by Sam Sisavath
Dwight made a face. “Goddammit, you’re going to make me suture your wound, aren’t you?”
“I would do it for you, partner—and in fact, I believe I have.”
Dwight groaned. “Fuck this partnership.”
“That’s the spirit,” Reese smiled.
“Do we have a deal?” Allie asked.
They looked back at her simultaneously.
“You got some balls on you, Alice in Wonderland, I’ll give you that,” Dwight said.
“Do we have a deal or not?”
“Well, you’re still alive,” Dwight said. “What does that tell you?”
Eighteen
“Where did you get the money?” Reese asked.
“I got it from someone who didn’t need it anymore,” Alice said.
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“So not an inheritance, then?”
“That depends on your definition of inheritance.”
He smiled. He liked the way she answered his questions by never really answering them.
“What’s to prevent Dwight and me from just taking it from you?” he asked. “We know where you’re keeping it, and we have the account number… All we need is the password to access it.”
She smiled back at him. “You could try, though I should warn you, Reese, I have a very long history of disappointing men. It usually ends in violent ways, and as you can see, I’m still here and they’re not.”
He chuckled, but he believed her. Reese had always wondered what he would do when he ever came across a woman who so completely intrigued him. He didn’t think that day would ever happen—there had been a lot of women, in a lot of places—but here she was, throwing everything he tried back at him.
Dwight’s right. She just might be the death of me.
He stood in the back hallway of the motel, wiping away the traces of blood clinging to his hands and pants. He’d checked his bandages inside the bathroom, and they were still bloodless. Dwight had done a good job with the gunshot despite complaining through the whole thing. Reese realized he probably needed an actual medical professional to look at the wound, but if hospitals were out of the question before, they were even more so now. Even the underground medicals couldn’t help them; he didn’t for one second think their employers hadn’t already spread the word about them, most likely with a generous dose of reward money as incentive. That meant their access to the local criminal underworld, and all the assets there, was now out of their reach.
Just the two of us against the world. Well, three, now.
He tossed the towel away and pulled on a fresh shirt and did up the buttons. Alice sat on the bed, eating bad Chinese food from a Styrofoam carryout plate. She hadn’t bothered with the chopsticks and went straight to spearing pieces of orange chicken with a cheap plastic fork. She looked noticeably more comfortable after taking two more painkillers, but he would still catch her wincing in pain every now and then, mostly when she didn’t think he was watching. The lack of broken bones, even ribs, was a miracle, but the aches and bruises were going to last for a while.
Better than a bullet hole, Alice.
The motel room they were in now was a lot cleaner and smelled better than the last one. It was also bigger, with two twin beds instead of just one queen-size. Not that they expected to stay here for very long, but it was nice to have options. Even as she ate, trying to make up for the lack of food the previous day, Alice kept one eye on the windows.
“How long before he’s back?” she asked.
“It’ll take him some time to collect everything we need,” Reese said.
“What are the chances he’ll take off and leave you here?”
Reese chuckled. “Seventy-thirty that he comes back.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a partnership to me.”
“In this business, seventy-thirty is borderline miraculous.”
She stabbed two more pieces of orange chicken with one try and chewed them down. Fast food was never his thing, and Chinese fast food was even lower on the totem pole of things he would voluntarily eat. But then, he’d developed a taste for the real thing during too many jobs in China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan to count, so maybe he was being a bit of a food snob.
“When was the last time you were home?” she asked.
The question surprised him. “Home?”
“England.”
“It’s been a while. The job’s kept me busy.”
“I didn’t know ferrying stolen girls was such a demanding job.”
He shrugged. “It’s a job. If Dwight and I didn’t do it, someone else would.”
“Is that how you justify it?”
“I’m not trying to justify anything,” he said, realizing just how unconvincing to his own ears all of that sounded. “It is what it is.”
“I don’t know what’s happening in the camps; I’m just following orders, right?”
Reese smiled. She was clearly trying to push his buttons, but Reese didn’t bite and said, “What about you, Alice?”
“What about me?”
“Do you really think what you’re doing here will make any difference? There is more than one organization out there fighting for control of the market. You managed to save those girls yesterday, but what about the others that will be following in their footsteps? The people we worked for will just double their efforts to make up for the loss.”
He watched her face closely and knew he had struck a chord, knew she had never considered that particular consequence of her actions.
He continued: “You don’t really think any of this—yesterday, today, or tomorrow—will make even a dent in what’s happening out there, do you?”
“It’s better than doing nothing. Or contributing to it.”
“Like I said, if we didn’t do it, someone else would. It’s admirable what you’re doing. I mean that. But this thing is bigger than you, me, and Dwight. We’re insignificant in the larger scheme of things.”
“Just keep telling yourself that,” Alice said. She closed the Styrofoam container and put it on the nightstand. Then: “I need a gun.”
