Discretion Guaranteed #2

The Phone booth stank of piss; the glass thick with condensation.

Coco opened his vanity mirror. Touched up his facepaint.

This could be the biggest score of my life.

A former children’s entertainer, lost to substance abuse and petty crime, he now worked as The Duke’s enforcer.

He’d ditched the outfit; kept the makeup. My trademark.

Nowadays, he helped The Duchesses with their sideline: blackmail.

Ordinarily, it was the usual freaks webcamming the girls at extortionate rates, but last night one of them had hit the motherlode.

He held the screenprint up as the phone began to ring. Grinned toothlessly.