Strangers
Chapter One
Murphy walked into the second bay of the garage. “Javier, how you doing with the Lexus?”
“I do now. I work Caddy first, it be picked up sooner.” Javier moved back from the open door of the vehicle so Murphy could inspect his work.
“Good job. Think we can have ‘em both done by five?”
Javier looked up at the clock on the wall, Murphy followed his gaze and noted it wasn’t even noon. He nodded. “Si.”
“Good. Let me know if you need any help, I’ll be working on the Hummer.”
“Eh Murph, I leave today early, si?” Javier looked expectantly.
A frown formed on Murphy’s face, then she smiled. “That’s right, today’s the big day, the sonogram, correct?”
Javier nodded his head, beaming. “Si.”
“Okay. Good luck my man. Tell Teresa I said hi. Just let me know when you’re leaving, okay?”
“Si.”
Murphy quickly strode into the tiny office hidden in the corner of the three-bay garage behind Splash N Dash so she could call and advise her clients that their vehicles would be ready for swap out later that day. Sitting behind the desk, she eyed the cluttered surface while waiting for the call to go through. Murphy pulled a pen from behind her other ear and wrote a note to update the payables. Then another note to adjust Javier’s schedule later in the week to make up his lost hours. She knew full well he and Teresa counted on this job and his weekly paycheck. Javier was a product of the streets just like Murphy and she owed her life to him, besides that she respected him and considered him and Teresa good friends. With the calls completed she looked once more at the paperwork strewn across the desk, it meant it was going to be another late night getting everything current. Sighing, she stood up and walked back into the garage. Murphy approached the Hummer with trepidation. It was in for the full treatment: wash, wax and steam clean the interior where a patron had left a mess. After an impassioned plea to squeeze the vehicle into an already tight schedule, the owner had implied, if he were happy with the results, he would sign a contract for his entire fleet of cars. That would make number six—four more and Murphy would reach her objective of ten. Years ago when Murphy purchased the car wash, she created a business plan that would pay the mortgage off well before its thirty-year life expectancy. Initial improvements made to the car wash were paid for through belt-tightening, followed by the current five-year strategy that focused on acquiring lucrative fleet contracts.
#
Murphy faintly heard her name over the whir of the orbital buffer and the music that always blared in the garage.
“Hey Murphy!”
She turned to find Warren standing behind her and flipped the switch to silence the hand-held unit. “What’s up?”
“There’s a kid outside, wants a job.”
Murphy frowned. Hiring for the car wash normally went through her manager. “Where’s Linda?”
“She suggested you handle this one.” Warren turned to a young girl standing across the driveway huddled in her winter coat, he motioned her to come forward.
Murphy watched as the teen approached them. She couldn’t be a day over fifteen, if that. She was naturally skinny, but was clean and appeared otherwise healthy. Murphy leaned back against the vehicle and crossed her arms. The kid didn’t look as though she belonged in this part of town and she certainly didn’t look like she needed a job.
The girl stopped a few feet away. She glanced up at Murphy, but just as quickly averted her eyes.
“How old are you kid?”
With eyes opened wide she replied. “Seventeen.”
Murphy pushed off the Hummer and stepped up to the girl. She tilted her head down and looked the girl in the eye. “How old?”
Staring at her feet the girl mumbled. “Sixteen.”
Shaking her head, Murphy walked around the girl. She might’ve, maybe, passed for sixteen, but she’d be lying. Murphy was sure of it. The kid’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail that stuck out the back of her new, unstained baseball cap. Her hair was shiny, not drab or matted like a homeless person’s would be. Her jeans had a popular logo on them, the holes put there purposely jacked the price up an extra fifty dollars. Her coat looked new, the down still fluffy, filling all the little pockets that created the warmth in the first place. “You go to school?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Freshman.”
Murphy smiled, pleased she was right, and looked closer at the teen. The girl’s clothes were clean and ironed. The color still vibrant, not faded and nondescript.
