Harry had just managed to doze off when she came back and threw open the door. Conner snored loudly -- splayed like a boned fish next to Harry. Freezing air followed her into the room. She walked over to the bathroom and threw on the light. It was brighter than he had remembered, and it hurt.

CJ was leaning over the sink when Harry approached her and blood dripped from her swollen lip and her eye was the same crimson color.

"What happened?" He knew; it was not hard to figure out.

He got a towel and wiped away the blood, examining her as he did. He tried to lift her torn blouse over her shoulder, but it fell again. Her bra was missing.

Harry began to wonder what kind of situation he had gotten himself into.

"He's a pig," she said.

Just then, the door banged open. Moonlight cast a lissome silhouette of a very angry Skinny.

"You bitch," he said. "You ever do that again and I'll slice your tits off."

Skinny stepped toward CJ, his cowboy boots clicking on the hardwood floor.

Harry stepped in between.

Before he could say anything, Skinny had both arms up, one holding a switchblade at his throat and the other warning him back.

There are all sorts of tough people in the world. Harry knew that those with knives were dangerous, and he stopped cold.

He was close enough to Skinny now to see the welt above his right eye. That too, was bleeding. His wet shirt smelled of whiskey. Around his neck, he wore a Bolo necktie of turquoise in the shape of the Incan god of war—Tezcatlipoca.

"Well, won't you come in?" The tip of the knife was just under his chin. The looseness of his skin yielded slightly to the blade. They danced intimately toward the bathroom, toward CJ. Skinny looked oddly at Harry and squinted a bit.

"Nice tie," said Harry.

"Shut the hell up boy, she ain't free. Sit down."

Harry backed away reluctantly.

Skinny folded the knife back and replaced it in his pocket in a practiced motion and then rubbed his mustache with his knuckle and made his way to CJ. She backed away from him as he did and stopped when she touched the toilet. Harry watched as she pushed him away and they exchanged a few colorful metaphors. Skinny reached behind him to close the door, but a towel blocked it. She continued to push him, looking up at him. He told her to stop and grabbed her by the collar and turned her around and pushed her out into the room and she fell into Harry who was standing there.

He pulled her to his side and put himself between the two of them and stood unafraid and unwilling to yield. Harry stood at least eight inches taller than Skinny, who stopped for a moment, no doubt gauging how a fight would go between them. He pulled out his knife again. But this time CJ rushed between them.

"Put it away asshole, unless it makes you feel like a big man," she said.

Skinny held the stiletto in his hand balancing it. He hesitated.

"Yeah, that's right big man," she was scowling and almost crying, "go ahead cut him. Then what, kill him too?" She waved her arm towards Conner who only now began to stir. "I swear if you hurt him I'll never do another thing for you." And she ripped open her blouse and offered her chest to him, daring him, "Go on. Do me first."

Harry couldn't believe this was happening. He had seen some tough fights between men and women before, but they never involved him, directly. He had broken up a fight in Italy between two lovers where the man came at his girlfriend with a bottle of wine and Harry slapped him hard enough to fell the bastard. He had received a round of applause and an unwanted kiss from the girl. But this one, Skinny, was a bit crazy and CJ's defense astounded him.

Conner was now sitting on the edge of his bed shaking his head. "What the hell is going on Harry?"

"Shut the fuck up, puke," Skinny said. He was still mad and had the knife in his hand but had it aiming toward the floor.

Harry remained still, not wanting to encourage him to use it.

Conner ran into the bathroom and pushed Skinny away and threw up.

Skinny held CJ off with his hand—this time a bit more gently—and kept looking at Harry, who tried to show as little fear as possible.

Harry took CJ by her shoulders and pulled her away daring Skinny to make the first move.

Harry walked past him and closed the bathroom door not wanting to hear the terrible retching going on. Skinny had calmed down enough to put the knife back in his pocket. Then he paced around the room and stopped at the door. "I run a business here. I own this hotel. It was falling down and hardly used when I found it and bought the dump. I provide a commodity," he pointed at CJ, "That the consumer," pointed to Harry, "wants. If you know anything about the free-market system you know that the girls, the food, the booze, and the rooms; they all cost money. It adds up. I expect the customer to pay for those commodities at a price that I set. "Twenty bucks just ain't gonna pay the shipping costs. Do you dig me?"

"Funny thing, I was just on my way over to pay you."

