Twenty-FourAcross the barroom floor, the piano player banged his keys, filling the room with tinny ragtime. With her eye pressed close to the Truth-Teller, Bridget could see only the top of the man’s bald head shining just above the sheet music. Tawny lights glowing, men slapping down cards, chips landing in the centers of tables. Others lined the bar. Doc, at the end, sucked on a glass. Hassie and Ruby circulated, young females like china dolls, painted, acting empty. Hardest to watch were the two youngest, even younger than herself, younger than June. Smiling, strutting, believing themselves grown up. They knew the mechanics of s*x, enjoyed the money, even the attentions of older men. Did they know the long-term physical and emotional consequences of their actions? They reminded Bridget
