I was there for business, friendly, but we were never friends. I daren’t not attend either the meeting or the meal. There was one other reason why I...didn’t mind visiting as often as he requested I attend. Frieda.He had actually married one of his brothel ‘working girls’ about two years earlier, a classic German beauty, tall, elegant, dark haired, blue eyed with translucent white skin. Her name was Frieda and I assumed that she was half his age, in her mid-to-late-20s. Not far off about half my. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was finally seeing reason. "I don't think I can handle more than 96 of them. Can you take care of the other four?" She asked, giggling again. What was I going to do with this girl? She didn't even answer that unspoken question; she just looked at me, smiled, and winked. I hoped I didn't blush, but her giggle said I probably did. I tried once more."Amy, honey, I don't want you hurt. Please don't go out there." She started to respond, then got a blank look. More

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