Author's Note: This story contains sex, profanity and violence, not just for the sake of it, but because it is intrinsic to the plot. Please enjoy but be prepared for it...

“Move to the left a little,” the kid with the camera waved his hand accordingly.

His friend seemed to be cracking up. Something was hilarious anyway.

“Yeah that’s it, I want you framed in the doorway,” Poppy put out her hand to lean on the jamb of the battered door, her heels were killing her.

“Hurry up kid, you’re scaring away the trade,” Poppy lifted her foot and picked a cigarette butt off the bottom of her high heel.

The kid had paid her ten dollars just so he could take her picture. What the fuck? For ten dollars she’d have taken him back behind the dumpster and given him a hummer.

“Perfect!” the kid snatched the picture whilst his friend broke up with laughter.

“What the fuck?” Poppy glared at the two twenty-something out-of-towners.

‘College kids,’ she thought.

Now the kid with camera began laughing too.

The kid with the camera pointed to the wall above the door. Painted on the peeling brickwork were the words ‘All Deliveries Taken In Rear’.

“You fucking little punks,” Poppy chased them halfway down the street.

When they turned the corner and ran towards downtown she stopped and threw her shoe after them.

“I gotta run more,” she wheezed as she hobbled on the pavement and picked up her shoe.

She looked at the bottom of her foot. The nylon was dirty, holed and soaked in street filth.

“Nothing beats a great pair of L'eggs,” Poppy sighed pragmatically.

She’d change her hosiery in the alley next to her corner. Guys had a thing for her legs and she traded on it. She always wore micro-miniskirts or hotpants when she was working.

L'eggs pantyhose were sold on consignment and distributed by a fleet of drivers, the majority of them women, who stocked the tall displays in local stores and kept track of sales figures to maintain an accurate weekly inventory.

Except for Thelma Prentiss who sold Poppy a case of L'eggs every month at half price, but the transaction was never recorded.

Many of Poppy’s regulars had leg or foot fetishes. They were good customers mostly because they didn’t want to penetrate her, just jack off on her legs, feet or her ass. One guy liked her to cuddle him and stroke him until he came all over her thighs. He tried to explain to her that it had something to do with a fetish he developed because his mother used to cuddle him while she was dressed in lingerie and nylons or something but Poppy didn’t give a shit.

Just give me the money honey. You want to keep those cum-soaked pantyhose… just give me the money honey. You want me to call you baby and cuddle you until you spatter me with your cum… just give me the money honey. You want me to stand over you while you look up my skirt while you whack off… just give me the money honey. You want to poke me doggy style while I’m still wearing my nylons… just give me the money honey.

Poppy prided herself on being a full-service convenience; there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for money.

“What the fuck was that about?” Latisha Collins had just got back to the corner after servicing a john.

“Fucking kid offered me money to get my picture. Fucking mean streets or some shit… said he was writing a paper about life in the city. Fucking asshole! I’m going to end up a meme on a college frat house wall,” Poppy hobbled back to her spot on the corner.

“I’m going behind the dumpster to change my nylons. Make sure no one else goes back there,” Poppy rummaged in her purse for a package of nylons.

“You take guys around there all the time sugar. Half n’ half up against the wall for those cheap white boys who can’t afford a room,” Latisha guffawed.

“Yes, but not when I’m getting practically naked so I can change my pantyhose,” Poppy found the egg-shaped plastic package she was looking for.

“That’s ‘cause you take on those nasty fuckers. I only take on my regular niggers who can afford a room,” Latisha fired back.

“Bullshit Latisha, you’d suck on a hobo if he gave you a twenty and also girl, you are a racist!” Poppy goaded her friend.

“I can use the word nigger cause of my fine black ass… you some fine skinny white pussy but you aint choosy,” Latisha would not give Poppy the last word.

“But you not racist, I give you that girl. I seen you being triple screaming eagled by five black guys only last week. I hope you charged those boys double,” Latisha baited her friend again.

“You know that's not possible right?” Poppy was undoing the button on her hotpants as she entered the alley.

Poppy stepped out of her remaining high heel, pulled down and kicked off her hotpants, hanging them on a convenient nail sticking out of the wall. She shimmied out of the ruined pantyhose and put on the fresh pair. In her profession panties were nonessential. She put on her hotpants and heels and threw the packaging and the ruined pantyhose into the dumpster.

When Poppy came back out of the alley, Latisha was talking to a nice looking guy in a suit. When he saw Poppy he abruptly ended his conversation with Latisha and sidled up to Poppy.

“Skinny white bitch stealing all my trade,” Latisha huffed but she was pragmatic, business was booming.

The businessman gave Poppy the onceover, his eyes lingering on her legs and ass and then moving up her body past her fine rack to her pretty face. Unlike a lot of the girls, her skin was clear and smooth and her teeth were straight and white. She was wearing black velvet hotpants, a mauve satin blouse with a cheap imitation chinchilla fur coat to keep warm. Her blonde hair had blue and cerise highlights in it. Her makeup was heavy and she was wearing cheap cherry-red fuck-me shoes and the L’eggs Sheer Energy pantyhose that she had just put on.

“I like you, you got that whole Harley Quinn thing going on don’t you?” the businessmen’s eyes roamed greedily over her body.

“Who the fuck is Harley Quinn?” Poppy thought the john was insulting her.

“You don’t read the comics?” the man said defensively, realising he had inadvertently slighted her.