“Why don’t you go home kid, you don’t belong around here and we both know it.”
The girl looked Murphy in the eye, stuck her chin out. “I need this job.”
This job? Not a job? Murphy recalled her own stubborn determination to get work, any work that would help her get by. The difference was she had no home to go back to, no family willing to take her in. At the age of thirteen she grew up hard and quick and she looked it. Back then Murphy’s clothes were ragged, faded from wear and tear. After a couple weeks on the street they hung on her, making her look even grungier. Showers were few and far between, clean clothes a present rarely bestowed and food relegated to once a day and then only if she could scrounge it from one of her jobs. Murphy was proud of the fact she rarely, if ever, paid for food those five years she lived on the streets. More importantly she had survived them.
None of that fit with the teen standing before her, though. The girl was immaculate, her skin clear and rosy, her fingernails clean and cared for. Nothing spoke of problems unless you looked deeper, then you saw the truth. The kid stood before Murphy vibrating with secrets hidden in the shadows of her swirling eyes. “You got papers?”
The girl looked up, confusion written across her face. “I was born here.”
Murphy grinned at her innocence. “All the people here are legal. They all have their working papers or their green cards. I’m looking for your working papers.”
Her eyes started to tear, but she blinked them back. “I don’t have any, I…”
Murphy stepped closer. “What’s your name, kid?”
She glanced at Murphy, tears now threatening to spill over and flow down her cheeks. “Never mind.” She turned and ran before Murphy could stop her.
Murphy turned and addressed Warren. “Has she been around here before?”
“I’ve seen her hanging around the past couple a days. She looks familiar too, but I can’t figure out why.”
“If you see her again let me know. I get the feeling she’s in some sort of trouble.” That was one thing Murphy could relate too.
#
By seven o’clock that night Linda had closed the car wash operation down. The till had been counted, and confirmed by Murphy, the night deposit made and she was back in her office trying to make headway on the paperwork. The bell above the side entrance broke her concentration.
Murphy flipped on the outside light above the back door. She spotted Dan Cannon standing there and pushed open the door. “Mr. Cannon, come in.”
“It’s Dan.” He extended his hand. “The Hummer looks great, I can’t believe you got the stain and smell out of the back. I’ll just quick pay the bill and get out of your hair.”
Murphy shook the man’s hand. “Come on in, I have your paperwork and keys in the office.”
Their footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as they walked through the darkened building, the lamp from the office lighting the path. “Have you thought any more about the contract with us, sir?” Murphy motioned Dan to a chair while she moved behind the desk.
“I’ve got ten vehicles at present and expect to double that in the near future. Can you really handle that on a daily basis?” Mr. Cannon sounded skeptical.
Murphy grabbed her clipboard, pulled the pen from behind her ear. “As I explained during our previous conversation, I’ve got other contracts, this is not a new concept for us. But of course it depends on your specific needs, what do you require done and what kind of turn around?”
“Washed daily, vacuum the inside, waxed as needed. They’ve got to look tip top. My clientele expects it.”
“Will you be using your drivers, or do I need to arrange for pick-up?”
“My men could come by each day with a vehicle.”
“Not a problem then.”
“What about incidents like the one we had with the Hummer?”
Murphy smiled. “We deal with messes all the time, it won’t be a problem, but it will take longer to clean them up.”
“Understood. Look, I’ll be honest, I have concerns. I can’t have my men waiting in line for a wash when you have a line of cars around the block. We’re on a schedule, it’s got to be a quick in and out.” Dan looked around the spartan office as he spoke.
“If there’s a backlog out front, we’ll do them by hand back here. You’re vehicles will be turned around within fifteen minutes of arrival, unless there’s a…ahhh special episode with the vehicle.”
Dan guffawed at Murphy’s carefully chosen words. “You mean unless another client pukes in the backseat?"
