The Curse of the Scots

I went back to my bedroom. She was sound asleep. I sat down in a chair and watched her. Green eyes, hair dyed dark but kind of sandy shaded red underneath. It was hard say whether it was curly or wavy. It looked nice and thick, but that could be the result of some shampoo. What the fuck did I know? On closer inspection I decided she didn't look like much, though she might have been pretty once. What a waste. Maybe I could clean her up, and put her to work somewhere. She could be a stocker at one of the vegetable stands. Couldn't trust her near the money; what being a whore and all. That was stupid; best to clean her up, give her a little money, and send her on her way.

I heard the front door, "Back here Del."

Del worked his way to the big bedroom. He looked in, "Wow who's that?

I guess I was embarrassed, "Just a whore. I was in a card game and they were going to kill her. Stupid bitch was supposed to tell them my cards. I bought her."

"How much was she," Del asked?

"Several thousand."

"You like her then."

She's a whore Del. They were suffocating her. I bought her. I guess I'll clean her up and send her on her way."

Del changed the subject, "You going to check on Angie?"

"Got no choice; can you keep an eye on this one while I'm gone?"

"Sure, what's her name?"

I shrugged, "Who knows? She's a whore. She goes by Caprice right now."

Del looked her over, "Caprice, pretty name."

I gave Del my best condescending look, "All whores have pretty names. Look I'll try not to be too long."

Del smiled, "Take your time. What do I do if she wakes up?"

"Nothing, just keep her in bed. Tell her I'll be back soon." I got up, grabbed my L.L. Bean jacket and started for the front door.

++++++++++

I get in my truck.

I got in my truck and pulled away. I was kind of in luck. If Angie was at her mother's I'd probably get a chance to see my daughter. I tried not to think about her too much; it only reminded me how fucked up my life had become. I wondered, 'Was it ever not fucked up?'

I took the back road, made the turn at the fork, caught sight of the house and pulled in the drive. It wasn't a bad house if a person thought in terms of the 1960's; kind of a small brick rancher. Angie had grown up there. I'd caught up with her when she was just out of high school. She was so convenient; it was easy to get there, and considering how naïve she was back then, even easier to get in her pants.

I wished now I'd treated her better. I wished I hadn't introduced her to alcohol. Back then she really loved me. In the beginning she'd do anything for me. I remembered pushing her head down on my lap in the middle of the afternoon and making her suck me off right there in the middle of traffic. She hated it, but she'd done it for me. Crap I'd screwed a lot of girls. Why did I only feel bad about her? Back then I thought it was funny; I'd even bragged about it; that was the kind of guy I was.

That's something I learned in the army; a man could talk about women in general, but a real man never got specific. When I bragged about the things I made Angie do I was worse than the rottenness bastard there was. I wished now I'd never said anything. Christ I wished I hadn't made her do all those shitty things. I know now when people look at me they remember all the mean things I said and did.

I feel guilty all the time. Going to church doesn't make it easier either. It bothers me; I think sometimes what will I ever say to Emily when she finds out I'm her dad and then she finds out what I used to say about her mom?

I got out of my truck and started for the door. I was really getting tired. I'd been up all night. I got up on the porch, and knocked on the door. My little squirt opened it. God damn she was beautiful.

Emily looked at me all wide eyed. She knew my name. Her mom had told her to always stay away from me. Her mom said I was mean. I saw Emily was scared; I always scared her. I think it was my fault. I mean she's mine; how can I not look at her? I guess I have a way of looking at her that frightens her. She's only around five I think now, and just in kindergarten. Some of the older kids tease her; some tell her I'm her dad. I bet she hopes I'm not. I don't mean to frighten her; it's just my nature I guess. Damn it she's mine! I don't want to scare her. I want to hold her and hug her!

I asked, "Hi Emily, your mom here?"

She nodded.

I asked, "Could I see her?"

Emily ran back inside the house. A second later Angie was at the door.

I looked her over. She looked awful. Since her father died no one was around to watch out for her, and if there was ever a person who needed to be taken care of it was Angie. What really sucked was I knew I should be the one to do it.

"Bernard really let you have it. I heard you got hurt."

Angie's first sight of me had been pleasurable; I saw the look, but that pleasant first response was immediately replaced with a scowl.

She snarled, "What's it to you?"

