by Hamel, B. B.
“Last chance,” he said.
I reached for the door, but it was locked. “Let me out,” I said.
“I’m trying to warn you,” he said, his voice getting harder. “I shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday and I’m sorry. But I wasn’t lying to you, and going in to talk to these girls isn’t going to help anything.”
I didn’t look at him. “Let me know.”
He let out a breath and unlocked the door. I stormed outside and strode to the sidewalk.
He caught up with me and steered me to the massage place. I opened the door and walked into a small waiting room. A white and red counter was directly across from the door, and a few sad black chairs were lined up against the wall. A young girl stood looking at her phone, her dark hair piled up on her head, and she wore a tight red dress cut low. She looked exhausted and way too skinny, and her pale skin was almost sallow. She glanced up at me, frowned a little, then stared at Ewan.
“The fuck are you doing here?” she asked and her voice had a hint of some kind of eastern European accent. I couldn’t tell where she was from. “I’m not cleaning up any blood. Absolutely no. If you are here to kill someone, do it out back, I am very sick of dead owners.”
“Irina,” Ewan said, holding up a hand. “I’m not here for that. Where’s Lotte?”
Irina frowned slightly, head tilted. “Working,” she said. “In back with client. What do you want Lotte for, anyway?”
“This is Tara Donnelly,” Ewan said softly, nodding toward me. “Jermaine’s daughter.”
Irina’s eyes went wide and she stared at me. I felt pins and needles in my fingers and my toes. I looked around the dingy waiting room and saw water stains up in the corner of the ceiling. The paint was peeling, and the signage looked like it was all over twenty years old, graying and bland. Irina matched the decor, although she couldn’t have been any older than I was, and yet she looked like she lived hard, like she was as faded as the room.
“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” she said, and her voice was draped with surprise. “That must have been hard. Very, very hard.”
I looked at Ewan for help. I didn’t know what to say to this girl. I didn’t know her at all, but apparently, she knew my father, and suddenly Ewan’s story about him selling girls seemed plausible, almost likely, and all those late nights made sense, all those odd hours and all that time spent with the Healy family. I spent my life making excuses, convincing myself that he was only an accountant, but god, that was a lie, it was all a fucking lie, my entire life was a lie.
I stumbled to one of the chairs and collapsed down into it. I heard Ewan say distantly, “She just found out what her dad did for a living.”
“Shit,” Irina said. “I almost feel sorry for her. Although her dad was a real piece of trash and I don’t miss him. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“Thank the Don,” Ewan said. “Get Lotte for me, please.”
Irina said something in another language then left the room. I stared at Ewan as he sat down beside me, in his dark jeans and black t-shirt, his arms muscular, his eyes sad.
“I told you it would be hard,” he said. “I’m sorry we came here.”
“Did my dad bring her over here?” I asked, blinking rapidly. “Did he rape her?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “He likely was a part of the group that shipped Irina over here, yes. I doubt he touched her though. That wasn’t his style.”
“His style,” I said, and leaned forward. I retched once, but nothing came out. I was happy I hadn’t had anything but coffee then, otherwise I would’ve lost it all over the floor.
He rubbed my back. I wanted to throw him off, but I couldn’t move. I hugged myself, head between my knees. “What did he do?” I managed to ask, eyes squeezed shut.
“He was an independent contractor,” Ewan said, his voice steady. “Arranged for transportation. Bribed ship captains and port authorities. He had a network of scouts in Ukraine, in Russia, in all those former Soviet countries looking for poor girls from bad families that were willing to do anything to escape their lives. He took advantage, and he used them up, brought them to places like this, where they sell their bodies for money.” The more he spoke, the more anger slipped into his tone. “He didn’t get his hands dirty, if that’s what you’re wondering. He sold girls to all the major families. Mostly to the Healys, since they’re deep into the trafficking world, but also to the Valentino family in the past few years. Your father didn’t give a damn who bought the girls, so long as he got paid.” He clamped his jaw shut and stopped talking then, and I saw the anger buzz through him like a wave.
