Chapter 1

Karissa didn’t know who her parents were. She’d been left in a proverbial basket in front of a proverbial orphanage. Supposedly her name had been affixed to her tiny chest. Her first name. Her Christian name so to speak. And beside her, another infant. Her fraternal twin most likely, labelled Karis of all things. Her brother.

Proverbial, because it hadn’t been a basket. A cardboard box, the kind used for filing, with a lid. The lid at least rested beside the box. And the orphanage was an orphanage, but not in the usual sense. Or the legal sense. Run by a madam who figured out she could make more money selling babies, whether of prostitutes or desperate young women, then renting the bodies of her stable, hourly or overnight or longer, though she did that too. The woman, very clever and very greedy, managed to make connections with criminal groups who otherwise rarely saw eye to eye. Italians, Russian and Jews all did business with her. And Bikers. They’d even meet at her house of ill repute.

Karissa knew of her arrival there because one of the prostitutes, one of the newest ones, saw her, already beautiful, and wanted her. The woman had become the Madam’s favorite. The Madam preferring women in her bed, and Gracia, everyone except the Madam and Karissa calling her Gracie, lithe and athletic, with the perfect mix of Latina, itself a mix of indigenous American and Spanish, and Russian Slav, knew best how to please her there. Though simple in intelligence, which probably helped her retain her cheerfulness, she could have gotten a doctorate in sex and sensuality. The only thing that made her sad was being barren, the result of a botched abortion when she was barely fifteen. One of the reasons, along with her abundant enjoyment of sex, she entered her profession. Her South of the Border family and any suitor would require her to make babies.

Gracia wanted Karissa, but not Karis. So Karis was sold for a considerable amount of money to a very rich couple not all that long after the two had been found. When older and Gracia told her her story, Karissa asked who the couple were. Gracia didn’t know and the Madam refused to say.

Karissa was inordinately beautiful. As a baby. As a child. As a teenager. Soft, deep raven hair. Emerald green eyes. Her face like a Greek Elizabeth Taylor. She was bewitching.

Along with bewitching Gracia, she bewitched Harold, a regular at the house. A polymath, a nerd, shy to the point of catatonia around women, except when seduction wasn’t involved, just money, he was the genius accountant for a biker gang in and around Kansas City, both Kansas and Missouri, who controlled a lot of the drug sales in the area, especially meth. His older brother Max, nee Leonard, was lieutenant to the head honcho of the gang and had gotten Harold his job. He also did the accounts for the Madam. Though he liked variety, and the Madam certainly provided it, Gracia was his favorite. And her sort of daughter played a role in that.

Not at all sexually. A part of his polymath nature was his appreciation of art. Of aesthetics. Beauty moved him. Moved his very soul. And to Harold, Karissa was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He became her tutor. Gracia’s as well, though he needed a lot more patience with the prostitute. Not just inordinately beautiful, Karissa was also inordinately bright. Soaking up knowledge like a sponge. He taught her everything except Greek, which she yearned to learn, sensing the heritage. She used whatever software she could find. Software because there was speaking. She tried speaking with one of the Greek clients, but found him too creepy to continue.

To the Madam, Karissa becoming a member of her stable was a given. She waited for the girl’s menses before preparing to sell her virginity for as high a price as she could get away with. Even though the pederasts amongst her clients, who were brought sham virgins in pig tails and shaved pubic hair, or if boys, the youngest looking and also shaved, would have paid a lot of money to have her before then. But at least she had the sense not to traumatize the poor girl if she wanted her to be an obedient sex worker for her.

But neither Harold nor Gracia wanted her to be a prostitute.

Thus, when Harold saw Gracias in tears, he knew why.

He went to her. She sat in a chair away from the others in the large room where johns would find their whore for an hour or so. And knelt in front of her.

“Karissa had her period,” Harold said.

Gracia could only nod and sniffle.

“I’ve ... put aside some money,” he told her carefully. He didn’t tell her the money he put aside would probably get him killed. He had never skimmed until then. But he always knew how to do it, and do a lot more than skim. His brother and the gang wouldn’t have discovered it, except for the fact that he would be suddenly running away.

Gracia nodded again.

“When?” he asked.

“It has to be tonight,” she sniffled. “Any second, the madam will know.”

“Where is Karissa?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Good. Tell the Madam you have cramps or something.”

“But I never have cramps.”

“You’re having your period too?”

“Yes. It’s like Karissa and I had it at the same time.”

“That’s not surprising. When women are around each other a lot, they can get in synch. Just ... tell her your period hit you hard this time. That ... it reminds you you can never get pregnant.”

“Okay,” Gracia smiled sadly. “What about you?”

“I’m going to go up with one of the girls.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want the Madam to get suspicious right off the bat. Unfortunately you mentioning your period might just get her into thinking about Karissa’s. But she shouldn’t suspect anything I don’t think. And she’d have to wait until Karissa’s period ends anyway, so it wouldn’t be tonight. You didn’t tell her you didn’t want Karissa to be a prostitute did you?”

Gracia sobbed.

“Shit,” Harold muttered. “What did you tell her?”

“Just that ... Karissa’s so smart. And maybe she could have a normal life. Go to school. Maybe make something of herself.”

“Maybe it’s best you’re honest.”

“I suck at lying,” she laughed within her tears.

“You didn’t mention me agreeing with you?”

“No. Just what I thought.”

