Driving in Traffick: The Victim's Story (Margret Malone Book 2)

by Nancy Cupp

  Driving in Traffick

  T h e V i c t i m ’ s S t o r y

  N a n c y C u p p

  Copyright©️ Nancy Cupp 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Any people or events are not meant to represent any real people or real events. Any similarities are unintentional.

  www.nancycupp.wordpress.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition 2017

  Cover Design and Photo by Jay Schlie

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  Nancy Cupp

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the thousands of people who are held against their will and are forced to bend to the wishes of others.

  1

  Arnold

  Like a vulture he sat in his rental car waiting to prey on dead end lives of desperate folks. Smoke curled up and stung his eyes, the night suffocated him with heat laying on the pavement like a blanket you couldn’t throw off. Cars built up on both sides of the border, signaling the shift change. When his man was in place he forced his way into line disregarding outraged curses thrown his way.

  Stoney, he shoved his document toward the guard. No recognition registered on either man’s face. The officer studied the passport for an acceptable length of time, carefully comparing a bull-nosed man with porcine eyes, to the photo.

  “Thank you Mr. Lade, you may proceed.”

  Arnold gunned the engine as if he could command the slow line of cars to move faster. He wound through narrow streets of Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, to a crumbling factory building. With headlights off, dark shadows concealed the black car.

  Two figures slid along the building until they were close, each carrying a bag slung over one shoulder. Arnold lit another cigarette, the flare from his lighter harsh against the night. Minutes passed while no one moved.

  The car door opened, pebbles crunched under foot, reverberating, like gunshots. Rosa flinched with each snap. Carlos took her hand to steady her, and to keep her from running. Hyper-vigilant and scared, they weighed every movement and sound. The man walked with a limp, it was the right guy. She wanted to gulp air into her lungs, but was afraid to breathe.

  “You got the cash?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rosa’s mouth was dry and her tongue caught on the words.

  “Let’s have it,” Arnold held out his beefy hand. Carlos gave him a wad of bills.

  “American?”

  Carlos looked at his wife. “Sí, yes,” she said.

  The barrel chested man limped back to the car to count, while the hopeful newly weds clung together, whispering in Spanish. Arnold returned without the money, “It ain’t enough.”

  “That’s what we were told to bring.”

  “You got any more?”

  In Spanish Rosa explained to her husband. They argued, and grudgingly he produced a few more dollars. Arnold snatched it from him, and used his lighter to see what was there.

  “This will get one of you across. I have a job for her in Las Vegas. I can come back for you when you got the dough.”

  Horrified at the prospect of going alone, Rosa pleaded with Carlos and cried, “You go, I can hide. Machete will leave me alone, he doesn’t really know what I look like, it’s you he knows.” She gripped both of his arms.

  “Rosa, listen to me. You have to be safe, remember, the baby. Our baby will be an American Citizen. He has work for you, and I’ll find the money even if I have to steal it.”

  “No, you can’t let this …”

  “You can send me money when you have enough.”

  “But he lied about how much, what if there is no job?”

  “We have to take the chance. Our baby…”

  “Please.”

  “We can’t wait, you have to go—now.”

  “Carlos…”

  “You two want to quit with the Spanish mumbo-jumbo? Ya got two minutes to make up your mind. I’m going to the car, if she’s not there in two minutes, I’m leaving.”

  Rosa sank to her knees, crying. Carlos pulled her back to her feet, “Get up Querida, this won’t be forever, I promise. I can hide better alone.” He held her up with his arm around her tiny waist, walking her to the car. After one last kiss, he threw her bag over the seat back, pushed her inside and closed the door.

  As soon as it slammed, Arnold sped off. Rosa twisted in her seat to see her husband, but he’d already melted into the dark. Tears streamed down her pretty young face.

  “You better pull your self together, Baby, in about half-hour you gotta convince the Boarder Patrol we just got married. You are Mrs. Arnold Lade, and you’re madly in love with me.” With a lecherous grin he reached over to stroke her glossy black hair. Rosa slapped his hand away and recoiled toward the door.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I can let you out right here or you can get cozy with me until we cross the border. I hope you’re a good actress, cause right now it don’t look so convincing.”

  “I’ll do what I have to, but soon as we cross you don’t touch me.”

  “Have it your way Baby.”

  “My name is Rosa.”

  They rode in silence until the lights of the crossing glared ahead. “Now’s the time to make it real Baby.” Reluctantly Rosa slid across the seat next to Arnold. She swallowed hard against the bile that rose up in her throat. He put his arm around her and smirked, whispering with his lips brushing her ear, “That’s more like it, love. Now put your hand on my leg, like you can’t wait to get me alone.”

  “You bastard.”

  As they approached the gate, the guard brought a dog, whining, and nervously sniffing all around the car. Rosa reluctantly put her hand on Arnold’s leg and leaned closer to him.

  “Ooh, she’s hot for me,” he said in a smutty tone. Rosa shuttered and closed her eyes.

