Chapter
Thirty-Three
After another fitful sleep, I hit the road early and sped through the quiet streets to Sensei’s house. I had a variety of favorite biking routes, but this morning, I took Highland to Hollywood so I could check on Josie. I didn’t expect to find her loitering on a sidewalk at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning, but I couldn’t shake her from my mind.
I hadn’t seen Josie since Thursday night when I rescued her from the beating. A lot of horrible things could happen in fifty-eight hours. I pedaled faster and scanned the sidewalks for a red beret on thick black hair—or, worse, discarded in a dirty corner of a building’s entrance.
Three weary girls trudged toward a car and piled into the back seat—a daylight end to an exhaustive night. Would they hole up in some darken room, nursing their wounds until the next evening’s horror? I prayed Josie was as lucky and not lying behind a garbage bin, bleeding or dead.
My imagination darkened with every passing block. I shook my head. Josie had survived sexual abuse from family and strangers for years. What made me think she couldn’t survive a couple nights without my intervention?
I turned away from the ugly streets and my tumultuous thoughts and headed into Sensei’s serene hilly enclave. Twenty minutes later—on Sensei’s dojo mat, wearing jika-tabi boots and a black canvas gi—I flowed through the motions of Sanshin no Kata. As promised, Sensei had taken me back to the basics.
The Sanshin no Kata, also known as Three Hearts or Three Mindsets, was composed of five movements designed to be practiced in three different methods. At this moment, I performed them with the Shoshin Gokei beginner’s mind.
As Sensei counted—using the old Japanese elemental system of earth, water, fire, wind, and void—I executed the corresponding maneuvers. I sank into my knees, launched my weight, and flung my fingers. I angled and rotated and aligned. I swept, surprised, and kicked. With every repetition, I focused on new details until what was old became fresh and exciting.
“Enough,” Sensei said.
Sweat dripped from my face and onto my gi. How many repetitions had I done? From the way my undershirt stuck to my skin, I’d say more than a few.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Invigorated.”
“Good. Then we move onto the Gogyo no Kata.”
More than a year had passed since I had applied these techniques to an attacker. Then, Sensei had devoted seven straight days to exploration and variations, both armed and unarmed. This morning, we stuck with basics and focused only on distance, timing, and alignment.
After countless attacks and responses, Sensei stopped. “Last night, you said your movement was not smooth. How does it feel this morning?”
I considered his question. By restricting me to five basic techniques, Sensei had eliminated the three pressures that continually plagued me—choice, urgency, and consequence. Without these, I had been able to truly focus on my taijutsu.
“Much better. Thank you.”
Sensei kneeled on the mat. “And how is your mind, right now?”
“Calmer than last night.”
“But not as calm as when we were just training?”
“Exactly.”
Sensei nodded. “How was your mother’s party?”
I thought about Gung-Gung, Daniel, and poor Mr. Leong. The man could have died from alcohol poisoning or cracking his skull on the concrete patio tiles. Then I thought about the way Daniel’s body had nested against mine, warm and firm.
“The party was—eventful.”
His brows raised with interest. “I see. And are you still worried for that girl you told me about—the one you saved from the dangerous situation, the one who did not appreciate your help?”
I pictured Sharelle hugging RC on the floor of that horrible sex room in the back of Cut & Ink, spewing her hate at me for cutting him and rescuing her from rape. The emotions still felt hot, but after last night’s encounter with Dolla, I had other concerns.
“There’s another girl who worries me more. Not for her own sake, but for the harm she’s causing others.”
“Can you stop her?”
“Maybe. But first, I need her to lead me to a missing client.”
Sensei considered this a moment then nodded. “It seems your problems intertwine.”
I scoffed. “Like a basket full of snakes.”
“Then you will need to approach your basket carefully so your snakes do not strike.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
I parked my bike across the street from the faded blue house where I hoped to find Dolla, the queen viper of the sex trafficking snakes.
As a prostitution recruiter and bully, Dolla topped my current list of least favorite people. She was also my last lead to Manolo. Since I, or rather Candy, had burned the bridge to sex trade camaraderie, I needed another way to coerce Dolla’s help.
The bright orange play equipment in her front yard struck a discordant note. At what age had Dolla graduated from sliding and climbing to selling her body on the street? Josie had been twelve when she turned to prostitution, after being molested by family then raped and tossed on the street by her local gang. Had Dolla started that young? If so, she’d have spent five or six years in the life, more than enough time to turn her into a hardened veteran.
I shook away my sympathy. Regardless of her history, Dolla had become a threat to her community. She hunted children for sex traffickers. I couldn’t let that slide. She needed to be stopped, I needed to find Emma, and all roads led to Manolo.
Emma had driven away with him on Wednesday. Today was Sunday, and I still had no idea what had transpired or where he had taken her. After my misadventures with Sharelle, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure she even wanted to be found. For all I knew, the illusive Manolo had taken Emma on a romantic getaway.
