Soul Mate (The Mating Series) (7 page)

BOOK: Soul Mate (The Mating Series)
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I dusted myself off and
checked my clothes for damage. I had a run in my hose. I sighed.
It’s not even eight o’clock and I’m already having a bad day!
The date with Jimmy seemed the only redemption for my mood. Fortunately, my first session went without problems. After my morning session ended, I went to lunch. I found it easier and cheaper to eat in the dining room with the residents, than go out for lunch. The small dining room had only a few tables. I had to move quickly or there would be no seats.

The kitchen
ran like clockwork, by an equally small woman named Cookie Jones. Cookie Jones had been the head cook at Community Hospital for twenty years. She kept the menu at Mary House similar to the hospital with simple meals. I decided to eat light, but the aroma wafting from the dining room told me it was lasagna day. Once a month, Cookie made her famous lasagna. She made the best lasagna.
Why did today have to be lasagna day?
I got in line.
No lasagna
, I told myself. I ignored the delicious smell of garlic and basil. I opted for a small salad, piece of garlic bread, and an apple.

“No lasagna?” Jane asked as I approached the check out. The residents didn’t have to pay for meals; they simply swiped th
eir I.D. badge to register the meal. It logged their meal into a database for the staff to monitor. Not eating or eating too much were both symptoms of use. The staff physician monitored the residents eating habits closely to identify various health problems associated with addiction. The staff paid for their meals, but at a minimal cost. A complete meal usually consisted of three or four courses and a drink. No meal cost over five dollars, which was cheaper than any of the surrounding fast food chains, not to mention, the higher priced diners down the street.

“No, I’m eating out tonight
,” I said.

“Somewhere nice?” Jane asked

“Yes.”

“I could tell by your outfit.” Jane
gave me the once over. “You look real pretty today.” Everyone commented on my dress. It embarrassed me. I must look awful every other day.

“Two dollars.” Jane said.
I handed her a ten dollar bill. It took Jane a moment to count back the change. “Five...six...seven...eight,” she said. Jane couldn’t work at McDonalds, but she did well in the dining room. Most people had exact change for their lunches, and the others knew better than to give her more than a ten dollar bill.

The cash register was a simple computer. She clicked on the icons for
each person’s meal. Each square icon represented a part of the meal, blue for the entrees, red for sides, pink for dessert, and yellow for drinks. Mary converted to the system after seeing it be used in group home for special needs adults. At least one third of all prostitutes on the street suffered from learning disabilities that were never identified. Mary had been a special education teacher before she founded Mary House. A lot of the curriculum derived from Mary’s training as a special education teacher.

“Thank you, Jane.” I said, and
headed for a table.

I sat down beside two women from my morning session. On Wednesdays, my morning sessions
had high function women. These women were educated and only on the streets because of their drug habit.  The drugs took them down so far that they supported their habit by selling themselves. Sandy and Lynnette, the two women at the table, both worked for the same dealer. He pimped them out to pay their drug debts. They worked together when they were arrested.

Lynette was on the downside of thirty and getting too old to live on the streets. Lynette committed to staying at Mary House after her sentence. She came from an upper
middle class background. She went to junior college before marriage and children. Her addiction began with pain killers after back surgery. Before she admitted her problem, she stole a prescription pad from her doctor and forged his signature. While in jail for fraud, Lynette’s husband left, taking her two children. Heartbroken, she turned to stronger drugs to cope with the loss. She ended up on the streets, hooking to pay for her six hundred dollar a day heroine addiction. Lynette had not seen her children, who were nearly adults, in nine years. Lynette hoped to reunite with her children after she cleaned up.

Lynette looked after
Sandy as if her mother. Sandy was an attractive blonde in her early-twenties, the only daughter of a middle class auto worker. After her graduation, Sandy’s father was downsized out of a job. He started using drugs. By Sandy’s nineteenth birthday, they were both junkies. Sandy’s father sold her to his dealer as payment for crack. Sandy hadn’t committed to cleaning herself up. She planned to do her time and go back to the streets.

“You didn’t get the lasagna?” Lynette asked.

“She’s got a hot date, remember?” Sandy added.

“That’s right,” Lynette said. “So who’s the guy?”

“He’s just a friend,” I said. These women weren’t prostitutes, addicts, or defendants to me. They were women, no different than co-workers. Some, like Nessie, were even friends.

“Some friend.” Lynette said
, with a smirk.

“Do you like him?”
Sandy asked.

“Yes,” I said, contemplating
. “I like him very much.”

“So where
did you meet him?” Lynette asked, brushing the wiry, salt and pepper bangs from her eyes.

“I’ve known him for years.”

Lynette looked at me through her long bangs. “So what’s taken so long to hook up?” she asked. Lynette needed a haircut. Mary House had a stylist who volunteered once a month. I made a note to make Lynette an appointment. 

I shrugged.
“I don’t know.” I didn’t elaborate. The story of my soul mate seemed too outlandish to discuss.

“Is he cute?”
Sandy asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s he look like?” Sandy asked, taking a drink of her juice.

“Well, he’s Korean-American, so he looks Asian. He’s tall
er than me and handsome.”

“A tall Asian?” Lynette laughed. “This I’ve got to see.”

“There are tall Chinese people,” Sandy said. “What about that basketball player?” She asked referring to Yao Ming.

