Uptown Thief (27 page)

It held six passports of various colors, each from different countries. Five girls, including Dulce, aged eighteen to twenty-one. On the bottom was Jerry's passport. He was forty-four. She stuffed them all into her pack.

From her pocket, she pulled out a plastic bag with a mix of marked and unmarked hundred-dollar bills. She wedged the stack of cash into the back corner of the safe. She jammed them behind the envelope and pushed a corner under the tape to make it look as if the bills had gotten caught. She closed the safe door, and walked back to the front of the apartment.

In the unlit living room, Jody's face was illuminated by a streetlight, and the glow of the New York sky that never went dark.

Jody pointed to an SUV double-parked in front of the building. “We may have company.”

Two men got out of the vehicle and walked toward the building.

“Shit!” Marisol said. “I think that's Jerry's brother. We better go out the fire escape.”

“Give me the pack,” Jody said. “You're awkward enough in that damn suit.”

They ran to the back of the apartment and tried the window.

“It's painted shut,” Marisol said.

“That fucker is practically holding these girls hostage,” Jody said.

“We gotta go out the front,” Marisol said. She reached into the pack, removed two guns, and checked them for ammo. Both were loaded. “If they catch us, we can hold them at gunpoint and run, or shoot if we have to.”

“My pleasure,” Jody said.

“Only if we have to,” Marisol said.

Back in the living room, the only two places to hide were behind an armchair, or underneath a large coffee table with a tinted gray glass top.

Jody dove behind the chair, and Marisol tried to squeeze in next to her, but she was too bulky in the suit.

Marisol knelt beside the coffee table and waved a hand under it. She couldn't see her hand very well, but it was far from invisible. She squirmed under the table.

“Jody,” Marisol whispered. “Will they be able to see me?”

Jody peeked out from behind the chair. “No, it's dark enough.”

“What if they turn the lights on?” Marisol asked.

“Just shoot those fuckers right through the table,” Jody said.

Marisol drew in a ragged breath. When she heard keys in the lock, she broke out in a cold sweat under the thick bodysuit, her hands and feet twitching with nerves.

She could hear a man's voice just outside the door. “This bitch Nalissa? Trying to act like some kind of pimp moving in on our territory? She's not a fucking pimp, she's a hoe and Jerry's gonna fuck that bitch and slit her throat.”

The door opened and the light flipped on. Two men walked into the apartment. The voice belonged to Jerry's brother, Jimmy, the pretty boy. The other man was tall, pale, and looked high on something. Both were dressed in hip-hop gear that looked too young for them.

“Gonna put that bitch in her place,” Jimmy continued. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” the drugged-out guy said, trailing after him into the kitchen. They walked right past Marisol.

They heard the fridge open and the clink of glasses and ice. Jody slipped out from her hiding place and headed for the door.

As quietly as she could, Marisol wriggled her body out from under the table in the heavy suit.

Jody turned the apartment doorknob.

“Wait a minute,” Jerry's brother said from the kitchen. “Did the alarm go off when we came in?”

“I don't know, Lil J,” the other guy said. “I don't remember no alarm.”

He headed into the living room. The two women flew out the door.

“What the fuck?” Jerry's brother yelled, just as the door was closing.

Marisol ran for the stairs, but Jody stayed behind. When Jimmy flew out the door behind them, she Maced him and cracked him in the head with the gun. He moaned. She shoved him back in the apartment, and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Half an hour later, they met up with Tyesha and Kim back at the clinic. Marisol was locking up all of Jerry's stuff, except two of the guns. She stuck one down the back of her waistband.

“We have to find Nalissa before Jerry does,” she said.

“Fuck that,” Tyesha said. “I know you tryna save everybody, but—”

“Marisol is the original captain save-a-hoe,” Kim said.

“Nalissa knows too much,” Marisol said, and handed the other gun to Jody.

“You said she was no threat if she went to the cops,” Jody said.

“The cops?” Marisol said. “I'm worried about Jerry. Everybody knows he's got it in for me. Including Nalissa. She would definitely snitch to him trying to save her ass. Maybe even make some shit up.”

“Good point,” Kim said. “But where is she?”

* * *

By 3 a.m., they had found Nalissa's Bronx apartment, only half a mile from Jerry's place. Kim and Jody stood on the front stoop making out. Marisol knelt hidden behind them, and worked to open the door.

She wore a bulky black jacket with loose black jeans and sneakers. Her hair was up under a cap. Both she and Jody wore black latex gloves, in case the place was already a crime scene.

“Kim,” Marisol whispered as the lockpick slipped once again. “I might need you to take over.”

“Okay,” Kim said. “But no kissing my girlfriend.”

“Marisol is kinda hot, though,” Jody said. She was also dressed to look boyish in thick sweats and work boots.

Marisol ignored them and the lock finally clicked.

The two women stopped kissing. Marisol and Jody stepped inside, as Kim went down to the car to sit lookout with Tyesha.