Could that be true?
Could Manolo have fallen for one of his girls?
My mind spun in new directions. If Manolo had shown up in front of Emma’s home as a lover rather than a pimp, it could explain why I hadn’t been able to find either one of them. It would also explain why Aleisha and Stan hadn’t heard from her.
Or had they?
I punched in Aleisha’s number. “Hey. It’s Lily.”
“I was wondering when you’d call.”
“When or if?”
“Both. But forget about that. What have you learned?” The hurt in her voice tugged at my heart. Aleisha wasn’t just my employer, she was my closest friend.
“I’m sorry I was short with you, yesterday.”
“Mm-hmm. We can talk about that some other time. Right now, I want to hear about Emma.”
“Yes, ma’am.” What was it about a grown woman’s tone that could turn me into a chastened teen? I wasn’t sure, but both Aleisha and Ma had the ability to knock me back years with the slightest lilt or inflection.
“I wish I had more to report, but I haven’t learned very much—at least, not about Emma.”
“I don’t understand. Are you looking for someone else?”
“No. It’s just that this case seems to be tied up with those girls I saw at Paco’s Tacos.”
“The ones from Jefferson High who didn’t match up?”
“Yes.”
She sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to like hearing this, am I?”
After the school’s history of acute racial tension, Aleisha had wanted to believe the two communities were coexisting peacefully. And they probably were. But that didn’t change the fact that Dolla had tried to recruit Ana Lucía into the commercial sex trade.
“No,” I said. “You’re not going to like it.”
Aleisha hummed as she considered the implication. “It’s about that black girl, isn’t it? She wasn’t trying to be nice. She was up to no good.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And it wasn’t PTSD paranoia.”
“I don’t ha
ve PTSD.”
“Mm-hmm. We’ll talk about that some other time, too.”
Once Aleisha bit into an idea, she wouldn’t let go. My only hope was to steer her attention to someone other than me.
“What did Emma tell you about Manolo?”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Yep.”
“Fine. But when this blows over, we are having that conversation.”
I pressed the phone against my forehead and willed her to drop it.
“Have you been sleeping any better?”
“No. But what else is new?”
“With you? Flashbacks, nightmares, detaching from those who care about you…”
“I’ve done all that before.”
“It’s getting worse.”
I didn’t want to think about this. Now or ever. And if avoidance was a symptom, then so be it. Last I checked, a person didn’t need a syndrome to want other people to mind their own business.
“Who’d you want to know about?” Aleisha asked.
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, already?”
Her irritable tone pricked at my mood like a thousand needles. What was going on here? Aleisha and I never took this tone with each other. But now that we had begun, we couldn’t seem to stop.
“Manolo,” I said, with an edge in my voice. “The pimp who supposedly abducted Emma from Brentwood?”
“What do you mean supposedly? He pointed a gun at Stan.”
“True. But Stan’s not accustomed to violence. He may have misunderstood the situation. According to Emma’s neighbor, she was in love. Could Emma have gone with Manolo willingly?”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“A week ago, I would have agreed with you. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Aleisha grunted her disbelief. “She never mentioned Manolo or any other boyfriend.”
“Okay then.”
“And that punk kid most definitely pointed a gun at Stan.”
“Got it.”
“And you are suffering from—”
I ended the call.
Damn it, Aleisha.
I stuffed the phone in my pocket and kicked a Burger King bag someone had discarded by a tree, glared at the trunk, then kicked that, as well. Why couldn’t she leave it alone? Why couldn’t everybody just leave me alone? I clutched the sides of my head and paced down the sidewalk, made an about-face, and returned to my bike.
Why was I acting this way? Why was I feeling so irritated?
But I wasn’t just irritated, was I?
I planted my forehead against a tree and leaned hard against it until the bark dug into my flesh. I needed to be honest with myself. I needed to calm down and shed this irrational anger because that’s exactly what I was feeling—anger, not irritation.
I took a breath. And another. And another. Until the tension drained from my neck and my shoulders released.
“Damn it to hell.”
Aleisha was right: the distancing, the anger, jumping to conclusions, violence, nightmares, flashbacks. J-fucking-Tran. All the symptoms lined up in a neat little row. I was a fool not to have seen it. I was so busy ignoring what had happened and trying to forget what Tran and I had done that I hadn’t noticed the obvious. That it was more than actions. It was the doubt Tran had made me feel.
What you really want to know is… Are you like me?
“No,” I said—to him, to Aleisha, to myself.
I fought to protect others. I killed when there was no other way. I felt the burden of my actions because I cared, because my heart was good, because I was nothing like Tran.”
So what if I tossed in my sleep? So what if I needed a break from people? I was an introvert—or at least, I had become one the night that monster raped and murdered my sister. Who wouldn’t be suspicious of people after that? Who wouldn’t have flashbacks of blood and violence after wiping out a sadistic street gang? Who wouldn’t be paranoid with the last of the Varrio Norwalk 66 on the hunt?
