by Bill Eidson
Jammer had slapped her around again this morning when she had pointed out to him that she had been making more money for the both of them by working as a call girl.
“You think I’m gonna lose?” he said, his voice breaking with outrage. “You think I’m gonna lose money because you need your ass kicked? You make your five hundred, and I don’t care if it takes one trick or fifty!”
No way she was going to do it, but if she brought in three hundred he might not hit her too hard. Dumbass pimp. He was losing out on all that cash just to make his point about the damn sword cane.
But she knew the real issue was that he was afraid of losing face. Afraid that Raul wouldn’t let him in on the distribution deal. Afraid that if Raul heard some tourist in a suit took Jammer’s weapon away, he would smile like he was pretending he was sad while Strike or one of his other lieutenants smashed Jammer’s elbows with a baseball bat.
Carly could have told Jammer that Raul wouldn’t have given a shit one way or the other about Jammer’s sword cane or anything else about him. Jammer was only half smart. Strictly small-time, but with an ego big enough to fill a small castle. Good at skulking around, following people. Tough enough to slap around whores. Mean enough to earn his nickname by jamming his sharp toys into anyone stupid enough to cross him and look away.
But she knew Raul was just playing with Jammer. Maybe looking to suck up some of his cash and throw Jammer a dying territory. Carly sometimes felt the stirring of what she figured was the wife inside her. She wanted to tell Jammer sometimes what she saw; she wanted to let him know he was making a big mistake with Raul. But she always held back. Giving Jammer advice would only earn her a beating. Besides, she wasn’t giving him anything for free.
Carly searched her reflection, not admiring her beauty, but trying to see if she was still in there, behind the whore’s clothing and makeup. For the millionth time, she thought, why me?
She had grown up just outside Camden, Maine, a beautiful little town that attracted tourists from all over the world with its jewel-like harbor, complete with oh-so-perfect shops. But when she thought of Camden, she thought of the trailer park just outside of town where she had lived with her mother. And how, even at age sixteen, the boys had seemed to know about her.
She could never figure it out. Was it something about her face? Something about the plastic, aluminum, and Formica of trailer park life that made her seem less real, less flesh and blood than the other girls? What was it that made the boys expect her to come across? And worse still, that she would? Maybe it was that she didn’t have a father around anymore to chase them away.
The only one who was different was Neal and that was just in the beginning. Even though he was the one who hurt her the most, she still thought about that summer, starting the day he had come up to her when she had a job at Friendly’s. His family had a vacation house in town, and he was working a construction job between his freshman and sophomore years at Boston College.
He had been in the restaurant every day for weeks, always arranging it so he could sit at her table. Staying polite while his buddies—also out-of-towners—kidded and flirted with her outrageously. Finally, he asked her out to the movies. She went and was surprised to find he didn’t touch her until their goodnight kiss. Even then, she could feel that he wanted to do more, but was holding himself back. It wasn’t until he left her alone that night on the steps, her mother inside already finishing up her first bottle of Lancers, that Carly realized he was respecting her, treating her like she was special.
They had several more dates like that. Once she had seen some of the guys from the Cage coming up to her, and she had hustled Neal into his car. As they took off, Neal looked in his mirror and said, “You know those guys?”
“Just from school,” she had said. And that seemed to be the end of it.
He picked her up to go hiking their third weekend together. They drove to Mount Chocorua. Hiking was harder work than she thought it would be. But when they made it to the top, he had kissed her and said he never had a girl like her before, and would she go with him? That they could figure a way to see each other when he went back to school.
“I know it’s way too early, Carly. But I wish I could just take you with me. Maybe you could get a scholarship, you’re smart. Or maybe work someplace close by. I want you with me.”
She knew he meant it, and she knew in her heart he was nicer than she was. She didn’t really deserve a guy like him, but she wanted him anyhow. He was strong, smart, and going places. Gray eyes, curly black hair, a bit serious, but he knew how to laugh. A little stiff, but that was something she could help him with.
He had held her and although it was wonderful and although she loved him in that moment, she wondered about what she had done with the other boys in the backseats of their cars. How she seemed entirely different now from the girl Simon Creed, co-captain of the football team, called “a pretty little piece of nothing.”
She knew she had to explain. She knew she had to be straight with Neal as much as she wanted to forget it all. And she almost had been, right there on the mountaintop, but somehow she had let the chance pass.
On the way down, they had come across the stream. They were sweaty and grimy right then. And the way she was feeling about him, her clothes seemed just like so much itchy interference and she had slipped out of them, watching his eyes go wide. He had raised his camera and snapped a picture, the one she still had. She had teased him into jumping into the water with her. She had felt so good, so fresh and alive. She dunked herself repeatedly in the cold mountain water and felt she was emerging whole and clean, her past left behind. He had kissed her and touched her all over. And in spite of the shocking cold water, he was far from shrunken. They made love right there on the sun-heated rocks.
