TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

Donny interrupted him. “He’s going to want pictures of the product. You got any porn shots on you?”

  Donny’s phone rang as Mex was about to clock him one.

  Timing.

  Donny answered and put the call on speaker. Mex hit the record button on his high-tech recorder. “Hi. Yeah. I’ve got another girl.”

  “Too soon. Too dangerous.”

  “Well, it’s not me exactly.”

  Silence.

  “Who’ve you been talking to?”

  “No one.”

  “How do you know ‘No One’ is looking for a handoff if you didn’t talk to him?”

  “He came to me. We, uh… sort of worked together before.”

  Silence.

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with? Why did he come to you?”

  “Because his buyer is out of the business.”

  “Prison?”

  “Dead.”

  Mex nodded. Apparently Donny had been paying attention while he’d paced.

  “I don’t need any of this shit. Why are you dragging me into this? Jeopardizing our relationship?”

  “Because I need the money.”

  A harsh laugh. “Now that I can believe.” A loud sniff. The guy was snorting. “What’s your cut?”

  “Ten percent.”

  “That’s pretty steep.”

  “Hey, he needs the money too.”

  “What’s he asking?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “You got photos?”

  Mex scribbled something on a piece of paper and shoved it toward Donny.

  “Did you hear me, kid? You got photos?”

  “No. She’s not my girl to hand off. But I know this guy. He’s one of those personal trainers who has a client list of girls with their own gyms at home. She’s probably worth twice what you paid me for Alexis.”

  “Who?”

  “The last girl.”

  Silence.

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “He doesn’t want me to say. He said if this works this time, then you can know more.” Donny rubbed his chin. “You know, just like you don’t like me talking about you, he doesn’t like me talking about him.”

  “I’ll need right of refusal.”

  “Does that mean we’ve got a deal?”

  “No deal until I see the merchandise. But if she’s as special as the last one, yeah. We’ve got a deal.”

  “When and where?”

  After the call ended, Donny turned to Mex. “Okay. I helped you. Now you help me.”

  Mex gave Darius a nod and watched as his partner pressed the button to call the elevator. “How’s that, Donny?” Mex asked.

  “Keep my name out of it with the police.”

  Mex shook his head and turned to leave.

  “You’ll do that for me, right? Right?” Donny called after him.

  Mex walked out of the meet feeling better than he had in days. It wasn’t perfect, but this new guy was one more link in the chain. He’d be a harder sweat, but there was no doubt in his mind he could figure out the scumbag’s weakness. He’d always had an intuition.

  “Why aren’t we having Donny arrested now?” Darius asked once they were outside.

  “Because we might need him. If Franklin and the Greenwood Village PD get their hands on him we’re SOL. He’ll lawyer up and then we’re done.”

  “So when?”

  “Right after we meet with the buyer.”

  “There’s a big demand for boys,” she said. “We just don’t talk about it as a community. We just don’t want to talk about it.” —Officials say sex trafficking cases with male victims highlight issue, an article from The Denver Post, 10/05/2015,

  by Jesse Paul

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  JAYLA

  Someone gulping for air wakes me. I look at the digital clock in the room where five of us are sleeping. Four-thirty. The summer sun will be up pretty soon. The light from the bathroom spills out onto the crowded floor. There aren’t any beds, only mats with blankets that have seen better days.

  At least when there are five people sleeping in a small room, the rats tend to stay away.

  The gulping is coming from the mat next to mine. I’d come in late and hadn’t really taken note of who I was sleeping next to. Hadn’t really cared. I turn to see a small figure lying in a tangle of torn fabric. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  The noise stops completely and I worry that whoever it is has stopped breathing.

  “Breathe. Nice and easy. There’s plenty of air.”

  I’m rewarded by steady breathing. A bit fast, but at least it doesn’t sound desperate.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Da-Da-Da-David.”

  I reach out and rub his shoulder. “Is that what people call you? David?”

  “Davie.”

  “Okay, Davie. You can call me Cherie.” He’s way too young to get the name game. And if he were ever to call me Jayla while Daddy was around, we’d both pay a price.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  He’s shaking so hard I’m afraid he might get sick. “Se-se-seven.”

  I rub his arms.

  LaTisha is gone, with the baby inside her, and now there’s this boy? Seven is too damn young. Oh, please God. Why? You and me are gonna have a serious sit-down when I get out of this. I take a flash-second to remember the Sundays at church back home in Denver and don’t for a minute believe any of those ministers could give me answers to the questions I’m coming up with lately. God better be ready.

  Davie’s shaking lessened.

  “Where’re you from?”

  “Golden.”

  I stifle a gasp. I’m starving for any news. “Colorado?” It would be cool if he was from my home state, but I’ve learned there are Goldens and Lakewoods and Englewoods and Auroras all over the country. I try not to get my hopes up, and quickly remind myself, even if he is from Colorado, what can a seven-year-old kid tell me?

  “Yeah. By Denver.”

