The streets below 26th were not ones Jonah often traveled down. They were seedier, less suited to a man of his tastes. But he still strolled down them on occasion. They held interesting characters that Jonah couldn't find back home.

No one batted much of an eye at his strange clothes or cane. He was just another in a long line of pimps that strolled these streets at night. The only difference was he wasn't out collecting money or wares. No, just out on a stroll to see how the other half lived as it were.

Jonah paused as he heard loud voices from around the corner. Curious, he made his way towards the argument. A woman, clearly a prostitute, was arguing with a "John". She could have probably handled it but Jonah was raised to help a woman in need. "There a problem here?" he called.

"Screw you!" the "John" yelled. "Bitch stole my money!"

"I'm sure the lady would gladly pay you if you let her go," Jonah said. "But in any case, I'll take care of it. How much does she owe you?"

"The fuck is it to you?"

"Just name your price." The "John" did and Jonah paid it. "Off with you," he ordered.

The woman adjusted the ratty leather jacket she wore. "I had a handle on that," she snapped.

"No doubt," Jonah agreed, leaning on his cane. "But I was always taught to help a woman in trouble."

"If you're looking for a date, you're lookin' in the wrong place," she spat.

Jonah smirked. "IF I'm in need of female company, I assure you, I have other avenues to look through."

The woman paused to look at his clothes. Velvet coat, white embroidered shirt, black pants, large silver rings and all topped with his eerie looking cane. "Damn it. You're one of those uptown pimps, aren't you?"

Jonah bowed. "Jonah King, at your service. And what might you go by?"

"Spitfire," she told him. "Around here, they call me Spitfire."

It was hard but Jonah held in his snicker. "I'm quite sure they do," he agreed. "Don't suppose you're going to give me anything more than that."

She smiled in a sickly sweet sort of way. "More costs money."

"Money I have."

"Like you're really called Jonah King," she retorted.

"My mother would be most wounded by your claims," he smiled. "Poor woman was always so proud of the name. Said it stood out amongst the crowd."

"Oh it does," Spitfire agreed.

Jonah looked her over. "You are interesting company, Miss Spitfire. Might I ask if you're done for the night? Or at least willing to get food with a gentleman?"

"Don't think there's any place around here that caters to your taste," she countered.

He cocked an eye brow. "And what, Miss Spitfire, would you know about my tastes?"

"You're from uptown. You eat expensive. Everyone knows that." Spitfire rolled her eyes. "I'm street trash but I'm not stupid."

"I would never accuse you of either of those traits," Jonah assured her. "And a meal of any sort is vastly improved by the company. I sense your company would be most enjoyable indeed."

Spitfire snorted. "Is this where I start quoting you prices?"

Jonah picked up his cane and slowly circled around her. Spitfire was more than used to men looking her over. She was relaxed but ready. "I have a girl just a little older than you. They call her Sassy Melinda. I think your mouth could give her quite the run for her money."

"That what your customers pay for?"

"Sometimes. Depends on the man. Or woman. I try not to discriminate. Bad for business, you understand."

"Money first?"

"I worry about my girls first. But the money is an admittedly close second. I am a business man after all."

"You might be the closest thing I've ever seen to an honest pimp."

"I try to have good values."

"You sell sex."

"Look around you. Whole world does the same thing." Jonah spread his arms wide. "How am I different from a beer commercial?"

"They don't promise satisfaction. And they aren't so annoying either."

"I'm wounded," Jonah replied with a look that suggested he was more amused than anything. His phone chose that moment to go off. Jonah pulled it out and studied the text message. "Duty calls," he stated. "I thank you for a pleasant diversion, Miss Spitfire. But I must be going now. Good evening." He gave her another bow.

Spitfire glared at him until he turned the corner once more. She was still stewing when Candy came clicking up to her. "Piper," she called. "Hey Piper, what are you staring at?"

"Damn it, Candy," Piper snapped as she whirled around. "I told you not to call me that when we're working. It's Spitfire, remember?"

"Sorry. I just keep forgetting. Now what's got you so hot under the collar?"

"This uptown pimp was wandering around here," Piper replied. "He was just being annoying."

"Really? Was he looking to take you for a few weeks?"

Piper snorted. "Those uptown clients never want streetwalkers like us, Candy. Those are just stories people swap in hopes of getting out. King just wanted to waste my time is all."

"King?" Candy repeated. "Jonah King?"

"That's the one," Piper nodded. "You know him?"

"Everyone knows him. He used to be in the news all the time. Everyone knows he's a pimp but the cops can't get anything to stick. None of his clients want to admit to using his services and he treats his girls too well for them to flip on him."

"Doesn't matter," Piper insisted. "King didn't want anything from me except a diversion."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure. He's like every other man out there. Just wants to screw and move on. Nothing more than that." Piper ran a hand through her hair.

Candy took her hand. "Then come on. Frank wants us to make him money and we won't make it hiding back here."