by Hamel, B. B.
Especially since I was almost one of them.
I got out of there. I was breathing hard and fast and kept walking, not paying attention to where I was going. The house was a maze of room after room, and I came to a few dead ends until I stepped through a narrow hallway and into a massive kitchen filled with gleaming shelves and knives and hanging pots and pans. It looked professional, like ten cooks could’ve worked shoulder to shoulder in there and fed an entire army.
I walked through it then began pacing down the center, fanning at my face, trying to calm down. I had to get it together, but I felt stuck and stifled. Years of being on the run left me with this instinct to keep moving, to get away whenever something pushed me from my comfort zone, and all of this was pitching me around wildly. I wasn’t remotely okay, not even close.
“Hello, dear.” I whirled around and covered my mouth with my hands to keep from screaming. Bea smiled at me and held up a tea kettle. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought you might like some.”
I lowered my hands and let out a laugh. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I was just, I had to, you know, go for a walk.” I was talking fast, nervous and awkward, but I couldn’t help it.
“Come here,” she said, and it wasn’t a command, but an invitation. I hesitated, then walked over. “Take some tea with me while the boys talk. I bet you had to escape all that cigar smoke.” She poured the kettle into a mug and rich brown liquid spilled from the bag floating inside. She poured a second and slid it to me. “I told his father, and I’ll tell him until the day I’m dead, smoking indoors is the worst thing you can do for a house.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type to care about that,” I said with a smile and raised the tea to my lips.
Bea held up a hand. “Wait one moment,” she said. “Let it steep.”
I placed it back down. I couldn’t remember the last time I had tea. Coffee, sure, I was addicted to coffee. Which was a bad thing, considering my living situation wasn’t exactly conducive to making a consistent cup, but still, I managed. Even the homeless found ways to brew the stuff.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked, just to make conversation.
“Oh, years now,” she said. “As long as Dean’s been alive. Don Valentino, I mean. I remember when he was a little boy, so it’s hard for me to call him Don.”
“I bet it is,” I said. “You probably changed his diapers.”
“More than his father ever did,” she said and laughed. She put me at ease with her calm and gentle mannerisms, and I felt my shoulders relaxing slightly, like I’d been carrying a weight on them and was only just beginning to put it down. “You’ll have to forgive some of his rough edges. His childhood wasn’t happy.”
“I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like,” I said, looking around. “Nice house though.”
“Nice houses can hide bad things,” Bea said with a sigh. “At any rate, he keeps on smoking, and I keep on complaining. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“Who do you think will win that one?”
“He will, dear,” she said, and took her tea bag out. “Go ahead, you’re all set now.”
I took a sip. It was hot, but it was rich and delicious. I’d had tea, but nothing like this before. “Thank you,” I said. “I really needed this.”
“Don’t mention it.” She touched my arm. “If you ever need some time away from the boys, feel free to come out here. Dean’s barely ever around and the house is quiet most of the time. We’ve got a pool and lots of space to walk around.”
“Thank you,” I said, grinning like an idiot trying to imagine myself out in the suburbs lying in the grass or whatever normal people did with lawns. “But I’m more of a city kid, you know?”
“Oh, I know, I can tell.” She laughed almost to herself as she put together another tray with more tea. “You’ve got that edge all those girls do.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, head tilted as I took another long sip. I felt warmer and calmer than I had in a long, long time.
“Girls that’ve had a rough time of it look around like the next problem’s about to come out from behind the closet door,” Bea said, gesturing around her. “It’s a wildness, really. A fear response. Not that I can blame you, and I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I can guess.” She finished setting up her tray and smiled at me. “I mean it, dear. If you ever want to escape, come out here. I’d be happy to have you.” Then she left me alone in the kitchen, completely bewildered.
I knew what she meant about that wildness. I’d seen it in other street people, noticed it especially when I first started living rough. It was this look like something bad was about to happen, like they were prey and the predators were just over the next hill.
I stopped noticing it after a while.
Maybe because I started looking around exactly like that.
The thought wasn’t exactly comforting. When I lived with my parents, I was miserable and felt like if I didn’t get out of there soon, then I’d end up dead.
But maybe living on the streets messed me up more than I even realized. It was like I couldn’t remember how to be a normal person anymore.
At least drinking tea came naturally. I sat alone in that large, empty kitchen, and finished the mug until there was only the bag resting against the bottom.
A noise over near the door drew my attention. Cam stood leaning against the wall looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I tried to smile, but my mind was a jumble of worries and fears, and I felt like the next problem was about to jump out and startle me at any moment.
Just like Bea said. I was in a perpetual state of fight or flight.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Talked a little with Bea.”
“You ran out of there pretty fast.”
I shrugged and looked away. I didn’t know how I could explain to him how I felt, so I didn’t try. “The cigar smoke got to me. Dad used to smoke those things.”
He let out a soft breath and walked over. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you through this,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but I’m trying to do right by you.”
