Page 3 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“You’re not answering the question, soooo.” I shrug.

“I’m not a cop,” he says.

“Two an hour. Grand for the night.”

He reaches around and grabs my ass. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

I force myself to smile like it’s a joke. Is it a joke? I don’t know. I just have to get invited to the table and memorize names, dates, and locations.

“Send it to our table,” he tells the bartender. “Come on.”

I shove off the bar, balancing on my heels.

He takes a chair outside of a circular corner booth and makes me sit on his lap.

I settle in, trying to center myself more on his legs and less on his crotch.Hate criminals, I think.

A waiter sets down a fresh gin and tonic.

There are five men and two women, but no one gives introductions.

“New around here?” a jowly man across the table asks. He has a heavy brow and a baby-blue sports jacket. The woman next to him is watching me with hooded eyes. She has glossy brown hair like a model, and I get the feeling she’s the one who wants to know.

“Just passing through,” I say. “On my way to Vegas. I have a modeling job set up.” More stuff Bender told me to say. If I’m just passing through, I won’t be as threatening to the women whose territory this bar is.

“Modeling for who?” the woman asks.

“Lingerie line,” I say.

Dardan roams his eyes down my front for about the tenth time.

I force a smile. My B-cups are playing C for the night, thanks to a lot of padding.

“I think you got what it takes to make it big in that business,” he says.

I force another smile, fantasizing about making a citizen’s arrest—Dardan and the other men. These are the kinds of men who lured my sister into their stupid life of easy money, danger, and drugs.

They all have opinions about Vegas—some hate it, some love it, and for one strange moment, they’re like normal people. Everybody I know has an opinion on Vegas. I tell them I’ve never been there.

“Be careful,” the woman with glossy hair says. “Most of those photogs are pervs. Get your pay up front. Nothing on spec.”

I nod and thank her. It’s sweet that she’s giving me advice.

The talk turns to cars, and I get the feeling that was the topic before I sat down. I start taking notes in my head.

At one point, Dardan gives my thigh a squeeze, like he’s testing out an avocado. I try not to stiffen.

Mary told me that a lot of prostitutes take designer pharma to stay relaxed and mildly floaty. Maybe it would’ve been smart, but I’m not used to drugs, and I need to stay sharp to hold up my end of the deal for Bender. I’ll over-deliver, and he’ll have to come through.

Mary and I were just kids when Dad took off for parts unknown; she was twelve, and I was nine. Our little family was already struggling, but Mom went off the deep end, swinging wildly back and forth between being deep in drink and being deep in prayer, a grim cycle that involved lots of tears and unpredictable punishments.

We quickly learned it was best to stay small and out of sight. Mary tried to keep my spirits up. We’d do dance moves in the scrubby field out back or try things on at the H&M in town, making plans on what to buy if we ever had money. Sometimes, she’d smuggle candy into our shabby little bedroom. It’s a favorite memory, the two of us sitting on a bed strewn with candy, music playing softly from her phone.

It never occurred to me until later that she stole that candy. Or that she gave up her time with her friends to care for me and protect me from Mom’s increasingly creepy boyfriends. She even stayed around home a few extra years so as not to leave me alone there.

While Mary was focusing on me, I was focusing on getting into college. I studied as hard as I could and earned a big scholarship. Anything to escape that life of poverty, demons, and despair.

And now it’s my turn. I’m going to find Mary and give everything I have to pull her up and out of wherever she is, too.

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