Pimp. By Robert Beck aka Iceberg Slim. Adnotated without permission. Chapter 10 -- The unwritten book.

Sunday, 18 October, Year 12 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

A week after Chris left I copped another bag of cocaine from Top. It was almost gone. The runt was only making expenses. I had one lonely C note and a double saw plus the porker silver. The weather was getting balmy. I needed fresh clothes. I was going to the bottom fast.

In the three weeks after Chris left I kicked the runt's ass a halfdozen times. I only left the hotel twice in almost a month.i I was expecting Chris to call me and say she was on her way to me. Things were getting worse.

It had been two weeks since I saw Top. I decided to call him. Maybe he could hip me to a new spot to work for [the] runt. My bankroll was thin. At ten A.M. I called Top. One of his broads said he was out of town. He wouldn't be back for a week.

I got a sudden thought. I asked her if she knew Sweet's phone number. She said she did, but she'd have to call and find out if Sweet wanted me to have it. She called back in ten minutes and gave it to me. I called him. He answered. He was in a good mood.

He said, "Well, whatta you know, if it ain't grinning Slim. You still got that one whore or have you grinned yourself whoreless?"ii

I looked over at the runt. She was still asleep. She hadn't been in the street for three days. Her period had run five days.iii She claimed she was too weak and sick to go out. I had given her a terrible whipping the night before. I needed advice badly.

I said, "Sweet, my bitch is falling apart. She's playing dead. If you don't pull my coat I'm gonna starve to death. You gotta help me Sweet."

He said, "Nigger, you ain't cracking to nick me for scratch are you? I don't loan my scratch to suckers who got whores and can't pimp on 'em. I ain't gonna support you and that lazy bitch."iv

I said, "No Sweet I don't want scratch.v I want you to run the game through my skull. I got a tiny bit of scratch. I gotta get my coat pulled before I tap out."

He said, "You got wheels? You know how to get out here? Now remember you get a roust out here, crack my name. Don't repeat your boner."

I said, "Yeah, I'm driving. I think I can find your pad. When should I come out there?"

He said, "Quick as you can get here. You get here and grin in my face, I'm gonna throw you over the patio wall. Say kid, Peaches and me got a taste for some of that barbecued chicken down there in Hell. Bring one with you when you come."vi

He hung up.vii My ticker was pounding like Chris had walked in the door naked with a million dollars.viii I shook the runt. She opened her eyes. I stood over her.

I said, "Bitch, you better be in the street when I get back."

She said, "You can't do anything but kill me. I'm ready to die. I don't care what you do to me. I'm sick."

I said, "All right bitch, just hip me where you want your black stinking ass shipped."

I got in the Ford. I realized I hadn't put on a tie. I didn't have a lid. I looked into the rear-view mirror. I sure looked scroungy. Maybe he'd be alone. Then I remembered the lobby. What the hell did it matter.

I drove for about fifteen minutes before I saw a clean open barbeque joint. A black stud in a tall white cap was stabbing chickens onto a turning spit in the window. I went in. I came out with two birds. Peaches might be really hungry for barbequed chicken. It made solid sense to brown-nose Miss Peaches.

After making several wrong turns I found Sweet's building. I parked the Ford in almost the same spot at the curb where Satan had sappedix me a month ago. A young white stud in a monkey suit was out in front. Crusader Sweet was doing his bit to reverse the social order.

I went to the desk in the lobby. I felt like a tramp as I waited for the pass. I got on the elevator. A different broad was at the controls. The spicy scent of the chicken wiggled her nose. She wasn't as pretty as the ripe-smelling broad. She sure kept her crotch from advertising. Maybe it was just that she didn't get heavy action.

I stepped from the cage. The friendly brown snake wasn't at his station to flop his mop for me. I figured it was his off day. The odds were a hundred to one he was in the sack somewhere with a six-foot blonde.

She was probably a little like the blonde coming up from the pit on her way to the cage. It was Mimi. She flicked her green eyes across my face. They were cold as a frozen French lake. She passed me. She looked like a fancy French pastry in her sable stole. I wondered how I got the stupid courage to turn down her freak off.

