by Chris Taylor
“Hey, you! What the hell are you doing?”
Savannah froze. The question had been shouted at her from close behind her. Slowly, she turned and squinted into the light. Two guards stood near the back door. Dropping the bag of trash, she plastered a smile on her face and sauntered toward them.
“I’m just takin’ out the trash.” She closed the distance between them and sidled up to one of the men. Running a teasing finger down his chest, she winked at him. “What are you doin’?”
The man stared at her, his eyes dark with suspicion. “You shouldn’t be out here. You know that. Who sent you outside?”
Savannah shrugged and thought fast. “I dunno. Maybe I just wanted a bit of fresh air. It gets awfully…hot in there.” She pressed herself against him and splayed her hand across his cheek.
“Wanna kiss?” she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear.
“Fuck off, slut. You know we’re not allowed to fraternize with you. Vince will have our hides. Now, get back inside where you belong.”
Savannah moved away and stumbled up the steps. She tried the door and then turned around and shrugged, a helpless expression on her face.
“Oops, it must have locked behind me.”
With a muttered oath, the other guard stormed up the steps and pulled a set of keys from his belt. Moments later, the door opened. Smiling sweetly, Savannah made her entrance.
She was in.
CHAPTER 11
Savannah closed the door to the brothel behind her and leaned against it. She pressed a hand to her chest in an effort to slow her racing heart. For all her outward show of bravado, the run-in with the security guards had left her shaken. She didn’t want to spend another moment longer than was necessary to achieve what she was there for.
A few steps down the hall, a door to one of the bedrooms stood ajar. Faint light seeped through the gap. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and walked toward it, hoping to find a girl who might be willing to talk.
She had to assume the girls knew about Malee. Someone like Vince would make sure they knew she’d died while attempting to escape and that it had been a slow and painful death. It was sure to terrify them and an even surer way to deter them. It wouldn’t be easy to overcome their fear and gain their confidence, especially in the short time she had. And she didn’t want to endanger any other lives.
Savannah eased the door fully open. A petite Asian girl who looked younger than Dylan lay semi-naked on the bed. Savannah drew closer. The girl gasped and drew herself up into a ball.
The lamps that glowed on either side of the bed had been turned down low and the room had an air of intimacy that was more than a little disconcerting. Was the girl expecting a client?
Once again, Savannah was reminded of how tenuous her position was. Vowing silently to get out as quickly as possible, she approached the bed with tentative steps.
“Wh-who are you?” the girl stuttered in broken English, surprise widening her almond-shaped eyes.
“I’m Savannah O’Neill. I’m a newspaper reporter. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to ask you some questions.”
The girl’s eyes breathing hitched. Fear darkened the depths of her eyes. “I not talk to you. Billy not like it.”
There was that name again. Billy. Savannah was determined to find out once and for all who he was. She stepped closer.
“I want to help you get out of here. I’m not going to tell anyone you spoke to me, I promise.”
The girl looked unconvinced. Savannah tried again. “What’s your name? A beautiful girl like you must have a beautiful name.”
The girl’s lip wobbled. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Angel,” she whispered.
Savannah reached the bed and eased herself onto it. Angel pulled her knees up to her chest and held onto them. She stared at a spot on the floor, distrust still plain on her young face.
“Angel. That’s a lovely name. It suits you.” Savannah paused. “I meant what I said, Angel. I want to help you. I want to help all of you.”
With obvious reluctance, the girl lifted her gaze. Savannah’s heart ached at the fear and hopelessness in Angel’s dark eyes.
Clenching her jaw in anger, she vowed to see whoever was responsible for exploiting the young girl put away for a long, long time.
Savannah squeezed the girl’s hand, trying to impart a reassurance she didn’t feel. “How old are you, Angel?”
“Fourteen.”