“I ain’t ever heard of a Chinese person playing ball.”

“There is at least one,” I said.

“Anyway, what about this guy?”
Sandy asked. “What’s his name? Is it like Ling or Yin or something strange?”

“No,” I laughed, “his name is Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?” Lynette said, “That’s an American name.”

“I said he was
Korean-American
. He was born in the United States.”

I continued
to girl talk with Sandy and Lynette until my lunch hour ended. I hurried to my next session after lunch, the beginners group. Any new residents went through the beginner’s group in their first month at Mary House. The session taught new residents to trust the staff. Most of the women went through various stages of drug withdrawal. They tended to be more aggressive, and have a greater flight risk than, the women, like Lynette and Sandy, who had almost finished the program. Mary and I usually conducted the session together, but, in her absence, I did it myself. Currently, only three women attended the session. A small group made it easier, but still difficult compared to the other sessions.

The session
dealt with the key values of Mary House, trust, respect, and accountability. We taught them to identify those who could and couldn’t be trusted. Some women trusted too much and others not enough. The women spent most of their lives being mistreated. They had no self-worth. We helped them learn to respect themselves. The last thing discussed was accountability. In most cases, aggravating circumstances led to drugs and prostitution, but they made the choices. Our discussion this afternoon focused on respect for oneself. The session went well and the women were receptive. It put me in good spirits. At four-thirty, I went to my office. I had to finish some paperwork before Jimmy arrived. I skipped to my office, literally skipped.
No one is watching
. I hoped.

I opened my door to find Detective King crammed in
a small corner chair.

             
“Ms. Williams.” He said, as he rose to greet me. I noticed his somber expression. It wasn’t a follow-up visit.

             
“Detective King,” I said. “How did you get in here?”

             
“The lady at the front desk told me to wait here.”
Damn it!
I mentally cursed. I should have locked the door.

             
“What can I do for you Detective King?” I asked. The scent of his cologne filled my office. It was light, but manly. It would smell good on Jimmy.

             
“Call me Ben.” He said. “Detective King sounds so impersonal.”

             
“Okay, Ben,” I said. “Why are you here?” I already knew why. His presence confirmed the feeling I had all week. Skye was dead.

             
“We found two more prostitutes last night.” Detective King, Ben, sighed. “I thought maybe you could give me some information about them.” He reached into his charcoal colored silk suit and produced an envelope. “Do you know this girl?” he asked, pulling out an arrest photo of a young black girl. To my relief, I didn’t know the girl. The reader board she held read: Sanders, Kira. 

             
“I’ve never seen this girl before, here or on the streets,” I said. “Who is she?”

             
“From the information we’ve gathered, she was a sixteen year old runaway from Bloomington,” he said. “An informant said that she’d been in Indy about three months.”

             
“What was she arrested for?” I asked, pointing at the photo, taken a month ago.

             
“Shop lifting. It was her only arrest so far.”

             
I stared at the photo. “So young and innocent,” I said. Runaways commonly came to Indianapolis from smaller towns with hopes for something better and ended in a worse position.

“I have another photo
,” Ben said, and showed another arrest photo. A woman stared up from the photo, her eyes glassy, hair tangled, and face sallow. I immediately recognized the smile. Even strung out, Skye always had a charismatic smile.

             
“I always smile in my mug shots.” Skye once told me. “It lets them know they ain’t got me down.”

             
“Oh, Skye!” I cried.

             
“This is the woman who’s been missing?” Ben asked. I nodded. I sobbed too hard to speak. “How long did you say she’d been missing?” he asked.

             
“Since Friday.” I sobbed.

             
“I’m really sorry,” he said. He already knew it was Skye. “She’s been identified as Sarah Blackburn, is that correct?”

             
“Yes,” I said. “What happened to her?”

             
“She was beaten to death. We think pummeled with rocks.”

             
“She was stoned in the biblical sense?” I asked.

             
“Yes, we think so.”

             
“Where did you find her?”

             
“In the old Western Electric Building.”

             
“A warehouse?”
That’s what Jimmy saw.

             
“Yes,” Ben said. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m missing something?”

             
I shrugged innocently. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” I said. “Do you think it was the same guy who killed Penny Roil?” I asked. I noticed gray colored tear stains on my paperwork. I pulled out a mirror and a tissue.
I looked like a raccoon. I dabbed at the streaks.

             
“We do,” he said. “Speaking of Penny Roil, we found her baby.”

             
I dropped the tissue and looked up. “Really? Where?”

             
“She was staying with a neighbor woman,” Ben said. “She’s safe.” Tameka was safe.
What a relief.
“Have any of the prostitutes mentioned anything out of the ordinary?” Ben asked. “A John who’s weird or a dealer who’s settling a score?”

“No
,” I said and added, “Our residents are blocked from the outside world once they arrive. We only allow monitored television, and don’t allow the news or programs that may trigger a relapse. Any news of the streets comes in via new residents, but by that time the news is several weeks old.” Mary House keeps the new residents separated on another floor. It was another reason for the beginner’s group.

             
“No one can provide accurate information.”

             
“Exactly,” I said.

             
“Would interviewing the residents be out of the question?”

             
“Not out of the question, but I wouldn’t allow you to wander around the facilities,” I said. “If you had someone in mind, I would allow it.”

BOOK: Soul Mate (The Mating Series)
12.24Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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