at blows (so to speak) over him. The fight had been bloody and fierce. In fact, the winner was such a mess, that he had driven off without paying either one.
Welcome to the hood, bitches.
Now, he turned onto a side street, then came back around to the best corner in this area. Where the pimps placed their Grade A merchandise.
And that’s all he was interested in. The crack whores did nothing for him, other than turn his stomach. He had no desire for the skanks whose skin and teeth were already ragged and shedding from crack or meth or hard time on the streets.
No, he liked them young.
Young and fresh and ripe, like a good piece of fruit.
Seedless fruit. He giggled a little, giddy with anticipation.
The Beemer’s halogen blue headlights automatically turned on their axis as they sensed the turning of the car itself, and illuminated his favorite spot for sweet young flesh.
She leapt out at him like a sailfish nailing a trolling lure.
White miniskirt, white tank top, blonde hair, and white skin. A pale smear in the dark shadow of hopelessness.
He didn’t even have to speak. He simply pulled up, rolled down the passenger side window and popped the lock.
As she sank into the luxurious leather seat, her smell of perfume and sex mingling with his scent of money and impeccable pedigree, he laughed again.
He thought of his ancestors, of the great Hampton hereditary line, now brushing up against this lost girl. Probably the daughter of drug addicts, garbage collectors, dive bar waitresses, folks with the IQ of a couple of egg yolks.
“What are you in the mood for tonight, honey?” she said.
He smiled. His teeth were a dazzling white, not quite perfect because he sometimes ground them at night while he slept, and along the very bottom edge of his front teeth the line was just a tad rough, not quite straight.
“I’m in the mood for everything,” he said.
She tried to scoot over across the center console, but he gently moved her back with a motion that appeared to be a caress.
She chattered as he drove for several blocks, but he barely listened, the thrumming in his blood filled his ears with thick insulation.
He pulled into the parking lot of a storage unit facility without having to stop for the gate. A shell corporation buried in his commercial real estate portfolio owned the place. Through a series of corporate memos, he had insisted the front gate be disabled and the security cameras removed. Cost-cutting measures, the memo had said.
The Beemer slid down to the very back of the parking lot.
He backed the car into the corner and turned to her.
“Let’s start with you giving me a BJ,” he said.
Hampton unzipped his pants as she bent her head across the center console. He turned his body to give her better access to his crotch and when his torso was turned, he corkscrewed back and drove his elbow into her jaw. He heard the sound of bone on bone and her eyes rolled into her head as she bounced back, then forward into his lap.
He pushed her back into the passenger seat, pulled the Beemer ahead and thumbed the button for Storage Unit 27. It opened, and he pulled the Beemer in, then closed the door.
He got out of the car, turned on the storage unit’s lights, and pulled the girl from the car.
He dragged her onto a mattress that sat on a plastic tarp.
He bound her arms, spread her legs, and stuffed a gag into her mouth.
When she regained consciousness and opened her eyes, he smiled at her.
“I’m assuming you’ve heard of my family,” he said. “The Hamptons?”
12.
Nicole
“Hey, we’re cutting into tonight’s profits!” Jay Lucerne bellowed as he popped the cork from their second bottle of champagne. Nicole laughed at the sheer delight on her partner’s flushed face. She thought he might be a little drunk, but he always had a car and driver at the ready.
He leaned across the table and topped off Nicole’s glass, then refilled his own. The wait staff had gone home for the night, as had the kitchen staff. It was now just Lucerne and Nicole.
“I still can’t believe it,” Nicole said.
“Believe it,” he said. “Thicque is here to stay. I didn’t hear one complaint, there wasn’t one mishap, and my sources tell me that at least two of the critics who dined here tonight were wowed. We can expect raves in tomorrow’s paper.”
Nicole smiled. Jay Lucerne had more connections than a gossip columnist.