TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  —In secretive marijuana industry, whispers of abuse and trafficking,

  by Shoshana Walter, for Reveal News, September 8, 2016

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Cade had loved her role in the evening’s plan. It was radically different from her normal extraction tactics and she felt an added dimension of danger. From the quick and dramatic takeoff out of DIA to being whisked through the streets of Monterrey, she’d been invigorated.

  With the departure of the American film star, even the free alcohol and tasty treats weren’t enough to keep the elite of Monterrey occupied. Within an hour the mansion was deserted, but Mex and Darius made a quick search to make certain no amorous couples had sneaked off somewhere for privacy. The caterers were busy packing up and the cleaning crew followed in their wake.

  Mex, Cade, Darius, and Sedona sat at a table in the far corner, filled plates and open bottles sitting in front of them. Darius was checking out the internet to see what was available. Several of the individual cellphone videos were too blurry to really see anything, but three of the four pros Sedona had brought in got it all. She hadn’t told them why they were being hired, simply to document the evening and the people. A bonus was promised to every photographer who provided them with stellar video. Three bonuses were in order.

  Cade took a sip of her wine. “I, for one, think it went well.” She looked pointedly at Mex. “You?”

  Mex sniffed.

  Cade wondered exactly how many buttons she needed to push to get Mex to acknowledge Sedona’s help. “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.”

  “It cost a hell of a lot of money. And we don’t have any results.”

  “Bingo,” Darius said. “It worked.”

  Mex glared at him.

  Cade and Darius looked at Sedona, who was having a hard time hiding a smile.

  “Details,” Mex demanded, his voice gruff.

  “I’ve been contacted directly by an underling of Montonaldo’s.” Darius checked his email. “Someone named Garcia. Anyway, Montonaldo is having a big party in two days and needs to expand his security staff. They want me.”

  “I think you have to be hard to get,” Cade said. “If you’re this good, you can’t be readily available in two days.”

  “But we need to get Alexis,” Mex said. “We need to get to her now.”

  “You’re right. But think, Mex. Would you be suspicious if someone fabulous you wanted to hire was instantly available?” Cade asked.

  “Cade’s right. Montonaldo will get me, but it can’t be on his first pass,” Darius said.

  “Okay. But he’d better come back for a second,” Mex said.

  Darius replied to the email. Sorry. Booked elsewhere for the date you require. He pressed Send and held his breath.

  “Breathe, Darius,” Mex said. “You’re no good to us passed out on the floor.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got that.”

  “Mex,” Cade pressed, “don’t you now agree that our staging was successful? That your sister came up with a scenario to make it happen?”

  “We’re still waiting. Montonaldo hasn’t hired Darius.”

  “Only a matter of time, my friend,” Darius said. “Only a matter of time.”

  Sedona eased into the conversation. “I have a good feeling about this,” she said quietly.

  Darius’s laptop pinged and he accessed the message. “Yes!”

  “Yes, what?” Mex asked.

  “They want to know if I’d be willing to take twice whatever my other client is paying.” Darius looked at Cade and winked. “This could be a great gig.”

  Mex coughed. “You’ve gotta remember how you got there—all smoke and mirrors.” Mex splashed more Don Julio tequila into his glass.

  “Take it,” Cade said, looking at Darius. “But wait for a few minutes before you do.”

  Examining the ads and what they appear to be offering, I ask an obvious question: “Isn’t prostitution illegal?” [Backpage.com’s lawyer (and chief defender) Liz] McDougall’s answer: “Prostitution is illegal, and we don’t permit illegal activity on the website.” But then what are they selling? “Legal adult entertainment services,” says McDougall.

  I read her a different ad from another 19-year-old: “Make me beg. Smack me. Spit on me. Degrade me.”

  —A lurid journey through Backpage.com, by Deborah Feyerick and Sheila Steffen for CNN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  ALEXIS

  I’m tired. I want to crawl away into a dark corner and die. But I sense if he sees weakness, my choice to die or to live will be taken away.

  And damn it, it is my choice. I don’t have much else to keep me going. I’ve been stripped bare. My spirit has been twisted and I’m not at all sure I can ever straighten it out. None of my old friends would recognize me now. And to tell the truth, there are pieces of me I like better.

  Sergio Montonaldo, whose name I only recently learned when I overheard a delivery person, is a monster. And he’s turned me into one as well.

  I hate him. Right now, for tonight, it’s that hate that’s going to keep me alive. Hate has taken me from wanting nothing more than a dark corner to wanting to win. Needing to win.

  At least for one more night.

  He’s throwing another party. This one is bigger than the others I’ve been to. Somehow it’s more important. He’s proving something to someone and, although I’m not a centerpiece, I will be a trophy on the back wall. While I bite enough to stay alive, I know allowing him to parade me adds to his mystique, and the number of days I’m still breathing.