I didn’t need therapy: I needed justice.
I wasn’t suffering from a syndrome: I was pumped for war.
With no other outlet available, I funneled my rage onto Dolla. That sex trafficking viper lived across the street in a house surrounded by high metal bars. I hoped she liked that view, because when I was done with her, that’s all she would see.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
My phone rang again, and I answered it without checking the caller. “What now?” I said, certain it was Aleisha.
I was wrong.
Daniel’s voice sounded confused. “Lily? Is that you?”
I squinched my face in frustration. “Hi, Daniel. Sorry about that.”
“Bad time?”
“Little bit. Can we do lunch tomorrow, instead?”
“Sure. You want to set it now or touch base in the morning?”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. Tell you what…I’ll be in the Monterey Park office all day tomorrow. Why don’t you drop by when it’s convenient and we can have lunch at one of the nearby restaurants?”
Handsome, charming, and accommodating?
Don’t blow this, Lily.
“That’s sounds great.”
“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep.” I started to hang up then stopped. “Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Tension slid from my iron neck and shoulders like loose slate off a cliff. The relief nearly brought me to tears.
I ended the call and put my phone away.
Daniel’s easy manner had reset my mood, but it was up to me to maintain it. Anger needed fuel. If I didn’t feed it, maybe it would leave me alone. Even an hour of tranquility would be welcome.
Across the street, the screen door at Dolla’s blue house opened. The same pretty child I’d seen the last time ran outside to the orange plastic slide. Her brightness lit the darkness in my heart and made me smile. Dolla followed. They looked so much alike they could have been past and present of the same person.
“Watch me,” the girl said, as she reached the top of the three-foot slide, hopped on her butt, and slid to the ground. Joy bubbled from her in bursts of giggles.
Dolla clapped. “Yay! Do it again.”
The teenager seemed so wholesome in this moment, clapping for her sister, as if she’d never—in a million years—sell her body for sex or a classmate into prostitution.
As the child ran for the ladder, another woman called from inside the house. “Brianna?”
“Outside,” Dolla answered.
An older version of the girls opened the screen door and joined Dolla on the porch. She nodded toward the child. “Angel sure do like that slide you bought her. You were the same way, you know, always climbing and sliding, the happiest kid at the park.”
“Really? I don’t remember.”
“Well, you were.” The woman cradled Dolla’s chin. “Whatever happened to my cheerful Brianna?”
Dolla pulled away.
“You wanted to be a dancer, you remember that? Or a skydiver. You couldn’t decide. And I said you could be whatever you wanted to be.”
“Yeah, right.”
“What? It’s true. I always said—”
“Words don’t mean shit, Mama.”
“Watch your mouth, girl. You ain’t too big to spank.”
Angel laughed and sang from the slide, “Grammy’s gonna spank you.”
Dolla glared at her in warning.
Angel shut her mouth. “Sorry, Mama.”
I gaped. Dolla had a child? Questions flooded my mind as I considered this new information.
Dolla gave Angel a nod of approval then turned her attention back to her mother. “No one hits me, not you, not Eddie. Got it?”
The screen door opened and Eddie stepped outside. “Got what?”
He had on the same rib
bed tank I had seen him wearing three days ago when I had followed Dolla and Sharelle from school to here to Cut & Ink. Dolla had told Sharelle that RC loved his cola more than her daddy loved his beer. And when Sharelle had asked if Dolla meant that man at her house, Dolla had said, “Hell no. Eddie ain’t my daddy. He just married my mama.”
Dolla’s mother grinned, seemingly happy for her husband’s support. “Brianna’s getting uppity.”
Eddie scoffed. “Ain’t nothing new.”
Dolla marched into the yard and took her daughter’s hand. “Come on, Angel.”
“Where you going?” Eddie asked, leaning on the porch post and crossing his arms.
“Away from you.”
Dolla kept moving for the gate. She never saw his manly display of flexed muscles or the cruel amusement in his eyes. She didn’t see her mother sidle up beside him and nibble on his ear for attention.
But Dolla saw me.
Her eyes grew wide in recognition, then she picked up her daughter and hurried down the sidewalk. I waited until her mother and stepfather had reentered the house before riding after her. Until I knew more about Dolla’s family situation, I didn’t want anyone knowing about me.
Mother and child were a couple blocks down the rode when I coasted beside them. “Hey, Brianna.”
Dolla narrowed her eyes in warning.
“Who’s that, Mama?”
“No one, baby.”
Angel squirmed out of Dolla’s arms and pointed to a friendly mutt wagging its tail behind a fence. “Puppy.”
“Okay, but let her smell your hand first, remember?”
“I know, I know.”
Dolla watched to make sure Angel did as she was told and the puppy responded accordingly. Then she turned on me. “What are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “I told you I knew you.”
“You don’t know shit.”
I glanced at Angel to see if she’d heard her mother swear, something I had never heard my own mother do when I was a child.
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