Time is money. On cue, Dominique calls from across the street. Forty seconds left in the fourth quarter. Bulls up by seventeen. A white Camaro rumbles up to the curb.
Dual carburetors ensure a purring growl, with custom flames painted on the rear quarter panels.
It's a gang-banger's car, complete with windows tinted dark enough to obscure the occupants. The car vibrates with the throbbing bass of music loud enough to cause arrhythmias. One drawls to Peaches. The whores prance to the curb, ready to strike up a bargain. Between them, these guys look like they could share honors as poster boys for the criminally insane.