I went in and looked the place over. It was easy to spot the girl with the camera. She was all teeth and legs, curves and affability.
It was Sunday evening, and since the place was way out in the outlying factory district it was pretty well deserted, but the photograph girl got four orders. After she’d shot the pictures and started out, she picked up a raincoat from the girl at the hat-check concession, threw the coat over her shoulders and then dashed for the trailer.
I fell into step beside her. “Want to sell some pictures?” I asked.
She looked at me out of the sides of her eyes. “Nudes?”
“Customers.”
“Sure.”
I said, “Last week you had a little trouble with a couple over at the Cabanita. They objected to having their pictures taken. Remember it?”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Cash,” I told her. “My parents christened me E. Pluribus Unum, but folks got to calling me Cash for short. My nickname is Long Green.”
She looked at me and smiled, and said, “There was a little trouble over one of the pictures I took. I’m busy now. When can I see you?”