by Joan Mauch
“Oh, all right. Take him. Anything to get the sonofabitch outta here. You’re getting a real bargain.”
“He don’t look like much of a bargain to me. I doubt I’ll get any work out of him for a while, but since you say he’s such a dick I’ll take him off your hands.” Taking another long look at Jackson, he shrugged and shook his head. “I just hope I get my money’s worth.”
He stretched out his arm to shake hands with the trafficker. “We’ll be on our way. Good doing business with you.”
“I almost forgot. Here’s his papers.” Mo handed Zac the same envelope he himself had given the men who’d picked up the trunk that afternoon. It seemed more like weeks than mere hours had passed since then.
“Oh yeah, thanks.” Stuffing the envelope in his pants pocket, he took Jackson firmly by the arm in imitation of what he thought passed for ownership, and they left the club.
****
They were more than a block away before Zac dropped the charade of master and servant. He looked in every direction to make certain they weren’t being followed. The people around were obviously tourists intent on having a good time.
“You can drop the act now. We’re safe.” If Zac expected gratitude from his brother for rescuing him from the slavers, he was sorely disappointed.
“Eight hundred dollars? You were going to leave me there if they didn’t reduce the price because of my condition? What the hell was that about?” He punched Zac in the arm.
Zac laughed. “I was calling their bluff. If they hadn’t budged I would have paid the thousand. Look at it this way, now we’ve got two more hundred to spend.”
“Eight hundred’s all I’m worth?”
“Look, if you want I can sell you to someone else for more.”
Jackson punched Zac in the arm again. “No, that’s all right Master, this works for me.”
“They said you were a pain in the ass; couldn’t get rid of you fast enough.”
“Thank God for that. By the way, you won’t be getting your knife back. It nearly got me killed. After they found it on me, they beat me up. When they said that I was sold, I thought I’d be heading to some plantation to pick bananas. Honestly, I never imagined you’d be the one to …” He didn’t finish his thought, just grabbed Zac in a bear hug and held on. “Thank you so much. I love you—even if I am adopted.”
Zac pulled back. “Adopted? What’re you talking about?”
“What you said the last night you were at the apartment. You said I was adopted; that Mom never got around to telling me.”
“Oh that. I made it up so you’d get mad and throw me out. I wanted to do the undercover thing without you mucking it up; thought if I got you good and mad, you’d think I took off and leave things alone. I never dreamed you’d stake out the house and get caught. You’re lucky Leon didn’t kill you.”
Jackson nodded. “I know. God, Zac, how’re we gonna find Izzie? And if we do find her, how will we ever get her out of here?”
Chapter 68
Izzie repeatedly wiped off tears that kept flooding her face. She had to get control of herself and put on a strong front. If she copped an attitude like some of the low-class women she’d interviewed as a reporter, maybe they’d let her go. The women here seemed so frightened, willing to do whatever they were told—probably to avoid getting beaten. Somehow she’d have to stand up to these monsters, no matter the outcome.
She wished she could press a “restart button” and go back to the point where Jackson warned her to stay away from Leon. If only she’d listened. That was her problem, she never listened; always thought she knew better. Would she ever get out of this mess? Or would she spend the rest of her life as a slave, doing what she was told in order to stay alive?
She’d rather kill herself than submit to the nightly rapes she’d read trafficked women were subjected to. Although at this point she didn’t know what their plans for her were, she assumed it wouldn’t be pleasant.
The men who “bought” her made her put on a provocative outfit. Her own clothes were torn and smelly, so she was more than willing to oblige despite feeling conspicuous in the scanty apparel. Escorted out the back door of the establishment, she was whisked away in a waiting car. As they drove, she tried to spot landmarks that would help if she managed to escape, but it was too dark out.
The road was narrow, with what looked to Izzie like a tropical forest on either side, replete with enormous potholes. They lurched, swerved and bumped along; she had all she could do to keep from vomiting. From the looks of her captors, they wouldn’t take kindly to having their vehicle befouled. She swallowed hard and braced herself for the next sharp curve.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at their destination. It wasn’t at all what she expected. At best, she’d anticipated a shack with machine gun-toting guards and snarling dogs out front. Instead they drove up to a well-lit, gated complex on manicured grounds of lush palm trees and shrubbery. The brick drive curved around past several buildings, some appeared to be individual villas while others were more in the style of a hotel or apartment complex.
This looked nothing like a brothel, or what she assumed a brothel might look like. With the exception of movies or television, she’d never seen a house of prostitution. Maybe they’d had a change of heart and decided to let her go.
The car continued past the elegant entryway around to the back where it stopped and the men got out. They opened the back door and motioned to her. When she hesitated, one of them stooped down and yanked her from the car, wrenching her shoulder. An involuntary cry of pain escaped her lips causing the man to throw her a stern look. Not wanting to invite more rough treatment, Izzie slapped a hand across her mouth and waited for what would come next.
Chapter 69
After stopping at a thrift store to replace the rags Jackson wore, they went to Zac’s hotel to clean up.
“I’m starving,” Jackson announced and rubbed his stomach. “Haven’t had a thing to eat since they took me off the boat.”
