Chapter 46: Plans, Confrontations, and Bad Memories

Precisely at noon, the phone rang at the McGrath home. Caitlin picked it up, as the bedside phone was at hand while she got ready for work. "Hello?"

"Hello." There was a pause. "Is Erin there?"

"Um, yeah. I'll get her." Caitlin carried the phone to Erin's room, where she was draped across her bed watching TV. "It's for you."

"Who is it?" Erin asked suspiciously. She didn't feel like dealing with Mary or Louise -- especially if Toby wasn't going to call...

"Well, I THINK it's that boy..."

"Gimme that!" Erin snatched the phone from her mother's hand. "Hello?"

"Erin?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, so, what's up?"

"Nothing." Erin frowned and waved her mother away, but Caitlin stood there grinning. "You?"

"Nothing much. Just goofing off." Actually, Toby had spent the past hour anxiously watching the clock. "Wanna do something?"

"Sure. Whatcha got in mind?"

Shit! Think, quick! We did a movie last night, so... "Ummmm, nothing much. We could go hang out at the mall or... I dunno... go skating..." Not that his current finances could handle much in the way of high living.

Erin frowned; those options were 'way too public... "I dunno. Maybe we could just hang out here and watch the tube..."

Huh! That was a LOT better -- and not just because it wouldn't cost anything! Best to play it cool... "Sure. What about your mom?"

"She has to be at work in an hour." Erin grimaced; that wasn't the smartest thing to say with Mom standing right there...

"After last night, I'd probably better stay out of her sight," Toby agreed, unaware that the word was already out. "When should I come?"

"Oh, any time..." Erin replied, eyeing her mother.

"Okay. Twenty minutes?"

"Yeah. See ya then!" Erin hung up.

Caitlin stood there, arms folded. "You two need to keep it..." Erin just looked at her. "Oh, never mind!" Flustered, she stomped out. She'd be closing the barn door after the horse left anyway, and besides, in theory, at least, Erin was doing better...

Toby dropped the phone in its cradle and headed for the hall closet to get a jacket. His mother looked up from the cooking show she was watching, "So, you're off, then?" Toby had been wearing a groove in the floor...

"Yeah, I'm going to see my g--..." Toby stopped dead. How to finish this?

Too late. Mom was on full alert. "Toby?"

Head on, then. "I'm going to see a girl."

"To do what? Help her with her algebra?" Mild amusement painted Mom's features.

Toby passed on the temptation to lie. "We're just gonna hang out for a while. Watch TV or something."

"Really?" Was he pulling her leg, trying to prop up his ego, or had lightning struck? Penny Brillstein's eyes narrowed. "Be home for dinner..." Time to give Jean Braithewaite a call... She'd know, if anything was up -- or she'd pry it out of Randall. Toby nodded and was gone, leaving an aura of relief.

Erin didn't get ten feet before the phone rang. This time, it was Louise Bryant. "Oh, hi Louise," Erin mumbled, rolling her eyes, "What's up?"

"Uhh, what do you think of Dwayne Hansen?" Louise blurted.

Louise had salivated over some boy from a distance every few days FOREVER! Erin sighed, "He's okay, I guess. Why?"

"Hey, I'm serious!" Louise complained. "I need to know!"

"Why? You gotta date?" Erin returned sarcastically.

"Yes." Louise's monosyllable was smug.

"What?" The shoe was on the other foot now! "Tell me!"

"Well, I went to the basketball game, and got to talking with Mary Eikenberry -- she's nice, did you know that? Anyway, she said I wasn't advertising properly and dragged me down to the girl's lockers for a makeover." Louise giggled. "IF you consider gym clothes a makeover! Anyway, she called Rob and the next thing I knew Dwayne was standing there with his eyes bugging out!"

"No way!"

"Way! Dwayne took me home -- well, we hung out at the park for a little bit, getting to know one another -- and I have a date tonight!"

"Way cool!" Erin was shocked! Louise mostly hid in the corner and dreamed...

"So, about Dwayne..."

"Well," Erin got serious about it, "he's a jock, which isn't always a good thing, I've learned. And wasn't he in on that thing with Ted Phipps and Darla Jean?"

"Well, yeah," Louise admitted, "but I have it on good authority that Ted lies a lot, and Dwayne was a boy scout by comparison."

"Really?" Erin had heard the same thing, but...

"Really."

"So why did you suddenly get interested in Dwayne?"

