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Maybe there was something in one of them. Maybe someone had cleaned out their medicine cabinet and got rid of old prescription drugs or threw away a vodka bottle that wasn’t quite empty yet. A few Vicodins would hardly get him through the night. He needed more. Brody made his way down the alley and began opening the lids, ripping open bags, and looking for treasure among the trash.
    Something lay on the ground in front of one of the cans. He picked it up and examined it. The light back here wasn’t real good, but it appeared to be a sock. It was dark and squishy in his hand, still slightly warm, and he smelled the rich, coppery odor of blood. Brody let it fall to the ground at his feet and stared down at the red smears on his fingers.
    Something wasn’t right here. He didn’t need to be in any new shit. He had enough problems. As he quickly turned to go, he saw something protruding from a piece of frozen cardboard and some old newspapers. A bare leg.
    His breathing quickened and his stomached churned. His first instinct told him to go—just get the fuck out of here. He didn’t need this, didn’t want this…
    But he didn’t go. For whatever reason, he couldn’t leave. No one deserved this, to be dumped out here like a bag of garbage.
    A mannequin, it’s just a mannequin, he promised himself as he moved the trash away from it. People died around here every day, but he didn’t want to come face-to-face with that, didn’t want to find a body.
    She wasn’t a mannequin. It took him a minute, but he recognized her. One of the working girls from up the street. One he’d taken notice of, the newest one, a pretty, sad-eyed girl who looked like if life was fair, it should have been nice enough to give her something a little better than being a prostitute.
    He squatted for a better look, his eyes focused on her face, slack and relaxed like some sleeping fairy-tale princess. In this light, with her eyes closed, she looked more like an angel than a whore.
    Dark hair framed the face of the angel in the snow, full lips, her mouth slightly open, and yet she was so very still. His gaze slid down her body. She was all pale skin and lush curves, lying bruised and broken. She was completely naked, except for a little sock on one of her feet. Blood splattered the snow around her.
    He sat back on his heels, the scene before him blurring. This was real, it was really happening. Despite everything being sort of dark around the edges in his mind, this was actually happening. A body. Fuck. Fuck, fuckity-fuck! Shouldn’t have left the apartment . This was way worse than letting Krieger stay in and piss on the blanket. Sam was gonna shit.
    Brody crumpled beside her in the snow, trying to decide what to do. A weird tightness gripped his chest. She shouldn’t be here like this. He wondered who would miss her, who besides him had ever noticed her. He wished he’d talked to her. He’d walked right by her a dozen times, and they’d never exchanged a single word. She’d smiled at him once when he’d walked to the liquor store. He didn’t think he’d smiled back, but he hoped like hell that he had. She’d deserved that much at least.
    One night she’d given him a dollar when he was bumming change from people in the liquor store parking lot. He hadn’t asked her for money, because he knew what she had to do to earn it, but she’d offered and he’d taken it. He hadn’t smiled at her then either. If anything, he’d probably looked at her like she was a moron. All it took was a look at her to know she didn’t have a damn thing, and she was giving away money. It occurred to him now, as he looked at her, that not everyone was like him. Some people still knew how to be kind. Some people still had goodness inside of them.
    “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have thanked you. I don’t know who did this to you, but I’m real sorry.” He lay beside her body trying to remember a prayer, but his foggy mind couldn’t make it past