I saw the look of recognition slowly come to her eyes. “Isle of Palms?”
“You know the place?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Okay, I’ll go with you, but you gotta pay me a hundred right now.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out two $100 bills and handed them to her. “Do you know any other girls who might need help?”
She took the bills and stuffed them in her pocket. “There aren’t many of us left,” she said.
“I know. That’s why we want to help. What’s your name?”
“Bella,” she whispered, slumping down in her seat. “Bella Tomas.”
Suddenly, she became agitated. “Pull over,” she shouted. “There’s Maria.”
I slowed, and noticed another dark-haired girl walking down the street.
Bella fumbled with the button and finally got the window down. “Maria! Ven aquí, chica.”
The girl approached cautiously. “Bella? What’s going on?”
“Get in back,” Bella said.
The girl named Maria did as her friend told her, then Bella climbed over the seat, kicking me in the shoulder.
The two talked in rapid-fire Spanish.
“She’s telling the other girl what I told her,” I heard Savannah say over the earwig.
After a moment, the second girl leaned over the seat. “Let me talk to her,” she said.
I removed the earwig and handed it back to her.
There was more Spanish. I can speak and understand a few words and phrases, but not when it’s spoken fast. Savannah spoke fluent Spanish.
Finally, Maria handed the earwig back. “I am Maria Gonzalez.”
“I’m Jesse McDermitt,” I said. “That was my wife you were just talking to. Her name’s Savannah.”
“She is not Hispanic,” Maria said. “Her Spanish is good, but with an accent.”
I looked back at the two in the rearview mirror and grinned. “No, she’s not Hispanic. She’s from South Carolina.”
We drove a few more blocks, and then I told the girls I needed to stop to pick up a friend who was going to be helping us. That made them seem a little nervous.
“He’s okay,” I said. “We trust him and I’m asking you to trust him, too. I can just have him follow us if you’d rather.”
“Yes,” Maria said.
I pulled out my phone and called Mark. “Get to your car,” I said. “Meet me at McGregor and follow us to Fort Myers Beach. I’m in a white Nissan.”
“On my way,” he said. “I’m in a blue Dodge Ram.”
I looked back at the two of them and asked, “Do either of you know a little boy named Alberto Mar?”
Maria’s head snapped up, her face suddenly more lucid. “Alberto Marco?”
“He’s about eight,” I said. “But small for his age. Half black and half Hispanic, maybe.”
“How do you know him? What happened to him?”
I nearly slammed on the brakes. The odds were so high against it, yet she seemed to know who Alberto was.
“My wife and I found him three days ago, drifting in a boat. He was hurt, but he’s okay now. He doesn’t remember anything, not even his name.”
“Madre Dios,” Maria said, making the sign of the cross on herself. “I was so sure he was dead. I knew his mother.”
Knew? Past tense?
“He’s all right,” I said again. “He’s with my wife, asleep on our boat.”
“His mama’s name was Carmel Marco,” Maria said. “She was my friend, but now she is dead—murdered by a man named Bumpy who is with Lake Boyz.”
“Tony,” I said quietly, “did you and DJ get that?”
They both replied that they had.
“If you encounter anyone by that name,” I said. “I want to see him.”
A dark-colored Dodge pickup was sitting at the entrance to the marina. It didn’t move, though there was no traffic, and I was still a block away. When I flashed my headlights, the lights on the truck went off and came back on.
Fifteen minutes later, we were on Estero Island and I pulled into the clinic, Mark right behind me. There were only four cars in the parking lot—the night shift.
Before I even got out of the car, the door opened and Dr. Lopez came out, her white lab coat billowing behind her, exposing her street clothes—a light blue blouse and dark blue skirt. She walked quickly toward the car.
“Mr. McDermitt,” she said. “I was in doubt that you would return.”
I nodded to her, went around to meet her on the passenger side of the car, and opened the door.
“This is Maria and Bella,” I said. “Ladies, this is Dr. Cat Lopez. She runs this place.”
