[Runesmith]

Nadine startled as she felt someone tugging at her sleeve. It was a short, swarthy, middle-eastern looking man with a mohawk and an earring.

"Hey, if you are gonna work this turf, you need to rent a room from me", he glared at her.

"N-n-no, no, I am not... I am just..."

"If you rent at Dieter's you stay near the flower shop. If you rent at Tuermle, you bloody well stay there. This area is for girls who rent from me, you understand? Try to pick up here again, and I'll hurt you bad, DO YOU UNDERSTAND, CUNT?"

Nadine was too shocked to respond. Her life so far could not quite be described as sheltered, but being threatened bodily harm by a pimp was a rather novel and a frightening experience for her. Her brain was screaming "run!!" but her feet stayed rooted to the sidewalk.

"Is this man troubling you, Miss?" sounded a rough voice behind her. Before she could answer, the man to whom the voice belonged to deftly moved over to the pimp, grabbed the front of his shirt, and whispered something to his ear. The pimp swallowed, nodded, and as soon as his shirt was released, hurriedly melted in to the shadows.

"Now that's taken care of," said the man, turning to Nadine. "Now tell me, what is a girl like you doing in this part of the town alone at night? I can tell you are not a working girl."

"I... I am... it's a long story," stammered Nadine, her voice still shaking from fear and her face burning with embarrassment. "I need to get home."

"Of course, of course," said the man, "But first, let me buy you a drink and help you calm your nerves." Without waiting for an answer from her, he took her elbow and guided her down the street. Nadine was still in a daze - from the mad scramble to the restaurant, the fact that Dirk left without even messaging her, being accosted by a pimp in the middle of the red light district, and the relief at being rescued - and simply just allowed herself to be led. The man made a couple of turns, and motioned her in to a small, seedy looking cafe along Weberstrasse, sandwiched between neon-lighted Bordellos (or, Laufhauses, as they are called in Germany).

Before she could even protest, she was pushed in through the heavy curtains covering the doorway.

To be continued