Pretty sure the lady - man? - I stood next to on the corner of 131st and Chestnut at two in the morning was a prostitute, but who the hell knew these days? I just hoped I wouldn't have to introduce myself to the ladyman's pimp and fill out a job application as continued punishment for my non-arrival at the warehouse f**k-up with Hill.
I arrived at the corner at exactly one fifty, had even allowed myself enough time to circle the neighborhood and figure out the best exit strategy if it came to that like it had at the yellow house. I debated taking the crowbar from my car with me in case someone started up another fireworks show, complete with rat poison and fat Texan men with seventeen chins, but decided not to. It wouldn't fit under my hoodie and jacket anyway.
The streetlight buzzed and
