Hanger had never embraced Pimp chic. He never strolled anywhere with a cane like a lot of them did. Rather than a garish, brightly colored fedora with feathers, the only hat he ever wore was a black or grey woolen beanie. Suits? Nope. A white Cadillac? Nope. He drove a black BMW. He kept his dress simple. Jeans or jogging pants and a t-shirt, a jacket if it was cold.
His only visual signatures were tightly braided cornrows and his rings, one on three fingers of every hand. Even then, they were both functional. The cornrows were to show he wasn’t some regular white boy that another man could mess with.
The rings? Well, they were for any time he needed to throw hands, or keep one of his girls in check, although that was rare. You lost your temper and hit a girl in the face, marked her up, and that put off the customers, which was never good for the bottom line.
Rings did the same job as a knuckleduster, but they were legal. Nastier, too. All points and ridges and diamonds that would slice through skin. You couldn’t be arrested for wearing rings, and thought Hanger, they added that little dash of swag that every Pimp had to have. You just didn’t want to make it too obvious.
To Hanger the old school Pimp style was like having a big ass neon sign over your head for the Feds to see. A sign that read ARREST ME.
So far in his ten years pimping, Hanger had never been sent to prison. Jail yes, prison no. He was too smart for any charges to stick. He did what he had to do to stay on the streets.
That was one of the reasons he wasn’t overly concerned about the guy tracking down this new girl. He’d had family come after him before. It had never presented an issue. He knew the game better than they did. He had a thousand tricks up his sleeve that he could use to either throw them off the scent or simply wear them down.
Usually, in his experience, they gave up. Once or twice, when a girl was already used up, he’d throw her back.
He had no plans to do that with Kristin. She was a gem. The kind of girl that came along once every three or four years. Young, white, and with the help of his bottom girl, a seven out of ten, maybe an eight. If he played it right, she was a million-dollar baby.
That was why there was no way he was letting her go. Now all he had to do was make his position clear.
“I heard you were looking for me,” he said, watching the guy in the Audi who had just rolled past him and into the parking lot.
“Let’s cut to the chase. You’re going to return Kristin Miller to her family. Today. In fact, you have two hours and the clock just started ticking.”
Hanger smiled. Tough guy talk. He’d heard a lot of it in his time. It didn’t faze him. He’d once had a dude pour gas over him and threaten to set him on fire. He’d told the dude to go ahead, laughed while he said it. He’d meant it too. Hanger wasn’t afraid to die, he was prepared.
He sucked on his teeth as he scoped the guy out. He was lean, muscular, looked former military, one of those types. If this had been about some older duck, an asset he had already sweated, maybe he would cut his losses. But not with this girl.
“I don’t know who that is. I’ve never heard of any Kristin Miller. But I don’t much like threats.”
“Oh, it’s not a threat.”
Hanger stopped speaking. He wanted to see if this dude would fill the silence. He waited for him to start looking at the phone, to see if Hanger had hung up.
He didn’t. The dude in the car stared straight ahead, scanning everything around him. If Hanger hadn’t been behind tinted glass that meant no one could possibly see into his vehicle, he may have started to worry.
A few more seconds ticked by. It was weird. It was like this dude knew Hanger was here. Like he knew he was being watched. It was, Hanger wasn’t going to lie, more than a little unnerving.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “But here’s the thing, I don’t like dealing with anyone when I don’t know their name. You feel me?”
The dude holding Andre’s phone smiled at that. It wasn’t a nice smile either. Wasn’t a regular Joe smile.
“You don’t need my name,” he said to Hanger.
“Okay,” said Hanger. “That’s cool. But I don’t know no Kristin Miller or anyone called Kristin, so I can’t really help you.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Guess it is.”
“You don’t want to know why it’s too bad?”
Hanger choked back a laugh. He was starting to enjoy this little back and forth. It tickled his funny bone.
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“It’s too bad because we both know that you are a lying sack of shit. And it’s too bad because if by some miracle you happen to be telling the truth, then I’m going to kill you, regardless. Choice is yours.”
He hung up. Hanger stopped laughing. Now he was pissed. Super pissed. No one hung up on him. Not ever. It was beyond disrespectful.
Part of him wanted to pop his door open right there and then. March over to this dude and introduce him to the rings on his hands. See if he could back up the threats he’d made.
But something held him back. There was something about this dude that was off. Like he was psych ward crazy. Something like that.
He pulled up Soothe’s number and hit call. She answered immediately.
“What’s up, Daddy?” she said in that little girl voice she used with him.
“You with the new girl?” he said.
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“Get her off the track. Take her back to your crib.”
“You sure? It’s really busy.”
“Am I sure?” he said, anger rising up in him.
“You got it,” Soothe hurriedly corrected. “We’re leaving now.”