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I love reading and writing dialogue, from Jack London and Ernest Hemmingway, to William Faulkner, Elmore Leonard and Eudora Welty. To me, dialogue places one IN the scene. Often times, when dialogue is extremely well written, I can HEAR the characters talking to me. And so, I’ve tried to emulate these writers by attempting a special piece consisting of almost all dialogue about a black pimp being interviewed by a young lady from the local newspaper.
I wuz hangin’ out over at Silvey’s Pool Emporium; you might know the place. I wuz just killin’ time before my bidness hours kicked in. It musta been, oh, ’bout four in the afternoon; which is where I usually am at that hour, being that I owns the joint.
Just a few minutes earlier, I wuz tellin’ ‘Tator,’ my bartender, that I wuz in the mood for some stimulatin’ conversation, ‘stead of fending off the usual crackheads and other deadbeats, who usually bother me about debts and other matters, all of which is related to money, which I have, and they don’t, when this here skinny white bitch wanders into the joint, and presented herself to me.
“Hello,” she says, with this nervous smile, “would you be Mr. Liston?” Her voice wuz cultured like she’d gone to some Ivy League place, maybe Vassar. I jus stared at her as if maybe she wuz from another planet, such as Mars, or is it more correct to say Venus? With her being female and all, I don’t know myself.
She jus stood there looking at me and waitin’, shifting her weight from one foot to the other while I ignored her. But I got to admirin’ her, standing and waiting patiently for me to acknowledge her presence. And, after a minute or so, I put my newspaper down, and looked her right in the eye.
“Err, umm … Mr. Liston?” she said, using this eye contact as her opportunity to start a conversation. “The bartender pointed you out to me. I’m Margaret Haynes, from the Newark Star Ledger.”
So, she wus a reporter! Normally I’d a kicked her scrawny white ass out of my place and been done with her. But like I already said, I wuz in the mood for some conversation, and most assholes stop in here got a better grip on their cue sticks then they’d ever had on their dicks; never mind using their brains. So I decided to humor her and listen to her pitch.
“I am,” I sez to her.
Out the corner of my eye, I see “Tator” smirkin’ an I give him a first class scowl, which he don’t pay no mind to; but he does pick up a towel and starts polishing some beer mugs. I finish my Dewar’s and water, and give her my complete attention.
Now, you should understand I got a lot of attention to give. I’m not sure, but I’m maybe, 6′ 3″ and some 230 pounds. Not too many know I work out at Gold’s Gym maybe three times a week. Assholes ’round here think I’m born with these muscles. Anyway, my size always helps when I gotta calm a … let’s jus call it a situation … yeah, when I gotta clam a situation down.
Anyways, I answer her with a question of my own. “Hanes, like in ho’s?” I do this so as to reflect indifference to her person; meantime, I’m undressing her with my eyes. It’s a neat trick, which was taught to me by a woman some years ago. Women — they got this knack of giving someone the once over so quick-like, that the other person, usually a male, don’t pick up on it.
The Bitch had herself a pretty face … no unsightly blemishes, not too much make-up. Nice perky lil’ tits, and a small, firm lookin’ ass — nothin’ like Zelda’s or Noreen’s; but there be plenty of mutts wantin’ to rub against it, she give them half a chance, which I won’t — not while she’s with me.
Thinkin’ I can’t see her, the Bitch rolls her eyes like she’s exasperated with me, but recovers quick enough not to insult me, and says, “Ummm, no, Haynes, that’s H-a-y-n-e-s. I’m a reporter with the …”
“I read the paper every day,” I says, making sure to put some gruffness in my tone. Then, adding even more bark, I says, “Jus what the hell you want from me?”
Now that served to make her a little nervous. For the first time the Bitch shows me that she’s thinkin’ she may have made a mistake waltzing in here. And that’s where I want her. Don’t wanna scare the shit out of her … just give her kind of nervous tickle, because I like my bitches like that. The fact is Bitches ain’t nervous ’round you, they likely to figure you out; ’cause bitches, they always analyzing you, and shit like that. They got these photographic memories what play back every damn word you say to them, two — three weeks later, and I find that damned irritating when they do it to me.
So the Bitch loses the exasperated expression and blurts out, “I … err … I’m working on a feature story, umm … on prostitutes and ….” She falters some, then she regained her composure and goes into her delivery.
Now, the Bitch wasn’t up there with Satchel Paige when it come to pitching, but by the time she finished, I’d have to say she ranked up there with the likes of Big Newk. That’s Big Don Newcombe, bakırköy escort wuz the mainstay with the old Brooklyn Dodgers back in the fifties. Now that wuz when they really played the game. No molly-coddling the mother-fuckers then!
