Domino Page 17

  Sitting here in this cell, somewhere at the bottom of her existence, was getting her nowhere. She knew it would be only a matter of time before Morgan Wolfe found her. There was no place else to hide. The fear of the dark streets, of the rain, of Marco out there stalking her, looking for her in all of her old haunts, kept her securely in the trap Virginia had so cleverly devised. The gnawing feeling that Morgan's executive secretary had intended to abandon her from the very beginning would not go away. For whatever reason, personal vendetta, jealousy, or just for the jewelry Clarissa had been wearing, Virginia Essex would not be showing up at the Hempstead Hotel. Even the money she had in her purse was lost. Clarissa felt like an animal that had fallen into a deep pit, pacing madly, waiting for the hunter to show up and finish her off.

  The sharp knock on the door down the hallway brought her out of the depressing reverie. The shelter had been quiet all morning. The storm seemed to have a lulling, calming effect on the residents and there was little movement. Clarissa could hear a woman's voice, overly pleasant and placating, then a man's angry voice, and the crash of a door slamming. The click of thick heels clipped hollowly on the linoleum floor of the hallway. Another knock on the door across the hall and the woman's condescending voice.

  "Good afternoon, I'm Dotty Warren," the voice coaxed. "I'm from the Christian Mission Services. We're here every Monday to help where we can. Are you new to this shelter? I haven't seen you here before. How many days have you been here? Oh, really? Where did you stay before Saturday?"

  A female voice, low and somewhat testy answered, but Clarissa could not hear her reply. The missionary went on in the same sweet tone.

  "Is there anything I can help you with? I have a Bible I'd like to give to you. If you need any social services, this list will help you. I do have clean needles if you need them. Are you staying here alone?"

  Clarissa listened for the reply but could hear only a woman's curt tones and the shutting of the door. Then the missionary knocked on Clarissa's door. Patronizing or not, the missionary was someone to talk to, someone who could possible help, someone who might have a damn cell phone. Clarissa removed the chair from under the doorknob and opened the door a crack.

  The woman did not fit her voice. She was short and stocky with closely cropped dark hair, a round face that was more masculine under black horn-rimmed glasses. She wore a severe cut navy blue pants suit and starched white blouse that looked like armor. Clarissa's first impression was that the woman would look more comfortable in work boots and jeans, and, instead of the plain black purse she carried, should have been carrying a gray metal lunch pail.

  "I'm Dotty..."

  "From the Christian Mission Services," Clarissa said. "I heard."

  "We help the homeless in any way we can," Dotty started her spiel. "We're here every Monday. If you need something just let us know. Are you staying here with someone?"

  "No," Clarissa admitted. "Please come in. I do need some help."

  Dotty marched into the room with a sudden air of authority, walked over to the bathroom and snapped on the light. She checked the windows and under the bed, taking a small notebook from her purse and making notes. Clarissa watched her with a growing apprehension until the missionary looked at her and smiled.

  "You're new to this shelter, aren't you?" Dotty observed. "How long have you been here?"

  "Since Friday night," Clarissa replied.

  "Where did you stay before that?" Dotty wanted to know, writing furiously.

  "At a friend's place," Clarissa said.

  "What is your name?" Dotty asked.

  "Sally Dugan."

  "What can I do to help you, Miss Dugan? Is it Miss or Mrs. Dugan?"

  "Sally. You can call me Sally. Miss Warren, I need to get out of here."

  "Sally, are you using?" Dotty asked as she sat down heavily on the desk chair. Clarissa sat crossed-legged on the bed.

  "Uh...no, no...I never have."

  "What about clothes and food? Do you know where to get them?"

  "I go with Doc Rowland to the kitchen at the church for dinner. These are all the clothes I have. Just this t-shirt and that other shirt in the bathroom."

  "Doc Rowland?" Dotty questioned.

  "Rowland, down the hall. The elderly man in three-twenty."

  Dotty looked at her blankly and Clarissa's apprehension began to grow.

