by Aiden Bates
"Little bit, but no big deal. Your neighbor might be a dick, but he put a note in the file about me so people know why I'm here. It was awfully considerate of him, all things considered."
"Right." Derek groped around for the bed controls and tried to sit up. "I want to believe he meant well. I do. Then I remember—five times. Anyway. How's Grandma Brown?"
"She's okay. I stopped by to see her last night after I left, and she sends her best wishes. She's going out today on the weekly shopping run with the rest of the folks from her community. Don't be surprised if you wind up with another toad thing."
Derek wheezed out a laugh. "I keep every one of them, you know."
"I know you do." Derek shook his head, a rueful grin on his face. "I see them when I come to your apartment. Someone's going to come over and think you're the one with the fetish." He sobered up. "Look, do you think you're up for a visitor? There's an investigator from the State Police here, and she wants to ask you a few questions. If you're not up for it then I will cheerfully direct them to kiss my ass. But I mean it's human trafficking."
"That does seem kind of important." Derek closed his eyes for a second. This whole thing where he kept falling asleep after only a few minutes was getting real old, real fast. "I'll talk to him. I make no guarantees about how long I'll talk, but I'll make the effort."
The "him" turned out to be a her. Detective Dorothea Langbroek of the New York State Police was a tall, imposing woman with messy blonde hair and a brown pants suit. "Hi, Derek. What you did the other day was incredible."
Derek made himself smile. He'd half-assed the whole thing. If he'd been on top of things, at all, he'd have found a way to do it without anyone getting hurt, especially him. "Thanks. It wasn't much, really. I think anyone would have done the same thing, if they had access to a microphone, you know?"
Langbroek scoffed and took the other visitor chair, sitting next to Amadi. "Maybe, but I doubt it. You were alert, and you kept your wits about you well enough that the girl made it out. The girl you saved is Carmela, by the way. Carmela is fifteen, and she's originally from San Diego, California."
"Oh, that poor kid." Derek looked down at the white, loosely-woven hospital blanket. "They were going to kill her. There's no doubt in my mind."
"I believe you." Langbroek took out a notepad and a pen. Derek supposed she was the old-school type, then. "Why don't you start at the beginning, and we'll talk about that."
Derek forced himself to relax. He could hear his heart rate monitor speeding up. He wasn't surprised. His limbs trembled at the thought of having to relive it all over again. He had to talk, though. It was the only way to make sure these bastards went to jail. "I knew they were going to kill her the minute I saw her, and saw them chasing her." He closed his eyes again. "Those bruises around her neck—you only get them one way, you know? And that's if someone's choking you. I don't know how she got away from whoever did that to her. And I don't need to. However she did it, she's incredibly brave."
"She is. I think it's all starting to hit her now." Langbroek bowed her head. "Doesn't take away from her bravery, but she's forgetting how to speak English. It's the trauma, I guess. She was born here, but she's forgetting how to speak English and now she's terrified she's going to be deported because trauma has stolen an entire language from her."
"That's not right." Amadi crossed his arms over his chest. "That's just not right."
"It's not." She smiled. "We've got a bilingual child advocate coming to town from Albany. She's just got to finish a few things up there before she can make it here, but she's on her way. Don't worry. In the meantime, what made you think to talk to help the girl?"
Derek blushed. "I'm not much of a brawler. I do what I can, if I have to, but I'm not exactly in a position to go charging in, guns blazing, against a couple of whatevers. I figured they were up to no good, and most folks who are up to no good don't want to advertise. So I pulled them out into the light, got people looking at them. I figured it would buy her some time. Is she okay? That pavement was awfully hot."
"She's burned, but she'll recover." Langbroek gave him a gentle smile. "Listen. You did everything you could, under the circumstances. We found trailers, hidden in with the ones belonging to the carnival staff, that held eighteen girls. We would never have even known if it weren't for Carmela getting away, and you helping her."
Derek puffed up a little. That was something he could be proud of, for sure. Then he deflated, because puffing up hurt. "Are they okay?"
Langbroek hesitated. "I think 'okay' is a relative term. With counseling and time, I hope they will be. I think this ring is going to go down as one of the worst we've ever seen around here, when all is said and done. We'll probably have to bring the FBI in, because we know this crossed state lines—but that's not your problem. You just need to get some sleep, okay buddy?" She winked at him and pressed a card into Amadi's hands.
Amadi smiled at her, thin and tense. "So, question for you, Detective. My brother just broke up a human trafficking ring that crosses state lines, probably has a larger network than two sleazy beardy guys, and that has already tried to kill him once. How much danger is he in right now?"
Langbroek looked down. "I'm not going to lie to you. There's a certain amount of risk involved here. The thing is…"
"I'd be at risk no matter what." Derek glanced over at Amadi. "It doesn't matter, because once I got involved I was on their list, man."
Amadi's nostrils flared, and his mouth flattened out, but he didn't say anything else about it.