The girls slid out of the backseat. They stood side by side, faces cast down, hair shrouding their features.
“Estoy aquí para ayudarte a recuperarte,” Cat said softly.
“We speak English,” Maria said.
She seemed to be the stronger of the two.
“Please come inside,” Cat said. “We have food and drink.”
“Can I speak to Maria?” I asked, as Mark’s truck pulled up on the other side of my car.
“What for?” Maria asked.
“I want to know more about Alberto,” I replied. “Anything that you can tell me will help him.”
“Can I help you?” Cat asked, as Mark got out. “We are closed for visitors.”
“He’s with me,” I said. “Mark Ramsey, meet Dr. Lopez. He might be dropping off more patients. I just wanted you to meet him first.”
“Come inside, Bella,” Cat said. “Are you hungry?”
Bella nodded and Cat put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the door.
“What else can you tell me about Alberto?” I asked Maria.
“He’s smart,” Maria said, her legs starting to shake a little. “I used to sit for Carmel.”
“You said a man named Bumpy killed her? How do you know that?”
“I met a girl who worked for Lake Boyz who told me that Bumpy killed Carmel and some others. That same night, a week ago maybe, they trashed Razor’s place and took Alberto. He was staying there while Carmel worked.”
“Did you know his father?”
“I never met him,” she replied, as Cat came back out. “She told me once that his name was LeBron Green. He was killed in an accident when Alberto was five.”
“Did he have a hand in raising Alberto?”
She nodded. “They lived together. Carmel said he was a good man.”
“I need to get her inside,” Cat said.
“Okay,” I said, then lifted Maria’s chin. I smiled at her. “There are a lot of people working tonight to make things better. This facility is open to your friends. Do you know anyone else who Cat can help?”
She nodded and her eyes searched mine, not breaking contact. I was probably the first man she’d met in a long time who didn’t want anything from her.
“I know a couple,” she said.
“That’s good,” I whispered softly. “Go with Cat now and if you can contact any of them, tell them to come here.” I dug into my pocket and produced a wad of ten-dollar bills. I pressed them into Maria’s hand. “Tell them you have cab fare covered and the driver can call here to confirm, okay?”
She nodded and then Cat escorted her inside.
“Whoa,” Mark said, after the two women went inside. “That was intense. I didn’t know all this was going on.”
“Murdered hookers isn’t exactly front page news,” I said. “Not good for tourism.”
“Do you really think you can make a difference?”
“We already have, brother. Maybe the difference isn’t big in the grand scheme of things.” I paused and looked at the door. “But it’s huge to those two girls. They have a chance at a path to recovery and to start a new life.”
Mark headed back to the marina and I drove back to the Pine Manor area. I cruised up and down Cleveland a few more times with no luck, so I moved on northward toward the bridge to Nort
h Fort Myers.
Turning right onto MLK, I came to a red light. A black girl stepped out of the shadow of a magnolia tree. My window was down.
The proposition was made, money was offered, and she got in.
It went on like that for several more hours. In all, I picked up eight more prostitutes, five of whom took me up on my offer. Two were black, one Hispanic, and two white girls. Savannah talked to each one and I took them to where Mark waited at the marina entrance.
Finally, just after 0200, I drove the last girl to the clinic. Cat got her checked in and I went with her to her office.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said with a yawn, taking a seat behind her desk. “Three more girls came in from the Pine Manor neighborhood. That’s ten altogether.”
I opened the go-bag I’d retrieved from the trunk of the rental car and counted out ten bundles of hundred-dollar bills. “Will this be enough for their treatment and to give each one who completes it five grand for a new start in life?”
She stared at the pile of banded Benjamins a moment, slightly aghast. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much cash at one time.” She looked at me, and I could see suspicion in her eyes.
“I assure you, it’s not from anything illegal.”
“Nobody does this kind of thing for nothing, Mr. McDermitt.”
I gave her a half grin. “I thought we were friends, Cat.”
