I didn’t want to offend Brooks, but I still voiced my opinion. “Society can give groups like this too much respect and slack due to a reluctance to criticize religion. In the name of freedom of belief, many amoral and illegal activities go unpunished. Cult leaders often make sexual slaves out of their women, use drugs to control members, and teach self-serving totally unfounded dogma. That should be enough to make arrests in my opinion. Do you understand what I’m saying, Brooks?”
“I’m listening to you, Darcy. I know you know a lot about this subject. All I know is I have my own relationship with God. That doesn’t mean I’m unaware of abuses of power by religious leaders.”
“Brooks, you’re superintelligent, so I’m sure you understand. A big problem is barbarism, ignorance, and sects that exist to control the bodies and minds of people. Certain groups think they are chosen by God, making them correct and therefore superior to others. I guess we’re probably hundreds of years away from changing the world in that regard. But think about this …” I eyed my three tablemates and lowered my voice.
“If Christians, for example, truly believed in the divine authority of their holy book, they would still accept slavery, stoning of adulterers, ownership of women, and fratricide and infanticide. They would still burn apostates and witches, a practice that ended only in the past hundred years. Instead, most modern Christians select only the nonoffensive parts of the Bible and ignore the rest of the ancient rhetoric. Of course it is always possible to reach into those barbaric parts when it serves their purpose—for example, to justify hate and bigotry.”
Brooks was nodding in agreement. “I get that. I don’t actually read the Bible. I’m not convinced it has anything to do with God or the creator. You’re right about cults that brainwash followers to serve their needs under the ancient threat of God’s punishment. Thankfully, there are relatively few of them.”
Tom spoke up. “Do you realize how ironic this is? Something like what you’re describing is going on right downtown at that mission, and Tina and Banu were caught up in it. I’m worried they’ll change their minds and go back down there.”
“Oh, I hope not,” I said. “Don’t worry, Tom, we’ll keep checking on them. Tomorrow, I intend to tell Detective Hollister what we learned about Ping’s hold on the kids and how his brainwashing might be related to the abductions from the motel. I have to admit it sounds far-fetched, but Banu really believes it’s true. Down deep, I think Tina does too.”
We sat quietly sipping our drinks for a bit. Suddenly, I remembered something. “Oh, Brooks, I forgot to tell you that Rachael suggested she could come to Vegas to help out as well. I didn’t think you’d had a chance to call her, but I filled her in on Sid’s condition. I hope you don’t mind. It sounded like she’s ready for another change.”
“Wow, I didn’t even think about calling. I feel so stupid. She’s my daughter, and I know how much she cares for Sid. What was I thinking?”
“It has only been a couple of days, and you’ve been totally absorbed with Sid as you should be. There’s plenty of time for you to contact her.”
“I will do that tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be great if she came here?” He looked at Mick, who was inspecting his fork.
“Mick, I know you want her to visit and maybe live with you again. Maybe if she comes to Vegas for Sid, she’ll decide to stay and eventually pick back up with her education in DC.”
I could have kissed my ex. Despite all the pain he was enduring, he was still able to muster sensitivity to Mick’s feelings. Tom gave me a look and a nod. I knew he was thinking the same thing.
Time and again, ever since we all became acquainted, our currents have veered off in strange, often-dangerous directions. Somehow, we always manage to pull one another back into the flow. Our little group of extended family is quite extraordinary, and in a way, Sid is still a lucky woman to have such a great support network.
Near the end of our rather exceptional meal, Tom expressed his heartfelt support to Brooks. “I’ll be coming back here very soon. I’ve a little tie to Vegas myself, strange as it is. When I do, I want you to let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Thanks, and thanks again for trying to help Don and Charlie find Pammie.” He was beginning to look very sad. He ran his hands through his hair and looked around the table.
“In addition to getting Sid through her recovery, I have to put a stop to Denezza’s insane vendetta against her. That will be my life’s mission as soon as she’s stable.”
For the third time, those words about putting a stop to his actions deeply affected me. Reluctantly, I was formulating a plan. Anyone who knows me will agree that once that happens, it is sure to be implemented sooner or later.
49
Standing at the open door, Lorraine greeted her assistant who was returning from a long dinner break. “Lucy, come sit down with me. We have to talk.”
Lucy’s shoulders sagged as if crushed by an invisible weight. Slumping into a chair, she stared up at Lorraine, who lowered herself into a chair across the table.
“How are you feeling, Lucy? Honestly, you don’t look well.”
“I’m all right.”
“Okay, but I think you’ve been avoiding me. You’re going to have to explain why Marta would discourage kids from coming here. Why would your daughter even be hanging around down there with the street kids?”
Lucy sighed heavily and seemed to withdraw even more. She sat silently, refusing to make eye contact. Her face was a mask of sadness and defiance.
“Lucy, this passive behavior won’t cut it. Do you want to lose your job?”
Lucy’s eyes drifted to Lorraine’s, but she still did not speak.
Lorraine got up and put a kettle of water on the stove. She said nothing as she placed tea bags into cups and waited for the water to boil. After she poured, she set a cup in front of Lucy and returned to her chair. Lucy watched her, then glanced at the cup.