“Yeah, well it’s fifty for half n’ half, twenty five for a BJ, thirty for a fuck, and if you want full service it’s a hundred and we go to a room,” Poppy rattled off her menu.

She wasn’t worried about being pinched for solicitation by this rube; he was way too fresh to be cop. He looked like he was about to come in his pants.

“I want the full service. How many times can I cum?” the man grinned like an idiot.

“As many times as you can do it in an hour but I get to rest in between; I’m not sucking your diddle all night,” Poppy winked at him.

The suburban businessmen types seemed to enjoy being talked down to by the street whores. It was all part of their fantasy. Take some skank up to a cheap hotel room and do all the things to her that his wife won’t let him do, then go home to the burbs for his ‘once a week’ with Mrs Cotton Panties, lying on top of his wife, doing her missionary while she’s still wearing her flannel nightie, all the time thinking of what he did to the hooker in the hotpants down on Canal Street.

“Let’s go for the full enchilada,” the man smiled, reaching for his wallet.

He thought he was being street smart.

“Not here you fucking zombie! Wait ‘til we get to the room,” Poppy took his hand and led him down the alley.

Latisha watched her go, regretting that she wasn’t getting the hundred that Poppy would make, but she was soon approached by a small Asian man looking for some rough trade and she quickly forgot about Poppy.

The john signed in and paid ten dollars to Stanley, the bored concierge who sat in his little office behind the caged window. He had a dirty cigar sticking out of his mouth and was dressed in a filthy wife-beater and happy pants watching a porn movie on an old TV.

The Metropole Hotel was the type of establishment that rented rooms by the half-hour. There was only a top sheet on the bed which consisted of a boxspring and a plastic-covered mattress. There was a single chair and table, a wardrobe that contained faded and holed sheets and towels. But at least they were clean; it was up to the girls to change the sheet themselves.

The stained porcelain toilet and plastic shower cubicle were functional if not aesthetic, liquid soap was provided from a dispenser fastened to the grimy tiles wall.

“Ok big boy, you get undressed while I prepare our sumptuous abode,” Poppy cracked a joke as she strode over to the wardrobe to get a clean sheet and towels.

She ripped the old sheet off the bed deliberately looking away from the stains and tossed it in a hamper in the corner. She and Latisha joked that there was enough cum in those hampers to impregnate half the female population of the USA.

She tossed two clean but mismatched towels on the bottom of the bed and turned back to her john.

Now that he was alone with her in the seedy hotel his bravado seemed to have left him. He stood naked with his cock standing out proud, ready to go.

“What are the rules?” the man croaked; his mouth dry.

“The rules?” Poppy stood with her hands on her hips appraising the man.

He was quite handsome and his body was toned, not from hard labour but from the gym. He looked to be in his late thirties and was quite affluent by the cut of his clothes, watch and ring, and his haircut. He would be a real sucker for some of the less scrupulous girls who would have stolen that watch or ring or both. What was he going to do about it? Tell the police a hooker stole his watch? She bet that his wedding ring was in his trouser pocket.

“I promised you full service which I rarely offer but you look clean and affable. Come over here,” she beckoned him.

The man came over and stood meekly before her.

“Open your mouth,” she said and the man looked quizzical.

“Open your mouth!” Poppy repeated herself and the man did as he was told.

She leaned in and sniffed his breath. Minty.

“Ok honey, you got nice fresh breath so you do get the full enchilada,” Poppy put her handbag on the table.

There was nothing of value in it in case some purse snatcher grabbed it while she was on the street. It usually just contained her house keys, condoms, lubricant, a small cosmetics case, cheap perfume, spare pantyhose, tissues, a small roll of surgical tape, cigarettes, a lighter and Juicy Fruit… everything a working prostitute needed.

Her cash was secreted in a zippered pocket she had sewn into the ass of her hotpants. Her miniskirts had a similar modification.

“What’s my breath got to do with it?” the john was puzzled.

“It means you can kiss me,” Poppy was exasperated; it was like talking to a child.

She spat out her chewing gum and put it on the nightstand.

“It sorry honey but there is no way that I’m…” Poppy cut the man off.

She pounced on him and pressed her body against his, crushing her lips against his and slipping her tongue into his mouth. She kissed him passionately and the man, at first dumbfounded, responded accordingly and put his arms around her and returned the kiss. Poppy rubbed her leg up and down his bare thigh and pressed her tits into his chest. She bet that Mrs Cotton Panties hadn't kissed him like that in years.

Poppy preferred to go with married men. They were safer in that they were unlikely to take risks with STDs and they were less likely to be violent.

Poppy broke the kiss and gently pushed the john away from her.

“So it’s a hundred dollars. You want me naked or you want me to leave something on?” Poppy was all business.

The man went to his wallet and counted out the bills and then turned to appraise Poppy. He held out the money.

“I’d like you leave on the nylons and heels,” he said a little sheepishly.

Poppy dropped her shorts and put the money in the pocket and zipped it closed. She took off her faux fur and blouse and hung them on the hook on the back of the door. She unwrapped a condom, tearing the package with her teeth and put it on the bedside table with a tube of KY Jelly.

“You wanna take off my bra?” Poppy backed up the man and shoved her sweet ass into his groin and brought his hands around her torso and placed them on her breasts.

She heard the man gasp as he caressed her breasts through the cups of her lacy bra. Her nipples hardened we pushed his cock into the crevice between her buttocks. The man unclasped her bra and hefted the weight of her breasts in his hands. He flicked her nipples and kissed her neck whilst grinding himself against her pantyhose-covered ass.

