Chapter 73
Chapter 73
H e led me to the far end of the parking lot, then up a small lane to a private campground. Back where the noise didn’t travel. A nicely appointed travel bus, like something used by rock stars, sat quietly, shades pulled, under the shadow of a rock cliff. “Please.”
I pulled on the handle and stepped inside, where I was met by three scantily clad girls. Maybe early teens. Each was tethered or cuffed to anchors in the wall. By the looks of them, Fabio had beaten the screaming out of them. They were silent as church mice.
“How much?”
He poured more wine. “For you? Fifty.”
“Fifty?”
“A piece.”
I didn’t like him. Immensely. “And what if I wanted to sample the goods before I purchased?”
Gunner’s ears had perked forward. He’d been in enough rooms like this to know what was about to go down. Evidence of this was the fact that his tail had stopped wagging and he was singularly focused on me.
The man’s face changed expression. In a measured movement, which I was convinced he’d practiced in the mirror, he opened his shirt to reveal the butt end of a pistol. “You pay first. No returns. No exchanges.” A smile. “All sales final.”
The girls didn’t move. I couldn’t place their nationality, but it was not Spanish. Maybe Brazilian. Whatever the case, they looked to be a long way from home. I considered my options. The looks on their faces told me the girls didn’t like him any more than I did. I turned to Gunner. “Choctaw.”
As if launched from a cannon, Gunner shot at the man’s groin. When he latched onto what was once the man’s manhood, the prepubescent boy still in there elicited a bloodcurdling scream. Within two seconds, Gunner had his muzzle around the man’s throat and had him pinned to the floor, where he was crying and pleading and bleeding.
I lifted the Glock from his waistband, dropped the magazine, emptied the chamber, pulled down on the disassembly pins, depressed the trigger on an empty chamber, evidenced by the click , then slid the slide forward and off the frame. I removed the guide rod, then the barrel, and threw all the pieces into the sink above him.
To say I had the girls’ attention would have been an understatement. “Do any of you speak English?”
The man below said something, but my foot in his mouth prevented him from saying any more.
The girls just looked at me. I might as well have been from Mars. I dialed the number. She answered after the first ring. “Hey, you. What’re you doing?”
I could hear her lips smile. “Planning a wedding?”
“How’s your Spanish?”
“ Muy bueno .”
“I need you to ask three girls in front of me if they want to be with this man.”
Casey, who knew about a dozen languages, said into the phone, “ Alguno de ustedes quiere estar con este hombre? ”
The girls still looked at me like I had three heads, although I had a feeling they understood what she said but were still afraid to speak up. So, I turned to Gunner. “Release.”
Gunner did. When the man sat up, I turned out his lights. He lay in a limp, bleeding pile on the floor. I spoke again into the phone. “Nope. How about Portuguese?”
Without hesitation, Casey spoke again. “ Algum de vocês quer ficar com esse homem? ”
All three of them shook their heads.
Thought so. When I spoke next, I was looking into the girls’ eyes, wanting them to know that while I was speaking to Casey, I was talking with them. “Tell me your names.”
Casey translated my request and, one by one, they spoke their names.
“Maria.”
“Francisca.”
“Margarida.”
Such beauty. Such hope. Such innocence shattered. I glanced at Fabio, and my anger flared. I spoke again to Casey. “Thanks. Gotta go.”
“Love you, Pops.”
I pulled Fabio’s keys from his shorts pocket and unlocked the cuffs. When I did, each girl stood, looked briefly at one another, stomped on the man’s face and privates, then spat and said something that, based on the tone, was some sort of cussword.
An hour later, the ambulance drove Fabio to a hospital where he would be treated and taken to jail. After I gave my statement, a woman detective took the girls into custody. The last time I saw them, they were on the phone, talking with their parents. Tears all around. The woman detective sized me up, leaned against her car, and offered me a cigarette.
“No thanks. Trying to quit.”
She inhaled, then blew a long-practiced spiral of smoke above our heads. “You want a job?”
I laughed. “I got a job.”
She studied me. “We have no record of you entering this country legally.”
“That’s because I didn’t make one.”
“You know I can have you arrested for that. ”
“I do.”
Another puff. “And I imagine a guy like you would be free before we arrived at jail.”
I nodded.
“Figures.”
She smiled. “You sure I can’t offer you a job?”
“I’m sure.”
A sly smile. “How about dinner?”
I held up my left hand.
She shook her head once. “Lucky girl.”
She drove out the winding gravel road, escorting the three girls. I had their names in my pocket. Only then did I notice the cut on my knuckle.
Gunner and I ate dinner at the Hotel Coronado, where I rented a dog-friendly room and we sat on our patio staring out across the water as the sun slipped behind Frank’s island due south. Gunner, quite satisfied with our little vacation, ate another ribeye from room service while I had the fish. Both were excellent.
I drifted off after midnight, laptop on my lap, and, oddly, slept until room service knocked on the door at 10:00 a.m. Gunner, stomach aimed at the ceiling, didn’t move. At the knock, he just looked at me. “I’m not getting it.”