Where's My Money?

You only have to be a teensy bit savvy to know that when you call a hooker who you found in the back of the LA Weekly, the front of LAXpress or somewhere in the bowels of Craigslist, that 99% of the time she's gonna bring her "driver".

At the very least, the driver will be big and burly. At the very most, he'll pack some heat. Meantime, at the very least, he'll wait in the car while his associate does her business and returns unharmed and fully compensated. At the very most, he and his female compatriot will try to rob the you--the John.

This extreme can happen a number of ways: The John--who's thinking with his Johnson--will let the chick into his home and she'll try to "renegotiate" on the spot--with no intention of even shedding her shoes, let alone getting naked. If this fails, she'll just return to the car, or call the "driver" from her cell and he'll be at the door in seconds. Other times, it's more blatant. The hook and the driver just show up to the door, began knocking and cause a scene.

Which brings us to last night's BHPD caper on Tower Road. Two patrol units sent to investigate a woman and her "bodyguard" banging on the door of a poor bastard's apartment screaming about money.

Unsurprisingly, by the time units went on scene, the lady and gentleman of the night had disappeared and the RP explained it all away as "somebody must have been playing a pratical joke on me," and just like that, the coppers went available and the crime was solved.