Tales of Vegas Security: The Hooker

The first story of my five-part blog series on my website, aminnash.com .

Disclaimer: This story and the ones associated with it are all works of fiction and are for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Thursday, 2238 hours, Another Day in Paradise

I’m late again. There’s the combination of the pure enjoyment of having a life and the loathing of work causes any working man to always be late for work. The fact that I have to take eight hours out of my day and use those hours for labor that this society doesn’t really seem to appreciate can be quite the deterrent. I’d much rather continue my night with my colleagues drinking booze or gambling away our hard earn money, anything that make us feel like we’re higher class for just a few minutes. Nonetheless though, I’m on the run to make it just a fraction of second on time, hoping that the casino which I work at has been either bombed or infected by a zombie outbreak. That way I won’t have to work, I would be able to just turn around and run back home, laying on some cheap couch that brings me enough comfort that I could care less about the real world.

The bus route I take seems to quell the inner hatred I have for work. In fact, it’s this bus ride that actually makes me come to a conscience acceptance of my work. The bus takes a ten to fifteen minute route down half of the famous Las Vegas Strip, and the scenery is absolutely beautiful, no matter how many times I see it. I get to enjoy the sights of the entertainment city of the world, a place where tourists of all cultures and creeds come to see. The bus drive is like a warp hole that completely changes my emotions and places me into physical and spiritual acceptance that I am working in a place of glamour and beauty.

Vegas is a true concrete jungle, with giant skyscrapers as its trees and neon lights as its leaves. During the day, the sky is gorgeous light blue, but in night, the sky is polluted with a rainbow of lights illuminating from these buildings. If you want to see other planets and solar systems in Las Vegas, you’re s**t out of luck. The fact that you can’t see planetary stars doesn’t mean you won’t be able to see a star, however, as looking at the closest sidewalk you’d be able to see Elvis impersonators, Michael Jackson mimics, and even the gang from The Hangover, all working class people trying to make working class money. They like to pose next to the beautiful sights that all the tourists like to see, from fire shows to giant dancing fountains. Indeed, these impersonators are nothing but part of the show themselves, adding to the magic that is known as Las Vegas.

The entire street of the Strip is a nasty jam of all the cars you wish you had. A Ferrari is driving next to a Maserati which is driving next to a Benz which is behind a Beamer. Behind that Beamer is a giant truck with a Girls Direct to You billboard, a phone number with a ton of 69’s written all over it. Three girls are seen on the billboard, giving someone the illusion that these are the girls that will directly come to them. I wish it were true, or else I’d be calling that number all the time. I took a look to see inside the Maserati, just to see what kind of d****e is driving a car like that around, and I saw an old man with a young female in the passenger seat. She had her left hand in his pants and a large smile was painted in his face. I guess he must have gotten lucky when he called that 69 number.

My bus drive on the Strip is usually a preview of what I need to expect while I’m at work. I try to keep an open mind whenever I look outside the window, because I honestly never know what to expect. As I slowly peek outside the window, I can see that the sidewalks are littered with hundreds of drunken tourists, cheap locals, hungry homeless, and money hungry pimps.

I give a calm sigh of relief, because I only saw hundreds.

Thursday, 2253 hours, Clock-In

As the bus stop pulls onto its stop (which is conveniently right next to casino which I work at), my ear drums are immediately attacked by the sounds of the neighboring casino resort. They decided it was cool to open an outdoor nightclub which overlooks the entire strip, and they thought it would be much cooler if they have the volume at max noise level, forcing everyone around to hear the electronic sounds of today’s top songs. As an attempt to quickly get away from the sounds, I quickly walk towards the back of my casino, and while on the way, I am forced to dodge groups of young adults who are already light footed off the alcohol they have been drinking. This unexpected event adds up time to my allowed clock in time, and as such I am hurried to rush to the employee entrance.

