She stared at me. “Why,” she said slowly, “are you doing this? I mean…helping me.”
I held her gaze. “Because almost nobody helped us when we needed it the most. And that was a terrible feeling.”
My hand slipped from hers, and I looked out the window and back at the motel. The dirty curtains. A place that destroyed people.
“But I also need something,” I said. “Information. About a bad, bad guy. Someone I need to take care of before he hurts more people. You think you can help me?”
She nodded. “Who are you looking for?”
“His name is John Myers,” I said. “He has a big scar on his forehead.”
Her lips pressed together as she looked out the window. When she looked back at me, something had hardened.
“I know that piece of shit,” she said. “All the girls here do.”
I straightened in my seat.
“We call him Gash,” she went on. “Stopped fucking him because half of the time he doesn’t pay. Gave Jody a broken nose when she refused to fuck him again. So now we avoid him.”
The words landed hard. A real lead on Myers. I tried hard not to shake. He was so close!
“Does he live here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No.” Then tilted it sideways, considering. “Well…kinda. He’s good friends with the owner of this shithole, Fat Bob. Went to school with him or something.”
“Do you know where I can find Myers?”
She didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. It was amazing what treating people like human beings could do.
“Down there in the woods,” she said, pointing toward the darkness beyond the motel lot. “There’s a little hut. By the river. About a mile or so from here. He fucking broke Jody’s nose in there when she asked for her money. That’s where he stays when he’s in the area. It’s private property. Fat Bob owns it. Nobody knows about the hut but a few of us. And them. Why do you want to find him?”
“I . . . want to pay him a lot of money to leave and never come back.”
For a moment, I let that sit. Made sure she would remember that part. She looked curious, but then just nodded.
“A lot of people want him gone.”
My eyes followed the direction she’d pointed. The tree line swallowed a tiny path. No lights. Only leaves and dark secrets.
Then my hand shifted, and the car slipped back into Drive.
“Where are we going?” she asked. No panic or protest. Just curiosity.
“We’ll get the antivirals for your shingles,” I said. “Then I’ll drop you off at the Massachusetts HIV Drug Assistance Program. We need to get you back on your meds as soon as possible. You don’t want to die from HIV. It’s a horrible death. It’s just as bad as cancer if it’s untreated.”
The image of my mother flashed before me. When she was nothing more than skin and bones.
“Is that okay with you if we get you the meds now?”
She nodded, smiling faintly.
I was just about to pull out of the parking lot when her hand came down on my arm, right where it rested near the stick shift. Her touch was light. Careful. Like she was afraid she was crossing a line.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”
My eyes caught hers. And I smiled back under my mask.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
