Chapter 2 – Hello, I’m good for nothing.

The title of this chapter is a line from a Dresden Dolls song called “A perfect fit.” Just a little fact you might want to know.

This is one hell of a monster of a story! I like this chapter, but probably just because I like writing from a girl’s perspective.

Please enjoy.

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Five hours later Ben was down at the Malibu bar, blowing the best part of a thousand dollars on getting completely hammered. He had twenty five thousand smackers to play with and he was going to have some fun. Hell, if this case took more than three days to solve it’d show that he was finally losing his touch. He downed his sixth whisky and turned to Frankie, the bartender and the madam of this establishment and said, “Hey, you got anything else under that bar of yours? Mebbe something powder?”

Frankie looked up at him and said, “Ben, you’re celebrating tonight, usually it’s just a larger and a line.”

“Well, today I just got the job of a lifetime! Loadsa money for no work! Man, I struck lucky!”

“I suppose you can’t tell me about it.” Said Frankie, taking his glass away.

“Naw, gotta keep it to meself, but needless to say I’m using it as an excuse to celebrate.”

“Well, good for you!” Frankie said, “You know I don’t like your business, but as long as you don’t make trouble for me, I don’t care. Whatcha want tonight? Some pot, skunk, coke?”

“Just Coke for now, but if you have any happy pills I might have some later.”

“Sure, “she said, taking some cocaine from an unknown crevasse below the desk and lining it up on the bar top for him, “That’s fifty dollars.”

“Sure, give me a mo…”Ben took a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and rolled it up, snorted up the cocaine, gave Frankie the bill and smiling at her sweetly said, “got change?”

Frankie unrolled the note, held it up the dirty light above her head, shook it habitually and said, “Usually you pay me in quarters – this job must be really high – profile. Maybe you can pay your tab off now?”

Ben laughed and said, “Sure? It’s four fifty now isn’t it?” He passed her the dollar bills, and as he did he leant in closer, “Hey, I haven’t been laid in a good three months. I’ve got cash. “He clicked his tongue, wiping it around his teeth suggestively.

“You couldn’t afford me, Mister.” She replied, putting the money into her back pocket, “But hows about a new girl? Got in seven new girls at the beginning of the week, all fresh, all clean, and all wanting you to serve them. “

“Sure. I need something to fuck into the ground, or I’ll go insane.”

“I’m not one to judge, I’ve got my kids to feed.”

“Oh yeah, how is Tiffany? Following her mother’s footsteps?”

“No way – She’s going to a good college now, I won’t put her through this business for anything.”

“Hypocrite.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Yeah, but the difference is I’m a hypocrite with money, not a hypocrite pimping herself out.”

Frankie, taking the hint, walked over to the board with keys hanging off bent nails, pulled one off and said, “Go to the third floor, room seven. I’ll have a girl sent up in a minute. We call her “pussy galore” ‘cause she moved like a cat.” Frankie raised an eyebrow, “Don’t worry Ben, I remember what kinda girl you like, but just a warning, she might be a little too gutsy for you. She’s still new to this.”

“Does that mean she’s a crap shag?” asked Ben, “’cause if it does, I want money off.”

“No, no, definitely not, she performs like a trooper, does anything you ask, but she can get a bit uppity, y’know.”

“All right, I get ya. She hasn’t been broken in yet. That’s fine by me.” He picked up the keys and went to the ricky stairs leading away from the gaily painted bar to the rooms Frankie let to people and used for the ‘girls’ who worked here. Ben knew Frankie too well, he thought as he walked up the rickety, badly lit stairs. Frankie was one of the few “ethical madams” he knew. Most of them were like MacDonald’s, they had a “get ‘em in, get ‘em stuffed, get their money” policy, cheap thrills for low prices. That’s partly why the human trafficking was so bad now – prostitution may have been the oldest profession, but it certainly had the worst trade union. Frankie didn’t take underage girls or anyone with diseases, gave them a percentage of the fee and let them keep tips. Frankie didn’t hold with those men who wanted young girls – she meant those who wanted them obscenely young. Hell, she might be benefiting off other women selling themselves, but they had to be willing to get ripped off and old enough to know what they were doing. Frankie, being a mother of four if you count the surrogate children, didn’t want to supply those men who wanted kids – if they wanted that, they should go elsewhere, she reasoned, because she had a good reputation.

