Chapter 1

DAMN! Just damn it all to hell!! Of all the times and all the places to break down! I looked around at the buildings lining both sides of the limited access highway separating commuters from “the wrong side of the tracks.” I’m in the part of town where half the buildings are empty. The only residences are rundown low-income housing areas famous for the violence which takes place there. It’s the middle of the day, but even at this time of day you don’t go into this area if you can avoid it, especially if you’re an attractive young white woman. I know. That sounds like an awful thing to say. I wish the world in which my family and I live didn’t operate this way but it’s the truth.

I was fortunate enough to be able to slip it into neutral and coast into the breakdown lane when my car decided it doesn’t want to play anymore. Cars are speeding by on my left but I’m not comforted by their presence. I’m torn between wishing someone would stop to help and praying they don’t. I don’t know what to do. I’m on my way home from delivering my husband’s lunch to him at the jail where he works as a guard. He’s the only person I can call for help but it won’t do any good to call him now. He can’t carry his phone onto the cell blocks. They aren’t allowed in that area. And even if I could call him I don’t know what he could do about my situation. His little car can’t tow my minivan. All he could do is offer me a ride home, which would mean abandoning our minivan here on the side of the highway. That isn’t an option.

I’m totally at a loss. I can’t just sit here and yet I’m afraid to get out of my car. There’s no one I can call for help and since I lost my job almost two years ago our financial situation is such that even if I were to call for some sort of roadside assistance I couldn’t pay for it. Even more depressing, I know what’s wrong with my stupid minivan. The transmission has been slipping for weeks, slowly getting worse every time I drive it. Unfortunately, according to my husband it would cost more to repair than the car is worth.

Just as the tears of frustration began to slide down my cheeks my attention was drawn to the tow truck, orange lights flashing, pulling off the highway right in front of me. For a fraction of a second I thought, “Oh thank god!” But then I remembered I don’t have enough money to pay for a tow, much less for the repairs needed to get me back on the road.

I wiped my eyes and watched as the tow truck driver, a tall, thin, muscular black man somewhere between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five, got out of his truck and slowly walked towards me. I had just enough time to decide he looks serious but not threatening as he reached my car. I lowered my window but I didn’t know what to say to him. How can I explain my situation to him?

He rested one hand on my car door and leaned down. He looked me over for a second without being too obvious about it. I ignored the body scan. I’m in no position to object. He raised his eyes to meet mine and asked, “Trouble?”

I wanted to respond, ‘Hell no! I love to drive to this part of town and park. It’s how I spend my leisure time.’ That’s what I want to say but I’m not that stupid. Instead, I nodded and said, “It’s the transmission. It’s been going for weeks. It finally quit.”

He said, “I work out of a shop just a couple a blocks from here. The boss is a good man. He’ll fix ya up and give ya a good price.”

“That sounds nice ... but I don’t have any money.”

“Well, ya can’t stay here. If the city tows ya they’ll charge more than me and then you’ll have ta pay to get it out of impound. And I know for a fact they ain’t gonna fix it for ya.”

It doesn’t seem like I have a choice. We stared at each other for a long moment and finally I sighed and said, “Okay. I don’t know what else to do. I guess I can talk to your boss and see what I can work out.”

He told me to leave my keys in the ignition and go get in his truck. I grabbed my purse, got out and walked to the passenger door of his truck. I climbed in and sat there while he backed his truck up and then got out, hooked my car up to a chain and winched it up onto his flatbed truck.

I stared straight ahead, listening to chains rattling as he secured my car to his truck while I fretted over how we’re going to possibly be able to afford this. Things have gotten so bad we’ve moved in with my folks until I can find another job, one which pays more than the cost of daycare for my two kids. If it doesn’t do that it isn’t worth the price of gas to drive to work. Ryan makes a pretty good living but it isn’t enough to meet all our expenses, pay rent and put food on the table much less pay for repairs on a ten-year-old minivan.

The driver climbed back in behind the wheel, wrote something down on a clip board on the seat between us and then turned to me and said, “My name is Otto, by the way.”

