It was a sixteen year old girl he’d seen around at the station. The angry red welt around her throat said she’d been strangled. It was the third time this week he’d stood over the empty husk of a working girl with this same cause of death. Malone was sure these had to be professional hits. These girls weren’t robbed, and they weren’t raped, and there were no witnesses to any of the three attacks. In Gravity City, professional hit meant Nikky Poplovick, known as Pop to his crew. Pop was the first name in organized crime in Gravity. “Left on the street like trash. This is no way for someone to go.” Malone couldn’t believe how small and young she looked, how young they had all looked. Malone’s partner, Detective Sam Mueller stood beside him, seeming unaffected by the sight before him. “She stopped being ‘someone’ when she started spreading her legs for every guy with five bucks and some blow.” Mueller held a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with the brilliant flash of a match.
