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Geoffrey Cordell, Detective


Geoffrey Cordell admired himself in the cracked, dusty mirror leaning above the dresser. He adjusted his purple fur hat then strutted in the mirror for several seconds, making this face and that face. He smiled, a single sparkling gleam bouncing off the gold tooth in his mouth. "Naw DAT be a man, yo," thought the pimp approvingly. Geoffrey always liked to look his best when he went out for one of his evening strolls.

The scantily clad Nia, Geoffrey's current favorite whore, sidled up to the tall skinny thug and wrapped her slim bejeweled arm around his own arm, ready to play the role of royal consort. The fat black whore, Shawvelle, walked behind with a pained expression and wearing colored sunglasses that did little to hide the puffy blackened eye that she sported. Shawvelle had disrespected Geoffrey earlier with a sharp comment, and the thug subsequently lost his temper, as was his habit. "Bitch you lucky you ain't gettin' choked!" he told her. Since yesterday's incident, Shawvelle was newly quiet and respectful, a behavioral change that Geoffrey welcomed. "Stupid fat ho gotsta be taught a lesson," he mused.

Geoffrey's other favorite ho, the small asian girl named Chung Wa, had disappeared over a week ago, much to the pimp's chagrin. Chung Wa was a good earner, and now Geoffrey was dealing with cash flow shortfalls. This fact did little to improve his generally sour disposition, and one of the reasons for tonight's public pimpstroll was to ferret out information about his missing ho. The pimp cared little for the girl's welfare of course; he was mostly concerned about his loss of income. "Geoffrey gwine see what's what on da street," he sang as he led his little parade out of the run down Hotel Excellente in which he lived.

Almost immediately, he was accosted by a local preteen gang banger-wannabe. The boy, named AJ, was breathless as he tugged on the pimp's purple leopard skin coat sleeve. "Dag  young'un, whatchoo be touchin'?" he said, annoyed.

The boy bent his head down and huffed and puffed for a moment, then spoke excitedly. "Mista Cawdell, Mista Cawdell, dey found Chung Wa in da alley next ta da chinese restaurant!"

Geoffrey's eyes narrowed and grabbed the boy roughly by his raggedy Michael Jordan t-shirt. "Say WHAT boy?" he demanded.

The boy's excitement was undiminished by the pimp's rough handling. "Dey found dat Chung Wa, all messed up an' sheeit in a dumpsta next to the Peking Wok Pavillion!" AJ shook his head slowly in mock grief. "Aww messed up and sheeit, Mista Cawdell."

"Aww messed up and sheeit?"

The boy nodded vigorously.

"Da PO-lice on da scene?"

"Not yet, ah come here right off soon as ah heard."

Geoffrey put his bony hand on his chin and thought hard. The boy had done well; he bore watching. But the chinese restaurant - he was afraid of something like this. He'd practically stolen the girl from her uncle, the proprietor of the Peking Wok Pavillion, a chinese eatery that was popular in the neighborhood. Chong, the restaurateur, had sworn revenge against both Geoffrey and the girl for disrespecting his ancestors. At the time, the pimp had laughed in the tiny Chinaman's angry face. "Do yo woist, you little chink muthafucka," the pimp had told him. Chong's face had been a mass of fury; Geoffrey wouldn't forget that face for a long time. Chong was one of the few local businessmen who routinely stood up to the pimp and Geoffrey had developed a grudging respect for the man. "Dag, dat chink got some balls on his ass, yo," he would say to his fellow thugs over Dunkin Donuts coffee. They would nod and agree; everyone had faced off with Chong. They liked the cheap food in his joint though, so they let him live.

Geoffrey stared down at the boy AJ. He fished into his pocket, pulled out a handful of rolled bills and peeled off a twenty. "Good job young'un, dis be f'yo ass. Naw don't spend it in one place," he said, guffawing after the boy, who was already off and running with his newfound wealth. "Gotsta watch dat young'un," he muttered.

He grimaced at the girls. "Hit da streets bitches, Geoffrey need some scratch."

"Okay daddy," they replied in unison, and disappeared down the street in search of business.

"Nawwe den, Geoffrey Cawdell gwine play five-oh an' sheeit," said the pimp, straightening his hat and and beginning his exaggerated long-limbed shuffle down the dark street.
"We gone see what be up wit ol' Chong da chink."


