Diary of a PIMP -See Your Life

The 9 tp 5 grind

I went to Toledo one early morning to Rachel’s. Sure enough there they were,
the three of them in Rachel’s bed. Believe me they hadn’t gotten in there to
recite bedtime stories. I was cool, icy as always. I let her con me that it was a
party, all business of course. That wire had described that bastard con player and
his freak woman.

I was in trouble. If it had been any other bitch in the stable except Rachel it
wouldn’t have been worth a fleeting thought. I couldn’t lose Rachel, my bottom
woman, in this shitty fashion to some ass-hole con player.

It could kill my career as a pimp. The news would flash in a dozen states. No,
I couldn’t afford to lose her. I still had that expensive friend riding with me, that
monkey on my back. Sweet would have had the solution to this tough problem
right off the top of his head. Sweet, the week before, had shot himself in the
temple. He left a bitter note, “Good-bye squares! Kiss my pimping ass!”

I felt nothing when I got the wire. I left her apartment and drove out into the
country. I spun the wheels in my skull. I got the key to the riddle. It was cruel
but perfect. If it worked I’d never have to worry that she’d blow or cross me
with the F.B.I.

Rachel called me the next day. She told me she had just sent me three bills.
She got them for the party I had crashed. When she cracked I knew I had to go
through with the cross. The three bills she was sending had to be scratch she had
been holding out. That con bastard was too pretty and slick to spend three fatones
with a whore. I had to make an honest whore of her from now on.

I faked excitement when I told her about a sucker who was visiting Akron. It’s
a small town, thirty miles from Cleveland. I told her I got a wire that the sucker
had hit the numbers for twenty G’s. He had it all with him in his hotel room.
I sold her that she could take it off smooth and easy. She said she would be
down the next day to get briefed in detail.

I had already driven to Akron and set the stage for her. I had rented a hotel
room in a fair hotel. I contacted a dignified looking old ex-slum hustler down on
his luck. He spruced up a wino friend of his for the play.

The whole arrangement: clothes, room, and a bill apiece for the actors, came
to a half-grand. The slum hustler was to wait in a pool room nearby for my call.
Rachel got to my apartment at three P.M. We got to Akron around six. I told
her one of the bellhops had told the sucker she would be there before seven. He
was waiting for her.

I slipped a small vial of mineral oil into her palm. I told her it was Chloral
Hydrate. Only two drops would knock the sucker out. I told her I would be
waiting in the hotel bar for her.

She stopped at the desk. Sure enough he was expecting her. She went up. She
came down within an hour nervous and jumpy. The sucker was out cold. She had
searched the room. She couldn’t find the scratch. I went back to the room with
her. I went through another search. The wino was lying there motionless. We
gave up searching. We moved toward the door. I looked back at the wino.
I said, “Say Baby, he looks bad to me.”

I knelt beside him blocking her view with my back. I wiped my brow and
turned my face toward her. My eyes were wide in alarm.
I said, “Baby, he’s dead I think.”

Most women, even whores, are terrified of dead bodies. She stood there
paralyzed.

I said, “Don’t get panicky. Shut that door. I’ve got it! I know an underworld
croaker here in town. Maybe he can bring him to. I know he will keep his mouth
shut for a price, even if …”

She knew we couldn’t leave a murdered man here. She had stopped at the
desk first before coming up. She was painfully aware of the big gap between
theft and murder. I picked up the phone and got the pool room. I gave the fake
doctor the hotel and room number. He came within five minutes carrying his
empty bag.

She couldn’t see into it. I had told her to hide in the closet. Too many people
had seen her already. He stooped down beside the wino. He fumbled with his
pulse, his eyelids.

Finally he stood up and said, “He’s dead. I can’t help him. I’ll have to call the
police.”

I could almost hear Rachel’s heart booming in the closet. We haggled for her
benefit for ten minutes. Finally we had a deal. For five bills, he would keep his
mouth shut. He would also contact a hoodlum who would get the body out of
there and dispose of it. He left. Rachel and I got out of there fast.

Driving back to Cleveland, Rachel was in a trance. She squeezed tightly
against me. I kept telling her she had nothing to worry about. After all we were
together for life and her secret would always be safe with me. She found out
about the hoax years later.

Rachel straightened up with that murder pressure on her.

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It’s a three minute read. You’re just lazy

That’s still too long, especially for some literature I cannot relate to

Poa, acha nikutafutie copy ya Hallo Children nikutumie

:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D

kitu mrefu hivyo bila picha, sisomi.

Tengenesa podcast yake tusikie, izo words ni nyingi saidi

sijaona kitu funny hapo

Here’s chappelle narration

Its not the hallo children i find funny.
Its the response by talkers to stuff they cant relate to understand find interesting or havent experienced.
We are so quick to dismiss rather than probe investigate fact find and/or seek alternative opinions.
Assuming most of us are millenials and baby boomers…im quite surprised by peoples attention spans…guys cant read a 5 minute post…then throw a lousy response…follow it up with emojis disses and tag a felow villager then later on start a thread on how kijijis dead and the boring fictitious threads and commentary.
Very funny.
Enyewe watu ni tafauti na kila mtu ana njaro yake.