casper

....Another night at Union Jacks.....

So far it had been a pointless evening, not lucrative in the least, not even very entertaining....

I'm surveying the crowd, and spot two well dressed, young, black men seated at the couch nearest the stage. Their backs are turned, but they are peeking over their shoulders, watching Tucker, who is swaying onstage. One of the men stands up, and leans over, and pulls five singles out, and slowly throws them near her. One. At. A. Time. Show-off. If they were $20s, someone might have batted an eye.

She doesn't acknowledge them. He stares at her writhing ass for a few beats, and sits back down. I decided to give it an attempt, and I head their way.

"Sup!" I shout cheerily, and bounce onto the couch. I face the man closest to me. He smells smoky, and his eyes are red and watery.

He mutters a greeting, and slides his hand over onto my leg. I pivot my torso and his hand slips off, onto the seat of the cushion. I maintain my smile. The other man is talking to the new girl, the Hawaiian.

I realize right away that I have made a mistake; these men will be a pain in the ass. I decide to make a bit of polite conversation, introduce myself, and then I will exit.

I forge ahead.

( I could detail the small-talk, but it would be tedious and pointless. He tells me how pretty I am, and I thank him. Ask where he's from, if he's been here before...blah blah....I'll get to the point..)

He's from Seattle, he's high on Oxycontin at the moment, him and his friend are in Portland, visiting another friend.

What friend? He points him out, sitting six feet away. A scruffy, smiling white guy, in a t-shirt and saggy shorts. I didn't associate the three being in the same group, because the white guy looks so out of place, sitting next to them. Either way, he nods, unable to hear us, and I nod back in greeting. He looks stoned too.

Suddenly, I feel the hot breath of the first man, he has leaned in and whispered to me, "I think we're gonna rob him."

I'm startled, but I cock my head and smile at him again, "Oh yeah? Why is that?"

He blinks, rubs his nose, and replies, "Cuz he's got shit....and we want shit. That's it."

I'm amazed. Is this real? Why is he telling me this? But, I absolutely believe that this is an honest statement.

I think to respond. (What is an appropriate reaction?)

I nod, and move my eyes away from his face, slowly. I'm studying the wall.
"That's cool, whatever."

I feel his body stiffen, and he squares up, looks at me intently. His eyes open the most I've seen yet, and he stretches a finger, pokes my shoulder. "Don't say nothing to him, k?"

I shrug it off, "Oh duh, no worries...."

I begin smoothing my top, and it works, he stares at my chest. Wipes his mouth.

"You know that girl over there, she's from Hawaii." And I point at the skinny, 30something new-girl with the pixie hair and mustache.

"Oh yeah? Where you from?"

And I tell him San Diego, California.

"Nuh uh, I don't believe you."

(Dumb-ass, why would I lie?)

I giggle sheepishly, and ask, "Where are you from, mister?"

He thinks I'm stupid, and says, "I already told you, Seattle. Seattle."

I shake my head and giggle again, "I don't believe you, you look like a New Yorker. You look all sharp and stuff."

He still thinks I'm flirting with him, and raises an eyebrow, speaks outta the side of his mouth, "Oh yeah? You wanna see my I.D or somethin?"

Yes. I would love to.

I throw my head back dramatically, and stomp my foot, "I demand it!"

And he shifts his weight to pull his faux leather wallet out of his butt pocket, and fishes through it. Retrieves a Washington identification card. Hands it to me.

I scan his name, address. It's the most I can gather, before he pulls it back.

"Okaaaaay, you're right. From Seattle....you know, I've never been there....."


And I find a good spot to suggest he get a private dance from me, I already know that he won't, but I thank him for "hanging out" with me, and I excuse myself.


In my box, downstairs, I shuffle through my purse until I find a piece of paper, and I write down his info.

Later, I talked to his friend. The potential victim? I didn't have enough time, they left before I could attain more than his first name, and approximate address, in Portland. Sigh.


This morning, I called the Tip Line.

"Um, Hi...I might have information on a crime that will happen or might soon..?"

Spoke with a nice lady. She sounded older. Had a Filipino accent. Was transferred. I left a message. Who knows if anything will help, or even happen, but I had to try.



Love,

Casper-Elle