Mo & Curio and the Cunt with the Funny Hat

Curio Phelonie waved a giggly toodle-loo and blew a kiss to Moses Holliday as he drove away a black-leather-clad and lifeless hooker named Debra Somethingorother from the parking lot of the Naval Reserve Base that sat adjacent to the train station. The girl was an idiot to trust someone claiming to be a stand-in for the woman who was to pick her up. Moses was going to stash the body. Curio quickly walked back to the front of the station, dropping a few halved Q-tips containing Debra's fresh blood into a film canister demurely as she sauntered by passengers and those meeting the arrivals and hugging the departing.

She was dressed in a tight black-leather body suit. Noticed by all around, it could not be helped as she was the only pretty lady dressed as such. Her hair was cut short into a pixyish bob, her brown eyes painted in fierce, nearly-Kabuki red striping that somehow morphed her soft features into something more patrician. Glancing in the side mirror of a parked Corolla, she nodded at the way her ass looked in it.

Her breasts jutted smartly from beneath the leather.

Moses had laughed at her. "Looks like you got two aliens coming out of your craw, baby." But he felt them up all the same and kissed her.

"Remember. You gotta be a man, tonight. It's a stretch but you must."

The urge to ask for a cigarette was over-whelming. Curio was a recovering menthol smoker and despite her eager dedication to the task at hand, she was a bundle of nerves. The urge to bum one from a stranger and risk conversation nearly overtook her but then a red Miata, same make and model as her own Mazda back home, pulled up with a tiny screech.

The drop-top flipped back and a stunning older lady in a white leather getup and some weird, white old man's hat with a foot-long feather plopped on the side of her hair, nodded in her direction. The bodysuit was probably hot on the older lady when she stood up, but crumpled into folds as it was as she sat behind the wheel, Curio's first notion was that she looked like a shiny maggot wearing makeup and a stupid hat.

At least she's thin, Curio grinned inside. Otherwise, that suit would look like the Michelin Man. And what the fuck is up with dat hat?

Curio's first instinct was to laugh at the hat but caught herself. She walked to the passenger door and got in.

"You Debra?" The woman asked.

Who else would be waiting for a working girl dressed like a leather grub worm?

Yeah, I'm Debra. Who are you?" The funky sounds of Prince singing "Let's Go Crazy" blared from the speakers.

The woman's face bore sheer bitchdom across the brow. In an instant Curio felt fifteen again. She could almost smell the perfume of those upper-crust old biddies that would cut their eyes at her as she sat smoking on some stoop in the Vieux Carre and then whisper to each other about that poor ragamuffin over there. Two words from the woman's mouth and the look of loathing were all it took to blow an ember Curio rarely felt glowing within her to a red-hot coal of indignation.

"My name's Angelle." Curio scowled inside at the pretentious emphasis on the syllables. Something about the way the woman looked at her immediately raised red flags. It was ire. Maybe even disgust. Curio knew that whatever the deal was between Stuart Whitman and this whore, she was not a part of what the woman signed up for.

And you don't know the half of it yet, you stuck-up old whore cunt.

Curio slung her over-sized purse into the back seat and parked herself inside. Angelle looked her over, impatience evident. She smacked some spearmint slowly as Curio got set and closed the door.

In the span of thirty seconds, any lingering second thoughts, regrets about having to do the job because it was the job to be done, or empathy for some poor old call girl that was to meet her end that night went away, carried into the brisk November air as the drop-top closed them inside the Miata.

By the time the Mazda rode up Jefferson to I-55 and turned north, all Curio Phelonie wanted to do was fuck that old cunt in the funny hat and kill her.

"So. Let's get down to brass tacks. The guy you were sent up here for..." Angelle began.

"Is some political big-shot up in this shit-kicker state. I know that already. I got my own brass tacks. You and me gonna' get along here? I'm sensing some straight up bitch here right off the bat. Hardly the way to be before we start fucking each other for a dollar." Curio snapped, turning to face the woman.

Angelle cocked her face slightly, her mouth open with a retort frozen.

Curio's eyes narrowed, derision dripping, "I mean, look. We both working girls here. This dick is some bigwig up here, got you on retainer. Good for you, girl. Of course, you may be put up in the hotel and all, but clearly the cooter got a lil dusty or Mister Suit wouldn't be subcontracting his nut-bustin to outside talent, right?"

