Currents of Sin

by Arleen Alleman

  “Penelope would make an effort to make friends with Pammie,” he explained. “But then she would go through phases of anger and even hostility. Pammie seemed bewildered by the situation and by Penelope as well. In retrospect, I guess it was too much for both of them, especially for Pammie since she’d so recently lost her parents.

  “I think she’s streetwise, but in some ways, she’s just a lonely kid. We even tried to convince her to see Penelope’s therapist, but she refused. But you know what, Darcy?” He sounded a little bewildered himself.

  “I think she was bothered by our relationship too—Charlie’s and mine. We tried to get her enrolled in the local high school so she could get her diploma, but she refused to go. I think she was embarrassed about her, um, living arrangement with us. Maybe our marriage and lifestyle were too far outside her familiar traditional cultural zones—Hispanic and Native American.”

  “I’m so sorry, but maybe you’re wrong about that. Couldn’t it be that she was depressed about what happened to her mother and confused about what she wanted? It might not have anything to do with you and Charlie.”

  Listening to him recount the painful events during the months she lived with them, I felt a growing hopelessness because even if we found her, she might simply refuse to return to Seattle. Then what would Don and Charlie do? How would they explain to Penelope what happened to her sister? I could only imagine how confused she must be feeling as well.

  “Look, Darcy, I have to tell you that Charlie is having a hard time at home with Penelope. Outwardly, she doesn’t seem upset about Pammie leaving, but behavioral problems are starting up again. I’m relieved that you and Tom will be here to work on finding her because I might have to go back to Seattle at least for a few days.”

  “That’s okay, Don. You do what you have to. Of course I understand.”

  Charlie tended to be high-strung at times, although he usually rose to the occasion when he really needed to. I could imagine how stressed out he must be without his partner for support.

  “Meanwhile, Don, don’t you have an appointment this morning with someone at the police?”

  He checked his watch. “Yes, in an hour. We’re meeting with a vice detective named Craig Hollister. He’s supposed to be an expert on these street kids and their problems.”

  7

  I drove us to the Metropolitan Police Department on Ninth Street, just a few blocks from the hotel. Don explained that decades ago, Las Vegas and Clark County merged their law enforcement branches to form LVMPD, commonly called Metro.

  As we entered the parking lot, he said, “It’s the largest law enforcement agency in Nevada, and the top official is an elected sheriff who apparently enjoys a lot of independence from city, county, and state control.”

  Inside the pink stucco squat building, a receptionist led us to an office at the end of a corridor. Detective Craig Hollister rose from his desk to meet us just inside the door. He was way over six feet tall with soft brown eyes and thinning hair of the same color. Neatly dressed in a brown tweed silk sports jacket and a hand-painted tie adorned with green leaves and white blossoms, he smiled broadly as he shook our hands.

  The drab office was small with not enough space for a separate seating arrangement. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and we settled into typical office furniture upholstered in tan fabric that matched the walls. His appearance far surpassed the austerity of his surroundings.

  Don spoke first. “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Detective Hollister. I know how busy you must be, and it means a lot to me.”

  “Please call me Craig. I’m happy to talk with you about the street teen issues we’re dealing with here in the vice section. Actually, that population is a subset of the victims we try to assist.”

  “What do you mean by victims?” I asked.

  “I’m referring to an organized crime angle that recruits these kids off the street. Businesses like Asian massage parlors, for example, are often covers for prostitution and sex trafficking.”

  He leaned forward with his elbows and forearms on the desk. “I’ve been doing this for fourteen years—longer than anyone else. I’m part of Vice-Narcotics under Lieutenant Cathy Fielding, and I head up the Organized Crime Bureau and Criminal Intelligence section here—”

  I was a little surprised when Don impatiently interrupted him. “Wait, are you saying Pamela Fleetfoot, the girl I’m looking for, is involved with human traffickers—you mean forced prostitution?” His voice cracked, and I could see how upset he already was.

  Craig raised his hand. “No, no, I don’t have firsthand knowledge of Pamela’s whereabouts. I’m just explaining what often happens here. The bottom line is that a few years ago, in 2010, our vice unit attempted rescue of two thousand sex trafficking victims under the age of eighteen. More than half were kids from Nevada, but the rest were lured here from other states and countries.

  “Since then, things have improved, but there’s still too many. Basically, they can become slaves with all kinds of physical risks. We see burns, sexually transmitted diseases, PTSD, depression, untreated miscarriages, and worse.

  “We’re responsible for investigating prostitutes, their clients, and associated crimes, but also juvenile prostitution and pornography. That includes cases involving human trafficking for commercial sex.”

  This wasn’t at all what I was expecting from this trip to look for a runaway teenager. “Craig, I’m a little confused. I was under the impression that human trafficking was an international type of crime.”

  “Yes, it definitely can be. Here in Vegas, it is often Asian gangs with ties to places like China, Korea, and Thailand. Since 2005, the Trafficking Victims Protection Reauthorization Act has made sex trafficking a serious federal violation. It means whenever something of value is given to or received by any person for any sex act, it is deemed a commercial act under that law.”

