It was midafternoon, so the area was still pretty chill. Most people around the Tenderloin didn’t emerge until closer to sundown. This place really needed darkness to get stirred up.
Near Hyde Street, Lizzie noticed two boys about her same age. One wore a Warriors jersey, and the other had on a polo shirt that looked like he’d scrounged it from a thrift store. There was nothing unusual about the guys except that their eyes followed her like security cameras tracking an intruder. When one of them called out to her, she didn’t hear exactly what he said. She just ignored them and kept walking. They followed.
Lizzie stopped for a moment near some steps to an abandoned building. A frail-looking older woman was sitting on the stairs. Herpoorly dyed gray-brown hair was tied in a rough ponytail that fell to her shoulders. Her arms looked like thin, shapeless pipes. She’d been watching Lizzie and the men as they came closer and closer.
The two boys didn’t even acknowledge the woman when they caught up to Lizzie.
The one with the Warriors jersey said, “Yo, why you moving so fast? We just want to talk with you.”
The older woman stood up from the stairs and casually stepped onto the sidewalk. Then she swung her right arm with surprising speed. Lizzie thought she’d slapped the guy. Then she heard his cry and saw blood gushing down his face.
The woman, who was clearly hardier than she’d initially looked, grabbed Lizzie by the wrist and said, “C’mon.”
Lizzie followed along. When she looked over her shoulder, the boys were no longer behind her.
The woman turned to Lizzie and said, “They won’t give us no more trouble.”
“What about that guy’s face?”
“It’ll be okay.” The woman held up a box cutter covered in blood. “It was just a razor down his cheek. Nothing vital. A lot less than what would’ve happened to you if I hadn’t stepped in.” She stopped in front of an old run-down hotel. There wasn’t even anything written on the sign. The woman said, “You’ll be safe with me tonight. Then we’ll figure out a more permanent solution. The city puts us up in this place. It’s just a one bedroom, but I have a couch you can sleep on.”
Lizzie was in no position to complain. She followed the woman through the front door. They took sketchy stairs up to the third floor.
The woman let out some phlegmy, hacking coughs as they climbed the stairs. Lizzie wondered if they’d have to stop for a moment. As soon as they stepped through the apartment door, anarray of odors hit Lizzie all at once. Old cigarettes, beer, and another smell she couldn’t exactly identify.Kinda like… bug spray?
Lizzie noticed stacks of what looked like suitcases. More than a dozen of them. All exactly the same size.
“What are all those cases?”
The woman turned and smiled. Her yellowed teeth looked as if they could fall out at any time. “Them things? They’re what you call AEDs, you know, defibers. For people having a heart attack.”
“Defibrillators?”
The woman nodded.
“Where’d you get all of them?”
“Oh, they’re just hanging on walls in bus stations and in some hotels. They’re free for the taking. I sell them off at a discount to the places that really need ’em.”
The woman pointed to her couch, sitting on top of bricks under each corner. It was the only furniture in the front room. “You look tired, sweetheart. Go ahead and get some rest. Once you’re awake, I can show you a couple places that’ll feed us for free.”
The woman shuffled to the corner of the room. A dorm refrigerator and hot plate delineated the “kitchen.” She pulled a plastic cup from the tiny refrigerator and brought it back to Lizzie.
“Protein drink. Hold you until we can get some real food.”
Lizzie was so hungry she just grabbed the cup and gulped down the gritty fruit-flavored liquid. It had been only half full and left a weird aftertaste. But it did seem to curb her hunger.
Lizzie gingerly sat down on the couch. It was soft. Then she stretched out and realized just how good it felt. Real food would be even better.A burger with fries.That’s what she was thinking as she started to drift off.
CHAPTER57
I SPENT MUCHof the day huddled at my desk with Alain Creasy, going over everything we’d gathered so far. By everything, I meant theories, evidence, and reports. Alain’s grasp of English was astonishing. He read reports faster than I did. He had insights that could only come from vast experience.
His tortoiseshell reading glasses were held around his neck by a homemade band of white fabric. There were tiny drawings and French words written on the fabric in blue ink. He noticed me looking at it and said, “My granddaughters made it for me for Christmas. It may be a little tattered, but it makes me happy.”
“I think it’s wonderful. So personal and fun.”
After a while, he turned away from my computer monitor. His insights were making me reevaluate how I had viewed human trafficking, which was as something done by a single criminal organization. Almost like a corporation with employees.
