by Radclyffe
From the backseat, Catherine placed a hand lightly on Rebecca’s shoulder and urged, “Wait a few minutes if you can.” She had been sitting quietly, watching the figures on Sloan’s screen. A man had entered the room, joining the two young girls. He wore a nondescript uniform, apparently supposed to represent a delivery person of some kind. The two naked girls feigned surprise and awkward shyness, all of it clearly staged but not nearly as artificial as she might have expected. There was a sense of cinema verité that was all too professional and deeply disturbing given the subject matter. “I’d give…this…a while to run, because I think LongJohn is more likely to be preoccupied the longer this goes on.”
Rebecca glanced back sharply, aware of the hollow note in her lover’s voice. Stakeout operations like these were never easy, not when pent-up, adrenalized excitement and the fear of something going wrong invariably combined to make you crazy. This time it was even harder, because she was certain that Catherine must be feeling tremendous compassion for the young girls being degraded and victimized while they all sat watching.
“No matter what we do here,” Rebecca reminded her gently, “it won’t make any difference to them. Not tonight, at least.”
“I know,” Catherine replied tonelessly, not looking directly at Rebecca. “Ten minutes. That should be about right.”
Rebecca keyed her mike and instructed the other teams, “We’ll go in ten. Team one, you have the front; team two, the rear. Move into position and wait for my signal.” After terminating the transmission, Rebecca glanced at Sloan. “Are you getting what you need?”
“Looks like it,” Sloan said without glancing up. Intensely concentrating, she was still rapidly sequencing through programs and downloading as much information as she could.
“Okay, good.” Rebecca itched for action. “You two stay here until the all-clear.” She handed Sloan a handy talkie. “I’ll contact you on this as soon as we’ve secured the location. Then you can get a look at his system.”
“Good enough.” For the first time in the last hour, Sloan lifted her gaze from the computer monitor. “Look out for Jason, will you?”
“Absolutely.” As Rebecca lifted the handle, swung open the door, and put one leg out, she glanced briefly again into the rear seat. Catherine was watching her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Yes,” Catherine responded softly, her eyes on Rebecca’s face. Memorizing it, as if it hadn’t already been indelibly carved on her heart.
Rebecca slipped away into the darkness, and Catherine wondered once again what it was that made someone do that. What was it that allowed an individual to place herself in imminent peril to right some wrong or correct some injustice? She continued to stare at the house, barely able to make out a flicker in the surrounding shadows, which she imagined would be Watts and Mitchell and perhaps the Justice agents.
She tried to imagine what they were thinking and finally decided that there was no way she could, not without having experienced it. Suddenly, she understood some of why it was that police officers rarely had friendships outside the force. She also understood why they had such a high rate of divorce. How could anyone who did not do this on a daily basis possibly understand what it was to go out day after day and face the unknown? An unknown that could very well kill you.
“She’ll be fine,” Sloan said as if reading her mind.
Without taking her eyes off the front of the building, where she could just see the door but could not see the figures, who she knew must be crouching in the shadows, Catherine said once more, softly, “Yes.”
*
“Did I tell you or did I tell you?” LongJohn said with a note of both excitement and pride in his voice. “This is the real thing. Primo, man.”
The two men were seated in front of a twenty-one-inch flat-screen computer monitor in small comfortable easy chairs with a TV tray-table between them. Two open bottles of beer sat on the table flanking a bowl of peanuts. On the screen, the now naked thirty-year-old man, a big beefy guy who looked like a college football player gone to fat, stood by the side of the bed while one of the preteen girls performed fellatio on him. Kneeling on the floor next to them, the other girl fondled him. His large hand roamed over her barely perceptible breasts.
“Oh, yeah, it’s everything you said,” Jason said, facing the screen and fixing his gaze on a point two inches above it. He had watched enough to know that this was what they had been waiting for. He didn’t want to see the details. “Worth every penny, guy. And more so. I wouldn’t mind getting this on a regular basis.”
“Like I said, that can be arranged,” LongJohn said, his eyes riveted to the screen. “All you need is a little green and the right connections. We’ll pipe this straight to your bedroom.”
“Just tell me where to sign,” Jason replied. The live download had been running for almost ten minutes, and he wasn’t certain how long it would last. More importantly, he estimated that the strike force would make their move soon. Now was the time for a little diversion.
