by Night, H. T.
“That’s it. If the guy is legit, we should have a meet and greet tomorrow.”
“What did you say to him in Spanish?”
“I asked him where the witches were.”
“Witches?”
“Yes, witches. They believe down here that everything supernatural is either ghosts or witches.”
“He mentioned there is a great witch that sees the future and she is well protected.”
“You think the great witch is the Deity?” I asked.
“I have a hunch.”
“Why?”
“He mentioned she’s spoken of two men in black that will seek her out. He obviously is close enough to her that he recalled her saying this.”
We were wearing black, but then again so were half the people walking around the street we were on. “So, we sit back and wait?”
“Unless you want to party with the locals?” Wyatt grinned.
“Not quite.”
“Then let’s head back. We need to sunlight-proof the room anyway.” Wyatt was right. We probably should have done that before we left. There was only one window, so it should be real easy to block any sun from getting in.
It was three in the morning when we got back. I stepped out of the cab and was stopped dead in my tracks. I saw the most beautiful Latina woman I had ever seen being escorted, gripped by the arm, by a short Mexican gentleman.
She made eye contact with me and I gave her an honest, warm smile. Then she gave me an odd, concerned look in return. It was a desperate look, I knew that look. She was in some kind of trouble. I decided to do something I wasn’t accustomed to doing because it was invasive, but I needed to know more about this woman. I focused my thoughts and I tried to read her mind.
I hadn’t done this a lot, so it took some concentration. I locked into her mind and I kept hearing her repeat the same phrase, ‘Ayuda mi, por favor.’ She said it over and over again. It was as if she knew I was reading her mind. The problem was I had no idea what ‘Ayuda mi, por favor,’ meant.
I knew ‘por favor’ meant ‘please’ but I didn’t know what “Ayuda” meant. Her eyes were piercing through me. I decided to follow the couple into the elevator with Wyatt right behind me. He wasn’t aware of what I was doing and it was probably a good thing. The man who had a hold of the woman’s arm never once looked up at us in the elevator. He held her arm tightly as if she was a child. This woman was anything but a child. She was at least 5’9” in height and had a body built like a thoroughbred. Her hair was dyed red and her face was one of the prettiest I had ever seen.
I had seen far too much in a short amount of time to not know this situation wasn’t right. Every once in a while, I’m drawn into something that feels bigger than myself--this was one of those times. I didn’t know if it had anything to do with my overwhelming attraction for this young woman, but, I needed to know more. Our room was on the fifth floor and they were going to the sixth floor.
The second we got out of the elevator and it closed, I turned to Wyatt, and asked, “What does ayuda mean?”
“It means help,” Wyatt answered.
“She was saying, ‘help me, please!’ I said.
“Who was?”
“The girl in the elevator.”
“You read her mind?” Wyatt asked, perplexed.
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Didn’t you see how she looked at us?”
“Yeah, she’s a hooker, they all look at you like that,” Wyatt said, laughing.
“She might be a hooker, but she’s in trouble.”
“Most prostitutes have trouble on a twenty-four hour basis.”
“I’m telling you, it was more than that. She needs our help.”
“I’m pretty sure every woman in this city needs our help. But we can’t go around saving everyone. We need to leave this place as soon as we can and going on Boy Scout missions isn’t going to help.”
“Maybe so, but I can’t turn my back on her now,” I said.
“Are you thinking with the right brain, Josiah?” Wyatt asked, insinuating I just wanted to get laid.
“She was crying out for help in the elevator, that’s all I know. Was she hot? Yeah. But that’s not why I want to help her.”
Wyatt stared at me with disbelief. He was so jaded by life that something like this meant nothing to him. I couldn’t be that way. I wasn’t wired like that. I knew I needed to help her. “Wyatt, I’m going to do something about it. You don’t have to help, but I’m going figure out what’s going on.”
“What are you going to do? Bust down doors in Tijuana? You want to put us on blast while we’re down here? We need to find the Deity and get the hell out of here.”
“Look, like I said, you don’t have to help me. I’m not even asking you to. I just know I have to do something. We’re dealing with Tandra, so I don’t anticipate much of a problem. Go get some sleep.”
Wyatt looked at me with a look that was a cross between reluctance and exhaustion.
“I know you’re tired, Wyatt. Go get some sleep. If I need your help, I’ll let you know.”
“Josiah, the Boy Scout.” Wyatt smiled and went inside the room. “Look, Jo. I’ll help you if you want me to.”
“Don’t need it. I’ll take care of this on my own. I got that feeling. And when I get that feeling I need to honor it. For all I know, it’s the Triat speaking to me.”
“I think it’s the blood in your penis speaking to you.”
“I thought we no longer have blood,” I said.
“Something gets us hard,” Wyatt smirked.
Chapter Eight
I went down the elevator of the hotel and made my way outside. I decided to transition into my eagle form and fly up to the sixth floor. I made my way around the hotel, peeking through windows. I know it’s a Peeping Tom kind of thing to do, but at this point it was my only option.
