The Psychotic Hotline
“Hi. The security guard is asking me for a tip,” I blurted out to the Dragon Lady over the phone, “Says he has a deal with. . .”
“WHO IS THIS?” Dragon Lady screamed. Voice harsh, hateful.
“Oh, James at Holiday . . .”
“NEVER CALL ME HERE. This the customer line. WHO TOLD YOU CALL ME HERE? You call 8899, not this number. YOU UNDERSTAND OR NO ?”
“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t . . .”
“THAT BITCH DIDN’T PAY THAT BLACK BASTARD? GIVE HIM $20,” she screamed.
A pause, then suddenly her voice went soft and friendly, “You collect it from Chloie. Also, you get $4 in quarters from the girls for the payphones. They pay. Tell her I said so. These bitches make a lot of money. They don’t have to be cheap. Don’t let them cheat you, James.”
A pause, her voice went hard again, “You want to work for me, you have to get pager. You can’t work for me unless you get pager tomorrow.”
A pause, her voice went soft again, “Try SmartBeep. Do you have a pen?"
“Yes.”
“Wilshire and Barrington on the right as you’re going west. $2 a month. Good deal. Tomorrow. Tell Chloie to let you use her pager tonight. I page you 8899, that means call me right away. Got it? ‘click’.”
“Okay,” I said into the dead phone line. Looking up from the phone, I saw the night clerk and the security guard grinning at me. Fishing a tattered twenty from my wallet, I paid the guard.
“Ju can stay here in the lobby,” the guard grinned, “Take a chair. Relax, vato. This one will be out soon, I think.”
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