“Oh my god,” she whispered.
The makeup and clothing had fooled me. I’d been right in that she was a teenager trying to look much older than she was. Sitting on the bed, awkwardly trying to shrink from view, she easily could have passed for someone in her twenties who charged for sex. But I still recognized her as the girl with the bad footwork from the Coronado practice.
“What’s he doing here?” Kristin asked, looking at Derek, her eyes wide.
“Get dressed, Kristin,” I said, looking away, more embarrassed for her than I was at seeing her out of her clothes.
The bed squeaked and groaned as she scrambled off it.
“All Coronado girls, Derek?” I asked.
Quiet, then “What?”
I stared out the window, my eyes trained on the floating lights of sailboats still out on the bay. “All of the girls that hook for you. All of them go to Coronado?”
He was behind me and I knew he was exchanging glances with Kristin.
“No,” Derek said, his voice unsteady. “This was a one time deal. Kristin just needed some money, I knew the guy…”
I pivoted on my right foot and threw a hard left hook into the side of Derek’s face. He crashed into the television armoire, then hit the ground in a heap.
Kristin stood near the bathroom, her hands over her mouth, her eyes ricocheting between Derek and me.
My left hand throbbed. The skin was torn across the knuckles, small threads of blood filling the tears in my flesh. I unclenched my fist and stretched my fingers.
There was nothing heroic or strong about hitting a teenage kid. Hitting anyone, for that matter. Seeing him on the floor, the bright red imprint of my fist on his face, didn’t make me feel good. I wasn’t trying to prove anything.
But I was angry. For eight years, I had been angry. Ever since my daughter disappeared, anger was the only real emotion I carried with me and the only way that I got rid of it was through violence. I would hold it in for as long as possible, but when I found an outlet, I let it go. I’d been in more types of fights than I could count and I couldn’t recall losing one. I had yet to meet anyone who carried the kind of anger I did.
That anger was the only thing I had and I used it often.
I motioned at Kristin. “Hurry up.”
She looked at the floor and finished pulling on her clothes.
I knelt down and pulled a handful of hundred dollar bills out of Derek’s front pocket. I dropped the money on the still out cold guy’s chest and yanked Derek to his feet. His eyes were glazed over and he was looking around like he didn’t know where he was.
Kristin adjusted her denim jacket, running a hand nervously through her hair.
“We’re going to go downstairs and walk out of the hotel,” I said to her. “You’re going to drive his car to your house. I’ll be right behind you in my car. When you get to your house, stay in the car until I come to the car. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Give me your purse,” I said.
She hesitated. “If I’m going to drive, don’t I need my license?”
“Give it.”
She handed it to me. I took her cell phone and put it in my pocket. I opened up her wallet and looked at her license. I closed the wallet, shoved it back in the purse and handed it all back to her.
“I looked at your address, so I know where we should end up. I’ll give you your phone back when we get there,” I told her. “Drive straight to your house, no stops. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t pull any shit with me.”
I motioned Kristin to the door. I grabbed Derek by the arm and we followed her, stepping over her still snoozing would-be john.
“What about me?” Derek asked, his words slurred and heavy.
“You’re riding with me,” I said.
FIFTY-ONE
“About a year,” Derek said.
We were following Kristin back to her home. He was slumped in the passenger seat next to me, his posture due more to the fact that he’d been caught than the punch I’d hit him with.
“Your idea?” I asked.
He stared out the window, the downtown skyline a blur as we made our way back to the island. “Pretty much.”
“What does that mean?”
He shifted in his seat, trying to get as far away from me as possible. “Matt knows.”
When Meg hinted that Meredith might be a hooker, Matt had claimed it was just a stupid high school rumor. At the time, I'd thought he was probably right. Now I knew he had just been throwing me off the track.
“He’s involved?” I asked.
“He handles the website,” Derek said. “He set it up. I don’t understand any of that crap, so he designed it and routed all the emails to me.”
“There’s a website?” I couldn't hide the disbelief and disgust in my voice.
Derek hesitated, then nodded. “Easiest way to set things up. Guys wanna hook up, they send an email with contact info. I get the email then call or text them.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “I asked you back in the hotel room. All Coronado girls?”
“Mostly,” he said. “A couple of their friends from other schools, but mostly Coronado girls.”
“Why would they do it?” I asked, glancing at him. “How do you get them to do it?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s not that hard. Not like the girls are virgins or anything. Most chicks at Coronado are having sex.”
My hands tightened on the steering wheel involuntarily.
“And they make a shit load of money,” he continued. “These guys that I set them up with? They’ve got money out the ass. Businessmen in town for meetings and conventions, not scumbags off the street. They're clean. Good guys.”
My hands nearly snapped the wheel. “Anyone paying for sex with a teenage girl is a scumbag. Not to mention the kid that pimps them out.”
“Whatever,” he said, confidence finding its way back into his voice. “These guys pay big bucks, nobody gets hurt and the girls make some money.”
I resisted the urge to punch him again. “And how much do you get?”
“Sixty forty split. I get forty, the girls get sixty. I figured I shouldn’t get more than they do.”
Incredibly gentlemanly of Derek. Kristin turned right and we followed.
“Of all the things you could’ve done to make money, why this?” I asked. “Dress it up any way you want, but it’s still prostitution and you’re the pimp. It’s dangerous and illegal. Why?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. The brake lights on the Tahoe in front of us flashed and Kristin moved to the curb. I pulled in behind her, killed the engine and looked at Derek.
“It’s easy,” he said simply, avoiding my eyes. “I just make a bunch of phone calls, take the girls to the hotel, hang out until it’s over and then drive the girls home.” He shrugged. “You think that isn’t better than working some shit restaurant job or lugging people’s crap up to their room at the Del?”
It was clear that he’d learned to rationalize the whole operation and I didn’t have time to lecture him on how screwed up he was.
I watched the Tahoe. Kristin remained dutifully in the driver’s seat. “When did Meredith start?”
“Few months ago.”
