by Marcy McKay
A burrito. It’s all bright and glittery like Egypt’s purse.
I can’t stop myself and jerk it away from him. “Give me that.”
After I’m done eating, I lick my fingers. That was the best meal ever. No bugs on it, either. He gave me two whole burritos—one beef and one bean. They settled my brain back into my body enough so I can think again.
Some.
I played it smart, though. I stayed on the sidewalk, out of reach the whole time.
“Want a drink?” He holds out an iced tea.
After slurping it down, I still want more. Now, I see what little gray hair he’s got and how he wears it swept across his forehead like a stringy swoosh. Worse, there’s a giant skin-colored mole sticking out from his wrinkled cheek.
“Want a ride now?” Moley gives me a wink.
“No.” My feet hurry through the slush.
“Come on, I fed you. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you jack.” I take off down Mai Wong’s side street.
He follows along again, his car engine humming by me. “You look like you could use some money. I’d treat you better than the last guy.”
I stop. Moley here thinks I’m a whore, then I remember how I look: swollen eyes, bruised face, smashed heart. Why would he want this?
I picture Egypt, Bird and Mama.
“Well?” Moley grins and the giant bump moves on his cheek.
Double gross.
He flashes me a twenty.
That could feed me for a whole month. I could start a new California fund. Hell, I could start a whole, new life. Skip town all together. How bad can it be? I’ve heard the noises from under the bed. I know what to do.
Sort of.
Besides, Egypt does it all the time. She’s got fancy clothes and travels to cool places. I’m going to end up like her anyway, so why fight it?
No.
Well, maybe …
I could be my own pimp here. Mama says that’s the mistake Egypt’s mom always made. Pimps push you around, take more than their fair share and make you do horrible, nasty things, even to your own daughters. I’ll keep safe by staying in charge and do it just this once.
I know the drill and take a tiny step closer, pointing to his twenty. “That’s not enough.”
“Forty?” His voice sounds panicky and scared, like he’s got to have me or he’ll die.
That’s how I feel about food. Me and Moley aren’t talking bean burritos here. I’m the boss, even though he’s the grown-up. He wants me and he wants me bad.
“Go to hell.” I laugh ugly at him, then don’t look back as I walk away. I even try to swing my hips like Egypt and Mama, but mine just wobble in pain.
Here he is again. He leans farther out the window. “Come on, I’ve got fifty.”
I stop and look him straight on, in case I need to ID him later in a lineup. “It’s a hundred or forget it.”
Now, he’s the one chuckling. “You’re out of your mind.”
“You’re out of luck.” I march on, but he doesn’t follow.
Worry somersaults through my belly. I need that cash, I need to eat, I need out of town before Diablo murders me, or Eddie Loco rapes me, or both.
This would never happen to Mama or Egypt. It’s ’cause I’m not pretty enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not Somebody enough.
His car roars, then drives back to me. The window frames his moley face like a picture. “What’ll I get for one hundred?”
I give him my best Miz America smile. “Whatever you want.”
The leather on Moley’s backseat makes me slippery under him. We’ve still got on our clothes, but he’s working hard to change that. His sausage fingers try to unbutton my jeans. He grunts as he kisses me. He smells like a chimney crammed inside a sweaty gym. He’s squishy fat, too. I’m getting lost in his rolls.
I push him away, gagging that my first, real kiss is from a fat-faced, sausage-fingered mole.
He paws at my nothing boobies and breathes hotter against my ear. “How old are you?”
“Thirteen,” I lie.
“You done this before?” He pins my sore arms up over my head.
“Lots.” Owww. I try to wrestle him, while he goes for my jeans again. He’s hurting me. Now I know why I said I’d never do this. Mama’s right. A man’s lust is disgusting. If this is how Egypt wants to travel the world, then I don’t want to go.
“I’m gonna give it to you good,” he pants. “I’m gonna give it to you so good.” Even through his jeans, I feel his whacker pressing hard against my leg.
My brains screams. My skin wants to crawl away. I’ve got to get out of here, but I forgot to get his cash first. His doors are locked and don’t have those knob dealies to pull up and escape. “I want my money.”