Geoffrey puffed on a Kool as he watched the small chinese restaurant close up for the night. The lights went off and the restaurant's sign turned off, and Geoffrey stubbed out his cigarette. "Tahm fo Dete'tive Cawdell to see what's what," he said quietly, and walked toward the dark alley on the side of the building.

He looked from side to side to make sure that he was alone; Chong and his wife had closed up the place but had not yet exited the building. Carefully, the pimp crept into the alley, his eyes having trouble adjusting to the shadowy darkness. "Dag, it be darker than a pussy in here!" He put his hand out and felt the edge of the dumpster that sat at the end of the alley. "Here we be," he thought, and took another glance around. "Damn, ain't nobody here," he mumbled, annoyed at not being able to see clearly in the dark. He reached into a coat pocket and withdrew a lighter, which he lit. The little flame illuminated a small space in front of him, allowing him to navigate toward the front of the dumpster.

The dumpster was the kind that had two lids, one on each side. Both lids were closed, although one didn't close all the way. Geoffrey held the lighter close to the narrow opening and peered inside. He could make nothing out of the mass of garbage inside. He reached for the lid intending to open it, but stopped himself. "Fool!" he whispered angrily, "don't wanna leave no fingerprint n'sheeit." He let the lighter go out, reached inside his coat and took out a pair of leather gloves, finely burnished and colored purple to match his outfit. After putting on the gloves, he slowly lifted the right lid from the dumpster, being careful not to make any excessive noise. In spite of his efforts however, the thing still squeaked ominously. "Shut da fuck up!" he growled.  Setting the lid down in the open position, a satisfied Geoffrey re-ignited the lighter. This last task was made more difficult by the presence of the gloves, and the pimp was again annoyed. "Mothafucka!" he whispered bitterly, but after several attempts, the thing lit up. He peered cautiously into the dumpster.

"SHEEIT!" he groaned.

Inside the heaps of garbage lay Chung Wa, her small body frozen in the fetal position, a surprised expression on her formerly fair face, now striped with streaks of dried blood. Her dead eyes stared blankly out. Geoffrey grimaced as he moved the lighter to his left. The girl's chest and belly were covered with stab marks. "Dag, somebody done messed up mah bitch good." He felt himself start to get choked up; the sexy asian girl brought in a lot of money. Then he felt his anger stir. He let the lighter go out and took a step back.

"Somebody's gwine pay fo dis, dat be sho," he muttered. "Dat be fo DAMN sho."

Light footsteps interrupted Geoffrey's revenge fantasies. He stepped back and crouched down low behind the dumpster.

"WHO THERE?" came the sharp voice of Chong. The little restaurateur stood at the entrance to the alley, hands on hips.

A second voice answered from next to the Chinaman. This voice was higher pitched and spoke in Chinese. It was Mrs. Chong. The chattering conversation echoed in the alley. To Geoffrey, it sounded like two birds chirping to one another. He screwed his face up and mouthed the words "What da fuck?"

The conversation died and rapid footsteps announced the departure of Chong and his wife. Geoffrey was instantly suspicious of the Chinese couple. Why were they in the alley? Geoffrey decided that Chong was involved somehow, then waited for several minutes pondering this scenario.

The sound of distant police sirens approached. Geoffrey listened. The sirens were getting closer. "Tahm for dis fahv-oh t' git," he mutterered under his breath, and carefully stepped through the dark alley. Peering from side to side and seeing nobody, he quickly fled the gruesome scene.

On his way back to the Hotel Excellente, the pimp replayed the image of the dead asian whore in his mind and felt his anger rise once again. "Somebody gone pay for dis, dat be fo' DAMN sho," he could be heard grumbling in a low, dangerous voice.


The next day, Geoffrey was resolved to confront Chong about his dead whore in his dumpster. The alley was now an official crime scene, so it wasn't a good idea to tempt fate and go over during the day. Nia and Shawvelle hung on their beloved pimp's every word as he weighed his options aloud that morning.

"Now dat chink, he be a crafty devil," said Geoffrey to himself. "He know ah be comin' fo his slanty ass. Geoffrey gotsta be craftier."

Nia moved quickly between Shawvelle and the pimp and began rubbing his shoulders. Shawvelle frowned and thought bitterly, "Ahm gonna break dat spick's scrawny neck!"

