them.
Funny how the very people who make the laws are sometimes the ones who patronize the offense. Laws? Please. I made my own.
I guess you think you got me, huh? You think this is a damn game? This is my world. I came from a place of espionage and government cover-ups. I’m made from my father’s stock. I worked hard to charm and seduce and gain the trust of wealthy political figures to build my impressive clientele list, and you think you’re gonna come up and do this? Yeah, you must think this a joke.
Everyone who turned their backs on me is going to get theirs. And you, you better watch out because you might end up with the same fate.
Strap on your strap-on, I mean seat belt, and listen up.
Because you don’t know the real story…
Ciao
Republican presidential candidate Philadelphia mayor Kalin Graves took an early lead in the polls with New York senator Darrell Ellington on his heels. However, the entry of several new candidates this month has drawn an interesting mix of contenders.
One
Money
Tuesday—May 10, 2011
T he skies were dark on a cold morning in late spring, though the sun was sure to show its face by seven and warm things up about twenty degrees, into the fifties. The cold chill of the below-zero weather of winter had ended months earlier.
It was very early, 5:01 on a Tuesday, after Money—her actual birth name—exited her large, brick, six-bedroom, red roof Tudor home in the exclusive Forest Hills Gardens area, a neighborhood in Queens only fourteen blocks long. She held a NY travel mug with her last few sips of black coffee and hopped her frame into the back of a yellow cab, sat back against the faded leather seat, and told the dark-skinned driver simply, “Belvedere Hotel.” As she crossed her long legs, she felt the strain in her defined calves, brought on by her regular, forty-five-minute elliptical workout.
The driver nodded, pulled the flag to start the meter, and took off down the sloping, curved street. He was the one whom the taxi company would send whenever Money needed to go into the city. She was claustrophobic and hated the subway, so she didn’t mind the fifty-dollar one-way ride, and she knew he wouldn’t try to stiff her by taking the long way. What he knew was that she’d tip him 50 percent of the fare. His only question was, basically, which hotel?
She was on her way to play the part of Queens, the name her hobbyists knew her by.
The cab driver turned down the radio just as the story ended about the Republican Party presidential primaries and the candidates who had declared thus far. To her surprise, two out of the six were on Money’s client list, disguised as Mr. 11 and Mr. 51 in her little pink book—Philadelphia mayor Kalin Graves and New York senator Darrell Ellington, respectively. She wondered how that would play out. Just one more reason to keep things in line.
She had expected her company’s bookings to slow down with the elections about to gear up, but experience told her that pressure breeds needs, and that could prove beneficial to an agency known for guaranteeing privacy and discretion. Which was why she wasn’t worried. She sipped her brew and made the backseat her temporary office.
Money glanced at her gold Movado watch. It normally took her half an hour to get to midtown Manhattan to meet her very regular client for their 6:00 pre-work sex appointment. He was so regular, in fact, that sometimes he’d come to her home for an in-call. But being that her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jamie Bitters, was back on again, Money decided it would be best to have an out-call for now.
Jamie was a client who, after their first time together, couldn’t wait to come back again. By the second and third times, he paid to extend the dates. He’d share pictures of his kids and talk about his childhood. By their fourth time together, he asked her out. He was a former chief deputy sheriff for New York who had been fired for using a county credit card for
Funny how the very people who make the laws are sometimes the ones who patronize the offense. Laws? Please. I made my own.
I guess you think you got me, huh? You think this is a damn game? This is my world. I came from a place of espionage and government cover-ups. I’m made from my father’s stock. I worked hard to charm and seduce and gain the trust of wealthy political figures to build my impressive clientele list, and you think you’re gonna come up and do this? Yeah, you must think this a joke.
Everyone who turned their backs on me is going to get theirs. And you, you better watch out because you might end up with the same fate.
Strap on your strap-on, I mean seat belt, and listen up.
Because you don’t know the real story…
Ciao
Republican presidential candidate Philadelphia mayor Kalin Graves took an early lead in the polls with New York senator Darrell Ellington on his heels. However, the entry of several new candidates this month has drawn an interesting mix of contenders.
One
Money
Tuesday—May 10, 2011
T he skies were dark on a cold morning in late spring, though the sun was sure to show its face by seven and warm things up about twenty degrees, into the fifties. The cold chill of the below-zero weather of winter had ended months earlier.
It was very early, 5:01 on a Tuesday, after Money—her actual birth name—exited her large, brick, six-bedroom, red roof Tudor home in the exclusive Forest Hills Gardens area, a neighborhood in Queens only fourteen blocks long. She held a NY travel mug with her last few sips of black coffee and hopped her frame into the back of a yellow cab, sat back against the faded leather seat, and told the dark-skinned driver simply, “Belvedere Hotel.” As she crossed her long legs, she felt the strain in her defined calves, brought on by her regular, forty-five-minute elliptical workout.
The driver nodded, pulled the flag to start the meter, and took off down the sloping, curved street. He was the one whom the taxi company would send whenever Money needed to go into the city. She was claustrophobic and hated the subway, so she didn’t mind the fifty-dollar one-way ride, and she knew he wouldn’t try to stiff her by taking the long way. What he knew was that she’d tip him 50 percent of the fare. His only question was, basically, which hotel?
She was on her way to play the part of Queens, the name her hobbyists knew her by.
The cab driver turned down the radio just as the story ended about the Republican Party presidential primaries and the candidates who had declared thus far. To her surprise, two out of the six were on Money’s client list, disguised as Mr. 11 and Mr. 51 in her little pink book—Philadelphia mayor Kalin Graves and New York senator Darrell Ellington, respectively. She wondered how that would play out. Just one more reason to keep things in line.
She had expected her company’s bookings to slow down with the elections about to gear up, but experience told her that pressure breeds needs, and that could prove beneficial to an agency known for guaranteeing privacy and discretion. Which was why she wasn’t worried. She sipped her brew and made the backseat her temporary office.
Money glanced at her gold Movado watch. It normally took her half an hour to get to midtown Manhattan to meet her very regular client for their 6:00 pre-work sex appointment. He was so regular, in fact, that sometimes he’d come to her home for an in-call. But being that her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Jamie Bitters, was back on again, Money decided it would be best to have an out-call for now.
Jamie was a client who, after their first time together, couldn’t wait to come back again. By the second and third times, he paid to extend the dates. He’d share pictures of his kids and talk about his childhood. By their fourth time together, he asked her out. He was a former chief deputy sheriff for New York who had been fired for using a county credit card for
Similar Books
Waking Eden (The Eden Series Book 3)
Rhenna Morgan
The Body Reader
Anne Frasier
MacKenzie's Lady
Dallas Schulze
Just Add Salt (2)
Jinx Schwartz
The Double Silence
Mari Jungstedt
The Death Dealers
Mickey Spillane
Bzrk
Michael Grant
Twilight Children
Torey Hayden
Whispers of a New Dawn
Murray Pura