Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
There’s a tug on the back of my T-shirt. I turn to see the little girl twisting the cloth into her fist. She’s trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. I peel her fingers away and give her a rough shake of my head. I can’t have her hanging on me or distracting me. She retreats into the shadows, a tiny ball of misery.
I’d feel bad, but I don’t have the luxury of pity—haven’t had it. Ever.
I direct my attention back to the cop. He’s our biggest danger. The cop hauls Patty upright by her hair. Black streaks down from her eyes, and the red on her lips she used to attract the cop’s attention is smeared, clown-like, around her mouth.
“You going to treat my probie right next week?” he asks.
Patty nods obediently.
“Good.” He yanks hard on her hair once more before releasing her. She stumbles but manages to right herself. “And brush your goddamned teeth next time. You taste like a fucking ashtray.”
He wipes his hand across his mouth. Creep had his dick in Patty’s pussy and he’s mad about the taste of her mouth. That shit is stupid and wrong. He adjusts his gear belt, gives her a brief nod and walks off. His boot heels make a crunching noise as he stomps out of the alley.
Patty waits until he’s cleared the opening of the alley before scurrying out.
I give her a minute head start before creeping forward. A squeak of anxiety escapes the little girl behind me.
“I’m checking to make sure it’s all clear. I’ll be back. Promise.”
Her big dark eyes have tears in them. Whatever her age is, she knows one important thing. Most promises aren’t worth shit.
I reach under the hem of my jeans and tug the wad of money out of my sock. I hand it to her. “This is all the cash I got in the world. If you don’t believe I’ll come back for you, believe I’ll come back for that.”
She doesn’t make a move to take it, so I stuff it into her lap, my hand brushing against her bony ribcage. My own stomach clenches sympathetically. I haven’t had a crumb today either.
“After I check out Officer Dickhead, we’ll eat. Keep my loot safe. ’Kay?”
That earns me a tiny nod. Good enough.
I spring to my feet and hug the shadows as I make my way to the sidewalk. Patty is a block down, getting shoulder pats from the other girls in the stable. The cop is in his patrol car, head down, doing fuck knows what. I flip my hood up and continue in the opposite direction until I reach a black, ten-year-old El Camino. The window rolls down just far enough so I can see a fist and a thumb pointing upward.
I don’t stop or nod or give a hand signal in return. I just keep walking. The listening device has been planted, and from the sign of approval, it’s working. From what I gathered this morning, the bug I planted allows my boss to listen in to a private police channel on the radio. He thinks the cops he bought might be working against him—either with a rival gang or a plant from the feds.
I walk two more blocks down, in case the eyes in the El Camino are watching me. Then I hang a right. Hunching low, sticking to the dark spaces, I make my way through backyards and alleys until I reach the wooden fence. I run up the brick wall and use the angle to propel myself high enough to grab the top of the fence. Effortlessly, the momentum carries me over. I drop to the ground, tucking myself into a ball and rolling to a stop not far from the girl, who hasn’t moved an inch.
I find the wad of money tucked exactly where I left it.
“You hungry?” I ask, dusting myself off.
She nods.
“Come on, then.” I jerk my head toward the side door of the apartment building. It opens after a sharp kick.
She follows behind me, moving lightly and quietly. Her tennies don’t make any noise. Quick learning, I think. I lead her up the stairs, looking for the right apartment. The third one down, left side with small tennis shoes on the mat next to a larger pair of work boots, fits the bill. Slipping my knife out of my sock, I make quick work with the lock.
The apartment is dark. I position the girl by the front door and motion for her to stay. Silently, I move down the hall. The living room is empty. There are two bedroom doors, one is slightly ajar. The junk inside tells me it’s the mom’s room.
I twist the knob of the other room. Jackpot. There’s a doll on the floor and a stuffed animal on the bed. Inside a small dresser, I find what I need. I jam the stuff under my own shirt and then leave two twenties on the dresser. I take the girl to the stairwell.