Tenderloin San Francisco

Hard-boiled stories from San Francisco's 1960s and 1970s Tenderloin

Tenderloin San Francisco

Hard-boiled stories from San Francisco's 1960s and 1970s Tenderloin

Tenderloin Takeover



       Chantelle wanted some reds, some action, some anything, but Compton’s was quiet right now – everyone was probably in the after hours clubs.  She decided her only option was to head to Kenny’s Upstairs on Turk and Leavenworth to find Tripper Bob.  Chantelle didn’t like being out alone on the streets lately because the nut-cases out there seemed to be getting more serious.  Especially this past week – there had been more than the usual random attacks on the queens and trannies.  Turk Street at 2:00 AM was bad news this week - even for a local. 

      Kenny’s was pretty dead as it turned, out only the regulars were there.  A few ‘hellos’ and nods and winks of recognition was all there was - no sailors, no action, and that meant no money.  Leaving Kenny’s, she turned right heading up Leavenworth towards Eddy Street.  She thought, “Might be some sailor action up on Eddy.  If not, maybe I’ll call Bobby – see if he has anything going on.”  She didn’t call Bobby, she didn't get to Eddy Street that night . . .  

       Next night the Compton’s conversation was about how three queens got beat up.  Chantelle was lucky they said and though she had a bad ankle the marks on her face weren’t that bad.  It was some newcomers who did it.  They didn’t rob her; just twisted her ankle and smacked her around.  It looked like another random queen beating – that happened once in a while. 

       Night after that, Phil was working the door at Kenny’s with Tripper Bob sitting next to him on a barstool. Tonight’s bouncers were Tiger and Reggie.  The recent increase in queen bashings was the hot topic all over the Tenderloin. 

       Phil to Tripper Bob, “How’s Chantelle?”  

       “They pushed her around a little, ankle should heal in a while – dislocated, but they put it back in place quickly.  She’s using a crutch, but she’ll be here later.  She told me something - the guys who beat her up told her to keep off the street, she said they didn’t rob her.  It was black guys, street guys – just told her to stay off the street.”  

       Phil thought a moment then added what he knew, “I heard something like that from Spooky a few days ago.  She was almost hit by a car that was parking up on Eddy Street.  She thought they were purposely trying to bang into her, but she jumped out of the way in time.  She said they yelled for her to get the fuck off the street and stay off.  Get off the street – same thing they told Chantelle.  Is this more nut-case queen bashers, or maybe some evangelical 'kill-queers-for-the-lord' thing starting up?”

       Tripper Bob shaking his head, “I don’t know.  This shit’s bad for money though, it’s getting scarce out here."  

       The Yellow Cab pulling up in front interrupted them.  Chantelle got out with two sailors who were helping her up the stairs between her ouches and ooches.  As she passed Phil and Tripper bob, with a nod and a wink between them they agreed to talk later when she was free of the sailors - which as it turned out was only a few minutes.  

       Phil started with, “How you feeling?  And you done with the sailor-boys?”

       “I’ll be okay, maybe a week or two on this damned thing,” pointing to the crutch.  “And the sailors, yeah, we’re finished.  We had a good time and after we were done they wanted to see the ‘real’ Tenderloin so I brought them here.  They’re okay boys and it would be nice if nothing happened to them while they’re up here.”  Phil and Tripper Bob nodded in agreement - the sailors would be okay while they were in Kenny’s. 

       Chantelle continued, “And maybe this dislocated ankle isn’t so bad.  I got a lot of sympathy from them,” she pulled up her skirt to show them a nice a wad of twenties tucked into her stocking at thigh level.  

       Tripper Bob with his usual annoyance towards anything Chantelle did of a sexual nature, “Cut the skirt shit, will you?  Save it for the squids.”  

       Phil ignoring Bob turned to Chantelle, “Okay so what happened last night?”

       “I just left Kenny’s, turned the corner onto Leavenworth, and a car pulls up.  Two guys jump out, pull me in the car, tell me to stay off the street, smack me around a few times, then one grabs my ankle and twists it hard – that’s what dislocated it.  Wow, did I scream!  They told me to tell the other girls - said this shit’s going to keep going on as long as we’re on the street.  Then they kicked me out the door.  I took a cab to General, they reset the ankle, gave me some reds, and I spent the night pretty zonked out.  I woke up a few hours ago, ate more reds, ran into the sailors, and here I am.  I got the lousy end out of the deal, all I got is a script for reds."  Pointing to her ankle she added, "And this hurts like hell."  There was silence for a moment, then Chantelle went on, “And I don’t know what to do.  I gotta make money but I can’t walk too well and I’m afraid to now.  All I can do for money is whatever I can do in here.”

