“How often do you come here?” I question, interrupting her deliberation of where she’s going to park.
“Some,” she says noncommittally. “There aren’t many clubs by us.” She looks over at me with her artfully arched brows raised high.
“I just didn’t know you went to the city so often.” The realization leaves me feeling a little sad, and I think Gwen hears it in my tone.
“It’s not all the time,” she hedges.
“There’s a lot a block up on the left.” I point to one of the lots I park in. It’s close to The Dollhouse, but not right next to it. I get a bad feeling in my stomach. When I told Winger I wouldn’t come to the city, I didn’t have any idea it’s where Gwen was planning on taking me. I push away the guilt. Winger made it clear he didn’t want me coming to the city looking for a job. I don’t think he’ll care if I’m one of the many faceless people going to a dance club to have a good time. That’s what I tell myself anyway. I don’t even know why I feel guilty about it. Besides, I have a feeling he’s going to fire me.
“Perfect, this isn’t too far, plus it’s only fifteen bucks.” She veers into the left lane and slowly turns into the lot. There’s a man standing right at the entry. I pull three fives out of my pocket before Gwen can put the car in park and dig into her tiny clutch. “Thanks.” She smiles at me and hands over the bills without even looking at them.
The guy writes a number two and an uppercase letter F on the windshield with a chalk marker. Gwen doesn’t even flinch.
As she maneuvers the car toward the area he directs us to, I tell her, “Turn around, we need to find someplace else to park.”
“What?” she snaps, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “We just paid.” I don’t remind her I’m the one who paid.
“Gwen, we will find someplace else to park.”
She huffs but makes a fifteen-point turn to get out of the tight parking lot. I make eye contact with the guy taking the money when we leave. “Fucker,” I mutter, but he can probably read my lips.
“What’s going on?” Gwen asks.
“Park there instead,” I insist, pointing at another lot. It costs twice as much, but the guy is holding a card reader in his hand and he’s wearing a shirt with the same name that’s on the sign for the lot. I hand over my card and Gwen pays again, still seeming dumbfounded.
“Make sure the car is locked.” Gwen gathers her clutch and hops out of the car. I’m already on the driver’s side scrubbing the code off the windshield.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
I spit on the window and use my hand to get the rest of the smudge off. “Why do you think he did that?”
“So they know we paid and won’t tow us from the lot.” She plants her hands on her hips.
“2F, Gwen. Think about it. Two females. It’s a code. Human trafficking is real. Codes like that alert people who’s in a car or who will likely be returning to that car.”
“What?” Her arms droop to her sides, and she looks around like someone might snatch her right now.
There are people everywhere. Most of them are just going about their business and have come into the city for a good time, but once you really look, you can see the seedy underbelly. Like all the broken windows of the buildings that are just off the main roads, or the clusters of people hunched near a barrel that’s been lit to provide warmth, even though it’s not very cold. Then there are the more obvious signs, like the panhandlers and the lookout crew for the corner sellers. Threats are everywhere, but you have to know where to look.
“You gotta know this kind of shit if you’re coming to the city, Gwen.” I give her my best mothering look. “And it’s not just Detroit. This kind of stuff happenseverywhere.”
Gwen swallows and nods. “Do you think we’re good now that we left that lot?” Her eyes dart in the direction of the other lot. It’s only a half a block away.
“Just be smart,” I tell her. I’m not going to make any promises I can’t keep. Gwen gets super close to me and wraps her arm through mine after looping the thin strap of her clutch over her body. I didn’t bring a purse. I have my ID, some cash, and my bank card in my back pocket. My jeans are tight enough to show a small bulge, but also tight enough that I can feel if anyone sticks their hand in my pocket.
“Let’s go. I’ll see if Jay will walk us back to the car later,” she mutters. It might make her feel better, but not me. He’s just as much of a stranger to me as anyone else on the street.
“How late are you staying? And you have to promise not to bail on me,” I warn quickly.
“I’m not going to ditch you, Lucy. I hardly ever get to see you.” She shakes her arm, jostling our hold. We hustle across the street when the road is clear, ignoring the crosswalk half a block up. The line in front of The After Party is long, just like I predicted. I groan, but it gets lost in the noise of the city and the crowd. Maybe this is better. If we get turned away, we can head home, or at least out of the city.
Gwen keeps her steps light but quick as she makes her way right up to the front. We get a few comments from the people in line which I ignore, but I can see the grin on my friend’s lips. She likes the attention.
“Crap,” I mutter when I recognize the bouncer. I lower my face and hope he doesn’t notice me.
“We’re on the list,” Gwen tells Masher—you can guess how he got his name. He gives her a once-over, seeming underwhelmed, and snaps, “Name.”
“Gwen and Lucy.” She peers over the big guy’s arm, trying to get a look at the list. I pretend to rearrange my hair, but really, I’m just trying to hide behind it. There is no way this isn’t going to get back to Winger if Masher spots me. I had no idea he worked here too. It makes me wonder who else might.
