He was wrong, though, and was almost depressed over it. Even hookers deserved a day off, but from the look of things, most of them had decided that dusk on the Fourth of July was still a perfectly fine time to offer their wares.Van Endel and Martinez had circled the blocks where the women were most apt to be walking. The men’s district was a little farther north, though the job opportunities were basically the same. Finally, Martinez spotted a woman they’d talked to before, a rough-looking black hooker who said her name was Candy. “Hard Candy,” she’d told them—if a john got too pushy or tried not to pay, that is. Van Endel pulled the car to the curb and let Martinez get out first, then followed her. Women tended to make them less jumpy, doubly so after the last eighteen months of steady disappearances.“Is that Candy?” Dr. Martinez called out, in a voice that was almost as much a lie as the girl’s name. “I know that’s my girl Candy. You remember me?”“I don’t know you, White Bread,”
