by Joan Mauch
Zac nodded.
“Well, I gotta go. Catch ya’ next time.”
Zac stayed inside as the two men went out to the alley where a van was parked. A moment later, he heard a shuffling of feet on the back steps. The screen door opened and he came face to face with a group of young women. It was worse than he imagined. The only sound as the bedraggled group filed into the room past him was feet hitting the linoleum, and an occasional cough or clearing of the throat. Even Tiny knew better than to make a ruckus.
“All right, now,” Leon directed his comment at Zac. “Take our guests upstairs to the back bedroom. Show them the bathroom and let them use it one at a time. I’ll fix some food and bring it up. Don’t talk to them and if they talk to each other, let them know to keep still. Got it?”
With his eye on the women, Zac nodded, then gestured for them to follow him.
After they were settled on cots in what Zac assumed had been the master bedroom, he indicated the attached bath, pointed at the nearest girl and gestured. It took a few seconds, then she understood. One by one the women relieved themselves as he stood guard.
In their early- to mid-teens, the women were slim, with long dark hair and olive skin. They wore blue jeans, jogging shoes and low-cut tops with exposed cleavage. Zac wondered exactly what they’d been told to make them so cooperative. None seemed frightened. Actually it was the opposite; their eyes sparkled in anticipation of what Zac assumed they thought was the beginning of a new life. It’d be a new life, all right, only one far different than they dreamed it would be.
It wasn’t long before Leon poked his face in, holding a large tray of sandwiches, chips and soft drinks. He set it on a side table and watched as one by one the girls helped themselves and began to eat.
“This’ll hold’em for the time being. Buyer’s stopping by in about an hour, so we’ll get them out of here in no time. Just the way I like it—no fuss, no muss”
Chapter 43
That night Zac had a hard time getting to sleep. He kept seeing the trusting eyes and shy smiles of the young women who were destined for a miserable life. They, no doubt, came from some Third World country. The traffickers most likely had promised their parents they’d go to college or get good jobs and send money home. Whatever lie they’d been fed, these girls were obviously not aware of what was about to happen.
Zac turned over in the uncomfortable bed and punched the lumpy pillow. A glance at the bedside clock said it was three-thirty. If he’d been able to, he would have led those girls right back out and taken them to a shelter. It was too late now. They were on the next leg of their journey and Zac had no doubt this stop would look like Paradise compared with their final destination.
He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the charade of being an accomplice to Leon’s disgusting business—or what the consequences might be when he decided he’d had enough and wanted out, Izzie or no Izzie. With that thought in mind, he fell into a troubled sleep populated by young women screaming for help.
Chapter 44
On his way back from the police station, Jackson couldn’t get his brother out of his mind. If he hadn’t gone back to Iowa and wasn’t a police informant, then where was he? The detective hadn’t said one way or the other, and Zac had bragged that he was, as he put it, “a snitch”. Was it safe to assume he’d told the truth for a change?
He didn’t know what to think, but couldn’t lose the uneasy feeling his brother was in danger. Should he take Detective Anders’ advice and let it alone? Zac was a grown man and apparently wanted to do this. The detective had said he wasn’t in it alone, that if Zac was working for them, he’d stay in touch. That he wouldn’t be in any real danger. Still, Jackson had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the kind he got when something was seriously wrong.
He took out his cellphone and pressed the number “three”. That was Zac’s number on his speed dial. It rang once, twice, three times. Then his brother’s familiar voice came through loud and clear.
“Yep, it’s me, Zac. You know what to do.”
At the sound of the tone, Jackson said, “Hey, where the hell are you? I know you didn’t go home cause I talked to Mom. Don’t worry about the other night. You were drunk and probably don’t remember what you said. Come back to the apartment, okay? Talk to you later.”
Yeah, like maybe he didn’t remember the things he’d said or didn’t mean them. Problem was, Jackson remembered and they still stung. He didn’t know what to think. Was Zac jealous, as the detective had suggested, or was his spiteful revelation true? Jackson sighed. Eventually he’d learn the truth, but for now he had to find his brother and make sure he was safe—whether Detective Anders liked it or not.
Unwilling to return to his apartment without answers, he headed to Ybor City and the house with the balcony. He didn’t have a clue what he’d do when he got there, but he’d figure something out.
Fifteen minutes later, Jackson parked the car and approached the house, trying to think of an excuse for knocking, when the front door opened and two men walked out. One of them was Zac.
Chapter 45
Gingerly stretching her arms out as far as she could, Izzie began to feel her way around whatever it was that held her captive. Was it a casket? It didn’t feel like one. No, it wasn’t oblong and it wasn’t lined in soft material designed to convince people their loved one merely slept.
No, this felt more like a crate of some kind. She sat up halfway, surprised to find it was tall enough for even that. It didn’t seem like she was buried alive since she didn’t gasp for air. She took a deep breath to be sure. Whatever Leon had done, it wasn’t with an eye toward killing her or she’d already be dead. So, then, where was she? Had he locked her in a container and stashed her somewhere in the house?
