Brooklyn Brothel by C. Stecko Read Free Book Online

straddled the floor. The gold, glittery dress squished her tits up high, allowin’ them to greet people instantly.
    “I collect my administrative fees on Wednesday nights. You got today and tomorrow to gather the money for this bill. Since you’ve neva been here before, I wanted you to know what I’m gonna be expecting. You pay in cash, or we beat it out your ass!”
    I hoped her last comment was a joke. Beat me? Maybe that’s why there were always strange men hangin’ around at the bottom of the stairs dressed in black suits, and who neva said a word. I scanned the bill that said invoice at the top. It was handwritten and scribbled sloppily.

    “I’m done,” Betty said coldly. “It’s ten o’clock. I suggest you hurry.”
    Two hundred and seventy dollars for just stayin’ here
! I fumed inside, but dared not say anything out loud.
Ten dollarsfor laundry- that fat nasty bitch probably washes once a year
! I burst out the front door tryin’ to wipe the frown from my face. I’d forgotten Cinnamon was out front waitin’. The moment I started fussin’, Sasha came prancin’ from the in-house, too.
    “We gonna grab a bite. Wanna go?” Cinnamon asked Sasha.
    Sasha was hesitant, but agreed. We walked down the street like three normal chicks, but got looks of death from the neighbors. I glanced back ova my shoulders to see Betty gazin’ at us from the window. She spied on us with a watchful eye. Her expression had a warnin’ attached to it. I was pissed already with her fees, so if she thought she was gonna keep me from minglin’ with the girls, she was wrong. I felt like the old Chantel was coming back. The defiant, expressive Chantel. The one who wasn’t gonna let Betty ruin my chances of makin’ money.
    “Let’s hit the bodega,” Cinnamon suggested.
    “What the hell is a bodega?” I asked.
    They both laughed at me which lightened the mood. When Cinnamon explained that is was a food truck on a corner, I agreed. Food was food in my book. Besides, I was real hungry. When I reminded the girls that I needed to get to a store, a pharmacy, or anything like that, Cinnamon offered to drive.
    “You got a car?” I asked, like she was an alien or somethin’. And my voice rose into a frenzy.
    “Yeah,” she stated proudly. I got me a new-school pimp. I make him money, he protects me, and handles all the business. It works,” she bragged. “The car isn’t anything fancy, but it gets me back and forth to different in-houses across the east coast. Plus, I’m glad I got a car ’cause it’s hot as hell out here. I can’t be catching no train or bus in this shit.”
    She was right. For late August, it was still hot outside. Even now, it was early in the mornin’, and I was already startin’ to sweat. “So, lemme get this straight, you drove to New York?” I questioned.
    “Yes, I drove. You know…grab the wheel, step on the gas.”
    I felt like the idiot of the bunch while Cinnamon continued to make big fun of me. Not only did Bo send me on a bus, he didn’t send cab fare, and no money either. For now, all I had to my name was the $350 I tricked up the night before.
    “What kinda car you got, Sasha?” I asked boldly. She had been for the most part quiet so far, which made me really not want to ask.
    “Well, I don’t have a car,” she announced openly, “and I don’t have a pimp. Never have, never will. They take all your hard earned loot, and don’t really provide protection. It’s all a mind game,” she smirked. “I’m my own business woman. I’m fucking for me and my daughter. That’s it. One day I’m gonna own my own in-house.”
    My eyes lit up. “You got a daughter? How old? Where she at?” I hit Sasha with question after question before her eyes crinkled at the top.
    “Damn…slow your roll. I just met you.”
    I got to thinkin’ hard as we walked down the street. The sound of ownin’ my own in-house sounded good. I knew I could be a madam; a much better one than Betty. I would