Chapter 1Content: MF oral anal rough
I met Mack in a bar -- not a pickup place, but one with pool tables, a juke box and mostly seats at the bar -- the kind of place where men sit and drink. I'd just been laid off and it suited my mood better than most places, although it wouldn't have been my usual thing. I was watching the silent TV display a golf match -- just for something to do -- when Mack walked in and hit the stool two down.
That wasn't an opening for instant conversation; we probably spent two hours parked like that, me pretending to be a beer drinker and him knocking back scotch and soda, before any conversation started. During that interim, he must have taken a half-dozen calls on his cell phone, obviously making executive decisions. When he needed to, he opened a steno pad and scratched figures on it or doodled; he seemed to have problems with math; he would grunt, "Hang on a minute," into the phone, then erase a chunk of what he was doing and redo it, then grunt, "What are the taxes again?" and scratch some more before coming up with a number and barking it into the phone, then closing the call.
Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I ventured, "They won't let you alone, huh?"
Mack eyed me a moment, then grinned; he had one of those craggy faces that could go from neutral to jovial to downright mean in two-tenths of a second. “Well, this IS my office,” he related.
I had nothing to lose, so I looked around. “Nice. Should I have had an appointment?”
That tickled him and he let out a guffaw -- probably due to the scotch. “Well, maybe, but I let Mike, here, load the place so he can pay his rent.” Mike was the bartender; he nodded, amused, and continued wiping a highball glass.
“Where’s your secretary?” I asked, looking around.
“She don’t drink,” Mack related. “I don’t think she thinks, either, from the phone calls I get. All she does is pop chewing gum like a cow chewing a cud.”
“Not much help,” I opined.
“Well, it’s nepotism,” Mack grunted. “She’s my brother’s wife’s sister. I think that means we’re related. I keep her on the payroll so she can feed her half-wit kids.” He chuckled. “Besides, she’s got a halfway decent rack. I wouldn’t touch her with your dick -- she gets pregnant if you breathe on her twice in succession -- but I can rest my eyes.”
I laughed. “You were doing some heavy math, it looked like.”
“Shit, I can barely add -- and I CAN’T subtract -- but I’m the math guy. I’m trying to keep shit inside the budget -- close, anyway.”
“What’s it all about?”
“Renovating a building. Contractors only know ‘more’ -- more time, more money. I think my current guy uses certain suppliers because they’re slow as molasses and he can blame delays on them while I pay his boys for sitting on their asses,” Mack complained.
“You’re in construction?”
“Not really.” He chuckled and swished the ice cubes in his glass. “I’m a real estate mogul.” He chuckled again.
“I’ve been thinking about looking into that,” I said. “It seems popular.”
“Flipping houses?” He eyed me. “Now’s the time to buy, but you can go broke holding ‘em waiting to sell after you poured your money into ‘em.” He knocked back a swallow. “I prefer to hold places to rent -- shitty as that is. Just bought a duplex on a short sale -- they took all the copper out, so I’m putting in plastic.”
I was awash. “Short sale? Copper?”
He eyed me for a minute. “Don’t spend your money until you learn the lingo. A short sale is where you talk the bank into selling you a piece of property they’re foreclosing on for less than what’s owed. Right now, there’s a glut because the greedy assholes lent to anybody they thought they could suck money out of, so they’re takin’ it in the shorts. Thieves go in the houses while they’re vacant and steal all of the copper pipe because it’s pricey right now, so you have to replace the plumbing -- with plastic, which is a LOT cheaper.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, somewhat vacuously. “So what’s the big math gig?”
“It’s harder to find buyers or renters after a flip,” Mack related. “I’ve got rules of thumb for six months, but with everyone broke, it runs to nine, so it’s stubby pencil time.”
The phone rang again and Mack got out his pad. “That much? Are you sure?” He turned to me. “What the Hell is one and a half times thirteen thousand?”
“Nineteen five,” I replied.
“Thanks!” He went back to the phone. “Not a nickel over nineteen five, understand? I don’t care if your sister-in-law doesn’t eat because her no-good spick husband ain’t working -- he ain’t sitting on his ass on MY dime! Understand? I’ve got other contractors, you know!” He listened for a moment. “Look, Julio, I know you have to keep the crew working, but that means you go out and fix your supply problems, not come running to me. Now get on the phone with the yard and tell them to get up off their asses or you’ll go elsewhere!” He hung up. “Who the fuck knows where else he’s dicked me because I can’t add...”
