I wandered around my new neighborhood late in the afternoon. Wally had let me crash on his couch before he took me out to find an apartment not too far from Morgan’s lab. I could reach it by walking, or if I was feeling lazy, I could take one bus and be at the hospital in three minutes.
We had a bed delivered from a local store, and with my most pressing tasks accomplished, I began exploring to memorize the businesses around my apartment complex.
I was just starting to think about a late lunch when I heard a familiar engine idling behind me. Groaning, I turned around, and the green Gremlin was indeed coasting near the curb.
The man behind the wheel didn’t have on a costume, and when our eyes met, he ran a hand over his wavy blond hair.
Pulling up to the curb, he parked the car and said, “Hi.”
I strolled to his car, curious to see what he was up to.
He drummed his fingers on his steering wheel. “Uh, my name is Dale, but uh…you met me as someone else.”
“Yes, Dale, I remember your car.” I waved toward the hood. “It’s obvious who you are with this huge TM logo on the hood, you know?”
He grinned, suddenly proud of his car. “Isn’t it cool?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Oh,” he said in a dejected tone of voice. His shoulders slumped, and he almost put his forehead on the steering wheel as he slouched over.
I’d severely wounded his pride.
Groaning, I tapped the door to get his attention. “What…do…you…want?”
He stared at me for several seconds before recognition lit his eyes. “Oh! Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for ruining your first day in the city.”
“It’s all—”
“And for destroying your driver’s license.”
“It’s no—”
“And for that whole Icee thing,” he said.
My mouth hanging open, I waited to see if there was anything else he needed to be sorry for.
He stayed quiet, so I decided to take his last apology first. “Icee is my old name, and I don’t use it anymore.”
He nodded. “Okay, then I’m sorry for that too. I was talking about making you pay for your own Icee at the store yesterday. I should have bought it for you after everything that I screwed up on.”
I sighed. “I forgive you.”
“No! You can’t just yet,” he insisted.
“Why not?”
“You can’t forgive me until I’ve made it up to you. I could buy you lunch, if you like.”
I smirked, resting my forearms over the windowsill. “Would this be a date?”
“No, cause I’m lousy at dating,” Dale replied.
I sighed as I dropped my head. It was a half nod, an admission to myself that I should have seen his answer coming.
Behind me a familiar voice called, “Icee?”
I looked back over my shoulder to find Lil’ Joe staring at my ass.
Time had been kind to Lil’ Joe, the only pimp in City who I knew and liked. Age had lined his dark skin, but the lines added a handsome maturity to his lean face. Lines traced curves under his dark brown eyes, while the lines under his cheeks drew a wide triangle around his thick lips.
He’d been bare-faced the last time I’d seen him, and now he had a thin moustache and a wispy black goatee. The rest of his cheeks were kept shaven clean. His hair was braided in tight rows, making his high cheekbones even more prominent.
He dressed about the same as I remembered. His dark plum dress shirt was matched with black slacks and a pair of polished black wingtips. He wore a gold chain, a thin rope with no pendant. His hands were bare, and under the cuff of his right sleeve, I saw a gold wristwatch that wouldn’t be fake, if I knew Joe.
Joe’s thick lips parted in a charming grin, a wolf’s leer that would have sent any sane schoolgirl scampering away at high speed.
I turned halfway and leaned on the roof support of the Gremlin. Offering a smirk in return, I said, “Hey, Joe. I changed my name back to Terry now, and my face is up here.”
Joe chortled as his gaze rose to meet mine. “I’m a pimp, remember? I’ve got a photogenic memory for asses, and baby girl, I remember yours.” He held his arms open. “Do I get some love, or you gonna leave me hangin’?”
Laughing, I crossed the sidewalk and hugged him tight.
I stepped back, pointing to Dale. “Joe, this is…” I stopped because it dawned on me that I didn’t know how Dale wanted to be known.
“Truant Man,” Joe said. “I heard of you.”
Dale scowled and looked at his steering wheel. “I know, it’s silly.”
“Naw, man, it’s tight, you telling kids to stay in school.” Joe draped his arm over my shoulders, favoring me with his most charming grin again. “Do you want to hook up for dinner? You know I’ll treat you right.”
I looked at Dale, who nodded and drove off.
