Her name was Percy. Cynthia Percy. He rolled her name on his tongue. Sin theee Yah. She was twelve years old and looked younger.

She was not the first young agent he had worked with. Jack's division investigated pedophiles. From time to time he was assigned child agents to take into the field and infiltrate or spy on suspected child sex operations.

Cynthia was a pretty girl, nay, a beautiful girl. But her soul was corrupt. She smoked, drank, and did drugs. Her voice was screechy and yet flat. Her body was stunted, she never ate. She went a week between bowel movements, and her urination was as infrequent as a camel's, and just as odiferous and plentiful. She was barely four feet tall and weighed sixty two pounds. She used makeup expertly, so it was only in the mornings and late at night that one noticed the dark bags under her eyes, the wan exhaustion from her overtaxed heart.

Thin to the point of emaciation, with bony hips and a concave belly, she sometimes smelled of internal rot, but always her face was beautiful, like Elizabeth Taylor through her fat, drunk and dying episodes. She didn't menstruate, had no pubic hair. She fucked constantly, indiscriminately. When men didn't approach, she sought them out, paid them. She had no memory of anything before age eight. Absolutely no memory. She was fucking then and never slowed down. Her father had blown his brains out, that's when she began to remember things, only then.

Cynthia's wrists were scarred. Jack had seen her cut herself with unwaxed dental floss. She certainly didn't use it for hygiene purposes, as best he could tell she never brushed her teeth. When he stopped her she looked up at him with eyes as vague as a politician's pledge and grinned at him. She bled from the gums. He lost control and ripped her clothes off, raped her, almost throttled her. But you really couldn't rape Cynthia. If it involved violation, Cynthia was there, there with a promise and the offer of a noose. She was bestially wanton. Her cunt gash was hot, wet, unnervingly tight. She had no breasts. A girl of twelve should have breasts. Her butt was tiny as a six year old's. He clawed her ass, fingered her rectum. She bit him on the shoulder and told him to hurry, told him to hurt her.

They road the train from DC to New York. They had a day room. She lowered the blinds and read. He sat opposite her, studying her knobby knees. She had a huge pimple on her left knee cap. It transfixed him, he could not take his eyes off the angry wen.

At last, like a man possessed, he popped her zit, kneeling in front of her, squeezing the white tipped reddish swelling that was on the very cap of her knee. It squirted out and Cynthia smiled and wrapped her lithe bony leg around his neck, inviting his head into her cunt. Jack had pimples when he was a boy in the reformatory, but he had never had anything like the white pustule on Cynthia's knee. It was like a pint of mayonnaise.

She had bought a half dozen paperback novels at Union Station. Mysteries. She read them with hypnotic absorption, the pages turning fast, mere seconds between turns. When she finished one she dropped it on the floor and began the next. Five books. The last page as they were pulling into Penn Station. Five books and a blowjob. Jack could have killed her he hated her evil being so, but his penis adored her, and she sucked him off without taking her eyes of the pages......(cont)