She disappears, leaving the door open. Even though I never lived in this particular apartment, I can smell the moldy, clogged drain in the shower and feel the dirt on the floor getting in between my toes. The only time I took my shoes off when I lived with Monica was to shower. Jesse moves me aside to stand in the doorway a bit in front of me. When the child returns, dirt smeared across her face, Jesse sends her outside to play.
Monica comes into view, stumbling from the bedroom. Belly thick with liver disease and an unhealthy diet. Her skin is yellow and has a waxy texture. The scent of the place forces my stomach to heave, and I have to turn to take a deep breath before I vomit. I expected to have a reaction to being here, but not this visceral. “Who is it? What do you want?” Her voice is sharp, but it holds less authority than it used to. That’s on me. I gave her the power without question.
“It’s me,” I say, when she’s close enough to hear me. The scar on her cheek seems deeper than it used to be, sagging in a way that belies her age. “I came to repay my debt.”
“Your debt can’t be paid in this lifetime,” she scoffs, gaze lingering on Jesse. “Is this who changed the way you look?” She nods her head at Jesse. “You don’t even look like the same person.”
I lick my lips and regret it. I can taste the room. “That was the point in leaving Dirt Downs.”
“Who did the child belong to?” Jesse asks.
“Just a neighbor kid,” Grandma rasps. “What’s it to you?”
Jesse remains silent. “Give her the money,” I edge. “I want to be done with her and this place forever.”
She snarls, an ugly showing of her rotting teeth and foul mouth. “You were born here. You’ll never be done with this place. You can change how you look and where you live but this”—she waves a crooked finger toward the roof—“is who you are.”
The memories flood in, and I hate that my eyes begin to water. If she calls me on weakness, I’ll tell her it’s her stink that’s making my eyes tear. “You said bill collectors from my hospital stay ruined your life. That I was a stain. You said the worst day of your life is when my mom dropped me off on your doorstep. This money is for that. For all of the suffering I put you through. When you close your eyes at night, I hope you remember, in vivid detail, what you did to me. How excruciating the pain was that you dealt over and over. With this,” I say, voice shaking, grabbing the bag from Jesse’s hand, “I don’t have to ever think of you again. I’m done with you, and you bet your ass I’m done with this place.”
Her eyes lock on the duffel bag as I throw it by her feet. “Drew,” Jesse says. “Go get every woman and child out of this building.”
“What?” The adrenaline pumping through my veins makes his order fuzzy. “Why?”
He turns toward me. “Now.”
I nod and think on my toes. Kneeling down, I grab a stack of cash from the bag, then another, just in case, and I leave. I shove them both down the back of my jeans. Jesse closes the door, gaze sliding around the courtyard before, and a moment later, I hear a noise. It takes a few seconds for my brain to place it. A gun. It wasn’t loud and boisterous like in the neighborhood shootouts, it’s sharp and whizzing like the ones in the movies. A silencer. My eyes blur, but this is fight or flight. I approach the men sitting on the stairs. “I need your help.”
“How ‘bout you help us, baby?” one man says, flashing missing front teeth.
I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. “I need to talk to all the women here. All of them. My friend went missing and I need their help. How many are here right now?” I know they know. I eye the playground. I bet most, if not all of the kids are there. I never stayed indoors on a day when it wasn’t pouring rain when I was growing up. I reach behind me and pull out a stack of cash.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who the fuck are you, baby girl?” Cash is king, and it makes me the sultan right now. The main guy takes the money.
“Someone desperate to find her friend,” I say. “My friend in there, he’s desperate too, and won’t be as accommodating. I need answers and I need to see all of the women.” One of the men rushed away and began banging on doors the moment I pulled out the money. When the first few women amble out, drugged out of their minds and sleepy from waking, I motion for them to meet me in the courtyard. Oh my god, I think. The gunshot. Jesse. Oh my god. What’s happening? There’s a woman with long black hair and clear eyes. I home in on her right away, and I tell her we need all women and children out. She reacts calmly and quickly, gaze lighting at the possibility of anything other than what life has currently dealt her. I would have done the same thing. She’s a hustler.
“That’s all of them,” she whispers as a teenaged girl and an older woman join us by the play structure. My eyes keep darting to Monica’s apartment, but there’s no sign of him. “What now?” she asks.
I don’t know what to tell her. “What’s your name?”
“They call me B,” she replies, licking her cracked, peeling lips.
I hand her the second stack of cash. “There’s double this for you if you get all of them out of here. Can you do that?”
She eyes the stack with delight, then takes it. The groggy women notice, too. “It’s not going to be easy, but there’s a place in the city where you can stay.” I give her the address of a different motel I know the Astor’s own because of my earlier conversation with Jesse, and B is nodding along.
“The bus comes in five minutes,” she says, eyeing the street like it’s a freedom she may never be able to reach. “This is enough to house everyone when we get there.”
I read her correct. She’s shrewd.
“And the gang,” she whispers. “They won’t come after us? How?”
I shake my head. Jesse says money is no object to him and so, I make a leap and get these women and kids out of here as he asked of me without thought for his money or how I’ll have to spend it. A foreign notion that I’m just running with.
“True freedom. Now go. There’s no time to go back inside to get anything. If you want out of Dirt Downs for good, go now.” And they do. They grab kids, and pull them along, some barefoot without a single thing in their possession, proving how desperate they are for a fresh start, a chance at something better. When they’ve cleared the courtyard I run back to Monica’s apartment, my lungs screaming.
Jesse opens the door, the duffel bag in his hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to me. “That’s your fucking money.” He exhales, and wipes sweat from his brow. “We have to get out of here fast. Women and kids out?”
“Yes,” I say, voice shaking. “But why?”