As soon as I enter through the entrance, I am joined by a large group of other employees, and it doesn’t take long for it to become a stampede of casino workers rushing to get to wherever the hell we need to get to. For some reason, I think every employee at my casino had to dodge a group of alcoholics, because it seems to me as if everyone is in a hurry to get somewhere. This jam of human bodies causes me to get to my locker approximately two minutes before I have to clock in.

Repercussions for me coming in late and missing my allowed clock in time include:

- Losing the chance to have free lunch at the buffet

- Being posted at an incredibly boring spot

- Having an e-mail sent to the director of the department stating that I came in late for work, thus I am too incompetent and unreliable to work, and as such I should be given points onto my work record as punishment. Even if it’s a minute late. No questions.

As such, I take out my work uniform and swiftly put all proper required articles of clothing on. We are given black suits with grey ties, so putting on the uniform is a task that should take a little over two minutes. Me being the expert on being late and knowing how to put on my clothing while in a rush however, it takes me a good minute and ten seconds to throw on the uniform, and I am on a quick sprint right after to get to my department’s office, where my managers and coworkers meet for the eleven o’clock pre-shift meeting.

Donuts and coffee are not given out during these meetings.

Thursday, 2300 hours, Pre-Shift Briefing

The sprint to the office caused me to cut and weave my way through another stampede of workers and run up a flight of stairs. Thankfully I’m in my twenties and physically fit, because this would not be an easy task for an older male who’d be stressed with life in general. Every breath and step I take I feel time ticking away, but I know I can make it in time, if not a few seconds late. For the occasion that I am a few seconds late, I start thinking about my excuse to my manager. ‘I was caught in traffic’ is usually the first though in mind, ‘Or maybe I could say I got into a fight with a large dog and I had to bite its throat off in order to save my eight year old little sister, which I don’t have’. I come to acceptance to use the first excuse, and increase the strides to my sprints, hoping I won’t have to use the excuse.

I see the door to the office in sight, slowly closing because someone decided to start shutting it, and I immediately slam my left shoulder into it, knocking someone behind over. I see everyone in the office startle and look right at the door, and my supervisor who is now laying on the floor, and I couldn’t help but smile and say “I got stuck in traffic”.

My fellow coworkers couldn’t help but chuckle and laugh, and I give a hand out to my older supervisor in order to help him up. Once upon his feet, I looked at him in the eyes, and I could see he was obviously upset, but once he spoke, I knew I was in the clear. “At least you made it in time”, was all he had to say. “Now shut that door”, he commanded me. I closed the door behind me, turned around and gave a little breath of relief, knowing there won’t be an e-mail sent out to my director saying I was late and that I required disciplinary action.

The shift manager took the time to start the pre-shift meeting, which usually doesn’t last long, and is incredibly handy to know what we need to expect while on duty on the casino floor. “Alright guys, welcome back to a wonderful day at work. The previous shift management has informed us that it is busy on the floor, but there is no sign of aggressive behavior, so we are in the clear of that situation. However, we have gotten word that a large group of our favorite pimps and ho’s are on scene tonight, and being security of this fine casino and hotel, we will need to be on our game tonight clearing out these solicitors from our fine establishment so no one will be harassed”.

Just hearing the words pimps and ho’s together gives me bittersweet emotions. For one I am happy because I get to converse with beautiful women all night, but it sucks because the hooker culture is an extremely fucked up culture. It’s like dealing with tribal nomads, they’re just people who don’t know how to act properly in the real world. The pimps try to present themselves as kings when in actuality they’re just bums who know how to take advantage of a woman’s insecurity. They will say the things a woman normally would want to hear and cling onto them like a deadly claw, sucking out all the life from the girls and pitting them into a hell in which they cannot escape.

What’s especially sad is that these girls have no choice in their lives but to become w****s. I have heard people say that w****s have the choice not to sell themselves, but they’re just being ignorant. A woman becomes a w***e as a last ditch method to make up for her fucked up life, not because she wants to. These women have children when they’re still teenagers and don’t have the support around them to properly raise their kid. These women fall into a drug addicted life and need money to raise all the money they lost in the previous month. These women are forced by their friends and sometimes even their family to sell their bodies so their family can make a decent living in this world.