The reply was so low, Savannah was uncertain whether she’d heard correctly. Had she really just said fourteen? She shook her head, aghast. She wanted to rant and rave against the injustice of it. She wanted to hit something or someone. But she didn’t have the liberty of doing any of those things at that moment. She hid her distress by doing what she did best.
“Angel, I want to ask you some questions and I need you to tell me the truth. It’s very important. I can’t help you unless I know what’s going on here. Do you understand?”
The girl kept her gaze lowered, but nodded.
“Okay.” Savannah took a deep breath and glanced at her watch.
Ten-thirty. She didn’t want the girl to feel hurried, but the sooner Savannah got out of there, the better. Any minute she could be discovered and she didn’t even want to think about what might happen to her then.
Leaning over, she brushed the long, black, shiny hair off Angel’s face. Angel turned to look at her.
“Angel, how long have you been here?”
The girl shrugged. Her dark gaze slid away.
“Please talk to me, Angel. The only way I can help is if I know what’s going on. I need something definite to take to the police.”
“Police?” The girl reared back in horror. “No! No police! Please.” Tears welled up in her eyes. Her shoulders shook. Savannah moved closer and put her arms around her.
“Angel, it’s all right. In Australia, the police are good. They help people like you and they put men like Vince Maranoa in jail.”
“B-but Vince say—” Angel hiccupped on a sob. “Vince say police throw us in prison if girls ever tell. No one know where girls go. Vince say…girls rot here forever. Never see family again.”
A fresh wave of tears erupted and Savannah hugged her again and waited for them to subside.
“It’s okay; it’s okay,” she murmured, rubbing the girl’s back with her hand. After awhile, Angel quietened and her tears subsided to the occasional sniffle. Savannah released her. Swallowing a sigh, she tried again.
“Honey, how long have you been here?”
Angel shook her head slowly before raising her tear-stained face to Savannah’s.
“Don’t know how long. No TV. No radio.” She shrugged, her expression pitiful. “Don’t know what day it is. Vince take me from Bangkok one week before I turn fourteen. He tell father he get me job. He say I have good life. Vince tell father I send money home. Father pay Vince five thousand dollar to take to Australia.”
Savannah gasped, appalled. Not only was Maranoa using the women illegally, he was also taking money from their families under false pretenses. She was shocked at how far his evil exploitation extended. Tamping down her anger, she reached for Angel’s hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Sweetheart, when’s your birthday? If you tell me, I’ll be able to work out how long you’ve been here. It’s January twentieth today.”
“My birthday July second.”
“Oh my God, Angel, you’ve been here over six months! I’m so, so sorry, honey. We need to get you out of here! You need to tell me everything so I can help you!”
Angel nodded slowly. “I understand. Not sure how long until Billy come with needle.”
Savannah’s heart thumped at the mention of Billy, but she frowned in confusion. “The needle?”
“Yes, needle. Vince make girl take drug with needle. I hate needle! Make me sick. Vomit everywhere. Billy go away, leave me alone. Give needle to other girl.”
Savannah was horrified. Never in her wil
dest dreams had she imagined such depravity. When Malee told her Maranoa kept the girls drugged, she hadn’t had time to hear what that entailed, but hearing a firsthand account made her feel sick to her stomach.
“Most girl take needle,” Angel continued, interrupting Savannah’s furious thoughts. “Feel sick at first, but then they like. They want needle. Make them happy. Make Billy happy.” She shook her head. “Not me.”
Savannah struggled to keep her anger in check. With an effort, she kept her voice calm and asked the question that weighed heavily on her mind.
“Angel, who’s Billy?”
Angel stared at the floor. “Billy work for Vince. Billy make me scared.”
“Do you know his last name? What does Vince call him?”
“Billy, Billy the Kid.”
Suppressing her frustration, Savannah tried again. “What does he look like? Young, like you? Or is he old, like Vince?”
The girl shrugged. “Not old like Vince. Young, I guess, but not young like me.”
“What color hair does he have?”
Another shrug. “Dark. Only see him night time. Light not so good in here.”