“Go ahead and drink your tea, Lucy. Look, I can see that you are worried or afraid. Which is it? I want to help you. You know that’s always been my intent. That’s why I gave you a chance with this job. But I can’t help anymore if you won’t tell me what is going on. I’ll have to let you go.”
Tears were rolling down Lucy’s face. She lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped, nearly choking on the hot liquid. Lorraine waited. Finally, crying harder as she revealed the truth, Lucy told an incredible story.
Her pretty sixteen-year-old daughter, Marta, had been a good child early on. When she entered puberty, however, she became very difficult. Lucy’s ex-husband was rarely at home, and Marta acted out by running away from time to time and shoplifting from downtown clothing stores. By age fourteen, she’d been arrested twice and was already out of control. Although Lucy’s husband had left them by that time, she couldn’t handle her daughter and simply did not know how to change her behavior.
More often than not, Lucy had no idea where Marta was. Matters became much worse when the girl developed an opioid drug habit, which led her to a heroin addiction.
“I believe her suppliers are a group of dealers who work out of a Strip hotel. In exchange for drugs, Marta started doing jobs for these men. I don’t know for sure, but I think she’s hooking for them as well. I only talk to her by phone, and she never tells me where she is …” She sniffed and sipped her tea.
“Then about three months ago, a man called me.” She shook her head. “I’m too afraid to tell you anything else.”
“Come on, Lucy, there’s no one here but me. And I believe you know I will never do anything to endanger you or Marta. What have you gotten yourself involved in?”
“They send her downtown to spy on the kids who are living with the gang and give her drugs in return. I don’t really understand, but the man told me they would hurt Marta badly if I didn’t cooperate with whatever they wanted whenever they ordered me to.”
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br /> “What do you mean? Cooperate with what?” Lorraine was incredulous that she’d known nothing about Marta’s problems. Lucy always described a normal home environment for herself and her daughter. It appeared that was all fabrication. It was hard to grasp.
“Maybe they threatened Marta the same way they did me. I assume she stays at the Green Door or somewhere nearby for days at a time. All I know is that when she calls me, I have to drive downtown and park. Then I go stand on the corner down the street from Strohmayrs and watch for the girls Marta has described to me. When I see them leave the deli, I call a number, and men driving a blue van come around the corner from Freemont and take the girls right off the sidewalk.”
She was hunched over her cup, holding it with both hands. Tears dripped onto them and rolled to the table. “It happens so fast,” she sobbed. “I don’t know where they take them.”
“Oh, Lucy, you’re part of the trafficking problem we’re trying to overcome? Oh my god. What does Marta say about all this?”
She covered her face and cried harder. After a minute, she gained enough composure to continue. “I never talk to her except when she calls with my orders. If it weren’t for that, I would never hear her voice. The man told me they will not hurt her as long as I do this. I am so sorry.”
“Why does Marta discourage kids from coming here?”
“I’m supposed to do that too. There’s some reason these men want the kids to stay downtown.”
“Yes, I can see that it ensures a supply of potential victims. Can’t you see that?”
Lucy continued to sob. Her tears flowed as if she’d saved them up for this occasion. Lorraine sat, watching and listening for a long time.
The room was dark when Lorraine finally pushed herself up from the table. After turning on a lamp, she stood looking at the back of Lucy’s head, thinking about the difficult position they were both in. She could not do anything that might endanger Lucy or her daughter, but she couldn’t allow these abductions to continue. She should go to the police, but that would not be good for Lucy or Marta.
Just then, two laughing kids entered the office and rushed toward the refrigerator. When they saw Lorraine and Lucy, they slowed down and quieted.
“Um, we just wanted a snack,” one of them said. “We didn’t have much dinner.”
“That’s okay,” Lorraine answered. “Go ahead. There’s some leftover pizza slices. Why don’t you take them to your yurt?”
When they’d gone, she sat back down and stared at the miserable woman. Finally, she leaned forward and put her hands on top of Lucy’s. “Look at me,” she said quietly.
Lucy looked up with swollen eyes in which Lorraine recognized abject misery.
“Listen now, I have an idea, and you might not like it. But if I can work it out, you’re going to have to go along. Do you understand?”
Her head bobbed slowly. She cleared her throat to speak but clamped her mouth shut instead.
“I told you I would try to help you, but you’ll need to be strong in order to help yourself and your daughter. Now please go into your cell phone history and give me the contact numbers for the men in the van, Marta, and the man who originally phoned you.”
50
Security Chief Nate Mirabelle jutted his chin toward the lovely girl with high cheekbones, big dark eyes, and thick black hair cascading around her shoulders. She wore skintight yoga pants with a revealing silvery blouse. He watched her sip a drink at the bar with her stool swiveled outward so she could take in the casino action.
He turned to the uniformed security guard standing next to him. “Make sure you watch that one closely while she’s down here. That Darcy Farthing bitch was here earlier trying to get information about prostitution on the Strip.” He raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “If she comes back, I don’t want her snooping around, trying to have a conversation with anyone else, got it?”
