Chapter 18

They left the bar right after that. They climbed into the fireman’s Cube and I followed them to a house a few blocks away on Mile Street. A small duplex with tiny windows welcomed the three of us. I could just read the gold lettering on the mailbox: “Tomas Hang, 269 Mile Street.” Hang unlocked his door and went in, with Tracy following. I parked right across the street in Pax’s truck, planning to become a voyeur. 19: Hustler at Work

What I saw, even from the cab of the truck, wasn’t surprising: the exchange of money for sex. I watched them—gold-tinted images in the distance, as Hung hadn’t pulled the blinds—moving around the first floor. I saw the six-foot-two Tomas count something—bills, I knew—out into Tracy’s hand. I watched Tracy count them out again, then stuff them into his jeans pocket. Then they undressed each other, dropping their clothes around them.