I replied, “Hi, Otto. I’m Karlyn. Thank you for stopping. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

My car was considerate enough to break down only a few yards from the nearest exit. Otto didn’t even pull out into the traffic. He just drove down the breakdown lane and down the exit ramp. I tried to ignore the decrepit buildings, the closed and boarded up businesses and the fact that as far as I can tell I’m the only white person in this part of town. I’m scared enough without thinking about that.

As it turned out, the shop is at the end of a short alley only two blocks from where I broke down. I could have just about thrown a rock from where I coasted to a stop off the busy highway to the end of the alley, and I throw like a girl.

I looked straight ahead, purposefully ignoring the way the driver glanced down frequently at my exposed thighs. It made me all the more uncomfortable because he’s so obvious about it. It’s almost as though he wants me to know he’s ogling me; like he’s daring me to say something. I get the feeling he’s conveying the message that I can’t afford to object and I guess he’s right because I didn’t say anything.

I’m wearing a light, fairly short summer dress I put on this morning because I knew Ryan would get a kick out of how sexy I look. He enjoys showing me off, especially to the guys with whom he works. At first I was vaguely upset about it but I can’t deny that once I understood that it’s something he enjoys doing “with” me, not “to” me I have come to enjoy it, too. I’m glad he thinks I’m sexy and is proud I’m his wife.

I’m regretting choosing this dress now, though. In fact, right about now I wish I were wearing a burqa. On the other hand, if I’m going to have to try to sweet talk a shop owner into making me a deal I can afford I guess it won’t hurt my case if he thinks I’m attractive. At the moment that’s all I have going for me.

The tow truck driver isn’t the only male taking notice of me. There are a large number of young men who look like they should all be in school but instead are standing around on the sidewalk outside of the entrance to the narrow alley. Even though I avoided looking at them I’m still able to see their curious stares as we turn down the alley and drive slowly past them. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so white, so female and so vulnerable before!

Otto stopped in front of the shop and escorted me into the building through the wide opening. Inside of what appears to have once been a small warehouse which has been converted into a garage there are three bays. One is empty but there are cars in the other two, each with a man working on them. The two men stopped what they’re doing, straightened up and stared at me as though they’ve never seen a white woman before. Christ! What have I gotten myself into?!

Otto touched my shoulder and pointed to the small office off to our right. He led me across the dimly lit garage to the office door. He opened the door and held it for me. We stepped inside and after closing the door behind us he introduced me to an extremely large black man named Ben. He explained that he found me on the side of the road out by the nearby exit to the highway and that I think my transmission gave out.

Ben sat back in his chair and stared at me as Otto went on to explain that I can’t afford to have my car fixed and that he told me we might be able to work something out. Ben looked me up and down in silence for far too long. Then he stood up and said, “Have a seat, miss. Gimme a minute to check out the situation and then we’ll talk.”

I sat down in one of the ratty old chairs against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief when the two men left the room. A few minutes later I watched through the large window looking out into the garage as all four men manhandled my minivan into the open bay. Ben got into the driver’s seat and started it. I heard the whirring sound indicating he had it in gear but it didn’t move an inch. He shut the engine off and I stared at him as he crossed the room on the way back to his office.

Ben is a scary man. He’s at least six-foot-three or six-foot-four inches tall. He appears to be in his late forties. His arms and his neck are covered in tattoos but his skin is so dark I can’t make out what they are. He’s big and beefy. He looks like he used to work out a lot but doesn’t anymore. His slight paunch hangs out over his belt now but he’s still a powerful man, very intimidating.

He returned to his desk, leaned back in his chair and just stared at me for the longest time. He didn’t exactly leer at me but still he gave me the impression he can see right through my clothes. I nervously pulled my skirt down a little farther but as soon as I released the hem the damn thing eased back up my thighs. Finally he said, “You were right. Your tranny is shot. You already owe me two-fifty for the tow and a hundred for the diagnosis.”

I wanted to scream. I was only towed two blocks and Otto told him what was wrong with my car! But before I could open my mouth he added, “It’ll cost twenty-five hundred to rebuild the tranny. How do you expect to pay for all that?”

