NEW - Short Story; Dirty Pony

dirty pony

Wednesday.

  The contact had promised her weed for a hundred bucks, equivalent to the cost of bread, a packet of Lucky Strike' and milk. Sure it would turn out to be only three grams, five rollies at the most, outdoor of course, but it would suffice. It was arranged that they’d do the pick-up on Thursday (cause it would be a quiet night, she thought), at around eleven-thirty. They decided that it would commence at the back of the strip joint where she worked. At that time of night there weren't any deliveries and the possible few who would be watching wouldn't say a word. But she had two terms (cause it wasn't hard drugs but drug busts were happening all over the place and news went around of dealers getting caught because they got careless). She wasn't going to do the pick-up personally, and she told the contact that the person doing the pick-up would be wearing a mask.

  “Would anybody know about this except us?” the contact asked.

  She said no.

  The contact still sounded unsure. “How would I know who’s doing the pick-up?”

  Not the brightest of the lot, she though. “How many people walk around with masks at night?”

  “Honey, you’d be surprised,” said the contact over the sound of someone snorting something in the background.

  “Do you want to do this or not? There’s other people who’d be—

  “Hold on, hold on.” The contact was breathing heavy. “So this is a one time deal only?”

  “It depends.”

  He asked angrily; “On what?”

  “If you hired guns out, too,” she said.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Look, you can either help me out, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

  Eventually the contact agreed.

 

Monday, two days before the night the pick-up was arranged.

 She sat at teller number seven, on the first floor of a grand bank, dressed to blend in. The consultant, a full bodied, auburn haired woman who was a decade or two older than she, didn't look pleased to be acquainted. She was not the friendliest person alive, either. A real pessimist. Loathing her job and making life difficult for everyone who sat before her because of it. A troll locked in a woman’s body. By far the worst possible person to land at when one was a low grade stripper with a desperate means to make a loan. The woman had a look about her, too; someone who wouldn't be convinced easily when lied to.

  “I’m sorry, uh…ma’am,” said the senile toad, “this is the most our bank is willing to give you.”

  “The fuck it is!” she yelled, and thought; Who would seriously fall for this shit? “What the hell am I supposed to do with only six-hundred bucks? How am I supposed to put two kids through school with so little? Isn't there someone higher up I can speak to?”

  The consultant, clearly annoyed, simply said; “Sure. Come to think of it, I’ll simply call the head of the branch over here to repeat exactly what I had just said. I am sure you wouldn't be keeping him from doing more important things with his time, such as running this bank and enforcing regulations to keep certain persons such as you, from taking advantage of our services.”

  The stripped couldn't control her sudden flush of anger. She stood up, allowing the chair to slide backwards noisily. “Don’t get rude with me, bitch!”

  “That’s it,” the consultant said, looking past her to signal over a member of the security. “Perhaps you’d want to convince our head of security?”

  The stripper looked over her shoulder. A bulky man dressed in a tailored navy suit was making his way over to her.

  “OK, fine, whatever. I’ll take the damn money. You hear me? I’ll take what I can get.”

  The consultant smiled and held up her palm to stop the security. “As I thought,” she muttered. “Would you like the money up front or should I deposit it into your account?”

“The cash,” the stripper said. “I've never banked here before. Fucking banks.”

Tuesday. Two days before the deal.

  She woke early to go into town to buy things she needed for the house. It wasn't cheap to see kids grow up in front of one’s eyes. There was still a couple of years before she had to deal with paying off student loans and college fees, but she stressed about it all, although her two boys were only on the tracksuits, skateboards and stationary stage. By the time they matriculated, she would look older and, hopefully, she’s be able to pay rent on time every month. Besides, the boys would have learnt ways to earn some money themselves by then. These days, however, there was only one way to make a little bit extra bucks, even if it meant taking chances. The real question was, how far was she willing to push the boundaries?

