Inhuman Trafficking

by Mike Papantonio

  Timofy began reading the names of those Vicky had assigned to the booze cruise. Not me, thought Karina, not me, but it was wishful thinking. She was one of the five women assigned to work the ship.

  “Those going out on the Seacreto”—that was the name of Vicky’s boat—“will be transported to the marina from their afternoon shift at the hotel.”

  Karina knew some of the girls preferred working the strip trip over working at the club. There was usually good food, and the clients paid for all the drinks.

  “Who wants to switch club for cruise?” she asked.

  Timofy shook his head. “Vicky said no switches.”

  “Layno,” Karina said, cursing in Ukrainian.

  Only one person seemed to take notice of how upset she was, and that was the American. She emerged out of the tin can she had all to herself, looking concerned at the sound of Karina’s angry outburst. Everyone’s gaze turned to her, which started Timofy on one of his lectures.

  Speaking in Ukrainian, he said, “Ignore the American. I don’t want to see any of you talking with her.”

  “Why?” asked Karina.

  “Because Vicky said so.”

  The girls began grumbling to one another. “And what are we supposed to do if she walks anywhere near us?” Petra asked. “Should we run away?”

  Oksana voiced concern. For herself, of course. “Is the American contagious with some kind of disease?”

  Even though they were supposed to be ignoring her, everyone stared at Lily. The American knew she was the topic of conversation, but had no idea what was being said.

  Timofy said, “She isn’t sick, but has been detoxing here. You can see what rest and good food have done for her.”

  It was true that she had lost her pallor, and looked much better than when she had arrived.

  Timofy wasn’t done warning them, though. “But to be safe, everyone needs to stay away from her. Besides, she won’t be around for more than a day or two.”

  “Where is she going?” Karina asked.

  Timofy didn’t hide his annoyance. “Why do you care?”

  “She is probably going somewhere nice,” Oksana said.

  Lily was looking at Karina. Clearly, she wanted an explanation of what was going on, but Karina could only shake her head slightly, signaling this was not a good time for any interaction between them.

  Timofy put an end to the conversation. “The van will be leaving soon. Go get ready.”

  Karina went off with the others. She knew Lily’s eyes followed her, but she didn’t acknowledge them.

  * * *

  The Emerald Hideaway was a small waterfront luxury hotel. Karina much preferred working there than at the Pussy Cat Palace. She was not daunted by the physical labor of toiling in the laundry room or cleaning hotel rooms. Making beds and cleaning toilets suited her much more than being one of Vicky’s entertainers at the strip club. The hotel work felt honest, and she got a certain satisfaction from taking something dirty and making it clean. At the club, it felt like just the opposite.

  Working as a housekeeper gave Karina an invisibility she liked. She wore a uniform, not the provocative clothing required at the club. The anonymity suited her. At the hotel they were forbidden from engaging with the guests other than exchanging the briefest of pleasantries. Vicky’s guards monitored them, and their movements were strictly controlled. The laundry room was located in the subterranean garage, an area closed to guests. Laundry was taken in carts by means of a service elevator that could only be utilized by staff. The three-story block of suites was accessed by outdoor walkways. There was one maid to each floor. Today, Karina was assigned the top floor.

  The room she was cleaning had been vacated. Karina picked up the dirty towels in the bathroom and took them out to her cart. Her movements didn’t seem to draw any interest from Danylo, one of her keepers at the hotel. As usual, he was parked out in the courtyard, pretending to be a guest. His vantage point allowed him a good viewing spot to monitor the maids, or anyone bringing up laundry. Karina carried some clean linen back to the room. Even though she wasn’t supposed to turn on the television while cleaning the guest rooms, she always did. At their compound, no television, radio, or internet was allowed.

  Using the remote, Karina turned on the television and began flipping through the channels until she found CNN. On occasion, she was able to catch up on news reports about Ukraine. Today, though, she saw an angry man standing in front of a group of reporters on the landing of what the words on the screen told her was the Richard B. Russell Federal Building in Atlanta, Georgia.

  Karina tried to make sense of the writing at the bottom of the television screen, where a scrolling message said, Hip hop star Storm claims to have been a sex slave on the trucking circuit.

  A female reporter shouted, “Mr. Deketomis, your case is drawing international interest after Storm went public with her assertion that when she was a teenager, she was sexually trafficked at truck stops and motels throughout the southeast. Your comment, please?”

  The man being asked the question, Karina could see, looked troubled. “I know Storm’s disclosure is why most, if not all of you are here. I only wish the media’s newfound interest in human trafficking had occurred previous to today, because as of this morning a gag order was put into effect by Judge Irwin, which precludes my discussing any particulars from the Welcome Mat case. As for Storm, I can only say that I’m glad she is coming forward to speak of her own terrible experiences, and I hope her voice will speak for the voiceless and help to spotlight the more than a half million individuals in this country who at this moment are being trafficked.”

  At the bottom of the screen, a new chyron read, Storm says her latest album Chains will detail her life as a sex slave.

  A male reporter shouted, “Your case alleges the collusion of Welcome Mat’s truck stop and motel management with human traffickers. What can you tell us about that?”