“I know,” I said, and forced myself to smile even if I didn’t feel like smiling at all. “I got myself into this mess, right? You’re just getting me out of it.”
He took my hand and helped me up off the stool. I put my mug down and instead of leading me back through the house, he tugged me up against him and wrapped his arms tight about my body.
For one second, I panicked. I wasn’t used to this, to being held and touched and hugged. Out there, when a man like him got close, I either fought or ran away.
Fight or flight. It was all I knew.
But I forced myself to relax into his arms. That touch sent a strange thrill down the base of my spine, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
There wasn’t a lot of romance in an abandoned house.
“Come on,” he said, gently pulling away. “Let’s get back.”
I nodded and couldn’t meet his gaze. I felt the sobs in my chest, the tears clutching up against my eyes, reading to force their way out. I held them at bay but only just, and if I opened my mouth to say something, I knew they’d come rushing out, and I’d have to explain to him how broken I was.
How shattered and wrong I’d become.
So we didn’t speak on the way out to his truck and I kept my eyes on the road the whole time, willing myself to calm down, trying to find the girl that I used to be before I ran away from my horrible life.
8
Cam
She kept to herself for a couple days and I didn’t push. Even though she took over my room and made herself at home, it was actually kind of nice having her around.
I hated cooking for one. It was the absolute worst. Since she came to stay, I had a reason to make a good breakfast, to put some effort into lunch, to go all out for dinner. She ate with a recklessness that I knew came from li
ving on the street where the next meal wasn’t always guaranteed. She ate to keep herself alive, but the old pleasure would come back, or I hoped so anyway.
I also loved looking at her walking around my place. Just moving from one place to the next: the way she seemed to glide from couch to bedroom, or from the bathroom into the kitchen, or the graceful dance and arc of her arms and legs as she moved from stove to sink.
It was strange, watching her body in a way I hadn’t looked at anyone in a long time. Irene brought that out of me, made my senses more palpable. She seemed to present like each motion was fully considered before she made it.
I loved her long legs, her graceful neck, her lips, the way she dressed, the way she laughed—when I could get her to laugh, at least—and the way she sat with her feet curled up beneath her at the end of the couch like she wanted to put as much distance between us as possible.
Normally, I didn’t spend a lot of time at home. But since she came back into my life, that was the only thing I wanted to do.
“We’ve got errands today,” I said on the third day after my planning session with Dean.
“We?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure I have a date with Netflix.”
I snorted and waved a hand. “Forget about that. I need your opinion on something.”
She put her hands on her hips. She wore dark jeans with rips in the knees and an oversized button-down. She looked almost grunge, but the girl pulled it off flawlessly.
“Tell me what it is first, then maybe I’ll come with you,” she said.
“We’re meeting a girl,” I said. “Someone that used to work for the Healy family.”
She went very still and I studied her closely. I didn’t know what she thought about these girls yet, and I needed to see if she was on my side for this, and if she could handle it. The way she reacted at the Don’s place had me worried, and bringing her along was a risk—but I really did need her help.
“All right,” she said and bit her lip. “Yeah, we can do that. Who is she?”
“Just some girl that gives the family information when we need it,” I said.
“You mean she’s an informant,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Something like that.” I grinned at her and spread my hands out. “We’re not the police. She’s more like a spy.”
“Look at you,” she said and laughed. “I didn’t realize finding you again would be so exciting.”
“You haven’t seen the half of it yet.” I held out my hand, but she ignored it and walked past me into the hall.
The meeting spot was an outdoor beer garden on South Street. It was firmly in Valentino turf though the place itself was unaffiliated. I parked and led the way through the front doors and out into a gravel-lined courtyard with lots of long picnic benches lined up in the middle and two big bars on either side. Young guys in flannels and their girlfriends in brightly colored sundresses sat close to each other holding steins of beer and talking loudly, despite it being barely after eleven in the morning on a Tuesday.
“Cool place,” Irene breathed next to me, grinning.
I shrugged until I spotted the girl. She went by Kira, although I didn’t know if that was her real name or not. She sat alone at the end of one table toward the corner reading a yellow mass market paperback with a shirtless hunk on the cover. I walked over and waited for her to look up before sitting down.
Irene joined me and her thigh brushed against mine as she took a seat. I felt a jolt at the touch and thought of her lips, her tongue, all the long, lean inches of that, all the smooth skin I wanted to kiss, lick, touch.
Fuck, had to keep my head in the game.
“Cam,” Kira said, smiling. She had big blue eyes and thin black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and her chin was almost pointed. She had tiny features, but stark and intense, and her arms were all bones and veins and pale skin.
“Kira, this is Irene,” I said, gesturing toward her. “She’s a good friend.”
Kira pursed her lips and nodded. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.”
“I’m sorry,” Irene said. “I didn’t mean to ambush you. It’s just that we might know some of the same people.”
Kira snorted. “You used to fuck for the Healy family too?” she asked.
