frequented the same corner market as the offenders, some of whom had rape and molestation charges in their jackets. A similar facility had been blocked in wealthy Ward 3, but in the relatively poorer sections of town, citizens had less power. Rachel Lopez understood the concern but also wondered where these people would stay, in the absence of family or friends, if programs such as this one went away.
Rachel entered the greeting area of the main facility, a former storage structure now sectioned into dorm-style sleeping quarters, cafeteria, lounge and recreation room, and administrative offices. She badged a security guard and asked to speak with Millie Gales, the facility's manager. As she waited, she watched the occupants milling about in the dim light of the cafeteria, talking guardedly, palming one another smokes, moving slowly. It reminded her of a prison dayroom.
Millie came out of her office in short order and met Rachel by the sign-in, sign-out counter. She was a big woman in her fifties, dark-skinned, high of hip, with strong arms and muscular legs. She was missing three fingers on her right hand. A large gold crucifix hung outside her dress.
'Hey, girl,' said Millie.
'Millie.'
They hugged. Millie's eyes lost a little light as she stepped back and studied Rachel. Rachel wondered if she looked as bad as she felt. Maybe she reeked of last night's alcohol.
'Who you here to see?' said Millie.
'Carlton Sims, for one,' said Rachel.
Millie picked up the clipboard on the counter. 'Carlton signed out of here at four forty-five a.m.'
'For work, I hope.'
'Oh, yeah. Carlton working most every day. He got hooked up with Darius Wood, has that landscaping business?'
'Darius Wood. Isn't he an ex-offender?'
'Uh-huh. I met him at my church originally. He comes by and picks up men now, around dawn. So far, Carlton's doing all right.'
'What about Tyrone Meadows?' said Rachel. 'He in?'
'Tyrone's most definitely in,' said Millie. 'He ain't even looked for work since he been here.'
'Can I speak to him?'
'I'll get him,' said Millie, then put her two-fingered hand on Rachel's arm. 'You want some water, something? You look kinda pale.'
'It's just the heat. Thanks, I'm all right.'
Rachel Lopez and Tyrone Meadows sat outside at a picnic table so that Tyrone could smoke. Meadows was a hustler who lived off women and had a history of domestic abuse to go with his felony drug charges. He was thin and wiry, with Omega tattoos burned via hot wire into both biceps. He had a radiant smile that clashed with his cruel eyes.
They sat directly in the sun, among other offenders who had come out here to catch air and cigarettes. It was not yet noon, but the temperature had climbed to ninety degrees.
'So what you want to know?' said Meadows. He dragged hard on a live menthol and looked at her with smiling eyes.
'I want to know when you're going to start looking for work,' said Rachel, meeting his stare. Her eyes were all business.
'Soon,' he said. 'Need to find me some presentable clothes, though, before I go out on that job search. Man like me, it's important I look good. I'd be disappointing a lot of ladies if I just stepped out in these old khakis, right?'
'You go down to that corner there at sunup, you're gonna find work. You don't need dress clothes for that.'
'That's chain gang bullshit right there. I ain't accustomed to no common labor.'
'You better get accustomed to it,' said Rachel. 'You need to find work. Any kind of gainful employment. The Seven-A form that you signed requires it.'
'Oh, it
'If you don't look for work—'
'Look, it don't make all that much difference to me. I'm a survivor, darling.'
'It's Miss Lopez.'
Meadows chuckled. 'Okay. I'm a survivor,
Keep talking, Slick, thought Rachel. I could arrange it for you, if that's what you want.
'But,' said Meadows, 'since it's you askin'—'
'I'm not asking.'
'Damn, you
'You need to find work, Tyrone.'
'Listen, I'm feelin' like you and me, we got a problem.' Tyrone leaned forward, glanced at her chest, smiled, and
