Murderville Page 0,29

toward the familiar voice. She watched her friend Trixie exit a vehicle and approach her. Liberty could tell by the strut in Trixie’s step that she was in high demand that night. Despite the fact that they all were forced into prostitution, the women on the strip were still competitive with one another. Whoever made the most money had the most clout in the streets, and Trixie was winning that race by a mile. Her shoulder-length hair was naturally curly and framed her pretty face well. She was easy on the eyes. High cheekbones, naturally bronzed Brazilian skin, and chinky eyes made her seem so exotic. Her long, lean legs were like a web of seduction that men didn’t mind being stuck in. Trixie had a figure that any woman would kill for, and she worked hard to maintain it. She knew that there were a million bitches that would love to snatch her spot, so she worked constantly . . . often going the extra mile for her clientele. It was no secret that once Trixie got a hold on a man, he was hers forever. She had turned out too many to count. The sex with her was just that good. While the working girls like Liberty had limitations to what they would do, Trixie had none . . . she performed it all . . . she sucked, fucked, welcomed anal, fulfilled fantasies and obliged fetishes all for the sake of making a dollar. She was the biggest diva that Liberty had ever met, and one of the only people that Liberty had grown close to over the years.

“Hey girl, you pulling it in for the night?” Liberty asked. “You meet your quota?”

Trixie went into her thigh-high boot and pulled out a nice-sized knot of dead presidents. “Don’t a bitch always meet her quota?” she stated. She put the money back and removed a pack of cigarettes from the same boot.

“Damn, Trix, how much shit you got stuffed in that damn thing?” Liberty asked with a slight chuckle.

Trixie passed Liberty a square and then pulled one out of the pack before putting it back. “Bitch, as much shit as I need while I’m out here dealing with these niggas. I got rubbers, lube, and a blade in there too just in case a mu’fucka wanna get cute,” Trixie said seriously. Liberty and Trixie weren’t rookies on the block, and they acted accordingly, protecting themselves at all costs.

“I can’t wait to come up out of this shit,” Trixie complained as she wiggled uncomfortably while adjusting the thong out of the crack of her behind. “Where is this motherfucker?”

“Just take the shit off now, girl. You know they will leave us here all night to make sure the rest of these hoes earn their keep. It ain’t easy to make a minimum of $500 when you only charging $25 to wrap your lips around some dick. Fuck that . . . my head too good. If a nigga pump his brakes to fuck with me he better be ready to come up off some dough,” Liberty replied. She lit the cigarette as she leaned against a street sign and put her head back as she blew smoke into the air. She had been on the hoe stroll since she was ten years old and nothing surprised her at this point. She was a veteran, and her fuck game was out of this world.

“Hmm, hmm you know I need a mirror for that shit,” Trixie commented as she danced uncomfortably in her stiletto boots.

“Girl, you don’t need a mirror. Just rip the shit off. Go over there in that alley and handle your business,” Liberty instructed.

Trixie disappeared down the darkened alleyway while Liberty stood on the sidewalk playing lookout.

“I can’t see a damn thing back here! It’s too dark! All of the fucking street lights are busted out,” Trixie whispered harshly.

Liberty rolled her eyes and marched over to her friend. Liberty reached up and pulled down Trixie’s black satin thong as she knelt on the ground in front of her. Reaching under Trixie’s skirt she grabbed the piece of duct tape and slowly peeled it off, freeing Trixie’s privates. Once it was completely removed, Liberty patted Trixie’s package.

“It’s a shame this big ol’ dick was wasted on you bitch,” Liberty joked as she stood to her feet.

Trixie stuck up her middle finger and exhaled as she finally was able to breathe. “Girl, please . . . ain’t nothing going to