Chapter 3

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The aroma of pizza filled the one-bedroom apartment. Heidi stood eating the last bite of crust. With six people living in a small space, they all joined in the celebration of her first paycheck, aided by the commission of selling two bicycles over the last seven days.

"God, this is good, Heidi." Donna sat on the arm of the couch beside Laura and Faye. "Once I get a job, I'll buy the next pizza."

Heidi smiled, though she wasn't feeling the excitement of eating real food. She only bought one large pizza. They all got two slices. That's all.

Spending money wasn't on the top of her list of things to do with her first paycheck. It cost her almost five dollars to have the Loan-A-Day people cash the check for her since she couldn't provide a bank account. She had to eat, though, and it was her turn to give toward the group fund to keep them in the apartment.

Monica sat cross-legged on the floor by Elle, who ignored her pizza and concentrated on flicking her fingers at the syringe full of heroin. Heidi wanted to pick the napkin holding Elle's ignored piece of pizza off the floor and eat it, too. She was still hungry, and Elle wouldn't be eating if she managed to find a vein somewhere over her scarred body. From what she'd learned in the short time she'd known Elle, the woman always chose drugs over food. One of these days or nights, they'd find Elle dead. And, it wouldn't be the first time she'd watched an addict die for their habit since living on the streets.

"You need to see about getting a bike. Maybe if you work there for a certain amount of time, your boss will give you one for free." Monica brushed her hands together. "The city has that bicycles-only lane on the main streets through St. John's that you could use. It goes everywhere in town now, even down into Portland."

"With my luck, I'd crash or get hit by a car." Heidi leaned against the wall. "I can't even remember the last time I rode a bike."

Faye licked her greasy lips. "When I was twelve, I got my older brother's bike. Rode that fucker everywhere until someone stole it."

Elle's breathing filled the lull in the conversation. Heidi watched the woman's hand shake as she slapped the abused skin on her arm. It was already nine o'clock. She should go to bed. Tomorrow, she needed to do laundry, and she wanted to get to the laundromat early before the place filled up with everyone else needing clean clothes.

"I need to get going." Laura pushed herself off the couch. "There are men waiting for a good time, and that bitch, Carmen, who always tries to take my spot by the bus stop is probably heading to work right now, trying to steal my customers."

"Be safe," added Heidi to everyone's parting.

Laura sold herself most nights, and without a man protecting her on the streets, the areas she could earn money safely were slim. If she encroached on a gang's territory—and there were two that controlled St. John's, Laura would find herself in trouble, or dead.

Heidi picked up the empty pizza box. "Who gets the bedroom tonight?"

"I do." Monica raised her arms and shook her hands in excitement. "I'm going to sleep like a baby.

Heidi wrinkled her nose in disappointment. "Enjoy it."

She'd been looking forward to having one night of privacy for four days. The rules that were set up before moving in dictated they'd each have a turn at the bed, rotating each night. A real bed practically guaranteed a full night's rest. She folded the cardboard in half and set it on the counter. Nobody wasted the money they earned buying sacks or even a trash can for under the sink. Whenever a pile of garbage grew on the counter, one of them would walk all of it to the dumpster at the back of the apartment complex to dispose of.

Heidi collected her rolled sleeping bag from atop her backpack full of her belongings, stepped around a passed-out Elle, and spread the roll in the corner of the living room. There was a time in her life when she'd worried over someone doing drugs. Until she lost a few acquaintances on the streets and quickly learned that overdoses were a part of life she could either let break her or make her stronger. Death wasn't something to fear. There were more dangerous things in the world that could and would kill a person that was a hundred times worse.

Used to sleeping in her clothes, she slipped off her shoes, put them under the head of her sleeping bag and used them as a pillow as she stretched out on the floor with her back against the wall. She dragged her backpack closer, slipping her hand inside and wrapping her fingers around the soft bundle she never removed, lest someone tried to steal her things while she rested, and closed her eyes.

Monica and Faye's conversation turned into her white noise while she willed her body to relax. She always slipped into resting, never fully sure if she had slept. For two years, she'd never lost her conscious thought of where she laid her head or who approached her when she was most vulnerable. It wasn't her childhood that created her, but the streets.

"I've got to pee," said Donna.

"Do you think we should prop Elle's head up in case she throws up?" whispered Monica. "She's passed out."

