Chapter 9: Fishin’ In Neverland

Sam had planted an idea. Vivie was fishin’ in a different kind of honey hole, and she wasn’t after fish. She and Jennifer were sitting on a bench in a park, each with a bag from Subway. They were dressed down in faded jeans, tee shirts, and worn sneakers. Helva’s drones had indicated that the park was frequented both by runaways and pimps on the hunt for those runaways.

Jennifer had started training in martial arts the day after she became Vivie’s dependent, and now was Vivie’s preferred backup. Both had small stingers, and Vivie had her trademark Barlow knife.

Five minutes after beginning their lunch, Vivie got her first nibble. A smallish, brown-haired girl approached and perched on the far end of the bench, though that wasn’t very far at all. “I don’t suppose you could spare some potato chips or any of the sandwich you aren’t going to eat?”

Vivie looked over, then reached into her bag and lifted out the other half of her footlong. Opening her Barlow knife, she sliced off a corner and popped it her mouth. She handed the rest to the girl and asked, “You do know better than to eat or drink something a stranger gives you that isn’t sealed? You could end up drugged, raped, and dead. Or worse.”

She nodded towards Jennifer and said, “Jennifer usually doesn’t eat her chips. If you ask, she’ll probably let you have them.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched the approach of a blinged out character, who stood over them and said, “Three prime bitches. This is my lucky day.”

Vivie’s eyes became steel hard as she demanded, “Back off bitch! These two are mine.” Her left hand reached out and grabbed the crotch of the surprised man who was even more shocked when her Barlow knife slit open his pants crotch. “I won’t kill you, not yet anyway,” she continued, “but if you don’t leave now, you’ll be eating your oysters for dinner and your sex life will be limited to licking.”

The pimp raised both hands and backed away. Looking down, he saw Jennifer also holding a knife and realized that he could have been truly fucked, and not in his usual way.

Vivie turned to her guest and told her, “I am recruiting, but not for sex. Interested? Wanna hear more?”

The young girl nodded and resumed eating. Jennifer took a sip from her drink, reached over and handed her the cup. The girl took a big sip, then began to rewrap the remaining half of her sandwich.

“Lost your appetite?” Jennifer asked her.

“No, but there are other hungry folks, and we share,” the girl replied.

CCR’s Bad Moon Rising sounded in Vivie’s head, then, <Vivie, that pimp is returning, and he has four men with him, > Helva told her. <I have drone-mounted stingers aimed at them, but you’ll need to push the button.>

Vivie placed her hand in her pocket, thumbed the cover from the remote firing button, and told Helva, <Say when.>

<Now, now, now, now, now!>

Vivie pressed the button with each ‘now,’ and in the tree line about a hundred yards away, she saw five figures drop.

She pointed at the slumped bodies and told the girl, “It’s not going to be safe for you and your friends around here for a while. Let’s go load up some more sandwiches at Subway and take them to feed your friends.”

The girl’s eyes widened when she saw where Vivie was pointing. She stood and waited for Vivie and Jennifer to stuff their bags, then led the way across the street and down the block to the Subway. She hung back as they entered, and Vivie understood when the man behind the counter began yelling, “Out! I told you that you and your friends can’t hang around here bothering real customers.”

“Remember, we are real customers,” Vivie told him as she pulled a roll of bills from her pocket and counted out fifteen twenties. Turning to her new friend, she asked, “So, how many are we feeding?”

“Not sure,” came the reply, “usually fourteen or fifteen, but when the word gets out, more likely around twenty-five or so.”

“Well, nothing will go to waste; I’m sure of that.” Vivie turned to the man standing with his mouth gaping, “Fix my sweetie here whatever footlong she wants, and then make up another twenty-five in assorted varieties and add lots of veggies. Add chips, and I’ll take all the cookies you have already baked. I assume you give discounts for volume? Let me know how much more I owe.”

The youngster sat holding her new footlong and munching potato chips while the trio waited for the assembly of the remainder of Vivie’s order. Vivie sat with Jennifer across the table and began, “You remember, this is Jennifer? And I’m Vivie. We’d like to know who you are.”

“My name is Gwendolyn. These days, I go by Wendy,” their new friend told them, “Seems appropriate since I’m with the lost kids. More lost girls than lost boys though.”

They sat companionably until Vivie’s order was finished, and she was called to the counter. “You got change coming,” the man told her as she looked at the shopping bags full of food.

“Keep the change.” Vivie looked him in the eye, made a decision, and asked, “What’s your name? Can I trust you?”

He blinked and told her, “I don’t cheat people, if that’s what you’re asking. And my name is Malcom. Yours is?”

“Oops! Sorry! I go by Vivie,” she responded and handed him a small device resembling a PDA. His eyes went blank as he stared at it.

Taking it back she continued, “So, listen, I want to adopt this shop and the kids in this neighborhood, but it needs to be on the QT. That gizmo actually keeps you from discussing us.” She counted out twenty fifties from her roll and laid them on the counter. “If kids show up here hungry, feed them. When that cash starts to get low, I’ll give you a number to text and we’ll replenish.” She motioned to her ear and held out her hand for his cellphone. “If a kid is sick, text ‘sick’ to that number and we’ll send help. If one of the neighborhood pimps comes recruiting, text ‘pimp’ and the number of pimps. You get the idea?”

“I do,” Malcom told her. “There’ll be a lot of kids and a lot of pimps. I just need to know I won’t be hung out to dry.”