“Sure, boss, we’re keeping close watch on all the girls. Say, that’s bizarre. Is it a coincidence? I mean Farthing coming here?”
Nate chuckled. “I think so, except for her connection with Denezza. Apparently, now she’s writing about prostitution, or so she says. She never mentioned anything about what happened to her—the wreck. I couldn’t believe it when Shirley told me she was out front. That gave me a little scare for a minute.”
“How’d she look?”
“A few bruises on her face, and she seemed to be moving slow, but she’s still a looker. The other one apparently isn’t doing so well.”
“He’ll be happy to hear that, I guess.” The guard stared at his wing tips. “You never know these days.”
“Yeah, he’s called his last shot. I’m taking over the whole operation … and the money. We’re done with him and his crazy grudges.”
“Glad to hear it. This last thing didn’t go exactly as planned. Next best thing though, I suppose.”
“Speaking of which, what about the kid?”
“He ain’t saying nothing. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t know. We probably should have made sure.” He gazed across the casino. “Go on now and keep an eye on the girl. What a beauty she is. Too bad the life is gonna suck that away in a heartbeat.” He laughed again. “You gotta love it.”
As the officer turned to walk away, Nate asked, “By the way, has anyone heard rumors about the murder?”
“Nah, boss. Those Asian assholes ain’t got a clue about what happened.”
“Keep everything buttoned up tight. Fontana is scheduled to visit in a couple of days. There’s no reason for him to be involved.”
Before returning to his office, Nate glanced across the room one more time. The beautiful girl was just standing up. He noted that she had a classy look despite her low-life existence. Gently, she placed her glass on the bar, straightened her shoulders, and slowly walked toward the elevator bank.
The girl’s handler walked up from behind Mirabelle. “Hey, boss, how are you doing? I’m just going to take my girl back up.”
Nate nodded. “She’s heading toward the elevator. Quite a catch, that one.”
“She’s a smart one, that’s for sure. Gotta watch her every minute. Gets a little tiring, you know?”
“If you can’t handle the job, I’ll assign someone who can.”
“No, no, there’s no problem, boss.” He quickly walked away.
51
At a meeting inside the Green Door, two members of the gang received a mandatory assignment handed down from higher-ups in the organization—men their bosses knew, but they did not. The job was to tail the newly arrived pimp named Horus. He was supposedly named for Horus Aha, an Egyptian pharaoh, according to the downtown boss who made a lewd gesture while explaining this.
“That Hor-us asshole came to replace Shimmer, and we still don’t know who took Shimmer out. We don’t know who actually sent this Horus to us either, but someone higher in the organization doesn’t trust him. They think he might even be working for the cops.”
As directed, the two gang members clandestinely followed the new pimp around all day. Most of the time, he went about his assigned duties and met with other members of the gang. He ate lunch with the other pimp in training, Curtis, who was not under suspicion. This was because he was Asian, and over time, he’d demonstrated his loyalty by participating in several beatdowns of wayward gang members and men who owed money for drugs and sex and mistakenly believed they could avoid paying their debts.
Late in the afternoon, Horus went off on his own, walking up Fremont toward the hotels. They tracked him inside the Fremont Experience to the brightly lit section with Sam Boyd’s Fremont Casino on the right and the Four Queens on the left. In the center of the pedestrian walkway, he sat down on a metal bench and watched a pair of heavyset women wearing skimpy showgirl costumes enticing tourists to pay for a photo with them. Surprisingly, people were lining up for the opportunity.
Within five minutes, another man appeared and sat down beside Horus. This was interesting because the guy looked like a mobster. His black hair was slicked back, his dark Mediterranean features included a perpetual scowl, and the suit he was wearing probably cost many thousands of dollars. He was no cop. After they talked quietly for ten minutes, Horus stood up and began walking back to the motel.
When the downtown boss heard this story, he became extremely agitated. If an undercover cop infiltrated their organization, it was understandable, and they could take care of the problem. But if some other threat to their operation was involved, he did not want to be blamed for allowing it to happen.
Someone up the chain of command supposedly sent Horus to them from a Portland, Oregon, faction of the gang. A characteristic of gang hierarchy was that information often was not shared among the several levels, ostensibly for security reasons. Knowing this, the boss began making calls to associates he knew in surrounding states. It didn’t take long to determine that beyond two degrees of separation, no one had any idea who Horus was or where he originated. They all assumed someone else had the information.
The boss decided Horus was a plant and was likely working for someone else, but not the police. This was very bad for the downtown gang. If the higher-ups found out that they allowed a spy—possibly from rival traffickers—to operate among them, heads would literally roll. It would not matter that Horus was supposedly sent to them from someone at the top. There were plenty of layers of gang hierarchy from which to draw scapegoats.
And so a few hours later, Horus, like his predecessor, met with a violent end. Surrounded by gang members, he was escorted to a waiting Jeep Cherokee and taken to the desert north of the city near the airstrip used exclusively by the gang. There, they executed him by two gunshots to the back of his head and threw him into an arroyo. The coyotes would eventually take care of the remains, and the murder would never be detected. Nor would anyone care.
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