Working Rough Streets

Tracie thinks Johnny, her partner in the bar they own, is taking her for granted. She doesn't care that he's banging other women, but he's cutting her out. So, when her cop friend Sean gets her a gig going after a bail jumper she invites him along to provide backup and to keep her from being horny and frustrated. The job should be straightforward, but she has to play the role of a hooker in a strip club to get close to her guycloser than she might like. And the act gets far more realistic than she intended.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

The traffic from the airport was a mess and the taxi had some kind of problem so I was breathing more fumes than air all the way. As much as I travel I've wondered if it would make more sense to get rid of my apartment and get a long-term lease on an airport hotel room.

Of course, then I'd have the world's worst commute to my office, which is situated in a crappy part of town. It has to be there. After all, the cardinal rule of business is that the three things that matter most are location, location, and location. Naturally, the bail bondsmen and such who are my bread and butter do not cluster in the financial district. The kind I have for clients are in located the neighborhoods. They are my market because their clients, in turn, are reasonable candidates for skipping out on bail, and I'm a bounty hunter. Their unsuccessful attempts to get away from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune is my meal ticket.

I'm Tracie Dumas, bounty hunter. You want more detail? Okay, I'm five one, hovering around 105 lbs. and extremely good at tracking down bad guys. If it's needed, muscle is cheap. Not that I'd run from a fight, but discretion is the better part of valor and it helps me retain my good looks if I avoid getting my teeth knocked out.

I'd been in Chicago. Ever visit Chicago? If you have you probably didn't get near the section I'd been in. It was pretty bad. Not catching the bad guy. Seeing me flash a warrant broke his heart, I think. Any fight he had went out of him immediately and he'd been all nice and docile all the way home. I didn't even cuff him for the flight back, although Jerry's guys weren't as nice when they met us at the airport and took him off my hands.

Now I was headed for Jersey's Bar on Sixth. I am part owner, along with Johnny Jersey. I didn't miss the bar much, but it had been a long week at the office and I was sure as hell eager to see Johnny. He's quite a stud, and some of the time he's mine. At least enough to keep me pretty satisfied when I'm there. I'd called him and left a message, hoping he'd get someone to tend bar so he could drag me up to his apartment above the bar and rip my clothes off me.

I needed to get rid of some tension and that was my favorite way to do it.

The cabbie stopped in front of the bar and I paid him. His look told me that he clearly didn't share my opinion on what makes for a decent tip, but I was going to have to deal with my own bag, so I didn't care.

It's different going into a bar when you own the place, or part of it, even when you are a silent partner like I am. Instead of seeing who is hanging out, what the scene is like, you automatically do head counts, make a quick look at the place to see if it's inviting, that sort of thing. Johnny is great at his job, which is running the place, and I never find anything wrong. But I guess it's like buying a stock. Even if you can't afford to change your portfolio, can't do anything about the market, it gets you reading the financial papers and checking the price. Just a compulsion.

Johnny was behind the bar, looking good as ever. He looked like he was fresh out the shower. He smiled when he saw me and came over to pour me a welcome glass of my favorite scotch. "Hey, Tracie, glad you are back." He leaned across the bar and kissed me. I'd been hoping he's come around the bar and grab me. I wanted those big arms wrapped around me. Act

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