He laughs, but keeps kissing me, his elbow pushed against my throat, just like the Street Killer. My air cuts off. I try to pry him away, but can’t out-fight him. The backseat turns fuzzy. It’s hard to see through teary eyes.
Moley lets go to unbuckle his pants. I grab my throat, coughs and scared sputtering out. I’m so grateful to be alive ’til I see his yellow, smiley-faced underwear grinning at me.
Through the window, I see a happy, black couple up on a billboard. The guy looks like the Midnight Man. He even wears a gold sword necklace like him. The sign says:
ANGEL FUNERAL HOME
HEAVENLY HELP IN YOUR TIME OF NEED
“Stop.” I push Moley, but he doesn’t budge. “Please. Don’t.”
His tongue swishes my ear. “We had a deal.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late.”
“Give me my cash then.”
He laughs, deep and throaty. Forget fast cash. I don’t want it. All I want is out of here alive. Tears flood from me like a broken faucet. I don’t want to die like a whore on the streets. I don’t want to be like Mama. At least, not that part of her.
He keeps hurting me. I cry, “Please, no.”
Moley grabs my neck again and squeezes extra-long to shut me up.
I.
Can’t.
Breathe.
He yanks my jeans down to my green panties. We both see it at the same time.
Blood stains.
He lets me go. “Your snatch is seeing red?”
I wheeze and hiss, almost hacking up a lung.
“Perfect.” Moley grins. “I like a little ketchup with my steak.” He slaps my cheek so hard that my head spins and hits the leather seat. It sticks there a few seconds, then I pull away.
He boxes my right eye. I cry out from pain, but don’t sound like me anymore. It’s from the deepest, darkest place inside. This is it. I’m a goner. My insides freeze as death creeps closer to steal me forever.
I lie here like a rag doll as he goes back to what he started—jerking my panties and jeans all the way down. ’Cept rag dolls don’t have want he wants between their legs.
Moley grins at what he sees. I try to cover myself, but he slaps my hands away, then strangles me again. More tears pour out as I try to fight him.
It does no good. I feel me leaving my body, to escape the badness. I can’t believe this is how I’ll die.
He lifts his fat-self up to fumble with his underwear and pulls it all the way down to his black dress shoes. I cough and cough, while his whacker points straight at me, hard and ready to go. I’ve never seen one this close.
The happy-faced black couple still beams at me, upside down from the billboard:
ANGEL FUNERAL HOME
HEAVENLY HELP IN YOUR TIME OF NEED
I watch the Midnight Man and think, HELP ME! HELP! HELP!
Moley socks my left eye this time. I scream as he lowers himself on me. He licks my neck and cheek.
There. On the floorboard.
A penny.
A penny!
It’s not my lucky penny. There’s no blue dot by Mr. Lincoln’s head, it’s not the one Mama gave me all those years ago, but it’s still like a sign straight from Burge
r Heaven. An answer to a prayer.
I grab it. Mama’s not here, but I swear I hear her hollering at me now, Get your ass out of there, Copper Penny. NOW!
My insides crack open, big, wide and strong to something I haven’t felt in a long time. Long before Mama disappeared on Valentine’s Day night.
I want to live!
I feel that truth, a deep knowing I forgot I knew, like meeting the Midnight Man. No, I can’t undo what’s been done. Mama’s still gone and I may never see her again. But, even on my own, I really and truly want to live. I want to live in a little, white house with red shutters and a dog named Sugar. A new Sugar, a different Sugar, my own Sugar.
With everything that life has pissed on me lately, I tug my jeans up and jerk my knee up to where Moley pisses. I rack him extra hard.
Now, he’s the one crying. I pull the door handle.
Locked. Damn.
Forgot.
There’s no time to button my jeans. I ignore his whimpers and cussing behind me, then dive to the front seat.
He grabs at my neck. “Bitch.”
Leaning against the steering wheel, I kick him full force in the face. His nose splatters me with blood, so I kick him harder for dirtying me up. He falls back and flops around the seat like a fish out of water.
I bang on every button to open up this death trap. My brain scrambles. My heart screams. Each breath shouting in my ears to escape.
