"Well, sweetheart, technically that makes him a pimp. They can bust you for prostitution and get him for living off the earnings of immorality. They are both felony counts and that adds up to a stretch in prison no matter how you cut it." He glanced over at her as he drove and he could see the tears were streaming down her face where there had been a cheery smile not a few minutes before.

"Well, there is one thing, honey, but it won't be of much help to you," he continued.

"What's that… anything," she asked.

"If they get to you first, and if they have the proof that Harris gave you money, they can arrest you, but you would have to be the one to point the finger at Frankie. You'd have to testify that you gave him money, that he was the one who introduced you to Harris and set the arrangement up."

"I'd never do that," she said, shocked at the thought that he would say such a thing.

"You may not have a choice, sweetheart. That's what I'm trying to tell you. The cops already have had their eye on Frankie for narcotics, you know that, so they'll get him one way or the other if this whole thing comes to a head. They can put a lot of pressure on a girl like you to get you to talk. So all I'm saying, is… be careful."

She kept her eyes down toward the floor of the car and said, "It doesn't look like I've got much of a chance, do I?"

"Well, just thought I'd warn you. Try not to let it prey on your mind and maybe this whole stinking mess will blow over. How 'bout a drink? I think you could use one."

She nodded and he pulled off onto a side street and toward a bar that she had been to several times before with Frankie.

They went to a booth in the back of the bar and sat down. The place was crowded, even though it was still early in the day.

"I brought you here for a reason," Al said. "A lot of the Evening Star reporters hang out in here and if Flanagan comes in I want you to know what he looks like so you can watch out for him."