It is then that we pass by The Phoenix Hotel, and I get it.

“That’s it!” I yell.

“What’s ‘it’?” Bart asks.

“The Phoenix Hotel! Chevy, the girl that was beat up whispered the word ‘ Phoenix ’ to me.” I give them both a brief gloss of my visit with Chevy at the hospital two days ago.

Bart and Freddie exchange glances.

“The Phoenix is a known party spot,” Bart says. “Lots of dope and hookers,” his voice is optimistic. “Peña could very well be running his girls through The Phoenix.”

“Good a place as any,” Freddie says.

Without signaling he navigates smoothly through the maze of one-way streets, a right on Hyde to Turk and then a left onto Larkin, as if he’s done this a thousand times. Miraculously, Freddie is able to snag a parking spot near the corner of Larkin and Eddy, across the street from The Phoenix Hotel.

“You really know how to maneuver this van, even without using your turn indicators” I say, teasing Freddie.

“A word of advice about driving the mean streets of San Francisco,” Freddie says in a deadpan voice. “Using your turn indicators is a sign of weakness.”

Bart laughs.

Men and women walk up and down the street. Most young; some not so young. A fair percentage look to be homeless or drug addicts or both. A few wander into the Phoenix. I look up and down the street but see no sign of Robyn. Also, no sign of BLU BOY, for which I am grateful. Within minutes Bart says:

“See that?” he motions with his head towards two guys standing together near the trees of the hotel.

“What?” I ask, oblivious.

“Guy just copped some dope,” Freddie says.

“Yup,” Bart responds.

I do not see this actually happen and realize how grateful I am to be with these two.

“I want to thank you both for doing this,” I say.

“Ma’am,” Freddie says.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Bart begins. “If we see her, Freddie’s our guy. You,” he says looking directly at me, “stay in the van. Robyn’s going to be freaking out and will need to see your face the second we open the doors to the van. Freddie will get her inside here and she’ll be subdued and then we take off for Newport Beach immediately. Got it?”

I notice that Bart is only looking at me. I nod, wondering what he means by the word ‘subdued’, but keep silent.

“What about the police?” I ask.

“We shouldn’t have a problem. Even if there’s a cop nearby, Freddie here should be able to get her to the van without an incident.”

I catch Freddie looking at me through the rearview mirror and I find myself wondering just who this Freddie person is. I notice that even as our conversation progresses, all three of us continue making frequent glances out the van windows. After a few minutes Bart falls silent and once again the three of us are left to our own thoughts.

As I scan the street, I find my mind wandering to the time when Robyn will have completed her treatment. What will she be like? Will we do all those mother-daughter things I read about in my magazines? Will she and I be exchanging things like blouses and shoes?

All of that though seems as far away as the stars and after twenty or so minutes, realize that I’m on the edge of my seat, every muscle tensed in anticipation as I peer through my window. I realize suddenly that I am exhausted. This is the most energy I’ve expended since my surgery. I also realize belatedly, that I’ve forgotten my medicines. I let out a silent breath of exasperation and reach for my bottle of water.

I sit back in my seat and check my watch, just after ten thirty. I keep my eyes on the activity of the streets. People continue to come and go. The Phoenix Hotel is a very busy place and through the window I can hear music coming from the bar at the hotel, which must be deafening inside. Ten thirty turns into midnight, which slides uneventfully into one forty-five, and still no sign of Robyn.

I stifle a yawn and pull out the brochure on Peaceful Acres and peruse the captions beneath the colorful photos by the glare of a nearby streetlight.

“You been there before?” Freddie asks. His eyes are looking at me looking at the brochure.

“No,” I say. “But it seems like the perfect place for Robyn. And they told me our insurance would completely cover her stay there.”

“It sure doesn’t hurt to have good insurance,” Bart says.

Freddie lets out a snort. “The better the insurance, the more enthusiastic the treatment facility.”

“It does seem like a nice place, though,” I say.

Freddie nods once. “Better than most,” he says.

I meet his gaze in the mirror, but he looks away, out his driver’s side window.

“How do you know?” I ask.

Bart looks at Freddie, but his face remains angled away from both of us. Bart looks down but says nothing. The streetlight makes Bart’s graying sideburns glisten silver.

“He had a daughter,” Bart says, almost beneath his breath. “On the streets; on drugs.”

I am caught by the word ‘had’, but say nothing.

“That’s how we met,” Bart says.

I nod. I find myself wondering what happened to Freddie’s daughter and if this is why he is helping me tonight.

“What’s her name?” I ask.

Freddie’s eyes stay fixed on the activity across the street. “Amanda.”

The mood inside the van is suddenly somber. I can’t think of a single thing to say. Minutes flit by like schools of fish.

“So,” Bart begins. “This horse walks into this bar.”

Freddie gives Bart an inquiring look.

“And the bartender says to the horse, ‘why the long face?’”

I laugh in spite of the ridiculousness of the joke. And then Freddie laughs too and now everything feels okay; at least on the surface.

I take another sip of water, hoping to settle my stomach that’s beginning to knead with irritation, and twisting the cap back onto the bottle feel my mouth release into yet another yawn.

Bart looks back at me.

“Did you hear the one about the policeman, the priest and the rabbi?”

I shake my head. “Please, not another bad joke,” I respond.

“So the policeman says to this priest-”

“There she is!” Freddie says.

He is out the door; calmly, smoothly, making his way across the street towards the trees in front of the hotel. My heart leaps as I stare at my daughter, and it’s as if I can’t get my fill of her; and though she is dressed in typical hooker garb, and her hair looks ratted and messy, it is my darling Robyn.

“ You stay put,” Bart says, exiting the van.

Suspense crawls up my throat as I watch events unfold.

Freddie angles away from Robin about twenty feet down the block. He takes a position behind one of the trees and in his dark clothing is nearly completely hidden. Bart continues forward at a saunter in the general direction of the hotel. His hands are in his front pockets. He stops on the corner and leans casually against a stand of newspaper dispensers and then pulls out a cigarette from his front breast pocket. Lighting it, he makes eye contact with Robyn. He gives her an informal hailing nod. She looks away and then back at Bart and licks her lips. From the glare on the window and my distance, I can’t get a read on her face. Is it fear? Anticipation? My stomach clenches with a heavy revulsion. I wipe a tear from my eye threatening to obscure my vision. Bart looks up the block and then down the block and then slowly approaches Robyn. He is close enough to touch her yet makes no move to grab her, simply engages her in conversation and it is only then I realize what is going on. He is posing as a john; he is propositioning my baby.

I swallow down a hot and sour clot of bile and remind myself to remain calm.

Bart and Robyn talk. Robyn nods in response to something Bart has said. Bart then hikes a thumb in the direction of the hotel and then quickly motions down the block towards where Freddie is hiding. Robyn shrugs. Bart begins talking and nodding at Robyn, again gesturing down the block. Robyn gives a sidelong glance in the direction that Bart is pointing to and then shrugs again. The two take off directly towards Freddie who remains lying in wait. My heart throbs with torment as I watch Bart and Robyn stroll nonchalantly down the sidewalk.