Despite my inner hatred towards ho culture, I happen to be one of the most proficient deterrents in my casino towards these broads. I gathered this talent through my curiosity as to why these people do what they do, and the only way to learn about the culture is to actually discuss with the different pimps and hos that come across your way.

“The agents that will be taking care of our w****s will be Slick Rick and Pappa Smith”, my manager announced. I’ll be spending the night working with Pappa Smith, another expert in the field, except he’s learned from experience, not curiosity. Besides, he’s called ‘Pappa’ for a reason.

Thursday, 2330 hours, The Casino

There are four major bars throughout this casino, and they are split running from north to south along the Strip. The first one is the North Bar which is usually filled with an unwanted number of minors, ex-strippers, and street walkers. A little after the North Bar comes Paradise Bar, a truly lavish conquest of a bar that contains start-of-the-art mixed drinks and lighting. The Paradise Bar usually holds the record for the number of d*********s in the casino, as everyone who goes to this bar is apparently popular enough to get whatever they want. After the Paradise Bar, the casino comes into play, as hundreds of table games and slots are laid out for the casino to steal people’s money. The table games are split into seven different clusters of six to eight tables, what we refer to as pits. These pits are split into a perpendicular fashion, coming down the entire property in a cross-like formation, with five pits coming down in a single line and two set off to the side. The middle two pits are walled off, denoting that it is a high limit salon instead of a standard pit.

High limit pretty much means you’re allowing the casino to stick its enormous dick up your a*s so you can help them afford for that new million-dollar pool they’ll be making next year.

Surrounding the last pit are the two last bars of the casino, the Mystline and the South Bar. A little down the ways is the taxi cab and valet entrance, the place where everything begins and everything ends. Surrounding the casino is its world-renowned hotel and resort, a place where people can spend their drunken nights after they gamble all their money away in the casino. The entire second floor of the property is the nightclub, L&F (Lost and Found). That entire floor is essentially an atrocious human traffic jam filled with posers, drunk celebrities, and millionaires, all who are competing to just walk into the doors of a giant dark room where it’s impossible to hear the person next to you.

The night club is an entirely different monster, and luckily it is not open tonight, or else we’d be forced to fight an entirely different battle.

Friday, 0001 hours, Dispatch

Casino security is a giant elaborate mess that often times trips on its own foot. Essentially, there are two important tools for the Las Vegas casino security business in general, and those are the surveillance cameras and a radio. Tourists and people who watch movies believe that these cameras watch everything at every given moment, and it is completely true. There are eyes in the sky and floor in a Las Vegas casino, and they’re all watching this giant elaborate movie that occurs when people come to Vegas. Casino security is then essentially controlled by a set number of specialists who dispatch agents throughout the casino in response to different calls and situations.

Having an earpiece with people continually yelling in your ear is the worst thing that you can go through in this world. Listening to security dispatch traffic is like trying to put your ear against a thunderstorm, you can’t understand what’s going on, even if you know what’s going on.

Friday, 0014 hours, People Watching

It’s been a little over now into shift, and thankfully, the radio traffic has been silent. Pappa Smith and I

have made our rounds around the entire casino, and can see that it is going to be a slow night, despite the warnings from our manager that there will be w****s on property. Working in the casino industry for so long, there’s no reason not to enjoy the serenity that a few quiet hours bring. This allows us to lay back and enjoy the sights that this world has to offer us.

We decide to post up next to the South Bar, in between the exit doors and the bar itself. Thursday nights into Friday mornings is usually filled with the early bird partiers, those who want to adventure around the city and find stuff to get into. While standing at our post, people watching becomes not just our job, but a hobby as well, as these early birds are seen gathering together in numbers, and it’s funny to see how people just don’t know how to talk to each other.