“Or spilled something or whatever. Accidents happen.” Murphy grinned back at Dan and decided she liked his straightforward manner. Liking the man was not required, but it would make getting his contract even sweeter.
“How much are we talking about?”
“I took the liberty and started the paperwork, the only missing details were the size of your fleet, the services required and the frequency.” Murphy sat down at her laptop, punched in those numbers and hit the print button. “Why don’t you take this with you, look it over and let me know what you think?”
She handed the printed, stapled document to him. “I based the fees on your current fleet, we can talk when things change.”
Dan Cannon briefly scanned the text in his hands. “What’s the JR for?”
Murphy grinned. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She had always hated her given name and rarely used it except on official documents. If she had the money she’d change it legally, but every penny went back into the business. It had since she became the proprietor.
“I’ll check it over, if everything looks okay we have a deal. I’ll have one of the drivers drop it off tomorrow.”
Murphy put her hand out. “Thank you, I promise you won’t be sorry.”
After she escorted Dan out of the building, she locked the door and turned the outside security lights on.
Once back in her office, she poured herself a shot of Chivas from the bottle she kept in her bottom drawer to celebrate the new contract and the fact she was one step closer to her financial goals. Murphy pulled up her business plan on the computer and reworked the numbers based on the additional business. The anticipated monies, less the salary needed to hire a part-time administrative assistant, would allow her to cut another three to five years off the current mortgage payments. This contract meant the difference between the twenty-two years currently owed, and a real possibility to cut that time to at least seventeen, maybe even fifteen years if she watched every penny, and she intended to do just that. She leaned back in her chair and sipped the scotch; the smooth blend warmed her insides as it went down. She put her head back and closed her eyes, relishing yet another notch in her life-long objective, thankful once again that she had surmounted the obstacles in her life. The downside was Murphy hated owing money, hated that the business could be taken out from under her if she didn’t keep alert, didn’t stay profitable. She was ever aware that the bank had the power to force her back on the streets, dependent on others, deprived of the everyday necessities like a bathroom, a shower, clean clothes, food, personal safety. She shook her head to clear the gloomy thoughts and instead reminded herself to concentrate on the positives she had achieved.
Invigorated by the knowledge of the added business, Murphy dug her heels in and four hours later had all the paperwork on her desk in a semblance of order. All the mail had been opened, the bills separated and entered into the payables program. She processed the checks from clients, entered them into the receivables and prepared a second deposit. She dealt with the monthly bills and cut those respective checks. Then she prepared the payroll. After that she did all the filing. The last chore was to shred the junk mail and gather up the garbage in the office. Murphy would place an ad for a part-time admin tomorrow, with luck the position would be filled quickly. If so, at least the workload would be current for the new person to start with.
After using the shredder, Murphy grabbed the garbage bag, shut the light out and locked the office door. She walked through the darkened building to the side exit. It was midnight and she was finally headed up the back stairs to her apartment over the shop. She was tired and tomorrow’s forecast was for sunny skies, which meant busy, busy, busy.
Murphy pushed open the side door without bothering with the spotlights. Instead she relied on the warm glow of the security lamps. She knew the property like the back of her hand and it was late. Even the street people should have settled down for the night by now. A strange noise, almost like a person sneezing, came from the front of the building. She quietly put the bag of garbage down, pulled a knife from her boot and tiptoed around the front of the building.
Huddled at the closest garage door, face pressed against the dirty glass, was the same young girl from earlier in the day. Murphy grabbed her arm. “There’s nothing worth stealing, so what are you doing here?”
The girl tried to pull loose, but Murphy’s hold was too strong. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t say you did. I asked what you’re doing here at this hour?”
The girl moved to kick her captor in the shin while jerking her arm back. Murphy side stepped the attempted attack without losing her grip. She started dragging the girl back around the side of the building.
“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything.”
“We’ll see.”
Murphy pulled the struggling girl along behind her. When they reached the metal stairs she gave the kid a small shove and motioned for her to start climbing.
