Uptown Thief

by Aya De León

  Without his shades, his eyes looked dead and hungry at the same time.

  “I wanna make some introductions,” Jerry said. He gestured toward his Hummer with the gun barrel.

  “You already know Dulce.”

  Marisol’s heart sank as she saw the girl’s profile in the backseat. Dulce averted her eyes.

  Marisol fantasized swinging the SUV door into Jerry. She, Eva, and Dulce could sprint for the clinic, where they could protect the girl. This time she wouldn’t let Dulce go so easily.

  It wasn’t so much Jerry’s gun that made the plan impossible, as Dulce’s defeated expression. Marisol knew that despair. She could rip off the Hummer door and beat Jerry to death, and Dulce would still wait for the next backhand.

  “And that’s my little brother, Jimmy.” Jerry indicated the guy riding shotgun.

  Jimmy was thinner and clean-shaven. He looked Marisol up and down. “Nothing little about me, sweet thing.”

  Marisol kept her jaw set, as the two brothers laughed.

  “And some more introductions,” Jerry said. “Lupe, Jenny, Star, and Spice.” The girls waved, a spectrum of young brown women.

  “These are my girls, okay?” Jerry said. “They don’t need your help. I’m their help. Sometimes they might be a little forgetful about who takes care of them.” He turned to the Hummer. “Dulce,” he said. “Get the fuck down here, you stupid little bitch.”

  Marisol couldn’t stand that word. Her uncle had fired it at her so many times. It stung even when women used it jokingly. Coming out of Jerry’s mouth, it felt lethal.

  Dulce stepped out of the vehicle.

  “Show them your ass,” he barked.

  He pulled down the waistband of her hot shorts a few inches, to show a tattoo of a flower with his phone number on it. The flower had been there for a while, but the number tattoo was a fresh wound.

  “See?” He snapped the waistband, and slapped her on the ass. She winced and climbed back into the vehicle, eyes still on the concrete.

  “She’s lucky I didn’t tattoo it on her face,” Jerry spat. “Or slice it in. But if any of my girls set foot into your building, for a checkup, a visit, a tissue, I will burn that motherfucker to the ground with all you bitches in it. You got that?”

  “Is that how you want it, Dulce?” Marisol asked.

  Eva’s eyes flashed her an are-you-crazy? look. But Marisol had to hear it from Dulce’s own mouth.

  “Jerry didn’t mean nothing before,” she said in a quiet voice. “It was a misunderstanding.” Tears ran down her face.

  “Okay,” Marisol said. “Jerry, we’re a service center. We provide service to women who need it. If they ask, we provide. It’s your job to keep your hoes in line. Not mine.”

  Marisol took Eva’s arm, and they walked back into the clinic. She prayed he wouldn’t shoot. For assholes like him, her strategy was to show no fear.

  Just like her previous confrontation with Jerry, Marisol didn’t start to shake until the door closed behind her.

  * * *

  An hour later, Raul showed up.

  “What the fuck?” Marisol asked. “Did one of your cop friends tell you about the shooting?”

  “What shooting?” he asked, taking off his leather jacket. Underneath, he had on a zip-up work shirt. He looked like he belonged in a factory. Or better yet, a men’s cologne ad set in a factory.

  “Some idiot shot up into the air,” Marisol said. “Nobody hurt, and we didn’t call the cops. Raul, what are you doing here?”

  “Two more burglaries went down Saturday night,” Raul said, sitting down in her client chair.

  “Really?” Marisol asked, sarcastically. “I wonder if the victims had thrown parties with some link to one of my donors.”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Raul said. “So I checked.”

  “And?” Marisol asked.

  “MO matched perfectly, but no link to this place,” Raul said. “No link to the IT guy, no Asian girlfriend. Well done.”

  “Is this our little game now?” she asked. “You come and make innuendos? What’s my move?”

  “Your previous move was to try to get me thinking with my dick instead of my brain,” he said. “But I won’t be making that mistake twice.”

