by William Mark
Turns out that Cauldress had several fraud arrests in Texas, Oklahoma, and Nebraska. Most were schemes involving real estate scams where he would sell lots and houses that were in foreclosure, or so he let the clients believe until that initial check was cashed, then he went on the run until he was caught and did five years in a Texas prison. It wasn’t hard to find his bank employee records either. They were obviously a complete work of fiction.
He was a prime candidate for the inside man for the traffickers, but the team still hadn’t found a connection. Rachel made the decision to pull Curt off of surveillance to check out Cauldress’ apartment.
Curt made quick work of the cheap lock and deadbolt on the exterior door of the small apartment Jack Cauldress called home. He looked around and found it a messy tribute to bachelorhood. There were unfinished food cartons left on the kitchen counter and clothes strewn on the furniture and the floor. The place had a dirty odor to it that annoyed Curt. He moved around the apartment, looking for anything to connect this man to the traffickers. He searched through the desk computer in the corner of the living room but found nothing but porn sites, gambling sites, and other random nonsense in his search history. He plugged in the thumb drive and had Louis remotely download the contents of the computer to be dissected later. He moved through a small filing cabinet that was stuffed full of paperwork from his old arrests, probation period, and some fictitious documents he had used along the way. Curt accidentally dropped them into the shredder after realizing they were fakes.
“Oops,” he said to the empty apartment.
Curt looked around and wasn’t getting the necessary vibe from the apartment but had an uneasy feeling he was missing something. When he moved to the man’s bedroom, the picture started getting clearer. The bedroom was well put together and had a warm, inviting look to it, something that would be alluring to any member of the opposite sex. It was cleaner than the rest of the apartment by far. The odor of an intoxicating cologne hung in the air; it was a scent that Curt had once worn at the request of his wife. He looked over the contents of the closet and found designer clothes and shoes. He had high-dollar, name-brand stuff that he shouldn’t be able to afford as a bank real estate salesman and a convicted felon. Now, this guy felt more promising as the inside connection. The bathroom had hair products, facial cleansers, moisturizers, and all things a self-absorbed man would keep on hand to promote his sexuality.
Curt had gotten a feel for the apartment and relayed his assessment over the ear buds, “He over-emphasizes his appearance. He is very into how he looks. He’s probably over compensating for something. It wouldn’t surprise me if he carried Rufinol on his person, just in case the opportunity presented itself.”
After sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, the feeling of missing something still nagged. He gave the room a second and third look before he saw it. There it was, up in the vent. He saw the reflection of glass from behind the air conditioning vent. He found something to stand on to get a closer look and noticed the object was a camera lens reflecting the light. It was angled toward the bed, but where did it lead? He lifted a few folded shirts on the top ledge of the closet to reveal a small recorder hooked up to the covert camera. He popped the drive open to see it was empty. He looked under the other items on the same ledge but didn’t find what he was looking for. Curt searched for any false walls or hidden compartments but didn’t have any luck.
His detective skills took over, and he placed himself in the shoes of Jack Cauldress. Curt stepped down and slid to the side searching the walls behind every hanging picture or wall art in the tiny apartment. He still didn’t find it. He looked under the bed again and only found a cache of sex toys.
“Eww,” he said aloud.
“What?” Rachel asked with worry.
“Trust me; you don’t want to know.”
Something drew Curt back to the closet. It was where Cauldress had chosen to keep his covert equipment, so he obviously felt secure keeping it there. He flung the clothes to the side and checked the interior walls of the closet but didn’t see anywhere he kept a safe. He looked down and saw a small string that protruded from the side of the carpet inconspicuously. He reached down and tugged at the string, and it lifted the corner of the carpet. He peeled it back revealing a large safe underneath.
“Jackpot, found it. It was in the closet.”
“I’m going through his computer now. He doesn’t have any passwords saved or anything that looks like a combo to the safe. Sorry,” Louis offered.
“It’s a combination lock. But….” Curt worked through a theory of the man he had profiled thus far. When no one was looking, he would take the easy way for sure. He reached down to the safe door and saw that the dial was left on 68. Curt smiled knowing he was right about the man and thinking this was too easy. He moved the dial one tick to 69 and pulled at the lever. It clicked loose and he pulled open the little door to the safe to reveal a collection of at least thirty micro-CDs with women’s names on them written in marker, cataloged by date. Without a doubt, it was clearly a trophy case the deviant man had been collecting for a while. Curt grabbed the latest one with the name Ines written on it. It was dated three days ago. He moved over to the computer and put it in the disk drive.
After opening the file, he hit play, and the quiet groans of a man came through the speakers as did the whimper of a woman. As the video focused, Curt saw a frumpy, white male with perfect brown hair underneath a younger, underdeveloped, Hispanic girl dressed as a school girl. Her shirt had been ripped away, but a plaid mini-skirt and knee high socks remained. Curt instantly recognized the girl as the one from the house who stuck her head out during surveillance. She had that same lost and hollow look as Cauldress thrust inside her. As the video panned out, as directed by the frumpy man via a remote control, he got a better look at the room they were in. Next to the bed was a window that had the same scenic view he was looking at before coming to the apartment. It was the house on the bluff.
