Justice and Revenge

by Holly Fox Vellekoop

  “Come on. Do I look like I have a medical condition? I’m in my prime. I got swag.” Spade said, puffing out his chest. “Like I said. It’s just stuff for my use. I don’t deal or nothin’. I don’t even know why I’m talkin’ to you. Do you think I’m sayin’ too much? Could it be the drugs I took earlier? Somethin’ doesn’t sound right when I say it. I don’t understand myself. Am I making sense to you?”

  “Could you repeat all that? Johns said.

  “No.”

  Thomas tagged and bagged the evidence.

  “You have any more of that stuff hidden anywhere else in the van?” Johns asked. “Or anything else you shouldn’t have or maybe something you haven’t told us about?”

  “Nah.” He was starting to get upset when he remembered something. “Hey,” he said to Johns. “You said you got a telephone call about a drug deal. Who tipped you off? I want their name and number. I wanna pay them back. I’m not gonna do anything bad or anything. Oh, my God, did I just say that?”

  “It was an anonymous call. Untraceable,” Johns said. “But it looks like our source was a good one.”

  Spade cursed whoever narced on him.

  Thomas finished with the pills, went to the back of the van and opened the doors. “Are we going to find anything here?” he yelled. “Last chance. Tell me now.”

  “No. Nothin’ else.” He was relieved that the pills were the only illegal items he had in the vehicle. “At least I don’t think so. I’m not sure. Look to make sure. Okay? Tell me if you find somethin’. What did I just say?”

  The officers passed questioning looks back and forth amongst themselves.

  “If you say so,” Thomas said. “But we’re going to look, with your permission.”

  “I say so, so go ahead and look all you want. Geesh,” Spade said cockily. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out. Have fun. I’m not worried. Should I be worried?”

  The policeman began to move some items around in the back, behind the seats. It was fairly well kept, clean and orderly. A fabric bag of tools was opened with nothing out of the ordinary found. The police opened a box of incidental items including a flashlight, bungee cords and some more tools. The last thing in sight was a white plastic bag tied at the top.

  “What’s in this plastic bag back here?” Thomas said.

  “What plastic bag?” Spade asked. “I don’t have anything like that back there.” He started to move toward the back.

  “Stay right where you are,” Johns said. “Now, are you going to tell us what’s in there or do we have to find out for ourselves?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, I don’t have a white plastic bag. It’s not mine. At least I don’t think I do. If there’s a plastic bag there then you put it there. Yeah. That’s it. You put it there.”

  “We gave you a chance,” Johns said. “Open it up,” he yelled to the others.

  Thomas untied the knot in the bag and spread it wide open. He saw a couple of gray sweatshirts folded neatly on top.

  “There’s some sweatshirts in here,” Thomas said.

  “They’re for my work. And they were in a cardboard box, not in a plastic bag. What are you trying to pull? Boy, if you’re taping this, you’re in big trouble. I better not see this on one of those TV cop shows. I’ll sue all of you. Hey, will I be on TV?”

  “All I’m doing is going through your things, with your cooperation. Now, what do we have here?” Thomas said, pulling two items from the bottom of the bag. The first one was a clear bag of leaves. “Cannabis, I’ll bet,” he said aloud for the others to hear. “And a plastic-wrapped brick of something. And, whoa. What’s this?” he said, pulling a handgun from the bottom of the bag. “I thought you said you didn’t have a weapon.”

  Thomas walked around to the side of the van where Johns had handcuffed Spade.

  “Do you have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?” Thomas asked, holding up the Walther P99 for them to see.

  “No. Hey. How’d that get there? That’s not my gun. I don’t own any weapons. Where’d you get that? That was at my house. What’s it doin’ here?”

  “It was in this bag under your sweatshirts. You must have forgotten you transferred it from your house to here. You seem to be forgetting a lot of things we found here,” he answered, holding up the white plastic bag.