  A million questions pile into my mind. I want to know about everything. Has my disappearance made the local news? Is my mom doing anything to try and find me? Has anyone questioned Chris? And then I look into this boy’s sweet face and realize he won’t have any answers.

  I’m learning. I can’t expect answers from seven-year-old kids or ministers.

  Rather than him saving me, he needs me to save him.

  And I’m pretty sure I can’t.

  “Has Daddy put you on a track?”

  “Track? Like a race track?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind.” While I’m relieved Davie doesn’t know the street slang, I wonder how long it will take before he knows a track is the section of street assigned to him. “When did they take you?”

  He starts to cry but screws his face into a determined mask. “I was home two nights ago. Now I’m not.”

  Tonight’s the third night. Most kids are turned out the first night—there are customers who get off on the fear. I’ve never heard of anyone lasting three nights.

  The investors want to get their money back.

  Maybe his age will help save him. Maybe all he’ll have to do are some naked photos for online pervs. Maybe, at least for a while, he won’t have to personally engage.

  I don’t really believe any of this shit I’m thinking. But it’s what I’ve got at the moment.

  And moments are all I’ve got.

  “I get asthma sometimes when I’m scared,” Davie says.

  Oh, great. No telling what’ll happen if Daddy finds out he’s got a kid with a health issue on his hands. “Do you need an inhaler?”

  “No. I just need to get unscared.”

  “Listen to me, Davie. Don’t tell anyone else about your asthma, okay?”

  “Okay. But—”

  “Promise me.”

  “Okay. But I’m not scared now.”

  “That’s good. But you need to promise me you won’t say anything. Promise?”

  “I promis
e.”

  “What made you stop being scared?”

  “You remind me of my mama.”

  I almost laugh out loud. First, I’m only fifteen, and second, there’s no way I look like the mother of this paler than pale, thinner than thin, little white boy with hair sticking out in sprouts on his head. But I guess if I remind him of his mama, and that helps him breathe, it’s a good thing. Anything to keep his mind off where he is now. And where he’ll be tomorrow.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  He starts talking about his mama. The friends in his neighborhood who he’d play with until dusk. Normal memories of childhood. I want to cry. It doesn’t take long for Davie to fall asleep. Hopefully with dreams where he’s surrounded by people who care about him.

  I wonder if he made it on the news even if I didn’t, and immediately regret the comparison. If I ever get out of this, I promise to speak up for the people of color who are forced into whatever kind of slavery—while not discounting the terror of everyone else. We’re all victims. Every person counts.

  God, I want out of here.

  During the three-day operation, undercover Agents posted ads on Backpage.com. During that time, more than 300 contacts were made to those ads.

  —32 Arrested in Knoxville Human Trafficking Operation, from the TBI Newsroom, May 23, 2016

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Cade looked at the list of names she’d made from mentions in Jayla’s diary. Like most who keep personal journals, Jayla hadn’t bothered to use last names when it came to her friends. They’d gotten one last name from Jayla’s mom and the rest fell like dominoes. Still, it had taken a while to track them down, especially when there was more than one possible surname to work with.

  There were three names left. Caroline Jones and either Chris Williams or Chris Stevens, maybe both.

  It wouldn’t be unheard of for a woman to be involved with an abduction, but those events were usually between strangers or enemies. The Caroline mentioned in Jayla’s diary felt more like a friend. Christine Stevens was described as a girl who’d moved to Denver recently.

  If one of the remaining people in Jayla’s circle was responsible, Cade’s money was on Christopher Williams.

  Mex and Darius were running the last three down now.

  In the meantime, they’d come up with a plan to use Backpage in their favor. Cade was working on a couple of things that might pay off. She’d created ads from both Mex and Darius looking for a particular type of girl. Both were looking for Jayla and it was a challenge to make the ads unique.

  Cade wasn’t sure how she felt about Mex trying to get in with the group of traffickers involved in Alexis’s abduction. Sure, she thought, it was smart using two different angles, but she just hoped the Backpage ads would pay off first. Going into a nest of scorpions and expecting not to get stung was stupid. Never mind that she’d done the same more than once when extricating a kid. The difference was that most people involved in cults have a modicum of respect for human life.

  Her phone rang. Darius.

  “We’ve got another one. Well actually two.”

  “Shit. Talk to me.”

  “A contact at the Aurora Police Department knew I was looking into the other two girls. He tells me that while girls go missing all the time, there might be links to a young girl from Aurora. We’ve hit the perfect storm. The trifecta.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “She’s twelve.”

  Cade held the phone against one ear while she rubbed the opposite temple. “Twelve? Even if we could get her back tomorrow she’s been robbed of any normal youth.”

  “The girl kept a diary, so we know some of the behavioral aspects of her abductor. And a name, clearly an alias, but still it’s someplace to start.”

  “How long has the Aurora PD been involved?”

  “Almost from the beginning.”

  “Someone we can work with?”

  “I think so. She wants results and she doesn’t much care how she gets them as long as it’s legal and can hold up in court.”

  “When can we meet and compare notes?”

  “She can be available whenever we are.”

