The Sleeping Girls

by James Hunt

  “He’s not dead,” Susan answered.

  “Not yet.” Lynn scoffed. “You think Marco and his boys are going to stop?”

  “Is that who was here?” Susan crossed the sidewalk. “Was it Marco? Lynn, I know that—”

  “You don’t know shit, honey.” Lynn flared her nostrils, and she took another puff from the smoke, holding this one in. It was probably laced with something. PCP, crack, the fact that she was smoking it out in the open like this even with the police presence was a symbol of her defiance. It just screamed come and get me, coppers. “You came into this neighborhood and really fucked some shit up, you know that? You think that you can disrupt the balance and just walk away? No, honey, the world corrects itself, and things just get worse instead of getting better.”

  After the past twenty-four hours she’d had, Susan wasn’t in the mood to go tit for tat about who had done the most harm to the neighborhood or how it had affected Charlie the way that it did, but she was in the mood for answers.

  “How about you tell me what you saw before I slap steel on your wrists and arrest you for possession.” Susan gestured to the cigarette. “I’ve got more than enough probable cause to pat you down.” She looked past Lynn and toward the house. “And it looks like you have some structural damage on that roof. Probably not safe to live in. I send that report in, and county comes out, searches the place, and I wonder what we’d find?”

  Susan knew that the South Siders kept certain drug stashes in different parts of the neighborhood to remain diversified, and she knew that Lynn was always a potential holder.

  Lynn said nothing as she dropped the roach to the ground, leaving it smoking on the sidewalk and then pushing herself off the fence, the old rusted chains rattling from her movement. “You want to go down that road? Be my guest. But if you really want to know what happened to Charlie, why don’t you go find out for yourself.” She cast a glance down the road before she turned around and headed toward the house.

  Susan watched her leave, then looked at the roach on the ground, snuffing it out with the tip of her shoe when she felt eyes on her just like she did whenever she was working the streets, and when she turned her head, she saw the very people that she had set up the previous day.

  Marco stood at the helm of his South Side gangbangers, and even though he was a block away, she could see the smug expression on his face. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but she imagined that he had been there since the start of it, had maybe even seen her go inside when she arrived at Charlie’s.

  And before Susan even realized she was moving, she was halfway down the sidewalk, fists clenched and pissed.

  “Evening, Officer,” Marco said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You think you're clever?” Susan wasn’t shy about getting in Marco’s face, even though she was half his size. But she had never been one to intimidate easily. “How about I take you downtown right now and see how clever you are then?”

  Marco wiped his upper lip. “Have I done something wrong, Officer?”

  It was the arrogance that Susan couldn’t stand, even if the man hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d only met Marco a handful of times on the street, but their few limited interactions had left her feeling sick to her stomach. Marco had transformed the South Siders from small and obscure to the largest distributor of drugs in Seattle.

  “What happened?” Marco looked past her toward Charlie’s house. “Was someone hurt?”

  Susan knew that she couldn’t touch him. She didn’t have a badge, but he didn’t know that.

  “How long have you known?” Susan asked.

  “Know about what? Marco asked, keeping up the dumb charade.

  “How long have you known that I was a cop?” Susan asked.

  Marco rubbed his jaw, giving the question considerable thought. “You know, I don’t quite recall. I guess you shouldn’t have been so obvious, Officer.” He smiled, and it took all of Susan’s will to not punch him right in the face.

  “I’m still coming for you, Marco,” Susan said. “Because you can play this tough, smart, know-it-all character all you want, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing but a punk thug.”

  But Marco kept his mouth shut as Susan walked away. Both had said their piece, both had been pricked by each other’s words. As Susan returned to her car, she knew that this wasn’t over. Marco had only wanted to send a message, to show that he knew who she was and that the lines in the sand had been drawn. Susan hoped that she’d be able to get in front of whatever he had planned next.

  24

  Watching people had always been something interesting to me ever since I was little. Maybe it was because I still enjoyed being able to learn about what made people tick. What made them decide what to do with their lives.

  I remembered one time when I was little, I snuck home from school early and followed my mother around the house. She didn’t know I was back, and I saw things that I didn’t even know she did. She smoked and drank a little, while she walked around the house.

  It was strange because I had never seen my mother act that way before. She was always so strict, so serious about the order of the house and how things were supposed to be. She even wore shoes as she walked into the sitting room, where I was never allowed to go.

  And as I continued to watch her throughout the house, drinking, and smoking, I was even more surprised at how happy she looked and how she sang. I’d never heard my mother sing before.

  Her voice was soft, but sturdy, and had such a soothing, calming quality to it that I thought I’d become hypnotized.

  That day taught me that everyone pretends to be something else around certain people. And it showed me that the only way for someone to truly be themselves was to be alone.