  He placed the gun back in the bag. “I suppose these items aren’t yours either, then,” Thomas said, pulling out the clear plastic bag of leaves and a purple-colored brick-shaped package.

  “Looks like about 24 pounds of cannabis and a kilo of cocaine,” Johns said. Alarmed at the findings, he called out to Conrad to place the dog in the car and join them.

  “Check for priors on this guy and run the license of this van,” Johns said to his fellow officer.

  “Johns is right, isn’t he? Cannabis and cocaine,” Thomas said to Spade.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re not mine, either,” Spade said. “What’s going on here? Where’d you find that stuff?” His eyes frantically darted from one officer to another as his head cleared a little to the realization of the predicament he was in.

  “What are you guys tryin’ to pull? You went to my house and got that stuff, didn’t you? Look, I’m tellin’ you straight. Those drugs were stored at home for a couple of friends. How’d they get here along with my gun?”

  “You had this at your house?” Thomas asked. “Who’d you buy it from?”

  “I bought the pills from some guys at a bar,” Spade said. He didn’t want to reveal which bar in case he needed more stuff later. He couldn't remember the name, anyway. “They had a new program where I could take the pills with me and pay on tick. If I couldn’t pay, I could work off my debt.”

  The officers just stared at him. They were momentarily speechless, and it was all they could do to keep from laughing. They couldn’t believe the crazy story he had concocted. Everyone knows that drug dealers get their money up front. They never let you work it off. It’s cash or else. The policemen looked at each other for the stupidity of this guy thinking they’d fall for a story like that.

  “So you’re telling us that the bad guys who sell drugs, the guys who always want their money up front, the guys who would break your legs and shoot your mother in front of you for nonpayment, are letting you buy on credit, and then you can work it off later?” one of the officers said.

  “Sure, I’m tellin’ you that. That’s what they told me. My God, don’t you see the potential in the market for that?” Spade was all pleased with himself. “I guess I knew something you guys didn’t know, right? Hah.”

  “I guess so,” Johns said. “But, we’re gonna have to take you in tonight.” He walked his prisoner to a police car.

  “You’ve got quite a record,” Conrad said when he saw them coming. “Did some time for possession. Possession with intent to sell. Petty theft. Armed robbery. And the big one - up for trial but acquitted on a murder charge.”

  “I was cleared on the murder charge.”

  “You were acquitted,” Conrad said. “The witnesses refused to testify. There’s a difference.”

  “Not to me. Ain’t America grand? I’m free and doing just fine, thank you.”

  “Not for long,” Johns said, helping his prisoner into the back of the car.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Angel squirmed uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat of Cline’s truck. They had already gone several miles since leaving Der Schluss, and she was beginning to feel uneasy in the company of a foul man like him. She couldn’t turn around to see if anyone was tailing them for fear of his striking her, so she kept her eyes down. She hoped she didn’t have to pull her weapon.

  “I can’t wait any longer, Angel,” Cline said, pulling the vehicle into a dead end alley. He shut off the engine and leaned toward her, confident the darkness from tall buildings on both sides would keep them from being seen.

  “Yes, Sir,” Angel said, panicking at the thought of his touch.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, s
he could see that they were alone at the dead-end street with no exit. It was blocked on the front and both sides by dated, run-down industrial buildings. If she got out of the vehicle and ran, she would have to run toward the back of the truck. Her mind was racing with thoughts of how to get away and quickly access her gun if needed.

  “Get out of the truck now,” Cline instructed.

  “Yes, Sir.” She managed a fake smile. She was mustering the courage to pull her gun from her skirt lining. Her hand clutched the bulge where the pistol was hidden.

  “And stop saying ‘Yes, Sir,’ Cline said. “I want you to say my full name and tell me you love me and that you like everything I do,” he ordered. “Do you understand?” He had a tight hold on a chunk of her hair.

  “Yes, Rick Cline. I understand. And I love you and like everything you’ve done so far,” Angel said, wanting to be as cooperative as possible without jeopardizing her life or physical well-being.

