Saturdays Child 1

This is the city. Las Vegas, Nevada. I work here. My name is Sadie. I carry a badge.

I know what you're thinking, "'Sadie'. Named after her grandmother." I wish. In actuality my parents had a twisted sense of humor when it came to names. The family name is Knight and since I was born on a Saturday evening, that became my name. Saturday Knight. Sadie for short. Cuts down on the jokes.

Maybe it was the constant jokes that made me want to be a cop. Maybe it was all the punks in school. Either way, it's what I do. After eight years on the force I guess I've become more than a little cynical. It's hard not to. Everybody hates the cops. Face it; you get pissed off when you get pulled over for speeding. You get pissed off at the cop. But it wasn't the cop who made you tromp on the gas, that was all you. The cop just did what he gets paid to do. Enforce the law. If you break the law and you get caught you deal with the consequences. However, if you're gonna be pissed off, be pissed off at the one responsible.

It was Friday, September 6

th

. I was working Vice. Going undercover as a hooker isn't my idea of a good time. I never understood it really. Prostitution is legal in Nevada, as long as you aren't on the street. Even then, it's not illegal for the hooker to be there, it's illegal for someone to solicit her and illegal for her to accept. Government scam? You better believe it. Most of the guys we bust are from out of state and don't know any better. They figure prostitution is legal here so that means anything goes.

That's where I come in. Standing on a corner in sweltering heat, sweating my tits off just so some poor, desperate schmuck can get busted for being horny. I felt sorry for them. Honest. Most of these guys were either dorks that couldn't get laid any other way or they were married and their wives weren't giving it up. Hey, I can understand that. Men need to get off once in a while. They're men, they can't help it.

It's not any better for the girls either. High school dropouts and runaways for one of a thousand reasons, they don't have the education to get a normal job or they're too into the drugs, whatever. They're too homely to get into one of the brothels, so they wind up on the street. Knocked up, strung out and lost.

Sound like I don't agree with it? No, I don't. So why do I do it? It's the law. I get paid to enforce the law. Doesn't mean I have to agree with it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

I think that's why I did it. I had to know the other side to understand why I did what I did. So when the shift was over I radioed my back up, told him I was not feeling well and was going to head straight home. Yancey offered to cover my paperwork, so I got in my car and left. I drove around for an hour, and then I went back to that same corner, went out to that same streetlight and lit a cig.

I wasn't there long. I could see him eyeing me from across the street, when the light changed he tossed his butt and all but charged across the street. I kept my cool as he approached, eyeing him indifferently as he approached, but my heart was trying to beat an exit through my sternum. Young, early 20s, with a cocky air about him, Not particularly handsome but better than average I suppose. Clean cut and dressed casual, probably some college kid on is first big trip away from home on his own. He likely had never propositioned a hooker before.

"How much?" he demanded.

"How much for what?" I took another drag from my cig and tilted my head back, exhaling the smoke forcefully skyward, "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm not sure. What are you willing to do and what will it cost me?

"Fifty for a blow, hundred for a fuck and suck, one-fifty for 'round the world and three hundred gets you two hours."

"That's pretty steep."

"Yeah? Well, I ain't your average crack whore and I ain't lookin' to make up the difference in quantity. I don't work on time limits like everyone else. When you blow your load, your done. 'Cause that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Uh, Yeah. That works for me. So where we goin'?"

"Around the corner is a place called Sands Motor Lodge. They charge by the hour. Get a room and I'll meet you in the parking lot."

"What? I gotta pay for the room too?"

"You got two other choices. We can go to your hotel or we can do it right here on the sidewalk. The room is gonna cost you ten for an hour."

He shuffled is feet on the concrete and looked around, "Alright, but you better be worth it."

"Get the room. I'll be in the parking lot."

I let him go on his own, finished my cig, stomped it out on the pavement and turned toward the motel. I forced my mind to empty. No emotions, no inhibitions, no regrets.

It's not like I've never had sex before. I've had my share of one-night stands. Even had a few boyfriends, but they never last. Dating a cop ain't easy, once they learn what I do, the relationship is on its way out. It's just a matter of the job coming first. When I made sergeant the job started taking more and more time. Usually about the fifth time a guy calls to ask you out and you tell him you're working, that'll be the last you hear from him.

