by Kenneth Eade
TRAFFICK STOP
KENNETH EADE
To Valentina, who inspires me never to give up.
“You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.”
― William Wilberforce
CHAPTER ONE
Sacrifice, charity, and concern for others has always been a characteristic of the human spirit. But there is a wild, hungry, thirsty, selfish creature that lurks deep within the libido of each of us. That id some of us ignore, others deny, and still others put a mask on it or lock it away so even they cannot release it. But when the balance is tipped to its side, it can break any bonds that have tied it down, and we are powerless to stop it. The result can be exhilarating, intoxicating, mind-blowing, or it can be deadly.
Robert Garcia had run away from himself, had tried to convince himself that his past was not a part of his present. “Normal” people work thirty years at a “regular job” and then they retire on a small pension and Social Security. Robert never had a job that could be called normal. Like his father, he had sought a career in the military and the pinnacle of his career had been a position with the elite Special Forces of the Army – formerly known as the Green Berets. But it was covert operations where Robert’s intensive training and exceptional warfare skills were put to their highest and best use. Robert was a terminator – a fine-tuned, killing machine, the product of intensive training and many years of death-dealing assignments. His last job was one that had nearly marked the end of his life – a dangerous life to Robert and to anyone around him, and a fatal one to those who cross him. But now, there was nobody close to him. For Robert, that was the only way to survive.
He thought he had finally found a way to retire from the life of an assassin in one of the oldest activities known to man – fishing. He’d saved up a nice chunk of money from lucrative assassination jobs and had bought himself a little sailboat. He had never been a philosopher, nor had he ever been a sportsman, but there was something about floating on a little boat in the middle of a nameless sea, casting out a line and kicking back that suspended all time and reality. This anonymous life he had chosen of living on the water, cruising the obscure Greek islands, and creating a home for himself as a hermit on the tiny island of Spetses took him away from a reality that would be far too horrid for any normal person to endure. The trouble with Robert was that this idyllic life of Homer was not his, and it didn’t take long for the beast that he had locked away to rattle its cage with frustration. It was tired of fishing and wanted to come out to play.
From his little sailboat in the port he could see the horseshoe-shaped harbor of Porto Heli, a summer resort area packed with revelers and partiers, and more easily accessible to him than the party island of Mykonos. It was about a 30-minute cruise. His island was dark, quiet – like Robert was. The sidewalks rolled up at 10 p.m. Night life was practically non-existent. As he sat on the deck and looked out across the sea, he was drawn to the twinkling lights of Porto Heli like a fly to a porch light. The lapping of the water against the little boats as they bobbed up and down, the sound that used to soothe him to sleep so many nights in the cabin of the bow of his boat, the Lana, now grated on his nerves like fingernails dragging against a chalkboard. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He started the motor of the Lana, cast off the mooring lines, and, just like that fly, headed straight for the light.
It was a short ride that divided the two worlds; the one of the people by day and the other of the people by night. The day people worked, played, laughed and ate, and then they slept, resting to start the cycle all over again. The night people, on the other hand, lived only for thrills, and their object was to have as much fun and pleasure as they could before the sun rose.
As he neared the harbor, he could hear the sounds of partying in the bars and began to ache with impatience – like a dog salivating for a bone. He threw the fenders over the side, cut the motor and pulled alongside a concrete pier and a man came out, tossed him the mooring ropes and he quickly looped them over the cleats. He locked up the boat, hopped off and handed the man a fifty euro bill.
“I’ll probably be a few hours.”
The man slipped the bill into his pocket and smiled a checkerboard smile of half a mouthful of stained teeth. Robert had made his own price because it was late and the money would probably not be accounted for.
“No problem.”
“Make sure nothing happens to my boat and there’ll be another fifty in it for you.”
The man smiled again and nodded.
Robert followed the sounds of the action like the pack of rats followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin. His will was no longer his own; he had given it up to the beast, and it was the beast who would be calling the shots tonight. It didn’t take long to find the best party. He followed the pulsating beat of electronic music to Nikki Beach Resort. As he came nearer, he could see what was a seaside patio for sun bathers by day had turned into a dance floor at night, illuminated by sparkling fountains of fire, casting flickering shadows against the dancers, most of them female.
As Robert approached, he saw the bouncer, a big man with no neck, rustling a man out of the club. The guy he was handling was well dressed, but he was obviously drunk, so the bouncer had the right to evict him. But he didn’t stop after he had “bounced” the man. He went a step further – a step too far. He pushed him out onto the sidewalk, and the man fell. The man struggled to get up, and, when he did, the bouncer kicked him down.
This wasn’t Robert’s battle, so he decided to play it cool. Unfortunately, however, the bouncer wasn’t content to end the drama with one kick. Robert observed, quietly, while the bouncer continued to rough up the drunken man, pushing him around and slapping him down. Some people, of certain strength, take pleasure in pushing around others with none. The bouncer was probably a bully when he was a kid. Now, he was a grown-up bully, and one with authority.
