She set her tray on a table, picked up the half-pint carton of milk, opened it, and walked to that door. Biff faded back out of sight. She came to stand between the doorway and the large trash container, drinking her milk. She faced back to -- ward the main chamber.

"Yeah?" It was Biff's voice from the other side of the doorway.

"I want something."

"What?"

"It's a sort of gray metal button, like a slug, only thicker and brighter. It was on a bum who got rolled two weeks ago. He wore funny clothes. He gave some punks the finger, and they pounded him."

"What's it to you?"

"It's a memento. I heard it's a luck charm."

"I don't mess with luck charms."

"I want it bad. This one, no other."

"How bad?"

"I'll game for it."

He laughed, harshly. "You want it, you bring money."

"I have no money. Make another offer."

"Stand out where I can see you."

She finished her milk, dumped the balled carton into the container, and stepped into the center of the doorway. She was wearing a light white sweater and black skirt, both too tight. She inhaled, turning. She hated this part, but it was all she had to bargain with. Biff could get girls, but they were either his type, which was no novelty, or under duress, which was no fun.

What he wanted was a high-class young one who would pretend she liked it. Colene had acted high-class for years, and she knew how to pretend.

"Okay. One week."

Now she laughed. "I'm a clean girl! One night."

"You ain't clean! Four guys had you."

"Not lately. I'll put four guys in jail, they come near me again. I never ate or sniffed.

I'm clean."

"But you drank." , "Never again!"

"No jail, if you deal. None of that." He meant no charges against him.

"None of that," she agreed. "Two nights."

"You don't want it bad enough."

"You don't even have it." Then, signaling the approach of someone dumping a tray in the trash, "Pause."

When the person moved on, she said, "Resume." Part of the deal, when anyone talked with Biff, was to keep it quiet.

"I can get it." Her heart leaped. "You know of it? It has to be only that one."

"They couldn't fence a slug. No value. I can get it. To -- morrow."

"I said I'd game, I win, what I want. You win, what you want."

"That slug against one week, smiling." Not only would she have to do anything he wanted, short of drugs -- there were reasons to keep a clean girl clean -- she would have to take his side if they were caught, swearing she was his girl --

friend and that there had been no coercion. She gagged at the notion, but had to accept. There was a screwball honor in this sort of dealing, enforced by those who had no con -- science, just business sense.