We see a group of girls walk in together, all of them wearing short black dresses and high heels. One of the girls was tripping with every step, and her two girlfriends flanked her from the sides to keep her from falling and eating s**t. A group of what looks like four European men see these girls walking, and out if desperation, they attempt to pick the girls up by cutting them off and using a failed pick up line that I didn’t want to hear. I the girls become extremely aggravated, because they are trying to get back to their rooms and some d*****s who’re trying to get laid is looking for easy pickings from a group of drunk females.

“How pathetic”, I tell Pappa Smith, “That these guys think they are going to get some p***y by trying to pick up on a drunken chick with her two sober friends. That’s kind of like trying to have sex with a retard”.

Pappa Smith chuckled, “Come on man, you have to commend them for trying at least. Maybe the drunken girl really wants to get laid and the only way for her to do it is by getting drunk”

“Man, if that was the case, I’d choose some different friends, ‘cause those girls are c**k block the s**t out of her”.

Pappa Smith and I watch the girls finally leave the grasp of these perverts and continue on their way down the casino, where they’ll probably make a pit stop in a bath room and one of our female security agents will have to remove the drunk female from drowning herself in a toilet seat.

Friday, 0100 hours, The First Catch

Tonight is too damn dead. I’m starting to second guess about the whole pimp and ho thing our managers were warning us about. Maybe Pappa said something to them and they all decided to run away, maybe they’re all held up in another casino and they have better tricks over there. I honestly wouldn’t know why it’s so dead right now.

Control to Pappa Smith and Slick Rick

Nice, control is calling us on the radio. They probably got eyes on a girl that’s walked in, or maybe a prior trespassed pimp who’s walking around.

Go ahead for Pappa and Slick

Go to the Mystline and identify the entire bar.

Copy that, we’re en route

The Mystline is notorious for the number of single men in their forties who like to spend their money on pointless things like gambling and w****s. We usually wait until either the bar is filled with these old men, or if the bar employees notice something out of place. As we make our way down to the bar, we notice a female hurrying her way into the bar, her cellphone out and clutch wallet in one hand. We slow our stroll to examine the girl, and watch which person she goes to talk to.

The girl wore Luis Vuitton red bottom high heels, meaning she makes money and is bought the gifts she wants. She wore short bright dress, and had a tattoo of a flower with different writings around it. The tattoo is an insignia for who owns her; she’ll tell me it’s her son’s name. She stuck her butt out and pushed her chest out, a sign that she is walking with confidence. Normal girls usually never walk that way by themselves. This girl’s cellphone was glued onto her hand, and she looked at it as if it were a map telling her where to go. She probably received a text message from her trick describing what he is wearing and where he is at. She wore a sly smile on her face, but her eyes were sad.

That’s all we needed to know she is a working girl.

We watched her approach an older male and he turned and smiled at her. We watched them talk to one another, and even though it was loud, we were able to pick out the conversation they were having. He says hello and she would say “Hey baby”. He would ask if she would like a drink and she would say “You are so sweet, I would love a light martini”. They talk for a bit and she tries to respond to his questions in any way sexual and in total agreement with him. Every time he tells her what he does, she’ll respond with “That’s so great, you’re very good”.

After a few minutes, I decide it was time to c**k block the w***e. Pappa Smith, a giant six foot two inch black man, decided to go grab identification from the rest of the bar, as no one can say no to him. He is quicker than I am in removing the w****s, but he is also harder on them. This is probably why we made a decent team.

I approach my two targets as if I were a host of the casino, or somebody that can offer them a good place to enjoy themselves. “Hello guys! Welcome to this fabulous bar, it is nice to see you guys enjoying yourselves!” They both turn to me and laugh. “Is the night treating you guys well?” I ask.

“Yes it is, it’s going very well so far” the female replies. She talks first, because she knows the guy is going to screw up the answers. I can tell he is getting nervous now, and fears he is in trouble. He drops down his eyes and takes quick sips from his drink, obviously ashamed he has been caught. “Did we do anything wrong sir?” she quickly asked.