“No biting,” Poppy whispered.

Poppy seldom enjoyed sex with the johns but when she landed a nice clean married businessman like this guy she let herself go. Perks of the job, she joked with Latisha.

Poppy spun around in the man’s arms so she was facing him and he kissed her and pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, feeling her hard nipples rub on his pectorals.

Poppy let him kiss her like that for a while and let him put his cock between her thighs and rub it. She could feel the pre-ejaculate soaking into her nylons.

She eased herself out of his grasp and stood before him close enough for him to play with her nipples.

“Ok honey let me just get this sorted and we can get on the bed and get down to business,” she looked at him coyly.

She put her hand down the front of her pantyhose and reached between her legs and tore away the surgical tape so that her penis could swing free from where it had been tucked against her perineum. She did a little shimmy and her testes descended from her inguinal canals and filled her scrotum.

“There, that’s better,” she smiled.

Poppy’s cock was lying flat against her belly held there by her pantyhose. It was semi-tumescent and quite impressive.

She looked up at the john and the smile fell from her face when she saw the look of incredibility on his face.

“You didn’t know?” she said flatly.

The man shook his head; he couldn’t stop looking at her penis shrouded in the sheer nylon.

“Christ!” Poppy gave an irritated sigh.

“You want your money back?” she was pissed now.

She could have left this guy with Latisha and found a tranny chaser customer. She would not earn to her full capacity tonight wasting time with this john.

Her fears were abated when the john grabbed her and threw her on the bed and fell on top of her, kissing her passionately and rubbing his cock against hers.

“I’ve always wanted to try this,” the john smiled down at her.

True to his word the john managed three orgasms but only because Poppy was generous and gave him fifteen minutes extra for free. It might have been his first time with a transgender but he knew how to use that big cock of his, Poppy had come twice herself. When they were finished, Poppy thought that Mrs Cotton Panties was missing out on some fine fucking.

As was often the case with married men, the john was feeling a little post coital regret and Poppy gave him some room while she cleaned up, fixed her makeup and dressed. The john took a long time in the shower washing off Poppy’s lipstick and perfume and checking his body for any marks.

Poppy sat on the edge of the bed smoking, blowing plumes of smoke at the No Smoking sign on the wall.

“Come on honey we’re already way over time, Stanley is going to come up here and demand more money,” she called through the bathroom door.

She knew that Stanley was very unlikely to move his fat ass out of chair in the office, but he would ask for more money when they left.

The john came out of the shower naked and Poppy gave him the courtesy of looking away as he began to dress. It was often the case that the most passionate lovers in the bed were the most embarrassed and guilty about it afterwards.

Poppy heard a loud exchange of foul language from the room next door. Two men were arguing. This wasn’t unusual at the Metropole, the rooms were not only used for illicit sex, there were drug deals, weapons sales and all sorts of nefarious transactions taking place.

The argument spilled out into the corridor and the voices became louder and angrier. Now it sounded like three men. Her john looked worried but Poppy just shrugged her shoulders and smoked her cigarette.

“I’ve got to get out of here. I’m meeting my wife for dinner at the Ritz,” the john sounded anguished and Poppy rolled her eyes.

The john wasn’t concerned about the time when he was banging her doggy style and giving her a reach around long after they should have checked out.

“I’ll take a look,” Poppy crushed out her cigarette.

The number one rule when you worked the streets was that you don’t get involved in anyone else’s business… period! But if the men were fighting down the end of the corridor away from the stairs, she and the john could slip out.

Poppy opened the door a crack and saw that the passageway to the stairs was clear.

“Let’s get the fuck out of Dodge,” she snickered and snatched up her handbag.

She had just got out into the corridor when the gunfire started. Poppy instinctively turned in its direction.

A big man in a black suit was holding a nickel-plated automatic. He shot a smaller man in a cream coloured suits twice in the face then he turned and shot another man wearing a brown suit three times in the belly. The men who had been shot fell to floor in pools of their own blood. Poppy was so shocked that she just stood there with her mouth open, the john close behind her also frozen in fear.

The big man in the black suit leaned over the two men on the floor and put two more rounds each in their foreheads. The man turned and strode down the corridor towards the stairs, nonchalantly walking up to Poppy and putting the gun in her face.

He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Poppy couldn’t move, she had lost her motility; she was rooted in place, incapable of any bodily function.

“Fuck!” the big man racked the action on the automatic and stuck the gun back into Poppy’s face and pulled the trigger again.

Still nothing happened.

“Fuck this!” the man hissed.

He smashed the gun into the side of Poppy’s head and ran down the stairs.

Poppy was stunned but still standing. She fell against the doorframe and slowly collapsed. The john stepped over her nimbly and ran down the stairs, wondering how he was going to explain to his wife why he had shit his pants.

Poppy heard more gunfire and police sirens in the distance before she passed out.

…..

Poppy came too in a hospital bed. Her head hurt and she sensed the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. She turned her head and saw a pitcher of water and two plastic cups on the bedside table and reached for the pitcher. Her hand only got a few inches from the edge of the bed and pulled up short. She felt the handcuff on her wrist.

Her other hand was free but there was nothing on that side of the bed except for her handbag sitting on the other bedside table.

“You weren’t carrying any ID,” a clipped voice carried to her.

She craned her neck and saw a man in a navy blue suit sitting in the visitor’s chair.

“Can I have a cup of water?” Poppy asked, her throat was dry and itchy.

