“Don’t talk a lotta bull. Sorry? That’s a laugh. Listen, there’s too much crap going around about forcin’ janes into prostitution. If a woman don’t want to do it, you just can’t make her. They do it because they want the things in life the easy way. They’ve got what you want, and they make you pay for it. They give you nothing. They’ll cheat you, rob you, lie to you, and they certainly hate you. They’re a breed on their own. To hell with them!”
The driver said, “Maybe this was one of Raven’s girls.”
The two looked at him. “Why do you say that?” Phillips asked. “Are you sure?”
The driver closed the drawer regretfully. “No, I ain’t sure, but he always had the best girls; and she’s a honey, ain’t she?”
Phillips looked at Franklin. “You’re wrong, Franky. Some of these girls had a bad time. Raven’s girls had a terrible time. It’s hick−minded to group them all together.”
“Who’s this Raven you’re talkin’ about?” Franklin wanted to know.
Phillips exchanged glances with the driver. “So you don’t know Raven?” he said. “Well, well! Where’ve you been all this time?”
Franklin sat down. “Okay, okay, I’ll buy it, just so long as you’ll stop this sissy talk about whores. Tell me.”
Phillips reached for a cigarette. “Raven was quite a boy,” he said, setting himself comfortably. “He came to this town about a year ago. As a matter of fact, one of our crowd, working on the old rag, first got on to him. It was odd how it started. Damned odd. If old Poison’s wife hadn’t gone off the rails, maybe Raven would still be operating right now. It happened this way….”