I gotta laugh; way she buttered me up with that delivery of hers. First she serves up what I figure got to be a fast ball; tells me I got a big reputation in Newark. That I’m the main man, it comes to prostitution. Then she tried to catch me off guard with a slow curve. Would I tell her how I get the ladies to spread their legs for any man happens to have enough money. Well, she used some fancier language, of course, but that’s what she meant. Hee, hee, hee … got to admit that wuz pretty good, pretty good.
I found myself pleased with her presence. But I don’t let her know this.
“Why you askin’ me ’bout them Ho’s?” I said. “Go axe the Ho’s theyselves. They’ll tell you ’bout the biggest cock they ever seen; they tell you ’bout VD. Oh, excuse me, STD. Hee, hee, hee.”
“No, no you don’t understand …”
“I unnerstand! Now answer my question.”
“Well, the fact of the matter is …” She rolled those pretty eyes again, only this time she wuz struggling to make her point and keep her temper; which if she lost it, would get her thrown out of my place, and the bitch sure enough knew that.
“Err, how can I put this plainly?”
She talking to herself now, so I try to help her. “Somebody give you my name?”
The Bitch seemed almost grateful for the help, and nods her head vigorously like, says, “Yes, yes, that’s exactly it. I … I’m told that you are a man of … certain influence. A man who, um, knows a great deal about the workings of prostitution.”
I know them Ho’s won’t work if you don’t put a size twelve up their ass every hour on the hour,” I said, and finished off my drink. Now the bitch is staring at me. Maybe I shocked her; can’t read her eyes so good yet, so I give her another minute. People can’t stand silence. Even reporters who should know better. They got to hear something, even if it’s their own mouth running. I wait on people a lot, and I learn a lot from it.
But time passed, and she kept gaping at me; and I come to understand she’s playin’ the game too. So I says, and not unkindly, “So, talk to me.”
I just wanna get her going again, you know?
“Well … in my story,” she’s now biting on her lower lip, “err, of course, I won’t use your name. I … err …” I let her consult wit her notes because I know reporters need to have they notes so they can quote you correctly later on.
“Well, the fact of the matter is that your cooperation would be very much appreciated, Mr. Liston. Oh, and I’ll pay you for your services.”
“Like a Ho?” I said, right in her face. I know I showered her with some of my spittle, but I didn’t mean too, and that shook her up. Bitch almost fell out of the chair.
“No, no, no, no. I’m asking you as one who is an authority on whores.”
“How much green we talkin’ about?” I asked in a more reasonable tone, as I like to change direction on people. I find it keeps them off balance, and that makes ’em easier to deal with.”
Bitch bit her lip again, made her face into a frown, and says, “Umm, how about one hundred dollars?”
I moved my thumb across the first two fingers of my right hand, just under her nose, and watched the Bitch flinch; like I’m maybe about too smack her, or something. She wasn’t much of a negotiator, cause then she blurts out, “The highest I can go is four hundred dollars!”
I see tiny beads of perspiration forming on her brow and upper lip. “Good,” I says, ‘en give her my Ipana smile. “Now we can converse.”
The Bitch relaxed some on hearing that, but I figured I’d get my money up front, and held out my hand. She reached in her purse, and pulled a roll out, and started counting out four hundred into my paw. That left her with about forty bucks, and I decided to let her keep it.
“Okay, now what?” I asked.
Bitch took out a recorder, and crossed her legs, which pulled that dress even snugger then it wuz before. Now I could make out them long stems of hers; pretty good one’s at that. I kept lookin’ at ’em until she turned the recorder on, and says, “August 22, 1995, this is Margaret Haynes of the Newark Star Ledger. I’m sitting here with Mr. Liston ….”
“Hiatus Liston,” I said, interrupting her. “Umm, yes, thank you, Mr. Liston . . . that is Mr. Hiatus Liston.” She wuz wiping her face with this lil’ hanky as she said it.
I fixed her with another Ipana smile — and let the diamonds in my teeth sparkle some.
“I’m with Mr. Hiatus Liston. We’re in a bar and billiards establishment here in downtown Newark. Mr. Liston is reputed to be a … umm, procurer of feminine services and as such …”
“Excuse me,” I said, and I paused for a moment before going on. “I believe my job title is Pimp, not procurer, or whatever you call it.”
“Err, yes, thank you Mr. Liston. I stand corrected. Mr. Liston başakşehir escort is . . . um, a pimp, and as such he provides women to various customers who pay him for their sexual favors.”
I looked over at my bartender, who’s shakin’ his head, warning me about something. I excused myself for a moment, and ambled over to “Tator.”
“What’s up?” I axed him.