There were only a couple of lights on in the rooms. At the east end of the building, there was a light on and I could see two images. I could hear a man yelling at a woman and I tried to listen at the outside of the window.
They were both speaking Spanglish. Spanglish is when someone mixes Spanish and English together. It is very common in southern California. It actually helps someone like me have an understanding of what is being talked about. And for some reason both these people knew enough English to speak Spanglish pretty darn well and thank God they were.
I slowly flew up to the window, trying not to be heard. About every fourth word they slipped in an English word and I could gather what was going on. Then I heard the man walk over to the window and open the curtain. I shot up the side of the building so he couldn’t see me. I found a spot where I could see him, but he couldn’t see me. It was the man that was with the red-headed woman in the elevator. This was definitely their room and she was the one he was yelling at. As I listened, I could tell he was taking her somewhere she didn’t want to go. She seemed very upset at the idea of going.
Then the lights turned out and they left the room.
I went to the front of the hotel and was careful not to be seen. In a few moments, I looked down and saw the red-headed-woman slip into a taxi with the short Hispanic man.
I decided to follow the taxi from the sky. The taxi went about six blocks and made a left turn in front of a tiny, lit-up establishment. From the sky, I couldn’t make out what kind of business it was. It appeared to be some kind of bar. It had neon pink lights that read Roosters and Hens.
As I glided down, it became apparent what the business was. It was a massage parlor. I’d heard about these places in the Inland Empire. I could just imagine what kind of happy endings that these sorts of massages had in Mexico. I gathered this wasn’t a massage establishment but more of a whorehouse, with their blatant advertisement of half-naked girls in the window.
The man and woman got of the taxi and he led her into the parlor. I noticed there were about six men outside hanging around the door, talking. Some looke
d big, but I knew if it had to come to it, I would have no problem taking them out.
Why was he taking her there? The only thing that made any sense is that he was forcing her to work there against her will, or he was trying to get in some kind of weird threesome with one of the girls.
I decided the only thing to do was to transition and go in myself. I flew a little ways down the street where nobody could see me. I transitioned as I landed and then hurried over to the Rooster and Hens Massage Parlor.
“Hey buddy, we got some sexy girls for you!” One of the guys out front yelled to me as I came up to the door. “Just thirty dollars for a massage and the girls are beautiful!”
I nodded my head and he opened the sliding glass door for me and I went into the establishment. An older, pretty woman greeted me at the door. I assumed she was the madam.
“Hi there,” she said. “Do you want a massage?”
“Maybe,” I answered her.
“Why maybe? Aren’t you horny?” Yeah, she was definitely a madam and they were doing a little more here than just giving massages. There was no small talk with this woman. She was direct and to the point.
“Maybe,” I said. “I like girls with different color hair.”
“Huh?” she seemed confused.
I had a feeling I was sounding like a weirdo, so I decided to take a different approach. “Do you have any redheads?” I asked.
She smiled at me and said, “Actually, yes. We have a brand new girl. Her name is Diane.”
“Diane?” I asked.
“Yes, she is tall and beautiful and she has bright red hair.”
I heard a car out front and I looked out the window and I saw a limousine pull up. It was a stretched, white Cadillac and it was beautiful. It reminded me of something a Texas oil tycoon would be riding in. It really looked out of place on this street. The woman noticed the limo also and seemed concerned. Her eyes lit up. She yelled something in Spanish to the others. I knew if I was going to lock down Diane, I’d better do it quick.
Everyone in the place seemed really interested in whoever was in this limousine. I looked out the window and saw a gray-haired, older Hispanic gentleman who was dressed really slick make his way out of the limousine. He was a handsome fellow and looked like he could have been a celebrity. I really didn’t want this guy to see me, so, I said, “I’ll see Diane?”
The madam looked at me and nodded. She seemed preoccupied, but nonetheless, she continued, “Yes, I’ll take you to the back.” She led me down a long hallway. I followed her to a room where about seven girls were sitting. There was the red-headed girl I had seen earlier in the night, she recognized me instantly.
I stared at her and smiled. “I choose her.” I walked over to her. She seemed scared and that was the last thing I wanted her to feel, so, I whispered to her, “Don’t worry Diane. I’ll protect you. Just go along with it.” I wasn’t sure if she spoke English well, but I needed to say it. She smiled at me with uncertainty.
“Do you want the Jacuzzi room?” the madam asked.
“Sure. How much is one hour?”
“Sixty dollars,” she said. “It’s sixty dollars for the room and once you’re inside you can negotiate with the girl for whatever you like.” Oh, there will be negotiating, but not for sex. I plan on negotiating for her life.
“Okay,” I said.
Diane took my hand and the madam led us to a room in the back. I passed an open room by the hall that looked like there was a bar inside. I saw the man who had taken Diane to this place sitting on a stool at the bar. He was smoking a cigarette and drinking a bottle of tequila. There was a small bowl of lime wedges in front of him. I had no idea what his role in this place was. All I knew was, I wanted to get Diane to the room and talk to her.
