The Girl Who Made Them Pay Page 5

  “Hey! It’s me!” I yelled and almost tripped over a cobblestone, but I kept running.

  Why isn’t she turning around?

  I caught up to her as she came to the steps of a ramshackle house in the far corner of the square. It was the one place that hadn’t opened its doors, even when I’d banged on it.

  “Katy!”

  I grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her around. I looked at her in shock and my mouth dried up. This is not Katy.

  This was a girl with a mane of red hair and freckles on her nose just like my friend, but also nothing like my friend. She was taller and had packed her face with more makeup and knock-’em-dead red lipstick than Katy would wear in a lifetime. She had on a bright red leather miniskirt, a short leather jacket, and the highest stilettos I’d ever seen. She looked taut and cold, and her face said back off.

  I let go of her arm. How could I have made such a big mistake? Katy doesn’t even wear leather skirts.

  “What do you want?” the redhead said, her green eyes boring into mine.

  I drew back in surprise. Her accent sounded Russian or East European of sorts. Her voice was a raspy drawl like she’d been up all night drinking. Despite the heavy makeup, she looked washed out, like the old buildings around us.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I thought you were my friend.”

  She gave me a sullen smile.

  “From far away, you look just like her,” I mumbled, feeling lame. “I didn’t realize....”

  “She not here.”

  I looked around, startled.

  That’s when I noticed the figure next to her. I peered at the short, shrouded shape. I’d seen women dress like this back in India. They wore their midnight black body veils, hidden to the rest of the world from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes. A tiny slit in her facial covering gave an impression of her eyes, but other than that, I could see nothing. Not her mouth, not her face, not her arms or even her feet.

  “S-sorry?” I said.

  “Your friend not here.” One side of the robe shifted. It could have been the lift of an arm or a flick of a wrist, I couldn’t say. Two fiery black eyes glared through the slit. “No one here for you.” It was a strange guttural voice, a strong accent I couldn’t place.

  “Oh?” I said. “How do you know?”

  “Go away.” She sounded angry now. “I said go!”

  “But, but—” I stammered, trying to find my words, “How do you know my friend’s not here? Have you seen her?”

  The woman glared but said nothing.

  “Zero’s always trying to find redheads,” the redhead said, popping a wad of bubble gum. “There’s always a huge demand, especially from the Arabs. But it’s just me here. I’d know if there were others because—”

  “I said she not here. You go now,” the robed woman interrupted. “Go!” The robe jerked my way. I took a step back.

  “Why are you always in a rush, Bibi? Relax, will you?” the redhead said, but a flicker in her eyes made me wonder if she feared the other woman.

  The redhead turned to me with a curious look in her eyes. “Hey, are you American by any chance?”

  “Canadian,” I said. “And Indian,” I paused. “But I was born in Kenya.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Tell me,” I said, looking at her and ignoring the impatient robed woman beside us. “Do you know a businessman called Dick from Toronto?”

  The redhead shook her head.

  “What about Jose from Detroit? Ever heard of that name?”

  “No. Why I should know these people?”

  “Because I think they took my friend.”

  The redhead laughed. I looked at her in shock. How can she laugh about something so serious?

  Then, a worried look came over her face. “Wait a minute. This friend of yours. Am I going to have competition?”

  Competition? My stomach heaved thinking of where Katy might have ended up. “No!” I shook my head. “Oh, my god, of course not! I lost her at the airport. She’s supposed to come with me to India. Not here.”

  “Come!” The robed woman had had enough. She tugged at the redhead’s elbow and motioned her to come with her.

  The redhead didn’t budge. “Hey, Bibi. I said frigging relax, will you?”

  “No time!” The robe had become more animated now. “No time. Come! Now!”

  I couldn’t see the woman’s face, but I could feel fear emanating from underneath that cloth. The woman grabbed the redhead by the elbow again. With a curse, the redhead pushed the woman’s hand away and sashayed up the stairs like she was born in those stilettos. She banged the door open and disappeared inside.

  The robed woman was still standing in front of me. I didn’t know what to say. Without a warning and with a twist of her wrist, the woman slid off her face veil.

  I gasped.

  It was a strange face that looked back at me, one with beautiful lips and dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes, but her entire left side was a grotesque pink scar like her skin had been scalded by boiling water.

  I looked at her in horror.

  “Wha...are you ok?” I whispered.

  “Same thing happen if you ask too many questions,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Without another word, she pulled down her veil, scurried up the steps, and walked inside the doorway.

  The door slammed shut.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stood in front of this strange house wondering if I was in the middle of a crazy nightmare.

  I pinched my left arm. No, I felt that. I was fully awake.

  The sound of a car’s honk made me turn around.

  A black London cab was inching its way through a narrow alleyway on the side of the square, a path made to fit a medieval horse, not a modern-day car. A troupe of young boys who’d been playing football at that end picked up their ball and moved to let the car pass.

  The cab was just like the one that took Katy from the airport. I knew it was one among a thousand but my heart beat faster.

  I stepped to the side of the building and flattened myself against the brick wall. There was a small window just above me. I crouched below the ledge and peeked around the corner, hoping to spot Katy.