The lunch hour traffic made for adequate background noise at the bistro patio. Cauldress leaned forward toward the iPad screen as his face turned completely ashen and pallid.
“What do you want?” He was sick to his stomach and on the verge of retching. He had listened painfully to the vivid details this woman and her accomplices had learned about him with excruciating precision. They knew he was allowing the traffickers to use the empty house on the bluff as their brothel for sex slaves in exchange for free sex.
The traffickers extorted him for his help, and if he didn’t, all his videos, to include the one of him and his boss’s wife, would be turned over to the police. Cauldress, a self-serving narcissist, quickly dismissed the idea of going back to prison. He would rather go on the run from the traffickers than face life behind bars again. He would agree to whatever the woman on the iPad demanded if it meant saving his own ass. Rachel gave him explicit instructions to follow and told him to go back to work as if nothing happened. They would be in contact shortly.
Mrs. Harvey took the iPad and yanked the headphones from Cauldress’ ears, causing him to jump in his seat. The smooth operator was now a ball of nerves. She packed up the device in her purse, left the check on the table, and with the same elegance she entered the bank, she sashayed her way across the street and next to a large, black conversion van parked on the side. Cauldress watched helplessly as his surefire whale of a client and sexual conquest walked away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and empty inside.
Rachel sat in the Captain’s chair as the door to the Mercedes Sprinter slid open to reveal the put together and lithe bodied Mrs. Harvey. She smiled in excitement at the successful operation, and Mrs. Harvey smiled back.
“Good work!”
“Thanks,” Mrs. Harvey said, as she removed her sunglasses and carefully pulled off the long blonde wig. She kicked off the high heels with a sigh of relief and climbed in the van. She sat on the bench seat for a moment, and Louis handed over a pair of rectangular rimmed glasses. She took
them and slid them on, for she was back to being Beth Young.
Chapter 16
Why me?” Louis’ shoulders sagged as he whined in protest.
“Because you are the only one they wouldn’t suspect. You don’t look like a cop and do not pose as much of a threat,” Rachel answered bluntly.
Louis Melton is an imposing threat in the virtual world, confident and dangerous, but in the arena of real life, he is shy, meek, and insecure. Nonetheless, he was chosen to enter the den of wolves in an attempt to rescue the sex slaves that were taken from their homes with promises of a new life in America. However, Rachel was lying to Louis about her reasoning, for it was much simpler than she explained. Basically, the team lacked options. It was either Curt or Louis, as the only male options on the team. If they sent a female in, the traffickers would not believe she would be in search of sex at a place like that, or they would be too interested and demand to watch. So hopefully with that logic, a skinny, nerdy, and unimpressive Louis would fly under the suspicious radar of the traffickers.
The team gathered up around the Mercedes Sprinter as they finalized their operation. Jack Cauldress showed up as directed and surprised Curt by not making a run for it. He had been watching him at the bank since lunch and followed him to the hotel after Rachel called him with his instructions.
After Cauldress made some necessary phone calls, he reported that the girls were delivered back to the house on the bluff. Rachel tried to convince the team to seize this opportunity and make a move to rescue the girls.
Beth stood up and addressed the group. “I’m all for getting those girls out of that situation, but it’s too dangerous. This isn’t what we normally do. I think we should hold back and try to retrieve them some other way.”
“We may not get another chance. They could move the girls after tonight, and then we’d have nothing.”
“We have trackers; we have the equipment to watch them and wait for them to make a mistake.”
Melinda spoke up. “I agree with Beth. I think we should wait.”
“Okay, you’re right about the equipment. But what happens to those girls in the meantime? You have no idea the hell they’re trapped in.” Rachel was adamant and stood tall as she made her point.
Beth looked down as she imagined each girl being subjected to the sexual depravities of a paying customer. It was awful, but she still felt strongly about waiting.
“I know, but we’re not superheroes or anything. They have guns, plural, guns! We should be patient.”
“If we’re quick and calculated, I believe we can simply steal them from under their noses.” Curt stepped forward to defend Rachel’s plan. He stood with his arms crossed and looked set on moving forward.
“I’m in,” Louis added.
“Fine!” Beth agreed begrudgingly and turned angrily toward Jack Cauldress. Men like him are the reason brothels like this exist.
Jack Cauldress sat inside the van, contemplating his shallow, fraudulent life. His head lowered. He searched for the answer to how he managed to screw up enough in life to be forced into this situation, but this was just one hurdle added to the long list of things he had to do to get by.
Louis lifted his shirt and situated the small body wire. “So, why do we need the wire again?”
“Because the comms we use don’t exactly get all the surrounding noise. This wire will be ideal. Plus, I want something we can deliver to the police afterwards.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“Okay, you go up to the house with Jack and get inside with the girls. Once you are alone with them, Mel and—”
“Hey, Rachel!” Curt interrupted abruptly.
She furrowed her brow, irritated, “Yes?”
“C’mere for a second.”
She looked at the faces of the others, searching for the error she made. She read nothing in their reaction and walked to the back of the van, clueless.
