Double Trouble

by Scott Wittenburg

  He considered trying the front door but decided against it. Not only would he attract attention he was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to see anything there either. He was just going to have to wait until Matthews came out.

  He assumed that Matthews would leave before they came to pick up the girl but he could be wrong about that. Maybe they would pick up the girl before Matthews left instead. Either way, he planned to take evidentiary photos of all parties coming and going to this house no matter what the sequence might be.

  Would this be enough to convict? He wasn’t a prosecutor but he doubted it.

  He still needed to get a good shot of Matthews’ car in the driveway. He went over and composed a shot with the Lincoln in the foreground and the back porch in the background. That would have to do.

  He wondered what was happening in this house right now. What was Matthews doing with the child? How does a grown man who’s an absolute stranger go about breaking the ice with a child so frightened of him that all she wants to do is escape and go back home to her family? A man who has nothing but one thing on his mind, so self-serving and evil that he doesn’t give a shit about how much this will hurt the girl.

  What about his own kids for crying out loud? Can’t this fucker make the goddamn connection? Would he want his own daughter to be meeting up with somebody like him?

  Alan was seething. He was losing it.

  This definitely isn’t going to be enough. He needed to do more to make absolutely sure this piece of shit was put away for good. He needed a shot that would definitely convict him. Not some lame shot after the fact—a shot that doesn’t begin to tell the story.

  He needed to go inside. He wasn’t about to just stand there while this monster took advantage of a little girl.

  Screw the legality!

  Before he could change his mind and let rationale prevail, he stepped onto the porch. He quietly swung open the screen door to get to the inner door, turned the doorknob but it was locked. No surprise there. All he needed to do was get his hand through a fist-sized hole in that thin glass window and turn the lock from the inside.

  He needed tape to quiet the sound. Just so happens he brought a roll, just in case. He pulled out a roll of masking tape from his jacket pocket and tore off a five-inch strip. He stuck it to the glass in the lower left hand corner of the window frame and repeated the process until he had masked off a rough square-shaped area.

  He pulled out his pocketknife, held it in the palm of his hand and stared at it. Was he really going to do this?

  Hell yeah.

  He held the knife between his thumb and forefinger, drew back his hand at the wrist and tapped the center of the masking tape. The glass broke with a muffled thud. He opened the knife and cut out pieces of the taped glass until he had created a hole large enough to stick his hand through. He carefully slipped in his hand, groped around inside until he felt the lock and quietly turned it.

  He retracted his hand, turned the doorknob and pushed in on the door.

  No turning back now, he thought.

  The door squeaked noisily on its hinges as he opened it just far enough to get through. He swore under his breath as he realized that the slower he pushed, the more excruciating the sound. So he pushed it all the way open in one fell swoop.

  Pausing a moment to make sure he hadn’t been heard, he stepped inside a mudroom. He started to close the door but changed his mind—he didn’t plan on staying that long. The room was small and he could see the kitchen off to the right. It was so quiet he could hear himself breathing as he tiptoed across the floor and stepped into the kitchen.

  He looked around and saw a recently updated room with modern appliances and fixtures. It was impressive for a house this old and whoever owned the place had taken great care to make it look sparkling clean and functional.

  Alan thought he could hear voices so he stopped dead in his tracks to listen. It was a man’s voice he heard—Matthews. His voice sounded affected, sing-song-like, like the tone one would use while speaking to a child.

  It sounded as though they were a couple of rooms away. He crept through the kitchen to the adjoining dining room and stopped once more to listen.

  They were at least another room away, judging by the muffled quality of the voices. The girl was speaking now, her voice high and undeniably forced. It sounded as though they might be playing a game of some kind.

  Alan moved over to the arched doorway and peered into the living room. There he saw a foyer off to the right and could just make out the front door. Matthews and the girl had to be on the other side of the foyer.

  The living room was fully furnished with a large leather sofa, a couple of expensive-looking leather chairs, a huge flat screen TV and a few pieces of art hanging on the walls. It looked homey and comfortable. It was becoming very clear that Mansky and company had furnished this upscale house to impress their wealthy clients and make them feel at home as they did whatever they did with their rented victims. He had never heard of an operation like this—one so plainly conceived for the purpose of kowtowing to wealthy perverts with expensive tastes for sex with children.

  He walked quietly across the hardwood floor toward the foyer, stopping just shy of it. Across the hall he heard the voices come from a room; its door was wide open. He could clearly make out what was being said.

  “Your turn, now!” Matthews said. “Draw a card!”

  There was silence, no reply.

  “Well done!” Matthews cried. “My turn now!”

  Alan tiptoed over and stood just outside the open door. He wasn’t able to see inside the room because of the angle.

  “I can’t believe how bad my luck is! Looks like I have to give something else up,” Matthews said, feigning disappointment.

  Alan peeked around the corner for a brief instant and couldn’t believe what he saw.

  Matthews and the girl were sitting across from one another at a card table. Matthews’ back was facing the door and he was wearing nothing but his boxers and socks. His shirt and trousers lay in a heap on the floor. The young girl was dressed in some sort of princess fairy dress, her crown sitting before her on the card table.