“Get something that adds for you,” I advised. “Simplest would be a calculator -- but I bet you have all this stuff in your head, right?”
“Okay, then -- it’s probably mildly complex, but you just need to plug in new numbers and it all works out, right?” I reached down to my left and hoisted my laptop case onto the bar. “I can whip up something you can just plug numbers into and it will spit out your answers for you...”
“No shit?” Mack grunted. “You some kind of bookkeeper?”
“Computer geek, more likely,” I grunted. “We’re a little more flexible.”
“I hope you don’t cost as fucking much,” Mack grunted.
“Well, I just started a forced sabbatical, but I’ll give you this for free -- how’s that?” I replied. “I can look for regular work tomorrow when I don’t smell like a beer.” I fired up the laptop and for the next forty minutes we collaborated on a spreadsheet for holding costs on a home that was to be purchased, upgraded and refurbished, and turned around for profit in a reasonably short time. Mack’s big problems were things like ‘vacancy insurance’ -- a policy for defraying the cost of vandalism to a vacant house -- that had a six month policy premium. Costs for that were double, not one and a half times his six month window. Additional utilities and property taxes and such drove up his overhead. We’d just finished when he got another call. “They want HOW much? What’s the new delivery date if we cough it up?” The house he was talking about was the one we’d used to proof the spreadsheet, so he covered the mouthpiece of his cell. “Four-seventy to deliver in three days. That gets everyone off their ass six days early, but...”
I increased the materials cost and reduced the labor at the daily rate we were using. “That’s seventeen days for the crew size you have programmed, and puts you a week and a half ahead of schedule. What if you drop a guy?”
I ran the numbers with one less carpenter. “You save both ways. There might be something else out there, too.”
“What’s that do to my window?”
“It leaves you four days for emergencies.”
“Do it, Julio -- but drop somebody. You’ll have more time, so you can use fewer bodies. Is there anybody you haven’t called in?” Mack listened. “Don’t, then.” There were a couple of minutes of wrangling, but Mack hung up grinning. “You just saved me a couple of grand, I figure.”
“Eighteen hundred and change,” I agreed.
“Can you put that on something I can carry around that isn’t so bulky?” Mack asked.
“Probably,” I agreed.
Mack eyed me. “The numbers aren’t enough -- I need someone who can see the holes like you just did. My bookkeeper knows tax law, but he can’t seem to find a way to make me a buck outside of that.” He pursed his lips. “Got any folding money?”
“Like, how much?”
“Fifty grand, say.”
“If I didn’t have to eat for the next few weeks, maybe.”
“Eat doughnuts at my place. I’ll give you a chunk of the business to run the numbers. You can bring me into the twenty-first century. I need email and shit. Marketing, flyers, spam -- all that crap the competition has that hurts my head. In return, I’ll make sure you don’t fuck up and you’ll be collecting a couple of thousand in rent each month and a cut of whatever I’m doing that you’re contributing to. What do you think?”
I rubbed my jaw. “I can probably handle the job description, but I’m not a people person...”
“I’ve got that. I need a numbers person. Sales jockeys are a dime a dozen.”
“Well, okay. I hear horror stories about being a landlord,” I muttered.
“It’s all in how you pick your tenants and making shit clear up front,” Mack chuckled. “I have places I’d rather not go -- and places where the first of the month is recreational.”
“Sounds like a deal.” I stuck out my hand and we shook on it.
“Keep track of what you’re saving me,” Mack warned. “Sometimes I get bitchy.” We went back to drinking -- but I slacked off even more, since I was now on the payroll and needed to stay sharp. We got a half-dozen more calls and I refined the spreadsheet and set up calculations for a couple of other scenarios and when I staggered home I had his business card and a lot of good will.
The next morning, I hit the address of his REAL office and met Noreen, the secretary with the nice rack. It was, but she wasn’t - she was an oxygen thief. Still, she knew I was coming and set me up with a desk and a telephone and we went from there. Automation was nonexistent in Mack’s office; when he came in, I had eight different proposals for improvements that were theoretically at least within the limits of his small sales staff. “One at a time!” he grunted, but by afternoon I was buying computers and routers and switches and printers.
I owned automation in that office -- from email to antivirus to the website to marketing to the books -- at least as far as getting the bookkeeper on electronic record keeping. In the first two weeks, I spent twenty thousand dollars -- and Mack was prone to complain, so I kept my numbers with me -- and I’d saved him twice that much.
