by Peg Brantley
“Know that this goes against every one of my journalistic instincts.” Darius handed the journal to Cade.
“Check in with your father instincts and tell me this isn’t the right thing to do,” Cade said.
Back at the kitchen table, Mary Thomas slid a sheet of paper toward Cade. It had three names on it. “I couldn’t think of anyone else. She didn’t hang out that often with friends, ya know? She mostly just read.” Cade knew Jayla’s mother probably wasn’t all that in touch with kids her daughter considered friends. Cade had seen it a lot in families where children turned to cults.
“Did you include the neighbors Jayla babysat for? The one’s she tutored through the school?”
Mary added a couple more names. “These the ones she sat for. The school ones you have to get from the school.”
Cade nodded and handed her Jayla’s diary. “We found this Mary. It’s your daughter’s journal.”
Mary took the bound pages and pressed them to her heart. “My baby’s?”
Cade nodded.
“Did you read it? Did you find out what happened?”
“It doesn’t belong to us. It could hold important information, evidence even, but it rightfully belongs to you since Jayla isn’t here.”
Mary pressed the diary tighter.
“We’re hoping you’ll lend it to us. Maybe we’ll find a few more names we can add to the list.”
“I could do that—”
“And we’re experts at seeing other things that might not seem important to anyone else.” Cade leaned forward in her chair, hands folded in front of her on the table. “Would you be willing to trust us with your daughter’s journal? I promise you, we won’t damage it, and we’ll get it back to you as soon as we’ve had a chance to read it.”
The wall clock ticked seconds off as they waited for Mary Thomas’s answer.
Cade wondered if maybe Darius hadn’t been right. To just take the damn diary and return it later. Hell, any law enforcement agency would’ve confiscated it as evidence. No drama.
But that’d never been the way she operated, and she wasn’t going to go all official now. Not when this mother was in so much pain.
Slowly Jayla’s mother inched the precious pages away from her breast. She sat the diary on the table, her hand resting protectively on top. She looked down at it and blinked, mouth fighting back the anguished cries fighting to get out. “Jayla might not be important to the people on the news. She might not be important to cops who already have too much to take care of. But she’s my baby. She’s important to me. And you’re the first who want to help.”
She extended the book toward Cade, but didn’t let go.
Cade reached her hand out and Mary Thomas slapped her other hand over Cade’s wrist and squeezed. Hard. “Don’t mess with my baby girl. If there’s shit in here that could hurt Jayla, it don’t go nowhere.”
The two women made eye contact. Intense brown eyes met intense green eyes, and held.
“On my word, Mary Thomas, we will not cause more harm to your daughter. And we’ll do everything in our power to bring your girl home to you.”
Jayla’s mom released her grip on both Cade’s wrist and the diary. “Do it then. Do it quick. My baby’s in trouble.”
The global sex slavery market generates $32 billion in profits every year, outpacing illegal drugs. Factor in the statistic that the average human is sold into slavery for less than $100 and you begin to see the scope of the problem.
— Human Trafficking Facts & Stats, Force4Compassion
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Donald Miller?” Mex watched the young man’s eyes as he tried to figure out what the two strangers at his door wanted. Tried to figure out how much trouble he might be in. Tried to figure out who… and then Mex saw the realization hit.
“I saw you on the news. You’re here about Alexis. Sorry, but I’m on my way out.”
“We only need a few minutes.”
“Mind walking with me?”
“Yeah,” Mex said. “I do. Can we talk inside?”
“I, uh… sure. Why not? Come in.”
“Nice art,” Mex said as he looked around.
“Thanks.”
Mex walked over to more closely examine a glass sculpture.
“Um, let’s go in the living room where we can sit down.”
The three walked into a room with sliders at the end opening onto a small balcony.
“Great view,” Darius said as he looked out the doors. “Do you use the trails much?”
“Almost every day.”
“Donald—” Mex said.
“Donny, please. Or Don.”
“Donny, my name is Mex Anderson. As you know, I’ve been hired by Steven and Adele Halston to find their daughter. My partner here is Darius Johnson.”
Donny nodded at both men.
“We understand you’re Alexis’s personal trainer. Is that correct?”
“I am. I was. I mean, yeah. I am.”
“How long have you worked with Alexis?”
“A couple of years I guess. Maybe a little longer.”
“How long have you been a trainer?”
“About nine years.”
“Have you always worked at the same place?” Darius asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Where else have you trained?”
“Three or four other places. At least two of them have closed.”
“Can you get us the names and locations?”
“Yeah, sure. But it’ll take some digging.”
Darius handed him a card. “Let me know.”
“Why do you want to know about my old gyms? What do they have to do with Alexis?” He looked at Darius, then Mex. “Wait. You think I had something to do with her going missing?”
“We’re just being thorough. The Halstons are paying us to find their daughter, and in order to do that we’re examining everything in her life including the people around her.”