  “Believe me, I’d like to do nothing more than share that information with you, but Judge Irwin’s gag order applies to all material uncovered during our interrogatories and depositions, which leaves me muzzled and extremely upset.”

  “Is it safe to say, Mr. Deketomis, that you don’t agree with Judge Irwin’s ruling?”

  At the bottom of the screen, the speaker was identified as Nick “Deke” Deketomis, attorney for the law firm of Bergman/Deketomis of Spanish Trace. That city, Karina knew, wasn’t far from the hotel where she was working.

  The lawyer’s red face bespoke his anger. “I’m extremely troubled by it, especially because this kind of ruling is becoming all too commonplace among judges who are disconnected with the realities surrounding a case like this. When you hide what is unfolding in the courtroom on a day-to-day basis, you end up keeping the public in the dark about dangers of which they need to be aware. Many of those being trafficked are minors, so doesn’t it make sense to warn mothers and fathers that there might be a clear and present danger to their children? Why is the public’s right to know put aside in favor of shielding the criminal offenses of corporations and offenders?”

  “Can you answer your own question, Mr. Deketomis?” shouted another reporter.

  “I wish I could,” Deke said. “The First Amendment to our Constitution ensures the freedom of speech, and yet too many judges seem to forget that.”

  “Are you referring to Judge Irwin?” asked a reporter.

  “I’m referring to the all-too-common court practice of denying the public the right to know. What makes that situation even worse is that nobody, including the media, gives a damn, or at least they don’t give a damn unless some recording star’s commentary drives the latest news cycle.”

  The lawyer’s condemnation seemed to momentarily silence all the reporters.

  “Look, there’s a reason that I brought this lawsuit. In America today, we have slavery in plain sight, and the government and the corporate media are turning a blind eye to it. Where’s the DOJ? Where’s the Department of Homeland Securit
y? Where is the Department of Labor?

  “Most Americans seem to be of the belief that this is some third world problem, but the truth is that there is more human trafficking going on in the United States than any other country. What that means is that we as a society are condoning slavery. That makes this an American tragedy. The problem is massive and systemic. I’m talking about individuals being placed in a position where they have no recourse but to submit to whatever their human traffickers tell them to do, with failure to comply resulting in beatings, sexual abuse, and even death.”

  Tears welled up in Karina’s eyes. It was rare for her to cry, but this man was speaking to her life, and to her misery. And he was speaking to Nataliya’s disappearance and perhaps death. She stopped breathing so as to hear his every word.

  “Do you think you will win your case, Mr. Deketomis?”

  “If our Constitution is still viable, we will win. In 1865, the Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery in this country. ‘Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime where the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.’”

  Deke took a breath. “Thirty-two words. That’s all that was needed to establish that vital law of this land.”

  “But why are you going after Welcome Mat Hospitality?” asked a female reporter.

  “Because it’s no secret that Welcome Mat’s truck stops and motels have been used for the purposes of prostitution. But putting it in those terms makes it almost sound respectable. It isn’t. They have conspired to provide venues for illicit sexual trafficking.”

  Nick Deketomis took another deep breath. Karina could tell he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. She knew his dilemma; it was her own.

  “Thank you,” he said and walked away from the microphones.

  Karina used the remote to turn off the television. First, she felt numb, but then her anger began building, stirring up her insides. The lawyer had awakened so many things that she had bottled up. It was almost as if he had been speaking to her, and to her personal misery. She didn’t understand why this judge had constrained him from talking, but she did understand that this man was on her side. Now, she wasn’t feeling quite so alone.

  Pacing the room, Karina thought about what to do. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked out to the Gulf of Mexico. The hotel guests paid a lot of money for just such a view, but Karina rarely had the luxury of being able to see as they did. She stole a few moments to take in the sight. The colors of the water changed with the conditions and were now a postcard-perfect emerald.

  Like Nataliya’s eyes. And the American’s.

  Thinking about her missing friend was enough to make Karina turn away from the view. She walked back into the hotel room. The suite still needed to be cleaned. It was her last room of the day, but that only made Karina feel more uneasy. The booze cruise awaited.

  Instead of starting in on her cleaning, she went and opened the bedside table. Inside the drawer were a Bible and a local telephone directory of businesses. From Karina’s experience, it was rare for either one of those books to be opened. When guests wanted to look up any local attractions, they used their cell phones.

  Trying to make sense of the listings in the business directory was much like working on a puzzle. Her excitement grew when she saw that some of the businesses listed on the pages had addresses in Spanish Trace. That’s where the lawyer’s firm was located. There were many listings and advertisements for AC techs, accountants, account services, actuaries, and administrative resources, but when she looked for the listings under the Ls, she couldn’t find any category for lawyers. Why had they been excluded?

  Karina went back to the L listings and saw the entry she had overlooked.

  Lawyers—see Attorneys at Law.

  Her heart was beating hard as she began her search anew. This time she found several pages of listings, but making sense of what she saw was still challenging. There were headings, and subheadings, but she didn’t see the name Nick Deketomis. Then something caught her eye under the letter B. There was a telephone number for the law firm of Bergman/Deketomis. Karina reached out and reverently touched the entry. It was real. It was there. And so was the number.