  “Documents please. Is this your wife?”

  Arnold handed several documents with a stack of concealed bills to the familiar agent. “Yes, sir, on our honeymoon.” Arnold kissed her hard and long, Rosa didn’t dare resist.

  “When did you get married Ma’am?”

  “Today, like he said, we’re on our honeymoon.”

  “Congratulations. Everything looks to be in order, have a nice evening.”

  When their car cleared the inspection lane, Arnold drove quickly away, still holding Rosa close.

  “You can let me go now—I won’t jump out.”

  “Oh Baby, I was just getting to know you.”

  Rosa squirmed away, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Glued to the door, she silently stared out the window. She brushed off invisible dirt where he’d touched her.

  “We have to return this rental in El Paso, I have a motor home parked there. You’ll get in and stay out of sight. I’ll let you know when its safe to come up front.”

  It was getting light when Arnold said she could come out. Stiffly, she worked her way to the front of the luxury motor home. She looked at the nearly empty landscape in the brightening light. “How far to Las Vegas?” A road sign caught her
eye, US-54. “I thought Las Vegas was on a main highway.”

  “I had to take the backroads to stay out of sight. Go back there and make me a sandwich, get one for yourself too.”

  An hour later he pulled off the road. They were in a desolate area of the desert. “Why are we stopping? There’s nothing here.”

  “I gotta take a piss, and I need to rest a little. I’ve been up all night.”

  “When will we get there?”

  “When I’m damn good and ready. You can come back and sleep a little too, I won’t bite ya.”

  “No,” Rosa opened the door, and stepped out into the hot sun.

  “Go ahead, you won’t get far. There isn’t anything for miles in any direction. It’s nice and cool in here with the AC on.”

  Nervously, she walked up and down the road, reaching for the cell phone she didn’t have. Carlos had the only one they owned. She picked up a small stone and angrily threw it as far as she could into the empty desert. Swearing in a long stream of Spanish, she stomped her foot in disgust.

  Arnold watched her out the window. He scrutinized her slender, athletic body, appreciating her long, thick hair and the curve of her pretty face. She was barely five feet tall, and young. “Mmm, mmm, mmm—I got me a money maker this time.” He lay back down on the bed when he heard her get back inside.

  Hours later, Rosa got out to walk off frustration in the heat, slamming the door a little harder than necessary, waking Arnold. When she came back, he had locked the doors.

  “Hey, let me in. It’s too hot to stay out here.” She pounded on the doors, walking around to try all of them.

  He let her stew a while, then came up front and rolled down the window. “You ready to behave now?”

  “What do you mean, behave? You locked me out in the heat, you don’t tell me where we are, where we’re going. You have all my money, and you want me to—behave?”

  “Get in, we’re going.”

  Rosa got in when he unlocked the door and sat sullen, looking blankly out the window. Eventually they got on I-40, and she relaxed a little, until a few miles later he turned off again on a two-lane.

  “Short cut,” he said.

  She glared at him, and shuddered when he grinned and looked at her in a creepy way. She took out a small make-up case with a rose on the cover to check her face in the mirror. Carlos had given her the case and she cherished it. She lightly traced the rose on the cover before putting it away.

  Soon they came to a tiny little town, and I-25. “Here we are—Las Vegas.”

  “This isn’t Las Vegas, this is nowhere.”

  “That’s what the sign says,” he said, pointing.

  “But—I’ve seen pictures, this isn’t it. There should be casinos and lights, it’s a big city.”

  “Oh—you must mean Las Vegas, Nevada. This is Utah.”

  “What? Why are we in Utah? You lied.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You said you had a job for me in Las Vegas.”

  “You saying you don’t want to stay here?”

  “No—I mean yes, if there’s a job and a home.”

  “Oh you want a home. You better stay with me and we’ll get you all set up.” Arnold never slowed down. They drove on into Colorado, then turned off onto another secondary road as it was getting dark. Rosa tried to stay awake, but eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

  When the RV stopped, Rosa jerked awake in a panic. All she could see was a large building of corrugated metal. They were parked within a couple feet of the door so the headlights didn’t help her much, the light glared back in her eyes. She instinctively reached for the door handle, looking into the inky darkness for a place to run.

  “Just sit tight, pretty baby, I’m getting out to open the door.”

  She watched him slide the massive door open. He had to step over a tangle of tumble weeds, some scraggly saplings and rusty sheet metal, as he wrestled with the heavy panel. Beyond the door loomed a yawning, domed cavern. Rosa could see a stack of hay, and a semi-truck and trailer.

  “What is this place, why are we here?”

  Arnold drove into a space large enough to turn around in and parked the motor home. He got out and slid the door shut, using a padlock to secure it, then flipped on a few overhead lights that dimly hummed as they warmed up.

  “I said, why are we here? I need to call Car….” Rosa didn’t see it coming, the blow knocked her to the concrete floor.

