“I can understand how a girl might be initially lured in,” Dre said, “but why don’t they just run away?”
“It’s not that simple. First, the pimp keeps really close tabs on them. And by the time a pimp puts a girl on the street, she’s so traumatized and brainwashed that she’ll do whatever she’s told to do out of fear. They’re beaten or threatened with death or the death of someone close to them. The girls I see show the same signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as the soldiers coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. The only difference is they never get treated for it.”
Loretha was growing animated, pointing her finger as she spoke.
“And you have to remember that we’re talking about children. The youngest one I’ve seen was nine. The first few times they have sex with a john is bad, but after being raped day after day, they become numb to it. You ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome? That’s where hostages begin to bond with their captors. Well, it’s real.”
Angela saw alarm in Dre’s face and knew he was imagining this happening to his niece. She could feel his leg bouncing up and down underneath the table. She wanted to stop Loretha. To tell her that they’d heard enough.
“It’s like a rat who realizes that he’s trapped. He finally stops trying to escape, even after the gate’s been opened. Those three girls who were kidnapped by that psycho in Cleveland a while back were there for over ten years before one of them tried to escape. The psychological beat down these girls experience is way worse than the physical one. Bruises eventually heal. It can take years to heal your soul.”
Loretha poured cream and sugar into her coffee.
“Frankly, many girls don’t leave because they’re too embarrassed to return home. And even if she could leave, where is she going to go? Her family didn’t want her in the first place and there aren’t nearly enough facilities like mine to house them.
“Her pimp, however, promises to always take care of her. In the beginning, he romances her, tells her he loves her and praises her for all the money she’s making him. For many of these girls, it’s the first time they’ve ever been praised by anybody. So they begin to feel okay about what they’re doing. Then a month or two, or four or five later, there’s a new girl, a younger girl, who’s demanding the pimp’s time and attention. He now uses beatings, not praise to control her. She either makes him money or she’s gets beat up. And every dime she makes goes to her pimp. It’s slavery.”
Loretha paused. “That’s basically my story, but it’s being repeated over and over and over again all over the country and even around the world.”
Dre picked up his hamburger, then put it back down. He wasn’t sure how to respectfully ask his next question. “How long ago were you—uh, when did you leave The Shepherd?”
Loretha grimaced. “A little over five years ago. I was no longer working the streets when I left. Shep hadn’t taken his operation online yet. I was the one—” She paused as her eyes moistened. “I was the one who lured girls in for him. They were much more likely to trust a woman.”
Angela squeezed Loretha’s forearm. “How old were you when you first met him?”
She laughed softly. “Sixteen and as grown as hell.”
“So you were a teen prostitute?” Dre asked.
Loretha nearly bared her teeth. “There’s no such thing as a teen prostitute,” she snapped. “They’re children. Sexually exploited children.”
Dre held up both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Loretha said, slumping against the booth and cupping her forehead. “But that’s another term that really pisses me off. If a teacher is caught sleeping with a fifteen-year-old student—a student who claims she’s in love—she’s an abuse victim. But if a grown-ass man picks up a child off the street and pays her for sex, she’s a prostitute. There’s an adult taking advantage of a child in both situations.
“In the school scenario, the child gets counseling,” Loretha continued. “In my world, the child goes to jail. The teacher might spend years in prison, but the john will get nothing more than a slap on the wrist, if he’s even caught, that is. Let’s not talk about the pimp because he rarely faces any jail time. In both cases, children are being sexually exploited. The only difference is the exchange of money. That shouldn’t make a difference.”
Dre took in what she was saying. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”
Loretha sucked in air and took a moment to collect herself. “When Shep got his hands on me, I was fresh off the bus from Cleveland. I was certain I was going be the next big female rapper. Queen Loretha.” She laughed. “I had saved up forty-two hundred dollars from babysitting, braiding hair and my job at the mall. I thought it would last me until I signed my record deal.
“One of Shep’s guys zeroed in on me ten minutes after I stepped off the Greyhound bus. I probably had lost little girl stamped across my forehead. He fed me, gave me a place to stay and promised to hook me up with one of his record producer friends. I was so naive.”
“And they put you on the street, just like that?” Angela asked.
“Nope. They groomed me. At first, I was Shep’s girlfriend. Treated like royalty. Always praised for my body. The first thing he did was put me on the pole at City Stars. I actually enjoyed the dancing and having men throw money at me. And by the way, ninety percent of the women in the sex industry have a history of sexual abuse. I was no different. In no time, I went from lap dancing to private dancing. After that, hitting the track and turning my first trick didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Shep constantly told me I was special. He ultimately took me off the streets and saved me for his high rollers. I was making upwards of five grand a week. Except I was making it for him, not me.”