At the end of that period, however, things were getting tight; I’d forked over the fifty thousand that first day, purchasing five percent of Mack’s company, and I didn’t have that much more in the way of resources. The bookkeeper rather jealously informed me that everyone else was an employee, which was a surprise, but that only carried me so far... So when the end of the month came, I turned to him, beer in hand (we ‘worked’ half a day every day in that bar or another one up the street -- I was drinking non-alcoholic beer, mostly), and said, “Mack? When do I see some money from this deal? Not to bitch or anything, but this IS my day job and I have rent to pay...”
“Rent? You don’t pay no fucking rent! You COLLECT rent! Hang on a minute.” He punched the phone and barked. “Noreen! When were you gonna give Pete his apartment keys? Did you set up his drawing account like I told you to? What the fuck you mean you don’t know how? Papers? Oh. Shit. Where are they? Shit. When did the lawyer send them? Awright.” He hung up and sighed. “Come on, we need to go back to the rat hole.” We went out and got in his car -- but he turned to me and said, “You’re drinking that non-alcoholic shit, aren’t you? You’d better drive...”
It had more or less become a ritual; I got out and took the keys to his Caddy and away we went. At the office, both of the sales guys were out; the two interns were taking calls and interviewing callers with houses to buy or sell and the sales boys were on appointment sweet-talking buyers and sellers to get our piece. The third sales guy was gone; one of my early discoveries was the fact that he was just taking up space. I really felt bad when I pointed that out to Mack -- but he had no problem doing the dirty and putting the guy on the street -- which made me feel even worse. Mack just grunted. “It’s a cost of doing business. He’ll sell for his next boss or he’ll find a new line of work -- we’ve done him a favor with the wake-up call.”
Anyway, we went into his office and Mack dug around on his desk and surfaced some contracts and in a few minutes I was LEGALLY a partner -- and a limited signatory on a drawing account. “Don’t abuse it,” Mack grunted, then chuckled. “Not that I think you’d know how.” Next I was issued a shiny gold AMEX -- with the same injunction -- and we headed out to the bookkeeper’s office, where Mack talked to the poor man like he was a three year old. “Got the P & L? Show me.” Mack looked it over and grunted, then handed it to me. The number said we were doing okay, I figured. “This includes all that computer crap Pete ordered?” Mack asked. The bookkeeper nodded. “Figure out what five percent is -- minus the tax man’s cut -- and open an account for Pete at the bank and deposit it. Put the tax money in the escrow account for the quarterly. Give Pete his checkbook tomorrow. Got me?”
“Pete sees every fucking thing -- he’s a partner. You fix it. He sees YOUR shit in particular, since he does numbers, and I don’t. Get me?”
“Get moving. Hold it. Make sure Pete is on the health plan and all that shit, too. 401k, the works. Can you ballpark what he’s gonna get?”
“Yes.” The guy -- Fred -- poked his calculator and scratched a number down on paper and handed it to me -- and it was about half again what I’d been doing in salary.
“Jeezus!” I grunted.
Mack chuckled. “We’re up five percent AFTER you bought all that shit. That makes you worth it. Next month will probably be more. Some months are shit, but I have a funny feeling that there are gonna be fewer of those. Let’s go for a ride.”
I followed him out of the bookkeeper’s office and to Noreen. Mack barked, “Keys!” and Noreen surfaced a set. Mack snatched them and swept out. I got the feeling that everyone was up in arms because he came back after one p.m. I got to drive again; Mack gave directions. In fifteen minutes we pulled up in front of a condo building. “Come on.” Mack waved and I followed him in. He went to the elevator and we rode to the third floor and he turned right and opened a door. “Take a look.”
It was three bedrooms with an open kitchen and a hot tub and a balcony overlooking a pool. “Nice!”
“I own the building,” Mack grunted. “These are your digs -- get your junk out of your place. Whatever you need to break the lease, take it out of the drawing account, along with the mover’s money.” He eyed me. “That cool with you?”
“Good. Tomorrow, being it’s the first, we’ll go around and collect some rent on a couple of my pet projects. You’ll enjoy it.”
We were headed back down the stairs. “Well...”
“Yeah, I know,” Mack chuckled. “You’re not a people person. Well, it’s like I told you -- it’s all about who your tenants are. I don’t collect rent for all of my places -- just a few. And I do those more for recreation than anything else -- you’ll see what I mean.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in the bar again.
