Anonymity by Janna McMahan Page B

get money out of drunken people. During the day, she found more people gave, but it was only pocket change. At night, she got more money from fewer people. Drunks would either be rude and dismissive, or their eyes would fill with tears and they'd hand over a twenty.
    Lorelei spotted a couple of girls strolling along with Starbucks cups. The way they threw their heads back when they drank meant they were finishing. She followed them and when one tossed her cup, Lorelei fished it from the trash. According to the three-second rule, the cup was practically sterile.
    She walked around a corner and popped the lipstick-stained top. Sweet foam clung to the bottom and the sides. She tapped the bottom of the cup to move the foam down into her mouth. Chocolaty coffee flavor evaporated on her tongue. Her stomach growled.
    Spanging by the university had dried up. All the seriously tanned students who had been so free with their money at the beginning of the school year had morphed into broke, sleep-deprived zombies by midterm. Now Lorelei was just another drag worm to the pretty, polished girls of the University of Texas.
    Her favorite spot to panhandle downtown was the famous Driskill Hotel, the wedding cake building she had seen on her first day in Austin. The Driskill crowd had money, and one twenty-dollar pop was all she needed. The cute valets in their cream-colored monkey suits would run her off as soon as they saw her, but if she was lucky, the first couple of people she approached would help her, and she'd be on her way.
    Outside the Driskill, a line of shiny cars snaked around the corner to the valet stand. Gentlemen in tuxedos stepped from their cars onto a red carpet and handed over their keys. Valets helped ladies in sparkling dresses from passenger seats. The couples all stopped to smooth themselves before walking through the arched-stone entryway.
    The valets were too busy to pay much attention to her if she stayed around the corner out of sight. She pulled her hood close to hide her tats, pressed her back into the wall and held out her cup. Other elegant people came from down the street and Lorelei held out her empty cup. A man reached into his back pocket as he approached and her heart lifted.
    “Hey!”
    Lorelei turned to see an older guy in a monkey suit of a different color with a shiny gold nameplate.
    “Move along,” the man said. “You can't be here.”
    She looked back at her target and saw the man had reconsidered and was guiding his date in a wide path around her.
    “I said, move along,” hotel man said more forcefully. He stepped closer.
    Anger flared inside Lorelei as her meal money walked past.
    She jerked her hood away from her face and was pleased by his startled reaction.
    “This is a public sidewalk,” she said.
    “And this is my hotel, so move along.”
    “Oh, so you own this hotel? I doubt that Mr. Monkey Suit.”
    “Listen, you little bitch. I'm the concierge here. Now move along or I'll call the cops.”
    She swung the empty cup in his direction and coffee dregs flew out staining the man's white shirt with flecks of brown.
    “Goddamnit!” He grabbed at her, but she was already down the sidewalk.
    She turned around, laughing and skipping backward. “Mr. Monkey Suit! Mr. Monkey Suit!” she called. “Go lick some boots, Mr. Monkey Suit!”
    The man shot her the bird, threw up his hands and disappeared into the hotel.
    Lorelei was suddenly mad at herself for pushing the confrontation so far. She'd never be able to spange at the Driskill again. Panic set in. The concierge was probably calling the cops now. Just like the man said, she had to move along.

David
    BLACK WAS already pooling under the boy's right eye. A crust of blood ringed his nose. His posture said he was used to abuse. After fifteen years counseling homeless kids, David could spot certain indicators—the hunched stature, the hanging head, the sideways glance that never quite made eye contact.
    The black eye and bloody nose