It didn’t make me feel any better. I was dizzy from the thought of my father arranging for the transportation of young girls so they could be used as whores. I felt a sudden stab of hatred, at myself and at my father. That house I lived in, all those things I had, my entire life was built on the bodies of these poor, used-up girls, and I was suddenly happy it all went up in smoke.
And I hated Ewan for showing this to me, even if I wanted it.
Another girl came into the room. I managed to look up. She had thick dirty-blonde hair and long acrylic nails. She wore a white robe, tied loosely in the front, and her large breasts nearly spilled out the slit. She had to be at least thirty, and was chewing gum with a frown. She was pretty, though gaunt and ghostly, like Irina, but worse.
“Hey, Lotte,” Ewan said.
“This the girl?” She had a nice voice, almost melodic.
I blinked at her. “I’m Tara,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
She stared at me and chewed, her hands on her hips. Nobody spoke for a minute. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want her to feel like she had to comfort me. She had it worse, anyway.
“Well, shit,” she said and walked over. She sat next to me and turned her knees in my direction. “What do you want to know?”
I opened my mouth, but noting came out. I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no clue.”
“Of course not,” she said, and looked at Ewan like, what the fuck is this?
Ewan sighed and stood up. He walked over to the counter and leaned against it. “Who’s running this place right now, Lotte?” he asked.
“I am,” she said. “Been trying to clean it up. Are the Valentinos sending someone new to take over?”
Ewan shrugged a little. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Far as I can tell, this place slipped their mind.”
Lotte’s eyebrows turned inward. “You’re kidding me?”
“You’re only eight girls,” he said softly. “As fucked as it is, that’s not many, and the war’s getting hot. I think the Don forgot he needed a replacement to take over in here.”
“All thanks to you,” Lotte said, but didn’t sound angry about it. “So what the hell should I do?”
“Whatever you want,” he said with a shrug. “Get out of here. Keep working the place and turn it legit. I don’t really know, and I don’t really care. But I wanted to come warn you.”
“And the girl?” Lotte looked at me, then took my hands in her own. They were soft and surprisingly gentle.
“She needed to know,” he said, sounding sad. “And I figured this would be the easiest way.”
“Well, fuck,” Lotte said, and tilted her head toward me, looking into my eyes. “Sounds like I got lucky, huh?”
“I’m not sure that’s what I’d call luck.” I felt sick, but I clutched her fingers tighter.
She laughed and shook her head. Her eyes sparkled, and I wondered what she would’ve been like if she hadn’t ended up in this place. Instead, she was worn down by time, her body used again and again for cash.
“It’s not so bad. Ewan killed the last owner because he got a little too violent, but the one before him was kind of nice.” She shrugged a little bit. “But it sounds like we have some options now.”
“My father,” I said suddenly. “Did he come here? Did he ever come in here?”
She shook her head sadly. “
Sorry, honey, but no. I only ever met Jermaine one time, when I got off that cargo ship, sick and dizzy and out of my mind. He gave me a shot that cleared all the pain away, patted me on the ass, and told me good luck. Never saw him again, but all the girls say he did that for him. Shot in the arm, pat on the ass, good luck. He was one of those guys.”
I didn’t know what she meant, but I felt sick again. Ewan came over and gently helped Lotte up to her feet. She adjusted her robe.
“Go tell the other girls,” he said softly. “Figure out what you want to do. I don’t plan on telling the Don he forgot about this little shithole, so you have some time, if you want to stick around and make more money.”
“We’ll see what we want to do,” Lotte said, then put her hand on Ewan’s arm. “Thank you. I know what kind of man you are.”
His face was hard and he looked away, down toward me. I met his eyes, and I knew what kind of man he was too, although I didn’t think I agreed with Lotte, based on her tone.