  "The church with the soup kitchen also gives away clothing on Wednesday's," Dotty went on. "Salvation Army gives away warm clothing and bedding as soon as the weather gets colder. When was your last pap smear?"

  "I think...I don't know. A year maybe. Why?"

  "You should be examined at least once a month," Dotty told her. "The free clinic is only four blocks away. There's no excuse for you not to go. With the spread of communicable diseases women such as yourself are at high risk."

  "Wait," said Clarissa. "You've got it wrong. I'm not..."

  "Look, I'm here to help, not to judge," Dotty told her in that suddenly sweetened voice. "I'm sure that Sally is not your real name and I won't even ask you for it if you don't want to tell me."

  "I don't," Clarissa said suddenly angry. "I need your help to get out of here. No questions asked. Can you do that, Miss Christian missionary?"

  "You're free to go, Sally. No one is holding you here. There are other shelters, some worse, some a little better run. Would you like me to recommend one?"

  "No!" Clarissa snapped. "You don't understand. I'm...I've decided to leave this city. Right away."

  "I see." The coldness in Dotty's eyes was evident and Clarissa was beginning to think she had made a mistake in letting the woman in. Yet, Clarissa's one hope was in reaching Hugo and for that she needed to make a phone call, either to the convent or again to Wayne. "I'm not familiar with shelters in other cities. I'm afraid I can't be of help. Have you ever been tested for HIV?"

  "No, I haven't," Clarissa said. "If you can't help me, maybe you should leave." Clarissa could not sit on the bed any longer and got up and began to pace.

  "I'm here to help you, Sally," the coldness gone and replaced by the velvety smooth stroking voice. "You can be straight with me. I'm not here to turn you in or get you in trouble. But you have to work with me. I can see that you haven't been too long on the streets. Have you applied for public assistance in the last six months?"

  "I need to get out of this place," Clarissa cried. "If you're just going to ask me a bunch of stupid questions then get out!

  "I'll help you, if you'll help me. There are programs that give assistance to people and you could use some of that help. Deal?"

  "Alright," said Clarissa evenly. "My last pap spear was a year ago, my doctor is Norman Kelley on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. I know you don't believe me but call his office."

  "They'll know Sally Dugan?" Dotty asked.

  "My name is Clarissa Hayden," she blurted, the anger still evident in her voice. "I've never been tested for any disease, never applied for welfare or food stamps, and have been homeless for exactly four days. I've had two meals and ten hours sleep since Friday night. I don't have one cent on me and my friend with my purse never showed up. I can't even get on a bus or make a phone call to another friend who could help me. No one knows I'm here except my friend who stole my purse and my jewelry and I don't think anyone much cares. Does that answer your stupid questions?"

  "I'll bring back some forms for you to fill out," said Dotty. "I assume you have no children. We'll apply for some public assistance and insurance. What kind of work experience do you have?"

  "I was a fashion model," Clarissa replied.

  When Dotty looked up from writing there was anger in her eyes. "Clarissa, I know that whatever you're going through is very difficult. You would not be here if you didn't need some kind of help. Believe me, there are people out there who do care. We need to get you the basics before we can get you out of here. Do you know what I'm saying? You're young and you're healthy. You need to eat, a place to sleep, and a dress and shoes so that you
can go out and get a job. You need someone who you can call if you need someone to talk to. You need to get back into touch with your life, to get back on your feet. I want to help but you have to cooperate. We'll get you out of here."

  Clarissa sat back on the bed defeated. This woman was like some pre-programmed machine, by-the-book, all according to some rigid system of rehabilitation she was taught at missionary school. She was oblivious to Clarissa's needs, could not sense the desperation in her. The frustration was agonizing and Clarissa fought down tears. She pressed the palms of her hands tightly to her eyes and felt a silent scream shudder through her. Dotty waited patiently. Finally, Clarissa looked at the missionary tiredly.

  "I need to make a phone call," Clarissa said. "Can I borrow your cell phone?"

  "I don't have it with me" Dotty apologized. "Left it on the charger in my car. Sorry. If you want, you can give me the number of your friend and I can make the call from my office."