“Good. Talk to the Madam. And then go be with Karissa. Can you wait in the kitchen until I’m done?”

“Sure.”

“Just be patient. If no one can hear you, let her know you’re escaping with her. After I come by the kitchen to check on you, give me five minutes, then leave through the back door.”

“Okay,” Gracia smiled.

After telling the Madam of her emotional state of mind, which was received skeptically but seemingly accepted, Gracia went to the downstairs toilet and grabbed a box of sanitary napkins, but realized she had no way to hide them, and put them back. “I guess we’re making a stop,” she said to herself.

Since it was prime time for hooking up with johns in the great room, most of the prostitutes were there. One though, in the same condition as Gracia, sat in the kitchen with Karissa.

Truth be told, Karissa was ambivalent about being or not being a prostitute. She had grown up surrounded by them. By a great deal of sex. Heard but not seen. And she was definitely curious. But she understood where Gracia and Harold were coming from. Especially Gracia not wanting her to follow in her footsteps. Gracia who envied her intelligence, just as Karissa envied Gracia’s joie de vivre. So she kept her menses to herself with Mona as both Gracia and Harold had advised. But because the topic was there, why Mona wasn’t working, Karissa asked her all about it. When she knew it would start. What she used. How long it lasted.

“What’s the worst part?” Karissa asked, just as Gracia entered the kitchen. Karissa could see her sort of mother’s puffy eyes and poorly hidden nervousness and knew something would be happening.

“I can’t make no money!” Mona laughed. “Hey, you okay, Gracie?”

“Yeah,” Gracia said, settling unsteadily down next to Karissa.

“You sure don’t look it.”

“Just ... My period. It ... uhm ... reminds me I can’t have a baby.”

Mona laughed. “That’s the best part of a period. No baby!”

“I guess I don’t think of it that way.”

“Okay.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, which eventually propelled Mona out the door. “I guess I’ll go do ... I don’t know what,” she laughed.

“Mom?” Karissa asked as soon as they were alone.

“I suck at this,” Gracia said.

“I noticed,” Karissa responded, and they laughed. “So what’s the plan?”

Gracia told her, and Karissa nodded. A lot of information was missing, which Harold would fill in. But the gist was they’d be leaving.

While they were alone, Karissa asked Gracia if she had anything she wanted to do, persisting when Gracia drew a blank.

“Make-up,” the slim woman finally said. “Like those girls at department stores.”

Karissa, figuring out Gracia would have no résumé, suggested, “Maybe beauty school. You could learn to do make-overs. And I agree you’re great with make-up.”

Gracia grinned at the compliment. One of the girls came in to grab a snack, so they quieted. Karissa noticed Gracia had calmed down.

Not long after, Harold arrived. With the Madam.

“Since you’re here, I thought we could do a little work,” Harold said.

“Okay,” the girl and her sort of mother said.

“Let me get my books in the car.”

He left, but the Madam didn’t.

“What’s really wrong?” the Madam asked Gracia.

“It’s really what I said,” Gracia answered nervously. “About not being able to have my own baby.”

“You look like you’re doing better.”

Gracia nodded and took Karissa’s hand. “Karissa always does that for me.”

“She is a blessing,” Madam nodded. And winked.

After a long, uncomfortable pause, she finally said, “Well I better get back,” and left.

“God,” Gracia muttered.

“Ssh,” said Karissa. She looked at the wall clock. “Just another couple minutes.”

“Okay.”

It seemed to take forever, but they finally moved to the door and through to the small backyard, crossing it to get into Harold’s Celica.

“Get down,” Harold said, and Karissa lay down in the back seat while Gracia lay her head on Harold’s lap. As he drove down the alley slowly, he told them, “I’ll need to make a few stops. You should hide yourselves each time. You need to stay in the car.”

“Okay,” they both said.

They hid when he parked in his spot at his modest apartment building. He tossed a satchel into his trunk when he returned. At a warehouse he was especially nervous. When he returned, his windbreaker had been zipped. Several blocks later, he stopped and unzipped it, and unbuttoned his shirt, where wrapped money had been stuffed into his trousers.

“One more stop,” he said.

And was even more nervous at that stop. The gang’s club. “I’m going to have to be a little while,” he told them. He walked around front to the main entrance. He had parked beside a side entrance and emerged from it forty five minutes later, flinging a canvas bag onto the passenger side foot area before carefully and nervously driving off. His eyes repeatedly looking into the mirror. “Okay,” he finally said, and the ladies sat up.

“Let’s head to the all night Walmart,” he said.

They shopped for a while there. Clothing. Accessories. A box of trash bags. Pads. Harold paid in cash.

They drove north and west for hours. Finally stopping at a cheap old motel. “Stay in the car,” he said. Only when he got their room and parked in front of it and opened it did he let them come in. Looking around and seeing no one, he brought in all the money he had taken.

The room had two beds. Queen sized. “Can I ask a favor?” Karissa murmured once they finally relaxed.

“Whatever you want, beautiful,” said Harold, pulling the satchel he had gotten from his apartment. He pulled out a huge bowie knife in a leather scabbard. Removing the scabbard, he placed the knife on the small bedside set of drawers between the two beds. “Protection,” he explained.

“Wouldn’t a gun be better?” Karissa asked.

“Guns make me uncomfortable,” he explained.

“And a huge knife doesn’t?” she asked herself, but didn’t speak it.