Three Pimps

yen 

THE STORY SO FAR:
Miu, the birthday-surprise prostitute, has officially been saved. After the ordeal with the drugs and the car and the pulp fiction references, the rotten johns and the less than pleasant working conditions, I put her on a Shinkansen to stay with relatives in Hiroshima, to clean up and dry out. Strangely the boss-pimp with ties to the Yakuza (naturally, right?) isn’t too pumped about the arrangements, and pays us a visit…

  “I assure you, gentlemen, we appreciate happy endings more than most,” he pauses for us to laugh at the pun, so – politely – we do, “but when they come at such a personal cost, the appreciation is lessened slightly.” He speaks eloquently and it’s harder than usual to keep up, especially with the fair game nature of the double entendres he’s utilizing, but his anger – which bubbles quietly under the surface of ever syllable – is uncomfortably evident.

  Dalton is serious beside me, as he always is when the conversation is more about the business than the pleasure. It’s reassuring to see him his calm and collected self, even when faced with a rival pimp flanked by goonish thugs. I’m wondering if he’s mad at me, for getting him into this predicament. He wanted for nothing more than to me just to blast Miu and send her on her way, back into the world, with this bozo leading the way. 

  “What you did for her – saving her from that junkie – I’m grateful. That’s why you’re not dead right now. But saving her from her family? Essentially you’ve stolen from me,” the boss says, “and no one steals from me.” Even in Japanese the spiel is dripping in cliché. “What would you suggest we do about this?”

  “How much?” I ask, simple, naive.

  “A good looking girl like Miu?” He says, pretending to think when everyone present knows a guy like this has the figures to hand, a quick fire stat to draw whenever it’s necessary. His life revolves around these figures. “She could easily net me three million yen a year. Minus her living expenses and salary it could work out around two. And that’s a conservative price because you guys seem nice. Not many out there who’d risk it for a whore.”

I wish I could pretend it was chivalry that had made me rescue Miu. I just hadn’t even begun to think of consequences when I’d put her on that train.

  “That’s not so bad,” I say to Dalton, who looks a little overwhelmed by the estimate, “I can pay that.”

  “Woah kid, slow your roll,” the guy in front of us says, his cohorts smiling, “per annum – per year – she’d have probably been with me for another five – maybe ten – if you hadn’t interfered. We’re looking at a lot more than just two mil.”

  It doesn’t take long to calculate the possibilities. I feel positively sick.

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~ by Joseph Blame on January 24, 2011.

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