“Hey, man, you kicked him out. Why don’t you just let him go?”
The bouncer looked up at Robert as if he had thrown down a gauntlet. He had tasted blood and here was another fight.
“You want a piece of this?”
“No, man. I’m just saying this guy’s had enough.”
The big-necked man grabbed Robert by the collar and came nose to nose with him. Robert could feel his hot, bad breath against his face.
“You will take your hands off me and do it now.”
“Or what, big man? You gonna beat me up?”
The beef-neck began to laugh, tightening his grip. Like a snake, Robert struck, pushing him back, then slamming him in the nose with a loud crack.
“Nobody touches me.”
The man’s hand instinctively went to his nose, and then he looked at his bloody palms with anger. He sized Robert up, hurt now only in his pride. By that time, another bouncer had joined him. They looked like two lion statues, the kind rich people put to mark the entrance of their driveways. The beast had been awakened in Robert, who stared them down with cold, shark-like eyes.
“Now let’s try this again. I don’t want any trouble. I’d like to have a drink, maybe meet some girls and try to get laid tonight. Or I can beat the living shit out of both of you. I’ll get an equal amount of a different kind of satisfaction out of either activity. It’s your move.”
CHAPTER TWO
At five-foot-eleven and 190 pounds, at first glance, Robert seemed to be no match for one of these towering sentries, let alone two of them. But under the sports jacket and jeans he wore was
the chiseled and ripped body of a wrestler, fine-tuned to deadly precision by years of military training and service and even more years as a mercenary, and he seemed to have grown larger in stature in proportion to his anger. The manager, a skinny guy with beady eyes, wearing a white dinner jacket like it was a fashion statement, appeared and wedged himself confidently between the two hulks.
“What seems to be the problem here?”
The beef-necks’ synapses were slow in reacting. As they attempted to grunt out a response, Robert beat them to it.
“No problem.” He pulled out a wad of 100 euro bills and fanned it in front of the man like a dealer showing a deck of cards. “I’m just going to spend an obscene amount of money in your club.”
The skinny guy kept his eyes on the money. “That sounds pretty harmless to me. Was there a problem here, Fabio? Pantelis?”
Robert began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. He thumbed at the two statues. “Pantelis? Fabio?”
“This guy was violent. Look at my nose!”
You don’t know the half of it, Pantelis.
“Look, I just pointed out to Pantelis here that to kick a guy out of a bar is one thing, but he doesn’t have to kick his ass once he gets him out. Then he assaulted me which was a mistake. But I’m willing to forget about all that.”
The beef-neck’s face was red. He raised his voice, “You just got lucky, you little shit! I’ll kick your ass!”
The manager held up his finger. “Pantelis, let me handle this.”
“This guy broke my nose!”
At that point Robert knew, even in Greece where bribery was as normal as breathing, no amount of money could buy him peace. The manager tried again.
“We don’t want any trouble here.”
“Then your boyfriend here shouldn’t have touched me.”
The manager squirmed a bit. “I think you’d better try a different place, sir.”
“Why? I like this place just fine. Really, I just want to sit at the bar and have a drink. But, like I told the girls here, I could settle for Plan B.” He stepped up close to Pantelis, close enough to feel the man’s hot garlic breath on his nose, as he accentuated the “p’s” in the man’s name, “Pantelis? Like panties, right? Do you wear panties – Pantelis?”
The big man let out a roar, and swung again. Robert ducked the swing, grabbed his testicles and squeezed and twisted them, bringing the man to his knees, whimpering like a baby, and, with a knee to his head, sent him down. Then Fabio ran at him. Robert met his advance with a fist to the nose, then slammed his right knee with his foot, sending the big oaf to the ground with a dull thud. Pantelis stood up and Robert thrust his knuckles into his solar plexus, sending him on his final descent, and then held his fists up.
“Who’s next?”
The manager turned and ran away, no doubt to call the police, as the two hulks lay moaning on the pavement. That was Robert’s cue to leave. He had had his fun, and it hadn’t cost him anything.
***
He walked away calmly, and fell in with a group of inebriates who were leaving the club, turning their heads to stare at the wounded bouncers. They were three American men: tall, dressed in casual chic attire – jeans and sleek Alexander McQueen jackets. One of the guys, an average looking 30-something, pumped Robert for information.
“What happened back there?”
“Don’t know. Guess the bouncers got bounced.”
Their shrill laughter was like a bunch of screaming birds.
“Where are you guys headed anyway?”
The one who probably fancied himself the “good-looking” one spoke up. He had dark hair and a thin moustache, like a tiny fuzzy worm had crawled under his nose to take a nap.
“Dude, we couldn’t score shit in there. But we heard about a place where the odds are 100%.”
Robert knew of only one type of place that could possibly be.