“Guess they don’t treat the ‘help’ well,” Zac said with a grin.
“You got that right. Seems like every time I turned around I got punched. Most of the time I had no idea why.”
“They said you were a big pain in the ass. Couldn’t wait to get rid of you.”
“Then it worked.”
“What worked?”
“My plan. I thought the only way I’d survive was by giving them a hard time, so they’d be only too happy to sell me.”
“Why didn’t you just pretend to cooperate and wait for a chance to get away?”
“It’d never happen. They keep a close watch on the ‘help’ while they work. And afterward, they’re locked up.” The sour expression on Jackson’s face reflected an unpleasant thought. “They’re kept in dungeon-like rooms, crowded to the gills. It’s horrible. Think of everything you’ve ever read about slavery and how blacks were treated worse than animals. It’s pretty much the same thing. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I would never believe it was happening. I mean, for God sake, this is the twenty-first century and we’re dealing with slavery? Un-freaking-believable.”
They’d left the hotel and were headed out for something to eat. Except for a few cuts and bruises, Jackson looked no different than any other tourist. It was late so the bar they found not far from Mo’s was fairly quiet with only a few patrons nursing their drinks.
“So, how do we find Izzie?” Zac directed the question more to himself than to his brother and was surprised when Jackson spoke up.
“Maybe you do a repeat of what you did earlier; go to Mo’s and say you want a white girl. Act like you’re a racist and wouldn’t consider having sex with someone who wasn’t of the white persuasion.”
In between bites of his taco, Zac listened intently. “You know that might work. I just paid eight hundred for a white boy—he stressed the word ‘boy’ and waited for Jackson to react. When he didn’t, Zac continued. “It wouldn’t be hard to convince them I’m interested
in either buying or being serviced by a white woman. Even if Izzie’s not there, they might let it slip where she’s gone.”
After eating, they went their separate ways—Jackson back to the hotel for badly needed rest and Zac to make yet another purchase.
Chapter 70
Zac was sitting at a table drinking a bottle of Belikin’s when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Thinking it was the waitress checking to see if he was ready for another, he prepared to wave her away, then heard a familiar voice.
“Well, hey Zac. How ya’ doin’?”
He looked up to see Charlie, the first mate from Captain Tom’s yacht, a broad smile spread across his face. Zac stood and gave him a hearty handshake.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch. Charlie, what’re you doing here?”
“I have a couple days between trips. Can I join you for a drink?”
A niggling voice inside Zac reminded him he had a job to do that didn’t include sitting around making small talk. He hesitated a second too long.
“Maybe another time” Charlie said and started to walk away.
“No, wait.” Zac called after him. “Pull up a chair. I have some business to attend to, but it can wait.” He called the waitress over. “My friend here needs a drink.”
Zac liked and respected Charlie and was happy to see him despite the fact they had little in common. “So, how’s the captain treating you?”
The merriment left Charlie’s face. He shrugged. “What can I say? Captain Tom’s a bastard but he pays well, so I shouldn’t complain. Besides, who really likes their boss anyhow?”
Zac nodded his agreement.
“You enjoying Ambergris?”
“Haven’t seen much yet, but it seems interesting enough.” If he didn’t have to rescue his brother’s friend from traffickers, it might actually be a nice place for a vacation.
“Somehow you don’t look like you’re having a good time,” Charlie gave him a penetrating glance. “I know my way around if you need help.” When Zac didn’t respond, he leaned in and added in a conspiratorial tone, “I don’t mean to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but you seem like you could use a little friendly advice. Belize is a country with two faces; while it’s a paradise for tourists, it also has a sordid underbelly. I don’t know which you’re looking to experience, but if it’s the latter you’d best be careful. Around here, people have been known to disappear into the jungle when they get involved with the wrong crowd, if you catch my drift.”
Charlie’s words took Zac by surprise. While the din of the music and club patrons made hearing difficult, he got the message. He just didn’t know how to respond. On the one hand, he could use help rescuing Izzie, especially from someone familiar with the area, but on the other, how much did he actually know about the man? What if he was in cahoots with the traffickers and he confided in him; what then?
“Thanks for the warning, but you needn’t worry. I’m just here for a good time, doing my tourist thing before I go back to the States.” He took a long pull on his beer.
“Great. Don’t miss the Barrier Reef, it’s only a quarter mile from Ambergris. It’s among the top ten dive destinations in the world.” He laughed. “Listen to me, you’d think I was some kinda travel agent the way I’m going on.” Charlie glanced at his watch. “Well, I gotta go. Thanks for the drink. Enjoy your stay.”
He stood, then hesitated. “If you want to get together, I’m staying at Hotel del Rio over on the beach.” When Zac gave him an uncomprehending look, he added, “It’s about half a mile north of Central Park. I’ll be there till the captain’s ready to leave—for a couple days at least.” With that, he took his leave.
Zac nursed his beer another twenty minutes, then called the waitress over. “I’m kinda lonely and can use some company. Can you help me out with that?” The girl wasn’t the one who’d led him to the back room earlier.