Dre thought about Katrina and wondered if she’d end up following that same path.
“What can you tell us about The Shepherd?” Dre asked.
Loretha shrugged. “Shep is a businessman first and a pimp second, which is why he’s never spent a day in jail. He thinks of himself as some supreme being. In his mind, he’s like a David Koresh or a Jim Jones.”
“Hold up,” Dre said. “This cat sounds delusional.”
Loretha laughed. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think he is. Has an ego the size of a mountain. There’re two things he covets: power and money. He demands respect and will be offended by the most harmless slight. Like someone walking into a room and failing to acknowledge him. And no matter how much money he makes, he’ll never have enough of it.”
“Is the business really that lucrative?” Angela asked.
“He’s made millions of dollars over the years.”
Angela’s face contorted. “Millions?”
“Millions,” Loretha repeated. “He’s got a lot of girls, and not just here in California.”
“Is he violent?” Angela asked.
“He never laid a hand on me and I never saw him get violent with any of the other girls. But there were rumors that he’d paid others to kill for him. Frankly, I think he put those rumors out there so people would fear him. He’s basically a punk at heart who’s hiding behind this illusion of power that he’s created in his head.”
Dre folded his hands and set them on the table. This was all very interesting, but there was really only one thing he wanted to know. “Where do you think he might be holding Brianna?”
“Finding your niece is going to be hard,” Loretha said. “His girls never stay in one place very long. He has several properties in L.A. and I hear he now owns a couple of rundown motels in the Valley.”
“We should go online and search for properties in his name,” Angela said.
“That’ll be a waste of time. Shep has so many shell corporations, you’ll never find anything that’s directly tied to him.”
“Where does he send the girls to…” Dre had a hard time coming up with the right words. “Do what they do?”
“I hear he runs most of his operation online now. T
he guys make appointments online and go to his motels for their dates. He may have a few girls on the tracks in the Hollywood area, but he only puts them on the street to punish them for some infraction, like being too sick to turn a trick.”
Loretha lowered her head and rubbed the back of her neck.
“How’d you break away?” Angela asked.
“Shep eventually got me strung out on heroin. He never touched the stuff himself, but he used drugs to control others. I was just worn out. I couldn’t take it anymore. I also started to feel guilty about the girls I was bringing into the fold. One in particular.”
A heavy silence settled over the booth. Neither Angela nor Dre said a word, willing to let Loretha reveal her story at her own pace.
“There was this long-time client we called Demonic. Guy in his fifties. Professional man. Looked like somebody’s grandfather. He liked getting a little rough with the girls. He paid big for this privilege. Shep charged him three grand for an hour with a girl. He only let him have girls who mouthed off.”
Loretha stopped to take a sip of her coffee, then continued.
“Rena was seventeen. Back then, Shep didn’t mess with the really young ones. She was raised in the foster care system and had been in and out of trouble. One of Shep’s guys found her at a park. The girl had a strong personality, always talking back. To teach her a lesson, Shep gave her to Demonic. When she came back later that night, she was all bloody and beaten to a pulp. Rena told me that Demonic punched her in the face and sodomized her with a broomstick. He also used a lighter to burn her breasts and groin. She had blisters everywhere. I swear he’d never done anything that sick to any of the other girls.”
Loretha wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Rena was never the same after that. A week later, she ran off. After I got my life together, I started looking for her. I only found her several months ago, pushing a grocery cart up Figueroa. She lives underneath the freeway. I brought her to Harmony House once, but she disappeared within a couple of days. One of my social worker friends tried to help her too, but Rena would always go right back to the street.”
Angela reached out and placed a hand on top of Loretha’s.
“After Rena told me what Demonic had done to her that night, I was never the same either. I let that happen to her. My addiction was no excuse. A few days later, Shep sent me out to the mall to recruit some new girls. But I couldn’t get the image of Rena out of my head. It was a Sunday morning and there was a church right across the street from the mall. Something drew me inside. When I stepped in there, I swear that minister was preaching a message for me and nobody else. When I finally gathered the courage to walk down the aisle to join the church, I was crying so hard, I could barely stand. They took me to a women’s shelter and the rest is history.”
“Shep never came looking for you?” Angela asked. “You’re basically trying to put him out of business.”
“Let’s just say we have a gentleman’s agreement. I have enough information to send him away for a very long time.”
“Then why don’t you then?” Dre asked, his tone critical.
Loretha’s gaze fell to the table. “Because I’d be in jail right along with him. I can’t make excuses for the horrible things I did. That’s why I work so hard now to save every girl I can find. I want to get to them before some pimp turns them into the kind of person I used to be.”
She paused. “But don’t worry. Shep’s eventually going to get everything he deserves.” Loretha’s words sounded more like a prediction than a statement.