I waited across the parking lot for the kid to check in. He spied me as he left the office and held up four fingers to indicate the room number. I followed him in.

"So what's it gonna be, Skippy?" I said, lighting another cig.

"Well, I only got $60 left unless you take a check or a card."

I rolled my eyes and took another deep drag, blowing the smoke at him, "What do I look like, Wal-mart? I guess a blow job is it."

"No. No, I really like your ass and I'm gonna fuck it."

"Not on sixty bucks, Skippy."

"My name's not Skippy!" He bellowed. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cheap K-mart special Buck Knife and flicked it open. "You're gonna take the sixty and take it up the ass and you're gonna like it or bleed."

My hand went instinctively into the special pocket on the end of my purse, wrapping around the butt of the Sig 229, and slipping it easily from its concealment. Skippy's eyes nearly popped out of his head when the barrel stopped, pointed at his face. "I don't think so, Skippy. I would have guessed you for smarter than this, but I guess even a cop is wrong sometimes." I pulled my badge from my purse with my free hand and waved it in his face.

"A cop? You're a cop?" He almost gave out at the knees and dropped the knife. "Awww, Fuck me!"

"Not likely, Skippy. You blew your chance with that one."

"Shit." His defeat was apparent in his voice, "So, now you're gonna haul me off to jail?"

"Well, I'd have a pretty good case for attempted rape, wouldn't I?"

"Rape? Don't you mean robbery? I mean you're a hooker, or at least I thought you were. And you already agreed to sex with me."

"I agreed to a specific sexual service for a specific price. You were about to force me into a sex act that I had not agreed to. That constitutes rape whether I am a hooker or not."

"Jesus, lady! I didn't mean nothing by it! I was just... I was... Fuck!"

"You didn't mean anything by it? You pulled a knife on me, for Christ's sake!"

"It's not a very big one and it's not even very sharp!"

I couldn't believe I just heard that. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I could also see that it was all he could do to keep from pissing his pants. I pulled the radio from my purse, keyed the mike, identified myself and called for Yancey. Immediately the spot appeared on the front of Skippy's khakis and grew down his leg.

All I could think at that moment was,

'Poor Bastard.'

The radio crackled and Yancey's voice filled the room, "What's up Knight?"

I waited, watching the kid crying in front of me, "Just wanted to say thanks for covering the paperwork."

"Not a problem, Sadie. If I had your job I'd probably be sick every day. You comin' in tomorrow?"

"Not sure yet, Yance. I'll have to play it by ear. I'll call if I'm a no show."

"My advice: Have a couple of stiff ones and get some sleep."

"Thanks, Partner. Knight out."

"Out."

The kid looked up at me with red eyes and streaks down his cheeks, not sure of what he was hearing.

A strange feeling was pervading my consciousness. I guess eight years on the force had turned me pretty hard. Hard enough that compassion felt alien to me. "How old are you, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." He said defiantly. "I turned twenty-one last month."

"Well kill the attitude. I can still call for a cruiser to cart you away. When does your bus for home leave?"

"Sunday night."

"I think it leaves tonight. And I think there won't be any more trips to Vegas until you learn some manners. Prob'ly why you don't have a girlfriend."

"You... You mean I can go?"

"Not just yet. I want to see your I.D."

The kid fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket, still shaky and adrenaline pumped he almost threw it at me. "Sorry."

I opened it and pulled his license, looked it over carefully, put it back in his wallet and tossed it back to him. "Mr. Justin DiAngelis of 359 Post road, Barstow, California, I will be making it a personal quest to keep an eye out for your name and description. If I ever hear anything about you again I'll be bringing this incident into the light. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then get out of here."

He bent to retrieve his knife; I cleared my throat, stopping him a few inches away. "You can just leave that there. I'll dispose of it properly."

"But..."

"No buts. Get out of here, kid. Count yourself lucky."

He beat a quick path for the door, stopping just short of opening it. "I suppose I should thank you." He said without turning back.

"Yeah. I suppose you should."

He opened the door and left without another word. That's gratitude for ya.

So where did I suddenly get the compassion? I didn't. I didn't let him go because I felt sorry for him. I let him go because I was gonna have a hell of a time explaining what I was doing there to start with. I figure I just scared the piss out of him, literally, and he wasn't likely to try anything like that again. At least not any time soon.