"Leaver her," said Faye. "I heard her talking earlier that she was going to find another group to live with. When the drug wears off, maybe she'll remember and hit the road. I don't need her dying in here, stinking up the place."

Heidi wiggled down under cover of the sleeping bag, pulling the material over her ears. She couldn't argue Faye's stance because dead people stunk. Especially in the summertime.

A loud bang-bang-bang on the door shook the floorboards underneath her. She sat up, throwing off the sleeping bag, and looked for Monica and Faye.

"Police. Open up," bellowed a male voice.

Heidi thrust her feet into her shoes, grabbed her sleeping bag and shoved the material into her backpack. Unconcerned about what the others were doing, she needed to get out of here, and there was a window in the bedroom that would dump her behind the complex, and she could hide from the police.

"Open the door. This is the St. John's Police Department. We have permission from the manager of the apartments to enter."

She sprung to her feet, flung the pack over her shoulder, and rushed in the direction of the bedroom. Her foot caught on Elle's outstretched leg. The weight of her pack pushed her upper body forward. Unprepared, her shoulder hit the floor, and the momentum pushed her face against the rug. She gritted her teeth at the sting of pain on her cheek.

The echo of wood hitting wood sent panic through her. She pushed to her knees to spring out of the room, and a heavy force pushed her back down, slamming her body to the floor.

"Don't move." A hand grabbed her wrist.

Going limp, Heidi laid there as her arms were handcuffed behind her and orders were shouted, followed by Monica wailing about the injustice of the raid. The last thing she heard as she was ushered out of the room was a police officer calling an ambulance for Elle.

They had nothing to arrest her for or a valid reason to put her in jail for holding. She tucked her chin to her chest and moved with the officer who walked her to the patrol car. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She couldn't stop her heart from racing.

After being patted down, she was told to sit on the curb. Squatting, she let herself fall down on her ass. Her shoulders strained at the uncomfortable position of her hands tied behind her back.

It wasn't long, and Monica, Donna, and Faye joined her outside and then sat beside her on the curb. She kept her mouth shut. The less she said, the better the unexplained search would go for her. She'd learned to stay out of the heat by keeping herself clean of trouble.

To have the police find out her true identity would put her life in danger.

"Which one of you holds the lease to Apartment #3A?" The uniformed officer shone a flashlight at the row of women.

Heidi avoided looking directly at the beam of light. Whatever they needed to know, someone else could tell them. They'd all come together the same way. Laura had known someone who knew someone and was able to rent the apartment. The responsibility of the apartment wasn't hooked to Heidi, at all.

"Who is responsible for the drug paraphernalia and heroin left in the syringe on the floor?" asked the policeman.

Monica sighed. Faye crossed her ankles. Donna tapped her feet on the asphalt. Heidi remained silent.

"What's the woman's name who is being loaded into the ambulance right now?"

"How much heroin did she take?"

"Has she taken any other drugs?"

"Is anyone else using?"

"Can you tell us where we can find the drugs?"

On and on, he directed more questions toward them. Eventually, the officer walked away and stood at the back of the squad car and talked to another policeman.

"They better not pin Elle's drugs on me," muttered Faye. "I'll take a damn piss test or whatever they want, but I am not going back to jail."

Donna leaned forward and being at the end of the group on the curb looked at them all. "What's this about?"

"It isn't about Elle. They don't raid someone's apartment in hopes of finding a woman who is shooting up." Monica glanced at the officers. "Did one of you talk?"

"No," said Heidi, matching her answer to the others.

"I bet it was Laura. I knew that bitch was up to something." Monica clicked her tongue. "She's always going on and on about how she's better than us, selling herself and keeping the money."

"That's not true anymore since Heidi got a real job," whispered Faye.

Monica frowned, and Donna studied Heidi. Uncomfortable with the direction of their attention, she shook her head. "Fuck off. You're not making me go down for whatever they're accusing us of. If you guys keep your traps shut, they can't do a thing to us."

The gazes directed at her grew skeptical. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to halt her temper from rising. Now was not the time to assert her independence away from the group. The police would point their attention toward her as the troublemaker.

Both officers walked toward them. The flashlights came back on, and the light blinded her to their faces.

"Which one of you is Doris Hinkle?" asked the policeman who'd already asked a hundred questions.

