EXTRACT FOR
The Street Kid
(Argus)

      Sudden moonlight shone into her face and CD blinked. She looked up, surprised at the sight, then grinned. It was only a reflection off an anonymous glass walled skyscraper. Unless it was directly overhead, you seldom saw the moon on the streets of New York.

      She walked purposefully down the street, eyeing the wide and sometimes strange menagerie of loungers, loiterers and strollers with a mixture of distaste and wariness. 

      The New York of the high fashion districts, the Broadway plays and the Wall Street brokerage houses might as well be on a different planet. The dignified matrons in their jewels and furs and the arrogant yuppies had been replaced by an odd assortment of prostitutes, pimps, freaks and junkies of all ages and sexes. 

      CD nodded and smiled to some as she passed. She had been on the streets herself once. She hadn't been much different than them. It had only been a few years since she'd wondered where her next meal would come from, or where she'd camp down for the night, or day. 

      She shook her head and sighed. Maybe she was getting old or something; enjoying the rich life and looking down on the people she used to live with. 

      She had never been into drugs or hooking, but it had been close a couple of times. It wasn't something she got nostalgic about. Nostalgic? She must really be getting old. She could remember all the way back to when she'd run away from home, and that was... eight years ago now. 

      She manoeuvred around a pair of aggressive drunks raining abuse on each other. If you could remember back almost a decade and think of it as yesterday did that make you old, even at twenty-two? It had been kind of fun, after she'd adapted anyway, and it had left her with a distinctive identity, and an almost unmatched knowledge of the ins and outs of street life. 

      She watched a pale, thin teenaged girl get into a dark sedan, a fat; drooling man reached over and grabbed her breast before pulling away from the curb. CD made a disgusted noise. The idea of whoring with creeps like that made her sick, yet she accepted it easily enough in her friends. 

      At one time she had done some figuring and realized that damn near every friend she had was a hooker, both girls and boys.

      She still wasn't sure how she'd avoided a like fate. It wasn't as though the pimps hadn't tried their hardest to recruit her. She was not exactly a late bloomer, after all, and even at fourteen her lithe young body and firm, full chest had attracted a lot of attention.

      So had her face. She had an exquisitely lovely, fragile looking face, with wide, innocent blue eyes and a small snub nose. Her mouth was small too, pouty, with thick, sensual lips and perfect rows of ivory teeth. Her face was framed by long thick blonde hair that fell haphazardly down over her shoulders in a golden wave, and floated behind her as she moved. She was six feet tall, and had long, long legs that were perfectly sculpted.

      Oh yes, the pimps had gone after her all right, had they ever.

      At first she'd used her long legs to run. She'd gotten the nickname "Roadrunner" from her speed, which left even the most determined pursuers in her dust. She'd outlived that title. Few tried to chase her now, or wanted to catch her. She was too dangerous, too ruthless. She'd put more than one pimp in the hospital over the years, and put more than one in the morgue too.

      She'd also had a name change.

      One night in a warehouse, she'd been wandering around, looking for something to rip off, and had come across a big consignment of portable CD players. She'd loaded up her knapsack with them, then hidden dozens more up above the false ceiling she'd hidden in. 

      For weeks afterward, she'd lived off the sale of those little machines. She'd gotten to be such a reliable customer at Leos' pawnshop that she was on a first name basis with the sleaze. He'd given her her new nickname by greeting her with "Hey, CD girl!" ever time she went in. 

      Everyone had been after her to find out where her stash was. The CDs fetched a good forty bucks a pop from Leo in those days.

      She crossed the street into the main meat market, 42nd, near Times Square.

      Cars moved slowly up and down, examining the merchandise on display, adding their rumbling motor noises to the music pounding out from the bars and porno shops, and the shouts, jeers and laughter coming from the crowds of people lining the sidewalks. 

