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By Root 1007 0

individuals to whom he assigned names of his own creation. Most of all he observed everything there was to see about Lamarck. He never took off his suit jacket, kept his back to the wall. He talked amiably with his two companions, but their familiarity was not that of friends. Their joking was too affected. There was too much emphasis on their interactive gestures, not the casual comfort that you saw among people whose company was shared for some purpose other than money. Even pimps got lonely, Kelly thought, and though they sought out their own kind, theirs was not friendship but mere association. The philosophical observations he put aside. If Lamarck never took off his coat, he had to be carrying a weapon.

Just after midnight, Kelly put his coat back on and made yet another trip to the men's room. In the toilet stall he took the automatic he'd hidden inside his slacks and moved it to the waistband. Two beers in four hours, he thought. His liver ought to have eliminated the alcohol from his system, and even if it hadn't, two beers should not have had much effect on one as bulky as he. It was an important statement which, he hoped, wasn't a lie.

His timing was good. Washing his hands for the fifth time, Kelly saw the door open in the mirror. Only the back of the man's head, but under the dark hair was a white suit, and so Kelly waited, taking his time until he heard the urinal flush. A sanitary sort of fellow, the man turned, and their eyes met in the mirror.

'Excuse me,' Pierre Lamarck said. Kelly stepped away from the sink, still drying his hands with a paper towel.

'I like the ladies,' he said quietly.

'Hmph?' Lamarck had no less than six drinks in him, and his liver had not been up to the task, which didn't prevent his self-admiration in the dirty mirror.

'The ones that come up to you.' Kelly lowered his voice. 'They, uh, work for you, like?'

'You might say that, my man.' Lamarck took out a black plastic comb to readjust his coiffeur. 'Why do you ask?'

'I might need a few,' Kelly said with embarrassment.

'A few? You sure you can handle that, my man?' Lamarck asked with a sly grin.

'Some friends in town with me. One's having a birthday, and -'

'A party,' the pimp observed pleasantly.

'That's right.' Kelly tried to be shy, but mainly came off as being awkward. The error worked in his favor.

'Well, why didn't you say so? How many ladies do you require, sir?'

"Three, maybe four. Talk about it outside? I could use some air.'

'Sure thing. Just let me wash my hands, okay?'

'I'll be outside the front door.'

The street was quiet. Busy city though New Orleans might be, it was still the middle of the week, and the sidewalks, while not empty, weren't crowded either. Kelly waited, looking away from the bar's entrance until he felt a friendly hand on his back.

'It's nothing to be embarrassed about. We all like to have a little fun, especially when we're away from home, right?'

'I'll pay top dollar,' Kelly promised with an uneasy smile.

Lamarck grinned, like the man of the world he was, to put this chicken farmer at ease. 'With my ladies, you have to. Anything else you might need?'

Kelly coughed and took a few steps, willing Lamarck to follow, which he did. 'Maybe some, well, something to help us party, like?'

'I can handle that, too,' Lamarck said as they approached an alley.

'I think I met you before, couple years back. I remember the girl, really, her name was ... Pam? Yeah, Pam. Thin, tawny hair.'

'Oh, yeah, she was fun. She's not with me anymore,' Lamarck said lightly. 'But I have lots more. I cater to the men who like 'em young and fresh.'

'I'm sure you do,' Kelly said, reaching behind his back. 'They're all on - I mean they all use things that make it - '

'Happy stuff, man. So they're always in the mood to party. A lady has to have the proper attitude.' Lamarck stopped at the entrance to the alley, looking outward, maybe worried about cops, which suited Kelly just fine. Behind him, he had not troubled to see, was a dark, scarcely lit corridor of blank brick walls, inhabited by nothing more than trash