“I don’t know! Did you guys do anything wrong? What’s the reason for you to ask me that?” I ask.

“Well, you are interrupting our conversation, and we are just sitting down enjoying our drinks!”

“Okay, well listen, I’m assuming this is your, husband, is it?” I ask, as I look at the man.

He tries to reply, but the female quickly cuts him off again. “No, we’re just friends, why are you bothering us?” she asked again.

Now is my time to attack. Both parties are nervous, and they feel pinned against the wall. They feel threatened by me, and I can pry any information I want out of them from here on out. Not without any kind of fun, of course.

“Listen baby, you shouldn’t feel nervous. I am not a cop, and I’m not like the other guys around here. You guys are here to enjoy yourselves, and I am simply making sure you two are comfortable with what you are doing. I am talking to you right now to make sure there’s not going to be a roll later and I’ll have to see you two again, you understand?”

The man didn’t understand, but the female did. She feels as if I am a nice individual, someone who is willing to cut the w****s some slack and allow them to work on the field. She heard me say the word ‘roll’, so she knew that I understood the game. She nodded her head and smiled.

“Okay, do you want a break?” she asked me.

She just asked me if I want a bribe. I love money, but I’ll never take a bribe from a w***e, only because they never give anything more than twenty dollars.

“Sure,” I said, reaching my hand out as if to shake her hand. I watched her pull a twenty out of her pocket and place the money in my hand.

I quickly gripped her hand, pulled her into me, and turned her around. I pulled out my hand cuffs and wrapped her hands up. She started to protest, and the man got up and started to argue, but luckily

Pappa Smith was there to assist me with the situation.

Pappa Smith to Control, we are going to take one back to holding for solicitation.

Control copies.

I leaned close to the ear of the w***e and whispered “You’ve gotta be smarter than this, baby. This isn’t just a business, this is Vegas.”

Friday, 0230 hours, Harassment.

The busiest hours in every Vegas casino would be from three to five in the morning. That’s when the majority of the alcoholics come out of the night clubs and bars. They are the nocturnal people of society that don’t know when it is time to properly stop drinking or partying. It’s usually around these hours when our radio traffic goes absolutely insane, and it’s impossible to even think properly.

Control to Big George, we have a homeless vagrant sleeping in the restrooms, please remove him.

Big George copies.

Control to Polish Joe, remove an intoxicated male from pit four.

Polish Joe copies.

Control to Boss Plain, an intoxicated guest is requesting management because he feels he has wrongfully removed from the North Bar.

Boss Plain to Control, tell him to f**k off.

Pappa Smith and I found ourselves coming across different agents trying to convince a guest to go to their rooms, pushing an intoxicated person down the casino in a wheel chair, or removing large amounts of minors from the casino floor. Security agents in large numbers always seems to get the situation finished faster, so no matter what’s the problem, we always try to stick together to help one another out.

After removing an intoxicated individual that was found sleeping in our conference rooms, Pappa Smith and I once again found ourselves standing in the South Bar area, close to the taxi lane. This time, we saw a large group of about eight or nine males standing in a single file line, all of them with drinks in their hands. They all wore fancy jeans, nice shoes, and a button up shirt that matches with their shoes. Most of them had some kind of article of accessory, whether it is sunglasses, a sports hat, or a long platinum chain. Each one of them had a visible tattoo on their person.

“They’re sweating”, Pappa Smith instantly observed. I watched how they all talked to one another, and how they attempted to talk to every single girl that would walk by them. Essentially, creating a sweat line is to harass a woman until she obeys the things you say. “I know these guys from the ring. They are trouble, they need to leave”, Pappa Smith exclaimed.

I haven’t seen Pappa like this in a while. Usually he maintains a calm demeanor and understanding of all situations, but he needed these guys to leave.

