Page 154 of If Looks Could Kill
A burly man passed by, steering a young woman by the arm. She locked eyes with me for a moment, and a sick feeling of dread came over me.
I stared back at her. Was it her? In outdoor clothes, I couldn’t be sure. The man with her was a stranger to me, though his face bore the tough, angry, don’t-get-any-ideas look that fit the type. Or he could’ve just been an ordinary Bowery husband or boyfriend steering the arm of a girl who looked a lot like Sarah from the brothel.
They passed by. I saw the young woman turn toward the man and say something. I felt a chill. Was she saying something about me?
“What’s the matter?” Mike asked.
I waited until they were well out of earshot.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but I think I just saw one of the girls from Rosie’s brothel.” I frowned. “Which would make that man a pimp. Why would they be down here?”
“That brothel was raided,” Mike said. “Mother Rosie’s in the Tombs.”
“I wonder,” I said. “From what Freyda’s said, she had, er, sister locations.”
Mike watched me with concern. “Are you sure it was her?”
“No,” I admitted. “But if I had to bet…”
He wrapped his arm around me. “They’re gone now,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Returning to the city was entering a lion’s den of another sort. I knew that the Bowery could never be safe for any girl. Especially one who had declared war against the sex trade.
In the Bible story, the prophet Daniel was safe in the lion’s den becauseGod sealed the lions’ mouths shut. I doubted God had sealed this maybe-Delilah girl’s mouth shut. Perhaps she hated me. Perhaps she’d been beaten after the raid, or perhaps her new situation was worse than before. Perhaps she resented me for getting away.
Or perhaps this was all in my head. But not the danger. That was real enough.
Bring them home.
I’ll try.
We resumed our stroll, using awnings to keep the rain off us wherever we could.
“So what’ll it be, Taibít?” Mike said. “Where do we go celebrate you coming home? What do you want to eat?”
“How about Irish stew?” I said. “Followed by a lovely cherry tart?”
I may have mentioned it before, but there’s something quite wonderful about how Mike’s mouth works when he’s trying not to smile.
“Come on, then,” he said. “I know a good place. Let’s get in out of the rain.”
Returning to O’Flynn’s, I spotted a familiar face on the street corner.
“Hello, Oscar,” I told him.
He fixed me with a grin. “Looky here,” he said. “Miss Theresa’s back.”
“Tabitha,” I told him.
“I hardly recognize you,” said the saucy fiend, “with clothes on.”
I stifled a laugh and grabbed Mike’s arm before he could erupt. “Leave him be, Mike.”
“Little beast,” Mike hissed. “I’ll come back and wash his mouth out with soap.”
“Not him,” I told him. “Oscar gets a free pass.”
“For now,” Mike growled.
