by Stacy Green
I tugged at the blond curls of the scratchy wig. “Yep.”
“But you can’t be new to the game. No offense, but most pimps don’t want women your age no more. Although you look real nice. You even have all your teeth.”
I ducked my head, trying to look embarrassed. “Thought I got out of this a long time ago. Things happened.”
“Who’s your pimp?” She asked the question easily, as if she were asking about my shoes, but the set of her hardened face gave her intentions away.
“Not supposed to give that information out.”
She shrugged. “I’m just asking because mine is real territorial. He don’t like to share the area. He sees you, he’ll be in your face. And he won’t like it. No offense.”
I adjusted the glasses and wished their fake lenses gave me the ability to read the girl’s mind. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“It’s too old. No offense. But you aren’t going to get picked up around here.” She gestured to the slow traffic on Kensington Avenue. Standing underneath the elevated train tracks on Somerset Street blocked the weak winter sun and made for a perfect wind tunnel. I tried to keep my teeth from chattering.
“You got your addicts down there, the heroin guzzlers looking for their next fix,” the girl continued. “They won’t care if you’re old, but they can’t afford to pay you. And they aren’t trading their buzz for sex.”
I’d passed the crowd of addicts on the walk down here. They huddled in a small group, stinking clothes covered in weeks of grime. Several stumbled toward me, offering needles. Since leaving Aron at the fire station in Hagerstown, I’d done everything I could to avoid this particular area of Philadelphia, choosing instead to run my fake prostitute scam on safe corners. But I was getting nowhere, and this was a hotbed of activity. I needed to find out about “exhale.”
“What about the nice cars that drive by?” I nodded to the sleek silver Toyota cruising past us. Chris rented it for this occasion, and seeing it gave me a rush of warmth.
“They’re not looking for someone your age, honey.” The girl shrugged. “You’re too old to be an escort too.”
I shook my head, wondering how this young girl knew about anything more than this life. “Your pimp into that?”
“He’s into a lot of things.” She dug around in her pocket. I tensed. I’d left my various weapons at home in the off chance a cop decided to make an appearance. Unlikely, since this area had been nearly forgotten by the city’s finest. But it was a chance I wasn’t willing to take.
She pulled out a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. “I can’t think of anyone with any real money who’d want to bang you. Unless you want the junkies, you might want to try some other gig.”
“How long have you been on the streets?”
She shot me a dark glance. “I’m not on the street. I’ve got a place to live. And I’ve got my own johns. My pimp’s got me out here today looking for new girls. And you ain’t it.”
“Too old.” For once I was thankful to be in my early thirties. “He send all his girls on the street?”
“Nope.”
“Escorts,” I guessed. Probably finds runaways either pimping for others or out of desperation and then cons them into the life by promising a sweet deal with expensive men. How long before this pimp made it clear the girl didn’t have a choice? “I didn’t know pimps were into that nowadays. I thought that was something a businesswoman did. Like the girls trying to put themselves through college.”
“Times change.” She popped a bubble. “Tell you what. You give me your pimp’s name so I can pass it along, and I’ll give you $40. Something to take back to him so he doesn’t wale on you.”
I met her cool, grey eyes. “I don’t want money.”
She looked me up and down. “Sorry. I don’t go that way. But I can hook you up with someone who does.”
“That’s not it.” I caught sight of the Toyota, knowing Chris had me in view. If I pulled my scarf off, he’d know I needed help. Worth the risk. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. She didn’t follow me out of the game, and now I think she’s in big trouble.”
The girl popped another bubble. “What’s her name?”
“Charity.” I said the first thing I thought of. “The last time I spoke to her, she said she was going to a place called Exhale. She didn’t give me any information. I don’t even know what that is.”
That wasn’t exactly true. Kelly and I had found three different businesses with the name Exhale, but we had no idea which might be serving as a front, or if any were. For all we knew, it was another code word.
