I straighten up as much as I can, unzip my pants, pull out my dick, and aim the head in the bottle. It doesn’t take more than a second before the bottle starts filling up. Luckily, it’s a large bottle, ’cause I nearly top it off.
When I’m done, I twist the cap tight so there’s no chance of spillage, and then set it back where I got it. I tuck my dick back into a comfortable position, then zip up.
Minutes later, I see the door open wide. A few seconds after that, a girl steps out. She’s shouldering a large handbag. I check her out through the binos. She’s Latina. Looks young, too, maybe late teens, early twenties. Hard to tell. I see enough that I know it’s not the girl I’m looking for.
She lights up a cigarette and walks down the stairs, turns toward the doorway, and says something in Spanish that I can’t make out. She continues toward Euclid, then walks in the same direction as Manny and Cordell.
Just as I focus back on the house, two other girls step out; one of them sure as shit looks like Miriam.
I quickly turn the key in my ignition, but don’t start the engine. I just want the battery juice so I can raise my seat back up to a driving position and power down the window so I can hear better.
I go back to the binos as the girl who looks like Miriam zips up her puffy black coat and reaches into the right front pocket, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, taps one out, then lights. She waits for her friend to do the same, and then the other girl closes the front door and they both make their way down the front steps.
I wait for them to make that turn onto Euclid just like the first girl. It’s a straight shot for me, so I start the car up and ease out. My heart is slamming. It’s only seeing her that I realize I never thought I’d find her; she was already dead.
By the time I reach the girls, they’re walking side by side on the sidewalk near the end of the large row house on the corner of 17th and Euclid. The one that seems to be Miriam is on the other girl’s left, so I can’t get another good look at her face.
The Latina girl beside her turns in my direction to check me out. I pull ahead of them and double-park alongside another car.
I step out of the car and walk across the street at an angle to them, but I don’t look in their direction. I can see them enough to know they stopped as if they are expecting me to approach them.
When I get to the sidewalk I turn and shoot them a smile and then look toward the Ritz, which is about a quarter of a block up. I turn back. They’re still standing there, about ten feet away.
“Aren’t the two of you a little young to be out so early?” I ask.
“Fuck you,” the girl who I’m now almost positive is Miriam says.
The Latina girl reaches into her bulky purse like she’s trying to scare me with what she’s going to pull out.
“Hold on there, girl,” I say. “I’m a cop. See?” I pull out my wallet and flash my badge quickly.
“Cops don’t drive cars like that,” the Latina girl says.
“They do when they’re off duty.”
“Why you stoppin’ us, then, if you’re not working?” the Latina girl asks.
“I ain’t stopping you,” I say, walking closer.
They don’t step back, but the Latina girl still has her hand in her purse.
“But I might if you don’t take your hand outta that purse.”
She does, but reluctantly.
The other one is Miriam. I’m positive. But she’s definitely not the same little girl from the photo. She looks used up and a couple years older than she really is.
“We’re going home,” Miriam says.
“You guys have a sleepover or somethin’?”
They laugh.
“How old are you two?”
“Old enough,” Miriam says.
“Neither of you look old enough to be walking around this neighborhood so early in the morning. Give me your names.”
They look at each other.
“I ain’t playin’. Give me your names.”
“My name’s Angie,” the Latina girl says.
“I’m Justine,” Miriam says.
I almost break into a smile.
“No last names? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
I step closer. Miriam looks like she might bolt. I’ve seen that look enough times to know.
I’m close enough to grab her by the arm. Instead, I look at her. “Justine’s a nice name. I have some friends who have a daughter named Justine. They live in Burke.”
She looks like she’s just been stunned. She drops her cigarette and runs back toward 17th. The Latina girl quickly follows.
It doesn’t take much effort to catch up to Miriam. I grab her by the left arm before she can make the turn toward the row house. The Latina girl stops ahead, looks back, and then runs off toward the row house.
Miriam’s struggling hard, then starts flailing her free arm, smacking me in the face.
“Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”
“Calm down, Miriam. Calm the fuck down.”
“Help!” she screams. “Someone help me!”
“Yeah, you call out like that. Get the police to show up. That’ll make it easier on me. Now calm the fuck down.”
I grab her other arm and force her to face me.
“I’m a friend of your parents,” I lie. “They sent me to find you.”