The Shoal of Time

by J. M. Redmann

  “Desiree?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “She wants to know who they are and if she and her establishment are in danger.”

  “Why does she think she’s in danger?” Emily asked. “Certainly in this city with Mardi Gras and the Super Bowl coming up, there should be plenty of work for everyone.”

  “It’s personal. She thinks it’s a gang who tried to move in here a while ago, failed, and are trying again. They took their failure personally.”

  “Sounds a bit over-the-top.”

  “She told me a customer warned one of her girls. Said she needed to get out of town, otherwise she’d end up in the river like the other girls. And to pass the message on to Desiree.”

  Emily looked at me. “Why the hell didn’t she come to the police? A description of that john would have been useful.”

  “It’s not easy for a madam to come to the police and complain about a threatening john,” I pointed out.

  “Okay, I get that. But in the future if you find out things like this, can you come to me and let me know? I can’t turn a blind eye to crime, but I can focus on the important things like putting a brutal murderer and trafficker behind bars.”

  “We can both agree on that.”

  She put the handcuffs back on her belt. “Warn her—and yourself—no one from ICE is assigned to this case. There are no women ICE agents in the area.”

  “Did I say ‘she’? I meant my client. I have no idea who the ICE agent is.” I looked at her, keeping my expression neutral. She had to be lying. Didn’t she? “I’m just the go-between. I don’t know who my contact knows,” I repeated.

  “Tell your client to stay out of this. And by her staying out of it, I mean you. If she’s just running an establishment of good-time girls who choose to be there, she’s not part of this and we’ll leave her alone. If she’s involved, she’s in trouble. And so are you.”

  She walked around the desk to face me. She was close enough that I could smell her shampoo. “I’d like to believe you,” she said.

  “Why? Because we slept together?”

  “I don’t think you’re that kind of person. I only slept with you because I thought that, not the other way around.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “I could be wrong.”

  “Not so nice of you.”

  “I like to think my instincts are good. Doesn’t mean I won’t check and double-check them.”

  “Check all you want.”

  “I will.” She put her hand on my cheek.

  I didn’t move.

  “I really liked kissing you.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed, turning and walking back around my desk.

  “I’ll call you if something comes up, okay?” I said.

  “You’d better. Better yet is to take a long vacation and stay away.”

  She again looked at me as if gauging whether I was telling the truth. I kept my face as blank as I could. Let her read whatever she wanted to on it.

  “I’ll think about that.”

  She left without saying anything more.

  I sat at my desk, just staring. Then quickly got up and locked my door. I had really liked kissing her as well. With Ashley in my life, she should be gone from my brain. I was annoyed that she wasn’t, that I could easily recall the softness of her kisses, her body against mine, and feel the heat.

  I’m going to become the kind of private dick who only searches for lost poodles. This was getting beyond complicated. Ashley was ICE, but Emily claimed there were no female agents around. Ashley had warned me about Emily and now Emily was warning me about Ashley.

  Not enough coffee, vodka, and aspirin in the world to help sort this one out.

  To distract myself, I did the usual routines, checking email and voice messages, but nothing truly distracting was to be found. In desperation, I started to clean my coffeemaker.

  My cell phone rang. I answered it without looking at the number.

  “Hi, this is Bianca. Or that’s the name I gave you. I doubt you remember—”

  “Of course I remember you. Great tea,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “You said to call if I noticed anything, right?”

  “Yes, what’s up?”

  “There’s a girl two rooms down. I know they look younger every day, but she’s too young to be doing this.”

  “You don’t want to call the cops? That might be the best solution.”

  “I don’t consider the police my friend. They might decide to bust me as well. Plus she’s shadowed by a big, tattooed muscle guy and he doesn’t look friendly to the likes of me.”

  “Have you tried inviting him in for tea?”

  “One of the tattoos is a swastika. I don’t invite those kinds in.”

  “Ah. Got you.”

  Muscles and tattoos rang a lot of bells, none of them good.

  “Where are they now?” I asked.

  “Sleeping off last night, as near as I can tell.”

  “What’s the number of the room?”

  “It would be twenty-six if the numbers hadn’t fallen off.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Let me know if the police might be visiting. I’ll make myself scarce.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Time to head for the low-down hooker hotel.

  This go-around I will just watch, I told myself. But I wanted some photos. I hadn’t gotten a great look at the man who jumped us in the CBD, but I’d recognize him if I saw him again. I took my best high-powered camera and car cell-phone charger. It’s never good to have a low battery when you might have to call the police.

  And my gun.

  I got in my car, carefully looking for anything that might be FBI or other cops. I’d told Emily I’d stay out. I just didn’t say it wouldn’t be very far out.

  Midday traffic was light. I was there in about ten minutes. I parked in the street, but in a place where I could see into the courtyard. The garbage looked like it still hadn’t been taken out.

  How long do I wait here, I wondered, after looking at my watch for the third time. It was a little after twelve. Of course, I’d left my turkey sandwich back at the office. Ashley and I had burned a lot of calories in the last few days, and my appetite noticed.