“Exhale?” The girl’s eyes narrowed. The dark instinct that served me so faithfully made the icy hair on my arms stand up. “How old is your friend?”
“Nineteen.” Getting the age right was crucial. I couldn’t directly ask about minors without alerting this girl. She’d be onto me in a second. Or so disgusted she’d clam up. Either way, I lost out.
“Too old. Exhale likes their clients younger.” She pushed her blowing hair out of her face.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is it like a group of pimps or something?”
She cocked her head, popping her gum in a way that made me want to yank it out of her mouth. “Seriously? No. It’s a business with something on the side. Don’t you know anything about how we do it these days?”
I looked down at my miserable boots. “I guess not.” I sank my teeth into my tongue and felt the tears well in my eyes. “I just need to find her.”
“She’s not at Exhale, I can tell you that.”
I wiped a tear and snuck a quick glance at her. She stared straight ahead, a muscle working in her jaw. “Is that where you’re out of? I mean, you’re so young and pretty.”
The compliment didn’t faze her. She turned steel eyes on me. “Don’t worry about my business. Now, I gave you information. You give me yours. Who’s your pimp?”
“You didn’t give me anything I could use.”
“That’s not my fault. Trust me, looking for your nineteen-year-old friend at the spa ain’t going to get you anywhere. And she’s probably long gone, anyway.”
I thanked the cold for keeping my expression static. This girl, who I’d pegged for street-savvy, had just given me the information I needed. Guess there’s something to be said about the wisdom of age versus the impatience of youth. “All right, I’m sorry.”
“Pimp’s name?”
My fingers ached as I untied the scarf, shook it out, and wrapped it tightly back around my neck. “Andrew Parks.” I almost laughed at giving her the name of the man who molested my sister so many years ago. “Goes by Andy P. and is staying at the Johnson Motel a few blocks down.”
“I know the place.” Her eyes drifted to the silver Toyota rolling to a stop. “Well, looks like I might be able to make some extra money today.”
The passenger window rolled down to reveal Chris’s handsome face and expensive Burberry Jacket. I heard the girl’s whisper of appreciation, thinking she’d hit the jackpot. He smiled. “You got some time for me, blondie?”
As soon as we turned the corner of Kensington Avenue, I cranked up the heat and stuck my face in front of the vents. “My skin will never be the same.”
“I never should have let you do this.” Chris’s eyes were on the road, his hands tense on the steering wheel. “Did you see the crackheads gathering not one hundred feet from you?”
“First off, you didn’t let me do anything. Let’s get that straight. And I saw them.” The crackheads were harmless. The other girls were the worry. Things got territorial, especially when times were tough.
“Yeah well, I’m not doing this again.”
I pulled off the wig and poor excuse for a winter coat and tossed them into the back seat and then snuggled into my own wool jacket. “We don’t need to. Kelly owes me coffee. Exhale Salon and Spa is the place we’re looking for.”
Six weeks later.
Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale.
<
br /> This was the mantra I had to repeat as I sat behind the receptionist’s desk at Exhale Mind and Body Salon, a swanky place in the heart of downtown Philadelphia that caters to the city’s wannabe New Yorkers.
The day after my street gig, Chris and I staked out Exhale. All day long, women of all ages came in and out of the spa. Nighttime brought the jackpot: A black SUV rolled up the back door, and a classy looking blond emerged from the driver’s seat, followed by a boy and a girl easily under the age of fifteen. The salon was empty, locked up tight. The blond had a key, and when she emerged with the kids minutes later, they were dressed in new, stylish clothes.
Chris managed to tail the SUV to a craphole motel on the north side. The woman ushered the kids inside. Within minutes a young, black male arrived and was allowed into the room. The blond left without the kids.
I applied for the receptionist’s job the very next day, and after weeks of hearing the dullest conversations and being assaulted with a cacophony of supposedly relaxing sights and sounds, I was ready to make my move.