When nobody answered, the other officer stepped forward. "You can make this easier on everyone if we can get to the bottom of which of you ladies signed the lease agreement. I'll ask you one more time before I haul all of you down to the police station and put you in holding until I get my answers."

"It's not me." Over the last couple of years, she'd been able to figure out when a situation involved her or not. There was nothing she was guilty of, except grouping with the women. One of them wasn't playing straight.

The light stopped on her. "What's your name?"

She looked up and squinted. "Heidi Lundin. If you let me go inside the apartment and get my backpack, I'll show you my identification."

The policeman turned to his partner. "Uncuff her and escort her inside. Verify her info and make sure she doesn’t have a warrant for her arrest."

The officer slipped his hand under her arm and hauled her off the curb. She stood still while he removed the handcuffs, then walked beside him back to the apartment that was clear of Elle and the paramedics.

"Make it quick." The officer stayed by the door.

She hurried to her bag and removed her Oregon identification. It'd cost her fifty dollars for the fake I.D. and the last of the money she had on her when she first ran away. She hoped it was worth the expense and would pass an inspection. If not, she was sure there was a law about providing a false name to the police, and she'd be arrested.

"Can I take my backpack outside with me?" She straightened. "Please?"

Everything she owned was in the backpack. While it meant nothing to anyone else, she wanted to keep her belongings whether they took her to the police department for questioning or let her go.

The police officer strode over, picked up the pack, and lifted his chin. "I'll keep it until I verify your information. Then, if everything checks out, you can have it back and be on your way."

"There's nothing in there," she said, keeping up with his longer strides as he guided her back to the police car. "I mean, nothing illegal. You can look if you'd like."

"That's not necessary at the moment." He pointed to the fender of the car. "Stand there while I run a check on your identity. If I see you move, I'll handcuff you again and charge you with resisting arrest."

She leaned her hip against the car and folded her arms. Her fake identity had eased her mind over the years that no one, even the police, could find out her real name. She couldn't go back to her old life. All she wanted to do was keep her new job. For the first time in a long time, she looked forward to the direction she was taking her life.

Besides the odd feeling that she was being watched and the few times she'd caught sight of her ex-boyfriend or his father before she could hide, she'd basically gone unnoticed by everyone for two years. Her parents were safe. Stewart Kingsley was now living on his own since Evan moved out to somewhere unknown. The only one who continued to struggle was her, and she could handle the hardships. It was worth the freedom to keep those she loved safe.

Two more officers arrived and separated the women on the curb. Heidi checked out each policeman, making sure Stewart Kingsley wasn't on the call. She'd picked this neighborhood because during the time she'd known Stewart, he usually only answered emergency calls in the Northeast section of town on the other side of Lombard Street.

She glanced through the window of the car. The policeman dealing with her still sat in the driver's seat looking at a computer screen. One of her five roommates had committed a crime under the name of Doris Hinkle. Any idiot could tell that was a fake name.

The body of the car shifted against her. She straightened and let her hands drop to her sides. There was no way to prepare herself for what she couldn't control, but she would fight and do whatever needed to be done not to go back to her previous life.

"Here you go, Ms. Lundin." The policeman handed her identity card back to her. "You're free to go, and I'm afraid you won't be able to go back inside the apartment. The manager has informed us that a Ms. Hinkle signed a lease and has ignored three eviction notices. While it's no crime to stay with someone else as a guest for a short period, the tenant must be up-to-date on their rent."

Damn Laura. She was the one who signed the agreement and was in charge of paying the small rent for the low-income, Section 8 apartment from the money everyone chipped in. She sighed. No wonder Laura was rolling in dough. The bitch had pocketed what they each paid in.

"Can I have my backpack?"

The officer stepped over, picked up her backpack, and handed it to her. She never glanced at the other women. It was time to part ways.

She walked away without looking back. The other women were on their own. One foot in front of the other kept the shakes in her body from showing and the tears from rolling. Tonight had been too close of a call.

Her old fear, like an old friend, threatened to undo her. She walked faster, surviving until tomorrow her only goal.

She hitched her shoulder, holding on to her pack tighter. At least she'd had time to get a job before her living arrangement fell apart. A few more months with a roof over her head would've given her time to save for a first and last month's rent on a place of her own, maybe in a better apartment complex.

Being homeless again wasn't a setback. She still had a job. She'd manage. True independence would only take her longer and require extra work.