       Next morning’s paper carried a few lines about two suspected ‘female impersonators’ admitted to SF General who had been attacked.  They weren’t robbed, just banged up.  The article said there had been others lately implying another serial queen basher starting up again.  

       That night Kenny, looking out the Turk Street window, swiveled his chair around while calling Phil and a few others into his office.  He told them money was down, keep their eyes and ears open, tell him if they see anything funny.  Said he’s putting a doorman outside.  Reggie volunteered.  Reggie, one of the off-and-on bouncers was an okay choice.  He'd lived in the Fillmore district up until a few years ago, knew that scene, and carried a heater.  His job was to hang around the front doorway so potential customers would feel safer on this piece of Turk street.  A few other clubs started doing that too.  

       Something else was happening, something vague, a feeling, a sense no one could put their finger on.  Everyone felt it, but no one talked about it.  The Tenderloin, its people, its very existence was under assault again.  This had happened before over the years and in spite of everything the Tenderloin was still here.  The spirit of the Tenderloin was awakening from its slumber . . .  

       The doorman idea worked so-so for Kenny’s Upstairs for a while – business picked up a little, but not much.  A few other clubs had the same result – a little help, not much.  The tough-guy regulars in the Tenderloin were working the doors at some after-hours clubs.  Even so queens and trannies got beat up - usually as soon as they stepped out their door.  No sex traffic meant fewer sailors and now with more cop cars patrolling, business was down for everyone.  All races were being attacked along with real girls who worked up on Eddy and Ellis Street.  They didn’t care if you were a real girl, a queen, or what your color was - if you looked female, you were a target.  

       A few days later in Kenny’s Phil picked the topic for tonight with Tripper Bob, “Reggie saw a few cars cruising these past few nights – same cars.  Said he didn’t think it was anyone from the Fillmore – maybe somewhere around East Bay.  I’ve been asking around a little.”

       Bob: “Yeah, I’ve heard a few things too.  And saw something.  We got two new girls working Eddy Street.  Just since last night.”

       “Real girls?”

       “Yeah, looked like real girls – up around Ringside, white girls, dressed classy.  Looked more like they should have been working the Hilton.  Didn't notice any pimp, but I didn't go out of my way to look."

       “Look Bob, money’s going elsewhere.  I’m feeling it and I know you are, we all are.  I know this sounds nuts, but I think someone is trying to take over the Tenderloin street scene.  Our regulars were attacked right outside their doors.  These guys know where they live.  Now we have new girls on the street and nothing happens to them.  And Spooky told me these guys were Fillmore, not East Bay.  

       “Spooky?  How the hell would she know?  She’s strictly a Tenderloin queen, been here longer than me.  She never goes to the Fillmore.  She doesn't know anyone there."

       “I asked her how she knew.  She said by the way they said it, ‘Fih-moe’ is how she said they said it.  Fih-moe.  The brothers who say it like that are from there.”  

       Bob staring intently at nothing while opening a roll of bennies, “How does she say it?”  

       “Fih-moe.  She was raised in the Fillmore.  When her family saw her dressed in women’s clothes they freaked out and all that shit and threw her out.  She came to the Tenderloin and been here ever since.  She says these guys are from the Fillmore so she should know.  But Reggie says they’re East Bay.  And he used to live there so he should know.  So between the two of them I don’t know . . .”


        About 3:00 AM Reggie from downstairs signaled up to Phil there were two guys sitting in a car parked outside.  Kenny inside his office facing out Turk, motioned to Phil there was a car parked across the street with three or four people in it.  One minute later Fillmore Slim dressed to the max, blue cowboy hat, matching pants and jacket, long reddish hair, gold jewelry, and sunglasses, made a quiet, but flamboyant entrance.  He had a stunningly dressed white girl following behind him.  She was wearing a skin-hugging knee-length skirt trimmed with white fur.  The matching top was also trimmed with white fur.  The fur looked real.  She looked real.  Fillmore Slim stopped at the entrance for a moment, nodded to Phil, got a nod in return, and entered.  Sitting at the bar near the door Slim nodded to the girl - she pulled a hundred dollar bill out her blouse and signaled to the bartender.  She ordered two Irish coffees, handed the bartender the hundred, told him to set up the bar and have a good time with the change. 

