When a male prostitute kills to save another, it is the beginning of a vigilante murder spree through New York City.
22 year old Valentino is handsome, good-hearted - and selling his body on the streets of NY for a laughable amount of money. His da...
Two escorts, killed and discarded, found behind some trash containers downtown.
They throw us away like used napkins.
Something needs to be done.
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Saturday, 11AM
Dexter watches me get dressed from across the room, keeping his distance like I'm a deer that he does not want to scare away. The left side of my face is throbbing, sore and bruised where his knuckles connected with my cheekbone. There is an ugly silence between us as I start an half-hearted attempt at buttoning my shirt, but I give up soon due to my shaking hands.
"I'll call you," he says as he walks me to the door. His voice is low, hoarse and rueful, and he offers me some rolled up dollar bills. I take the money without counting, just wanting to go home.
"Answer your phone when I call," he exhales and keeps one hand on the door to keep it shut, forcing me to stay and say goodbye properly. I don't reply at first, then I nod, defeated. Dexter leans forward to plant a kiss on my torn lip but I look away, desperately clinging to my last shred of dignity.
His jaw tenses but he pushes himself off the door, allowing me to leave. And that's what I do.
12 AM
I'm taking the subway home and sit across from an old couple that tries really hard to not stare at me. The rim of my Calvin Klein slip is peeking through my unbuttoned shirt and my face resembles an apple that was dropped a few times, battered, with brown-greenish blemishes framing my eyes.
Everytime I roll my tongue over my swollen bottom lip I taste iron, which makes me want to block Dexters number - not because it would do anything, since he'd find a way to contact me anyway, but just because it feels good.
Some girls enter the subway and stand near the automatic doors as I get off the train. I barely note their presence, but one of them recognizes me.
Sunday, 1 AM.
"Holy shit, Vale, did you get mugged?"
Paulo laughs at me as I fight my way through the crowd, balancing two shots of vodka, and sink down next to him. My friends, a small group of broke sex workers and some girls that I have never seen before, have claimed a booth in a dark corner of a cheap nightclub.
The dance floor is packed and I take a shot before greeting the rest of the men sitting around the table. I turn back to Paulo and the chick on his lap: Short, blonde hair, mini-skirt. She stares at my face, lustern and in awe, but also intimidated. I never got behind women liking the sight of a roughed up guy. I don't feel sexy. I feel humiliated.
"Did you get into a fist fight?" she shouts in my ear and runs her fingers through my dark curls, and Paulo laughs a bit too loudly, not happy with the way his girlfriend gropes me.
"Dexter called me up," I explain, my voice mostly drained out by the loud music, but the way Paulo reacts tells me that he heard. A frown is plastered on his badly shaven face now, and his reply makes me wonder why we are friends.
"It's like you are asking for it. Like you want to get hit!"
I know he has a point, but I shout back anyway, suddenly irritated. "He was drunk as hell, how is this my fault -?"
"You are too cocky. You get punched if you talk back, Vale. It be like that."
"I didn't talk back ... " My leg starts twitching under the table. "He went nuts over nothing!"
Paulo reaches over his girl to wrap his sweaty fingers around my wrist, looking me deep in the eye. His pupils are wide and I'm sure he popped some pills. "Just tell Carlos that you are sorry, and that you'll work for him again. Streetwalking is dangerous, Vale. Get your shit together."
"Sorry, I can't hear you!" I lie, lamely, decide that I'm not in the mood to justify myself in front of him and get up. "The music is just too loud, sorry!"
He lets go of my arm. His voice sounds pained.
"I'm trying to help you, Valentino."
I give him the finger and head for the bathroom to do a line of coke.
1:30 AM
My reflection stares at me accusingly, nostrils white and flaring. Dark rings under my eyes make me look like some sort of coked out panda. That version of me in the mirror - I see it for the first time. Or at least I am surprised and taken aback by the sight, can't stand looking at the guy that's supposed to be me, and I wonder who on earth would pay to fuck him.
Most stalls behind me are occupied and plastered with stickers and graffiti advertising some crazy rave parties or concerts or calling for equality. The skin around my left eye has started to tingle and burn, and gently poking the bruise sends sharp pain through my skull.
I think about suing Dexter, but I don't really know how it's done, and then I imagine getting nothing out of it and having to pay some lawyer that looks at me like I'm a cockroach.
Sighing, I lean down to do the last line of coke, then wash my face and hands. I watch the white powder that covered the tip of my nose go down the drain, taking my thoughts with it.
3 AM
My head is stuck between a pair of perfectly smooth thighs that belong to a girl who's name I couldn't tell you if my life depended on it. She lies on my bed and giggles, which really throws me off, but I try to do my job and ignore her.
"That costs extra," I mumble after she's finished and reaches for my belt as we lie next to each other. She freezes and looks confused.
"What?" she says.
Suddenly I remember that this is a regular hook-up, that I picked her up at the club and brought her here, and it makes me laugh nervously.
"Nevermind," I say. "It's nothing."
4 AM
She shuts the door behind her and leaves after I take some valium to come down from the coke. Now I lie awake, staring at the low ceiling of my crappy apartment.
Life is a rollercoaster with ups and downs, that's what I tell myself. But then I wonder why my rollercoaster seems to consist of downs only, why it goes down and down, like an endless spiral staircase.
A sudden longing for alprazolam makes me search for some leftover pills under my mattress but I don't find any, so I start screaming into my pillow in frustration. It's so exhausting that I fall asleep shortly after.
I honestly don't know what Paulo was talking about. I do have my shit together.