Moley grabs at me as I unlock the car and jump out. I slam the door on his sausage fingers.
He yelps and lets go. His screams and cussing freeze me to the sidewalk a few seconds. Lucky for me, my legs remember what to do and get us out of here. They hobble away as fast as possible. Pain still crushes me every step of the way, but I’m so glad to be alive to feel every bit of it.
Glancing up, I swear to Burger Heaven that the happy billboard couple isn’t black at all. They’re whiter than me, but with blonde hair, too. That guy doesn’t look one bit like the Midnight Man. He’s not even wearing a dangly, gold necklace.
This penny saved my life. It’s luckier than lucky. I rub it like crazy, thanking the new Mr. Lincoln for his help. I don’t want to spend another second in Chinatown, or Paradise, as long as I live, and I hope that’s a long, long time.
CHAPTER 36
The breeze brushes my hair as I laugh and blast through a snow drift outside Mission for Hope, kicking the dirty white flakes high into the air by the shelter. Yeah, it’s totally freezing, but it makes me feel so alive.
Alive!
Mama’s still missing, I’m still broke and alone, but I’ve survived Moley and more the past three days. Life’s both awful and awesome, but you can’t stay stuck in the bad ’cause it’ll kill you. This new penny reminds me I’ve got a second chance at everything. It’s worth way more than one cent.
It’s a do-over.
I’ve changed a lot if it feels like paradise to be back in Paradise. My coat is also turned back to the Dallas-Cowboy blue side, but I still smell Moley’s man stink on my jacket. I try to breathe in the fresh air instead. The sun’s shining brighter than it has in days.
I’m a woman now, the blood stains in my panties prove it. I need Mama more than ever to explain the ins-and-outs of heavy flow days, like the TV commercial says. We’ll celebrate together.
Soon, I hope.
Turdmouth and my cash may be gone for good, too. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. All I know is as soon as it’s safe, I’m going to call O’Dell to check on Mai Wong and have him get me out of here.
Rounding the corner to St. Columba’s, I don’t let my feet slow at the rows of white, wooden crosses outside the church. They stand tall in the snow like keepers of death. The priest is hammering a new name into City Cemetery. His black dress against the white makes him stand out more. His hammer whacks at that cross. One of those will say SANDOVAL on it for Spook any day now, I try not to picture one with Mama’s name on it.
After everything that’s happened today, I just want to go home to the Warrior Angel. I know I can’t sleep at the cemetery, but don’t know where else to go. Maybe I’ll take O’Dell up on his offer and crash at his place.
At the edge of Paradise, I see the railroad tracks ahead. The Party Palace liquor store sign blinks nonstop. I’ve almost made it and shuffle a little faster. The snow’s melted enough off the empty warehouse to read the full graffiti again in black and red:
God hates the poor
Be afraid
No soda can sits on top of Mai Wong’s fire hydrant and may never be there again. We loved that phone booth, but we can find a new hangout. Maybe somewhere in Chinatown, so she’s not breaking her parents’ rules. I’ll do that for her. In fact,—
He steps from the shadows.
Eddie Loco.
The two devil horns on either side of his forehead crinkle up as he grins at me. He takes a long drag off a cigarette, then flicks it to the ground and steps closer. “I hope you’re as much fun as that chink.”
The purple choke marks he left on Mai Wong’ ’s neck flash through my mind, but I’m too scared to scream. I freeze. Moley’s bean burritos sour in my stomach. If Eddie Loco gets me into that phone booth, I’m a goner.
I whimper, feeling the heat of his breath as he reaches for my throat. His gold tooth shines in the morning light.
My pointing finger jabs him in the eye with as much hate as possible. He screams and grabs his face, his cries stabbing the quiet. I shove Eddie Loco extra hard, knocking him over the fire hydrant. He crumbles to the snow, cussing and crying.
Slush splatters me as I limp down the street toward Chinatown, past snowed-in cars, tents and sleeping bags. I don’t look back and run straight toward the wrong side of town again. It’s not even half a block away from here. This is the very street Mai Wong sneaks up and down every day to see me.