She looked down at the money and back up at me. “Okay, Jesse, then. Why are you doing this?”
“I grew up here,” I said. “As did my late father and his father before him. Dad was killed in Vietnam and Mom took her own life a few days later. I lived with my grandparents from the age of eight until I joined the Marine Corps. Pap left me a sizable fortune and I’ve been fortunate to find some lost treasure over the years. This is just my way of giving back to the community, I guess.”
“You guess? That’s more than I take home in a year.”
I reached into the bag and took out two more bundles and added them to the stack. “Consider this a donation. What you’re doing here is important work, Cat.”
“How did you ever convince so many to come in?”
I smiled. “I didn’t. To be honest, I had no idea how to even proposition a hooker to get in the car when I started.” I pointed to my earwig, which was still on. “It was Savannah. She talked to each girl and convinced them to come.”
“What’d she tell them?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, then touched my ear. “Are you still there, Savvy?”
“She’s gone to bed,” I heard Chyrel reply over the comm. “She was emotionally drained.”
“Okay,” I said. “If she wakes up, tell her I’m headed back.”
I shrugged. “She’s gone to sleep,” I said to Cat.
“You should, as well. You look exhausted.”
I rose and extended my hand. “The word is out. If any more girls come in, just let me know and I’ll send you more.”
She rose and shook my hand. “I wish there were more people like you in this world, Jesse.”
“There are,” I said, with a grin. “You, Dr. Porter, Dr. Wilson; the world is full of people who are willing to help others.”
I left then, feeling good about what we’d accomplished. Chyrel had DJ and Tony on a different comm channel and had given me updates throughout the night. As I got in the car, I asked her to switch me over to their channel.
“Tony, DJ, how’s it going?”
“There’s three dealers lying under bushes up here in the north end of town,” Tony replied. “I have about a pound of meth and a couple thousand in cash. Left enough on each one to put them away for a while.”
“Roughly the same here in the south end,” DJ reported. “Maybe a bit more cash. These idiots walk around with way too much money and confidence.”
“Let’s call it a night,” I said. “We put a big dent in both gangs’ ability to make money. You recorded the GPS locations of all of them, like we planned?”
“Yeah,” Tony replied. “Chyrel has them all.”
“Go ahead and make your call, Chyrel,” I said.
“Hang on,” Tony interrupted. “I think I might have one more.”
“Hold on, Chyrel,” I said. “Let’s see if Tony can’t bag and tag another one.”
I got in the car and started the engine while I listened on the comm.
“Hey, man,” Tony said. “You know where I can score some party supplies?”
I heard someone in the background say something but couldn’t make out anything other than it sounded like a man.
“No, man, nothing like that,” Tony said. “A brother told me I might find a guy named Bumpy around here and he could hook me up.”
“I’m Bumpy,” I heard the man say clearly.
My mind raced. I didn’t want Tony to bring the guy back to the boats. Too many potential witnesses, and there was no way I wanted Savannah to know anything about this guy.
“Make the call, Chyrel,” I said, backing out, and turning around. “Tony won’t be leaving this one behind.”
Our plan was for Chyrel to contact Fort Myers PD’s Gang Suppression Unit and give them the GPS coordinates of the dealers Tony and DJ had taken down. She’d make the call via her computer and would route it through hundreds of bogus landlines, so the call couldn’t be traced. Tony and DJ had left each dealer with enough drugs to ensure that they would go to jail for distribution.
I heard Tony talking to the guy who called himself Bumpy as I started north, and then I heard a loud thump.
“As you would say, Jesse,” Tony said over the comm, “one more turd fondler down.”
“Get him in your car, Tony,” I said. “Cuff his hands and feet, then head east on Highway 82.” At a light, I pulled up a map on Google. “DJ, you start heading that way, too. I know a place we can take him.”
“Roger that,” they both replied.
It took me a while to find the spot on Google maps. The light turned green, but there wasn’t anyone behind me. When I found it, I could tell from the aerial photo that it was still the same.