I walked to the doorway of the pit. The stone broad was still in her squirting squat. Sweet was sitting on the couch. Miss Peaches beside him saw me first. She bounded across the carpet. I felt her choppers graze my hand. She snatched the bag of chicken. She flung it on the alabaster topped cocktail table in front of Sweet.

Sweet looked at me. I tightened my face into a solemn grim mask. I stepped down and walked toward him. He was wearing only a pair of polka-dot shorts. In daylight I noticed a mole on the broad in the picture over the couch.

I said, "Hello Mr. Jones. I hope those birds are still warm."

He said, "Kid, your map sure looks like that bullshit bitch you got is been shooting you through hot grease. I like that look you got today. Maybe you're getting hip the pimp game ain't for grinning jackasses. Get over here and sit on this couch. While baby and me eat our barbeque, rundown you and your whore. I wanta know where and how you copped her. Tell me everything you can remember about her and what's happened since you copped her. Rundown your whole life as far back as you remember. It don't matter which is first."

I ran down my life for him. Then I ran down from the night I met the runt until the moment I [last] left the Haven. It took maybe forty-five minutes. I even described the runt in detail.

Sweet and his greedy girl-friend had devoured both birds down to the bare bones. Sweet was wiping Miss Peaches' whiskers with a paper napkin. She put her head in his lap. She was jammed against my thigh. Sweet leaned back on the couch. He put his bare feet on the top of the cocktail table.

He said, "Sweetheart, you're black like me. I love you. You got the hate to pimp. You a lucky nigger to get your coat pulled by me. You flap your horns and remember what I'm gonna spiel to you. There are thousands of niggers in this country who think they're pimps. The pussy-weak white pimps ain't worth mentioning. Don't none of them pimp by the book. They ain't even heard about it. If they was black, they'd starve stiff. There ain't more than six of 'em who are hip to and pimp by the book. You won't find it in the square-nigger or white history books. The truth is that book was written in the skulls of proud slick Niggers freed from slavery. They wasn't lazy. They was puking sick of picking white man's cotton and kissing his nasty ass. The slave days stuck in their skulls. They went to the cities. They got hip fast. The conning bastard white man hadn't freed the niggers. The cities was like the plantations down South. Jeffing Uncle Toms still did all the white man's hard and filthy work. Those slick nigger heroes bawled like crumb crushers. They saw the white man just like on the plantations still ramming it into the finest black broads. The broads were stupid squares. They still freaked for free with the white man. They wasn't hip to the scratch in their hot black asses. Those first nigger pimps started hipping the dumb bitches to the gold mines between their legs. They hipped them to stick their mitts out for the white man's scratch. The first nigger pimps and sure-shot gamblers was the only nigger big shots in the country. They wore fine threads and had blooded horses. Those pimps was black geniuses. They wrote that skull book on pimping. Even now if it wasn't for that frantic army of white tricks, nigger pimps would starve to death. Greenie, the white man has been pig-greedy for nigger broads ever since his first whiff of black pussy. Black whores con themselves the only reason he sniffs his way to 'em is white broads ain't got what it takes to please him. I'm hip he's got two other secret sick reasons. White women ain't hip to his secret reasons. The dumb white broads ain't even hip to why he locks all niggers inside tight stockades. He'd love it if the nigger broads wasn't locked in there. The white man is scared shitless. He don't want them humping bucks coming out there in the white world rubbing their bellies against those soft white bellies. That's the real reason for keeping all the niggers locked up. To show you how sick in the head he is, he thinks black broads are dirt beneath his feet. His balls will bust if he don't sneak through that stockade, to those half-savage, less than human, black broads. You know, Greenie, why he's gotta come to 'em? The silly sick bastard is like a whore that needs and loves punishment. He's a joke with scratch in his mitt. As great as he thinks he is, he can't keep his beak and swipe outta the stink of a black ass. He wallows and stains himself. The poor freak's joy is in his suffering. The chump believes he's done something dirty to himself. He slips back into his white world. He goes on conning himself he's God and niggers are wild filthy animals he has to keep in the stockades. The sad thing is, he don't even know he's sick in the skull. Greenie, I'm pulling your coat from the bottom to the top. That rundown on the first nigger pimps will make you proud to be a pimp. Square-ass niggers will try to put shame inside you. Ain't one of 'em wouldn't suck a mule's ass to pimp. They can't because a square ain't nothing but a pussy. He lets a square bitch pimp on him. You gotta pimp by the rules of that pimp book those noble studs wrote a hundred years ago. When you look in a mirror you gotta know that cold-hearted bastard looking at you is real. Now that young bitch you got is gone lazy. She's stuffing on you. That bitch ain't sick. I ain't never seen a bitch under twenty that could get sick. Your whore is bullshitting. A whore's scratch ain't never longer than a pimp's cold game. You gotta have strict rules for a whore. She's gotta respect you to hump her heart out in the street. One whore ain't got but one pussy and one jib. You got to get what there is in her fast as you can. You gotta get sixteen hours a day outta her. There ain't no guarantee you going to keep any bitch for long. The name of the pimp game is 'Cop and Blow.' Now this young bitch you git is shitty all right. She knows you ain't got no other whore. I want you to go back to that hotel. Make that bitch get outta that bed and get in the street. Put your foot in her ass hard. If that don't work, take a wire coat hanger and twist it into a whip. Ain't no bitch, freakx or not, can stand up to that hanger. Maybe your foot and fist can't move that young whore anymore. She's a freak to them. Believe me, Greenie, that coat hanger will blow her or straighten her out. It's better to have no whore than a piece of whore. Get some cotton and make her pack herself. The show can't stop when a whore bleeds. I'm gonna lay some pills on you. Give her a couple when you get her outta that bed. Don't give her anymore reefer. It makes some whores lazy. Don't worry, kid, if you do like I say and blow her, I'll give you a whore.xi Kid, don't hold that whore to one block. Tell that whore all the streets go. Turn her loose. It's the only way to pimp. If she blows, whatta you lost. She stands up, you got a whore and some real scratch. You go back and put the coat-hanger pressure on her. If it don't blow her and she stands up for a week, you ought to have half a grand in a week. Take that scratch and drive to one of the whore towns close around. Go to Western Union. Send that scratch back to yourself at your hotel. Use some broad's name as the sender. That lazy bitch you got will think she's got competition. Watch the sparks fly from her ass. She'll try to top that bitch that doesn't exist. Greenie, you listen to Sweet Jones. You'll be a helluva pimp. Never get friendly and confide in your whores. You got twenty whores, don't forget your thoughts are secret. A good pimp is always really alone. You gotta always be a puzzle, a mystery to them. That's how you hold a whore. Don't get sour. Tell them something new and confusing every day. You can hold 'em as long as you can do it. Sweet is hipping you to pimp by the book. I'm the greatest nigger pimp in the world. Now Greenie, is your skull going to hold everything I told you?"