  “Good girl,” Cline said. “Now get out.” He released his grip, half pushing her toward the door.

  He slid across the seat to her side, reached across the frightened girl, and opened her door. He patted her bottom when she got out of the truck and slid out behind her.

  It took all she had not to slug him when he touched her.

  “You didn’t say you liked that,” he said nastily. His eyes narrowed, and he raised his hand as if to strike her.

  “I liked it when you touched me, Rick Cline,” Angel said as convincingly as possible. She felt like vomiting.

  “Good.” He pushed her back against the open truck door.

  From behind the vehicle, a spotlight shined on a surprised Cline as he was trying to undo his zipper.

  “What’s going on here?” a voice called out. The light moved closer to the truck.

  “Nothing,” Cline said. “My wife and I were just going to have a little fun, that’s all. You had better not say anything,” he hissed into Angel’s ear. He squeezed her slim arm tightly and pulled her behind him, closer to the truck. Rick let go of the girl and took a couple steps toward the light. His attention was riveted on learning who was interrupting his fun.

  According to the Play, Angel slowly slid the gun from her skirt to the floor of his truck. When they found it, it would be traced back to a private owner from whom it had been stolen.

  “Help. Somebody, help me,” Angel called out. “This man has kidnapped me. I’m being held prisoner.” She stepped forward and kneed Cline in the groin, causing the surprised man to bend down and grab himself. She ran toward the source of the light, sobbing and crying for help.

  Cline stayed crouched down, his pants having fallen to his ankles. Bent over in pain, he held his genital area with one hand and grabbed at his pants with the other. The discomfort and shock of what had happened rendered him speechless.

  “This is the Arizona State Police. Don’t move,” a man’s voice called out.

  Still agonizing over the crotch kick, Cline tried to pull at his pants.

  “I said don’t move,” the policeman said, gun drawn and moving in to handcuff him.

  Another policeman held his taser at the ready .

  A policewoman covered Angel’s shoulders with her jacket and led the crying young woman to the police car.

  Between sobs, Angel repeatedly said, “Thank you, thank you. I was so scared. He hit me and tried to rape me. I’m not his wife. He bought me from another man. I’m not even an American. They kidnapped me from my home in Seoul, Korea.” In keeping to the Play, she skillfully recited her lines.

  “What?” Cline said. “That bitch is lying. Wait ’til I get my hands on you,” he called out to the tearful teenager.

  Angel, sobbing and shaking, cowered in fear behind the policewoman. “I need to sit down.”

  The policewoman glared at Cline. “If what she says is true, you’ll not be touching another female for a long time,” the officer said. “Get used to it.”

  By the time the police finished their investigation, Rick Cline was being held for human trafficking, assault and battery, and attempted rape. They found the gun in his truck, which proved to be stolen. Upon searching his home, they uncovered pornographic pictures of Asian children on his computer and in his bedroom. That added possession of child pornography to his list of charges. Cline denied it all.

  Angel proved to be a good witness, providing the police with information on the brokers who kidnapped and smuggled her and other young girls into the United States from many countries.

  “My real name is Bo-Bae, not Angel. My family lives in Seoul, South Korea. I was kidnapped and placed in a criminal network that arranged labor for me and other girls. We were forced to work at places like massage-parlor-brothels operated by the traffickers.”

  Angel testified how her debts mounted as she was charged thousands of dollars for repayment of getting into the country, taxi services, food and shelter. The exorbitant costs kept her in debt which she could not pay off from the tips she received from customers. She testified to a combination of severe physical and psychological abuse that was used by the traffickers to keep her and the other victims from contacting the authorities once they were here.

  Cline tried to explain away his actions to the police, claiming he was just spending the night with a girl he picked up at a new bar. He told them about Cisco, and how he met him at Der Schluss for drinks with Angel and Mita. He claimed Angel went with him voluntarily for a night of fun, nothing else.

