by Joan Mauch
ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE
by Joan Mauch
Published by
KINDLE DIRECT PUBLISHING
Copyright 2016 by Joan Mauch
All rights reserved.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publishers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Afterword
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
While there were countless sources of information that I accessed during the course of researching and writing “Escape from Ambergris”, the following were especially helpful and include: the Polaris Project; Cathy O’Keefe, executive director of Braking Traffik; Tina Frundt, trafficking survivor and founder of Courtney’s House; Human Trafficking Documentary by MOTFT (YouTube); The Slave across the Street by Theresa Flores (Ampelon Publishing, 2010); Human Trafficking, Human Misery: The Global Trade in Human Beings by Alexis A Aronowitz (Praeger Publishers, 2009); and hours of online research on Belize and Ambergris Caye.
Thank you also to my friend, former TV producer, Beth Paul, for keeping me on the right track with respect to TV news production and police procedure; to members of the Iron Pen critique group, Kristal Shaff, Wayne Sapp and Rich Miller for their tireless page reviews; and to my family for their continuing support.
As has been repeated many times, it takes a village to raise a child—the same can be said for writing and publishing a novel. Without the assistance of everyone listed here as well as many who are not, this book would not have become a reality. I would also like to acknowledge the encouragement I have received from my readers. Without you, it would all be for naught. Thank you all so very much.
Chapter 1
The weight of the gun surprised Hester. It was cold, meat-locker cold—a dead thing. Oil stained the paper bag she’d hid it in. She abhorred the mechanical stink of it. Tears filled her dark brown eyes, making the weapon appear wavy, as though under water. She began to sob.
Her free hand made its way behind her ear where she traced a circle of rough skin. Almost without realizing it, she pinched and scratched the hated thing, as if she could somehow obliterate it.
Looking out the window at a cement-grey sky, she breathed a long heavy sigh. The rainy weather made her despair even more palpable. Never had she imagined life would serve up such a cruel helping. For her, things wouldn’t get better, no matter what she did or how hard she tried.
Taking in a lungful of air, she wiped her cheek on the sleeve of her thin yellow blouse. What she had to do was clear. There was only one path available and much as she would have liked to go a different way, there simply was no other.
She had been fondling the small revolver for several minutes. It felt warm, having absorbed heat from her sweaty palm. It seemed to reach out to her, beckoning almost seductively. It won’t be that hard, it seemed to say.
The shabby room was barely nine by nine with a single curtainless window to which ornamental security bars were attached. A metal frame bed sporting a lumpy mattress and a three-drawer bureau populated it. Carved out of the wall was a minuscule closet scarcely large enough for her few articles of clothing.
Hester wouldn’t miss the place, for damn sure. Unable to tolerate life any longer, she knew without a doubt only she could change it—and for her the change-agent was this gun.
The odor of yet another greasy supper wafted its way up the stairs and beneath her bedroom door. Rather than stimulate her appetite, it made her nauseous. The damned dog was barking again. That was another thing Hester wouldn’t miss.
She swallowed, tried to push down the lump in her throat and then glanced at the cheap watch encircling her wrist. A faint smile played on her lips as she recalled the joy she’d felt upon receiving it. It had been a gift from her mother the last Christmas she was home.
Remembering that caused Hester the same exquisite pain it had countless times before. Intense longing for her family overwhelmed her, nearly threatening her resolve. Tears came in swift moving torrents, overflowing her cheeks and dripping onto her lap. Annoyed with herself, she shouldered them away and returned to her plan.
It was time. If she delayed or lost her nerve, the opportunity may never present itself again and she’d be trapped. For the rest of her life, however short or long it might be, she’d be stuck—like a pig in mud, she’d be up to her ears in it, incapable of changing a thing. Hester understood this with deadly certainty.
The revolver droope
d in her hand, its barrel pointing to the floor. Hester had never handled a weapon before but had watched countless TV shows in which they were used. The shooter “cocked” something before firing. She located a knobby thing on top and pulled it back.
Her hands trembled. Geez, get a grip girl, she counseled herself, there’s only one chance to get this right. If she screwed up, she knew without a doubt the consequences would be dire.
Taking in several mouthfuls of air, as if preparing for a race, Hester hooked her long black hair behind her ear, raised the gun to her right temple—and fired.