I tried to get a better look at her face, "That eye looks bad. Get your mom to take you to the hospital and have it looked at."

"You know I don't have the money for that."

I knew the routine. Every time Angie or Emily needed anything it was Angie's mom who paid, then I'd make it good later, "Your mom's got money, and you don't know you might get a detached retina or something."

"Oh, so now you're a doctor."

"Angie get your mom to take you to the emergency room. It looks bad. You could lose your sight in that eye."

She growled, "Not right now, it's the end of the month."

I thought about that; that's right, her social wouldn't have been deposited yet, "Is your mom in?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Come on Angie, could I see her?"

Angie glowered at me, "Wait here," she walked back inside.

A minute later Angie's mom was at the door. I whispered, "Here," I handed her this thick wad of cash, there's several hundred dollars here, take her to the hospital."

Mom asked, "You're sure?"

"What do you mean am I sure? You know how I feel. Fuck the divorce. How's Emily?"

Mom answered, "You got a copy of her report card. She had a little cough but that cleared up. She'll need an Easter dress."

That's right! I'd been playing cards on Palm Sunday. I hadn't wanted to, but that was when the game had been set up.

My mind went back to Angie and Emily. I got a lump in my throat. Why did this happen every time I talked about my girls? I told her, "You know the procedure. You know what I want. Get them both something nice. I'll want to see them in church," I added, "Get yourself something pretty too."

Angie's mom nodded, "I'll take care of it."

Then I asked, "Angie won't leave Bernard?"

"She's afraid to leave him for very long."

"And she won't let me help her."

"She says she hates you."

"You believe her?"

"Angie's sick Cayden."

I was done here, "You need anything else? I mean all your bills paid up?"

Angie's mom smiled, "We're all paid up."

I stepped back and started for my truck, "OK, let me know if you need anything."

Angie's mom had already gone inside.

I got back in my truck; I thought I better get back to the whore before she seduced Del.

++++++++++

Back in Pennsylvania the talk is about Caprice.

Vince looked at his partner Jared Kawalski, "Did we get a location on our card player?"

Kawalski replied, "No we couldn't keep up. He got beyond the range of our tracking tool."

Vince scratched his crotch, "No matter, sooner or later he'll turn up."

Kawalski asked, "You still interested in that old whore?"

Vince laughed, "Not likely, but I think our card player could be had."

Kawalski laughed, "Always playing the angles."

Vince laughed back, "Always."

++++++++++

The whore meets Del.

Back at Cayden's farm Caprice had awakened. She saw Del sitting by the bed watching her. Just a kid, he didn't scare her so much, "Who are you?"

Del gave her something of a shit eating grin, "I'm Cayden's nephew."

She asked, "Who's Cayden."

"He's the man who brought you here."

Caprice decided to test the kid, "Oh, he's the pimp?"

Del chuckled, "Uncle Cayden, a pimp? No he's a farmer like me. He told me you were a whore, but I don't think he'll be bothering you, not that way."

Caprice tried to move, but every time she moved something hurt. She had a hell of a headache, and every joint in her body was sore. She felt the rope; it was still around her neck, she mumbled, "Oh."

Del kept smiling, "I'm supposed to watch out for you. You need anything; some coffee maybe?"

Caprice understood; he was guarding her, "No I'm all right."

Del got up, "You don't mind if I go fix some for myself?"

She was confused; why would he ask? She replied, "No go ahead."

Del got up and left her. He wondered what Cayden's plans were for this woman. He could tell she was in no condition to go anywhere. He guessed Uncle Cayden would be taking care of her for a while. He went into the kitchen to make some coffee, but Cayden got back so he left.

++++++++++

I chat it up with the whore.

I got home, and parked my truck. I was utterly exhausted. I'd been out all the day before; then I'd been out all night first playing poker, then driving home with the whore. Last I had to visit my ex-wife's mother to check on them. I got in my house and realized I still needed to see about the whore. I went straight to my bedroom. She was still lying down, but she was apparently at least half awake.

I walked over and sat down on the side of the bed. I reached over and felt her head. Still feverish; there was nothing for it. I softly tapped her cheek, "Hello."

She peered up at me the through half opened eyes. She started to sit up.

I gently pushed her back down, "No not yet. I want to get you in a hot bath. You got a pretty bad beating last night. I'd like to check you over."

