HOW TO MURDER YOUR CHILDREN FOR FUN + PROFIT
By Basil Papademos
A few nights ago I was driving for an escort agency. It works like this; You’re assigned two women, you go pick them up in the early evening and then wait for calls to come in. You try to balance the logistics of dropping one off at one call, picking up the other, etc.
A lot of the time we spend sitting around in the car drinking beer, waiting for calls while parked in the godforsaken outlying wasteland of the Toronto sprawl. It wasn’t a particularly busy night - but one of the women, Suzie Q -- the house apes that run the agency come up with these ridiculous names -- she got a 2 hour call at a mid-level hotel across from the Woodbine off-track betting and slots complex out near the Beach. Me and the other woman, Opium, we sat in the car down the street and saw Suzie and her john come out front of the hotel a couple times to have a smoke. When Suzie came over to grab the drugs we’d gone to get her while she’d been in the hotel, she said with exhausted relief: “Gawd, he’s actually a normal guy. He bought me a couple a drinks in the bar and wants to talk and have some fun before we go up to his room. Fuck, I wish more of them were like that.”
The guy had some class. He looked like a retired truck driver who’d won some coin at the off-track across the road and wanted to blow it on a bubbly, leggy blonde. He seemed old school, remembering his manners, unlike a lot of these shitheads who think cuz they’re paying for it, they can act like total assholes, suspicious and grasping, demanding their money’s worth.
Later on the same night, Opium -- who’s petite and child-like but kind of ornery -- she had a call at an upscale townhouse near Yonge and Eglinton. The dispatcher had given me a number and told me to phone the mark when we arrived. The guy didn’t want anybody knocking on the door or yelling shit at his house. Okay...