he might vomit.

  At least I don’t have to worry about Harold anymore. That’s good, right?

  Slade had an ominous feeling that there was nothing good about it at all.

  Chapter Two

  The briefing at the station the previous day had been troubling at best. According to their informants, the violence would be increasing as the two main providers of sex workers in the area had plans to take the other out. The most disturbing part was that their insiders didn’t have the specifics on what would go down or when it might occur.

  Parker turned the cruiser onto Tropicana Avenue headed toward Paradise Road, which ran parallel to the main drag. A call on the scanner had gone out that there was a fight between two white and two Hispanic males behind Bally’s. Instead of continuing to Paradise, he made a left onto Koval Lane that ran immediately behind Bally’s, Paris, Planet Hollywood and other casinos nearby.

  Some of the worst incidents happened on the streets immediately adjacent to the Strip. Being away from the bright neon glare of Las Vegas Boulevard mistakenly gave troublemakers a sense of invisibility. In truth, the cops tended to spend more time in those areas because of that. Foot, bicycle, motorcycle and mounted patrol maintained a more visible and immediate presence on the Strip. The cruisers were typically only called in for backup or if they spotted something that needed immediate attention.

  The cruiser’s tires squealed as Parker gunned the vehicle into the lot, narrowly missing a car that had slowed down to gawk at the violent display. They’d barely rolled to a stop when Parker and Darren leaped out, guns drawn, both of them shouting for the men to cease. Chaos erupted as a second unit arrived and three of the men took off running, the fourth injured and splayed on the ground.

  Parker, Darren and an officer from the second cruiser gave chase, Parker peeling off to follow the perp who jetted to the side of Bally’s on Flamingo Road. Easily catching up to the wiry evader, Parker tackled him to the ground. They struggled, the man biting at him, grunting and cursing until Parker had wrestled one of his arms behind him. He pressed a knee in the offender’s lower back and used his other hand to hold the nape of his neck down. The man continued to yell and call Parker names, his face turned to the side, his cheek smashed against the asphalt.

  More backup arrived with additional units to transport the suspects to the police station. As a part of the Homeland Security Saturation Team, he and Darren would usually remain on the streets unless no other units were available. Parker glanced down at his knees, a definite tear visible in his pants leg.

  Damn it.

  He was rough on his clothes. Typically he’d be the one to collar a suspect in foot pursuits. He was a runner—fit, but not bulked up. He only carried light muscle on his frame, which enhanced his speed. He also went through a lot of uniforms in any given year.

  After he’d finished giving a report to the transporting officer, he turned as someone near the back of the casino yelled for help.

  “Officer, stop him—he’s getting away!”

  Parker looked where the man pointed and noted what looked like a young man in goth-type clothing walking at a fast clip in the direction of Koval Lane. Parker jogged toward him, not sure what was going on, but the kid’s body language suggested that he was in a hurry to get away while at the same time trying not to attract attention himself.

  Petty thief, druggie, rent boy.

  Parker ticked off the possibilities in his head as he rushed to catch up to the suspect. Right as he was almost upon him, the guy glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening in fear at the sight of Parker. He took off like a rocket.

  Parker’s reflexes kicked in and he shot after the kid. No longer doubting that the runner was guilty of something, he put all he had into catching up to him. One of his biggest worries was that if the young man was into drugs or selling himself, his life would be at risk if he didn’t get help. If an arrest was to put assistance for him into motion, it would be worth whatever Parker had to do to nab him.

  Right as his quarry rounded the corner to duck down a pathway to Bally’s hotel rooms behind the main casino, Parker launched himself forward. He grabbed the smaller man around his neck, their combined momentum knocking them both to the ground. Parker threw his free hand in front of them, hoping to keep his larger body from hurting the kid as they tumbled down.