“Tell me who you are,” the man got up out of the chair.

He was tall and rangy, his features handsome, his hair thick and glossy. He looked like an asshole to Poppy. He was obviously a cop.

“Tell me who you are,” Poppy replied.

“I’m the one asking the questions,” the man approached the bed.

“Am I under arrest?” Poppy asked.

Poppy had been pinched for solicitation a few times and she knew how the dance went. But this was different.

“Not yet but you're either a perp or a material witness,” the man ensured that his coat opened enough so that Poppy could see the butt of his gun in its pancake holster.

“Water… please,” Poppy smiled up at the man.

Poppy had been brought directly to the hospital from the crime scene and was still wearing her street makeup. She was already in bed when Detective Elliot Granger arrived at the hospital but looking at her hair and makeup and knowing where the crime had occurred, Elliot knew she was a pros.

He poured water into a plastic cup and bought it around the bed so she could use her free hand to hold it. He noted her red acrylic fingernails.

“Were you hooking?” Elliot stood beside the bed.

“Lawyer,” Poppy looked him in the eye defiantly.

“I haven’t Mirandized you yet. This is just a friendly chat,” the cop gave Poppy a smile that would have melted most girls’ hearts.

“I’m not going to get all wet in the wee-wee because you smiled at me… Lawyer,” Poppy finished her water and held out the cup for more.

The cop ignored her and reached for her handbag, taking it off the bedside table.

“Hey!” Poppy tried to stop him but the handcuffs brought her up short.

He spilled the contents out onto the bed between her legs and took a pen out of his inside pocket and began to poke around the contents of her purse with it.

“You don’t wanna touch anything; might get an STD,” Poppy said sarcastically.

“Where is your fix kit? You get time to stash it before the EMTs arrived?” the cop mumbled and fixed her with an icy stare.

Poppy returned his steely gaze and turned her inner arms towards him. There were no tell-tale tracks or needle scars.

The cop just grunted and opened the little cupboard under the table and threw her clothes on the bed.

“Anything in there gonna stick me?” he asked.

Poppy just glared at him.

He picked up her blouse by the collar with two fingers and patted it down. He did the same with her fur coat. He made a face as he picked up her hotpants. He found the zippered pocket inside the back of the garment and threw the money on the bed. He picked through the notes with his pen, all tens and twenties; about two hundred dollars.

“Busy night?” he asked, but it wasn't really a question.

“Who was the john?” the cop changed tack.

“Sargent Joe Blow, twelfth precinct, came over for his weekly blow and go. Of course he didn’t pay me but I put on credit for him as employment insurance,” Poppy said caustically.

“You're a real smart ass,” Elliot smiled.

It was an open secret that some cops took freebies off the hookers in exchange for letting them off misdemeanour charges or as payment for warning them of an impending raid.

“Well I got a real good one for you Poppy. Those two men shot dead at the Metropole are made guys. If you had anything to do with the hit you're going to be collateral damage when they clean up. If you witnessed the hit, whoever did it is going to see it the same way. Either way you're fucked,” the cop patted her foot.

“We know who you are and where you live and if we can find that out in the time it takes for you to be carted down here and put in a hospital bed, you can bet they already know too.”

“Who was the john?” the cop asked again.

“Fuck you… lawyer,” Poppy glared at the cop.

“Suit yourself but you're giving us a statement either here or downtown,” the cop went over to the door, then stopped and turned to her.

“Classy girl… no panties,” the cop smiled dryly and left the room.

Poppy could see the uniformed officer standing outside the door when the cop exited.

“Fuck!” Poppy exhaled loudly.

This was some serious shit! She stared at the ceiling and all she could see was the black muzzle of the big semi-automatic right there in her face. She flinched when she recalled the weapon misfiring. Then she saw the face of the man holding the gun. His head was big; he had cauliflower ears, a bulbous broken nose and deep set piggy eyes which were devoid of emotion. He had a thin scar that ran from the outer edge of his right eye, down his cheek to the corner of his thick lips.

She would never forget that face as much as she wanted to.

An hour later a doctor came in and checked her vitals and then did some tests. It was obvious that he had nothing but disdain for her; treating her was beneath him.

“Well?” Poppy asked as the doctor scribbled on her chart and ignored her.

The doctor went to the door and left it open as he spoke to the cop standing guard.

“She’s staying in tonight for observation. I’ll release her tomorrow morning,” he said to the uniformed cop.

“Answer your question?” the doctor glanced at her and then closed the door.

*****

Poppy was released into police custody and as much as she protested she was told that she would be going straight down to the stationhouse to be interviewed. This meant that she didn’t have a change of clothes and had to wear her street attire to the police station. They put her into the back of a paddy wagon; the police guard accompanied her, sitting in the back, directly across from her.

“This is bullshit; I’m not under arrest,” Poppy sulked, popping her gum.

The policeman just shrugged his shoulders.

At least at the hospital she had been able to shower and fix her hair and makeup, but her clothes carried the funk of the streets. The pantyhose she was wearing were the same ones that the john had fucked her in last night and the crotch was still damp. It was warm in the van and she had taken off her coat and placed it in her lap. The wound above her temple throbbed vaguely but wasn’t painful. She ripped the small adhesive bandage from her temple and threw it on the floor.

The cop leered at her, his gaze started at her face then moved down to her breasts and openly ogled them. He was middle-aged, overweight and sweating profusely. He loosened his tie and mopped his brow with a kerchief.