Pappa Smith to Control, we need eyes close to the South Bar for a large group of black male adults that are harassing female guests.

Control copies, we got eyes on you.

After having the confidence of video surveillance, we approached the individuals quickly and closely. The key to a pimp’s success is intimidation on another pimp, or any other individual. The way to beat them is to intimidate them back and force them to garner respect for the property.

Pappa Smith didn’t waste time on getting to the point. “Alright guys, you are all loitering and harassing our female guests. It’s either we see some identification and you guys get trespassed, or you all leave without any incident”.

You can see some of the weaker males of the group hesitate. A good three of the males actually walked off at the sight of Pappa, and another three started a conversation about leaving. The other three, however, stood their ground, and stood it strong. “We are doing nothing but having a conversation with beautiful women that walk by us, and you’re telling us we can’t do that? What about these other guys that are walking around and doing the same thing, why don’t you go and trespass them?”

“Because they’re not going to ruin these girls lives”, Pappa Smith immediately retaliated.

“What do you think we’re trying to do here boss?” one of the alpha males asked.

“You guys are harassing females, and if you don’t leave now, you will be trespassed, is that what you want, gramps?”

*Warning: Calling a pimp old is something you never want to do.*

“I know you, boy. You have been around us before, and you’re turning around. Don’t think that you’re in the clear,” the alpha male pimp said, attempting to intimidate Pappa Smith.

“I hope you enjoy it when you wake up and you find all your b*****s gone. I’ve seen some of your girls talking with your boys here, and you think I shold respect you? You can’t even keep your own b***h straight.”

The alpha male couldn’t say anything. He finally decided to leave with the other pimps towards the taxi lane. This won’t be the last time we’ll see them.

Friday, 0400 hours, Trick Roll’d.

Control to Pappa Smith and Slick Rick, we got a report that a guest wants an unwanted female out of his room on the 45^th floor of the high rise towers.

We copy, we’re on our way.

Nice, we got a trick roll. Some guy thought it would be cool to bring a ho up to his room, and now she’s stealing his stuff.

Boss Plain copies, I’m en route as well.

Trick rolls are usually done when a male wakes up the morning after bringing a w***e to his room and finding all his belongings stolen and a d***o up his a*s. The easiest way the w****s commit their crime is usually through roofies, the infamous date rape drug creepers use in night clubs. Other times they do it through some unique way, like tying the guy to a bed or locking him in the bathroom while he’s taking a shower.

As we go up the elevators, I wonder what the situation might be tonight.

Upon our arrival on the 45^th floor, myself and Pappa Smith instantly hear arguments between a male and a female. We briskly walk out the elevator lobby and are met with a Asian woman in a white dress walking down the hallway, talking nothing but nonsense, and shortly behind her is an Indian male that had a Sikh turban wrapped on his head and a long black beard. He actually looks like he should be cooking curry in a restaurant and not out in Vegas.

The moment he saw us, he started yelling. “That’s her! This is her! Get her! This is the bullshit!” It was hard to understand the man while he turning every ending of his words. “She stole my money! That w***e!”

“I didn’t do s**t, you stole my phone you a*****e! You’re the thief here!” the Asian female started yelling back.

“Guys! Shut the f**k up and get away from each other!” I shouted out of frustration. Hearing two people argue is one of the most annoying things in the world, especially when they’re of the opposite sex and at a disagreement.

“No! He stole my phone, and I wanted it back! I shouldn’t have to leave for anything!” The Asian shouted.

“You’re a liar! You stole $300 from me, and you forgot your damn phone on my table! You b***h, give me back my money!” The Sikh Indian argued.

“If no one on this floor doesn’t shut the f**k up in the next two seconds, I’m sticking my foot up their a*s, and trust me, I got a big a*s foot” a booming voice responded behind us, the voice of Boss Plain, another giant of a man who is as unorthodox to this business as Ali was unorthodox in boxing. One time he got into a fight with four giant inebriated New Zealanders by himself and actually stood toe-to-toe with all of them for three minutes until back up finally showed up. Once the New Zealanders were arrested, he made it a point to tell each and every one of them how they hit like little girls. “Anyone care to fill me in on what happened here?”