I said, "Thirty years from now I'll still remember every word. Sweet you won't be sorry you helped me. I'm gonna pimp my black ass off. I'll make you proud of me. I'll call you later and hip you to what the runt did under hanger pressure. Oh yeah, don't forget to give me those pills."

He got up. Miss Peaches stretched her legs. She jumped down and followed him. A sharp hooked nail in one of her rear claws snagged out an inch of cloth from my pants knee. I wouldn't have cared if she had clawed me naked.xii I was in a thrilled daze. With Sweet Jones on ready tap to pull my coat I was going to set a record on the fast track.xiii

Sweet came back. He gave me a tiny bottle of small white pills. He put his hands on my shoulders. He looked down at me. His subzero eyes warmed to maybe zero.

He said, "I love you, Sweetheart! You know kid, I don't ever think I'm gonna grin in your face. I love you like a son. Any time I grin in a sucker's face I'm gonna cross him or croak him. Call me any time you need a rundown. Good luck, Greenie."

I walked across the pit.xiv I stepped up to the doorway. I glanced back. Sweet had Peaches in his arms. She was purring like a new bride.xv Sweet was squeezing her in a lover's embrace. He was covering her laughing face with kisses.

I checked Mickey when I got in the Ford. It was four P.M. I drove toward the runt. I tromped hard on the gas pedal.