“You know, I’ve been waiting all weekend for this,” Jason said, purposefully lowering his voice and hesitating as if he were having trouble catching his breath. “I’m afraid I might pop in my pants if I don’t do something about it pretty soon.”
“Go ahead, man. Feel free. I’m in need of a little relief myself,” his companion answered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see LongJohn rhythmically squeezing the crotch of his jeans as he stared fixedly at the monitor. Jason made a show of unbuttoning his chinos and lowering his fly. He wasn’t worried that LongJohn would watch him, because LongJohn wasn’t interested in what Jason had between his legs. He was interested in watching the children performing sex acts on the man on the screen. Jason slipped his hand inside his trousers and faked a moan. He wasn’t hard, but LongJohn would never know that. He spread his legs wider and murmured, “Oh yeah, that’s better.”
Next to him, he heard the sound of a zipper sliding down followed by a grunt as LongJohn reached inside his jeans. The sounds from the speakers were mostly moans and strangled grunts and fragmented bits of dialogue that combined with Jason’s intentionally audible breathing and LongJohn’s escalating groans.
Jason hoped the noise would help mask the sounds of the police entry and add to the general confusion when the strike force descended upon them. His only concern now was that LongJohn would be quicker to the finish line than he had anticipated. The guy had freed himself from the confines of his pants, and from the sound of his breathing and the rapid creaking of the chair as the other man rocked his hips in an ever increasing crescendo, Jason feared that his diversion would be shot before Frye and friends arrived.
And he hadn’t planned a second act.
*
“On three,” Rebecca whispered into her mike. “One, two, three…GO.”
Watts hit the door with his considerable bulk, and it broke loose from the frame, crashing inward with a splinter of wood and popping screws. Rebecca was surprised at the speed with which the big man moved. In an instant, he had disappeared into the darkened room, Mitchell close behind. Distantly, she heard an echoing crash from somewhere in the depths of the house. Clark’s team.
Rebecca moved low through the doorway, stepping up quickly next to Mitchell. They turned their backs to one another, guns extended in two-handed grips, each of them scanning opposite sides of the room. Watts was out in front, beside the door on the wall opposite the entry, peering around the corner into the next room.
“Clear!” Mitchell shouted.
“Go,” Rebecca ordered, and they all surged forward. Within a matter of seconds, they were in a large recreation room filled with computers, video machines, and graphics equipment. A large monitor sat on an elevated shelf displaying the sexual scene they had observed from the car. Moans and cries and hoarse oh yeahs provided a backdrop to the surprised exclamations of the two men in the easy chairs.
Watts yanked the suspect, a youngish white male in a T-shirt a
nd jeans, from the chair and pushed him spread-eagled onto the floor. Kneeling with one meaty leg in the center of the stunned man’s back, Watts glanced up at Rebecca with a satisfied smile. “What do you think, huh, Sarge? Caught the scumbags with their dicks in their hands.”
“Well, just get him zipped up and read him the card,” Rebecca said, referring to the Miranda warning.
Mitchell had Jason, who was loudly protesting for all to hear that he’d had no idea LongJohn planned to show a sex video, in the same position on the floor as the perp. She secured cuffs onto him as she recited his rights in a flat monotone.
Rebecca lifted her radio and said, “Sloan, come on ahead.” Then, switching frequencies, “Dispatch, this is Detective Sergeant Frye. I need the crime scene team at—”
“That won’t be necessary, Detective,” Avery Clark said as he and his two agents converged on the scene from the rear of the house. “We’ll be taking the equipment into custody.”
“The hell you will,” Rebecca snapped, ignoring the faint sound of the dispatcher calling her name over her radio. “This is my crime scene, and I’ll log the evidence.”
Clark shook his head. “Sorry, Frye. We have jurisdictional priority here.” He turned to one of the two federal agents with him. “Go ahead, Reynolds. Start packing this stuff up. Call and get the rest of the team down here to give you a hand.”
Sloan caught his last statements as she entered the room. “You lying son of a bitch,” she seethed, stalking toward Clark from across the room. “Is this what you call a joint investigation? We lead you to the suspect and then you take all the evidence?”
