Pimp by Stefan Sofiski
Pimp by Stefan Sofiski
Moses bursts into the room, pushing two of his whores out the way.
The air is sticky… sweat and sex. Several girls from other bedrooms have left their clients and have crowded around him. Disturbed by the sight in the room, they shriek and sob.
On the bed, lies a big man- his ass facing Moses… a white, hairy full moon. The guy is shaking. Sado-maso straps restrain his body, pink fat puffed between tight leather.
Moses drops to his knees beside the bed and studies the guy’s face. The eyes are bulging, irises rolled up behind the eyelids, lips turned purple. His face is covered in vomit…
“What did he take?” The pimp’s voice thunders over his prostitutes’ clamour.
No answer.
“What did he take, goddamn it?” He turns around, frantically scanning the room for the prossie who has been serving the guy.
A girl is curled up in the far corner… naked, hugging her knees. Her skin is red from scrubbing her upper arms from invisible dirt. Moses’ gaze narrows on her. Sandra again… Always fucking Sandra. He clambers towards her.
“Sandra, what did he take?” The girl cannot stop crying, snot bubbling on her nose. She gives no answer.
“Sandra, the fuck did he take?” Moses shouts, grabbing her by the wrists, jerking her out of the stupor.
“I… coke… I think coke…”
Moses drops Sandra and returns to the guy on the bed. The man is grey and flaccid, seizures subsiding. He grabs him under the arms, wet curly armpit hairs rubbing against his forearms. He drags the man from the bouncy bed to the stable floor. Moses knows he needs a solid surface if he is to revive the fat bastard.
Dangling bits, man boobs, and gut jiggle as the guy’s body flops on the wooden boards. The thud causes the girls’ shrieks to reach new, higher pitches.
“Call an ambulance,” Moses cries. He turns the guy on his back and lays him flat on the floor.
The man lies quietly now. Moses leans over the body, putting an ear against the guy’s mouth. No breath. “Call an ambulance, for fuck’s sake!”
No answer.
He puts his brown cheek against the man’s deadly pale chest… no heartbeat. The girls have gone quiet… holding hands, or pressing them against shocked mouths, streaks of make-up on cheeks.
Moses starts massaging the guy’s chest, his massive palms sinking into his fatty torso. The pimp’s face tingles. Sweat pours from his every pore. “Call someone… Now!”
“Moses,” one of the girls, a skinny white Bulgarian, finally screeches. Her voice is crackling with panic. “No calling no one… You can’t let the police find the girls here… Moses, you have to take care of us.” She bends down and talks in his ear. “Just make this man disappear,”
Moses’ mind races. What should he do? He’s losing the guy. And the bitch is right. If an ambulance comes, the coppers will follow. And when the coppers show up, the girls will be rounded up and taken from him. Let things run their course? No… can’t leave him like that… Try again…One, two, three…
Moses takes a deep breath and puts his mouth against the guy’s. The smell and taste of vomit assault him, pungent and sour and sticky. Unshaven skin prickles his lips as he forces air into the guy’s lungs. Again… one, two, three… mouth to mouth…
“Come on, breath, you fucker!”
On the third time, the man convulses. He flails arms and legs and takes a loud, violent gasp of air. The guy’s fatty meats flap about as he squirms on the floor. The unexpected movement shocks. Moses backs up, crawling away on hands and heels. The girls gasp and squeal.
With his heart still racing, the pimp stares absently ahead as he catches his breath. He wipes his mouth as he takes in the scene… The heavy curtains, the bed sheets with all kinds of sticky bodily fluids all over… and naked, fucking Sandra weeping in the corner.
“Moses, get him out of here,” one of the girls whispers, placing a hand on his shoulder. The pimp staggers up. The guy’s hairy chest is moving up and down, but his breathing is shallow. Danger not over yet. Gotta get him out of here…
& & &
Street outside… A cabbie in his warmed-up cabin scrolls on his phone as he waits for clients.
“What the hell?” Ibrahim exclaims when a wooden door is suddenly kicked open with a bang, right next to his cab.
Shit… this was supposed to be a quiet night. London is supposed to be tame on a Tuesday evening. Just a couple of clients and then home in his warm bed.
With a hand ready to start the ignition and get away if things turn sour, Ibrahim stares into the dark opening where the commotion had come from. Shortly after the door is swung open on its creaky hinges, a strange thing emerges from the darkness. Ibrahim’s eyes widen as he realises what he sees under the streetlamp…
A man… Big. Black. Sweating… On his shoulders, he carries a fat white guy, naked and tied with black straps. White guy looks pale and out. What the fuck were these two pervs doing? Ibrahim shakes his head.
The black man steps out onto the street, eyes darting left and right. He is panting. Still prepared to pull off if things went pear shaped, the cabbie pulls himself up on the steering wheel to get a better view. What is he looking at? Did the black dude shag the fat guy too hard?
From the dark cabin of his car, Ibrahim watches the black guy adjust the weight of his naked friend on his shoulders. Grunting, the big black guy starts hobbling on the wet cobbles. He seems to be heading towards St. Thomas’ hospital, visible in the distance.
The white guy’s flabby ass bounces up and down under the soft lights of the streetlamps. Ibrahim blinks a few times and decides to call it a night.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Stefan Sofiski 2025
