CHAPTER 3



 

SEVERAL HUNDRED miles away, a lonely figure huddled near a street corner, the security light barely providing enough illumination for the intersection, let alone safety for anyone waiting beneath it. The woman leaned against the grungy wall of the old brick building, glancing hopefully at the cars as they passed in front of her. Shivering slightly from the cool breeze, she occasionally straightened up and walked toward the curb to watch the approaching vehicles. Most didn't stop. A few slowed and then sped off but occasionally one stopped. Leaning down, knees slightly bent, she would engage the driver or passenger in a conversation barely above a whisper. Tonight, there weren't any takers for her offers, or she chose not to accommodate the graphic demands of her prospective customers. Stepping back she gestured for the obnoxious ones to move on, usually showing them the universal finger. Yelling an obscenity at the last driver, she walked back to the building, which provided some protection against the wind.

Dressed in clear plastic platform boots, a short silver miniskirt, and light blue jacket over a skimpy tank top, she was the picture poster girl for the stereotyped hooker everyone imagined. Her age was anyone's guess. The dimly lit area and thick makeup concealed the small wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, but nothing could hide the bitter disillusionment of a hard life filled with abuse and alcohol.

Belinda rarely thought about her past. The pain of betrayal had grown dull over the years, leaving her with nothing more than the realization that she could have been more than just a whore. If her mother had not caved in to the pressures of the church when she found out the priest had been molesting Belinda, she would have made something of her life. Although no one blamed Belinda for what had happened, the church hinted to her mother that it would be better for both of them if they forgave the priest his indiscretions of the flesh and then forgot the entire event. Being poor, the Bishop's offer of lifetime employment went a long way to buy her mom's forgiveness. Unfortunately for Belinda, the church hierarchy considered the child’s suffering irrelevant and did nothing to help her, other than to tell her it was God’s way of testing her faith and making her stronger. Suffering was a way to be closer to the Lord they said. When she finally rebelled, her mother begged her not to do anything to antagonize their priest or the church.

At seventeen Belinda decided to escape her religious chains and ran away from home to make her own way in life. Unfortunately, the only thing she had of value was her body, but there were many people who would pay a lot of money for a few hours with an attractive young girl. By the age of nineteen, she was a hardened professional; at twenty-one a forced alcoholic. She didn't crave the booze so much as the slight euphoria and eventual unconsciousness it brought. Ten years later, she still drank every night, trying to wash away the memories that plagued her. Only recently had she begun to feel almost human again, instead of a plaything to satisfy people’s lusts. Long ago, she swore she would never work for anyone but herself. Now she worked for two women. For the first time in her life she felt someone really cared about her.

Tonight had not been very prosperous. Several Johns had stopped to offer her twenty bucks for blowjobs. Perhaps if they had been college kids looking for their first real-life experience, she might have initiated them into the world of hard-core sex. These, however, were old men looking for cheap thrills and expecting her to fall all over them for a few lousy bucks. Before them an undercover cop tried to get her to make the initial offer, but she knew better. Over the years she had developed a sixth sense for anyone associated with law enforcement. When he stopped his car to ask her how much, she merely smiled at him and told him he didn’t have enough to pay for what she had to offer. Being persistent, he tried to coax her into saying something incriminating. Eventually, growing tired of the game, she threatened to call his supervisor if he didn't stop harassing her and laughed at his expression when he realized he had been busted. Cursing, he sped away. Belinda suspected he was a dirty cop and just looking for a freebee.

Taking out a cigarette, she quickly lit it and inhaled deeply, holding her breath to prolong the warmth of the air filling her lungs. Eventually she exhaled slowly and watched the smoke drift away in the breeze. About to take another draw, she noticed a car approaching. Throwing the cigarette on the sidewalk, she quickly stepped on it before walking over to the waiting vehicle. Leaning down, she bent her knees slightly to get a better look inside of the darkened compartment. Without the interior light, all she could see was a shadowy figure of a man.

"You lost?" she asked.

"No, I know where I'm at. I saw you standing here and thought you might be cold," the driver replied, his voice low and deliberate.

"So you're offering me a ride? How thoughtful!" Belinda said, not at all fooled by his implied concern. "Well, thanks, but I'm fine."

"How much?"