  “Damn. I like her already.” Cade paused. “Have you tracked down the last three from Jayla’s list?”

  “Caroline and Christine are both cool. Not involved in any way. We’re heading over to Chris Williams’s place of employment now.”

  “My money’s on him.”

  “Why?”

  “Process of elimination. Plus, we need a break.”

  “Good to know. I’ll pay special attention.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Another specialty.”

  “Did you set a time to meet with the APD detective?”

  “Yep. Her office. Tomorrow at nine.”

  “How did it get kicked from a missing to a trafficking case?”

  “There are always a few flags. No reason to run away, no reason to be kidnapped for ransom. No reason, right? There are things law enforcement can tell in the beginning, and they’d always rather be safe than sorry. In this case, the kid’s never done anything like this before. Had a cell phone she was attached to that went silent.”

  “And? It was kicked fast.”

  “She had a friend who witnessed the girl and her probable abductor together.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “A young boy from Golden. Seven years old. Law enforcement initially thought it was a custody thing but now it’s officially an abduction. Mom and Dad are adamant they want to leave it to the authorities with no outside involvement.”

  Cade felt a heaviness on her chest. “That poor boy.” She shook her head. “Okay. Let me get these ads written and placed before someone tells us we can’t.”

  “Mex says to order room service. It could be a long night.”

  “Ah. My specialty.” She smiled.

  After hanging up, Cade sat back and stared at her computer screen. Then deleted everything. She decided she needed to do more research and went to the Backpage site.

  It wasn’t as straightforward as she’d thought. They’d have to post under the Men Seeking Women category. And then make the title clear and ambiguous at the same time. Her hopes that this would be successful took a dive. None of them were actually offering money. Well, except maybe for the ad whose header read: Looking for $ome Good Head.

  Shit.

  A couple of the ads looked like they were bait. Like law enforcement bait. She’d have to be careful. If she could spot them there was no doubt in her mind someone adept at staying outside of the loop could as well.

  An image of her sister, dead in the isolated cabin in the swamps of Louisiana, floated into her consciousness. Deep in the throes of cult worship, cut-off from all of her family except Cade, Delphine had killed herself. The day Cade found her was both explosive and paralyzing.

  Almost from that moment, Cade had dedicated her life to extricating people from cults as an exit counselor. She’d had more successes than failures, but it was the failures that were the easiest to remember. It was the failures that haunted her.

  Cade and Mex met when he was tracking down a young girl who’d been targeted as a sacrifice through a fanatical sect with ties to a drug cartel. Now, as she looked at the ads in front of her, the concept she’d shared with Rachel became clearer. She could see a cult of a different kind. Pandering in sexual gratification was a religion of sorts, and while most of the young women and men found themselves there against their will initially, many would begin to believe that’s where they belonged.

  Going through Tor to hide her ISP, Cade started with the easiest one for her—Mex. While she hit lightly, and vaguely, on his emotional needs, she drilled down to a physical type. With a picture of Jayla at her side she described the young African-American girl ambiguous enough not to be specific, but detailed enough that Jayla was a fit. She ended the ad with MONEY IS NOT AN ISSUE IF THE GIRL IS RIGHT AND IN THE DENVER AREA.

&n
bsp; Next, she played with Darius’s ad. She decided to go hard-core to make it significantly different from Mex’s. While Mex wanted someone who could at least fleetingly meet an emotional need, all Darius wanted was someone with a certain amount of sexual skill. Cade smiled to think about how this was a complete reversal for her sensitive, romantic, and committed friend. Again, she ended the ad with the concept that he had all the money in the world if the hookup met his specifications. And the girl was in Denver.

  Then Cade wrote two more ads, with Olivia Campbell and Alexis Halston in mind. She worried that someone might try and trace her IP address even though she’d gone through TOR, and get suspicious of all the requests originating from one source. She decided that if these guys checked every IP address they’d never get any business done. Even so, she concocted the story that third parties paid her to place the ads to protect their privacy.

  “I ain’t gotta give ‘em much, they happy with Mickey D’s.”

  Lloyd Banks in a remix of 50 Cent’s platinum-selling song, “P.I.M.P.”

  Girls Like Us, by Rachel Lloyd

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  John, the owner of Bugz-B-Gone Computer Repair, nodded to Mex and Darius as he moved a laptop from the drop-off desk to the work desk. “That Chris is a computer genius.” He put the machine down and turned back to them. “Good thing too because he’s been taking a lot of time off work the last few months. I would’ve canned anyone else a long time ago.”

  “How long has Christopher Williams worked for you?” Darius asked.

  “On and off since he was in junior high. What’s that? About five years?”

  “What do you mean on and off?”

  “School always came first. Now he’s here full-time and attending Metro State at night.”

  “Good kid?” Mex asked.

  “Like I said, a computer genius.”

  “Other than sick days, is there anything else that concerns you?”

  John rubbed his forehead.

  Mex raised an eyebrow at Darius.

  “Look, the kid knows his way around a computer. I might have seen him once or twice on websites he shouldn’t have been on.”