At least, she used to. Eddie Loco ruined her and wants to do the same to me. Chinatown’s not safe, but it’s doubly bad for him as a Barrio Brother, so I hurry on.
He hobbles a ways behind me, but not far enough. “Puta, bitch. You’re dead.”
I pump my arms faster, fear fueling my legs. There aren’t many folks out ’cause of the cold, but the few I see turn away fast or disappear to avoid my funeral. I pass a Dumpster overflowing with trash. The rotten egg-roll stench gags me, but I keep going.
Eddie Loco’s gaining on me. Come on Mr. Lincoln, do your stuff.
Three Chinese teenagers stand on the corner, all dressed in Asian Assassin red. They see me racing right at ’em. The big, bulky one with his hat on backwards pulls out a pistol. The other two stand beside him and do the same. They all bow up to me with their guns.
I scream and point behind me. “That guy raped Mai Wong.”
It takes ’em a few seconds to understand. They look at each other, to Eddie Loco, then back at me.
Eddie Loco skids to a stop, then realizes what I’ve done, but it’s too late. We’re both surrounded by Asian Assassins, but I hope they spill his blood red.
I hide behind the stranger with nicest eyes, then holler, “Zhi Peng’s sister is at the hospital right now ’cause Eddie Loco raped her.”
“She’s lying,” he hisses.
“Give me a cell phone. I can prove it,” I say.
My guy hands me his phone. Everyone turns to watch. A short teen with cropped hair and a lumpy face holds Eddie Loco. If looks could kill, I’d already be dead. A dozen more of Zhi Peng’s homies stand around us now, every shape and size—just like the Barrio Brothers, but with a different turf.
I hide deeper behind my guy and dial O’Dell’s number. My fingers shake as I push each button. I turn on the speakerphone and hope it doesn’t go straight to voice mail. I can see the Party Palace sign blinking from here. I’m so close to my hideout, but a whole ’nother world away.
O’Dell answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” my voice trembles. “Listen, I need you to say exactly where you are and who you’re with.
”
I hear the pause in his voice, but he says, “I’m at Children’s Hospital with Mai Wong. She’s with the doctors now.”
A flurry of voices grumble around me, their mad multiplying by the second. Eddie Loco starts to talk, but the big, burly one slams him with the butt of his gun.
A bloody tooth tumbles to the ground.
The circle moves around us tighter. There’s no way out. I’m not brave enough to look at Eddie Loco even though I’m right beside him. His fists stay clenched together. I feel his rage and read the blue inked onto his knuckles:
B-R-O-T-H-E-R-S
They’re not here to save him today. He’s as alone as me. My palms sweat gripping this phone.
When the group settles down enough, O’Dell says, “What’s wrong?”
I take another deep breath. “I’ll tell you later. Is Mai Wong around?”
“Yeah, she’s in her room.”
“I need to talk to her right now. It’s really important.”
I hear him cover the phone and mumble, then I hear, “Copper, it’s Patrick. What’s going on?”
I’m so glad he didn’t call himself my uncle or a cop, so I talk before he does. “I can’t explain,” my voice wobbles, “so, you’ll just have to trust me. I need to talk to Mai Wong for sixty seconds.”
I hear movement in the background, a door opens, more muffled talking. He needs to help faster.
“Hello?” Mai Wong says.
A giant gasp pops around me from all the Asian Assassins. Eddie Loco tenses worse.
The clock’s ticking. “Answer me this, Mai Wong. Why are you at the hospital?”
There’s a pause. She doesn’t even breathe.
“I know you don’t want to say it, but it’s life or death for me.”
Seconds pass and I think I’m dead, then she whispers, “I was raped.”
“Who did it?”
“Eddie Loco.”
The Asian Assassins explode around me in shouts. Someone yanks the phone away and they start bashing Eddie Loco. Fists fly everywhere. Others beat him with the ends of their guns. They’re holding him, so he can’t fight back. He’s such a bloody mess his whole face is Asian-Assassin red.
I flinch with each hit. He deserves every bit of this, but it still hurts to watch since I caused it. They might kill him. I’m not cut out for this life.
