Personal log of Kowalski, Roger
She had a black eye. “Is this the one your pimp left you?” “Nah. Virgil is a cutie. Cares for me. Never hits me in the face”, she said, slurping her noodles in between. “But he hit you yesterday. Why?” With a spray of noodles she coughed: “Not that bad as he would.” “Because you told him that I’m new here.” “Ya”, she nodded. “I’m behind with pay-up for my corner. He’s not my pimp. I’m freelancer as you are.” “I’m…”, but I stopped, because I was not that sure what I was. “Never had problems with vice squad? They should have put you away long ago.” “I’m eighteen”, she said. I said nothing and concentrated on my noodles instead. “Really!”, she insisted. “It’s just that I’m an elf. We DO look like fifteen, don’t we?” “You ARE something but not eighteen”, I said. “Fuck ya. I’m eighteen. Wanna eat alone tomorrow?” “Do you want to pay for your noodles by yourself?” We both had nothing to say after that for a minute. She asked for a second fill for her soup. “Why you Ex-Cop, say?” “Fucked by my corporation.” She wheezed. “Of course. Have this corporate guy, family daddy I call him, he fucks me too.” “I’d prefer not to hear such things.” “But it’s like that. Pays in crank sometimes. Extra of course. He’s a regular. Got me that new stuff, too.”
We both stared at the wall in front of us, where the decay had even crept into the cheap Plaststeel of the wall and split it with ugly cracks. “What new stuff?” “It’s the stuff rich wankers throw in Bellevue and in the exec suits in big hotels. Not here. It’s legal!”, she added quickly. “But kicks. Tempo. Wanna try? I sell you one for 40. It’s worth it.” “You take 40 for the hour?”, I disbelieved. “Nah. Twenty.” I looked at her. “Fifteen or ten on a bad day”, she said finally, defensive. “But I take more from him. He has the money and he wants extras.” I didn’t want to know about extras, so I turned the awkward conversation into something more pleasant.
“So who did you that black eye?” “Competition”, she only said. “They were three from upstreet. Where the old hags sell.” “Hags?” “Over twenty. Hags.” “And what’s the problem?” “Price policy. And looks.” It seemed to hurt a bit. “I have mine, they have theirs. I really need the money. I’m modern player. Flatrates, Happy Hours, Discounts,… Ya have to outsmart your competition”, and she tipped at her forehead. “Business is not so easy as it was. You have to come up with something new. Know that.” She got the rest of my soup. “Gee, thanks, see you tomorrow. I give you discount for my black eye. Hand job?” I passed. “See you tomorrow.”
Today’s favor is tomorrows duty.
“Wait!” “What’s up?” “How much you cost?” “Two-hundred a day.” “Do you deal tit-for-tat too? Or hourly?” I stared at her. “No tit-for-tat.” “How much do you take for getting the hags off me?” “I’m not protecting you.” “As a professional.” “I still have no PI admission. And I’m no bone breaker.” “But… you look like one… Just talk them out of it?…” She sulked a bit. I sighed. “First I have to pass exam.” “Then we talk about biz?” “First things first.” She shrugged. “See ya tomorrow.”
No. I will not pimp an underage Elven prossie. That’s not on job description.