  "Thanks," said Clarissa. "His name is Hugo Montego. The number is five-five five, eight one oh two. Tell him where I am and to come and get me. If his roommate answers, tell him to call Hugo and give him the message or at least get a phone number where I can reach Hugo. If the roommate isn't home, call the convent at St. Hector's and ask if anyone left a message for me."

  "I'll do what I can," Dotty assured her, but there was little confidence and a lot of false hope in the missionary's voice.

  "Thanks," she tried to smile. It was foolish trust in blind hope. Clarissa was certain she would never see the missionary again.

  The contestant spun the wheel, clapped loudly, and begged the wheel to stop on the highest number. "Four hundred," the television host told him.

  "S", the contestant beamed.

  "There are four 'S's," the host said and the hostess in the tight red cocktail dress turned the lighted letters around on the board. The studio audience applauded.

  "A man's home is his castle," Dusty said to the small six inch screen television sitting on the reception desk.

  "I'd like to buy a vowel," the contestant said.

  "For gosh sakes," Dusty shook his head. "You don't need no damn vowel. A man's home is his castle."

  "An A," the contestant smiled then squinted hard at the board.

  "There are three "A"s," and the audience held its breath as the hostess reached up to the top line on the board to turn over an A. Fortunately, her short dress was somehow pasted down to her behind and the audience was once again denied a view of more thigh.

  "I'll spin," said the contestant.

  "Spin?" Dusty yelled at the television. "You must be some kind of idiot. A man's home is his castle. How tough a puzzle is that?"

  "Depends on where he's living," the voice on the other side of the wire mesh startled Dusty. The old man looked up into the hard eyes of a young woman in her early thirties. Her thin unsmiling face was framed by wispy reddish hair, worn long in the back and tied in a short pony-tail. She looked out of place in the light gray designer suit under the tan raincoat. She laid her wet black umbrella on the desk and took a small black notebook from her inside jacket pocket.

  "My name is Dana Phillips," she told Dusty. "I'm an inspector with County Health Services." She flashed a laminated ID at Dusty. "I'd like to take a look at the rooms. A spot check. I only need to see a couple."

  "You're a new one," Dusty grunted as he turned off the television.

  "I also need to see a list of the current residents," Phillips said.

  "No one ever asked for that before," Dusty said skeptically. “They just usually check the tickets. Wanna see ‘em?”

  ""The county needs it for state and federal funding purposes. No, I don’t need to see the tickets."

  Dusty dug out the guest book from a cluttered drawer in his office. When he returned to the desk, Dotty Warren was just coming down the stairs. She paused to take in the sight of the inspector, gave a questioning look at Dusty, who simply shrugged. Dotty's expression turned to a miffed anger at not being able to nose any information out of Dusty and she stalked out of the hotel.

  "Nosy old woman," Dusty mumbled under his breath.

  "Who?" Phillips was suddenly interested in whoever might be in the lobby and turned around to give the room a quick sweeping glance.

  "Woman who just left," Dusty explained as he handed the roster to Phillips. "From one of those do-gooder volunteer groups. Guess we expect them to be all smiles and mind their own business. Of course, people are their business. They must see a lot of shit every day. Especially in this neck of the woods."

  "You get a lot of volunteer types?" Phillips wanted to know.

  "More than we used to," Dusty sighed. "From the churches mostly. They give out little booklets and bibles to people who can't read and preach to folks who are near deaf from their private pain. Don't make sense to me."

  "The one who just left, what does she do?"

  "They come, they go," Dusty smiled as he retrieved a master set of keys from a niche in the wall behind him and stepped out of the wire cage to join Phillips in the lobby. "They ought to be helping people read and write, and speak English, if you ask me. Get 'em cleaned up and help them get jobs so they won't have to live like this."

  "Then I'd be out of a job," Phillips smiled but her brown eyes did not.

  "Let me show you around," said Dusty.

  "I'll need to see the basement and the fire escapes as well," said Phillips as she hooked her umbrella handle over her arm and fell in step behind Dusty's shuffling gait.

