by Stacy Green
“Not with all the information he had.” She didn’t elaborate further. “So after a few negotiations,” she rolled her eyes, “I accepted.”
Whoever this guy was had more than financials on Sarah, but right now wasn’t the time to hammer her on that. Pushing the wrong issue too hard would make her close up. “This kid, he give you a name? Anything we can use?”
She snorted. “Yeah, and that’s when I knew he was no more than a street kid riding the coat tails of some rich sugar daddy. He strutted around like he owned the place. And while he tried to speak eloquently, every once in a while he’d slip up and sound like he came straight from the ghetto. Preacher.”
I didn’t recognize the nickname, but I’d have both Kelly and Kenny check on it. “Wow. Sounds like a well-established pimp.”
“Exactly. He’s arrogant and bossy, but he’s good at keeping things secret.”
“Come on. You’ve got to have something we can use.”
Sarah gazed at the bar, the seconds ticking by. Finally, she turned back to glare at me with steely eyes. “I’ve been blackmailed once already. At least I’m getting something out of it. I still don’t know what you’re going to do to help me.”
She’d already given more than I’d hoped for. Was she looking for a way out of the mess before I interfered? “You really want to keep this life up? It’s got to be stressful.” I appealed to her base needs. “Stress ages a girl, you know. Fast. And if you’re dealing with an actual network, it’s only a matter of time before someone slips up. Then you’re really going to lose everything. Including your freedom.”
“You think I haven’t thought of that?” She snapped, leaning forward so quickly I barely kept myself from jerking away. “My question is, what are you going to offer me that I’m not getting now?”
“A way out,” I said. “If we take your boss down, we can milk him for enough money to keep you going and get you out of this mess.”
“And I need your help with this because?” She raised her eyebrows.
I smiled. “Haven’t we established that I’m especially talented at getting what I want? And I still have the phone. Which only points to you, not Preacher or the big boss. Is that fair?”
Her lips quivered. “Can you protect the clients?”
This time, I couldn’t stop the quake generating from the disgust rippling through me. “You want to protect the…men?”
“Everything is done with consent.” The lights cast shadows on her hardened face, and for a moment, she looked like the monster of nightmares. “If those guys are busted, I’ll lose half the salon’s clientele.”
It took me a minute to catch on. “The wives?”
A single nod.
Anger coursed through me so strongly I had to turn away, letting my hair fall around my face. As if we were connected, Chris’s head jerked up and his gaze caught mine. His eyebrows raised in question, and I gave the slightest shake of my head.
“All right. So if we’re going to protect those men,” my jaw clenched on the words, “we need something exceptional on your boss.”
“I don’t have it,” she said flatly. “Preacher is the go-between. I’m a facilitator. There are more like me. Don’t know how many.”
“Who finds the boys? The clients?”
Another noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe Preacher. He gives me client names, has me match them up with, you know. I set up the appointments.”
“How about payment? I’m assuming these dudes are paying premium.” Riley only expected seventy-five bucks. No way was that the real fee.
“All handed via a secure account on a foreign server,” she said. “Client pays. Once a week, I get my 35% cut.”
“Out of how much?”
She looked down and then across the bar at the other patrons. I wondered if she was thinking how sick and selfish and robotic she seemed. Dress it up all she wanted–she helped kids sell themselves for money and took a cut. She was a pimp.
“Starting fee is $3,000.”
I didn’t blanch. “But you don’t handle transactions.”
“I’m paid in cash.”
“How much does the boss get? Or Preacher?”
“No idea.” She shifted, her right hand drifting for her bag. “Look, I’ve honestly told you all I know. I get the sense Preacher is the guard dog. He’s never given me any idea who the boss is. Preacher refers to him as “he.” That’s the best I can tell you.”
I searched her drawn face. Liars are usually easy to spot, especially if you’re one of them. Sarah was telling the truth. “He’s cocky, thinks he’s in charge of the world. We need to shock his system.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a drink of the club soda, letting the cold liquid slide down my throat. Keeping my eyes on her nervous face, I smiled. Let her worry. “There’s only one time we’ll know for certain where he’ll be. When’s your next payday?”
Her eyes narrowed, face again thinning into a malevolent caricature of herself. “I suppose you want a cut.”
My smile widened. “What else am I in this for? Fifteen percent will do.”
“He’ll never pay me with you there.”
“Oh, I know. I’ll be waiting in a safe spot down the street. I’m good at hiding, and I’ll have back up, so don’t think of doing anything stupid. I’ll pop by after I see Preacher leave.” I rested back in my chair. “So, day and time?”
She wanted to slap me. I saw it in the way her skin turned red, her hands gripping her bag tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. “6:15 tomorrow. Just after close.”
“I’ll see you then.”
More gleaming hate as she rose to leave. She shouldered her expensive bag, buttoned up her fashionable cape. Adjusted her pricey bracelet. Perhaps her materialistic needs had a part in her business failure, but people like Sarah don’t want to be held accountable for their choices. It was much easier to lie to herself, to convince her guilty conscience that she’d done what she had to do, that she was desperate. No other choice. That’s the only way she could sleep at night.