  From my hiding spot, I watched as the car stopped twenty feet from the house.

  The back door opened and out stepped a beautiful Chinese girl in super-high black heels and a micro-skirt that barely covered anything. She looked fourteen at most. A tattoo of Chinese characters circled its way up her slender thighs. Her hair was cut in a sharp bob style and her lips were smeared with the same blood-red lipstick as the redhead had worn.

  She stood next to the opened cab door as if uncertain of her surroundings. Then, wobbling in those heels like a newly born doe, she took her first step.

  A man jumped out of the cab from behind her and grabbed her by the shoulder. He was tall and thin and wore a black suit. I gasped out loud. He looked exactly like the man who’d pulled Katy from the airport. He wore the same badly fitted black suit. He had the same heavy beard that made it look like he was hiding something.

  The girl stepped over the cobblestones, swaying dangerously. The man steered her roughly toward the main door, the same door the redhead and the robed woman had walked into, moments earlier. Neither the girl nor the man noticed me in the shadows.

  The cab pulled away in reverse. The man and the girl were now at the top of the stairs. That was when I noticed a change in the girl’s behavior. One second she was barely holding up. The next, her body jerked up as if she’d just woken up. As if she’d realized where she was.

  She stopped and turned back toward the square. A strange look crossed her face like her mind cleared for a moment. The man grabbed her arm to push her inside. She slapped him away and took a step down. The man’s face turned red. The girl took another step down, but it was too late.

  He whipped out his hand and walloped her on the head, making her crumble to her knees. She grabbed on to t
he railing but couldn’t hang on. I watched in horror as she tumbled down the concrete steps like a broken doll. My hands flew to my mouth to stifle a scream.

  The man bolted down the steps. I covered my eyes. I can’t see this. I can’t see this. I forced my hands away to see him raise his foot to kick her. Once. Twice.

  And something in me snapped.

  “Oi! Stop!” I ran out of my hiding spot screaming at the top of my lungs. “Stop that! You’re gonna kill her!” I waved my arms like mad. “Help! Police! Stop this! I said stop it now!”

  The man jumped back, startled. I wasn’t sure if it was the sudden sight of someone, anyone, dashing out, or if it was someone yelling in English, calling for the police no less. But that did it. He bolted up the steps and slammed the door shut.

  I looked at the girl lying motionless on the ground. I fell to my knees and bent over her.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  It was a pretty, petite face I was looking at. Her eyes were half-closed, but she was alive. Her chest was heaving. Her fingers groped at the air as if looking for something to hold on to. I gently put my hand in hers. She squeezed mine tightly.

  “You’ll be fine. Stay with me, okay?”

  She blinked. Her eyes looked glassy like she wasn’t fully there. I knelt all the way down and put my face close to hers. “I’m here to help you,” I whispered to avoid frightening her any more than she already was. She gave me a vacant look and lowered her head back on the ground.

  There was no one else in the square except for the kids playing a hundred feet away. They weren’t paying attention or looking even slightly disturbed by what had happened. It was like they’d seen this sort of thing before. I looked around the ancient square with its ugly signs, its broken-down shops, and even more broken-down people. Doesn’t anyone care?

  “Arrrgh—”

  The girl was trying to get up. She pulled in her legs, grimacing in pain. I reached out and touched her shoulder. She didn’t pull back. “Take it easy now,” I said, as I helped her sit up.

  “Can you breathe okay?”

  She nodded her head slowly.

  Thank goodness, she understands.

  I remembered my bag. I had two T-shirts and a bottle of water in there. I got up and ran to pick it up. I took the bottle out, pulled off the cap, and handed it to the girl who was still sitting unsteadily on the ground, looking dazed. I had to hold it as she drank because her hands were trembling too much. She chugged it down like she’d not had a drink of water all day.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine,” I said, as she was drinking. “We’ll get help for you soon. I’m going to call an ambulance and they’ll take care of you.”

  She pushed the bottle away and gave me a wild look. “No!” Her voice was hoarse.

  I looked at her, puzzled. “I think your ankle’s broken. You’re bleeding. Plus, we need to call the police.”

  She reached for my shoulder and tried to say something. I leaned in. Her hand tightened on me.

  “No, no police,” she whispered.

  I didn’t know what to say. I stared at her. She motioned for more water. I handed the nearly empty bottle back to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, when she was done.

  She closed her eyes, and I felt her lean against me. I sat next to her, listening to her laborious breathing. We stayed at the bottom of the steps like this for several minutes in silence. I didn’t know what to think or do. I needed to find Katy, but I couldn’t leave this battered young girl by herself either.

  “I’m Asha,” I said.

  She opened her eyes and gave me a blank look.

  “My name is Asha,” I repeated. “What’s yours?”

  She pointed at her chest.

  I nodded.

  “Win.”

  “What are you doing here, Win?”

  Her eyes looked into the distance but she didn’t say anything.

  “I saw what happened to you,” I said. “He hit you. He kicked you. We have to do something about it. This is serious.”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, closing her eyes again.

  “Nothing?”