"Ain't no dust now, nor has there ever been on my moneymaker..." I can't believe you said that you little bitch... "The man is kinky and likes two girls at a toss. We getting paid good dollars to do this and you and me need to work this bullshit out right now. You go by Debra or that a fake?"

"Debra is what's on the license."

"This guy. You see, he's likes to be lusted over. We'll have to suck him together. We'll have to do each other. You clean, I hope?"

Oh hell no...! Curio tried to unclench her fists as fast as they balled up but could not.

"Yeah, I'm clean. I just hope you are." Curio looked Angelle up and down for effect. "He keeps tossing strange into the mix from out of state you end up fucked up pissing fire one day and he'll fucking blame you. And you ever think you not the only one he's fuckin? If he's bringing in guest stars you know about, who's to say he's not shooting a load in some crack whore every other day of the week?"

"I know him. We've been together a long time now."

"You know the him who fucks you. But you a working girl. We women can't never know them. Us whores know them at their dumbest and worst. You can always depend on a rich motherfucker who can do as he pleases to be a rich motherfucker who does as he pleases. Never mind the whore. She just a toy. It pisses me off." Curio stifled a grin as she acted the part and noticed the woman's scowl ebbed.

"They must seem so strange to a younger woman like you. You can't let this biz get you too jaded, Debra. There's probably a guy for you out there."

"Fuck that, I'm gay." Curio saw her gape slightly. The lie was fun and would help Curio act the part. "Just lettin you know. Men are some lowdown sorry motherfuckers who think they own everything they see and can piss on. Fuckin' dogs. They can't own my heart though, cuz it don't fit in their wallets and I ain't never lettin some man have it long enough in his grasp to take a piss on it."

The car exited from the interstate. Curio cut the radio down a notch.

"So we gonna' be cool? I don't mean to come off like a crazy psycho bitch, but there's just somethin' I see in you. You jealous, ain't you? You think he cares about you and all of a sudden he seen a stretch mark on your tits and started calling in younger chicks. I get it. You been put up in some swanky joint. Maybe he even put a mink on you and took you to a few parties. But I bet you half the take that he kept you close so he could do all the talking, didn't he? See you, but don't talk, baby. They don't wanna hear the dumb hot chick talk, right? We're just hired pussy, girlfriend. Don't think because he signs a check he gonna' keep doing that forever, you know."

Angelle had to admit she liked the matter-of-fact spunk in the dark and lovely character staring her down. She would have to ask Twyla what the girl's damage was later. There was a distinct menace in the glare of those eyes, the red eye paint layered on her adding to the fury. The older woman felt a growing sense of apprehension. The eyes were cold, impassive. Angelle had seen many girls who had been abused by the system, by their men, souls shredded by their miserable lot in life, with far less fury in their eyes than the woman seated next to her. Debra's eyes aimed to kill her. She would do so and not bat one hair of her thick eyelashes. Angelle could sense it.

Who in the hell did Twyla send up here? She felt a shiver crawl up her spine as they crossed State Street and soon made the turn into the Edison Walthall's parking deck.

"I don't assume anything about my relationship with Stuart." Angelle put the car in park and turned to face Debra.

Curio would have given anything for Angelle to slap her. All she could see was a pathetic old woman who sold what she could give for free to a man who would love her far more dearly and give her some mundane existence, a stolid home somewhere maybe. But, the woman expected that she was somehow above it. All of the high-end tail was that way, as far as Curio had seen. Vapid, insecure, all-too-eager to have some man handle her affairs for her at the small price of sex. Lazy, even with their sex at the end and surprised when the guy cut them loose after a while.

Curio realized she had Moses, but she was more than capable to handle his business and since she had a few years of work and tutelage behind her, Moses let her be.

For years as a teen on the New Orleans streets, Curio had to live by her wits and occasionally by her sex. But never as a first option nor one into which she did not try to work her own pleasure. If it had to happen, it did. But if a night had to end in the arms of some woman or man, she would damn sure try to make sure they were at least hot and had a clue about how a clit worked. Just spreading the legs for any man with two gold pieces to dangle in her face?

Fuck no! Lazy old cunt!

Curio fondled the leather sap Moses placed in her purse as she awaited any provocation that pushed past the razor-thin line she mentally laid between them. The plan was designed for Angelle to be found in the room dead but there was something about the woman that boiled her blood. She wanted the provocation. Something to tell Grizzly and Moses when she was questioned about the thing going to hell in a hand basket. Stuart Whitman's paws were all over the woman, were they not?

