Charles could tell she was a whore right away. Nice girls didn’t respond that quick, even if they were wild. He’d never actually been to a real whore himself, but he’d read about them and considered himself quite the sophisticate. It wasn’t the first time he'd managed to lure a girl into the manikin storage room at Sweeger’s department store, however.
The house didn’t aim to impress. Little more than a shack, its bleached slat wood walls slumped in the middle of a dusty plot of land, surrounded by scrub brush and broken fences. A rusty pickup truck with a fresh scrape along the driver’s side was parked like a passed out drunk in the front yard.