  I’ve watched all kinds of people while they thought they were alone. It was how all of this started for me, all the way back to high school. Of course, back then, there was more of a sexual motivation for my peeping, but as I grew older, I used it as another way for me to learn about people. Because learning about someone’s true self was the only way to help them, the only way to bring about change.

  People lied all the time, even when there was nothing to lie about. Lying was the built-in mechanism to survive the mundane, to protect yourself against the harsh realities of the world, and it was a way for you to develop your own persona, the image that you wished to project to the world.

  It was a useful tool, one that I had used very often to make sure that I was able to get what I needed. Some people might consider that to be manipulative, but everything I have been doing has been to help people. To bring them closure and peace, to end the suffering that they had experienced for so long. To bear witness to that single moment of realization that their presence was ending, and to see the relief in their eyes, to watch all of that pain dissolve into the dark void of death, to be the person who helped guide them down that path…

  I knew it was wrong to enjoy it, but every time I felt guilty about what I was doing, I would only remember that time I watched my mother when she was alone in the house.

  Growing up, she was always telling me not to smoke, not to drink, and to always follow the rules and be a good boy. But rules were nothing more than invisible handcuffs that people voluntarily placed upon themselves that would inhibit the beautiful possibilities of what life could offer.

  I decided to disobey those rules, finally letting myself experience those joys. And because I was experiencing my pleasures, I could provide that joy to other people. The desire to have their daughters returned home, the relief of knowing that their child was no longer on the streets.

  And it was because of that relief that I kept up my work. Because that was what altruistic values were all about, it was about putting others above yourself and creating hope for others even though it might destroy you.

  I was trying to help. And now that bitch cop was getting closer to the truth, closer to stopping me from saving all of these young girls. But there wa
s someone I had seen her with. Someone who was her friend.

  The girl lived in the house where all of the whores who didn’t have pimps lived. I had known about the house for a while. I hadn’t gone to the place before because there were too many people, but I was looking for someone particular today.

  I had briefly considered trying to infiltrate the house like I had done in Box Town to grab Ginny, but this was too risky, and after the mistakes I made, I didn’t trust myself to be able to pull off something even more difficult.

  It didn’t take long before I spotted her. She was young, pretty, the version of the bitch cop should she have taken a different path in life. It was almost frightening how similar they were, but I figured it was those that were most like us that we were attracted to.

  We all seek out our counterparts in the form of another kindred spirit. Hers just happened to be a whore, something I found to be amusing.

  Once I found her, it was only a matter of time before figuring out how to proceed next. There was the tried and true method of getting her into the van by paying for services. But I wanted to make this more personal, as personal as the bitch cop’s interest in me.

  Allie walked out of the house, already dressed and ready to go with a dozen rubbers in her pocket. Most of the work she’d been getting was just blow jobs. For whatever reason, some men didn’t consider it cheating so long as he didn’t stick it in anything but her mouth.

  She had more gum than condoms because of that. But it had just kind of been the way the business was rolling these days. It was more casual, quicker, a little rougher, or maybe that was just the way that she remembered everything.

  Allie had been working the streets since she was fifteen. At twenty-one, she was already considered a veteran. The past six years had been a blur which she tried to forget by way of drugs. She made sure to get tested every few months down at the free clinic, and so far she’d only gotten the clap a handful of times.

  Allie had seen enough over the years to know how lucky she’d gotten. And every year that came and passed, she promised herself that she’d find a way out. It was a resolution she made at the beginning of every year. But it was nothing more than something to distract her from the reality of the situation. Except this year had been different.

  At the end of last year, Allie had started to score some downtown clients. Guys who had money and paid for the evening instead of by the hour. Now, she didn’t have any delusions of grandeur about marrying any of them. Pretty Woman was just a movie.

  She had been able to save up a little more money, and she didn’t have to work the slums as much as she used too. She was also getting enough business to where she got to pick who she slept with.

  It was a good feeling, and the moment Allie caught her first taste of that kind of control, she knew that she wasn’t going to let it go, no matter what happened. It was as addicting as any drug and gave her a high that nothing else had come close to providing.

  Allie reached the corner, already smiling as Cherie walked up behind her and nudged her with her arm, gesturing to the unlit cigarette in her mouth. Allie flicked her lighter and Cherie brought the tip of her cigarette to the flame and then inhaled.

  When the spark caught, Cherie leaned back and then smirked when she noticed Allie’s smile. “What’s got you all giddy? You get a big score or something?”

  Allie shook her head, still holding the lighter in her hand. “No. Just thinking about what comes next.”

  Cherie laughed as she exhaled, and then adjusted the pink fluff around her neck to keep her warm. “Honey, the only thing that comes next after this is a speedball and a one-way ticket outta this reality.” She cackled loudly and then took another drag.

  “Not for me,” Allie said, pocketing the lighter in one of the hidden pouches inside her pants. It was where she also kept her cash. She had learned quickly that it was important to keep anything of value hidden.