Chapter 2
Jackson Taylor panned the street as he filmed B-roll for the story.
“C’mon, let’s go. We’ve been at this long enough,” Izzie, his reporter whined. “I’m sick of this stupid festival.” She gave her photographer a hard look. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, ya’ know.”
Ignoring her disparaging comment, Jackson continued videotaping. New to Tampa, this was his first experience with Gasparilla and he was more than a little intrigued.
“So, what’s it about?” He stopped recording and glanced at his reporter who tapped her foot on the sidewalk, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
She sighed. “It supposedly celebrates a Spanish pirate who operated around here a long time ago. The festival starts with the landing of a ship in the bay. Then the city’s invaded by pirates and the mayor turns over the key to the city. That marks the beginning of the festival. It’s kinda stupid if you ask me.”
Jackson wrinkled his forehead. “So, what’s a Gasparilla? Some sort of drink?”
“Not what, silly, who. It’s that pirate, Jose Gaspar.”
“And the festival lasts how long?”
“Seems like forever.’ Letting out another sigh, she said, “It starts with the children’s parade—which was last week, goes into the Pirate Festival and merges into the Sant’yago Illuminated Knight Parade. There’s even the Gasparilla Distance Classic races; the Bay Area Renaissance Festival; Strawberry Festival; the Gasparilla Festival of the Arts; the Gasparilla Music Festival and the GIFF.”
Before Jackson could ask what GIFF stood for, she added, “GIFF’s the Gasparilla International Film Festival. I wish they’d just call the whole thing, “All Things Gasparilla” and be done with it. The whole thing’s one big bore.”
“Brings in lots of tourists though, right?”
“Yeah, something like four hundred thousand people—and, as you know, traffic’s tied up like nobody’s business.” Her face flushed, Izzie seemed about to lose her temper. “If you don’t have any more questions, can we go now?”
Normally slow to anger, Jackson swallowed and bit his lip. “Sure, give me a minute to wrap this up.”
“I’m not standing around waiting for you all day.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “I’m going back to the van.”
Jackson watched as she turned her back on him and walked down the block. Then he touched the keys in his pocket and grinned. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter 3
Jennifer stood on the balcony, watching the crowd and listening to the cacophony of sound that seemed to envelope her. People laughed, music blared and the crowd cheered as the parade passed by. Beads, coins and candy were being tossed from floats.
She wanted so much to be a part of it—a part of anything for that matter. She draped her thin frame over the banister to get a better look.
“What the hell’re you doing out here?” Leon’s gruff voice startled her, for a second she thought she’d lose her balance and go crashing two stories to the street below. She almost wished she had.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he growled, “Get inside”.
Jennifer knew better than to sass him. What Leon wanted, Leon got. She went into the hall off the balcony and headed to her room.
“I catch you out there again, and you get to go you know where. Understand?”
Jennifer nodded, “Yes, I’m sorry. I just wanted to see what was going on.”
“I don’ wanna hear your shit. By now you should know all’s that’s important round here is what I want. Got it?” When she didn’t respond, he cuffed her and repeated, “Got it?”
“Uh, uh, yes, I got it.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Leon.”
“Who loves you?”
“You do.”
“Who feeds you, gives you a warm place to sleep and clothes to wear? Who?”
“You do.”
“Damn right. And what’ll happen if I decide to stop?”
“I’ll starve.”
Jennifer knew the routine by heart and was careful to make the correct response to his questions. The results of a wrong answer or a sullen expression would mean either a beating or another week in what Leon referred to as the bunker. She headed back to the place she called “her room”. A tiny hole-in-the-wall kind of place, it held an iron bedstead with its lumpy mattress and threadbare blanket, and a three drawer bureau—a far cry from the sunny room she’d had growing up.
Startled from her thoughts upon hearing footsteps coming down the hall, she turned around as the bedroom door swung back and hit the wall with a loud thunk.
Leon stood there looking at her, a strange expression on his face. Then without a word, he pushed her down onto the bed.
Jennifer started to protest, but he put his hand over her mouth, “Don’t even try. There’s no one here to help you—unless you count the dog.”