  “Don’t act like some innocent victim here,” she said. “Your cop connections could get me arrested on your word alone. Telling a woman you’ve got info that could put her in jail isn’t an attempt at seduction, it’s an attempt at extortion.”

  “Extortion for what? I don’t want your money.”

  “Money?” Marisol asked. “If you think you’re the first guy who ever tried to use leverage to get laid . . .”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I would never do that,” he said. “I told you. I wanted to become a stickup kid.”

  “But you didn’t,” Marisol said bitterly. “You became a cop. And your partner was notorious for using his leverage. He used to extort blow jobs from girls working in Times Square—did you know that? Some of them were even underage.”

  “I heard the rumors,” Raul said. “I told him from day one how I felt about that shit. He never did anything like that when we worked together.”

  “Extra points for you, Boy Scout.” Marisol sneered. “You ever encourage him to turn himself in? Isn’t that what you do? Investigate crimes? What’s the statute of limitations on statutory rape? Or do you forget it’s a crime if the minor is a sex worker?”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “When you put it that way, I can see how my last visit to your office would look fucked up—like I was trying to manipulate you, but I swear I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter at this point, because I couldn’t go to the cops with my original theory, even if I wanted to—which I don’t. I couldn’t rat you out without implicating myself, because the MO changed after I opened my big mouth and told a suspect what I knew.”

  As he spoke, her outrage ebbed away.

  He stood up. “So no need to revive the fake I-like-you act. Whatever threat you thought I posed has been neutralized.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “I know I’m an ex-cop and everything, but I’m a barrio boy at heart.” He walked to the door. “If it comes to a choice between my former colleagues and my people, there’s no contest.” He stepped out of her office and closed the door.

  * * *

  That night, Tyesha stood in front of the clinic waiting for Thug Woofer. She felt a little humdrum for a date with a rap star. Nothing in her own wardrobe could compete with the rented Dilani Mara, so she just wore designer jeans, boots, and a snug-fitting black sweater.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, opening the passenger door of his SUV.

  “Thank you,” she said, checking out his jeans that didn’t sag to his knees and a similarly casual sweater. “No limo?”

  “Did you want one?” he asked. “I can call right now—”

  She put a hand on his. “This is nicer,” she said. “A real date.”

  “Our first date was all business,” he said, steering the vehicle away from the curb. “Our second date was all publicity. Tonight is just you and me.”

  He turned at the end of the block, headed uptown. “So, what kind of food you like?”

  “A lot of food,” she said. “Someplace where a walnut and a stick of celery is not considered a meal.”

  “I know just the spot,” he said.

  “How long you lived here?” Tyesha asked.

  “Lived here?” Woof asked. “I’m mostly on the road. To be real, this is my first date in the city.”

  “Your first date?”

  “Out the house, I mean,” he said. “I can be honest, right?”

  “By all means,” she said.

  “So, do you enjoy your work?” he asked.

  “I enjoy studying public health,” she said. “Sex work just pays the bills. I could be a waitress, but I’d make much less and have to work a lot harder. I could be a topless waitress, and I’d still make less, and
deal with half the shit I do now. As it is, I work one night a week, and I’ve got an IRA and savings for vacation.”

  “Damn.” Thug Woofer laughed. “I might need to get into your line of work.”

  “Don’t get it twisted,” Tyesha said. “This job is fucked up if you’re working for the wrong people. I just got lucky. Marisol is the best in the business.” Tyesha smiled, thinking about how she was practically retiring.

  “How’d you get started?” he asked. “A job posting online or some shit?”

  Tyesha laughed. “I was waitressing. My girl Lily was quitting to make better money in this gentlemen’s club. I went along.” They were stopped at a light. Tyesha looked out at the traffic whizzing past. “One day Lily had a date—you know, a date for money—who had a friend.” Tyesha shrugged. “It wasn’t that dramatic. The friend was cute, so it was cool to hook up and get paid, too.”

  “Win-win,” Thug Woofer said.

  “A year later, I heard Marisol on a panel at Columbia talking about women and public health. She sort of mentored me.”