Erin didn't have to see Louise to know that she was blushing. "Well, it was the Darla Jean thing. No matter who you listen to, he's... experienced. And my sources say he's pretty nice, too."

Erin's sources said the same thing, actually -- probably because they were basically the same sources. "Okay, so why do you need my opinion?"

"I'm scared."

"Well DON'T CHICKEN OUT! When's this date?"

"Tonight. We're going to the movies. What should I do? What should I wear? What movie should I pick?"

Erin rolled her eyes. Louise was SUCH a dishrag! "You'll think of something. Say, what were you wearing that caused Dwayne's eyes to bug out?"

Louise laughed. "I was braless under one of Mary's low-cut tops! That and my gym shorts -- without undies. And flip-flops. Doesn't sound like much, but Dwayne noticed!"

"No, that'd do it," Erin mused. Louise had a lot more up top than Erin did, even though she hid it under high-necked stuff and squashed it in bras that were too small. "You got pretty brave, then!"

"Well, it was Mary's idea."

"She was right. So, how far did he go?"

"In the car?" Louise giggled nervously. "Well, he got a good feel of my titties. And he brushed a finger over my fur patch once. I pretty much invited that -- I was showing wispies."

"So did you have to fight him off?"

"No. He was pretty cool about it. He's a good kisser, too!"

Erin chuckled. "You should try Toby!"

"Brillstein?"

"Uh huh. We had a date last night." Now it was Erin's turn to be smug.

"Did you..." Louise was well aware that Erin was, well, loose...

"No. But we necked something torrid! I spent thirty minutes with Buzz, afterward!" 'Buzz' was Erin's pink vibrator...

Louise laughed. "So when do you see him again?"

"In about ten minutes, I figure. I just got off the phone with him!"

"Wow! We'd better hurry then! What about Dwayne?"

"Ummm, well, it doesn't sound like he's rolling right over you. Try to hold onto your cookies until next time, if you can. But it's your call -- do what seems right. Don't let him run everything, though, like you usually do with people..."

"Well, we talked about it. I think he understands." Louise murmured diffidently.

Erin rolled her eyes. Why didn't Louise just spread herself on the car hood, for Pete's sake? She handed the boy all of the keys... "Well, tonight will probably tell you what you need to know. Honey, some people don't like to run other people's lives -- it's too much responsibility. You need to, like, dress yourself, and breathe on your own every once in a while..."

"Oh, God! What am I gonna wear?" Louise wailed.

"Clothes." Erin knew Louise's problem. "A blouse that buttons up the front -- that you can unbutton. And a skirt with a stretch waistband that you can roll up?"

"Okay. Shoes?" Louise asked.

"Don't worry about it. Anything. His attention should be above your feet. Oh, get out of that bra as soon as you can!"

"Dwayne's already mentioned that," Louise related.

"How?" Erin was suspicious.

"He can't understand why I hurt myself like that..."

Erin frowned. That could be really cute, or really sneaky... "What about panties?"

"He said that was too much of a temptation, and that I should wear them."

"Well, wear nice ones!"

"You KNOW I don't have any!"

There was a knock at Erin's door. "Toby's here! Good luck!"

"But--" Erin hung up, ending the conversation.

Peter Braithewaite looked up as his son came through the door, "So, how was Astronomy Club?"

"Uhhh, good." Randall's demeanor said that there was more to it than that.

"What did you do?"

"Well, we looked at observation data from last week and some stuff from JPL."

"Doesn't sound like an all-nighter."

"We kind of hung out after that, fooling around in Jimmy's pool..."

Peter was pretty sure that the cat STILL hadn't gotten out of the bag. Given how things tended to be, he suspected that the boys had probably been watching blue movies and jerking off or something. It was a situation he felt that he had to tolerate, given Randall's limited social opportunities, but it bothered him some. In particular, it worried him that things might go beyond that -- so his son's next question made him seriously uneasy...

"Dad, were you ever, um, raped?"

Peter went white. There was a dead silence that went on for some time. "I... don't want to talk about it. Why?"

"It's, um, how you react to certain things, like gays, and jocks..."

Peter got a grip on himself. This could be serious. "There was an... incident. We don't speak of it." Concern flooded his features. "Why? You haven't -- you aren't... ?"

