“Describe her,” Frank said, watching the kid and almost smiling.
“Oh s**t, legs about a mile long. Wearing a tight blue number that showed every curve she had. And bubba, she had the curves. Long blond hair fell down to her waist. Maybe in her early thirties. Only thing outta place was this big loaf of bread kinda envelope she held tightly under one arm. Like it was money itself. But hell, a woman with legs like that, she could wear a chicken on her head, and I wouldn’t give a s**t!”
The kid whistled softly through his teeth again and a smile played across his young, handsome face. He was maybe twenty at most. Just a young black kid going to college. I spied the stack of textbooks lying on the desk in the parking booth he occupied when we came up to him.
“He’s down here a lot in that ca