“I got a lawyer waiting for me at the slammer?” Poppy asked.

The policeman shrugged again, his eyes not leaving her breasts.

Poppy rummaged in her handbag and brought out her smokes and lighter.

“You can’t smoke in here,” the cop grunted, still leering at her tits.

Poppy looked at him and thought he was about a carton of Winston’s, a case of bourbon and four Philly cheesesteaks away from his first heart attack. She decided to help him along the way.

Poppy unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing her flimsy lace bra which barely covered her milky-white breasts, her areola visible through the translucent black fabric. Then she put her faux fur on the seat beside her and opened her legs wide. The tight hotpants clung to her form. She watched beads of sweat form on the copper’s upper lip which he licked away with his fat tongue.

“What about now?” she put a cigarette between her lipsticked lips and smiled seductively around it.

The policeman only had eyes for her breasts and her groin and made no response.

To further entertain the copper she slipped a hand inside her bra and adjusted a boob then the same hand drifted down between her legs and she circled her crotch with her finger, the long red acrylic fingernail mesmerising the cop who didn’t say a word when she lit her cigarette.

Poppy laughed inwardly. Men were so easy to manipulate. She bet this rube didn’t even know that she was trans.

Detective Elliot Granger was waiting at the precinct. He escorted her through the police station to the Custody Sergeant. She saw the usual suspects waiting to be processed out front of the duty sergeant's desk. Street scum: pickpockets, car thieves, muggers and hookers.

“Hey Poppy,” a young girl in heavy makeup, a cooch-curtain miniskirt and fuck-me high-heels waved at her.

“You getting the VIP treatment? Send that hunk back to process me when he’s finished with you. He can give me a cavity search any time,” the girl giggled.

The Desk Sergeant told her to shut the fuck up and Elliot gripped Poppy’s upper arm tighter and led her out back before Poppy could respond.

“What we got here?” the Custody Sergeant growled and studied the paperwork on his desk.

“Penelope Evesham. Possible material witness to the murders at the Metropole last night,” Elliot read from his police notebook.

This got the Custody Sergeant's attention. He looked up from his desk and studied Poppy.

“Why is she here? Why not take her to an interview room?” he frowned at Elliot.

“She’s not cooperating. I need you to put her in holding until her lawyer gets here,” Elliot replied.

“She under arrest?” the sergeant asked.

Elliot shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s not cooperating. I consider her a flight risk,” Elliot replied curtly.

“You in the system honey?” the sergeant asked Poppy courteously.

Poppy nodded and studied her feet.

The Custody Sergeant fiddled around with some paperwork on his desk for a while until he found what he was looking for.

“She’s considered vulnerable Elliot. I can’t put her in the tank with the other men,” the sergeant glared at Elliot.

“I can put her in the pussy tank if you like?” the Custody Sergeant offered an alternative.

“Fuck that; too easy on her,” Elliot growled.

Elliot ruminated for a minute and then leaned in and whispered to the sergeant.

“Look… she’s not cooperating. I need some leverage here. An hour or two in the tank with those thugs and she’ll be begging to talk,” Elliot explained.

“Not on my watch,” the Custody Sergeant crossed his arms defiantly.

“Gimme the fucking phone!” Elliot snatched the phone off the desk and had a guarded conversation with someone and then handed the receiver to the sergeant who stiffened when he realised who he was talking to.

Poppy watched all this with some amusement. She knew that strict rules regarding the holding of transgender women in custody had been recently introduced and she also knew that most police officers resented them and most paid them no heed.

“You’re countersigning the custody log,” the sergeant bristled at Elliot.

“I ain’t going down for this on my own if anything happens to her,” the sergeant began the processing procedure.

“Her? I thought we’d all just agreed the witness is not a female,” Elliot grinned as he filled in his section of the log.

Poppy’s handbag was taken from her and the barred door to the holding cells opened and a young policeman approached her and gave her a cursory pat down.

“Come with me,” the policeman grunted as he led her through the door to the holding cells.

Elliot took up station on the other side of Poppy, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’ll be held in custody for your own protection until your lawyer arrives,” Elliot said smugly.

“How long will that be?” Poppy replied curtly but inside she was scared.

“Who knows? Anytime you wish to be interviewed without legal counsel, just call out and I’ll have you out of here in a jiffy. I’ll get you breakfast and coffee and we can have a nice long chat,” Elliot said snarkily.

The small procession stopped in front of a cell full of men. They leered at Poppy and licked their lips in anticipation. They didn’t jeer or call out obscenities or behave in any way that might give the police second thoughts about locking Poppy up with them. They wanted her inside the cell with them. They would take it from there.

“You’re not serious! Ok the joke’s over, take me to the pussy tank,” Poppy began to resist the officer who had hold of her upper arm.

The uniformed officer unlocked the holding cell whilst Poppy squirmed in his grip. Elliot held her other arm to prevent her from fleeing.

“Feel free to suck a few cocks while you’re waiting for your lawyer,” he laughed sarcastically as he thrust her into the tank.

“Might as well make a few bucks while I’m here,” Poppy called after him but inside she was petrified.

The cell stunk of sweat, testosterone and the reek coming from the single open toilet in the corner. As soon as the policemen were out of sight the men formed a circle around Poppy studying her like she was a specimen they were about to dissect.

Poppy studied the men in return. There were eight of them, all hardened criminals. She figured she might be able to take out two of the weedier ones with her nails and heels before she was overpowered. Better to be raped by six men than eight she thought pragmatically.

