“What friend?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Christ, Heller. Really.”

She took me by the arm and dragged me back to the room. She stood in the middle of all that red and demonstrated she didn’t have anything on under the striped top and capri pants. Her breasts were full, the nipples in their setting large and erect. She twirled, just to smirkingly show off the dimpled firm globes in back. In front she had an appendix scar and her bush was a black tangled dare against startling white flesh.

I was just taking it all in—she stripped with amazing speed and grace—and then she stood with her fists on her hips like a super woman, feet planted wide. Taking a look at my tented trousers, she said, “Well, I can see you’re interested.”

She came over and got on her knees and zipped me down and got me out. The black pixie-haired dynamo looked up at me with scary beautiful light-blue eyes.

“I wasn’t popular as a whore,” she said.

“Oh?”

She had me in her hands. “See, I wouldn’t do this for any man for any money. Only men I really liked. Or loved or thought I did.”

“Oh.”

Then she took me slowly into her mouth and worked me with expert care, particularly for a woman who had sworn off men years ago, and after a while she walked me by the engorged member over to the bed, like taking a child by the hand.

She put me on my back and climbed on; getting in was tough but worth the effort. At first it was like a fist had hold of me and then it got smooth and slippery and when, after a long, delirious, undulating fuck, I came, it felt goddamn good, and maybe to her, too. Anyway, she shivered and moaned and almost wailed. Maybe for the wired walls.

She rolled off, panting. She got a smoke from a pack of Chesterfields and stuck it between those full lips, the red stuff gone now, and lighted up. Then she grinned at me, mouth seeping smoke, and said, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” I said. “But I’ll hate myself in the morning.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The St. Louis Hills neighborhood had its share of single-family dwellings, but more than a few two-stories had become rooming houses, with substantial apartment buildings invading as well. This was one of those areas developed in the 1920s to provide families with tree-lined streets, churches and schools, with bordering businesses and the green open spaces of parks. Then the Depression came along and turned the Hills into a nest of apartments.

The neighborhood did seem to be working its way back. The brick structures dominating streets were lined with tall trees, a peaceful Ozzie and Harriet world of kids, bikes, couples walking dogs, moms pushing strollers. Ex-police lieutenant Louis Shoulders lived here, on Tamm Avenue, in one of four buildings he owned. According to Wes Grapp, Shoulders had several rooming houses during his time on the police department, as well; but those were in neighborhoods not so well-shaded—just shady, serving as they did to shelter whorehouses.