7 “A Busy Little Whore”

…Future antisocials quickly learn that they are viewed as misfits in society, that their misfortunes will be compounded by the deprecatory and close-minded attitude of the larger community…. They learn it is better to be predator than prey.

—T. Millon and R. Davis, Disorders of Personality—DSM-IV and Beyond

In the first week of November 1992, it was pouring rain on the Pacific Coast and I had a load of meat northbound out of Selma, California. My first drop was United Grocery in Medford, my last at Waremart in Salem, the state capital. I was nearing Salem with about eight-thousand pounds left when I felt the urge for female company.

I went to the Burns Brothers Truck Stop on I-5 at Wilsonville to find a hooker I knew named Laurie Pentland. She was twenty-three or twenty-four, not the best-looking girl in the world but a real crowd pleaser. The last three times I used her services, she raised her price every time and I didn’t say a word of complaint. Thirty-five dollars for a date with her was a lot better than taking another woman out and pouring fifty or a hundred dollars’ worth of whisky down her throat for a good-night kiss.

I parked in back and went on the CB radio—“Breaker breaker commercial!” Nobody answered. It was 9:00 P.M. and still early for action. I locked the truck behind me and went inside for coffee.

 

By ten I gave up on Laurie and decided to turn in. As I walked back to my truck I saw some lizards pulling in. Two of the truckers were signaling with their parking and clearance lights.

On my CB radio I heard a woman calling for company. I recognized Laurie’s voice and told her where to find me. She climbed in and told me her price was now forty dollars. I paid up front and put on a rubber, and she curled into my arms. She took it nice and slow, and by the end of an hour I’d shot my last orgasm.

She started to get dressed and I asked her where she was going. She told me she had to find another trick. It was cold and wet outside. I was thinking how snug it was here in my sleeper. Behind closed doors. Ever since I was a kid, that’s where the most interesting things happened.

Laurie pulled on her raincoat and told me I owed her an extra forty dollars for the long session. Normally, she said, she would get a guy’s nut off in fifteen minutes. I reminded her that our deal was forty bucks. She gave me a line of bullshit that her female pimp took her money and if I didn’t pay double she wouldn’t see a dime.

After a while the sales pitch got louder and turned into a threat—“You better pay up or I’ll call the cops.”

I warned her fair and square: “You don’t know the risk you’re taking.”

She said, “Oh, yes I do. Now gimme the money!”

I gave her one more chance. “I won’t put up with this shit. You’ve got nothing on me.”

She said, “Yes, I do! I know your name and who you drive for and where you’re delivering. Now give me what I’ve got coming!”

I said, “I’ll tell you what you got coming, girl. I’m gonna strangle you!”

She said. “Go for it!”

I was thinking, Does this stupid bitch know the chance she’s taking for forty lousy bucks? I pushed her down in the sleeper and gave her a hard stare. She must have thought I had rape on my mind. She wasn’t that lucky.

As my hand brushed against her neck, I said, “For that last extra threat, bitch, you just lost your life.”

I don’t think she believed me till I had my fist in her throat. Nothing could have stopped me by then.

Just before she passed out, I said, “You’re number four that pushed your luck with me, bitch. Now you’re dead!” I trembled at the excitement of the kill.

For a minute or two I tried to catch my breath. I thought I saw movement in her eyes. I bent over her and heard her breathing. I laid there next to her till she came around again and I started playing with her. She touched me back, I guess out of fear. The death game begins!

I played for an hour and then decided to put her under for good. As she struggled, I could see her will to live fade like a match going out.

Even after she closed her eyes and went limp, I kept pushing till I was sure she was dead. Then I stretched her out and cleaned the spot where she’d peed her raincoat.

I locked the doors behind me and went into the café. I looked into my cup of coffee and wondered about the mentality of these truck-stop hookers. Why did they put themselves in such dangerous positions? Drugs? This stupid woman asked to be killed. I just helped her out.

Back in the truck I slid in next to her, opened her blouse, and felt her skin. She had firm tits, a good body. To clear my head I masturbated in my hand. Then I covered her up and went through her pockets. She’d been a busy little whore. I retrieved my forty and two hundred dollars more. This would be a bad night for her pimp.

I thought of putting her body in one of the dropped trailers that were lined up in the back row. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for the driver? Then I remembered the GI Joe’s parking lot in Salem, next to where I was scheduled to deliver in the morning. There were garbage containers and blackberry vines in the back lot.