***.

Amie pulled her coat over her shoulders, glancing backwards at the house as she stepped off the curb and onto the road.
Holly was tucked in bed, her light glowing through the upstairs window, casting a homely glow on the street below.
Amie put her hat on, pulling it down securely over her head so that she became obscure in its shadow.

At a brisk walk, she set off into the calm, cool night to again scour the darkened city.
Tonight she would search the local parks and shelters before heading to the main street. Lost and homeless kids sometimes made their way there before they got tossed to the street corners. It was better to get them early. While they were still fresh.
And the innocence...it always brought in more money, more clients, more risk.

But that was buisness

Shortie was hoping to be lucky tonight.
She needed to be lucky tonight. She couldn't let buisness falter.
It was impossible to get out of a slump in this job. She couldn't, wouldn't let herself go there.

Shortie approached the park, a gleam in her eye as she watched over forgotten silhouettes huddled on park benches. She walked past each of them slowly, peering through the darkness. A few were regulars - old men with nowhere else to go.

But one caught her eye.

He was young. And vulnerable.
He was perfect.

He dragged his jumper closer about himself, and Shortie saw him wince in pain. Ahh. so that was the sort this one was.

It was a generally accepted rule that fresh-faced street-kids fit into one of 5 categories:
1. The beaten child who plucked up enough courage to run away.
2. The spoilt kid who had a fit the moment they didn't get exactley what they wanted.
3. The attention seeker.
4. The rebel who wanted to piss off their parents
and 5. The given up. Those kids who just gave up.

There weren't enough run-aways who didn't fit into any of the categories to warrant an 'other'.
Shortie personally preferred ones and fours. The ones were vulnerable enough to appear innocent, and the fours were just so willing.

She raised an eyebrow at the number-one-boy, watching him look up at her then quickly look away, as if he were scared of her. A soft chuckle slipped from between her lips.
He watched her with a single, fearful eye while she walked towards him. She stopped with a good distance between them, and almost burst out laughing when he tried to scamper away.
Shortie reached out and put a hand on his arm, the grip strong enough to prevent him from getting away.

The look in his eyes when they met her was one of terror. Again, she had to bite back a childish laugh. She wasn't that scary. Really, she was relatively nice compared to the competition

Amie sometimes thought that her femininty leant her toward a certain kindness that most pimps lacked. She saw her lot as something as a bit more than pieces of meat. They were pieces of meat that paid the bills.
Important point to keep in mind.

"Hello" Shortie's voice was softer than was expected from her appearence, and overall more welcoming. She took the distraction of the greeting to sweep her eyes quickly over the boy, taking in as much as she could in the quick gesture.

Young, smooth-skinned, pretty-boy, no scars. Fresh. Perfect.

A growl rose in his stomach, making Amie raise an eyebrow at him (although, the gesture most likely went unseen)
"You look hungry" Her smile was trustworthy and her hands held something warm, rich-smelling and oily bound in white paper. She had brought it with her from home, there was nothing like good food to gain the trust of the shy ones. The warmth from the package leeched through to her skin, keeping away the cold. "Can I offer you some food?"

As if a starved boy could resist.

the boy's eyes were wide and distrusful as he took the package, though she could see just how hungry he was, and how hunger overcame all reluctance.

He shot her a glance, and then his fingers were tearing eagerly through the smooth paper.

"Thanks," he almost whispered, distrust woven through the word.

Shortie's eyes never left him as he devoured the food, quicker than she knew to be humanly possible. She took the torn paper from him and crumpled it into a small ball in her hands.
He finally met her eyes and she saw him take a breath, hesitating for the briefest second before holding out his hand.
She thought she saw something flicker behind his eyes before he spoke.
"Hello, my name is Isa, nice to meet you." His voice, again, was soft. Tired. He definately sounded like a number one.

His cheeks coloured a faint pink, and Shortie smirked, happy with her success It had been to easy to gain his trust, even if it was the hesitant, daring kind.

She took his hand in her small but rough one. "You can call me Shortie. My name though, is completely irrelevant." She eyed him with an odd sort of hunger. Her eyes were wide as she took him in, a bit more obviously this time.

"A poor boy like you shouldn't be left on the street on your own." She filled her voice with sugar-coated honesty. "If you need a place to stay, I know somewhere you can go"

Shortie stood and waited for Isa to do the same before leading him from the park. She paid him little mind, except to make sure that he was still following her closely.
Mumbled words fell from Isa's lips, and Shortie barely caught them.
"Where are we going?"

Her eyes fixed ahead, she decided to keep quiet for a little while longer, letting no answer to his question slip from her lips. Instead she gripped his hand as they approached a more crowded part of the street. It wouldn't do to lose her fresh catch amoungst the street scum.
Dirty yellow light spilled over the pavement, illuminating faces that would have been better left in the dark.

She walked quickly, dragging Isa along behind her. Dirty, scummy hands reached out to pull at the hem of her coat. A make-up smeared face loomed in her vision. She smaked both away with the metal ball-end of her pimp stick, causing a pained howl to break through the ceaseless chatter of the street.

A minute more and they broke free of the throng of gathered whores. Amie pulled Isa into the warm light that spilled forth from a guarded doorway. The building, from the outside, seemed scummy and non-descript. Though once they stepped inside it was all warm rich-red carpets and drapes. Not exactley clean, but cleaner than the outside.

"This, Isa, is your new home."

"Where are we?" Isa's voice brimmed with curiosity. It made Shortie smile.
"We're somewhere safe. Here there will be a bed and food for you, and friends. Yes, you will make plenty of friends. Of course nothing comes for free, though. You will have to work to keep your place here, but you will get paid well."
She cast her eyes over the interior once more. She always found comfort here. It was almost like home.
"But enough of that now, you need to rest. We will talk more in the morning. For now, let me show you your room"

She took him quickly from the warm room, knowing he would barely have time to comprehend the full extent of what was going on.
Up the stairs, into a hallway where the wallpaper was yellow and peeling, doors lining the walls. She took him to the end door and swung it open for him.

"Are you sure I can stay here?" Isa yawned "I don't even know you"

Shortie watched Isa as he surveyed the room. One hand rested on the cold metal of the door handle, the other on the head of her pimp-stick. The room that she had given Isa was the only unoccupied room in the building. All of the others were shared between two or three people. He was lucky, to be alone.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Isa. You will know me soon enough." Amie smiled and, without giving him chance to reply turned on her heel and left the room, closing the door with a soft thud behind her.