I bumped into the slumlord man who owns the house next door to us. After the usual pleasantries, we started talking about his current and previous tenants. I shared with him the reality that the "nice boys" had not so nice visits from the police every single night after the bars closed. He was shocked.
Then he dropped the bomb.
"You know Simon? The plumber?" He asks.
"The guy with the weird girlfriend?" I ask.
"That was no girlfriend," he says. "That was a Colfax prostitute."
"A crack whore?" I ask.
"Well, I'm not certain if she did crack or not, but yes, she is a streetwalker."
"Not a call girl?"
"I don't think she saw... uh... clients here. I will say that she moved a fellow streetwalker into the apartment when she moved on. That woman said that two men broke the door down at three in the morning."
"I was surprised as well."
I give him a "what-the-f***" look.
He adds, "I guess we've been fairly absent. At least, she wasn't seeing people in the apartment... that we are aware of...."
So, I replay this conversation to D. He gets this weird look on his face. I tilt my head.
"Well," he starts then stops. He is instantly interested in the empty wine glass in his hand.
"Well what?" I ask again relishing in his discomfort.
"I was working on the basement one day and she came to the door. She asked me what I was doing. I told her I was working on the basement. Then she said... I just didn't think anything of it at the time."
"She said what?" I ask.
"She said that she could do anything. I thought she was looking for a job. I asked her if she could do drywall or paint. I mean, I figured she wanted some work, you know?"
I watch him blushed and stumble over his words.
"She said that she could do other things. I couldn't figure out what she was talking about so I ignored her until she went away."
"So you didn't give her any work?" I ask. (Oh, come on, you would have asked too.)
Looking up suddenly, his face bright red. "What?! No! I mean come on! NO."