The good part now. Tasha and I reconnected and it was like so cathartic. We made it only a few minutes in Starbucks before I started to cry so we decided to take a walk. Sophia hung back ’cause she’s cool like that. She understood we needed time alone. Tasha and I walked arm-in-arm along the harbor. It was a beautiful day, lots of sunshine, boats on the water, and a bunch of seagulls dive bombing unsuspecting tourists for their food. There was so much to do down there, but all I wanted to do was walk and talk with Tasha. She told me she was living at some kind of safe house for people like us, victims of human trafficking. Well, more for people like Tasha because I had a safe house I ran away from. Well, a sorta safe house. Safer now that mom is cutting back on the booze. But Tasha has nothing. No family. No real friends. No work experience. No way to make it. They can give her all the support in the world, but what is she really going to do with her life? She doesn’t even have a high school degree. She can get her GED, or so she says. The other girls don’t have it any easier. When we were back at the apartment, the food was always pretty decent, but now Tasha gets most of what she eats from a food pantry, and her clothes come from Goodwill (though she looked amazing in her jeans, heels, and this cute yellow top. That from Goodwill? 4Real? I know where I’ll be shopping!) Tasha told me she’ll probably work at a club for a while. Yeah, that kind of club. Her plan is to save enough money so she can go to hairstyling school. Whatever it takes, I told her. But I did say I’d rather see her cutting hair than twirling on a pole at some skanky strip club.
Tasha held up a baggie of blue pills she brought just for me. I lifted up my sleeve and showed her my mangled arm. She made a face like it was gross to look at, and put the pills back in her purse. She got it though. I had my own way of numbing the pain now.
Eventually we got down to business. I told Tasha what I was trying to do. She thought about it and on the spot came up with something I hadn’t ever considered. Something truly brilliant! It was so good it made me realize my idea of going to see Ricardo wasn’t ever going to work. I guess sometimes if you look at things from a different angle what seems like big a disappointment (e.g. not getting into the prison) is really a blessing in disguise (e.g. Tasha’s idea). Of course this whole different angle thing doesn’t apply to what Stinger Markovich did to me. There’s really no silver lining there. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d say I wish I never met Tasha. Harsh, but it’s the truth. She’s an awesome girl, don’t get me wrong, but I still wish I didn’t have to know her. I wish I didn’t have to know any of them, including Jade, the poor girl with an eating disorder who was with us one day and gone the next.
I wish I didn’t have to know Jade at all.
But now my only wish is to find her.
CHAPTER 48
On his way back to Baltimore, Bryce made a planned stop. The guy’s name was Ray Anderson and he had retired from the U.S. Marshals when Bryce was still collecting Pokémon cards. Bryce and Ray had never met, but Ray’s name was all over the Conti paperwork, so he figured the old-timer might be able to shed some light on the situation. Bryce wanted to do something to help out Angie, though his motives were not a hundred percent altruistic.
He was smitten, no two ways about it. Angie was the package—able, beautiful, and confident, the ABCs to Bryce’s heart—but it was more than just pheromones working overtime. He felt they had a lot in common, the important things. They were cut from the same cloth. The job was a calling, a passion for each. You had to be like Angie to truly understand a woman like her, and Bryce got it. He lived it, embodied it. They were members of the same tribe, like with like.
But anything having to do with Angie would have to play out sometime down the road. It wasn’t the time for the Bryce Taggart’s Woo Machine to go fully operational. The Conti matter had to be resolved first. Angie needed closure, and Bryce was lucky enough to be in a position to help. Even better, he could do it without violating any laws. Well, without egregiously violating them. He was certainly skirting close to the ethical edge. Ray Anderson didn’t need to know about Angie DeRose, he just needed to answer some questions from his past.
Bryce had never been to Russett, Maryland before, never had a reason to go there. Bordered by Little Patuxent River and Oxbow Lake, it was a throwback to a simpler time with modest homes, leafy streets, and neighbors known by name. Compared to Bethesda, where Bryce grew up, Russett was a speck of land with a third of the population. Ray was one of 13,000 residents, and owned a nice colonial home with blue vinyl siding and black shutters. He kept his lawn trimmed, and a small garden out front well tended.