  Another half hour passed. I was about to take a lunch break when the door to that unit suddenly slammed open.

  A young girl stormed out. Bianca was right; she couldn’t be much more than fifteen.

  She was followed by a muscled, tattooed man.

  Not the same as the one who attacked Ashley. He was a little shorter, a bit of a paunch, and he had scraggly hair in a half mullet that had gone out of style years ago (and never should have been in style in the first place) with facial hair that was either half a beard or someone who forgot to shave three days in a row. His T-shirt was half hanging out of his jeans, with an open wrinkled shirt hastily thrown on for the cold, and he wasn’t wearing shoes. He either seriously needed a bath or the dark splotches showing at his wrist and neck were tattoos that had seen better days and / or younger skin.

  He grabbed her arm, jerking her back his way. She struggled against him, but he was bigger and stronger. She slapped him, but he slapped back, a lot harder.

  So much for just watching.

  I jumped out of my car and ran in their direction.

  He was too drunk, high, or stupid to notice me until I had climbed the stairs, skittered down the walkway, and was only a few feet away.

  “Let her go!” I bellowed. I backed up my bellow by pulling my gun and pointing it at him. The lack of shoes hinted that if he had a gun, he had neglected to bring it with him.

  “Yeah, let me go!” she yelled in very American English.

  He looked from her to me back to her, then back to me again before finally dropping her arm.

  “That hurt,” she said as she pulled away. “You promised me we’d go to Bourbon Street and I want to go now.” />
  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Who wants to know?” she said.

  I pulled out my PI license and flashed it in front of her face far too quickly for her to read it.

  “It’s legal for me to go there. Just can’t go in the bars,” she said.

  He was still looking between her and me as if watching a confusing and slow-motion ping-pong ball.

  “How old are you?” I asked again.

  “Sixteen. In a few months.”

  “Fifteen, in other words. Way too young to be here and doing this.”

  “This isn’t fair,” she wailed. “I want to go to Bourbon Street and hang out. You promised,” she screamed at the man. “You said if we made some money, we could—”

  “Shut up!” he yelled. “Don’t say nothing.”

  “He’s forcing you to have sex?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I get real sleepy and wake up with money.”

  “Liar,” he yelled, “you’re awake and you like it.”

  “Do not! ’Specially since we ain’t gone to Bourbon Street yet. The men like me, not you!”

  “We’ll go right now. Just let me put my shoes on,” he said.

  “What do you do with the men?” I asked.

  “Nothing, just talk,” he answered.

  “Have fun with ’em,” she said, taunting him. “Real fun.”

  “Blow jobs or real sex?” I asked, using the terms they might know.

  “If they’re nice enough to me, we can do whatever they want,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

  “Anal sex? In the butt?” I asked.

  “That’s disgusting!” she said. “Just blow jobs mostly.”

  “She’s lying,” he said.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Which one of the Guidry brothers are you?” I guessed.

  “I’m the cousin. I don’t mess with them.”

  Well, hot damn. Bingo. “Where are they now?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “They’d take me to Bourbon Street. They always got money,” the young thing chimed in.

  “Bobbie Sue, you just hush now,” he said.

  “You learn from them? They do the high-class women and you do the low-class ones?” I asked.

  “I’m not low-class,” she whined.

  Despite the cold and his bare feet, he was sweating. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a tone that told me he did. “Bobbie Sue’s my cousin and she just wanted to come to town and have a good time. That’s all.”

  “Bobbie Sue, how long have you been here?”

  “’Bout three days.”

  “Real good time in this cheap hooker hotel, right?”

  “It’s just what we can afford,” Bobbie Sue said. “Ain’t that right, Dwayne?”

  “Dwayne Guidry?” I guessed.

  “I don’t hang with my cousins, okay? Not into what they’re into, okay? I’ll take Bobbie Sue back out of here. Don’t want no trouble, okay?”

  I decided to hold off telling Dwayne that in the big city we frowned on prostituting our younger cousins. “Tell me what you know about your cousins and maybe I’ll let you off,” I said. And I would. The police wouldn’t.

  “I don’t hang with them,” he said defensively. “Much.”

  “Tell me what you know,” I growled, taking a step closer, my gun still trained on him.

  “They did the usual stuff for a long time, little booze, dope, you know, nothin’ real illegal.”

  I nodded as if I agreed with him.

  “Then ’bout two years ago, they started doing real well. Lot of money. I asked if they needed help, so they sometimes let me. I’d be at the dock and meet the boat. Help them load and unload. You know, stuff like that.”

  “Unload women?”

  He hung his head. “Yeah, but Sam said it was okay, they were leaving Commie places and wanted to come to America.”

  “In handcuffs.”

  “Yeah, Sam said it was to protect them. Keep ’em safe. If they got caught, make it look like they didn’t want to be here.”

