Donald Trump and Peter the Pimp's wife in laws CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There's three kinds of people in the world - pimps, hoes and tricks. - Peter The Pimp
I used to like cruising the track* over on 10th 11th Avenue in the 40s.
One night, that's what I was doing and I picked up these two pimps- really one pimp and his executive assistant who I think maybe was interning. Just to keep things simple I'm going to call them Peter The Pimp and Paul The Executive Assistant.
They wanted to go up to this place near Woodlawn Cemetery just past the last stop on the number 5 train. It was the Christmas season and WKCR was having on their two weeks of 24/7 Johann Sebastian Bach, whose music I happen to like a lot.
Actually I expected them to give me shit about this but that is not what happened. I think they actually liked it and they started talkin' to me like I was, I don't know, a person on their level, or something.
So they started talking to me about their business which I found very interesting anyway because I have always been kind of interested in that industry.
Well we were making small talk you know and I let them smoke in the back- that it was okay with me.
That's right, two pimps asked me for permission to smoke. I thought that was very nice of them and I told them thank you for asking. Then I lit up too. Hadn't smoked a ciggy in a couple of weeks, so the ones in the open pack were a little stale but what the heck.
So what I learned was one guy was the real pimp and the other guy carried a gun and held the money. That's Paul, I call him The Executive Assistant.
Well so we got there one or two blocks past the last stop on the train and I knew that we were still in the Bronx and not in Mount Vernon because the street signs were New York kind of street signs not like the Westchester ones.
So The Executive Assistant hops out of the taxi and Peter stays back there smoking a cigarette and listening to Bach. Paul was not gone for long, he was back in about 3 minutes and they said they wanted to go back to the track at West 46th Street between 10th and 11th so that's where we went. The fare came to $55 and some change. I was expecting them to give me $56 and wait for me to make change for the last dollar but Paul gave me three twenties and three singles, and Peter says to me "Good lookin' out. Be seeing you around." and then I went on my merry way looking for money.
A couple of weeks later I'm going up Park Avenue which was actually Park Avenue South around 25th Street 26th Street and I spot Peter. He was standing there on the traffic island where they have bushes and trees. It's like a park, which I guess is why they call it Park Avenue, although Park Avenue extends up into the Bronx and it isn't anything like a park up there. He looks pretty pissed off and he's waving his arms around and I almost didn't stop for him because I thought maybe he was too pissed off but I figured what the fuck, he gave me a good tip last time and he didn't give me any shit about Johann Sebastian Bach. So I stopped for him. It was a slow night anyhow.
So he gets in the car then he says "hey my man Bach." and he wants to go to the Monaghan Diner, which in the good old days was a taxi driver hang out but these days no because it's too expensive and we don't have time to fuck around sitting at a table anyway. At least I don't. Now it's hipsters, hoes and pimps.
So as we're getting close to the diner he says to me "Donald," he read my name off the license, "I want you to come in here with me." And the clincher was "I'll buy you breakfast here, keep the meter running and meet my ladies."
So in there is The Executive Assistant and four nice looking young ladies, two of them is orange, one of them is brown, almost white, and looks like Betty Boop. The other one is dark skinned. So me and Paul pulled two tables together cuz there is so many of us.
Man, I am scoping these girls out and they don't look like that hard look on their face that some of these girls on the street have.
So Peter he's standing in the back of me. I'm sitting down. Peter says "this here is my driver Henry. I want you to wait for him and I want him to come by at about 3:30 in the morning and bring you back to the motel in Jersey City." Then he looks at me and he says "is that good with you Henry?" yeah, so I explained to him that I work six nights and I don't work on Sunday night but I will be very happy to meet them every morning about 3:30 except Sunday and that I think $25 plus the toll is fair. Peter says it's good for him And he sez "is that okay with you ladies? You only ride with Henry when you come home."
Soon I decided to go 24/7 which I mentioned elsewhere.
Driving a taxi can be a very lonely thing and having regular passengers for me was a bonus. Plus I learned a lot.
I learned that the hookers that work for the same pimp call each other wife in-law, and that they will rat each other out to gain favor with him. This is what happened to Holly for leaving the track to get Bazooka. They also will talk to renegades and hoes that are working for different pimps to try to get them to work for their pimp. Actually drum up their own competition for the post of "Bottom Bitch."
Holly used to sit next to me on most of our trips to the Mondown Motel out on 1-9 in Jersey City. She's a white girl and she told me she's half Jewish on her father's side but is a Baptist. I always could see sadness behind her green eyes. But she would smile and laugh and even tell jokes. My other favorite is Betty. One thing I liked about her is that she went away. She stayed away I don't know exactly, maybe two, three months. Another thing I liked about Betty is that when she came back she went renegade. Also in my opinion she was the prettiest of the four. I got to know her very well, maybe too well.
When Betty came back she didn't hook up with Peter or any of the other pimps. She had a real spirit, a fighter. I like that in a woman. A real tigress, I'd bet. Why should she give her money to a coupla street pimps?
Anyway when it was all four of them riding with me they used to talk about their weirdest tricks sometimes. I mean can you imagine an earlobe fetish? Or someone trying to slip his wong between your toes?
We used to stop at the Queen Diner out there on 1-9 and they would treat me to breakfast and man would I eat a breakfast! They used to laugh and say they wish that they could eat like that and not get fat like I can.
One time Holly gave me all her money that she made that night by accident and I gave it back to her minus the thirty for the fare and toll. This blew all of their minds. I don't know why because if I had robbed her that would be the end of my thing with them and for all I know Paul would be looking for me, but anyhow they were very impressed. They also would tease me because I never tried to fuck any of them. I never even touched them. (A pig don't shit where he eats.) You never know where something like that would end up.
I started cruising the track at 10 11 12 o'clock and Holly would ride with me, score some bazooka on 47th and Ninth. Holly told me that a couple of times they went up to Canada and worked up there. I asked her where, what city? I once spent a weekend in Montreal. Oooh la la. Holly said she did not know what goddamned' city it was. She also told me they once went out to Hawaii and she said that she only saw the beach from the airplane window.
One morning I came by looking for my steady ride and the only one I ever really knew was Betty the other ones were gone and Betty said they all went up to Canada, who the fuck knows where in Canada.
*Slang for streets where open prostitution was tacitly and provisionally permitted by the New York Police.Homan Square revealed: how Chicago police 'disappeared' 7,000 people
This article is more than 9 years old
Exclusive: Guardian lawsuit exposes fullest scale yet of detentions at off-the-books interrogation warehouse, while attorneys describe find-your-client chase across Chicago as ‘something from a Bond movie’...
Police “disappeared” more than 7,000 people at an off-the-books interrogation warehouse in Chicago, nearly twice as many detentions as previously disclosed, the Guardian can now reveal.
From August 2004 to June 2015, nearly 6,000 of those held at the facility were black, which represents more than twice the proportion of the city’s population. But only 68 of those held were allowed access to attorneys or a public notice of their whereabouts, internal police records show.
Someone was staring at Burge. Someone who he had put into Homan Square. Someone who still held a grudge after all these years.