Anybody's Daughter (Angela Evans Series No. 2)
Page 17
“So there haven’t been any missing girls?” Dre pressed.
“I have close to eight hundred students at this school,” Ortiz said. “Some officially check out, others never show back up. There’s no concrete evidence that any of my students have met with foul play.”
“But what about those three girls?” He looked down at the paper Donna had given him. “Leticia Gonzales, Imani Johnson and Jasmine Smith. Did they disappear?”
“I don’t think disappear is the right word. Are they no longer students here? Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“I don’t know the full story and even if I did, I couldn’t tell you because that information is confidential.”
“Fine,” Dre said. “I’ll contact their families myself. Just give me their addresses and telephone numbers?”
Ortiz scratched his head. “I’m not able to do that.”
“Why not?”
“That information is also confidential. So I can’t do that either. Not without the family’s permission.”
“Okay, then.” Dre pulled out one of his business cards and placed it on the desk. “I’d appreciate it if you could contact each of the girls’ families, pass along my number and ask them to give me a call.”
Ortiz rubbed his forehead. “Uh…we really can’t get involved in this. We just don’t need this kind of attention focused on our school right now. Have you contacted the police?”
“Yeah,” Dre said. “They’re not much help, which is why we’re here talking to you instead of them.”
“I’m really sorry that Ms. Flanagan took it upon herself to get you all riled up. We have no reason to think that there’s a connection between any of these girls.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“Well, I just think that…” His voice trailed off. “Ms. Flanagan is a good teacher, but she’s also a bit of a busybody. I wouldn’t put much stock into anything she told you.”
“We won’t know for sure that there isn’t a connection until somebody looks into it and I’d like to do that.”
There was a gentle knock on the door. The receptionist who’d greeted them earlier stuck her head into the room.
“Mr. Ortiz, you better get going. You’re going to be late for your meeting.”
He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to cut this short. I have a meeting in the Valley and I’ll need to leave right now if I’m going to make it on time.”
Donna started to sniffle. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to help us find my baby.”
Ortiz tugged at his tie and picked up a folder from his desk. “We’re all praying for Brianna’s safe return. I wish there was something more I could do for you, but I can’t. I have to run. Mr. Wainright will show you out.”
“I’m really sorry,” Wainright said apologetically, after the principal left.
“You told me you wanted to help,” Dre challenged him. “Can you get us telephone numbers for those girls’ families without the principal knowing about it. We won’t tell anybody how we got ’em.”
Wainright glanced at the open door, then walked over to close it.
He paused for a long moment as if he was weighing the impact of what Dre was asking him to do might have on his career.
“Give me those names,” he said, just above a whisper. “I’ll contact the families myself and see what I can find out.”
Chapter 44
Day Three: 10:00 a.m.
Angela stepped onto the porch of Harmony House and happily knocked on the door.
“Wow,” Loretha said, welcoming her inside. “I didn’t expect you to show up this soon.”
Angela smiled. “My calendar was completely open this morning. So I figured why wait.”
“Let me give you a quick tour of the house. We’ve made lots of changes since the last time you were here. We have a GED program for the girls now.”
She walked Angela over to a small area of the living room that had been sectioned off with a room divider. “We have two teachers from Crenshaw High who come over twice a week to help the girls prepare for the exam. And this is where we have our group counseling sessions.” She pointed to the far side of the living room.
“Most of the girls are at school or work right now,” Loretha explained. “We have a new girl who came in last night.”
They walked down a long hallway into a large wood-paneled room where a young Latina was watching television.
“This is Carmen,” Loretha said.
Carmen looked Angela up and down. “You my new social worker?” the girl asked, loudly smacking on gum.
“No,” Loretha said, “she’s going to organize a mentoring program for us.”
“You look like a social worker,” the girl said. “Or a lawyer.”
Loretha smiled and backed out of the room. “It might be a good idea to dress down next time. Jeans are fine. Less intimidating for the girls.”
Angela looked down at her black suit, embarrassed that she hadn’t realized that.
“Let me show you our bedrooms. They’re—”
Loretha’s smartphone rang.
Angela watched Loretha’s face and could tell that she wasn’t receiving good news.
“Just hold on,” Loretha said into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
Loretha started moving toward the door. “Anamaria!”
A pretty Latina bounced into the room.
“I just got a rescue call,” Loretha said to the woman. “Keep an eye on Carmen in there.”
She turned to Angela. “You wanna come?”
Loretha hit the streets like a race car driver, darting in and out of traffic. If a traffic light took more than a few seconds to change, she pounded the steering wheel and cursed.
Loretha explained that they were going to pick up a girl Loretha had approached on the track in Compton a couple of nights ago.
“It’s hard to get the girls to just walk away. They’re scared and they have no idea how they’re going to make it without their pimp. I tell them I can help, but they don’t believe me. So the best I can do is give them my card and tell them to call me if they need help—day or night.”
“So she called you?”