CJ clucked her tongue. "Leave'im alone asshole. He didn't do nothin' wrong." She walked up to him and shoved her chin in his face. "I'll charge what the hell I want to. This was on me."

"Oh yeah? I figure he's into me for at least a hundred bucks. After all the fun you two had. What d'ya think?" He turned to Harry. "Let's see, how many times d'ya do it, maybe three, more like four? Huh? Plus the booze," he opened his arms and looked around the room," and this. "That sound about fair. Huh buddy boy?"

Skinny knuckled his mustache and held out his hand. "Shut up," he said.

"Yeah sure slim, I'll pay you in the morning."

"When?"

"You want it now?" Harry walked over to his pack and rummaged for the money in the dim light and he felt a sharp pain and saw a flash of bright light.

When he opened his eyes, he somehow found himself on the couch.

"You got a hard head, Harry," CJ applied a wet cloth to his forehead.

He tried to get up, but she had her hand on his shoulder and held him there.

"What the fuck?"

"He's gone." She looked over her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Harry sat up anyway and felt the back of his head. He looked at his hand and thought it felt wet. He rubbed his fingers together and examined them for blood. He looked over at Conner. "He's still asleep," he said incredulously.

CJ looked over. "Yeah, well he actually helped me get you on the couch."

"Did he see anything?"

"Well, not exactly. By the time he came out of the bathroom you were already on the floor and Skinny had taken his money and left."

Harry got up and went over to his pack and looked for his money. He counted it.

"He took too much and threw a twenty on the floor," she explained. "Said you should get the fuck out in the morning." She sat on the couch with her hands tucked under her legs, which she gently kicked back and forth and looked up at Harry. "I'm sorry honey, I should have warned you he can be a bit hot."

"Hot Christ. I'd hate to see him downright mad."

"That was his good mood," she said emphatically. "Usually someone would have gotten hurt."

Harry opened his eyes wide.

"If he had his bodyguard here," she said, "it wouldn't a been pretty.

Usually? He sat next to her on the couch and examined her face. The bleeding stopped and dried and some smeared here and there and she had a bruise on her cheek. "You'll have a black eye soon."

He went to the bathroom and ran cold water on the back of his neck. "I don't think he has to worry about us leaving in the morning."

He took a towel and wet it with hot water, walked over to her, and started cleaning her face with it. His hands shook slightly as he dabbed at the blood.

"He shake you up, did he?" she said.

"A bit." The blood washed away revealing a small cut on her lip. "Any harder and you'd need stitches."

It started to bleed again and he held the towel to the cut and told her to press. "You look like a prize fighter."

"Yeah," she giggled. "An' you look like you ran into one."

Conner moved on the bed. "You drink too much last night Harry?" he asked with a rough, dry throat.

"He came out of the bathroom and saw you lying on the floor." She said. "I told him you were drunk and couldn't get up and somehow we managed to get you here," she patted the cushion, "on the couch." She smiled.

"Go back to bed Conner," he said, and leaned on his knees holding his head down.

"Don't mind him, he's all talk," she said, patting his back.

Somehow, that did not seem the case to Harry.

"How did he know what we did?"

She explained about the peepholes. Harry looked around for a likely spot and figured the picture over the bed was a good place to start. He tried to lift the frame, but it stayed. So, he hung a towel over it. She thought that would be all. He sat back on the couch.

Like the dark shadows of ancient souls cast in stone, they sat motionless and cold and moonlight leaked through the window and softly lighting their faces. Then Harry leaned back and put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. CJ sat looking on.

Harry shifted his position and looked at CJ, "Why are you here?"

"Never had no reason to go," she said. "No place to go."

"You could leave."

"Asshole wouldn't like that much. What do you care anyway? I do it because I'm good, and it ain't a bad way to make a buck."

"The hard way."

"I don't need no help from anybody. Just forget about it would ya?" She got up to leave, but Harry held on.

She said, "No one's holdin' a gun to my head Harry."

How was Harry supposed to make anything out of her? Why did she come back to his room, they had just met that night. What did he know of saving lives? His own life was always the focal point. Others came and went, and nothing he said or did would change that. It was going to take more than a beat up hooker to stimulate altruistic behavior in him. Yet he wanted her to confide in him, to tell him her innermost secrets, her needs, but she would not. How could he blame her for that?