Wednesdays were always boring for Holly, and this one was worse than most. Her usual trade didn't hit the streets until the end of the week when they got paid, or until the welfare checks came. This wasn't the week for the welfare checks. It was cold, and there was a light mist falling that promised to turn into snow very soon. She could move up a few blocks to the ritzy section of town, but the cops paid more attention there, and Daddy Blue didn't like having to pay off the uptown cops. They charged more to leave the prostitutes alone than the downtown cops did, and Daddy Blue would rather spend his money on sable coats, gold jewelry, and his Bentley than padding some crooked cop's salary to get one of his whores out of jail and back on the street where she damn well belonged. Holly hated Daddy Blue. Hated him with every fiber of her being. The one thing she lived for was to be able to see him dead. She preferred to have it a very slow, messy death with lots of blood and suffering. She had her reasons. Good reasons. Closely held and never spoken about to anyone.
Normally Holly would be in a hotel room with some older man who had paid a rather hefty sum of money in advance to be with a very beautiful ninteen year old prostitute, even if she did have a couple of years experience under her belt. She had irritated Daddy Blue a few weeks earlier by not telling him about the generous tip her john had left for her. He had been young, good looking, and rich, so Holly went out of her way to make him very happy. The extra five hundred dollars would have gone into her secret escape fund if her pimp hadn't stuck a long finger into her warm box and discovered the roll of fifties hidden there. The only thing that kept him from beating her senseless or killing her outright was that she was such a good little money-maker. Older men in particular loved fucking the beautiful little blond while she screamed in delight. All for show of course, but they wanted to believe she loved what they were doing to her taut and tender body, and so they kept coming back to her because she begged them to. Truth be told, it wasn't all for show. She enjoyed what she did, at least sometimes. It worked, and Daddy Blue knew it, but this had to be punished. No whore was going to cheat him out of his money. He thought long and hard about it and decided to make her walk the streets for a couple of weeks just to show her how good she had it as an inside bitch. Of course she was expected to bring in the same money, which meant she had to turn at least forty to fifty tricks a night. They both knew that wasn't going to happen, so it gave him the excuse to beat the shit out of her with the phone book for a while which left no marks but hurt like hell.
The couple of weeks turned into a couple of months when Daddy Blue decided he enjoyed beating the crap out of the little green eyed beauty, liked hearing her cry in pain. Besides, she didn't seem to have learned her lesson quite yet. So now it was early in November, and the cold wind was blowing up under the tiny excuse for a skirt she wore. The short fake fur jacket was more for looks than protection. There was nothing under it, or under the skirt either for that matter. She didn't have time for too many clothes. Holly was cold, and getting colder by the minute as the temperature headed for the freezing mark. Quietly she ducked into a café' to keep from shivering too much. Johns didn't want girls who looked like they were freezing to death. They figured they were the bottom of the heap, diseased, or something like that, but they wanted nothing to do with them. At least most of them thought that way. The rest treated the freezing girls like meat, shoving their cocks into their warm mouths, grabbing their hair and fucking until they climaxed, forcing the girl to swallow or choke. The worst ones would beat the hapless girl if they didn't swallow their foul load and then rob them. Holly wanted no part of that.
"Don't want no whores in here," said the aging cook as Holly slid into a corner booth, "bad for business, and business ain't been all that good tonight. Go on, out with ya!"
"Please sir, it's 4am and I'm cold. I promise not to let anyone see me. My old man won't let me off the street 'till 6 and I'll freeze by then. Please sir, just until I can warm up a little." All of this was said in her tiniest little girl voice that never failed to melt the hearts of her customers.
"Who's yer old man?" asked the cook, softening a bit.
"Daddy Blue...balls," she replied with a look of utter contempt.
"That asshole? You stay there long as you like, little girl. I'll wager you hate him as much as I do. Only the girls who hate him call him Daddy Blue balls. Let me get you some coffee." And off he trudged to the counter, muttering as he went, "Kill that no account pimp some day... Should've been done a long time ago. Don't know why he's still alive anyway, damn no account pimp."
Had he asked, Holly would have screwed him for free right there on the counter. She firmly believed that "the enemy of my enemy is my friend".
Several blocks away a white Bentley cruised the streets, stopping every couple of blocks until a scantily clad girl climbed in. The driver casually held out his hand toward the latest passenger and waited to be presented with the evening's take. So far a good take for a Wednesday. Just one more to pick up and the night would be over.
