Trespassers Will Be Prostituted.

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Cortnie asked, “Did she say anything about weapons?”

  “That’s just it. They were only carrying small handguns, nothing larger like you normally hear about with some of these Eastern European kidnappers. She did say though, that one of them disabled a girl with a stun gun. Although I think she meant a Taser, because she said that there were wires that shot out from the gun.”

  Cortnie typed away on the portable keyboard for her iPad. “That’s good to know. If we’re going to be anywhere near them, we need to be aware that there’s a stun gun or a Taser. The more we’re aware of, the safer we’ll be.”

  “This is warfare, Cortnie. Are you ready for it? Because this is going to be dangerous. We aren’t dealing with your average run-of-the-mill teenage kid who stabbed his mother to death. We’re dealing with cold-blooded murderers, kidnappers and pimps who do this for money. It’s their way of life.”

  Cortnie looked up at me. “I’d like to put a huge kink in their income. They aren’t going to be happy with us if we catch up with them.”

  “What do you mean if?” I was almost irritated, because I knew we would catch these guys and shut them down. Sadly, it would be just like killing one ant in a whole colony, but maybe killing one ant would scare off a good number of the rest of the colony.

  After catching Cortnie up on the rest of the details that I had handy, we agreed that we were looking for an empty, abandoned, or rental house on the south side of Salinas. It was definitely a farmhouse. Alma said she could hear the tractors working in the fields. This made sense that they would be out in the middle of nowhere, as they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves going in and out with a gaggle of girls.

  “Okay, I’m going to my office and look up what I can on any farmhouses south of Espinosa Road.”

  “I would start at the exit that goes south off Main Street. The one just west of the rodeo arena.”

  How about starting at Blanco Road?”

  “No, I think that’s too far north. With all of the new businesses and car dealerships out that way, I just don’t think that they would hide girls so close to all that traffic. I say we start at the Market Street exit and go south. Look at any homes that are secluded.”

  Cortnie gathered her keyboard and iPad before standing up. “Gotcha. I’ll see what I can do to narrow our search.”

  “Once you figure out the houses, run a report on their electric bills.”

  Cortnie turned around and looked at me. “What?”

  “If you’re housing a dozen or so girls, you’re going to be going through a lot of electricity. Some of those houses will be on wells, so water use won’t tell us much, but it takes electricity to run the pumps, and if they’re using all of the rooms in some of those huge farmhouses, the electric bill is going to be high.”

  “Oh my God, Charles, you are brilliant.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Four

  Charles

  I didn’t want Max to put Alma in a Motel 6, or something that would remind her of what she’d been dealing with for the last several weeks. She needed a nice place to stay. I wanted her to have the works, so we set her up in a boutique hotel in Pacific Grove. It was thirty minutes from Salinas. That was the whole point. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t anywhere near Salinas, but close enough to keep an eye on. The men who had kidnapped her would go back to her apartment first, and then they would start looking around at people she worked with or where she worked. They would assume she would go back to something familiar.

  I wanted to go see where Max had set Alma up, but I decided to go to Alma’s apartment first.

  The address Alma gave me as her home address took me to the El Costa Plaza apartments in East Salinas, or what we call Alisal. I drove past the Shell gas station, and turned left into the apartment complex. It hadn’t changed much over the years, except maybe gotten worse. There was a time when it was an okay area, but now, with so many low-income families dealing with the local gang violence, it had lost its charm. I went to the apartment number Alma had given me and saw her car parked in the carport. In this neighborhood, if anything had been left in the car, it would likely be stolen. I held no hope that I would find any belongings of Alma’s or Yolanda’s still left in the car.

  Before approaching the car, I parked several spaces down and just watched the area for a few minutes. I looked around at the other spaces that held cars to see if anyone else was doing the same thing I was. Or were they in the apartment, waiting for Alma to come home?

  Alma had told me that underneath the seat, under a flap of fabric, she kept an extra house key. She did this because she often locked herself out of the apartment, but knew how to break into her car without the keys. She explained to me how to easily get into her car. She drove an old Toyota with wings in the front windows. One of the window wing locks was broken, and with just a short piece of metal, could be turned and the window pushed open.

  After thirty minutes of observation, it looked as if I was alone. If I did have company, they were watching me from inside the apartment. And if they were there, we were about to meet.

  I’d driven the Honda here because there is no way I was leaving my Spyder in this neighborhood. It would be on blocks with the wheels and rims gone before I could get in and out of Alma’s apartment. The inside of the car would probably be stripped clean, or hardwired and stolen if they didn’t part it out.

  I got out of the car and looked down the hill from the carport. Very little traffic, and most of the parking spaces were empty. This was a working crowd, probably out in the fields, picking and packing the vegetables that end up on our dining room tables each night. Oh, who am I kidding? No one eats at a dining room table anymore unless it’s a holiday.

  I locked the Honda, then walked over to Alma’s Toyota and realized I wasn’t going to have to break in. The doors weren’t locked. And much to my astonishment, Alma’s wallet was where she left it in the center console. Yolanda’s backpack was on the floor in the back seat, and her cell phone was also in the car. It had fallen between the console and the passenger seat. I had to open the back door of the car in order to reach under the seat and retrieve it. Alma’s phone sat in plain sight in the driver's seat.