Irene’s cheeks reddened. “I stole for them,” she said. “Never fucked for them.”
“You missed out then.” Kira tapped on her paperback. “The Healy family paid well. Hours were flexible.”
Irene’s jaw worked like she wasn’t sure what to make of that and I leaned forward.
“Be nice,” I said to Kira. “She doesn’t know you’re joking.”
Kira’s severe face broke into a strange smile that did very little to soften her appearance. “Mostly joking,” she said.
“Right,” Irene said, and she shifted closer to me, our legs pressed together.
“So why did you want to meet with me, Cam?” Kira asked, head tilted like a bird. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks. I thought you forgot about me.”
“Haven’t forgotten,” I said. “Only haven’t needed you, and I figured that the more we met, the more danger you’d be in.”
“Of course, thinking of my safety.” Kira studied her nails. “Is he always so chivalrous with you, Irene?”
“No,” Irene said. “He’s definitely not.”
“I’m not a fan of where this is going,” I said, waving my hands in the air. “We need to talk about some of the girls you worked with, Kira.”
She made a vague gesture in the air. “I worked with a lot,” she said.
“When did you start with the family?” I asked.
She hesitated, her frown deepening. She chewed on her pinky nail, and I noticed that they were bitten down to the cuticle. Finally, she said, “Years ago. I came over from Ukraine thinking America would be a better start. Thinking I’d be a model.” She made a disgusted face. “I think I was a model, of sorts.”
“Were there a lot of other girls like you?” I asked.
“Not then,” Kira said. “I was one of the first. Why do you care about this? It’s all history now.”
“Work with me for a second,” I said and leaned toward her. “How many girls came over with you? Do you remember their names?”
“Some,” she said. “Some are dead, some are gone. Some are like me, walked away from the family and started over. I still keep in touch with the ones on the inside though.”
Irene cut in. “Do you ever try to convince them to leave?” she asked.
Kira laughed. “Of course I do,” she said. “It’s all I ever do. But you try to tell a peasant girl that she can make a better life for herself. All those girls know is misery and work, and fucking isn’t such bad work if you get used to it. The Healy family makes sure they’re strung out all the time, which doesn’t help.”
I glanced at Irene and her face was a sharp mask. “I need names,” I said to Kira. “As many as you can remember. And contacts inside the family if any of them will talk to me.”
Kira’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never asked for that before.”
“Something’s changed.”
“What happened?” she asked. “You caught Ronan with his dick in the wrong hole?”
“Better,” I said. “We found evidence and I want to break him with it. But I might need some of the girls to help first.”
Kira grunted and glanced toward Irene. “You think he’s full of shit?” she asked.
Irene shook her head. “He wants to kill Ronan,” Irene said. “That much is for sure. Whatever he’s doing, that’s his final goal. If you want that, then help him.”
“Ronan Healy deserves to die,” Kira said. “I only worry the girls won’t be so safe.”
“I promise, they will be,” Irene said, although I didn’t think she could make that guarantee. I didn’t plan on putting any of them in danger, but even just talking to me could be a death sentence. Irene might not have realized th
at yet, but she would.
“Names and contacts, Kira,” I said. “We’ll pay double the normal rate.”
“I’ll do it,” Kira said, drumming her knuckles on the paperback. “So long as nobody gets hurt.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said.
She flashed a rueful smile. “Of course you will. Always doing your best.” She waved a hand at me. “Go and leave me alone for a while. I’ll send you a few girls that are willing to talk, but no promises how many it’ll be.”
“Thanks,” I said and stood up. “You’re a real doll.”
She looked at Irene curiously and chewed on her nail again. “If I were you, I’d be careful with this one,” Kira said, nodding at me. “He’s trouble.”
“I’ve known him for a long time,” Irene said. “I’m well aware of what he is.”
“Lovely speaking with you,” I said and walked off, hands shoved in my pockets.
Irene followed quietly, leaving Kira to her book. I headed out to the sidewalk before Irene caught up and looked up at me with a curious expression on her face.
“What are you going to do with these girls, Cam?” she asked.
I stopped walking and stood under the awning outside of a shoe place. Neon signs advertised Nike and Adidas, and a hand-painted sign claimed to fix all soles and all laces. For a second, I thought it said all “souls” instead, and I was tempted to go inside. I had a feeling my soul was irrevocably broken.
“The profiles are a lot, but we need more if we’re going to hammer them,” I said, looking down at the flattened black patches of old gum that were baked into the concrete. “If we can get a few girls to corroborate what’s in those spreadsheets, then we’ll be able to make some big moves.”
“Like what?” Irene asked. “Leak the info to the cops?”
“That’s one option,” I said with a shrug. “The Don’s got contacts in the department. We could take down the heart of their operation that way. But mostly I want to use it to lure Ronan out into the open.”
“I see how that might work,” she said and tugged at her hair, smoothing it out over her shoulder. “I’m only afraid you’ll get someone hurt.”