On the fourth floor, they could hear thudding bass from behind Nalissa's door. Marisol managed the apartment lock, and opened the door a crack. She saw a cheaply furnished and dim living room. A couple was having sex on a foldout couch. The woman was on all fours, and both had their backs to the door. The woman moaned with exaggerated excitement, and the man's neck was flushed with concentration.

Marisol and Jody crept inside, the music covering the sound of the closing door.

Down the hallway, they found three bedrooms. The first two also had sounds of thumping and moaning, but the third was quiet.

Marisol and Jody kicked in the door, guns drawn.

Nalissa sat in an armchair in jeans and a T-shirt, smoking a cigarette. When the two women burst in, the cigarette fell onto the carpet.

“Marisol,” Nalissa said, wide-eyed with hands up. “Don't shoot. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Marisol stepped forward and punched Nalissa in the face. The young woman fell onto the bed.

The smell of singeing plastic filled the room, and Marisol ground out the cigarette with her boot, leaving a char mark on the carpet.

“Please, Marisol,” Nalissa whined. “I was always planning to pay you back. I got five thousand here right now.” Very slowly, with her other hand raised, she removed a small blue backpack from beneath the mattress. “A down payment. Another five by next week, I swear. Don't kill the goose that lays the golden egg. I just wanted to be like you. Be the boss.” She held the backpack out to Marisol.

“It's not about being the goddamn boss,” Marisol said, slapping the backpack out of Nalissa's hand. “It's about doing what you fucking have to do for your folks. How you gonna have some girl getting fucked in your living room while people walk in and out? That's not being a madam. That's being a little girl playing dress-up. You thought you stole some play money? You stole the rent money. The whole fucking clinic almost got shut down behind your ass.”

“I didn't—”

“Of course you didn't,” Marisol said. “Didn't know. Didn't care. But I cleaned up that mess, just like I'm here to clean up another mess. You pissed off the wrong people.”

“I promise, I'll make it up to you,” Nalissa said.

“Not me,” Marisol said. “Jerry the pimp, the fucking psychopath who firebombed the clinic? You're operating on his turf.”

“No,” Nalissa said. “His brother, Jimmy, told me—”

“Then Jimmy played you,” Marisol said.

Jody's phone beeped and she checked it. “Jerry and his boys are on their way up,” she said. “He plans to fucking kill you.”

Marisol stuck her gun back down her waistband. “Let's go out the fire escape,” she said, opening the window. She pushed Nalissa out, then climbed out with Jody.

Jody lowered the ladder. From inside the apartment, they could hear the music stop. Then the thundering of Jerry's voice.

Marisol and Jody had begun to descend down the fire escape, but Nalissa climbed back into the bedroom.

“What the—” Marisol began, and started to climb back up.

Through the small window, Marisol could see into the bedroom. Nalissa was grabbing the backpack.

Nalissa had one leg back out the window when Jerry burst in, cursing. With his hefty frame and booming voice, he seemed to take up all the space in the small room. Nalissa rushed to the escape, backpack in one hand.

While Jody had climbed down two flights, Marisol had been crouching in the relative darkness of the fire escape ladder. As Nalissa's leg hit the fire escape landing, Marisol began climbing down fast.

From below, she could see most of Nalissa's body squeeze out the window, and then a man's arm pulling on the backpack. Nalissa yanked hard and the man's hand let go. Nalissa fell back against the iron of the fire escape, banging her head. She sagged in what seemed like a daze, one hand loosely clutching the backpack, the other crumpled beneath her.

Jody was on the ground now. Marisol continued to climb down, as quickly as she dared. Meanwhile, above her, she saw a thick leg climb out of the window. Then a second leg, then Jerry heaved his ass and trunk out the window.

Marisol froze. She could see Nalissa rally and scramble for the ladder. Jerry was big—unwieldy on the small fire escape—but he was fast. He crossed the landing in a single step, the metal groaning with the movement of his weight. His hand clenched over Nalissa's arm. He ripped the backpack away from her, tearing the bag from the straps and tossing it back in through the window.

“You ain't no pimp, bitch,” he said, his voice echoing into the alley. “Only one pimp around here.”

He grabbed her by both of her shoulders and wrenched her from the ladder, holding her for a moment in the air. Nalissa was frozen, her face a mask of terror, her hands clenched on the thin pair of blue backpack straps, now ragged at the ends.

And then, as if she were an oversized doll, he tossed her off the fire escape.

Marisol ducked her head, both to avoid being seen, and to avoid seeing. So she heard, rather than saw, Nalissa fall the three floors and land on the concrete with a sickening
thud
.

Pulling her hood up to shade her face, she glanced up at Jerry. He was barely illuminated by the weak glow through the window, as he peered down through the gloom. Marisol was over two stories below him. It was dark. She had on men's clothes. She knew he could barely see her, let alone recognize her. Yet she felt her insides liquefy under his gaze. A man who flicked a woman off a fourth story like ash from a cigarette.

