TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  Mex and Darius took seats at the long table and Cade looked at Maddy. “Can you bring Mr. Johnson the laptop Livvy used? And then let’s you and I take a look at her diary.”

  Mex grunted again.

  “Maddy, would you mind if Mr. Anderson also helped us with the diary? He’s absolutely no good with computers.”

  Maddy took a long hard look at the man sitting at the head of the table. “I suppose that would be okay.”

  Cade nodded. “Good. You’re a great BFF to Livvy, Maddy.”

  The young girl blushed and left the room.

  “Be gentle, Mex. She’s very fragile right now.”

  “I know how to be gentle. And when.”

  Maddy hurried back into the dining room. “Here’s my laptop, Mr. Johnson. If you need a password for anything it’s Travis. Not very safe, I know. Travis is our dog.”

  “Thank you, Maddy. And call me Darius.”

  Darius moved to the far end of the table, opened the lid and got to work.

  “This is Livvy’s diary. I want to make sure that anything personal that doesn’t apply to what’s happened to her stays between us.”

  Cade reached out and took Maddy’s hand. “I promise you all we want to do is bring Livvy home. We respect her privacy, but if there’s something on your computer or in her journal that will help, we need to know about it.”

  Mex cleared his throat. “We’re under no obligation to share anything we learn with law enforcement. We won’t betray you or Livvy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Anderson.”

  He coughed. “Call me Mex.”

  Police are calling the teen’s disappearance suspicious, noting they get runaway reports all the time but this case is different. Aurora Police Chief Nick Metz said police received information that’s cause for greater concern, but they have not released what that information is.

  —#FindLashaya, posted by the Aurora Police Department

  (Author note: LaShaya Nae Stine went missing from my city on July 15, 2016 while I was writing this story. There’s been very little news since the first of August.)

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Darius connected a firewire cable between Maddy’s laptop and his computer.

  “What are you doing?” Maddy asked.

  “Making a copy.”

  “Of what?”

  “Pretty much everything.”

  The young girl paled then turned beet red. “Everything?”

  “Yep.”

  “But some of that’s—”

  “Personal. Yeah, I get it. We’re only interested in the stuff Livvy was doing.”

  Maddy swallowed and shifted in her chair. “Really? Just Livvy?”

  Darius gave her a wink. “Yeah, really.”

  “Why are you copying everything then?”

  “Sometimes when we search for answers we can mess up the original data. It’s always best to perform forensics from a copy.”

  “Forensics? Isn’t that like when you have a body?”

  “Forensics is a science that can be applied to anything after the fact.”

  Maddy’s eyes widened. “So you can do this forensics thing with computers?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you can find out things?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like everything people have done on their computer? Emails they’ve sent, sites they’ve visited, stuff they’ve downloaded?”

  “That’d also be a yep.”

  “Cool! I’ve heard of this but never actually seen it. How long does it take?”

  “Sometimes a few minutes, sometimes several hours. It depends on how much data there is.”

  “Maddy,” Cade said, “let Darius work his computer magic. Come sit down here with Mex and me. I want you to tell us what you know about Ian, and explain a few of the entries Livvy made in her diary.”

  Cade gently and deftly walked Maddy through things she knew she knew, and things she didn’t know she knew.

  “Did Livvy ever mention where Ian lived?” Cade asked the young girl.

  “Um, no. I don’t think so.”

  “But you got the idea he didn’t live around here, right?”

  Maddy nodded.

  “Why? Why do you think he lived somewhere else?”

  Livvy’s friend lowered her eyes, clearly thinking. Her eyes flew open and she looked at Cade. “Ian told her once that he was thirteen hours away. Thirteen hours. That’s not Colorado, right?”

  “No honey, not Colorado. But thirteen hours? Driving or flying?”

  Again Maddy searched her memories. “Driving,” she said firmly.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they always talked or emailed during normal hours.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t up at three o’clock in the morning?”

  “I guess I don’t. He could’ve lied. But more than once on a Saturday morning, after a sleepover with me, Livvy told me they’d had breakfast together while they were emailing each other.”

  “Did they ever Skype?”

  “You mean while they were alone or something?” Maddy looked worried.

  “Any time.”

  Maddy blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, they did. Once, anyway. It was a couple of weekends ago. A breakfast thing. She told me she had to make him move the computer screen because the sun was too bright. Does that help?”

  “It does, Maddy. It really does.”

  * * *

  Darius listened to Cade and Maddy while he copied the computer data. Mex sat quietly by like a silent protector. He watched as Maddy gave a small smile even while a tear slipped down her cheek. Cade was entering something into her computer. Darius assumed it was a thirteen-hour drive-time circle from the girl’s home.

  While he waited for the data transfer, he brought out his phone to call Pammy. He missed her. He missed his kids. To make sure he wasn’t a distraction he moved around to the living room and spoke softly.

  “Hey, PJ.”

  “Hey, DJ.”