The teenager took the stairs as if she was going to an execution, stomping up them one at a time. At the landing Murphy moved up next to her, inserted her key in the lock and pushed open the door. She reached inside for the light switch and glared at her companion. “In.”
The girl walked into the cavernous room and turned in a circle. “You live up here?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“It’s way big.” She walked around the living area. Murphy watched, trying to perceive what the kid might be observing. The room was almost empty except for an old trunk that Murphy had found on the side of the road. She’d brought it back here, scrubbed it out with bleach and then painted it. A black leather chair, ottoman and matching sofa completed the furnishings. She had found all three pieces in a dumpster in the better part of town, the only visible damage a small cut on the back of the chair was invisible after she worked on it. The walls were painted pedestrian white against the hardwood floors, which Murphy had sanded and finished herself. She turned when the girl did and looked at the open area set aside as the kitchen against the opposite side of the room. Mismatched cabinets, top and bottom, lined a fifteen-foot length of wall, with the refrigerator, sink and dishwasher located within that expanse. Ells were created by using only lower cabinets and countertops at ninety-degree angles. Murphy made the countertops out of old plywood and broken tiles she got for free from the local Home Depot. The appliances were all picked up at the local salvage yard; minor fixes had them all in working order. A deep, eight-foot long, stand-alone island with additional cabinets and her prized possession—a forty-two inch professional Viking gas stove—took up one side. She had purchased the stove used after a fire in one of the cafes in town. Metal polish and new gas lines had it working and looking like new. The taller outside part of the island was a breakfast bar that accomplished the appearance of a totally separate room. Three mismatched stools stood on the living room side to complete the picture.
The kid turned a second time to take in her surroundings. “Where’s your TV?”
Murphy eyed the girl, still trying to decide her situation. “I don’t have one.”
“Anywhere?”
Murphy shook her head. “Give me your coat.” She extended her hand and waited.
The girl shrugged out of the parka and tossed it to her. “What do you do for fun?”
“I work.” Murphy hung the jacket on a coat rack just inside the door. “Now your shoes, over there.” She pointed to a throw rug.
“Do you live alone?” The girl took her shoes off and put them where Murphy had indicated.
“Why?” Murphy kicked off her own boots, slipped the closed knife back in the special sleeve, placed them on the rug, and walked into the kitchen area. The apartment was composed of eighteen hundred square feet of nearly open space. Murphy had gone through a lot of crap to legally convert the second floor above the garage into a habitable apartment. A space she could call her own, something she had never had before in her life, and by doing so didn’t have to fork over extra money for a place to live. Its purpose was for comfort and convenience, she had no need of anything else.
The girl shrugged.
“Come over here and sit.” Murphy pointed to a stool as she walked around the opposite side of the island.
She nervously slid onto the seat and waited.
Murphy began the chore of making dinner; tonight it would be a simple omelet. It was late and she was tired, and never slept well after a heavy meal. “You have any allergies I should know about?”
The girl shook her head.
Murphy reached into the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables. She diced up some onion and peppers, started them simmering in a pan. She turned back to the refrigerator and pulled out eggs and bacon. “There’s bread in that cabinet. You know how to make toast?”
The sullen girl nodded.
“Do it. There’s butter in there, toaster’s over there.” Murphy nodded toward the refrigerator and the far counter. Murphy started the bacon in a second fry pan, then added mushrooms to the simmering vegetables.
The girl reached up and grabbed the bread. “How much do you want me to make?”
Murphy smiled inwardly. “Well I want four slices, how many do you figure you can eat?”
Soon they were working in rhythm. The girl moved between the cabinets and opened them until she came across plates. Then she pulled utensils out of a drawer. She set the tableware on the breakfast bar and went to find napkins. All the while they worked in silence. Murphy was deep in thought as she whisked eggs and slowly added the mixture to the vegetables. She grabbed an extra plate to drain the bacon, and then she added cheese to the first pan. Once it melted, she expertly flipped the omelet, cut it in half and loaded them onto the two plates.