  She caught a lift with one of the neighbors. Tom, from three doors down, a single guy robbed of good looks, dental hygiene and length in the downstairs department, were always willing to offer her a ride into town. He only asked for one favor, some days hardly any. Today however he had something strange in mind. She figured helping a guy get off in the back of his truck, never ever mentioning to a soul that it be done with tomato sauce and a bun, was still better than walking twelve blocks in the middle of winter with a good chance of rain showering down on her head. Tom was lonely, that’s all, and unlike other men, he never raised a hand at her.

  At the groceries store she stood in a line behind two more fortunate looking ladies. They both pushed trolleys, filled to the brim, swiping for their goods with golden cards. She could only afford four items in a basket. She couldn't go without the packet of Pall Mall cigarettes and the loaf of bread. She wanted to leave the toilet paper, single ply and still too damn expensive, but the flat had gone without for a good four days and they were running out of tissues. There was the cereal, too, thirty nine bucks and it wouldn't even last a week. She had only two hundred and sixty bucks stuffed in her handbag, somewhere, the rest of the loaned cash had gone towards the noise complaint the boys had manage to conceive about three months ago while she had worked late. The damn pink slip taped to the front door had now been long overdue, and the neighbors were properly fed up by it all. She knew it wasn't long before they’d get evicted yet again.

  But that wasn't the real problem. The thing that made her life a big jar of complicated was business. The strip joint clientele weren't exactly flocking in like in the old days. The high spending Chinese, Nigerian and Caucasian men hardly visited the low end of adult entertainment. They saw their money wasted in places such as Mavericks, Teasers and Casino lobbies. Business was slow and new ladies arrived overnight. They were younger, prettier, blonder; crowding the slim chance of making proper money. She wasn't bad looking herself, but she wasn't the prettiest either, so to get a guy’s attention she needed to do other things. Experience alone was not enough to make a decent living.

  She walked home with a single shopping bag in hand. By the time she arrived at the flats she had seen many unsettling things. Due to the neighborhood, she was not as bothered about it all as one would be living in a upmarket security complex. These were only a few of many things noticeable in the streets if one dared look for it. Sure, kids younger than sixteen were begging for money at street corners, only to hand over entire days of profit to guys twice their size and three times their age, threatening to raped their mothers and sisters if they did otherwise. Yet, still providing lodging. And what about the stray dogs and the homeless, scavenging for morsels like depraved zombies; desecrating black bags dumped in trash bins. Forgotten people, animals, their rib cages showing through skin condemned with flees and hair loss. There were the gangs, too. Guys hardly old enough to have matriculated, hanging out with older guys who saw the world as a service tray. The fuckers simply took ownership over things when something of desire crossed their street corner. They were armed men, not afraid to show their guns, some publicly counting the bullets in the magazine. And then there were the filthy cops, working for the gangs while driving past without enforcing the law. She had seen similar scenes many times over and it was always a relief after encountering such to thank chance for not putting a bullet in her. It was best to say nothing, to look the other way. Fear them rather than them killing you. Or worse.

  She made her way up the sixteen steps, down the hallway, the doors of other renters, till she reached the door of flat number twenty six. As per usual, she looked over her shoulder before unlocking. One could never be too careful here. The boys weren’t back from school yet. She realized this since the flat was quiet and their stuff had not yet been dumped all over the place. It was after two, she would have to get ready for work soon. She unpacked the items in the shopping bag, noticing there was hardly anything in the kitchen cupboards for the boys to have for dinner. A loaf of bread simply wouldn't do. She could always leave money. Tell them to order-in pizza. The land line had not yet been cut, which was strange because she had refused to pay a Telkom bill of over eight hundred bucks. That was roughly two months ago. She hardly used the damn phone anyway, except for the occasional call to the prison. The boys’ father might not ever speak to her again, but he still kept in contact with his sons. Her financial situation reminded her then that pizza money was money she did not have. But there was no way she would allow the boys to leave the flat so they could buy something at the Portuguese tuck shop. Kids went missing at night. At first it was only girls, but nowadays boys too. God knows what sick things are done to those who got taken. It would not happened to her boys. She would rather chain them to their beds.

