The Baby Trade part 1 (A Summer Black serial)
by Jochem Vandersteen
I’d never seen
her before but I made her the second she stepped into the diner. She was a
streetwalker, just like I used to be, years ago.
She wore
stiletto heels, faded jeans and too much make-up. Her hair had been colored red
but there were still some remnants from the previous color she’d been coloring
it, a pornstar-shade of blonde. She’d tried to dress down for the occasion, but
her entire gait and her prowling eyes gave her away. This was a woman who
constantly used her manner to entice men into sex but was also wary of her
surroundings because someone out there always might be more interested in
slapping the cuffs on her than getting a blowjob.
Before I got
clean, before my time with the Army and before waitressing right here in
Lowinski’s diner I used to act just like that.
She sat down in
a booth. I walked over and said hello.
“What can I get
you?”
She peered at
the label above my right breast. She made out the name. “Summer?”
“That’s right.”
“Summer Black?”
“Have we met?” I
asked.
She shook her
head. “No, no we haven’t. But I’ve heard of you. I’ve heard you sometimes help
out working girls like me when we’re in trouble.””
She was right.
After my return from Iraq old friends sometimes asked me to help them when
their pimps got a bit too violent, when they owed a dealer more money than they
had or sometimes when they just needed some minor medical help. I was loyal to
my friends, even though I quit living their destructive lifestyle. Word got around
and sometimes I was asked to fix things for a friend of a friend. These ladies
needed help sometimes. They couldn’t run to the cops and had little to no
family. I’d learned some handy skills in the Army and had lead the same tough
life they had. I was glad I could be useful to them sometimes.
“I can’t talk to
you now. In half an hour I get my lunch break. I can talk to you then. I’ll get
you some pancakes in the meantime. Don’t worry about the bill, I’ve got it
covered for you.”
“Thanks. Thanks
a lot,” she said. “I’m Tina.”
I gave her a
nod. “Nice to meet you, Tina.”
I headed back to
the kitchen to order the food. The cook, Vincenzo, an Italian guy with a head
as bald and smooth as an eight ball and a paunch that showed he appreciated his
own cooking told me the pancakes were coming up, even though he felt about that
his culinary skills had to be wasted on such a simple dish once again.
“I’m sorry,
you’re just not working at a five-star place,” I told him.
“You got that
right. I’m not paid like I am neither.”
“I know what you
mean,” I told him and left the kitchen.
Michael Lowinski
was behind the cash-register. Michael is the owner of the diner, a guy at the
south end of sixty with a white handlebar moustache and arms full of tattoos he
looks like an old guy you don’t want to mess with.
“Saw you talking
to that lady,” he said. “Do you know her?”
“No, I was just
being friendly.”
“Right. I’ve
seen girls like her before. She’s a hooker, Summer. I’m pretty sure of it.”
Who the fuck was
he supposed to be? Sherlock Holmes? How did he figure it out? Or was it just
more obvious than I thought, even to someone that hadn’t been in the life.
“You’re kidding
me.” Lowinski was unaware of my past and I wanted to keep it that way for now.
“I’ve been
around, Summer. I know what a hooker looks like. She might have traded in her
fuck me-skirt for jeans, but she can’t hide the attitude. Matter of fact, seems
this place is getting to be a favorite hangout for streetwalkers these days.
More and more of them seem to pop up in here.”
“Is that right?”
I tried to play little Miss Innocence.
“Assamatterafact,
they’ve been coming in here ever since you started to work here. You seem to be
always giving them a little extra of your time too.” He gave me an inquisitive
stare. The kind of stare the cops used to give me.
“I really don’t
know what you’re talking about, Mike.” I grabbed the coffeepot. “I think
someone needs to have their coffee topped up a bit.”
Lowinski put a
hand on my shoulder. “You ever want to tell me something, don’t hesitate to.”
That made me
uncomfortable. Michael was a good guy. I hated lying to him. “Sure, I won’t.”
I walked over to
an older couple that was having waffles and poured them some more coffee. They
told me they appreciated it.
I walked past
the booth where Tina was sitting. I eyed Lowinski. He was watching me. Dammit.
This was crazy. I was starting to feel like a superhero guarding a secret
identity or something.
I brought Tina
some coffee and told her softly, “I won’t be able to talk to you right now.
Meet me after work at my car. It’s parked in the back, a black Mini Cooper.”
“Okay, sure.”
“Good, the
pancakes are still coming up, though,” I told her and walked off again.
I wondered what
she needed me to do. This whole thing with Lowinski made me worry about what
I’d been doing for the working girls. This way I was never going to really get
out of that life. How far was I removed from going back into that lifestyle,
back to the drugs, the fast money? Shouldn’t I cut my ties to my past more
permanently if I wanted to really lead a new life?
“Hey, Summer!
Stop daydreaming! There’s a guy at table five waiting for you to take his
order,” Lowinski told me.
I told him I was
sorry and headed over to the table.
TO BE CONTINUED
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