Dawn Patrol - Don Winslow [112]
Yeah, but it was more than that, wasn’t it, if she really wants to look at the truth of herself. Dan wasn’t just a convenient lay or a good dinner—like most pimps, he was a daddy. He was that fucking father figure she’d been missing. Cliché, cliché, stereotype, and cliché but there it was. He treated her like a daughter and a fuck, incest sans the DNA and felony concerns, made her obey him and wear the clothes he picked out, made her call him “Daddy” as he did her from behind and pulled her hair like you’d jerk on the reins of a recalcitrant filly. She hated it and she loved it.
She started sleeping with Mick Penner as rebellion. He was the opposite of a daddy—a boy-child lady-killer who fucked up and fell in love with her. She’d still come when Dan beckoned—and God knows how many other women he was doing on the side—but she’d go bang Mick and play house with him, and Mick treated her gently and with consideration, and she couldn’t get too much of that.
She was with Danny the night of the fire. He told her to wait in the car, but she got bored and impatient. She stood outside and smoked a cigarette, but when that was done, she thought, Fuck Danny, and went inside.
What she saw changed her world.
Dirty mattresses on a concrete floor, an old showerhead surrounded by a torn plastic curtain strung on a clothesline, an open toilet in the corner. Random blankets, no sheets, some stained pillows without covers.
The girls were like zombies.
Later, Tammy would learn that these behaviors were symptomatic of severe and repetitive trauma, but that night Tammy just saw a group of young girls looking at her with dead eyes.
Except one.
One little girl came over, threw her arms around Tammy’s legs, pressed her head against her thighs, and held on tight.
That was, of course, Luce.
Tammy didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to handle this girl, didn’t know who these children were. She guessed at their ages—the oldest seemed to be a young teenager; the youngest couldn’t have been more than eight. The girl clutching her legs was probably eleven or twelve. All the girls had brown skin, black hair, dark eyes. They wore cheap clothes that looked like they’d come from the Salvation Army or an AM VETS store. Most were holding some vestiges of childhood or family—a stuffed dog, a plastic flower, a book.
Luce wore a silver chain with a small cross.
Tammy stroked the girl’s hair. It was greasy and dirty, but Tammy didn’t mind. She stroked the girl’s hair and made soft cooing sounds.
Dan didn’t.
Dan blew fucking up.
He came down the hallway, saw Tammy in the room, and yelled, “What the fuck are you doing in here? I told you to wait outside!”
Most of the girls threw themselves facedown on their mattresses and did their best to cover their heads with blankets. Luce held tighter to Tammy and pressed her face harder against her legs.
Tammy didn’t back down.
“What the fuck am I doing here!” she yelled back. “What the fuck is this, Dan?”
Dan grabbed her by the arm and started to haul her out, Luce still clinging to Tammy’s legs. Dan stopped and grabbed the girl, trying to peel her off, but Tammy shoved and hit out at him and Dan had to let go of Luce to grab Tammy by the wrists.
“You leave her alone!” Tammy yelled. “Or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Danny asked. “You’ll fucking what?”
She brought a knee up into Danny’s balls.
That was fucking what.
Dan keeled over.
Luce regained her grip on Tammy. One of Dan’s bouncers came out of a back room, hoisted Tammy away from the crying girl, hauled her out of the building, and forced her into Dan’s car. As he was pushing her out the door, she heard the little girl yelling, “¡Los campos fresas! ¡Los campos fresas!”
Dan came out a couple of minutes later and got into the driver’s seat. Slapped her across the face. “You cunt.”
“You bastard,” Tammy said. “Who were those girls? What are you doing with them?”
“They’re illegals, all right?” Dan said. “I get them jobs as maids.”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” Tammy said. “I know what business you’re in, Dan.”
“That’s right,” Dan said. “I’m in