The next morning, I came in driving my little Saturn. I was late -- ten-thirty or so -- because I needed to arrange for a dozen things related to my move. Had Noreen been worth her salt as an assistant, I’d have handed it off to her -- but she wasn’t. Some things WERE in the new place -- I had cable TV up the wazoo, and telephone, but no internet. My old landlord wasn’t thrilled, but keeping the last and the security deposit mellowed him somewhat. I would be another day or two getting out, but, hey... Mack eyed the Saturn and grunted, “When are you gonna sell that shitbox?”
“Probably never,” I retorted. “That shitbox gets thirty-two miles to the gallon and has a hundred thousand miles on it.”
“Get something to attract women with,” Mack retorted. “You can keep that one to collect rent in. We’ll take it this afternoon.”
“Okay.” ‘What? No Caddy?’ I wondered. But it wasn’t important; I followed him to the bar at the usual time and we were relaxing at about two o’clock when Mack said, “So, Pete. You don’t have a little woman -- is there a main squeeze?”
I sighed. “Nope. I don’t attract ‘em.”
“You will,” Mack advised. “Some of ‘em smell money. You start looking prosperous and you’ll have that flavor all over you.”
I laughed. “No doubt. Trouble is an easy buy.”
Mack nodded, laughing. “Yeah, that’s why I handle things differently.” He looked kind of proud of himself; I didn’t know why -- and was afraid to ask. Was he gay or something? “Come on,” he added, “Let’s go collect some rent.”
Twenty minutes later, Mack directed me, “Pull into the next driveway.” We were in a neighborhood where old two- and three-story houses crowded one another to the point that driveways were tight to get into and out of. A few blocks over was an area I NEVER wanted to try to collect rent from -- but these houses were in fairly good repair and none were boarded up or vacant and there weren’t a lot of loiterers on the street. “I -- WE own about half of the houses on this block," Mack related, “and the city is thrilled to death with me for helping clean up the neighborhood.” I pulled the Saturn in and through to the back of the house, which didn’t seem to have a yard -- it was basically all pavement. I shut down the car and made to get out, but Mack forestalled me with a hand on my arm. “This is my special project,” he related, “one of a couple I have. Follow my lead and you’ll see why I collect here personally.”
I nodded and we got out of the car. As we headed up the walk, Mack said, “Pete, I trust you, or I wouldn’t be showing you this. You might take this all wrong; if you do, we’ll probably have to part company -- which sucks, because you’re incredibly valuable to me. But I’ll understand if you can’t hang with this...”
Now I was worried. “Is it illegal?”
Mack grimaced. “Some people would say that it’s exploitation, to say the least. But my tenants all understand what they’re getting into when they sign the lease -- I make it VERY clear. Maybe it IS illegal -- but they sign up for it, so I don’t feel too bad.” By then we’d circled around to the front steps. “This is a multi-family -- four apartments.” He popped open a lockbox built into the wall beside the door and shuffled around inside, drawing out two envelopes. “Two of ‘em have paid the rent, it looks like.” I stood there while he opened the envelopes and checked the amounts on the checks. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll be visiting the other two. Follow my lead.” We headed up the staircase. “So, Pete,” Mack said genially, “are you familiar with the term ‘trailer trash?’ Well, there aren’t any trailers this far in-town, you know, but people have to have a place to live. I have two houses like this -- and I rent to a special clientele. Any idea what they might be?”
“Nooo...” ‘Here it comes,’ I thought.
“Single mothers.” Mack grinned. “The city social services agencies all think I’m a saint -- but I reap the benefits -- you’ll see.” He knocked on the door marked 2A.
“Just a minute!” sounded from inside. In a couple of minutes, the door sprang open to display a hefty number with light-brown hair bleached blonde, blue eyes, a snub-nosed, dimple-cheeked face, a pair of fat, round hooters in a peasant blouse with weird lumps where her nipples should be, a short, tight jean skirt, nylons, and high-heeled sandals. The legs were beefy but smooth and not bad looking; I hauled my eyeballs back up to her upper half to discover that she was burdened with a baby. “Oh, hi, Mack,” she said, furtively.
“Hi, Cindy. Going out?” Mack asked.
“Um, no -- just hanging out...” I found myself thinking that it was interesting that she chose to dress up like that to clean toilets or whatever.
“I’ll say!” Mack leered. “So, Cindy, where’s the rent?”
“It’s coming, Mack.”
“On the fifth.”
“That’s not the first, Honey,” Mack noted. “If it’s not the first...”
“I know.” Cindy looked odd -- troubled, but excited.
“Pete needs to be filled in on the rules, Honey,” Mack said quietly. “Why don’t you brief him?”
