Three, Two, One (321)

“Me?” Charlie is her pimp. Not some corner dude, either. A guy who knows his business.

She pulls out another smoke and lights it up, taking her time with a long drag. “Uh-huh. Someone called in while I was talking to him. They tells him there’s a girl missing and do Charlie know anything about it. Then Charlie says talk to JD and Ark, because you keeps track of the street girls.”

“Do you know who called him?” I ask, feigning disinterest.

“Nah,” she says. “Charlie just hung up without saying names. But he was talking all polite and shit. So my intuition figures it was someone more important than him.”

“OK. Well, thanks for that, Shadow. I guess he’ll get in contact with me if it’s important.”

She flashes me her new smile. “Any time, sugar.”

“What happened to your tooth?” I point to the missing one she’s flashing, but her smile fades quick.

“Nothin’. Just a misunderstanding.”

I smile at her. “OK, Shadow. Stay safe.”

“You too, honey.” But she’s already walking off.

I sit on the wall for a little longer trying to figure out what that bit of information might add up to. Blue is running, that’s for sure. And they were violent with her. Beatings, torture maybe, possibly rape. They’ve got her ID. They marked her as property. And she’s afraid to call home.

Add that to JD’s missing girlfriend from four years ago and that means something.

Back in the early days, before the money started pouring in, JD and I were winging it hardcore. It took weeks to clean him up and he had like two dozen relapses. Every time I took him back to rehab, they asked me why I bothered. And I always told them the same thing. Because no one else will.

Everybody’s got a past. Everybody is running from some demon or another. Everybody needs a second chance. If there’s a person out there who has not fucked up royally and needed a second chance… well, that person hasn’t lived yet.

And four years later, I do not regret one moment of all the effort it took to drag him out of his depression, his addiction, and his self-loathing, and hand him the opportunity of a lifetime.

Because no matter what JD is, he’s smart. And he took that chance. He moved on. He made movies with me. He made money with me. Hell, he did more than move on. He moved up.

But that scar…

I saw his face last night when he lifted her hair. I saw him look up at me like that kid I found trying his hardest not to get his ass kicked in front of this very wall of concrete four years ago.

He expects answers this time.

And he expects me to help get them.

I get up and start walking back to the loft and then spy a drug store across the street. I cross and go inside to pick something up for Blue that she will surely be needing.

I find my dress in the trash. Not that I’d wear it again. It looks like it went through hell. But it would’ve been nice to be asked if I wanted to wash it, considering I have no other clothes.

I found something, though. Sweats and a t-shirt of JD’s in his closet. But the pants have to be rolled over so many times, it makes the t-shirt bunch out over my belly. When I look in the mirror it makes me look pregnant and that just hurts like hell.

I unroll the sweats and hold them up as I make my way to the kitchen. There’s still mess in there from last night, so I start cleaning up. I’m just closing the dishwasher after loading it up when the door opens and Ark walks in.

He throws his keys on a small table in the foyer and then hangs up his leather jacket. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt with the cuffs casually rolled up. There’s a tie around his collar as well, but it’s loose.

I squint at him. Is that a fashion statement? Or was he really wearing a white shirt and tie for business reasons?

“What?” he asks, looking into the open kitchen.

I shake my head and start wiping down the counters. His shoes—dressy, I realize as I try to concentrate on the countertops—tap across the floor and stop just off to my right.

I lift my head a little to look up at him. “What?”

He throws a package down on the counter. “For you. I didn’t see any birth control stuffed in your panties yesterday. And we both came inside you. So…”

I look at the package. “What is it?” When I look up at him, he’s puzzled. “What?”

“It’s the morning-after pill. You’ve never taken one?”

I open my mouth to speak, then close it immediately and go back to cleaning. I’m not even going there. “Thanks. I’ll take it as soon as I’m done here.” But he doesn’t move. I wait a few more seconds before looking up again. “What?”

His dark eyes are squinting down at me. “You’re not the maid.”

“I know. I’m just…” I shrug. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“We won’t kick you out. Even if you don’t help.”

“OK,” I say meekly.

“You should eat. And then go back to bed. You look…”

“Beaten?” I fill in the word he won’t say.

“Like you need someone to be more careful with you.”

When I look up this time, he’s already walking away. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything. Oh—” He stops and looks over his shoulder just outside the entrance to his office. “We’re going out to dinner tonight.”

“Who?” I ask, stupidly, since I can figure that one out. “What will I wear?” That’s a better question.