  I suddenly realize that moving from a centerpiece to the back wall is a bad sign. He knows I’m degraded. He knows I’ve almost given up. Quit.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  I look at the dress that’s hanging by itself in the wardrobe. There’s never more than one thing now. Every day. It’s wear what he gives me or go naked. I remember the first day I was here. At least there was a choice between three things. Was that a week ago or months ago? The days have melded together.

  My hate for him mingles with the new hatred I’ve discovered for myself. Early on I felt strong and in control. But I’ve done things no self-respecting person would ever do. I’ve let him do things to me I can never forget. Because I thought I could remain proud and significant. Because I thought I could win.

  It’s only a matter of time. I know this now as I look at my costume for the evening.

  I bring the dress out and lay it on the bed. It’s really quite attractive—the nicest thing he’s ever given me to wear. While I can see it will be form-fitting, it doesn’t scream whore. The color is a deep, almost-black burgundy, and while there are revealing gaps in strategic places, there’s an underlying layer of sheer fabric that exactly matches my skin tone. I will look exposed without truly being so.

  This is the kindest thing he’s done for me.

  He will kill me soon.

  Does he already have another girl picked out? Is he going to kill me tonight after the party?

  It’s been a while, but Donny’s face suddenly appears in my mind. The hate I feel grows even hotter. I want to make him pay. He sold me into this and has continued to live his life without a care in the world.

  Damn him. I want to be the one to hurt him. Turn him in. Sell him into male prostitution. Haunt his dreams.

  There’s a knock at my door. Like I live in civilization.

  The door opens.

  “Twenty minutes, Miss Alexis.”

  * * *

  Darius scanned the huge room. It wasn’t the only room on this floor, not to mention the grounds in the back of the mansion. How the hell was he supposed to find their target? There were at least a hundred people here already and more streaming in every minute.

  He hit the button on his ear mic that most people would assume connected him to his security supervisor if they even noticed. “This ain’t gonna be easy.”

  “What do you see?” Cade asked.

  “A big honkin’ room.”<
br />
  “Stairs? Something for an entrance?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s not it then. Move on. You’re looking for somewhere Montonaldo can show off his acquisitions.”

  Darius clicked off and began scouting.

  He moved quickly through the three rooms connected to the main salon. Nothing. No staging area at all. There were plenty of shady characters with armed guards standing by. People he’d like to interview for a book. Bowls filled with white powder that could only be cocaine sat on tables. The partygoers stood around them politely waiting their turn, engaging in small talk as if they did this every day. Waiters moved effortlessly offering appetizers and delivering requested drinks.

  Shit, Darius thought. This could be a party held by anybody anywhere, including Aspen.

  Had they been wrong? Was this just another party given by a random rich guy in Monterrey?

  Had Sedona been wrong? Or had she scammed them one more time?

  Darius moved past two indoor fountains and through wide doors that led him onto a terrace. He surveyed the area.

  Beyond the terrace the grounds dropped off to showcase gardens that would make an Englishman proud. To the far left were tennis courts and what looked like a golf course. While Darius thought it was probably nine holes, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn it was a full eighteen. Knowing what he knew about Sergio Montonaldo, his stomach heaved. The gardens, the tennis courts, the golf course… they all looked wrong. Tainted.

  To his right was an elevated stage. A manufactured clamshell stood behind it and he thought of the natural amphitheater that Red Rocks provided back home, followed quickly by the realization that if there was a targeted place tonight, this was it. This would be the place Montonaldo would hold court.

  While he moved to see what was behind the stage, he pressed a button. “I’ve got it. A stage area at the back of the house. Not much containment, but I’m heading there now to find out what’s behind it. It has to connect somehow.”

  “That’s it,” Cade said. “Can you see an exit strategy?”

  “Not yet. I still don’t know how it connects to the main house.”

  “Okay, Darius. I get you haven’t done this before, but while you’re walking toward the stage, look for a way out. Do this now. The sun is setting. Figuring it out later might be too late.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit. Now talk to me. Tell me what you’re seeing as you approach.”

  “Okay. Not much. There are woods one way and cars parked along the drive on the other.”

  “What’s on the other side of the drive?”

  “More woods.”

  “Damn.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel all kinds of confident.”

  “We’re what?” He heard Cade ask Mex. “About twenty minutes from there?”

  “Twenty or twenty-five, depending on traffic,” Mex said.

  “Twenty minutes? Why so far?”

  “We got stuck in one of Monterrey’s infamous roadblocks. They waved us through but it still delayed us. We’ll get there as soon as we can. Just know you’ve got up to twenty minutes that you need to stay hidden. Head through the woods and then to the drive.”

  “You know what I’m driving, right?” Cade asked Darius. “The Audi?”

  “Yeah.” Darius remembered the dark blue rental.

  “Let’s make sure our watches are in the right time zone. What time do you have?”

  Darius, who had a habit of looking at his watch even when it wasn’t important, closed his eyes. “Are you kidding me? I can tell you without looking that it’s 6:38.”