  Still, they had to eat. She remembered then that Gina sold pies from her flat. And at the moment she could not be too concerned about the rumors. About a week ago there was commotion between Gina and a useless fuck everyone knew as Godfrey. He stayed in the flats, too. He purchased a steak and kidney pie. He found cat food in his filling. Of course she did not want to, but he got his money back. Whether it was true or not, a lot of people stopped buying from Gina after that. Maybe the boys had only been lucky the previous times. They loved Gina’s pies. And this did not mean they weren't fussy. Perhaps they simply didn’t know what they were eating. Or maybe they enjoyed the occasional taste of something unknown in the filling. Never the less, it was what she could afford. And Gina’s brownies; expensive as hell, but god they were special.

   

Wednesday evening. Shortly after the deal had been arranged.

  It was her off night. She had earned a good three hundred bucks for last nights services, and felt both tired yet motivated. She had also managed to pickpocket the black leather mask which formed part of many props provided by the strip joint to satisfy customers. It was a risky thing. Very risky to steal from one’s work giver, but she figured they had taken a lot from her. By the time the mask was reported missing it wouldn't matter.

  Now it was after seven. She got on the phone to dial the number of the one person other than her husband who wouldn't want to hear her voice. Her brother sounded stoned, happy too, when he answered. A second later he had realized who had called and put the phone down in her ear. She dialed his number up again. This time there was no answer. She slammed the headset down hard.

  Sammy, the youngest of her boys, looked up from the magazine he had gotten somewhere and tried to read.

  “It’s nothing,” she lied, looking at him. He did not believe her, he wasn't stupid, she knew, but Sammy turned back to the magazine to mind his own business. She decided to light up a cigarette.

  Someone had to come get the boys. She could not carry out her plans with them close by. She wondered, even if it was only for an instant, if Tom would take them in. But he would probably do something to them they would never recover from, and she would have to pay him in the currency of a sexual favor. There was the old lady on the ground floor. She seemed friendly, although they never shared much conversation. She hardly knew the woman’s name. But the lady seemed lonely.

  “Mom,” her eldest son interrupted. Brent had this way to catch her in deep thought. Something his father also did, but not without smacking her first.

   “Can I go to Hunter’s place after school tomorrow?” Brent asked, his eyes pleading. “He’s got a new bike and he said I can ride it if I wanted.”

  And then she knew. It was simple.

  “Why don’t you boys stay over at Hunter’s place tomorrow night?” she suggested.

  “But it’s a school night, mom,” said her youngest, confused.

  “We’ll make an exception. Go on Brent, dial Hunter’s number on the land line. I want to speak to his mother.”

Thursday, the day of the pickup.

  She had received a call that changed her plans. So, she had spent over an hour in the bathroom before she came out dressed in casual jeans, boots and a fluffy jacket pulled over a black jersey. She looked good. Scared shit-less, but feeling good. It had crossed her mind that although the contact sounded pretty legit over the phone,  he could not be trusted. She got his number from one of the girls at the strip joint. One of few actually who seemed perfectly fine with the fact that other woman might sleep with her regulars and take money she could have stuffed in her own handbag. The guy might not even show.

  OK, so she had done everything accordingly. She had lied convincingly to the contact. He would never know that she had made up her terms on the spot. Of course she would be the one doing the pickup. It wasn't like she was doing a suitcase filled with cocaine kind of deal. She would only be picking up a banky. But she wanted to sound sorted and shit. As if she had the luxury to send someone else to do her dirty work. It might have been a bit over the top, sure. It might have scared the contact off entirely. Yet she didn't think so. Guess she had to find out.

  Luckily she had the luxury of being home alone. If only for the night. This morning the boys had left for school with rucksacks. Hunter’s mom would have picked them up from school by now, and promised to phone if anything went askew. A good woman, by the sounds of it. One of those rare mothers who’s generosity could come in handy in the future. Maybe. It all depended on what would suffice in the next three hours.