“You doan wanna admit to being no pimp, boss. Law read that story they get on your ass real quick.”
I pondered this for a moment, then nodded to ‘Tator and slid a twenty across the bar. He palmed it, and I walked my walk back to the Bitch.
“Let’s change the rules a little, Miz Haynes.”
“What? I don’t understand?”
“Just erase the tape. We’ll start over.” She got this confused look on her face, but didn’t do nothing. So I reached over, and took the tape, rewound it, and hit the record button before handing’ it back to her; then we started over.
“August 22, 1995, this is Margaret Haynes of the Star Ledger. I’m with Mr. Hiatus Liston. We’re in a bar and billiards establishment here in downtown Newark. Mr. Liston is reputed to be a …” I put my big paw on her hand, and said so the recorder could hear: “I is reputed to know a thing or two ’bout pimping hookers, or Ho’s; or whatever the hell you wants to call them.”
“Well . . . yes. Err, Mr. Liston, how would you like to begin?”
Bitch had this helpless look on’er face. Not that I cared any, but it wuz me wanted the conversation in the first place, so I owed her a story. I decided to make one up. And changed the names so as to protect the innocent. Heh, heh, heh.
“Okay, Miz Haynes, here goes: I learned how to run women from Johnny Diamondmouth. He wuz king pimp; maybe twenty years back. I wuz just a growin’ boy.”
“Now, Diamondmouth wasn’t just a womanizer like most other dudes on the street — no sir. There wuz something special ’bout him. Oh, yeah, something really special.”
Bitch starting to relax at this; musta figured things wuz going real smooth, and I see her body kinda lean back some, losing some tension as she got engrossed in the tellin’ as it were.
“Ever since I know him,” I says, “Diamondmouth wuz skinny as a trout; weak-eyed ‘en weak-chinned, with this snaggle of teeth that probably never seen a toothbrush. Still and all, they wuz lined with diamonds stead’a fillings. Now old Diamondmouth chewed maybe twelve packs of Juicy Fruit a day, just to keep his breath sweet enough so people would come close to him.
“He also had a line of red pimples on his neck where his shirt collar sawed at him; ‘specially in the summer. Another thing about him, he wore a tie everyday, winter and summer.
“Diamondmouth had a special stool reserved for him over at Lemon Dick’s Bar & Grill, over on Raymond Boulevard, from which he run his stable of high-assed, high-yellers and a couple simpering runaway white bitches.”
I glanced at the Bitch and smiled. “Course Lemon Dick’s gone now. Shit! Him and the bar. Hell, they all long gone,” I added wistfully, because there is days when I really miss them.
“Anyway, one fine day; for me at least, Diamondmouth interrupted my pool game to share a bit of carnal and criminal knowledge with me. I guess he just wanted to kinda pass the time of day. Kinda like I’m doing with you right here ‘en now.” I smiled my best smile at her. ‘En she gifted me with a smile of her own. It wuz a right pretty smile. The Bitch had good teeth, had to give her that. Nice and white. But she still couldn’t look me in the eye. I watched like a hawk, as her dainty hand kinda glided across her upper leg.
“Diamondmouth,” I continued, “not only made my dick hard with his story,” I lied smoothly, and paused to reflect the moment. I smiled at her, and when she smiled back, I put my hand on’er leg, maybe an inch or so from the hem of her dress. She tensed up, but she didn’t move away. I figured it wuz cause she had $400 invested in our little talk. And moments later, I seen her take a quick peek at my dick; which wuz all but poking outta my pants.
It wuz kinda funny, ’cause she had made my dick hard; and a woman always wants to know how they affecting you. I liked that. Told me we wuz making all kinda progress with this here conversation. I left my hand where it wuz, and continued talking.
“But he taught me certain things I live my life by. Rules, I guess you might call ’em.” I called out to Tator to bring me another drink ‘en to give her the same. She didn’t say no.
“Diamondmouth,” I said, and at the same time, I give her thigh a squeeze, ‘en moved another four inches closer to her love nest, “How you get all them women to fuck for you? How come they doan leave you without giving you the time ‘o day?” Bitch be listening hard now, even with the recorder running. I eased my hand up higher on her leg, and continue talkin’. I see the Bitch is breathin’ a little faster too.
I found that interestin’.
“Diamondmouth would say, ‘It’s all in how you treat ’em ’cause they all bebek escort of them different; and they all of them the same.'”
I’m lookin’ the Bitch right inner eye, and I says, “I told Diamondmouth that I found that puzzling, and asked him to explain it some better. “Sure,” he says to me, “You go ’round tryin’ to power a strange cunt in’ta doing this, or that ? maybe you grab her by the hair, ‘en knock her head against the wall ? not a good idea, ’cause then what you got is a bitch yelling rape on you; that is, she ain’t hurt too bad. Then she be running down the avenue lookin’ to throw herself in the arms of the first cop, or pimp ready to defend her, you unnerstand?”