  It appeared as though they might be playing a juvenile variation of strip poker.

  Alan was both aghast and relieved at the same time. In total shock that Matthews would engage this youngster in such a perverse activity, but relieved that the game hadn’t gone any further than it had.

  He noted how the girl looked during that brief instant. She couldn’t be any older than eight years old, had long curly brown hair and big round blue eyes. Her expression had shown a mixture of fear and anxiety. She looked exactly how any child who had been forced into this frightening situation would look. He recalled what Mansky had said to Matthews in the chat room regarding this girl the night before. That “they think she’s ready for her maiden voyage.” He wondered who “they” were and what the poor girl had been subjected to in order to be “ready” for all of this.

  “Your turn again—I hope my luck starts changing soon—I’m running out of clothes!” Matthews giggled.

  The girl remained silent and Alan wondered how much she had actually spoken since entering this nightmare.

  “Oh no, the dreaded queen!” Matthews exclaimed. “Sorry honey, but you know the rules.”

  A moment passed. Matthews said, “Aw, c’mon. It’s okay. Don’t be sad.”

  Alan could hear the girl crying softly. He had taken about as much of this as he could.

  He pulled out the Coolpix, stood in the doorway and brought his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. The young girl glanced over Matthews’ shoulder at him and, God love her, somehow managed to avoid tipping off Matthews about his presence. Instead, she ceased crying and Alan heard her speak for the first time.

  “I’m okay now, Mister M.”

  “There you go—what a great sport!”

  Alan moved quietly to his left in a wide arc, attempting to get a good angle for a shot.
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  “What are you going to take off this time, Princess?”

  Alan’s eyes never left the girl as he continued moving closer to the table. He was nodding at her encouragingly, amazed at her ability to act as though he wasn’t there. She would make a wonderful actress some day.

  “One of my shoes, I guess,” she replied.

  “Let me help you with that,” Matthews offered as he stood up.

  “No, I can do it myself.”

  Matthews sat down again. Alan had moved in as close as he could before Matthews could see him out of the corner of his eye. He waited until the girl had removed her shoe and set it on the table and made his move.

  “You’ve been caught with your pants off, Matthews. What do you call this game you’re playing, anyway?” he said, springing into view.

  Matthews caught sight of Alan at the exact same moment Alan snapped a quick series of shots. Matthews looked as though he had just seen a ghost.

  “What the hell—who are you?” he shouted.

  “I’ll ask the questions. Why don’t you come over here, sweetie? I won’t hurt you.” Alan said to the girl.

  She stood up and ran over to him, relieved that she was apparently being saved from this madman. She hugged Alan so tight he wasn’t sure she would ever let go.

  “He wants to hurt me!” she cried. “Please don’t let them hurt me anymore!”

  Alan patted her back comfortingly, keeping his eye on Matthews who was still dumbstruck.

  “There now, nobody’s going to hurt you anymore. My name’s Alan—what’s yours?”

  “My real name is Carly. But they told me to tell everybody it’s Susie. I don’t like Susie. ”

  “I like your real name a lot better, too. Can you do me a big favor, Carly? Can you stay right here while I have a chat with Mister M. out in the living room? I’ll only be a minute.”

  “Can’t I go with you? I want to leave now!”

  “Oh, you’ll be leaving with me, Carly, very soon. I just need to speak to this man first and then we’ll go. I promise.”

  Alan gave her a reassuring embrace.

  “Okay, but please hurry!”

  “I will. Now, would you care to step outside, Mr. Matthews?”

  Matthews had apparently gotten over his shock. “I’m not going anywhere! You can’t just barge in here and do this, Mister—you have no right!”

  “Swansea’s the name, and yes—I do have the right. I have the right to protect this girl from scum like you who hurt little children. And don’t give me any song and dance, Matthews. I know that you paid someone big money so that you could spend some time with this child. I also know this isn’t the first time. But I can tell you right now it will most definitely be your last. Now are you going to come with me or am I going to have to force you?”

  “Are you with the police?”

  “Not exactly, but close enough. Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly, Matthews stood up. Alan waited for him to get dressed then motioned for him to lead the way out of the room. Alan never carried a gun and it was rare times like this he wished he did. Matthews however didn’t have to know it.

  “Stay here, Carly. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Alan didn’t like leaving the girl there but he didn’t want her to hear what he was going to say to Matthews.

  Once they were in the living room, Alan got right up in Matthews’ face and backhanded him. The blow caught him totally off guard.

  “That’s for all you do, Matthews. Like preying on innocent children, you sick fuck. I’d love to beat you to a pulp right now but lucky for you, that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Now I want you to tell me, when will they be coming back to pick up Carly?”

  “Who?”

  “Mansky, you asshole! Do you think I’m shitting you? I know all about you and Zero and Gumby and the rest of your demented chat room pals. And I have proof right here on this camera what you’ve been up to this evening with Carly. I also know that you paid for her today while you were at the dry cleaners on Sixth Street. I have a shot of you in the act. Shall I go on? Or are you beginning to see the big picture?”

