On One Thursday Eve

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 26, 2016

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Submitted: August 26, 2016

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A whore’s worth comes from her understanding and loyalty. A trade is always made between the supplicant and the leech. The prostitute trades her dignity and soul to satisfy the many virgins and wretches of the great and awful metropolis. The leech, or the purveyor, trades his safety and his moral compass for riches and power. It’s a strange symbiosis that only those who spend too much time meddling and too little time foreseeing the consequences understand.

She, Maya, had been named Maya after May, the month she was conceived in a laundry hall in a big flat. She was one-eyed with a medium-sized brain and an oversized brawn. Her muscles were strong and sturdy, her hair was spiked and almost bald. A punk had called her a skinhead and had lost both his dignity and a few of his teeth. Despite the fact of three witnesses, one of them a reputable, sweet, young and uninformed of the ways employee of the café, she was still deemed justified in her attacks and thus, at the very least, deemed not guilty. No charges were pressed and all accusations of bias were dismissed.

But now she stood in the whorehouse yet again, to observe. While not being a man had never damaged her opportunities, as she had succeeded overshadowing her competitors by a landslide, she had one disadvantage of being a woman. No one on earth, no matter how naïve, believed her to be a future client of a brothel. This sparked unwanted curiosity, and she sat drinking vodka when finally a man came to visit.

“Maya?”

“Call me May.”

The man nodded.

“We have considered your request and you will be fully free to speak to Fredrich…” A smile, her target, yet she did not lose her guard.

“After a mild body search.” Maya shrugged.

“I ain’t hiding a gun in my ass.”

“No but you know, standard. Come with me.”

Maya remembered quickly the meeting with the Don. He had sat there, looking as cold as always when Maya had opened the door.

“Sir. You requested my presence.”

“We are about to receive new enemies. The fuckheads at Ferris are on their way of starting a war.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find Fredrich. Convince him kindly, no straight talk yet straight talk you understand?” This was one of the Don’s many wisdoms she had been given. “Straight talk” did not always mean the same thing.

“As you wish Don Hervelo.”

“Oh, and be quiet, they’re gonna kill you otherwise.” Maya smiled. Although the Don was a monolith of wisdom even he resorted some times to reduncacy.

And Maya entered, as told she had her hands over her head, when she saw several men with their lupadas already aimed. Maya suddenly realized it all, somewhere in a cold, dark room Don Hervelo made a toast of honour, for the servant he had sent to her death.


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