by Hamel, B. B.
“If I get a virus, you’re buying me a new laptop,” he said and plugged the stick in.
“I doubt Ronan’s in the computer virus business,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely impossible. More and more mobs were moving into cybercrimes, since that was quickly becoming the most lucrative business around.
The Valentino family remained old-school and analog though.
“Huh,” Linc said, clicking around for a second. “Looks like a bunch of spreadsheets.”
I shifted my chair around to stare at the screen. He was right, it was a bunch of Excel spreadsheets with titles like Jessica, Angelina, Rachel, all general female names.
“Open one,” I said.
Linc sighed and doubled clicked on Angelina.
The spreadsheet loaded slowly, but when it did, we both leaned back in our chairs and stared.
It was a profile. The top left corner was a picture of a stone-faced brunette girl, young and pretty, choppy short hair, thin cheeks. Her stats were next to it: age, weight, eye color, that sort of shit. It listed what looked like cargo ships, based on some quick searching, and a town in Ukraine. At the bottom was a price, in the thousands, which seemed absurdly, disgustingly low.
“This can’t be what I think it is,” Linc said.
“Open another.”
So we did, and another, and another, and each of them was the same: some girl from Eastern Europe with a fake American-sounding name, a list of physical attributes, what looked like a shipping manifest, and a price.
When we’d looked at the whole stick, Linc plugged in another one, and another. They were all filled with Excel spreadsheets with female names.
“There’ve got to be a hundred girls here,” I said softly, leaning back in my chair in complete shock. “This has got to be half the girls they’ve trafficked in the last few years.”
“Names, dates, ships, and I think there are a few fixer names in here. Look, the name Anatoli keeps coming up.” Linc pointed at a couple of profiles. “I bet he’s the guy shepherding these girls over.”
Everyone knew the Healy family trafficked in girls from Europe. It wasn’t some secret—the bastards brought them over in droves, sold some off to other crime families across the country, and whored the rest out like slaves. It was fucked up, and something the Valentino family hadn’t gotten into, or at least not like the Healys.
But seeing records like this was astounding. It was one thing to hear the rumors and to occasionally see the girls working corners, but another to see ship names, fixers, stats, weight and prices.
I slammed Linc’s laptop lid closed.
“Hey,” he said. “Careful. Computers don’t like that.”
“Don’t tell anyone what you saw,” I said, yanking the USB stick from the drive. I stashed the sticks back in the bag with the cash and zipped it up. “Not anyone, do you hear me?”
He nodded once. “This is big, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I need to see what the Don wants to do with all this before we make any moves.”
“You’ve got ideas though, don’t you?”
“I’m working on it,” I said and stood up. “Tell nobody. Understand?”
“Yeah, boss, I hear you.”
I nodded then pulled the cash from the bag. Irene wouldn’t need this, not after I took care of her. I tossed it down on the table.
Linc snorted and took the stack, thumbing through it.
“For your silence,” I said.
“What a generous man,” he said, grinning. “It’s why we stick around.”
“Maybe one day you’ll be loyal to something other than money.”
“I hope not,” he said, smiling. “Money’s great.”
I left him there to enjoy his little windfall. My mind was already working circles around this problem, coming up with ideas about how to maximize these profiles and how exactly I can use them to destroy the Healy family. This was the sort of information most crime families fought and died for—and as I stepped out into the sunshine, a realization hit me hard.
Ronan knew Irene took those sticks. He knew she hid them, and he knew I probably had her. He had guys on the street searching for her already, and that would only get worse.
She wasn’t safe on the street. Hell, she wasn’t safe anywhere.
I got in my truck and hurried back to my apartment.
Ronan knew me. I’d come for him more than once in the last few months and our guys were always on the lookout for each other. I didn’t think he knew where I lived, but I couldn’t be sure. Ronan was a clever bastard and slippery as hell, and I wouldn’t put it past him to stake out my place.
Then again, if he were watching, he could’ve grabbed Irene when she ran off to check her stash.
I parked and hurried up the front stoop. I slammed into my apartment and bolted the door behind me. It was quiet and empty, but my bedroom door was still shut.
I banged hard then tried the knob. Locked tight. “Irene,” I shouted. “I need to know you’re in there.”
“Go away,” she said.
Relief flooded through me. I leaned back against the wall and sighed, getting myself together.
That reaction surprised me. My job was all about danger—I put myself in the line of fire all the time, and asked my men to do the same. But the idea of Irene getting hurt, especially after I’d only just found her again, that threatened to drive a wedge into my chest. I needed her right now, needed to bring her back to this world and get her settled, and I couldn’t risk losing that, not again.
Once I calmed down, I knocked at the door again, softer this time. “We’ve got to talk,” I said.
“Go away,” she said, her voice muffled by the door, but closer now. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“I know what’s on those sticks.” I rattled the bag next to me, like she’d know what the sound was.
The door unlocked and she opened it a crack. Her face was skeptical, but curious. “Seriously?” she asked.