On the other hand, it did sort of screw up my plan. It's not like I really need to get laid, I have toys that keep me satisfied sexually. I just need to know what the average hooker goes through. If you ask me why, I'm gonna smack you. I don't really know why, it's just something I need to do.

So I grabbed my things, tucked my gun back in its place in my purse and dropped the knife into the main compartment. I'd add it to my collection later.

Back out on the street corner, I wondered if it was even a good idea to try again. I didn't have much time for debate. I didn't even have time to light another cig before the silver Mercedes swerved over to the curb and screeched to a halt. The passenger window slid down, revealing a handsome, well dressed man in his mid-thirties. He smiled revealing his orthodontist's daughter's tuition and simply said, "Get in."

Now this was a classic example of 'A rock and a hard place'. On one hand he was clean and good looking, every hookers dream date. Then again, what the hell was a rich, handsome man doing picking up a street hooker? Something smelled fishy and it wasn't my panties.

The cop in me took over again. I had a badge, a gun and a radio, what could go wrong? I opened the door and plopped my ass in the embrace of a soft leather seat. He was already moving as I pulled the door closed.

We drove several blocks in silence; he stared straight ahead watching the road as if I weren't there. When we stopped at a traffic light I expected the bargaining to begin. It didn't. The light turned green and we were moving again, heading for the edge of town. I can't say I was nervous, perplexed would be a better description. Guys in the big Vegas hotels call the escort services for girls or pick up on of the bevy of girls that hang out in the hotel lounges. Some of the more affluent will drive out to the "ranches" in the desert. The Chicken Ranch, Cottontail Ranch, Shady Lady and Berry Patch are all famous, popular, and expensive.

This guy could obviously afford better than the average street whore and we weren't going to one of the showboat hotels. "Which hotel are you staying at?" I asked, trying to ease my growing anxiety.

"I'm not." was his reply.

"Well, you want to tell me where you're taking me? My husband is gonna wonder where the hell I went."

He turned his head glaring incredulously at me; I returned it with a raised eyebrow and an expectant scowl. He made a right, heading south on Las Vegas Blvd.

"I have a ranch just outside of town. Don't worry, you're safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you and anytime you want I will drive you back to your corner."

"So why not use a hotel?"

"The hotels on the strip have too many cameras and the off strip dives make my skin crawl. Trust me. I'm going to make this worth your while. You get a bath and some pampering, some clean clothes, a nice dinner and a good time. Nothing else needs to happen if you don't want it to."

"So what is it you want from me? You could obviously do better without paying for it."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong. It has been my experience that sex will always cost you more than you can afford."

I stared backed at him but kept my mouth shut.

"Do you believe some people deserve better than they get?"

I didn't have to think about it long. I had seen more than a few National Honor Society girls on the street because the father couldn't keep their hands off them. Even a few High Society debutantes that that were forced out by a gold digging step mother who wanted the old man to themselves. He seemed satisfied with my curt nod.

"And would you agree that some people get better than they deserve?"

Again, I nodded. That was why I became a cop.

"Do you believe in second chances?"

The cynical cop in me answered before I could think about it, "You fuck up, you pay your price and you go on. That's your second chance."

It was his turn to give me the raised brow, "You really believe that?"

I turned away, unsure of how to answer. He made a right onto Blue Diamond road and continued out of town. Fifteen minutes later he slowed and put on his left signal. I made a mental note of the mailbox, 13509. L. Zander.

He turned down a long gravel drive flanked by whitewashed pasture fence. A Big Palomino bolted across the pasture and ran along side us. The driver's side window hummed quietly down and I heard the horse whinny over the rumble of tires on coarse gravel. "Zipper!" He called out, "My buddy! Be good boy. You can meet the Lady later."

"Pretty horse." I said, then laughed, "That was stating the obvious wasn't it?"

"Just don't tell him that. He already has a big head." He smiled at me, the most friendly gesture he had made since I laid eyes on him.

"Now who's stating the obvious?"

The car stopped in front of a large Mexican Villa, "This is it. My little corner of the world."

"Pretty big corner. Nicer than Industrial and Hacienda."

He cocked his head in silent question.