  She walked over to the kitchen. On top of the counter lay her handbag. She pulled at the zip, fished through the bag’s contents. Her money was gone. Or so she thought. She only remember then that she had tucked last night’s cash in the back pocket of her leopard print jacket. She had bought it at a second hand store for some ridiculous amount, and wore it frequently to work. The jacket was in her room, casually flung over the chair standing in front of her dressing table. She fetched it, searched the back pocket. There was less than what she had thought, but the amount would still do.

  It was time, she knew. She locked the front door behind her. Walked down the hallway, descended the steps. In the parking lot she realized she had forgotten to most crucial thing. And had to turn back.

Twenty minutes later she arrived at the coffee shop downtown.

   This was the place as discussed with the guy who had phoned her on Monday morning. He wasn't seated anywhere yet, since he said he’d be keeping an eye and would only join her once she found a table and ordered a coffee. She’d have to do it casually, too. She explained that yes, she could spread her legs wide and rock a guys world, but acting wasn't her strongest skill. He laughed at this, promising she will do just fine.

  He arrived through the doors as the waiter placed a cup of steaming filter coffee in front of her. He wasn't at all what she had expected, but it was definitely him. He said he’d be wearing a leather jacket. What he forgot to mention was his looks. He was a definite looker, that’s for sure. His hair looked too good to be true. The kind of guy she would fuck for free, because it would mean a good time for the both of them.

  “So this is happening,” the man said. He took a seat at the table, pushing an envelope towards her. “You’ll need this.”

  She hardly touched her coffee, but immediately tucked the envelope away. “I’m not doing anything else, just to be clear.”

  “I didn't ask anything else, did I?” said the guy.

  He got up then, muttered something only she could hear, and left.

  Fucker, she thought. He could at least have paid for the coffee.

Ten minutes past eleven.

  She didn’t own a cell phone. It was a good thing, too. Had she owned one, probably tucked in her handbag somewhere, she would have had seven missed calls from the strip joint by now. She couldn't tell them that she’d never go back there. Not after what she had planned. What had now came into motion.

  On the way to the strip joint she had lots of time to think everything through again. If she had to be completely honest, she didn't actually believe she could pull it off. Not all of it. Recently things had gotten ugly and she wanted them to be better. It was time for change. Maybe it was her boys who had changed her way of thinking. Maybe she had gotten tired of being used as a pleasure puppet. She had become a dirty pony, begging for a good long bath and a bit of rest. She didn't mind people looking at her funny. She didn't mind being called things behind her back. She didn't mind making dirty love to other woman’s husbands. She minded not being able to afford anything. She minded being part of a world she hated and not being able to change it.

  It was dark out. Darker still since she wore the  black mask. In a different world, on a different day, she could easily have been mistaken for a comic book hero. Stripper woman, or some shit like that. A character out of one of the many comics her brother had read as a child. She could imagine it, actually, sleeping with men at night, saving others by day. Tonight she simply looked ridiculous and out of place, keeping her distance but keeping a close eye. She reached the strip joint and noticed that there were little cars parked out front. She had simply been lucky not to have been noticed yet. Drive-by’s were common here, normal. Men looking for some action roamed the streets like hungry sharks. She could only imagine what people would think of her now. What strange woman into stranger things…

   Still, she kept to herself, and whatever shadow was available, walking towards the back. There were no security on duty. There haven’t been security here for months. It was winter. Few businesses could afford keeping a full staff this time of year. Everything that happened outside the joint happened on one’s own risk. The boss never took responsibility anyway. Not even that time when a gang shot two civilians down outside on the sidewalk.

  She hid behind a dustbin, not very hero-like, but prepared herself for what was to come. She had a good vantage of the joint’s backdoor. For a while it was deserted out back. The door opened eventually. A girl dressed in leather and fishnets stepped out. This wasn't uncommon. She had done it many times herself. Girls frequently sneaked out to have a quick smoke break in between customers. As long as they didn't get caught by the boss. He smoked like a coal factory, cigars and weed and shit, but preferred his girls to smell nice and have a full set of shiny white teeth. 

