The Second Girl(67)

I wait for them to make that turn onto Euclid just like the first girl. It’s a straight shot for me, so I start the car up and ease out. My heart is slamming. It’s only seeing her that I realize I never thought I’d find her; she was already dead.

By the time I reach the girls, they’re walking side by side on the sidewalk near the end of the large row house on the corner of 17th and Euclid. The one that seems to be Miriam is on the other girl’s left, so I can’t get another good look at her face.

The Latina girl beside her turns in my direction to check me out. I pull ahead of them and double-park alongside another car.

I step out of the car and walk across the street at an angle to them, but I don’t look in their direction. I can see them enough to know they stopped as if they are expecting me to approach them.

When I get to the sidewalk I turn and shoot them a smile and then look toward the Ritz, which is about a quarter of a block up. I turn back. They’re still standing there, about ten feet away.

“Aren’t the two of you a little young to be out so early?” I ask.

“Fuck you,” the girl who I’m now almost positive is Miriam says.

The Latina girl reaches into her bulky purse like she’s trying to scare me with what she’s going to pull out.

“Hold on there, girl,” I say. “I’m a cop. See?” I pull out my wallet and flash my badge quickly.

“Cops don’t drive cars like that,” the Latina girl says.

“They do when they’re off duty.”

“Why you stoppin’ us, then, if you’re not working?” the Latina girl asks.

“I ain’t stopping you,” I say, walking closer.

They don’t step back, but the Latina girl still has her hand in her purse.

“But I might if you don’t take your hand outta that purse.”

She does, but reluctantly.

The other one is Miriam. I’m positive. But she’s definitely not the same little girl from the photo. She looks used up and a couple years older than she really is.

“We’re going home,” Miriam says.

“You guys have a sleepover or somethin’?”

They laugh.

“How old are you two?”

“Old enough,” Miriam says.

“Neither of you look old enough to be walking around this neighborhood so early in the morning. Give me your names.”

They look at each other.

“I ain’t playin’. Give me your names.”

“My name’s Angie,” the Latina girl says.

“I’m Justine,” Miriam says.

I almost break into a smile.

“No last names? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I step closer. Miriam looks like she might bolt. I’ve seen that look enough times to know.

I’m close enough to grab her by the arm. Instead, I look at her. “Justine’s a nice name. I have some friends who have a daughter named Justine. They live in Burke.”

She looks like she’s just been stunned. She drops her cigarette and runs back toward 17th. The Latina girl quickly follows.

It doesn’t take much effort to catch up to Miriam. I grab her by the left arm before she can make the turn toward the row house. The Latina girl stops ahead, looks back, and then runs off toward the row house.

Miriam’s struggling hard, then starts flailing her free arm, smacking me in the face.

“Let me go! Let me the f*ck go!”

“Calm down, Miriam. Calm the f*ck down.”

“Help!” she screams. “Someone help me!”

“Yeah, you call out like that. Get the police to show up. That’ll make it easier on me. Now calm the f*ck down.”

I grab her other arm and force her to face me.

“I’m a friend of your parents,” I lie. “They sent me to find you.”

“Let me go. You can’t take me.”

“Either I take you or we wait for the police cars to show, and they will. That’d be tougher for you, ’cause they’ll take you straight to Youth Division. Either way, you’ll be going home.”

I let go of her left wrist, hold tight to the other, and force her to walk toward my car. She tries to pull away.

“Please, just let me go.”

I stop again.

“Why don’t you wanna go home? They abuse you?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then why?”

Before she can answer I see the other Latina girl at the corner, about twenty feet away. She’s pointing at us, looking back, as if she’s directing someone. Couple seconds later, I see Little Monster run up, with another Latino boy. A second after that, Playboy makes his appearance.

I grab Miriam with my left hand now and pull her to my side. I pull my jacket back and grip my holstered weapon.

“Don’t even f*cking think about it,” I tell them. “She’s going home.”

“Don’t let him take me, Playboy,” she cries.

“Shut the f*ck up, girl,” Little Monster orders her. He turns to the Latina girl and says, “Get yourself back to the house.”

She runs back. Little Monster’s smart, but not that smart.

He reaches for his back pocket. I draw my weapon and aim it at him.