“Yes, Mack.” Cindy stepped back inside the apartment; we followed, Mack closing the door behind us.
“Put the baby down, Honey -- we all know you’re a mother.”
“Yes, Mack.” Mack waved and I followed Cindy into her nursery. Matter-of-factly, while she put the baby down and tucked it in, Cindy related, “Mack’s rules are that the first month you’re late, he gets to fuck you until you pay. The second month, you fuck Mack’s friends until you can pay.”
“And the third month?” Mack asked.
“The third month you earn the rent on your back,” Cindy related quietly. She stood and headed back toward the living room; I thought that her face was strangely placid for someone talking about sex slavery and prostitution.
“Pete’s new, so he’s kind of surprised, Honey,” Mack related. “Was this all a surprise at all?”
“No,” Cindy looked at me with strange eyes. “Mack explained it all when I signed the lease. I agreed to it.”
“Obviously, the lease doesn’t SAY that,” Mack related. “What it DOES say is that I can kick them out for breathing crooked. There’s a clause in it for performance that’s pretty strict that says that I can make demands as I see fit if they’re not in compliance. This is how I see fit.” He turned to Cindy. “This is the second month in a row Cindy’s been late -- I think she enjoyed the first one too much. It took her until almost the fifteenth to pay me last month, even though I gave her a little leeway.” He eyed me. “Fuck her, Pete. Do whatever you want. Treat her like you’re gonna put a gun to her head and shoot her when you’re done -- rip her ass up!”
Cindy looked startled. I blinked. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about betrayal,” Mack said harshly. “It’s about breach of contract -- breach of trust. It’s about punishment.” He eyed Cindy. “It’s about preparing her for next month.” Stepping forward, he punched her in the stomach; I watched her collapse, unable to breathe, her eyes shocked. Mack eyed me. “I can do this, or you can. Obviously, I’m a little pissed.”
“Ummm, okay...” I stepped forward gingerly. Mack circled behind and grabbed Cindy by the neck and dragged her up onto her knees. “You don’t need to breathe to get Pete out of his pants, bitch. Move!”
Cindy managed to get her hands to my zipper and start tugging. Mack closed up on me and muttered in my ear, “This isn’t as serious as it looks -- Cindy likes it rough. She’s also way out of line...” Aloud, he added, “So you figure being ol’ Mack’s twat is probably a good deal, huh? Maybe I’d get all sweet on you and give you trinkets and shit? Honey, I have a half-dozen twats at any given moment -- you got no shot at being Numero Uno! Besides, this month you get loaned out to my friends -- that’s a step DOWN the totem pole! Get outta that blouse and get your lips on Pete’s dick, NOW!” He swatted her on the back of the head -- nothing that was going to give her permanent injury -- while she tugged the cap sleeves of her blouse over her arms and poked her torso right through the elastic neck of the thing. The weird lumps went flying -- they were pads of some kind, obviously there to keep her breasts from dripping milk all over, since that’s what started happening more or less instantly.
Okay, maybe I’m a bad guy -- but there seemed to be some justification for what Mack was doing. Women had dicked me over since elementary school, for Christ’s sake... I stuck my dick in her mouth -- it was hard, too.
At Mack’s urging, I grabbed a handful of Cindy’s hair at the back of her head and drove her onto my cock. She put her hands on my hips, but didn’t fight me, despite the gagging noises. Behind her, Mack rolled his eyes and mouthed, “She loves this shit!” Caught up in the whole thing, I took her head in both hands and really put it to her. She was going “Gluk! Gluk! Gluk! Gluk! Gluk!” I could have been choking her to death, but she still wasn’t fighting. “You probably don’t want to cum in her slut mouth,” Mack opined. “Why don’t you stick her head in the toilet or something and fuck her ass? Use your imagination...”
I thought about it. “No, I’m enjoying this...” I kept humping her face. Milk from her swollen breasts dripped on my pants and my shoes and I didn’t give a fuck.
Like I said -- maybe I’m a bad guy. But Mack had a couple of points -- and I owed the ‘fair sex’ -- because they’d never treated ME fairly. Pussy was something I paid for -- or didn’t get. Period. I’m not ugly or anything -- but I’m not handsome, either. Intellectuals lose out to bad asses all the time. Cindy took the heat for about a half-million snubs -- sorry about that. Her eyes watered and her chubby face turned pink and she drooled and her make-up ran and made her look like a raccoon and she drooled and choked and puked on the floor once -- and I shoved my dick in her throat and held her there while I blew the biggest nut... Then I pushed her away, gasping and choking -- and I figured I’d done her a favor, because her head wasn’t in the toilet...