Though little of what she’d heard was news to her, Angela felt saddened.
“I want to help,” she said in a determined voice. “I completed your training program and got certified late last year, but I never made the time to volunteer. I need to do more than just represent these girls in court. I want to help them get out of the life.”
Loretha hung her head. “I hate that term. The life. Makes it sound as if it’s something glamorous or special. It’s no life at all.”
When embarrassment clouded Angela’s face, Loretha reached out and patted Angela’s hand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so touchy. I’d love it if you could come speak to our girls and maybe even mentor some of them. They really need to see someone who looks like them making it in the world.”
“I could probably get some of my friends from Black Women Lawyers and California Women Lawyers to be mentors too. Maybe I could even set up a formal mentoring program for you.”
“Excellent.”
Loretha turned to Dre.
“If you want to get to Shep, you have to get to one of the guys closest to him. They’re not all that bright. Clint Winbush is his main gopher.”
“I’ve met him,” Dre said.
She smiled. “If a cop ever got him in an interrogation room, he’d start wailing like a baby in two seconds flat. If anybody knows where Brianna’s being held. He does.”
All three of them appeared exhausted by their dire discussion.
“You need to do everything you can to find your niece,” Loretha said. “Fast. She’s only been with Shep a couple of days, so he probably hasn’t put her out there yet. But it won’t be long before he does.”
Day Three Missing
* * *
“Human trafficking is a low-risk, high-profit business—an estimated $32 billion-a-year global industry that has recently attracted the participation of increasingly sophisticated, organized criminal gangs. Domestic street gangs set aside traditional rivalries to set up commercial sex rings and maximize profits from the sale of young women.”
—The State of Human Trafficking in California,
California Department of Justice
Chapter 43
Day Three: 9:45 a.m.
Not long after their meeting with Loretha, Dre received a frantic call from his sister. She was talking a mile a minute, making it difficult for him to comprehend what she was saying. When he finally did understand, he couldn’t believe it.
Three other girls from Brianna’s school had disappeared in the last eighteen months.
What in the hell was going on?
Dre had immediately rushed back to his sister’s house in Compton and spent much of the night trying to calm her down. The next morning, they made multiple calls to the police as well as city hall, but no one seemed to be taking their concerns seriously. Dre finally decided that they needed to speak to Brianna’s principal. Donna had promised Bonnie Flanagan not to disclose how she’d learned about the other girls.
They were now sitting in the parking lot just west of the school’s main office.
“Let me do the talking when we get inside, okay?” Dre said.
If Donna started crying, they’d get nothing accomplished. She looked a mess. Her hair was barely combed and her eyes were so swollen they bulged from her face. He rubbed his scratchy chin and silently acknowledged that he wasn’t a pretty sight either.
Dre climbed out of the car, then walked around to open the passenger door and helped his sister out.
She looked up at him with a weak smile. “You never did that before.”
He simply smiled back, placed his arm around her shoulders and led her into the school.
They signed in and told the receptionist that they wanted to see the principal.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Dre said. “But it’s pretty important.”
The woman started to give them attitude, but must have taken in their sad demeanors. She glanced down at their names.
“Oh,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth. “You must be Brianna’s mother and father.”
“Mother and uncle,” Dre corrected her. “Her father’s deceased.”
“Mr. Ortiz is in a meeting with our assistant principal, but I’ll see if he has a few minutes.”
The woman disappeared down a hallway.
A short while later, a chubby man in a suit that fit too snugly around
the middle sloshed down the hallway.
He extended a hand long before he reached them.
“I’m Manuel Ortiz. I’m so sorry to hear about Brianna. Let me show you to my office.”
Dre and Donna followed him back down the hallway and into his office. He introduced them to the assistant principal, Richard Wainright, who remained standing after they were seated. Dre made no mention of their earlier meeting. Frankly, he was pissed off that Bonnie and Wainright hadn’t told him about the other missing girls on his prior visit. According to what Bonnie told Donna, Ortiz had forbade disclosure of the information. Dre wanted to know why.
“Brianna is one of our brightest students,” Ortiz said. “Her disappearance is so tragic.”
“Yeah,” Dre said awkwardly. “We’re hoping you can help us with some information.”
“What kind of information?”
“We understand that three other girls from this school have also disappeared.”
The principal’s easygoing manner faded away. He hurled a look at Wainright. “And where did you hear that?”
“Does it matter?” Dre said.
“Yes, it does?”
“Well, we’re not at liberty to say.”
The escalating tension seemed to unnerve Wainright. He rubbed his hands together.
“That’s fine,” Ortiz said. “I think I already know who told you. You need to know that Bonnie Flanagan has a very vivid imagination.”
Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2) Page 16