“Hey, you wanna come with us?”
Three drunken grins and animated hands begged for his company.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Cool.” The pretty boy, who also appeared to be the leader, held out his hand for a fist bump instead of a handshake and Robert, thinking it was funny, hit him up.
The second guy appeared to be more than drunk. He followed silently, like a duckling follows the mother duck, in a trance-like state with a goofy grin pasted on his face. The third guy – the nerdy one – obviously was also the one with the brain. He was holding a tourist map and shining it with his iPhone, while he pointed with his finger.
“It’s this way, guys.”
“Maybe we should take a taxi?”
The pretty one again, probably afraid to get his shiny shoes dirty.
“Well, the bartender said it wasn’t far.”
Pretty boy looked at Robert. “You okay with that, man?”
Robert shrugged. “Sure.”
Robert wasn’t used to travel company. It was pretty common in Europe for Americans to seek each other out and hang together, but all of Robert’s hanging had been done in the military. He had been part of a “band of brothers,” a bunch of guys who had been thrown together for a much more significant purpose than getting drunk and cruising strip bars – survival.
They wandered away from the harbor down a dark two-lane road. At that hour there was virtually no traffic which was good because they were stumbling all over the street. Robert was the only one not in a gradually expanding state of drunkenness.
“Where’s the whore house man?” The pretty boy was complaining.
“It’s a gentlemen’s club and the map says we’re about five kilometers away.”
“Five kilometers?”
“Relax, dude, that’s like fifteen hundred feet.”
“Well, this gentleman has to take a piss.”
Pretty boy moved off to the shoulder and whipped it out, just as the headlights of a car approaching the beach illuminated his activity. The nerd protested.
“Dude!”
“Well, at least I can see.”
There was nothing in the area except a solitary building in the distance. A blue glow from its neon sign cast a halo over its roof, fitting both for the heavenly pleasures and the devilish intentions that lay within.
Maybe it was the fact that he was not intoxicated, but Robert was getting tired of dealing with these three college boys and made up his mind to dump them as soon as they got into the place. This club was exactly what he needed – no small talk, no BS, right to the good stuff and no ties afterward. No hard feelings, no anxiety, and satisfaction on both sides.
CHAPTER THREE
The door pushed open, revealing a darkness more profound than the naked night outside under the moonlight and gaudy neon and a bass-heavy beat of rock music that fluttered the eardrums and vibrated the walls. The place had that liquor-soaked smell of alcohol-absorbed wood that had permeated the bar and tables and had become a character smell that screamed with debauchery. Spotlights of white, yellow and orange shone in beams of illuminated dust particles and found their target on a completely nude blonde girl, slithering down a chrome pole head first at the end of a long stage, a cheap imitation of a fashion show runway. She finished in an upside-down split to the delight of several droolers at the edge of the stage. Dismounting the pole, she timed both her seductive and lascivious moves to the heavy bass beat of electronic music. A bald man in a black jacket greeted them at the door as the music died down and the DJ blared out an announcement.
“That was Candy, gentlemen. Isn’t she sweet? Now you know how she got her name!”
Candy squatted in front of each man sitting at the edge of the runway, giving them a salacious view of her intimate treasures as she picked up the five euro bills they had folded in half over the small brass railing that separated their hands from what they wanted to get them on. The bald man flashed a smile of faux elegance as he put his fingers together in a Merkel-Raute gesture.
“Are you gentlemen interested in a table or would you like to sit
at the edge of the stage?”
Pretty boy spoke up.
“We’ll sit at the stage for now.”
Robert stood behind them, independently.
“Are you with these gentlemen, sir?’
“I walked in with them, but I’m just interested in your take-out menu.”
“I see. Well, gentlemen, you have a seat at the stage.”
He swept his hand, directing the boys to the bargain basement for their appetizers. There were no good-byes between them and Robert.
“Sir, please follow me.”
The man seated Robert at a quiet, dark booth in the back corner of the lounge. From that angle, you could still see the show, but he had something special lined up for him.
“Can I get you a drink, sir?”
“Not yet. I’ll wait to see what the girls are having first.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Gentlemen, please put your hands together for the lovely Tiffany from Romania!”
A black-haired beauty strutted onto the stage, scantily clad in blue silk and began to writhe and wriggle to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
The host returned, this time accompanied by a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Robert stood up to greet the girls and they slid into the booth around him, the blonde on his right and the brunette and redhead on his left. Their trio of perfume assaulted his senses at first, but engaged the beast, who detected the underlying distinctive and captivating scents of three luscious women.
He ordered a bottle of white wine for them to share at a horribly inflated price and chatted with them, using one of his backstories – phony backgrounds he had been made to memorize while with the company. Robert never spoke about his real life with anybody. He spoke of detailed memories, but had experienced none of them. His actual memories were recollections he had locked away and could never be revealed to anyone.
