Free The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story by Simon Wood Page A

hurling
obscenities back our way.   Nobody wanted
our kind of business.   In retrospect, we
were damned lucky that Delaware didn’t have any undercover vice working the
street.
    As
the parade of prostitutes ended, we turned off Delaware and onto J Street.   My euphoria died and I thought my brush with
a hooker was lost.    But it wasn’t.   It was just beginning.
    Lance
was slow correcting his turn and wandered across two lanes before getting
affairs under control.   I have no idea
what speed we were going but it must have been slower than I imagined or she
wouldn’t have caught up with us.   Before
Lance had a chance to accelerate, something struck the car from the rear.
    “Jesus,”
I said, cowering more out of instinct than necessity.
    Lance
slammed on the brakes.
    “Let
me in,” she screamed.   “For God’s sake,
let me in.”
    She
was in the street, yanking repeatedly on the rear passenger door handle.   She had a decent figure—tall, slim, a little
flat-chested, and narrow in the hips, but her face was nothing to write home
about, even with God knows how many shots of Jack Daniels I’d knocked
back.  
    “What d’ya want?” Lance asked, being purposely obtuse.  
    But
as I think of it now, maybe Lance was playing it smart.   Late at night, you don’t know what stunts
might be pulled.
    “He’s
chasing me.”
    Lance
looked behind her.   “I don’t see anyone.”
    Panic
ravaged her features, making her uglier than she was.   She glanced back over her shoulder.
    “Let
her in, Lance,” I said, fancying myself as a knight in shining armor.   She might have been a hooker, but she didn’t
deserve a beating.
    “I
just don’t see anyone.”
    Then
I did the dumbest thing in my life.   If
I’d told Lance to punch it right then, the world would have been a different
place.   But I didn’t.   I flipped the lock release on the back
door.   Why I did it, I don’t know.   Maybe I thought I was being a hero, trying to
impress a woman, albeit a hooker.   Before
Lance could react, she had the door open and was on the back seat.
    “Hit
it,” she said and Lance did.
    “Who’s
chasing you?” I asked.
    “My
pimp,” she said.
    The
answer wasn’t a shocker and neither was the reason.
    “He
wants more money.   He thinks I’m holding
out.”
    “Where
can we drop you?”   Lance asked.   He was strangely aloof.   He wasn’t happy with me, I could tell.   The look on his face said he didn’t want to
get mixed up in any fucked up business that had nothing to do with him.   And I couldn't say I disagreed.
      “The next street.”
    Lance
eased the Cherokee over to the side of the street.   “Be careful now,” he said without much
affection.
    “Thanks,”
the hooker said.   “I wish there was some
way I could repay you.”
    A
leer spread across Lance’s face.   “Actually, there is something you can do.”
    I
guessed what he would say.
    “What's
your name?” Lance asked.
    “Hope.”
    “Love
that name, Hope,” Lance said insincerely.   “It’s my friend’s bachelor party and I promised him a blowjob.”
    “Sixty
bucks.”
    I
realized we’d been conned.   There
probably was a pimp, but not one after her blood.   She was never going to be the pick of the
bunch, not with that face.   So, she
needed an in, a way of getting a John.   And she had one.   Who could resist
a damsel in distress?
    Lance
didn’t care about the con.   He’d gotten
what he wanted.   And the reward was twice
as sweet because he could pay me back for my blunder.
    “Sixty
bucks for a bee-jay?   Fuck that.   For sixty, we both get one.”
    She
considered Lance’s offer for a nanosecond.   “Okay.”
    “Cool,”
Lance said.
    I
groaned inside.
    “Pull
into that alley.   I don’t want any cops.”
    Grinning,
Lance said, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
    He
slipped the Cherokee into a litter-strewn service alley.   Three dumpsters lined the right-hand side of
the alley, which came