Whore

WHORE

I knew some colorful characters amongst Chicago's street hustlers. None even begin to compare with the infamous prostitute, Mailbox Marilyn. You might find Marilyn anywhere, but mostly she patrolled Chicago's Northside. And that's where I first met her. I was working the evening shift in the Task Force Unit with an old salt. He unexpectedly pulled up to the curb, hollering, "Come here, Marilyn. I got a new guy wants to meet you."
I look around, and coming out of the alley was this little skinny babe. Looked like a slightly younger Granny Clampet from the Beverly Hillbillies. Only instead of a house dress down to her ankles, she had on a neon-green blouse cut low on her straight chest, a not so matching micro-miniskirt, with fishnet stockings that had gaping holes a five pound bass could slip through.
Then she smiled at me. Made me want to throw up, because about half her teeth were missing.
Getting up close, she spit a long stream of chewing tobacco, saying, "Hi, sweetems. Let's you and me make lovy dovy."
I might have been naive, but wasn't stupid, so I told my already laughing partner, "Okay, you've had your fun. Get me outta here." All while rolling up my window.
Only not fast enough, because Marilyn dove through the opening. She grabbed me around the neck, planting a big kiss on my face. I'm fighting to push her off and not try to hurt her at the same time when she finds my mouth, and tries to stuff her tongue down my throat. Her breath was like old gym shoes, and had me gagging.
You know how when you've got a tooth ache and you don't care what the dentist does, just so he gets that tooth extracted? Well, that's about how I felt. No concern for injury or pride, I threw myself out of the car. Managed to wrestle Marilyn's arms from my neck, too. I thought I was home free when she latched onto my crotch. Here I am running up the sidewalk, screaming, with Marilyn dragging behind, having the time of her life.
Somehow I broke free, and raced back to the patrol car.

Laughing up a storm, barely able to remain in his seat, my partner pulled away, all while Marilyn was scratching at my window, yelling, "I'll get you, boy. Soon! When I do, it'll be upside down rape."
We turned the corner, my partner saying, "Consider yourself properly initiated into the Task Force."
You might ask why "Mailbox" Marilyn. I know I did. True, Marilyn was a little eccentric; okay, nutty is a better word. She was also as slick as they come. Each time she turned a trick she placed her hard-earned cash into an already stamped envelope which was pre-addressed to the local bank. Then she dumped it in the nearest mailbox. This way, if she got rolled, she might lose a little of her hide, but her money was safe.
Something else about Whores. They're a large part of a big city cops life, but not at all like TV and Hollywood depict. How many shows have you seen in which the cops are looking for a bad guy? They go find the local whore, and say, "A double sawbuck if you tell us where we can find Joe Killer." Not batting an eyelash, she says, "Oh, yeah, I know that guy. He's staying over on North Avenue." Bingo, the cops are hot on the trail of their man.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The average street whore knows nothing more than what it takes to make a buck. Well, one more thing. How to get hold of the drugs which sustain their habit, because I myself never heard of any whore who wasn't strung out on some kind of dope. And if cops know what's important to whores, you can bet so does every burglar, stickup man, and purse snatcher on the street.
Criminals can be dumb. Very dumb. But to a man-woman they know what it takes to get over, which surely doesn't include blabbing their business to the local whore.
Street whores are more a nuisance than anything else. They get into knock down brawls over who uses what corner, or what alley. Sometimes they can get cut up pretty good, even die. And if they're not beating on each other, they're rolling their johns every chance they get. Some guy looking for nothing more than a roll in the hay turns his back at the wrong time, gets knocked silly. When he comes around, not only is his lover gone, so is his cash, along with his credit cards, maybe even his car.
The cops rarely hear about it, too. Not the true version, because chances are the john will simply report his wallet missing. He's too embarrassed to say what really happened.

On top of all this, street whores are the most loudmouthed, brash characters a cop runs into. Considering what they do for a living, you'd think they'd be at least a little bit humble. Uh-uh. A cop catches them wrong, they'll scream bloody murder. He lets down his guard, they're liable to scratch his eyes out. All in all, one big pain in the rectum.
I arrested a lot of whores over the years, for drugs, theft, all kinds of things, except one. Never, not once, did I arrest a whore for prostitution. Marilyn had taught me well. Just wasn't worth the hassle.

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