TRAFFICKED: A Mex Anderson Novel

by Peg Brantley

  “Excellent. The more interaction the better. Nothing bad is going to happen while people are focused on her.”

  “So I should be ready to move when their attention shifts?”

  “You are a smart cookie. But be ready to move fast. How far away is the drive from where she is right now?”

  “A couple hundred yards, maybe more.”

  “Is there somewhere closer? An outbuilding?”

  Darius looked around. “There’s a metal building almost hidden behind a bunch of trees. It’s about half the distance to the drive.”

  “Good. Not great, but good.”

  “I don’t see Sedona,” Darius said.

  “Don’t worry. She’s got it handled. She’ll start the distraction at the most opportune moment. Be ready.”

  Silence.

  “Darius? Are you with me?”

  His mouth was dry. He couldn’t answer.

  “I’ve done this hundreds of times, often without the aid of a diversion. You can do this.”

  He tried to force saliva into his mouth.

  “Darius?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Darius forced. “But Cade?”

  “Yes?”

  “When you performed your extraction jobs, were there armed men patrolling the perimeter?”

  “More than once.”

  “Okay. We’ll get to the metal building and then make our way to the drive.” He tried to scout a landmark for them. “Look for the brown and black motor home parked on the side of the road. I don’t see another one in the area. When you’re almost to the party, look for the RV. It’s huge.”

  “Got it. Good planning. Now get ready.”

  * * *

  “Seriously?” Mex asked after Cade tucked away her phone. She’d had it on speaker so Mex could hear everything.

  “What?”

  “Hundreds of times?”

  “Maybe not hundreds, but it made Darius feel better.”

  “Even more—you’ve snatched people out of cults with armed men patrolling?”

  Cade tilted her head and grabbed Mex’s hand. “Many times. And I was wearing heels and dancing backwards.”

  Mex chuckled and then took his hand from hers. “This has to work. It’s our only chance.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be flippant. It will work, trust me.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Carlos Alberto Del Castillo Cabeza Y Vaca De Anderson, do you trust me?”

  “How could I not trust a woman who knows my full name?”

  “Okay, you’re saying that in addition to the years of experience I’ve had, the successes I’ve enjoyed, the families I’ve reunited, the plan that is almost foolproof, this is your deciding moment: the fact I know your full name?” She swallowed, sniffed, and pretended to wipe away a tear. “So you trust me?”

  “Just get us there.”

  Cade pressed down harder on the accelerator. She was feeling the same urge.

  Authorities allege Lawrence Campbell Jr. met two 16-year-old girls online and purchased bus tickets to bring them to Waterloo about a week ago. The teens lived at Campbell’s home on Clearview Street and were directed to have sex with men for money and steal items from local stores, police said.

  —Wife now arrested in human trafficking investigation, by Jeff Reinitz, for The Courier

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  ALEXIS

  These people pretend to be my friends because they want Sergio to be their friend. They make me sick, but I’ve learned to smile and kiss cheeks and endure the occasional unwelcome squeeze of any number of body parts.

  I’ve learned a lot in a relatively short time.

  The steps end and I slip off my heels to walk on the lawn. The first time I did this, Sergio was terribly angry.

  He grabbed me by my elbow and hauled me aside. “How dare you remove your shoes in front of other people!”

  I almost laughed. This from the guy who had me appear naked at breakfast, wearing only a pair of heels? Okay, there was nobody there, but still. He had been conditioning me.

  That day, after everyone left, he took me down to his room of horrors and demanded I choose the device I wanted him to use for my punishment.

  “I understand you need to keep me in line, but your line is warped.”

  He seethed with rage. “How dare you?”

  “Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost? I know you can afford them, but I can’t believe you actually think I’m worth it.”

  When he stared without commenting, I continued. “Did you pick these shoes out? They’re Stuart Weitzman. You’re lucky they aren’t two or three million, because trust me, Weitzman makes shoes that cost that much.”

  “How much did those shoes cost?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Assuming the stones are real, and I can’t imagine you allowing a member of your staff to buy anything fake, these shoes run five-hundred thousand.”

  His eyes widened.

  “I can ruin them if you want. I just thought I was protecting your property.”

  His face turned red and I held my breath.

  “Get out of here.”

  The noise and movement of the party bring me back to the present. I take my shoes off without fear of retribution. Of inflicted pain. It’s become a mark of victory for me.

  My first step into the cool grass is fabulous and I feel defiant.

  Suddenly, around the far side of the house a helicopter appears, it’s blades whipping loudly. When it lands, the security guards begin rushing toward it, an obvious surprise to them.

  A woman I’ve seen before rushes toward the guests. She’s yelling something and it takes a minute to hear what she’s saying.

  “She’s here! She’s here!”

  I’d heard from Miguel about an American actress who’d been whisked away from her own party a couple of days ago. Maybe this is her. Maybe she can help me get home. I move to follow the crowd of guests pulsing in the direction of the helicopter when I’m grabbed backwards and practically hauled off my feet.

