Solara, Part I

So, there's been a new face over at 1762 lately. Pretty young girl, with long wavy hair, a sinful smile and hearty laugh, but a touch confused, as many of her generation seem to be. Who could blame them?

Her name is Solara, and she swears that she was given that name by her parents upon her birth 23 years ago, predating the Toyota 2-door with the same moniker. Solara works in the adult entertainment business as a dancer. She dances at a "club" about 20 minutes east of 1762 Broadway. Her lean frame and ridiculously long longs make her occupational choice suitable, if not respectable. I am certain that she uses her attributes to the best of her ability to empty the pockets of patrons who come in to have a cold one at the club.
Solara is a single mom. She has a three year old son, Brian, with a guy she never sees. While her eyes are usually sparkly and bright, when the subject of her ex comes up, you can see them become dull and rueful. Solara, like many in her field, has a habit or two. She is partial to pain killers. I guess it helps her to cope with the groping and lascivious comments she endures. Occupational hazards.

On one of the first nights we met, she told me about a push-in robbery that occurred about three weeks ago at her apartment . It happened in the pre-dawn hours, when she came home after an 8pm-4am shift. The babysitter was in the house with Solara's son. Solara, as she is entering, gets grabbed from behind and pushed into her apartment. She tells me now that at the time she started laughing. I am not sure if she thought it was someone joking around with her, a side effect of a pharmaceutical, or a combination of both.

The men, there were two, donned ski masks. They both had guns. One, the taller of the two, gave most of the orders.

"Give me all the fucking money," he barked, spittle flying and hitting Solara in the mouth. The taste of the masked man's spit was bitter, bile-like. Solara thought she would throw up right there. She quickly handed over her pocketbook, which contained several hundred dollars, earned that night for performing various grinding and thrusting acts.

This didn't satisfy the bandits. The shorter of the men emerged from Brian's bedroom, with Brian in tow. The short bandit had his small black revolver mushed against Brian's tear-streaked cheek. The kid's eyes were wide-opened, his face frozen with fear. His mouth agape, but no sound dared erupt from it. Cha-cha, the middle-aged Spanish babysitter collapsed to the floor shrieking/sobbing "Ay dios mio, ay dios mio!"

"I want everything. I'll kill your fucking kid." With this, Big Bandit reaches into a knapsack and pulls out a small pry bar.

At this point Solara knew she had been set up. These bastards knew about the safe.

[continued here]