Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
This is where I take the girl. I don’t know why I’m making all these risky decisions. Jerkoff Jon, the head of the Pie House, would’ve snuffed her out, but not before violating her. He’s that sick of a dude. One day I wouldn’t mind sticking a railroad pike through his forehead.
“You need to use the bathroom?” I ask the girl, closing the door behind us.
She’s stunned silent as she takes in the tall ceilings and white walls. It’s the cleanest place she’s probably ever seen.
“Bathroom?” I ask again.
She nods slowly.
“You think this is the shit, you should see some of the other places Mike has for sale. There’s this place uptown that has three bedrooms and a view of the park. You been to the park?” That place is amazing—a green island in the middle of this grimy, sick city. There are places, deep in the heart, where you can’t hear anything but your own quiet breath.
She doesn’t answer. Other than asking me if the prostie was hurt, the only sounds I’ve ever heard her make were squeaks. It don’t matter much to me one way or another. I like the quiet.
I flip on the lights to the bathroom. “Here. I’ve got one towel, but that’s it. I hope you don’t mind.” I pause. “Do you know how to wash yourself?”
She stares at me and then the shower and then back at me.
I crouch down to her level. “How old are you?”
She lifts her hand, unfurling her tiny fingers one by one until they are splayed like a starfish.
“Five, huh?”
There’s a hesitation followed by a small nod. I get it. She’s not sure. I’m not either. When you’re born on the street, the days and months and years all blur together.
“Okay. Do you shower? Cuz I can’t remember if I knew how to shower when I was five.”
Her shoulders lift.
“Bath?”
After a second of hesitation, her head bobs. I reach behind her and plug the tub drain. I wonder how much water she needs.
“You like a lot of water?”
She looks uncertain but still won’t talk.
“Do you know how to talk?”
Another tiny nod and then, “yeah,” comes out in a whisper.
“So shower or bath.”
“Bath,” she says.
“Got a name?”
She rubs the tip of her toe into the tile. A word swooshes out of her mouth, but I don’t catch it. Not fully. New chance? Noosance. Oh hell no. Nuisance? I’m not calling her that.
“Yeah, I can’t pronounce that,” I lie. “You got a nickname?”
“Noosance,” she repeats.
I rub a hand across my forehead. We’ll have to think of another name because I’m sure as hell not calling her a nuisance.
“My name is Leka, but everyone calls me Monkey.”
This time she shakes her head.
“No? You don’t like that?”
“No,” she says.
“You don’t like that?”
She shakes her head more vigorously. “It’s not nice. You’re nice.”
I rock back on my heels. She doesn’t like Monkey? “I don’t love it either, but you’re called what you’re called. It’s not a fight I want to take on.”
She presses her lips together as if she wants to say something but is afraid to.
“What?” I prod.
We stare at each other, but she doesn’t utter another peep. I shut off the water.
“Hop in. And don’t drown.”
I run into my bedroom and pull out a towel that I pilfered two apartments ago. That one was all furnished with towels and shit. No clothes, though. The towels were just for show. Afterward, I heard the mark complain on the phone that a prospective buyer must’ve lifted those.
I’ve taken a few other things. Food, if I could find it. Towels, a couple of pans, plates, forks and spoons. I can’t have too many belongings because I’m carting this shit from place to place, but enough so it’s not like I’m living on the street. I hate that feeling.
When I return to the bathroom, the little bit is in the tub. The too-big clothes I stole for her in a neat pile on the floor. She can’t really fold, but she’s tidy. I like that.
I place the towel and a bar of soap on the toilet. “Sorry. I don’t have shampoo and shit. I just use the soap.”
“Is okay,” she says, like I need reassuring.
“Great.” I head out. At the door, I call over my shoulder. “I’m going to make some soup.” Cans of tomato soup and a couple of pieces of bread is all I’ve got here. I can’t keep much around in case someone wants to come and see the place. “Wash up and when you’re done come out.”
I’ve barely got the can of soup dumped into the pot before she appears behind me wearing the oversized sweatshirt. Water drips down behind her.
“Shit, girl, you scared me.” I peer down at the top of her dark hair, lying in little waves around her head. “You wash already?”