  A loud whoosh of air was wrested from the young man as Parker landed on top of him, and he knew he’d only been partially successful at keeping his weight off his suspect. The kid struggled and fought like a wild cat. Even though he was smaller than the guy Parker had just arrested, he was much more determined. There was a tinge of desperation in his efforts and pleas that clutched at Parker’s heart. He was genuinely frightened and somehow, it didn’t strike Parker as being caused by the fear of going to jail.

  “Please.” His cries were muffled by their continued battle. “Let me go. You don’t understand. You have to let me go, man.”

  “Stop resisting, son, you’re only making things worse for yourself.”

  “I’m not your son, you fucker! And nothing could be worse…” It sounded as if he had strangled down a sob as his voice had trailed off. “Nothing.”

  His body went limp as if in defeat. Parker hauled him up to a standing position, using one hand to clutch his collar and the other to grip his arm. The boy winced.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Deep blue eyes lined in black stared up at him, defiant. But behind that façade was a deep sadness that threatened to crush Parker’s heart even more.

  “What the fuck do you care?”

  He’d tried to make his voice sound cocky, tough. Parker was used to the attitude he received from the various lawbreakers he interacted with on a daily basis, but he still felt as if there was something different about this one. It wasn’t his job to interfere with individuals, only to bring them in—and when appropriate—offer relevant social services information. Personal involvement was off limits.

  “I care more than you probably think.”

  Parker took out his cuffs, which startled the young man into action. He yanked his arm forcefully and Parker tightened his hold. The kid hissed again in obvious pain. Parker decided to cuff him in front until he could determine that the boy wasn’t injured.

  “What’s your name?”

  He remained silent. Parker patted him down.

  “Anything in your pockets I should know about? Drugs? Needles? Other sharp objects?”

  “Dude, I’m not a fucking user.”

  “Good. That shit’s bad for you. I’m glad to hear you’re clean.”

  The kid arched his eyebrows, a look of mild surprise evident. Parker found a wad of bills stuffed into one side of his pants and a Nevada ID in the other. No wallet. There wouldn’t have been room for such a thing in the tight clothing the young man wore. Parker examined his identification and barely controlled a snort of laughter.

  “Slade Wolfgang? I’m supposed to believe this?”

  Slade scowled at him. “I don’t give a fuck what you believe.”

  “You might at some point. Want to tell me why that guy from the casino told me to come after you?”

  The kid snorted. “Not really.”

  “Okay then. I guess we’re done here.”

  “I can go?”

  The hopeful, almost childlike tone in Slade’s voice only added to Parker’s concern for him.

  Parker shook
his head. “If you won’t talk to me, I’ll have to send you downtown where you can explain it to them. With any luck, you’ll see a judge in the morning and hopefully, be out after that.”

  “No!” It had come out on a wail. “I can’t, you don’t understand. It’s impossible. Please don’t do this! Seriously, dude, I’m begging. I’m begging you!”

  Parker frowned. He’d heard plenty of impassioned pleas over the years. If he was a betting man, he was sure that Slade was a sex worker and had a pimp who kept a close eye on him. But there was something else. The briefing about the escalating violence amongst those in the sex industry the day before rose in his mind.

  “Slade, are you in danger? I can help—”

  “No, no danger.” Slade’s eyes filled with clear terror, his breathing amping up. He shrunk in on himself, his body trembling under Parker’s sure grip.

  This poor kid.

  “Come on. Let’s go.”

  One second Parker was tugging on Slade’s arm to lead him away and the next second Parker was writhing on the ground, white-hot fire searing through his balls as he clutched at them.

  God damn. How did he manage that?

  His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to breathe through the excruciating pain. The slap of approaching footfalls sounded on the asphalt and Parker hoped that it was Darren.

  “Jesus, Parker. What the hell?”

  He felt Darren’s hand on his arm as if to help him up.

  “Not yet.” He gritted it through his teeth. “Need a minute.”

  The noise of more approaching footsteps jarred him and he sucked air in, willing himself to his feet before he was caught by his associates with his hands stuffed between his legs. Darren stood near him, apparently ready to assist him if he needed it. He kind of did need help, but he pushed through it.