Chapter Seven
Watching the youngster begging Margo to reconsider, Carolina felt her stomach juices swirl. Fervently wishing Margo would suffer, visions of her fat butt being kicked repeatedly began to form. Carolina hated small-minded, mean people, and she kept her hands away from her weapon in case she couldn’t control sudden wild urges.
“Please, Margo. Don’t do this. It wasn’t my fault a killer broke into that lady’s place.”
“Who cares? You watched him kill her, and now you’re too dangerous to be around. Bud and me’ll have to move in with my folks for a while until he realizes you don’t live here anymore. And my mom’s a real pain in the ass, nutbar.” She gestured rudely. “This is your stupid fault. Get out of my sight. Leave! Now! Let the cops take you back to the dump where we picked you up.”
Alicia fled to her room. Unable to leave the poor kid alone with her misery, Carolina made eye contact with a disgusted Detective Crawly and got a nod of permission. She followed the girl.
Disgust flooded. How anyone could call this tiny closet a room was beyond her. Seeing the rack of hooks for the girl’s clothes and cloth linen baskets stacked against the wall rather than a dresser, Carolina took one of the black plastic bags a tearful Alicia had fetched and started to fill it.
Sneaking a peek at the teen had her guts roiling. Alicia needed sympathy and a feeling of security right now, not to be condemned and thrust out like she had no value. Carolina could hear her Gramps’s voice in her head. He’d have been livid at the circumstances forced on this young girl.
Gathering as much as she could, Carolina bypassed a stained night table by the neatly-made twin-sized bed that held Alicia’s precious items. She left them for Alicia to deal with.
An older model cell phone with a cracked screen was slipped into Alicia’s newly donned jeans, and she carefully rolled her books and small personal items into a fuzzy purple cover that sat at the end of her bed.
Alicia trailed her hands over the plushness and her words offered insight to Carolina that told a story. “I won this blanket in a raffle at the mall. It’s soft and pretty.”
Sarcastic and not caring, Carolina said, “I’m surprised the white witch let you keep it.”
Giggling at Carolina’s pun, Alicia nodded. “She wanted me to give it to Buddy.”
Shocked, Carolina replied, “To Mr. White?”
“No. The baby. Buddy Junior. But he gave it back to me. He’s a pretty cool kid for only being two and a half years old. Acts like a spoiled brat when he’s with his parents, but when we’re alone, he’s a sweetie.”
“Seriously? He’s a baby? That kid has to weigh over fifty pounds.”
“They feed him junk food all the time, especially Bud. Buddy’s the only one he shares his potato chips and cokes with.”
Disgust obvious, Carolina changed the subject back to a safer topic and reached for the soft bundle before adding it to her bag. “I have a few of those cuddle-type throws around my place too. They come in handy on cold, rainy nights when watching TV.”
“Yeah, well Margo took my TV. Who cares? It’s tiny, the color kept fading and the picture was always blanking out.”
Feeling her mounting anger ignite, Carolina wished she could use Margo for kick-boxing practice. Shrugging, keeping it cool, she did as her Poppa John told her to do as a kid.Fix what you can and leave the rest to the karma Gods. In the end, they’ll even things out.Drawing in a large breath, she started a new line of questioning. “What did Margo mean about the dump?”
“Her and Bud took me in as a foster kid about a year ago, May fourteenth to be exact. She calls where I’d been living The Dump, but it’s more like an institution where kids like me get shoved when no one wants them.”
“Not to get personal but why did they foster you? It’s obvious they have no affection for you.”
“They needed a live-in free babysitter and housekeeper.”
“Seriously?”
“Bud’s okay sometimes, but creepy too, if you know what I mean.” Alicia stared at Carolina, letting her eyes tell the story. Her meaning sent shivers spreading over Carolina. Incensed for the girl, she said nothing. But she’d sure as hell be looking into stopping the Whites from ever getting another girl fromThe Dump.
Not pussy-footing around anymore, Carolina asked point blank, “Did he ever force himself on you?”
“Not really. He started touching inappropriate places, but I warned him that Margo wouldn’t like it, and I’d tell her if he didn’t quit. So, he stopped. He lives under Margo’s rules and only speaks up when she refuses him money for beer or forgets to buy his chips. Then the fight is on. Since she loves the stuff almost as much as he does, they don’t fight very often.”
“The place must cost a pretty penny. How do they make their living?”
“Margo works downtown as a bank accountant, and Bud is a divorce lawyer. His clients are all men, and he continuously complains about howthe bitchestake advantage of their poor husbands nowadays.” Her finger gestures exaggerated the word as much as her voice.
“Alicia, how old are you? I saw your face when Margo mentionedThe Dump. You don’t intend to go back there, do you?”
“I’m fourteen, almost fifteen. The cops will drop me off, but if Jean Sowdon’s still there, I’ll leave. That cow knows exactly how to make life a living hell for those of us who… ahh, don’t want her type of affection. She makes me sick. I can’t go back to living like that again.”