X-Ray Vision Ch. 08: Monetized

I took it, looked at her for more, but she just wiggled her eyebrows, tilted her head to the paper.

I was unfamiliar with this type of document, but it appeared to be an Emancipation Proclamation, signed and sealed by some muckety-muck judge in the great state of Idaho.

Before I finished, she snatched it back, refolded it, stuffed it into her pocket. Saw my slightly indignant look.

"Lots of people been giving me trouble on the trip; I just flash that at em, shuts em up mostly."

Must be some back story there. Too early to pry, probably not my concern anyway.

Down to business. "You got plans? Trevor can't keep feeding you."

She shook her head No! and kept shoveling in the grub, smiling. I looked to Trevor, who raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug.

"A place to stay?" Another smile, another No!

"A job prospect?" Just a smile this time, but clearly No.

"Staying long?" A Yes! this time.

"Forever! Never going back!"

I was at a loss. I could leave her here, just turn and go. But she'd be sleeping on a bench tonight. Or more likely the bar's back room, Trevor was apparently a pushover. Good to know; I'd keep that knowledge in reserve.

I couldn't offer her a job. The Bail Bond business you had to be 18, and she wouldn't be for years.

Maybe as an Emancipated Minor it was different?

Was it even my job to decide what she could and couldn't do? Probably not, but it was my floor and my phone desks. I didn't fancy a kid dealing with our kind of client. And my word was law there.

I could do one thing.

"You can stay at my place tonight. I got a spare room."

It was my room, but I'm sleeping over with Greg pretty much all the time now. I'd decided that; Greg had no say, and would certainly have no objection anyway, I just snuggle naked, and he's putty in my hands.

She wasn't ready for my offer. "Whaa? Why? What I gotta do?" She'd stopped with a fry halfway to her mouth, clearly interested but cautious. I imagine that proclamation came with a healthy disdain for adult interference.

I was out of my depth here. What would she do?

"What do you need?" That was a reasonable rejoinder. I didn't know how it worked with Emancipated Minors.

"Gotta get a social worker. Gotta get a place. Need a job. The usual.

"You a social worker or something?" She looked at me dubiously.

A social worker! Well, something like.

"I'm a lady who's interested in getting young women off the boardwalk, someplace safe."

"There's more to it." She was not gonna believe in Santa Clause. I had to have an angle, or she'd flat-out reject my help.

Well, I did have an angle.

"I have phone desks to fill. I'm office manager at a Bail Bond service. I find somebody needing a job, I offer them that."

She looked interested, but I cut her off.

"Too young! Gonna have to be something else."

Billie sized me up, in her 15-year-old way.

"So, you troll the bars looking for somebody hard up, somebody willing to take your shitty job. You strong-arm them into it, since they have nowhere else to go? Slave labor?"

She'd about summed it up. From a certain point of view, that was what I was doing. Her skewed point of view, that was clear.

I just stuck my bottom lip out, nodded, agreed. "About right."

She stuck the last of her bar-food into her mouth, pushed the empty platter at Trevor. Snagged a napkin, de-greased her hands, her face, still chewing.

"Thanks Trevor! My treat next time!"

She hopped down, picked up her suitcase.

"Lead on!"

...

"You have no trouble meeting people, making decisions." I said it as a fact.

Billie agreed. "Have to be that way, people always trying to push you around, make you do things, make you something you're not. You gotta put yourself out there, make yourself visible or you get steamrollered."

So much back story! I didn't pry. Maybe later when she trusted me, that would all come out.

"Let's drop your stuff in your room, let you get cleaned up! The we'll head to the courthouse, see about a social worker, get that settled."

She thought, decided. "Good plan!"

The trip up the beach to the condo was quiet, Billie rubber-necking the ocean, the boardwalk. The few tourists still evident.

"You catch us in the off-season! I didn't really expect to find anybody today."

"You do this pretty regular then?"

"Regular enough. I don't want to let somebody spend too much time stuck, sleeping on benches. That gets old fast."

She agreed wholeheartedly. "Lots of folks end up here?"

"A few. Tourists at the end of their rope. Last stop on a trip to nowhere." That had been me, once.

"I gonna meet any of them? You got, like, a harem or something?"

I laughed out loud at that one. "You'll meet Nick, sooner or later. She's living in a boarding house with some other girls from the office."

That seemed to satisfy her. She was silent for the rest of the walk.