The steps creaked under Ben’s feet. Yeah, he gave Frankie a hard time but in this city she was a soft touch, in a hard, kick-ass way. He fumbled with the lock in the half light, the wobbly door shaking as he forced the lock open. The room wasn’t pretentious, like in some places, but it was clean, well kept, and effort at erotica made with the blood red walls, low lighting and the white sheep-skin rug on the floor, but he suspected that this was more for the sake of the girls than the customers – well, if the lighting was low you could try to ignore the fact that the man you were fucking for twenty dollars was a fat ugly businessman with personal hygiene problems and a face like a half-shaved armpit. He sat down on the bed, looking at the black-stained floorboards, waiting. It wasn’t too long when he heard footsteps going up the stairs, climbing the steps in heels that they couldn’t walk in and a nervous, hesitant air about the way they put the key in the lock, and opened the door.

What came in was what Ben thought was a joke. The girl was wearing a short PVC dress that was at least two sizes too big (if not more), the straps practically hanging forward with the unfulfilled brazier. Somehow it managed to hide the girl’s nipples on her tiny breasts. She was bony and boyish, lacking the feminine curves to fill the hips of the dress, her legs thin and spindly like two metal chair-legs on those fancy chairs that dig into the carpet. Up to her thighs were black PVC fetish boots, with a five inch heel and a two inch platform, which she was walking in as if she was Frankenstein’s monster with heavy, childish movements. She looked like a kid who’d broken into her dad’s fetish gear and had just realised that she could blackmail him with it. Everything, save the boots, was too big for her. The red PVC dress had been stretched out by a much fatter girl before her, her make up looks like it’d been slapped on, although put on with precision it was too much for her tiny, emaciated face. She’d painted deep purples onto her pale skin, dark red lips stood out like road kill on the pavement, and glitter covered her eyes like psychedelic snow. Beautiful, she was, he considered, looking the part of an experience hooker, she weren’t.

As she shut the door behind her quietly she said, “You aren’t as desperate as I thought you’d look. “

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Replied Ben.

“Shall we get down to business?” she asked. Before Ben could answer she had strode over to the bed, lied down on it, opened her legs up, her two legs becoming mountains between which he was meant to stick his dick into her tunnel. “Do you like it this way, or do you prefer doggy?” she asked, raising herself up on her elbows.

“No, I like missionary just fine.” Ben confirmed, sitting up, and crawling towards her on the bed, placing his hands either side of her head. “look, do you need some foreplay, or…”

“Just do what you have to do.” She said, “You’re paying, Not me.”

She fell silent, but Ben felt uncomfortable. Still in this position he asked, “So, you’re pussy galour, right?”

“Yeah, that’s my name, ‘cause I’ve got enough to go ‘round.” She replied starkly. Ben swore she rolled her eyes, but he blocked it out.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty three”

“You’re kidding.” Exclaimed Ben, still in this position, “You’re no way twenty three!”

“Yeah I am.” She barked back, sitting up fully, “anyway, why do you care?”

Ben pushed himself back onto his backlegs and said, “You’re as twenty three as I’m the king of England.”

“Are not!”

“You so are!”

“Are not!”

“Okay then, you know why I think you aren’t twenty three? Well, and twenty three year old would have hips and boobs, and you barely have either. Secondly, she would be able to walk in heels after years of practise and lastly, a professional twenty three year old would not have told me that she expected me to look desperate.”

“Okay, Okay, I’m not twenty three!” the girl snapped back, pulling her legs into her chest, “I’m fifteen, all right?”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, fifteen. “

“You’re underage.”

“So? When has that ever stopped anybody? Why don’t you want to do it with me now!”

Ben stood up and adjusting his shirt said, “Sorry, I don’t do underage pussy. Seriously – I don’t like it. Look, I’ll pay you for your time…” Ben gave her a couple hundred dollar bills and gave them to her as payment, “and here’s a tip.” He gave her the fifty dollars he had left. He walked towards the door and nodded towards her as he pulled the door open.

He was about to leave when he heard her say ”Why are you being so nice to me?”

Ben turned around and shut the door. “This life is hard, let’s just say I’m someone who knows that too well.”

“That isn’t an answer.” She said. She paused, and playing with her toes asked, “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?” Ben replied, walking away from the door.

“Nothin’.” She said innocently before she ended, “I just like to know the names of men who give me money for nothing.”

Ben sat down on the end of the bed and said, “Ben Smith.”

“And what’s Ben short for?”

“Ben.”

“You’re lying.”

“So?”

“My name’s not pussy galore.”

“I think I’d guessed that.” He paused to sit down on the end of the bed. “So what is it?”