He lumbered back to the window, first his trunk, then both his legs, climbing back out of view.

Marisol hustled down the final length of the ladder and jumped to the ground. Jody grabbed her hand.

“I called nine-one-one on the burner phone,” Jody said, pulling her toward the other end of the alley. “I texted them to meet us.”

Jody took off running, but Marisol turned back.

“Marisol,” Jody hissed. “He's gonna come looking for us.”

Marisol ignored her and ran back to Nalissa. A pool of red was spreading behind the girl's head, making her usually bright carrot-colored hair look washed out. She reached into Nalissa's pocket for the girl's phone.

As she ran down the alley, she could feel the phone's warmth through the latex gloves. In contrast to the cold night, it felt almost hot, as if it could burn her.

Chapter 27

T
wo days later, Marisol sat at her desk, wearing the same clinic T-shirt and cotton leggings she'd slept in. She hadn't put in contacts, and she stared at a spreadsheet through slightly grimy glasses. Even after twelve hours of sleep, she felt tired. She was halfway dozing off, when Eva came in.

“Serena's hilarious,” Eva said. “Since that foundation check came in, she's walking around here like the female Ed McMahon. Or a white Oprah. Ladies, look under your seats—Pap smears and HIV tests for everyone.”

Marisol forced a weak smile.

Eva laughed. “Seriously, though. We did it,” she said. “Really you did it. You should be so proud.”

“I don't really feel anything,” Marisol said, leaning back in her chair. In the two weeks since she had last seen Raul, the ache had dulled, replaced by a heavy weight in her torso. “I know I should be grateful. But I'm just going through the motions.”

“It's burnout, honey,” Eva said. “You should go visit your sister in Cuba.”

“I can't go right now.” Marisol ran a hand through her hair. When had she last combed it? “I'm a mess.”

Eva crossed her arms. “Cristina doesn't care what shape you're in.”

Marisol shrugged. “After everything with Jerry and Nalissa, I just ran out of gas.”

“Nalissa's still in a coma?” Eva asked.

Marisol nodded. “But her phone was full of escort clients she'd stolen. Now they keep calling. I just handed Kim and Jody the escort operation. They can turn down those disloyal motherfuckers.”

“Look, honey,” Eva said. “For the last year, you've been living from crisis to crisis.”

“Really my whole life.”

“Exactly,” Eva said. “You're used to being so pumped full of adrenaline. The crash was inevitable.”

“What do I do now?” Marisol asked.

“Nothing. Just let the waves of feeling wash over you,” Eva said, putting an arm around Marisol. “It'll shift in time.”

Marisol recalled the waves in her dream of Raul. Previously, the memory of him had stung. But now, like everything else, it just made her feel tired.

“Eva?” Marisol asked. “Can you prescribe something for me?”

“I already did,” the older woman said. “Go see Cristina. You don't need meds. You need rest, new scenery, and love.”

Marisol closed her eyes. The thought of buying airline tickets seemed like more than she could manage.

Marisol's phone buzzed. The receptionist said Dulce was there to see her.

* * *

“I gotta get outta New York,” Dulce said as she clacked into the office on stiletto ankle boots, and sat down on the couch. “I ran into Jerry's brother, Jimmy, today. He kept following me, squinting like he wasn't sure if it was me or not.”

She had dyed her hair back to a dark brown. “He saw me come out of my sister's building. Jerry could find me now. He'll look there and then at my ma's apartment.”

Marisol sat down next to her on the couch.

“I won't let him find you,” Marisol said. “I promise he'll never touch you again.”

Dulce burst into tears. “I've been so scared. Scared he would find me, and scared you wouldn't help because of all the shit I've caused. The fire and then you had to shoot that guy.”

“You didn't cause that shit,” Marisol said. “Jerry caused it. That's what we do here. Protect girls and make sure they have choices.”

“So is it true?” Dulce sat up and wiped her eyes. “Is it true that you broke in a couple of weeks ago and got everyone's passports back?”

“No.” Marisol hugged her tight, looking over her shoulder as she lied. “Someone delivered them here anonymously.”

“Star went back to Jamaica, and Spice went back to the Philippines. I don't have any real family outside the city, except my cousin in Detroit.” She jiggled her foot and looked around the office. “Things didn't work out with that backstabber. Her boyfriend tried to fuck me. When I told her, she threw me out instead of him. Good luck with
ese cabron, pendeja
.”

“What about your brother in the Dominican Republic?”

“He got locked up,” she said. “And my mom's family down there are all dead or moved to the States.”

“What about family on your dad's side?”

“My dad is long gone,” she said. “All I got is a grandmother I've never met, somewhere in Cuba.”

“Why don't you try to find her?” Marisol asked. “It's legal to travel there now.”

“What if she won't take me in?” Dulce asked. “If I'm gonna be a homeless hoe, I'd rather be in the U.S.”

“If I went to Cuba, would you come with me?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Dulce laughed. “If I'm going with you, I'm already packed.”