It was a stupid thing waiting to make that call. Stupid GIRL! STUPID NADINE OR JESSICA OR WHOEVER THE HELL YOU ARE! Doesn’t matter now what percent of the phone’s battery is left because the phone is gone. I went to check the battery life and I couldn’t find the phone in my pillow. It’s gone and if Ricardo, Casper, or Buggy found it that means I’m probably next.
I’m writing to you Tasha. Dear Tasha. I’m writing to apologize. I’m writing to you to tell you that I love you. To say I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry x10. Sorry a Million Xs. Here’s the truth, here’s what happened. I remember now. I took the phone out from its hiding spot because I was going to make the call, I really was, but I wanted to get high first, and I did, but then I forgot about the phone. I just left it out on the kitchen counter and went to work downstairs. STUPID THING TO DO. STUPID!! I crashed after and when I came back up I didn’t even check to see if I put the phone back where I hide it. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes when Ricardo woke us that night. I’m sure I looked a million times more scared than you. But when Ricardo showed us the phone, why did you tell him it was yours? Why??? I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. I feel super sick about it. I really do. I should have owned up to it and I didn’t. You gave it to me. It was my phone, but I said nothing. And now I have to go downstairs because there’s a meeting about the phone and YOU! All the girls are going to be there. I haven’t seen you since Ricardo dragged you away by your hair. When I get downstairs, I’m going to tell them the truth. I’m going to tell them the phone is mine. I can’t let them hurt you for something I did.
Tasha please forgive me. Please, please, please, forgive me! I froze when I saw you with your wrists tied. When they opened the door to the hole, I said nothing. When they untied your wrists I thought they were going to let you go. I was wrong. We locked eyes and I thought I understood what was going through your mind, what you wanted me to do, which was nothing. You could have stopped it. You could have told them the phone was mine. But you didn’t. You were doing this for me because you knew I couldn’t take the hole. You knew I couldn’t take the cigarette burns Ricardo put on your arms and legs. Somehow you knew I wasn’t strong enough. I almost spoke up when the door to the hole clanged shut. I swear it’s true. I almost said it was MY PHONE! MINE! But then I remembered when they put me in the hole. I didn’t know I was claustrophobic until I went down there. The thought of going back into the darkness again, into that crawl space, it made me shrivel up inside.
I knew for sure I couldn’t take what they did to you. I couldn’t handle it. So I just watched along with the other girls while Casper and Buggy held you down and Ricardo put his cigarette to your skin. I watched and said nothing because I’m a coward. I make myself sick!! I should just curl up into a ball and die. That’s what I should do. I should take a big handful of your blue specials and swallow them all and just die because I’m worthless and pathetic. That’s the truth. You screamed while I stayed silent. What’s fair about that?
Tasha, sweet Tasha. Here’s what happened after you went into the hole. Ricardo brought all the girls into to the kitchen for a “little talk.” A little talk, yeah right! He was trying to scare us and he did a fine job of it, too. He told us phones were not allowed but everyone already knew the rule. He said phones were contraband. I hadn’t heard that word before, but I figured out pretty quickly what it meant. It was something prisoners would try to get. Good word choice, because I guess that’s what we are. Prisoners. He said if we have phones, we have to give them to him now. He said there would be no penalty if we handed them over. That’s what he calls putting you in the hole and burning you with cigarettes. He calls it a penalty. No wonder I didn’t run, or call that Angie lady. If I got caught doing any those things it would have been a heck of a lot worse than a “penalty,” I think.
It’s been a full day now—a full freakin’ day. How much longer are they going to keep you down there, Tasha?
Another day gone and no you. Why won’t they let you out? When Ricardo came to check me for tips I told him he should let you go. He grabbed me by my throat and told me I should mind my own business. He told me my job was to make the clients come back for more of me. He took out his lighter, lit it, and held the flame up to my face so close I could feel the heat. I tried to pull away, but he grabbed my head and pulled me closer to the flame. Then he took out a cigarette and he lit it. He blew smoke in my face and he laughed. Then he kissed me and told me he loved me. He said I was still special. The most special to him, he said. Weird as it sounds, it actually made me feel good to hear those words. Good while you were suffering on my account.