“S-Stacy.” She replied, pulling her dark blonde hair out of her face. She looked away at the bedside lamp while the two of them sat there, considering this.

“So, how long have you been doing this?”

“About a year.”

“So, what happened to you? Get sold into it, chose it, what happened?”

“You tell me your full name, and I’ll tell you what happened to me.”

“That’s rather immature.”

“I’m fifteen, what do you expect, a dissertation on Plato?”

Ben sighed. “Okay, but you can’t laugh.”

The girl gained some interest. She slid towards him, pulling herself with her arms. “Is it that good?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on them…”

“But you can’t laugh…”

“Look, you’ve paid me for this and I’m not going to. For God’s sake, people call me pussy galore!” Ben couldn’t help but laugh. Stacy smiled and asked again.

“Okay, My full Name’s ………Tetrasodium Benzoate Smith.”

Stacy burst out into a fit of giggles.

“Hey, I asked you not to laugh!” he gripped as she tried in vain to stifle herself.

“S-sorry, but you have to admit, it is kinda funny.”

“Yeah, if you don’t have to live with it,” he said gloomily, “that name’s cost me so many jobs. My deadbeat mum gave it to me – it was on the back of something she was sniffing before she gave me up to the authorities. They didn’t have the sense to give me a decent name.”

“Aww, that is cruel.” Said Stacy, pulling the vacant brassier up to her chest, “no offence, but it looks shit.”

“Sounds it too.” He said. “Now, I’ve told you that, you need to tell me story.”

“But that’s not the same!” she exclaimed, “anyway, I don’t think you’re all that interested…”

“Hell I am!” Ben retorted, “I mean, from your accent I can tell that you haven’t been in this business long and that you didn’t start off living in New London, somewhere…I’m thinking you lived on the coast to begin with. By the way you’ve been playing with you feet I can tell that you’re experienced at using your cuteness at your advantage, suggesting that you’re the younger sister of someone. You wear your make up like the others girl here, but I think it’s just to fit in, ‘cause you seem to know it ain’t sexy. You’ve stolen the dress off one of the older girls her for this session because, I by the look of that knackered lingerie, that you spent all your money on a pair of boots you can’t walk in and realised that you have nothing to wear. Not that this should be a problem for a whore. To top this all off, the way you lay on the bed, thinkin’ of England, showed that this weren’t a choice you wanted to take.” Ben, having finished looked out of the grubby window at the view.

Stacy’s mouth fell open for a second as she stuttered out a few syllables before exploding, “What the hell!”

“Was I right?”

“Yeah, but…no! That was just wrong! You just gave me my life history without even trying!”

“It’s my gift; I have to do what I can with it.”

“Pretty frickin’ weird gift!” She hissed, “If you can tell so much about me by looking at me, then why do you need to me to tell you the details?” Stacy looked positively angry.

Ben hid his smile and loosening his tie said, “I’ve got a long lonely evening which was meant to be filled with hot legal pussy. I’ve got to fill it up with something.”

“Thanks, “she spat, turning away from him.

“Just fill in the details for me, will ya?” he said, “It can’t do any harm to get it out in the open.”

“Sure, you say that, but you ain’t me.” She said moodily. “You say you wanna know about me, but I know you don’t. It’s morbid curiosity, like why people read those books about people who were abused as kids.”

“And you weren’t?”

“No way! My parents were nice people!”

“So tell me! It’s not as if I’m going to tell anyone, and even if I did, your story would probably be like a hundred other girls in this world. It’s not as if anyone downstairs is gonna call you a whore, or an idiot for what you did.” He turned to her, looking at her tired eyes with dark circles underneath and said, “The only reason I want to know is because I’ve got $250 bucks invested in you and I want something from it, but I’m going to listen.” He paused and asked, “How old were you when they got you into this?”

Stacy stretched quietly, one of the bones in her back making a horrible popping sound and looked him in the eye. “Thirteen”

“I didn’t know there was that much business for little kids.”

“More than you’d think. But it beats factory work by a long shot. Okay, the hours are the same, but at least the money’s better and the work’s easier. As You said, just lie back and think of England.”

“So when were you taken?”

