in the middle of nowhere. “You’re going to be my pretty girl.”
“Can you pull over? I get car sick and I think I’m going to throw up.”
“And you lie, don’t you? Pretty girls always lie.”
“I’m not lying. Can you let me out?”
“No. We’re going to have a party in my special place and then maybe I’ll let you out.”
The van was hot with the windows rolled up and the noisy heater running. He turned onto a dirt access road in a tree farm and slowed down. Nothing but acres of Douglas firs as far as she could see. Janie threw her weight against the door hoping to pop it open. It didn’t budge.
He laughed. “You can’t get out till I say so.” He backed the van around in a pullout on the single-lane dirt road and stopped.
“Please. Let me go. You can leave me right here.”
“Not yet.” As he got out of the van, Janie jumped across the seat and locked his door. Running around to her side, he opened the door and came after her, forcing her into the back of the van. She screamed and beat at him, her arms and legs ineffective. He caught her by her hair, wrapping it around his fist and slamming her face into the metal door until all she could taste was blood. He dragged her down, turning her over and pinning her body to the cold metal floor. His breath was hot and stank of old food and cigarettes as he grunted into her ear. “You won’t be pretty anymore.” He punched her face until she gave up and lay still. She could smell the sour sweat of his body. Blood filled her mouth, making her choke. Her eyes swelled shut. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Nobody knew where she was. Nobody would be coming to get her.
HOURS LATER HE pulled her from the van and pushed her body into the underbrush. Janie watched through one swollen eye as he dug through her pack, scattering her belongings and taking her money before driving away.
She lay on her side afraid to move until silence filled the dark. She focused on a tree trunk a few feet away. She knew she should be cold. She wasn’t. She knew she should hurt. She didn’t. She touched her face, examining the damage by fingertip. Her face felt misshapen. She couldn’t see out of her left eye. Her nose was huge and she had trouble breathing. Her lips were split, but she didn’t think she was missing any teeth. She pulled herself to her knees and began to gather her clothes. Standing up to dress, she felt dizzy and thought she might pass out. She stood still and concentrated on the rough feel of the bark beneath her fingers. She knew she wasn’t that far from The Habit. She would think of getting there. She wouldn’t think of how stupid she’d been to get in the van. She wouldn’t think of the rules she’d broken – rules she’d created from experience – when she got in the van.
1. Always check the doors before you get in.
2. Never take a ride in a van.
A phrase she remembered played in her head, and she let it spin as she began walking. Keep on truckin’. You got to keep on truckin’. She repeated the phrase until she reached The Habit miles away.
Shelter from the Storm
STELLA SAT ON A STOOL NEAR THE DOOR, OCCASIONALLY checking a college boy’s ID but mostly scanning the crowd to make sure nobody got out of hand. It had been a good night, quiet for a Friday. Stella thought they might be able to close a little early for a change. That would be fine with him.
In 1968, Stella returned to his hometown of San Francisco fresh from two tours as a medic in Vietnam. He’d joined the Navy Reserves out of high school to escape the infantry. He wanted to be a doctor, and money for medical school would be available when he got out. At the time, so many corpsmen were being killed that reserves went immediately on active duty. The kicker was he’d been assigned to the infantry anyway. A firefight near Marble Mountain northeast of Da Nang put an end to his desire for college or a medical career. Stella quit making plans for the future and concentrated on survival.
The club was Ernie’s idea. They’d been friends from the old neighborhood and ended up in the same company during Stella’s second tour. Back in the world, stateside, they’d met again by chance at a bar in San Francisco’s Tenderloin. During a late round of drinks one night, they decided to pool their money and buy a bar. It didn’t matter to Stella what he did. Get out of the city, buy a bar, hire some dancers, make some money. Just like that. Now he was happy just to think about closing early and going home to his bed alone.
Stella yawned and straightened his back. He could almost feel the cool cotton of his sheets. The doors next to him creaked. Stella stood up to give whoever it was a hand.
Standing under the neon Hamm’s sign was the dancer who’d quit the night before. It took a few seconds for her name to surface – Janie, that was it. Her face was so bloody and swollen that if Stella hadn’t seen her recently he wouldn’t have recognized her. He grabbed her elbow as she started to sink to the ground. He didn’t want to take her through the club. “Let’s go around to the back door.”
Janie wobbled and shook. Stella held her up and walked with his arm looped around her, half carrying her to the office. Flipping on the light, Stella looked her over. Head traumas bled a lot, but more was wrong than just her face. Blood stained her jeans. Her shirt was torn; bruises marked the pale skin of her throat. He needed to take a look at her mouth and eyes. He hoped the injuries were superficial. He eased her into the office chair and grabbed a roll of paper towels, tearing off a trail of them and blotting at her face. He kept up a patter of reassurances. “You’re going to be okay. That’s good. Let’s take a look now.” She was going to need stitches. Her nose was broken, but they wouldn’t do anything about that tonight. It might heal straight. You could never tell with a nose. “I’m going to get my car and take you to the hospital.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Look, you need a doctor.”
“No doctor.”
“This isn’t anything to play around with, Janie. You need stitches.”
“No doctor.”
The door opened and Ernie stepped in. “Holy shit! What happened to you? We better get you to a doctor.”
Janie started rocking. “No doctor. Promise.”
Stella looked at Ernie. “I don’t think she wants the police in this.”
Janie nodded.
Ernie shook his head. “Can you take care of her?”
“Man, I don’t know. I haven’t stitched anybody up in a long time. It’s not like I have my kit anymore.”
Ernie leaned against the door. “How about Doc? I bet he’ll take care of her or set you up with what you need.”
Stella squatted in front of Janie’s good eye. “There’s this doctor we know. Doesn’t ask questions or file reports. I was a medic a long time ago but – ”
“You help me, Stella.”
Looking at her, he couldn’t say no, even though his hands had begun to sweat and tingle. “I’ll try.” Stella patted her leg and stood up. “Ernie, ask Dee if she has any downers on her. Get a bag of ice too. And a blanket. She could use a blanket.” Now that he’d decided, all his training came back. Stella
