HOOKERS

"FOREWORD"


In writing this preface, it seems that I have followed the old Mexican
custom of "Manana," and waited until the book was finished, before
writing it, then I discovered that it was a necessity.

The characters in this story are real, live, and living people, and most
of them are still in the fair city of Juarez, plying the oldest trade in
the world, and were known personally by the Author, who studied them for
several months in pop-eyed amazement.

All of the incidents in this story actually happened, and are taken
right from the bare facts of life; in fact, the Author has had to tone
down some of the descriptions of the parties herein mentioned.

The Author has not meant to be vicious in his statements of either
country, but has merely stated conditions as they were found.

THE AUTHOR.




"You lousy bastard, don't you ever set foot in this room again. You sure
got nerve--accusing me of holding out on you--you know damn well that
guy never paid me a cent."

"Well, Pearl, how was I to know? He came down into the street, and said
that he gave you two bucks."

"As long as you've been a Pimp, you should fall for that
stuff--Screw--get out of my sight."

"O. K. Baby, but remember that if you ever need me, all you gotta do is
just say the word. You know I'm all for you."

"Nuts--I've been in this burg a week, and all I done is turn Two Dollar
tricks, and split with you, and for what? You ain't never brought me one
dime, but you sure ain't missed any meals. I don't need you or any other
guy from now on. I got my permit today from the Chief of Police of
Juarez, to hustle all I want on the Mex side, and I'm doing it, starting
tonight."


One week had passed since the person of Pearl Jones had stepped off the
west-bound Texas & Pacific train in El Paso, with one thought in mind,
and that to make as much money as possible in as short a time as
possible, and without bother from the police if--possible, which is not
POSSIBLE, even in a border town like El Paso, as Pearl had already found
out.

In order for Pearl to hustle on the Mexican side of the border in the
City of Juarez, it was absolutely necessary that she have a written
permit from the Chief of Police, or any official whom she happened to
please in the usual way that a girl of her ilk had to please one, when
there wasn't enough money in the pocket to buy the permit. Consequently,
Pearl found out later she could have had a permit from the most lowly
Immigration official to the Mayor himself, but in the midst of her
efforts to please, the Chief of Police seemed to be the one who was
affected quickest in her efforts to--please--. Hence the permit.

Juarez, Mexico, chief port of entry to Mexico, population of forty
thousand souls, mostly lost ones, separated from the United States by
the Rio Grande River, if it may have the luck to be called a river,
which at no time is deep enough to wet the crucial spot of one's
anatomy, in case one has to run through it owing to lack of time to make
the bridge, which has often been the case.

"Well, this is a night for celebration," thought Pearl, as she left her
hotel to walk down to the corner of Stanton Street, to catch the Juarez
car. The car was filled from door to door with old Mexican women,
wrapped in black shawls, which would have been black with dirt had they
been originally any other color, and loaded down with topping bags
filled with the bare necessities that their own Immigration was kind
enough to let them bring in, and anything else that they might hide
under the numerous dirty underskirts they might happen to have on.


The car clanged, and slowly started its noisy journey toward the Stanton
Street Bridge, at which it stopped from three to five minutes, for the
Mexican Immigration and Customs Officials to go through the car and make
a pretense at examining everything that was being brought into Mexico,
as if anything on the face of God's green earth that was brought into
Mexico could hurt it.


"I wonder where I'll get off, now that I'm over here," thought Pearl, as
the car left the bridge to ramble on its way on into the heart of
Juarez, which is the sixteenth of September St. "I know," she thought,
"I'll get off at the Tivoli, where all the gambling is, and see if I
have any luck there."