Randall smiled easily. "Not that you'd notice. Astronomy Club has gone co-ed. I... have a girlfriend..."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief while he took in his son's demeanor. There was more to it than that; Randall was displaying a certain confidence. Apparently, not only did he HAVE a girlfriend, he was sleeping with her! THAT was the reason for the all-nighter! "Anyone I know?"

"Darla Jean."

"She's a little wispy, isn't she?" Peter remembered a narrow, freckled tomboy with pigtails pinned down in rings on her head.

"She's, uh, blossomed some." Randall replied.

"Well, that's good, I guess. I can remember you guys laughing about how you put her out on her ear the last time she tried to get into the club..."

Randall scratched his head absently. "Well, like I said, things have changed. The guys have mostly collected girlfriends, so the all-male thing became a problem, rather than a goal. Besides, Darla Jean is smart enough to contribute in her own right."

Peter nodded sagely. He didn't really see Randall maintaining a relationship with some air-head girl. This kind of explained some strange behavior on Randall's part over the last week or so, too. "You're taking the proper precautions?"

"Yes." Randall was surprised; they hadn't discussed THAT!

"It's all over your face," Peter managed a grin. "Don't get in too deep; boys seldom settle down with their first, you know."

"We're... both aware of that," Randall replied guardedly.

"Good." Randall got out of there, leaving Peter sorting through his emotions. Jean would have to be told, diplomatically, so she didn't get overly excited. Thank God the boy wasn't... Memory set in...

Peter's high school career had been an academic triumph and a social disaster. Girls... He just couldn't bring himself to interact with such angelic creatures! He was horny one hundred percent of the time, which made for problems here and there, like the time he got caught beating off in the boy's room by one of the teachers. He was terribly shy, and feared that the other boys would call him a freak due to the size of his cock (it was around the size of Randall's), so the showers were a problem for him -- one he didn't handle well, attracting unwanted attention. Add to that his GPA and the fact that he shared last period gym with the jocks, and you have all of the makings of a major disaster...

Peter was trying to closet himself in the corner shower when someone shoved underwear over his head and brawny arms held his from behind. "Gimme that tape," a voice murmured, and Peter's eyes were further blinded by sticky wrappings and his hands were similarly bound behind him while a hand over his mouth muffled his pleas for help. Moments later he was thrown across a bench in the locker room and the torture began.

"Well, Little Peter, we figure it's time to check out the problem with your queer-bait ass!" a voice rumbled.

"No! Please! Don't--" Peter began, but the hand was back, first slapping him, then covering his mouth.

"Shaddap! Fuckin' do what you're told, queer-bait, an' you might leave here in one piece! If ya don't, Coach is gonna wonder why you're havin' sex with broom handles!"

"Oh, God! Noooo--" Slap! Peter saw stars. (Later, Peter would remember his whining and crying with humiliation, but for now there was only fear and pain.)

"Open your fucking mouth and stick out your tongue!" Peter refused, more out of fear than bluster, and got pummeled. Finally he acquiesced, wondering, 'Okay, so, what are they going to stick in my mouth? Soap?'

It wasn't. Peter knew immediately EXACTLY what it was when the meatsicle settled on his tongue! He squalled and retracted his tongue, but the nasty thing was already between his teeth, leaving the musk of its lubricant on his tongue. Strong hands held his head rigid; he had nowhere to go. The abortive attempt to close his mouth got him another slap and a growled, "You bite me and I'll jam a broom ALL the way up your ass, fuckhead! Now, suck!"

So the ordeal began. Initially, they held him rigid and fucked his face, but soon the fight went out of him and they could nod his head over their erections. He was never certain how many there were, how many cocks got jammed in his mouth, how many horrid blasts of semen he choked on.

One reason was the distraction introduced during the second blowjob; suddenly, a hard, oblong object was being forced aganst his asshole! Peter screamed and fought, bringing on a momentary hiatus while his tormentors reorganized things...

"Shit! This thing's too big! Wrong shape, too!"

"Okay, so it's a bar of soap. What do you expect?"

"I gotta reshape the fucker, or I can't use it! Chop it in half lengthwise, maybe..."

"What the fuck you gonna use to do that?"

"Hey! Gimme your pocket knife!"

"What you gonna do with it?"

"Don't worry..." Various noises met Peter's ears, but he was otherwise engaged. Only later did he recognize the sounds of the knife working a bar of soap. "There! That's better. Got one for the other queer-bait, too!" Only then did Peter realize that he wasn't the only victim -- that the thrashing noises and grunts across the room represented another attack.

