Chapter 342: Chapter 341.

Chapter 341. At a Motel with a Prostitute in the Room Next Door: A Chat with the Prostitute in the Morning. (1/8)

Outside the motel room, I made an immediate turn to my left. I headed over to the adjacent room where the prostitute from yesterday had been smoking and knocked three times without thinking. I’d knocked three times because that was how many times I normally knocked on average. It was only after I did so that I remembered the prostitute's words from yesterday.

Slightly panicked, I quickly knocked a fourth time for insurance. I didn’t want any weird misunderstandings.

“Hold on, one sec, I’m cumming.”

Why did I feel there was something strange about how she said that?

A minute later the door opened up. The sight I was greeted by was the prostitute from yesterday in the nude. She didn’t have anything on.

The prostitute whispered into my ear, “Oh, what a surprise? What is it? That girl of yours wasn’t enough te satisfy you earlier this mornin so you came to me for seconds?”

I didn’t let her crude words phase me or beat around the bush, I got straight to the point, “No, do you have a washer and dryer in your room? I wanted to get these cleaned.”

“Oh my, so she was a virgin?”

I rolled my eyes and answered sarcastically, “No, I just stabbed her in the gut with a knife a few times. Of course she was.”

“Well, I do have one if you wanna use it. I’ve got a lot of customers who like te nut on my clothes so I really needed a room with one.”

“Right…” It’s a good thing we wouldn’t be using these sheets after this.

“Well, come in.”

“Uh… you don’t want to get dressed before inviting me in?”

“Why bother? Why don’t we have some fun while waitin? I was jus in the middle of masturbatin.”

“No thanks. I just want to get this washed and leave.”

“What, yuh worried bout de price? I’ll waive it for yuh if dat’s de case, I’m pretty horny right now and just wanna fuck.”

“Uh, I’ll find somewhere else to get these washed.”

“What de hell? Are yuh tryin te act like you're too good for me?”

“No, I’ve got nothing against prostitutes. Do what you've got to do to survive.” I just want to get this washed, why is such a simple task turning out to be such a pain in the ass?

“I’m not even askin for money.”

“Yeah, you’re making a calculated investment hoping I’ll become a return customer, right?”

“Oh? And what makes yuh so sure of dat?”

“A girl I know said something similar to me before.”

“Tsk. So you’ve been around the block and already been snagged.”

“No, I wouldn’t call her a prostitute. She sort of became something of a little sister to me. I gave her a job and she’s now developing her skills in proofreading and editing instead so she doesn’t have to resort to sketchier types of services in the future.”

“What de hell? You helped a prostitute get a proper job?”

“As I said before, I wouldn’t call her a prostitute.” She was really an assassin after all.

“Once a prostitute, always a prostitute. It’s not a tag you can just get rid of. It’s like a permanent brand on your body that follows you around everywhere you go for the rest of your life.”

Hmm? What’s this? Her crude manner of speech was suddenly gone.

“Hey, have you been intentionally talking the way you were before?”

“Yeah I was, so what? What of it? When you’re living in the ghetto, if you don’t talk like that, you just stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I see.”

“Well, whatever, if you don’t want to get your dick wet, then fine, so be it. You can use the washing machine and dryer, so hurry up and get to it before I change my mind.” She stepped back leaving some room for me to enter.

“Really? Thanks.” I stepped inside but grimaced when I saw the condition of the room she was in. It was awful to the point I didn’t want to describe it. There was a pile of syringes in one corner of the room and lines of powdery substances on the cabinet beside the bed. The small round table near the kitchen was completely filled with empty glass bottles of beer. There were also a bunch of empty glass bottles littered randomly about the ground.

“Uh, are you an alcoholic and a drug addict?” While putting the sheet into the washing machine and pouring bleach and detergent in, I struck up a conversation with the naked prostitute.

“Yeah, problem?” She sat down on her bed and gave me some attitude.

“No… but out of curiosity, when was the last time you did drugs?”

“Last night.”

“Right…” I closed the lid on the washing machine and turned it on.

“You aren’t going to criticize me about how it’s bad to do drugs?”

“No. It’s not my place to say anything or judge you for it.”

“You do any drugs?”

“No.”

“You interested in doing some?”

“No.”

“Good choice. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You shouldn’t go and fuck your life up the way I have.”

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For someone who does drugs, she didn’t seem nearly as unstable as I’d expect of a drug addict living in a ghetto area like this.

“Do you really do drugs?”

“What, you doubting me?”

“Yes, I am. I’m starting to think just like the way you speak, you’re also just pretending you do drugs to fit in around here.”

“A good head and eyes, a pretty rare combination to see among the idiots who hang around in the ghetto.”

“Are these bottles also for show?”

“Those? No, I do actually get wasted a lot.”

“Drinking your sorrows away?”

“Yeah, you sure are nosy.”

She stretched her arm out, opened up a small miniature bar fridge beside her bed, then pulled out a beer, and asked, “You drink?”

“No.”

“Let me rephrase that, you ever drink before?” She cracked open the bottle.

“No.”

“Want to try one?” She offered before she raised the bottle up to her mouth in her left hand and downed it.

“No thanks.”

“Puhaaaaa. Suit yourself.” She collapsed backward onto the bed with her arms wide in the shape of a T while holding the bottle upright. She wasn’t trying to hide anything, and it didn’t seem like she cared that everything was visible to me. She was a very crude and unrefined woman without a hint of morals or ethics.

“You can take a seat while you wait.”

“A seat you say?” My eyes scanned the room and I naturally didn’t see such a seat available.

“Just toss the bottles on the chair by the table on the ground or something.”

“When was the last time you cleaned this place up?”

“The last time? That’s a pretty funny joke. You think I ever cleaned this shit hole before?”

“I see. Do you have any garbage bags?”

“Of course not.”

“Haaaah. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get some garbage bags. In exchange for letting me use the washing machine and dryer, I’ll clean up a bit. I don’t like owing people anything.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I’m just doing it to pass the time.”

“Tsk. Whatever, do what you want. Just don’t touch those empty syringes in the corner or the lines of powder on the cabinet beside me. I need them to keep my cover as a drug addict.”

“Sure.”

I didn’t bother locking the door when I exited her room since I was just heading to the front desk in the building right across from the one we were in.

When I entered, the lady behind the front desk was smoking a cigarette the same as the day before. She raised a brow and asked, “Ye have fun las night?”

I ignored her question and asked for what I came for, “Uh, do you have any garbage bags?”

“You make a mess last night?”

“No.”

“What ya need em for then?”

“To dispose of a dismembered body.”

“Pffthahaha. None of ma business is what you’re tryna say, huh?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“How many ya need?”

“Three or four.”

“Alright, gimme a sec.”

She opened up the door behind the counter and came out a minute later with the garbage bags I’d requested.

“Here ya go. Good luck disposin that dismembered body of yours.”

“Thanks...”

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