Without registering disapproval, she said, “Follow me.” and led him down the same hallway he’d gone down before. When she opened a door and he saw a dark-skinned girl in scanty clothes sitting on the side of a bed, he stopped her and said, “I prefer a white girl. You got any?”
She stared at him seeming not to comprehend his request.
Pinching his skin, he said, “White skin. I want a girl with white skin.”
“This nice girl, clean. Take bath. Skin not dirty,”
Zac had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when he realized she’d misunderstood his meaning. “I want a white woman,” he said slowly. “You understand ‘white woman’?”
Closing the door, she raised her hand and said, “Wait here.”
As Zac stood in the hallway, it occurred to him that she could solve all his problems—or at least a major one—if she came back with Izzie in tow. Could he possibly be that lucky?
Several minutes later she returned, not with Izzie or another woman for that matter, it was Mo who accompanied her.
“Well, look who’s back. Good seeing you again so soon.” He reached out his hand to shake Zac’s. “I hear the girl’s not to your liking.” He inclined his head toward the closed door. “That’s no problem. We’ll get you another; we have plenty.”
Zac shook Mo’s hand, despite the fact it made his skin crawl. “She misunderstood. I prefer sticking with my own kind—if you know what I mean. You got any white women?” He hoped his imitation of a racist was convincing.
Mo scratched his chin, causing his flabby jowls to shake. “Hmmm, ah, yes, I know what you’re talking about. Lemme think. We had a white girl come through a couple days ago, but she’s already gone.”
Zac frowned. “Son of a bitch! Can you tell me where? I haven’t had any for awhile, so you know, I can use a little, ah, female companionship.”
Mo threw back his head and laughed. “Why don’t you just close your eyes and pretend their skin’s white, I mean, wouldn’t it be easier than going to the trouble of finding a white girl? They’re scarce around here, you know.”
“I’m finding that out, but you know a man’s got his principles after all.”
Mo hesitated. “I almost never do this. If my client found out I gave you his information, it wouldn’t go well for me.”
“Who am I gonna tell? I just want to get laid.”
The man slapped him on the back. “Oh, all right. I’ll do it as a special favor for a new customer. Wait here and I’ll see if I can find out what they did with her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know. Sometimes they take them for personal use; other times, they put them in service where they do business. I don’t ask questions; just take the money and pass’em on.” He paused to see if Zac had anything more to say, when he didn’t, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
Chapter 71
The following day, Zac and Jackson headed out to the Dias Del Sol Resort about ten miles north of San Pedro. On a pristine stretch of beachfront, Zac was stunned at the beauty of the place. The exterior was pale orange adobe, a perfect fit with its tropical setting.
The registration area spilled into a spacious great room complete with French doors providing access to a veranda. Lounge chairs upholstered in vibrant red and orange prints along with tables and matching umbrellas were more than a little inviting.
He and Jackson were shown to a spacious accommodation with two queen-sized beds, a bath and private veranda with access to the beach. Spectacular views of the Caribbean beckoned from every vantage point.
The brochure in the room bragged that “cable TV, DVD player, a full stock of DVDs, stereo and CDs, wireless Internet, games and books were included along with the use of a freshwater pool, kayaks, bikes and tennis courts.”
“Think the services of trafficked women are part of the ‘amenities?’” Zac quipped.
“Those’d probably be extra, kinda like when you get something from the minibar.” Jackson said and flopped down on the bed. “What now? How do we even know she’s here?”
“We don’t. But Mo said so
me guys bought a white girl from him a few days ago. Said he remembers because most of their ‘stock’ comes from Central or South America, so a white girl from the States really stands out.”
When Jackson appeared doubtful, Zac added, “Got a better idea?”
“Not really. All right, if it is her, what then? How’re we gonna get her out of the hotel—let alone out of the country?”
“That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.” Zac glanced in the mirror, smoothed his hair and said, “Let’s get something to eat, I’m starving.”
Chapter 72
They had dinner on the veranda overlooking the Caribbean. Zac ordered steak served with garlic mashed potatoes, vegetables and a green salad while Jackson had blackened snapper with white rice and zucchini. They shared a bottle of red wine.
When they were finished, Zac moved to a lounge chair and gazed at the peaceful scene that surrounded them. “Boy, this is the life, isn’t it?”
Jackson gave him a look that said, “You kidding me?”
“Yeah, I know, I know. You don’t have to remind me, but let me enjoy myself for a few minutes, okay?”
It wasn’t that he’d forgotten why they were there; he’d been turning it over and over in his mind trying to decide how to approach the guy. Mo said to ask for Sid, that he’d bought a white girl earlier in the week and that she was “in service” at the resort and would be available as a special favor to him.
If it turned out to be Izzie they were halfway home—halfway because they still had to find a way to get her out of there. It wouldn’t be a simple matter of buying her as he had Jackson. According to Mo, a white girl was rare in this area and would be in demand. He’d hated to let her go.
The thought of what she must be going through made Zac sick. Maybe, like Jackson, she’d refused to comply and they would be only too happy to get her off their hands. He doubted it. They’d likely beat her until there was nothing left of the spunky woman Jackson had described.