SHE'S spent half of her 26 years in the sex trade.
Tonight, though, she huddles in the darkened corner of a Parr Street stoop and admits she's spooked. Sex workers like her are turning up dead.
Not normally chatty with reporters, North End and West End street sex workers -- or "working girls," as many prefer to be called -- said early Friday morning three recent unsolved slayings have made them more careful than usual.
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However, many women told the Free Press that caution is a luxury they simply can't afford when they're feeding an addiction and focused on attracting clients to satisfy it.
"It all goes to the drug" -- crack cocaine in her case -- says 26-year-old Amanda.
Dressed in a form-fitting black T-shirt, she asks passers-by for cigarettes and says she usually stands on Parr Street with her cousin for safety while they work.
She says her cousin was unavailable Thursday night.
And while she seems unflustered around 1 a.m. when two drunken strangers approach her on an otherwise abandoned street in an area rife with violence, she's nervous about the recent killing of 17-year-old Fonessa Lynn Bruyere.
"I've been working since I'm a kid," Amanda says.
Several women say they watch out for the vehicles the other ones climb into but admit the tracking system isn't perfect. They also read Street News, a short bulletin published by Sage House which alerts women about reported "bad dates" and outlines options to seek help.
"We never feel safe," says a petite 30-something woman standing against the brush on nearby Aikins Street -- the same stretch where Bruyere was last spotted climbing into a vehicle on Aug. 8.
"There's nothing we can do about it."
Others, speaking reluctantly with the Free Press, express more defiance. One young woman -- seemingly emaciated and with a clear crack pipe in her mouth -- launches into an expletive-laced tirade at the mention of Bruyere's name. Another woman angrily says "I can take care of myself."
Bruyere was found dead Aug. 30 in a field near Ritchie Street and Mollard Road.
Her death has had a profound effect on a community where relationships among street-involved men and women are tight-knit, but also often in flux.
Police cars are seen patrolling the area regularly, slowing to a crawl whenever it appears a potential john may be looking for a pickup. It's obvious licence plates are being checked.
But on Thursday night, the police presence isn't much of a deterrent. While much of the city is asleep, areas of the North End and West End have come alive with a seemingly endless parade of vehicles slowly cruising down darkened, tree-lined streets. Many cars repeatedly circle the block, apparently wanting to take another look at what's available.
And there is plenty. No less than two dozen young women, mostly aboriginal, are in plain sight. While many seem to be working in pairs or packs, some stand alone.
Janice pulls no punches when asked what is needed to make her job safer.
"This should be legalized, and there should be a safe district for us to go to," the 20-something woman says as she works an area of Sargent Avenue.
She admits to being more wary these days but says drug addiction keeps luring her back to the streets.
"This was not my life's f--king choice, but I'm out here to make money," says Janice.
She relies on her instincts and common sense.
"I go with my gut. I don't jump in to just any car for any amount of money," she says.
"I can take care of myself."
Just moments later, Janice is seen talking to four well-dressed, clean-shaven young men who have pulled up to her corner in a black Lexus.
Off the nearby Main Street strip, two middle-aged women appear to be working the corner and are waving at cars as they drive by.
Both appear to be strung out on drugs and are paranoid about stopping to chat.
"Do you know I could get shot for talking to you," one of the women says before agreeing to speak behind a nearby business.
Once privacy is assured, she speaks of a potential serial killer prowling the streets and fears "he" will soon take another victim.
"I'm afraid there's going to be more. Just look at how many girls have disappeared," she says, and walks away without giving her name.
www.mikeoncrime.com
gabrielle.giroday@freepress.mb.ca
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