Currents of Sin

by Arleen Alleman

  After his death, Nate promptly sent the Asians a replacement pimp by way of an out-of-town network—or so they believed. The gang had their connections, but Nate had a much longer history of criminal activity and contacts everywhere in the country.

  His former associates, including Denezza, were fringe mobsters. From them, Nate learned all the insider tricks as he came up through the ranks of Vegas organized crime—now enjoying only a splinter of its past influence. The Asians were amateurs in comparison.

  Horus perfectly fit the gang’s expectations. They preferred to have black men as their pimps when possible. Nate didn’t fully understand why, but then, there was a lot he was still learning about his downtown competition. His primary concern was that the gang members remained in the dark about his trafficking operation until an opportunity arose to eliminate them completely.

  Time was needed for the new pimp to fully gain the gang’s confidence, and he was supposed to check in with Nate’s people twice a day. Nate clung to a sliver of hope that Horus was temporarily unable to make contact for some reason, but he knew he had to assume the worst.

  He looked at each of his employees in turn. “Meanwhile, keep a tight rein on your girls. I don’t want any screwups. I’ll put an extra detail in the casino and post extra guards near the doors just in case.”

  He jutted his chin at two men standing side by side. “You’ve got a pickup at the deli tonight. Then go get Mimi and come right back here. She’ll be at the usual place.”

  “Boss, do you think that’s a good idea right now?” Chuck asked tentatively.

  Nate wasn’t about to allow himself to be contradicted twice in one meeting.

  He glared at Chuck. “You heard my orders.” He again addressed one of the two men. “Do you want to get your girl back or not?”

  “When she called the first time, I told her she was on her own, but it sounds like she has a promising kid for us. So yeah, I’ll get her back.”

  Nate thought about that. “You know, I think we need to come up with a different method after this. Her mother is a weak link, and we can do without that risk. We’ll have to get rid of her.”

  * * *

  In a dark, decrepit room at the Green Door, five members of the Asian gang were planning their next move. The tattered drapes were drawn tight, and despite the efforts of an ancient swamp cooler, the temperature hovered around ninety. The room was small, and the men were big. Several sat on chairs they’d brought from other rooms they controlled, and an oversized cooler full of beer sat against the wall.

  Curtis leaned back in his rickety wooden chair, wiped perspiration from his forehead, and gulped down a Bud while he listened intently to the boss.

  “These assholes are going to be history. They think they can send spies down here to run our bitches? Then grab ’em off the street just when we’re seasoning them? No fucking way, man! Not gonna happen anymore.”

  He looked around the room, and his eyes fell on Curtis. “You, the new guy, let’s hear what you think we should do about it.”

  The more time Curtis spent with these assholes, the more sickened he became. The seasoning the boss was referring to was the systematic manipulation, intimidation, physical abuse, deprivation of food and sleep, and cutting the girls off from family and friends in order to break them down and make them compliant.

  It was becoming very difficult to remain undercover knowing this evil was being perpetrated on the young teenagers. Very soon, the gang would give him his own girls to handle. He hoped to have enough evidence to prosecute higher-level gang bosses before that happened. Then his work down here would be done.

  Curtis set his bottle on the floor and leaned forward. “I guess we’re going up there to get our bitches back.”

  “Yeah, how we gonna do that? Before he died, old Hor-us said the head of security is the boss, and the bitches are on the twelfth floor. Nate Mirabelle, is that right?” He waved his beer bottle at the ugly huge man with the tattooed face, who was leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

  “Thas right. We think at least five of our bitches are up there. We got a cell number from the Sanchez broad for her contact. She said he’s the guy who kidnapped ’em off the street. We can use that somehow.”

  The boss nodded. “We gotta come up with a good plan before we move.”

  Then he gave the big man a menacing frown. “You shoulda capped them two.”

  “They’re so messed up and scared shitless they won’t cause no trouble. Anyway, the old broad might be dead anyway.”

  Curtis had his own source of information about what happened to Marta and her mother as well as a parallel plan to curtail the Athens Olympia prostitution—a plan these guys knew nothing about. He figured he was about to earn his Metro salary or die trying.

  58

  We arrived at Strohmayr’s deli at five o’clock. Other than a couple who left shortly after we went inside, the place was empty. Deborah and Walter were preparing for the dinner crowd, and she was setting tables. I was relieved to see they seemed pleased to see us—at least Deborah did. She sat down at one of the tables and gestured for us to join her. Walter occupied his usual position behind the counter.

  Before explaining why we were there, I asked if they’d heard anything more from the detectives about the abduction attempt.

  “Yes, they told us they know we don’t have anything to do with it. That’s a relief, but I don’t think they ever seriously suspected us. We’ve been trying to figure out if there is anything we can do to prevent it from happening again. I just can’t shake the feeling that it will, and we’ll be in here not knowing anything about it. There’s no way we can follow every girl out onto the sidewalk. We understand Metro is supposed to start surveillance, but we haven’t seen any sign of that yet.”

  Glancing at Mick, I made a decision to be completely open with them about our intent. “Well, the police are going to do something right now, and we’re going to help them. We’ve worked out a plan with Detective Hollister.”

