by J. D. Allen
As they pulled right up to the trio, Jim realized the man wasn’t wearing a collar but a black shirt buttoned up high to give the impression of a collar. “Don’t think she’s getting a priest either.”
He eased down the window. A very short older nun stepped toward the truck. The beige dress and black fabric veil covering her hair did more to make her look fragile than the sullen face and wrinkled eyes. Erica also lowered the back window as far as it would go.
“Mr. Olsen said you’d be arriving soon. You’re even early. Excellent.” She had to step up on the running boards to stick her head in. “The girls are unconscious?”
Erica started to speak, but Lola raised her head. “Are we getting cheeseburgers?”
“Yes, dear,” the nun answered. “As soon as we get you safe.”
“I’m with Erica.” She leaned her head back onto Erica’s shoulder. “I’m safe.”
“Good.” The nun stepped back down so the young man could open the door.
On Erica’s other side, Connie snuggled closer. It was the first voluntary movement he’d seen her make. The nun looked at Erica. “I’m Sister Nora.” She indicated the pair with her. “This is Tricia and Keith. They’ll get them checked out and out of the state as soon as possible. We have doctors and a psychiatrist ready to greet them by the time they are aware what’s going on.”
He could see Erica was reluctant to let go of the girls. How could she trust anyone? A lesson Jim had learned years ago. Trust no one. Still, he tried to reassure her. “She is a nun and this is a church.”
“Since when does that mean anything?”
Sister Nora coughed.
“I’m sorry. They’ve just been through so much. I feel like I need to be the one to make sure they’re safe.”
“You have, dear heart. This is a very well-organized rescue service. Much like an underground railroad. I would usually not even let you two be around for this part of the mission, but Mr. Olsen assured me you would not leak our location or our identities.”
Before Erica could argue or disagree, Tricia came around the far side of the truck. With little effort she pulled Connie out of Erica’s arms and heaved the young girl over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Hey! Careful. She’s bruised all over.”
“Thanks,” the woman said.
“Thanks?” Erica glared at Jim in the mirror.
“How about we help them in?”
She nodded and tightened her arm around Lola to help her out of the car. Jim was sure Erica was going to keep hold of the girl, as if by carrying Lola, she could follow Connie and see for herself what was going on in this church. Jim had his curiosity as well. He’d let her participate for a few more minutes and then get her the hell out of this. In his mind, the less Erica was involved with the girls, the less impact it would have on her psyche.
“That’s fine.” The nun turned. “Keith, get the door.” She turned back to Erica. Miss …”
“Floyd.”
The nun narrowed her gaze at Erica. “Well.” The nun hesitated. Scrutinized. “Interesting. Miss Floyd, help bring the other one in. But get at it. Narrow window for the Lord’s work tonight. The short notice made for lots of scrambling. Things had to come together quickly to get these two out of here safely. We’re used to it, but it can be a feat.”
Erica eased Lola through the doors with Keith’s help. She was getting more and more coherent but walking on her own was still asking a bit much. Being kept in those crates for long periods at a time could be causing muscle atrophy. That, more than the drugs, may be the problem.
“Is this a church?” Lola asked as they passed through the big wooden double doors.
“It is.”
She went stiff for a moment, gripped Erica’s shoulder and arms where she held on. “Are we being punished?”
“No. Why would you be punished?” Erica asked. Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to hear that answer.
“Cause we deserve it.”
“You deserve no such thing, young lady.” The nun appeared before them, popping out from behind a column as if from nowhere. Erica jumped. “You deserve love and respect. You are a beautiful child of God.”
Lola’s head lolled a little as she tried to focus on the nun. “You’re cute.” She looked back to Erica. “I’m a possession. A dog. To be treated as such and be happy for it.”
Jim felt his stomach churn. He couldn’t get the thought of the bruises and welts on the girls’ bodies out of his mind. The nun rushed past and opened a door to a dorm room. It housed two little beds, a dresser, and an open door to a bathroom. Tricia and Keith were arranging Connie on the bed. Taking the baggy jeans off. Erica started to protest. They’d just gotten them in those clothes.
“You need not worry. Tricia is a trauma nurse. Keith is an EMT. Both will be with them until they get to the next step. You’ve done an amazing thing.” She put her hand on Erica’s arm. “Bless you both. But we need room to work and we are in a bit of a time crunch.” Sister Nora was herding them out of the room as she spoke.
Erica looked panicked as Tricia took Lola from under her arm and settled her on the bed. Erica hugged herself and took a timid step in Lola’s direction. “Wait. Wait.”
They all looked at Erica, waiting for her to elaborate on her protest.
She stammered, “What happens next?”
The two started moving again. Doing their assigned tasks. Keith brought clean scrubs from a cabinet in the corner. Tricia was checking Connie’s wounds, cleaning the welts and cuts on her.