Bitch holdin’ the recorder and nodding her head like Diamondmouth himself wuz whispering in her ear. She this interested in my shit, I figure it be time to venture a lil’ closer to her pussy. See what she do then. I leaned in a little closer to her, and turned down my volume. “He’d say to me, ‘You got to do like with a cat.'”
“What’s that?” Bitch say to me. Before I answer, I let my finger trace lightly crost her pussy.
Oh, the Bitch knows I’m there all right. Body language give her away. But to her credit, her face don’t show nothing. She takes a sip ‘o her drink, and waited for me to continue.
So wit my finger still going back ‘en forth over her pussy, I go on with the story. “He says, ‘First ignore her. Let her come to you. Then you feed her the sweet cream ‘en peaches. You play like you doan even see she’s got nice legs and tits.'”
Bitch’s eyes widen some at this, but I kept talkin’ as I pushed ever so softly on her lips. “Now, when you feed her the cream, don’t be stingy. Pour it on. If she got ugly ears, you say you never seen such pretty seashells, ‘en my how the light shines through ’em. She got a honker like a bugle; you tell her handsome noses wuz very prized by Roman emperors and them French kings; pointing out that Madame Bovary ‘en Helen the great Trojan queen both had noses the prow any ship be proud to wear.”
Bitch begin to smile a little, but I seen a bead or two of sweat just above her lip. She took another sip ‘o her drink.
“If she got no tits, tell the bitch she’s a lady born out ‘o her time; quality from the twenties come to grace this sorry age with her lovely figure. You hear what I’m tellin’ you?”
“Err . . . yes. Yes I do Mr. Liston,” she says, and a little smile ‘crost her face. “And then the Bitch push that pussy ‘o hers into my finger. I’m not surprised. I’m never surprised with what a bitch will do. I expect anything. They ingenious when it come to fuckin’ up a man’s mind. So I slip the finger inside her underwear and into her pussy; and use my thumb on her little old button.
Bitch smiles at me, and says, “Please continue Mr. Liston.” But she don’t say which I should continue, so I do both.
“So I ask Diamondmouth, ‘Suppose the bitch knows what she’s got ain’t much, ‘en says you full ‘a shit?”‘
“What you expect the bitch to say?” Diamondmouth say to me, bringin’ his face real close to mine. ‘Less she’s a sorry fool, so … so what you do, you eat her. You eat it, ‘en make like it’s tasty. You act shy ‘en humble in the face of such misguided self-abnegation.”
“Self what?” Bitch says to me.
“Abnegation. You the reporter, don’t you know the word?” I emphasize this by jabbing my finger into her slippery pussy. Two bookies happened into the bar, moments ago, began to snicker.
“Bitch turning red on me now, says, “Could we continue this conversation somewhere more private?”
I smiled at her; give her a good look at my gold teeth. I axed ‘Tator for the keys to the back room, and took her arm, and we ambled on back, with her titties jouncing against my arm every step ‘o the way.
Now, the back room ain’t much. Couple chairs ‘en a pool table or two, a card table and a chest holding towels and stuff for the bar. And some ‘o my stuff for special occasions like this.
I closed and locked the door behind me, and put my hands on’er hips. Bitch had her eyes closed, waitin’ for a kiss.
Instead, I lifted her dress up to her waist. Her underwear told me a lot ’bout her. Wasn’t fancy, just plain cotton. That meant she didn’t expect to get laid when she came here. The wet spot fronting her pussy, told me she wuz expecting to get laid now though. Course the Bitch had asked for the back room. That confirmed her wanting to get laid. And to her credit, she didn’t make no pretenses ’bout it either.
I’d a thought she’d be heavier as I lifted her up and set her down on the table and then knelt before her lightly furred alter. I said, “To tell you the truth I don’t know what misguided self-abnegation meant then or now. I doan think it matters any if we getting serious.”
She nodded, and shut the tape recorder off. “No need to record everything that’s said in here, is there, Mr. Liston?”
“It’s your machine, Miz. Haynes,” I says, and used my trigger finger to pull her underwear to one side; then leaned in close to lick her pussy some.
“Ohhhh, Mr. Liston,” she say. No time at all, her hand on my head, kinda guiding me along, I don’t need no guidance; but I let her have her way for the moment. Bitch pushed that pussy into my face and held it there. I don’t mind at all. Fact is I started playin’ her puss like it wuz a Stradivarius.
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