“Yeah. Said her daddy beat her up cuz a john ran off without paying after getting a blow job.”
“How is that her fault?” Angela asked.
“Don’t try to apply logic to something that’s completely illogical.”
“How often do you get calls like this?”
“Lately, about three times a month. I wish it was more often. Every time I get one of these calls, it means I have another shot at saving a child.”
“So is this how most of the girls come to Harmony House?”
“About three-fourths of my girls come to me through a social worker or referral from the court system. The rest call me after they’ve been beaten half to death.”
“They must feel relieved to get away from their pimps.”
“For a while,” Loretha said. “Then they start to miss him and want to go back. You ever break up with a guy who was a complete asshole, but three weeks later, you wanted him back. It’s the same thing.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t beating me.”
“It’s like a domestic violence victim who refuses to testify against her husband or boyfriend. It doesn’t seem so bad once a few days have passed.”
Angela recalled her mixed emotions when her ex had been stalking her. Her family didn’t understand her reluctance to get the police involved. Angela hadn’t wanted him in jail. She just wanted to be left alone.
“Do many of the girls go back to their pimps?” she asked.
Loretha laughed loudly. “Oh, about ninety percent. It can take three or four cycles, or even more, before they begin to get it. To understand that nothing’s going to change. The younger the girl is when she’s first exploited, the harder it is for her to break away.”
“I thought my job was tough defending the
girls in court,” Angela replied. “How do you do this day after day after day?”
“I have to do it,” Loretha said. “I owe it to them. I consider it my penance. And when I have a victory, it’s all worth it. My assistant, Anamaria, is my biggest and best success story. Her first abuser was her father. After she told one of her teachers what her father was doing to her every night, she was placed in a foster home. There, her seventeen-year-old foster brother raped her. Repeatedly. She was eight. Her pimp got her at the age of twelve when she ran away from her third foster home. Her pimp was the first person in her life to show her any real affection. If you can call it that.”
“Her mother never came back for her?”
“Her father was the sole breadwinner. When he went to jail, her mother never forgave Anamaria for breaking up the family. The entire time she was in foster care, her mother never came to see her. Not once in four years.”
This was so depressing that Angela wanted to cry. She’d been so excited about helping out at Harmony House. But now she wondered if she had the emotional stamina to handle it.
Loretha pulled to a stop in front of a laundromat that appeared to be empty. She looked up and down the street.
“Get behind the wheel,” she said, dashing out of the car. “And keep the engine running.”
Loretha dashed inside and less than a minute later, she walked out cradling a young black girl. She hustled her into the backseat and climbed in alongside her.
“Hit the door locks!” Loretha yelled. “Let’s go. We gotta get her out of here before her pimp comes.”
Unfamiliar with the car, Angela fumbled to find the door locks. She finally took off into traffic with a lurch and a screech.
Loretha pressed the girl’s head into her lap. “You’re safe now, Peaches,” Loretha said in a soothing voice.
“We should call the police,” Angela said.
“I will,” Loretha said. “As soon as we get her out of here.”
Angela glanced at the sobbing girl in the rear-view mirror. One side of her face was bruised and bloody.
“Don’t worry, baby, it’s going to be all right,” Loretha said, softly stroking the girl’s hair. “You’re safe now.”
Chapter 45
Day Three: 10:30 a.m.
Brianna stared at the clothes spread out on the bed. Freda had ordered her to put them on, but Brianna didn’t want to touch them, much less wear them. It wasn’t just that they were slutty-looking. Based on the smell, they’d recently been worn by somebody else.
The door flew open and Freda charged into the room.
“I told you to get dressed!” she shouted at Brianna. “We gotta go. Do you want me to make a call and have somebody pick up your mother?”
Brianna lowered her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“Okay, then. Get dressed. Now!”
Freda stood there, hands on her hips and waited.
Brianna shimmied out of the shorts they’d given her and picked up the skirt. It was no bigger than a hand towel.
She reached for the top, but Freda stopped her. “Take off your panties. You won’t need underwear around here.”
The tears began to flow as Brianna eased out of her panties. The top she was supposed to wear looked like a sequined bra. Her breast weren’t big enough to fill the cups.
“Here.” Freda shoved some pads at her.
Brianna didn’t reach for them because she had no idea what they were.
Freda huffed loudly, then pulled her by the arm and stuffed the pads down her top. Then she took Brianna roughly by the chin and patted her face with foundation, laying it on thick to cover her bruises.
“Ow!” Brianna winced, still sore from Clint’s punches.
Freda ignored her pain. She painted her lips with an apple-red lipstick and coated her top lids with fuchsia eyeliner and brushed her lashes with mascara.
Brianna had always wanted to wear makeup, but her mother insisted that she wait until her sixteenth birthday. Now she didn’t care if she never did.
“You sure bruise easy,” Freda said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Now we gotta do something with that wild-ass hair of yours.”
She roughly raked a comb through Brianna’s hair, then brushed it back and pulled it into a bun on top of her head. “The fellas are gonna love you. You might be able to give Shantel some real competition.”
