Below the Line by Howard Michael Gould

Author:Howard Michael Gould
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

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The Wonderland was a trio of two-story stuccos around a quarter-full parking lot. Room 6 was up the stairs to one of the buildings, at the end of a catwalk. He knocked and the girl let him in. The room was illuminated, sort of, by an under-watted standing lamp with a torn and dingy shade. Thin fabric curtains didn’t really cover the window. He closed the door while she sat on the badly made bed, the only furniture in the room, and fished a condom from her tiny purse. “What’s your name?”

“Alice.” Right, he thought, like every tech support guy you got on the phone from Bangalore was named Steve. Alice. Alice at the Wonderland. He wondered if it was somebody’s sick joke.

He said, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” He wouldn’t have believed her if she said fifteen. “The money first, okay?”

He took the bills from his pocket. He sat next to her and she started to lift her halter. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her hand to stop her. He saw the mark and turned her hand over in his. The scar, a deeper color than he’d have expected, ran across the webbing and into a second scar across the ball, forming, from Waldo’s angle, a clear letter T.

She took her hand back. “You want to do it or what?”

He pulled the photo of Stevie out of his shirt pocket. “Have you seen this girl?”

She pulled back. “You a cop? You said you’re not a cop.”

“Private eye.”

“Shit!” She stood up.

“I’m not going to get you in trouble. I promise. Could you sit down, please? I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

She didn’t sit but didn’t leave either. “You’re supposed to give me a hundred dollars.”

He counted out a hundred for her, and then gave her an extra twenty. “Those scars on your hand—is that supposed to be a T for Tesoro?”

He was making her nervous. “Can’t we just do it?”

Waldo shook his head. “I only want to talk. When did he cut you?”

“He didn’t.”

“Who did?”

“My stepfather.” She held his eye, daring him not to believe her.

“Could you look at this picture again? This girl is missing, and she might know Tesoro.” He held it toward her for a closer look. “Please. Help me. This girl’s parents are very worried.”

The simple play backfired; she got colder and said, “Lucky her.”

“You know Marwin Amador?” Alice didn’t answer. He gave her another twenty. “Is that how you met Tesoro?” She offered a tiny, diffident nod. “Can you tell me about that? Did Amador drive you to work? To some job?”

Painstakingly, he pulled the basics of the story out of her. She’d arrived in Orange County knowing no one; a woman at a KFC told her she could line up behind the Dollar Tree and maybe get picked for work at a factory. At the end of the first day, Amador asked her if she wanted a cheeseburger and introduced her to Tesoro at the Burger King.

“What was that like?”

“He was real nice.

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