Page 51

"Thanks, Arthur."

Another elevator ride later, I was in my car, making my way out of the garage. I hesitated briefly before pulling out of the gate, looking for evidence that the guys had already trackedme down. The streets were busy with evening traffic, but there was no sign of the guys. I eased into traffic and headed toward South Sacona. The closer I got, the more traffic thinned. The roads were practically deserted when I crossed the invisible line between Southside and the rest of the city. It wasn't surprising, considering most people in the poorer part of Sacona relied on public transport.

I drove aimlessly for a while. Going up and down different streets with no real destination in mind. Eventually, I'd gone deep enough to see women and gangsters on nearly every corner. A shiver of fear rolled down my spine, and I fought the urge to lock my doors. I hadn't gone beyond the youth center in so long that I'd forgotten how most residents made their money.

A memory tickled the back of my brain as I drove past the ramshackle buildings. I had just started returning to the center, having gotten over my rebellious teenage phase. My mother and I had been in the office when Mrs. McMillan ushered in a woman and her pre-teen daughter. I'd been shocked at the state of them. They were battered and bruised, the woman more so than her child.

I barely kept it together when the woman told my mother her story. She'd come home from work early, the plant where she was employed shutting down for whatever reason. She'd heard her daughter scream the moment she stepped inside her rundown trailer and gone running toward the sound. The woman had found her boyfriend of seven years in the back room with the girl. What she said he'd done to the girl haunted my nightmares for years.

It hadn't ended there, though. She tried to stop him, and he brutally beat them both while threatening their lives if they went to the cops. The woman had done the only thing she could think to do and ran to the youth center with her daughter the first chance she had.

My mother had listened to her story, offering words of comfort and assurances that the man would be dealt with before showing them to a small room in the back that had a couple of cots. They weren't used often, but Mrs. McMillan kept them on hand for when any of the kids needed a safe place for the night. When my mother returned to the office, she told me we had an errand to run.

We had driven through Southside in near silence. The only thing my mother said was that we were heading to the one place that would ensure the woman's situation was handled. I'd been so confused when we pulled into the parking lot of a bar. Still, I followed my mother inside. An older man with salt and pepper hair took us to a back office, where she gave him the woman's story and the man's name. On the way back to the center, my mother told me that the Spotted Cobra was a place to find help when none was to be found. She'd also sworn me to secrecy about seeking help there.

With that memory fresh in my mind, I navigated the rundown streets until the dilapidated building appeared. The sign was weathered, the place looking worse than I'd last seen it. I parked my car in the gravel lot and climbed out, setting the alarm behind me. Not that it would do much good in this part of town. If someone was going to steal my car here, they would, with or without the alarm, but it made me feel better.

I nearly hesitated at the first set of double doors. The guys would lock me in the panic room when they realized where I'd gone. The thought of their reaction to me being at the Spotted Cobra sent a fresh wave of anger through me, and I pushed my way through the doors.

The place was empty aside from the pair behind the bar, a fit redheaded woman and a muscular older man. When the doors swung shut behind me, their attention flicked in my direction.

"You lost, honey?" The woman asked.

I squared my shoulders and strolled to the bar. "No. I'd like a vodka and cran, please."

"I'd have pegged you for a Malibu girl, but alright, honey." She replied smoothly, turning to pour my drink.

"Keep them coming too, please."

The older man leaned against the liquor shelf with his arms crossed as he studied me.

"You're Prudence's girl." He said just as the redhead placed my drink in front of me. "I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was a good woman. Did a lot of good for the folks 'round here."

I tossed back my drink, grimacing at the burn as the liquor slid down my throat.

"Lot of good it did her." I shrugged.

The pair behind the bar exchanged a loaded glance before the man nodded, and the woman mixed me another drink.

"I'm Harrison. This is my daughter Mags. I don't know what sent Prudence Bristol's daughter running here, but nobody will mess with you while you are," He drawled before turning to his daughter. "You make sure she gets home safe when she's ready. I'll be in the office if you need me."

"Will do, Pops." Mags replied.

I snorted into my glass. "I wish it was as easy as nobody bothering me here."

Mags sidled up to me on the other side of the bar and leaned her hip against the grainy wood. "I seen you in the paper a few times. Never really got the vibe that you'd be the sort to run to the bottom of a bottle cuz of trouble. It's usually a broken heart that sends women to the drink."

"If only it was that simple." I laughed, tossing back the rest of my second drink and pointing at my empty glass.

Mags dutifully fixed me another before returning to stand across from me. "Well, Ms. Bristol, what is it that does trouble you?"

"Where do I even start?"

Mags frowned at me for a second before moving to the liquor shelf and grabbing an unopened bottle of vodka. She set it on the bar within reach with another glass before speaking again.

"Wherever you want, honey. Let it out and let it go. That's the best thing you can do for yourself."

"How about men are idiots?" I shrugged.