She tarted up carefully, sure she was good enough from behind for this to serve.
Her husband looked at her.
“You sure about this, hun?”
“No. But. Belle was only fourteen…”
He holstered his gun and nodded.
At the street corner she looked back just once.
In the park, a sharply-dressed man came up behind her. He grasped her arm, his foul breath in her face.
“Move along bitch. Only my stable works hereabouts.”
She whistled shrilly and the crack of a single gunshot ripped the air.
As the pimp died she spoke.
“You won’t whore no more children.”