Page 5 of Wild (Chicago Underground 4)
“Come on,” I said, then turned and walked back toward my place.
The pitter-patter of her feet on the pavement followed me.
I’d parked in a secure garage, and I waved at the guard as we passed. When we reached my car, I opened the door and gestured inside. She stared at the passenger seat like it was a torture chamber.
I sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Laura,” came out on a whoosh.
Breathing was good. I didn’t want her passing out on me. The last thing I needed was to deliver a limp body.
“All right, Laura. I see you’re stressing, but there’s no need to worry. I’m not going to hurt you. We’re going to grab a bite to eat, you and me, okay? Maybe get some rest. No one’s going to hurt you.” Ah, empty promises. I’d do my best to make sure they came true, but she was still a broken girl in an indifferent world. That rarely worked out well.
I steeled myself and touched her back, her arm, to steer her into the car. She didn’t resist, at least, and sat in the passenger’s seat.
“You’re okay, Laura. My name’s Shelly, and you’re going to be okay, got it?”
Without waiting for an answer, I shut the door and hurried around to the other side. I drove her to a drive-through and ordered enough to feed a football team before driving to the brick building on Wicklow Street.
I stopped the car and looked over at her. Laura stared blankly at the unmarked building, though I didn’t know if she was still in her stupor or just confused about where we were. This place could never have a sign, though. It was removed from the maps. It didn’t exist.
With some coaxing and a bit more nudging, she got out of the car. I fished an envelope from the glove box, thick and unmarked on the outside. There weren’t many of these envelopes left. But if I was really going to work a party, they would soon be replenished.
The glass of the door was bulletproof and tinted dark against peeping eyes. I pressed the cracked button tucked into a brick. A few minutes later, Marguerite opened the door.
Her hair was such a pale, glossy blonde it was almost white, curled into a neat coif. Dressed in a slimming black suit, she looked more like a high-powered executive than the hands-on manager for a small shelter. She had run this place since its inception at, oh, the beginning of time. This place or one like it had always existed, always been needed, and always would be so long as men took what they wanted and women let them.
She ushered us both inside. “What happened?”
Any number of things could have happened to this girl. Drugs or violence or rape, that sort of thing. Likely some of them had already happened, but not tonight. “Nothing. I think I got her before she… Well, she’s just been like this since she got in the car.” I shrugged. “Shock, maybe.”
“Wait for me,” Marguerite ordered as she pressed the intercom.
I nodded and leaned against the wall, relieved to release my charge. These little field trips were a glass of cold water in a parched expanse of desert, but there was a cost. There was always a cost, and in this case, it was the removal of my blinders—but only temporarily. The ones that said this was all my choice, it was all okay. Because if the life was something for her to escape from, then what the hell was I still doing in it? Oh God, why couldn’t I get out?
But we weren’t the same, Laura and I. I didn’t have that lost look in my eyes. No confusion, no pain. When blue-gray eyes stared back at me from the mirror, I saw nothing there at all.
Chapter Four
Whoever ran the desk buzzed the door open, and Marguerite ushered them both inside. There was another inside-locked door between the administrative areas and the dormitories, every level another chance to stall a rampaging ex-husband or ex-pimp before they could do harm.
I wondered if Henri could make it inside the inner sanctum. Probably. My boss had oodles of money, much of which I’d made for him, and he hired military dropouts like they were going out of style. Good thing this place only housed girls from fifty-dollar pimps—small-timers lucky to find their own tiny dicks, much less track down a missing girl and break their way in here.
This place wasn’t a haven for me.
I had always known that, but it seemed to matter more now, when I needed one, when my own safe place had been violated.
Maybe it had been foolish to send my resources here. I could have flown to Tahiti, never to have been heard from again. Never would have seen Allie again either, or her daughter.
Never seen him again. No, it hadn’t been an option. Still wasn’t.
The girl would probably go through medical first, get checked out. Lucky for me, I wouldn’t be around for that. Wouldn’t find out the dirty little details, and that was the only reason I continued to do this.
Make it right. It had become a mantra, a compulsion. I was too far gone, but I could bring them to safety. The contained little community was a refuge, but not for me. The dingy walls and speckled floor tiles of the entryway were already closing in on me. I didn’t suffer poverty gladly. There were only so many compensations for being a prostitute. One, really—money, and I intended to use it to the fullest. Initially, I had given Allie financial support. Now I resorted to luxury fabrics and label clothing, and when they didn’t fill the void, I came here.
Marguerite came back into the foyer. “Thank you.”
Her businesslike demeanor was the only reason I could handle her gratitude. “At your service, of course.”