  “How was your day?” he asked. The routine of his family’s daily events had a calming effect. He longed to be with them, but he knew his place was here. When he finally hung up he was surprised they’d been on the phone for over thirty minutes. They’d talked about things most people would find stupid but that he knew couldn’t be more important, at least to him.

  They’d talked about their life.

  Finally! The transfer of data was complete. Darius disconnected the two computers and settled in to find what he could find.

  He started with the trash. With any luck he’d find that youngsters, at least these youngsters, were as bad about cleaning their computers as he’d been about cleaning his room.

  Bingo!

  There were hundreds of emails between Ian and Livvy. He skimmed them. While on the surface they appeared mundane and even juvenile, Darius recognized the fact that Ian, or whatever his name really was, had been grooming twelve-year-old Livvy for months. Images of his daughters punched into his consciousness. Either of them could be Livvy in a few years. The intensity he’d been feeling about these young girls grew to an almost unmanageable level. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his breathing became labored.

  He needed fresh air.

  Darius hauled himself up from the dining room table, walked through the kitchen and onto the back deck without having much awareness of his movements or even where he was. He placed his hands on the rail and pressed up and down a few times.

  Damn.

  Slowly he became aware of someone standing quietly behind him. He straightened but didn’t turn around.

  “This is hard, ya know?” Darius said.

  “I know,” Mex said, his voice like smoke.

  “Why couldn’t we be going after stolen cars, jewelry, art, something else?”

  “Because that’s not what we do.”

  Darius’s head sagged. His heart slowed and his breathing steadied. Then he asked the question he and his partner had asked each other over and over in the past. “And
why’s that?”

  “We don’t care as much about stolen cars, jewelry, or art. That is, unless it can lead us to innocents.”

  Suddenly Darius sobbed and Mex was behind him. Holding him up.

  Holding him together.

  “Sorry, man. Thinkin’ about my kids,” Darius said.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  Ten minutes later Darius clicked onto software designed to help identify ISP information and location. He and Mex would nail this son of a bitch, and if the man lived beyond their initial encounter, Darius would testify at his trial.

  In the meantime, Olivia Emma Campbell, who was twelve-years old and wanted to be a veterinarian, would have a shot at finding that dream again. Damn everything and everyone else, this little girl would have a life.

  The emails were coming from two primary ISPs and a slew of others. Darius suspected that the random ones were public computers. Maybe a coffee house or library. Both primaries were registered in Phoenix.

  About a thirteen-hour drive from Aurora.

  If the trafficker wasn’t smart enough to manipulate his ISP location, they had him.

  Maddy’s mom rushed into the dining room, ripping her coat from her shoulders and throwing it, her bag and her keys on the table. “Why are you talking to my daughter without me?”

  “Mrs. Montgomery, I’m Acadia LeBlanc. We spoke earlier.”

  “Did you call me from my living room? I should have been here. Who gave you the right to talk to her without my permission?”

  Cade hesitated.

  Maddy stood. “Mom—”

  “Be quiet, Maddy.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I said be quiet. Sit down or go to your room.” Maddy’s mom pointed toward the stairs.

  Mex had moved behind Cade. “Thanks to your daughter, we have a direction. We can formulate a plan to rescue Olivia. You should be proud of Madison. You’re raising an intelligent, responsible young woman.”

  “Mrs. Montgomery, you’re right. We should have waited for you. I apologize,” Cade said.

  “Mom, please. They made me feel better.”

  Darius watched as the tension flattened.

  A few minutes later they were driving back to their hotel.

  “We should rest if we can,” Mex said to Darius. “You and I are with Donny in a few hours.”

  “Sure wish we could enjoy this small victory,” Darius said.

  “We’ll celebrate when the girls are home where they belong.”

  … the pimp in question expresses this concern after more self-servedly claiming that most people are not forced into sex work: “I watched an MSNBC show, and some of the things the girls say on there is so disturbing to me, it makes my blood bubble. No girl is forced to prostitute. I am telling you guys the truth.”

  Other interview subjects echoed this view: “If you want to get away, you always can.”

  —Six Things Real Pimps Want You to Know, by Michelle Dean for Gawker

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  LIVVY

  Even though I’m sore, I’m happy because I think I made Ian happy. I just have to get used to adult love instead of puppy love. It’s what Ian expects and it’s what I want to give him.

  He’s sitting on the couch in his living room eating McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches. I find a bottle of orange juice in the fridge and pour each of us a glass.

  While I’m pouring the juice, I’m surprised when memories of my family fall into my head. I see Sarah, and while she can be a drama queen, I remember her taking the time to fix a scarf I wanted to wear and couldn’t get to look right. And Ethan telling me once that I was okay for a girl. Mom and Dad, tucking me in at night and saying they loved me. The memories flash together and then settle into one big feeling.

  I stick the orange juice container back in the fridge, gulp mine down, and take Ian his glass of juice.

  I sit next to him. “Ian, I want to call my mom and let her know I’m okay.”

