Page 16 of Duty

Haven chewed on her bottom lip. “Which clinic?”

“The one in Queens, you know.”

Yeah.

The safe one.

They’d take Valeria’s money, treat her daughter, and say nothing about the fact Valeria had no papers for her daughter, and no ID to go on record other than a clearly fake driver’s license. Haven didn’t know a lot about her friend’s situation, but what she did know, it was more than enough to tell her it couldn’t be good.

Valeria didn’t talk about her time in Mexico, or what sent her running to the States. She didn’t talk more than saying she had her daughter at seventeen, and now at twenty-two, the only thing she wanted to do was try to give Maria some semblance of normalcy.

Haven loved her friend.

And Maria.

She didn’t ask because she loved them.

“Lo siento,” her friend apologized. “I know you’ve been running the ads for my special all week, and it’s supposed to be a big night for the club. I don’t think I’ll get out of this clinic anytime soon.”

And even if Valeria did get out in time to make it to work, where would that leave Maria? Sure, Haven could and would look after the girl—she often did in the evenings when she was home, and Valeria danced. But not when the girl was sick. That was a mother thing; Valeria wouldn’t want to leave her daughter, and Haven didn’t need to ask to know that would be the case.

“That doesn’t matter—I will handle it. I always do. No worries, Val.”

Her friend let out a quiet breath of relief. “I am sorry.”

“Just make sure Maria is good. That’s what matters.”

“Okay.”

“Want me to bring home something greasy and hot?”

Valeria laughed. “My guardian angel, Haven.”

She snorted. “Not even close to an angel.”

After a quick goodbye to her friend, Haven hung up the phone. She stared at the flyer—one of many between online ads and personals—that had been put out for Valeria’s special that evening. A well-known, popular New York DJ would be at the club in two hours to set up for the evening. Haven had paired him with Valeria for five dances choreographed to music he made specially for this event.

Now she had no dancer.

A very expensive DJ.

And soon, a club full of angry patrons.

Great.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

Sure, any girl could get up and do their thing while the DJ played whatever music the girl asked for, but that’s not how this night had been promoted. Valeria worked all of one night a week on the stage for one single dance, and for the rest of the time, she tended the bar and helped on the floor.

So, this was supposed to be a big night. Someone had to dance. Someone who didn’t dance often, and who the crowd would love simply because it was them dancing.

That left one person.

Her.

Haven glanced at the black wig she used to wear to dance—it was her signature, in a way. Black hair, cream skin covered in ink, and a leather costume.

It had been a while since she danced.