Free The Dark End of the Street: New Stories of Sex and Crime by Today's Top Authors by Jonathan Santlofer, S.J. Rozan Page A

and check it out tonight.”
    â€œGood. I hope so, Mick. By the way, what were you suspended for before? I didn’t know about that when I hired you.”
    â€œIt’s a long story and it was a long time ago. Just put your clothes on, and if Tommy gets upset I’ll talk to him. You must have guys that come in here and just want to talk, don’t you?”
    â€œYeah, but they still have to pay.”
    â€œWell, I’m not paying. You’re paying me. This was a bad idea, meeting here.”
    I picked up her G-string and silk camisole off the floor and tossed them to her. She put a false pout on her face and started getting dressed. I took one last look at her surgically enhanced breasts before they disappeared under the leopard-skin camisole. I imagined her standing before a jury someday and thought she was going to do very well once she got out of law school.
    â€œHow much will this cost me?” she asked.
    â€œTwenty-five hundred for starters, payable right now. I can take a check or credit card. Then I go see Seiver tomorrow, and if it ends there, that will be it. If it goes further, then you pay as you go. Just like it works in here.”
    She stood up to pull on the G-string. Her pubic hair was shaved and cropped into a dark triangle no bigger than a matchbook. There was glitter dust in it so the stage lights would make that perfect triangle glow.
    â€œYou sure you don’t want to take it in trade?” she asked.
    â€œSorry, darling. A man’s gotta eat.”
    Once she snapped the G-string into place in the back, she stepped toward me and leaned down in an oft-practiced move that made her brown curls tumble over my shoulders.
    â€œA man’s gotta eat pussy, too,” she whispered in my ear.
    â€œWell, that, too. But I still think I’ll take the money this time.”
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re missing.”
    She stood up and raised her right foot, removing her spike. She wobbled for a moment but then steadied herself on one foot. From the toe of her shoe she pulled out a fold of cash. It was all hundred-dollar bills. She counted out twenty-five and gave them to me.
    â€œI’ll write you out a receipt. Did you make all of that tonight?”
    â€œAnd then some.”
    I shook my head.
    â€œYou’re going in the wrong direction if you’re going to give this up to practice law.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. I need something to fall back on. I’m about to hit the big three-oh. And when you lose it, it goes fast.”
    I appraised her flat stomach and thin hips, and the agility with which she raised her leg and put her spike back on.
    â€œI don’t think you’re losing anything.”
    â€œYou’re sweet. But it’s a young girl’s game.”
    She bent over and kissed me on the cheek.
    â€œYou know what?” she said. “I bet it’s the first time in the history of this place that a girl paid a guy off in a privacy both.”
    I smiled and took two of my hundreds and slid them under the garter on her thigh.
    â€œThere. A professional discount. You being in law school and all.”
    She quickly slid back onto my lap and bounced a few times.
    â€œThank you, Sweetie. That’ll make Tommy happy. But are you sure I can’t do something for you? I think you’re feeling the urge.”
    She bounced up and down a couple more times centered on me. She was feeling my urge all right.
    â€œI’m glad Tommy’ll be happy. But I better go now.”
    Late the next morning, I walked into Dean Seiver’s office in the district attorney’s office in the Santa Monica Courthouse annex. I carried my briefcase in one hand and a bag from Jerry’s Deli in the other. More important than the files I had in my case were the sandwiches I had in the bag. Brisket on toasted poppy-seed bagels. This was what we always ate. When I came to Seiver about a case, I always came late in the