Back AT You

by John W. Mefford

“It’s just a picture that Nick sent me.” I paused, wishing I had more information from Nick or Brad or someone. Too late now. “Does she look familiar to you?”

  She took the phone from my hand and examined the screen. She looked up, stared off into the distance, and then turned back to the phone. Slowly, her mouth opened, and she said, “I’m almost certain this is the girl I saw in the other room.”

  A chill swept through me. “What girl? What room?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you?” She put a fingernail in her mouth.

  I shook my head.

  “Crap. I never mentioned it to that FBI agent guy, either.”

  Not sure that would have made much of a difference. “Talk to me, Erin. I don’t know why Nick sent this to me. I’ll call him here in a moment, but what did you see?”

  “It’s what I heard that got me to look through the crack of the door. I was upstairs using the restroom, and I heard this girl screaming. I couldn’t help but look. When I did, I saw Carter standing there laughing as this other guy had her by the hair, jerking her back and forth like she was some stuffed animal. I thought he was going to rip her scalp off.”

  “So, Carter had on his mask?”

  “All the time. I think he was paranoid.”

  “What about this other guy?”

  “Pretty big guy. Maybe in his forties. Dressed like a biker with big boots, cut-off sleeves. Had one of those goatees that hadn’t been trimmed in, like, forever. He was laughing too. It gave me the creeps. Then again, it was about the hundredth thing at the compound that gave me the creeps.”

  The airline employee behind the counter called for next in line. Erin and I walked up and gave them our names. Of course, I didn’t have a driver’s license, so this, initially, started a bit of an uproar. But then the man checked the reservation and spoke to his manager. Like I’d expected, Brad and Jerry had ensured we would have no problems getting through.

  The man handed us our tickets and said we could bypass the normal security line. Erin and I stepped over to the side, and I asked her to hold up while I called Nick.

  “What do you think is going on, Mom? Why would Nick send you this picture?” Erin asked.

  I had the phone up to my ear. “No idea. Give me a—”

  “Alex. Thanks for calling.”

  “Hey, Nick. That picture you sent. Erin thinks—”

  “I know it’s her, Mom,” Erin called out.

  “Actually, Erin is certain she saw that girl at the compound. Wait, you may not know everything that’s gone on. A lot to catch you up on.”

  “I know it all, Alex. I talked to Brad. He told me everything. It’s just…well, I’m so relieved that you have Erin back safely. And her friend?”

  “Well, she’s physically okay. But she was sexually assaulted. Erin has a pretty big gash on her cheek. We’ll have to a see a surgeon about it. But they were lucky.”

  “You were too, from what Brad shared. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be out there to help. This damn body of mine is getting better, but I’m not quite ready to take you on in a race.”

  He’d been challenging me to a race ever since he got out of the hospital—well, actually, I’d been the one to challenge him, but he wouldn’t let it go. It seemed to motivate him during his rehabilitation, though. “Honestly, Nick, I could have used you. So, just know that you’re missed, and we can’t wait to have you back in the field. But let’s talk about this girl. Erin saw her at the compound. She was being tossed around by some biker-looking guy. Not sure what happened to her and where she is now, though. I’m not sure if she was given to the guy running the compound, some drug-trafficking guy we call—”

  “Carter. I know. I’ve been all over this since Brad filled me in. I heard about you being forced to be the drug-runner to get Erin back. Not to get into all the details, but I caught wind that the DEA is investigating some type of insider drug connection with the CBP. I have a call into them right now to let them know what happened with you.”

  “Great. Thank you. I’m not sure the local FBI agent here is going to do much. So, back to the girl. What do you know about her?”

  “Well, I got the tip from my cousin Stan. You know, the San Antonio police detective.”

  “Nick, I just saw the guy a little more than a month ago. Of course I know Stan. Is this girl from San Antonio?”

  “Just outside of the city, a place called Seguin.”

  “I’ve driven through there.”