  Angel denied his story.

  Days later . . .

  The police went to the address Rick Cline gave for the bar. When they pulled into the parking lot, the officers were skeptical.

  “This doesn’t look like it’s been used for a long time,” Michael, one of the policemen, said. “The owners told us it’s not been rented for almost a year. And they claimed on the night in question, they had cruised by here to see if everything was all right and there was nothing going on and no one was around.”

  “It’s early in the day yet, and we have the right paperwork so we might as well go in,” his partner Joel said. He opened the car door and pulled keys from his pocket that the owners had given him.

  Stepping inside the vacant building, Joel started taking pictures.

  “Look at all the dust,” Michael said. He sneezed and waved his hand to disperse dirt floating in the stale air.

  As the officers moved about kicking up more particles, Michael sneezed again. “Allergies,” he said.

  “It’s the police. Anyone here?” Joel called out.

  No response.

  The officers walked around the bar, opening doors and peering into cabinets and drawers. Nothing. Cautiously, they went to the hallway and looked in the bathrooms. Rust rings circled the dry empty toilet bowls. Dirty sink spigots corroded in odd-angled, fixed positions.

  “There’s no way this could have been opened as a bar that night,” Michael said. “Look at the condition of this place.”

  Joel sniffed the air. “Do you smell something?” he asked as they moved back into the bar area. “Like stale cigarette smoke?”

  “I can’t smell a thing,” Michael said. “The dust is too strong, and my allergies are acting up.” He sneezed again and wiped his nose. He looked down at their tracks on the floor and blew his nose again. “Allergies.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” Joel said. “Wait a minute.” He pulled a small bucket of old cigarette butts out from under the bar. A spider web was spun over the opening. “Here’s the source of that smell,” he said, showing it to Michael.

  The officers completed their search of the building and finished up in the parking lot. They had found nothing of importance. When the dumpster out back was opened, an empty container yawned back at them.

  Both men finished photographing the scene, walked around the area once more and called it quits.

  “What a liar,” Michael said when they were in the car. “Did he think we wouldn’t check on his story?”

  Later . . .

&nb
sp; When questioned, Bo-Bae refuted Cline’s testimony. She said she never heard of and had never been at the Der Schluss place he talked about. She denied knowing anyone named Cisco or Mita and testified to everything she knew of Rick Cline’s involvement in kidnapping and human trafficking.

  Bo-Bae swore to having been held prisoner at his home for weeks. Her story was corroborated by a neighbor who reported having seen the Asian teenager there. Some of her clothing and personal papers were found at Cline’s home and were confiscated.

  The police contacted Bo-Bae’s family in Seoul, who were overjoyed to learn she was found and she was safe. Her real name, Bo-Bae, meaning ‘treasure’ or ‘precious’ in Korean, would be spoken again with happiness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Seventy five thousand gallons of water rushed over the shale and limestone riverbed of the American Falls at Niagara each second, while astonished tourists watched. The roar of its descent was deafening as it tumbled 180 feet downward onto massive piles of debris from the erosion of its base. This section of Niagara Falls was the one that deterred daredevils in barrels from challenging it lest they be crushed on its tonnage. Dainty rainbows and clouds of water shrouded and contrasted the harsh brutality at the basin’s seat.

  Allen and Vince marveled at the sheer force of the Niagara River tumbling undeterred over the falls. Both men leaned closer over the rail, mesmerized by the beauty and power, neither feeling completely safe despite the barrier between them and the water. A light mist from the water’s activity ascended from the falls, spritzing all in its path, moistening the men’s hair and clothes.

  Vince, in his role as “Daddy,” tapped Allen’s arm to get his attention and motioned for him to follow. They walked to a picnic table away from the deafening roar, where they could speak without raising their voices. As soon as they reached the setting underneath sheltering trees, a man stepped out from behind them and wordlessly joined them.