LORELEI CLIPS ALONG in black, dagger-heeled, vinyl boots. Somehow, she manages to chew gum and smoke at the same time. I stroll along beside her. “Where are we going?”
“Few streets along, toward the Square. Coupla girls I know there saw a guy there might fit your bill. C’mon, it’s only a five-minute walk.”
Pointed looks shoot my way as I accompany an obvious street-hooker.
Lorelei talks from the side of her mouth. “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“That I’m a hooker.”
“Not in the least.”
“How come?”
“Everyone has to earn a living. Yours is an honest trade.”
She draws a whistle between her teeth. “It’s not everyone sees it that way.”
“I’ve met enough genuine bad bastards to know the difference between a criminal and someone who’s just trying to get through life.”
She halts mid-step,