  She held her breath, thinking of what to do. You couldn’t make calls from the phones in the guest rooms; the guest could only call the operator or front desk. It was Nataliya who told her it hadn’t always been that way—before cell phones, guests made calls from the phones in their hotel rooms. How Nataliya knew this, Karina didn’t know. There were a lot of things her friend had known that no one else did.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, then, when one day Nataliya announced that there was a way to make a phone call. She directed Karina to secretly meet up with her in the service elevator. At the time, it had felt like a spy mission behind enemy lines. Karina feared the consequences of being discovered, but did as Nataliya asked.

  Nataliya was waiting for her inside the elevator. They spoke in whispers, afraid of being overheard. According to Nataliya, when the elevator phone had originally been installed, it would have come with its own dedicated line. She opened up its panel, and showed Karina the faded directive inside of it. In Event of Emergency Dial O.

  But Nataliya hadn’t dialed O. Somehow her friend had imagined there was a way to bypass the hotel operator in order to get an outside line. And she showed her.

  She announced her discovery in an excited whisper, “All you have to do is hit nine! And then when you hear the dial tone, enter the number you want!”

  Her green eyes danced when she told Karina the news. But then Nataliya admitted there was one problem with her magical solution. The elevator phone line could only call what her friend said were “local” numbers.

  Was this Bergman/Deketomis number one of those?

  Karina and Nataliya had discussed the possibilities of who they should call from the elevator phone, but before they had a chance to do that, Nataliya had been taken away. The thought of what had happened to her friend strengthened Karina’s resolve. Like someone possessed, Karina hurried through her cleaning. There was a call to make.

  XII

  Diana Fernandez, Deke’s longtime office administrator, picked up yet another call. For almost twenty years, she’d been Deke’s “gatekeeper.” Organizing Deke, as she often told him, was a full-time job in itself.

  The phone had been ringing nonstop for the last hour. Many people had caught clips of Deke’s interview on CNN, and wanted to talk to him about it.

  “Office of Nick Deketomis,” she said. “This is Diana.”

  There was breathing on the line, but no one said anything. Anyone else probably would have hung up, but Diana had experience with reluctant callers.

  Diana spoke into the silence. “May I help you?” she said.

  “Mr. Deke, please,” said a heavily accented and very nervous voice.

  “Who is calling?” asked Diana.

  “I see him on the TV,” the woman said. “I need bad help.”

  The voice was muffled, like the woman was speaking from within an enclosed space. She could hear the woman’s desperation in her strained voice. The caller sounded young, probably close to the age of her own teenage daughter. Diana tried to put her at ease.

  “I’m glad you called. We’ll certainly help you if we can. Unfortunately, Mr. Deketomis won’t be in today, but you can sure talk to me. My name is Diana.”

  Shallow breathing could be heard from the other end of the line. Diana sensed the frightened caller was ready to hang up.

  “Let me help you, dear. And I will be glad to pass on any message you might have for Mr. Deketomis.”

  “No, no,” the woman said, clearly frustrated, clearly afraid.

  “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  After a moment’s hesitation: “Karina.”

  Was her accent Russian? “That’s a beautiful name.”

  Karina said something in h
er native tongue. Diana reached for a legal pad and wrote down, Jock—o—u? She assumed Karina was thanking her. The fact that the woman was still on the line, despite her fears, demonstrated her pressing need for someone to hear what she had to say.

  “And what’s your last name, Karina?”

  The woman spoke quickly. Diana wrote down Boyko? She decided to not ask her to repeat it. The young woman was already too nervous. Instead, Diana said, “Over fifty years ago, my family came from Cuba. I wasn’t even born yet. My grandparents arrived in this country with nothing. I know how difficult it was for them. It’s not easy to try and make your way in a country you don’t know.”

  The intake of Karina’s breath told Diana that she had spoken to her own experience. The immediacy of her response also suggested the girl was able to comprehend English much better than she could speak it.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Bad hard.”

  Karina’s sigh said more than her words could. “Mister Deke talk about slaves on the TV.”

  The CNN segment, Diana thought. She had caught a replay of Deke’s comments, and knew Judge Irwin would not be happy with what he’d said. But despite the potential legal tempest of Deke’s violating the gag order, Diana was proud of her boss. If he hadn’t spoken his conscience to the world, this frightened young woman would never have called.

  “Mr. Deketomis is very passionate in his beliefs, and he says exactly what he means.”

  “I am slave,” Karina said.

  Diana’s intake of breath was involuntary. The mom in her wanted to hug this scared girl, and try and make everything better.

  “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help you?”

  Karina spoke in a whisper, almost as if she herself was afraid to hear her own fears and confession. “Not me only. My friend Nataliya Na-hurny go missing.”

  Diana added the name to the legal pad.

  “I think something bad, something bad,” said Karina, her voice still hushed.

  “Something bad happened to Nataliya?” asked Diana.

  Karina made a sound much like a pirate’s—“Yarrr”—and then added, “Nataliya like me.”