“Good luck,” he said, and pulled away from her, then reached out to me. I let him help me up, and he hustled me to the door. I glanced back and caught Lotte hugging her robe closed as Irina came out from the back, frowning a little bit.
The door swung shut. Ewan held my arm as we walked back to his car. I stopped before I got in and puked on the pavement, the coffee finally coming up. It burned my throat and made my head spin. I saw spots at the edge of my vision before I got in and sat back, gasping for air.
We didn’t pull out right away. Ewan watched me carefully, and I wanted to scream at him, to scream in his face. My father trafficked women and I just met some of them. My father brought them over, stole them from their lives with promises, with money, with whatever, then got them hooked on drugs. My father, my sick father, my dead father.
I hated him and hated myself for not seeing it sooner.
“You did good in there,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, and laughed once, disgusted with myself. Coffee puke still tingled my tongue and throat. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not normal for the Don to forget about a cat house like that. I took care of their problem boss three weeks ago, and normally a few soldiers would be in charge of that place the next day, but here we are.”
“Can they escape?” I asked, desperate to know that at least some of the girls my father ruined could have some semblance of a normal life.
“I hope so,” he said, and started the car engine. “We’ll see.”
“Why are you helping them?” I asked suddenly.
He stared straight ahead and hesitated. “Because I hate men like your father,” he said. “And I hate men like Larry, and the guy I killed that used to run that place, and all the others I sent to their graves. I hate them, and I hate that I work for a family that hires them and profits off them.”
“So why do you?” I asked, desperate.
He didn’t answer, and the car pulled out into traffic. I sank back in my seat and watched the city flash past as he drove around again aimlessly. I thought of my life, and all the times I could’ve realized something was wrong, and didn’t.
And all the girls that suffered because of it.
5
Ewan
That question still haunted me.
If I hated men like Larry and Jermaine, then why did I work for people that profited off them?
I had no good answer for that, and the question bothered me for the rest of the day.
I dropped Tara off back at the apartment and left her some cash. I told her to order some takeout if she wanted, but she stormed off into the bathroom, started the shower, and kept the door locked.
Poor girl. I wished I could do something to help, but there was nothing, not when her world was so broken. I left her alone then, since seeing me would only make it worse. I was the man that pulled the trigger and showed her the truth about her piece of shit father, and having me around would only keep those memories fresh and sharp.
I found Dean at a bar called Here It Is, a little dive joint near Girard. The place was dark, the bar oiled and polished, and the tables practically falling apart. Some were held together with duct tape and luck. They had two beers on tap and the cheapest liquor imaginable. Dean loved it because nobody knew him, and nobody bothered him.
I sidled up next to him at the bar and ordered a whiskey. It felt like rubbing alcohol in my throat.
“Bad day?” he asked, glancing at me over his drink.
“Something like that,” I said, and the bartender filled me back up, a dark-skinned guy with liver spots and a cheap hat pulled down low.
“How’s the girl?” He asked it casually, swirling his drink, but I felt his intense interest.
“Fine,” I said. “Back at my place right now.”
“You think it’s smart, leaving her along?”
I shrugged. “If she runs, then your father will hunt her down and kill her. If she doesn’t, she’s equally fucked. What’s the girl supposed to do?”
“I don’t give a shit what she does,” Dean said, sounding exasperated. His dark eyebrows pulled down and he ran a hand through his short hair. He wore tight black joggers and clean white sneakers, and a gun was tucked into his waistband. “I give a shit that you follow orders.”
“I’m following orders,” I said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t come here to get attitude from you.”
“Then why did you come here?” Dean turned to me, shoulders square. “You know how things are going right now, and considering your mother—”
I reached out fast and grabbed his shirt. He didn’t react as I yanked him toward me and snarled in his face. “You don’t talk about her.”
He spoke calmly. “Considering your mother was Irish and there’s some uncertainty around just how connected you are with the Healys, my father understandably wants to be sure.”
