Giving their names back

Culture: This duo rescues prostitutes from anonymity and a deadly occupation | Harrison Scott Key

MEMPHIS— We're out looking for hookers. This great big bulldog of a man, George Kuykendall, leans over the wheel, eyes leveled at the street. He's a tall guy with big hands and a round, ruddy face. We're in the ugly part of Memphis, near the airport: all gray and brown and dried-up in the mid-winter afternoon. Carol Wiley is in the backseat. She's a small woman with the humblest little head of dark brown hair. She doesn't look mean. She looks like a preacher's wife, because she is.

"Tell him what we're looking for," Mrs. Wiley says. Mr. Kuykendall takes a curve slowly, still looking.

"The Ho Track," he says. His red bulldog eyes do not leave the road.

"The way you can tell they're a prostitute," Mrs. Wiley says, "is if they don't have a purse."