She put her ear against the side to see if she could hear voices. There was nothing.
“Help. Get me out of here,” she called, hoping someone would hear. She didn’t really expect a response. As far as she knew, Leon and that young girl were the only two in the house and he’d probably sent the girl on her way by now.
She punched her fist against the enclosure. That’s when she realized it was lined in some kind of packing material. Of course, that would serve a double purpose: it’d protect her from injury if it was moved and muffle any sound she made. She could scream her head off and no one would hear.
She felt around the space and found a small box containing chips, energy bars, beef jerky and bottles she assumed contained soda or water. No, Leon didn’t want her dead. He just wanted her gone. She opened a bottle and swallowed, easing her parched throat while trying to tamp down growing panic. If she was to survive, she’d have to remain calm—somehow.
Chapter 46
Staying well behind the two men to avoid detection, Jackson followed them to a nearby restaurant. That had to be the one Zac told him about. Deep in conversation as they walked along, they didn’t notice him tailing them.
At least he’d managed to find his brother and see for himself that he was all right. But for how long would he be able to continue without Leon catching on?
While Jackson’s instinct was to approach his brother and urge him to come back with him, he knew Detective Anders was right. Zac was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He’d never met Izzie; all he knew about her was what Jackson told him and none of it was flattering. He must be doing this to show Jackson he wasn’t a total screw-up; that somewhere beneath that good-for-nothing exterior was a heart of gold. That’s what Jackson chose to believe as he returned to his car.
He didn’t know where to go next. Back to the police station to report what he’d seen? Back to work and try to act as though nothing was wrong? His only option was to keep his eye on the place. He’d check on it at different times and days in between working. If he was discovered, he’d say he was a reporter covering a story. At least that way he’d have some idea what was going on—and that his brother was still among the living.
Having made a
plan of sorts, Jackson headed home for the balance of the day. The last thing he wanted was for his boss to find out what he was up to. That would never do. Considering he’d been ordered to forget all about “that snotty little bitch,”—as Morris put it, the man would take a dim view of what Jackson decided to do. But really, what choice did he have?
Something terrible happened to Izzie and now his brother was knee deep in it. From what little he’d read about human trafficking, he knew these guys didn’t mess around. Cross them and you’re dead, no two ways about it. For all he knew, Leon may have already killed Izzie and fed her to the sharks. Zac may be risking his life for nothing. Somehow, Jackson didn’t think so, but he wasn’t really sure. In the meantime, he’d already lost a reporter, he wasn’t about to lose a brother as well.
Chapter 47
For the next few days, Zac occupied himself doing badly neglected chores around the place. It was clear Leon placed a low priority on such things. On the other hand, he’d been alone in this endeavor and, no doubt, had more important things on his mind than whether or not the toilet was clean.
Zac didn’t like doing housework either, but he had to do something to make himself useful and keep Leon from deciding he didn’t need him after all. So, he tried to be as agreeable as possible, but it was a stretch. He wasn’t used to going out of his way to be nice. For most of his life he’d done the exact opposite—cultivating something of a bad-boy reputation around town.
“When’s the next shipment coming in?” He looked up from the sink full of dirty dishes as Leon came in the room.
“Don’t know. They call when they’re about to come.”
“Doesn’t that put a crimp in your social life? I mean, having to be on call at a moment’s notice like that?”
Leon nodded, “Sure does. With you here, maybe I can actually have a life. Ya’ think?”
“Absolutely,” Zac said. “You tell me what to do, and I’ll take care of it, no problem.”
“Whoa, we’re not there yet. You have a lot to learn and I have to make damned sure I can trust you, know what I mean?”
“Of course,” Zac said. He finished washing the dishes and began putting them away. Leon appeared to be in a good mood for a change, so it might be a good time to ask for some time off. “I’m done here. Think I could take off for a few hours?” He gave Leon his most self-effacing look, the one that said he knew who was in charge.
“Well, things seem to be in good shape. You’ve been a big help. The place hasn’t looked this good in a long time. Go on, but be back around five.”
Zac was about to go out the front door when Leon came up behind him, causing him to jump. “I scare you?” He laughed then said, “So, where’re you headed?”
“I’m going to take the trolley and wander around downtown a bit. Wanna come?”
“Trolley? You mean the streetcar?”
“Trolley, streetcar, what’s the difference?”
“I guess a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, but if you’re gonna stick around Tampa, you probably oughta find out what things here are called.”
Surprised at Leon’s U-turn from being mellow to snarky, Zac masked his annoyance and struggled to control himself. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve told the sonofabitch where he could put his streetcar, but these were definitely not normal circumstances and backtalk would only make things worse.
“You’re right; I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned the doorknob, anxious to leave before Leon found something else to bitch about. “See you around five.”
****
As he waited for the streetcar, Zac glanced around before making the call to make sure he wasn’t overheard.