      Flashing lights and neon colours bounced and reflected off the dozens of girls and boys wandering up and down. There was also an assortment of pimps, junkies, hawkers, crazies, muggers, weirdo's, scroungers, and gang members, along with a heavy sprinkling of honest citizenry out for a good sleazy time. America the beautiful, she thought with a grimace.

      Her eyes swivelled back and forth as she walked, like ships radar. She sought out everything within range, identified it, then assessed its possible threat.

      Fat Mona was sitting on the ledge outside a live sex show that advertised, WHORES GALORE in shiny red neon. Rumour had it she'd killed at least two hookers for crossing her. She was big, mean, and crazy, and capable of anything. One of the few hookers who had no pimp, because the pimps were too scared to have anything to do with her. CD saw the whore glaring at her as she walked past.

      Just ahead on her left, was one of the areas nastier pimps, Jackie Lawston. Jackie was a mean little bastard, who liked to play it tough in front of his harem. He was a sadistic bully who always had at least one girl unsaleable due to cuts and bruises. He knew better than to mess with her though. 

      There were few, if any women CDs' age who could walk down this street unmolested by Jackie and his ilk. There were enough creeps and perverts out even without the streeties, to make life difficult and dangerous here. Even the hookers moved in groups, usually watched over by their pimps. 

      CD wasn't worried. The years had given her confidence in her own ability to deal with any threat. She wasn't a street kid anymore, but she was still part of this place. She knew it as well as anyone. She knew the threats, how to react, when to run and when to fight, better still, she was good at both.

      There was the odd catcall and obscene gesture from jerk off college boys out on the town, and tough talking gang members. She ignored them, or levelled a penetrating stare that mixed equal parts threat, contempt and pity. The taunters usually shut up quickly. There was an aura around the tall graceful woman, a cool steely confidence that intimidated strangers fast. 

      As for the streeties, few were stupid enough to risk her wrath over a mocking gesture or leering insult. She had proved herself in the past to be a mean and imaginative foe. She knew almost everything that went on, and she never forgot a slight. She also had too many friends. 

      The only street people that gave her trouble now were the junkies, who were too desperate or brainless to know better, and the gangs, who were too busy trying to prove how tough they were to each other to worry about one lone female, however impressive her rep. 

      "Hey CD!"

      CD stopped and smiled as a pretty brunette in short shorts and halter ran up and hugged her.

      "Hi Suze."

      "You should have seen this John I had last night CD!" she giggled, "You wouldn't believe how tiny he was!!" Suzanne's eyes danced." Christ! It was all I could do to keep from laughing. You wouldn't believe it!"

      "You shoulda got pictures," CD grinned.

      "I shoulda! I shoulda!" the girl laughed.

      "Did you charge him half price?!" 

      Both of them giggled at the idea.

      "Suzanne! You got customers!"

      They turned towards a tall, barrel chested black man wearing a muscle shirt, leaning in a doorway. CD glared at him and he back. Suzanne sighed. 

      "I gotta go. You gonna be at Als later?"

      "I doubt it. I'll see you around."

      She and the pimp exchanged glares again, and she continued on her way.

      She stopped for a red light at the corner. There was a brown sedan stopped right next to her. The man leaned over to look at her through the open passenger window. She scowled at him and he retreated, offer unmade. It irritated her that these morons would mistake her for a whore. Whores could be recognized a mile off. Hell, they practically had their own uniforms.

      CD was wearing a pair of green silk shirt that buttoned down the front, with loose white pants and flat leather boots. It was far from hooker gear. She comforted herself with the explanation that some people were just too horny or ignorant to know better. Johns seldom gave her any real trouble though. They were a timid lot usually, looking for easy, buyable meat. 

      "Hey Marty," She waved as she approached the Rialto.

      The Rialto was a peep show, filled with little booths that ran five and ten minute cheapie reels of the worst perversions and sexual stunts imaginable. Marty was a hawker. He stood around outside trying to lure the suckers in to drop their change and get an eyeful. 