The condo amazed her. What she'd expected, I don't know. But a beachfront property in an upscale development was not it.

The porch pleased her, oddly. It was just a few feet of floor, screened windows. Some deck furniture pushed up against the wall. Nothing special?

The condo proper she took in without comment. When I showed her 'her' room I had to clear a couple of my things. That amused her, but for once she didn't make a wise-ass remark.

The bathroom was a big hit. She dropped her suitcase, shucked out of her jacket and made a beeline.

While she made water noises in there, I considered making some more lunch. She'd just put down a couple pounds of greasy bar snacks. Could she possibly be hungry?

Yes, I decided. She was 15. I put a frozen pizza in the oven, our tradition by now, I guess.

The oven timer ding! coincided with her exit from the bathroom. In her skivvies! A bundle of her traveling clothes in her paws.

"Where can I get these washed!"

"Leave them on the floor; I'll show you the laundry room after you're dressed."

She smelled the pizza, her eyes lit up. Disappearing into her room, she emerged almost immediately dressed in casual clothes. A sensible skirt, blouse. Knee socks!

She saw I approved. "I gotta look like Debbie Normal for social services."

Ah! That made sense.

She slid onto a bar stool, took a piece from the pizza board without asking, folded it and took that wonderful first scalding cheesy bite.

I left her to her feeding frenzy, found a can of something sugary, set it in front of her. She popped the top, pulled about half of it down in one go. Burped spectacularly.

My turn to be amused, which she was fine with.

Ten minutes later we hit the street, a third of a pizza abandoned on the bar, her traveling clothes in the washer and a note for Greg left where he could find it.

He could find it anywhere, but Billie didn't know that, so I propped it against the toaster for form's sake.

"We can take the truck?"

"I've had enough motor vehicles for about a month. Could we walk? Is it too far?"

She'd just got off a bus after a three-thousand-mile journey. I could imagine motor travel was not a pleasant prospect.

"About a mile and a half? Good? Let's go!"

She was quiet for a bit. For about half a minute. Then the questions started.

"You live with a guy? You married? Anybody else live there? How long can I stay?"

That last one I hesitated. If I say "as long as you need to" she'll be more suspicious. She was a young cynic and thought she knew how the world worked. I had to work with that.

"I hope to get you placed in a few days. About that. What can you do? Food service? Driver's license?"

No, and no. Hm.

"Accounting? Office assistant?"

"I suppose; never done it, but how hard can it be? You said something about a phone desk."

I shook my head. "You could probably do the phones ok, but we work with some pretty unsavory characters. Maybe when you're a bit older."

"Do I have to show you the paper again?" She was challenging me.

"Oh I imagine you can do the work! But will the clients respect you? They're bullies mostly, and not terribly civilized. It's my call, my office, and I say no thanks, we'll wait on that one."

She simmered over that for a while. Fortunately, we had to negotiate some traffic, the courthouse was on the other side of downtown.

Once we got into the civic center neighborhood the traffic disappeared. Wrong time of day. She started in again.

"What's what's-his-name do? How can you afford that place? Not on an office manager's salary!"

I was astonished at her impertinence. I held my tongue; she'd been fending off folks who wanted to take advantage for some time. Made her go on the offensive by default.

"Greg inherited, folks all gone. And he does private investigation. Makes about as much as he wants to that way."

"So he doesn't work too hard, that what you mean? Slacks, picks and chooses, watches TV most of the time?"

So she wasn't all that observant. "There's no TV in the place. You missed that? Hm."

She colored; embarrassed to be caught out in even this small thing. Careful! I didn't want to compete with her, didn't want to fight her. I temporized.

"Yeah he used to be pretty chill, just cruising the boardwalk, on permanent vacation. But that changed some time ago. Now he's busy most days, got lots to take care of."

She decided to say something. "Who's the weirdo? You or him?"

I raised my eyebrows, pretending not to know what she was on about. But she'd noticed something, something in the condo that gave Greg away. Like I had, all that time ago. Smart kid.

No, smart woman. Got to keep that straight.

"The bathroom, the bedroom are all wrong. Things not where they should be. And that porch..."

What about the porch? I'd not caught anything there. "Greg likes things that way."

"So it's him. He a psychic? A memory guy? Can't ever forget where he put something?"

I nodded. "Something like that. Here we are! The courthouse! You know what to do?" I was at a loss about social workers.