  A black man, one of the security guards, puts a finger to his lips. “Come with me. I’m getting you out of here!”

  Thoughts are tumbling over each other. Can this be happening? Is it real? Or is this some kind of sick test?

  “Go!” He pushes me away from the crowd. “Go, now!”

  What the hell. If I’m going to die anyway, let me die thinking I’m going to survive. I take off running and hear him pounding behind me.

  “They gave drugs to the girls [at least one was fourteen and one fifteen years old] in order for them to forget about having sex with the men,” said Orlando police Det. Michael Fields during a news conference last Wednesday. He added, “The girls felt threatened, they were shown guns, firearms and told that bad things would happen to them if they were to tell.”

  —2 arrests in case of human trafficking, death of teen, Fox 35 Orlando, U.S. World News,

  October 17, 2016

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Sedona’s diversion had worked. Now it was up to him.

  Darius heard nothing but a roar in his ears as he led Alexis to the metal building on the property. If they could get behind it without being seen they had a chance.

  The journalist in him was screaming. Verify! And verify again! Why the hell hadn’t he checked out what the building housed? What if it was a barracks and he was leading the girl he was trying to save into a trap?

  Too late now. They were committed.

  Alexis was keeping up with him and for that he was grateful. He’d completely freak if he had to drag her with him.

  The building was about fifty yards ahead of them and he angled for a corner. Breathing more heavily than he wanted, he cursed himself for not staying in running shape. But then he’d never been a runner so there was no “staying” in the equation.

  He spared a glance over his shoulder. Almost everyone was still seemingly attracted to the helicopter and whatever excitement it promised.

 
Almost everyone.

  He saw a security guard, rifle at his side, look in their direction. He was two hundred yards away but starting to run.

  Fast.

  Would he shoot? The guard had to know that Alexis was Sergio’s personal “property.” An acquisition. Was the guard a sure enough shot that he could easily take out Darius and return Alexis to her master?

  Even though he had very little more to engage, Darius dug deep for whatever additional speed he could muster. Alexis, thankfully, kept up.

  They rounded the corner of the metal building when the first shot rang out.

  Quickly they made their way to the other corner. Darius looked frantically toward the drive, hoping beyond hope to see the Audi waiting for them.

  Nothing.

  It would only be a matter of time before the security guard got to the building. But where they were they were sitting ducks.

  Alexis looked at the shoes she was carrying and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Not exactly running shoes,” Darius observed.

  “Not exactly.”

  Darius signaled Alexis to crouch low and they rounded the corner nearest the drive. They’d be exposed if the guard came up on the opposite corner where they disappeared.

  He removed his Glock from its holster and spoke softly. “Stay behind me and stay low. If I signal you to run,” he flicked his hand forward, “run like the devil is on your ass.”

  “Because he is,” Alexis whispered.

  “If something happens to me, look for a blue Audi to drive up near that RV in the driveway. See it?”

  Alexis glanced where Darius pointed, then nodded.

  “Do not stop to help me. Get your butt to that car. Understood?”

  Another nod.

  “Okay, then. Let’s see if we can’t both get out of here alive.”

  Darius moved forward and felt a tug on his arm.

  “In case we don’t?” Alexis swiped a tear from her cheek. “In case you die or I die or we both die? I’ve never been more grateful to anyone in my life.”

  “Save it for later. We’re getting out of here.”

  Darius thought of Pamela. He thought of their family. Then he boxed those thoughts away and focused. “Behind me and low. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  The pair rounded the corner of the building, Darius ready to fire if the guard came into sight.

  When they edged up the side, Darius put a finger to his lips like he had before. Alexis nodded.

  He searched the drive. No sign of Mex and Cade. But he could hear the security guard hit the building at the opposite end.

  “Go!” he said just loud enough for Alexis to hear.

  The two set off on the sprint of their lives.

  As they got close to the motor home, the sound of gunfire pierced the air. Darius and Alexis instinctively altered course, zigged and zagged and ducked. He put Alexis in front of him, hoping to act as a shield.

  Alexis screamed. She’d been hit in the shoulder and she stumbled. Darius came up behind her and hauled her body into his, still heading for the temporary protection of the RV.

  “We can do this!” he shouted, as much to himself as to Alexis. “We’re almost there!”

  The motor home was taking a beating, any one of those shots potentially ending everything. Then they were there, limping, and had for a moment at least, cover.

  A car screamed up the drive and braked in front of them. Darius didn’t care at that moment if it was an Audi or a Chrysler. He and Alexis were getting in.

  A door flung open and he slammed the girl into the backseat, falling on top of her. No time to make a three-point turn, Cade plowed onto the shoulder on the other side of the drive and squealed away, the momentum finally forcing the door closed.

  “You okay?” Mex asked.

  “She’s been hit,” Darius said. “Shoulder. Get us out of here.”

  Alexis began to cry. Her cries turned into wails. She rocked and shook and kicked.