      "Hey CD," he called back. "Hows tricks?"  He grinned.

      "I don't do tricks! You know that," She grinned back.

      His teeth showed white against his face. Marty was the darkest shade of black she'd ever seen, one of the few blacks who actually qualified for the name.

      "You should see this new reel we got in babe. It's Celia with a big ol pinto pony! That girl's gonna split a seam if she keeps this up."

      CD screwed her face up and shook her head in disgust.

      "I don't think so," she said firmly.

      "I thought you hated Celia," he protested.

      "She wasn't exactly my favourite person, but it don't mean I want to see her screwing a damned horse, Marty," she exclaimed.

      He laughed, then looked around.

      "That little blonde you lookin for, Black Sonny took her in a week ago."

      "You know where," she queried.

      "I think over on Water Street."

      "Thanks Mart, I'll check it out."

      She stepped back and drifted away, walking backwards.

      "And keep your nose out of them reelies! Don't you know that stuff'll turn you into a psychopathic sex deviant?"

      "Hey! I always been one anyways," he yelled back.

      Black Sonny, as distinguished from White Sonny, had two places for his stable of girls. Water Street, a dump, and another on fortieth, where he and most of his girls lived. He was a run of the mill pimp. CD had known him for about three years. He didn't impress her at all. 	It constantly amazed her how the prettiest, brightest young girls would fall for the biggest pack of lies, flattery and bullshit from shit-for-brains people like Sonny. He wasn't even good looking. The man had a face like a schnauzer!

      Sometimes she felt disgusted by her own sex. At least the guys who hooked got to keep their own money. 

      She rounded the corner and skipped over a low fence that surrounded a public parking lot. The place was as brightly lit as Yankee stadium. It had to be for anyone to have any hope of finding their car still intact when they got back.

      She zig-zagged in and out of the cars, until she stopped beside her own little Mazda. The sleek, silver RX7 was one of her pride and joys. After all those years of walking, hitching, and bus and subway rides, it was a delight to be able to hop into the comfy little box and glide smoothly along the roadways like the citizens. She slid inside and closed the door.

      The inside was all custom. It had everything she could find in the dealers catalogue that looked neat. It had plush leather seats, high tech instrument panel, CD/cassette/AM/FM music system, CB radio, and of course a car phone with a cordless receiver. The handset was small enough to ride around in her pocket unseen. So long as she stayed within fifty yards of the car it worked great. The Mazda was better than most of the places she had lived in her life. 

      It started with an even growl, then settled to a low gentle purr. Green, red, and orange lights blinked into life on the dash, and soft Blues floated out of the stereo. She sighed and pulled the shiny automatic out of her shoulder holster. She threw it on the seat, rubbing under her arm where the holster chafed a little. 

      She pulled out into traffic, the engine growling as she accelerated rapidly and raced down the street. CD had never believed in driving slow, even driving at the speed limit was way too slow for her.

      She whizzed down the road, letting the wind blow her hair. She was so eager to get home that her foot went a little heavier than usual on the accelerator. 

      She didn't notice until the red lights started flashing in her rear view mirror. She gazed down in disgust at the forty-nine on the digital speedometer. "Aw shit!" she cursed.

      She pulled over and turned into the parking lot of a restaurant that had long since closed. She watched the cop car pull in behind her, rapidly unbuttoning her shirt.

      She pulled it out of her pants while watching the cop in the rear view mirror. He was still in his car. She had been stopped so often she knew almost to the second how long it would take the guy to finish checking the computer, gather up his hat, baton, and notebook, then get out of the car and walk up to her.

      She slumped down a little and kept her movements slow, but shrugged off the shirt and then opened her bra in front and shrugged that off too. As always when she tried this she felt a shiver of excitement and lust.

      She pulled her shirt up and on again, just as the cop's door opened. She bunched up the two sides of her shirt and tied them in a quick knot under her breasts.