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The Hand Of A Pimp - Polish Arrest - Poland
by Angus J.J. Bell | Date >
2004-06-06 | Country : Poland | City : Ustron
| Area : n/a |
We were the only guests in the seven-hundred-bed hotel from The Shining in Ustron, Poland. I fully expected the elevator doors to open, and blood to flow down the corridor. We were looking for entertainment. We had seen Polish television and never wanted to again. Highlander had been screened the night before, and instead of subtitles, or dubbing by a professional team of actors, a man read monotonously through the script at his own pace. So we decided we'd hit a disco in town.
The disco proved no better. Mums, dads, and grandparents bopped boisterously with ten-year-olds on their feet to 1980s keyboard and Slavic song. It sounded at times like a cat with appendicitis.
Unsatisfied, we asked our taxi driver friend who'd brought us there to direct us to the best nightlife in town. He didn't speak a word of English, but showed signs he understood, and beckoned us into his cab.
"This taxi man's a really nice guy, eh?" I said.
"Lucky we found someone who knows where's good," said New Zealand Brendan.
We left the town and began a winding journey into the mountains.
"Where the hell are we going? Prague?" asked Douglas.
We pulled off the road onto a mud track, leading through the trees, and at last through the gloom we could make out the shape of a building.
"There's only two cars," I pointed out. "It's Wednesday night. There'll be no one here. We're probably gonna go straight back. Look. It's cost us nearly seventeen zlotys already."
The taxi driver got out and approached a heavy, steel door, which a man on the other side unbolted. They shook hands. The taxi driver turned and waved us in. As we entered, we too shook hands with the doorman.
We reached the brightly-coloured, silent dance floor. There was only the barman in the room.
"Oh, this is shit!" I said.
Douglas and Brendan ordered a beer - strangely expensive for this corner of Europe - then we sat on some comfy sofas at the edge of the room. I sipped on my water.
Five girls, clad only in G-strings, marched up to the bar with Joe Le Taxi, and sat on the stools, facing us. Suddenly the pole on the dance floor could be explained. I couldn't believe I had shaken the hand of a pimp. I didn't want to think about where it might have been. The girls smiled inanely, and chatted with our taxi man. The barman switched on some techno, signalling the start of the pole dancing.
"Let's get out of here," I suggested. But before I could get an answer, a girl had leapt on Brendan and began shagging his face.
Twenty minutes passed. The other two had had their beers re-filled. We were still slumped on the sofas.
"Come on, guys. Hurry up," I urged.
There was a look of concern on the faces of the management, too. Why hadn't the three foreign men gone upstairs with the girls yet?
I stood up and walked to the exit, at which point the pimp pulled a gun. Just kidding, but these people do have weapons. I must have still been drunk from the kiddies' disco, because I was harbouring ideas of joy-riding the taxi. Through the window, I saw the meter had been running the whole time. Oh shit. Our chauffeuring friend, whilst indulging in the comforts of a brothel, felt it acceptable to charge us for his evening's entertainments. I had other ideas, and went to get the others.
But before we'd got to the steel door, Joe Le Taxi re-appeared and ran ahead of us. He started the engine.
"No. You see. We're going to walk back," I tried to explain. I demonstrated walking movement with my fingers. Eventually, it seemed to click, and the subject of forty-five zlotys came up. As we were leaving the country in a matter of hours, our funds wouldn't stretch.
"No, no, no, pal. You're getting sixteen-fifty. That's what the meter said when we got here," I insisted. He looked at the money in my hand and shook his head. Brendan and Douglas were already walking off down the track.
"Poliska! Poliska!" shouted Joe, picking up his mobile and looking threateningly at me. I didn't know what he meant.
"This is all you're getting, pal." I placed the money on the rear of the car and walked off.
"Yeah - he's playing the I'll-talk-loudly-and-pretend-I'm-speaking-to-the-police game," I laughed when I caught up with the others.
We began a sprint all the same, laughing hysterically. A car was coming.
"Into the ditch!" ordered Douglas. It wasn't Joe. We got back up and continued to run.
"We need to find some woods to hide in," said Douglas.
A screech of burning rubber was heard behind us, and the crazed bastard sped onto the main road in pursuit, headlights on us on full beam, hazard lights flashing furiously.
"Quick! There's a taxi coming from the other direction!" I shouted. "Wave it down. It'll be funny if we get in that one!"
Only, it was the police. In a cruel pincer movement, we became trapped. Four burly men, smelling of alcohol, bundled out. One man was dressed like Murdoch in the A-Team. Maybe he was a soldier they'd picked up. Even soldiers hitchhike in Poland. I guess they've got to get to work, too, right?
"I'll handle this," I said authoritatively. "Dzen dobbry."
One officer said something like, "Oh, you speak very good Polish!" But I didn't understand.
"Do you speak English?" I asked.
"Yes," answered the same officer.
"This man," I pointed an incriminating finger at Joe Le Taxi, "he is bad man. He took us to bad place. We asked to go to nightclub. He took us to brothel. His meter said sixteen-fifty when we arrived and that's what we've paid him. He wants forty-five zlotys. But we didn't ask him to wait.
"Stare at Joe and shake your heads, guys" I whispered to Douglas and Brendan.
It was Joe's turn to explain events. There was much giggling by the police officers. We, too, laughed heartily, although not understanding. Joe shrugged uncomfortably and eventually was ordered away.
"We will take you back," said the officer. Murdoch and his friend were left on the hillside as we were bundled into the back of the police car. There were no door handles or seatbelts inside, only a thick, plastic wall between the front and us. It was fortunate that Joe had told the police our address, because we didn't know. The enormous lady at reception in our hotel saw the flashing lights, and came out to meet us.
"Oh! My poor boys!" she squealed on hearing our explanations.
The police waved goodbye. There can be no doubt they were going straight back to the brothel to finish their night. |
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