  Darius put his arms around Alexis and held her tight, rocking with her. “Everything’s okay, Alexis. Everything’s okay.”

  Cade rocketed the car down the drive. “Ya’ll cool if we skip the tourist spots and head straight to the airport?”

  I confirm and represent that I am 18 years of age or older (and am not considered to be a minor in my state of residence) and that I am not located in a community or local jurisdiction where nude pictures or explicit adult materials are prohibited by any law. I agree to report any illegal services or activities which violate the Terms of Use. I also agree to report suspected exploitation of minors and/or human trafficking to the appropriate authorities.

  —From Backpage.com

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  JAYLA

  We’ve bumped along the highway in the windowless van all day. The piss pot in the corner is overflowing and we’re all tired. If we felt like we had the freedom, we’d be grumpy.

  I’m not even sure what city we left. At least when we’re somewhere for a sporting event, football or NASCAR or golf or whatever, we know the name of the city. There hasn’t been a major event in the last week or so which makes my geography-sifter worthless.

  Finally we pull over and stop. Not just a stoplight stop. A real stop. I hear the engine sputter and die. When the doors are thrown open it’s dark outside. We must’ve been on the road for at least twelve hours.

  Each of us moves our cramped bodies outside to stretch.

  And I smell it.

  Never in my wildest dreams would I believe I could discern this. But I know it for a fact.

  I’m home. I’m in Denver.

  Without looking around for a landmark, thereby calling attention to my awareness, I try to figure out where we are. I can’t. We could be anywhere. Maybe we aren’t really in Denver and I’m delusional.

  And then I see a car with Colorado plates. And another. And another.

  My chest fills. If I can manage to walk away, to escape, I have options. For the first time since this nightmare began, I actually feel like I might wake up from it. All I need is a minute or two when no one is paying attention.

  “Well, look at you, Cherie.”

  Someone grabs me by the arm.

  “Haven’t you come a long way from that first day?”

  I look at the woman. Familiarity buzzes. “I know you.”

  “Damn straight you do. I’m the one who told you your friend sold you out. The one who set you straight. I’m the one who told you how to survive.”

  “You’re Ginger.”

  “That’s what they call me.”

  I consider a moment. “Do you have another name?”

  “Look, honey, I’m here to make sure you keep it together. To make sure you don’t get any ideas. Think of me as your friendly warden—who you don’t want to piss off.”

  I force each word, “Do you have another name?”

  “If I tell you do you swear you won’t run off?”

  I hesitate. I’ve told enough lies in the last six months to fill a lifetime. I’m tired of lying. But I really want to know her other name. Somehow it’s become the most important thing in my life.

  “I can’t swear. But I desperately want to know your name.”

  “Swear to me or fuck off.”

  “Okay. I swear. I won’t run off.”

  Ginger looks off into the distance. She blinks a couple of times. There are no tears, only a bottomless sadness. “People used to call me Leah.”

  “There’s someone I want to see, Leah.”

  “Never call me that.”

  “I want to see the person who put me into this life. Can you make that happen?”

  Ginger turns her head away and closes her tired eyes. “Does Daddy have you set up for in-call or outcall?”

  “Both, but he does all the scheduling.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Maybe because I never got the chance to look the person in the eye who did the
same to me.” Ginger shook her head. “Be ready to leave at ten o’clock.”

  I hang my head. It’s funny what I’m ashamed about these days. “I don’t have a watch. What time is it?”

  “Eight-thirty. Daddy will be happy you have an appointment so soon. Especially one that’s a referral.”

  “Will you drive me?”

  “I’m guessing that’s what I’m here for. He didn’t tell me you were doing outcalls, but then he doesn’t tell me much.”

  “Why all this attention on me?”

  “Because, Cherie, you’re home. You know the city. I don’t know why he brought you back so soon, but here you are.”

  “What’ll happen to you if I run?”

  “Stupid question, and you’re not a stupid girl.”

  “Okay. I won’t. I promise.” And I mean it this time.

  Ginger takes me to a hotel room. “This is where your intakes will be for the next week. It’s not much, but I’m willing to bet it’s better than most you’ve seen.”

  I look around. It’s clean. Boring, but clean. There are actually soaps and shampoos and even a tube of toothpaste in the bathroom. Daddy must be expecting pickier customers than usual.

  “What’s going on? An event I haven’t heard about?”

  “Nothing I know of.” Ginger walks to the door, key in hand. “Clean up. Rest. I’ll be back in an hour to take you to your appointment.”

  Alone in the room I sit on the bed and think about Chris. He’d been my friend. I’d trusted him. Why did he do this to me? What will I say to him?

  How will I feel when I see him again?

  “To those scouring the web or apps in search of sex with our state’s children, let me say this: Be warned,” says [Tennessee] speaker Harwell. “This is an agency, a movement, a state that is gaining momentum in its effort to insist it ends right here, right now.”

  —41 Arrested in Nashville Human Trafficking Operation, TBI Newsroom, August, 2016

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR