The trio moved out to the sidewalk, not wanting to be part of Naomi’s drama. It was then that I saw the bundle of clothes under the iron staircase. I shone my flash on it, but my gut twisted: the bundle had a shape of sorts, and in the light I could see a foot sticking out at an awkward angle.

12
Ugly Duckling

She wasn’t dead, but her pulse was so faint I could barely feel it. I called 911: two ODs at the Lion’s Pride. I put my coat over the woman to keep her warm. I photographed her and Naomi Wissenhurst in situ. I didn’t want any complaints coming back that I’d moved them, injured them, robbed them.

Just because the three guys were gawking and not helping, I took their pictures, too. They scowled and moved away from me.

The cops arrived first, blue-and-reds flashing. My one brief entertainment for the night—the male trio melting away like snow as the squad cars arrived, dumping little bags filled with pills and powders into the gutter as they fled.

I stood as two officers reached the staircase. “I was trying to get this woman to wake up when I saw the other one under the staircase.”

They shone their flashlights, more powerful than my phone flash, and I saw the woman’s face. Middle-aged, jowly, thick eyebrows, a trickle of vomit at the corner of her mouth.

The female officer called in the report, demanding two ambulances at once. A third squad car pulled up. The driver stayed put; he was ferrying a more senior officer, who joined us at the top of the stairs.

By now the police strobes had penetrated the bar. Eager patrons were trying to leave, or at least to gape at the action. The senior officer sent one of the uniforms down the stairs to keep everyone in place.

“What have we got here, Suze?”

Suze swung her light in my direction. “This person called it in, but that’s Sonia Kiel, Sarge, you know—”

“Oh, yes, we all know Sonia.” The senior man squatted and felt her wrist. “Sonia, what’d you take this time, huh? We gonna save your life for you one more time, or are you determined to let it go?”

He stood. “And the other one?”

I hesitated, not wanting to be closer to the center of attention than I already was, but when Suze didn’t speak, I said the other one seemed to be a student who’d drunk too much, or swallowed roofies, or both.

“I was trying to get her to wake up enough to tell me where she lived when I saw the other woman lying there.” I hesitated again, but there was no point in keeping my connection to Sonia quiet; everyone in the bar would report my dramatic effort to get her name.