Langbroek had more to say, though. "If we don't get things resolved very quickly, and if we can't get the younger brother denied bail, we'll be able to get protection for you. Both of you, if you need it. For now, though, I'd say you're relatively safe." She rose and shook both of their hands. "I'm looking forward to talking with you again soon."
Amadi closed the door behind her on the way out. "Wow. She's just full of good news."
Derek waved his good hand. "It's nothing we didn't know. It doesn't change anything, you know? I'm still going to do what I'm going to do."
"And in this case, what you're going to do is a bad street hawker's impression." Amadi's eyes still had a shadow to them, but that didn't stop him from ribbing on Derek. Nothing stopped him from ribbing on Derek.
Wade came back to check on Derek a few hours later. He wasn't thrilled with the way the cop had just wandered into Derek's room and babbled at him without so much as a by your leave, and he wasn't shy about sharing that information, but there wasn't anything he could do about it after the fact.
Asking forgiveness was much better than asking permission. Derek had always believed that.
"By the way," Wade said, when he finished ranting about arrogant cops with no understanding of medicine or science, "Dr. Brennan sends his regards. I'd tell him you've been up and talking to the police, but that would probably bring him up here ranting and raving. I don't think that would be a very restful experience for you."
"At least we know he's like that at work, too." Amadi nudged Derek with an elbow. "It's not just a show he puts on just for Derek."
"Shut up," Derek muttered. It really was a pity about that doctor, though.
***
Alex stopped in to see his boss. "How was my charming neighbor?" He glanced at the woman in the office with Rick. Average height, messy blonde hair, broad and muscular build—probably a cop, based on her stance. They got a lot of cops in the ER.
Rick glared at him. "Did you really call the police for a noise complaint on an empty apartment?"
Alex's cheeks burned. "Look. It's hard to tell, sometimes, where the noise is coming from. The guy comes in at three in the morning, it's usually a good bet it's coming from him!"
"Five times, though?" Rick crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.
"Wow." The woman beside him, who was probably a cop, shook her head in disbelief. "That's impressive. Most people learn not to make snap judgments after, say, one
screw-up."
Alex bristled. "Look, lady, you have no idea what it's like living next door to that guy."
She held up her hands. "You're right. I don't. I don't care, either. Detective Dorothea Langbroek, New York State Police."
"Dr. Alex Brennan." He chewed on the inside of his cheek and remembered his temper. What was it about his neighbor that got under his skin this badly?
"I'm here about your neighbor, although you probably already guessed that." Langbroek smirked. "I only have a few questions for the two of you. I know you can't tell me much about Mr. Brown's medical condition, because of patient privacy laws. Were the injuries consistent with the story he described?"
"Absolutely." Alex glanced over at Rick, who shrugged. What the hell kind of a question was that, anyway?
"I thought so, but I'm not a doctor. I figured it was best just to be on the safe side. It's not like there weren't any witnesses right there, you know?" She snorted. "Have either of you worked on the other victims, the trafficked girls?"
Alex’s stomach twisted, and he gripped the back of the chair in front of him. "You're sure that's what was going on?"
Langbroek narrowed her eyes at him. "They all tell the same story, more or less. Why do you doubt them?"
He made a face. "I don't, I guess. I've seen enough in this place that I know to believe victims. I just don't want to believe that something that big could be happening, right here in Syracuse, and no one would know anything about it."
She shifted her position in the chair. "Well, part of the problem is the way the traffickers operated. They didn't stay in any one place for very long. Here, at the fair, they embedded themselves among the carnies working the midway. According to Carmela, the girl who got away from them, they've used similar setups at a few different locations, but it's not the only setup they use. Sometimes they show up at rock festivals. Sometimes they pull into campgrounds, or trailer parks, or other temporary residential communities. They don't stay more than a month in any one location, and even that's unusual."
"My God." Alex covered his mouth with one hand. "And there were how many of them?"
"Nineteen, counting Carmela." She closed her eyes. "It's only because Carmela was able to get away in such a public setting that we were able to find and save them all. We're still trying to identify all of them."
Rick nodded slowly, stroking his chin. "I can believe it. Most of them didn't speak when we examined them. Uh, I can tell you that two of them have identifying tattoos. We got pictures, when we did the SAE kits."
"Fantastic. I think those went to the officers who were on site when they were here. We're working to find a safe, nurturing place for all of them to stay right now, but I'm not sure Social Services will be able to keep them together. I'm not sure they'd even want that."
"I don't know." Alex found his voice again. "I honestly just don't know."
"We'll do our best. In the meantime, they'll have to stay here, I suppose." Langbroek pinched the bridge of her nose. "We've got foster homes in the area, but not so many available, and not equipped for this level of trauma. Are there any issues we should know about with Mr. Brown, that wouldn't violate doctor-patient confidentiality? Any ways he could be particularly vulnerable to the bad guys, that we should shore up? A drug problem, maybe?" She held up a hand. "I'm not going to look to prosecute him, just to keep them from using it to keep him from testifying."