  As stupid as Dwayne clearly was, I didn’t think he was stupid enough to believe that. It was a lie they could hide behind so the Dwaynes of the world would be willing to make the money and ignore the monstrosity of what they were doing.

  “They come up with this on their own or were they working with someone?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” he said, betraying that he did.

  “You want me to jog your memory?” I took another step closer.

  He looked at the barrel of my gun. “I don’t know, but I seen a few things. Big fancy car with New York license plates. Had a pile of money in the trunk. They handed a big stack of it to my cousins. Said there was more to be made if they had the balls. Not what they said, if they were brave enough.”

  “What did those people look like?”

  “All white. Two men and two women. Classy looking, nice clothes. You know, like in the TV shows.”

  “Young or old?”

  “Both,” he said. “I mean, one man and one girl were young. The others older.”

  “The young dude told me that if I ever came to New York, he’d show me a good time,” Bobbie Sue cut in. “Said I should call him.”

  “Did he give you his number?”

  “No,” she pouted. “Said to have my cousins get in touch.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Did he give a last name?”

  “No, he just said Jack.”

  “What the hell were you doin’ running around with them?” Dwayne cut in.

  “Having a good time, unlike with you.”

  “How long ago were they here?”

  “’Bout six months ago,” Bobbie Sue answered.

  “Where did they meet?”

  “At their place on the North Shore,” Dwayne answered.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Outside of Covington.”

  “Outside of Covington, where?”

  “I don’t know the address. Down a road and then another road. Out where there aren’t many other folks around.”

  “Not the place in Des Allemandes?”

  He looked at me, scared I knew that. “No, no. They didn’t tell them New York folks about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  Oh, yes, he did. “A little on the side?” I guessed. “Trying to cut out the top dog and take it all?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I just helped. Loaded and uploaded stuff.”

  “Take it to the secret warehouse down around Jean Lafitte?”

  “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t know it was illegal. Just stuff they were bringing in.”

  “He got a real nice TV, big as his wall,” Bobbie Sue chimed in. “I ask for one and they just laughed at me.”

  “Bobbie Sue, you hush now,” he pleaded. Stupid as he was, he was still smart enough to see the hole she was digging for him. The desperation showed on his face.

  “Where are they now?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. After the mess-up and losing those girls, they had to hide. Back in the bayous somewhere. They don’t tell me shit.”

  “You drove the van, didn’t you?” Another guess.

  Another right one. “I didn’t know what they were loading up. Thought it would be more TVs.”

  All he thought about was making money. He had no idea what the cargo was. Worse, he didn’t care.

  He continued, “They dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, left me to call my sister to get a ride home. Told me not to talk to anyone ’bout anything. To act like I never knew them. They even accused me of letting it slip ’bout the landing.”

  “You’re in trouble, you know that?” I told him.

  “I know my cousins are mad at me, bu
t I really didn’t tell no one.”

  “It’s not just your cousins you need to worry about,” I said.

  Light—very dim—seemed to dawn. “I didn’t do nothing, not really. Helped out my cousins, brought Bobbie Sue to town for a good time.”

  “I’m going to call for backup now,” I said. “Do yourself a big, big favor. Tell the cops who take you in everything you just told me. Don’t even wait until they ask. Tell them as much as you can.”

  “But won’t my cousins be mad at me?”

  “Maybe. But you have to take care of yourself now. With your tattoos”—Bianca was right about the swastika—“you don’t want to spend a lot of time in Orleans Parish Prison. Lot of the inmates won’t appreciate the artwork.” I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger and ran it up and down the barrel of my gun. He got the message. Fear glistened on his face.

  I felt dirty using his racism against him—terror of being raped by big black men—but damn, it was effective.

  “Okay, okay, I will,” he stammered.

  “Tell them everything,” I said backing away from him.

  “What about me?” Bobbie Sue said.

  “You’ll be okay. Do like your cousin and tell them everything you know. They’ll let you go.”

  “And I can go party on Bourbon Street?”

  “You sure can,” I totally lied. “Both of you go back into the room and stay there.”

  She was cold enough to hurry back in. He followed her but kept looking over his shoulder at me.

  As their door snicked shut, I tapped on Bianca’s door and said softly, “Time to go buy more tea.”

  “Bless you, honey,” she called from inside the door.

  I hastened down to my car and got in. I didn’t want to be here when the cops came. I picked up my cell phone, pitched my voice high, and called 911. I claimed I was a social worker and had seen a girl far too young to be at this hotel. I gave them the room number and a description of both Bobbie Sue and Dwayne. I said I didn’t want to be involved and hung up.

  Greed gets you in the end. The cousins got away with it and got away with it and started to think they’d always get away with it. They bring in their dumb cousin Dwayne to help—he’s family and can be had for some beer and an extra TV—because they’re sure they won’t get arrested. They forget he’s stupid enough to bring his wannabe party-girl cousin to town and think he could make money off her, just like his cousins make money. Only Dwayne is a dimwit and gets caught. The weak link breaks the chain.