  “And became your pimp?”

  “Marisol is not a pimp,” Tyesha said, a note of outrage in her voice.

  “She sets you up with dates for money. She tried to block a real date with you. Isn’t that classic pimp behavior?”

  “Marisol wanted me to stay out of the business,” Tyesha said. “I was an intern at the clinic, and she didn’t even tell me she had an escort service. Only when I was going to another escort agency did she ask me to work for her. And she made me promise to quit when I got my degree, and take a straight job at the clinic.”

  Woof nodded. “You date much outside your work?”

  “Not for a while.” Tyesha shrugged. “I was dating this guy. At first, we went on some regular dates, but before we really hooked up, he said he was married.”

  “Mood killer,” Woof said.

  “I had been thinking we had a future,” Tyesha said. “He already had his future with some white woman. And two kids.”

  “But he said he didn’t really love her,” Woof said. “Blah blah blah. My old manager used to run that game.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t trying to hear that,” Tyesha said. “I was like, only two job descriptions at Tyesha, Inc. Unmarried boyfriend or sugar daddy.”

  “Is tonight a sugar daddy job interview?” Woof asked. “Am I dressed right? Should I have worn more bling?”

  “No.” Tyesha laughed. “That was a long time ago. I got a good gig now. No more sugar daddies.”

  “Whew,” he said. “Pressure’s off.”

  “And how about you?” she asked. “Do you like your work?”

  Woof sighed. “Sometimes I think you and me, we in the same industry. But enough talk about work.”

  He pulled up in front of a cozy-looking soul food steak house in the east seventies, and handed the valet his keys.

  “I hope you like it,” he said as they walked in. “They know how to feed a sister up in here.”

  The host took them to his usual table near the back of the restaurant.

  Tyesha opened the menu and was delighted to see big steaks and Southern cooking.

  “This is perfect,” Tyesha said.

  The waiter took their order. Woof ordered a bottle of wine, and the steak with greens and mashed potatoes. Tyesha got the fried chicken with yams and corn bread.

  Tyesha heard someone across the room gasp and ask, “Where?” and figured somebody else had recognized Woof.

  “So,” Woof said. “What’s your family like?”

  “Far,” Tyesha said with a laugh. “That’s how I like it. I had a full scholarship to University of Chicago, but I transferred to Columbia my junior year, with a much less attractive financial package.”

  “Why?” Woof asked.

  “I’m the sister everybody depends on. I was gonna end up failing out of school with all the close-up family drama. ‘My girlfriend threw me out, can I stay on your couch?’ ‘Can I drop off my kids just for the night?’ ‘Can I borrow a hundred bucks?’ It’s easier when you just listen on the phone and wire money, you know?”

  Woof laughed. “Yeah.”

  “I’m the first one in my family to go to college,” Tyesha said. “Now I’m in grad school, and I work nights.”

  “Night,” Woof corrected.

  Tyesha laughed. “Right. I work night.”

  “What do you do the rest of your nights?”

  “Woof, I’m kinda confused here,” Tyesha said. “You’re laying on the romance game pretty thick, and I thought we were past that.”

  The waitress set two steaming plates in front of them.

  “Thank you.” Tyesha smiled at her. The waitress tried to catch Woof’s eye.

  “Looks good,” he said, without looking up, and the waitress went to help another customer.

  Woof cut his steak. His eyes closed as he chewed, then he looked at Tyesha.

  “I can’t tell who my friends are half the time,” he said. “Are they down or just trying to get something? I really can’t tell with females. I don’t know. You’re fine as hell. I knew where I stood from the beginning. I don’t mean to sound rude, but in my business most females offer up the pussy and hope to get paid later. You asked in advance. I didn’t even get it and you got paid.” He cut another bite of steak. “And you checked me on my manners, because it wasn’t about the money. Then I took you to the Oscars and you held your own. I never meet chicks on my level who also make me feel at home.”

  The two of them ate quietly for a while. She had to admit that he cleaned up well.