Geoffrey felt his shoulders relax somewhat. "Dag woman, dat feel GOOOOOD."

"Dat right daddy, Nia take care o' her man," cooed the latina whore.

Geoffrey continued his train of thought. "Ah know just what t'do. I go in, end o'the day, set down in mah favorite boof, order a late dinna. Chong naw, he be pissed n'sheeit cuz I'll be keepin' him all late n'sheeit."

Geoffrey paused to light a cigarette, then continued his ruminations. "Den, when da joint all cleared out n'sheeit, Geoffrey go to work. Den we see what's what, you chink mothafucka. See what goes DOWN when you mess up Geoffrey Cawdell's sheeit, see what goes DOWN!" The pimp felt his anger rise at each new thought.

"Daddy, you so smart," said Nia, renewing her massage efforts on his shoulders.

Geoffrey jerked his shoulders away and the whore's hands flew off. "Damn bitch, ah know ahm smart! Don't need no ho to tell me nuffin!" Nia backed off a step, eager to avoid Geoffrey's anger. He raised a hand over his head and snarled at the girl. Shawvelle grinned smugly in the background.

"Please daddy, I deedn't mean notheen by eeet!" pleaded Nia, tears of anticipation filling her eyes.

Geoffrey grunted and reluctantly lowered his hand. "Stupit ho's, git dem asses on da street. Earn yo keep!" He pointed a long finger at the door to emphasize his instructions. He had more important things to think about right now. He reminded himself to discipline the girl later.

"Yes daddy," replied the two prostitutes in unison, and hurried out the door.

"Fuckin dumb bitches, ah swear," murmured Geoffrey, who popped open a Colt 45 and began channel hopping. After several seconds and much cursing at not finding anything to watch, the pimp finally found a show to watch. Grinning, he settled back into his La-Z-Boy and sipped the cold canned beverage.

"Dag, dem Law n'Orda fahv-ohs be crafty mothafuckas," he said with grudging admiration.


The cops had long since left the Peking Wok Pavillion, and Chong was extremely relieved. Most of his clientele were local criminals, and normally the little Chinaman would disapprove of them all, but they all paid cash and tipped generously. The police were bad for his business, and all day, their heavy-handed presence kept his little restaurant empty. Now it was late, and some of his regulars were coming back. He told the kitchen staff that they had to stay late to take care of the last diner, the local pimp named Geoffrey Cordell. The staff groaned, but they feared both Chong and his perpetually angry little wife, so they sullenly obeyed. Chong hated the pimp; he'd stolen away his beloved niece many months ago, enticing the innocent girl with all kinds of tall tales. The girl had always been a problem. Chong shook his head sadly at the memory of the girl, and at the memory of her abused body in the dumpster. Well, business was business however, and Chong grudgingly served Geoffrey whenever he came in.

Geoffrey had ordered his favorite, General Tso's Chicken, and a Chinese beer. He didn't like the taste of the Chinese beer; in fact, he hated it. But he enjoyed telling his fellow thugs how worldly he was. "Dat right, I drink chink beer n'sheeit, dawgs," he would brag, and the other local criminals would nod their heads approvingly.

"Yo Chong," yelled Geoffrey, "ah needs anotha one o'dese Ting Toa whateva muthafuckas ova here!"

Chong forced a tight smile and bowed slightly. "Notha dlink, coming light up." He scurried into the kitchen, muttering chinese obscenities under his breath.

"Heh heh, dat stupid chink don't know what's comin," thought the pimp, shoveling several pieces of chicken into his drooling mouth. "Dete'tive Cawdell be awn da case, yo."


AJ Franklin had grown up on the streets and had learned at a very young age how to survive. He had no real father, and his mother was a crack addict, so AJ spent most of his time watching and learning. He had grown quite skilled at staying in the shadows, listening and observing. He did frequent favors for the various criminals in the neighborhood, all of whom delighted at the precociousness of the lad.

Now he was wandering back home at the end of another long day when suddenly he heard voices. Women's voices. By habit, the boy flattened himself against the wall, in the shadows and around the corner from the voices. He listened intently and kept his breathing as quiet as possible.

