I pull my car up into my normal parking garage and smile. Once a month, I like to have a little fun and make some money while I'm at it. I car jack unsuspecting Johns, have them drive me to their ATM, and withdraw thousands of untraceable dollars for me. I mean, really? Who are they going to tell? It's the perfect crime.
My leather gloved hands creak as I reach into my shoulder bag and pull out the translucent nylon stocking, expertly pulling it down over my face. My Hands move up and down, smoothing the material out over my face before tucking the end into my black turtleneck. I reach into the back seat and pull out the long, red wig to expertly fix it in place and glance into the mirror to check myself out.
"Perfect!" I smirk.
I make sure my gun is loaded and step from the car. The heels of my knee high, black patent stilettos click on the pavement as I step out of the car to smooth out the short, tight, black leather skirt. The leather I'm encased in glistens in the soft light of the lamp posts as I make my way to the normal corner to begin the wait.
Multiple Johns pull up in their piece of shit cars and vans. Each one I tell to "fuck off," waiting for the perfect mark. I keep my masked face away from the other girls and covered in enough darkness that the Johns don't notice the nylon masking most of my identity. One can never be too careful.
I light up a cigarette and inhale through the stocking. I'm generally not a smoker, having kicked the filthy habit years ago, but it seems like I always need one on these nights ust to calm myself. I pace back and forth, inhaling, exhaling, Holding the smoldering cigarette in my gloved fingers, looking the part of a seasoned sex worker.
A few hours pass, and I'm about to give up, when all of a sudden I spot the stupid ass that doesn't know his life is about to change. He pulls up in his BMW coupe, and the other girls make themselves scarce. They know that when I'm on the corner, the rich one I choose is all mine.
Down goes his window, "Hi," he says.
I walk over to the door and stand so he can't see my face, "The minimum is 2000. That a problem>," I say, exhaling the smoke from my lungs.
"Uh, really? That's a lil...," he starts to respond.