prostitute
/ˈprɒstɪtjuːt/
noun
a person, in particular a woman, who engages in sexual activity for payment.
~
Cathy Logan was born in a brothel. She have seen the dirt under every white collar and gentlemen turni...
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The next task in hand is more tough. I have to get out the Red Street compound without the guards noticing. The tight security is a challenge. But I can break them down for sure, if I am careful and slick. I dried my hair thoroughly before pulling the hoodie down my body. The black hoodie comes to my mid-thigh. I pull up my track pants and tuck the gun to the waistband, the glasses in the pockets. I descend the chair and notices that the vinyl is off meaning Agatha is already finished with the dinner.
"Here's your toast, lady. Want some perfect sunny sides to go with it?" She puts the plates on the cream table covers with hideous pink flowers on them.
"Jams will do it" I scoop some cranberry jams on them and take a bite.
"You know you could use some proteins, you are getting thinner. You don't want to be pushed off the business because of smaller boobs now, do you?" I give out a laugh at that as she tries to slip some eggs on my plate.
"Trust me, Agatha. I am proud of my babies."
She shakes her head and sits down with me. She digs into her bacon and eggs. "And what's with that hoodie again?" She asks referring to the fact that I wore it last weekend too.
"You know December nights. Cold as fuck." I bit into my bread praying she buys it. She looks at me suspiciously, her fork dangling in her right hand.
"You are not up to what I think you are up to. Are you?"
"Wh-hat?" I spluttered and grabs the juice glass to hide my face.
"From when did this all started?" She stands up from the chair and I want to face palm myself.
You.are.dead.Cathy.
"I don't know what you are talking about?"
How did she know it? Do I have something on this hoodie that says so? What if she slips this to Stalin?
It's official. You are their bacon for tomorrow.
"How much?" Agatha stands in front of me with hopeful eyes. Confusion strikes me hard.
"Oh, drop the act." She scoffs. "I know you are saving penny by pole dancing in the bar."
What?
"How do you know that?" I say like an offended doll playing along.
"You are not that discrete, young lady. Black hoodies and weekends, thought you could play me?" She wiggles her eyebrows and relief and gratitude washes over me as she still has no clue of my rendezvous. I try to smile back.
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
"I am so proud of you." She shakes my shoulder, which I think is a sign of appreciation. I am going to the church with candles. I am lucky that Agatha is a fool, but Stalin is a different story. Once he gets a whiff of what I am doing, he will not spare me. Stalin is a revenge thirsty man. Jus because he has got a strange daughter fetish with me, does not mean that he will hesitate to slit my throat. I need to move my pieces in proportion.