I felt the tears welling up again. The answer is simple, I can’t! All together that’s almost three thousand dollars! It might as well be three million. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. Otto said Ben might be able to work something out. He doesn’t sound like he’s in a generous mood but all I can do is explain my situation and see what happens. So I explained that I was downsized out of a job but that my husband is working. I told him things are tight now, but after we moved in with my folks we managed to pay off most of our bills and soon we’ll be able to afford to pay him monthly installments.

I watched his face as I explained and I wasn’t encouraged. He’s just about to tell me he can’t help me and demand payment for the tow and the diagnosis; I can see it written all over his face. But before he could speak, Otto opened the door far enough to poke his head in and asked him to step out of the office for minute. He raised an eyebrow and glared at Otto. But then he sighed and said, “I’ll be right back,” and stepped outside.

They stood on the other side of the large window and I watched nervously as Otto waved one of the mechanics over. I watched as Otto thrust something into Ben’s hand and the mechanic spoke urgently. I recognized the small, plastic case they’re holding. It contains my registration and proof of insurance. I keep it over my visor. The mechanic is pointing to the registration and grinning.

Ben looked at the paper in his hand and then looked through the glass at me while the mechanic continued to speak. Several minutes passed before Ben nodded and pushed the two men away. He was still staring at me through the glass as he opened the door and returned to his seat. I don’t know what’s going on but I don’t like it. Otto and the mechanic continued to stand outside the office watching us through the large window with eager grins on their faces for a minute before finally turning and walking away.

Ben stared at me in silence for what seemed like forever before he finally asked, “Is your husband a guard at the jail?”

Uh-oh. They recognize Ryan’s name. That can’t be good. It suddenly occurs to me that these guys all look like they could be ex-cons. And that had not been so much a question as an accusation. Things apparently just went from impossible to worse and I wouldn’t have thought that was possible.

I didn’t respond to the question but I guess that was all the answer he needed. He confused me when he finally said, “I think I’ll be able to help you out after all. I need to see your driver’s license.”

I dug my license out of my purse and reached across the desk to hand it to him. He placed my license and registration on an all-in-one printer and scanned them. He checked to make sure they scanned okay and then looked at them more closely before handing them back to me. He smiled and almost as if talking to himself he quietly said, “Twenty-five, that’s a nice age for a young lady.”

Before I could decide what to make of that, Otto and the two mechanics all filed into the small room. I glanced at them and the predatory looks on their faces changed my nervousness to outright fear. My heart began to race despite my brain trying to assure me that this is a place of business. They don’t dare do anything to me in a situation such as this. But the looks on the faces of the men crowded around me are saying something entirely different.

I turned back to Ben and my voice quivered in fear as I said, “I think I should go. I’ll...”

I had no idea how to end that sentence. I have no way of getting a ride until my husband gets off work. I have no money for a taxi and I’m sure as hell not going to call my mother and ask her to put my two kids in a car and come to this part of town and pick me up.

Ben’s grin widened as he replied, “Sure, little lady. You can go as soon as you pay me for the tow and for diagnosing what’s wrong with your car and get it out of my shop. I have to warn you I charge by the hour for storage.”

He already knows I can’t pay him! And he knows there’s no way I can get my car out of his garage. I sure as hell can’t push it out into the street and even if I could I doubt if I’d get past the clusters of young black males standing out at the end of the alley.

He let me twist in the wind for a minute before he said, “But like I said, I think we can work something out. You got something we want and we can provide a service you desperately need.”

I jumped to my feet but my legs are shaking so badly they almost won’t support me. Ben calmly stood up and his leering grin disappeared. His expression turned cold and hard and I heard the anger in his voice when he said, “Me and Tyrone know your husband. We both done time in his jail. He’s a fuckin’ prick and he enjoyed making our time there worse than it had to be. I guess since he fucked us over it only seems fair we fuck him over by fuckin’ you. We’ll fix your old minivan. But it’s gonna take at least a week, maybe two depending on how busy we are. Until we finish, since you ain’t got no money, your gonna pay us with pussy.”