Greta Swenson – Working Girl on Lake Street

Greta felt horrible, sick with fever and chills. It wasn’t the everyday sickness she experienced when she felt the deep-tissue yearning in her body when she needed her daily-fix. It was something else something that came with the end of summer and the rain, but she was working anyway because she didn’t have a choice.

Franky gave her something, a pick me up that burned as it went up her nose. It gave her energy, but it set her nerves on fire. She stood under the rain soaked awning hoping a man would take her somewhere for the night, one of her regulars, hoping that someone would get her out of the weather.

In spite of the downpour there was plenty of business, but nothing had been coming her way.

Greta didn’t have the hustle that night.

She took a spot around the corner from Franky’s Bar, a place where he wouldn’t be able to see her from where he sat, not that it mattered. The beat cops were patrolling and they would keep the girls active as they were paid to do. They would do anything short of beating a girl with a night-stick if she wasn’t turning tricks…or trying.

She had her eye on a young looking fellow by the newsstand. He was tall and had a nice face, though his shoes were a little tattered and his coat was somewhat threadbare.

He wasn’t paying attention to her at all. His eyes were glued to the opposite side of the street, like he was waiting for something to happen.

She watched him walk to the drug store where bough a bottle of brown liquor, and then stood in the doorway to continue his watch.

He had some money in his pocket, Greta thought. That was a good sign.

She was tired of being ignored by the cars on the street, and she was preparing to solicit the nice looking man, when suddenly there was a commotion out in front of the Round-up, the popular saloon across the street.

A giant of a man had been thrown out onto the curb. She had seen him once with Franky, and she knew that Franky was afraid of him. Greta didn’t know exactly who he was but if Franky was scared of him, he was someone to be feared.

The scene in front of the Round-up had the complete attention of the good looking man she had marked. He was watching closely as the bar back came out with the man’s hat in hand…and then there was lightning, a bright-white flash that burned her eyes and rattled every window on the street.

When she recovered from the crack and boom of the lightning bolt everything was in motion. The giant was running down the strip with the handsome young man pursuing him, and the beat cops fast on their heels.

Greta knew enough to know that there was going to be trouble.

Franky Lyons – A Lake Street Pimp

Franky sat at a small round table with two of his fellow operators. The rain had forced them all inside but they kept watch over the girls who were out in the weather getting soaked.

The three of them had been sitting together for a few hours, sipping brandy and comparing notes on the ups and downs of the skin-trade managed on this end of Lake Street.

Things were changing on the strip, they had been for the better of a year and now all of them were kicking up to Karl Thorrson, who had suddenly emerged as the biggest meanest guy in town.

It didn’t matter to Franky who he kicked up to, all that mattered to him was turning the wheel, keeping cash in his safe, clean girls and the right supply of dope to keep them in line.

The three of them sat in the window of the bar with his name on the sign, Frank’s, and they watched as the beat cops went up and down the strip, with their long coats and hats wrapped in plastic, swinging their billy-clubs, keeping an eye on the cars pulling up to the side of the street, the girls jumping in and out, packages of dope getting exchanged for handfuls of cash, with bag men carrying the loot to the drop spots.

As long as the beat-boys did their job there would be no need for any of the three of them to get wet that night.

It was only when Franky saw Karl Thorrson walk into the tavern across the street that he felt a sense of dread, like a bowling ball in his stomach; it cut against Franky’s sense of good order. He liked things predictable, and Karl Thorrson walking the strip by himself during this downpour was anything but.

Neither of his cohorts had noticed the man, and Franky didn’t say anything to them. He waited and watched and ordered another round of drinks from Estell.

It wasn’t until the lightning struck and the crowd began to gather outside of the Round-up that Franky gave any indication that there was something amiss.

When he saw Thorrson running away as if he were fleeing the scene of murder that Franky decided it was time to alert his friends to what was happening. The two of them immediately went outside to get the news, and with the beat cops having left the strip chasing Thorrson they suddenly had work to do.

Franky let them have it, he went to the telephone and dialed up his contact with the Park Police. He informed Lieutenant Standish what had happened. The Lieutenant was cold as ice, but he promised to send a radio car with a couple of uniformed Rangers down to check things out.