“I won’t even give you a phone; what makes you think I’ll give you a gun?”
She looked over at him. “How far are we from the house? The one you think they might have taken Faith to two years ago?”
“It’s across the state line. Six hours, give or take.”
“When we get there, you’ll need all the help you can get. So, I’ll need a gun.” Then, before he could respond, “Are you afraid I’ll use it on you?”
“The thought’s crossed my mind.”
“Why so paranoid, Reese?”
He glanced down at his bandaged side, then back up at her. “Oh, I don’t know. Just call it a hunch.”
“I want to find Faith. Even if that means dealing with the devil.”
“I take it I’m the devil?”
“You’re one of them.” She smirked. “What, did you think you were on the side of the angels? Are you that delusional?”
“Of course not. I was just hoping for Average Joe.”
“You’re not him, either.”
“Maybe one day.”
“Sure, why not,” she said, not even bothering to hide her amusement.
She was doing it again, trying to push his buttons.
And, like last time, Reese didn’t bite, and said, “Dwight should have some extra firearms on him when he gets back.”
“How does he get past the background checks?”
“Are you forgetting where we are, Alice? This is America, home of the Second Amendment. Besides, there are always people around the world willing to sell something you need for the right price. I thought you’d know that by now after the last few days.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, Reese.”
“Good to hear.”
“I need to make a phone call.”
“And who would you be calling?”
“None of you
r business.”
“It is, if it’s law enforcement.”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t think I can believe you, Alice. Sorry.”
“Oh, come on, Reese,” she said, looking over at him, and something that almost looked like a sneer played across her lips. “If you can’t trust your girlfriend, who can you trust?”
He chuckled. Of course she’d heard most of his conversation with Dwight in the car last night. Who knew how long she had been feigning sleep back there? Maybe since they left the truck stop.
“No fair; you were eavesdropping,” he said.
“You two should have gotten your own room if you didn’t want me to overhear. Or put me in the trunk.”
“Now there’s an option,” Reese said.
* * *
Dwight came back with more food, along with boxes of bullets and three handguns—all G43 model Glocks—and laid them in a pile on a table while the three of them gathered around. Dwight also pulled out three unopened first-aid kits.
“Such a Boy Scout,” Reese said.
“There’s nothing wrong with preparation,” Dwight said. “I learned that from you.”
“I’m honored.”
“But then you also talked me into this job, so…”
Alice, meanwhile, had reached for one of the Glocks.
Dwight saw, and glanced quickly over at him, as if to say, Are we going to let her do that? Reese nodded back slightly and could see Dwight restraining himself with some effort. If Alice noticed, she didn’t give it away.
“You said five or so?” Alice asked, tightening her fingers around the grip of the handgun to get a feel for it.
“Five or so meatheads, give or take,” Dwight said. He picked up and tossed one of the 9mm boxes to Reese, then another one to Alice.
Reese watched out of the corner of one eye as Alice began loading her empty Glock. The woman knew her way around a weapon and was thumbing rounds into the magazine like someone who had done it many, many times before.
“They’re mostly there for show, to keep the girls in line,” Dwight was saying. “They’ll be armed, but it’s not exactly an action-packed job, so they’ll be lazy and easy to pick off in a stand-up fight.”
“And we have the element of surprise on our side,” Reese said.
“From your lips to God’s ears, dude.”
“What about the customers?” Alice asked.
“There aren’t any,” Reese said. “At least, not at the houses. They’re for breaking in the new girls, then housing and feeding them. After that, they’re sent out to where they need to be.”
“Sent out how?”
“By car, planes, et cetera.”
“Planes?”
“Sometimes a john wants a girl who’s being housed on the other side of the country. When that happens, they put her on a plane with a chaperone and send her over. It’s not very often, but it happens.” He shrugged. “It costs extra, but we’re not talking about hobos for clients here. These are people with very specific tastes, and they can afford it.”
Alice’s shoulders tensed slightly, like those of a child who just found out how the real world works. Except he knew better—Alice wasn’t a child, and she had seen and done more than the average American woman would ever do in her entire lifetime. Knowing that about her, and at the same time knowing so little else, only made Reese more curious.
But if he had any doubts Alice would be able to stomach what was coming, the sight of her jamming the magazine back into the Glock and then whipping it behind her and shoving it into the empty holster back there cured him of it. Other men might have been taken aback, even momentarily disquieted by her natural handling of the weapon, but Reese found it…kind of hot.
“What about those locations?” she asked.
Reese took a folded envelope out from his blazer pocket and handed it to her. “The four that we know about, including the one we’ll be going to.”
She opened the envelope, pulled out a piece of paper, and looked at the contents for a moment. She then put back in and sealed up the flap. “Are these addresses real?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Reese said. “I don’t have any reasons to lie about them now. I couldn’t care less what happens to those houses. They tried to kill us last night, remember? We’re not friends anymore.”
