Five Dollar Wrench

The Truth

"Who are you? You are the story you tell of yourself."

That pithy piece of crap quote is a lie. You are the culmination of the chances you've had and the choices you've made, regardless of the story you tell. But the source of that quote is even more of a lie. People attribute it to the Buddha and pass it on as if they're sharing spiritual wisdom, but here's the thing. He never said it.

That seems like an appropriate way to wrap this story up, because as I told you at the beginning, this is not my story. This is my confession, and I said it would be a true one. In order for it to be the whole truth, we need to back up a bit.

Back to just before page one.

In January, 2021, I met Dandy Bowman.

But first, I met Destiny.

Destiny was one of the other girls working Broadway. She wasn't much older than the rest of us, but she watched over us like a mother hen, trying to keep us safe.

She saw me turn away john after john before, finally, she said, "Amber, if you can't do it, you can't do it."

"Yeah, well, I don't know what else to do. I'm out of options, Dez."

She gestured toward one of the cars. "Look, but don't make eye contact. Red Honda. Far end of the block."

"Yeah, I see it. It's been there a while. The fuck's up with that? Who is it?"

The driver was Dandy. I'd seen her parked in the same spot the night before. I was pretty sure she followed me for a while. I thought she might be a stalker.

"Her name's Hellen," Dez said. "She's been hittin' up some of the girls to partner on a two-chick scam. I tried it once, a year or two ago. It's not for me. Turnin' tricks is ugly, but it's honest. Her shit's just dirty. But if you can't do this, maybe try that. Careful though. Somethin' about her is off."

"How do you mean?"

"She robs dudes, but it's not about money. It's about pain."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. Just... promise you'll take care of yourself. That's all I'm sayin'."

The future is a promise.

That's a promise kept.

They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. Well, I don't know who the fuck they are, but they've never been to Broadway Avenue in Gary, Indiana.

Broadway is a dark and depressing place, even during the daytime, but it's so much worse at night. Especially on a cold winter night.

I spent the next two hours wandering along Broadway, watching Dandy's car in the shadows. Just watching. I kept expecting her to approach me, or wave me over, or something. But she just sat in her car.

Every now and then, I'd approach a john in one of the other cars and turn away. At one point, I made the mistake of leaning in the window of a john's old, beat-up, gray Cadillac. I knew it was a bad move the moment I did it. The guy grabbed me like he was going to pull me in, through the window. I decked him and he shoved me back out, sending me reeling across the sidewalk.

I hit the ground hard and tried to hide the tears as I picked myself up, to walk away in disgust.

I saw Dandy look.

I couldn't stand the cold anymore, so I headed for the only place that was open. A shitty bar, befitting a shitty situation in a shitty town on a shitty night.

I didn't know what was going to happen, but as I heard a car door close behind me, I knew it had already begun.

I walked into The Lakeside Saloon, slowly, and took a seat at the bar.

I ordered a drink. Whiskey. Neat. I nursed it because it was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I finished it before Dandy finally made her move. As I stared at the empty glass, not wanting her to realize I was waiting for her, she waved over the bartender.

"Tell my sister her next one's on me."

I raised an eyebrow as I looked her way, to make sure she knew I took the bait.

"So, you're my sister," I said.

You know the rest.

And you know what I am.

I am a Bitcoin thief.

Do it once? It's a thing you did.

Do it twice? It's a thing you do.

Do it enough, it becomes what you are.

I only did it once.

Once was enough.

The night I met Dandy, I said, "Bitch, I'm not robbing anybody."

I confess.

I lied.

But I lied to her, not you, right? That's gotta count for something.