Julie found Sydny down near the far end of the room. She was sitting in one of the chairs, staring at herself in the mirror. Her gaze shifted when Julie entered her line of vision.

“I hope Derek didn’t send you to me for training.” She spoke directly to Julie’s reflection. “You look like you’ve got too much class for this line of work.”

“It’s lucrative, isn’t it?”

“Exceptionally.” Sydny sighed, began to take off her makeup. “Assuming you know how to work it, assuming you’ve got big spenders who take you into Heaven.”

“Heaven?”

“That’s what we call the back room. You know, lap dances, blow jobs, quickies. Whatever.” She laughed. “No, you can’t be a newbie, though, god knows, you have the face and body for it. You’re blushing.” She put down the cotton ball she had been using. “So who the hell are you?”

“I’m doing a story for—”

“Say what?” Sydny frowned. “Reporters aren’t allowed back here. How’d you manage it, kitten?”

Julie smiled in what she hoped was a sly fashion. “There are ways around everything and everyone.”

Sydny laughed, a deep, rich sound that came from her lower belly. “So you’re a wicked girl, after all.”

Julie, who thought of herself as the antithesis of a wicked girl, pulled up a chair from the next station. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Not here, you won’t.” Sydny reapplied lipstick, a less lurid shade than the one she had used when dancing. She pointed. “Go through that door and wait for me. I won’t be a minute.”

“How do I know you won’t run out on me?”

Sydny gave her an arched eyebrow look. “Kitten, why bother? I’ve got fuck-all to hide.”

10

So it was a mobile operation. Charlie identified a single car—a black Ford sedan with smoked windows. Why did the feds and law enforcement use smoked glass in their unmarked vehicles, she wondered, when it was a dead giveaway to anyone with even a modicum of street tradecraft?

Having identified her watchers, she went home, walking at a brisk pace. As she neared her building, the rain subsided. The mist felt good on her face. She entered her apartment building, noting before she did so that the black sedan positioned itself with a clear line of sight to the entrance.

Upstairs in her apartment she went to her toolbox, selected an ice hammer and, stuffing it head first into the back pocket of her jeans, took the stairs back down to the basement. She walked past the rodent traps and the garbage cans to the rear service door, used her key to unlock it, and went through. A short flight of pockmarked concrete steps brought her up into the alley behind her building. She went down the alley, came out onto the street by the side of the building adjacent to hers. The Ford was still parked in its advantageous spot. Crossing the street, she walked at a normal pace until she was just behind the car. Then she pulled out the ice hammer and, leaning over, smashed the rear window. A shadow of spastic movement indicated there was only one man inside.