Machine Gun Ricky Wayward here...
Time for an update. Remember the other day? Tony (Mr. Big of the Skidrow organization, the Skids) called me to the hotel and put me in charge of the organization's prostitution interests. Let me rephrase that: "Modeling agencies," "massage parlors," and "escort services." Need to be accurate.
I spent yesterday getting settled in. And guess what? I'm back in a nice bed every night, not spending it outside or with other snoring, farting guys in the various cellars of Skidrow. Because my office/personal space is provided by the organization, a suite at the same hotel. We have permanent occupancy of an entire floor. It's me and the rooms for the girls, with Tony on another floor. I wouldn't doubt it if the organization owned the whole place!
Being in charge doesn't mean I'm personally doing all the work. There's lots of other guys who take care of the grunt work. I haven't seen my job description in full, but I'm over them, to hire and fire, kill or rough up, and supervise as I see fit. I've got three body guards/assistants living together in the room across the hall, to back me up if we need to put the old squeeze on someone.
I'm coming into this job with high hopes. I want to be the best damned guy they've ever had, to bring in a ton more money than anyone ever has. I guess it's strange: Even though I'm now a criminal, prone to plenty of random mischief, I still have my normal sense of responsibility and striving. Honor among thieves. So all the money the organization is entitled to is going to make it to the powers that be. I won't be skimming off anything beyond whatever cut they give me. And if I catch any of these other cretins doing so, they're dead!
The place is already very busy, but I'm hoping to make it busier. I want to reach out to civic organizations, lodges, churches, the teachers association, and various conventions, to let them know how welcome they are, and how top notch the place is going to be run. That's one way to up the income. And when I get going, everything's going to be as clean as can be, and a man coming in will know he's going to get his money's worth, with discretion to boot. At this point, there's no plans for blackmailing any of our clientele. And from the sound of things, some of them are very bad boys indeed!
I have to keep reminding myself that rocks are no respecter of persons. Because there's some definite vanilla-looking guys coming in. Boring-looking twerps who'd probably blush to hold a girl's hand. But they're in here, walking respectfully down the hall, presumably shucking their pants and turning into amorous casanovas once the door's closed. Or maybe they're into something kinkier, some kind of humiliating role play. That'd be my guess. Just like mass murderers, it's always the quiet guy edging his yard. Which we don't usually think of as a psychological problem. It is, however, their meticulous attention to detail that shows they're storing up the worst wrath, then once they erupt, there's no one in their path they miss.
Then at the other extreme, of course, we have the party animals, coming in from drinking. Their yards probably look like crap. The edges growing wild. And they themselves are so wild they don't care who sees them. It might be for the best that so many people do see them. Because these idiots could get easily rolled and disappear. So it never hurts to have witnesses who remember your whereabouts.
As for me, right here is my whereabouts! And here I'll stay. I've got people saying, "Mr. Wayward, this! Mr. Wayward, that!" It's great!