What you’re doing in this operation is not without some danger.”
“Not like you.”
“We’ve run through every security threat possible. You know how people always say, ‘It’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be okay’? Well, this really is going to be okay.”
Slick wondered if her words sounded as hollow to Laura as they did to her. She believed what she was saying, but it did sound lame.
Laura looked at her and nodded. Without conviction, Slick thought.
“For you it’s just another day on the job. I’m a babe in the woods on this,” Laura said.
“You are a babe for sure, but you’re getting good at this detective stuff. Look at how far you’ve come since our first case. You have great instincts, and I need you.”
Laura leaned back against her. “Say it again and make me believe it.”
Slick turned her around and looked deeply in her eyes.
“I do need you. I work better with a partner. I was a good cop, but having Sam with me made me a better one. We were a team. Now you and I are the team.”
Laura seemed to brighten a little.
“Besides, Laura, I know you. You started this, and I know you want to see how it ends. Am I right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“We’re going to laugh about this when it’s over.”
“What if it turns out to be a disaster?”
Slick shrugged. “Then it was all your idea,” she said. “That’s the other good thing about having a partner—you can blame someone else.”
Laura punched her playfully.
“You know it’s a good plan. It will work.”
“Then we might as well see it through.”
“That’s my girl,” Slick said proudly.
They wouldn’t have to talk about it again.
Laura clapped her hands. Garbo sat at attention. Slick resumed practice mode.
“Okay, suit up, you two,” Laura said with renewed vigor. “We’re going in.”
2
Another Friday night was fast approaching on Halsey Street in Newark. The children of the night were busily preparing for the weekend sex trade. Strip club and XXX movie theater owners swept the floors and took cursory swipes at the mixture of dried bodily goop on the seats.
The massage parlors and the rent-by-the-hour motels doubled their staffs to cover the next forty-eight hours. The sex novelty store owners restocked their shelves with dildos, butt plugs, bondage supplies, edible undies, and the latest desensitizing lotions for the premature ejaculate/sore anus crowd.
As darkness fell, the prostitutes began to walk “the stroll” in timed strides. The air was filled with the rising sounds of whistles, catcalls, car horns, and giggles.
Variety is the spice of life, and the great variety of ages, races, body shapes, and specialty acts available on Halsey Street was more than enough to scratch any fantasy itch. Straight, gay, bi, or trans, there was ample outlet for anyone’s inner freak.
Sex was for sale every day of the week on Halsey Street, but the weekends brought more hustle and bustle, emphasis on the hustle.
Businessmen on business trips wanting to fast-forward to the juicy bits cruised the streets looking for the no-strings-attached screw before returning home. Car doors would open and prices were negotiated.
Cut-to-the-quick suck or fuck.
College boys, classes done for the week, looking now to party, dared each other to do a prostitute at least once. It was so entertaining to the workers. Young men, especially the big jocks, nervously approached the whores; then most walked away quickly. A few stayed. It all depended on the come-on. Some of the older, more experienced, pros had all the amorous charm of used-car salesmen. The younger ones had perfected an appealing come-hither look—lips pursed, eyelashes batting, topped off with a shy innocent blush, smile, and look-away act.
No matter what the approach, none of these sex providers felt exploited. Most were drug and disease free and insisted on double methods of protection. They looked at prostitution as a short stop on their way to greater things. They felt that purchased whoopee was just another service for sale. Money paid for services provided. No more exploitive than any money paid to your mechanic or your dentist.
The police patrolling Halsey Street kept a low profile. They made some token arrests of the prostitutes from time to time but usually stepped in only when big-time drug dealers tried to come in and sell heavy drugs or when pimps tried to harass the streetwalkers. It worked that way for years. The area wasn’t residential, so very few locals complained about it. The shop owners who weren’t involved in the sale of sex-related merchandise were closed and gone for the day before the action really got going.
The police often started here when looking for bigger busts, because this was a portal to whatever was happening on the streets. No matter what the criminal activity, someone on Halsey Street had information about it. And for the most part, the streetwalkers cooperated; they were the eyes and ears for the cops, because they knew the police let them sell their more fun parts.
So, it was the start of just another Friday night on Halsey Street, swelling up with a thousand different ways to separate sex from love.
Streetwalking regulars Lady Dijonnaise and Sheleeta Buffet ambled through the crowds, taking in the Friday night sights and sounds. The twin six-foot-seven, 350-pound black transvestites, who had begun life as Cletis and Cleotis Stubbs, respectively, were well known. According to urban legend, they once had been pro wrestlers turned celebrity bodyguards and now, cross-dressing hookers.
Lady and Sheleeta stopped and exchanged friendly banter with the sex workers as they made their way down the street. There was an easygoing feeling of camaraderie among the hookers. They understood one another, and they looked out for one another. Tonight, all the talk was about the bond issue that was soon to be voted on. If it passed, many of the workers were afraid that the city would begin to seriously go after them, clear them off the street to make way for the shiny new office towers, shopping malls, and residential communities. It had already happened in other sections of Newark. The city was trying to bounce back from years of depression. As the city rebuilt, the sex workers lost territory. Halsey Street was one of the few remaining areas where no one really bothered them.
Lady and Sheleeta tried to assure the hookers that the bond issue would never pass.
“This is going to be another good night on the stroll.” Lady Dijonnaise laughed excitedly as she looked at the waves of horny humanity flowing by.
“The sweet smell of cock is in the air!” She threw her head back and inhaled deeply, savoring the smell.
“No, honey, I just burped,” Sheleeta replied, and fanned at the air in front of her face, trying to make the burp disappear. “You probably just smellin’ my last trick’s dick area. I can still
