“After three days of surveillance, I was familiar with the rhythm of the street. At nine in the morning, those about to be sacrificed to the Hawaiian gods of sun, sea, and sand were making their ritualistic trek to the beach. I knew from experience that very few would return with their skin. At noon, the late risers and the serious souvenir hunters were prowling about, snatching up bargain buys on plastic hula skirts and cheap coral beads. At three-fifteen I got my afternoon treat. I called her Olga, for obvious reasons. The cops are pretty good about keeping hookers off the street during the day, but, I guess when you're as big as Olga, you can work any time you want. By sunset the last of the lobsters were returning from the beach, which meant my day was nearly over and all I had to show for it was a sore butt, and a case of heartburn.”