But he didn't have much time to think about it; the wet bar of soap, now trimmed down and rounded, was again being forced against his protesting anus -- this time, successfully! Peter grunted and thrashed, but the soap was wet and slick and it got past his sphincter. Peter forced it out, and one of his assailants gleefully chased it across the floor, wet it, and re- inserted it. This happened three or four times before somebody grunted, "Okay, he's slick enough," and Peter suddenly realized that he'd been helping them! Oh, God! But it was too late -- the blunt head of a cock began pressing where the soap had paved the way and Peter howled in agony as it tore through, causing the soap to burn his rectum. Peter forgot all about the cock sliding in and out of his mouth -- the REAL horror was the one now tearing into his ass!

This went on for -- minutes? Centuries? Peter wasn't sure... There was more than one visitor, though, at each of his portals. But the final humiliation was yet to come!

"He likes it! Jeezus! Lookit that boner!" Peter realized that they were talking about HIM! How could he be aroused by all this? The horror intensified.

"Whoa! Guess you ain't Little Peter after all, queer-bait! Get that other queer-bait over here to suck him off!" Moments later, soft lips wrapped themselves around his erection and Peter came, copiously, almost immediately, his iron-hard member gouting into the anonymous mouth. Peter's shame and humiliation knew no bounds!

Moments later, it was apparently over. They rolled him onto the floor and taped him to the other victim, leaving them there until apparently the last of them was dressed and ready to leave, then cut part way through their bindings and left. By the time the pair broke loose, their assailants were long gone, and they were left with their embarrassment, pain, and humiliation.

The remainder of Peter's senior year was one long wait for the episode to repeat itself, punctuated by the nightmares. Worst of all was the fact that he'd enjoyed parts of it, physically! Was he queer? God! The other victim, Germaine Brown, a slight black boy, DID become a homosexual -- or maybe he just was, originally -- even to the point of accosting Peter once for a re-match! Peter actually threatened him with violence -- something unheard-of in Peter -- and the boy left him alone.

The only positive thing to come from the experience was the fact that the taunts of 'Little Peter' went away -- but Peter wondered just how many people knew why. He couldn't face his schoolmates; the uncertainty made his life a living Hell until he got out of high school. In fact, he was almost completely without a social life for his first two years of college! Finally, Jean had rescued him...

Peter fixed himself a scotch. Those memories always left him stressed out -- and Jean was going to get a serious riding tonight while he engaged in a bout of self-affirmation! Peter grinned without humor; recognizing what he was doing didn't keep it from happening...

"Hi, Mama." Nate strode through the door, followed by Nora, Draper, and Tenisha -- all of whom were working towels over their bodies.

"Boy," Tabitha favored her offspring with a nod. "How you doin'?" She punctuated this with a glance around their surroundings.

"Fine." Nate's face closed. "Takin' the day off. Gotta work tomorrow... What 'bout you?"

"I'm rediscoverin' sex!" Tabitha replied, with a glance at Paul. Paul's expression said he'd suddenly rather be elsewhere.

"Huh?" Draper grunted. "I, uh, thought you, uh, knew quite a bit 'bout that..."

"What I do for work ain't sex, Honey. Least for me it ain't. Mostly it's about lettin' somebody beat off in me." Tabitha grunted. "Last night was the first time in a LOOONG time that I went lookin' fer mine -- an' I found it, jus' fine! Sex is, well, between the ears, I guess. You gotta have some interest in what you're doin' an' who you're doin' it with..." Belatedly, she looked around at the girls present. "Sorry, gals."

Nora shrugged. "I've learned that for Daddy, the 'regular' part of sex isn't as important as what else is going on -- and I'm beginning to think that might apply to Mom, too."

"What might apply to me?" Sharon asked, re-entering the room.

Tabitha moved in smoothly. "She was jus' sayin' that you probly understood that sex is between the ears more than between the legs better'n most."

"Oh." Sharon examined this comment for negative content, but left it when results turned out to be inconclusive. "Okay."

Armand's rumbling chuckle sounded behind her. "Such wisdom..." He eyed Tabitha and nodded toward Nate. "I'll give you a moment or two with your son, then I'd appreciate it if you joined us in my study."

"No problem," Tabitha replied. "We ain't got that much ta say to one another, anyways, bein' we're both doin' okay. Right, Boy?"

"Yeh."