Then she saw a huge dark-skinned black man sitting on the steel bench bolted to the wall. He was shirtless and his upper torso was heavily muscled, his arms so big that they couldn’t rest comfortably by his side and his neck was like a telegraph pole atop of which was an angry-looking face. His hair was styled in a cropped afro.

“Hey you? Mister T. You not goin’ do nothing?” Poppy called out to him.

“Why would I want to do anything?” he gave her a malicious grin.

“These boys goin’ ruin all this fine pussy which I figure is rightfully yours,” Poppy called back, closely watching the men circling her.

“How you figure?” his grin didn’t waver

It would be a longshot but Poppy hoped her quickly hatched plan would work. The men continued to circle her but they hadn't pounced on her yet, only because the big black man was talking to her. He was a colossus and could snap any of them like a twig. Most of them were skinny little lowlifes and even the burliest of them would be no match for the black man-mountain sitting nonchalantly on the bench.

“I figure these boys are going to take what they want from me none too gently. I’m going to fight but they goin’ do what they goin’ do and when they finished I’m going to be a mess,” Poppy called back.

“However… if you was to decide that I’m yours and no one else's; I’d be more than happy to look after your needs. I’d show you a fine time willingly,” Poppy gave him a salacious smile.

She saw the hesitation and disappointment on the faces of the men surrounding her.

“I could just take what they leave. Or I could just go first and throw you to them after,” the man grinned back at her.

“What’s left won’t be worth having. I’m goin’ fight them so I’ll be missing some teeth and I’ll be banged up pretty bad and full of nasty jailhouse cum. Why not go first and keep me for your own. I’ll look after you fine honey… if you look after me?” Poppy smiled back but under her bravado she was scared out of her wits.

The man-mountain stood, the top of his head just clearing the low ceiling. The men in the circle looked even more hesitant.

“Jesus Tyrone! Don’t let this sissy, white-ass bitch tell you what to do. We can all fuck her… you go first of course,” a weasely black man in tight pants and tank top whined.

Tyrone glared at him and the weasel looked away.

“I tell you what Darnell. You and your punk friends back away from my girl and I won’t break your arm and tell your momma that you wanted to poke some white boy up the ass,” the grin on Tyrone’s face was malevolent.

The circle broke up, the men desolate and angry but pragmatic. Tyrone was likely to get bored with the pretty tranny then they would all get their go.

Tyrone beckoned Poppy with is forefinger and she dutifully complied, it was only reasonable that she pay the piper, she had negotiated the outcome after all.

She sidled up to Tyrone and clung to him, stroking his huge chest and nuzzling his upper arm. Poppy wasn’t short, especially in her heels, but this man was huge.

“You boys look away. In fact you motherfuckers line up on them bars facing the corridor. Give us some privacy and keep a lookout for five-o, any of them Barney’s come this way you call out,” her growled.

The men complied, lining up against the bars so that no one could see in and they could keep lookout.

Tyrone sat down on the bench and lifted Poppy into his lap so she was facing him.

“So you going to look after me fine hey momma? Well get to doin’ what you do,” he grinned down at her.

Poppy put her arms around his thick neck and raised her face to his and gave him a questioning smile. Some men didn’t kiss pros. He smiled and nodded and Poppy pressed her lips against his. They were full and surprisingly sensuous. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her and Poppy felt his penis thicken under her buttocks.

They kissed passionately, Poppy was resigned to her fate but she had to admit that she was enjoying it. The big man was tender with her, stroking her face and holding her close.

“Them titties real?” he pushed her away from him a little and unbuttoned her blouse.

She didn’t answer; better he should find out for himself and he wasn’t disappointed. Poppy’s firm full breasts popped out of her cups and he lowered his mouth to them and suckled on her nipples, alternating left to right and back again. Poppy’s nipples hardened and she leaned back, a throaty growl escaped her as Tyrone worked on her breasts. His cock got bigger.

“Ok princess, let’s see what you can do,” he gently lowered her to the floor.

She ignored the filthy concrete floor and knelt between his huge thighs. Poppy had been with bodybuilders before and they often had tiny penises because of the roids but Tyrone did not disappoint. He had a healthy six inches and what he lacked in length he made up for in girth.

She freed it from his track pants and went to work with her tongue, teasing him to full tumescence. She tickled his fraenulum with the tip of her tongue and licked his sac, suckling on his testes and then went back to work licking his shaft and bulbous glans.

“Come on sugar, you know what daddy wants,” he pushed her face onto his cock and she obligingly took it in her mouth.

Her plan was to keep fellating Tyrone for as long as possible, if necessary inducing his orgasm and swallowing his load, wasting as much time as possible until they released her from the holding cell.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff,” Tyrone groaned as Poppy expertly sucked his cock.

She worked her mouth up and down the veiny appendage, using her tongue, tracing the veins and slobbering around his glans. She was swallowing a lot of precum and was worried that Tyrone would orgasm too soon so she slowed down.

“That’s a good girl. Tyrone’s gonna fill your ass-pussy not your mouth,” he chuckled.

Poppy fellated Tyrone for about half an hour, bringing him to extremis and then backing off. The inmates lined up against the bars craned their neck to watch Poppy’s pretty face bobbing up and down in Tyrone’s lap, her long blonde hair with the coloured streaks draped across his thighs, her tight ass in the clingy hotpants pushed high in air, her long legs bent at the knees and the bottom of her heels all visible to them, making them horny and jealous.