  “None of this will play out in court. You can’t use any of it!”

  “You want to take that chance? A picture says a thousand words, you know. Want to take any bets these photos won’t be showing up in the local media? Imagine how the public will react to seeing a prominent and naked middle-aged man playing strip poker with a seven-year-old girl he knows has been abducted and sold for sex by traffickers. Not exactly what you would call a sterling photo op, eh? Your reputation in this town, Mr. Matthews—not to mention your relationship with your wife and kids—will be toast.”

  Matthews knew he was cornered. “What do I have to do?”

  “Help us take Mansky and his trafficking operation down.”

  “I can’t do that! He’ll have me murdered!”

  “Not if you help us put him behind bars.”

  “That won’t make any difference—he has connections all over the country. He’ll see to it that I’m murdered from prison if he has to!”

  “Well, that’s just the chance you’ll have to take. You asked for all of this, Matthews. You know what they say, ‘if you play, you have to pay.’ That’s just the way it goes. But I can tell you one thing and you can take it to heart. Whether you help us nail this gang or not, you’re going to be on Mansky’s hit list. Once he finds out that one of his girls has been taken away on your watch, he will not be a happy camper. So you might as well work with the authorities. Maybe you’ll even get some police protection if you’re cooperative.”

  “But what about my family? He’ll go after them!”

  “Again, that’s what happens when you do the kind of shit you’ve been doing. Call it karma. Perhaps they can move your family to another town—it’s worth a shot. At any rate, you don’t really have much of a choice here. So what do you say?”

  Matthews sighed, hung his head and fell silent. Alan hoped he had been convincing enough to put the fear of God in Matthews. He felt pretty confident he had. The man seemed genuinely devastated at the prospect of his atrocities being exposed through the press. To a man like Matthews, public perception was of the upmost importance. It wouldn’t take him long to realize that he was going to get some jail time no matter what he did—he may already be considering that. The only question would be for how long, depending on whether he cooperates or not and what leniency may be given.

  “He’ll be here at eleven-thirty,” he finally said.

  “That’s more like it. What’s the name of the man who brought Carly here?”

  “Henricks. He is one mean bastard.”

  “What do you think he’s going to do when he comes here and finds out Carly’s missing?” Alan asked, playing on a hunch.

  “He’ll probably fucking kill me if he gets the chance! That’s why I won’t be here!”

  “Oh yes you will, Matthews. I’ll see to that.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I shit you not. I’m going to have somebody come by to pick up Carly and then I’m going to hang out until Henricks returns. I’ll be outside, making sure you don’t try to slip away.”

  “Please don’t do that—”

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because—because I’ll cooperate, fully. I swear! I’ll even confess if I have to. I just don’t want to be here when that Neanderthal comes back!”

  Alan found it difficult to hide his elation. This was turning out even better than he’d hoped for.

  “You’ll confess to everything, including all you know about the trafficking operation?”

  “Yes, yes. I know when I’m screwed and I’m screwed. But good.”

  Alan pulled out the camera and switched it to video mode. “I want you to say that for the record.”

  He looked through the viewfinder and composed the scene.

  “Mister Brock Matthews has just announced that he will give a full confession re
garding his relationship with Isaac Mansky and his sex trafficking operation. Is that correct, Mr. Matthews?”

  Matthews fidgeted and for a moment Alan thought he might change his mind. What Alan was attempting to do—videotape a confession by someone promising to confess a crime to the authorities some time in the future—wasn’t binding and probably not even admissible, but what the hell? It was worth a shot.

  “I agree—I will confess all,” Matthews suddenly said to the camera.

  “Thank you, Mr. Matthews,” Alan said before hitting the stop button.

  He glanced at the time—there was a little over a half hour before Henricks would return. He needed to call Ron Fleming.

  Suddenly, Carly emerged from the playroom. “Can we go now?”

  Alan could see the lingering mistrust in the child’s eyes. No wonder, he thought. The poor girl had no reason to trust anybody after all she’d been through since being snatched up by traffickers and processed for prostitution at her tender age. Alan’s promise to take her with him could just be another lie as far as she knew. He wondered how long she had been away from her family. They needed to know she would be coming home, and the sooner they found out, the better.

  “We’re leaving now,” he announced. “You’re free to go, Matthews. I’m sure somebody will be getting in touch with you soon.”

  He looked at Alan in disbelief. “You’re not going to call the cops?”

  “I am, but not right this second. And when I do, I’m going to hand this whole case over to them so they can take over. But right now, this little girl is all I’m concerned about. If I were you, Matthews, I’d go home and give your wife and kids a big hug in the meantime. But that of course is up to you.

  “Let’s get out of here, Carly,” he said, taking the girl by the hand and leaving Brock Matthews alone to mull over his next move.

  CHAPTER 30

  “We need to make sure nobody sees us,” Alan whispered to Carly as they sidled up the driveway in the darkness. There were no cars approaching, so he picked up the pace and hastily led the way back to the Pilot.