Page 53 of The Presidents Shadow

HEADLIGHTS FROM TRAFFIC on the bridge above give the area below, the area where the girls are waiting for drop-offs and pickups, a weird theatrical glow.

Shadows come and go rapidly, the lights in the surrounding apartment buildings flicker on and off, car horns blare, and tires screech.

People on the nearby streets shout to one another, and sirens add an even greater sense of madness to this New York, this job, this place.

Maddy has become both a participant and an observer.

She notices two SUVs arriving, leaving, and then returning to the area at least five times.

Sometimes they pick up girls; sometimes the driver hands them packages through the window.

Then the girl checks it—for an address or a name, Maddy thinks—and heads out on foot.

Both these vehicles are black BMWs. One is driven by a bored-looking middle-aged man.

The other BMW is driven—to Maddy’s surprise—by a very beautiful Black woman.

How a fellow female can allow these girls to live on the edge like this is beyond her.

But she quickly realizes that her surprise is actually naivete.

Hadn’t Detective McCarthy himself told her that the person at the top of this operation was a woman, Carla Spector?

“I’ve never seen you here before,” a whisky-raspy woman’s voice says.

Maddy turns around and sees a woman who looks like she’s probably forty-something but is trying hard to look half that age.

Lots of white makeup, lots of cheap black hair dye, thighs squeezed into red tights.

She’s clearly working a different kind of job than the underage drug mules, participating in the world’s oldest line of employment.

“Yeah. It’s my first time up around here,” says Maddy, surprised at how calm she is when she speaks to this tough-looking woman.

“Listen, hon. It’s crowded enough up here.” Her eyes trail up and down Maddy’s clothing, then one side of her mouth curves. “Never mind. We’re not selling the same thing, are we?”

“Doubt it,” says Maddy, who suddenly realizes that if she should be approached by a buyer, she has nothing to sell—which could land her in a serious problem.

“You got a new friend, Mama-Girl?” one of the girls asks, coming to the prostitute’s side.

Mama-Girl? Who is this woman? Some weird street sorority mother?

“We’ve got a loiterer,” Mama-Girl says, still eyeing Maddy. “Too well-dressed to be one of you. Too, well… dressed to be one like me.”

Remembering the very specific threat from the first girl on the street, Maddy asks, “You’re not going to tear my hair out by the roots, are you?”

The woman and the girl look at each other, then break out into laughter.

“Aw, hell no,” the streetwalker says. “Women got to look out for each other out here; that’s how I roll.”

“Especially now,” the younger girl says, her eyes cast down.

“What do you—” But Maddy doesn’t get to finish her question, as the BMW with the male driver slows down near them.

“Oh, great, Gerard the asshole,” says Mama-Girl, her voice suddenly tight.

“Who’s Gerard?” Maddy asks, trying hard not to sound frightened.

“I just told you. Gerard is an asshole,” says Mama-Girl.

“He’s one of Carla’s enforcers,” says the girl. “Makes sure we get to where we need to be, on time.” She starts to backpedal, clearly not wanting to be seen.

As soon as she says that, Gerard spots her, and his face contorts in anger.

He jumps out of the car and grabs the girl, throwing her up against the vehicle.

“You fucked up again, Kailyn. You fucked up big time. That fat-ass Doc Katz was expecting you at the Soho Grand at midnight. On the dot,” Gerard shouts. “I texted twice to remind you. But you was too fucked-up to remember, am I right?”

Two other girls move to join the scene, one of them brave enough to speak up. “Nah, man, Kailyn’s clean. Just, like, her phone was dead, or something.”

Mama-Girl steps forward, lightly caressing Gerard’s bulging biceps. “How about you drop the child and pay attention to a real woman?”

“A carcass, you mean?” Gerard shoots back, still pressing Kailyn against the BMW. “Nobody wants your worn-out ass, Jennifer. Now, get out of here before I stomp you.”

At least they’re trying to help their friend. Maddy doesn’t know what the hell to do. But she has a sense that the fan is going full blast, and a dangerous pile of shit is about to hit it.