Again I groaned, this time because I realized Dale would still want to apologize to me some time in the near future.
Joe asked, “I didn’t just ruin a moment, did I?”
I shook my head, laughing. “Not with him, ever.”
I let Joe guide me as we walked to his car, a white Cadillac with dark tinted windows.
“How long are you back in town?” he asked. Before I could answer, he pressed a button on his remote to open the door for me. As it swung open, he pointed at it and smiled. “Pretty sweet, right?”
“It is nice,” I admitted. “I’ll be here for the summer, but I have to head back to Idaho for my classes.”
Joe snickered. “What does a super villain need school for?”
I waited for him to walk around the car and get in before I answered him. “I’m not a super villain anymore, or even a villain for that matter.”
“Did you lose your powers or something?” he asked.
“Or something,” I answered. “I got killed on Judgment Day.”
“Not me. I got the hell out when Light Master—did you say you got killed?”
“Yes I did,” I confirmed.
“Are you a zombie?” Before I could shake my head, Joe asked, “Or maybe some kind of clone?”
“Wow, you’re good.” I snorted. “It only took you two tries to figure it out.”
“Sweet,” Joe said. “So how come you still look like a little kid?”
I told him about my problem, continuing on to my life in Idaho with my parents while we ate. Joe took me to Guido’s Spaghetti Western, a surprisingly posh place despite the silly name. It refers to the name of the main chef, Guido, and to the menu, which serves Italian and Southwestern style dishes.
I had spaghetti with clams, and Joe had a huge bowl of lasagna. My story wasn’t halfway finished when we emptied our plates, so Joe ordered tiramisu for dessert.
Our coffee had just arrived, and I was stirring in a packet of sugar as I finished my story with a sigh. I smiled at Joe and said, “and so here I am.”
“It’s tight that you call LM your dad.” Joe chuckled. “Your pops is the most sinister super villain the world has ever seen, and your best friend’s dad is patrolling San Francisco. Between the two of them, you’re like the Sweden of the family.”
I shook my head. “It’s Switzerland, Joe, and Dad isn’t a super villain anymore. He retired when he adopted me.”
“My ass, Light Master retired. Has he still got a lab?” Joe asked, and I nodded. “Then he ain’t retired.”
I shrugged, deciding to let it go.
My reunion with Joe felt good, and it helped get rid of some of the nagging doubts I had about coming back to City.
Some of you may wonder how I’m on such familiar terms with a pimp. Well, Bling Bling had lent Joe the money to release a rap album, but Joe can’t rap. The album flopped, and I’m ashamed to say I bought a copy of it at his release party. I threw it away along with everybody else at the party after he performed a couple of his songs.
You may think we were being mean. One, we were villains and gangsters. This meant that we were under no obligations to be nice, friendships aside. And two, try to imagine a warbling cat developing the ability to shout motherfucker. This would be entertaining for two minutes, tops, which would be two minutes longer than Joe could sustain interest in his “lyrical stylings.”
Joe needed to pay back the money to Bling Bling fast, and grinding wouldn’t cut it. So he came to our door. Tommy just laughed at him, but I figured that I had two billion dollars, and you only live once…
Well, anyway, I covered his loan and Joe became my personal sugar daddy. While he paid back his loan in installments, he also took me out on the town for lavish play dates. I’d suggested once that he could charm me out of my pants, and he’d said he preferred his women with more meat on them. Then he winked and explained that’s why he kept trying to stuff me with so much food; he was investing in the future, he said.
After paying back most of his first loan, he took me out on a very lavish date before he asked for another loan. He used that money to start a stable with some ex-girlfriends who had all moved into the call girl business. They needed protection, and Joe was an old hand at working as heavy muscle for Bling Bling. His work with that stable of exes allowed him to pay back his second loan in two months, and it was clear that Joe had found his big break to the next level of crime by working as a pimp.
From then on, he would take me out every weekend, much to Tommy’s chagrin.
Thinking of those old times made me smile, and I looked up at Joe. “I’m about ready to head home, if you don’t mind.”
“You know I don’t, baby,” he said and patted my hand. “Now that you’re back, are you going to let me show you a good time, or is TM getting your attention now?”
“He’s a clod.” I sighed, and then chuckled. “He just seems too goofy to be real, but at least he’s trying to make up for being a jerk to me.”