The madam opened the door and let us in. “If you want to use the Jacuzzi, let me know.” She then said something to Diane in Spanish and left. Diane walked over to the door and locked it.
The room was bigger than I thought it would be. There was a Jacuzzi at one end of the room and a big giant bed at the other. I sat on the bed and smiled. I patted the bed. Diane shyly walked over and sat down.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Que?” she asked. I knew ‘que’ meant ‘what?’
“If you speak any English, this is the time to do so,” I said sternly, with a hint of compassion.
“Who are you?” she said, in reasonably understandable English.
“You do speak English?” I said, relieved.
“Yes.”
“Great!” I said, louder than I intended to.
“Shh! Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a guy who is trying to find someone in the city and I ran into you. I knew you needed my help.”
“How did you know that?” Diane seemed excited and scared at the same time. “Are you an angel?”
“Not quite,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t. It could cost me my life.”
“Look, Diane. You can trust me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I don’t even know you,” she said, pretty worried.
She was right. She didn’t know me from Adam. “All I can tell you is I’m one of the good guys.”
“I’ve heard that line before.”
“Maybe so. But this time it’s the truth. I want nothing from you. Not sex, not money, nothing. I only want to help you, but only if you want it.” I leaned over and took her hand and held it. “All I can say is trust your heart.”
“Trust my heart? What does that mean?” Diane seemed pretty overwhelmed by how serious I had come on, but I knew I couldn’t waste any time if I was going to help her.
Diane looked me in the eyes. “Your eyes are bonita.”
“You think my eyes are pretty?” I asked.
“They are kind. They are friendly. I want to trust you. What is your name?”
“Josiah,” I said.
“That is a very pretty name.”
“It does roll off the tongue. Do you want my help?”
“Yes, I do, Josiah. Very much.” Tears began to drip from her eyes.
“Okay, you need to let me know how to help you.”
“The last person I trusted led me to this dreadful place.”
“You can trust me.” I put my arm around her and hugged her. The second I did so, she collapsed in my arms. I held her there and I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on with her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She leaned back and breathed in deeply. “I’m a sex slave,” she said. “There’s no other way to put it.”
“Really?” I asked. “You’re not here by choice?”
“No.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Not long at all. Just the last couple of days.”
“I’m a bit confused. Please start from the beginning.”
“The man that you saw me with in the elevator is forcing me to be here.”
“How can he do that?”
“I don’t have anyone. I once trusted him and now he makes me do this.”
“How do you know him?” I asked.
“He used to be my boyfriend. He lied to me about everything.”
“How did he lie to you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I bought an hour. Go for it.”
“You need to understand, Josiah. Anything I tell you can get me killed.”
I looked into her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I will make sure of that.”
She paused. “How? Who are you?”
“I’m Superman,” I said. “Or I might as well be. Tell me your story.”
She was a bit reluctant, but started to tell me about herself. “I moved across the border when I was thirteen years old. I was able to get through Border Patrol on a fake I.D. I am the spitting image of my cousin who is a U.S. citizen.”
“It’s that easy to get across?”
I asked.
“Sometimes. Other times people do everything right and they still can’t get over.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Eventually my whole family got across; my mom, dad, and brothers and sisters. Living in the United States was an amazing time and everyone was so happy.”
“So, what happened?”
“When I turned eighteen, I had a huge party at our house in Anaheim. I was dumb enough to go out driving when I was completely wasted and I got a DUI. While at the police station, they discovered that I wasn’t a U.S. citizen and they sent me back to Mexico.”
“That sucks.”
“You have no idea. I was all alone. Being that my entire family was across I wasn’t going to say anything to the authorities. I wasn’t going to get any of them in trouble. When I was asked about family, I lied and said they were all still in Mexico. They released me, right at the border in Tijuana. All I had on me was $100. That was when I ran into Miguel.”
“That’s the guy you came here with?” I asked.
“Yes. I met him about a year ago. He lives in Ensenada. He took me back to his home and treated me really good for the better part of a year. Everything was great up until two weeks ago.”
“What happened?”
“He was always shady, a hustler for the ages. But he turned his hustle on me. He started saying I needed to start providing, too. I told him I could make jewelry, but he didn’t want any part of that. He said that if I sold myself for sex it would be the best way to make good money. He knew the management here, and apparently he had just been waiting for the right time when he was finally sick of me to bring me down here. In a way, I was lucky he didn’t bring me down here earlier.”
I was stunned. There was no luck about this story. It was heartbreaking. This girl had her eighteenth birthday in the U.S. and not even a year later, she’d been forced into prostitution and her family had no idea where she is.
“Wow,” I said. “What do you want to do?”
Tears began rolling down her face.
“Diane,” I said.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not my name, my name is Sarahi.”