Inhuman Trafficking
Page 4
“I would object to your calling it dangerous,” he said.
“I’m surprised at that, because I assume that before you came in here, you reviewed all the clinical data associated with Aeos going back over the last ten years.”
“Naturally, I reviewed all data that I deemed important.”
“In that case, you’ll need to explain to me how seven years ago you wrote an internal memorandum describing some of the serious side effects surfacing in patients who had been prescribed Aeos.”
“That sounds like wild speculation, Mr. Deketomis,” said one of the Parakalo lawyers.
“Speculation? It’s not speculation if that’s what Dr. Erskine wrote, is it? In fact, Dr. Erskine, why don’t you just read to us what you wrote seven years ago?”
Deke extended a document toward the scientist. Erskine collected it with a hand that suddenly had a slight tremor. Before beginning to read, he had to wipe away the slight sheen of sweat that had formed on his forehead.
Four hours later, it looked as if Erskine had taken a long steaming sauna in what had been an expensive business suit.
VI
Karina Boyko, like all the others, was curious about the new arrival. Everyone in their camp was an H2B worker from Ukraine, but this newcomer was an American. None of the other girls had yet been able to talk to her. She was being kept in her own private quarters separate from the others.
“They’re bringing in American girls to take our jobs,” Oksana said.
Around a dozen women were clustered together in one of the “tin cans,” their name for the shelters in which they were housed. Karina had been told the units were converted military surplus called Quonset huts. When the women were recruited in Ukraine for work in America, they had been told their housing and food would be provided for. What hadn’t been mentioned was that they would be sleeping in some old metal barracks, in what was essentially a prison. For almost a year that had been Karina’s home.
Nor had they been told the real nature of the work expected of them. Their “hospitality” job was quite different than what they’d been promised. Despite that, Oksana’s rumor was spreading and causing alarm among the others.
Karina decided to speak up. “Who would want our jobs?”
Most of those inside the tin can started nodding. All of them worked at the Pussy Cat Palace, an adult entertainment club. Stripping wasn’t the only thing they did. The downstairs of the club was for so-called private dances. Viktoria Yevtushenko Driscoll—the woman who had arranged for them to get H2B visas to work in America—had made it all but impossible for them to make money without doing the “extras” expected of them. What made their situation even worse, if that was possible, was Vicky pocketing almost all the money earned from the selling of their bodies.
Oksana said, “Better half a loaf than none.”
Oksana was vain and stupid, but that didn’t stop her from having followers and influencing others. Karina had grown up with her grandmother living in their apartment, and Babulya always had a saying for every occasion, such as, “The obliging fool is worse than the enemy.” But that wasn’t something Karina voiced in the moment. She didn’t want Oksana to pout for the rest of the day. Instead, Karina responded with another one of her grandmother’s sayings.
“The devil always takes back his gifts.”
Her words resonated with those in the room. They all knew Vicky gave nothing to them without getting much more in return.
Oksana changed the subject rather than trying to argue. Logic was never her friend. She was much better at sowing discord.
“The American is getting special treatment. Did you smell the chicken soup they brought to her yesterday? Its aroma was better than perfume even.”
One of the girls said, “I hear she’s sick.”
“I heard from Timofy that she’s getting off drugs,” whispered another girl.
Timofy was one of their guards, or as Vicky referred to them, “escorts.” The guards controlled their movements both inside and outside the camp. It wasn’t exactly a prison, but close enough. When not working, they were sequestered from the outside world. Inside the compound were half a dozen of the Quonset huts and little else. There were no neighbors, or at least none that could be seen, and the gated, private road kept any potential visitors at bay.
“You see?” Oksana said. “They are bringing in sick, drug-addicted Americans to take our jobs. And they are spoiling them. She has her own special room, and gets to eat whatever she wants.”
“Do you think this American would be here if she had a choice?”
Karina was speaking as much to their own situation as to the American’s. None of them had bargained for their own circumstances.
Oksana made a dismissive sound and muttered disdainfully, “Rusalka.” A few of the girls laughed at hearing the mocking nickname. A rusalka was a malevolent water sprite with long red hair. Karina’s hair was also long and red. She pretended to ignore Oksana’s jibe, but once again wished her best friend, Nataliya, was there at her side. It had been easier when the two of them presented a united front to the others. But three months ago, Nataliya had disappeared while working at the Pussy Cat Palace. Vicky wanted the others to believe that Nataliya had run off and married a rich American, but Karina knew better than to believe her bullshit story and kept pressing her for answers. The others wanted to believe Vicky’s fantasy, because it played into their own dreams. Or what had been their dreams when most had come to America. Now they knew better, even if they didn’t want to believe it. No American Prince Charming is coming for me, Karina thought. And she was sure none had come for Nataliya, despite Vicky’s lies.
The door to their hut was thrown open. Timofy stood at the entrance, posing in a self-important stance with his hands on his hips. “What are you hens doing? It’s time to start getting ready for work.”
