Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,71

behind it looks out onto a treed side yard, and it’s a good setting for her argument. Everything certainly looks peaceful and affluent out there.

“Okay. So why is Roy Morris after you?”

Her neck straightens from its slouchy curve and she turns her hard little eyes to me. “How the hell do you know that name?”

“I told you I was smart. And your life isn’t anything like The Da Vinci Code, sweetie.”

“The what?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” I take a seat on the sofa and face her. The couch smells like clean laundry. It really is a pretty nice place. “Look, Kayla, I’m not some social worker here to save you. Life is a bitch and the world is a terrible place, and the fact that we’re related doesn’t make your life more tragic than any other forgotten girl getting abused and destroyed on every street in this sick goddamn world. Got it?”

She rolls her eyes and takes another drag.

“You’re a sex worker, and that means no one gives a damn about you whether you’re eighteen or sixteen or fourteen. No one will help you. The cops will arrest you and send you to juvie as a criminal even if you’re not actually old enough to consent. Or, hell, they’ll arrest you and send you to jail as an adult. I’m the only person who’s even looking for you. You know that? Nobody cares. So I’d suggest you wipe that smirk off your face and tell me what you did.”

She ignores me, flicking her ash onto the hardwood floor.

I feel like I’m stalking her now, and I like it. “Did you blackmail them?”

Oh, she can’t hide these cards, because her pride won’t let her. A slow, wide smile spreads across that narrow face until she’s almost cute. Her eyes scrunch up into pleased little crescents. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, sure.” I smile at her. “Just tell me how you did it.” I know her ego can’t resist the prompt. I know because mine wouldn’t. “Come on. You worked those men. We both know it. Just tell me how.”

She enjoys her proud satisfaction for another silent moment, and then she gives in to the siren call of her ego with another flick of her cigarette. “They all knew how old I was, so don’t try saying I tricked them. Some of them thought I was even younger. One sick bastard kept insisting I was eleven until I played along and agreed. Wanted to pretend it was my birthday party. ‘I can’t believe I’m finally turning eleven! Did you get me a present?’”

“Gross.”

“Yeah. Gross. It was their fault, not mine.”

“I agree with that. I just want to know how you pulled it off.”

She sets both her feet on the floor now, and her eyes sparkle like emerald chips in dirty rock, though she’s still trying to keep her face blank. I’m fascinated watching her and wondering if this is what it’s like to watch me. “It wasn’t exactly difficult,” she says. “They all thought I was nothing. Nobody worth noticing at all. Just a victim.”

“Because you let them think that.”

She shows all her teeth in a grin, and I see that the bottom ones are crooked and spotted with cavities. No dental care or orthodontia for poor folks. I’d had to spend several thousand getting my teeth fixed in my twenties. And it was worth it. Good teeth are another point of access many people in the world are never granted. I made sure I punched that ticket.

“I gave them what they wanted,” she says. “A poor, helpless underage girl they could use and throw away. What a thrill. And why bother looking under the surface when the surface is exactly what you dreamed of?”

No, she’s not so dumb after all. My body tingles with the thrill of it.

“The best part is it’s all so exciting to them that it’s over in a few seconds. Easy money. But”—she pauses to wink at me—“video lives forever, of course.”

Aha. Not the least favorite of my own tricks. “So you recorded them?”

“Sure.” Another shrug as she relaxes back in the chair. “I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t record everything. Like, you hear about people being bullied or harassed, and, like, come on, record that shit! What the hell? That’s your first step right there.”

Wow. This is like hearing my own thoughts played back to me. A surge of pride rises inside me.

I’ve done plenty of my own recording, though oftentimes it’s just for my personal enjoyment. But,