  “Right. Your Texas roots. Well, this story is gut-wrenching. The girl’s name is Angel Bailey. Her mom is an addict. Fentanyl—the most lethal opioid out there. She basically traded her daughter to her dealer to pay off her drug debt and allow her to keep getting more pills. It’s just hard to believe what some people will do.”

  The air left my lungs in a rush. How could a mom do that? That was my initial reaction, and then I thought about it some more: addiction. I’d read somewhere that fentanyl was at least fifty times more potent than heroin. I blew out a breath. “So, you’re calling me for a reason.”

  “Look, I know you’ve been through hell the last few days. You and Erin are at the airport?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  He sighed. “I hate to ask you this, but Stan’s friend, Ivy Nash, is hell-bent on finding this girl.”

  “So, she’s the one who found out about her situation?”

  “Long story, but yeah. And she’s the type of person who, if she grabs hold of something—especially a case involving a kid—she won’t let go.”

  “I’ve never met Ivy in person. But remember, I was on a few conference calls with her a while back. She’s…uh, tenacious.”

  “Good word. But she won’t take a step back and let law enforcement do their work. I’ve made a call to the local FBI office. But Stan is asking for a favor.”

  He paused, so I finished his thought. “He wants me to try to find Angel and make sure Ivy doesn’t get herself into trouble.”

  “Man, I feel bad even asking. You just got Erin back, and you probably can’t wait until you get her home and start living a normal life again.”

  For a brief moment, I wondered what normalcy felt like, at least for an extended period of time. I looked at Erin, who was rocking back and forth on her heels, just doing some people watching. She seemed carefree, which was remarkable. I knew she had some things to work through, but she would get through it. She was strong, supported by her family and friends. Which then led my thoughts back to Angel. Who was protecting her? I instantly understood Ivy’s motivation.

  “Is Jerry aware of all this?”

  “I filled him in. And he didn’t squash it.”

  “You know I have no weapon, and I have no FBI creds on me.”

  “I figured. Listen, it’s probably asking too much. I mean, Ivy was bullheaded and just took off.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see Erin looking at me. She said, “Nick wants to see if you’ll help find the girl?”

  I nodded.

  “Then go do it, Mom. If anyone can find her, it’s you. I’m worried sick about all those girls. If you can save this one, it would be awesome. Go do it. For me.”

  That was all I needed to hear. I put in a call to Brad to let him know my decision—he wasn’t surprised. I got permission to walk Erin to the gate. I hugged her long and hard just before she boarded. And then I started my new assignment. I only hoped that Angel was still alive to be saved.

  27

  Ivy

  With the sun beating down on me and vultures flying in a circle overhead, I took hold of the tire iron and pulled up one final time to tighten the last lug nut on the spare tire of my rental car.

  “Pain. In. The. Ass.” I wiped sweat off my face and then looked at my hands, which were mostly black from changing a tire in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada. I was sure my face now matched my hands. The last twenty-four hours had been brutal. I’d booked my flight without any problem—the airline made it easy to give them my money. After I went thro
ugh security, the flight was delayed one hour. Then another hour. We finally boarded three hours after the original time. We took off, were in the air for maybe an hour, and then the captain came over the loudspeaker saying they had to make an emergency landing in Odessa. Yes, Odessa—an absolute wasteland in West Texas. The only thing it was known for was Permian High School—the basis for the book, movie and TV show, Friday Night Lights.

  I ended up sleeping in a plastic chair in the Odessa airport. I finally got a flight out earlier this morning. I grabbed the rental car, and now this…a flat tire. What would Cristina say if she were here? “Pain in the fucking ass.”

  Hell yeah, it was.

  I tossed the tire-changing equipment into the trunk and wiped my hands on the rug. Then, I hopped into the driver’s seat, rolled down the window, and opened up Cristina’s email that she’d sent last night. She’d apparently found her way into a number of message boards that included discussions of where to find fentanyl around Las Vegas. From there, she took some discussions offline as she subtly asked about a guy named Cadillac. Three people, after she mentioned his name, didn’t respond. On her fourth try, she received a response, but it was vague. She’d pasted it into a text to me: Cadillac has his hands in a lot of the whorehouses. Lots of bizness there.