All the women, except for Oksana, ignored him. As she made her way out of the tin can, Oksana paused to run her hand on his chest and said, “Time to make ourselves beautiful, right, Timofy?”
Karina suspected that she probably wanted some of that chicken soup she’d smelled the day before.
The others took their leave of the Quonset hut. Since Nataliya’s disappearance, there were only three girls in the unit where Karina was housed. The space felt empty without friend. With a heavy heart, Karina picked out an outfit and began dressing.
From outside their quarters, Karina heard Timofy talking, or at least trying to. He was speaking in broken English. Curious, Karina ventured outside.
Timofy stood in front of the Quonset hut where the American was housed. “Out,” he said. “Sun needs.”
In Ukrainian, Karina asked him what he was trying to say. “Vicky said the American has to get out in the sun so she doesn’t look so white and sick,” he said.
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
Timofy looked around, afraid that others might hear or see what was going on. “Vicky doesn’t want you girls getting near her.”
He turned his attention back to the American. “Here. Out.”
The hidden woman didn’t respond to Timofy’s command. He considered what to do, made a frustrated face, then said, “Talk to her.”
Karina’s heart was pounding as she walked over to the door of the Quonset hut. The quarters were dark, but in the shadows, she could just make out the figure of a woman lying on a cot.
“Come outside in sun,” Karina said in English. “There is chair to sit.”
The woman didn’t respond, but Karina was sure she had heard.
“Breeze nice,” Karina said. For a moment she struggled to remember the name of an English word that eluded her, but then recalled it. “No stuffy.”
The American finally stirred. She groaned and then slowly raised herself. With slow, unsteady steps, the woman made her way forward, easing her way out of the shadows into the light.
When Karina caught a glimpse of her face, her breath caught.
Nataliya!
“Sit,” Karina said, gesturing to the chair.
It was a hot day, but despite the warmth, the American was trembling. As she took a few uncertain steps forward, Karina reached out to steady her arm and help her into the chair.
The girl acknowledged her help by turning to her and nodding, and Karina found herself staring at the girl’s eyes.
“Go, go!” Timofy shooed Karina away.
She backed up. The green eyes—Nataliya’s eyes—continued watching her as she retreated back into her hut.
VII
Michael tried to hide his surprise when Deke appeared at the door of his small office. In the Bergman/Deketomis pecking order, Michael knew he remained an unproven associate. He stood up; his impulse was to salute, but he managed to keep his right arm at his side. Still, his body language suggested someone had called out, “Attention!”
Deke said, “Rather than both of us standing, is it all right if I sit down?”
“Please.”
Michael waited for Deke to sit before he followed suit. Even then, his posture was rigid. The tiny space was just big enough to accommodate the two of them. “Relax,” Deke said. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk since the Parakalo thing, so I stopped by for a little chat.”
“I’m ready to submit my letter of resignation if that’s what you want.”
“Whoa!” Deke’s open palms were in the air, motioning for Michael to take it down a notch. “Clearly, we need to get a few things straight. I didn’t come over asking for a letter of resignation, nor would I accept it if offered. So, just take a deep breath, loosen your collar, and unstarch your shirt.”
Michael’s rigid posture eased a little.
“Truth to tell, I actually came here to apologize,” Deke said.
That wasn’t what Michael had been expecting to hear, and it showed on his face. “For what?”
“For being too impatient. You had a slow start in the deposition, but that’s not surprising, seeing as it was your first time out of the gate. I should have waited for the break, where we could have discussed a better plan of attack. And if I’d been thinking a little clearer, I would have realized I wasn’t lashing out as much at you for your shortcomings as I was for mine.”
Michael still felt taken aback. As much as he appreciated Deke’s apology, he didn’t think it was earned. “But you were right. I wasn’t pressing Erskine like I should have. In retrospect, there are a hundred things I’d do differently.”
“Welcome to the club.” Deke shook his head and sighed. “Like I said, it wasn’t you whom I was really pissed off at. The day before we flew up to the depo, I did some major-league stupid things, and paid the consequences for being an idiot. Worse, the person I was trying to help bore the consequences of my stupidity. By the way, thanks for not asking me why my face looked the way it did.”
“It wasn’t my business.”
That didn’t mean Michael hadn’t been curious. The condition of Deke’s face had been a favored topic of the Bergman/Deketomis team for days. No one seemed to know the story of what had happened to him, or if they did, no one was talking about it.
“Maybe it is your business,” Deke said, “or could be.”
Michael waited for Deke to continue speaking—or not. After a few seconds of deliberation, he finally did. “When I was riding your ass at the deposition, there is one thing I wouldn’t take back. I told you that every good lawyer worth a damn has to be passionate, and they have to channel that anger and put their righteous indignation on display.”
“I remember,” Michael said. Deke’s words were forever burned in his memory.
“Why did you join the military?” Deke asked.
There were a hundred reasons, but Michael spoke from his heart. “I wanted to help people who might not otherwise have been able to help themselves.”