It was the best time for her, ever.
And in the weeks that followed, he brought her flowers, they took long walks … always she found herself steering them away from people who knew her.
She dreamed in those weeks about going away. About somehow being able to leave with Neal and never again see Camden or the faces of those boys who knew so much about her.
Carly pushed those thoughts away now, angry with herself. Forcing herself to see that she was still in there, behind the makeup. Remember the swim. Remember the clean water and how fresh and alive you were. You can do that again.
Why remember the coldness of his face? The harsh jerkiness of his little speech when he arrived hours late for their last night of the summer. They were supposed to talk about how they could be together more during the school year. She had a year left of school, and her grades weren’t all that bad. He had an aunt who lived in Brookline that he thought she could move in with if she transferred. Her mother hadn’t quashed the idea yet, saying that maybe this was Carly’s chance to “hook him.”
But when Neal finally arrived, he was clearly drunk and bloodied from fighting. He stood in the doorway of the trailer and said how her “high school friends” had showed up at the bar and asked if he’d had any good head lately.
She tried to tell him then, but the words couldn’t come out, she didn’t know what to say. First she denied it. Then she clung to him, begging him to take her away, telling him that she could explain.
“How? How can you explain it?”
She saw even then that he was waiting, he wanted an answer to make everything right. His voice was hoarse. “Is it true?”
She withdrew from him slowly. She felt herself go still, her arms and legs leaden. None of the explanations she had elaborately worked out seemed to make any sense now. She had dreamed of him listening, his face serious, but forgiving. Of him putting his arm around her and saying it was all right, and that they would leave and together they could start all over. But now, she felt the same as she had before: a pretty little piece of nothing.
“Is it true?” he repeated.
She simply nodded her head.
He had lost it then and struck out with his fist. �
�You’re a whore!”
Always the gentleman, he didn’t touch her, but left a fist-sized dent on the aluminum wall of their home.
Carly’s mother had started screeching, and the lights had turned on in the other trailers nearby. Neal fled, tears in his eyes.
Carly’s mother went on about it for hours, while Carly herself said very little. Early the next morning, she had left at the regular time, but instead of putting on her waitress apron, she had taken a bus to Boston.
Her money ran out within the first ten days. It didn’t take her long to realize just how desperate her situation was, how quickly hunger came, how quickly lack of shelter sapped her strength. How quickly she realized she had virtually no skills. Even waitress jobs were beyond her, filthy and obviously homeless as she now appeared. Jammer had picked her up in the Boston Common and took care of her for about a week before telling her that she would be turning tricks for him. When she tried to walk out, he beat her and raped her repeatedly for another week and told her that not only were tricks all she was good for, but he was making it his job in life to watch her and see that she did what she was told.
After she recovered, he sent her out on the street for a few months to break her in before she advanced to the call girl status where, somehow, two years had passed. Some of the men on her calls were pretty well off. Maybe a few of them were rich. None of them were interested in her for anything but sex, but she quickly learned enough about clothes and making conversation to not embarrass herself too much at a nice restaurant.
Carly had just passed her eighteenth birthday and felt her eyes were open to the wide world. She knew her last two attempts to get away were pure desperation. Taking off at the bus station with virtually no money on her and no skills would land her in about the same spot on some other city street. If she was going to make it, she needed a better escape plan than that.
“You’ll be back on the street … indefinitely,” Jammer had told her, as if he were proud to know how to use the word. “First the train station, now your boyfriend cuts me. You’re lucky I’m not killing you.”
The way she saw it, he was killing her, one day at a time.
Either she got off the streets and out of Boston, or Raul would get to her. She turned away from the mirror, keeping her eye on the street for Strike or Lee. Because men like Raul don’t forgive and forget.
The shadows were growing long on the Common when she saw her White Knight. And saw that he had seen her. He was jogging—running, actually. Moving faster than she was used to seeing someone out for exercise. She looked to see if he was being chased, and quickly searched the street to see if Jammer was nearby.
Safe on both counts.
She looked back at her White Knight, and their eyes locked. Carly raised her hand and said, “Hey.”
Suddenly, she was dreadfully afraid that he would turn his head and just keep running—and for a moment, it seemed as if he was going to do just that.
But he didn’t. He veered direction and crossed the street. She couldn’t help but grin, watching him now. He flew!
“Hey, yourself,” he said, stopping. He bent deeply, stretching as he regained his breath. Sweat poured off him.
She touched the back of his head. “Yuck.”
He straightened up, and she let her hand fall along his cheek and then his chest. His heart was pounding furiously.
“You always run so hard?” she asked.
“I’ve had sort of a tough day. Working out hard clears my head.”
She ran her fingers down his side. He was in wonderful shape. Muscular, but not a weight lifting freak. She was startled to find the stirring of physical interest in herself. How long has that been, she thought, amused.