  “But aren’t there social programs in a city like this where teens can go to avoid being exploited?”

  “Yes,” Don interjected. “Pammie stayed at a shelter of some kind for a few months after we found her at the motel downtown.”

  “Of course there are programs. But traffickers use psychological and physical coercion, even bondage, to convince kids they’ll be hurt if they don’t comply. Many street teens are already reluctant to be exposed due to their personal situations, and that makes it worse.”

  Don said, “By the way, I assume you know we’ve checked at the Green Door, and she doesn’t appear to be there now.”

  Craig leaned back and let out a tired sigh. I wondered about the emotional toll that must accompany his job.

  “There are a lot of places where she could be. I’m afraid what typically happens is the pimps or other gang members tell the victims they owe them money for living expenses—in some cases, even for transport from another state or country. It’s a form of indenture. Traffickers threaten physical abuse, rape, and even make threats against kids’ families. Remember how young some of them are—we’ve found twelve-year-olds out there.”

  “I don’t understand why if you know about these scum, you don’t just go out and arrest them all?” Don said.

  “I understand it seems crazy, but knowing this activity is going on is one thing. Pinpointing specific pimps, gang members, and kids who refuse to talk to us is another. It gets complicated.”

  He stared at a spot above our heads. “Nevada has a bit of a conflict about prostitution. I mean some residents as well as political and business leaders are not that outraged about legal brothels, and I’m afraid that attitude extends to illegal activities like women quietly working casino bars and clubs or even prostitutes sent to hotel rooms.

  “Of course the community feels stronger about child prostitution and hookers hassling tourists on the street, but other crimes against citizens tend to divert resources.” He returned his gaze to Don. “We’re trying to
change a sort of ‘out-of-sight, out-of-mind’ mentality.”

  Don slumped in his chair. “I came here hoping you could give us some ideas about how to find Pammie. I didn’t expect this. When we found her at the motel six months ago, there was this guy hanging around all the time who the police said was probably a pimp trainee. He supposedly took care of the kids, letting them stay at the motel for free.

  “We wanted to get her out of that environment before she began working the streets. Based on what you’ve told us, I’m worried about what was really going on then. We think she was communicating with someone here while she lived with us in Seattle.”

  “Hmm, well, there isn’t any way to know about that. But we can certainly steer you in the direction of some places where kids hang out in addition to the Green Door. I’m afraid Vegas has become a sort of pimp magnet because we’re a target for traffickers.”

  He gave us a little smirk. “You’ve probably noted that we have a highly sexualized atmosphere. The Sin City lifestyle is a tourist draw.” He scoffed at his own understatement.

  “Anyway, there are relationships between the kids and some of these wannabe and full-blown pimps and between the pimps and the gangs. Possibly even with traditional organized crime. It’s complicated, and we have hundreds of motels, hotels, and businesses involved at some level.”

  I was trying to take this in and formulate an acceptance of why he and others couldn’t get control of the situation. “Craig, I hear you, but aren’t there raids or something conducted at places where this is going on?”

  “Sure, that’s what we work toward. At the same time, I and others try to improve the law enforcement culture. It’s a little better than it used to be. We try to recruit bilingual officers to work the streets, sometimes undercover. But the fact is, Asian groups are very different from one another and have to be treated accordingly.

  “Cultures at home are confusing and problematic for some of the kids from Korea and Thailand, for example. Their parents don’t trust law enforcement, and they’re scared to death of the gangs because of what they saw back home.

  “It certainly doesn’t help to harass young Asian guys just because a cop thinks they might be susceptible to gang pressure. We’re trying to change those ideas.”

  “It sounds like you’re talking about racial profiling,” I said.

  He glanced at the open door and lowered his voice. “That is what Asian activists will tell you, but in reality, there’s way less of that than we had a few years ago. There was a storm of protests and some lawsuits about civil rights violations. We know the profiling is unconstitutional.

  “Mistakes were made in the past when victims were prosecuted due to lack of understanding or sensitivity. It was partly because Vegas doesn’t have the typical Asian communities, like New York or San Francisco Chinatowns. So we lack an appreciation of their cultures. We’ve done a lot of educating to end profiling, but it still happens. When our guys see the stuff these assholes do with the kids, especially girls, they tend to lose their objectivity.”

  He went on to explain that the Asian gangs are proliferating and are responsible for most of the trafficking for prostitution. He described a task force called Asian Unlawful Acts Task Force, which includes the FBI and the Gaming Control Board.

  “It is well-known among law enforcement agencies that enormous prostitution rings begin in China and spread to Thailand, then to Las Vegas. I’m aware of many teenage girls who were forced into prostitution and even held prisoner.”

  Don shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “I’m getting a bad feeling about my ability to find Pammie given what you’re telling us. I understand her age is an issue, and we won’t get much assistance from you all.”