       Slim asked the bartender, “Who’s in charge here?  Who’s the cat sit down - discuss business?”

       The bartender told him that would be Kenny and went back to the office – Kenny came out front to the bar.  The conversation was short.  He told Slim he ran Kenny’s, said he kept a nice business and if it was a legal problem to see his lawyer.  Kenny told the bartender to give Slim and the girl a drink then he headed back toward his office.  At that, Slim went over to a small table, sat there, and attracted a small group.  They talked a while.  Sociable enough, when Slim got up to leave he left a pile of twenties on the table.  

       On his way out Fillmore Slim stopped at the door next to Phil, “Ain’t no one knows anyone in charge.  You know anyone in charge wants to talk, you know me, you know how to find me - just go to the Fillmore and ask.”

       Phil replied, “No one’s in charge here.”

       “No, I’m not sayin’ here, I mean the blocks, the Tenderloin,” and with a grand sweep of his arm for emphasis, “this whole mother-fucker.  Got to be some top cat runnin’ shit.”

       “Not that I ever heard - we’re all loners here, no one answers to anyone.  We’re not like the rest of the city.”  And he trailed off with, “This is the Tenderloin . . .“

       Hearing that Fillmore Slim left. 

       Phil turned to signal to Chantelle to come to the door, but she was already halfway there by the time he turned around.  Quietly Phil asked, “Hey Chantelle, what was that all about?  What was everyone talking about?”

       “It was mostly Slim talking.  We listened.  He wanted to know who ran the show – he thought we have some kind of boss or something.  And was asking us queens who takes cares of us – who’s pimping us – we laughed.  I don’t think he knows how things work here.  I managed to grab four of the twenties he left on the table when he left.”

       “Can you find Tripper Bob for me?  You’ll have to use the pay phone in back.  I can’t get you the house phone, I can’t even use it.  Kenny’s been on it since he talked with Slim.  Maybe call The Trapp for Bob, I don’t know.”

       “Yeah sure.  If he’s around and not dopesick, I’ll get him here.  Something’s up, huh?  I mean there’s shit going on, huh?  Yeah, I’ll find Bobby.”

       Twenty minutes later Tripper Bob came upstairs and sat on the table edge next to Phil.  They both reached the same conclusion; Fillmore Slim was trying to take over the street scene in the Tenderloin.  He wanted his girls on the street making money for him.  He was taking the trannies, queens, and working girls off the street and they were a part of the scene.  Without them there would be a lot of changes in the Tenderloin – changes that would be bad for the locals.  But no one was in charge so no one did anything . . .

        Diane was a working girl who was mainly around Ellis and Jones - good girl, everyone knew her.  The next night a car pulled up alongside her, two guys with cut down baseball bats jumped out, knocked her down, and smashed both her ankles.  Doc said she would walk again, but it wouldn’t be for some time.  Everyone agreed Diane was a good girl, she didn’t deserve this.  The attacks were more frequent and the injuries becoming more serious. 

       A few nights later Tripper Bob ran into Chantelle in Compton’s.  She wanted to go to Kenny’s so they walked up Turk Street together, but both were slowed down by her walking with a cane.  Halfway up the block a grey Buick slowed down to walking speed.  They must have thought Tripper Bob was some insignificant john, or maybe they couldn’t see him too well - Bob had a habit of avoiding streetlights and the night fog was thicker than usual.  The car just drove slowly alongside the two with an air of malignant authority.  Suddenly the passenger yelled out the window, “You been told to keep off the street, bitch.  You was warned.  Now you gonna to have to learn the hard way.”

       Bob quickly and quietly told Chantelle, “Keep walking.  Soon as they stop and a door opens duck down behind the next car we come up on.  And keep away from me.”

       The car stopped.  The passenger and one guy in the back seat started to jump out with cut down baseball bats.  Chantelle dove, ducked, and fell behind a car parked in front of them.  Without hesitation and as he ducked behind a parked car, Tripper Bob opened fire hitting the first one who got out in the body.  Doubled over, groaning, and clutching his stomach the wounded guy tried to crawl back into the car.  The driver returned fire while the other guy pushed his wounded accomplice into the back seat and dove in.  With squealing tires the car sped off as Bob up from behind the car he’d ducked behind fired several more times making nice spider webs in the back window.