  “Fine. Keep this line open. When you see Alexis and know you can nab her, tell me immediately. Mex and I are on our way right now. We’re twenty minutes out, but if you see the opportunity in the next minute, take it.”

  “Why didn’t we do this before?”

  “Because we didn’t know what we were dealing with before. Chill, Darius. We can get this done. You with me?”

  Darius considered his options. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

  Operation Cross Country X, a nationwide law enforcement initiative led by the FBI, took place last week throughout the U.S. The effort focuses on underage victims of prostitution. Nationwide, FBI Director James Comey announced today, 82 minors were rescued and 239 traffickers and their associates arrested as part of the operation.

  —10 Alabamians - including 5 accused pimps - nabbed in nationwide human trafficking bust, by Carol Robinson, for the Alabama Media Group, October 17, 2016

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  ALEXIS

  I’m ready when the knock comes at my door and it opens. The uniformed man stands politely as I check my makeup one last time and then look him in the eye.

  He nods and smiles.

  “How are you this afternoon, Miguel?”

  “Thank you for asking, Miss Alexis. I am well. And yourself?”

  I meet his sad eyes. “Couldn’t be better.” I reach out to pat his hand, having long gotten over the fact it only has a thumb and first finger. One of those lost fingers was my fault. And yet he continues to smile at me.

  I like to pretend that Miguel will help me when the time comes, maybe even lay his life down for me. But I know better. He has a family to support.

  I’m only passing through.

  “You look lovely, Miss Alexis.”

  “Thank you, Miguel.”

  We survive partly because we don’t talk about what really matters. We pretend that because we are in a beautiful home, wear clean clothes, and have enough to eat, everything is okay.

  We pretend we’re in control.

  I walk down the long hall toward the staircase that descends to the main level. My master will have people set up there to see me. To envy him. He’ll watch from a distance and not make a move toward me. I’m on my own.

  I’ll mingle. Accept the praises for both me and my captor. Move through the crowd. Pretend like I’m a queen.

  Queen of the prison. But no one must know that. Keep my parents safe. Wake up tomorrow in a bed and not die in a torture chamber.

  I reach the staircase and feel my back straighten of its own accord. My straight posture has nothing to do with Sergio Montonaldo and everything to do with Alexis Emily Halston. If I’m to die soon it will be with a strong belief in who I am, what I’ve learned, and what I want to stand for in the end.

  “Do you wish me to escort you down the stairs, Miss Alexis?”

  I turn to him, instinctively feeling this will be the last time I see him. “No, Miguel. I’m fine. But I want you to know how much your concern has touched me. Whatever happens next cannot take away from the kindness and respect you’ve given me on a daily basis. You’ve provided a steadiness in my life here. Without it I would surely have died much earlier.”

  Again his sad eyes meet mine. “Today, Miss Alexis, you are truly beautiful.” He leans over and brings my hand to his lips. Then steps away.

  I descend the stairs, taking each step slowly, not because that’s how I’ve been coached, but because I think each step is one step closer to the end of my life. While part of me wants to run back to my room and hide, possibly resulting in the loss of yet another of Miguel’s fingers, the bigger part of me wants to meet this head-on. Strong. Confident. One step at a time.

  I can do this.

  From nearby groups I can hear the whispers. While they can’t guess my fate, people marvel that I’m still in the favor of the awe-inspiring Sergio Montonaldo. Did they know of or suspect the fate of the young women who have gone before me? Will they remember me in a few weeks when someone has taken my place? Not likely.

  One step at a time.

  I hit the last step and look around me. It’s a curious combination of stares and studied avoidance.

  Screw them.

  I move through the room, stopping when expected to say the right thing.

  “What a lovely party,” says anyone.

  “Sergio knows how to please,”
says me. Once or twice I even wink. Who knew that years of covering up parental neglect could come in so handy?

  The vast doors are ahead of me. Multiple double doors are open to the veranda. That’s the next visual Montonaldo expects.

  I can’t think of one valid reason to deny him and that makes my heart sink. Have I grown that compliant? If so, my fate is surely sealed.

  While many American have heard of human trafficking in other parts of the world—Thailand, Cambodia, Latin America and Eastern Europe, for example—few people know it happens here in the United States.

  The FBI estimates that well over 100,000 children and young women are trafficked in American today. They range in age from 9 to 19, with the average age being 11.—Teen Girls’ Stories of Sex Trafficking in U.S. ABC News, February 9, 2006

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Darius saw her. It took everything he had not to wave and shout.

  He replaced the agency earpiece for the Bluetooth. “I’ve spotted her. How far out are you?”

  “We told you, we’re on our way,” Cade said. “Look, Darius, I’ve had a lot of experience extricating people from cults. This isn’t much different. You trust me, right?”

  “I guess. But she’s right there.”

  “I get that. The thing is, you’ll only have one shot at this. If you get it wrong, you’re both dead.”

  “Okay, I don’t want to get it wrong, but she’s right there.”

  “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “She’s moving down some steps. People are moving toward her.”