  A small shrug. Then, as if she’d remembered something, she opened her eyes and looked up at the door. She put a hand on my shoulder to steady herself, and holding on to me and the wall, got up painfully.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  With one hand on the rail, she started to climb the stairs, dragging one foot behind her.

  “Win!” I whispered as loudly as I dared. “You can’t go back in there!”

  She turned and put her finger to her lips. “Shhh—”

  “But, that man. He’s in there—”

  She continued her walk up, with that twisted foot dragging over each step.

  “Win!” I watched her helplessly. “Don’t go in!”

  She was at the top of the steps now. I vaulted up and landed next to her just before she pulled on the doorknob.

  “Listen to me. Please. We need to tell the police what happened. This is crazy bad.”

  She opened the door, limped inside, and turned to me, while I looked at her desperately.

  “It’s okay,” she said in a slight sing-song voice, “It’s okay. This is my home.”

  Before I knew it, the door closed and the click of a key came from the other side.

  Chapter Twelve

  The morning breeze had turned into a blustery wind, blowing leaves over the square and strands of hair across my face.

  I swept my hair back and looked up to the sky. Gray clouds were gathering above. A flash of lightning streaked the sky from afar. I could smell the rain coming.

  The wind picked up newspaper shreds and empty plastic bags and swirled them across the cobblestones. The neon lights on top of the shops flashed on and off, buzzing intermittently like they knew a storm was on its way. No one was standing in the square chatting or smoking next to doorways anymore. The place was empty. Even strip joints had to get ready for a thunderstorm.

  I stepped up to the door where everyone had disappeared through and rattled the ancient knob. The door may have been old, but the deadbolt was new and secure.

  I surveyed the building and its facade of dirty brown brick. There weren’t any windows on the first floor on this side of the house. There were two on the second floor covered by dark curtains, but they were high and barred like jail cells. My eyes wandered farther up. And I almost screamed.

  On the third floor, tied to a black metal bar of a window was Katy’s red scarf fluttering in the wind. I stared at it open-mouthed. This time, it wasn’t mocking me. It was calling out to me.

  “Katy!” I heard myself whisper. For a moment, I felt faint. I leaned against the railing to steady myself and swallowed hard.

  Katy’s here. Oh my god, Katy’s here.

  I felt my breath come fast and shallow. I looked up again. The window was too high for me to climb, or throw anything, even a stone.

  How to get her attention? Think girl, think!

  I walked down the steps and turned around the corner to where I’d hidden earlier. There. I thought I’d noticed a window under the shadows of the awning. I walked up to it, my heart beating fast now.

  Like the rest of the building, this window was in need of repair. From where I stood, I saw a solitary black bar across the window and a ledge large enough to fit a pixie. The curtains were drawn. It was hard to see who or what was inside.

  I glanced around to see if anyone was watching me, but there wasn’t a soul outside. Up above, the sky looked heavier, darker and closer to the ground. I could hear the thunderclaps rolling closer. I peered at the window. If I used my bag as a footstool and pulled myself up using the iron bar, I’d be able to get on the ledge.

  Before I made my next move, I checked my pockets to make sure I had my most important possessions on me in case I wouldn’t be able to come this way again. This meant my passport and my little booklet of recipes. That booklet was as precious as my passport to me.
Maybe even more. On its pages were my favorite recipes from my mother. Tucked between those pages was also the letter Preeti had sent me a year ago explaining what really happened after I left Goa.

  Inserted in between the pages was also a thank you note from my VIP client back at the bakery in Toronto. I kept the letter from the Diplomatic Dragon Lady because it was a testament to my first baking gig, and because for the first time in my life, someone had taken me seriously.

  I tucked the two booklets in my jacket pocket and zipped it up. Then, with a quick look around to see if anyone was watching, I placed my bag carefully at the foot of the wall, right under the window, and stepped on it. It gave me five inches of extra height. Getting on my tiptoes and using all the strength I could muster, I hooked my hands around the iron bar and pulled up onto the tiny ledge. For once, my small size worked to my advantage.

  I leaned against the sill, to not fall out, and inspected the window. There was a latch at the bottom. With one hand holding on to the rusty bar for stability, I reached with my other and pulled the latch. To my surprise, it clicked open. This window must have been centuries old and may never have been locked. Or maybe, it had been unlocked recently by someone trying to get in. Or out.

  I pushed the window. It slid open an inch. I tried it again, throwing all my weight against it. This time, the window slid open all the way, but the iron bar gave way. I gave a small cry before coming down with a resounding crash inside the house.

  Oh, no!

  I reeled from the pain of the fall, but looked up quickly and braced myself. I could just imagine the bearded man come roaring in to kick me senseless. But no one came.

  It took a moment to orient myself. I’d fallen onto something rough but not too hard. I felt around me, trying to figure out where I was. Is it a rug? A large sack?

  I bent down and felt my arms and legs to make sure nothing was broken. I rotated my ankles and wrists in slow circles. What hurt most was my head. It was throbbing on all sides. I sat still for several minutes to compose myself.

  The sound of a door opening made me freeze.

  Someone was on the other side of the room. I heard the sound of dishes and cutlery being picked up. Then, a chair being pushed back and noises of a spoon or a fork tinging on a plate. I waited, listening, not daring to breathe.