Mayhem & Mistletoe, стр. 45
“Yeah, I pretty much figured that out.”
“But you’re still going out there.”
“Maybe.”
“Then good luck with whatever it is you’ve got planned. You’re going to need it.”
16 Sixteen
I considered calling Eliot — it seemed the right thing to do — but when I measured his response in my mind against what I wanted to do, I opted to go with my gut. It took me an additional twenty minutes to find the halfway house. My sense of direction wasn’t great, especially when motoring around Detroit.
Once I found the halfway house, I sat in the car watching. Nobody walked in or out in almost thirty minutes. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
On one hand, the inhabitants could’ve simply been at their jobs. Work was part of the release program.
I exited my car, checking twice that it was locked, before starting down the street. While the halfway house was dead, some women stood at the nearby corner. I was eager enough for information that I decided to risk it.
The Forest Park neighborhood was considered one of Detroit’s worst. I knew that only because I’d read a few articles. The median home value in the area was fourteen-thousand dollars. The neighborhood was lightly populated thanks to many of the homes being removed under a blight order issued twelve years ago.
I should’ve been nervous ... and I kind of was. I knew better than to show it, though. I was all forced bravado and ego as I approached two women standing on the street corner. One look at their outfits — tight leggings and low-cut tops visible despite thick coats that remained unzipped — and I knew what I was dealing with.
“You lost?” one of the women demanded, narrowing her eyes as she looked me up and down. I shouldn’t appear a threat given my simple jeans and Converse — which weren’t worth enough to steal — but I remained leery.
“I’m looking for information.” I flashed a smile that I didn’t really feel and dug into the inside pocket of my North Face coat. I’d stashed my purse under the seat of my car and shoved a few twenties in my pocket in case I needed cash. I held up one of the twenties. “I promise not to take much of your time.”
The woman stared at the money for a moment before glancing around. “You a narc?”
I shook my head. “I’m a reporter from Macomb County.”
She jerked her head back to study me. “Oh, man. You are, ain’t ya? You’re Avery Shaw.”
“I ... you ... how did you know that?”
“I seen you on TV.” She inclined her head toward her friend, a too-thin blonde with sallow skin and huge dark pockets under her eyes. “You hear that, Sally Anne? It’s Avery Shaw.”
The blonde looked less than impressed. “So what?”
“She that skinny girl I was telling you about a couple weeks ago,” the first woman continued. “She done shot that racist political dude.”
I pressed my lips together, debating if I should correct her. In this neighborhood, street cred could only help. Of course, I didn’t want anyone getting twitchy around me. “I only tortured him,” I said, opting for honesty. “I didn’t shoot him. That was another chick. I appreciate you calling me skinny, though. That’s a great boost to my ego.”
The woman snorted and shook her head. “I’m Chantelle.” She didn’t extend her hand for a shake. “This is our corner. Sally Anne and me have been working it a long time.”
“Yes, and we’re thrilled to call this place home,” Sally Anne drawled. “I can’t tell you how proud we are.”
I found her word selection interesting and was curious enough to consider the fact that she’d benefitted from decent educational choices at one time. I very much doubted Chantelle had the opportunity to continue past middle school — if that — but Sally Anne was another story. Of course, it was none of my business and I knew better than to dig too hard.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, keeping hold of the twenty. I had every intention of handing it over, but I wanted information first.
“If you can call it living,” Sally Anne replied with a derisive snort. “My house doesn’t even have running water. We have to go to Old Betty’s place to shower. We all pitch in to keep her water running because she’s old and gets the best rate. It’s not exactly living.”
I was well aware of the water problems in Detroit. They’d made national news. The population in this area barely made enough money to put food on the table, and yet the city continued shutting off water if they fell into arrears on their bills. The issue had fomented a debate on whether water was a right or a privilege. I never gave much thought to where I stood on the issue until now. I was firmly on the side of those who believed it to be a right.
“That sucks,” I offered. Really, what else could I say? “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t do it to us.” Sally Anne made a face as she read my shirt. It featured a multicolored unicorn and read “I’m feeling IDGAF-ish today.” She snorted. “You allowed to wear that to work?”
“I’ve never been much of a rule-follower,” I admitted. “I kept my coat zipped when I was talking to my boss earlier, so he has no idea what I’m wearing.”
“That’s smart.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “What do you want to know?”
I had my opening and I stepped right through it. “That house.” I inclined my head toward the ramshackle halfway house. “What can you tell me about it?”
“Dude that runs it is a creeper,” Chantelle volunteered. She seemed to be enjoying herself as she did a little dance to garner attention from a passing car. She