"Do all the girls who work here, are they all… pros?"

"Shit, you're not a cop," the girl said, "you're a newspaper reporter. How'd you get into this? How much you make? Does your mother know you ball? Cop, you know where you stand. Newspaper reporter, he's got a dirty mind, wants you to say dirty things he can't write in the paper anyway. No, I'm sorry, I'm not answering any questions at all today about anything."

"I'm not a cop," Mitchell said. "I'm not a newspaper reporter. I just want to ask you if you know somebody. Girl used to work here, her name's Cini, Cynthia. Do you know her? It's a personal matter. I'd like to get in touch with her but I don't know where she lives anymore. She moved."

The girl hesitated. "You know where she used to live?"

"Apartment by Palmer Park. On Merrill."

The girl said, still cautious, "She moved from there months ago."

"I know she did." Mitchell waited.

"She was going to school," the girl said. "I think Wayne."

"Not anymore," Mitchell said. "I called. She hasn't been to class in over a week."

"Well, you know more about her than I do," the girl said. "I never saw her much. I didn't even know she quit school."

Mitchell was silent, thoughtful for a moment, before he said, "Well, thanks anyway," and started for the door.

The girl said, surprised, "Hey, don't you want to see my thing?"

Leo Frank waited until Mitchell was outside before he swiveled his back to the girls for the second time and picked up the phone. When the voice came on he said, "He just left… No, he was asking about Cini… What do you think I told him for Christ sake?… Yeah, he went in a room, but the broad didn't know shit… Right, I'll see you. Let me know."

Alan Raimy put down the phone and came out of the cramped, cluttered, one-desk office in the lobby of the Imperial Art Theater; "Adult features-continuous 10 a.m.