“I can get in and out,” she affirmed confidently as they stared at the dingy beach house from the hotel pool.
“No one gets out of there unchanged, Soph. You’re one of the lucky ones that haven’t been sullied by his type. Don’t do it.”
“He hurt our sister, Nate. He should have to pay.”
“Razi, tell her not to do this,” Nate pleaded.
“Is my virginity worth nothing, Nate? Am I just supposed to live with the fact that this creepy old man put his fingers in me? Like a good girl? Is that it? What’s next? You gonna start pimpin’ me?”
His stern look softened. “That is not what I mean at all. I found him for you, didn’t I? I support making him pay for his offense. I’ll roll his ancient ass and take the money box myself right now.”
“You can’t—,” both his sisters screamed at once. Children playing in the pool looked over to see why they had screamed, but seeing them sit quietly, they went back to their game of Marco Polo.
Sophie, ever the voice of reason in the trio, warned her twin, “Nathan Popall, you are eighteen years and three days old and have a previous arrest. You cannot be picked up for anything ever again or you are going to the P-farm, and we’ll be all on our own.”
“And don’t think I don’t appreciate you being all noble and shit, brother, but let us sisters handle this. It’s women’s work,” Razi said.
“She’s our baby sister,” he said, head slung low.
“I won’t let him touch me. Please, I grew up on this beach… on these streets. You think I don’t know how to dodge one handsy old man? I have been doing it my whole life.”
He looked her up and down, assessing the young teen in the too small bikini, seeing the woman she would soon become. “He got to Raz, and she is the stronger and more experienced of you two.”
“She was high and drunk. I’m going in sober.”
“I don’t know,” he protested, but they all knew it was too late. Sophie did as she wanted, as always.
*****
That Friday, Sophie put on her sister’s blue spandex minidress with the low vee, covered it with a dirty towel, and studied her reflection in the cracked compact as she plastered on her war paint. That was how she thought of it as she applied the blue eyeshadow and baby pink lipstick. She had declared war on the creepy old man who lived by the pier. All the beach kids knew about him and gave him a wide berth, but sometimes the free-range girls got a little too close or a homeless teen with no one to turn to become his prey. Never anyone he had to fear or who could go to the police. Never a shop worker or professional. Always us beach kids.
They had only had each other since their mom hooked up with a skinhead. Can’t have biracial kids around the trailer park giving lie to her God-given supremacy, so out they went eighteen months ago. The three survived because they had each other and that was how it would always be, whether they were squatting in the abandoned Spanish-style hotel on the beach or sleeping under the pier.
She would make him pay, for her sister. For the others. On went the bright red blush, as she imagined her ancestors painting their faces getting ready for battle, and she prayed: “Help me remain calm and strong in the face of all that comes towards me.”
Her sister tipped her head upside down and sprayed her hair with “the Net,” leaned her back up, and sculpted her bangs. She then removed the towel and fluffed up her breasts with the back of her hands, in a vain attempt to give her cleavage. That was useless. None of the women in her family had been endowed in that way, though hard to say on her father’s side, since they had never known him.
“You ready, Soph?”
She liked that about her sister. It wasn’t you sure about this but are you ready. “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s show that son of a bitch that you don’t mess with our family.”
*****
She must have walked two miles up and down “the Strip” in her sister’s heels with nothing but a bunch of harassment from Squids who had to be warned off with threats of reporting them at the base gate. She was young and hot and looked ready for trouble, which she was, but not with the gallant men of the United States Navy… not tonight at least. A few of them were quite sweet. Another time, perhaps. One of them may be a way out in the future. Off the streets and into a normal life. But not now.
The sun had long since set. She was tired and her feet hurt. All the usual spots the kids said he frequented were dead ends. It was time to head back to the Casa.
Disappointed as she was, she did not pay attention to her surroundings like she had been taught, and it in turn made her the perfect prey. She was caught completely unaware when the door to the apartment that faced right up against the sidewalk opened after she passed. Hands on her shoulders pulled her down and in before she thought to say a word. She landed with a little “oof” on a shabby burnt orange flowered sofa as she heard the bolt click and the jingle of the chain as it slid into place.
“Hello, young lady,” he said sweetly, “you out looking for fun tonight? You sure do look it,” he said with a predator’s gaze on her young flesh.
It was him. Was I already near the pier? Does he have a second apartment? They will never find me, if so. Think, think, what do I do? Breathe. Stall. Escape. You got this.