“Detective Anders? It’s Zac. I’m fine, well, as fine as you can be living with that scumbag. You’re right. They’re running illegal immigrants through there. A group came in last night. I’m not sure where they’re from, but they’re not Mexicans, so I don’t know how they get in.”
Zac listened as the detective suggested several possible points of entry, including Tampa International Airport and the Port of Tampa.
“Really, I never thought of that. I thought they came across the border or by boat from places like Cuba. How do they do it? They don’t look like tourists and if they’re illegal, I doubt they have passports.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. Trafficked victims are given forged documents that are confiscated when they arrive at their final destination,” Detective Anders said. “Most think they’ll be going to school or given jobs so they can earn money to send back home.” He went on to explain that trafficking was facilitated by corrupt border patrol agents and customs officials who were bribed to look the other way.
“And get this: while thousands of foreigners are trafficked into the U.S. each year—over a hundred thousand Americans are trafficked within our own borders. Most are underage girls.”
A car horn beeped repeatedly. Someone was apparently on the verge of major road-rage. Zac had trouble hearing Anders. Readjusting his cellphone, he said, “Seriously? American citizens are being forced into slavery? Right here?”
“That’s right.”
Just then a very attractive blonde walked right in front of him. She was so close he could smell her perfume. It was familiar—the kind his last girlfriend wore. For a second, recalling their final romantic encounter, her face flashed before his mind’s eye. He cleared his throat and struggled to pick up a thread of the conversation.
“How can that be?” He paused, then went on. “I mean, if people from poor countries are duped into thinking they’re going to hit the jackpot coming here, really what’ve they got to lose? But you’re saying Americans in our own country are also likely to get sucked in?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Could you have it wrong?” He hoped that was the case.
“Nope. I have it on good authority and—get this: the numbers could be higher. We can’t exactly survey these folks to get an accurate count, now can we?”
Zac sighed. He had no words to express his disgust. All those people. It was hopeless. “Oh yeah, by the way, I found what looked like a name and some kind of number scratched on the windowsill in the bedroom.” He pulled the scrap of paper from his wallet and read it off to Anders. “Maybe you can figure out what it means.”
“I’ll check it out. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Hey, I gotta go. The ‘streetcar’” he emphasized the word to prove he was hip to Tampa, “just pulled in.”
“Good work. Stay in touch and—Zac, be careful.”
“Will do.”
Before turning off his phone, Zac listened to Jackson’s message then deleted it. No use getting him involved. It’d be better if he thought Zac was still angry. He’d been hard on his brother, but it was the only way to get him out of the picture. He just hoped Jackson didn’t get it in his head to go after Leon on his own. That’d be a real disaster.
His hand hovered over the “two” on his speed dial. Call him? Don’t call him. He dithered a few moments then decided to let it go. After all, Jackson had a job to keep him occupied and both his boss and the police had told him Izzie was most likely off with some guy having the time of her life. Zac just hoped Jackson’s overactive imagination didn’t land him in deep shit with those traffickers—in which case, there was no way to save him.
Chapter 48
That night Jackson sat in his car in the alley several doors from Leon’s place. He was scrunched down in the seat to avoid detection. It was dark out and he’d worn black, so it was unlikely anyone would notice. Still he didn’t want to take a chance.
From his vantage point he had a clear shot past Leon’s backyard. With the tall fence, he couldn’t see inside, but if people came or left he’d be able to spot them. And if so, what would he do about it? That was the flaw in his plan. Should he call the police? If he could see them arrive, that’d be his best shot at catching Leon in the act.
He glance
d out the window. Only one light illuminated the alley. Still, if a truck or van pulled up carrying its illegal cargo, he’d see the headlights.
Jackson’s back and shoulder hurt like crazy. A photographer was on vacation, so his day had been busier than usual. And sitting in the car in a cramped position didn’t help. What he needed right now was a good session with a chiropractor.
It was after ten and he had a hard time staying awake. He sat up just as a car caught him in its headlights.
“Shit,” he muttered and slumped down so his head was level with the dashboard. A few seconds later, his car lit up like a Christmas tree and there was a tapping on the window. Red and blue lights strobed across the alley reminding Jackson of a carnival ride. The only things missing were music, screaming fans and, of course—the ride. A beam of light flashed directly into his eyes temporarily blinding him.
"Is there a problem officer?" he said, lowering the window.
"License and registration," a voice behind the flashlight said.
"Why? Is it against the law to sit here?" Jackson wasn't accustomed to challenging law enforcement officers, but it had been a long day and he was not only tired, but grumpy.
"Let me see your license and registration. Now," the voice repeated with determination.
Jackson knew he had to do as he was told or spend the night in jail. It was his choice. He reached across the seat and pulled the documents from the glove compartment. Making a concerted effort to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice, he said, "Here you go."
The cop turned his flashlight on the driver's license, turned it on him and then went back to the squad car. Jackson drummed his fingers on the dashboard while he waited. Lights in apartments began to switch on as neighbors apparently noticed the police car’s lights flashing against their buildings. Exposure was the last thing Jackson needed.