  I looked for the key where Alma told me to look. I grabbed it, replaced the flap, closed the car, and walked to the apartment.

  I didn’t want to flash my weapon in this neighborhood, giving the gangbangers a reason to shoot me down, but I did remove my weapon and had it at the ready before I unlocked the door to the apartment.

  Just like you see in all the cop shows, I stood to the side of the door, unlocked it and turn the handle. I opened the door wide, waited a few seconds for an ambush, but no one came. Close to the wall, I moved around the corner, into the apartment, and quietly shut the door.

  Just because no one ambushed me didn’t mean I was alone. I went room to room, gun in front of me, and cleared the place before putting my Glock away and taking a deep breath.

  It was a one-bedroom apartment on the first floor, neat and tidy. Evidence of Yolanda’s occupancy was evident in the living room. The couch had sheets that had been folded over and tucked under the cushions. On the armrest was a pile of pillows and three folded blankets. I assumed it was Yolanda’s suitcase on the floor next to the couch. For a moment, I considered going through her belongings to see if there was anything linking her to the kidnappers, then realized that was a waste of time. How would a thirteen-year-old know anything about Russian sex traffickers?

  I did go into Alma’s room and rummage through her drawers and nightstand, but nothing stood out. That is until I opened a box of tampons she had at the back of her dresser drawer. I thought it was a strange place to keep a box of tampons. Maybe she kept condoms in there, and didn’t want to look too obvious. I pulled open the cardboard lid to find money, and not a small sum of money. I slid the folded bills from the box to count over two thousand dollars. Where did a working girl get money like this? Most of the immigrants I kne
w bought money orders with their paychecks and sent the money back home. What was left over was barely enough to live on. As a field worker, I wondered how much money Alma was making. Or maybe she had a waitressing job? But she would have mentioned that.

  I put the money back in the box, but I moved it. I took it to the bathroom and placed it with the other box of tampons under the sink. Less conspicuous there. I’d have to remember to tell her, so she didn’t panic when the money was missing.

  As I was going through the bathroom drawers, lifting the shelf liners, I heard a rattling at the front door.

  I pulled my gun out and waited.

  Moments later, the door rattled again, and then I heard the knob turn. Someone was in the apartment.

  Had someone followed me? Did they know I was in the apartment? Who else would have keys? And then I remembered Alma had been driving, so the keys would have been in her hand when she got out of the car. The kidnappers must have the keys to her apartment. But if they took her from the car, how did they know which apartment was hers? If I hadn’t had my gun in my hand, I would slap myself up beside the head. She was parked in the carport under her apartment number. Duh!

  I wasn’t going to wait to be ambushed in the bathroom of a one-bedroom apartment in Alisal. I put my gun in front of me and readied myself for the confrontation.

  When I rounded the corner, my gun came face-to-face with a short, bald, Mexican man with a pot belly. He screamed, “Sweet baby Jesus,” and put his hands in the air. He actually said it in Spanish, but I understood.

  “Who are you?”

  He was too afraid to answer as he stood there shaking in his pointy toed cowboy boots.

  “Who are you?” I asked with more emphasis.

  “Manager. I’m the apartment manager.”

  I dropped my gun and put it in my holster. “What are you doing in this apartment?”

  “The rent is overdue. No one is here. No one here for weeks. I need to remove the belongings so I can rent the apartment.” His voice was shaky, and his English broken.

  “Has anyone at all been in this apartment in the last couple of weeks? I’m not talking about the girls who live here, but anyone else?” I took a deep breath, hoping my relaxed body language would make him stop shaking.

  “No, nobody’s been here that I’ve seen.” He looked around the apartment. “Who are you?”

  I didn’t want him to know who I was, or that I knew Alma, so I said, “Someone told me I would find drugs in this apartment. So I opened the door and let myself in.”

  “You the cops?” he asked almost relieved.

  “I’m not the cops. I’m your worst nightmare. So don’t mess with me. Where are the girls who live here?”

  He shrugged. Still shaking, his voice cracked when he said, “I no see them since last month.”

  I got up close, just to intimidate him a little more, thinking he might know something. “And nobody else has been hanging around this apartment? Nobody else came in and dropped off the package?”

  He shook his head vehemently. “No drugs here, man. Those girls, they no do drugs. They just babies.”

  “How much to cover rent?”

  “They owe eight-hundred, plus one-fifty late fee.”

  I opened my wallet and peeled off eight hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the little man. “I’m not paying the late fee, and you aren’t charging them for it. Do you understand?”

  He nodded and took the money, eyes wide.

  I’m going to walk with you to the office, and get a receipt for that money, because I don’t trust you.”

  He reverted back to his native language, “Si, senor.”

  I pointed toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

  I followed the landlord to the office and got his name, Hector Ruiz. He’d been with the apartment complex about five years, and knew of Alma and Yolanda, but said he didn’t know them well.

  Hector pulled a duplicate receipt pad out of his desk, then looked up as the door next to his desk opened. His apartment must have been adjacent to the office.

