Chapter 3: Nightly Patrols
Mother and I continue to operate in, and profit from, Cray's prostitution ring. We usually manage to only go every fourth or fifth night. We fear that going nightly will arouse some suspicion in impressionable Primrose about our line of work, and even our decided schedule might lead her to detect a pattern. But our earnings allow Mother and I enough money to get through an average work week, and even if Prim does spy a pattern in when Mother and I go out, she doesn't raise her findings.
My mother earns a popularity all her own, despite her aging figure, but perhaps the body of a woman who birthed two children is appealing to some men. I hear through word of mouth that she insists in an almost school-marmish way that her visitors use protection in bed. And the Peacekeepers respect this. Huh. Maybe I should try that. I haven't fallen pregnant by one of my customers yet, but it would only be a matter of time until I do with no safeguard. And there would probably be only one Peacekeeper whom I might not immediately seek out an abortion from, if it was his child.
Unfortunately, Darius has still not had a chance to be with me. Perhaps it is due to his age; he is only 20, I hear, and I am sure there are rules about seniority to maintain order in the Peacekeepers' ranks. So it shocks me one night when I answer the door to find Darius on our stoop.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Nightly patrol," he shrugs. "Our assignments have rotated and I was lucky enough to get the Seam."
I hardly think it would be lucky to get the Seam as a Nightly Patrol assignment. Patrolling Victors' Village would be a much more plum task, as literally all an officer would have to do is poke his head in one door, make sure Haymitch Abernathy isn't deceased or otherwise in need of medical attention, and then leave.
Having been taught by Mother to be a polite hostess when a gentleman comes to call, I invite Darius inside. Tonight happens to be an evening when Mother and I have to 'go out,' so Darius readily offers to escort us to the Barracks at the end of his patrol. When he does this that first night, I squeeze his hand in comfort and gratitude. "Thank you, Darius."
"Not a problem. And please, call me Dar," he smiles.
I actually giggle. "OK... Dar," I try it out, amused.
Every night it goes on like this. Darius checks on our house on his patrol. Sometimes he and I have time to chat at the door, sometimes not. On nights when Mother and I have to go to the Barracks, I invite Darius in, Iike a good lady would, and we engage in small talk. Gradually, I feel comfortable enough around the young Peacekeeper to open up about the pain and stress of being a prostitute. When I cry, Darius comforts me.
Additionally, Darius will bring his injured colleagues to Mother and Prim for Healing. Unlike most other folks in 12, these injuries are almost never serious, and those that are serious are almost never suffered in an attack. The Peacekeepers also pay my family handsomely in coins, which takes some of the stress off Mother and I working by night.
As I am always keen to get a fair trade, I await when Darius will at least be allowed to have me one night in the Barracks. I hate the concept of owing someone, but I have prided myself on rendering a fair service for a fair price. For a time, I consider taking Darius one night on his patrols, while Mother is upstairs getting ready. I fantasize of having him one the couch, perhaps administering a blowjob, a handjob or even a lap dance to thank him for his help.
But the more practical side of me refrains and encourages me to be patient. Even as the kindnesses Darius shows to me and my family begin to rack up, making my feeling of debt greater and greater.