Savannah bit her lip. It could be Will. But then again, it could be anyone. She had to get the police involved. She had no choice. It had gone way beyond her limited resources. She could hardly waltz out the door with Angel in tow. Could she? The thought accelerated her heart beat. Did she dare?
But what about the other girls? Malee had said there were ten of them altogether. Counting Mia, the girl who’d escaped before Malee, and Angel, that left at least another seven who were at Maranoa’s mercy.
“Girl who take needle don’t care about men,” Angel murmured, drawing Savannah’s attention back to her. “They happy to dance when Vince say. Me not happy. Vince say I must. Vince say I cost lot of money. Must pay back bill. Must see men. Must be nice. When bill all paid, I go home.”
Tears once again filled the young girl’s eyes and slid down her cheeks. Savannah’s heart broke at the shame and desolation on Angel’s face. She drew her back into her arms and held her. When the girl finally quieted down, Savannah pulled gently away.
“Angel, none of this is your fault. Don’t ever think that. You’re being held here illegally by some very evil men and I’m going to make sure they never do it to any other girls again, okay?”
With quiet desperation, she tilted Angel’s chin up with her finger until the girl finally met her eyes. “I want to help you, honey, but I can’t do it on my own. I need to get the police involved. The police will help us, okay?” She tried to inject as much confidence into her voice as she could.
Angel nodded, the fear back in her eyes, but she held Savannah’s gaze and even offered her a small smile. Her voice was a ragged whisper when she spoke again.
“Thank you.”
A loud banging on the door next to their room startled both of them. A moment later, the knock sounded on their door.
“Girls, get your asses out here now! Vince wants a show. I want two of you out here now!”
Savannah gasped. That voice… It was familiar… It sounded like…her brother. She shook her head at the absurdity of even thinking Dylan could be at the Black Opal. It was totally ludicrous.
Angel clawed at her arm and Savannah’s chaotic thoughts scattered like confetti on the wind. The girl looked like she’d seen a ghost.
“My turn!” she choked, her eyes wide with terror. “My turn to dance.”
Savannah’s heart clenched with dread. She couldn’t sit there and let the poor girl perform in front of a roomful of excited men. Angel was little more than a child! It didn’t matter that she’d been doing it for six months. She wasn’t going to go out there again. Not on Savannah’s watch.
“They only need two girls. That’s what the man said. Maybe one of the other girls—”
Angel shook her head violently back and forth. “No! No! No! My turn! Must dance!”
Cold fear settled like molasses in her stomach. As much as she shrank from the idea, another look at the crying, pitifully young girl on the bed decided it for her. She knew what she had to do.
With a sigh, she stood and walked over to the full-length mirror that was fixed to the wall opposite the bed. Tugging down her skirt as far as it would go, she adjusted her wig and pulled down the hem of her midriff top. She was now decidedly uneasy at the scantness of it. Recalling the crowd of girls on stage the previous Saturday night, she silently hoped she could take refuge behind some of the others.
She turned to Angel. “What kind of dance are you supposed to do?”
“Pole dance, two girl together.”
Savannah gasped. A pole dance? The girl was freaking kidding, wasn’t she? Savannah didn’t know squat about pole dancing and there was no way she could pull it off in a tight leather skirt! Hell, she could barely move in the outfit, let alone shimmy up and down a pole in it!
But she had no choice. It was as simple as that. She made her way back to where Angel continued to sniffle quietly on the bed.
“It’s okay, honey. I’m going to dance in your place tonight and when I leave, I’ll bring back the police as soon as I can. It’s going to be all right. You need to stay very brave and not say anything to any of the other girls. It’s very important, okay?”
Angel nodded. Her eyes swam with gratitude. “You dance for me?”
Nerves warred with dread in Savannah’s belly, but she forced them away. “Yes.”
Angel smiled. The simple action lit up her young face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You very kind. Me stay very quiet. Promise.”