“I get it.”
“Was there anyone at the fitness center you might have noticed who seemed to take an unusual interest in Alexis?”
Donny shook his head.
“Think, Donny. Think.”
“Alexis was… is a great looking girl. She always gets attention. Some of it might have been unusual, but not from me.”
“Did you date her?”
“We went out once.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“Look around you. She’s out of my league. Her daddy would never approve of his daughter hanging out with a gym rat. We both decided it was best to keep our relationship physical. In a non-intimate way.”
“Where were you the day Alexis went missing?” Mex asked.
“I’m not sure when she disappeared, but the day before I heard about it we’d had a workout session. She was depressed at the beginning, but her endorphins kicked in and I’m pretty sure she left happy.”
“What time was that?”
“Probably about five o’clock.”
“Okay, thanks. We’re trying to put together a timeline.”
Mex handed him his card. “Call me if you think of anything. Sorry if we made you late.”
“No worries.”
Back in the car, Darius’s deep voice filled the space. “What was that all about?”
“He’s at the top of a very short list and I don’t want to make him run. I want you to find out everything you can about the other centers he’s worked at as a trainer or anything else.”
“What am I looking for?”
Mex put the car in gear and pulled out. “We’ll know it when we see it.”
Darius’s phone rang and he looked at the Caller ID. “It’s my contact on the Denver PD.”
“Hey, Mark,” Darius said. “Wow, buddy. That’s terrific. Wait a minute, I need to get—”
Mex passed him a pad and pen.
“Never mind. Go.” Darius scribbled. “Thanks, man. We’ll be in touch.”
“Why didn’t Halston give you th
e name of the detective working his daughter’s case?” Darius asked Mex after he’d ended the call.
“I didn’t want it.”
“Why?”
“Bureaucracy. You have no idea how much faster you and I can move without it.”
“Yeah, but the bureaucracy has access to things we don’t.”
“Point.”
“At any rate, we now have the name and number of the Greenwood Village detective assigned to the Halston disappearance.
“Okay. Keep it. We’ll contact him if necessary.”
“And we have an appointment with him first thing in the morning.”
“Shit.”
A month into her training for the mounted police, Skates called again to say she just spent a sleepless night. At two p.m. the day before, she cruised past the Motel 6. “And there they were all over again—14-,15,-16-year-old girls in five-inch heels and miniskirts, walking across the parking lot. I called my old lieutenant and asked him if he could do something.
—Sex Trafficking of Americans: The Girls Next Door, by Amy Fine Collins
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JAYLA
Sunlight flares hot-white into the interior of the dark van, causing all of us to shield our eyes before stepping out into the parking lot.
I have no idea where we are or even what city we’re in. What’s familiar is the cheap motel and a sports stadium within spitting distance.
“You! Cherie! Get your ass over here.”
I walk over to the man everyone calls Daddy. My third night after being turned out, a customer started yelling and beating me. He’d somehow managed to lock the door. The crazed man brandished a knife and I knew for sure I was going to die. But Daddy broke into the room and saved me. I thought maybe Daddy cared about my safety. Turns out he did, but not in the way I’d hoped. He was only protecting his investment.
I stand silently in front of him, waiting to hear what he has to say. If I speak first I could get a pop in the jaw.
“Since you’re so kind and nurturing with the new bitch, you can show her what’s expected. I want to see money from her tonight. Not tomorrow, got it?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What do you think we should call her?”
“I think we should call her Debbie,” I offer.
He laughs. “Like the old Debbie Does Dallas pornos. Good. I like it. A dose of history won’t hurt and a few of our customers are likely to get the reference.”
“Daddy?”
“What? I don’t have time to chit-chat.”
“Since I’m training her, can I get some credit in my own account from you?”
“I should knock you to the ground right now. Did I say you’d get some credit?”
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t fuck with me. You will bring me your usual tonight or pay a special price tomorrow. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Oh, and since you’re training? You’re both in the same room. I got double beds.” He hands me a baggie with capsules in it. “You know what to do with this. Now get in your room, freshen your makeup, and get clothes on that make you vaguely hot. The big game isn’t for two more nights, but fans are coming in early.”
I nod and start to walk away.
“Cherie?”
I turn to look back at the man I’ve come to hate.
“How about a hug for Daddy?”
* * *
“Come with me.” I bump against Karen, the new girl who’d been crying when the van trip began.
“Where’re we going?” Karen followed me without question. I felt a rock in my gut. I’m to Karen like Ginger was to me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Kar—”
“No. What’s your name?”
“My name is Debbie.”
“Perfect.” I led the girl to the unlocked room Daddy said was ours. I didn’t have a key, I never did. That would give me too much control.
