03: In a New-York Minute

I like adventures, and I’m going to find some.

Louisa May Alcott

Exiting the hole, Peg found her presumptions correct. There were hundreds of people, including children, with tall buildings towering overhead. She spun in place, taking in the city. She’d seen pictures of marvelous, gleaming cities like this, but never imagined visiting. Completing her turn, she noticed an arcade directly in front of the hole, filled with loads of kids her age. Her technique worked well, though it wouldn’t take much to find herself floundering in the middle of an ocean clueless of where she was.

Entering, she noted the storefront had seen better days. The video games were clearly dated and the other games were older than her. Still, it was amazing to see so many kids enjoying themselves, most completely unsupervised. She never felt as free as at that moment. Not only to do whatever she wanted, but hopefully discovering others willing to help her navigate the city.

She stopped a particularly handsome boy near her age.

“Pardon me, where are we?”

He pointed out the grimy glass display, indicating the street outside with his thumb. “Eighth Avenue and Forty-second Street.”

“That’s fine, but ... what city is this?”

He turned, considering her. “You’re really new to town, ain’t cha? Just off the bus? This is Manhattan, as you’d know if you spent a couple minutes glancing around.”

“Yeah, I’m new. Could you tell me how someone our age is supposed to survive here?”

Giving her his full attention, he pulled her aside. “You running from family, or seeking others like you?”

The idea there might be others like her never occurred to her, but she assumed he was referring to something else. He was striking, with porcelain-fine skin, perfect hair and penetrating blue eyes. Peg didn’t think she’d ever seen a cuter boy in her life.

“No, I’m only taking time off from home.” She lowered her voice. “The cops are looking for me and I’m not ready to talk to them yet.”

“You don’t look like no criminal. Get caught turning tricks?”

“Turning ... wait, you mean like the prostitutes on TV?” She frowned, shaking her head. “Definitely not. I ... saw something I shouldn’t and someone got hurt. But I don’t want to deal with the police. My last meeting didn’t go so well.”

“It sounds like you’ve got more chapters than your cover shows. If I saw you on a shelf, I’d guess you were a short story, at best. Now I discover you have multiple chapters, hopefully a few worth exploring.”

Peg wasn’t sure why, but his analogy made her feel confident. Like maybe she belonged here after all.

Paul was intrigued. Despite speaking like a child, she possessed a certain spark. The kind indicating survivors. Though no guarantee, she had potential. Still, he’d learned to rein his hopes back, losing too many new friends to the streets.

The corner of his lip lifted. “I like you, you’re unlike most here, so I’ll offer some advice. The only way most kids survive is by turning tricks.” He glanced around, indicating a man in his thirties. “Guys like that come here and offer us cash. While many escaped repeated rapes at home, at least here we choose who we have sex with. We gain a degree of freedom while waiting for the right person.”

“Who would that be?” Despite the outrageous things he described, she was genuinely curious. She had any idea such things happened in plain sight every day.

He grinned, maintaining his distance and making his white-teeth dazzle and his flawless face shine. “The perfect sugar daddy, of course. Someone who’ll look out for us, provide a comfortable home and hopefully arrange for some schooling so we can get a decent job. That way, we can escape hooking up every day.”

“You ... have sex with strange men ... each day?”

“Shh!” he urged, glancing around. “While it’s an open secret, it’s unwise scaring the best scores off. But no, I don’t have sex quite so frequently. Yet each time I do, I sleep for a few nights in a warm, comfy bed and get treated royally. I also earn enough to live for another week, with a little extra spending money.”

“Sounds nice, but I’m still not sure I could do it.”

His brows creased as he tilted his head. “Then why are you here? This is one of many pickup joints for those looking for kids.”

“Seriously?” She glanced at those meandering by. “I’d never have guessed.”

“Many are drawn here to escape difficulties at home. Yet with no other options, we sell ourselves to whoever’s interested. It’s mostly a holding action, but many get lost. They either get in with the wrong guys—like the Jersey pimps—or wind up addicted and waste whatever they earn snorting or injecting junk.”

“Not me. I’m just passing time. I can return whenever I want. But ... tell me more about these guys who ... like kids.”

He stepped back, studying her as he drew her farther back into the shop. It was a long time since he’d encountered anyone this naïve. “Generally, someone like a father, cousin or boyfriend starts getting grabby.”

“Grabby?” Peg asked, the exotic adult discussion becoming very real.

“Yeah. It’s called ‘grooming’. They start off touching a knee or arm, and gradually move up, inching closer over weeks. Soon they’ll try anything.”

“Damn, you’re describing my mom’s boyfriend, Frank.”

“Has he been abusing you?” he asked, scowling.

“No. He did just as you said, but I fought back, hitting him and threatening to tell my mom.” She paused, considering the implications. “That’s why I was nervous about talkin’ to the police. He keeps saying that, if the cops get social services involved, they’ll put me in a foster home.”

“Believe me, it’s better living on the street than coping with those. They’re the pits. They don’t give a damn about you. There might be some decent ones, but the odds they’d understand us is pretty remote. They only tolerate you because it means a monthly check, little of which they spend on you. Still, it’s typical for most pedos. They work at scaring you out of reporting them. It’s another part of the grooming process. They condition you so you won’t cause trouble.”

“Damn, I never knew. I wasn’t about to let Frank continue touching me, but he kept insisting I was asking for it.”

Paul marveled at the change in his new companion. In only a few sentences her entire demeanor dramatically changed. The pretense she was younger than she was, seemingly evaporated and her speech and diction improved. He hadn’t seen a case this extreme, but he was familiar with the process. She wore her innocence like a protective shell, hoping her abuser would leave her alone if she was too immature to be interested in sex, not realizing it made her more appealing and easier to manipulate.

“Yeah, that’s a part of the basic spiel. It’s almost from the official Pedo manual.”

“Pedo?”

“Come on, this is getting too personal for such a public location.” He glanced around again. “Let’s walk. There are several remote spots nearby where men take us to make out before offering anything. Kind of a try-before-you-buy deal.”

He led her to a small, dark room off a hallway in the back. A greasy man, standing guard looked them up and down.

“New kid, Slim.” He indicated her by casually motioning at her with his thumb. “She needs to learn the rules.”

“Still the same price.”

“Yeah, I figured. Still, I’d rather she not go on the open market before I prepare her.”