Deke nodded. If Michael was reading him correctly, his answer seemed to be just what the other man was waiting to hear.
“I don’t want to take you completely off the Aeos/Parakalo case. We’ll still need you on that team. But I’m working another case that I think might be more up your alley, and I could use your help.”
“What is it?”
“You might have heard about the lawsuit we’ve brought against Welcome Mat Hospitality, and our contention that their truck stops and motels are being used for sex trafficking. You want an opportunity to help those who can’t advocate for themselves? This is it.”
Michael’s answer was immediate and unequivocal: “I’m in.”
VIII
The compound was mostly empty of occupants, and Karina had a rare afternoon off. The others were off working housekeeping shifts at the Emerald Hideaway, a luxury hotel that Vicky owned in Destin. Karina’s respite from work would be brief, though. Tonight, she would be “entertaining” at the strip club.
“You are all entertainers,” Vicky liked to tell them.
Bitch.
Karina half sat, half lounged on the steps leading into her quarters. She took a languid puff on her cigarette and blew smoke in the air. Before coming to America, she had never smoked, but now that seemed the least of her sins.
A door opened in the hut across from her, and the American emerged. She blinked at the sun. Draped over her hunched shoulders was a coat. It was a hot day, but the American looked cold. Karina was only wearing a T-shirt and shorts and was still sweating. The girl moved her head and took notice of Karina. Karina felt as if it were Nataliya looking at her.
Andrei, their escort for the afternoon, had fallen asleep while sitting in a chair near the American’s hut. The girl silently bypassed the big man and made her way over to Karina. With a slight tilt of her head, Karina directed the girl to sit down on one of the steps.
Keeping her voice lowered, the American asked, “May I have a drag?”
Karina handed over the cigarette and said, “Finish.”
The girl nodded, accepted the cigarette with trembling fingers, and took a puff. “I needed that,” she said. Her trembling became less pronounced.
Karina spanked her pack of smokes, loosened a cigarette, and extended it toward the American. She shook her head and said, “If they find it on me, they’ll just confiscate it, like they did the rest of my stash.”
In a hopeful whisper she added, “Got any drugs?”
“No drugs.”
“Shit,” the girl muttered under her breath. “They’re giving me some kind of pain reliever with codeine, but it’s not doing the job.”
She took another deep drag of the cigarette, blew out some smoke, and said, “I don’t know what their game is, but they’re forcing me to get clean.”
Although Karina only understood about half of what the girl was saying, she offered a nod. That was enough encouragement for the American to keep talking.
“What is this place?” She gestured to the fenced-in enclosure with its concertina wire. “Is it like a prison?”
“Tak,” Karina answered, and then remembered to say it in English: “Yes.”
“So, where is everybody?”
“We work hotel. And strip club at night.”
“You’re a stripper?”
Karina didn’t want to fully answer, or even answer at all, but she could not deny the American with Nataliya’s eyes. “Stripper, hooker,” she said.
“Sucks, don’t it?” The American tried to take another drag on the cigarette, but her hands began trembling anew, making it difficult. “I keep asking myself what the hell happened to my life, but the only thing I can figure out is that hell happened.”
The American turned her green eyes Karina’s way, almost as if she expected her to offer up some answers. Karina looked away. She di
dn’t have any answers. And she didn’t want to be hypnotized by the other’s eyes.
“I’ve been a zombie, you know, like the living dead. It was easier when I could just check out with drugs. It was like I was there, but not there. That was the only way I could deal with all those pervs. I kept thinking about killing myself, but it just seemed like too much effort. You sure you don’t have a stash? I just need something to tide me over.”
“No drugs.”
“I can find some way to pay.”
Karina shook her head. “No have.”
“Shit. What do they want with me? Why am I here?”
Karina offered a shrug.
“You ever do really, really stupid things for a guy? My boyfriend, Carlos, played the love card on me, and I was crazy enough to believe him. That’s how that asshole Lie-o controlled me at first. I thought I was saving Carlos’s life, and that the two of us would get back together. Lie-o would pass on a message to me that he said was from Carlos. And I was stupid enough to believe him. Then, after two or three months of that bullshit, I realized it was all a big lie.”
“Big lie,” Karina agreed. It was the story of all their lives.
“That’s when I fell into this hole. It was like I died. Lie-o gave me zombie drugs. It was like I wasn’t really alive. And then a few days ago, that scumbag Lie-o sold me for a big bag of money. What kind of world is this that you can sell someone? Bastard.”
The hate showed itself in the girl’s features. Her anger must have warmed her. She stopped trembling and looked more focused.
“In this life we go from slave to grave,” Karina said.
The American didn’t seem to hear her, which was just as well. “What month is it?”
Karina didn’t know the name for it, but counted out on her fingers. “Nine,” she said.
The American thought about that and said, “September. I’d be a junior. A year ago, I thought school was so lame. I was too stupid to know how good I had it.”