TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  “I’m not a monster, Alexis. Your refusal to punish Miguel won’t cause the deaths of your parents.”

  I feel a sense of relief.

  “But it will cause the death of one of them. Which, I can’t say. Do you have a preference?”

  “You bastard.”

  “You have thirty seconds.”

  “Please, Miss Alexis.”

  “Did I happen to mention that if you don’t cut off one of his fingers, he too will lose a family member.”

  “You son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Here’s a tip. I’ve seen tentative cuts. They only prolong the agony. Hard and swift is the way to go. You have ten seconds.”

  I take up the knife, raise my arm, and while I want to close my eyes I can’t risk not making the perfect cut. Either entirely, coming down on the butcher block itself, or slicing off his hand.

  Fuck this shit.

  I bring my arm down.

  In general, organized crime units tend not to be involved with children younger than 9 years of age—not out of a sense of morality but because such young children are “too difficult” or “too hot” to handle. The exception to this pattern is the use of very young children as subjects of pornography.

  —The Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Children, U.S. National Study, by Richard J. Estes and Neil Alan Weiner,

  University of Pennsylvania 2001 (revised 2002)

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “What do you have for me?” Mex asked Darius. The two were meeting for an early breakfast to share information and discuss strategy. Mex wanted a clear plan before their appointment with the police detective who was working the Alexis Halston missing person case.

  “Where’s Cade?”

  “She said she had something she had to take care of.” Mex looked at the expression on Darius’s face. “What? We don’t babysit each other.”

  “Okay, which first, Donny Miller or Dark Net?”

  “Dark Net.”

  “I didn’t get a lot I’m afraid.”

  Mex sighed.

  “Here’s what I do have. There’s a chance we can utilize facial recognition software. The problem is that it’s unreliable. It doesn’t work nearly as well as it does in the TV shows. The other problem is the sheer volume of photos to sort through could take days, weeks even, and we still might not get a definitive answer.”

  “I hope you have something better.”

  “Not better, but it’s worth taking a closer look. Maybe come up with a plan.”

  “What is it?”

  “An online site called Backpage. While mostly legitimate, the site is also the online equivalent of classified ads. A few of the FBI arrests I’ve turned up have a Backpage connection.”

  “They post photos of kids?”

  “They do.”

  “How can they do that?”

  “Attorneys for these places do their best to blur the line between freedom of speech, and pornography and pedophilia.”

  “That’s fucked.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if someone stopped you from exercising your right.”

  “Freedom of speech doesn’t give anyone the right to exploit children,” Mex insisted.

  Darius nodded. “I agree. The laws are slowly changing, but not everywhere.”

  “So how does Backpage help us if we can’t use the facial recognition software?”

  “I’m thinking we can place a couple of ads. Be specific. Who knows, we might get a hit.”

  “Good idea. Better than nothing. Cade can write a couple of ads.”

  “Cade? I’m a writer.”

  “You write books. Cade lays traps.”

  “Point taken.”

  “What do you have on Miller?”

  “On our young friend, I have a bit more for you.”

  “Go.”

  “Donny Miller’s only discernible employment has been as a personal trainer. Three of the five previous gyms where he’s worked have since closed.” Darius looked at Mex. “Remind me to never get involved in the fitness business.”

  “Done. Keep going.”

  “Nothing notable about his employment, but during the time he was working at Al’s Fitness in Lakewood a sixteen-year-old high school student went missing. She was a member of the gym.”

  “Was Donny her trainer?”

  “No, she had a general membership and didn’t pay for a personal trainer.”

  “Was she ever found?”

  “Two years after she went missing, her body was found in Kansas City.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Asphyxiation. Her body was beaten beyond recognition. Her injuries were pre-mortem and post-mortem. They ID’d her through dental records.”

  “Killer?”

  “It’s a cold case. The LEOs liked either the pimp she was sold to initially or one particular john, but they were never able to get enough evidence.”

  “Damn.”

  “I also did some digging on Les Franklin, the Greenwood Village detective. He’s got a good close rate and doesn’t seem to have an ego that gets in his way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Lack of press. He solves cases but refrains from publicity.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, he’s black.”

  “Well then, we won’t have to worry about Hollywood making a movie about us.”

  “You got that right.” Darius finished off his stack of pancakes.

  “Here’s the plan,” Mex said. “We go into this real slow. I don’t care what color his skin is, unless we both okay this guy, we don’t do a lot of sharing.”

  “I’m down with that. Is there a secret code we’re supposed to use to vote him up or down?” Darius winked.

  [Julie] Greiner [of Lakewood, Colorado] was arrested in October [2015] after investigators learned she was allowing her [12-year-old] daughter to have sex with a 23-year-old Australian man in exchange for gifts and money, according to authorities.

  Greiner’s daughter met Thomas Keski, of Australia, in an online chat in mid-2014, Jefferson County prosecutors say. The two bonded there, according to an arrest warrant, and their relationship became sexual over video chat before they eventually met in person.