  I explained what happened to Marta and Lucy, the connection with the Strip hotel, and the plan Lorraine inspired with Lucy’s help. Deborah and Walter listened in disbelief. They expressed sadness over Lucy’s injuries, saying they didn’t know her very well but believed she was trying to help the kids in her own way.

  “It’s hard to believe she got caught up with the traffickers,” Deborah said. “Do you think she was trying to protect her daughter?”

  “I’m sure that was part of it. By the way, we also got Tina and Banu situated at STAY, and so far, they seem to be doing okay.”

  Deborah reached over and patted the back of my hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for them and all the rest. Your plan sounds good if the police do their part.”

  Walter stepped out and came to stand next to his wife. “I only wish the traffickers and now the police hadn’t used our restaurant for this terrible thing. I’m afraid we will have a stigma hanging over us that could affect business.”

  Before we could respond, an attractive young woman entered the deli. She was medium height but was raised up several inches on platform sandals. She wore tight faded jeans with a red tube top displaying an ample bosom. A small purse dangled from her shoulder on a chain. Despite rather demure makeup and clean shoulder-length wavy blonde hair, her appearance screamed hooker.

  Just as Walter took a step toward her and began to say something, she noticed us and rushed forward.

  “Darcy and Mick, right? I’m Detective Vicki Strauss.”

  She pulled her shield from her back pocket and showed it to us. Then she shook our hands and addressed a startled Deborah and Walter.

  “Are you up to speed on what is going to happen here?”

  Walter answered, “Darcy just filled us in. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “I hate to do this, but once we get started, it won’t be safe
for patrons to be here. It would help a lot if you closed up and stayed that way until we’re finished. It shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”

  Walter was standing next to Deborah’s chair. “We can do that. I’ll make a sign saying we’ll be closed until six. Most of our dinner customers don’t start coming in until six thirty anyway.” He quickly disappeared behind the counter.

  “That should work, right?” The detective was addressing me.

  “It should be plenty of time. Marta set it up with time for the guys in the van to drive downtown and get into position. Once we call them on this—Lucy’s cell phone—it should be over in a matter of minutes, if it plays out like it did the other time.”

  Two guys walked in wearing shorts, ball caps, and sunglasses. Walter hadn’t put his sign on the door yet, and I wondered how he would turn these tourists away. But Vicki met them just inside the door and spoke to them briefly. She returned to us while they sat down at a table near the window.

  “These guys will be ready for your signal,” she said.

  “They’re police officers too? I wouldn’t have guessed,” Deborah said.

  Ten minutes later, Vicki checked her watch. “Ready to roll?”

  Mick and I said goodbye to the Strohmayrs and went out to stand on the sidewalk. I looked up and down the street but didn’t see anything unusual.

  “Mick, I hope the police are here somewhere. I don’t see any vehicles.”

  He shrugged. “I bet if you check the alleys, you’ll find them ready and waiting.”

  The door opened behind us, and Vicki strolled out. She sauntered away from us with hips swinging. Following the instructions from Marta and Lorraine, I accessed Lucy’s contact and hit Send, then disconnected after the second ring.

  Less than a minute later, the same blue van turned the corner from Fremont. Mick stood in front of the window and gave a thumbs-up behind his back. The two undercover officers got up and headed for the door.

  Mick and I held hands and strolled slowly up the sidewalk toward the oncoming van. The undercovers stepped out of the deli and followed behind us. I heard one of them say something, but I couldn’t make it out. A few seconds later, across the street and just ahead of our position, a vehicle slowly pulled out of an alley and waited. I glanced at Mick just in time to catch his smug smile.

  The van passed us, traveling slowly alongside the curb just as before. The passenger window was open, and a man inside looked directly at me and winked. I couldn’t believe the audacity given what they were about to do, and it took a lot of restraint not to react with a finger wave.

  We stopped and turned around to watch. The cops did the same. One leaned with his back and one foot against the wall in a relaxed pose. His partner stood facing him, then turned his head toward the van, which was slowly gaining on Vicki as she proceeded on Fourth toward Ogden.

  About two hundred feet from the corner, it slowed to a stop next to her. At the same time, the unmarked car pulled out of the alley and headed in that direction. The two undercovers began jogging toward Vicki, and we scurried back to the deli’s entrance to watch the action.

  The van’s side door was open now, and Vicki had stopped walking. She was leaning on one hip and appeared to be talking to one of the men. Suddenly, she took a step back. Quicker than I would have thought possible, she pulled a gun from that little purse and pointed it at the man. I heard her yell at him that police were surrounding them and he ought to forget about his weapon.

  Simultaneously, the unmarked car pulled up next to the van, preventing it from pulling away; and the two undercovers arrived with weapons drawn to back her up. Two more vehicles rounded the corner from Ogden, screeching to a stop in front and behind the van.

  The whole perfectly coordinated takedown was over in seconds, and it was beautiful to behold. Blocked in and surrounded by police, the men gave up without a fight. As they were being arrested, we could hear them loudly protesting that they were only asking if she wanted to party with them.