“Come out,” I said.
She followed me to the kitchen table and sat down like a wary cat ready to spring up and run off at any moment. I dumped the bag and I caught her frown as she looked over the sticks.
“Where’s my money?” she asked.
“Give it to Linc,” I said. “I’ll reimburse you. How’s two thousand sound?”
She made a face like she was about to argue, but curiosity got the better of her and she snatched up one of the sticks from the table. “All right, whatever. So what’d you find?”
“They’re profiles,” I said, sitting down cross from her. I tapped on the table with my fingers.
“Profiles,” she said, frowning at me. “Are you joking?”
“Not at all.” I picked one up and waved it in the air. “They’re profiles of girls that the Healy family’s been trafficking. Girls from Ukraine, some from Russia and Thailand, places like that. Girls they’ve bought and sold.”
Her face slowly fell into horror as she stared at the sticks then dropped the one in her fingers. It clattered onto the table and joined the others like a gravestone.
“You’re joking,” she whispered.
“Now you know why Ronan wanted you dead,” I said. “He thought you knew.”
“I had no clue.” She shook her head quickly. “I would’ve burned the whole lot of them, or thrown them in the river, or something. Oh my god, they’re girls.”
I realized with a start that she could’ve known some of the people locked away in those spreadsheets. She’d lived on the streets long enough that she had to have dealt with some of the girls turning tricks for the Healy family, and most of them were from someplace else, someplace far away from the city. Poor girls with no other options, sold some lie about making a new start in America, ripped away from their poor origins and sent into hell to sell their body for eager, pathetic men. These sticks could’ve represented friends, people she cared about, and I hadn’t even thought about that.
“We’re
going to use these against them,” I said softly, leaning forward to look into her face. “You get that, right? This can hurt them.”
“Hurt Ronan,” she said, sounding like she was somewhere else.
“Badly, maybe even bad enough to take him down, him and the whole operation. There are names in the profiles, dates and places and addresses, and I have a feeling that we’ll dig up a lot more once we start looking into them.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Goddamn it, Cam,” she said. “Ronan’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”
“No,” I said. “He’s not coming anywhere near you.”
“But I really can’t go anywhere until he’s gone.” She stared down at her hands then stood up suddenly and walked away from the table.
I followed her. She faced me, arms crossed, and I gently touched her shoulders, drawing her close. She let me hug her, hold her tight, and she didn’t cry—but I felt her body shake and tense, like sobs wracked her chest.
“You’ve been through too much,” I said softly. “And now I’m going to ask you to go through more.”
“How?” she asked, looking up at me.
“We need to figure out how we’re going to use these against Ronan and his people,” I said. “And I might need your help to do it.”
“Why me?” She shook her head. “I barely know them.”
“You worked for them,” I said. “You know some of their people. We can use that.”
She sucked in a breath then nodded once. “All right,” she said. “I’ll help. But I’m not doing it for you.”
“I didn’t think you were,” I said, smiling softly, and kissed her cheek. She stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “It’s good to have you back, you know that?”
“I bet it is,” she whispered, and turned her back on me then walked over to the window. I left her alone and gathered up the sticks, shoving them back into the bag.
“We’ll take these to the Don,” I said. “From there, we’ll figure out where to go.” I hesitated and watched her carefully. “You’re with me, right?”
“I’m with you,” she said.
“No more running.”
“No more,” she echoed with a sigh. She stared up at the ceiling, then forced a rough smile. “It’s weird, you know? I feel like I haven’t settled down in two years, then suddenly you come storming back into my life, and now it’s like I’m back where I should’ve been. Except it doesn’t feel right.”
“Why doesn’t it feel right?” I asked.
“We’ve changed,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about this. I guess I should put on something nice if we’re going to see the Don, right?”
I wanted to push her on what she meant, but decided to let it go. The harder I tried to force her to fit into the mold I wanted for her, the faster she’d fight back and get away from me again. I had to be careful, or else I’d lose her all over.
“You’re fine in whatever you want,” I said, but she already walked past me, back to my bedroom. “You’re going to have to sleep on the couch eventually,” I called after her, but she only laughed.
I sighed and sat down to wait, drumming my fingers on the table.
7
Irene
Don Valentino’s mansion sat outside of the city in a quiet little suburb right on the edge of Philadelphia County. It was a twenty-minute drive from City Hall, but far enough away that it felt like a totally different world.
The kind of world that I’d never seen before in my life.
The driveway was long and gravel, and stretched back into a long shady forest. The grass was cut and tended, and the flowers and shrubs were well maintained. The house appeared at the top of a slight rise in all its glory, and my jaw dropped like a little girl seeing magic for the first time.
Cam grinned at me. “It’s something, right?”
“Holy crap,” I said. “I’ve only ever seen pictures of houses like that.”
It was massive. Big columns, peaked roof, lots and lots of windows. The siding looked immaculate and the porch stretched along the front and disappeared around the back. Two floors, plus a small third, probably attic space. The front door was massive and wooden, like a medieval church.