“Ok, enough sugar,” Tyrone put his hands under Poppy’s arms and physically lifted off the floor and dropped her onto his lap.

He pawed at her hotpants.

“Let me,” Poppy whispered and kissed him long and hard while she unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts.

She shucked them down her ass and rolled down her pantyhose, exposing her buttocks. If a guard came she could quickly pull them up.

The men lining the bars were blatantly ignoring Tyrone's directive to face the corridor. They watched the spectacle intently and a few of them had their cocks out and were stroking them.

Poppy had no lube so she spat in her hand and worked the spit and Tyrone's precum along his shaft and guided it to her sphincter. She wished that she had a condom but she was in no position to complain.

She resisted Tyrone’s attempt to stab her with his engorged cock.

“Take it slowly honey; I’m tight and you're big,” she bit his earlobe and he moaned.

Telling the john’s that they were big always made them feel good.

She nestled Tyrone’s glans in her sphincter and kissed him passionately as she slowly lowered herself onto it. It hurt a little but she took her time, letting his flesh enter her tight anus slowly. Tyrone was enjoying it. He had his arms wrapped around Poppy, pressing her breasts to his chest and she was kissing him sweetly; he was in no rush.

When she had Tyrone fully inside her, Poppy rocked back and forth in his lap, letting his cock move only a little in and out of her. She heard one of the other inmates gasp followed by the spatter of his cum on the concrete floor. She smiled around the kiss. The normally loud and rowdy holding cell was silent except for the sounds of Tyrone and Poppy’s fucking. The other men were transfixed.

Tyrone’s cock was pressing on Poppy’s prostate and she was enjoying being fucked as much as Tyrone was enjoying fucking her. Neither of them was in a rush to climax, they were both enjoying the passion, the intimacy and the voyeuristic aspect of their lovemaking. Teasing the other men was a turn on for them both.

They heard three more of the men come, masturbating while they watched the performance but Poppy and Tyrone only had eyes for each other. Poppy had promised Tyrone some fine loving and that is what she was giving him, but all good things must come to an end.

Tyrone put his hands under Poppy’s buttocks and lifted her up a little so he could fuck her properly. She balanced on her heels so he could thrust his cock in and out of her. She clung to his shoulders, driving her tongue into his mouth, pleasure radiating from her probed prostate and stretched sphincter.

She orgasmed with him, gasping and clawing at him as he pushed her down hard into his lap and thrust his cock inside her as far as it would go and filled her with his hot creamy seed. Her own emission flooded the front of her pantyhose but she didn’t care. What had started off as a trade for sanctuary had culminated in an hour of steamy passionate sex.

Poppy clung to Tyrone’s muscular body for as long as he would let her, kissing him and stroking his face. But Tyrone was what he was and he was done with Poppy. He lifted her out of his lap and helped her stand on her own two feet on trembling knees.

He was amused by her indignity as she waddled over to the toilet with her hotpants around her thighs and her pantyhose pulled down from her ass. She took a handful of toilet paper and wiped her ass crack, bunched it up and flushed it. She took another handful and offered it Tyrone who wiped his cock and handed it back to her. She flushed it and washed her hands in the filthy sink.

The tape she had used to tuck was useless so she just pushed her testes inside herself and pushed her cock between her legs and pulled her pantyhose tight. She pulled up her shorts and sat beside Tyrone buttoning up her blouse.

Three of the other men approached her, their intent clear.

“Uh-uh, gentleman; I might want seconds,” Tyrone put his arm around Poppy and glared at the men.

They sidled away angry and frustrated.

The other prisoners huddled together and Poppy guessed they were discussing their options. How many of them would be seriously injured taking Poppy away from Tyrone. It was risk versus reward and most weren’t willing to take it but after half an hour or so it seemed that some of them had changed their minds. Too bad they had left their run too late.

The young policeman approached the bars and put the key in the lock.

“You… hot stuff… follow me,” he opened the door and Poppy gladly bounded for it.

She turned back to Tyrone and blew him a kiss and twerked her ass at the other prisoners and gave them the finger.
Tyrone just chuckled and shook his head affably.

“You make some new friends?” Detective Granger was waiting for her at the Custody Sergeant’s desk.

“Just one,” she winked at him and he looked at her with disgust.

The interview room was pokey, the babyshit coloured walls had once been white but years of cigarette smoke had taken their toll. There was a scarred table bolted to the floor in the middle of the room and two chairs set each side of it. In one of the chairs sat a rat-faced man wearing a cheap wrinkled suit, he had a battered satchel briefcase on the floor beside him.

Poppy knew exactly what was in that briefcase: a pint of Jack Daniels, two packs of Tareyton’s, a legal pad and a bunch of old court filings that were of no particular use. Saul Ginsberg carried the briefcase so he looked more lawyerly but everyone knew he was a bottom-feeder. Saul had represented her twice before on solicitation charges. He was a court appointed public defender and paid by the state but he tried to wrangle freebies out of the less experienced girls.

“Jesus, Saul Ginsberg. The Prosecutor’s Office is sparing no expense,” Poppy brayed.

“You said you wanted a lawyer… we got you a lawyer,” Elliot said affably.

“Hi honey. What the hell is going on; I been waiting here for two hours,” Saul stood up and opened his arms to Poppy who ignored him.

“You fuckers! You told me I had to wait in the holding for my lawyer!” Poppy snarled at Elliot.

“Some sort of mix-up out front, I’ll talk to the Desk Sergeant and have it sorted,” Elliot grinned at her cheekily.

