The only ‘girls’ were the low-rent slags that gathered behind the place; no one knowing whether they were men or some such other kind of **** crawled out of the slime. The guys sporting with them in spotty raincoats couldn’t afford the VIP room. These guys made the **** look bad and got the occasional beating if ever they came out in the light. These lowlifes were insurance salesmen, bankers and expectant newlyweds; **** that could pass for human on any given day. They were mostly white but other languages beside English were spoken. They traded one ***** needle between them and gave Tyger every dime they had. Salaries vanished in this festering human bog and the drugs kept coming, the disease spreading. Into this living dirt, Miyaki scrambled blindly. She smelled like a ***** woman who had **** herself but **** wasn’t the half. Miyaki loosed a prolonged shrill blast of lung power that tipped January inside.
“Come on, twinkletoes, show me the back door.”
The door had to be shoved aside and it took the two of them to push against the hill of garbage. January squeezed through while the guy kept pushing, the door no longer budging. January, climbing over a heap of trash came down on the girl. Skin slippery with trickling rotted filth, her ******* were down and she was thrown upside down shirt torn off her back and ravenous perverts piling on top of her and the big detective. January scrimmaging got the girl under his arm and played Johnny Unitas barreling over the ***** bums, their crusty pants down and crusty hairy ***** up. January carried the girl inside through the front.