Free Shetani's Sister by Iceberg Slim

feared imminent death.
    Now he lay in a knot on the front seat. His palms squeezed his head, which vibrated violently in terror that he was going crazy. He lay there shaking for several minutes before the attack ended. He sat up and mopped sweat from his brow with a coat sleeve. He told himself what an absolute fool he was to let a hooker blow his common sense. He vowed to himself that he’d cut her loose before she destroyed him and his career. He promised himself he’d do without her body and high-grade coke. And he wouldn’t tip her to any changes of squad licenses or personnel.
    He drove the wagon to the street and resumed his shift. Yes, he’d also reduce his coke usage until he booted the habit, he assured himself. His jawline hardened. He was going to straighten out his life and get some peace of mind. He would become the solid rock that his wife, Millie, Rucker, and his cop associates believed him to be.
    A week later, at 10:00 p.m., Crane sat in the station wagon on the parking lot of the Sunset drugstore, waiting for Petra. He had decided to take her last coke delivery. Earlier, he had noticed two new girls working up and down the boulevard. He had tried to snare a couple of them, but they ignored him.
    At ten-thirty, he became angry with himself when he realized he had thought about Petra for most of his shift and couldn’t stop thinking about her and missing her on the street. Now he wondered if he could cut her loose just like that. And his nerve ends shrieked for coke.
    He drove from the lot into Sunset traffic. He stopped for a red light and glanced down Normandie Avenue. He saw the silhouettes of several scantily clad female figures alight from a large dark van that U-turned and disappeared. On the green, he drove across the intersection and parked.
    Through his rearview mirror he saw the interracial quartet of strange young hookers come to the intersection and split up. Tuta and her black stablemate came down the sidewalk toward him. They eyeballed the heavy traffic for tricks.
    Crane leaned across the seat and smiled at them through the open window as they passed.
    Tuta came to him. He saw the other girl move away to glance at the wagon’s rear license plate.
    He said, with the Israeli accent, “Hello, pretty lady. May I give you and your friend a lift?”
    Tuta frowned at the accent. She glanced back at her buddy, and turned back to face him. She said, “I think no. I’ll have to ask my sister Mamie.”
    Mamie walked up to join Tuta and said, “What’s happening, Pat?”
    Tuta winked. “This guy wants to give us a lift. What do you think?”
    Mamie shook her head and said, “He looks like the Boston Strangler to me.” She then grabbed Tuta’s arm and steered her into a nearby coffee shop.
    He tried to pick up seven other new hookers that passed him. They ignored him. Petra had crossed him! He sat, whitened with anger, for a moment. He screeched the wagon into traffic to search for Petra. At midnight, he parked at an intersection on the other end of Sunset. He spotted Petra passing and then getting out of an elderly white trick’s car on a side street.
    He moved the wagon into the side street as soon as the trick pulled away. Petra spotted him. She walked toward him as he parked and doused his headlights in the middle of the block.
    He removed his gun from its shoulder holster and put it behind his back on the seat. His head felt like a red-hot balloon ready to pop. He watched her approach in his rearview mirror and gritted his teeth. He’d take her to an isolated spot and wrench the truth from her one way or the other. No fucking hooker was going to make a sucker out of him.
    He opened the passenger door. A moment later, he constructed a smile when she got in. She scooted her blue-silk-clad curves against him. She finger-stroked his thigh.
    “Jerry, I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you, I’ve been so busy.”
    His impulse was to smash his fist down on her hand. Instead, he gently removed it.