She stepped up and gave him a peck on the cheek and he offered a hug. When she stepped back, she took in Leticia, who had recovered her bikini top, since everyone else had -- but was still sans bottoms and sporting a tail. "Well, THAT's interestin'! You run 'round like that alla time?"

"Um, no," Leticia returned hesitantly. With Armand in the room, she didn't dare be unresponsive.

"Le's see the back," Tabitha directed. Freshly mortified, Leticia granted her the view. "Looks better on you than it would on me, I bet," Tabitha commented. "So howcum?"

"I insulted your son and his friends. Mr. Wilson is punishing me for it."

"Uh... huh..." Tabitha eyed Armand. Yeah, the rumors were true. This shit could still come down around her ears... "Well, least it looks good. Could be worse." Turning to Nate, she said, "I'll see y'all later." Nate nodded, and she followed Sharon out of the room. Paul brought up the rear.

"We probably oughta go," Tenisha announced. Draper nodded. Nora got the pair organized, getting them back to their room to change and ordering Draper's car brought around.

On the way out, Draper pulled Nate aside. "Hey, 'bout jobs, Man..."

Nate nodded. "I'll ask."

"Cool."

The group that gathered in Armand's study consisted of Armand, Jason, Sharon, Scott, Paul, and Tabitha, with Witherspoon on the phone. Armand kicked things off as they settled in various couches and chairs, "How is your health?"

"I'm comin' up," Tabitha replied. "Better'n expected, after that run-in I had. Thanks."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Pinkham continues to be a slow learner," Armand announced, resuming control of things. "We're gathered here to discuss what can be done about it." Turning to Paul, he said, "Why don't you brief us on this latest incident?"

Paul nodded. "We went out to get Tabitha some fresh air and to get her seen in her old haunts -- largely to ascertain Rodday's reaction. One of his hired help detected us almost immediately, and set up an ambush in the parking lot. From what we got later, the intent was to penetrate Tabitha's protection and give her a more visible and lasting reminder of who was in charge -- a broken bone, perhaps. We detected it, and our personnel on the scene proved superior to theirs. Rodday's people retired with a couple of broken bones, instead of Tabitha."

"I see," Armand murmured. "Then what happened?"

Paul looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I took Tabitha to my apartment."

"Why?"

" 'Cause I wheedled him inta it," Tabitha supplied. "I needed ta see if my money-maker was workin'. Paul was a project -- he wasn't gonna jus' fall in the sack wit' me, which made it more of a challenge, like."

"Okay, I see your end, but was taking her to your apartment sensible? Was she covered?" Armand pressed.

"Thoroughly," Scott replied, again deflecting Armand's attack. "Rodday's people had no idea where Paul lives, and we had a full team on site across the street, constantly. The surveillance equipment at the safe house was an issue with Tabitha; at Mr. Matheson's place, they had a bit more privacy, but good coverage, including personal trackers."

Armand nodded, but again shifted his attention to Paul. "Okay, so, it was safe. Was it professional?"

"Absolutely not," Paul replied, "but..."

"I wasn't takin' 'no' fer an answer!" Tabitha insisted.

"It's true!" Scott piped up. "I was there for some of it! You'd have to be dead not to be interested..."

"Okay, okay!" Paul waved him off. "It wasn't right. And I knew that, going in."

"Goddam it! I TOLD ya, he fought the whole thing! I coulda had Scott, here, probly on the first pass, but Paul argued, and hid out, and ducked and dodged... I didn't LET him say no! I bet I could get YOU ta fuck me quicker'n HE did!" Tabitha ranted. Scott nodded solemnly. Paul just sat there, waiting.

Armand sat there for a moment, watching Paul. If he'd blustered, Armand would have had him hammered; instead, since he was obviously awaiting a reprimand, it was just as obvious that one was not required. "All right. Are you two at all romantically involved, at this point? Or was it just sex?"

Paul's eyes shifted to Tabitha's. To be fair, it was a bit early, a couple of bouts in the sack notwithstanding; besides, Tabitha was a professional... If pressed, his answer was a clear 'no'.

But it was Tabitha who answered, and surprised him with, "Yeah. The big lug makes my pussy itch. I'm chasin' him."

