I saluted the privates with one erect finger between the eyes, traditional draftee greeting, and went out into the zoo.
There were about a dozen whores lounging around the gate, one of them a jill, her head shaved. She was old enough to be an ex-mechanic. You always wondered.
Of course, she noticed me. "Hey, Jack!" She stepped onto the path and I stopped the bike. "I got something you can ride."
"Maybe later," I said. "You're lookin' good." Actually, she wasn't. Her face and posture showed a lot of stress; the telltale pink in her eyes tagged her as a cherrybomb user.
"Half price for you, honey." I shook my head. She grabbed on to my handlebars. "Quarter price. Been so long since I done it jacked."
"I couldn't do it jacked." Something made me honest, or partly so. "Not with a stranger."
"So how long would I be a stranger?" She couldn't hide the note of pleading.
"Sorry." I pushed off onto the grass. If I didn't get away fast, she'd be offering to pay me.
The other hookers had watched the exchange with various attitudes: curiosity, pity, contempt. As if they weren't all addicts of one kind or another, themselves. Nobody had to fuck for a living in the Universal Welfare State. Nobody had to do anything but stay out of trouble. It works so well.
They had legalized prostitution in Florida for a few years, when I was growing up. But it went the way of the big casinos before I was old enough to be interested.
Hooking's a crime in Texas, but I think you have to be a real nuisance before they lock you up. The two cops who watched the jill proposition me didn't put the cuffs on her. Maybe later, if they had the money.
Jills usually get plenty of work. They know what it feels like to be male.
I pedaled past the college-town stores, with their academic prices, into town. South Houston was not exactly savory, but I was armed. Besides, I figured that bad guys kept late hours, and would still be in bed. One wasn't.
I leaned the bike up against the rack outside of the liquor store and was fiddling with the cranky lock, which was supposed to take my card.
"Hey boy," a deep bass voice said behind me. "You got ten dollars for me? Maybe twenny?"
I turned around slowly. He was a head taller than me, maybe forty, lean, muscle suit. Shiny boots up to his knees and the tightly braided ponytail of an Ender: God would use that to haul him up to heaven. Soon, he hoped.
"I thought you guys didn't need money."
"I need some. I need it now."
"So what's your habit?" I put my right hand on my hip. Not natural or comfortable, but close to the putty-knife. "Maybe I got some."
"You don't got what I need. Got to buy what I need." He drew a long knife with a slender wavy blade from his boot.
"Put it away. I got ten." The silly dagger was no match for a puttyknife, but I didn't want to perform a dissection out here on the sidewalk.
"Oh, you got ten. Maybe you got fifty." He took a step toward me.
I pulled out the puttyknife and turned it on. It hummed and glowed. "You just lost ten. How much more you want to lose?"
He stared at the vibrating blade. The shimmering mist on the top third was as hot as the surface of the sun. "You in the army. You a mechanic."
"I'm either a mechanic or I killed one and took his knife. Either way, you want to fuck with me?"
"Mechanics ain't so tough. I was in the army."
"You know all about it, then." He took a half-step to the right, I think a feint. I didn't move. "You don't want to wait for your Rapture? You want to die right now?"
He looked at me for a long second. There was nothing in his eyes. "Oh, fuck you anyhow." He put the knife back in his boot, turned, and walked away without looking back.
I turned off the puttyknife and blew on it When it was cool enough, I put it back and went into the liquor store.
The clerk had a chrome Remington airspray. "Fuckin' Endie. I would've got him."
"Thanks," I said. He would've gotten me too, with an airspray. "You got six Dixies?"
"Sure." He opened the case
There were about a dozen whores lounging around the gate, one of them a jill, her head shaved. She was old enough to be an ex-mechanic. You always wondered.
Of course, she noticed me. "Hey, Jack!" She stepped onto the path and I stopped the bike. "I got something you can ride."
"Maybe later," I said. "You're lookin' good." Actually, she wasn't. Her face and posture showed a lot of stress; the telltale pink in her eyes tagged her as a cherrybomb user.
"Half price for you, honey." I shook my head. She grabbed on to my handlebars. "Quarter price. Been so long since I done it jacked."
"I couldn't do it jacked." Something made me honest, or partly so. "Not with a stranger."
"So how long would I be a stranger?" She couldn't hide the note of pleading.
"Sorry." I pushed off onto the grass. If I didn't get away fast, she'd be offering to pay me.
The other hookers had watched the exchange with various attitudes: curiosity, pity, contempt. As if they weren't all addicts of one kind or another, themselves. Nobody had to fuck for a living in the Universal Welfare State. Nobody had to do anything but stay out of trouble. It works so well.
They had legalized prostitution in Florida for a few years, when I was growing up. But it went the way of the big casinos before I was old enough to be interested.
Hooking's a crime in Texas, but I think you have to be a real nuisance before they lock you up. The two cops who watched the jill proposition me didn't put the cuffs on her. Maybe later, if they had the money.
Jills usually get plenty of work. They know what it feels like to be male.
I pedaled past the college-town stores, with their academic prices, into town. South Houston was not exactly savory, but I was armed. Besides, I figured that bad guys kept late hours, and would still be in bed. One wasn't.
I leaned the bike up against the rack outside of the liquor store and was fiddling with the cranky lock, which was supposed to take my card.
"Hey boy," a deep bass voice said behind me. "You got ten dollars for me? Maybe twenny?"
I turned around slowly. He was a head taller than me, maybe forty, lean, muscle suit. Shiny boots up to his knees and the tightly braided ponytail of an Ender: God would use that to haul him up to heaven. Soon, he hoped.
"I thought you guys didn't need money."
"I need some. I need it now."
"So what's your habit?" I put my right hand on my hip. Not natural or comfortable, but close to the putty-knife. "Maybe I got some."
"You don't got what I need. Got to buy what I need." He drew a long knife with a slender wavy blade from his boot.
"Put it away. I got ten." The silly dagger was no match for a puttyknife, but I didn't want to perform a dissection out here on the sidewalk.
"Oh, you got ten. Maybe you got fifty." He took a step toward me.
I pulled out the puttyknife and turned it on. It hummed and glowed. "You just lost ten. How much more you want to lose?"
He stared at the vibrating blade. The shimmering mist on the top third was as hot as the surface of the sun. "You in the army. You a mechanic."
"I'm either a mechanic or I killed one and took his knife. Either way, you want to fuck with me?"
"Mechanics ain't so tough. I was in the army."
"You know all about it, then." He took a half-step to the right, I think a feint. I didn't move. "You don't want to wait for your Rapture? You want to die right now?"
He looked at me for a long second. There was nothing in his eyes. "Oh, fuck you anyhow." He put the knife back in his boot, turned, and walked away without looking back.
I turned off the puttyknife and blew on it When it was cool enough, I put it back and went into the liquor store.
The clerk had a chrome Remington airspray. "Fuckin' Endie. I would've got him."
"Thanks," I said. He would've gotten me too, with an airspray. "You got six Dixies?"
"Sure." He opened the case
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