Surprised by the question, she hesitated, looking closely at the plush interior and then glancing up and down the street.

"Excuse me?"

"I said how much? What do you charge for your services?"

"I think you have me wrong. Go find someone else."

"Oh. I thought... never mind. I apologize."

Again caught off guard, the prostitute wasn't sure how to respond.

"Look. Maybe I have the wrong idea. What exactly do you want?"

"Just someone to talk with. I thought perhaps you would like an easy night and since I feel like talking, I wanted someone to listen, nothing more."

"And you think a hoe is that type of person? You must be desperate."

"Let's just say some things aren’t meant for normal people’s consumption."

"Normal people. I like that. And what am I?"

"No offense intended, but you’re a prostitute. It's just a fact. So are you interested? I'll pay you $250 now and another $250 when I drop you off in a few hours."

"That's a whole lotta money for just listening." Belinda said, growing suspicious.

"For some. I can afford it. Are you interested or not?"

Shrugging, Belinda climbed into the car and buckled the seat belt.

"It's your money, so I guess it's your time. I ain't doing nothing more than listen though."

When the driver nodded, the prostitute leaned back and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

At least the car is warm,she thought as they pulled away from the curb.

"So, where to and what do you feel like talking about?" she asked.

"Someplace quiet... secluded. We'll talk then. Do you want to pick a spot or should I?"

Belinda shifted sideways and stared at the man. She could barely make out his features. Gloves concealed his hands, making it impossible to tell if he wore a ring, particularly a wedding band.

"Have you decided on anywhere?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"No. You decide, as long as you bring me back here. It'll save me from having to give directions."

"As you wish."

For several minutes they rode in silence while the driver drove through the partially abandoned streets. Finally, turning down a narrow dirt road, they eventually ended up in the driveway of a small brick house with a 'wrap around' porch.

"My place," was all he said.

"You don't think that's a little dangerous, bringing a stranger to your house?"

"Do you remember how we got here?"

"Not really."

"Then I don't see the problem. Is there one?"

"No, it doesn't bother me."

"Good! Come on in and I'll make us a warm drink."

Belinda followed the strange man into the house. A small fire burned brightly in the hearth, protected by glass doors. Without turning on the lights, he removed his jacket and walked toward the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

Removing her own jacket, Belinda tossed it on a chair and walked over to the fire. The faint smell of burning wood and the crackling was seductive, making her temporarily forget where she was. Only the sound of quiet footsteps brought her back to reality. Turning she watched as her host put a tray on the coffee table and noticed he still wore tight, brown leather gloves.

"Coffee. I hope you don't mind. I never drink alcohol."

"That's fine. I've had more than enough for both of us." Belinda laughed.

"Good! Please have a seat. There's sugar and cream on the tray if you want them."

As he motioned to a recliner near the fire, he turned to face Belinda. It was the first time the prostitute got a good look at the man.

Handing her the cup, he sat in his chair and leaned back, staring into the flames. The prostitute waited for him to start talking, but soon realized the man was lost in thought. Glancing around she noticed the room was sparsely furnished. There were no pictures or paintings on the walls, no items on the tables, nothing to gave away anything personal about him or his life. It was almost as if he had no identity. Minutes passed into over an hour. Belinda felt drowsy. Shifting her position, she leaned her head against the headrest. Blinking several times, she rubbed her eyes wearily and thought the warm room must be affecting her. The man hadn't spoken since offering her the coffee so she decided a short nap wouldn't hurt anything. He'd wake her up when he was ready to talk.

Looking up from the flames, the man stood and walked over to the prostitute. Assured that she was asleep, he quietly left the room, only to return a few moments later carrying something in his gloved hand. Holding the object up toward the light, he watched a small stream of fluid squirt into the air. Then he pressed the syringe against the sleeping woman's arm and pushed the plunger, forcing the clear fluid into a small vein. Belinda stirred slightly from the pain and tried to push the man’s hand away. When she tried to speak, her tongue felt too thick for her mouth, but her eyes gave away the fear she was feeling.

"I'm sorry. But I need you," the man apologized. Picking up the phone, he quickly dialed a number. Within minutes, two large men arrived in a dark van. Motioning to the woman, he decided to get some rest, leaving her future to them. They would remove any evidence of her presence in the house and lock up afterward.