Finding her center, she looked him straight in the eyes, tilted her head slightly, and replied, “Maybe. You think you have something fun to offer me, mister?”
“I knew you were looking for a good time tonight, dressed as you were. Did the sailors not offer you enough money, honey?”
He had been watching her, at least a little while, and that piece of knowledge had her heart racing.
“I’m no working girl. I just don’t like Squids. They talk a good game, but half of them drink so much they can’t get it up when the time comes.”
He sat on the other end of the couch from her and turned to face her. “Maybe a man of more experience might be more to your taste.” He threw one wrinkled, sun-stained arm up casually across the back of the sofa, as if she didn’t know he was trying to maneuver himself within striking distance. His fancy watch ticking down the seconds until he struck echoed in her ears.
“Maybe… uh, what do I call you?”
“Call me Daddy.”
Oh, it’s like that is it? Okay then.
“Well, Daddy, I need to use the potty and freshen up.” She pointed with her chin to the stocked bar against the wall between the door and the window A/C unit. “Do you think you could fix us a couple of drinks while I go tend to that?”
“Oh, she’s a naughty girl. Maybe just one drink, but then I may have to spank you.” He swatted at her butt and missed as she danced aside and headed to the hall that must lead to the bathroom, swaying his target with all the art she could muster, until she turned into the hall out of sight.
Money box, money box, where would he have put the box of bills he threw at girls after he violated them? She looked back around the corner and saw he had moved to the bar, back turned to the hall, and begun making their drinks. His silver hair shone in the light like a halo. She was infuriated at his using the nice old man routine on all those poor kids. Motivated to end his ability to victimize wayward girls, like her sister.
*****
Two weeks earlier, Raz had been at a raging party thrown by one of the local surfers, smoking and drinking and snorting whatever came her way, when the police showed up. Well, one cop came in and he was there for the party, but homeless truants tend to avoid them. He didn’t even have the decency to lock away his firearm. He just came strutting in and bellied up to the quarters table like anyone else. They all seemed to know him. He was young, maybe they all knew each other from high school. There was definitely some high-five-bro jock culture camaraderie going on between them.
She knew at the point that she had no choice but to gather her things and go before he saw her. She grabbed a little random stash from the sideboard and snuck out the back. Hopefully, Officer Robbie didn’t notice. It wasn’t far to the Casa Del Mar hotel where she and a lot of the homeless kids crashed. She’d walk down the beach to draw less attention and would be home before she knew it. But that was not how it went.
She couldn’t walk in her shoes on the sand and kept stumbling. She finally climbed one of the shorter lifeguard chairs, picking up a splinter in her hand for her efforts, and sat to rest and let her head clear.
Next thing she knew she was waking up slung over someone’s shoulder, barefoot, and head hanging downward.
“Put me down.”
She felt the hand rub her back and butt. “I gotcha, little darlin’,” he drawled, “let’s get you home before someone finds you here and has other ideas for you.”
“I live near the Casa, with my family. I am already almost home.”
“Not putting her down, “It’s okay little girl, I can get you home. What’s the house number?”
But she didn’t answer as she had no number and consciousness slipped from her again. He didn’t drive her home, but rather took her down into the shadows under the pier for a good time. When she woke again and asked him what had happened, he had pulled a small decorative box from his pocket, brushed the sand from it, and thrown a couple twenties at her, returning it to his pocket and patting it.
“Nothing worth more than this. I’m looking for a good time not a corpse. Maybe next time we can try for more,” and he left her there under the pier, skirt up, panties askew, to make her way home on her own.
She stumbled home carrying her shoes and clutch, climbed the palm tree to the broken second floor window, and collapsed into her sister’s arms in tears and fell asleep. When she felt the pain the next morning when she got up to pee, it confirmed he had tried to get her ready for more before he had given up.
*****
Not having found anything in the undecorated bedroom Sophie quickly rushed to the bathroom, where she touched up her face, and flushed the toilet paper blotted with lipstick. She checked herself in the mirror and knew that this might not go the way they had planned. She returned the tube and palmed a small paper packet from her sister’s clutch, straightened her dress and returned to the living room.
“Whatcha got for me, Daddy?” she asked as she reappeared. He smiled his shiny white smile, looked her up and down, assessing.
“Quite a bit, baby girl, but let’s start with a Cape Codder. I thought you might prefer something fruity.”
