don’t know.”
“When did she first come to Edmonton?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m hearing that a lot.”
“We didn’t talk about her past.”
“But you were going to turn her life around.”
“I never said that.”
“You and Foxy make quite a tag team.” Bad cop was doing his best to provoke, hoping for an outburst that might be revealing. “Saint Susan and Saint Phoenix.”
“God knows I ain’t no saint. But I’ve been around a long time. Seen it again and again.” Phoenix wagged her head slowly. “I’ve had a belly full of little girls should be worrying about algebra and zits; instead, they’re off the bus and straight into the life.”
I knew exactly what she meant. Every day teens from Spartanburg, St-Jovite, or Sacramento head to Charlotte, Montreal, or L.A. to be models or rock stars or to escape abuse or boredom or poverty back home. Every day pimps cruise the bus and train stations, watching for backpacks and hopeful faces. Like the predators they are, these animals swoop in, offering a photo shoot, a party, a meal at Taco Bell.
Most of these kids end up junkies and whores, their Hollywood dreams becoming hellish realities of dealers and daily fixes and paddy wagons and pimps. The unluckiest arrive toes-up at the morgue.
Every time I see one of these children, I go numb with anger. But I have come to understand. Though I despise the human destruction, the carnage, I am powerless to stop it. Nevertheless, I care. I feel grief and always will.
I refocused on Phoenix.
“—three years go by. I figure Annaliese either got herself killed by one of these women-hating sickos, or else she got out.” Phoenix picked tobacco from her tongue and flicked it. “Two days ago she shows up looking like a train wreck, asking for a place to crash. Leaving her on the street was like throwing raw meat to wolves. If taking her in’s a crime, arrest me.”
“Is she still at the Paradise Resort?”
Phoenix shrugged.
“Annaliese needs more help than you can provide.” Ryan brought sincere to a whole new level.
“My shift don’t end until two. I gotta have those tips.”
Ryan looked at Ollie, who dipped his chin.
“We only need permission to enter your room,” Ryan said.
“You won’t take nothing?”
“Of course not.”
“Mr. Kalasnik don’t like no kind of fuss.”
“He’ll never know we were there.”
A car horn sounded. Another honked back. Down the alley, the plastic bag broke free and spiraled upward with a soft snap.
Phoenix made her decision. Unhooking a chain from her belt loop, she detached one key and held it out to Ryan.
“Number fourteen. All the way down on the end. Leave it in the room. I got another.”
“Thank you.” Ryan’s smile was damn near priestly.
“Don’t hurt her.”
The Marlboro hit the wet pavement in a shower of sparks. Phoenix crushed it with the heel of one boot.
* * *
For several years Edmonton enjoyed the dubious distinction of having the highest homicide rate of any major Canadian city. In 2010 she slid to number three. Winding through the dim post-midnight streets, I wondered if E-town’s ratings slump had caused her citizenry to question the burg’s official nickname: City of Champions.
En route to the Paradise Resort, we discussed Susan Forex. Or tried to. Mostly the men sniped at each other.
“She’s holding back,” Ryan said.
“Gee. Why would that be?”
“Probably writing her memoirs. Thinks a spoiler might lower the value of the property.”
“She’s covering her ass,” Ollie said.
“But is it that simple?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
Unsure, I thought for a moment. Didn’t help. “Susan Forex and Phoenix Miller both tried to protect Annaliese Ruben,” I said.
“Must admire her mothering skills.” Ryan’s tone was acid.
“Even hookers hate baby killers.” Ollie’s way of agreeing.
“So why help her?” I asked.
No one had an answer to that.
“Can you really get a search warrant
“When did she first come to Edmonton?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m hearing that a lot.”
“We didn’t talk about her past.”
“But you were going to turn her life around.”
“I never said that.”
“You and Foxy make quite a tag team.” Bad cop was doing his best to provoke, hoping for an outburst that might be revealing. “Saint Susan and Saint Phoenix.”
“God knows I ain’t no saint. But I’ve been around a long time. Seen it again and again.” Phoenix wagged her head slowly. “I’ve had a belly full of little girls should be worrying about algebra and zits; instead, they’re off the bus and straight into the life.”
I knew exactly what she meant. Every day teens from Spartanburg, St-Jovite, or Sacramento head to Charlotte, Montreal, or L.A. to be models or rock stars or to escape abuse or boredom or poverty back home. Every day pimps cruise the bus and train stations, watching for backpacks and hopeful faces. Like the predators they are, these animals swoop in, offering a photo shoot, a party, a meal at Taco Bell.
Most of these kids end up junkies and whores, their Hollywood dreams becoming hellish realities of dealers and daily fixes and paddy wagons and pimps. The unluckiest arrive toes-up at the morgue.
Every time I see one of these children, I go numb with anger. But I have come to understand. Though I despise the human destruction, the carnage, I am powerless to stop it. Nevertheless, I care. I feel grief and always will.
I refocused on Phoenix.
“—three years go by. I figure Annaliese either got herself killed by one of these women-hating sickos, or else she got out.” Phoenix picked tobacco from her tongue and flicked it. “Two days ago she shows up looking like a train wreck, asking for a place to crash. Leaving her on the street was like throwing raw meat to wolves. If taking her in’s a crime, arrest me.”
“Is she still at the Paradise Resort?”
Phoenix shrugged.
“Annaliese needs more help than you can provide.” Ryan brought sincere to a whole new level.
“My shift don’t end until two. I gotta have those tips.”
Ryan looked at Ollie, who dipped his chin.
“We only need permission to enter your room,” Ryan said.
“You won’t take nothing?”
“Of course not.”
“Mr. Kalasnik don’t like no kind of fuss.”
“He’ll never know we were there.”
A car horn sounded. Another honked back. Down the alley, the plastic bag broke free and spiraled upward with a soft snap.
Phoenix made her decision. Unhooking a chain from her belt loop, she detached one key and held it out to Ryan.
“Number fourteen. All the way down on the end. Leave it in the room. I got another.”
“Thank you.” Ryan’s smile was damn near priestly.
“Don’t hurt her.”
The Marlboro hit the wet pavement in a shower of sparks. Phoenix crushed it with the heel of one boot.
* * *
For several years Edmonton enjoyed the dubious distinction of having the highest homicide rate of any major Canadian city. In 2010 she slid to number three. Winding through the dim post-midnight streets, I wondered if E-town’s ratings slump had caused her citizenry to question the burg’s official nickname: City of Champions.
En route to the Paradise Resort, we discussed Susan Forex. Or tried to. Mostly the men sniped at each other.
“She’s holding back,” Ryan said.
“Gee. Why would that be?”
“Probably writing her memoirs. Thinks a spoiler might lower the value of the property.”
“She’s covering her ass,” Ollie said.
“But is it that simple?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
Unsure, I thought for a moment. Didn’t help. “Susan Forex and Phoenix Miller both tried to protect Annaliese Ruben,” I said.
“Must admire her mothering skills.” Ryan’s tone was acid.
“Even hookers hate baby killers.” Ollie’s way of agreeing.
“So why help her?” I asked.
No one had an answer to that.
“Can you really get a search warrant
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