“What?”
“I don’t think we should make it a habit to talk about our operation in front of our sources.” Curt pointed back to Cauldress. “We use him for what we need and tell him only what he needs to know. If things go bad in there, we don’t need some scumbag snitch to make it worse for us. If he knows our plan from beginning to end, he could use that somehow and double-cross us or something. He’s not to be trusted by any means. He’s with us because of a specific need and nothing else.”
Rachel was new to all of this and hadn’t even thought about this possibility. Jack Cauldress was a deviant con-man with an unhealthy sex addiction who drugged women to have sex with them. Curt was right; he couldn’t be trusted. She realized that Curt was looking out for her and the team’s interest and that he hadn’t challenged her in front of the team, making her look weak.
“Okay, you’re right. Thanks.”
“I’ll walk him down the street to make sure he doesn’t get an itch to back out, and you can brief the team.”
“Okay, good idea.”
Rachel walked back over to the van and excused Cauldress from the briefing. He stepped from the vehicle, and Curt took him out of ear shot—probably to threaten his life if he deviated from the plan in any way.
Rachel went on with the plan and explained everyone’s role in the operation. As they loaded up in the van, a sick feeling bubbled up in the pit of her stomach, and a small wave of nausea came over her. She cracked the passenger window of the Sprinter letting the fresh, crisp, mountain air wash over her face, settling her nerves. Curt was driving and looked over at Rachel leaning into the incoming cool air. He’d seen it plenty of times before but wasn’t worried. It was important that she was nervous; it meant that she cared. She cared for the operation, she cared for the team that was about to carry out the mission, and she was realizing that if something happened, it was going to be because she put them there. It was the burden of being a leader.
“It’s okay, that’s normal. If you weren’t nervous, I’d be worried.” Rachel looked over and smiled at Curt. It was comforting that he noticed and knew what she was feeling. It gave her a much needed boost in her confidence.
***
The huge oversized door of the house on the bluff swung open. The large trafficker from the day before stood in the threshold, peering down at the two men on the foot of the stairs. To Louis Melton, he was a giant. The mountainous man caused stress by the mere sight of him. He questioned immediately if he could continue past this point in the operation. Jack Cauldress, the perpetual con-man, whose life was built on surviving stress situations on the fly, stepped up to smooth over the introduction.
“Julio, hey man. I got my buddy Brian here. He’s cool. We’re here to do a little partying. I called Cortez a little while ago, so he should be expecting us.” Jack leaned in as Julio the trafficker eyeballed Louis carefully, “He’s got mucho dinero, my friend!” Cauldress added the international hand gesture of money by rubbing together his thumb with his forefinger and middle finger.
Louis reached inside of his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash. He peeled off a couple of one hundred dollar bills and waved them around to distract the trafficker from the real reason he was there.
“I’m here to get my fuck on!” Louis said, in the creepiest voice he could muster.
Rachel shook her head as she listened through her ear bud comms. “Don’t overdo it Louis!”
The muscular Julio moved aside. He was obviously comfortable with Jack Cauldress and convinced that the newcomer was a bona-fide customer. He let them inside. Louis looked around the foyer, trying to quell the rising stress from within and taking a deep breath as the door was shut behind him. The house was sparse, as far as furniture was concerned; obviously it was not lived in. There was a bar set up in the corner of what Louis assumed was a formal room just inside of the foyer. This was where the deals were made, as Jack had earlier relayed to the team.
The room was large and caused Louis to feel small. The polished ceramic tile floors and blank walls made every small sound e
cho needlessly throughout the house. The ceilings were high and accented with ornate crown molding, and the room was lit by a brilliant, crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room. It was empty, but Louis could tell the inside of the house was elegant and belied the horrors that were happening within.
Julio escorted them in and asked for their drink of choice. Jack ordered vodka tonics with a lime for both Louis and himself while they stood waiting. Louis tried to look around for the girls but saw no sign of them. The bedrooms were elsewhere in the house, he figured. Jack handed Louis the drink, and he, maintaining his character, took the drink in one gulp. It burned like liquid fire as it rolled down his throat and into his stomach. It tasted like astringent floor cleaner with a hint of lime. It was awful, and his face couldn’t hide this reaction. He coughed unexpectedly, drawing the attention of Julio and Jack Cauldress. Cauldress patted him on the back, trying to maintain the cover.
“You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah, sorry. Went down the wrong pipe. Sorry, this is good shit here,” he said as he lifted the small glass.
Julio wasn’t amused but didn’t think too much of the reaction. He’d seen a lot of weak, incompetent men come here and act bigger than they were, but he didn’t care just so long as their money was green. A moment later, his partner joined the small group in the formal room. He was a tense and serious man—olive, tanned skin, expensive designer clothes, and excessively decorated with jewelry. He introduced himself as Cortez. He spoke broken English and held the grip of Louis Melton for a moment longer than customary as they shook hands. He stared at Louis, looking for weakness within the smaller man as his firm grip squeezed his hand. It was weakness in character, not physical strength.
“So, you know Jack? You want to party here with us, huh?” he asked with the enthusiasm of a car salesman.