She threw down her clutch and rushed over taking both drinks in her hands. She swayed her hips hypnotically as she carried them to the table. Women’s hips. She bent over to adjust her shoe strap, making her ass look its finest, and slipped the powder from the packet into the brown liquid. She picked it up, swirled it, pretended to prepare to toss it back, when his hand came in over the rim of the glass to stop her.
“That is my 20-year-old Scotch. It would be wasted on you, sweet girl.” He said as he took it from her and sipped it. He braced himself slightly at the first taste, but returned for a healthy second gulp, before he set the glass down and handed her her own clear, pink drink.
She laughed as she tried to project innocence. “Your drink is older than I am.”
“Is it now? How refreshing,” he said as he tipped her glass up as she sipped at it.
She looked around the mostly barren room, set down her glass, and asked, “Do you live here, Daddy?”
“No baby girl, it is a place I use when I need a night away from my family.”
She took note of the leather briefcase on the kitchen counter and turned back to him and smiled, “It didn’t look like you did. You are too fancy for a place like this.” She held up her glass to toast him and wondered how long it would take for him to pass out.
He smiled mischievously as he watched her drink, and she was suddenly stricken with the question of who was drugging who.
He put his hand on her thigh and started to slide upward, but she rose, and setting her glass down, stepped around the table and began to dance seductively as she reached for the neck of her dress.
“Relax, Daddy. Let me entertain you.”
She danced slowly, the only sounds his shallow breathing and her beating heart, unfastened the neck, and revealed her bikini top. He smiled at the surprise but seemed to be disconcerted.
“Is something wrong, Daddy?” she asked, her own voice becoming husky, and her speech slowed.
His face flushed, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped forward barely breathing.
Sophie stumbled to the door praying to God that they would be there. She undid the chain with some difficulty and released the bolt. The door swung open and her brother swept her up in his arms before she collapsed.
“Drugged me… drugged him.”
Razi made quick work of the apartment, gathered into her backpack the drugs not utilized and an unopened bottle for later. She wiped clean the glasses, doorknobs, and the toilet handle. Nate set his sister down in an armchair by the kitchen and gathered her hair in a quick bun to prevent loss of strays. He half-carried, half-dragged the man who had hurt his sisters to the back bedroom, stripped him, and set him up on the bed, cock in hand, his breathe barely discernible. He pulled a plastic bag over head with the man’s hands and tightened the man’s belt around his neck.
His sister came in with a look of horror on her face. “He takes souvenirs, Nate,” she said as she thrust a paper towel wrapped stack of instant photos at him, “I found these in his money box.” Nate grabbed them and her before she could lunge at the sleeping predator.
“He won’t hurt anyone again, Raz. Stick to the plan. No evidence of our visit.”
She nodded and used the paper towel to place each photo artfully before the man on the mattress, as if he had been jerking to the memory of what he had done to these children. They each recognized a few from the fires on the beach or the casa itself.
He used the man’s hands to pull the belt tighter and locked it in position. He gathered up his sleeping sister, Razi followed behind and wiped down the chair. Though they starved, they took only half the cash and one photo from the treasure box. They left behind only the empty quarter-paper of heroin and the rocks glass of half-consumed whiskey on the nightstand.
*****
“Beaches-Area Slumlord Overdoses, Implicated in Child Abuse,” Sophie read aloud from the newspaper at the fire on the beach two days later. The beach kids all cheered and danced as they each took a swig from the top shelf vodka they had saved for this moment. Razi took one last look at the photo of her near miss with this man, threw it in the fire, grabbed the bottle and took a long swig. No one else may care about them, the used and abused and tossed away children, but they would always protect each other.
As she looked up Razi noticed Officer Robbie on the other side of the fire. “Let’s go see what he knows,” she said to her sister, as the two casually sauntered around the fire.
“A woman’s work is never done,” said Sophie with a laugh, no longer so young and innocent that she didn’t realize the grosser implications of that mantra.
“Never.”
© 2022 Hattie Quinn
Hattie Quinn was born in Jacksonville, Florida (1973). She has lived in five distinct regions of the United States in the last thirty years, settled down with her true love, Satyr, in Fort Worth, Texas, in a menagerie known as the Wildwood. She's a Thelemite, a cat lady, a writer, a Benjamin Franklin aficionado, a student, a mentor, an amateur chef, and a mother. She strives for continual improvement and likes things to be “Just-So.”
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