She turns up dead in her car, people start asking about her. He couldn't cover himself that well. It would still dirty up that shiny teeth fake bastard enough to make him political dead meat...and I won't have to pretend to like having this bitch of a fuck up eating my pussy while that rich jackass huffs paint, burns his nuts with wax, shits himself and watches us. Or whatever the fuck he does. Christ almighty, the shit I do to get paid...

"Stuart and I have an understanding. We've had that understanding for a long while now. One day, if you stay turning tricks, I hope you find one that coddles you like he has me. You may think you got us all figured out. You probably don't."

"Look, I don't know and don't care. I'm here to get paid and I'm good at what I do to earn a living. It may not be honest work and I might not have a hotel and a goddamned direct deposit account that he spurts..." Curio mimicked jacking off. "...little globs of his trust fund money into. After he leaves you wiping his sorry fuckin dribbly-ass load off your belly, I'm sure. But, I also don't have to live with the fear of some sugar daddy getting tired of me and tossin me out into the gutter so he can fuck some chick like me for half the price. No man gotta holda Debra."

Angelle nodded in agreement, acquiescing. Truth be told, she could give a damn about what the girl's opinion was. But she was sure as hell going to cuss out Twyla as soon as they were done. Debra's words hit home. She hated that. At the age of thirty-seven, how could she be so transparent that some young girl barely old enough to drink, at best, see through her and cut to the core of her existence with a surgeon-like wielding of her tongue in less than three minutes?

"Fair enough. Listen, we got work to do. He's a nice guy. Not too kinky. Not rude. But he likes to be in charge..."

"Oh honey please!" Curio held up her hand. "If there's one thing I learned early about guys in positions of power, when they got some tight lips and a firm pussy on 'em, they don't want to be in charge. They like me in charge. Let's go, you schoolteacher ass-lookin' hooker," Curio opened the door and got out. Angelle followed.

"You been spreadin' yo legs on cue too long. That's why he getting' tired of your ass. You say, 'oh yes baby, whatever you want,' too fuckin much. You fucking said it so goddamned much he takes it for granted. But you watch this shit, Ahhn-jell, we gonna' teach his ass a fuckin lesson tonight!"

She stomped off toward the door leading inside. Angelle stood and watched her leave her behind, tight ass swishing in black leather as her stride took her forward.

"Ohhh shit," was all she could mutter as she locked the Miata's door and followed Debra inside. There was just a sliver of wonder in her gait.

Stuart Whitman stepped from his pristine '77 Jaguar and brushed his hands across his suit out of habit ten minutes later. Hoisting two bundles of flowers under his arms while fumbling with a bottle of Dom Perignon, he whistled Steamboat Willie to himself. Taking two steps toward the door that led from the parking deck to the entrance of the lobby, he was startled to see a behemoth of a man in a dark suit, wearing a scowl on his brow and whispering into a cufflink. Curious, Stuart approached and readied his access key.

"Sorry, but sir? If you would, could you please go around to da front entrance? I apologize for asking, but we have someone who needs dis entrance secure until they make der departure." The bouncer-type had a strange accent. Whitman thought it maybe Jersey or NYC. He looked Itailian.

"Mister, I'm the Attorney General for the state of Mississippi. If you need a proper security detail, I can arrange it. Who you watching for? Anyone I need to know about?"

"I'm about all the proper security detail necessary, sir. Please don't make a scene. Just this once, can you please got through front of the building?"

"I don't see the need for..." Whitman let some lofty-positioned annoyance slip into his tone.

"Hey Fuckhead! I don't give a flying fuck who in da fuck you say you are! Take yo scrawny loverboy ass around da front or I'll bust yo fuckin face open! I don't care if you da fuggin pope! Move ya ass dattaway!" The behemoth produced an unseen asp-club with the flick of the wrist and began walking toward him.

The Attorney General retreated. "It's cool. It's cool." He walked toward the secondary exit and made a note to find out who was staying there that rated a security detail.

Gotta be out of stater. Maybe a celebrity? He shrugged as he exhaled his nervous heartbeat down to normal and entered the lobby. A cherubic front desk attendant nodded to him as he passed through on his way to the elevator.

