Preacher’s Square was designed to give hardworking people a patch of grass to eat lunch and bring the kids to play, instead it had become nothing more than a cesspool for runaway teens who wanted to get high and hos who needed a place to do their business.
I downed two of the mini tequila bottles and took a couple hits off the joint I had before I readied myself for the hunt. It didn’t take but two minutes before I got a hit, a businessman looking for an afternoon blow job. He leaned in close enough to be heard but still far enough away so he didn’t get caught. Day jobs were more difficult and easier to get arrested. All it took was one cop who wouldn’t trade for a tuck-and-pull from any of the girls in the park and we’d all go down. Fortunately, one of the new girls showed up or the cops were having a shift change because there wasn’t one in sight.
“Hey, sweetheart, what’s it cost for you to . . . you know?” he said as he pointed to the stiffy in his pants.
“That depends on what you want. Lips are forty, a dip is sixty and if you need both, seventy-five.” I sounded like a broken record.
“Well, that little piece of ass over there told me she’d give me both for forty-five.” He tossed me a thoughtless smile as he pointed over to a girl who was rockin’ her shit back and forth, his eyes were as big as drink coasters.
“You know what, if that ho is willing to bargain basement her coochie for forty-five bucks, I suggest you run your cheap-ass over there and tap it, because I guarantee her prices are all ready going up as we speak.” I stood there waiting for him to respond. He couldn’t, we both knew he was lying, because I knew Patsy and she wasn’t willing to give up her snatch for anything under fifty bucks. Maybe if she was feeling generous she’d blow you for thirty-five bones but nothing less. “Pay or get the fuck out of my face,” I spat at him.
“I only have thirty-five dollars. Come on help me out,” he whined as he dug pudgy fingers into his suit pants.
“Are you kidding me? You’re walking up on me wearing a Giorgio Armani suit worth more than the car I drive and you’re gonna stand here and tell me you can’t come up with another five bucks so I’ll suck your cock? Get the fuck out of my face, you cheap-ass bastard.”
When you sold yourself for money that was how you had to treat all these cheap-ass motherfuckers. Pull out your toughest trait, own it and wear it like a glove; let them know you aren’t desperate for their money and always be willing to walk away. If you don’t, they’re gonna whittle away at your profit and the next thing you know you’re sucking them off for free.
“Shit,” he spat as he dug into his wallet fat with cash.
He collected up forty bucks before he twisted it into his fingers, he held it up between us. “You better be worth it.”
“Put away the money and don’t pull it out until I say. What the fuck, you trying to get me pinched?” I growled staring him down.
He slipped his cash into his front pocket.
“Now, are we doing business in your car or all Adam and Eve style?”
His eyes narrowed, he looked around before he cleared his throat, I knew by his body language he was about to say something that made him look like a total douche.
“Just follow me,” I mumbled as I began to walk up the grassy knoll.
I should have known he didn’t want to use his car. Another perfect example of why I’d rather fuck a dusty old fart, hopped up on Viagra in the back seat of his rusty Cadillac, than deal with assholes like this, where his briefcase was bigger than his cock, and the value of his pinstriped charcoal gray suit was worth four times anything I owned.
In the far corner of Preacher’s Square there was a grove of Eucalyptus trees surrounded by tall juniper bushes. Behind it, a twelve-foot-tall stucco wall that separates the upper-middle class neighborhood from the park, secluded enough to be private but it still gave you a clear view of who was coming over, a perfect place to do our business.
“You don’t have to keep looking around. It makes you look guilty of something. Just walk casual. You ever done this before?” I asked.
“Yeah, in a car, or a hotel room, but not like this.”
“Let me tell you, first, nobody gives a rat’s ass about what you and I are about to do. And two, the busy people will still be busy walking down the sidewalks, dogs will still be taking a shit on the edge of the square and their owners will still be the assholes who leave it there to fuck with my profession and lastly, as I drop down and give you one of the most ball-tightening blow jobs you’ll ever have . . . we’ll have an audience. So when your eyes are rolling into the back of your head and you’re about to blow your wad, remember there’s always a couple street rats that sneak back here and jack off to the show, just make sure you give them one. You ready?” I asked as we slipped behind the sparse juniper bushes.
“I guess so, sure.”