She nodded. “I’ll need stamps.”
Dwight took out a stamp booklet from his back pocket and tossed it to her. “First time I’ve bought stamps in… Shit, I can’t even remember.”
“You and the rest of the world,” Reese said. To Alice, “You want me to mail that for you?”
“Gee, thanks, but I think I can handle it.”
“You do realize that you’ll need to tell the mailman where to send it?”
“I’ll write out the address when I give it to the manager and ask him to mail it for me. I won’t be doing that until we leave for the house.”
“Of course, I’ll have to be there when you hand it over to the manager,” Reese said. “Just in case you might be tempted to burden that poor old man with something besides the letter.”
“Of course,” she said, and rolled her eyes.
“And here I thought we were suddenly being all trusty and shit,” Dwight said.
“Never hurts to take precautions,” Reese said. To Alice: “If we’re going to find this Faith girl, we need to know what she looks like.”
“Yeah, that would definitely help,” Dwight said.
“You want me to draw it for you?” Alice said as she tucked the envelope into her back pocket.
“You can do that from memory?” Dwight asked.
“No, genius. I mean I’m going to need that phone now,” she said, and held out her hand toward Reese.
Reese took out the phone. It was cheap and plastic and felt as if it might break if he held it too tightly. “Give me the number, and I’ll call them.”
“Is the screen even color?”
“It retails for forty bucks at a gas station,” Dwight said. “What do you think?”
She ignored him, said, “Can it text?”
“Yeah, but it comes out of the prepaid minutes.”
“Fine,” Alice said, and gave Reese a number to text, adding, “Type ‘It’s Apollo’s best friend.’ Just that, and nothing else.”
“Who’s Apollo?” Reese asked.
“Just do it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and typed it into the phone.
Dwight chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Reese asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Dwight said, and busied himself with reloading the UMP he’d emptied back at the motel parking lot last night.
Reese pressed the send button, then waited.
Five seconds, then ten…
“No one’s responding,” he said.
“Give them a moment,” Alice said.
He smiled to himself. Give them a moment. She wasn’t even going to let him know the sex of the person he was texting.
A generic beep heralded the reply’s arrival. Reese read it: “Password.” He looked up at her. “That’s all it says. No question mark. Just password. All in lower case, if that means anything.”
“Cabin in the woods,” she said.
“What about it?”
“Type cabin in the woods back.”
He typed it, then pressed send. This time, it only took four seconds to get a reply.
“What’s up,” Reese read. “Again, no question marks. Who is this guy, and why doesn’t he follow proper punctuation?”
“Give it a rest, school marm, and type back ‘Send picture of Faith.’”
“School marm? I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s an old lady who taught school back in the ol’ days,” Dwight said. “Sort of like how you’re being right now, dude.”
“Ah,” Reese said, and typed out Alice’s message.
He waited five seconds before the message “Downloading image” appeared on the screen
, along with a progress bar that didn’t seem to move—no, there, it just moved. It was just slow. He shook the phone, thinking it might do some good, but of course it didn’t.
“Not exactly the most current model,” Reese said.
“Try shaking it some more,” Dwight chuckled.
“Maybe soak it in water? I hear rice is good for fixing bad phones.”
“I think the correct order is to soak it in water, then shove it into a bowl of rice.”
“I’ll try that next,” Reese said.
Finally, the image finished loading on the phone. It was a picture of a young girl, blonde from what he could tell, though the hair could have been white for all he knew, since the screen only showed a black-and-white photo. The image looked like one of those semiprofessional glamour shots with a faux background. He couldn’t make out the color of the girl’s eyes, but poor quality, black and white or not, it was easy to tell that she was pretty. Very, very pretty.
Reese checked the image against Alice. Maybe if he squinted hard enough there might have been some resemblance, but it wasn’t really close. So she hadn’t lied to him about the Faith girl not being related to her after all.
Reese showed her the photo. “Our girl?”
She nodded. “That’s Faith.”
“Blonde?” Dwight asked.
“Blonde hair and blue eyes,” Alice said. “She was seventeen when she was taken, and her nineteenth birthday was two months ago.”
“They probably cut her hair and dyed it so she wouldn’t be recognized,” Dwight said.
“I don’t think they did,” Reese said.
“No?”
“You don’t snatch a blue-eyed, blonde all-American girl with long hair only to change her appearance. Defeats the whole purpose.”
“Hunh, good point,” Dwight said.
“I know; that’s why I’m here.”
“You think way too highly of yourself, dude,” Dwight said, and went back to loading a Glock. “There’s a word for that.”
“Self-awareness?”
“Not even close.”
Reese looked across the table at Alice. “How are you so sure she’s even still alive? Two years is a long time in this trade. Girls come and go. They get used up and tossed aside. It’s not a pretty business.”