My cell beeped with an incoming call. One look at the screen and I considered not answering. He’d just keep nagging. And he did pose as my john during my street gig, so I owed him some tolerance.
“Chris.”
“Lucy.”
I pictured the full mouthed smirk and the crinkling around his eyes. But I also caught the tone in his voice. “I’m at work.”
“Guess that’s one way to think of it. Still planning on staying late?”
“Yes.”
He sighed, long and drawn out and superior. “You know she probably has security cameras?”
I forced a smile as the last masseuse waved to me on her way out the door. “Of course I know that.”
“And if the police are called?”
We’d discussed this last night. And the night before that. I wanted to tell him to stand down and mind his own business, but then again, he’d made me his business, and I’d allowed it. The pretend sociopath and the magnificently damaged vigilante gravitated toward each other like self-igniting magnets, white-hot sparks burning us. Sometimes I hated Chris. But I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Not after the past few months.
“I’ll deal with it.” I was a licensed private investigator, after all. I might be risking a suspension but probably not an arrest. Not after I shared the information I had. But I really didn’t need any more attention from the Philadelphia police. I already had one detective watching me.
“You’re making a mistake. This isn’t what our focus should be right now.”
“Your mother can wait.” I hated saying the words. Mother Mary was cruelty personified. But I couldn’t go after her. Not yet. Not with these kids being carted out like produce.
“You promised me.” Chris sounded like a petulant child, and in some ways, that was exactly what he was. After being rescued from his nefarious and heartbreaking early childhood, he’d grown up the treasured nephew of a prominent attorney and pediatrician. He was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.
“I plan on keeping that promise. Just not yet.” The front door opened, and our last client walked inside, bringing a rush of dark, winter air with her. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
I smiled at the plump, middle-aged woman squeezed into a calf-length leather coat. She reminded me of a sea lion. “Mrs. Dietz, welcome. Can I get you anything?”
Before she could respond, the classy blond Chris and I had tailed to the hotel swept out of her office. Sarah Jones was the owner of Exhale, and she was all sweet fragrance and physical perfection: silky, blond hair shining; skin glowing; nails manicured and perfectly applied mascara. Tall and slim as a movie star, Sarah’s understated beauty made her both classy and intimidating. She never lost her cool, her poise a byproduct of being beautiful in a materialistic society. And the customers loved her.
“Amanda, it’s good to see you.” Sarah set her business cell down on my counter, its red-sequined case making my eyes hurt. “Thank you so much for staying, Lucy. You can head home now. Just make sure to lock the door.”
I smiled my sweetest smile. Sarah enjoyed being boss and didn’t like to be argued with. She also enjoyed being the prettiest woman in the room, a fact I’d picked up on during our interview when she’d called my red hair flashy and asked if I’d like a facial. Since my hair and complexion have always been my best traits, I took the hint and made sure to keep my hair pulled back and to be dressed in frumpy clothes. “Sure thing, Sarah. I just have some paperwork to finish up, and then I’ll be out of here. Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Deitz.”
“Don’t forget the door.” Sarah reminded me before following Amanda. I gave my boss one last smile, the gesture melting as soon as I heard the door shut. I glanced at the clock. Although Sarah never left her room after a client arrived, I’d give her a few minutes just in case she forgot something. She’d taken her phone with her, but it wasn’t the one I was after.
Sarah had a different phone, one that she used in the back alley when she slipped out for the cigarette she didn’t smoke. The one she texted on when she hurried to her car long after the salon closed. One that she used the night we followed her to the motel.
I wanted that phone, and I’d take it tonight.
I rolled my neck, the tendons popping. I had no doubts about searching Sarah’s office. I’d made the decision and wasn’t going back on it. I’d probably get fired, but any information I found would no doubt lead me to my next scumbag.
Maybe you like killing.
Chris’s words from last night blasted in my head. I pushed them away. Five minutes had come and gone.