Freda pointed to a pair of high-heeled shoes. “Those are for you. You can fit a seven, can’t you?”
Brianna didn’t respond. She just robotically stepped into the shoes. She’d wanted to wear high heels too. These were a size too big and way too steep. When she took a few steps, it felt like the ground was moving.
Freda shoved a glass in her face. “Here, drink this.”
Brianna could smell the strong scent of alcohol. She felt so weary and defeated that she simply closed her eyes and chugged it down. The hot liquid burned her throat, but she didn’t object or cry out.
“We’re taking it easy on you since it’s your first time. We’re only setting you up with blow jobs for now. Don’t worry about being perfect. They’ll like whatever you do.”
* * *
Clint and Brianna pulled up in front of a shabby motel. Brianna felt like she wasn’t in her own body and her mind kept wandering off. She wished the alcohol would make her go to sleep. Then she could just wake up when it was over.
Though it was hard for her to think, Brianna had come up with a plan. When she was alone with her client, she would tell him that she was only thirteen and beg him to help her escape. She suddenly felt hopeful.
Clint walked her to a room on the first level. “If you’re planning on doing anything stupid, think about your mother. If you mess up, I’m personally going to rape her myself.”
And my Uncle Dre will kill you, she thought.
The room looked as raunchy as the one on the video of Shantel.
“Just have a seat,” Clint said, backing out of the door. “Your client will be here in a minute.”
Brianna sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Whatever it was that Freda had made her drink was finally kicking in. She felt like she could float away. At least she wouldn’t have to have sex with the man, just a blow job. She would close her eyes and do what she needed to do to protect her mother. She owed her that after disobeying her. And anyway, she was going to beg the man to help her escape. He probably would once he’d heard how they’d kidnapped her.
I can do this, she told herself.
When the door opened, a short Latino man entered, followed by Clint.
“Treat this dude right,” Clint said. “He’s a good client.” He backed out of the room and closed the door.
“Muy bonita!” the man exclaimed. He reached out to squeeze her breast, but she jerked away.
“They told me this is your first time.” His face dripped with lust. “I love virgins! I pay triple para tu.”
Brianna gasped.
In order to save her mother, she had prepared herself to give the man a blow job. But Freda had obviously lied to her. She would not give up her virginity to this sicko.
“You have to help me!” Brianna cried out in a hush, fearful that Clint was outside listening. “I’m only thirteen years old. They kidnapped me. Please, can you call my mother and tell her where I am?”
The man laughed. “Yes, senorita. I be glad to do that. Soon as we get done.”
The man unzipped his pants and stepped out of them. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. Brianna stared at the revolting object that sprang out from a mound of wiry, black hair.
A nasty boy at school had sexted his penis to her. But Brianna had never seen one in real life before.
She started to sob. “Please don’t…I can’t…Please.”
“I won’t hurt you, senorita. Open your legs. I’ll be bery, bery gentle.”
He reached out and ripped off her top. The padding fell to the floor.
Brianna crossed her arms, covering her breasts.
“Wait!” Brianna held up a hand. “I’ll—I’ll give you a blow job. She dropped to her knees as she’d seen Shantel do in the video.”
The man’s smile widened. “Okay, okay. Bueno, bueno!”
With all the bravado she could muster, Brianna took him into her hands. He felt warm and slimy and smelled of cigarettes. Thinking only of her mother, she closed her eyes and guided him toward her lips.
The second he shoved himself into her mouth, Brianna gagged and reflexively clinched her teeth. She froze, unable to move.
The man screamed so loud, the furniture started to rattle. It took several seconds before Clint burst into the room.
“What the hell are you doin’?” he yelled.
He tried to pry Brianna’s mouth loose while the man shouted in Spanish.
Brianna heard all the yelling, but couldn’t react. She was quivering and sweating, stuck in a trance-like state.
The last thing she remembered was Clint’s fist coming straight for her face.
Chapter 46
Day Three: 10:50 a.m.
Dre and the seven men crowded into the living room of his apartment off Slauson and LaBrea had spent the last two hours crafting a plan to get Brianna back.
After the trip to Brianna’s school, Dre had called Clint and agreed to pay the twenty-five grand. Actually, he had no problem doing that if it guaranteed Brianna’s safe return. He could exact his revenge later. But Dre wasn’t stupid enough to take Clint or The Shepherd at their word. Men who snatched little girls off the street and forced them into prostitution, couldn’t be trusted. Therefore, Dre had to do things his way.
“I say let’s just walk into the club with guns blazing,” Apache suggested. “That’ll send a message quick.”
Dre massaged his forehead. “Whatever we do, we need to be smart about it. This dude Clint is weak. If we get him alone, he’ll break.”
“Most definitely,” Mossy agreed.
Gus, Dre’s former cellmate, asked a question. “So what you wanna do? Snatch the guy and make him talk?”
“Yeah,” Dre said. “That’s the plan.”