  Before I know what’s happening he turns to me and brings his hand across my face. Hard. Tears fill my eyes and my hand touches the tender spot he’s hit. I’m confused but I can’t find any words.

  “Listen to me, Little Bitch, you don’t get to want. At least not for yourself. What you want is to make me happy. What you want is to make money for us. Get this straight, I tell you what you want.”

  Little Bitch? He’s never called me anything like that before. His words smother the sting on my face. I’m pretty sure the tears falling onto my shirt are from his words and not his slap.

  “That fuck we had? That’s the last one you’ll ever have without collecting cash unless it’s with me. Understand?”

  Little Bitch? Fuck?

  He slaps me again. “Do you understand?”

  My ears ring. I see Ian’s mouth moving but can’t hear what he’s saying. All I can do is look at his face.

  It’s twisted.

  Ian slams his orange juice glass down on the coffee table and storms out of the room. I stare at the sticky mess and know I should clean it up before it becomes a problem.

  I can’t get my feet to move. It’s like I’m glued to this terrible couch in this terrible apartment. I can’t even get my brain to move.

  Mom!

  A minute or so later Ian comes back into the room and kneels in front of me. He grabs my hands. “You know I’m here to protect you, don’t you?”

  I can’t meet his eyes. “You hit me.”

  “I hit you because I love you. I’m the only one who truly loves you, who protects you, and who makes sure you have everything you need.”

  “Why did you hit me?”

  “To make sure you know these things. I know what’s best for you and for us.”

  “Best for us?”

  “You have to learn to never doubt me. To never doubt our love for each other.”

  “So you hit me?”

  “Haven’t you been paying attention? The only reason I hit you, the only reason, is because I love you.”

  I don’t know what to do. Or say.

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” Ian asked.

  The best I can do is shrug.

  “And I believe deep in my heart you love me. That’s why we’re together now. It’s meant to be. You and I are a team.”

  When Ian mentions the word “team” I get a memory flash of Ethan. Maybe Ian’s right. Ian’s my team. After all, he’s older. He knows things I don’t.

  “Are you with me? Are you with us?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Good.”

  Ian nudges a pill toward me.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s new. Special.”

  “But what is it?”

  “Take it and I’ll tell you.”

  The other pills Ian gives me make me feel good, so why not? I swallow the pill. “What am I taking?”

  “Some people call it horse. For you? It’s a pony.”

  “Team Ian.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Sure, baby, sure. But you’re going to have to do something for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve set you up on a couple of dates this afternoon.”

  “Dates? Will you be there?”

  “Nope. These dates are where you prove to me how much you love me. These are where you make a contribution to our love, our lives.”

  “Don’t you love me?”

  “Of course I do. But I want you to go on these dates for me. For us.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  Ian grabs me by the shoulders and squeezes hard. “You will do what I fucking tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, and you will never tell me no.”

  While law enforcement is important, so is providing adequate support for trafficking victims’ recovery. And, in that regard, we are failing. We are failing because we have not identified human trafficking as the public health issue it is. You see, trafficking is n
ot a short-term affliction—it affects a survivor’s whole life, families and even entire communities.

  —Why Human Trafficking is a Public Health Problem, by Margeaux Gray,

  for The CNN Freedom Project, July 2016

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Mex and Darius sat in Mex’s SUV, their eyes glued to the street fifty yards in front of them. They’d parked deep in the shadows of a parking lot of a bar that had closed hours ago. The yellow light outside their shadowland slimed and filtered like an alien presence over the block.

  They were there to meet Donny’s buyer. The man Donny had convinced to show up to evaluate a potential acquisition, even though she was originating from an unknown source.

  Mex was convinced that every source starts out as unknown, so maybe this guy would be willing to take a risk, especially after securing an asset like Alexis. Now, after waiting for fifteen minutes, he wasn’t so sure.

  Donny was leaning against his car smoking a cigarette, in precisely the same location where he’d traded Alexis for cash. Mex watched as Donny bumped away from the car and crushed out the spent cigarette.

  Mex dialed Donny’s number. When the young man picked up, Mex said, “Call him.”

  “Won’t do any good, man. He’s not showing.”

  “Call him.”

  Darius looked at Mex. “This isn’t gonna happen.”

  “I hate wasting time,” Mex said.

  “We had to take a shot.”

  “But it sure as hell didn’t help Alexis, did it?”

  They sat in silence for the next twenty minutes.

  Mex’s phone rang.

  “He didn’t call me back,” Donny said.

  “Let’s wait another fifteen minutes.”

  Mex entered the Greenwood Village detective’s cell phone number. “Hey, Les. Darius and I are in Denver, buddy. It’s time for you to put together a joint posse with the Denver PD and round up one Donald Miller for human trafficking. He sold Alexis, and she wasn’t the first.” Mex gave him the cross streets under I-70. “He’ll be at this location for the next fifteen minutes unless he rabbits. After that, I don’t have time to bother with him.”