She nodded, confident. Marched right up the steps, bold as brass. I followed, letting her do this without interference.

She scanned the directory inside, headed for the stairs. The grand old building had grand old stairs, a case on each side of the lobby to a gallery overhead. She took the right.

Down a dark wood-paneled hallway, a plastic sign sticking out said "Social Services". She went in without knocking; I followed a polite distance behind.

In here all was normal cubicle-land, the grand oak paneling gone and replaced by computers on every desk, swivel chairs, linoleum tile. A brief counter, unattended now. She found a bell, hit it three times, loud.

An annoyed woman of maybe 50 came from the back. Nametag: Genevieve.

"Take it easy kiddo; don't break my bell!"

The paper was pulled out, unfolded, smoothed, handed over. Genevieve pulled her glasses down from her hairline, scanned it.

Without a word she went to a cabinet, found a form, brought it back.

"Fill this in, sign here and here" She indicated with a pen. "Who's this? Your guardian?"

"My landlady."

A nod. "She can sign on the back, place of residence, certify you're living there."

With that Genevieve departed to the warren.

Two tiny school-sized chairs with those little writing desk arms were in the corner. We claimed them.

She scribbled for a while, crossing things out, checking boxes. Signed front and back. Turned the paper over to me, indicated what part was mine to fill out.

I supplied street address, phone number, endorsed where it asked, "Emancipated Minor appeared to you and resides at the address in part B." Handed it back.

"Now what?"

"Now they waste time, assign me a case worker. They call me in a few days, verify I still live there. If I move, I have to come back, do this all over again."

I nodded. Made sense. Sure, she was officially an adult. But somebody wanted to be sure she wasn't homeless, had a roof and meals. I could get on board with that.

She tossed the paper into the basket on the counter, made to leave.

"That's it?"

"I'm a resident of your fair state! Official!"

Following her out to the front steps, she stopped, turned slowly in a circle considering the city.

"I hadn't actually planned any further than this."

I nodded. The whole world was in front of her. It was a big world.

"We could start with heading back, get you settled in. Ask Greg if he could do his finding-thing, help you find a place to work that you'll get along with."

"Finding-thing? What's that? "

I had said too much. Never mind; somebody would tell her. Everybody seemed to know anyway.

"Greg finds things. It's his special skill. Some people can do math in their head, some people never forget a face. Greg can find things."

She accepted that without question. The world was big, and she was young. Finders were now a thing, and that was that.

"I'd like that. Greg's help. It would be ... great if he would do that."

She was unaccustomed to accepting help. Maybe we'd made some small progress toward trust. I wasn't going to spoil it.

"And I have to finish my day. Keep looking for slave labor? You can tag along, or go back to the condo, knock around the boardwalk. What would you prefer?"

I was treating her like an adult. Because she was, legally. And because she wanted that, needed that. She was still a kid in most ways. But respect would go a long way toward helping her find a place here.

She brightened. "Tag along! I don't want to be there without you when Greg shows up. He might spaz or something."

That made me laugh. Greg was more likely to offer her lunch. But she didn't know that yet.

"You can't actually surprise Greg. He'd know you were there before he came in. And I left him that note."

She couldn't know he'd read the note even before he came in the door.

"Ok, back to the boardwalk! You kind of put a wrinkle in my routine. Trevor might have more to tell!"

...

"It's my off season. Not much business. Overstaffed. I was thinking..."

"I might have a job for some of your guys! Trevor! Thank you! That's brilliant!"

He smiled. This was going better than he'd hoped.

"Who do you have in mind? You don't want me randomly sniping your people."

"I have a busboy, Cory, hard worker, needs the paycheck. And a bouncer. Don't need a bouncer if we're not crowded. Tito. Strong, immune to criticism, can be a little single-minded."

Tito sounded good. Not sure about Cory but hey I could have a chat.

"Anybody here now? I'd like to talk, see if they're cut out for this."

Trevor found Cory in the kitchen, chatting with the cook who was a dour girl about twice his age, maybe twice his mass, trying to make points. He came reluctantly to the cook's evident relief.

"Cory, this is Jillian. She'd like to talk about a job."

He brightened, stuck out his hand. "Sure! I know you! Some phone job, right?"

We sat, I ordered a couple cokes, talked him through the particulars. He seemed to catch on, but I wasn't sure he had the balls to deal with our clients.

"You think you're up to it if somebody give you pushback, tries to argue with you?"

