I looked up at Kendra. 'Tell me more about Haley.'
I looked for her first outside of the Pioneer Place Courthouse, the
waterfront, the Hamilton motel, all the places I could think of. I
finally found her at midnight, standing on the corner of Burnside and
Fourth Avenue. She had her thumb out and looked like she'd just shot
up.
I stopped the Jetta in front of her, and she walked over to the
passenger side and opened the door. Guess she couldn't see through the
tinted windows at night.
'Hey, Haley. Want a date?' I said.
'What the fuck are you doing out here?' She looked around. Not seeing
any police, she said, 'Nothing you can do to me without a cop
around.'
All those Law & Order shows had done some serious damage to my image
out there. Now that everyone understood that whole 'separate but
equally important parts of the criminal justice system' thing, no one
is afraid of being arrested by prosecutors anymore. Sometimes it's
just a matter of reeducation.
'Not today, maybe. But I can go drive my little Volkswagen back to the
courthouse, type out an affidavit, and have an arrest warrant for you
in the system by tomorrow morning. It's not like it takes the cavalry
to find you or anything.'
She thought about that for a while. 'Yeah, well, I can handle another
loitering pop. Nothing but a thing at juvie.' Her eyes were barely
open. It's probably hard to care about being arrested when you're
pumped full of heroin.
'I'm not talking about juvie this time, Haley. I'm talking Measure
Eleven time.'
She might not know the details, but anyone on the street as long as
Haley knew the gist of Measure 11. It meant being charged as an adult
and getting real time. The threat was enough to fire her up as much as
could be expected in her current state.
She pretended to laugh. 'You ain't got shit on me. Now you better
move along, bitch. I got work to do.'
I suppressed the impulse to mow her down with the Jetta. I would've
opened a six-pack of Fahrfegnugen on her ass over the c-word, but under
the circumstances I could handle the b-word.
'I'd be careful about how you choose to work, Haley,' I said. 'From
where I sit it's called promoting prostitution, not loitering. And
promoting prostitution for a thirteen-year-old lands you under Measure
Eleven.'
'Pimping? Lady, you got me confused with some Cadillac-driving,
purple-velour-wearing, platform-shoe-stomping dude.' She was laughing
uncontrollably now, rattling off some more descriptors I couldn't
understand.
'Haley, listen to me. You're in major trouble here, and I'm not
fucking around.' My tone got her attention. 'You arranged dates for
Kendra in exchange for a cut of the fee. You set her up at the
Hamilton, knowing she was using the room to work. You sold her condoms
when she ran out, again at a profit and knowing she was using them for
prostitution. Plus, you knew she was only thirteen years old. All I
have to do is go down to the Hamilton, and I suspect I'll find several
other girls who'll say you do the same things for them. Guess what,
Haley? That's promoting prostitution, even if you don't wear purple
velour.'
'That's bullshit. I was helping her out, is all. Safer to work at the
Hamilton than out of cars. And, big deal, I hooked her up with a few
guys who liked younger girls and who I knew were all right.'
'Too bad, Haley. I'd heard you were smart. At this point, I'd advise
you to shut up until you've talked to a lawyer, because what you just
said amounts to a confession to a Measure Eleven charge.'
I rolled up the window and hit my turn signal like I was going to pull
out into traffic on Burnside. I was beginning to think she was going
to let me leave when I heard the tap on the window. I rolled it down
again.
'So what do you want?' she asked.
'Now that's more like it. Get in.'
Fourteen.
When I finally got home it was nearly two in the morning.
Chuck's Jag was in my driveway, and Chuck was asleep in the backseat. I
tapped on the window, and he reached over his head and unlocked the
front door.
'This piece of crap chose my driveway to break down in?' I said.
'Cute. Where have you been?' he asked, sitting up and pushing his
hair down from sleep.
