‘Are you serious?’

Hardy nodded. ‘Yep.’

‘Is there some new policy going down?’

Hardy shook his head.

‘Where’s my client going to get five thousand dollars? Do you think she’s going to go out and get a job typing somewhere? Managing a McDonald’s? She won’t do that. She has no skills, Mr Hardy. You know what she’ll do, don’t you? She’ll have to be on her back for a month to make that kind of money. Do you want that?’

‘I’m sure her pimp could get her that money in two and a half seconds. But she’s not talking about her pimp. She says she doesn’t have a pimp. So, I ask myself, how can we get a handle on this pimp, close up his shop?’

Jaans took a breath. ‘You know, Mr Hardy, some of these pimps are not nice men, I grant you, but they do provide protection for their girls, abortions if they need them, that kind of thing.’

‘They’re keeping their assets productive, that’s all. Simple business.’

‘You know how long a lone girl on the street is going to last?’

‘You’re telling me that pimps are solid citizens, is that it?’

Jaans turned his palms up. ‘They provide a service.’

Hardy leaned forward, fingers laced, elbows on his desk. ‘What they do, Mr Jaans, what pimps do,’ he paused, ‘as you and I both know, is take these ignorant, poor, sad, really helpless women and keep them degraded, stoned, and on their backs until their looks go at twenty-five. After which their life span, due to needles and disease and just generally getting the shit beaten out of them, is about six months.’ Hardy took a breath, calming himself down. ‘So maybe this five thousand will make Esme decide to give up her pimp, and then maybe I can have a little fun.’

Jaans nodded. He uncrossed his legs, stood up and reached his hand over the desk. Hardy, surprised, got up himself, hesitated, then decided to take it. ‘I’ll convey your offer to my client,’ Jaans said.