Page 67 of The Presidents Shadow

MADDY HAS LEARNED a lot in her brief undercover experience.

She has come to understand quickly that absolutely everything about her work is dangerous.

Yes, Mama-Girl watches out for them. Carla Spector quietly pays off the police regularly, whenever a girl gets picked up.

She even supplies the girls with decent medical access.

But she can’t protect the girls from clients who want more than just drugs from the girls, and smack them around when they don’t get it.

Maddy has, of course, confined herself to playacting, walking the streets but never doing any deals.

But even as a nonparticipant she’s been spat on, grabbed, chased, threatened, and called names that are astonishingly creative, as well as disgusting.

Through it all, there’s no sign of the green car and the man with the accent.

One night—rainy and humid, with dirty water splashing her from cruising cars—Maddy catches a small break.

Two big guys, each of them with a round face and an elaborate beard, slow down when they catch sight of Kailyn, who is working the street across from Maddy. The car suddenly brakes, then makes a U-turn. When it comes back around, Maddy can see that it’s a green Escalade.

Maddy steps deeper into the shadows and throws a warning look to Kailyn, who spots the car and immediately heads for the relative safety of the bridge, where Mama-Girl can at least keep an eye on her.

There’s a screech of tires as the driver accidentally drives up onto the curb, his neck craned as he scans the street for Kailyn.

The Cadillac has flattened the stop sign at the intersection.

Through the windshield, Maddy can see the driver swearing and slamming the steering wheel, his passenger still scanning for Kailyn.

Maddy takes the opportunity to memorize the Cadillac’s New Hampshire license plate number:

LT4 63Z2

Maddy turns, moving quickly into the dark recesses of the alley. On the other side, a few yards away, everything is brightly lit by streetlights. She can see two of her fellow workers standing in their usual spots.

Relieved, Maddy takes a few steps toward them but is stopped when a strong gloved hand comes from behind her and covers her face.

Unlike the goons under the bridge, these men expect Maddy to fight back and are prepared for her counterassault.

Unable to take them by surprise, she’s lost her advantage.

While she struggles to escape, the attacker forces her head back. Of course, it is terrifying. She moves her eyes and sees that there are two of them.

Surprisingly, they’re not the same two guys she saw in the Cadillac. These are new attackers. They both have ski masks pulled down over their faces and woolen scarves pulled up high around their necks and chins.

As one guy holds her head in place, his partner thrusts an aerosol can into her face.

She’s about to squeeze her eyes shut against the coming spray, when a third man appears.

He is dressed exactly like them—ski mask and scarves totally obscuring his face.

But he’s clearly not a friend. Maddy feels the man holding her tense up at the sight of him.

“What the hell?” he says, and is blown backward off his feet. His buddy follows, both of them thrown out of the dark alleyway and into a dumpster across the street. The third man, with almost impossible speed, removes his mask, scarf, and jacket.

“Dache!” Maddy yells.

She cries. She is terrified and happy. But Dache appears to be stern, angry.

“Listen to me! And listen well!”

Maddy shakes her head up and down. She is shivering, shaking.

Dache continues. Intensely. Firmly. “I will not always be here to help you. You must understand that. This is your final lesson. This is your most important lesson. You must learn how to save yourself! ”