It’s the only way I can close my eyes.
“Preacher isn’t a nice person,” Sarah said. “He might be playing rich boy now, but he came from the streets. He’s a modern day pimp with better clothes but an even more vicious streak. If he realizes you’re involved, we’re both in trouble.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
She shook her head. The corners of her mouth were drawn, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “Your decision.” She turned to leave.
I snatched her wrist. “Don’t stand me up. Or tell anyone about this. You’re in just as much trouble as me if you do.” Sarah’s head whipped around. Her slitted eyes flashed between my grip on her and my face.
She dug her nails into my hand until I released her. “How dare you put your hands on me.”
“Don’t play any games with me tomorrow.” My low voice still seemed to carry over the chatter. “Or I’ll have the police and the press at Exhale before you know what hits you.”
“Fine.” Sarah stalked to the exit. She might call Preacher and warn him, but I doubted it. Her hatred of him was too obvious. She wanted out.
Chris and I would stake out positions separately, and hopefully one or both of us would be able to follow Preacher home.
A martini appeared before me. “Can I buy you a drink, and we can talk about that garbage you’re dying to take out?”
Chris’s grin and his cheesy throwback to our first meeting almost made me smile. Instead, I motioned for him to sit. He obliged, taking the seat Sarah had vacated.
“You okay?” He asked.
“Right as rain.” I took a long pull of the martini. “I love hanging out with the scum of the earth. Energizes me, you know?”
He ignored my sarcasm. “You could always walk away from this.”
“This scum, that scum. They’re all the same.”
“Maybe.” He finished his beer. “But don’t you think about it?”
&nbs
p; “About what?”
“Leaving all of this behind. Pretending this life never happened and starting over somewhere new, where you don’t have to hide who you are.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible. There’s evil everywhere. I’d manage to find it.”
“Because you seek it out.”
I didn’t argue the point because I had nothing worthy to combat it with. “What do you want me to do? Head out to the country and become Amish?”
He started laughing. “Nah. I’d miss you too much, so I’d have to follow. And I don’t want to be Amish.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grateful for the brevity. I needed time to breathe before thinking about the next step, and Chris knew exactly how to lighten my mind, if only for a minute.
“I need your help tomorrow,” I said. “It might get dangerous.” My anxious fingers drummed the table as my toe tapped an uneven beat.
Chris’s fingers brushed mine, stilling the movement. “That’s fine. If you promise me–”
“I promise. When this is over, I’ll devote all my attention to your mother.”
9
Snow rained down in fat flakes making for a miserable evening commute. I pulled my wool cap down to my chin and knotted my scarf. Tucked under the awning of the homemade candle joint two businesses down from the salon, I made a show of typing on my phone. Just a cold woman with her hair hidden by a dowdy winter cap and wearing tortoise shell glasses too big for her face. I ducked my head, letting the prescription reading glasses slip down my nose so I could see clearly over the rims.
A few minutes before six, the snow started coming down thicker. Hopefully Preacher wasn’t late. I’d been out here for twenty minutes, and the cold had already seeped through my heavy clothes. I squinted down the street, searching for Chris. He’d snagged a parking spot with a decent view. My car was in the parking garage five blocks down.
The spa’s windows were dark, but Sarah closed at five on Tuesdays. I’d always thought that was strange, but now it made sense.
I scanned the bustling crowd for someone matching his description. Most were late shoppers or store employees hurrying to get home before the roads got worse. Six o’clock came and went. Despite my winter boots, my toes ached with cold. Needing a distraction, I called Chris.
“How’s your warm car?”
He laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to be on the street.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t complain about it.”
“I’ll take you for a hot toddy after this.”
“A hot toddy? What are you, an Irish grandpa?”
He laughed again. “Maybe. Any sign of this guy?”
“Nope. I’m assuming he’ll stand out.” A particularly bulbous snowflake dropped into my eye. Cursing, I rubbed out the moisture. Good thing I wasn’t wearing mascara.
“Luce.” Chris’s voice was no longer playful. “Twelve o’clock.”
“I see.” A lanky man strode toward the spa. This time, instead of jeans and a heavy jacket, he was decked out in a shiny suit and trench coat, as if he were a lawyer or an accountant. But it was the walk that gave him away, and only to those paying attention. He didn’t walk with the fast pace of the harried businessman with too many clients and not enough time. No, this kid had a long stride that could only be described as a rhythmic swagger, a dance reserved for only the coolest of the cool kids–the same one I’d witnessed the night of our stakeout. He reached Exhale’s door and knocked.
Without a word to Chris, I ended the call. Like most overconfident young people, Preacher’s serene expression quickly twisted into one of impatience. He shaded his eyes and peered into the locked door, then knocked again. Checked his watch. Mumbled.
Chris was out of his car now, casually leaning against it, looking like a stupid model in the falling snow.
Preacher’s knocking grew louder as he took out his cell phone and made a call. I couldn’t hear what he said, but judging from the short amount of time he spoke, he left a message.
The door remained locked.
Finally, Preacher shrugged, pulling up the collar of his coat, and headed back in the direction he’d come from.
