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<P>"I train putas, little one, and then I sell them." He smiled and held the needle toward her and she shrank away from it because it was huge, at least as big as his head.
<P>"Do not be afraid, Chica. He is your friend." The Mexicans voice faded in and out and Renee had to strain to hear what he was saying. He and I, we will tame you. Then I will train you myself. Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you ... you ... me ... worth ... mucho ... dinero ... to ..." and the words faded into nothing.
<P>The Mexican saw Renee was no longer listening. Turning, he refilled the needle and plunged it into Fran's buttock.
<P>He emptied it, then gently patted the smooth flank before standing and going to the door.
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<P>Renee struggled to swim out of the depths. She was plunging down. It was all she could do to bring herself up, to poise on the edge of surfacing.
<P>All her will went into the effort. She knew she was sweating. She knew her body was knotted with the effort that was a leaden deadness inside of her. But she couldn't stop struggling. For a moment she conquered her weakness. "What kind of man are you?" she gasped. "Who are you?"
<P>He paused at the door and looked back, his face and body grotesquely out of perspective. "Me? I am Manuel. If you need me, you call for me. My friend?" he patted his pocket. "He is Mr. Heroin. You will call for him, too, I think."
<P>Manuel winked and in slow floated out of the room while Renee sank into a nightmare of light and color
<P>Renee didn't know how much later it was when she finally came back to reality. The light was grayer, dimmer. It felt like weeks had passed. Her mouth tasted of cotton and ether.
<P>"Headache?"
<P>She gasped and looked up. Fran was twisted over staring at her, her eyes huge over sharp cheekbones like the face of a starving child.
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