No wonder I’m so effed up.
Tasha, today I knocked on the door to the hole hoping you would knock back. You didn’t. I was going to knock again, but I heard Casper coming so I had to get out of there. I wanted to shout RABBIT RABBIT because maybe that would get him to help you. Right? Wrong. Casper and Buggy just do what Ricardo tells them and Ricardo does what Ivan tells him and Ivan wants you in the hole and RABBIT RABBIT isn’t going to get you out.
It’s the end of day two and they still haven’t let you out. Two full days in the hole. Two whole days down in the darkness! Get it? Two WHOLE days? Ha-ha. Not funny. Not funny at all. It’s sick, I know. Why did I even write that? I guess ’cause I don’t know what else to do. You’re down there because of me, Tasha. It’s my fault you’re in there. I took three of your blue pills today but I still can’t get high enough to stop feeling sick about it and you. I keep praying it won’t be long now. That they’ll let you out soon. I think of you every second of every day and I pray.
Some good that’s doing.
I went to the kitchen in the basement because I was hungry. I ate a protein bar and had an apple. Believe it or not they feed us pretty well here. They want to keep us healthy so they can keep us working. Nobody wants to be another Jade so we eat what they give us, which isn’t horrible. Burritos, rice, sometimes salad. But there’s always protein bars in the kitchen. I had to hurry because I had a client, or a John, or whatever you want to call him. Who cares, right? I have lots of Johns. I have lots of clients. It means nothing. They mean nothing. My body and mind separate when it’s happening. They get off and I get lost. That’s how it works. They come from all over, these men. They aren’t all Baltimore local, I can tell you that for sure. I think most of them find us through the Internet, but what do I know.
Casper came into the kitchen to escort me to my room. I was ready to go with him when Martina—I think it was Martina—yelled out RABBIT RABBIT and Casper went to her, leaving me alone in the kitchen for a while. I looked around and saw nobody was coming. Casper was dealing with some guy who got a little rough with a girl and now he was feeling what it felt like to piss off Casper. I took the knife I used to the cut the apple and hid it under my dress (a dress Ricardo bought me when I thought he loved me). I pinned the knife to my thigh by slipping it into the band of my underwear, then I tried to walk normally, but I’m sure I had a little limp. I told Casper I was going to my room. I’m a good girl who can go there all by herself. He’s said he’d be right there. The man he was beating up begged him to stop. I got to my bed and waited.
Eventually Casper showed up and my “John” did too.
This guy was married. He had a ring. He looked soft, like a dad who worked in my dad’s office. Soft, not hard like the Baltimore boys who came down here on occasion. He may have had a daughter my age. Did he think of that while he was on top of me? Anyway, he did what the guys do, which is to make noises while they grabbed me and kissed me and whatever. I didn’t let him touch my thigh though. I kept turning my body at just the right time. Turning so he wouldn’t find the knife. I waited until his pants were off before I took out the knife. I didn’t waste any time. I put it right to this guy’s throat and told him to give me his phone. Me! Doing that! Imagine! I was shaking inside, but I tried to sound tough. GIVE ME YOUR PHONE A-Hole! I think that’s what I said, A-hole,
but what do I remember? I was too freaked out just holding a knife to some guy’s throat. I didn’t know I had it in me, but I got my inner Olivia Pope on (or maybe I was channeling Emily Thorne, or hell even Ricardo). Anyway, I was tough enough to make him scared.
He told me they took his phone from him when he got inside. I knew that was BS. I knew it because Ivan let the guys film the girls if they wanted too because it made them come back for more. The guys thought they were getting something for free, Ivan said, but it’s like showing a picture of crack pipe to an addict. They’d look at a photo or video and want the real thing.