       As Bob clicked the gun’s safety on and put it in his coat he turned to Chantelle, “You okay?”

       “Yeah, I think so - just scared.”

       Bob helping her up and handing her the cane, “Alright, we’re going to Kenny’s.”  As they started to walk Chantelle put her arm around Tripper Bob but he brushed her off with, “Don’t start any of that shit with me - alright?  I don’t need anyone hanging on me.  Especially a queen.”

       “Okay Bobby, sure.  And thanks.  Really.  Thanks.  And I won't hang on you.  I'm sorry.”

       “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  When we get to Kenny’s you don’t say shit.  I’ll tell Phil, but no one else knows.  No one."

       At Kenny’s entrance, Reggie said he thought he heard gunshots down a block or so – asked if Tripper Bob and Chantelle saw anything, got a description, or anything.  

       Bob said, “Yeah, we heard it too.  Passed right by us.  Didn’t see anything cuz . . .”

       Chantelle interrupted quickly with, “Cuz’ I grabbed him and told him I wanted to do him right there, between the cars.  I don’t know what came over me.  He pushed me away and said, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ and I think a car passed us just then.  We weren’t paying attention."

       Reggie seemed to accept that and said to Bob, “Oh.  You going to tell Kenny?”

       “Naw, what the fuck we going to tell him, we didn’t see shit.”  

       Upstairs and inside at a small table Tripper Bob motioned to Phil to join them.  Bob told him the story adding, “This is bad shit.  I hit one of them and put their car in the shop for a while.  I don’t like it and I don’t like Reggie.  I got a bad feeling.  I don’t know what he’s up to.  He can’t be working with anyone from the Fillmore – they want his ass.  I know Reggie left the Fillmore because he had some problems there.  He moved to East Bay, stayed a few years, then moved back to the city and settled here in the Tenderloin.  I know he’s up to something.”

        “Okay, so we set him up.  I’ll come up with something tonight - if we’re wrong nothing happens, if we’re right we’ll know right away.”

       At closing the regulars gone, the hired workers came inside to collect their pay for another night well done.  Phil got his $60, so did Reggie, Tiger, and everyone else was taken care of.  Chantelle was allowed to stay even though she didn’t work there.  As they were counting their money before they left, Phil asked Chantelle about her new place.

       “Oh, it’s really nice.  I’ll be in it tomorrow night.  I’m going to have to get used to working that corner near the drug store on Eddy, but at least I won’t have to walk too far.  Second floor, right above the entrance – good view of the street.”

       And she went on about when she’d be leaving her place, the corner she was going to try to work, and everything else they wanted Reggie to hear.  The set up worked.


       Next night Phil only had to drive one time around the block where Chantelle said she would be when they spotted a big dark Buick, parked with people inside.  As they passed by it, Tripper Bob said, “Four guys.  Go around the block and slow down when you get near them."

       “Bob, if I slow down they’ll know something is up and we screwed it up.  I just want to get a plate, a description, anything.  I’ll go around again, normal speed, but I’ll try to find a reason to slow down and you get anything you can.”

       “So I get a description, a plate, so what?  What are you going to do with that?  Nothing, that’s what.”

       “No, then we got Reggie.  He set this up.  I give this to Kenny and Reggie’s gone.  Reggie’s got no other gig, just Kenny’s and small stick-ups.  And we also destroy his name on the street – I tell Gary, Tiger, Fat Jack, everyone I know, I get word out to the other clubs – he’s cut off from everything.  He has to go away and soon.  Maybe back to East Bay or something, maybe his own people blow his ass away, but we never see him again.”

       “I don’t like this shit.  I don’t like playing fucking Batman for this place.  I don’t see anyone else doing this shit.  Think I want to have gunfights with people I don’t know?  I already shot that one son of a bitch and I didn’t get anything out of it.  I shot his ass for free.”  He was silent for a few seconds as Phil went around the block.  Then slowly but firmly Tripper Bob nodded his head in silent grudging approval, “Yeah okay, let’s do it.”

       The two went around the block and got all they needed, even a description of the driver and one of the guys in the back seat.  Driving back to Kenny’s Phil told Bob, “I think we got Reggie.  Carload of brothers exactly where Chantelle said she lived.  They were waiting for something - or someone.”