"No. No way." Alex roused himself from his own grief and fear. "No. His foster brother told me he had a family history of addiction, and he told me himself he wasn't willing to touch anything remotely mind altering. He's not even taking pain pills up there."
"No wonder he looked so miserable when we spoke." She huffed out a little laugh. "The guy has to be nuts. Anyway, those are all the questions I have for you today. Thanks, gentlemen. I'm sure we'll see one another around." She left.
Rick turned to Alex. "You okay? You're about as pale as a sheet."
"I'm not okay." Alex sat down in the chair he'd been using for support. "My sister—I need to call my parents. I just…"
"Whatever, man." Rick waved a hand. "We're pretty mellow here. Just be prepared to come back if we need you later on."
Alex sprang back to his feet. He wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He fled the ER and raced to the locker room, where he changed into street clothes. Then he called his parents. "Hi, Mom? Can I come by for dinner? I… there was a case. A human trafficking case."
His mother didn't hesitate. "Of course, dorogoy. We weren't going to have anything fancy, but we'd love to have you join us. Should we call your sister?"
"Maybe, yeah." He melted a little, just hearing the little accent in his mother's voice. "Thank you, Mama. I'll see you soon."
He drove the whole fourteen minutes out to Dewitt in a haze. He probably should have been pulled over, but the route was so well known to him that he didn't wind up showing his distress on the road. He pulled into their driveway on Thistlewood Lane and fumbled for his keys, and he was finally safe at home.
Mama followed soon after. She pulled Alex into a strong hug and held him close for a long few minutes, and then she led him out into the Florida room. The Florida room was her space; Alex had even paid to heat it for her once he'd started to make real money. Out here, among perpetual greenery and photos of her children, Natasha Brennan could research, or mourn, or simply be in peace.
The children hadn't been allowed out here when Alex had been a child. Even as an adult, invitations into Mama's private domain were rare.
Now she guided Alex to a seat on the old-fashioned metal sofa and took his hand. "It was a rough day for you?" She looked up into his eyes.
"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "It was… It was an okay day, to start with. You know? Nothing bad was going on, it was just another day on the job. And then I had to go and get interviewed by a cop about that guy, the DJ you probably saw on the news."
"The great big hero." Mama scoffed.
"Well, according to my boss, he is a pretty big hero." Alex blushed. "I thought he was probably showboating too, when it first happened. But when I got more details, it does sound out like he did the only thing he could think of at the time. He had the microphone, and he called attention to the guys who were chasing the girl.
"And the girl, as it turns out, was a victim of human trafficking." He took a deep breath. "Just like Ayla, except she got away." Tears fell from his eyes. "His quick thinking saved that girl, and eighteen others, Mama."
She covered her face with both hands for a second. "He is a hero." She switched to Russian, her first language. "And he's paying the price, but he's given their families a gift they can never repay."
Alex slumped down in his seat. "I know." He looked over at her. "That poor girl. She's been a captive for months. She saw an opportunity and she took it, but out of all of the thousands of people who saw her at the Fair today, only one person wanted to help her. Only one."
"No." Mama shook her head. "Only one person had the presence of mind to recognize what was happening, and the power to step in and do something about it at the time. I'm sure plenty of other people would have been perfectly happy to help, if they'd known." She stroked his hair. "This is the patient who turned out to be your loud neighbor, isn't it?"
Alex barked out a laugh. "Yeah, he is. He's a real piece of work, too." He shook his head. "Up at all hours, has the gall to complain about the notes I leave for the community about basic standards of hygiene!"
Mama rolled her eyes. "I can't imagine why those would be offensive. Come on, Sasha. Let's go and start dinner."
Alex fell into step behind his mother, just like he always had. He knew what other people would say. What kind of an alpha followed his mother around like some kind of lost puppy on a leash? He didn't care. He needed his mom, and his mom needed him.
Together, they worked to pull together a simple but nourishing meal. Alex’s parents weren't necessarily vegan, but they ate vegan meals more often than not and today
was no exception. It was so easy to fall into old patterns and play sous-chef for a little while. He chopped garlic and herbs. He put walnuts through the food processor, just to get them to the right consistency. His mother heated up some of the homemade bread she prepared on weekends and froze, and together they threw a salad together with plenty of pickled vegetables. It was enough to give them a light, but perfectly nourishing supper that was on the table and ready by the time Dad and Ivy walked in the door.
Dad got home first. He had this "old sea captain" look going for him these days, and it seemed to work for him. The look overwhelmed Alex right now, overlaid as it was right now with fresh sadness. He didn't say much, though. He just tightened his jaw and bowed his head at Alex, before heading over to the master bedroom to shed his jacket.
Mama stared after him for a few seconds. Then she shook her head and took her place at the old kitchen table, beside Alex’s seat.