Stealing Candy (20 page)

 
 CHAPTER 22

The next day went by slowly. Portia dominated Saleema’s thoughts. Worrying about Portia took precedence over her dire financial state.

Hour after hour, she abused her newly acquired friendship card, calling Khalil relentlessly, asking him to use whatever influence he had in the juvenile system to try and find out any information he could about Portia.

Through a connection inside the detention center, Khalil found out that the girl who had escaped with Portia had been apprehended outside a McDonald’s in South Philadelphia. He had no other information…no encouraging news about Portia’s whereabouts.

“I need to talk to that girl,” Saleema said determinedly. “Can you arrange that?”

“No, I don’t have that kind of pull. I believe she’s being transferred to a more secure facility.”

“When?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Can you dig a little deeper? Ask your informant—”

“She’s not an informant…not a snitch…nothing that dramatic.” He chuckled. “She’s a friend. A colleague, who happened to be there when the girl was brought in.”

Colleague.
The word evoked connotations of an elite society in which Khalil was an esteemed member. It was a harmless expression,
pertaining to anyone from a coworker to an associate of the same profession. In this instance, hearing that the colleague was a
she
caused an irrational bubble of jealousy to fizz up, briefly distorting Saleema’s priorities.

She reined in her emotions. There were important issues to deal with…namely, getting some pertinent information that could lead her to Portia.

“Can you ask your colleague to give you the girl’s name?”

“What good will that do?”

Holding the phone cradled to her ear, Saleema shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a start. Having the name of the girl who escaped with Portia is the closest thing I have to a lead.”

“If my friend does know the young lady’s name, she obviously wasn’t comfortable committing a breach of confidentiality.”

Saleema sighed in frustration. “I’m so worried about Portia.”

“I know you are, but this is a case for law enforcement.”

“Law enforcement doesn’t care about Portia’s safety like I do. Khalil, you don’t know the really ugly side of human nature like I do. Believe me, Portia is in serious danger.”

“You seem to think that I’ve lived in some cloistered environment where bad things never happened. I told you why I opened the alternative school. I’m not blind to the horrors of this world.”

“Khalil, as much as you’d like to think we’re alike, I know that we’ve had totally different experiences. I used to be so greedy, so callous, that I was part of the problem with society.”

“You don’t have to reopen that old wound.”

Saleema ignored his advice. “I graduated from turning tricks to becoming a madam.”

“You told me.” Khalil sounded extremely uncomfortable.

“Who do you think I hired…bored housewives…hardened prostitutes? No, I hired young women who either had dreams of money
and wealth or were so destitute they felt they had no other choice.” She paused for a beat. “I hate that I was so selfish that I robbed those girls of their dignity.”

“Did you hire underage girls?” Khalil sounded appalled and Saleema couldn’t blame him.

“No, not intentionally. I had some scruples and required identification…proof that they were at least eighteen years old.”

“At the time, you couldn’t have been much older yourself,” Khalil said, trying to cushion the self-flogging Saleema was administering.

“I was in my early twenties. Really self-centered. It was all about getting mine.”

“You were young,” he said, being the voice of reason.

“I never deliberately put those girls in harm’s way. But one of them, a young girl named Chanelle, was practically murdered. Perhaps you heard about it. It was all over the news. She was held captive in a nice house in Mount Airy. Turned into a sex slave by a man who seemed like an average guy.”

“No, I don’t think I heard about that.”

“Well, that’s when I got out of the sex business. But instead of bettering myself, I decided to marry one of my wealthy tricks.”

“Uh, how’d that turn out?”

“It didn’t. I stopped the wedding in the nick of time. But back to Portia. She’s in serious danger. Those antisocial, bottom feeders prey on the helpless.”

Khalil grunted in discomfort.

“In a case like this, I think it’s your friend’s duty to do whatever she can to save Portia’s life.”

“I’ll try and twist her arm.”

After several agonizing hours of searching her mind for clues as to where Portia might have run, Khalil finally called.

“I can’t talk. I have to meet with my board of directors in a few… but I have a name.”

“Really?”

“Maria Gomez.”

“She’s Hispanic?”

“I would assume.”

“That’s such a common name.”

“I know. Listen, I’ll call you back after the meeting. We’ll put our heads together and figure out a way to get you a visit with the young lady.”

“Okay. Thanks, Khalil.”

They disconnected and Saleema’s wheels started spinning. Time wasn’t on her side. Khalil had mentioned earlier that the girl was being transferred to a more secure facility. She could be upstate by now.