“We have a network of sorts. Like I mentioned. Sort of an underground railroad. Gets them out of this city.” A pointy nose exaggerated the movement as she shook her head. “Vegas feeds on poor girls like this. We get them out of it for good. They’ll be placed into a rehab facility under new names. When they are ready, they will be moved into a halfway house of sorts. If they’re ever able to support themselves, they’ll be given new jobs, new lives, so they don’t fall back into the prostitution cycle. It’s a sad fact of girls that have been through this kind of reconditioning. ”
She gave Erica a grave look after an abrupt glance past her. “In these cases, it’s complicated. The mental abuse is often worse than the physical. They’ve been tortured. Broken. Much the same way prisoners of war are broken to give up information. Only they were tortured in order to give up their sense of self.” She clasped her hands in front of her, straightened. Dismissive. “They will get plenty of counseling. I promise you that. You have delivered them into the hands of the Lord.”
Tricia read off a blood pressure number for Connie. It sounded low. “The process of rebuilding their confidence and personality needs to start as abruptly as the deconstruction did.”
Sister Nora placed her body between Erica and the girls and lifted a stern hand to direct Jim and Erica out of the room like children. “You have nothing to fear for them here.” The sister turned back to the activity in the little dorm. “Tricia will make sure they are fit for their journey.”
Given all the scandals involving priests over the years, Jim wasn’t so sure, but the nun was very nearly pushing them out of the building. Erica glanced back in there one more time. Keith was listening to Lola’s breathing with a stethoscope.
They would be fine.
Jim was well aware that Erica was clinging to Lola because in all this, they had come no closer to finding Chris. Erica had to worry that Chris was possibly in this same condition. Already sold to someone as a sex slave. Jim suspected that Chris was dead, though he wasn’t in a hurry to prove that fact.
Lola waved at them over the EMT trying to treat her wounds.
“We need to let these people do their jobs.”
Erica stepped back. They were in the hall. Sister Nora pulled the door closed behind them.
“How many girls have you gotten out?” Erica sounded a little
shaky again.
“Of prostitution and drug abuse … close to a hundred. Rescued from the skin game … four.”
Jim pushed his hands through his hair. “Including these two?”
“No. Oscar did manage to rescue two about three years ago. And then last year a pair were found along the highway and taken to the hospital. Had managed to escape on their own. Tricia was on duty and brought them to the network. We’ve learned a great deal of what to do and not to do.” She looked at Erica. “We’ve studied and prepped for this moment. I assure you they will get the best care possible.”
“Can they ever go home?” Jim asked the question. He had wondered that on the way over as she’d held the girls. How could they ever get past such a thing? He probably shouldn’t have put that question in Erica’s head. But he wanted to know if this would be close to a happy ending. It was better than if they hadn’t been pulled from that ranch, but …
The nun looked down and back at him. “Odds are they’ll not want to.”
He nodded. Understood.
Erica swallowed. She shuddered. “Is there a restroom I can use?”
“Of course. This way.” The nun headed through a set of double doors, deeper into the church.
Jim touched Erica’s arm. “You okay?”
“No easy answer to that one.” She gave him a halfhearted shrug. The small gesture seemed to suck the last of her energy. “I have to be. Chris needs me to be.”
Without thought, he touched her cheek. There was no room for the hate or anger he’d felt for her over the last three days. Maybe he was even more exhausted than she. She lingered a second to feel his touch. He didn’t pull away. He felt pity for her. For having to let the girls go. For not knowing what had happened or was happening to her sister.
The nun continued her mission to the restrooms. Square heels on low sensible shoes curtly clomped on the tile as she marched to her destination. He and Erica had to rush to catch up, once again making Jim feel like a schoolchild chasing his teacher. His head hurt, and his mind was stuck on what had become of Chris in attempting to help these girls. At least they had accomplished that much for Chris. These girls would be safe. If she’d given her life to that cause, she had helped Erica accomplish the rescue. Maybe in time Erica would find some peace in that knowledge. But peace was hard to come by.
The nun made several turns before stopping before a large wooden door with heavy metal fixtures tarnished black with time. “This is the staff area. We have to meet a deadline. I must leave you. You can find your way out?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
The nun gave them a little bow. Erica returned the formal gesture. “You assist in a dangerous mission, Erica. Know that the Lord is with you in your battle.”
The room was a lounge. Several connected rooms, actually. Restroom, shower, kitchen area, and a cot in the corner under a small window that seemed overly high up the wall. So high, a black metal cross on a pedestal was displayed on a shelf over the cot and yet still under the window. It was as if this part of the building was much older. She looked at the emblem for Christianity for a long moment.
“That’s not comforting, it’s just pissing me off more. Where was the Lord when those girls were snatched out of their lives and forced into slavery?” They turned back to get Sister Nora’s reaction to her harsh question.
The nun was gone.
“Figures.” Jim grabbed a water out of the fridge and took a swig. He offered her one. She refused and made her way to the large white basin that was the kitchen sink and splashed water over her face. She used a paper towel to wipe away the sweat and grime from the altercation at the ranch.
She dried her face and spun to him. “A shootout. How is that even possible?” She looked down to shaking hands. “Last week these hands penned the sale of a string of television stations to a movie star and now I’m chasing down drug dealers and slavers.”
He could see that blood still hid under her nails. She washed them again. He knew the rest of her felt stained from the situation as well. “You’ll need a long hot shower, maybe two, before you feel clean.”