Decades earlier, a developer had built roads in part of the Corkscrew Swamp, near Immokalee. But nothing had ever happened with it and the roads were abandoned. I got the GPS coordinates and relayed them to both men.
“What do you want me to tell Savannah if she wakes up?” Chyrel asked.
“Don’t tell her anything,” I said, accelerating northward. “In fact, after you make the call to the DSU, unplug and go to bed. We’ll see you in the morning.”
I headed north on 6-Mile Cypress Parkway, driving a little over the speed limit, but not enough to attract attention. It was late and there were few cars on the road.
Tony was the closest, but only about ten minutes ahead of me and five ahead of DJ. When I reached County Road 876, I hung a right and, not seeing any traffic, floored it for the half-mile crossing of 6-Mile Slough, slowing before I got to the other side. From there, I kept it at a sedate speed for the next eight miles, then made another right onto State Road 82.
“I’m on 82 now,” I said. “Y’all are probably a little ahead of me.”
“Do you know a place called Wild Turkey Strand?” DJ asked. “I’m just passing it now.”
“You’re a mile or two ahead of me,” I said.
“I’m in the middle of East Jesus, Nowhere,” Tony said. “Wait a sec…just passing CR 850.”
“That’s Corkscrew Road,” I said. “DJ and I are about fifteen minutes behind you.”
“Where exactly are we going?” DJ said. “And who the hell made up these names?”
I ignored the second question. “We’re going deep into Corkscrew Swamp near Immokalee,” I replied. “As remote and wild as any part of Florida gets.”
Tony chuckled. “Sounds like a scary place.”
“It is,” I agreed. “Follow your GPS, and once you turn off of Lake Trafford Road onto Pepper Road, you’ll wind your way back into the swamp, taking
a series of rights and lefts for a good five miles to stay on Pepper. When your GPS tells you to turn right where there doesn’t look like there’s a road, just trust it. That trail won’t have a name and it’ll be rough going. Go about an eighth of a mile and wait for me.”
“This guy’s starting to wake up,” Tony said. “I have him flex-cuffed in the backseat.”
“Let him wake up,” I said. “Don’t talk to him at all. Let the drive put the fear of God into him.”
Forty minutes passed and the only voice I heard was Bumpy asking Tony what he thought he was doing and where he was taking him. Each time he spoke, he became more and more agitated and demanding. Then he finally started to sound a little scared. I figured Tony had turned onto Pepper Road.
“Drive it like you stole it, Tony,” I said. “If you’re on Pepper Road, there’s nothing out there except swamp and gators. The road is straight as an arrow to each right and left turn. Just slow when you approach a wall of saw palmetto, so you can tell if it’s a right or a left.”
Bumpy’s voice sounded panicked and then he became silent for a second.
“Why you stoppin’, man?” I heard Bumpy say. “C’mon, man! What’d I ever do to you?”
I heard the door open, and the dinging sound of the car’s warning that the keys were still in the ignition. Then the door slammed, and I heard nothing for a moment.
“Man, you weren’t kiddin’,” Tony said, as DJ and I turned onto Pepper. ‘It’s spooky as all hell out here.”
I stayed right behind DJ, driving with my lights off, so as not to blind him, and to keep the glow down. It was flat ground and swamp all around, with occasional cypress hammocks and live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss. I doubted anyone was within a mile, but if they were outside, they could likely see the glow from two sets of headlights.
Finally, DJ slowed and turned off of Pepper onto an overgrown track that threaded between overhanging water oaks and live oaks that grew up along the banks of abandoned canals. Saw palmetto had taken over much of the area where the oaks allowed light.
It was slow going. There was no way to tell that the road had ever been maintained, let alone paved. The asphalt had been broken up and choked with weeds when I was a kid. Bigger trees and the saw palmetto, so common to the area, didn’t take root in the cracks, maybe due to the presence of the petroleum in the asphalt.
Rising Tide Page 14