  Keski sent money and gifts to the girl and Greiner, including thousands of dollars that was sometimes used to pay Greiner’s rent and other bills, authorities say.

  —Lakewood child sex trafficking conviction is first under new Colorado laws, by Jesse Paul, for The Denver Post,

  Updated May 25, 2016

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Cade waited in the parking lot at the police station for Mex and Darius. The appointment with the detective was fifteen minutes away. Mex wouldn’t show up fifteen minutes early for anything if he could help it.

  The trick for her was to keep her male counterparts strong and confident while she took over this interview. They required an ally in the Greenwood Village PD. And she knew it was up to her to make their meeting beneficial, even if they didn’t wind up with the advantage.

  Which meant it was also up to her to help the two alpha-males in her life find reason. Which, in her experience with them, could be a crapshoot.

  Her phone buzzed. Louisiana area code. Bingo. Advantage, Cade. Or so she hoped. “Boudreaux, tell me you have something that makes me wish I could buy a round.”

  “Maybe I do. Can you be here in twenty?”

  “Can I owe you?”

  “For you, mon cher, anything.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “You were right. Your police detective, Les Franklin, has strong ties to the Big Raggedy. He was involved in the Michael Aarons case and primary on the Sheila Wilkins assault.”

  Cade had remembered correctly. Two cases she’d worked in Baton Rouge, a/k/a the Big Raggedy, had turned out well. A young girl, Sheila Wilkins, had been lured into a cult that professed all women to be virgins regardless of their past, creating a lifeline onto which the young girl had clung. Then there was a young man, Mich
ael Aarons, who somehow had believed in the promise of virgins at his beck and call and that he lived above the law. He’d actually helped lead Cade to the cult. There’d been a lot of uncertainty about both the existence of the cult and the assault until Cade tied them together.

  But she was certain of the detective. Les Franklin was invested in the outcome of his cases more than any other police detective she’d worked with. Now he was in Colorado. A coincidence? Cade didn’t believe in coincidences any more than she believed in luck.

  A few minutes later, Darius’s Range Rover drove into the parking lot. Cade waited for the two men to get out and walk to the main entrance for City Hall. She opened her door as they approached.

  Mex gave her a quick kiss. “I thought you had something to take care of this morning.”

  “I did, and it’s been taken care of.”

  Mex looked uncomfortable.

  “What? Do you have a problem if I join you?” Cade asked.

  Now Darius looked uncomfortable.

  “Give, guys.”

  “We’ve worked out a plan,” Mex said.

  “Plan? I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Well, it’s common sense, really. We’re gonna hold our cards real close to our vests, not share much. Then we both have to okay him before we share more.”

  “C’mon, boys. Lives are at stake here. Isn’t that a teensy bit egotistical on your part?”

  “You’re right. Lives are at stake. And we don’t want to get caught up in bureaucracy. You know as well as we do that police departments are nests of bureaucratic shit.”

  “It’s how they function,” Darius added.

  “Okay. I’ll let you two play your game.”

  “Good. Just follow our lead.” Mex gave her a look, confused by how easily she’d acquiesced.

  The trio walked into the building. A large open lobby filled with natural light made the space feel more like professional offices than an adjunct to a police department. A small sign directed them into a smaller lobby. Mex told the woman behind the desk they had an appointment with Les Franklin.

  “Take a seat and I’ll let Detective Franklin know you’re here.”

  A wall-mounted television was on mute in one corner of the lobby, and the same rigidly plain chairs sold to doctors’ offices lined the walls.

  The detective came through the secured door and made immediate eye contact with Mex, who’d been standing by the wall containing brochures on alcohol, crime prevention, and about twenty other topics. Mex slipped the brochure he was reading, College Students and Depression, into his pocket. The detective held his hand out and introduced himself. Mex did likewise.

  Darius came up and joined the introductions, while Cade stood in the background. When Mex turned to introduce her he didn’t have a chance to get a word out.

  “Acadia, is it you?” Franklin crossed the room to envelope Cade in a bear hug. “Are you with these two?”

  “I am.”

  “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better about working with them. And you.”

  Cade smiled as Mex and Darius each shook their heads in embarrassment and held up a thumb.

  One was an engineer with a Top Secret government clearance. Another was a financial analyst.

  —From an FBI article regarding the planned purchasers of kidnapped women 12/11/15

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ALEXIS

  After I cut off Miguel’s finger I threw up. I don’t know which one of us screamed the loudest, but I do know the echoes of our screams lasted longer than either of our mouths were open. The disembodied voice in the darkness instructed another man to escort me back to my room and said I was to wait until summoned. I felt a strange sense of the surreal when a woman hurried up to Miguel intent on seeing to his hand. Violence followed by concern? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at blood again without recalling the fear and pain contained in those thirty seconds.

  I sit here in my nicely appointed prison cell and realize I’m forever changed. If I suddenly wake up in my old bedroom, nothing would ever be the same. These last few days have left their mark. I’m not the same Alexis I was a week ago or even twenty-four hours ago. Every day that goes by here changes me.

