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knock at the door, punctually at the appointed time, which pleased the judge, Harrison, already undressed and clad only in his robe, crossed the room and opened the door. The girl standing outside the room was Mexican: dark eyes and tanned skin, with long raven hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. Through his spectacles Harrison gazed at the girl appraisingly and, finding her suitable to his discriminating taste, invited her inside, not with words but with a mere nod of his head.
    Truth be told, the girl, Angelique (or “Angel,” as she was known to her customers), was not as impressed with Judge Harrison as he was with her. She was a fairly new addition to Madam Rosina’s stable, having been encouraged away from a border town cantina, where she was performing the same duties under less favorable conditions and little pay. Naturally she hadn’t been told who tonight’s customer was, but his austere, almost hawk-like look, complemented by a neatly trimmed goatee that made the middle-aged man look old enough to be her grandfather, coupled with a somewhat intimidating bearing, suggested someone of importance whom, she detected, held her in low esteem. He exuded a chilly arrogance.
    Not that his opinion mattered. Angelique had no illusions about herself or what she did for a living. She was a whore and she knew it.
    This was her first appointment with Charles Harrison, and she didn’t know what to expect. Judging by his appearance, Angelique would have guessed his occupation as undertaker. While withholding his identity (as was always the case), Madam Rosina had called him a “gentleman of suitable character,” but Angelique had had turns with other so-called “respectables,” and she usually found that while they may have been upstanding citizens in their professional life, under the sheets it was quite a different matter.
    Money was always the incentive, however, and Madam Rosina was generous in sharing her profits with her girls. Therefore, Angelique accepted the glass of champagne her client silently offered her as a preliminary overture. There would be very little conversation, and when Angelique was about to introduce herself as Angel, Harrison raised his hand to silence her. He neither wanted nor needed to know who she was. He kept such arrangements impersonal, no intimacies.
    This was not particularly uncommon to Angelique—though quite often her customers provided false names to allow for at least the facade of personal connection.
    After a single glass of champagne, Harrison disrobed, and buck-naked, exposing a most unappealing physique, he proceeded into bed, with Angelique likewise expected to follow. Consuming the rest of her champagne quickly to hopefully hasten the effects, the girl stepped behind a decorative partition and began removing her outer garments, uncertain if not uneasy at the prospect of what was to come, but readying herself to do her “professional” best to please the customer . . .
    Judge Harrison’s night of pleasure at the bordello proved all that he could have hoped for. The few words he did speak were brief whispered instructions of what he expected from the girl, and while a few of his requests were somewhat peculiar, Angelique was seasoned and complied without complaint. But it had all been prelude. When the moment came, Harrison was quick on the draw, releasing but one pull on the trigger. By the time he drifted off to sleep, an exhausted Angelique had admirably fulfilled some of his fantasies.
    For Angelique, the experience was far from memorable. Of course, her personal pleasure in the affair was barely a consideration. For her, the night wasn’t as exciting as it was painful. The old man seemed to have to struggle to achieve his own puny “thrill” and often he would squeeze Angelique’s forearms with a strong grip while in the midst of prompting stimulation. Angelique was certain she would end up