  "County's getting pretty efficient," said Dusty with a touch of sarcasm that was evidently lost on the inspector.

  "How close to a hundred percent are you?"

  "We run about fifty to sixty percent full every night," Dust told him as he nursed his arthritic knees up the stairs. "Of course, it is fall yet. Winter nights we run nearly a hundred percent every night."

  "Many singles here or are you mostly families?"

  "Singles mostly. Some single mothers with kids. We only allow two kids per room."

  "What's the ethnic balance? I see a couple of odd names here on the list. Nabat, Panchanathan, Dugan, MacGill."

  "Latino mostly. Some Armenian, some whites, not many Orientals. Panchanathan is from India. He's a permanent resident as is Percy "Doc" Rowland and Martha Collier. All three are seniors that have been here since before the government took over the hotel as a shelter. MacGill overdosed last night. They took him to County USC Medical Center. Don't think he'll be back. The Dugan girl is young, white, in her twenties, hard to tell. Been told she's a hooker hiding from her pimp."

  "You don't think so?"

  Dusty gave him a wry smile. "I don't think so."

  "I'm sure you've seen your share."

  "Too many, if you ask me."

  "Dugan usually there during the day gone at night?"

  "So far she hasn't left her room except to use the phone once. Goes to the soup kitchen at the church. She's scared of something."

  "She go alone?"

  "Usually with Rowland."

  "Anyone been around to see her? Any visitors?"

  "A woman brought her in. Said she was a friend. Said the girl needed a place to stay for a few nights. I don't like to ask questions. People come and go. I don't mind as long as they have their county slips for a room. This girl had a fist full."

  Phillips checked something on the list. "Let's start with the third floor," she said.

  Dusty knocked on Clarissa's door.

  "Who is it?" came her muffled response.

  "Just Dusty," he called.

  He heard her hesitant footsteps and a chair being removed from under the doorknob. Then the dead bolt slid back with a click and the door opened a crack.

  "This is Dana Phillips," Dusty explained indicating the inspector. "She's with County Health Services. She wants to look at the room. Can we come in?"

  Clarissa opened the door wider and the two stepped into the room. Phillips ignored Clarissa as she ran water in the sink and
shower, and flushed the toilet.

  "Everything work alright, Miss Dugan?" she asked her.

  "Yes, including the cockroaches," she answered evenly. "I don't suppose you can do anything about them?"

  "When was the last time this place was fumigated?" Phillips asked Dusty.

  "Some guy is supposed to come and spray about every three months," Dusty replied.

  "You got paper work on it?" Phillips asked as she opened the window and looked out onto the fire escape. "An invoice or receipt that would indicate when he was last here?"

  "I'm sure I do," Dusty said.

  "I'd like to see it. Right away if you will." Dusty scowled and started to protest. "If there's a problem with that, Mister Patterson...?" Phillips snapped irritably.

  "I'll be right back," Dusty told Clarissa. "You should have said something to me earlier about the problem, Miss Dugan."

  "Sorry," Clarissa apologized.

  "Any other problems or complaints?" Phillips asked her after Dusty had disappeared down the hallway.

  "No," she said. "I just need to borrow a cell phone to make a phone call."

  Clarissa shrunk back inwardly from the woman's severe gaze. She looked through her rather than at her and, even though her lip was curled into a smile, her eyes scrutinized every inch of her.

  "What are you doing here, Miss Dugan?" she asked and her voice was hard edged and demanded an answer. "Who are you going to call?”

  “Um...I. ...what business is it of yours? What does care who I call?”

  “Just asking.”

  Clarissa took a step toward the door, ran fingers through her hair nervously. Phillips watched her. The only move she made was to unbutton her suit jacket.

  "Just a friend," said Clarissa and her first instinct was to run into the hallway. "I need to get out of here. Do you have a phone I can use or not?"

  "This is not a good place for a pretty young woman," Phillips said. "There are other shelters. Nicer than this with kitchenettes and no bugs. They shelter mostly abused women and their kids but you'd be a lot safer there. Security is better than a place like the Hempstead. I could get you in, no problem."