  It was quiet for a while, a few drivers passing, but only one girl got the call over. That was another thing that Allie learned early on. Just because traffic was busy didn’t mean that guys stopped to buy. A lot of the people that drove through here were just looking, and that’s all they wanted.

  A lot of college kids would drive by, shouting things at them from a distance. But the moment that any of the girls approached them, they’d take off running with their tail between their legs. The boys were all bark and no bite.

  One time Cherie managed to coax one of them out of the car and said that she’d give him a free blow job if he proved big enough. The boy blushed so hard as he said nothing and then turned back to the car, his shame propelled further by the girls’ laughter and the goading of his friends.

  Allie didn’t mind the laughter on the slow nights, and while most of the looky-loos were harmless, they still had to be careful.

  She had taken Susan’s warning seriously about the guy that had been snatching girls. It wasn’t as uncommon as most people thought, but most of the bad stuff was limited to name calling and maybe a few punches were thrown here and there. Most of the girls could smell that kind of thing out before they got into the car. It was like a sixth sense.

  But that didn’t mean they got it right all of the time.

  Allie had been subjected to the rough rides a few times over the past six years. But only one of them was really terrifying. A guy choked her out in the backseat of his car, and then she woke up on the side of the road.

  It was Cherie who had been home and found her stumbling up the sidewalk to the front door. She’d been gone for three hours, and she stank of sweat, semen, and blood.

  Cherie took her to the emergency room, even helped cover some of the expenses. Allie understood how rare that type of kindness was around here and she paid Cherie back every penny. She was out of work for a week because of some bruising around her pelvis, but she didn’t get pregnant, and she didn’t get any diseases. Considering how bad it could have been, she was thankful to have made it out of there alive in the first place.

  But that was three years ago, and she hadn’t had a rough ride since. Part of that was because she talked a client up more before she got into a car. She spent no less than five minutes in conversation. That was considered way too long for most girls who wanted to close the deal immediately, but it was because Allie knew that she was a ten that guys stuck around. She used that to her advantage. And sometimes when she walked away, it helped drive the price up. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have.

  After nearly two hours without any business, Allie was about to try some of her contacts to see if they were lonely, but a sedan caught all the girls’ attention.

  It was slow on approach, and it passed all the girls who waved their hands and tried to get the man’s attention, but he didn’t stop until he reached Allie.

  She put her phone away and walked up to the passenger side door, her heels clicking against the pavement. The window was lowered when she reached the car, and she peeked inside.

  “Hey, baby,” Allie said. “What are you looking for?”

  The man’s face was concealed in shadow, and a ball cap helped cover the rest of his face. He kept his chin tilted down as he looked around. It wasn’t uncommon for guys to be nervous about trolling around here, but he seemed more nervous than usual.

  “I’ve never done this before,” he said.

  Allie smiled. “Me either.”

  The man looked out the back window again at the other girls. More often than not, the guys that started out fidgety ended up scramming and paying the girls anyway for their time. He was looking to shape up as an easy score.

  “You have a place, or do you just want to stay in the car?” Allie asked.

  The man cleared his throat. “I have a place.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Over in Denny-Blaine.”

  Allie smirked again. The man had money. More money that his sedan suggested. This could be a way for her to score another regular to help get her off the streets. “Sou
nds nice. You looking for company for the whole night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well, it’ll be five hundred now, and five hundred when I leave.”

  The man was quiet for a while, and just when Allie thought that he was going to drive off, he reached into his wallet and pulled out cash, handing the money over to Allie, who didn’t bother to count it.

  “Okay then,” Allie said, leaning back from the car and pocketing the money in her bra. She opened the door and climbed inside. She had her seatbelt on when the window rolled up. “Smells nice in here.”

  “Thanks,” he said, then shifted the car to drive and headed off.

  25

  Susan took an Uber to the hospital, and because she didn’t have her badge, she had to sign in like everyone else and get a visitor’s pass. She was lucky that the woman at the nurses’ station on Charlie’s floor recognized her from her previous trips to the emergency room.

  Working Vice had seen her come here to talk to suspects who had been brought back from the dead after they nearly overdosed. She had spent several early mornings hoping that their suspect would wake up alive so she could get them to turn on their suppliers, their dealers, the people that were slowly killing them every day.

  But when she found Charlie’s room, the door open, she stopped cold, afraid to enter, because she was the person who had hurt him.

  A breathing tube had been shoved down Charlie’s throat, and every few seconds the machine would spit air to inflate his lungs to keep him alive. It was a process that was repeated over and over again until it was time for him to wake up and he could breathe on his own.

  Bandages covered most of his face, and casts had been applied to his right arm and his left leg, which hung suspended in the air from the bed.

  Susan had seen some people in rough condition over the years, but seeing Charlie like this, someone who she cared about, it was different.