58The apartment smelled like someone soaked old fish in vinegar and broiled it in onions. It was really not so much an apartment as a room. The kitchen was separated by a greasy shower curtain and the bathroom was a toilet and a sink hidden behind a green folding screen. No tub, no shower.
Marshall Rupert sat on the edge of a bed with his elbows on his knees, looking at Lucy, the thirty year old woman he had been intimately involved with for half her life. As pathetic as the place was, it was far above the situation where he found her in Thailand where she was the poster child for the s*x trade: trapped, horribly abused and hungry, seemingly without hope. That was until her benefactor, which was how Rupert thought of himself, moved her to better circumstances. She still gave herself to al
