Don’t think about that shit.
Not now.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I turned left down Washington Street, a residential road lined with old mill houses, most of which were falling down and in disrepair.
Dozens of people, none of which you’d want to come face to face with in a dark alley, occupied the litter-covered sidewalks.
Some were addicts.
Some were prostitutes.
All were lost souls.
Seeing them out there pained something deep inside me because I understood their hurt and the power of their addictions, along with their inner demons more than most.
A functioning alcoholic, I’d hidden my past habits well, but some people didn’t have that ability, especially when drugs were involved. If I’d gone down that road instead of becoming a drunk…
Hell, I didn’t even want to think about it.
Not seeing who I was looking for right away, I parked next to the curb and killed my lights while leaving my engine running. I wasn’t scared of much, but if trouble started, I didn’t plan on sticking around.
Dying wasn’t in the cards for me.
Not yet.
Tap, tap, tap.
My body tensed when someone knocked on my window a couple of seconds later. “Hey, baby,” an older woman wearing skimpy clothes and sporting a face full of garish makeup said through the tint. “You looking for a date?”
Rolling down the glass, I shook my head. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”
Her eyes flared. “Ma’am? Well, ain’t you a polite one? Good lookin’ too.”
Something about her, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, reminded me of my mother. Maybe it was her warm smile or the way her pretty eyes still twinkled despite the shit hand life had obviously dealt her.
“I try to be polite most of the time,” I replied, honestly. “Everybody deserves respect.” Until they don’t. “That’s what my mama taught me, anyway.”
If only I’d taken her advice earlier.
Smile growing, the woman’s face lit up. “Your mama was a good woman then.”
She had been a good woman.
Too bad her only child had grown up to become a piece of shit whose life could be defined by a series of mistakes, including one that led to her downfall when he was only fourteen.
Don’t think about it…
Goddammit, just don’t!
“You calling me ma’am just made my whole night,” the lady said, jerking me clear of the demons that stirred in my head. “Thanks for that, handsome. Tell me, though, what’s your name?”
“James,” I replied. “James Cole.”
“I like it.” She winked. “A handsome name for a handsome fella.” Having nothing else to say, she turned and started to walk away.
But I wasn’t done with her.
“Ma’am, wait,” I called out, grabbing her attention. Brows arched, she glanced back at me, the smile she still wore crinkling her eyes. “You got a minute? I’m looking for someone and—”
My words died when I caught sight of a familiar fur coat and that long, tawny hair I’d seen earlier up ahead.
Bingo!
I popped open my truck door, more than ready to cross the street and confront Little Miss Attitude head-on, but when I caught sight of what she carried in her hands, I froze in place.
She had bags of groceries.
About half a dozen of them.
I wondered if she’d taken my money and bought food. If so, that changed everything. How the hell was I supposed to be pissed if she robbed me so she could eat?
“Her name is Carmen Santiago,” the lady said, following my line of sight. “But I always call her Robina Hood.” She giggled again. “Girl is always stealin’ from the rich and givin’ to the poor. Or as I like to call us street folk, the disenfranchised.”
Carmen…
Her name was beautiful.
Just like her.
“Course, her daughters get first dibs, but—”
“She has daughters?”
Out of my peripheral, I saw the lady nod. “They ain’t her real kin, but with the way she loves and takes care of ’em, I suppose they’re hers all the same.”
My one-handed grip on the steering wheel tightened as Carmen handed a pack of diapers to a young woman standing on the corner, her glittery white stilettos reflecting beneath the harsh streetlight.
Beyond grateful, she looked ready to cry.
I didn’t blame her.
“Chiquita and Little One are their names. Both of em’ is real pretty,” she continued. “Just like Robina Hood used to be.” Used to be? She still was. “Long time ago, she was a beauty queen, ya know.”
My eyes met the lady’s. “Who?”
“Carmen.”
I could see it.
Though her body was rail-thin and her skin unnaturally pale, there was something graceful, almost hypnotizing, about the way she moved.
“Why is she on the streets?”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud.
Not until, “Couple of reasons,” the lady answered. “One, like a lot of people out here, she’s got a dope problem.” I knew it. I’d damned well known it. “Two, being on the street is what our pimp demands.”
Pimp. One word. That was all it took for the switch in my head to flip, erasing most of my common sense. “What the hell did you just say?” Any manners I’d shown flew right out the window as my infamous temper made its presence known. “A pimp? Give me the piece of shit’s name now.”
The woman’s smile dropped, and the twinkle I’d seen in her eyes minutes before sputtered out. Fast-like. “I can’t…” She shook her head and looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. “I can’t tell you that. I’ve got a young’un of my own, and he’ll kill her if I talk.”
Body trembling, she was terrified.
That much was clear.
I sucked in a much-needed breath, hoping it would calm the rage that rioted in my chest, demanding to be set free.
No such luck.
“Does he hurt her?” My words came out garbled. So pissed I could hardly talk, I was quickly reaching the point of becoming murderous. “Is he the one who beat her? Because if he was…”
It will be his end.
“I’m such a stupid old woman,” she cried. “I never should’ve opened my mouth. It was just… well, it was the way you were lookin’ at her. Then we started talkin’ and—”
“It’s alright,” I assured her, interrupting the panic-fueled meltdown
