Authors: Teri Riggs
Nick pushed a button on his desk and a wall panel opened to expose a digital camcorder set-up. Both men’s faces stiffened, and Nick smiled. Every man in the room knew Ed Hershey would stoop to any depths to sensationalize a story, including slicing and dicing the film footage and twisting Nick’s words.
Nick leaned back against his desk as the cameraman hooked a lapel mike on his jacket and moved away, setting the camera up to catch both men’s faces.
“Mr. Campenelli, the death of a young woman last night in the area known as “Hooker Haven” has once again brought up the issue of what needs to be done about prostitution and the problems it apparently causes. What is your view on the matter?”
“I don’t agree that the ladies are the cause of the increased crime in that area. What about the drug dealers that have moved into the area over the last few years? Shouldn’t they shoulder some of the blame?”
Gilder made no comment.
“I feel the city needs to increase the police force to help protect our citizens. We need to re-evaluate legalizing prostitution. It should be a voter’s decision. If we legalize it, we’ll be able to regulate and control prostitution more efficiently. And the added tax dollars the city would receive would provide the extra funds needed to hire more police officers. Hundreds of thousands of dollars would be collected in licensing fees alone.”
Several questions later, the interview came to a close and the camera team left. Nick wondered if Hershey would run the piece or shelve it.
Louis
St. Louis
had given very different answers to the same questions.
“Prostitution has got to stop. We must use any and all means necessary to run the harlots out of our cities. Prostitutes bring evil wherever they go. Something must be done before the children of Las Vegas are corrupted. Again I say, Prostitution.
Mu
st
.
Be. Stopped.” He smashed a fist on his desk.
The cameraman flinched at the loud banging.
“The laws of God prohibit sexual relations outside the bonds of marriage. The punishment by God for improper sexual relationships is most severe. Consider those who lived before the great flood. Their punishment was death by water and they were taken in spirit to hell.” He paused only to catch his breath. “Is that what we want for our city? For our state? Our country? I think not.”
After the news crew left Louis’ office, he went to the couch and leaned his head back. Louis knew how Campenelli would have answered the same questions. They had different opinions on how to fix the problems of Las Vegas.
His thoughts turned to the years when he and Nicky Campenelli’d grown up together. They were both lonely kids. Neither had siblings and their parents hadn’t given a damn about them. But they had each other.
They were friends until Louis’ alcoholic dad got behind the wheel of his car one night and had a head butting contest with a concrete highway divider. The concrete block won.
Afterwards, his mother packed Louis up and moved to Utah where she married a strict Mormon. His stepfather dished out beatings as often as Ben and Jerry’s dished out its rocky road ice cream.
He couldn’t begin to count the number of days his stepfather had locked him in a small cellar under the barn and waited for him to renounce his evil ways. Louis thanked the Lord the day the old man dropped dead of a heart attack while nearly beating Louis to death. The son of a bitch hadn’t left his mother a dime.
After the funeral, the church turned its back on his mother and him. They’d moved back to Nevada, the second move in three years. When his mother figured out she couldn’t support a teenager and herself on the money she could make without an education, she turned to the world’s oldest profession. She sold her body, bringing her tricks home with her.
Once again, Louis fought to survive. He suffered beatings from some of her customers and tried, sometimes unsuccessfully, to fight off the occasional man who preferred boys over his mother. He never understood how she could have exposed him to men like that, or how she could have sold her body.
Years later, after drifting back to the religion that had shunned him and his mother, Louis became a dedicated Mormon, one of the youngest men ever appointed a Ward Bishop. Mr. Religious, just like his dear old step-daddy. He was responsible for the well-being of the members of his very small ward in the equally small Utah city they’d moved to. He was preaching sermons he was proud of. Strong, powerful sermons. People listened to him. He was somebody to be praised.
Or so he thought.
When the good people of his congregation decided his sermons had turned dark for their liking, they began to complain. The straw on the camel’s back was a busy-bodied church member who found out how his mother had supported them after his stepfather died. It was all they’d needed to excommunicate them. Louis took his mother and moved further West to start his own church.
His Church Of The Light, which he’d based closely on Mormon beliefs, grew. He had a loyal following and the donations were rolling in. Louis put his mother to work helping him lead his small congregation. Eventually, the Church Of The Light also declared Louis overzealous. And again, his mother’s past was exposed and he was ousted.
His mother had dared to question him.
“Louis, must you always be so down on your followers? Is it really necessary to threaten and insult them every time you step before them?”
“It was my church. That gave me the right to preach to them as I saw fit. My words weren’t the real reason they turned their backs on me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me see if I can explain.” Louis got in her face and hissed, “Do you always have to be a whore, Mother?”
Louis still remembered the look of shock on his mother’s face. It had felt good to watch her squirm. Watch the color drain from her face. What kind of mother acted the way his did—selling her body?
Many months later, Louis and his mother moved again and bought a small religious book store. They made a good profit when they sold it two years later and moved to Boulder. Shortly after his thirty-eighth birthday, his mother died in an automobile accident.
After many long hours of prayer, Louis realized that his calling was to rid his home city of the evil harlots that infested it. Women like his mother. Louis returned to Las Vegas, willing to sink all of the money he’d hoarded away over the years into stopping the whores. Louis had to do God’s will. No one could stop him.
Not even an old friend.
Nicolas Campenelli had built an empire of wealth and power. He owned multiple businesses and wanted for nothing. Nicky would be a hard man to beat.