"My corner of the world."

"Ah. Not anymore if I can help it."

A golden haired girl with a dark tan stood in the archway in of open double doors that that, for their size, gave only a glimpse of the interior. She wrung her hands nervously, waiting for our approach "Your daughter?"

"Hardly. How old do you think I am?"

"Don't get me lyin'. Employee? Sister? Lover?"

"Not exactly, but logical guesses. She is a student. An assistant, Head of the household in my absence. She is also my ward, my adopted sister, my inspiration at times and exasperation at others. I'll explain it later. From the look on her face I expect there has been some trouble. Just stay close, I'll take care of this and we'll get down to business."

We walked toward the doors, the girl stepped forward, "Mr. Zander, I'm so glad you're home. Carrie is in her room crying. Her father tracked her down. He called earlier and demanded to speak to her."

He rolled his eyes, then his head, "Just what I needed to make a good impression on our new guest."

I'm sorry, Mr. Zander. I took the liberty of calling Mr. Silvers. He will be arriving within the hour."

"Thank you, Samantha. And stop calling me 'Mr. Zander'."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, we agreed that the formal was appropriate in matters of business and in the company of guests. As we are in the presence of a guest and discussing business matters it fell under the guidelines of that agreement."

"That agreement was with your sister and she had the manners of a wolverine."

"That agreement helped her understand that you get what you give and turned her life around. Now she's an attorney at Mr. Silver's firm. I could live with that sort of agreement."

"None the less, your manners are impeccable and you could stand to loosen up. Now take Miss... Miss... " He turned to me, his dismay evident in his eyes, "I'm terribly sorry. I seem to have forgotten your name."

"No you haven't. You never asked my name and I never offered it."

He dropped his head and shook it slowly, "And now you are going to embarrass me further in my own home by forcing me to drag it out of you? Fair enough." He turned his back for a moment, when he turned back he was the embodiment of charm. "Pardon me, Miss, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am Lucas Zander and this is my home." He held out his hand and bowed deeply.

That's the kind of uppity, smarmy shit that makes me want to give guys a knuckle sandwich, but somehow I just couldn't help smiling. There was something about the way he did it that was funny and genuine at the same time. So, I reached for his hand, he took it, but instead of a friendly shake he kissed it lightly and straightened. "Sadie. Sadie Knight." I did my best to curtsey, playing along with his game.

"Sadie Knight, welcome to Sanctuary Ranch. The lovely, if stuffy, young lady, is Samantha."

"Ranch? Please, tell me you're not running a brothel here."

Samantha laughed, "No, far from it. That would defeat the whole purpose wouldn't it?"

Lucas raised a hand to quiet her, "I haven't told her yet, Samantha."

"Told me what?" I interrupted.

He ignored me, "We are going to be receiving guests, have Amy find some appropriate attire for Miss Knight and lay them out in the room next to mine. Then check the other girls and ensure they are dressed and ready. Nothing fancy, casual for everyone, jeans and T-shirts will be fine or shorts if they prefer, and have Cinda draw a bath for Miss Knight. We'll be along shortly."

"Yes Sir." There was a flash of disappointment on her face.

"And, please, stop calling me Sir. Makes me nervous and gives the wrong impression. My name is Lucas. Use it."

"Yes Sir." Samantha whirled and disappeared inside, wisps of her long, light hair trailing in her wake.

"There are times that I am convinced she does that on purpose." He bowed again, extending his hand towards the door. "After you, Miss Knight."

"Only under one condition."

"Oh?"

"Stop calling me 'Miss Knight'. It makes me nervous and gives the wrong impression. My name is Sadie. Use it."

He laughed easily, nodding his head in understanding, then gestured to the door again. "Fair enough. Shall we, Sadie?"

"We shall, Lucas."

The Great Room was just that, huge. A sunken area in the center contained four leather sofas opposing on four sides around an open fireplace. Stairs on either side of the room lead up to an open walkway that circled the room. A hallway ran off both sides presumably to bedrooms and baths. The back wall was entirely glassed in with two sets of double doors leading to a large patio and a pool. Several girls were seated around the fireplace, ranging in apparent age from late teens to early twenties, engaged in studies, reading and quiet conversation. A few looked up and waved as we passed through.