       “Yeah and remember the guy I shot last night?  Well the guy in the back seat is his buddy who pulled him back into the car.  That cinches it, these are our guys.”

       A short time later upstairs in Kenny’s office, Phil told him what they’d done.  Kenny called down for Reggie.  Reggie met with Kenny for a few minutes then left in a hurry, going on about, "I don’t need this shit.  White ass mother fuckers, I ain’t never comin’ back to this mother fucker.”  And he didn’t.  He relocated himself up to Ringside on Eddy Street real fast.  Ringside was mostly brothers and he seemed to have found a new home.  But because he was the nervous type he kept himself mostly hidden inside hanging around the pinball money machines in the back. 

       Tripper Bob looked at Phil, “So Reggie was our guy.  He was double-dipping, getting paid from Kenney and Fillmore Slim – or at least getting some kind of promise from Slim.”

       “Yup.  He was feeding Slim the queen’s addresses and where they were at what times – all the while getting paid by Kenny.  I figure he had something worked out with Slim where if he spied for him, Slim would right his old wrongs and get him back in the Fillmore.”

       “This shit ain’t over.  But I don’t want to get involved in a turf war.  I did my part on this one for our piece of this block, but I don’t want any bigger shit.  Let the other clubs take care of their own shit.”

       “Neither do I Bob and I agree.  Fillmore Slim has a lot of money, a shitload, and that means he buys all the bad boys he wants on his side.  He’s got an organization of people.”

       “So what happens next?”

       “I have no idea.  All I know is we did good for us.  I think with Reggie gone some of our problems are over.  I think we just do nothing and see what happens.”

       They called a taxi for Chantelle to get her safely home – to her real apartment up on O’Farrell.  Tripper Bob went with her to do some balloons. 

        While all this was going on, Fat Jack was headed down to Compton’s looking for a quantity of reds.  Jack was a bouncer up in North Beach who had some good drug connections in the Tenderloin.  A round jovial white guy, Jack’s weapons of choice were barstools, chairs, just anything big and heavy, including himself.  If he didn’t have those things handy he’d simply run into you and hit you about as hard as a beer truck.  About a block from Compton’s a car pulled up to a queen walking by Jack and two guys got out.  Jack was only ten feet away when one guy punched the queen in her face without warning.  

       Now Jack had some sort of sense of chivalry so he ran into the puncher bringing him down hard.  The one standing reached into his pocket, but Jack on the ground, grabbed the guy’s foot twisting his ankle completely backwards.  As the guy went down, Jack climbed on top and banged the guy’s head into the pavement a few times.  The driver fired a few wild shots as Jack ducked behind a car.  A siren and flashing lights came on from down the block.  The first guy Jack tackled pulled himself up and into the car.  The car sped off, leaving their one guy on the ground - a mess.

       Cops let Fat Jack go because they knew him from the club he worked at in North Beach.  Cops said it looked like this guy assaulted Jack - and with a gun they added with a smile.  They thanked Jack, cuffed the guy, and called an ambulance - in that order.  All this time the guy was still unconscious - he looked like he'd been run over by a beer truck.  He had.  Fat Jack continued merrily on his way to score some reds. 

       And so it went on all over Turk Street.  It was a classic standoff.  On one side there was no money coming in while queens, trannies, working girls and just any regulars were constantly attacked.  On the other side, brothers from the Fillmore were getting beat up, shot at, shot, and arrested.


       The spirit of the Tenderloin had awakened.  It was unlike any other spirit - perhaps a little Wu Wei had drifted in from Chinatown.  No one was in charge, no one needed to be - the Tenderloin has always had its own way of handling things.  Everyone was as ready as they could be.  Queens were carrying whisky bottles and bricks in their purses, male and female prostitutes from McAllister up to Geary were carrying knives, a few of them had guns.  Tripper Bob told Phil he was well armed.  And even Phil, who rarely packed heat, was packing now.  Everyone was on edge.  

       The queen-bashings slowed down a lot, but so did the business.  There were not as many queens and trannies on the street, fewer sailors were around, and more cops were in the neighborhood – all bad for business.  Everyone was getting desperate.  It went on like this for a few weeks.  

