Even though there was a room between Loyce’s and mine, sometimes I still heard what was going over there. Mostly it was just the sounds people make when they fuck; some old wheezer hemming and hawing and laboring through while Loyce played her part and screamed like it was the best sex she ever had. “Oh Daddy,” she’d say, “Oh Daddy. Fuck me. Like that. OOOH YEAH, DADDY!” That kind of shit. It never lasted long, and she was usually sitting out in front of her room smoking a few minutes later. I once asked her what her secret was; she smiled and waved at me with the tip of her index finger. “All guys need is a little finger up the ass,” she said. Then she laughed. “All you all want is a good dickin’ but you too manly and shit to admit it.”
Loyce was pretty good at picking her clientele; she didn’t go in for rough stuff and didn’t care about kink so long as it wasn’t too extreme. And there were all kinds. Sometimes she talked about them. She had regulars who liked being tied up. A few who liked being spanked. She told me she once had a client who paid her a thousand dollars to play mommy while he dressed up like a baby, diaper and all. Listening to her talk made me glad I never took her up on her offers to “help me out.” I never went in for that weird shit; but who’s to say she wouldn’t talk about me to someone else? Sometimes it’s just better to suffer and masturbate. And it’s cheaper.
She was independent; she mentioned that to me several times. “I don’t need no goddamn pimp smacking me around,” she’d say, “and taking all the money I work for.” Every once in a while a creep managed to get by her, but from what I could tell, Loyce did an okay job of taking care of herself.
Once or twice a month, the cop in the silver car would show up. I never asked her about the arrangement, but it was clear that he was a big part of the reason she could operate independently. He’d show up, walk up to her room, and let himself in. He never stayed very long. Sometimes I heard them fucking and she did her Oh Daddy bit and he left. Sometimes he yelled at her and knocked things around. Sometimes she laughed at him. Sometimes she pleaded with him. A couple of times I heard her cry.
I was sitting on my bed, drinking scotch, and watching something on Animal Planet when I heard them. At first, Loyce was all set to do her Oh Daddy bit; then I thought I heard her laugh; then I heard a crash and a thump. Loyce screamed at him. He yelled at her and started slamming things around.
God, I thought. This shit gets OLD. Quick. I turned off the TV and stepped outside to smoke.
“Get outta here,” I head her say. “You get your fat ass and your LIMP DICK outta here you fucking PIG! I don’t need you!”
“Fucking whore,” he growled. “You don’t tell ME what to do.” I heard his hand connect with her and she cried. “Go ahead and cry,” he taunted her. “You think anybody cares about a stupid fat whore like YOU? You think you have friends? You think anybody would notice if you up and blew away?”
She cried some more, but I couldn’t make out the words. He yelled some more. He beat her some more. I thought about breaking it up, but for all I knew the cop had his gun with him too, and it wouldn’t take much for rape to turn into a double homicide. I heard fabric ripping, Loyce sobbing, and the cop grunting. A couple of minutes later it stopped. And a couple of minutes after that, the door to Loyce’s room opened and he stepped out, straightening his tie and carrying his suit coat. “You remember,” he said. “You just fucking remember your place you stupid nigger cunt. Or it may turn out that this place isn’t so safe anymore. All I do is pick up the phone and make one call. You remember Randall? He’d sure like to find your ass again.”
Loyce was sobbing when the cop closed the door. He looked up at me and glared; his bottom jaw was jutting out as he lumbered toward and past me. “What are YOU staring at you junkie motherfucker?”
I didn’t answer him. He pushed me intentionally as he walked by, made his way down to his car, and peeled out of the parking lot. I was about to go back in when Loyce came out of her room wrapped in a red silk robe that looked like it had been run over a couple of times. Her right eye was puffy and she walked like she was sore.
“He’s gone,” I said.
She didn’t answer. I lit up another cigarette and offered her one. She nodded and took the cigarette. I lit it for her. “Thanks,” she said.
After a couple of minutes of her not talking, I decided to go back in my room.
“You heard all that,” she said as I turned to go. “Didn’t you.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“He get a little grumpy sometimes,” she said. “Like to take it out on people.”
“Apparently.”
She looked at me. “I don’t deserve it,” she said. “I don’t deserve it. Not at all.”
“No one does,” I said.
“I should turn him in,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“But it won’t do any good, will it?”
“Well,” I said, “it seems like they might be inclined to believe whatever he tells them.”
“ ‘Cause I’m just a whore?” she sneered.
“Because he’s a COP,” I said. “They don’t usually go after one of their own.”
She nodded. “True nuff,” she said. Then she stamped out her cigarette butt. “Thanks again for the smoke,” she said.
I wanted to say something; but nothing I could think of seemed appropriate. Sometimes there just isn’t anything to say. It wasn’t my business. The cop wasn’t my problem. Whoever Randall was wasn’t my problem either. Loyce was looking off at the setting sun in silence. “I got a little bit of scotch,” I said. “You look like you could use a drink.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “I’ll bring it out here,” I said. “What are they gonna do? Arrest us?”
She almost smiled. “Thanks anyway,” she said. Then she turned and walked back into her room, closing and locking the door behind her.
I went back in my room and turned the TV back on, but I didn’t feel like watching Animal Planet anymore. I turned the TV back off and focused my attention on the rest of my bottle of scotch.
