LIZZIE NUNEZ LAYon a lumpy mattress. It had a faint smell of urine, but she’d gotten used to that last night. What she hadn’t gotten over was the snoring from two of the three women in the dorm with her.
She’d first tried a youth shelter near Mission Dolores Park. The woman who ran the shelter said Lizzie couldn’t stay because she was over eighteen, and there were too many younger kids there for her to let in anyone over eighteen. That left Lizzie the choice of two adult shelters. This one was the lesser of two evils. Barely. But at least they were letting her stay until noon. Most places kicked you out early each morning.
There were six rooms that each held four twin beds. Three rooms were for men and three were for women. There was a locked door between each set of three. Every bed was filled. Lizzie had gotten the second to the last open one.
Now she had to get up. No way was she coming back here. She washed up, then put on a clean yellow sundress someone seemed to have left on a night table for her. She’d be okay in the dress withher jacket. She walked into the small women’s dining area. Men had their own dining area.
The dining room was pretty basic. It almost looked like something from a military base. The room was long and had three picnic tables with benches attached, plus a table at the far end, where two women in aprons were doling out what looked like either oatmeal or soup. To Lizzie it felt like summer camp. Except for the surly women sitting at the tables.
After she was handed a portion of what turned out to be soup, plus a slice of bread, Lizzie eased onto the bench seat next to one of her dorm mates, a tall, thin woman named Augusta who told Lizzie she’d lived on the streets for the last eleven years.
Augusta leaned back on the bench like she was about to tell an epic story. “Doesn’t feel like it’s gotten any easier.”
Lizzie looked at her in a new light. Eleven years was a long time.
Augusta said, “Yep, since I was twenty-one.”
Lizzie did the math and was shocked. Augusta was only thirty-two? She looked like she was in her mid-fifties.
Though the needle tracks Lizzie now spotted on her left arm helped explain it. She hadn’t looked at her closely earlier because Augusta stank of tobacco. When Augusta complained about living conditions and how harsh people could be, Lizzie had to ask, “How can you afford to smoke cigarettes?”
“The city gives them out if you really need them.” Augusta took a giant bite from her slice of bread, then turned her head and said, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in here? You should find a sugar daddy.”
“I did, then I lost him. But I’m still looking.”
Augusta smiled, showing her grayish-looking teeth. “I thought I had one when I was younger. Made good money. Sold H when itwas still hard to get and a lot more expensive. All I ended up with out of the experience was a boyfriend shot in our apartment. Apparently he strayed out of his territory. I guess I also got a heroin habit out of it.” She giggled like she’d made a joke.
Lizzie said, “Have you tried rehab?”
That made Augusta cackle. “Sweetheart, you kids go to rehab. Us old-timers have to kick habits like this on our own. I’ve kicked it half a dozen times. Once I was clean for nearly two years.”
When Augusta had finished her soup, she turned to Lizzie and said, “You need to get out there while you’re young and beautiful.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Lizzie was going to find her tall man with dark hair or die trying.
CHAPTER93
MY HEART WASracing a little bit as we got closer to the concrete factory. I wasn’t sure I could explain this whole incident to my boss. I was letting it play out to see what happened.
Still, I was glad Cindy was driving. She had stomped on the gas pretty hard.
After we reached the end of Willow Pass Road, we took two gravel roads until we had the factory in sight. The main structure looked almost like a medieval fortress. It was an uneven and very tall building with a dilapidated fence around it. A long chain-link fence surrounded the property. It too had been neglected for so long only about half of it was still standing.
This was exactly the kind of place where people dumped bodies.
I turned to Cindy. “You talked to a potential human-trafficking suspect alone, all the way out here?”
Cindy said, “It sounds a lot worse the way you’re saying it. I was careful. And I talked to him outside, not in that building.”
I saved my scolding for later.
On my phone, I looked again at the map Jake had sent me. Yup, we were right on the money. Eric—or his phone—was here, within yards of where we’d parked.
Cindy let out an excited yap. “Look, there’s Eric’s Jeep Cherokee.”
I recognized the white Jeep from the time we’d visited Eric’s house. It looked out of place here next to the dingy building. An old pickup truck sat next to it. The wind kicked up a little bit. A few dust devils sprang up in the breeze. It caused a haze to settle around the building. I didn’t know if that was from cement particles or just general dust and dirt.
Cindy bailed out of the car like she was in the SWAT unit. I rushed to catch up with her. “Hold on, Cindy. We need to work out a plan.” We both paused in front of an old rusty gate.
