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apartment with its picture of a sailing
ship on the wall. Too fundamentally decent for something like this
business. Only that was the moralist again, popping up in his
sentimental garb. What better disguise for pornographers than solid
Republican decency, I asked myself. And when it comes down to it,
what criminal isn't middle-class in fact or aspiration? It could be
the definition of a thief.
    Well, I'd find out more about their business in the
morning. I'd make the rounds of the local smut shops--the half-dozen
storefronts on the north side of the city. Perhaps a clerk would
recognize Cindy Ann's face, or, better still, I might find that face
being pandered in one of the shop windows. If my luck held true, I
might even be able to work my way back through the dealer to the
Jellicoes' place of business or to the girl herself. On the other
hand, if the photos were meant for sale, if nobody recognized the
girl, then I could be sure that the Jellicoes were using them as
advertisements. Which would be bad for Hugo and bad for his little
girl, because what they advertised was a very rough trade indeed.
    Adult News was the fourth shop I visited that hot
Friday morning, and the only thing that distinguished it from the
first three was the fact that its front window was painted red rather
than green. The storefront was situated on the verge of the Vine
Street tenderloin at the corner of Twelfth, next to a Pentecostal
church, which, I suppose, should count for something when it comes to
distinguishing features. I'm sure it counted for something to the
Pentecostalists, three of whom were standing in the doorway of the
church damning every customer that went into or came out of Adult
News.
    I tried my best to look saved as I walked past them.
But judging from the frowns on their faces, I don't think they were
convinced. The roadside to perdition must be crowded with such
faces--lean and pitiless and full of smoke.
    An unpainted square in the center of the smut shop
window served as a teaser to passers-by. Behind it, a corkboard was
posted with two dozen tame, unattractive nudes. And one of them was
Hugo's Cindy Ann, reclining on a white cushion. She looked a bit more
sophisticated in the Adult News photograph than she had in the ones
I'd seen the night before--her face was carefully made up and she'd
thrown her chest out, what little there was of it, and sucked in her
round tummy like a professional model. Looking at her on display, I
felt a wave of indignation rock me again. And I had to remind myself
that it was job and that there were unpredictable folks involved and
that getting mad again wasn't going to help Hugo or his little girl.
    I bent forward to the glass and peered closely at the
face, just to bee sure. Then I went inside the shop.
    Tere was a tall glass display case to the right of
the door. Behind it a very black Negro with a gold chain around his
neck and teeth and eyes of the same color gold was leaning against
the tiny register, gazing at his reflection in the chrome.
    "What is it?" he said abstractedly. He tore
himself away from his favorite sight and looked sullenly down at me.
    "Those pictures in the window, are they for
sale?"
    "Sho'. Everything's for sale, man. Which one you
want?"
    "Lower left. There's a snapshot of a red-haired
girl."
    He turned to the window. The corkboard on which the
photos were pinned swung open like a dutch door and a chunk of bright
sunlight fell into the room. The black squinted at it furiously, as
if it were a big yellow brick someone had tossed through his window.
    "Which, now?" he said irritably.
    I leaned over the counter and pointed to Cindy Ann.
    He plucked the photograph off the cork and slammed
the display door shut. "Man," he said, holding the picture
at arm's length. "Can't say she do nothing for me." He
slapped the photo to the glass. "Two dollars."
    "Got any more like that one?" I said,
pulling my billfold out.
    "Could be. Got a whole box of them in the back
there." He grinned.