  The wait turned out to be the worst part of it all. It created time to doubt everything she had done up until now. She had smoked a cigarette on the way. Sure, a real woman shouldn't walk and smoke at the same time. Guess what? She ain't nothing like a real woman. Not after everything she had done. There was still a couple of Pall Mall’s left in the packet. She lit up another one.

  Turns out the contact was early. A car drove in, barely moving alongside the building and came to a halt at the furthermost wall from the backdoor. The driver simply rolled down his window. Base beats filtered from the inside, loud and non-essential. He was smoking something other than Pall Malls, that was for sure. He looked at the area with skepticism, or so it seemed. He cut the lights, but didn't switching off the engine.

  She stepped out from behind the dustbin. Walked casually towards the pimped vehicle with shining wheel covers and an awful green spray job. Not the most appropriate vehicle to drive if you were dealing, she thought.

  “Where’s the cash?” the contact asked. No time to greet or to have any formalities.

  She asked to see the goods first.

  The contact looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “In the trunk.”

  “Aren't you going to get out?”

  “Are you mad, bitch? Go, pop the hood.”

  This wasn't what she had bargained for, but she did as was told.

  The contact pulled something and the trunk clicked open. She came to a halt and lifted the hood. The gun was there, unwrapped but zip-locked in a plastic bag. The weed was there, too. She didn't even get a chance to take it out. She heard the sirens. Blue lights disrupted the dark before two cop cars pulled into the backyard. It all happened fast.

  “Step out of the vehicle,” a male cop shouted, got out of the cop car, and acted very serious about it all. “Hands in the air. You are under arrest.”

Thirty minutes later.

  She had been in jail before. Not because of any illegal action on her own part, simply because of bad choices. Such as the boys’ father. He had been in and out of prison many years before he killed her boyfriend and was sentenced to sit behind bars for the rest of his life. They had been separated for years, he never did sign the divorce papers. He killed her boyfriend with a bottle. One stab to the neck and another to the heart and Jamie bled out on the kitchen floor, thumping like a fish out of water. The medics and doctors couldn’t do much for him. He had no medical aid. And they found him too late. It took about twenty minutes for the cops to arrive at her flat after she had called, begged, cried.

  That was more than a year ago. Sometimes she’d go through entire weeks, having forgot about it entirely. Other days, such as now, remembering made her sick.

  “You did well, for a rookie.”

  She turned, smelling the coffee before the cop could place a cup down in front of her. It was the same man who had met up with her earlier at the coffee shop. The attractive one. With his leather jacket and too good to be true hair. He walked passed her, pulled up a chair. Sat down opposite her.

  “We got him,” he said, smiling. “And it’s all because of you.”

  “It was nothing,” she lied. Now was not the time to admit how scared she had been, hiding behind a fucking dustbin at the back of a strip joint, knowing that the contact might suspect something.

  “You might not know the man very well,” the cop explained, “but he’s been hiring out guns to many of the gangs in your neighborhood. His guns had gotten a lot of people killed. You helped us to not let that happen again.”

  It was only then that she smiled. When the man across from her had phoned her on Monday morning, talked her into busting a gun and drug dealer, she had thought it all mad. Why her? Why did she care? Now she felt a strange sense of purpose. She couldn't tell anyone how rewarding it was to have said yes. Sure, she wasn't innocent, she had done bad things in her past, too, but the cops knew all about it. They took a chance by asking her to take a chance. They’d never know she would be involved, either.

  But what was the catch? Cause there’s always a catch, isn't there?

  “Congrats,” said the cop, sliding an envelope across the table for the second time on the same night. “As promised.”

  She reached for the envelope. It was thicker than the one before it.  “And what about the rest?”

  “Of course.” The cop gave her a list of names. Next to each name was an amount. Wanted dealers, crooks and gang bosses they wanted to take down. “But are you sure you are up to it, Vanessa Koopmans?”

  She looked at the list again. Who said there wasn't money working under cover for the cops?

  She smiled again. “I am up to it if it can put my boys through college.” 

©2015 / J. J Brits