The guy was shaking and let’s just say he wasn’t popping Viagra because his excitement went away like a turtle slipping into its shell. I pressed the knife against his throat even harder and told him to give me his damn phone. He got up from the bed (squeak squeak went the springs) and I went with him. I kept the knife to his back as he got his phone from his suit jacket pocket. I made him do the code. I used one hand to hold the knife and the other to look at his pictures. There were pictures of his family and I was right. He did have a daughter about my age and son a little older. I told him how old I was and watched the color drain from his face. They told me you were nineteen, he said. They lied, I said. I opened his Facebook app and got his wife’s name and his hometown. I told him I was keeping his phone and I would call his wife and tell her what her hubby was up to if he told anybody about the phone or tried to disconnect it. I’d get another phone just like I got this one.
I used the knife and cut a slit in the mattress and stashed the phone and knife in there. The guy was shaking. Please don’t call my wife, he kept saying. Please don’t tell anyone I was here. He said he’d lose his job. I said not to worry. I won’t tell anyone if he won’t. I told him he had to go now, but that I needed a little distraction because I had a phone call to make. He asked what kind of distraction. I sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him. Then I screamed RABBIT RABBIT loud as I could.
CHAPTER 33
Three days on stakeout and still no word from Nadine. This was not going as Angie hoped, and she was done waiting for something to happen. Angie sent text messages in an effort to coax Nadine out, but never got a response. She was careful not to use Nadine’s name, in case the woman at the bar turned the phone over to her pimp. Angie called a number of times as well, but those calls went straight to voice-mail.
Once it became obvious the stakeout would drag on, Mike got his ex to look after his kids so he could stay with Angie a while longer. He had a rental gig that weekend, but Bao coordinated the job, which meant time away from code breaking.
Angie kept in regular contact with Bao, and masked her frustration at his slow progress. He was also having a difficult time (Flip 5-0 Grind difficult, according to Bao) identifying the owner of the apartment building where they believed Nadine might be found. The property was part of the L & E Trust, whatever that was. Getting more information would involve the courts, something Angie didn’t have the time or inclination for.
In the course of their conversation, Angie told Bao about the check registers. He thought the discovery was interesting, but wasn’t sure what to make of it, either.
Twice the phone rang while Angie was talking to Bao. Each time, she was disappointed that the caller was another job, and not Nadine. As before, Angie farmed the jobs out to different PIs for a cut of the action. Anything that wasn’t Nadine-related had to take a back seat, and this included focus on a mysterious photograph taken some thirty years ago.
“See if you can link Markovich to the building,” Angie directed Bao.
To stay fresh and alert, Angie and Mike took turns sleeping in their respective vehicles. The removable window tint kept pedestrians from gawking at them while they slept or sat waiting for something to happen. When their legs got achy they took turns walking the neighborhood in disguise, though Angie never went as Big Red again. They stocked plenty of water and snacks, and kept their recording devices fully charged—standard practice during a lengthy stakeout.
Mostly what they did was wait for a break. Angie documented girls coming and going from the apartment building. Sometimes Casper and Buggy came and went through the front entrance; sometimes they took the alleyway, often while accompanying eager looking men. What Angie never saw was any sign of Nadine or the girl who’d received the phone from Mike.
Regrettably, Angie couldn’t count on the police for much of anything. She made a call to Major Chris Nuccio, who was in charge of the whole eastern district. Just getting him on the phone was an ordeal.
“I’ve already spoken with your officers when I went to the station to file a report,” Angie said. “So now I’m telling you. I think the building is being used as brothel and that a girl reported missing from Potomac, Maryland is being trafficked for sex at that address.”
“Have you seen the girl?” Nuccio asked.
“No,” Angie said.
“Any contact with her?”
“No,” Angie said again. She explained the burner phone and how she and Mike had followed Ivan Markovich, the last person to see Nadine, to a building in Baltimore.