And Louis hated him for it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SHORT, ROUND PROSTITUTE WITH A BRIGHT PINK WIG TEASED AT LEAST FOUR INCHES HIGH WAS FEELING PRETTY DAMN GOOD.
She’d already made over three hundred dollars and the night was still young. It always amazed her that so many men were willing to pay for sex with a chubby hooker.
Different strokes for different folks and all that shit.
She’d made enough to pay next month’s rent. It was a relief. She was thinking maybe she’d pack it in and head on home because it was just too damn hot to work. She never could understand how men could enjoy sex in this kind of weather. The extreme heat sure bothered her. Didn’t having sweaty balls bother them? Besides, there was going to be an ESPN re-broadcast of a Yankees game tonight and she’d love to watch it. She was their number one fan.
One of her big dreams was to go to New York to see a game. If she ever saved enough, she might even relocate there and look for work. She was taking part-time cosmetology classes and would change professions if she moved. Yep, she’d become a famous hair-dresser in the Big Apple.
She’d just decided to call it a night when a man stepped out from the shadows and approached her. He was tall. Of course everyone was tall compared to her, and he didn’t look scary or intimidating. Of course, looks could be deceiving. “How about you and I do a little business, love?”
“Sorry, handsome, I’m calling it a night and going home. There’s a Yankees game on the tube I don’t wanna miss.”
“I’ll pay you double whatever your normal fee is. I only need a few minutes. You’ll still make the game. I guarantee I’m an experience you don’t want to miss. I’m good—really good.” He beamed at her.
“Guarantee, huh? What makes you so special, Big Guy?” She glanced down at the bulge in his pants. “Oh my, you are a big guy.”
“That’s Mr. Big Guy to you and I’m only flying at half-staff right now. What do you say, love? Can you spare me a little time?”
“I think I can give you a few minutes.” She rubbed up against him. “The Yankees won’t mind starting without me. You sure you want it if you gotta pay double? It’ll be expensive.”
Judging by his clothes and shoes, she was sure he could afford her prices, but she didn’t want him complaining that she’d cheated him.
“I’m sure. Hell, I’m so good you might give me back my money afterward.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” She smiled and softened her tone. “I charge fifty dollars for a straight up bang. Seventy-five if you want it kinky. I don’t do the bondage thing. I’m a little bit claustrophobic, you know. Anything else goes.”
“I want it straight up.”
“You got a car around here or do you want to spring for a room?”
“Don’t need a room. I only need a quick fix.” His gaze glided to the three story parking garage on his right. “As a matter of fact, let’s step over there and I’ll take you standing up.”
“At double the cost, that’s a hundred dollars up front.” Glancing at the garage, she said, “It’s a little well lit over there, don’t you think? I’m not sure I want all those bright lights bouncing off my naked ass.”
He pulled her to the garage, studying the low hanging lights. “No problem. I’ll make it darker.”
“Going to use a little magic?”
Dropping her hand, he climbed on top of an older model blue car, took off his white shirt and used it to keep from burning his hand while he unscrewed a light bulb. Next, he climbed up on a Jeep and took care of another light. He put his shirt back on and rolled up the sleeves. The garage was much darker.
“No magic, love, just common sense.”
Nodding her approval, she held out her hand. “Money?”
Counting out five crisp, twenty dollar bills, he paid her. She put it in a money clip and shoved it in her pocket then grabbed for his belt. He reached out and stopped her.
“What do you want me to do for you, Mr. Big Guy?”
Spinning her around, he bent the top of her body over the hood of the car. He pulled up her skirt and moved in close behind her. She could feel his hardness against her buttocks.
“Nothing yet, love. Just stay still and relax. I want to just feel you.” His voice deepened as he began to rub her neck and shoulders, massaging the kinks out.
“Oh, that feels so good.”
When she reached back to cup him, he pushed her hand away. “Stand still and loosen up.”
She couldn’t get any looser than she was right now. He was good at the massage stuff. Maybe she would give him back his money after all. She heard him unbuckle his belt and slide his zipper down.
His dick poked at her, and he adjusted it, spreading her legs. She felt his hands circling her neck. At the same time he rammed into her, his hands tightened around her throat. She opened her eyes and concentrated on the car’s hood ornament while he did his thing. Fuck giving him back his money. She might charge him extra for bruising her throat.
It took a few moments for her to realize that he was strangling her. The harder he pushed himself into her, the harder he squeezed her neck. For a fleeting moment, she thought maybe he was into that auto-erotica thing. The problem was he was choking her, not himself.
“You like it, love? Am I going to get my money back? Of course I am.”
She tried to twist out from under him, but he was too strong. She managed to score his arms with her nails, but he didn’t let up on his grip. She couldn’t feel her hands or feet. Her eyes felt like they might pop right out of her head.
She felt him come.
Now, the son of a bitch will loosen his grip.
But he didn’t.
She wasn’t going to watch the Yankees game tonight—or any other night ever again. What a strange thought to have while dying. Her last breath slowly hissed from her lungs.
He
let the fat bitch slide to the ground while he pulled himself back together. Bending over, he rolled her onto her back and jumped back startled.
“Shit. Damned spooky eyes again.”
She was watching him. Ignoring the creepy stare, he went on with his work, pulling out his camera and snapping two pictures. Using his hanky, he tucked an envelope into her too-tight tee shirt and whispered, “Sorry, love, gotta run now and print out your picture in time for the mail.”
He reached down and took the wad of folded cash, held together with a rhinestone money clip, from her pocket. “Thanks for the refund. I had a great time. A really great time.”