TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  She felt she deserved it. Tonya felt she couldn’t escape. Afraid and confused, she thought the emotional and physical abuse she endured was her own doing.

  —Human trafficking victim shares story, Official Website of the Department of Homeland Security, ICE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  LIVVY

  It’s late afternoon and the bleak room has a gray quiet to it. I’m stretched out on the bed next to Ian, afraid to move. I don’t know which Ian he’ll be when he wakes up.

  I want to go home. And if I can’t go home I want to die. Most of me is dead already. Shouldn’t be too hard to take the rest.

  Forget that. I don’t want to go home. I can’t go home. Not ever. What would I say? How could I live with my family? How could my family live with me?

  Dying is my best option.

  How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve listened to Maddy.

  My private parts are so sore. Why do people lie? They say sex feels good. They say it’s natural.

  It’s neither.

  After the first man, Ian held me for a long, long time. Told me he loved me. Told me he would always protect me. Be there for me. Make sure I was happy because I made him happy. He gave me a cute stuffed bear and told me it was a symbol of his love for me. Told me I should never forget the bear.

  The next time, afterward, Ian grabbed me by my hair and threw me to the ground. Told me if I didn’t smile more he would make sure I never smiled again.

  That was two days ago. I don’t even know how many men there’ve been since. I smile and take the pills he gives me.

  Today he hasn’t touched me. It’s like I’m a piece of furniture. I’m afraid to say anything. I’m afraid to move. Maybe, if he stays asleep, I can quietly leave.

  But where will I go?

  For a minute I think of my family. I picture Sarah dramatically throwing a hissy-fit and Ethan hoisted on Dad’s shoulders because of something he achieved athletically. I think of Madison and the dreams we shared. I was sure I’d be a veterinarian, and she knew she’d be an IT expert. We used to giggle and plan. Talk about boys. Talk about love.

  I can never go back home.

  There’s a quick knock. Two short raps.

  Ian gets up off his bed and opens the door. A man rams a girl, hands bound and mouth gagged, into the room. She’s even younger than me. Darker. Maybe Mexican? Her frightened eyes find mine and our gazes lock. She receives another shove, this one takes her to the floor.

  My fear freezes me. I’m weak and pitiful for not going to her.

  “Hey, man! Damages!” Ian shouts.

  “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want any attention.”

  “Then stop with the physical shit,” Ian says.

  Inexplicably, I rise and go to the girl. I kneel down and put an arm around her.

  The man laughs. “See? You’ve got a caretaker. No problems.”

  Ian looks at us like we’re garbage.

  “You got my money?” The man asks.

  Ian sniffs and walks over to where the girl and I are sitting on the floor. “Move.” He shoves me out of the way.

  “Get up,” he says to the girl.

  She doesn’t move.

  “Parar,” the man says.

  The girl stands on shaking legs.

  Ian walks around her. He pats her butt, lifts an arm to smell her pit. Then he moves her hair around on her head, pries her lips back to look at her teeth, and finally cups her tiny breasts. “She doesn’t speak English?”

  “No, but that can be a good thing,” the man says. “She probably won’t talk much.”

  “She a virgin?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Where’d you get her?”

  “She came to me. Wanted to get out of Guatemala.”

  “Medical exam?”

  “Didn’t have time.”

  Ian stepped back from the girl.

  “Look, I had other offers. But if you fuck with me, we’re done.”

  “No problems. I have your money.”

  The girl begins to cry and before I know it, Ian backhands her and she twists around before falling back to the floor.

  “Hey,” the man says, “you bruise her now and it’s on you.”

  “Like I said, no problems.” Ian reaches into his back pocket, removes a small wad of cash and counts off a few bills with the man watching.

  The man leaves saying he’ll be in touch.

  Ian glares at Livvy. “Get her ready.”

  “Ian, she’s exhausted.”

  “What the fuck do I care about that?”

  “Can’t you give her a night to rest?”

  “Did you just see me give money to that guy?”

  I nod.

  “Unless you can cover what I paid for her, on top of your quota, she has to go out.”

  “Do you have clothes for her?”

  “Do I look like I have clothes? Just fix her fuckin’ face. What she’s wearing will have to do for tonight.”

  I stay where I am.

  “Did you hear me? Get her ready.”

  “Have you set me up with someone?”

  “Not tonight. I’m thinking you can make me happy without me getting involved. Can you do that? Can you take, crap… what’s her name? Shit. Can you take this one with you?”

  I don’t move.

  “Well? I’m counting on you, Livvy.”

  I ignore Ian. “Qué es su nombre?” I ask for her name, using one of the few phrases I know in Spanish.

  The girl brightens and begins to rapid-fire words at my face. I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m sorry. Qué es su nombre?”

  The girl looks between me and Ian. Back and forth like a ticking clock. Finally she settles on me. She touches her chest. “Isabella.”

