The Man From Mars - Episode Six

   I did a piece once on the operations of the different types of brothels on Roosevelt Avenue. What I didn't do, was to use people names or descriptions. The type of buildings they used or their addresses. And maybe, what atoned or endeared me to Hong Xia was the fact that my article was in favor of bordellos. Stating they were not the crime infested dens of iniquity or houses of ill repute as crime enforcement would have you believe. They have a place in our community, if they are regulated and monitored properly. They are not part of the seedy underside of society as the politicians have campaign against all our lives. Just ask anyone from Nevada.
   I enter a building four doors down from Hong Xia's brothel. It's a Chinese Restaurant.
   She is no longer at the front door of the bordello greeting customers as they come in. Some one else does that now.
   Hong Xia has moved all of the business aspect here, to the back of the eatery. All her books, guest lists, money, and girls, when they are off of work, are here in what she calls her safe house. A place where the clients can't find the girls, so they can have time for themselves, and get a free meal on the house.

 

   I walk into the place, find an open table near the kitchen area, and wait for a waitress to come and take my order.

   "Hi," came a hi pitch voice greeting me at my table. "My name, Liling. I take your order when you are ready, please."

   "Hello Liling," I said her name as friendly as I could. "I will just have a cup of coffee please, and could you tell Miss Hong Xia that George Johnson is here to talk to her?"

   "Hong Xia?" The high pitched waitress asked. "We have no Hong Xia working here. You have wrong place maybe?"

   I should have known precautions would have been taken ahead of time.

   "I assure you," I said. "I am not an undercover cop or from any street gang trying to muscle my way in on her territory. I am George Johnson, a journalist. I wrote a story about how it shouldn't be a crime to have or run bordellos in Queens."

   "That is very kind of you Mister Johnson, but still no Hong Xia here." Liling said adamantly. "You still have wrong place."

   "OK then," I answered her. "Give me some wonton soup, an egg roll, some coffee, and I'll wait until she does come in."

   My waitress smiled at me while saying, "You have long wait. Hong Xia not work here. I bring you your order as soon as it is ready. Thank you very much."

   And off she went to the kitchen, giving my order to the chef I presume.

   Hopefully to Hong Xia too.

   After six cups of coffee, three bathroom breaks, and three-and-a-half hours of waiting, I here a familiar voice come up from behind me.

   "Mister Johnson. How wonderful to see you. But not in your usual, beautifully cut, Armani suit I see.

   It was Hong Xia. As observant as ever.

   She continued.

   "By your look, you have not come calling as an old friend or a potential client. You are in trouble."

   "Hi Hong Xia, it's good to see you too." I told her. "You are very wise and as beautiful as ever."

   "Cut the crap George. I was born in this country and I don't need the Chinese pleasantries to get to the point."

   She looked at me sternly. "What the hell are you doing here, what kind of trouble are you in, and why should I put myself and my business in jeopardy because you are here to ask me for help?"

   "That is why I like you Cathy," Hong Xia real first name. "You are always one step ahead of everyone else."

   "You can't help but butter me up, can you?" She questioned. "And call me Hong Xia around here please. I need to keep up appearances."

   "Well, OK. I need your help, this is true." I tried to sound like a little lost soul so she would feel sorry for me and take me in. "I need a place to hide low for a few days until I get my bearings."

   "Who is after you?" Was her quick question.

   "I'm not really sure."

   "Cut the crap George."

   "I'm not sure really, but I did get a call from a Secret Service Agent this morning."

   Hong Xia twists around in place, stomping her right foot once, and says some inaudible vulgarities under her breath.

   She turns back around, looks at me, and asks, "Tell me why I shouldn't call the cops on you right now?"

   All I could think of saying was, "Five-hundred-bucks?"

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday.

This is,

Thinking My Main Character Is Insane After Pawning His Rolex Watch

And Throwing Away An Armani Suit,

Even I Am Not That Crazy!

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Desperate people are dangerous people.”
- Bob Ritter, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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