Stupid me. Mack had her up and off to the bathroom before her ass hit the floor good, hauling her by one arm. Then he DID stick her face in the toilet and he DID rip her skirt down and he DID jam his dick in her ass -- unlubed -- and pound the shit out of it. He let her up here and there -- but he flushed twice. When he got done, her shoes were off, her nylons were laddered -- did I mention that they were real nylons, not pantyhose? Garter belt and all... She was soaking wet from the neck up and milk was EVERYWHERE-- partly because when he blew his nut in Cindy’s ass, he hauled her up and waved me up to her. “Cover her mouth -- we don’t want her waking the baby,” he told me, so I covered her mouth with my hands -- and pinched her nose shut, because she managed to find the breath for a pretty good squawk when Mack started squeezing the shit out of her left tit! He had her spraying pretty good, all over the bathroom floor, from both nipples; she flopped around a bit for this, which seemed to make it more fun. Mack waved me off and let go of her and she flopped to the floor and he said, “You might want to try to get something to me before the fifth, Honey,” and walked out of the room.
I kind of stood there, aghast at what I’d been party to. Cindy looked like someone had tied one leg to a ski rope and hauled her, fully clothed, around a lake behind a boat. She surged up and grabbed my pant leg, and I expected some kind of an appeal to my better nature -- “Help me!” or something -- but instead she said, “Come back any time, okay?”
“S--sure!” I stammered, and got out of there.
Mack met me at the front door, holding a bath towel he’d collected from somewhere. “Here,” he said, pushing it at me, “Wipe off the milk. What did she say?”
“She invited me back,” I replied, dazed.
“She’s a sick little bitch. I told you she loved that shit.” Mack chuckled and waved me out the door.
“I didn’t believe you.”
“I know. I noticed that you didn’t let it stop you,” he observed.
“I guess I had some pent-up aggression,” I muttered.
“No shit?” Mack pretended surprise. “I’d have never guessed!” He turned for the stairs. “Can you go again?”
“Naw, we’ll go a little easier on this one.”
“Cindy fucks the regular way,” Mack related, “and she’s pretty good at it. Just come on up and get you some, any time before she finally pays up. She’s a glutton for punishment; after that, she’ll probably wait until the thirtieth.”
“She looked surprised when you punched her.”
“She was. I went about as far as I could think to go with her -- but I knew she liked it rough from LAST month, so I wasn’t any too concerned,” Mack replied. “She’s gonna be a problem, I think. That kid is by a junior-grade drug lord who got his head blown off; he used to slap the shit out of her and leave her with lumps and bruises and a couple of broken bones here and there. Some chicks just get off on having the shit kicked out of them -- bad asses make their pussies wet. I think it goes back to when you went courting with a club -- they figure if you don’t take no shit and slap them around, you must be the head motherfucker in charge.” He shrugged
“So what’s up with this one?” I asked.
“Charlene?” Mack replied. “She’s at Stage Three. She’s got three kids of various ages and needs to watch a couple of them. It cuts down her working hours. She’s gonna want to pay on her back.”
“How does that work?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not a pimp,” Mack replied. “But I know people who know people who like to party. So I get a call and I throw a couple of women at a bachelor party or a gang bang or whatever. It’s not retail -- if I put one of them out, it’s for enough to pay the rent in one pass, minimum -- and I give them the rest, if there is any. But they get the shit fucked out of them, usually -- it isn’t an easy night’s work. But it’s safer that way than putting them out on the street at twenty bucks a blowjob or whatever. I’ve never had one busted while she lived here. If they want to hook, though, they’re gone -- can’t have them ruining the place’s rep.”
“Aren’t you pushing them that way?” I asked.
“Well, they CAN pay the rent,” Mack replied. "I get three types. The first type pays the fucking rent. If a woman does that for a year, I generally move them out of here to another rental. The second type is the ‘Yeah, right’ group -- they don’t believe me when they hear the rules, and then we have a problem when they don’t make the rent the first time. That goes one of two ways -- they get the idea or they get out. The third group is gonna miss occasionally -- and are willing to pay the price. They come in a couple of flavors, too -- you get the ones who just fall on hard luck, and the ones who WANT a dick -- and will fuck up to get it -- like Cindy.”
“Which group is Charlene in?” I asked.
“I’m not absolutely sure,” Mack replied. “She’s got a job, but... Shit, I dunno.” He rapped on the door.
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