  “Great,” Ian says. “You can handle her. I want eight hundred tonight from each of you. Don’t come back here until you have it.”

  I’d seen Ian count out five twenty dollar bills to the man who sold him Isabella. One hundred dollars.

  Suddenly she’s my sister. And I can’t save her any more than I can save myself.

  A three-day operation by Special Agents with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and partner agencies to combat human trafficking in Nashville has resulted in the arrest of 41 individuals on prostitution-related charges; 34 men, six women and one juvenile. More than half of the men responding to ads tried to buy sex from a minor…. Those arrested include a high school teacher, a college football player, a truck driver, a student, and a state IT Specialist.

  —41 Arrested in Nashville Human Trafficking Operation, August 5, 2016, The Chattanoogan.com

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Cade absently placed her coffee mug on the room service tray and stared at her monitor. Did she so badly want to see a familiar face she was imagining things? She printed out the Backpage ad using the printer the hotel had provided. Maybe looking at the photo on paper rather than her monitor would clarify her vision.

  There were hundreds of ads for the Denver area. Hundreds. How many were doing this against their will? How many were doing this because they didn’t think they could do anything else? How many families had given up the search?

  With the help of the Aurora PD, they’d gone through all of the responses to her ads and come up with zilch. A lot of perverts, but no one who could lead them to their missing girls. Still, Cade sensed that Backpage could be their answer. It’s why she checked regularly. It’s why she saw the ad she felt sure was one of their girls.

  My name is Cherie and I know how to be sweet to you. I’ll be in Denver in a week and would love to book an appointment. When you’re with me there is no one else. I will make your world spin.

  Cade grabbed the sheet out of the printer and looked at it.

  Damn, she thought, if that wasn’t Jayla Thomas she’d stop what she was doing and find another vocation. Maybe her dream of writing a novel could find its way to the top. She checked the ad’s date.
It was current. Jayla would be here in seven days. Cade pulled the ad up on her cell and sent it to Mex who was at a doctor’s appointment.

  Could be coincidence. Could be our ad. Could be Jayla’s pimp has forgotten people know her here. But it sure as hell looks like our girl (one of them anyway) is coming home. Tell me I’m wrong.

  Cade sent the text and then held the phone to her chest.

  What if I’m wrong? What if focusing on this girl who calls herself Cherie takes away from us finding Jayla?

  She would never be able to forgive herself.

  Make an appt. You’re not wrong. After you make the appt let DPD know.

  The person Cade really wanted to tell was Mary. Jayla’s mom was in a lot of pain. But it wouldn’t do any good to get the woman’s hopes up only to punch her in the gut. She took a closer look at Cherie’s ad. There were symbols Cade had learned meant she had a pimp. She was protected. It didn’t matter that the ad said she was independent.

  Cade called Rachel Hanson. Cade wanted her to be ready.

  “Don’t make an appointment for her first day in Denver,” Rachel said.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a Savior Signal.”

  “A what?”

  “People who want to save a particular girl from being victimized want to make contact with her as soon as possible. And it could tip off her pimp. I know it sucks, but set up an appointment for the second or even third day she’s in town.”

  “Can you be available for her?”

  “I’ll make it happen.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Yeah, there is. Are you ready to hear?”

  “Rachel, you should know by now. I’m always ready to hear.”

  “You’ve extracted people from cults, but there are a couple of huge differences between your previous experience and what you’re doing now.”

  “Go on.”

  “The cult victims you rescued made the decision to leave their homes and families and lives and commit to something else. The people you saved wanted to be exactly where they were. You had a fight on your hands from the time they were extracted.” Rachel paused. “Jayla didn’t have a choice. She might be confused and wary, but she’s unlikely to be resistant, at least for very long. That’s what’s in your favor with the current situation.”

  “I have the feeling the second huge difference is not in my favor.”

  “Your feeling is right. Whoever has Jayla bought her. He or she considers Jayla property. Jayla not only has a price on her forehead representing the upfront investment, she has a price on her ass representing cash flow. You are seriously going to piss off at least one person, and you’d best have a plan in place.”

  “I’m thinking that’s where the press and the law will come in handy.”

  “One more thing,” Rachel said.

  “What?”

  “These girls will require an even longer deprogramming time. You should be prepared. They may not be better in a few weeks or months. It could take years. Decades even. For some, they’re simply broken and all we can do is love them.”

  Cade hung up and called the Denver Police Department detective assigned to Jayla’s case. Her call went to voicemail and she explained the situation. “I’m making an appointment for two days after she gets in town. If it’s Jayla we’ll grab her and bring her to Denver Health for evaluation and hopefully meet you there. I’ve got an advocate on board who will be with us. If it is Jayla, we’ll also contact her mother.”