* * *
Just like the last time Will had been at the brothel, the air was smoky and pungent with the scent of incense and cigars. It was a little after ten-thirty and he was on his second glass of scotch. He swirled the drink in his hand. The golden liquid slid over the ice cubes. He’d been there for almost an hour and so far hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Impatience ate into him.
The place was quiet, with only twenty or so patrons scattered around the room, mostly drinking and murmuring amongst themselves. He spotted Baines and Michaels, his undercover backup, seated at a table in the far corner and was relieved that they’d passed inspection from the guards.
Conrad Birmingham, the owner of a rival advertising firm, sat a couple of tables over. Will gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement. He wasn’t concerned the man would identify him as a cop. Robert Rutledge had gone to great pains to conceal the fact that his only surviving son and heir had turned his back on the family company. Conrad raised his glass in tacit response before his attention was captured by a new arrival.
Curious, Will swung around on his bar stool. He immediately recognized Vince Maranoa and tensed. Surrounded by security, the drug lord strode through the entryway exuding authority and power. His designer suit was custom made and his longish, dyed-black hair was combed to a neatness that was almost disconcerting.
A moment later, the brothel owner pulled out a bar stool and seated himself beside Will, shooting him a look filled with frank curiosity. Will steadied his pulse rate by taking another sip of his drink and tugged out his cell phone. Faking interest in composing a text message, he surreptitiously watched Maranoa from the corner of his eye.
The dark hair belied the crow’s feet around the man’s eyes and the deep lines engrained across his forehead. Will knew from the three-inch thick police file that Maranoa was scraping sixty.
Vincent Michael Maranoa. The only son of George and Christina Maranoa, born and raised in the inner Sydney suburb of Marrickville. Graduated with a leaving certificate from Marrickville High School in 1970. There were no significant achievements mentioned in the high school yearbooks, but neither were there any other indicators of the life of crime the young Maranoa would eventually embrace.
Who really knew what made someone choose the path they did? Fate was a slippery thing. Will didn’t think anyone felt completely confident their choices in life were the ri
ght ones. Surely the most anyone could do was conduct the research and then hope for the best? Even then, things didn’t always turn out as planned. The twists and turns in his life were proof of that.
He wondered at what point Maranoa’s life had deviated off course. According to the file, his first arrest was for an assault occasioning actual bodily harm. It was a serious charge. He’d been all of eighteen.
Will hadn’t been able to access any juvenile file, but he’d bet his father’s company a file existed. The kind of scum like Maranoa, who’d turned crime into a career, didn’t start out when they turned eighteen.
He had no information on Maranoa’s early life, apart from the names of his parents, but regardless of how shitty his childhood might have been, no misfortune could ever excuse the way he now chose to live his life. Will was as determined as ever to see him put behind bars.
“Will? What the hell are you doing here?”
The familiar voice brought Will’s thoughts to an abrupt halt. Directly behind Vince’s entourage stood Robert Rutledge.
CHAPTER 12
Will’s jaw dropped open. His heart thudded. His throat was so tight he could barely breathe. How could his father be standing less than two feet away from him in a notorious city brothel? Shock followed quickly by panic rendered him speechless. He stared hard at his father and hoped like hell the man wouldn’t break his cover.
He glanced over at Maranoa. Despite Will’s training, his heart rate refused to slow. With a concerted effort, he feigned disinterest and casually returned his phone to his coat pocket before turning to acknowledge the question from the man who looked just as surprised as he was.
“Dad! Fancy seeing you here.”
Vince chuckled. “You’re Robert’s young whippersnapper? How about that? I should have guessed. You’re the spittin’ image of him, apart from the fact you’re hair’s still dark and you’re carryin’ a few less pounds, of course.” He grinned. “Your old man loves this place. It’s where he comes to relax, you know, a few drinks, a girl or two.” Vince turned to face Will’s father. “Isn’t that right, mate? You told me once you do some of your best thinkin’ in here.”