He didn’t stop her, but she didn’t read any encouragement either. He said, “What are you doing back here? I thought I cut you free.”
“Jammer got me at the bus station.” She looked up and down the street again. “In fact, let’s get off the street.”
He shrugged and followed her into the alley alongside the bar. She flushed, embarrassed. He probably thought she had done tricks there, which she hadn’t. And indeed, when she turned to face him, he was already looking at his watch and looking back at the entrance of the alleyway. “I’m not looking for anything,” he said.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why?”
“To say thanks, first of all. I don’t know why you did what you did, but it meant a lot to see somebody kick Jammer’s ass. He’s still wearing the bandage on his head.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been a little out of control lately.” He looked upward, as if making fun of himself. She thought he was pleased, but he was hard to read.
She smiled. “Jammer wants his sword back.”
“Tell him life is full of disappointments.”
“Uh-huh. I know that, but he has a hard time hearing it.”
“Has he been beating you over what happened?”
“Like it’s his hobby,” she said, looking him in the eyes. She didn’t see much of a reaction, but she was happy he was still talking with her. Not that he seemed all there. He seemed interested and distracted at the same time, the way he would look away and then focus back on her.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you do it?”
He laughed shortly. “Damned if I know. I’ve been getting myself into all kinds of trouble lately.”
“That’s all?”
He smiled at her coldly. “It wasn’t love at first sight, if that’s what you were thinking.”
She looked away, briefly, so he wouldn’t see the hurt on her face. She knew better than to expect anything, but it seemed like a part of her still did.
“I will say I was impressed the way you were taking him on,” he said. “Even when you knew you couldn’t win.”
That warmed her, and she told him simply, “I’ve just had enough.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He started to pull away, but then let her. She moved closer, pressing herself against him and whispered, “Take me to your place. I’ll do anything you want, won’t cost you anything.”
He pushed her back. “No.”
She was surprised the way the word kicked the breath out of her. She usually took rejection with nothing but relief, but this bugged her. She had really wanted to thank him, in the best way she knew how. “You like girls, don’t you?”
“Just fine. I just need to keep healthy. I’ve got a lot of things to do.”
“I’m clean! No drugs, no HIV. I was tested just last week. That’s why I need to break away now, while I still can.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked at her silently, and, instinctively, she shut up and waited.
“I don’t know that much about hookers,” he said, after a moment. “This whining about getting away—is this just a pipe dream all of you talk about for entertainment, or are you really trying to make it happen?”
She held back her immediate answer. She let her eyes rest on him until the count of five, and then said, quietly, “I will get out somehow. The question is whether or not I get out with most of my skin. Jammer has promised to ruin my face if I run again, and I believe he’ll do it.”
The guy paused, looked away, and then came back to her. “Well, if you want to thank me, there may be a way.”
She went silent. Her heart quickened but she settled back, looking at him closely. His distraction wasn’t so much nervousness because of the situation, being in an alleyway with a hooker. There was something else. No matter what he had said, she decided their meeting was not just a coincidence, or her keeping her eyes out for him.
He had come looking for her.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
He pulled her closer, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. She inhaled the scent of him, his sweat was clean. “I’m not sure exactly at this second,” he said. “I got sort of a setback in my career today, but I
recover fast. And I’m going to be making some plans. I might need a friend who knows her way around Boston. Someone who can put me in touch with people who can get me things.”
“We working girls know a lot of people.” She smiled up at him. “It’s in the job description.”
“How about for passports?”
“Sure, I know somebody.”
“And guns?”
“Even easier.” She looked at him curiously. “What exactly do you do?”
“Until this morning, a corporate officer in a Fortune 500 company.”
“So you’re rich?”
“Not anymore. As of now, I’m probably Boston’s newest member of the street. The question is whether or not I stay. I could land a new job tomorrow, but I’m not sure I want that for myself anymore.”
“What is it you want?”
He shrugged. “I’ll start with paying a few people back for what they did to me. And I need to put my hands on some cash, a lot of it. From there I’m going to do some traveling. See the world without the kind of timetable I’ve been keeping. Carve out a life that’s more in keeping with who I am.” He laughed suddenly, and the smile lighting up his face made her soar right alongside him. “I feel a lot better than I should, under the circumstances.”
“Okay,” she said. Her mind was racing, and she was seeing at least one point where their needs met. “I think we can help each other. My name is Carly, by the way.”
He hesitated, then told her his.
“Geoff, let me ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you consider yourself a nice guy?”
He grinned. “No one has ever asked me that before. No, I’m not a nice guy. Not at all.”
“That’s good,” she said and meant it. Because she had come to firmly believe in the past two years that you only get what you deserve.
Diagonally across the street, from the back of an old van, Jammer put down the binoculars and touched his cousin’s shoulder. “Follow that guy,” he said. “I told you that bitch was up to something.”