Surely the girl’s family members had been granted a phone call. If only Saleema had a way of contacting the girl’s parents, she’d plead Portia’s case and ask them if Maria had provided any information that would help her find Portia.

MySpace! Most teens had a MySpace page. She searched and found Maria Gomez, fifteen years old, and living in Philadelphia. The page was private, so Saleema clicked on the page of Angelica Galarza, one of Maria’s friends.

On Angelica’s page, Saleema found a picture of a smiling Maria Gomez wearing a tiara and dressed in a sparkly gown. She was flanked by Angelica and another girl. The running caption boasted:
Maria’s Sweet 15!

There were tons of PictureTrail flicks of Maria’s coming-of-age celebration. Apparently, Angelica and Maria were best friends.
And it was just Saleema’s luck that one of the photos was taken outside. A big sign bore the name of the banquet hall.

Latino parents spent a pretty penny to commemorate their daughter’s passage to womanhood. The owner of the venue would have kept records and would be able to point Saleema in the direction of the Gomez household.

Excited, Saleema searched the internet for the phone number of the venue. When she found it, instead of keying in the seven digits, she merely looked at the phone.

Like Khalil’s colleague, the owner of the venue would most likely consider his clients’ address as confidential.

Saleema needed the scoop, but she didn’t have the rat-like cunning of a journalist or the smarmy investigative cleverness of a private detective. She’d have to rely on good, old-fashioned mother wit, which informed her that someone working at that venue could put her in touch with the Gomez family for the right price.

Her cash on hand totaled ninety dollars. She sure hoped that was the right price.

Saleema grabbed her purse. She didn’t have time to wait for Khalil. He was rational, level-headed, and much too prudent to go along with this impulsive idea.

It was crazy. Journeying to the area that had the largest Hispanic population in the city had seemed like a good idea, but now deeply in the trenches, Saleema began to second-guess her decision.

The drive had begun smooth and without incident, but now she was slamming on her brakes every few seconds.

Kids darted out from behind parked cars and right into traffic at an alarming rate. Packs of teens at varying intervals would
meander across the street, defiantly dragging their feet, deliberately halting traffic as if it were their right. Honking horns did not deter them or hurry their pace. Frustrated drivers were met with glares and a cluster of raised middle fingers.

Saleema had scarcely avoided collisions with other motorists who drove by their own rules. Some made sudden turns without using their blinkers, others pulled out of parking spaces without warning or any concern for oncoming traffic.

Unable to deal with the bad drivers, she turned off the main street and took a series of narrow, residential blocks.

Big mistake.

Mischievous children who played in water from an uncapped fire hydrant made sure Saleema’s Camry was splashed as she drove by.

The next block she ventured onto was a one-way street, where she narrowly avoided a head-on collision. Absurdly, a man who was either drunk or crazy, got in his car and began driving in the wrong direction—fast. The lunatic forced Saleema to swerve onto the sidewalk that was occupied by pedestrians and children at play.

Where the hell are the police when you need them?

For a few minutes, she was reluctant to move from the safety of the pavement, but for Portia’s sake, Saleema had to get back in the trenches. She had to press on.

It was summer madness at its height. Her journey across town was turning out to be an epic and perilous adventure.

 
 CHAPTER 23

It seemed to have taken forever, but she finally reached Front Street and Lehigh Avenue. She spotted the banquet hall on the busy street, but it provided no parking lot for patrons. Over and over, Saleema circled the block. Eagle-eyed, she searched for a parking space.

A spot finally opened up in front of a meter. Looking over her shoulder, she quickly parallel parked into the space.

Outside the comfort of her air-conditioned car, she could hardly draw a breath. The air was thick with stifling heat and humidity. She searched inside her purse and scrounged up two quarters, which she hastily inserted into the meter.

Passersby, their faces scowled, were slowed by the heat. They moved sluggishly…cautiously…as if a faster pace would lead to heatstroke or some other life-threatening condition.

At the corner, the light changed to green and Saleema hurried across the busy intersection. She could feel the searing sun on her mahogany-colored skin, but thankfully, salvation was only a few feet away. The Lehigh Banquet Hall promised a cool refuge from the oppressive hot weather.

Three concrete steps led to the front door. She tugged on the sun-scorched metal handle, but it was locked tight. Unable to find a doorbell, she knocked sharply on the plate glass, and then peered inside.