  59

  The unwilling prostitute stretched out on the sofa, preparing herself for another stressful and potentially dangerous night of servicing customers. She appeared to be sleeping, but far from it, she mulled over and over the terrible mistakes that brought her to this life. How she longed to be back in a safe environment where she could move about freely and not be forced to have sex with strangers. Maybe she could even go to school. Out of all the stupid moves she’d made since running away from home, coming back to Vegas was the worst.

  After much thought, she’d concluded that her old pimp who worked for the Asian gang must have worked for these men on the Strip as well, and she believed the girls in the other rooms had also been taken from downtown. That had to be one of the reasons they were not allowed to communicate with one another. She wondered if there was a huge network of traffickers operating all around town.

  Her eyes flew open. A familiar small sound dimly registered in her consciousness, causing her to jerk upright into a sitting position. She realized Chuck was not in the room. He’d left and tried to close the door quietly, apparently assuming she was asleep.

  When her gaze fell on the coffee table in front of her, she blinked, unable to comprehend at first what she was seeing. The weeks of constant surveillance must have taken a toll on his diligence. He’d left his cell phone behind.

  There it was on the table right in front of her. This was the moment she’d waited weeks for. He never left her alone for more than a few minutes, so she would have to act quickly. Unfortunately, she found herself frozen in place, staring at the phone sitting there within reach.

  Move! she silently screamed at herself. She edged her butt forward and stretched out her arm. What was stopping her? Abject fear was the answer, regardless of how much she wanted to make contact with someone outside.

  With a quick glance toward the door, she finally grabbed up the phone and dialed the only number she knew from memory. There was virtually no one she could trust.

  Her heart flipped over when she heard the voice, but she quickly realized it was a recorded message. She began to speak but found that her mouth was so dry she could only squeak into the phone. She cleared her throat and swallowed. She knew she had to be quick.

  Glancing at the door, she tried again. She’d spoken only a few words when the door flew open, and Chuck strode into the room. His arm was already drawn back before he reached her.

  The slap sent her sprawling, and her head bounced off the wooden arm of the sofa. Dazed, she protectively curled her body into a ball. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up, then hurled her against the wall. She knew she must not fight back—that would only prolong the beating.

  After what seemed an eternity of pain and fear, he dropped her on the bed and stood back, breathing heavily. “Who did you call? Never mind, I’ll get the number from the phone.”

  He scrolled to call history and studied it. Leaning down close to her face, he grabbed a fistful of hair and twisted.

  “Whose number is this? It’s not in this state. The call lasted only a few seconds, so maybe you didn’t do any harm.”

  Through her watering eyes and stinging bruises, her mind leapt to a simple truth. He was afraid of his bosses and would not want them to know he allowed her access to his phone. Therefore, he would not tell anyone about the incident.

  She peered up at him, then shook her head. “You’re right. I didn’t get a chance to say anything. The number belongs to an old friend on the other side of the country. I was stupid to try, and it didn’t get me anywhere. I’m sorry, Chuck.”

  60

  Day 12

  Around four o’clock in the afternoon, Mick and I were spending some quiet romantic time in our hotel room, trying to recuperate from the last couple of hectic days. While our little sting operation at the deli went well, the exasperating truth was that it might not have helped much.

 
; Now that the police knew which Strip hotel was involved, they were assessing the evidence—all circumstantial—before asking for authorization to conduct a raid.

  Detective Hollister explained to us that the men in the van would be arraigned and would probably be out on bail by tomorrow. After their arrest, they declined to say anything of substance other than that they were trying to pick up a prostitute. They offered no explanation for the undoubtedly stolen unregistered van but immediately requested an attorney, who arrived within thirty minutes to negotiate their release.

  Metro and the district attorney agreed to a small legal deception, which would provide some leniency for Lucy and Marta. Marta would eventually be treated as a victim. In light of the beatings and Lucy’s grave condition, they would allow Lorraine to supervise both mother and daughter at STAY. First, though, Lorraine would take Marta to Metro tomorrow, where she would be booked on prostitution charges. This was in the interest of making cases against Mirabelle and company.

  She agreed to testify if and when such cases came to trial, as long as she would be safe. The district attorney agreed she could remain at STAY in the hopes that Mirabelle would write her off as a lost cause. After the trial, the charges against her would be purged.

  Lucy would remain in the hospital for at least three more days. She was expected to live but might have suffered brain damage from the repeated blows. Her arm was repaired to the extent possible, which included multiple metal implants. Lorraine promised to take care of her as well. I wasn’t convinced that was a good idea. The woman already had more than she could handle running the shelter alone and having to keep Marta in line.

  I was lying on my side facing Mick when he edged closer and ran his hand along my hip. Our recent lovemaking was high on the enjoyment scale and had helped calm my sadness and disappointment—temporarily.

  “Honey,” he said, “I wonder when you’ll be able to go home. I know we need to wait till Sid is stable, but she seems okay under the circumstances. There’s nothing else we can do about your street kids or the trafficking, and I’m sure you’ll eventually learn something about the investigation into your crash.”