"Good evening, Mister Whitman!" Stuart swallowed hard and forced a smile and a wave to her.

"How are you tonight?" She gushed. Obviously hired to be pretty and exuberant for new arrivals.

"I'm fine. Thank you!" He pushed the 'up' button and the door opened mercifully immediately. He nodded at her again and smiled as he hurried into the car.

"Shit!" He made a note to put some thumbscrews to whoever made him divert through the lobby like that. His presence was not unknown in the hotel. He even speculated that most, in the know, knew he was there to see Angelle. The scandalous nature of his visits, however, he hoped were not the subject of gossip.

The car opened on the fourth floor. In moments, he was sliding the room key in the slot.

"Hello, Stu!" A sprightly little woman in black leather snatched his tie gruffly and yanked him inside, kicking the door shut with a slam. One of the bouquets fell to the floor as he tried gather his senses and keep his balance. She slung him out in front of her and he made a show of flopping on the bed, rolling over, and staring her down coquettishly.

"Hello, yourself! Ain't you the feisty one! You Debra, I'm guessing?"

"I'm Debra. And that's Angelle." He looked as Angelle walked from the bathroom and slapped a cat-o-nine tails in her hand, smirking in a ruling manner, the likes of which he had never seen.

"Hi, Stu." She sidled up next to Debra. "Glad you could join us."

In that instant, watching the pixyish Debra unveil a set of real handcuffs and Angelle slapping her palm with the flails, Stuart Whitman realized he was in some trouble.

When they descended upon him with the full sexual fury of two women scorned, it was then that he realized it was the fucking best kind of trouble.

Moses picked up Pete Fontenot as soon as he saw Stuart Whitman enter the lobby. The short hurry from the parking garage winded the big man.

"Christ almighty, Pete. How the hell you not have a heart attack screwing them women when you cain't shuffle your ass forty feet without busting a blood vessel?" Moses chuckled and flipped him a Kleenex.

Pete wiped his brow, loosened the tie around his neck and unbuttoned the collar on his shirt.

"I let dem get on top, Tex. Yo girl got dis thing done up in der?"

"She'll do fine." He gave Pete's Cutlass some gas and scooted down Capital Street, making the block to an adjacent hotel where they had a room with a view of Pierite's window.

"She up to knocking the woman down like a man would?"

"She's got it in her, Pete. Quit worrying. Curio knows what to do and knows how it has to look."

"I'm just worried about getting her out unseen by some bellhop dropping off some asshole's club sandwich when she is done up in there."

"She's gonna pull the fire alarm on the way out."

"You didn't say nothin bout no fire."

"Change of plans. Hope the crack hotel staff is prompt and as well trained as I think they are."

"What about dat other dead girl?"

"We tossin her over here at the Silas Brown Bridge. She'll be found right quick, I reckon."

"I'm over-dressed for dumpin dead hookahs, Tex. Damn."

"You're over-dressed for prison, too, you coonass hog. Let's get this done."

Four hours, two Stuart Whitman orgasms, ten Debra orgasms, and even five legitimate deep orgasms for Angelle later, Stuart Whitman finished smoothing his hair in the vanity mirror and straightening his tie. With a satiated sigh, he looked at Debra as she looked at him and stroked Angelle's auburn hair, letting tufts of it slip through her fingers as the older woman curled up in a fetal position to get warm in the air-cooled room.

"I must admit, I didn't expect that." Stuart peeled out a wad of bills from a money clip hidden in his jacket packet and laid out the fee. When he had the right amount, he made sure to make a show of laying a few hundred more as a tip. "Anytime you wanna' show Angelle the wild side, you tell Twyla to send you. You two make a good team." He exhaled and concluded their session with a soft kiss for each of them as they writhed around naked for show.

Curio made a show of fingering herself with one hand, biting her lip at him, playing submissive now after taking complete control of him. He was aware of scratches on his covered parts, she was careful not to scratch his face but did slap him repeatedly. There were deep ruts cut by her nails in his forearms, back and chest.

She watched him blow them kisses and then leave, looking cautiously for passersby in the hall before slipping out. Idly, she began smearing his semen from inside her on a washcloth before she passed it to Angelle. Discretely, she wiped more on the woman's white leather suit where it lay on the floor.

"Your boy shoots a hell of a load when you tickle his fancy just right. Here girl."

Angelle nodded and sat up, wadding the rag between her legs as his seed ran down them.