Once inside the room, I dump my bag on one of the sad looking beds and inspect the room. The carpet is old and crappy and probably hasn’t been vacuumed in six months. I sure don’t want to look too closely at the corners or the bathroom or even the sheets on the beds. It looks like every motel room I’ve seen since my life has turned upside down and inside out. One more battlefield. One more place to try and survive. What I know is today I will not be a victor.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll be a victim.
“Come on, Debbie. We gotta get cleaned up.”
The new girl stands in the doorway looking at the room, eyes wide and tearing up.
“I have one last question for Karen, and then you’re going to put her away someplace safe, got it?”
A nod.
“Have you ever had sex?”
An anguished cry answers the question.
I have to wonder how this girl ever got past the Virgin Police. Virgins could command special prices. Sometimes even a bidding war. I realize I can play this. Get a positive bounce with Daddy, not become Karen’s Ginger, and…
Ginger hadn’t asked me if I’d ever had sex. Ginger had assumed that since I was fifteen and from “that” part of town, it was a given I wasn’t a virgin. That first time had been terrifying and painful.
I sit Karen down on the edge of the bed and kneel on the floor in front of her, grabbing her hands and demanding the attention of her eyes. “Are you sure you’ve never had sex? That you’re a virgin? Don’t lie to me.”
Karen nods.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m a vir-vir-virgin.”
“Okay. I’m gonna go talk to Daddy. You should know this only buys you limited time. He could have a guy lined up for you tomorrow, or even later tonight. But for now, you can relax.”
“Jayla? I mean, Cherie? What does it mean that I haven’t had sex? Will it be better or worse?”
I remember my first time. The john had tried to pretend he was interested in me, but I was too scared to play along with him. When it was over, and I sprawled on the bed in tears, he didn’t even acknowledge me as he zipped up his pants and left the room. Other than my humiliation, physical pain, fear and the man’s lack of interest, all I can remember about my first sexual experience is the blood on the sheets.
I look at Karen. “I don’t know. All I can tell you for sure is that it won’t be now. Is that okay with you?”
Karen’s entire body shivers. She nods. “Whatever you think is best.”
My heart clenches. This is so not what I think is best. What I think is best is that we shouldn’t be here. You and I should both be back where we could be regular teenage girls. I take a breath. “I’ll go talk to Daddy.”
The expression on Karen’s face was a combination of hope and worship. Like she’d been saved from a fate worse than death. The truth was, she hadn’t.
“Just in case, freshen your makeup and get dressed. I have a feeling regardless of how it ends up for you, it’s going to be a long night.” I set the baggie of drugs on the bed. “When I tell you to take one of these, and I will, don’t hesitate. I don’t care if it’s in thirty minutes or sometime later this week. Take the damn pill.”
“I trust you.”
I want to throw something. “Don’t trust me. Trust Debbie. Protect Karen. Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve been telling you?”
“Yeah, but you’re still here. You’re someone I can trust.”
“And what did I just say?”
“You said not to trust you. But I do. Because you’re the only one who’s tried to help me.”
“So this is the end, Debbie. The last thing you will trust me about is to take a drug. Period. After that you only have yourself. You only have Debbie. Don't listen to anything anyone else tells you. Debbie has the instincts to keep you safe. Only Debbie. Jayla will be gone and there’s no tellin’ what Cherie might say.”
“Okay. Only Debbie.”
“I’ve done all I can do. Now it’s up to you. I’m out of it. I have
to be out of it.”
I give Debbie one long last look before I shut the door behind me and seek out Daddy. He’s standing in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette and looking stoned. Shit, he’s wasted. If he is high he might not register a thing I’m telling him.
“Daddy?”
“What do you want, bitch?”
So it’s a hate day. His tone is like a hard slap in the face and a reminder he can be violent. Tomorrow he might show me how much he loves me, protects me, counts on me.
I learned in my second week, when I tried to run away, it’s all about control. His control. He’d beaten me almost to the point of death, and threatened my family as well. For the next several days, it was Daddy who nursed me back to health from the beating he inflicted. He was kind and gentle.
But today is today.
“I’ve learned something you should know.”
He laughs. Mean and hateful. A laugh that originates from evil. “What in the world could you have to tell me?”
“Do you remember the girl who was crying in the van? The one you wanted me to train?”
He looks blank.
I try again. “Debbie does Dallas?”
Hesitation followed by a smile. “Yeah. My retro girl.”
“Well, your retro girl might score you a lot more.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s a virgin.”
Daddy starts to laugh and then catches himself. “A virgin?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not trying to stall are you, Cherie?”
“Nope. She said she’s a virgin and I believe her.”
“Well that changes shit.”
“I thought it might.”
“I have a fuckin’ auction.”
“What do you want me to do about tonight?”
“You both stay in the room. No visitors. No communication.”
Since the launch of Operation Predator in 2003, HSI (Homeland Security Investigations) has arrested more than 14,000 individuals for crimes against children, including the production and distribution of online child pornography, traveling overseas for sex with minors, and sex trafficking of children.