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show. A Yank, aren’t you? That’s twelve of your dollars. Used to be fourteen, but you get a break with the devaluation. Bargain day, isn’t it? There’s a full hour of films, new ones, some in color. A man and a woman, two men and a woman, a man and two women, two women together, a woman and a dog, a woman and—”
    A taxi drew to a stop in front of the building I was watching. Julia got out of it and passed some coins to the driver. She went into the building and the cab stayed where it was. If Hyphen was by himself she would signal the driver, tipping me in the process.
    â€œSell you any bloody thing you want. French postcards, French ticklers, Spanish fly. Drugs I don’t handle, but I know them what does. See a live show? Not strippers, but me and a girl, fucking and sucking and all, and then you can have her yourself or not, your choice, and all it costs—”
    A shade went up in the Hyphen apartment. I saw Julia wave to her driver, who, as it happened, had already driven off with another fare. Then she lowered the shade again.
    â€œAnd hoping you won’t take offense, mate, but to each his own as they say, and would you fancy a young boy? You don’t look the sort, but I always ask, and—”
    I tucked my chin into my coat collar, pitched my voice low, and changed my American accent for anEnglish one. “Special Branch,” I murmured. “We don’t bother with touts and ponces as a rule, but unless you bugger off quick I might make an exception in your case.”
    I kept my eyes on the ground as I said this, and when I looked up he was gone. I walked to the far corner, crossed the street, walked back to the doorway Julia had entered a few minutes earlier. No one seemed to be paying any particular attention to me. I went inside. The foyer wall displayed half a dozen three-by-five file cards—Model, French Model, Spanish Model, with names and apartment numbers. I wondered what real models called themselves.
    The apartments on the first two floors housed models exclusively. There were two apartments on the third floor, our friend’s and one belonging to a model named Suzette. I suppose she had as much right to the name Suzette as he did to Wyndham-Jones. I put an ear to his door. I could hear voices, his and hers, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. I stepped back, and the door of Suzette’s apartment opened behind me and a man emerged. Suzette was close behind him, urging him to return soon. I turned to look at him, and he couldn’t have been more anxious to avoid me if I had been his father-in-law the vicar. He plunged madly down the stairs. I turned to look at Suzette. Her bright red lips curled in a smile and she dropped one eyelid in a wink.
    â€œHope you weren’t waiting long, love,” she said. “The time he took, I ought to charge him by the hour.” She had a little trouble with h ’s. “Now don’t be a shy one. Come inside and we’ll get acquainted.”
    She was wearing a shiny wrapper the color of her lipstick, and she had so much pancake on her face that it was impossible to guess what she might look like without it. She couldn’t have looked much worse.
    â€œI’m waiting for a friend,” I said.
    â€œAre you now?” Again the wink. “Come inside and we’ll wait together.” She minced across the hallway at me. “Suzie’ll show you a good time, ducks. You’ve no call to be bashful.”
    I had the awful feeling that as soon as she got close enough she would make a grab at my fly. I reached into my inside pocket and came up with my U.S. passport, flipped it open, and flashed it at her.
    â€œCor,” she said. One hand flew to her throat. “I’m just a bleeding model, it’s a respectable occupation—”
    â€œFifth Squad,” I said. I have no idea what that is, or if there is one. “I’m backing up my partner,