  A sullen looking boy with tanned skin and wild black hair walked into the room. He may have weighed a buck-twenty-and-change soaking wet, and stood only a few inches taller than the manager. He reached across the desk toward a ring of keys.

  Hector was faster and snatched the keys away. “A donde vas?” Hector asked.

  “I’m going to take the car,” he said.

  “No, es no bueno.”

  The boy, who I’d have guessed to be around nineteen or twenty, said, “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to the store.”

  Hector put the keys back on the desk, and the boy snatched them and left before Hector could change his mind. He didn’t even look twice at me.

  “Kids, no respect,” Hector said.

  “Is that your son?”

  “Si. He’s my youngest. Spoiled.” Hector finished filling out the receipt.

  “And I want you to sign this,” I pushed a piece of calendar paper toward him.

  On the back, I’d written, I will not charge the tenants of 108 a late fee when they return, because the rent is paid in full.

  He signed it and handed it back to me.

  I folded the receipt and signed note and turned to leave. I’m pretty sure that as I walked out the door, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a phone call. Whoever he called, he spoke to them in Spanish.

  When I walked out to my car, I saw the boy sitting on the curb next to the office. He’d taken the car keys, but he hadn’t gone anywhere. I could see he was messing with his phone. Texting? Or had his dad called him?

  I hustled back to the apartment and made sure the door was locked, and kept the key. I wasn’t taking a chance on putting it back in Alma’s car. I grabbed both cell phones, the backpack, and Alma’s wallet and got back in my car. I didn’t leave right away, because I wanted to see if the landlord came back. It was a waste of time. I’d scared the crap out of him. He wasn’t coming back as long as my car was here.

  When I drove past the manager’s office, the kid was gone. So was the car he’d been sitting near.

  Five

  Charles

  Back at the office, Lydia had caught up on all of her files and followed me to my office. Her eagerness made me smile.

  “I’m sending you on a stakeout. But here’s the deal, you need to be vigilant. And I want you to take Lola with you.” The look on Lydia’s face cracked me up. I could tell the thought of spending hours in a car with Lola gagged her.

  “Where am I going?”

  “You’re going to sit on Alma’s apartment. I want you in the carport to watch the comings and goings. Take pictures or even video if you think you have to.”

  “And Lola is coming because?”

  “Because Lola is going to notice trouble before you do. This is El Costa Plaza, Lydia. There are drug dealers and gang members everywhere. It’s low income housing with a bad reputation. Lola is going to save your life.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Overkill much?”

  I didn’t think she understood just exactly how dangerous that part of town was. “Lydia, I know you lived in North Salinas, and I know your friend used to own the Shell station on the corner of Laurel and Sanborn, but when was the last time you were in that neighborhood?”

  “I go out the Laurel extension all the time. Besides the hospital’s out there…”

  “And the sheriff’s department is out there and all of the gangs in East Salinas are out there. Lydia, if you don’t take Lola with you on this stakeout, I will fire you. Do you understand?”

  She stepped back a step and didn’t say anything.

  I didn’t mean to be a jerk, but I needed her to understand just exactly how dangerous and important this was. “Do you understand?”

  “You’re making it perfectly clear,” she said contritely.

  Now that was settled. “Either have Luke drop Lola off here, or you go get her. Make sure you have your weapon on you and load
ed. I also want you to take a stun gun. And make sure your cell phone is fully charged.”

  “Will do. And I have a charger for my phone that I can put in the car.” She turned to leave.

  I called after her. “I will be checking in with you every thirty minutes or so via text message. I expect you to get back to me within a minute when I text you. Even just ‘K’ is a good enough response. I need to know that you’re okay.”

  I think this last statement must have really sunk in. Because when she looked back at me, the color had drained from her face.

  “Remember, I will check in every thirty minutes and you have to respond within a minute.”

  I heard her weak voice down the hall. “Okay, Charles.”

  I hustled to the doorway and yelled down the hall, “Oh, and Lydia, if you see any action in or around Alma’s car or the apartment, don’t approach anybody. I want you to call me immediately. Her Toyota is in space 108.”

  I couldn’t see her, but I heard her say, “Absolutely. I will stay in the car with Lola. I will call you if anything happens.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated coming down on Lydia like that, but I think she now understood that this was a dangerous assignment. Not that any domestic assignment wasn’t dangerous. A cheating spouse getting caught can be a very scary situation. This is why we don’t let our junior agents approach or make contact in any way on a stakeout.

  All of the yelling must have gotten Cortnie’s attention. She popped out of her office and walked over to mine.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  I walked back to my desk and sat down. “Yes. I’m sending Lydia out to watch Alma’s apartment. I want to know if anyone goes near it. The manager walked in while I was looking around.”

  “She’s taking Lola?” Cortnie said.

  “Yes, for an extra set of eyes. That dog can smell trouble coming.”

  “True that.”

  I saw she had her iPad with her. “What have you got?”

  “There are five houses we’re going to have to keep an eye on. Two of them are empty. They aren’t abandoned, but they're empty. And there are three rentals.”