I gathered my things, dumping everything essential into the big, leather bag I’d recently started carrying around. Now empty except for Sarah and her client, the silence of the spa made me feel like a criminal. I choked back a giggle and slowly made my way to Sarah’s office. Tucked in the far corner of the building, away from everyone’s rooms and stations, it was off limits to most employees. We were told to never enter without knocking, as Sarah needed her private space.
The lock was easy enough to pick. I checked behind me before slipping through the black door and shutting it quietly. The room was dark with only the light from the street pooling in the window. I flicked the switch, the click spurning my adrenaline. Sarah’s office was sparsely decorated: her computer on the black desk, two stylish but uncomfortable looking chairs, and a fake plant in the corner. A set of shelves was loaded with sample creams, cleansers, lotions, and other work items, but there were no filing cabinets to search. Sarah didn’t like paper she told me during my interview. Her salon was environmentally friendly, and her employees were expected to follow her lead.
I sat down in her chair and tried to log in, but the screen remained locked. Kelly had taught me a little about password hacking, but nothing I tried worked. I started going through her drawers, but they were littered with lip gloss, sample lotions, and other skin products, and nail files. Sarah had nothing business-related in this desk. That alone was a red flag.
“Where is it, blondie?” Frustration mounting, I felt underneath the main section of wood, hoping to find some sort of secret compartment or even better, everything I needed nicely typed and tucked in a manila envelope with my name on it in Sarah’s loopy script, along with the mysterious black phone. No such luck.
“God forbid anything come easily. Just once.”
No bag of any sort. Her coat hung on the back of her chair. Hope renewed, I dug into her pockets but found only gum and tissues.
Damnit. I didn’t see any sign of cameras, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. If I got caught, I’d end up fired and losing my in with Sarah for nothing. I rested my elbows on the desk and dropped my head into my hands.
“Let’s reassess. It’s got to be here.”
The desk hummed.
I looked around for the source, but there was nothing on the desk to make that noise.
I dropped to my kne
es and checked the underside again. Bare.
Another hum, this time with a vibration.
The phone was somewhere in the desk.
Trying not to be loud, I attacked the drawers again. The wide, thick bottom drawer didn’t pull all the way out. I hadn’t bothered to check why earlier because the drawer was nearly empty. Flattening myself to the floor, I wiggled my hand underneath the drawer. The soft material of my black sweater snagged on the edge, but I kept fumbling around. And then I felt the smooth, thin lines of what was unmistakably a cellphone. I snatched it free of its hiding place.
Squishing my racing nerves and the desperate desire to look at the phone’s contents, I dropped it into my big bag. I took a deep breath, smoothing my sweater and hair, and then patted my damp forehead with the back of my hand. Calm enough, I exited the office, quietly closing the door.
Soothing music drifted down the hall from Sarah’s room. A lullaby.
I shrugged on my coat, shouldered my purse. My desk was nice and tidy, no personal items left.
I locked the door behind me.
I hated the early darkness of winter. The lack of sun made me feel run down and perpetually stuck in slow motion. And the bitter cold seemed to seep right through my skin and bones and settle into my very core. Maybe I’ll become a snowbird one day. Disappear to someplace warm, maybe Florida, and lie on the beach all winter drinking fruity liquor and admiring the male scenery. No dark memories lurking around the street corner – just warm sand and the sound of the ocean.
Bowing my head against the freezing wind, I hurried toward Kelly’s building. Rittenhouse Square looked lonely; it was too cold for the breakdancers and dog walkers. The trees were bare, all of the flowering bushes stripped of their greenery and vibrant blooms. But in a few months, the plants and trees would come back with brilliant vigor, their blossoms likely more abundant than before. If only humans were so lucky. What if we could go dormant for a while, hide away in the earth and replenish, and then come back for a fresh start? Would any of us really do anything differently, or would we just continue on whatever course we’d carved out for ourselves?
