Ecstasy
about her. Meanwhile, think about it. Grace will show you around and answer your questions.”
    She gives Grace a significant look. Grace pulls back from her anger and puts on a forced smile. Madam A strides away before I can protest.
    “This way, please,” Grace says, turning in the opposite direction. I watch her swaying walk for several strides without moving an inch to follow. I should just walk out of here now. But the tiny Asian madam with the gun may be the only chance I have of finding Ophelia, short of cruising the east side mobs, trying to find her by chance. But there are three mob families controlled by three brothers, each with their own turf. And the families don’t play nice together. I’m likely to end up dead long before I find Ophelia.
    I shuffle to catch up with Grace.
    She doesn’t say anything until we’re down on the first floor again. She pauses at the doorway to the ward where the patients are sleeping and presses a finger to her lips. I nod and she opens the door.
    A couple of nurses check on the patients in their beds. We catch the eye of one as Grace leads me into the middle of the room. The nurse nods to Grace and lingers a look on me. I can’t be sure in the dim light, but I don’t recognize her. She’s dressed in scrubs and has the practiced stoic look common to the nurses I see every time I collect.
     “We have about twenty children at any given time,” Grace whispers, leaning her head close to mine. “We bring in more beds when we have to, but we usually don’t need them for long.”
    I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know any of this.
    “The parents come visit during the day.” She points to a stack of small stuffed animals on the table next to one bed. “They bring things from home to make it seem more… comfortable. I wish…”
    I can’t help looking at her as she turns her head away. She blinks back tears and tries to hide it. My fists curl. Madam A is giving her time to work on me, wear me down, but it doesn’t help for me to know their stories. It just makes it harder to resist the siren.
    Grace quietly clears her throat and ducks her head. “I wish we could offer them a place to stay near their children, but there’s only so much room here.”
    “You need a place to sleep too, right?” I hate the sarcasm in my voice.
    Her jaw works, and she gives me a fake smile. “Most nights I’m sleeping somewhere else.”
    Touché.
    But it makes me wonder. “So how does this actually work?” I hold my hands up. “Not that I’m volunteering for anything. Just out of curiosity. Do you do the sex work just to lure debt collectors into helping out with your cause?”
    “And for the hit.”
    “The hit? I thought that was just for you. A bonus on top of your fee.”
    She looks unimpressed. “Do you really think I would take a hit from you, keep it for myself, and then return here.” She holds her hands out, as if embracing all the children in their beds.
    “So…”
    “I transfer it out again, once I’m done working.”
    I feel a weird mix of shame and wonder at this. Madam A’s girls aren’t just sex workers. They’re some kind of modern day Florence Nightingales. Servicing debt collectors, then illegally donating their hits to charity. I wonder if they all secretly loathe debt collectors, like the not-so-secret look of disdain that Grace is giving me now.
    “Did you always do this?” I ask.
    “No.” She stops by one of the beds. The boy is curled asleep on his side. His body is so small, it only fills the top half of the bed. “I used to work for another union, near Sacramento. We specialized in discreet work for the political class in the capitol.”
    I nod. Grace is typical of Madam A’s girls: high-end, beautiful. It makes more sense that she would do high-price work than service debt collectors, now that I think about it. Collectors make government wage, after all.
    “A lot of Madam A’s girls come from the higher-end unions. Usually we
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