“Not a chance,” Vivie told him. “Say, you ever have a pickup in here?”

“Nope! I suspect that there’s never enough of the right kind of customers – at least not at one time. This ain’t Mickey D’s or Starbucks,” he added.

“Oh well,” Vivie quipped, “Load up ladies, and let’s get a move on outta here.”

<The Stones’ Street Fightin’ Man, > followed by, <Two, on the right.>

Two doors down from the restaurant, they were accosted by two new pimps who smirked and deliberately blocked their path. Walking in the rear, Vivie directed, <This time, no stingers!>

She squatted, carefully set her shopping bag on the ground, and stepped forward between her companions, her knife open in her hand. Without speaking, she slashed across the forehead of the first man, followed through, and removed a large chunk of the other man’s left ear. She kicked the second man in the crotch, and kneed him under the chin as he fell.

Jennifer, watching the first pimp trying to wipe away the blood streaming into his eyes, mischievously asked, “Mother may I?” Receiving a nod, she stepped, circled the blinded man, cupped both hands, and smacked his ears with eardrum-popping blows. He screamed and dropped to the ground.

Vivie placed her foot on her man’s throat and pressed. “Pass the word, asshole. There’s rabbits with claws in this neighborhood.” There was a smear of blood on her shoe, so she wiped it on the pimp’s shirt, picked up her sandwiches and led the others away.

Wendy half ran to catch up with Vivie and demanded, “Who are you people?”

“Later, Sweetie,” Vivie told her. “We need to get off the street before any more vermin show up. You lead, and we’ll follow.”

Wendy turned into an alley, then ducked through an open door and down dark steps. She turned into a basement hall and led them into and through a series of utility rooms connected by passages and tunnels. As they went, she explained, “I don’t come through here in the winter. Too many homeless people getting away from the cold. Some are okay; some aren’t nice. When it’s dark, not easy to tell, and it’s too easy to get trapped. I try to take lots of different routes, but this one lets us go the distance without being seen by the pimps.

“What’s the deal with so many pimps in that area?” Jennifer asked. “Surely there aren’t enough johns to support them all.”

“You’d be surprised,” Wendy told her, “but they’re recruiting. This is where a lot of runaways end up. Within a few blocks you have stops for Greyhound, Megabus, and several others. Too many kids try to get here on the cheap, figure they can sleep in a park, but then get picked off by the pimps before they know what’s happening. Sometimes, I find them first.”

Wendy pulled back her sleeve and showed a sheathed, dagger or perhaps a flat throwing knife. “I had your back, both times.” Her eyes were hard when she continued, “You and Peter Pan aren’t the only ones who use a knife to protect lost kids, but I think I’m a little more subtle.” She giggled and moved over in front of a stack of shelves, apparently loaded with tools. “This is it, a door to my home, Neverland. We even have an Indian princess.”

She stood to one side and pushed the shelves, revealing an opening into a huge room, furnished with heavy wood chairs and tables and a long bar running its length. Mattresses and sleeping bags were laid out along the walls, with personal possessions obviously marking out personal spaces.

Wendy ushered them in explaining, “We think this was a coal bunker for several buildings on this block, then it was cleaned up and converted into a speakeasy during Prohibition. It has lots of entrances and escape routes. It’s warm in the winter, and there’s a kitchen with old refrigerators and a freezer. We have running water, toilets, and showers. Serves our purposes very well. You two are the first people I’ve brought here without blindfolding first.”

She went to the bar to set her bag down, then motioned Vivie and Jennifer to do the same. “Let’s get the kids started eating, and then we can swap war stories.” Wendy placed two fingers between her lips, whistled, and called, “Come and get it. Don’t take more than you can eat. There’s plenty.”

A young girl in a pink dress walked over holding the hand of a younger boy. “This is my sister, Jonnie, and my brother Michael. They’re the reason I’m here,” she told Vivie. “When the ‘rents were killed, Social Services was going to split us up. So we bolted, ran away, and caught a bus here. That’s how I knew what I told you about runaways. Most of the kids here have similar stories – that or abuse.” She pointed at perhaps ten children forming a line to get food.

Vivie bent and reached her hand to Wendy’s siblings, “Hello, I’m Vivie, and this is Jennifer.” She solemnly shook hands and said, “Let’s get you started on sandwiches and chips. Then we can chat.”

While Jonnie and Wendy cut a sub into smaller pieces for Michael, Vivie told Wendy, “Maybe I can help, maybe not. But for sure I need to know who each kid really is: names, birthdays, even Social Security numbers from those who know them.”

“Not a problem,” Wendy stated, “I’ve made sure that I knew who every regular is. I thought that someday it might be important, one way or another, so I have a list. You won’t believe this, but our last name is really Darling. Mom and Dad had a sense of humor. I’m twelve, almost thirteen. Jonnie was supposed to be a boy, she’s seven, and Michael is five. I have our birth certificates and Social Security cards put away with some other papers.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself for twelve,” Vivie remarked, smiling as she remembered her own twelfth year. “And you’re well spoken.”

“Thanks, I think,” Wendy told her. “Just about every day the three of us, and sometimes others, go to the library and pretend we’re doing homework after school until our parents pick us up. We can shower here, so we don’t stink. Washing clothes is harder. I found a library card, so we can bring books home, too.”

<So, Helva, > Vivie sub vocalized, <what do we know?>