“I think I was about nine. I don’t really know any more – all I know was that it was either just before or after my birthday that year. I went out to post a letter for my mum, about, I dunno, ten yards from my house? Not far anyway. Just a few yards away, and I remember putting my hand in the letterbox, standing on tip-toe to get it in when I was grabbed from behind, dragged into a truck and had a knife at my throat. I did try to scream, but even if I had, no one would have noticed. No one ever notices when someone screams for help. I don’t remember much, just the smell of chemicals and falling asleep, and then when I woke up I was in a factory making clock-radio’s for export.” She wiped her face with her wrist, the dark purple eye shadow coming off as she looked up at him and declared, “Just like ever other kid in the factory, aren’t I? I was daring of them to go into the area where my parents lived, I mean it was quiet nice, but it’s far from here. And I’d ended up in the middle of Brittany.”

“So how far had you gone?”

“I was born in England, near Dover.”

“So you’re in a foreign country, but now you’re in London. What happened in between that?”

“After a couple of years the foreman took a likin’ to me. Even now I’m not sure whether it was a good or bad thing. I was ten, just starting to get pretty, and by god he noticed. I worked during the day, but at night he’d send for me; and I went to him. At first he just wanted to play with me, just touch everything and maybe suck at my budding nipples, sometimes he even touched my components. It was later when he took to fucking me. I didn’t stop him – how could I? He was my boss and when I did as he wanted I used to get extra things, like a nice new coat or shoes, that sort of thing, and when you’re a kid in one of these places you don’t learn to argue, you learn to lie back and think of England.”

“So how did you get to leave?”

“Well, one night he got pissed out of his head and he fainted just after fucking me. Well, at this time I was about twelve, so by now I started to realise that they guy was a fucking pervert and I hated him. I never liked him to begin with, and he did it with practically all the kids, but the more he showed he liked me the most, the more I started to despise him. All those gifts of devotion he gave me wanted to make me hurl. I heard someone say ‘never trust anyone bearing gifts’ and he was a perfect example. They all want something out of it, sex, work, companionship…no one ever gives just to give. They want to feel better about themselves, justify themselves somehow. He was trying to make himself feel less of a pervert by giving me stuff that I couldn’t say no to, making it out he was paying me and I was willing.

‘Well, that night when he passed out I took his wallet, took the papers he used for organisation and jumped the window, running as fast as I could. I spent all the money on a boat back to Dover, only to find that in five years everything had changed.” Stacy sighed and said, “In five years Dover’d become different, full of second home-ers from the city, and a massive casino build where the park used to be. Well – in the end I managed to find my parent’s house – but they’d been driven out, the guy who answered the door some city lawyer who yelled at me to get out. So I did what every dispossessed person in England does – I went to New London and after about three months of sleeping rough and trying to pick-pocket I was found by the Mokosa’s and joined one of their brothels, doing the only job I knew how to do, except make radios. I’ve been bumming around ever since, getting cash and existing. Just like everyone else.”

Ben didn’t say anything for a moment. He listened, taking in the story. It was horribly familiar, most kids, not just girls, got raped by those in charge, they saw it as a perk of the job. Sometimes they’d wait until the kids were teenagers, but if they wanted little kids, they did what they wanted. But the person who stood in front of him has escaped a factory – not difficult, but not common either. Just a kid, she still looked like a little girl, but she spoke with the voice of someone who had given up and was just enjoying the ride. Like him. “Life sucks ass.” He said, as if it was meant to mean something.

“Yeah.” She answered.

Ben felt guilty – he really should have cared, he really should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. He’d heard similar stories all before. She was just another girl, another face in the crowd, another damaged person on the rubbish heap of life. You just had to get on with life, regardless. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt.” He lied.

“No worries. Everyone is. I mean, you name is a preservative in face-cream, you can’t get more damaged than that. What do you do? Do you work for the Joshi’s?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You look Asian to me. I mean, half Asian.”

“I am, don’t know which side. For all I know I am one, but I don’t work for them.” He struggled his shoulders. Stacy sat up, next to him, kicked the bed-side cabinet. A hidden compartment opened to reveal a gun, a couple of condoms, some lube and a hip flask. Stacy picked the hip flask up with her feet, undid the top with her toes and raising it to her face using her feet took a long swig before shuddering horribly. She took it out of her feet and offered it to him.

“What in it?” he asked, snatching it.

“Not sure. Liquorish is all I could taste.” She said, “I think it was some ouzo and a shot of absinth.”

Ben tasted it and after a sip almost spat it out. Yes, she was right, one quarter absinth, but it had been covered up by the cheap ouzo and some deceptively sweet alcopop he hadn’t come across before. “This shit is strong! What’s it for, rubbing alcohol?”

“Naw, for the girls if they get someone really butters. It helps you to forget them. Trust me, another shot will make you so pissed you wouldn’t care if you were doing it to a tractor.”

