Uptown Thief by Aya De León Page B

but guys will pay to screw you.”
    She walked over to a young woman texting and raised an eyebrow. The girl put the phone away. “But this is a burnout profession,” Marisol went on. “If you don’t plan your future, you’ll end up broke, with no marketable skills, and those same guys won’t still wanna screw you, or won’t wanna pay much.”
    The young women laughed. Every folding chair in the room was full, and a few of the girls sat on the floor. Against the wall were stacks of foldaway cots and a pile of sleeping bags that came out at night when the room became a temporary shelter.
    â€œSo be smart,” Marisol went on. “Some countries have government-sponsored retirement plans for their sex workers. Not the U.S.”
    A wide-eyed Nalissa stuck her head in the door.
    â€œEntrepreneurship’s not until tomorrow—”
    â€œHe’s got a gun!” Nalissa said. Her arm waved wildly toward the street. “Crazy motherfucker outside the clinic with a gun!”

Chapter 6
    M arisol jumped up and ran down the stairs to the front door. Her hand reached involuntarily for her locket.
    Eva stood frozen in the middle of the lobby. The receptionist and several women stood huddled behind the front desk. They watched the street through the two-way mirrored glass of the street door.
    â€œDulce, I know you’re in there! Bitch, I’m a kill you if you don’t come out right now,” a thugged-out Latino yelled from the sidewalk. He wore oversized shades and a cap pulled low over his face, a large-caliber gun dangling from his right hand.
    Jerry. Marisol had a feeling of déjà vu. As if Dulce had not only described Jerry, but also shown her a picture.
    Marisol texted Jody for backup, but she might be anywhere in the city.
    The thirty or so girls who had come down behind Marisol stayed hunched in a knot by the stairwell at the back of the room.
    Eva rushed to the reception desk. “I’m calling NYPD.”
    â€œNo cops!” Marisol said. “We got girls in here with warrants or no immigration papers.”
    â€œHe has a goddamn cannon in his hand, Marisol,” Eva said. “I don’t like police, either, but it’s better than getting shot.”
    â€œOnly a psychopath would shoot us in broad daylight with witnesses,” Marisol said.
    â€œWhat about that guy doesn’t say psychopath to you?” Eva asked.
    Jerry hulked back and forth like a caged jungle cat.
    At the corner, he had parked his tricked-out Hummer across two lanes of Avenue C traffic. Cars honked, and clusters of passersby rubbernecked.
    â€œShut the fuck up!” Jerry yelled, turning to the motorists.
    Marisol peered down the street and counted five heads in the Hummer: three female, two male.
    â€œHe’s not gonna kill us,” Marisol said. “This is for show. I’m going out.”
    â€œAre you nuts?” Eva asked.
    â€œIt’s just like that dad at the Chelsea clinic,” Marisol said.
    â€œThat guy only had a hatchet,” Eva said.
    â€œMotherfuckers don’t just get to intimidate women in our clinic.” Marisol put a hand on the door. “I’m going with or without you.” She pushed the door open a crack. A gust of wind blew in, and Jerry swiveled in her direction.
    She stepped out in the street without a backward glance.
    Eva grabbed her cane and stepped out the door, her limp more pronounced than usual. Although she wasn’t a brawler like Jody, Eva had a fierceness on which Marisol had come to rely. Not only had Eva survived polio, but her parents had survived the Holocaust as children. Eva wasn’t looking for a fight, but she was prepared to survive one.
    Marisol felt the adrenaline surging through her. Where her shoulder touched Eva’s she could feel the other woman trembling slightly.
    She and Eva advanced. Underneath Eva’s plus-size suit, she was solid. Still, the pimp’s tall,