  “So how come you said yes to going out again?” he asked. “You already got your red carpet moment.”

  She finished eating a mouthful of yams. “Some of the same reasons, I guess. In my experience you can’t tell a dude you’re a sex worker. But you can’t really build something with somebody if you can’t be honest about what you do for money.”

  “I feel that,” he said, draining his wine glass. “But I feel the brothers, too. I mean, if we keep talking, at some point, I might trip a little off your job.”

  “If we keep talking, at some point, I might trip a little off your job.”

  They both laughed.

  Later that night, when Woof drove Tyesha to her apartment in Brooklyn, he walked her to her door. Tyesha had rehearsed her “not yet,” for when he asked to come in.

  “I had a really nice time tonight,” he said, lingering for a moment on the steps, then leaned in to give her a good night kiss. She could smell the oil in his hair and feel the heat of his body. He pressed his closed lips softly against hers. The kiss lingered, then he stepped back and said good night.

  She watched his long frame swagger down the street. He didn’t look back. She savored the feeling of excitement in her body. Turned on and nothing she had to do.

  * * *

  The following day, Marisol and Eva sat in Marisol’s office. There was a tentative knock on the door, and they both said, “Come in.”

  Dulce’s hair and makeup were a mess, and her cheek was bruised. Her white dress was smudged with dirt, makeup, and blood.

  Marisol took the girl in her arms.

  “This time it’s for good,” Dulce said. “I swear. I don’t care what he promises or threatens. I’m leaving the city when I get healed up. I got a cousin in Detroit.”

  “Dulce, you don’t need to promise us anything,” Marisol said.

  “Our support is unconditional,” Eva said. “You get to decide the right next step.”

  Dulce began to sob into Marisol’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m one of the lucky ones. I was born here, but all the other girls are illegal. All I have to do is get on a bus, and I can’t do it. I’m weak and I deserve what I get from him.”

  Marisol’s stomach burned hearing the words aloud. “Mentiras,” Marisol said. “Nobody deserves to be hurt like that.”

  “You’re not weak, sweetheart,” Eva said. “You just have patterns. As
a result of trauma. It’s not your fault.”

  Dulce nodded.

  “Men like Jerry use your vulnerability against you,” Marisol said. “He knew you needed a family. But we’re your family now. And you don’t have to earn it.”

  Eva peeled Dulce’s arms from around Marisol. “Let’s go to my office and make a plan for you, okay?”

  Dulce nodded.

  Marisol wiped Dulce’s eyes. “I’ll check on you later.” She kissed her on the forehead and slipped out the door to set up additional security.

  * * *

  After midnight, a firebomb sailed through the front window, right past both security guards. The sound of breaking glass and the explosion woke half the building. A stack of magazines in the front lobby caught fire and the game table started to burn. The fire alarm and the sprinkler system engaged. The shrieking alarm woke up the remaining women in the building, plus half the block. Women went running out into the street.

  Marisol called the fire department on her way downstairs. She stood out on the sidewalk in socks, jeans, and a pajama top. Many women wore only T-shirts and underwear. The pavement was near freezing. One of the women stood with a baby and a small toddler, shivering.

  Women continued to spill out from the clinic’s side exit.

  * * *

  The Hummer idled in the shadows. When Dulce ran out of the building, one of Jerry’s thugs grabbed her.

  Dulce screamed as the thug pulled her in front of him. He was wiry with ropy, muscled arms.

  “This is what happens to bitches who disobey,” Jerry yelled from the Hummer. “Watch closely, you stupid cunts.”

  His thug went to cut Dulce’s throat, like a performance, grinning at Dulce’s terror. He held her in a vise grip under one arm, and waved the knife in front of her, watching all the women clench in horror each time it drew close to her throat.

  Everyone, including Jerry, had their eyes on the knife and Dulce. Marisol crept around behind them. She pulled a gun from the waistband of her jeans. She had a good angle, and a nice dark spot next to a minivan. She aimed and the shot rang loud in the street. Women hit the pavement. Jerry looked around, shocked.