With one quick yank, he pulled her shorts and underpants down. His knee holding her firmly in place, he slipped his trousers off and positioned himself on top of her. He made what to Jennifer sounded almost like the groans of an animal as the metal bed creaked rhythmically up and down.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she took refuge inside her brain. How long had it been since she got here and where was she anyway? This was certainly not the Midwest. She could tell by the palm trees outside her window, it was someplace down south.
Why hadn’t she obeyed her mom? She’d said to stay home and do her homework. But, no-o-o, she just had to hang out at the mall. Her mother wouldn’t be any the wiser. She worked all day, while Jennifer went to school. That day, however, school was closed for teacher conferences and at fourteen she was too old for a baby sitter.
So she’d walked the two miles to the shopping center. Despite their parents and teachers’ disapproval, that’s where all the kids hung out. What was the big deal? She now knew what the big deal was, and it was too late. How would she ever get back home? And what was Leon planning to do with her?
“Now, wasn’t that fun,” Leon said pulling up his pants. “There’s no need to make a fuss. Besides, we have to start getting you ready. You can’t live off me forever, you know.”
Jennifer’s dark eyes widened, “What do you mean? Get me ready for what?”
There was pain between her legs from Leon’s forcible intrusion into her body. She tried to ignore it, but it hurt. Gingerly, she propped herself up on the side of the bed.
“Don’t act so innocent, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
A wiry man, around five ten, Leon had a swarthy complexion, thick black hair and a day-old beard he seemed to think looked sexy. His piercing black eyes were the first thing most people noticed. They were almost hypnotic, seeming to hold the promise of violence.
Jennifer began to tear up, “No, no, I really don’t. Leon, why can’t I go home?”
“Let’s not start that again. I told you your ma don’t want you. You hung around the mall spending her money. She couldn’t afford it, so she gave you to me. Remember? I explained how I took you off her hands. You have nowhere to go.”
Jennifer trembled. “I don’t believe you. Mom would never do a thing like that.”
“Calling me a liar, you little bitch?” With one swoop of his muscular arm, Leon hit her across the face, making a sharp cracking sound. Jennifer’s head snapped back. She involuntarily gasped and let out a small cry. He gr
abbed her arm and dragged her down the hall.
“Please Leon, don’t, I’ll be good,” Jennifer said. “Don’t make me go down there.” The bunker was stifling and smelly. “Please.”
“Then shut the hell up and do what you’re told.” Leon shoved her toward the bedroom. “I’ll be back later to begin your lessons.”
Downstairs, the dog was barking again.
Chapter 4
Invigorated by his session with the girl, Leon Donatello headed downstairs to get some coffee. Aside from Tiny, his rottweiler, the only one in the house right now was Jennifer, pretty, scared little Jennifer. She’d fetch a good buck for sure. Seymour'd be pleased.
That messy business with the other one was unfortunate. There’d been no need for all that drama. Shooting herself like that? What a goddamned mess. It’d taken hours to clean it up. How she’d managed to get hold of his gun in the first place was beyond him. He’d have to be more careful from now on.
He rubbed his left wrist. He always knew rain was on the way when that twinge of pain began. The injury was a souvenir left over from his childhood and the beatings he received from his screw-up older brothers. Well, look where they were now: one was six feet under, compliments of a shotgun blast from a rival gang and the other was doing twenty- to-life in Statesville.
He touched the scar on his left cheek compliments of another youthful altercation. The odd-shaped mark gave him a bad-boy look, making him appear tough—at least that’s what the girls in class used to say—that is when he bothered to go. As he’d passed from middle school to high school he went less and less often and then dropped out. That’s when he joined the South Side Vipers thinking they’d provide what was lacking in his life. What that something was, he didn’t know. He’d felt a longing for family connections other kids took for granted, but it hadn’t worked. The Vipers simply replaced his brothers with their own brand of brutality.
Leon poured scalding water over the instant-coffee crystals. The distinct smell wafted up his nose. He blew on the cup, then took a sip, burning the roof of his mouth. He didn’t care. Caffeine was his drug of choice; it energized him, giving him an instant pickup. Oh yeah, he’d experimented with drugs. There was cocaine, weed and the occasional bit of ecstasy, but even though he’d sold the stuff, he didn’t care that much about it. No, coffee would do him just fine.