Leaving her lying under the covers I went to the bathroom and started to run the tub. I got it mostly filled with what I thought was some pretty warm water. I returned to the bed.

Back by the bed I saw she was still lying down, but she was clearly wide awake, "I'm going to carry you in to the tub." I slowly took her hands in mine and pulled her to a sitting position. I undid the rope around her neck and threw that away, "Come on now," I got my arms under her armpits and lifted her. I scooped her up like a baby and carried her to the tub, "I hope it's not too hot." As carefully as I could I lowered her into the water.

Caprice felt the warm water as it saturated her poor beaten body. It felt wonderful. She released a soft almost breathless sigh.

The noise scared me, "Not too hot is it?"

The whore looked at me and shook her head no. I had a suspicion she was really afraid of me. I wasn't dumb. I wasn't born yesterday. I knew how these things usually worked; the pimp was nice at first but got mean later. I smiled at her. I bet that was what she was thinking.

I got some shampoo, "Let's wash that hair. I gooped some soap in my hands and started to rub it in her hair and scalp. I began to rub my hands back and forth in her hair. I thought it was pretty soft considering it had probably been dyed maybe a hundred times in the last few weeks. I had no idea. I tried to be careful not to let the soap run down her face or get in her eyes. I took the shower sprayer and rinsed her hair. Then I repeated the process.

Honestly I hadn't touched a woman in quite a while. Sure she was a whore, but they're all soft.

I used a soft scrub brush and my hands to wash her face, her neck, her back, and her chest. Her breasts were fascinating. Considering how old I figured she was they still seemed pretty firm. She had nice pink aureole and nipples. I asked her, "Have you had any breast surgery?"

She shook her head no.

I wondered if she wasn't lying, "Isn't that kind of unusual for women in your line of work. I mean doesn't everybody expect women like you to have enormous boobs."

The whore, Caprice, looked at her breasts. I could tell she liked them; I bet she thought her tits were still one thing she could be proud of. I thought she should be proud of them too. I don't know why but I was glad nobody had fucked them up. They were half covered by the sudsy water. They glistened in the soapy water. I was getting a hard on.

She sort of looked at me; being a whore she was trained not to look anyone in the eye. She murmured, "I'm guess I'm a little surprised that no one's made me get a boob job. A couple of my managers..."

I interrupted, "You mean your pimps."

She looked down at the water, "Yes pimps; they thought I should get bigger boobs but I guess I was always able to talk them out of it. Honestly they didn't seem to care too much. Mostly until the last couple years I was used as a fluffer."

"A fluffer,"

Caprice explained, "I was pretty once; I mean pretty in a wholesome way. I was used to get men excited so that when they went to the more experienced women they'd be more aroused. That way we got them off and out the door quicker."

I thought about that, "You were like a warm up act."

She looked up at me with sorrowful eyes, the look was probably unintentional, but she probably thought I would think it was a trick. She told me, "I was young and good looking once; older men took to me. Real big boobs weren't attractive to the really old men. So they never bought me breast implants."

I could tell she was trying to be honest so I wouldn't be as rough on her later. I guess it would take her a while to figure out I wouldn't hurt her. I suppose I could tell her, but I doubted she would believe me.

She told me, "Look I'm telling you the truth."

I listened, but I could only believe about half of what she said. I'd been in the army; I knew the score. As I gently wiped her stomach and abdomen I said, "Tell me a little more."

She started, "I got older. I got passed from pimp to pimp. Since I'd lost my looks and I'd lost any real value; one guy said he figured bigger boobs on me was a waste of money."

By then I was washing her thighs. I'd steered clear of her ass and vagina. I had a torrid hard on, and the last thing I wanted was to have sex with this whore. I had no idea what diseases she had, and I just didn't want to take a chance. I asked, "How many pimps have had you?"

Caprice answered, "I lost count. The last three years I've been passed around pretty good. They get meaner as you go."

"You mean some of them were nice?"

"No, not actually nice; I guess, I mean when I was younger and pretty they tried harder to get me to act like I enjoyed what I did. Sometimes it was fun. The older I've gotten the harder it's been to pretend. I guess I got like I am now."

I asked, "How old are you now?'

She gave me a leery look and didn't answer, "You're nephew said you're a farmer."

"That's right."

