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" Ass Breath, Hammer, and Pretty Boy, hits stores same pattern, same time, every week." Mongo, Cockatoo, and Scar-Arm, never the same area twice in a row, no discernible pattern, robbery victims catch-as-catch-can."She worried about her recordings, and photographs, and notes. If something went wrong, they'd provide damning evidence against her.Their security was heightened, however, by her own precautions, never leaving the room without them being hidden inside a section of wall in the bedroom. The apartment was decorated as if an exotic dancer lived there, and with her bridges in, that's how she'd presented herself to the manager of the building. All her piercings left at home, makeup to disguise the holes. Just another tired and disheartened worker in the titillation trade.There was even a poorly hidden stash of ones and fives. Anyone searching the room would find exactly what they'd expect to find in a stripper's apartment.Two at once, bound to happen, her only luck being Vicious. The days after that were somewhat peculiar. After her faux pas at the dinner, none of Jiri's friends showed the slightest interest in getting any further acquainted with Cindi. Whenever Jiri sat down at Cindi's table at dinner time, she would look a bit awkward, and would clam up. In the end, he rejoined his usual dinner companions, and left Cindi to eat pretty much by herself.Most evenings, though, there would be that soft tap on the door, and Cindi would slip into Jiri's room, where they would play backgammon, and talk. During the course of each evening, Cindi, seemingly unconsciously, would softly cover Jiri's hand with her own. Jiri would let her gently turn his hand over, and she would delicately stroke him with her fingers, her fingers tracing quiet patterns on his palm, as if tracing out his life-line.He came to enjoy the sound of her voice. Although the accent was broad, he appreciated her candour and passions, and began to spend longer and longer moments just listening to her.
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