I thought, "No wonder Sweet is the greatest nigger pimp in the world. He even knows the history of the black pimp.xvi I ain't going to spare the runt's ass. I'm gonna go right in with the pressure. I hope she's not in the street.xvii Sweet promised me a whore if I blow the runt. Any whore of Sweet's is already trained to a fine edge. Maybe he'll give me Mimi."xviii

Continued >>

  1. Imagine this dude, sitting in that rented appartment, watching the walls while wistfully sighing "Chris... Chriiisss... Chriiiiiiissss". For a whole month.

    A jail term sounds rather like an improvement ; at the very least socially. []

  2. Bwahahaha. []
  3. That they're squeamish about. Everything else's roses, rawdogging frothy, sploodge-runny clam is a-ok, bitch running in and out of cars dun bother anyone any, bear-hairy snatch last washed yesterday's just perfect -- but period blood, that cuts it. []
  4. Apparently dependopotami weren't exactly unknown in 1930.

    Or for that matter in 130, I'm sure. []

  5. As rare then as now. []
  6. This guy sure knows how to live -- what can be better than eating youth's food while listening to the litany of youth's problems ? Not that I would anymore, but quia absurdum were I willing to hear out a young wanna-be gangster from the old country, I sure as fuck tell him to bring along a... hell, why am I spilling any of this.

    In any case, Slim's Sweet's a better role model than the contemporary lamers. []

  7. Is Slim ever going to figure out that the kid he kicked out of the Roost claimed to be born "right here, in your town" whereas the same kid Glass Top introduced was supposedly from KC ? What do you think, is this getting discussed ? Does it pass in silence, maybe he just figured the Roost version was lieing, maybe he never even figured it... []
  8. It's funny, because this actually happened to me. I don't just mean, it's happened to me recently ; I don't simply mean, it happened to me long ago. Both, really. How about that!

    No, I don't mean the heart pounding part -- my heart's too subtle to pound. []

  9. Being sapped is what happens to a sap. []
  10. The word means many things in different contexts, such as plainly "accuplation" earlier. Here however it denotes something like what you'd now call "into BDSM". []
  11. Actually it's a wonder this wasn't a lot more common. For one thing, the caliphs did it, and it worked splendidly well ; for the other thing these idiots utterly mismanage their households, it's true, but their horrifying ineptitude aside an old, therefore experienced, wise an' hip whore is worth a dozen teenagers. Not "to me", and not because "I know what to do with her". Fucking objectively, just like an old pickpocket is worth a dozen juvenile delinquents, just like an old cat burglar, long defeated by arthritis, is still worth twelve chicken thieves, just so. The one thing you truly need to start a kickass "stable" is an old whore who loves you, or at the very least looks kindly upon you and is willing to take the time to support you. I'd have expected those "noble black heroes" enshrined this into their imaginary "skull book" that never existed : to become a pimp you beg an old whore off an established pimp just like to become a sourdough miner you beg some sourdough starter off an old miner.

    Try and remember : no matter what anyone says, whoever they may be, you still don't have to act stupid. []

  12. Can you believe what a preppie this sucker actually is, deep down ? []
  13. This is why pep rallies, MLM &c even exist, by the way, this iliterate's buzzing excitement. What was he told ? Not much ; but his information intput's usually zero, seeing how he doesn't read. He's unused to anything at all going on, so when even a little does he gets as pumped as a fifteen year old nun on a blind date. []
  14. Wouldn't you have visiting bums take off their street shoes before they step through your sunken carpets ? []
  15. Do you suppose he does the dirty with that off-color cat ? Maybe that's the purpose of the painting of the dog-knotted broad : so Sweet can fuck Mz Peaches facing it and feel like a dog-gone doggy dog. []
  16. Roflmao.

    The actual history of the black pimp was that one day a white guy wanted some black ass but didn't want to go there in person so he sent his obsequious secretary to fetch. That young stud started fetching whether Massah was in the mood or not, and there you go, black pimping has born! []

  17. Oh for crying out loud. Not sparing her ass, alright, that's one thing. Hoping she's fucked up though... that's fucked up. Utterly, utterly fucked up. []
  18. This coward's loyalty is outstanding!

    And yeah, definitely, Mimi's just what he needs. []

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