Two of Geoffrey Cordell's whores were walking lazily down the street. Shawvelle the fat black whore and Nia, the latina, had just finished their rounds and were heading back to the Hotel Excellente to report back to their pimp. Although the two whores were constantly competing for Geoffrey's affection, they had one important thing in common.

"Damn girl, I thought dat boy's dick would pop raht off!" laughed Shawvelle, adjusting her bodice to hide at least some of her ample bosom.

"I don't theenk Geoffrey would like dat, but eet would have been funny," replied Nia, her high heels click-clacking on the sidewalk. "Not funny like dat bitch's face when we deed her, eh girlfriend?"

Shawvelle giggled then shushed her fellow whore. "Not so loud, you want someone to heah dat talk?"

Nia waved the black girl's concerns away without a care. "Aww, Geoffrey neva find out what we deed. Dat asian CUNT!" she spat. "She had eet comeen."

"Yeah, we done dat bitch good. Felt GOOD, mmm-MMM!"

"You messed dat cunt up real good, Shawvelle. Bet she had dem whatchoo calleet, internal damage, hah hah."

"Oh ah wanted to hoit dat little bitch BAD! BAM!" Shawvelle punched the air.

They both burst out laughing. Nia then stopped suddenly and pretended to stab the air repeatedly. "Oooh, prease don' hurt me," she squealed, barely holding back the laughter. "Dat stoopit chink beetch, she neva make Geoffrey happy."

"Not like us, mm-HMMM. Dag but dat little pussy done some CRYIN n'sheeit!"

They both started to imitate their victim, pretending to stab and be stabbed, and pretending to cry. Then they both broke up into laughing, holding on to each other. Soon their laughter faded and AJ peered around the corner to make sure they were gone.

What kind of reward would Mista Cawdell give him for THIS information? He smiled at the thought, then took off in the opposite direction of the two whores.


Chong returned with a fresh bottle of chinese beer. "You want something else?" asked the diminutive Chinaman.

Geoffrey guzzled down half the bottle, letting the excess beer drip down his chin onto the table. He slammed the bottled down on the table and belched loudly. "Ahh, dat betta," he said.

Chong was waiting. Geoffrey peered around the restaurant; they were alone in the dining area. Now was the time. The pimp suddenly stood up and towered over Chong. "Whatchoo know bout dat dead ho in yo dumpster?" he snapped, grabbing the little man's shirt.

Chong's eyes narrowed and he grabbed Geoffrey's wrist. "Ret go of shirt," he warned in a low voice.

Geoffrey laughed. "Naw watchoo gone do, little chinkyman? You ain't gone do NUFFIN!"

Chong growled, then suddenly let out a piercing karate cry, and aimed a sharp kick at the pimp's midsection. "OOF!" grunted the surprised thug, who released Chong from his grip.

Quickly, Geoffrey regained his senses. He was overflowing with rage. "Mothafucka gone pay fo' dat, AN' fo killin' mah ho!" he spat, and aimed a hard backhand at the Chinaman's face. Chong tried to duck, but the blow caught the side of his head and knocked him off balance.

"Yeah dat raht, naw you pay, bitch." Geoffrey slammed his bony fist into Chong's exposed face, once, twice, again and again. Chong's round face blew up like a balloon at the assault, and his attempts at defense were not enough against the powerful black pimp. The gold tooth in Geoffrey's mouth glinted off the overhead lights and his grin widened.

"All ova for yo dumb chink ass," he was grunting as he let his fists pummel the poor Chong onto the ground. The little man tried to protect himself but Geoffrey was simply too strong for him. Soon, Chong was laying on the ground and Geoffrey sat atop him, pounding each fist into his bloody, puffy face. Chong lay there barely grunting at the assault; Geoffrey felt the man's life ebbing away. "All ova naw, bitch!" he cried triumphantly, and held his fist up high, intending to deliver the death blow.

Suddenly a loud shriek pierced the air and Geoffrey felt sharp claws digging into this scalp.

Mrs. Chong had attacked him from behind! "Mothafucka!" said the pimp, and he stood up, the crazed little woman still stuck to his head and shoulders. "Get da fuck off me bitch!" he complained, and grabbed the woman with both hands, then violently threw her off him. She flew through the air, still screaming, and landed with a sickening THUNK against the front counter. She fell silent.