“He’s an alright dude for a tard,” Joe said as we got up to leave.
Joe drove me to my apartment, and he insisted on walking me to my door. I had a hard time not laughing at him when he looked around my new apartment.
“Oh, hell no,” he said and turned around to gape at me with dismay. “Baby, you got no furniture.”
I giggled at his agonized expression, as if I’d committed some grave sin. “I bought a bed.” I pointed toward the bedroom. “I just haven’t had a chance to go shopping for furniture yet. It is only my second day in town.”
“Fine, but you’re still coming back to my crib for the night,” he said. Draping his arm over me, he started guiding me to the door. “I got a spare bed for you.”
Resisting him by staying in place, I smiled coyly. “No hanky panky?”
“Please baby, you can’t handle all of this.” Joe struck a pose to make me giggle again. It worked. “Besides that, you got to earn for this before you can play with it.”
“And who gave you the money to start your business?”
“I paid it back, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Yes, and you’re still the only one that has.”
“So now you have to make me some more money before I can let you into these drawers.”
I smirked. “Well darn, I guess I’ll just have to make do with your guest room then.”
“Now you’re talking, baby,” he said and pulled me into a light headlock.
I spent most of the night telling Joe about my panthers, and about my cabin in the woods. He’s good at listening, which I suppose is why he has such a large stable.
Of course it could be the fact that he’s the only pimp I know who has a health benefits package and a pension plan for his ladies, or the fact that a tazer is standard issue. He’s also very picky about his clients, and none of his women work street corners.
To be honest, Joe is the only pimp I know, but I’ve heard some of his ladies talk about their old pimps, and it occurs to me that I don’t want to know any of them.
Joe worked the street corners, moving ladies from the streets into apartments. Joe was a partial owner in those same properties, so it isn’t like he’s a perfect saint. But he doesn’t haunt the bus stop preying for “fresh meat” or anything like that. He doesn’t have to, since his stable gives him a large profit margin even with him taking low commissions.
If someone wanted to take off a week or go on a longer vacation, he let them go. When the ladies feel like going to work in a different profession, he collects rent as a normal property owner until they’re ready to move. They lose all the other bennies, but it’s the same thing as dropping out of work with a temp agency.
And since a lot of pimps don’t operate on such easy terms, it’s understandable why Joe was so popular with the local pros.
Some retired ladies had stayed, feeling safe with Joe’s hired muscle walking the complexes at night. Others stayed just because they liked Joe, and during the latter half of the evening, Joe got a lot of phone calls from neighbors hoping to offer him a “favor.” He turned them all down, but he didn’t shut off his phone.
Because that would be rude.
Eventually I decided to give up with every conversation punctuated by ring tones. Joe wished me a good night after showing me to his guest room, which was tasteful, but just a bit drab. This was after all the “safe room,” the bedroom he would offer to his mom or his sister if they came for a visit.
Though I was tired, I spent some time staring at the ceiling while I wondered who else would call me using my old name.
It was hard to think of who I knew in the city that hadn’t been killed on Judgment Day, though I assumed a few of them must have left City like Joe had.
One person came to mind as I neared the threshold of sleep, and I asked myself if I really wanted to see Miracle Man.
I drifted off still considering that question.
... I write dark fiction in a variety of genres. My blog contains my rants and rambles, and some short fiction that can only be found here.
I can be pretty fucking offensive, so viewer discretion is advised.
Joe seems like an intelligent business man and fairly decent bloke… which feels like a really odd thing to say about a pimp.
Yes, it’s not considered a compliment to say “what a great pimp!”
Yeah Joe isn’t your typical pimp, at least he treats the ladies like people instead of meat. And who has heard of call girls that have medical, except in vegas.
And TM is back at least for a little bit, seems like a decent person just a bit short of a full deck though.
Dale shows up often, much to Terry’s growing dismay. He’s a bit…unstable, as has already been seen by his alleyway dive face-first into a wall. He’s missing quite a few cards from his deck, though he’s kept both jokers, apparently.
Lil’ Joe is returning from his previous cameo role in Waiting for a Miracle. (He kicked the Rocket during Leona’s story arc.) One day in the distant future, I have plans to write a book about Joe. =^)