"Bitch is never where she should be," he muttered. "Better be makin' me some cash if she gonna make me wait on her white ass." Five minutes later his patience ran out. "Get the fuck out of the car!" he screamed, and three doors opened in a flash, five pairs of shapely legs hitting the pavement. Daddy Blue hit the remote lock device as he too alighted from the big British sedan. "You be here when I get back. Fuckin' little bitch goin' to die for this!"
Wrapping his fir coat a little tighter around himself he headed around the corner to where he thought Holly might be hiding. Up the block and around another corner, into Heavy Mack's territory. Not a good place for Daddy Blue to be. He and Heavy had been bitter rivals for some time, some argument over what whore belonged to whom had set it off. The understanding was that if either saw the other in his territory, that man was a fair target. Pimp quarrels didn't usually turn out well for either party.
Daddy Blue heard the shot, felt the tiny bullet hit his head like a night stick, knew he was going to die. "Knew that bitch was going to be the death of me," he thought. Then came the shadow, figured it had to be Heavy Mack, waited for the second shot. He was down on his knees in the wet gutter, his ermine coat soaked with the filth of the street. He rolled onto his side and looked up into a middle aged white man's face. The man didn't seem to care what it was that he was looking at, just that another man was dying in the gutter and it was his duty as a human being to help. In his dying moments Daddy Blue finally found someone who cared about him. Something he had never known in his miserable lifetime. Something like that should be rewarded he thought.
"Look man, I don't have a cell phone but I'm going for help, I'll just be a minute. There's a bar just a few doors down. Hang on."
"Don't bother," he whispered, "I ain't going to make it nohow. You take this, an' what ever else I got. Tell my stable Daddy Blue ain't coming back, they belongs to you now." And with that he dropped the keys to the Bentley into the man's hand. "Money in the pocket, gold too. Good gold... Take it, take it all. You the only person ever gave a shit." His head lolled to the side, and with a final sigh Daddy Blue was no more.
The man looked around carefully. No one else seemed to have heard the shot, or if they did, were ignoring it. Gunshots weren't all that uncommon in this part of the city late at night, and the little .25 automatic didn't make that much noise.
His heart pounding, the man began rifling through the dead pimp's clothing and body. Rolex watch, gold chains, diamond rings, more keys (who knew what he might find in the man's house), and a good sized wad of cash. No time to count it out now. No identification. What man goes without ID now-a-days? Maybe in that car he talked about. And what the hell stable was he talking about? A stable was where you kept your horses, and this guy didn't look like he even knew what a horse looked like. With another careful look around him he slowly walked away from the dead man in search of what, he wasn't sure. Battered cars, some derelicts, were the only means of transportation he could find.
He had rounded the block a couple of times and by sheer dumb luck faced the gleaming pearl white Bentley. Expectantly, he pushed the unlock button on the remote. The alarm squawked, the lights flashed, and the bevy of pretty girls surrounding the car jumped. Confused, the girls looked around for the familiar ermine coated pimp, only to see a well dressed middle aged man cautiously approach the big sedan.
"What the hell you doin' with that thing?" asked a stunning, Latina, with the longest legs he had ever seen. "Daddy goin' ta kill your honkey ass when he catch you with that."
"I'm supposed to tell his stable that Daddy Blue ain't coming back and that it belongs to me now. So if you ladies will excuse me..."
"We are his stable, honey," said a beautiful platinum blonde that couldn't have been more than twenty years old and looked fifteen. "Is he still alive?" she asked in a whisper.
The light suddenly went on in the man's head, wiping away the several drinks that had kept him out this late at night. Stable of hookers! Shit, the guy was a pimp! He shook his head not believing his own stupidity.
"Not any more he isn't, somebody shot him. Before he died he gave me this key and told me to take whatever I could find on him. It looks like he gave me you as well."
"Did you shoot him?" asked the blonde. "I mean it's not like we actually give a shit if you did, just curious."
"Never saw the man before in my life. Had no idea who or even what he was until just a minute ago. I had no reason to hurt him. I just tried to help."
"So he's really dead then? There's no chance you could be, like, wrong? I think we need to see for sure." There was a general nodding of heads and a unanimous agreement that this was the best idea. The death needed to be verified, so the girls and their newly appointed pimp piled into the car and headed for the scene of the crime.
