Chapter 25
25
T he Transporter, whose name Camila had learned was Clinton, was tied to a folding chair in the empty room of an abandoned house Buck directed them to after the chase. He and Alejandro stood in front of Clinton—both men intimidating in size, glaring down at him with arms crossed.
They couldn’t look more different. Alejandro, with his dark hair, swarthy skin, beard, and dark dust-covered clothes, contrasted sharply with Buck’s blond hair, beardless face, and a pristine white T-shirt and jeans.
Camila watched Buck with renewed interest. With his physique and rigid jawline, he appeared as menacing as Alejandro. No way he only drove a taxi.
“Are you going to kill me?” Clinton asked. He was American and tried to sound brave, but she heard the tremor in his voice.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Buck answered.
Camila stood behind them in the shadows and out of the way. Her senses buzzed from the car chase. Underneath the excitement, she was a little turned on by Alejandro’s strength, determination, and skills.
The past few days during which he had killed the men in her apartment and captured Clinton showed how dangerous an opponent he could be. She couldn’t wait to climb on top of him and ride him to heaven tonight. Her nipples peaked at the very thought. He’d turned her into a horny little slut, she thought with amusement.
“I don’t know nothing,” Clinton said.
Alejandro turned to Buck. “A double negative. Help me out, but doesn’t a double negative in English become a positive?”
“You’re correct, it does. Which means he does know something.”
Both men returned their attention to their captive.
“You’re going to tell us everything you know about the organ harvesting taking place at Oasis de Vida, or we’re going to take out your kidney and donate it to a deserving patient.” Buck removed a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open.
Oh crap. Camila held her breath.
“You’re nuts,” Clinton accused, his attention hopping between both men.
“Sounds fair,” Alejandro said to Buck before turning to Clinton. “Unless of course, he cares to talk.”
Clinton frowned, obviously unable to decide if they were kidding or not. Camila couldn’t either. Were they joking, or were they really willing to cut him open?
Buck shrugged and moved towards Clinton.
“Wait! Wait!” His eyes stretched wider, and he scooted back in the chair. “I’ll tell you what I know, but you have to understand, I’m a small part of this operation. I’m a transporter, that’s it. Are you law enforcement? Who are you?”
“We will ask the questions,” Alejandro said, his harsh tone brooking no argument. “Where do you find the organ donors?”
The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Everywhere.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know all the details, but some people are recruited online. Others are found in person. We— they — have people planted in agencies providing government assistance. They refer those clients to us, and the people in charge make them an offer. Listen, the truth is, half these people don’t fully understand what they’re getting themselves into. If they’re uneducated, it’s easy to tell them a lie about what’s going to happen to them.”
“For example?” Buck prompted.
The man licked his lips and gave a negligent shrug. “Some of them believe they have three kidneys or think their kidneys will grow back. They don’t know any better.” He laughed, but when no one else joined in, he stopped and straightened in the chair. “When they get paid, the surgery or loss of a body part doesn’t matter. They receive as little as five hundred U.S. dollars, but it’s a lot for these people.”
“We were told some of them are migrants or refugees,” Alejandro said.
He nodded. “Sure, we approach them too. They’re probably the best ones because they’re more desperate. For instance, if they’re traveling to the United States but don’t have the money to pay a smuggler, an organ could pay the fee.”
“So you have connections or a relationship with the smugglers.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot of money to be made.”
The callous indifference with which he spoke about his human cargo was disturbing.
“Are any of these people forced to give up their organs?” Camila asked.
Clinton grimaced, shifting in the chair. “Not everyone is a willing participant. As demand has increased, some of the migrants are kidnapped and coerced into giving up their organs.”
Camila had suspected as much, but hearing him admit to such a heinous act made her sick to her stomach.
“How often are donors killed?” Alejandro asked.
The man dropped his eyes.
Buck kicked the chair leg. “Answer the question!”
“I don’t know!” Clinton’s face turned green, as if he was about to throw up. “I’m not saying what they’re doing is right, but… I know some of them are killed. Not all organs can be harvested and the donor kept alive afterward. There have been times when I’ve transported a donor to the clinic, and I never saw them again.” His explanation matched what Rosa had said.
“Isn’t it possible one of the other drivers took them?” Buck asked.
Clinton slowly shook his head. “No. Whenever we pick up a donor, we also drop them off. Each driver has a log, to keep the inventory straight, so there’s no confusion. When a donor isn’t going to… to… to leave the hospital… they let me know about those situations, and I adjust my sheet.”
Camila and Alejandro had already known this bit of information thanks to Rosa, and the death certificates provided proof. Hearing how much they devalued the lives of the poor and less fortunate was shockingly horrible.
Clinton continued, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I don’t agree with—with killing people, but it is what it is. But the others, like the kidney donors, what’s so wrong about that? Someone might need passage into the country or money for God knows what, and they’re willing to give up a kidney in exchange for money. So what? So what if someone has the financial means to purchase the organ? You think you’re any different than those people? How would you feel if you had to be on dialysis for five, six, seven years? Huh? Then you find out you could buy a perfectly good kidney and live comfortably again and not have to worry about dying. It’s a trade. That’s all. Buying and selling goods. It’s their body. They should be able to do what they want. Everybody wins!”
Although he was right—it was their body—his sales pitch didn’t change Camila’s mind.
Alejandro slowly clapped as he took two steps closer to the bound man. He glowered down at him. “You really think you did something with your little speech. You are a real piece of shit. What you said would sound a little better if you hadn’t admitted to telling lies to convince some of these people to go under the knife. And let’s be honest, the ones donating the organs aren’t making the real money, are they? Five hundred dollars? A couple thousand at best? Then you get your cut and the doctors get theirs, of payments that can reach hundreds of thousands of dollars. If this is such a great idea, why lie to the organ donors? Why not tell them the truth about how many kidneys they have? Why not give them their fair share? You try to make what you do sound altruistic, but the truth is, you’re human poachers, preying on the poor and vulnerable.”
Clinton’s face turned red as a cherry and dropped his gaze.
“Look at me!” Alejandro said, his body tense with anger. “We want your contacts. We want to know everywhere you have recruits. This operation is getting shut down. If you cooperate, maybe you won’t spend the rest of your life in prison for illegal organ harvesting and as an accessory to multiple murders. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” Clinton said in a low voice.