  That was all I had to go on. I wondered, of course, if that was how he was using Angel. Maybe he would “rent” her out to one of the brothels, like a pimp of some kind. Thankfully, Cristina had sent me a list of known brothels in the area. I took another look at the map and knew the closest one was in Nye County about ten miles away.

  I started to pull onto the highway—the blaring horn sounded like it was on top of me. I hit my brakes and literally jumped off the seat as an eighteen-wheeler swerved around me. Tires squealed. Smoke snaked from the pavement. The truck dipped left and then right, but somehow the driver kept the rig on the road.

  Then I heard the horn again. He held it down for a good thirty seconds as he drove away, blending in with the vaporized horizon.

  I finally let out a breath. “Damn.” My shoulders relaxed, and I wiped my eyes, even though I knew it was only smearing the black around.

  “Where’s my phone?” I asked aloud. I looked around me on the seat, on the floorboard. Nothing. I got out of the car so I could inspect the small space between the seat and the side of the car. That was when I saw it. The phone was lying on the road. I must have spastically tossed it out the window. Good gosh, I’m a frickin’ mess.

  I walked over and picked up one piece of it. The phone was trash.

  Have you ever had one of those times when everything you do just turns to shit? Everything from the last twenty-four hours, culminating to now, made me wonder if I’d made a too-quick decision about coming to Vegas and looking for Angel without waiting on law enforcement to take the lead.

  Waiting. Angel may not have much time. She was only fifteen.

  “Fuck it.” I got in the car, hit the gas, and headed for the brothel in Nye County.

  28

  Ivy

  As the woman waltzed down the wooden staircase in a pink dress and what I was sure was a fake diamond necklace, the resemblance was uncanny. She approached me, held out a gentle hand.

  “I’m Lady Di. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Yep, I’d just met royalty—well, a brothel’s version of royalty—at the Pussy Cat Club. The real royal family would not be pleased. Up close, even in subdued lighting, her makeup made her look like she was wearing a mask. When she spoke, hardly any other part of her face moved. And her eyelashes reminded me of the drying flaps at the end of a car wash—they were that big and thick.

  As I introduced myself, her eyes shifted and stopped at different places on my face.

  “I had a flat tire down the road. So, I’m a little dirty at the moment.”

  “We do have a higher-end clientele.”

  She was essentially telling me that I looked like a lowly pit-crew member. She touched my elbow and guided me to the corner of the enlarged foyer of this two-story mansion. It was decked out like an episode of Downton Abbey—lots of wood and fancy rugs and candles and even a Big Ben clock. I was about to open my mouth when I saw one of her clients walking out from a side corridor with a young woman on his arm. Dressed in jeans with holes up and down his legs and wearing a baseball cap with the logo of a homebuilder on it, he was telling some type of joke, while she nodded with a thousand-yard stare. He was shorter than the woman by a good three or four inches. Perhaps this was the only “date” he could get.

  At the door, he turned and kissed the woman on the cheek. She cringed as if his lips were made from the quills of a porcupine. “I’ll see you next week, Cilla.”

  Cilla. As in Priscilla, perhaps? I didn’t ask.

  Then, he took her in his arms and was about to go in for another kiss, as if this was the big moment in their relationship.

  Lady Di cleared her throat—it didn’t sound very Lady Di-ish. It sounded more like Prince Charles. My eyes were drawn to the fashionable pink bow around her neck. Lady Di shifted her head to the side, one quick nod. She was giving the man, the client, a warning. I have a feeling that extra kiss would have been allowed if it had been accompanied by cash.

  The customer removed his hands as though Cilla’s body had just caught fire. He quickly exited the Pussy Cat Club.

  Lady Di and Cilla didn’t speak, but they watched each other like two felines guarding their young until Cilla disappeared down the darkened hallway.

