By Duchess of Hackney

Hackney livin' n lovin'. Sarky frosty knickers always gobby, and perpetually pissed off for good reasons. Wind up merchant extraordinaire, but a nice old fashioned unusually unusual gal... Writing lots of wrongs.

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If he dies, don’t leave your finger prints anywhere

If he dies, don’t leave your finger prints anywhere

Clients dying while my ladies were entertaining them would have brought untold problems. It wasn’t just the copious amounts of cocaine, but the whole craziness and the company he kept that worried me.

Last night I felt utterly ashamed of something I said a long time ago. Someone via Facebook, reminded me of what I told her 13 years ago and it involved a man we knew back in the day. The memory was triggered by the latest Kardashian drama which we were opining on.

The blood-suckers Kardashians are a despicable lot, I’m not a fan of theirs and it’s been at least 3 years since I’ve watched an episode of their reality show, but can admit the current Lamar Odom and Khloe drama have piqued my interest and have sort of kept up with TMZ. Right now Lamar is as hot as a stolen police car you don’t want to be caught in, and with all the media attention, impending arrest or death, it’s only a matter of time until whoever is his hook-up, will be sought. The crack dealer knows he’s under the radar of not just the media or the Kardashian clan, but also the cops.

Y’all must be thinking, “Where’s she going with all this?” Hear me out. I know just how Lamar’s drug dealer feels, I sort of did the same thing 13 years ago. No no, I never sold drugs to anyone, but if you are involved in anything illegal the last thing you want is heat on you – media or law enforcement.

While running my Escort Service there was a client whom I’d warned the ladies of. The man, a wealthy lawyer in Austin, Texas had a massive cocaine problem, so much so that he’d go on week long binges, and that scared the shit outta me because I didn’t want him dying on my watch.  For someone who had gone through hell for several years with police in Los Angeles and done two stints in prison in California because I ran an escort service, I wasn’t eager to draw attention to myself and the “discreet” business I was running. Clients dying while my ladies were entertaining them would have brought untold problems. It wasn’t just the copious amounts of cocaine, but the whole craziness and the company he kept that worried me.

I’ll call him Christopher, because while writing for Texas Monthly in 1994, Robert Draper interviewed him for a piece about a tawdry tale of prostitution, escorts and a spectacular suicide, using “Christopher” instead of the attorneys  real name. Draper has since gone on to bigger (not necessarily better things), having become a confidant of sorts to George Dubya and author of Dead Certain: the Presidency of George W Bush.

My former website no longer exists but I found this pic of one of the gals.

My former website no longer exists but I found this pic of one of the gals.

Christopher loved the ladies as much as he loved coke and it wasn’t just one gal he wanted, he wanted several around him while he got high and was very generous with his cocaine as he was with his money. It’s the assortment of gals including strippers from joints around Austin, his enviable arsenal collection which included rare guns from the civil war era and cash, lots of cash around his home that made me nervous. All was a deadly combustible combination that kept me awake thinking of the worst scenario.

A few months earlier in San Antonio, another of my clients was murdered along with two strippers, while they partied in one of the strippers apartment. An acquaintance of one of the women who came there with the intention of robbing them and his accomplice tied them up, injected cleaning fluid into them, suffocated one of the women and stabbed the man I knew when he tried to escape. Who knew what could happen at Christopher’s, when other people, many of them of questionable character, knew the contents of his home in one of Austin’s most prestigious and historical neighbourhoods. The one and only time I was in his home, I watched him as he pulled out a plastic container full of coke and discovered there was more in a pair of his cowboy boots along with ready cash he kept close to pay the gals.

Easy come easy go

He was a cash machine to us, and the gals liked going over to his home because in four hours they could earn at least $1000 (of which I received $400) for just being there.  No sex – nothing but having patience to sit around listening to his cocaine addled drivel he spouted. For those who were so inclined, they numbed themselves with enough alcohol or drugs to make the hours fly by.

But as time went on, I became increasingly uncomfortable and suggested to the ladies that should he drop dead, they were to wipe their finger prints off everything they touched and to take glasses or bottles they drank from with them and call me from their cars. I would call emergency services from a disposable phone. Yeah, I know, I come across cold blooded, but it sounded like the best solution at the time.  In all honesty I would never leave anyone to die. I knew wiping off finger prints was not enough, there were so many other variables and DNA was more than what I understood, so I decided to drop him as a client.

Why would I want to drop a client who once gave me a $1000 bonus for getting his favorite lady to him one afternoon when she should have been at her day job and he, probably in court representing a client? Fear of the inevitable.  My peace of mind and liberty was more important. Besides, after he told me he was the anonymous client Robert Draper described as “Christopher” in the Texas Monthly article, I knew there would be problems ahead. I rounded up the gals and told them no more Christopher, anyone who wanted to see him away from my service, could do so but they would no longer be part of the agency. One gal thought she was smart, I found out and she was fired.

Some months later he decided he wanted out left a message on my voice-mail to say he was leaving Texas to spend time with friends in Tuscany, I wished him the best. A month later he was back, but he knew better than to call for escorts. Word on the street was he was low on funds and the women who were around him, were there just for the drugs. Even a police officer (off duty) claimed two strippers over-dosed at Christopher’s house. A few days later sober, the same officer claimed he didn’t tell me anything and knew nothing. Later the OD incident was confirmed by a drug dealer I knew casually, who was dating one of the women at the time.

Epilogue

Fast forward a year.  I heard he’d got his home repossessed, lost his law practice (he was solo) aaaand was stacking shelves at Whole Foods!!!! Six months later he resurfaced. I did a double take when I saw an ad for his law office in the back pages of The Austin Chronicle (an alternative independent weekly paper), he’d never advertised, he never had to.  I called his office number in the ad (he managed to retain his old number) and left a message with his loyal secretary who was back on board.

He returned my call the next day and brought me up to speed with his fall from grace.  Yes he lost everything (except his dog), had been to rehab and yes he wound up stacking shelves at Whole Foods. He agreed it was a wonder he never ended up in jail but said having gone where he had, it gave him a new perspective of his criminal clients and their plights.

I haven’t spoken to him since 2004, but I recently saw his law firm website. The once scrawny curly haired man of small stature, is now a very plump rosy cheeked curly haired aging man. Life must be good.

 

 

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