He shrugged. Not a good sign. He wouldn't even stand up to me.

Billie had been watching silently, now stood and walked behind Cory, flicked his earlobe. When he turned to look, one hand going to his ear, she reached around the other side, nabbed his coke.

"Hey! Ow! Stop that!"

She looked at him with an insolent grin, took the straw from his glass, flicked it onto the table. Took a long pull from the coke. Stared at him, challenging him, still grinning her contemptuous grin.

"You, you shouldn't do that. That was mine!"

"Mine now."

I watched this play out. Billie was clearly testing him, and it wasn't going well. Cory turned red, stammered some more. Turned back to me for support. I shrugged, watched.

He pushed back his chair, looked from Billie to me, back, face clouding up.

"This is bullshit! I don't have to..."

He fled, back to the kitchen and the company of the cook, abandoning all hope of a job.

Billie called "Next!" in a bored voice.

"That wasn't very nice!" I was smiling as I said it.

"The job isn't nice. Right? He's gonna be happier as a busboy."

That seemed about right.

Trevor went downstairs - this place had a downstairs? On the beach? I didn't try to figure that out.

He came back up with a sizeable guy in a black casual shirt, sleeves rolled up, khaki pants, ankle-high boots. Universal Bouncer uniform.

Trevor introduced us. "Tito. Jillian."

"You wanna see me?" He was guarded but willing.

"Trevor said you might fit a job opening I had. Phone desk, talking to folks in a tight spot, feeling them out. Bail Bond service."

"Crinshaw?" He apparently knew the business, maybe needed it's services in the past?

I nodded. "We're short-handed. Need somebody who can hold the line against pushy clients. Won't shrink from telling them it's gonna cost them, telling them no if that's the right answer."

He tilted his head, the barest acknowledgement possible.

"Mostly morning work but hours all day if you want them. Gets slow in the afternoon. Some opportunity to make home visits, verify addresses, ability to appear. Short training, shit pay, reasonable work week."

He cracked a smile at that. Pulled out a chair and sat down. "Tell me more."

In 10 minutes I was convinced I'd found our guy. Billie was convinced too, for what that was worth. She'd baited him, sneered at him, even dumped a coke on the table in his direction. He'd effortlessly shifted his chair, let it flow onto the floor, ignored her.

"So you game?" I needed to close this deal.

He shrugged. "Sure. I clock out Friday, I'm done here. When can I start?"

Trevor gave me a high sign, so I excused myself, went to the bar.

"He can be available tomorrow. I said Friday to give him a chance to find another gig. You need him now? Fine with me."

I returned to the table, made my offer in a few words. Tito seemed to be a guy of few words.

"You punch out of here tonight, Trevor says that could work. Show up at Crinshaw's tomorrow morning, we'll get you started. Work for you?"

He reached across the table, shook on it. Billie grinned, went around, punched him on the shoulder. Made a show of having hurt her hand. He continued to ignore her.

We were done here.

...

Billie

So we show up back at the condo, Jillian changing in her room. I'm barely unpacked, just a few things from the suitcase to stuff into a drawer, laundry from the dryer, my bathroom necessaries stowed in the medicine cabinet, and Greg shows.

Nervous, I admit it. Didn't know him from Adam. Jillian is cool, but Greg could have been a douche. Seen it before - chill gal, dipshit boyfriend. Happens all the time.

But he wasn't. No angry questions, no ego theatre. He waited in the kitchen, drinking some goofy fruity drink from a can. Called me by name, said Hi Billie! Welcome! when I came out. Offered me a drink.

Said congratulations on the new life I'd chosen. First person to not give me shit about that. Like I was competent to make my own decisions. I started to like him.

Jillian came out, saw we'd met, smiled like I was some prize heifer she'd bought, proud to show me off. Felt really OK, somebody who liked me how I was. Didn't see me as a degenerate sinner or an upstart girl talking back to her betters.

I noticed right off, the note still on the bar, still leaning on the toaster. Not been touched. Yet Greg knew my name, expected me, knew my story.

File that fact away for later.

"So I guess I'm staying a while. Jillian nixed me working with her degenerates, says they won't respect me. I gotta find another gig."

Greg accepted that, no argument; not his business to comment, all between us girls. More points for Greg!

They started making dinner, all loving-couple and talking about their day. I slurped the bubbly from the can, I could get used to that stuff, watched them, stayed out of the way.