Panting, Geoffrey grimaced and approached the woman, who was already starting to stir. He withdrew a pistol from a hidden pocket in this coat, and POP POP POP fired off three shots into Mrs. Chong's head. The first shot made her head jump and killed her instantly.

He turned around and emptied the chamber into the still form of Chong. Behind him, the two kitchen workers peered out at the commotion and scurried out the back door, unseen.

"DAT what happen when you mess wif Geoffrey's ho's, yo. Dat what happens." Geoffrey shoved the gun back in his pocket, looked around and approached the cash register. He banged on the keyboard until it opened, grabbed the money in it and fled the restaurant through the kitchen and out the back door.


"Where we goin' daddy?" asked Shawvelle in her sweetest voice.

"Yeah daddy, we goeen fo' a ride?" giggled Nia.

The two whores were both in a good mood. They had done well tonight, and glowed when Geoffrey smiled broadly at the cash they'd brought in. "Good job, bitches," complimented the pimp. Then he said he wanted to celebrate by taking the girls out "on the town."

So now here they sat in the back seat of Geoffrey Cordell's black Cadillac Seville as their pimp drove them out of the center of the city. "Naw just set back and relax, Geoffrey Cawdell be takin you bofe someplace FAHHN." The pimp shot them both a wide smile, and navigated the dark narrow entrance to the highway that led out of town.

Nia peered out the window, but it was too dark to see anything. "Dey a new club o' sumpeen out here daddy?" she asked.

Geoffrey grinned into the rear view mirror. "Don't you worry yo pretty haid 'bout dat, baby. Geoffrey gone take care o' his own. Dat be sho."
"Dat be fo' damned sho," he thought.

After several minutes, the car pulled off the highway and turned left of the curved exit ramp. There was nothing here but a big swamp, and very few street lamps. Geoffrey pulled the car off the side of the road and turned off the lights and engine, then turned around to face the bewildered whores.

"Naw, Daddy got some bidniss to take care of heah. Why don't you bitches get out da car and stand awn da side o' da road."

The girls looked at each other, confused. But they shrugged and obeyed, and were then standing next to the swamp.

Geoffrey smiled into the rear view mirror and used his fingernail to remove a piece of food from between two of his teeth. Then he reached under the seat and withdrew a black billy club that he kept there, just in case.

He got out of the car and faced the girls, the club hidden behind his back. The girls looked at each other. "Whats goin' awn, daddy?" asked Shawvelle.

"Daddy, I'm fuckeen freezeen," complained Nia, clutching her arms around herself.

"Naw den. A little boid told mah ass somethin I didn't want to hear. Seems two o' mah bitches done got nasty wif anotha one of mah bitches." He shook his head slowly, and walked around the girls to stand behind them.

Shawvelle panicked. "Daddy, it was aww Nia's idea, she hated Chung Wa. She-"

Nia started to explode, but Geoffrey cut her off. "SHUT DA FUCK UP!" he shouted in his most furious voice. The girls quieted. Shawvelle started to cry.

Geoffrey patted Nia's shoulder affectionately. "Bitch shouldn'ta  done no thinkin. Bitch shoulda knowed her place n'sheeit," he murmured.

"Please poppi," begged Nia.

Then he swung the billy club as hard as he could against the side of the latina's head, the blow causing a sickening crunch as it caved in part of her skull. Her eyes wide open, she fell to the ground, gasping for words and air.

Shawvelle backed away from the angry pimp and begged for her life. "Please daddy, pleeeeease. Ah do whateva you say f'om naw awn. Ah be good, ah promise! Have some mercy fo' po' fat Shawvelle!"

Geoffrey smiled a wicked smile and ordered her on her knees. She complied, clumsily and through sobbing pleas for mercy.

"Geoffrey Cawdell ain't got no mercy, bitch." And he swung the club at the fat whore's head twice in rapid succession, sending the fat girl sprawling.

The pimp sneered at the two dying whores, then took out his gun and fired several shots into both of their heads to ensure their demise. "Stoopid bitches, dey neva learn nuffin," he spat.

He wiped the bloody club clean on shawvelle's dress, then got back into his car. He noticed the time on the car's clock as he started it up. "Dag, gotsta get home. Law n' O'der be awn n'sheeit," he said, and pulled the car around to get back on the highway.


© 2009 Michael S. Cohen

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