  The Backpage ad had a phone number but specified no texts. Cade called Darius and brought him up to speed. “Call and book the appointment for nine days from now. That’s like what? The fifteenth? Make it for late afternoon, four or four-thirty. The ad says she’s on in-call or outcall, so make her come to you. Get a room. Nice but not too nice. By her coming to you she’s less likely to have more than one observer. It could get tense. Remember, you’re a guy who can knock off work early and likes what he sees.”

  “Do you really think it’s her?”

  “I really do. Make the call.”

  The child had goals. “Simple goals,” [Detective Elli] Reid said, referring to the ability to make her own decisions, have her own career, and pick out her own wardrobe.

  “I want to dress nicely,” the child said. “I don’t want to wear lingerie.”

  —Colorado Springs detective describes realities of human trafficking in region, by Chun Sun, April 2016

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “Hi, yeah. I’d like to make an appointment to see Cherie.” Darius squeezed his left hand into a fist.

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name? Why do you need to know my name?”

  The man chuffed out a grunt. “Well my friend, it’s helpful if your name matches the credit card number you’re going to give me.”

  “Really? A credit card? I can’t pay cash?”

  “For a street whore, if you’re lucky. For a confirmed date? Not gonna happen.”

  “How much?”

  “You are bustin’ my balls, friend. Didn’t you read? It’s $150 for a half hour and $275 for an hour.”

  “Uh, okay. A half hour should do it.”

  “My bet is you need less than fifteen minutes.”

  Darius felt challenged. “You want to make this sale or not?”

  “Hey, no skin off my back. You want to book this appointment or not?”

  “Fine. If I get there and pay cash, will you delete my information?” Darius made a mental note to cancel the card when this was over.

  “We are all about customer satisfaction.”

  “And privacy?”

  “That too.”

  In a bathroom, the predator has placed a child on the counter to photograph his evil acts.

  —How child predator was caught by tiny clue in photo he posted online, Posted April 21, 2016, by CNN Wire

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Mex looked at the caller ID on his phone and dismissed the call. Sedona.

  Shit.

  He had to psych himself up to even speak to her. And now he had priorities that made it easy to relegate her to a far corner of his world.

  Mex tossed his phone on the table.

  “Sedona again?” Cade asked.

  Mex grunted.

  Cade took a sip of her drink and eyed Mex. “Before the last week or so, how many times has your sister called you in the last six months?”

  “Maybe once.”

  “Only once? Why is that, do you think?”

  “She knows I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “And how many times has she called you in the last two days?”

  “Seven? Eight?”

  “And why is that, do you think?”

  “Maybe she’s dying?”

  “Or maybe she knows what you’re working on and has something important to contribute.”

  Mex sat for a moment and then rocked his head right and left, hoping the popping in his neck would help him relax. It didn’t work.

  “You have to find out why she’s calling, Mex. If she’s dying, you should know. If it’s something else, you should know. You can always blow her off later.”

  “Why would Sedona have something that could help us?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t talked to her.”

  “Why would she know what we’re working on?”

  Cade tucked her head down and raised her eyes to meet his. “Are you kidding? How many times have the local news programs played your interview?”

  Mex matched her shrug. “Okay, yeah. So?”

  “So call her back. Shit, Mex. At least find out why she’s calling.”

  Mex picked up his phone and pressed the voicemail icon. “Teo, please call me.”

  That was all, but Mex considered what wasn’t said more important than what was. It had been that way his entire career in law enforcement. He could hear the anxiety in her voice. The electrical charge he’d come to rely on buzzed his neck hairs to atten
tion.

  Holding the phone in his hands, his eyes met Cade’s.

  “Call her, Cowboy.”

  Mex made the call and put it on speaker.

  “Teo!” Sedona launched into rapid Spanish, thankful he’d called her back, expressing her sorrow over what she’d done, angry he hadn’t called sooner—

  “Sedona. You’re on speaker. Cade is with me. English, please.”

  “Hello, Sedona,” Cade said.

  “Why are you calling?” Mex asked. Let’s get this over with, Mex thought.

  “I wish to help.”

  A harsh laugh escaped Mex’s throat. “Help? Help who? Me? You’ve got to be—”

  Cade reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his wrist, silently demanding he look at her. When he did, she simply shook her head.

  Mex fell silent.

  “How do you wish to help?” Cade asked.

  “I think I might know where the girl you’re looking for is being held.”

  “Which girl?” Cade asked. “We’re looking for three.”

  “The first one. The one Mex was interviewed about. The one with the family who has money. Alexandra? Something like that?”

  “Alexis.”

  “Yes, yes. That one.”

  “Why do you think you have information about her?”

  “I’ve heard things.”

  UNICEF has written that at any time there are two million children being trafficked in the global sex trade….People trafficking is the fastest growing means by which people are enslaved, the fastest growing international crime, and one of the largest sources of income for organized crime (The UN Office on Drugs and Crime). —Force4Compassion

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  “Where are you?” Mex barked.

  “Monterrey,” Sedona answered.

  “If you’re there, how do you even know what I’m doing.”

  “Google.”