I followed, motioning for Chris to stay across the street and mirror us.
Past the coffee shop and the organic food store, around the corner and past the local art gallery. Preacher’s strides were more meaningful now. He was angry. He wasn’t used to being stood up.
He headed for the subway station.
I glanced at Chris, still across the street and keeping pace. He shook his head.
Of course he didn’t want me to go on the subway with Preacher.
And of course I was going to do it.
I checked the route. This was the Broad Street line, taking us into North Philadelphia. The subway stop wasn’t even four blocks from the Rattner hotel.
My phone rang as I bought my ticket. I hit end and boarded the car. It smelled vaguely of stale sweat and fried food, but it looked relatively clean. And packed. Preacher took a seat next to an older woman, and slumped down with his knees apart in the slouch typical of today’s youth. My phone vibrated in my pocket as I wedged my way toward Preacher. Forced to stand, I grabbed the rail nearest him.
Up close, I saw his blue silk tie and his gold watch. His nails were nicely manicured, his fingers flying across his phone.
I slipped my fingers inside my hat and pulled out a few blonde tendrils of the itchy wig I wore. Assuming Sarah had told Preacher about me, I couldn’t take any chances. Pushing my glasses up on my nose, I made my move.
“Nice watch.” I pitched my voice higher than my usual husky tone.
Preacher barely glanced up. “Thanks.”
“And your suit. A man with good taste.”
He shrugged. I twirled the blond lock of hair around my index finger, cocking my hips to the right. “I usually hate riding the subway, you know? But this is one of those days I’m grateful for it. Is that why you’re riding today?”
Preacher finally glanced up. His eyes were a pretty shade of hazel, with long lashes. Nose a little too squat for his long face, his features slightly off-kilter but not unpleasing. “What?”
Now that I had his attention, I gave him my best smile. “This is my usual route, and I don’t remember seeing you. And I’d remember.”
His turn to analyze me. Still in my early thirties, I looked close enough to his age to warrant his interest, but old enough for him to feel flattered at my interest. “I only make this trip once a month. Business.” He said it with pride, his chin rising a notch.
“Oooh.” I licked my lips, still twirling my fake hair. “A successful businessman at such a young age? Impressive. What do you do?”
“Human resources.”
The words were spoken so smugly, layered with condescending humor at an inside joke Preacher believed only he understood, that I struggled for my next response.
“Like hiring and firing people?”
“Something like that.”
My phone vibrated again in my pocket. I ignored it. “That’s very cool. I always thought it would be awesome to have that kind of power. Instant respect, you know?”
“Damn right.” He gazed at me again, brazenly looking me over from head to toe. “What about you?”
“Me?” I tried to sound surprised he’d ask. “Nothing special. Just a working girl trying to make ends meet.”
He grinned and sat up straighter. “Working girl, huh?”
“Oh God, not like that.” I wished I could blush on command. “I just meant I don’t have a career. Nothing like you. I’ve just a got a job that barely pays the bills.”
He waited.
“Cashier.”
“Honest work,” he said. “But not exactly middle class.”
“I wish. I still gotta live at home with my parents. It’s embarrassing, but it’s where I’m at right now. Some days I think I’d do about anything to get out.” I looked down at my boots, pulling my shoulders up toward my ears. I didn
’t know why I’d led Preacher this way. I needed to get his name, find out where he lived. If I was lucky–or really stupid–I’d get him to invite me over for a drink.
He crossed his long legs, still studying me. My skin crawled, my muscles rippling with the urge to walk away from his scrutiny. I’d been ogled by plenty of men, but Preacher’s brazenness had a feral quality that set my nerves on edge. I forced my mouth into a tight smile and managed to maintain eye contact.
Preacher nodded. His pink tongue slid across his bottom lip. There was a freckle on the corner of it. “Anything, huh?”
I glanced down at my shoes, tucking a lock of the wig behind my ear. “Pretty much.”
“I might be able to help you.” He glanced down the aisle and then stood up. He was taller than Chris, and I found myself staring at the knot on his tie. It was perfect. “Here.” He handed me a generic-looking business card that read Meretrix Consulting, with a local phone number. “My company is thinking about expanding into a new market. Different age bracket.” He smiled. “I think you’d do nicely.”
My mouth felt as if I’d eaten sand. I wondered how many of his contacts knew the name of his alleged consulting firm was Latin for prostitute. “Really?”
“Sure.” He touched his index and middle finger to my chin and turned my head to the right. My blood pressure sky rocketed not with fear but with fury at his audacity. He was checking out his potential merchandise. I kept perfectly still. If I moved, I’d end up laying him out on the dirty subway floor.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re just about right, with some training.”
The car slowed. We were stopping in North Philadelphia, and my gut told me Preacher would exit.
He dropped his hand. “You decide you want some extra work, you call me. You could make some real money.”
“I didn’t get your name.”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan what?” I fluttered my eyelashes and tried not to puke.
“Ryan’s enough. What’s yours?”
“Lily.” Shame at using my dead sister’s name flared. At least the blush on my neck would play off as attraction.
Another wide smile from Preacher as the car stopped. “I think I’ll be hearing from you soon.”