  “I sympathize, but she’s almost an adult. Unless we found her outwardly soliciting and could arrest her, there’s not much we can do to track her down. The Asian organized crime and associated activities are everywhere at all levels and types of businesses, from restaurants and homes to identity theft, cheating scams, and drugs. Methamphetamine is a big problem. The gang leaders are sophisticated, and they’re good at planning and communicating by computer.”

  I sensed Don’s agitation and rested my hand on his arm. He glanced at me and smiled weakly. When neither of us spoke, Craig continued.

  “I’ll give you an example of the organized crime. A group of criminals brought counterfeit money into the city, and the FBI’s investigation into the source of the hundred-dollar bills called supernotes led to a factory in North Korea that was shipping to loading docks in Long Beach, then to here. Oh, and in 2009, Bank of China former executives and their wives came to Vegas and used Strip casinos to cover up a 485-million-dollar fraud scheme.

  “We used to have huge problems with La Cosa Nostra, and those investigations were a high priority for the FBI. Now the Asian organized crime rings and gangs are the biggest problem. These investigations are complicated by language and culture barriers. As I said before, Asian victims often won’t cooperate with us because they’re afraid of gang retaliation.”

  Don asked, “If so many of the victims are Asian, wouldn’t it be easier to find someone like Pammie?”

  “There are plenty of non-Asian kids involved. Most of them are much younger than she is, and it’s easy for them to fall between the cracks. Of course we arrest girls we find actively hooking. We wish we didn’t have to do that because many of them are victims, but there’s no other way.

  “The community is trying to get funds for more safe houses for the street teens. What happens is they tend to run away after being released from juvenile detention. That puts them back at risk, and their absence doesn’t help ongoing cases against the pimps.” He leaned forward, and I thought he looked a bit defeated. “It’s difficult to get enough funding in today’s economy.”

  Before we left, perhaps to give us a little hope, Craig told us about a group home called STAY. He said it was a good start, but not nearly enough to accommodate all the kids that need help, especially the runaways from detention.

  “We know your girl is not there now, but you might learn something useful from the director, Lorraine Parkins.” He promised to let her know we would be calling for an appointment.

  8

  On the way back to the El Cortez, Don explained that he already knew about STAY from his previous visit. “I didn’t go there, but I spoke with someone on the phone, and they arranged for Pammie to live there for a month before she came to Seattle. I talked with her by phone several times while she was there.”

  He looked at me with an odd expression. “Huh, at least I assumed that’s where she was. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Do you want to go check it out?”

  “Yes, I’ll call and make an appointment with Ms. Parkins. You’ll come with me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Don stared out the passenger window, apparently lost in thought. As we approached the hotel, he turned to me with a distraught look. “I have to go in and call Charlie. I’m really worried about him, and I can’t tell him what we learned until I see him in person. He’ll be very upset about the trafficking angle.

  “Then I’ll walk down to the Green Door again just to make sure she isn’t there. Maybe I can find some different kids that are more willing to talk. I don’t know what else to do other than drive around aimlessly, looking for her.”

  “I can see how upset you are, and I don’t blame you. But please try not to panic, okay, Don? I’ll head over to Sid’s. Call me if you get an appointment at STAY this afternoon, and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Right, I’ll call you one way or the other.”

  He hauled himself out of the car and ambled slowly inside. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so defeated. Not that I could blame him. Talking to Detective Hollister was damned depressing.

  I turned my rented Ford Fusion toward the interstate and called Si
d to make sure she was at home. When I arrived at the house, she was setting out a simple lunch of salad and homemade chicken soup with crusty sourdough bread. We sat down at the round walnut table in the cozy dining room.

  “Here, you look as if you need this,” she said, handing me a glass of white wine.

  “Does it show that much? We talked with a Metro detective this morning and got an education about the street teen problem here. Apparently, there are Asian gangs using the kids for prostitution. Did you know there’s a bad human trafficking problem here?”

  “I’ve read about that in the paper but don’t know much about it. You know I’m familiar, too familiar as it turns out, with the organized crime element on the Strip. But I don’t know anything about the Asian gangs.”

  I nodded my understanding. She had tangentially brought up the topic of her ex-husband’s previous mob associations, and I thought this might be a good time to mention the mystery phone call and her reaction to it. I didn’t want to upset her, but I was worried.

  “Wow, this soup is delicious. You made it, right?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ve tried to become more domestic since I started living with Brooks. I never really had the chance to do anything around the home when I was with Paul. He insisted on eating out almost all the time.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I got so damned tired of eating in hotel restaurants. Oh my god, I’m glad that part of my life is over.”

  “Speaking of him,” I began.

  She lowered her chin, and her eyes opened wide. “Do we have to?”

  “Not if you don’t want to, but I just had a question about—”

  The phone rang, and she went to answer it in the kitchen.

  While I watched in total amazement, she went through a set of behaviors similar to the night before. This time, she hung up almost immediately and plastered on a wide grin.