“How do you know Markovich is the last person to see her?” Nuccio asked.
“We have video of him leaving Union Station with her.”
“But did you see her get into his car?”
“No.”
“Have you turned the video evidence over to us?”
“I believe the security team from Union Station did so, yes. You need to watch it. In the video it looks like Nadine went with Markovich into the parking garage. Obviously, he was taking her to his car. She doesn’t even have her license. Why else would she go there? We need to go at this guy.”
“Where does he live?”
“DC.”
“Then it’s a matter for the DC police, not us. Call them.”
“But I think he may own this building.”
“You have proof of that?”
“No. All we know is that the building is owned by a trust.”
“Then your boy is still DC’s jurisdiction, not ours. Okay?”
“Not okay,” Angie said. “My partner and I are here now, outside the apartment building, documenting a lot of guys going down an alley with grouchy looks on their faces and coming back all smiles.”
“Fine. We’ll send a cruiser over to have a look.”
“You already did that. How about you get inside?” Angie said.
“How about I need a cause for a warrant.”
“I just gave you one.”
“You gave me an ass chewing from a judge. I need better.”
“Okay, how about you get some people down here to help us stake out the place?”
“When East Baltimore decides to take a break from being a war zone, maybe I could spare a crew to run that kind of operation. Until then, feel free to send us what you have.”
If lip biting were an Olympic sport, Angie would have medaled. She forced herself to end the call on friendly terms. She didn’t think the scant police response was proof of a Thin Blue Discount, but it sure it made easy to speculate.
She radioed Mike to vent. Her conversation got cut short when her phone rang.
The call came up with a Maryland area code, but it wasn’t a number Angie recognized, and that included the burner phone number she had committed to memory. She answered the call with a little flitter in her heart.
“This is Angie.”
A whispered voice answered back. “My name is Nadine Jessup. I think you’re looking for me.”
CHAPTER 34
In light traffic, the FBI headquarters on Lord Baltimore Drive was twenty-five minutes from the apartment building where Nadine Jessup was being held. It was a square brick structure indistinct as any office park building. Angie and Mike were given special passes and taken to a conference room on the third floor, where a special planning session was already in progress.
Nadine had told Angie some of the girls were foreigners. “You have to
come soon. Tasha might be dead down there for all I know,” she had said, confirming what Angie already suspected. Tasha, the girl down in the hole (Nadine’s label for it) was the same girl who’d taken the phone from Mike.
“You have to help her,” Nadine had pleaded.
Human trafficking was a federal crime. The FBI would act, and Angie couldn’t be confident that the local PD would. Things were moving forward with haste, as they should have been all along.
Normally, the FBI would have thanked Angie for her service and sent her on her way. But Nadine was scared, understandably so, and would only talk to Angie. In turn, Angie requested Mike’s presence and so there they were.
A lot had happened in the four hours since Nadine’s initial phone call. A tactical team had been assembled, various warrants were being expedited, and plans were hatching with urgency. Everything moved quickly—a girl’s life was in danger. Angie had infrequent contact with Nadine since the initial phone call that set all this in motion. Nadine spoke in a whispered voice and often went silent abruptly when it was no longer safe to talk. For this reason, Angie kept her phone in her hand at all times, unsure when Nadine would have the chance to call again. Everyone here was waiting for the phone to ring again.
Every seat around the massive conference table was taken, leaving standing room only for more than twenty people from various agencies who had crammed into the room, including a team from the U.S. Marshals Service who’d arrived about a half hour ago.
Another late arrival was Terrance Hill. An assistant state’s attorney in Baltimore County and the current head of the Maryland Human Trafficking Task Force, he had a kind face for managing such an unkind job and appeared to have the ear of Barbara Curtis, a seasoned FBI agent who headed the FBI’s arm of the task force. In her fifties, Curtis had short hair, a thin build, and could have easily been a friend of Angie’s mother. Instead, she was organizing the entire tactical response.
Forgive Me Page 20
