Christina strolled leisurely down Eleventh Street, trying not to look back over her shoulder. Ben had promised to follow in his car at a discreet distance, but you could never be sure about Ben. Sometimes he got lost walking from his kitchen to the living room. Or he might step up on a curb and get vertigo.
She hated these heels that he had insisted she wear. She’d only bought them at the resale shop as a joke; they tilted her feet up at ninety degree angles. Ben had turned her clothes closet upside down looking for “suitably sleazy clothes,” and complained that there were too many possibilities to choose from. The billowy “bimbo top” he’d chosen, along with the hip-hugging miniskirt, certainly filled the bill. He’d even accessorized it for her: hoop chain belt, red glitter purse, and long dangling earrings.
Truth be told, the feather boa was her own idea, but she still wasn’t fond of the general premise. Why did they have to go the cheap and tawdry route? Why not a Utica Square society matron on the make—fur coats and long glittery evening gowns? Oh, well—she probably couldn’t afford the costuming.
She’d been on the street for over an hour, chatting up every streetwalker, male or female, she’d met. Ben had been right about one thing; they seemed more willing to talk since Christina looked like she belonged there. They seemed perfectly relaxed around someone who they perceived as an insider looking for some action. Talk they did, but they had precious little of value to say. No one admitted to knowing a girl named Trixie, and there were some who wouldn’t discuss the matter at all. She’d flashed some cash, hoping to attract some cooperation, but ended up only attracting an acne-pocked weasel who wanted to know if she “wanted some grass to go with her ass.”
A very deep debt was accumulating on Ben Kincaid’s ledger, and she planned to make damn sure she collected.
Three women were huddled around a lamppost on Detroit, displaying their wares. Christina knew that society was usually the ultimate cause of poverty, addiction, and prostitution. It was wrong to belittle women who were forced to make these difficult choices. Nonetheless, as she approached the street corner, it was difficult to keep the word floozies out of her mind.
Christina strode in for a closer look. All three appeared too old to be teenagers. Come to think of it, she had seen precious few teenagers all night. Maybe one happy result of this horrible tragedy would be that teenagers finally figured out that this was a dangerous profession.
A large black woman wearing an uncommon amount of lipstick addressed Christina in a tone far from friendly. “What d’you think you’re doin’, honey?”
“I’m looking for…someone.”
“Aren’t we all?” The woman laughed, a coarse, heavy braying. “Run along, Betty Sue. This corner’s taken.”
“These here blocks belong to Sonny,” another woman said. “He don’t care much for competition.”
“Especially dressed like her,” the third commented. “Really brings down the neighborhood.”
“I do like this wrap, though,” the black woman said. She began to tug Christina’s boa off her neck. “I like this a lot.”
Christina clamped down on the boa. “What’ll you give me for it?”
The woman smiled. “How ’bout I just ask Sonny not to carve you into little pieces?”
Christina’s throat felt very dry. She peered across the street. Was it just her imagination, or did she feel Sonny’s eyes bearing down on her?
“Run along now, sugar. We don’t need another working girl around here.”
“But I’m not—” Christina scanned her attire. “Ben assured me that I did not look like a—a—”
“Honey, why else would you be here?”
“Well…” Christina felt her face beginning to turn crimson. “Maybe I’m shopping.”
“Oh, honey, we don’t do none of that weird stuff. Maybe up on Fifteenth.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m not interested in other women.”
“Then you’s on the wrong block.” The tall woman pointed down the street.
“But I am trying to find a particular young woman,” Christina insisted. “Someone named Trixie.”
The three women all exchanged a quiet glance. “You ain’t the first.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No. We don’t know nothing.”
“Don’t try to con another woman. I saw the way you all looked at one another. You must know something.”
“Nope. Never heard of her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely positive.”
“No way I could change your mind?”
“Not a chance.”
“I’ll let you have my boa.”
The woman’s chin rose; her eyes fell upon the long white fluff. A moment later, she placed her hand on the boa and slowly pulled it away from Christina’s neck.
“I still can’t tell you nothing,” the woman said. But Christina noticed that she was staring across the street and down a block. “Follow the pennies.”
“What does—”
“That’s all I know. Now git!” Christina took the hint and left. Across the street and one block down, she found two men in their early thirties dressed in tight jeans and fringed jackets. Obviously hooking. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
The man closer to her cocked an eyebrow. “Wanna date?”
Christina tried not to barf. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
The man stepped closer and placed his hand on her waist. “You’ve come to the right place, baby. Thirty dollars and you’ll be in paradise.”
Christina’s teeth set on edge, but she kept smiling. “Actually, I had something specific in mind.”
He ran his hand through her hair. “I’m flexible.”
She laughed nervously, “No, you misunderstand. I’m looking for a particular person.”
He pressed his legs and groin against her. “I’ll make you forget him. I’ll make you forget everyone you’ve ever known.”
“Well, how nice.” Christina cleared her throat and straightened her skirt. “Seriously, though—”
“You’ll feel ecstasy like you’ve never felt before. Your body will tremble; your thighs will ache. You’ll have a hurt that only I can fix.” He leered at her. “And the wonderful thing is, I’ll be right here the next time you need me.”
“Boy, that’s…really…some kind of deal.” Christina was uncommonly warm, and the fact that his breath was smacking her in the face didn’t help any. “But I’m actually looking for a woman. Someone who works here, or used to. Her name is Trixie.”
The man disentangled himself and backed away, a snarl on his lips. “Shit! Is everyone in town looking for that stupid bitch?”
“You know her?”
“You’re talking to the wrong person.” He gestured toward his companion. “You should—”
The other man glared at him, silencing him with a look.
“I should what?” Christina faced the other man. “I should ask you? Do you know where Trixie is?”
The second man practically spit at the first. He shoved him aside roughly.
“Hey, Buddy, watch it. I didn’t say nothing.”
“You said too much, you stupid-assed whore.” Buddy stepped into the streetlights and ran a hand through his thinning red hair. “I don’t know anything about this…Trixie.” His voice was thin and nervous. “No one does. You might as well go home.”
Christina gave him a quick once over. Buddy had a pasty white complexion and a pudgy figure; he lacked the harshness of most of those she had spoken to tonight. This tough guy routine did not appear to come naturally to him.
“Why is Trixie hiding?” Christina asked. “Why are you protecting her?”
“The street people got to look out for one another. No one else will.”