  “So,” Lady Di said, her hands clasped in front of her dress, “I was told you wanted to speak with the, uh…manager.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say “the Madame.” So, “the manager” had seemed like the next best thing.

  The lack of a phone put me at a severe disadvantage—that was where I had the picture of Angel. “I wanted to ask you about someone. But just know that I’m not trying to get you or your establishment in trouble. I’m just a concerned friend.”

  Lady Di dipped her head for a moment and reset her feet, but she didn’t speak.

  “I had a picture, but…well, it’s not available right now. The girl is a little shorter than me. She has dark-brown hair, tight curls. She has prominent cheeks, and when she smiles, it lights up a room. Oh, and she wears braces.”

  She paused a moment, looking at the floor. I’d decided to ask about Angel first, instead of Cadillac. Asking about a drug-dealing sex-trafficker might very well end the conversation before I could even mention Angel.

  The silence lasted more than a few seconds.

  “Look, she’s just a teenage girl. If she’s here, you probably had no idea about her age. So, just know that I only want her to be able to go home to her family.”

  “Come with me.” She whirled around on a heel and marched down the hallway by the stairs. I followed. Just past the staircase, she whipped around, pushed me against the wall, and plowed her forearm into my neck—I gasped for air.

  “Who sent you?”

  Lady Di’s voice had just dropped an octave. Was Lady Di a cross-dresser?

  “I. Can’t. Breathe.”

  She released some of the pressure, and I blew out a breath.

  “Answer me. Who sent you?” Lady Di now sounded like Voldemort. And with the shadows crossing her face, she was starting to look like him too.

  “I’m working for her family. Is she here?”

  Moving like a ninja warrior, Lady Di snapped off her shoe, pulled on the heel, and produced a blade that shimmered from a light behind her. Who the hell was this woman-man? Not like any Madame I’d seen on TV or the movies.

  “We don’t like people who ask questions about our girls.”

  “Angel is only fifteen years old. You guys are supposedly legal, right? So, if you have someone underage working here, I figured you’d want to know. You want this place to stay open.”

  Her—his?—forearm pushed into my neck again. I couldn’t breathe. I tried clawing at her arm. It was like clawing at a tree
trunk. She brought the blade close to my face.

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Too many people are coming around here asking about girls. So, I’m going to make an example out of you and carve you up like a fucking turkey.” She laughed, showing all her teeth and gums. Air wasn’t reaching my brain. I began to reach for her eyes. All I could grab were her eyelashes—but that was enough. I didn’t let go.

  Then the blade flashed, and I closed my eyes. Suddenly, the pressure against my throat was gone. I opened my eyes to see someone spinning Lady Di around. I couldn’t see who it was, but they landed a straight punch into Lady Di’s jaw. She grunted. A sidekick into the side of her knee, and she tumbled to the floor. The person dropped a knee onto Di’s side, and the blade hit the floor. The person grabbed the knife and put it to the Madame’s neck, at the same time pulling down the pink bow.

  “If you move, I’ll slice out your Adam’s apple for good.”

  The woman looked up at me. “Are you okay, Ivy?”

  I knew that voice. That was Alex Troutt.

  29

  Alex

  The man in the pink dress didn’t fight back. Then again, he didn’t have an option, really. Not unless he wanted to see a lot more of his own blood.

  “What…?” Ivy looked at me, shook her head, her arms splayed.

  She was asking what I was doing there. “Later. Are you okay?”

  Ivy touched her neck. “I’ll live.”

  I turned my sights back to this person who kind of looked like Lady Diana. Crazy stuff. “Why were you trying to hurt my friend?”

  Lady Diana flinched, but I dug my knee into his stomach and held the blade at the tip of his nose. “You really want me to use your own weapon against you?”

  He had on long eyelashes, lots of makeup. Even in the muted light, I could see his eyes cross.

  “Who the hell are you?” Lady Di said. “A fucking ninja?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I asked you a question. Why were you threatening her?”