"You're not a pimp?"

"Not hardly."

"So you're what most people would call a John, just a stupid guy waiting to be robbed. I can't remember when my job wasn't to find ways to get money from guys like you; I'd do it either with my body or through some trick. You want me to be honest?"

I nodded, "Honesty is the best policy."

Caprice must have felt sorry for me. I suppose she figured I didn't have a clue. Still she'd pretty much remembered most of what had happened the night before. I think she realized I probably saved her life. She told me so, "Look you probably saved my life last night so I guess I owe you something. But to be truthful, if you keep me around I'll end up stealing from you."

I deflected her comment, "You're pretty beaten up. I'm surprised you've been able to sit here and talk so easily. I'd like to put some salve on these sores. That OK with you?"

She looked at me like I was a fool, "I've had worse beatings." She paused then added, "You didn't hear what I said did you?"

I started to help her stand up in the tub, "Neosporin OK?"

She got up with my help, "You don't get it; thanks for helping me out last night, but for you I'm bad news."

I ignored her, "I'm going to pat you dry; then put on some Neosporin. I have some fresh boxers and how about a big Tee-shirt."

She stood still while I patted her dry, "Your nephew said your name is Cayden..."

I interrupted, "That's right."

"Look Cayden, thanks for the help last night, thanks for the bath, thanks for the Neosporin, but if you're smart you'll buy me some clothes and let me leave."

I'd finished patting her dry and started with the Neosporin. One or two cuts were still open. All the places where the belt had alit had left some pretty ugly lacerations. I was as careful as I could be. I commented, "You've got a couple ugly tattoos."

I bet she hated the tattoos on her body; I imagine she knew they marked her as meat and not a person, but then that's all she was just a piece of meat. I knew she wanted me to send her away before she had a chance to hurt me. She said just about what I figured she'd say, "They're mine and I like them."

I had to say something about that, "Well I don't like some of them, and I'm going to get a laser pack and take them off."

She rolled her eyes; I think she decided to take a chance, "You really don't get it. I'm a fucking whore!"

I laughed; I admit I sounded nervous. I thought this was interesting, "Yeah you're a whore, but you're my whore, and my whores don't have raunchy tattoos."

This woman honestly didn't want to hurt me. She said, "You don't get it."

For the first time I had a good look at her mouth. I summoned up my sternest voice; the kind of voice I knew she'd listen to, "Open your mouth."

She was stunned, and immediately shifted back into the role that had become habitual for her. She opened her mouth.

I took my right thumb and index finger and pulled her lower lip down, "You've got some bad teeth. You got a couple chipped teeth. What happened?"

She closed her mouth almost biting my thumb; then she answered, "I got hit a couple times."

I answered, "I'll say. We'll have to fix those." Then I added, "I see you've got a pierced tongue. Open wide and stick out your tongue."

"What are you going to do," she asked?

"I'm going to remove that spike. When I decide you can leave I'll give it back."

She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue for me. I very carefully pried the spike apart and threw it on the bed. I took my fingers and closed her mouth then I took my thumb and forefinger pinched her nostrils together and very gently worked her nostrils back and forth, "There," I said, "we only allow pierced ears here."

I watched as she wriggled her tongue around inside her closed mouth. I'd misjudged her; she had a pretty face. If she weren't a whore I'd be tempted to kiss her. I guess my expression gave me away because her demeanor sharply changed.

She tried fore-warn me again, "Cayden I'm..."

I stopped her, "You're mine."

"Look Cayden, I can't stay here. I'll end up fucking you over."

I ignored her. I got out a brush, "Try and sit still while I brush your hair." I started brushing her hair. It was kind of fun. I hadn't done anything with a woman in quite a while. There was some grey, but not as bad as I'd originally thought, "You need a rinse. I think I'll have it styled. I think I'll have it cut shorter, more like a page boy. You remember them don't you?"

She gave up for the moment, "It's your hair."

I chuckled, "That's a good whore." She accepted my comment without response. I helped her to her feet and walked her back to the bed. I got her a pair of boxers and a green Tee-shirt, "I picked green. It matches your eyes." She was still pretty stiff so I helped her slip the apparel on. God I was tired.

I told her, "Lie down while I take a quick shower. Don't try to run off. You don't know where you are, and it won't do you any good to try."