<< Go Back

An Angel and a One-Armed Man

By BD Lawrence

Order Now!

Chapter 1

Keyshawn Williams leaned against a red brick wall in the recessed doorway of a former mattress factory watching his women, hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargo shorts.

Even after eleven p.m., waves of heat shimmered on the pavement. He would swear the sidewalks were sweating. But the mid-July temperatures were not high enough to keep partygoers away. They streamed in and out of bars, clubs, and restaurants. And no aberrant weather kept away his girls. Two blocks south of downtown St. Louis, in front of abandoned warehouses and shut-down factories, six-inch spiked heels clicked and high, scratchy voices yelled solicitations to inebriated men returning to their cars. Men who had struck out in their pursuit of love, or at least their satiation of lust.

Streetwalkers were as reliable as postal workers, if not more. Yes sir, his girls would be out in four feet of snow, hail, or a frigging tornado, if that’s what it took to turn a trick and make him some green. But for some reason, tonight, the tricks were slow in coming. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the timing, a Thursday night in the middle of the month. Johns didn’t have no more money left and hadn’t received their next check yet. Maybe it was just an off night. He didn’t know.

When the long, black Cadillac limo pulled to the curb across from where Keyshawn stood, a slight grin played across his dark face and he nodded slightly, thinking, this was more like it. Maybe this high roller would want to party with several of his girls. But when clean-shaven King Kong got out of the front passenger seat and motioned to Keyshawn, the wiry pimp’s demeanor steeled over. He stood straight and stared at the brother twice his size.

The large stranger had a bit of a drawl. “Come on over, boy. The man here wants to converse with you.”

“Who you calling boy? Just because you dress fancy and get to drive that big old car don’t give you no right—”

In a deep, commanding voice he said, “The man wants to talk to you.”

“Yeah? What man?”

In three strides the large brother closed the distance between them to mere inches. He grinned when Keyshawn removed his right hand from his shorts pocket and started to slip it under his lounge jacket.

“You think you can pull that pea-shooter out and shoot me before I rip your arm off?”

When Keyshawn let go of his compact forty caliber and removed his hand from inside his jacket, the big dude grabbed him around both shoulders and shoved him toward the limo. The back door opened.

“No need to be so rough,” came an equally deep but quiet voice from inside the limo. “Sir, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to have a word with you.”
Keyshawn bent over and looked in. “And who might you be?”

A large, though nowhere near the size of King Kong, white man reclined at the far side of the limo. He held a half-empty plastic bottle of Dr Pepper and smiled. White teeth glittered through a salt-and-pepper goatee. Keyshawn admired the tailored, gray suit but wasn’t fooled by the soft, brown eyes.

The driver shoved Keyshawn in and slammed the door behind him, then got in the front seat.

“Hey, what the—” Keyshawn protested, but stopped when the white man spoke again.

“I’d like a young and pretty girl.”

Keyshawn straightened and smoothed his baby blue lounge jacket, one his main squeeze had bought for him, saying it went well with his baby blue eyes. She still didn’t know they was only colored contacts. He smiled his best salesman smile. “That’d be Angel.”

She’d worked for Keyshawn for about six months and was still beautiful. Not worn looking like so many of his girls, even ones younger than her. She’d said she was eighteen. He wasn’t sure he’d believed her, but it really didn’t matter.

“How much for her?”

The partition between the front and back silently rolled down. The driver faced them, watching intently.

Keyshawn ran his hand over the polished wood grain bar and wondered if any prime liquor was inside the cabinet. He adjusted himself in the smooth black leather seat, getting comfortable. He didn’t really care for the strong pine forest smell, though.

“Seventy-five for an hour, my man.”

“You don’t understand, my man.” All pleasantness vanished from his voice. “I don’t want her for just an hour.”

“Okay. That’s cool. I’ll give her to you for three hundred for the night. And believe me, that’s a bargain.”

The rich dude glanced at his driver and shook his head. “He still doesn’t get it, does he?”

King Kong also shook his head. “Nope. He doesn’t. Shall I explain it to him?”
“Explain what?” Keyshawn switched his gaze between the black dude and the white dude.

“Please do.”

The driver smacked Keyshawn in the head with an open hand.

He started to reach for his piece again. King Kong gave a slight shake and rested a nine-millimeter with a six-inch barrel on the partition between them, pointed at Keyshawn’s chest.

“The man wants Angel,” the driver said. “Not for the night. He wants her, period.”

“You suckas crazy or something?”

The driver smacked Keyshawn again. “He’s gonna buy Angel from you. Permanently.”
“Uh-uh. That ain’t happenin’. He can’t have her. She’s one of my best. Brings in three to five hundred a night.” Time to leave. Keyshawn tried the door handle. It didn’t open.

“Ten thousand for her,” the white dude said.

“You’re crazy, man. I ain’t selling you Angel.”

The white dude slammed him in the face with his elbow—surprisingly fast for an old man.

Keyshawn saw stars and heard a crunch, figuring his cheek bone just cracked again.

“I’ll give you ten thousand for Angel. Go get her. Now.”

“Screw you, man.” Again, he tried to get out. The door still wouldn’t open. He yelled, “Let me out of this frigging car. I ain’t selling my property.”

“I just can’t seem to get through to this man.”

The driver reached through the partition and grabbed Keyshawn’s collar, then pulled him against the seat. He felt cold steel against his cheek. Then King Kong reached inside Keyshawn’s jacket and extracted his Smith and Wesson forty-caliber MP Shield and tossed it on the front passenger seat.

“You are one dumb brother. You only have two options. Option one is to sell Angel to us for ten large ones.” He stopped.

After several seconds, Keyshawn choked out, “And the second option?”

“Don’t sell us Angel.” Another long pause. “And we’ll take her, anyway. And you get nothing.”

Ten minutes later, Keyshawn watched the limo pull away with Angel in the back seat. At least he had a stack of hundred-dollar bills in his pocket. But what would he tell Big Eddie? Certainly nothing about the ten G’s. He’d think of something.

Order Now!

<< Go Back