I stared at him and took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I had to remember that Dean was my friend, and he meant well, even if he was being a real dick about it. I released him and he straightened his shirt, and I noticed the bartender standing nearby, staring at the two of us like he might pull a shotgun from under that bar at any second.
I stared at the bottom of my drink. My mother’s Irish heritage didn’t mean shit, and I thought he was about to bring up something else about her, something I tried to keep buried deep, deep down inside. I only shook my head and drank off half my whiskey.
“You know I’m loyal,” I said. “I don’t give a fuck if I’m some bastard half-cousin of the Healy family. Your father gave me a place and they didn’t.”
Dean nodded slowly and leaned forward on his elbows again. “I know that, man,” he said. “But my dad’s old school. He thinks blood lines matter, which we both know is stupid. It’s nurture, not nature, right?”
I grinned slightly. “You and that pop science shit,” I said. “You read too much.”
“What can I say, I’m a Renaissance man.” He sipped his drink and spun the glass. “I’m just saying, be careful, all right? This whole test thing is some stupid dangerous game, but my dad will get over it sooner or later. Just keep your head up.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “And I have the girl under control.” Although I didn’t know if that was true or not. Telling her about her father was a risky move, and it could backfire at any second. Hell, it might’ve already blown up, and I might go back home to find her gone.
“My father’s making moves soon,” Dean said. “We’re going to need you.”
“Then he shouldn’t have saddled me with the girl.”
Dean sighed and squeezed my shoulder. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s his way of rewarding you as much as it is a test.”
“I don’t take advantage like that,” I said.
“I know you don’t.” He dropped his hand away. “I’m just saying, things are going to blow up. The Healys have been pressing into South Philly, coming over the fucking bridge like
a bunch of psycho heathens.”
I grunted a little and nodded. The Healy family controlled West Philadelphia, and everything over the Schuylkill was their territory. The Valentino family was mostly concentrated south of City Hall, but we had pockets of North Philly all the way out to the suburbs. The family’s main trade was drugs, though they had gambling and protection rackets mixed in there. The flesh trade didn’t start until a few years ago, and nobody gave a shit that it made me uncomfortable since it made the boss a fat profit.
Dean, for his part, was more ambiguous toward the girls. He didn’t seem particularly interested in them, but he wasn’t outright against them like me. We disagreed there, but we remained friends despite it, and anyway, I was smart enough to know that the Don’s son was a powerful ally.
All this lately though, this test bullshit, I knew it stemmed from my recent grumblings. I’d gotten more and more vocal about the girls, and the Don didn’t like that I was critical of him. Giving me a girl of my own was the perfect way to prove my loyalty.
Perfect and sick at the same time.
We finished our drinks and I left Dean there. I thought I might feel better, talking to him, but that didn’t clear anything up.
I drove into Center City and parked on Walnut. There were a few decent clothing stores nearby, designer shit, and I went into a few, guessing her size, and spent more than I should have. I headed back to the apartment laden with bags and went inside.
The place was quiet, and there was still steam on the bathroom mirror. I lingered outside of Tara’s door, then turned the knob and opened it—
And found her sitting at the end of her bed on a towel, knees pulled up to her chest, completely naked, her hair soaked.
She looked up, surprised, and dropped her knees away. For one moment, my eyes moved down her body, lingering on her breasts, on her perfect pale, smooth skin, and fuck, she was gorgeous. I quickly looked up to her eyes.
“Get the fuck out,” she said, her cheeks turning bright pink.
I slammed the door and took a step back, cursing. I hadn’t meant to walk in on her like that. Part of me thought she’d be gone, but god damn it, I was wrong. I headed back into the kitchen and cracked open a beer as I stood there, and as I drank half of it down, I thought about her long naked legs, her perky little breasts, her lips parted slightly as she stared at me with a mixture of shock and anger, and god damn, I felt my blood pulse fast through my skin. It took all my self-control not to go running back to her room.