       One night Tripper Bob and Phil showed up at Kenny’s a few minutes before it opened.  They hung around partly inside the doorway and partly on the sidewalk waiting.  About that same time Spooky showed up along with a few other queens .  The small group waited for Kenny to open which they knew would be soon.

       Phil looking down Turk Street noticed it first, “Hey Bob, check this out – big car moving slow one block down.  Check it out.”  

       “Yeah, it don’t look good.”

       Spooky said, “Hey I know that car, that’s the car that ran into me a couple weeks ago.  The guys who warned me.”

       Phil quickly, “You sure?”

       “Sure I’m sure.”

       Tripper Bob took charge of the conversation with, “I’ve had it with these fuckers.  If they try to pull anymore shit I’m just going to open up.  I need to score soon and I don't have time for this shit.”  

       And continued on to Phil, “You packin’?”

       “Yeah.  What do you want me to do?"

       “If it gets ugly, just drop down and shoot at the car body.  Leave the rest to me.”

       The car slowly came to a stop, double parking in front of the doorway.  Without warning, Tripper Bob opened fire blowing out the headlights as everyone ducked and dove down behind the parked cars.  The car, squealing tires, and with a passenger shooting back, took off up Turk Street.  As it passed by them Bob, using a parked car as cover and with a different gun now, fired a salvo at the rear of the car.  He made numerous hits blowing out the tail lights.  By this time Phil had his gun out and managed a few shots.  The car became a dark hulk making a lot of noise, heading back to the Fillmore, and wobbling badly.

       “Holy shit Bob - you got all the lights and I think a rear tire."

       “They won’t get far with no lights and no rear tires and I didn't get one tire I got them both.  Now they know I could have just as easily shot them, but didn't.  They’ll get pulled over within a few blocks if they keep trying to drive it.  And I think you hit the trunk a few times - not bad.”  Then adding with disgust, “But I’m getting tired of shooting these fuckers for free.”

       The people on the ground began getting up and dusting themselves off.  Tripper Bob and Phil put their guns away and within a few seconds Kenny showed up walking hastily.  As he was pulling out his keys, Kenney made it clear he didn’t see or hear anything.  He hurriedly unlocked the door and they all quickly went upstairs.  Kenny poured Bob a drink on the house putting a c-note under the glass as a coaster for the drink.  Bob nodded twice slowy in appreciation.  The Wurlitzer started playing Curtis Mayfield’s, ‘This is my country’ and all was as if nothing had happened outside. 

       A few hours later, around 4:30 AM Phil got word again – one car parked in front and one across the street, all brothers.  Three people got out while the others stayed inside.  Fillmore Slim, one of the ones who got out, came upstairs followed by two of tonight’s finest merchandise.  They stopped in front of Phil - Slim wiped the white powder from under his nose, laughed and shaking his head said, “You mother fuckers sure do know how to spend my money.  I bought three new cars just last week.  This Tenderloin shit ain’t my bag.  But I give you this - you was right, ain’t no one in charge here.  Can’t do business with no one if no one’s in charge,” as he slowly made his way into Kenny’s.

       Tripper Bob slowly came over to Phil and leaning on the wall said, “What the fuck is going on, is he nuts?”

       “Bob I think he’s calling it off and letting us know in his way.  I know he’s got at least four guns outside but even so he’s still taking a helluva chance coming up here.  He’s backing off the takeover and wants us all to know he has class.”  A second later Phil added, “I think.”

       As usual Fillmore Slim attracted a small crowd at his table and bought a round of drinks for the house.  He stayed ten minutes, left a nice pile of cash on the table, and with a smile and tip of his hat walked towards to door.  Stopping next to Phil with Tripper Bob leaning behind him Slim said, “If any your people lookin’ for work, stop in the Fillmore sometime, have a drink on me.  Your better people, you know what I mean.  It might be cool to get together, get to know each other, discuss things.”

       Phil with a slight smile wagged his head once in the negative, “I’ll pass that on, but don’t expect any takers.  We like it here the way it is.  Like I said, this is the Tenderloin . . . "

       Smiling and tipping his hat, Fillmore Slim ambled out on that note . . . and with that the spirit of the Tenderloin went back into its slumber until next time.

       Oh, and that dislocated ankle of Chantelle’s?  That played out quite well for her.  The sympathy from the sailors was something to see.  For the next few weeks the top of her stocking was loaded with twenties . . .