“And the gun?”

“Self defence for someone who refuses to pay for his session.” Stacy smiled. “I’ve only seen it once though. Well, we all had a good meal that night, I can tell you!”

Well, even clients can be taken advantage of, thought Ben. “So how come you’re here? Frankie doesn’t do underage girls, how did you pass?”

“I dunno. I suppose she assumed that if I was coming to her that I had to be at least sixteen. I mean, not many girls are bold enough to try and sort out their own jobs.”

“Fair do’s.” he replied, undoing his tie.

There was an uncomfortable silence, listening to the couple next door just start up. Ben tried to ignore it, but Stacy sighed, took another slug of the stuff and said, “She’s faking it. So what do you do? Drug dealer, fake ID’s…”

“I’m a…I suppose you could call me a private investigator.” He looked out at the smoggy night and considered the way her hands suddenly moved around his waist.

“Cool. It must pay well to pay me this much. Y’know, this is the kinda fee I get for doing it with another girl or the more special requests. Not just for a talk.”

“It doesn’t pay all that well. This is a one off. Have you ever heard of Angel Coast?”

“Oh my God, she’s that girl in the news!” Stacy exclaimed, “Yeah, I heard of her! All the girls here love her style! So elegant, but so sexy…she’s the kind of woman I’d want to be if I had the choice. You mean she’s gone missing! Oh my god, that’s so horrible…she’s such a nice person….”

“Well, I’m looking for her. I suppose you don’t know anything about her?”

“You mean apart from what’s in the papers?”

“Tell me. I’m too broke to buy papers after this.”

“Well, she’s the daughter of Virgil Coast, the guy who owns all the property in this area. Seriously, anything rented belongs to him, so apart from a few private businesses, he owns most of this town…”

“That I already know, skip to the bit about her. I mean, what reputation has she got, what kind of media work does she do…”

“Oh she doesn’t have a job, she’s an heiress, and a model too, you see her in all the adverts for expensive shoes and clothes, but that isn’t what she’s about. She gives loads of money to charity, y’know, to Cancer research and stuff, she’s always behind all the good causes, like the abolition of child labour in factories. She’s just a really nice person, as far as I can tell. I don’t know who would want to kidnap her…”

“Apparently someone called Colin O’ Leigh.” He retorted, taking the picture of the man out of her pocket and showing her, “Long shot – I suppose you don’t know him?”

“Naw, never seen him.” Replied Stacy, “but is he the kidnapper?”

“Yeah. Well, as far as we know – he’s got something to do with the kidnapping.”

“well, I hope they shoot him, taking that girl from her home and everything” she spat, “but at least if that bastard tries to sell her on, we won’t be able to – everyone knows who she is. Even if he sold her onto a private harem someone would report it, if only for the reward money.”

“Reward money?”

“You really haven’t seen the papers “ she sighed and explained carefully, “$10 500, good enough for most people.”

Ben whistled. “Woah, that’s a hell of a lot.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth it. To get her back I mean.” Stacy looked at the floor carefully, hair flopping over her face, “She’s a perfect daughter, who wouldn’t kill for her? She’s beautiful, she’s talented and so sweet.” Stacy looked away, her voice seeming heavier than usual.

“Look, thanks for the help, “Ben said, standing up, “but I’ve got to go. I need to think this over.” As he moved towards the door, he noticed that the girl had been struck dumb, which he hadn’t expected. He looked around, and saw her fighting back tears, taking short little gasps of air. Ben relented and went over to her, putting a hand on her icy shoulder, and gave her a business card. “Look, if you ever want to contact me, or you need a few day’s work just call me. “

She took the car, put it in her garter, with the dollar bills, and nodded.

Ben crept across the floor and not looking back said, “Do me a favour.”

“Sure,” Stacy sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She tried to push some hair out of her face before looking to his back.

“Tell Frankie I fucked you like an animal. That’ll explain the money. Tell her I had a ‘request’ as well.”

“What request?” asked Stacy.

“You choose – but don’t make me too weird. I gotta live in this town as well you know.” Ben turned away and closed the door behind him. Stacy, seeing that he was gone, safely burst into tears, shaking like she was ill. Small in that open room, she kept the sobs quiet whilst suddenly feeling like she were the last person in the universe.

Damn, she thought as she curled her legs into her chest, she had to stop taking this job personally.

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Thanks for reading so far, if you like it, please R and R, hopefully I’ll put up a new chapter soon.

Thanks again for reading, please give an honest crit if you can,

luff Xandra the Blue.