  “Shut-up.” He dragged her to her feet, and shoved her in the direction of the semi-trailer. Holding her roughly by the hair, he unlocked a side door and shoved her in. Rosa sprawled, bleeding, across the carpeted floor. She heard the door lock behind her.

  “Hurmph. Don’t think you gonna have the bottom bunk. That mine. You get the top.” Rosa rolled to a sitting position, and shoved her tangled hair out of her face. Sitting in an easy chair was a young black woman, filing her bright orange nails. Her face was heavily made up, and she had an elaborate hair do. Bright, skin tight leggings hugged her shapely body.

  “Who are—I’m Rosa. What is this place?”

  “This place you home now. Get used to it. It better when you here.”

  “What was your name?”

  “Blaize, I’m the top ho ‘round here, don’t you forget that.”

  “The top—what?”

  “Ho—you find out.”

  2

  Margret and Joyce

  Joyce Hart watched a short, stocky woman make her way across the parking lot with a heavy bag. The woman was looking at every truck, and then at a scrap of paper in her hand. This must be my student, thought Joyce, why did I let John talk me into this?

  Joyce had been a long-haul truck driver for eight years—not long, as most jobs go, but the rigors of road life made eight years an eternity. She drove solo, enjoying the solitary life, able to do things her way. Solo, at least until now. Her driver manager talked her into taking on a student driver. The demand for new drivers was high and trainers scarce, particularly for women.

  “Are you Joyce? They told me to look for truck 532409, since all the trucks are red.” Margret glanced from the note then up at Joyce. She shoved her glasses back into place with the back of her hand.

  “That would be me,” Joyce said, “come around to the other side and you can hand your gear up.” Joyce reached out the passenger door to grab the duffle bag. “What you got in here, rocks?”

  “I packed a few books,” said Margret withdrawing a book she had tucked under her arm.

  Joyce caught the title, Truck Driving for Beginners. Oh great, she learned how to drive from a book. When her student was settled in the passenger seat, Joyce extended her hand. “I’m Joyce Hart and this,” she gestured to the truck, “is Lucille.”

  “Glad to meet you, I’m Margret Malone. I can hardly wait for this adventure.”

  “Ah—yeah, me too.”

  “The truck has a name?”

  “Well—yeah. I spend a lot of time with her.”

  “And she’s a girl. I like that.”

  “Let’s get started, we have a load to pick up in an hour, then we head east. Just how much driving have you done?”

  “Oh a lot—my truck driving school was a month long course. We circled the lot day after day, practicing for hours.”

  “Did you ever get out on the streets?”

  “Of course, we practiced on the streets the last week so we could pass our CDL exam. I got eighty-two percent the first time, ground the gears a little, but I passed right away.”

  “Did they have you pull a load or an empty trailer?”

  “I guess it was empty, I never looked inside a trailer.”

  “Okaay. Let’s get the pre-trip done. You go ahead, and I’ll just follow along behind. I hope you don’t smoke, I hate smoke and I won’t have it in my truck.”

  “Nope, I’ve never smoked.”

  “Good.”

  Joyce was as patient as she could be, but time was getting short, they had a load to pick up
. “I’m glad you’re thorough—the pre-trip is important.” Margret continued to check every lug-nut, every hose, and she crawled under the trailer to inspect the brakes. “Um—you’re doing great, but we need to get rolling. Can you wrap this up pretty soon?”

  “I still need to check the air-pressure in all the tires, do you have a tire gauge?”

  “Yeah, the tires are okay. I checked them this morning.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, the book says each driver should check everything themselves.”

  “I’ll let you check them when we’re in the dock, right now we have to finish this.”

  “I didn’t get to pump down the brakes yet.”

  “The system works fine, nobody pumps down the brakes every day. We gotta go.”

  Margret was annoyed she didn’t get to follow protocol to the letter, but she wasn’t nearly as annoyed as Joyce. “You’re driving, so get the seat adjusted, and move the mirrors so you can see. I’ll tell you where to go for now, I’ve been to this shipper a million times.”

  Margret was nervous like a rabbit in a coyote den. She fiddled with the seat and mirrors for ten minutes, while Joyce fidgeted in the passenger seat. When she was finally ready to go, Joyce handed her the key. “Start her up.”

  “Oh, I forgot to start my log book.”

  “We’re on electronic logs, we just have to enter you in. We’ve got this new system, Zonar. I’m not used to it yet—I liked the old Qualcom better—not as fancy, but simpler.”

  While they were fumbling with getting Margret entered into the Zonar, Joyce’s phone rang. “Hi John. Yes, we’re going to pick up the load. It’s taking a little while to get her all set up. Can you call them and reschedule our pick up time? Thanks, we’ll get rolling and hopefully they’ll still load us.”

  “Is John our driver manager?”

  “Yeah, he’s a decent guy, but sometimes you’ll hate him.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see—the thing is, most of these guys have never been in a truck. They have no idea what its like out here,” said Joyce, putting the Zonar back into its cradle,“Okay, you’re in. The Zonar has to be in the cradle so it can track the truck’s location and do your logs—let’s go.”