“Anything could have happened to me in there!” Poppy was still indignant but Elliot ignored her and took a seat across from Saul.

“Fucking assholes!” Poppy stepped around Saul’s attempt at a hug and took a seat across from Elliot but as far away from Saul as possible.

Saul pulled a crumpled legal pad from his briefcase whilst Poppy reached into her handbag for her cigarettes. Her handbag had been returned to her by the Custody Sergeant who couldn’t hold her gaze because he felt so guilty about putting her in the tank with the male prisoners. She lit a Newport and blew smoke at the ceiling.

Saul lit a Tareyton and added to the fugue circling the ceiling in the unventilated room. Elliot got up and opened the only window, which was caged and tiny.

“Jesus! You both have to smoke at once?” he whined.

Poppy deliberately blew smoke at him

Saul straightened out his legal pad with the palm of his hand, causing whatever he had written on there to smudge.

“Let’s get this straight. My client is not under arrest but is being held in protective custody because you suspect that she is a witness to the shooting that took place at The Metropole Hotel last night,” he was bent over, studying the paper like a mole.

Elliot just nodded.

“So what’s the problem?” he looked up from his legal pad.

It took Poppy a beat to realise that Saul was talking to her.

“You're supposed to be my lawyer Saul,” Poppy looked at him exasperated.

“Just make a statement and you can walk,” Saul looked at her myopically with his close-set beady eyes.

“Code of the streets Saul, when you work the streets you don’t get involved in anyone else’s business… period. That way you live longer,” Poppy sucked on her Newport.

“You don’t get it do you, you fucking dumb cunt. There is no fuckin’ code of the streets! This was a mob hit! That’s Pussy Raggio and that’s George Basso,” Elliot dropped a crime scene photograph on the table and pointed to the bloody corpses.

Poppy stared at the photographs, her face emotionless.

“Raggio and Basso were made members of the Napolitano crime family. We don’t know how they were lured to the Metropole but we know it was a hit, not a business deal gone bad. Are any of these the man you saw run away?” Elliot put down a series of five photographs but he pushed one out in front of the others.

Poppy instinctively recoiled when she saw the big-headed man with the cauliflower ears, bulbous nose, deep set eyes and the scar that running down the side of his face.

Elliot smiled shamelessly.

“Luca Tattaglia,” he tapped his finger on the picture.

“I didn’t say it was him!” Poppy snapped but she shivered as she remembered seeing the big black muzzle of the pistol right in her face when Luca pulled the trigger.

“Who was the john?” Elliot asked, diverting her attention.

“Because johns always give us their real names when they pick us up. We trade addresses so we can send Christmas cards to each other,” Poppy said satirically as she lit another cigarette even though she didn’t really want it.

“Ok, dumb question but I want a description and everything you learned about him. I might even get a sketch artist in. We gotta find this guy,” Elliot said earnestly.

There was brief knock and a police officer stuck his head around the door.

“Detective Granger… the Captain wants to see you right now,” the officer said.

“Talk to your client Saul. Get her to cooperate or knock some sense into her for god’s sake. It’s for her own good,” Elliot said as he got up from table and left the room.

Saul tried to convince Poppy to give a statement but Poppy refused.

“If I give a statement the word will get out on the streets in no time flat that I cooperated. I’ll be a walking dead woman,” Poppy said indignantly.

“They’re gonna know that you’re in custody. They won’t care if you're cooperating or not. You witnessed the shooting,” Saul was exasperated.

“How does anyone know what I saw?” Poppy slapped the table.

“Come on Poppy you were there. The EMT guys picked you up on the second floor of the Metropole. You got a mouse coming on under your left eye where the guy clouted you,” Saul replied and Poppy rubbed at the broken skin under her hairline.

Her fingers came away with a little blood on them; the wound was still throbbing a little.

The door opened and Detective Granger entered the room and took his seat. His face was set in stony gloom.

“Forget the john,” he glowered.

“What?” Poppy was relieved.

“Forget the john. His name was Robert Farragut and he was married with two kids. They took him out this morning in his driveway as he was getting into his car to go to work. The idiot signed into the Metropole using his real name,” Elliot said sullenly.

Poppy shook her head. She took the john for a rube but who the fuck signs into a no-tell-hotel using their real name?

“You still don’t want to cooperate?” Elliot glared at Poppy.

She just sat back with her arms folded. She was still trying to digest everything that had happened.

“Saul?” Elliot switched his gaze to the lawyer.

“My client says she won’t talk,” Saul was incensed as much as Elliot was.

“Ok then,” Elliot got up and opened the door and another besuited gentlemen entered the room.

“I’m Assistant District Attorney Brett Mendelsohn and this is a subpoena to take your client into custody as a Material Witness under appropriate amendments to the First Judiciary Act. A Material Witness being defined as a witness whose evidence is likely to be sufficiently important to influence the outcome of a trial and may be held in custody without charge for an indefinite period,” he handed the subpoena to Saul Ginsberg.

Saul studied the document like he knew what he was doing. He knew essentially what the subpoena was about but didn’t have the legal acumen to challenge it.

“What the fuck Saul?” Poppy looked at her lawyer for help.

“Sorry honey. Nothing I can do for you,” Saul handed the subpoena to Poppy who looked at it like it was contaminated with the plague.

“Penelope Evesham… get to your feet. You're coming with us,” Elliot smiled at her with a shark-like grin.

To be continued