A Proposition

"Yo, puta." The call came from behind her. "Where you going?"

Lois stopped, though she knew she shouldn't, and looked back.

Male, Hispanic. Slicked back hair, pencil mustache, and wearing a zoot suit. A character right out of Dick Tracy. He might have been cute, if he hadn't had the letters LUG tattooed above his left eyebrow. Latino Unified Gang. A Gotham outfit that had been making inroads in Metropolis.

"I'm not working," Lois said. "Just passing through. Don't want no trouble."

"Hey, sexy," he said with a smile, showing off white teeth and gold caps. "I ain't looking for no trouble. Just a bit of love." He flashed a wad of bills in a steel money clip.

He had kept walking closer while Lois stood still, and now she could see him more clearly she reckoned he was younger than she thought. Early twenties at best. Her pussy ached around the bottle.

"I'm on my period, honey." She said, letting a bit of a Suicide Slum accent creep in to her voice. "No foolin'."

He drew close. She could smell the musky aftershave on him. "Ah baby, we can still have fun. You got another hole, ey?" He waggled an eyebrow. Lois felt her heart pound in her chest, but didn't answer.

She should have moved, then, when he made the lunge, grabbed her wrist. "I been looking for some ass, tonight. You and me have a little fun, chica, an' you get paid an' nobody gets hurt."

Lois shivered. There was only way thing to say.