Baby did a bad bad thing [antikvár]

ONE It was unusual to see a mug kerb-crawling this early. But as the silver Ford neared the gutter, the few huddled street workers, risking a drenching in the driving rain, ventured out from under the shelter of the Ferrari building. Business was always slow at the beginning of the week and, lately, it hadn't improved that much even on Friday and Saturday nights. Although more lucrative than working in a brothel, where the workers split the fee with the house, street work was the hardest and most dangerous. Only the desperate were out now in this weather. The tiny stilettoed ballerina with an artificial blue rose in one hand tottered towards the kerb. Behind the dark windscreen, the driver studied her. It had been dark since just after five although the winter made the hour seem later and the hairs on the back of his hand glinted in the dash light as he glanced at his watch. He turned up the volume of his sound system. The singer wailed, bouncing the syncopated words against the driving