The

Carrie put out her cigarette as the car window rolled down.

"Fifty bucks to suck your dick baby, it'll be the time of your life," she cooed. The stranger pulled out a fifty, and Carrie tucked it into her bra and climbed into the passenger seat. They didn't go far; just a block over, to a dimly lit alley. He got out of the car and beckoned for Carrie to do the same. She climbed out tentatively, and he motioned for her to get onto her knees. She knelt into the grime, the dirt rubbing against her fishnet stockings as she reached up to undo his jeans.

Instead, he backhanded her, causing her to recoil and collapse. He was strong. Brutally strong. He climbed on top of her, punching her and wrapping his hands around her throat. She fumbled, trying to get to her phone, trying to call Luis as the light started to dim.

Suddenly, the weight was off her. The homeless man, in his 60s, was holding a crowbar. Her assailant was bleeding. Carrie fumbled for her phone, calling Luis, who arrived moments later. She went home, collapsing into Nia's arms, crying. She had a black eye from the punch. Nia consoled her. Carrie had enjoyed the work, but perhaps she had solved it. Perhaps she could go home.