Part Two: The Angels (7/7)
November 25th, 2010
New York City - The Streets
I just finished with another customer today. I swear, those people out there have some weird fuckin’ fetishes. But, they know their fetishes are way out there, so they pay more than usual. Naturally, I’d decline, but...I have no choice in the matter, Money is Money, and I need to make ends meet, especially with this damn quota.
Speaking of which, I just completed it. I always have the option to call in and have someone pick up my share for the month. I’d instead get it over with than wait till the end of the months. Yeah, dealing with those fetishes are often humiliating and awful. But...the extra money is beneficial. For groceries or whatever reason, I’d want to buy me something.
Ever wore revealing clothes in the fall? Shit’s cold and humiliating. Of course, I’m saving up money for more...‘prostitute-friendly’ winter clothes. Do you think this shit ends, and I get a winter break? Nope. Rico has told many times that this quota is to be met each month. And if I don’t do what I’m supposed to, well, you can guess what happens to women like me when they don’t do what they’re told to.
I pull out my cellphone and dial up the Boss’s phone number. Dial tone, and I wait for an answer. After a couple of rings, he picks up.
“Ay, Chica? s’that you? What is it?” answered Rico.
“Boss, it’s Lucy. I’m calling to let you know I have the month’s quota here collected. I’m calling for an early pickup.” I replied, looking off to the side.
“Ahhh, I see! Well done, Lucy. Well done. Listen, your usual guy to pick up your money is busy right now. Let me see here...” I can hear some papers ruffling and typing at a keyboard. “Aha! Ay, Chica. Go to the usual meet up spot; I’ll have a rookie come pick up the money. They need some on-field experience, and this will be an easy job.” Rico replied before hanging up.
“...The usual spot. And wow, my guy’s busy? Wonder what he’s up to. Well, I wonder who this rookie is.” I said to myself before checking the time on my phone. Usually, we meet at a particular hour, and it wasn’t too long till that hour arrived. Better get a move on. I sling the loop of my purse over and under my arm, and I begin to walk off. Yeah, we meet up somewhere indoors because, well. It looks mighty suspicious when a prostitute like myself and a guy is exchanging large amounts of money.
Lately, I’ve been interacting with the other members of The Angels, particularly my co-workers. And my co-workers, I mean fellow prostitutes. I mean, it’s only natural to somewhat relate to them, right? From what I’ve heard from a couple of them. They enjoy sex work and have no problem with selling their bodies to strangers.
But that’s likely because they convinced themselves of that. I still hate that I do all of this, but, as I said, I have to adapt to my situation. One co-worker, in particular, I’ve grown relatively close with. Whom I believe to be a Russian woman, named Natasha.
Dyed her hair with bright, colorful colors and is honestly quite pretty. But I figured she’d be, given our so-called ‘profession.’ Maybe I’ll tell you more about her one of these days.
I arrive at our meet up spot. It’s a bar that’s owned by our gang. Our gang doesn’t have much property wise, but that’s because The Angels are still relatively new. However, there’s this sort of ‘rival’ gang called Lè Royalè that was formed around the same time as ours. And they have a ton of property because of their leader being so filthy rich.
But they collaborate with us because of the fact we have the human resources. For what The Angels lack property and, well, money, we have some impressive numbers and manpower. But, there are other gangs out there in New York. I’ve yet to learn who they are.
I sit at the bar, idly waiting for whoever this guy that’s picking up is. I’ve asked the bartender to watch behind me, for a man in white and black clothing, typically worn by underlings. And being a rookie, it was reasonable to assume that he was still an underling. Time has passed as I slowly sipped at my soft drink. Nothing, over twenty minutes late, and the guy hasn’t arrived yet. But soon, the bartender nods his head towards the door behind me.
“Is that him?” asked the bartender, nodding his head at the man behind me.
A groan as I picked up my glass of soda to turn around on my bar stool. Eyes closed as I wanted to emphasize how annoyed I was. “Really, dude? It’s over twenty minutes, and you just now arrived? Wait till I tell Rico, you fucking rookie.”
“...A-Ah...sorry.” replied the man.
That voice? Why did that sound so familiar. I open my eyes as I looked at the man that was still across the room from me. Pins and needles struck my heart. I sharply inhale as I felt my eyes widen. The glass that I was sipping from was dropped onto the floor, smashing and shattering glass all across it. He hasn’t realized it’s me yet, probably because I’d never wear any of this stuff and because he’s still a decent distance from me.
“...” I’m trying to talk.
“...” Don’t fail me now.
I finally muster up the courage to speak up to the man that was standing across from me. I know who he is.
Why is he here? Is he a part of The Angels? Why...?
I finally speak up.
And I call his name:
Part Two: The Angels
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