"All right," Armand replied blandly. "In that case, Mr. Matheson is going to be hampered somewhat in your protection. Scott, you're in charge, although Matheson continues to be the close-in coverage. This is a decision arrived at for professional reasons that I'm sure Mr. Matheson realizes; I've been adequately convinced that he has been acting in good faith and no stigma or reproach is implied. Witherspoon, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Let's move on, then." Armand tented his fingers. "To recap, we've visited Rodday and discussed his tactics with him after the initial incident, and we've reproached his minions on two occasions now, one of which followed an attempt to abduct or injure Nate and Nora. I'm thinking that it is time the gloves came off."

"Well, mebbe," Tabitha argued, "But I gotta live wit' him around afterwards. He's already pissed..."

"And he'll just keep trying to get control of the situation until it is impressed upon him that the losses that he will incur are unacceptable," Armand replied. "Things have already escalated to the point that he has lost face. The problem that we have here is the amount of resources that it will take to discourage him permanently. If Rodday wishes to play the fool, nothing short of his termination will dissuade him. We need to try to find something short of that that is adequately discouraging. Failing that, we need to find a way to defray the expense of your ongoing protection."

"Huh." Tabitha grunted. This could suck... "I figgered Rodday for smarter than the average pimp. Not sure whether that's good or bad, now..."

"It's both, I think," Armand replied. "In the near term, he may be convinced -- but he may bide his time, which could be a long-term problem."

"So it'd be cheaper ta kill him," Tabitha summarized.

"Well, yes, but it's not within my normal operating parameters. I try to keep things generally legal. A little mayhem here and there is one thing -- gang wars are another. For one thing, I'd not engage in anything like this with local assets -- better to bring in someone from the outside, if it comes to that."

"Armand, I don't like where this is headed," Sharon announced.

"The intent is to keep it from going there," Armand replied smoothly. "Let's look at what we'd LIKE to do to punish him. Tabitha?"

"I'd LIKE to kick the bastard in the nuts -- HARD! But it might be better to jus' keep him from makin' money as the Pimp King..."

Armand tapped tented fingers together. "To do that, we have to compete. I'm not sure I want to start supporting streetwalkers, wholesale. And once we got going, we'd have to protect the girls from Rodday -- something that would take considerable manpower on the street... I want to see you on your own two feet -- something you can't be if you have to pay for bodyguards."

"Um, so, I need a pimp..." Tabitha cackled.

"Sounds like 'Night Shift'," Sharon burst out. Armand gave her a quizzical glance. "It's an old Henry Winkler movie. Guy meets a hooker whose pimp beats her up, and ends up taking her and several other girls on, running an outcall service out of the city morgue. He was giving them 401Ks, health insurance, better lawyers... Naturally, there were problems with the criminals, and it fell apart..."

Tabitha looked thoughtful. "Still, you gotta idea. If we set up a cathouse, everbody's in one place -- an' easier ta protect. And everbody can help pay for it..."

Armand frowned. "One static location makes you a target for the police."

"More'n usual?" Tabitha countered. "Sniffin' out vice cops is part o' the job... 'Sides, I know whose palm ta grease, if I got money ta do it with, Honey."

"Perhaps they could all rotate between safe houses," Witherspoon suggested over the phone.

"Big problem with hookin' is gettin' found by johns," Tabitha grunted. "An' if ya put yourself out so a john can find ya, so can a cop. Ya can pay off cops, but the same ones who'll take your money are the ones that wanta be in politics -- so they'll fry ya if it means a promotion or a shot at bein' elected dogcatcher."

"So you need to filter your clientele before they get an address," Armand mused. "Even then, you're not safe from arrest."

"Somebody wit' a good nose for trouble an' who knows the ropes could keep shit to a minimum..." Tabitha mused.

"Like you?" Armand pointed out.

"I couldn't work, then." Tabitha flashed a glance at Paul. "Much, anyway."

"You'd just have a different job description," Armand replied. "Madam, perhaps."

Tabitha cackled. "An old whore's dream!"

"Well, during the initial phase, you'd probably have to pull in traffic off the street, examine prospects, and forward them to the house," Armand replied. "The only difference would be that you wouldn't be actually doing the servicing. The inside girls would have to support you."

"Um, yeah. But better girls, a better place -- that kinda shit means ya can charge more. I like the movin' around thing..."

"My people know a few tricks for confusing people," Witherspoon added. "In urban areas, sometimes you can cut through a door into the next building that clients would pass through without realizing it. You can close it off in times of trouble -- not to mention the fact that police with a search warrant would have the wrong address..."