“I’m not here about her soliciting. We’ve had word that she’s pushing.”
The glass drops, smashing as it hits hard tiles.
Angelo curses, flushes, then stoops under the bar to reappear with brush and dustpan. As he sweeps up splinters, “Mitch? A pusher? Nah… She has no time for drugs. She stays clean herself and she wouldn’t touch anyone else who went near them either.”
Lazy-eyed, the cop drawls, “That’s not what we’re being told.”
“You’re being told wrong. You’ve got the wrong woman.”
“In that case, she has nothing to worry about, has she? Where do we find her?”
“Couldn’t say.”
The cop leans forward, lowering his voice. “Tell me, does the hotel management know about your little arrangement with her? Using their premises?” Crouched down by the floor, Angelo stiffens. “How does it work