Her gaze darted toward the door marked Women at the end of a short hall.
“Oscar may need help chasing down the Thin Man. We need to finish up and go. Let me take quick break.”
He felt the need to follow. She left the door to the ladies’ area open, maybe not wanting to be alone. He took another long drink of the cold water. Considered washing his still-stinging eyes again. But it wouldn’t help. He knew the chemical irritation had to work itself out. Time.
“Great. You’d think in a church the rest room would be better provisioned than the strip clubs, but no. This is Vegas,” she yelled from the room. It echoed in the large lounge area. “Peeing on myself would be the perfect end to a hell of a day.”
He heard her moving. Probably changing stalls. Muttering. Probably cursing even in the church.
“Jim.” It was loud and clear. “Holy crap. Come here.”
He rushed over to the door but slowed. The small room had another sink. Hand-washing size. Aged yellow tile. Two stalls. She was in the second one. Door shoved open. Buttoning her pants up.
She pointed up at the door. There was a poster advertising vacation bible school taped to the center of it, eye level for a visitor’s reading pleasure. Kingdom Rock: Where kids stand strong for God.
The poster had a cartoon of a castle, a lion, a giant oak tree, and a very familiar-looking black doodle. She reached out and ran her fingers over the drawing of the Crazy Child. Her delicate finger traced the ridges left from the ink pen as Chris had scribbled it over a perfect blue sky.
“She’s been here. Maybe helping with the network? It would make sense.”
Jim remembered Sister Nora’s parting words, a dangerous mission. She’d called her Erica. “How did the nun know your first name?”
32
They’d split up to search the building for any other signs that Chris had been here. The nun, the girls, and the two helpers were gone. Through a small window they watched as a vaguely marked ambulance pulled away.
Jim tucked his phone back in his pocket. Ely had happily agreed to house he and Erica for the night. It would do. But one night was all Jim was willing to stay since he was still a fugitive. No need to bring that kind of pressure down on his friend. Even though he was sure the murder charges would play themselves out, right now things were dicey. Lots of dead bodies around.
He had to laugh at that. Eight years earlier his confidence had been high that those ridiculous rape charges wouldn’t stick. They had. Maybe just for a few months, but they had done their damage. Now, he might be in even more danger of facing time for a crime he didn’t commit. Not to mention he was crossing Andrew Zant, and that was bad for one’s longevity. He wasn’t sure which was the lesser evil—jail or death by Banks.
He needed a way to link the Thin Man and the disgusting Mr. Lake directly to the all-powerful Andrew Zant, and he needed to find it quick. Alexis and her son wouldn’t be safe until then. Jim looked all around the sanctuary. Nothing. Without any reasoning or forethought, he dropped to his knees just below an oversized statue of the Virgin Mary.
Surely she wouldn’t mind his Baptist upbringing. The alabaster likeness stood quiet, with open arms and a kind face, welcoming. Jim Bean had no faith. Alone in that jail cell, he’d asked God to set everything straight. He’d sat and he’d waited for someone to open that door. Knowing they would come in and tell him it was just a big mistake. Apologize. Shake his hand. Send him on his way.
Four days he waited for someone to realize that mistake.
After two nights, they tossed him into the general population. Holiday weekend.
He closed his eyes to the rest.
He’d been scared to death. Angry. Lost. Hurt.
No one answered that prayer; why would he get help now?
> “Just keep Alexis and that baby safe for me.” He looked at Mary. “I’ll figure out the rest.”
How he was going to nail one of the most power-hungry egomaniacs in the country was beyond him. Men like Zant lived above the law in giant penthouses with armed guards. Everyone did what Zant said because everyone was afraid of the crazy shit he’d do if they went against him. It was a wonder Oscar was still alive after chasing the man and his trafficking ring for this long.
But like Oscar, there was no turning back for Jim this time. Nowhere to run. No longer was his pain or his pathetic life a good enough reason to bury his head in the sand. A life he deemed ruined by his time in a cell and a derailed career path. Small stakes compared to what women faced daily.
Lola. This was about all the Lolas.
Above him, the Virgin Mary watched over him with nonjudgmental features. She had no divine influence here. That lady was all about comfort and support. In this world you had to work your own shit out.
And what he was facing was the fact that he’d really let himself fall. He thought of the younger girl, Connie, with bruises around her mouth and welts on her thighs. It was disturbing. Made him want to spit nails. Jim Bean wanted to kill for those girls. But the hardest thing—no, the most ironic thing—for him to face was that for the first time in ages, Jim Bean considered himself a lucky man.
Yes. He’d lost his career, his reputation, and his girl. And hadn’t he made a shit storm out of his life after that?
What might have happened if he’d stayed in Ohio and fought for his reputation, his life, and his girl? What if—
Erica burst through the doors before he could go down that path. “Nothing else in the activity rooms. I couldn’t get into the offices. That hall is locked. Fucking locked behind us when we left the lounge.”
He looked to the Virgin Mary with a cringe and whispered a silent prayer: Keep her safe too. To Erica he said, “Well. I see you still have a profound respect for the church.”