Cam parked and killed the engine. “Don Valentino’s pretty informal, but try to be respectful anyway,” he said, then gave me a look. “And don’t steal anything.”
I glared at him. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you’ve spent the last two years boosting random shit from rich guys like the Don and it’s probably instinct at this point, but don’t be dumb, all right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, no stealing.” Which I hadn’t planned on doing, although he did have a point. If I came across something small and expensive-looking, I might’ve just grabbed it without thinking.
He led the way up the stairs and knocked at the door. It opened a minute later, and an older woman with short gray hair, a green button-down top, a pair of khaki slacks, and a pristine white apron beamed out at us. She looked like a cross between Paula Deen and Martha Stewart, but without all the controversies.
“Well, hello, Cam,” the woman said.
“Hi, Bea,” Cam said. “This is Irene.”
“Good to meet you,” Bea said and shook my hand. “I’m the Don’s housekeeper, in case Cam here didn’t tell you. The boys don’t always think about that.”
Cam laughed and rubbed his neck. “I did forget to mention you,” he admitted.
“Of course you did, sweetie,” Bea said. “I won’t take it personally though. Anyway, come on in, he’s waiting in the office.”
I followed Cam, who followed Bea into the big, spacious entry hallway with a chandelier that was worth more than I’d ever seen in my life. She took us down a side hall, covered with plush carpets with oil paintings on the wall and real wood paneling. It was a rich person’s paradise, and designed to evoke feelings of power and wealth, and it was doing a really, really good job, especially considering I was used to rat-infested abandoned Philly row homes that were mostly made of mold.
Bea showed us into a large office with a huge wooden desk in the center. It was flanked by bookcases packed with leather volumes, most of them really old looking, and probably only there to look fancy. The Don sat behind the desk with a glass of something brown in one hand and a slowly smoking cigar in the other.
“Cam,” he said. “And Irene. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you two again so fast.”
“Don Valentino,” Cam said, inclining his head. I felt like I should curtsy or something, but instead hung back with my hands folded in front of me. Bea gave me a smile, winked, and disappeared, shutting the door softly behind her.
“You said it was urgent,” Don Valentino said, gesturing with the cigar. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Cam walked over and emptied the bag out onto the desk in front of the Don, who stared at the sticks for a second then looked at Cam with a raised eyebrow.
“Maybe you should try telling me instead of tossing a bunch of junk on top of my desk.” He pushed the sticks into a little pile, making a face the whole time.
“Irene stole those from Ronan Healy’s safe house,” Cam said, sitting back into a chair. I joined him, sinking back into the comfortable seat and crossing my legs. All I wanted to do was disappear, but I knew Cam needed me here, and it was safer than being alone in that apartment, at least. Don Valentino was young and handsome, but he put me on edge.
“No kidding,” Don Valentino said, looking impressed. “How’d you manage that?”
“Accident,” I admitted. “I was going for money.”
“Of course you were,” he said with a condescending smile, and I was tempted to punch it off his stupid face. “So what’s on them?”
“Girls,” Cam said. “Profiles of girls they’ve trafficked.”
Don Valentino’s mouth opened for one second before he snapped it shut again. He puffed on the cigar, and a fat plume of gray smoke curled from his lips and drif
ted into the air between us. It smelled like a forest fire or a dirty chimney. My father used to smoke those things, and I hated the way they stank up the whole house, though at least he didn’t hit me when he had a cigar.
“That’s very interesting,” he said at last, which almost made me roll my eyes. Understatement of the year. Cam acted like those profiles were the greatest find ever, and if he thought so, them Don Valentino must’ve known it too.
I hated those sticks. I hated the way Cam looked at them, like they were ammunition in his little war. Those were girls the Healy family hurt, and maybe I knew some of them, or maybe not, but what really freaked me out, what really set my heart fluttering wildly, was just how close I’d come to becoming one of them.
There was no doubt in my mind that Ronan wanted to groom me for sex work. He’d hinted at it a few times, and I mostly ignored him or laughed it off. He always did that with the girls in his orbit, and I knew that if he ever tried to push it on me, I could just run away. I’d done it before and I’d do it again.
But Ronan was no joke, and maybe I overestimated my ability to escape. I could’ve been one of those profiles, locked on a USB stick, used by an opposing mafia in some war.
Those profiles were people. They were women, trafficked women, stolen women. They weren’t pawns in some game.
“There are names,” Cam was saying as I shifted in my chair. “Dates and locations and more. There’s a lot of information on those sticks, and all we need to do is sift through it and figure out how to use it against them.”
Don Valentino laughed. It was sharp and horrible, and it made my skin crawl. I stood up abruptly, and both men glanced at me, but neither seemed to care much as I hurried to the door.
“Wait in the hall,” Don Valentino called after me. “in case we need you.”
I caught a worried look from Cam, and I knew he wanted to tell me to stay, but I couldn’t make myself sit there and listen to them talk about those girls like they were toys.