The girl brought the stack of toast to the counter and sat back on the stool, waiting expectantly.
Murphy poured two glasses of milk, put one in front of the girl then pulled her own plate off the counter. “Eat.” Murphy leaned against the counter as she took her own advice.
The girl grabbed her fork and dug in.
The only noise over the next little while was the scraping of utensils across the plates as they were emptied and the glasses being put down after they were drained.
Murphy surreptitiously watched the girl throughout the meal. She was torn between calling the cops and trying to help, neither of which would solve the real problem. Why was the girl here? What was she doing on the streets in this part of town, at this hour of night?
After the kid had cleaned her plate of the last crumbs, Murphy ventured a chance. “You going to tell me your name?”
“I wasn’t trying to rob you.”
Murphy stood her ground and waited.
The girl thrust her chin out again. “I need a job.”
Murphy thought back to her own time on the streets. Her own struggle to find work, food to eat, a safe place to sleep at night. She unconsciously shook her head.
“Please.”
“You’re too young.”
“I’m a hard worker.”
Murphy was exasperated. “I could get in real trouble.”
“I look younger than I am.”
“Where do you live?”
“Why?”
Murphy was losing patience fast. “Are you going to answer any of my damn questions?”
The girls crossed her arms and stared back at Murphy. “Are you going to hire me?”
Murphy remembered being that defiant. The kid had balls. It was impressive. “It would still require a name for the paycheck.”
“Can I get paid in cash instead? Daily.”
So, the kid had more savvy than Murphy originally thought. A runaway? It just didn’t fit. The kid had nice teeth; obviously someone had spent money on them. Her complexion was clear, not screwed up from eating junk food. Her hair had been styled. So what was her real deal?
“Look, I would require a name, no matter how you got paid, and I need an address to mail your W-9 to.
The girl looked like she’s going to cry again, she slipped off the stool and started toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You’re not gonna hire me, so I’m outta here.”
Murphy beat her to the door. “At this time of night? I don’t think so, kiddo.” She pointed toward the back wall. There was a short hallway leading to four doors. When they reached the first door on the right, Murphy opened it. There was a double bed in the middle of the room and not much else. “The bathroom is next door, there’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet. The sheets are clean, you’ll be safe and warm here tonight. If you get cold there’s an extra blanket on the shelf in the closet. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”
Fear transformed the kid’s face, she backed up. “Look, I don’t…I can’t do that.”
Murphy raised an eyebrow. Maybe this girl wasn’t as naïve as she had estimated. More importantly what had triggered that response? “I believe I just said you’d be safe. Get some sleep kid. My room is across the way and that’s where I intend to be.”
Murphy turned away, leaving the girl to work it all out in her head. She walked back to the kitchen to load the plates into the dishwasher and clean up the counters. Then she locked the door and turned out the light. Her bed was calling to her. Five o’clock came early and she was exhausted. Sleep however was mostly elusive. Murphy was haunted by old memories of her years as a vagrant. The days were exhausting; trying to work multiple jobs, keep up her grades, and stay under the radar of the authorities, but the nights provided the most terrifying moments. You always hear about the camaraderie of the homeless, in truth there’s no such thing. It’s dog eat dog among the street people. Everyone fights for the best hand-outs, the prime garbage cans behind the restaurants and the premium places to lie down for a couple hours. If you’re a man you have a fifty-fifty chance of getting some undisturbed sleep and retaining your personal effects when you wake up. When you’re a woman you’re easy prey for all who roam the streets, and personal effects are the least of your worries. Rape, robbery and murder are a daily threat, and you never sleep soundly or stop looking over your shoulder. Whatever was going on with this kid, it hadn’t reached that level of desperation and something about her made Murphy want to keep it that way.