  I walk over to the closet, hoping my clothes will be there. They’re not. To be on the safe side, I select the outfit I think my mom might wear to a committee meeting. Fashionable but conservative. Not my taste, but I don’t want to run the risk of anyone else losing a finger. And it sure does beat the Little Bo Peep or Dominatrix alternatives.

  The light-weight knit really does look like something my mother would wear. I check the label. Yep. St. John’s. It’s a pale lavender with heather-gray piping. Not my colors. But I do have to admit it fits well. I only wish I had my turquoise eye makeup to make my own statement.

  Blindsided. Reality. Rape. The threat of death and torture. My parents’ safety. Hell, I cut a finger off a man’s hand because the alternative was worse. How the fuck am I even thinking about eye makeup?

  I’m in hell. This isn’t a game. I’m lost here. No one knows where I am. No one can help. I’m only pretending.

  And then I remember the slight resistance when the knife met Miguel’s finger. My head was filled with the sound of our terror, but I distinctly remember the contact. The slice. Like it happened separately.

  There’s a knock on the door and yet another guard enters. I’m about to say something about his rudeness, but stop when my eyes meet his. His hate rips through me and I feel heat rise from my chest to my face. He knows about the finger. I can’t help but glance at his hands. He’s either new to the dance or silently persuasive because he has all of his digits. He’s probably wondering if I’m going to be the one to change his luck.

  He thrusts one of his fully-intact hands toward the doorway. I don’t hesitate.

  When I arrive in the hallway, Mr. Hate draws ahead of me. I weigh my options and don’t see any escape avenues. I follow him. The house is enormous. In a far corner he stops and presses a button. An elevator door opens momentarily and we enter, not speaking. Mr. H pushes a button and the car descends.

  Keep it together, Alexis. Keep it together. Don’t let anyone see you sweat. I hear those words in my head and want to hit the speaker, whoever it is. How the hell am I supposed to keep it together when I’m being hand-delivered to a sadist? Maybe a sadist who kills?

  When the elevator doors open we enter a room that confirms my worst fears. I stop and look around. Everywhere I look are objects of torture. I don’t know what they are by name, but I’m pretty sure I’m headed for crazy.

  Before I can take a breath, the guard is gone and I’m isolated in this chamber of horrors. While I’m afraid, I’m also angry. How can one human being do this to another human being?

  “Stop where you are.” It is the same voice from the shadows earlier.

  I stop and square my shoulders. Nobody else is going to stand up for me.

  “Are you vexed, Alexis? Peeved? Pissed off?”

  I suck in a sharp breath and hold it.

  “Don’t you want to express yourself?”

  Screw this. I exhale and take a deep breath. Work to find the voice I know can carry. The voice that demonstrates my strength. “At whose expense? Are there more fingers you wish me to remove?”

  Laughter, deep and robust, fills the air. “Do you know why I bought you?”

  “No one can buy me.”

  Heavier laughter. “That’s where you’re wrong. I purchased you. All of you. Because you aren’t the typical mindless cunt just out to make a few bucks for her pimp. I purchased you because you will give me a challenge. You’re beautiful and intelligent and strong-willed. It’s your will I want to break. When I break your will, I can watch your beauty and intelligence crumble.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  A phone rings. He answers, voice low. I can’t make out the words.

  “I must leave you for a few minutes,
Alexis. Please make yourself at home. Explore my collection.” He chuckles. “I might even let you choose.”

  After his footsteps recede, I’m alone in this room filled with shadows. What is it with this guy and weird lighting? I walk around the perimeter seeking assurance there’s no one else hiding. Leather straps and serious looking metal hand tools on the walls. There’s a magnetized column, like a tall Lazy-Susan, that holds dozens of knives and implements. A refrigerator in the corner looks normal and out of place until I open it. Vials upon vials of drugs are laid out ready for use.

  I’m grateful I didn’t choose the Xena outfit as a joke. It would have been like me to do something stupid. But it might have saved Miguel a finger.

  I go back to where I’d been standing when he left. Does he think he can break me with pain? With drugs? My heart thunders in my chest. He probably can. But I’ll be damned if I’ll make it easy.

  * * *

  His voice comes from behind me. I still haven’t seen him.

  “See that stage in the center of the room? I want you to take it. Claim it. Make it yours.”

  I can’t seem to move or answer him.

  “What have you got to lose, Alexis? Oh, right. Quite a bit as it turns out. At least you think so. Get on that stage. Do it now. Do it now or experience my anger. And I’m quite sure you don’t want to experience my anger over something so trivial. Save your pride for later, love, when it actually matters.”

  I hear him light a cigarette, smell the tobacco burning.

  “Go on, now. Move your stiff, useless self up onto that stage.”

  What is it with this guy and stages?

  Thankfully, my feet are now back in my control. I move to the raised platform in the center of the room. The minute I reach the center of it, a blazing spotlight turns on, blinding me. The rest of the room drops into complete darkness.