help. I might be investigating a gambling ring, but I was certain that the influx of drugs on the streets was connected.
While I was on the streets, guys hit on me. They also made crude comments.
Some of them were dirty and unkempt just like I was, and some of the guys were dressed in suits and ties. I kept my head down. Thankfully I had mace in one pocket, and a knife in my hoodie. I didn’t want to have to fight back, but I wanted to be prepared.
Eventually I stopped walking and just hung around in front of a closed down shop. It wasn’t long before a woman approached me.
She looked like she was pretty once, but now her lips were chapped and her eyes were bloodshot.
“Where’d you come from?” she asked.
I didn’t want to get caught in a lie, so I merely shook my head and looked at the cracked sidewalk.
She didn’t back off, but bent down and peered at me closer. She clearly had no personal space, and I felt so exposed with her staring right into my eyes like that.
I looked up and made eye contact, and it was clear that she was as high as a kite. Her eyes were bloodshot and glassy, and her pupils were huge. I’d never done drugs in my life, not even marijuana, but I’d had friends who’d tried it. I wasn’t sure what this was, but I did see track marks on her arm.
The only reason I knew what they were was because I’d watched a documentary. She saw me staring at her arms.
“Are you looking for some?” she asked.
I shook my head. Thankfully I’d created a story ahead of time that I hoped sounded like something a newcomer would say. I definitely did not want to buy heroin. “I hurt my back. I need some pills because the doctor won’t give me any more. I tried.”
She nodded. “Yeah. They’ve really cracked down on that. I can do that for you.” She smiled. Her teeth looked pretty rough, but her eyes were kind. “I’m Jenny.”
“I’m Amy,” I said.
To my surprise, she pulled a newish smartphone from her back pocket. “Put your number in. Just put Amy, no last name.”
Crap. I hadn’t thought to get an extra phone, and there was no way I was going to give her my real number. Lesson learned. I was going to pick up an extra phone tomorrow. “I don’t have a phone right now. I’ll get one tomorrow.”
She frowned at me but didn’t say anything.
“Do you want some food?” I asked, trying to distract her from asking me any questions. “I have some cash.” She looked like she hadn’t eaten well in a week, and I wanted to fix that.
Her eyes lit up. “You don’t mind?”
“No. We can go anywhere you want.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You have a job?”
I shuddered. “If you can call it that.” I was going to let her draw her own conclusions.
I was glad we were far away from the places where I usually dined. Of course, no of them would have even let us through the door.
“I want something from Wendy’s.” She was so innocent, and guileless, in a way.
My throat burned with sympathy for this poor girl. I was using her for a story, and that really sucked. But it was part of the job. If I stopped now, and only concentrated on her, then I’d have no story, and no one else was going to get any help.
Was I overestimating my ability to break this story? What made me think I could make a difference?
But I felt the deep need to try.
I couldn’t help everyone, but I vowed that once I gained her trust and got the story started, then I’d come back and find her. There was no way I could leave this young woman out on the streets if there was any way for me to help her.
“Where do you live?”
She pointed at one of the derelict buildings.
I opened my mouth to point out that it was condemned, but then I realized she probably knew that already.
“Can I come up and hang out for a while?” There was no other way to gain her trust.
This went on for weeks. During the day, I worked as a journalist.
At night, I transformed myself into an addled drug addict who lived on the streets.
I would buy Jenny a meal, and follow her back to her place. Sometimes she had extra cocaine or heroin, and she’d offer me