“I met this girl downstairs at the bar and she agreed to come up with me to hang out. Once we were up here, she asked me for money and I declined, and she instantly went into my wallet and stole my money! She left her phone on the table and I held it until she gave it all back!” The Sikh Trick articulated.

“Interesting, so you’re telling me you met this girl downstairs, and brought her up to hang out? How much did you guys originally agree in?” Boss Plain asked.

“Not $300!” the Sikh Idiot responded.

“So you guys did agree upon a payment? Did you want to go with him, sweetheart?” Boss Plain continued with the female.

“Well, he asked and I agreed! He asked to do anal and I raised the price!” She responded.

After that revelation, we saw the Sikh Pervert’s face turn bright red, which was kind of entertaining to see how a brown bearded face could get so red.

“Well, this is what’s going to happen now. You’re both going to be trespassed from this property. Mr. Anoop, you will be evicted from your room for solicitation on our property, and Miss Chang, you will be going to jail just because I said so. All questions can be answered to my agents here. Good night and good morrow,” Boss Plain explained, laying out the law before either of the parties would be able to argue.

Boss Plain to Control, we have two trespassed and one will be evicted from his room.

Control copies.

Friday, 0630 hours, The Dragging Hours.

On a Friday morning, anything after five o’clock in the morning is incredibly boring, and the hours seem to do nothing but drag on. There were different identification checks done at different areas, but around these hours, all the w****s know that all they need to say is that they don’t have any identification, and they’ll be walked out without any problems. They usually come back after an hour or so however. These b*****s can be smart at times.

The casino dies out slowly, as there are still random people gambling on the tables and slots. The bars are ghost towns however, and the only foot traffic are the people rushing with their travel bags, ready to catch a taxi to head to the airport. Around this time, no one really likes to commit any crimes. Which I don’t understand, because these are the hours where people least suspect crimes to be committed. Since there is no allusion that there will be a crime committed, then why not try to commit a crime? Why does it always have to be at the night time?

Sometimes things are just best left unanswered. Funny how when things get incredibly slow, I all of a sudden become a philosopher.

Friday, 0800 hours, Home.

The night finished with thankfully very little action, allowing me to relax better and not worry about what I did wrong or what could have been fixed. Arriving home, the first thing to do is take a hot warm shower, and throw my a*s right onto my comfortable bed. What sucks is that sometimes I still hear my dispatch in my ear. It’s like a voice in my ear I’m forever haunted with.

Control to Slick Rick, you’ll always have to be told what to do.

I like to relax and go through the situations I witnessed tonight, like Pappa Smith’s interaction with the pimps, and the Indian trick roll. All these different interactions make me wonder about why people do what they do. What causes women to w***e themselves? What causes men to sweat young women? What causes a well-set Indian business man to pick up a w***e?

Control to Slick Rick, remove the w****s from your mind

The best way I could answer these questions is that people want any kind of sexual satisfaction, whether they pay for it or not. In this day and age, for some reason, people just don’t have great social skills anymore. Whatever the reason, people are too afraid to speak their mind to another person, and thus they are forced to sit quietly and actually pay for all their satisfaction. This is what creates the business behind the prostitution ring. The pimps become the suppliers, the w****s are the product, and the tricks are the consumers.

Control to Slick Rick, forget about why they do that s**t.

A woman needs to make quick money to pay for all her payments, so she w****s herself. A guy is good at rapping and is able to get a large following of women to him, so he asks these girls to work for him. He meets different clients throughout the grapevine, and now the pimp leaves with good money.

Control to Slick Rick, pimping is a fucked up business, but someone has got to do it.

Author's Note

Excuse all grammar errors, as I did this without any review. Please give me tips and advice on what you liked and disliked so I can put them into the other stories.