Teenagers who haven’t been in and out of the system most of their lives are too easy to read and even easier to play. Justine’s obvious, like an actress in one of those low-budget films who tries too hard.
“Of course I can. We both know how that piss test will turn out, and we both know what your mom is gonna do, especially after I talk to her. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself in one of those out-of-state all-girls boarding schools after Christmas vacation. You answer my questions, and everything will stay between us. I’m not a cop, so I can do that. You don’t answer, I go to your mom and I also go to the cops.”
She unslumps herself from the sofa.
“Who do you get your drugs from now, since you and Edgar broke up?”
She’s unwilling, but I sense it’s fear that’s holding her back.
“You don’t want to test me, Justine. I don’t want to have to mess your life up more than it already is.”
“Greg helps me out.”
“You got some sort of allowance? How’re you paying for it?”
She looks down.
“Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”
According to Edgar, Miriam liked crack, so I gotta assume she does, too.
I take a chance and ask, “What about the crack? Who’re you getting that from?”
“I don’t smoke crack!”
“I’m not playin’, girl. I know when someone’s using that shit. I can smell it on your skin. It’s a sweet smell. I know it well. You might have your parents fooled, but not me.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“You already know you don’t have any rights in this household. Just remember the piss test.”
“I get it from a friend of Edgar’s, from DC. He gave me his number once.”
“I know you’re still smokin’ that shit, so how do you connect with him now, this friend of Edgar’s?”
She’s looking down again.
“Your home phone?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Maybe you sneak out at night to meet up with him? Or after school? That’d be easy, right?”
“It’s like I’m in a prison. My parents have everything locked up, even the windows. If I didn’t have to use the bathroom at night, they’d probably lock me in my bedroom.”
“When was the last time you saw this guy, then?”
“Last week.”
“So you get in his car and he drops you off at the bus stop or something and you walk home from there?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Sixteen years old.
Fuck.
It’s obvious what she has to do for whatever amount she’s getting from him, so I’m not going to embarrass her by asking again.
“It can’t be for long, though, because you have a curfew.”
“Just as long as the bus would take,” she says.
“Has he ever picked you up at home or dropped you off at home?”
“No. I’m not stupid.”
“So he doesn’t know where you live?”
“No. Why?”
“Some of these boys in DC don’t fuck around, Justine. It might seem like an adventure, but trust me, it ain’t. They can take it all away from you, the life you think you hate and more. So this dude, was he a friend of Miriam’s, too?”
“She knew him. Sometimes we all drove around together.”
“Did you ever go to where he stays in DC?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Miriam did?”
“I don’t think so. She would’ve told me if she did.”
“What about any other homes in DC? You ever visit anybody else there, maybe go with Edgar?”
“Once with Edgar, we visited some friends of his.”
“Do you remember any of their names?”
“No; they were Latino, though.”
“What did you do there?”
“We got high, mostly.”
“They ever ask you to stay there?”
“Yeah, of course, but we didn’t.”
“They ever take you anywhere else?”
“They took us to this club once in Adams Morgan. I forget the name. It had the word ‘village’ in it.”
“Columbia Village?”
“That’s it. They had pool tables.”
“Anywhere else? Maybe someone’s home?”
“No.”
“So those Latino boys never tried to force either you or Miriam to stay?”
“No. Why would they do that?”
“Are you getting your crack from one of those boys?”
“No, not them.”
“Tell me who you’re getting it from, then.”
“I can’t.”
“So you’re telling me the last time you talked to Miriam was in the summer, around July?”
“Yeah.”
“You said she’s your best friend. Are you worried about what happened to her?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“It’s just that you seem so nonchalant about everything.”
“I’m not nonchalant.”
“You don’t seem to want to help me find her.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
“What’s the guy’s name you get your crack from?”
“I said I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Then I guess I’ll hang out and wait for your mom.”
“You’re a real asshole.”
“I know I am. What’s his name?”
“I just know him as Playboy.”
“Playboy? You telling me you don’t know his first name?”