Rebecca edged forward as she noted all three of the Justice agents stiffen, ready to intervene if Sloan put hands on him. She had no doubt that this time Clark or one of his men would get physical.
“Well, now. If we find any little thing we can pass along to you in the way of other guys like this,” Clark said, nodding toward LongJohn, “we will. We’re after the big fish here, not the pervs sitting around getting off on this garbage.”
“What about what happened to Michael?” Sloan demanded angrily, raising her voice above the cacophony and attracting further attention from Clark’s two underlings, both of whom edged closer. “We need to follow the trail from here to find out who targeted me.”
Clark met her hot gaze impassively. “You’ll get info on a need-to-know basis.”
“I’ll get the fucking info right fucking now,” she grated, heading toward the CPU that was guarded by the bigger of the Justice agents. Clark stepped to intercept her, but before he could, Rebecca grasped Sloan’s arm and stopped her in mid-stride.
“Hold up, Sloan,” Rebecca cautioned. Leaning close, she whispered harshly, “You touch one of them, and you’ll end up spending the night in a cell down at the Federal Building. And I can’t help you there.”
For a fraction of a second, something dark passed through Sloan’s eyes. It was a mixture of fury and pain. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yeah,” Rebecca muttered through clenched jaws, echoing Sloan’s frustration and rage. But it hadn’t been the first time, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last, that when it came time to reap the benefits of a joint operation, the local authorities were left with nothing. A hand still on Sloan’s arm, she ordered, “Watts, get those two down to headquarters.”
“You can have him,” Clark said amiably, nodding toward Jason. “I want first crack at this guy.” He indicated LongJohn with a sweep of his hand.
Rebecca stepped very close to Clark, her chest nearly touching his. She was an inch taller, and for an instant his smile faltered. “To do what? Offer him a deal?”
“We just want to talk to him. Then you can have him.”
“You’re all heart, Clark,” Rebecca snarled, walking to where Watts and Mitchell waited.
Sloan followed reluctantly in her wake, as Rebecca growled, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
*
“What’s happening?” Catherine asked as Sloan and Rebecca flung themselves into the sedan and slammed the doors. “Is Jason all right?”
“He’s fine,” Sloan replied, suddenly weary beyond belief. The only thing she wanted was to get back to Michael.
“Did you get LongJohn?”
“Yeah, and we’ve been screwed,” Rebecca seethed as she cranked the ignition and pulled away from the curb in one rapid motion. “Clark’s taking first crack at the suspect and the evidence.”
“Which means,” Sloan added darkly, “we’ll never get anything out of any of it.”
Catherine stared from one to the other of the women in the front seat of the careening vehicle. The level of fury and frustration was incendiary. “What about the task force—the investigation?”
Rebecca laughed bitterly. “My guess is it will be tabled while the feds play games trying to get this guy—LongJohn—whoever he turns out to be, to name names or lead them to the next guy who will.” She took a calming breath; she didn’t want to bark at Catherine. “With a real live perp, and one who is connected enough to be brokering sales of these sex videos, Clark probably figures he’s got a hotter lead than anything we can turn up from the Internet.” Another deep breath. “At least for now.”
She needed to keep her anger at bay while she considered her options. Clark might have stonewalled her for the time being, but the investigation wasn’t dead. There was still a porn ring to break and a leak somewhere to plug. And Jeff’s killer to find.
“And the children?” Catherine asked quietly. “Where do they fit into this plan?”
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Rebecca answered, “Eventually, the pornography ring will be exposed—either during the feds’ sweep, if they ever make a case, or by one of us at the local level. Someone will get them.”
“That could take months, couldn’t it?” Catherine struggled to understand how the politics of this jurisdictional battle could be allowed to affect the welfare of these innocent victims, but she knew in her heart that there would never be any sense to it.
“Clark’s agenda is to bring down the organized crime syndicate that controls drugs, racketeering, prostitution, protection—you name it,” Sloan said resignedly. “In one way or another, it affects thousands, and the federal government isn’t particularly interested in saving the few. They want the big payoff.”
“But then, what about the pornographers?” Catherine insisted. “Are they going to get away with this?”
“No,” Rebecca responded firmly. “Special Crimes has always been after the guys who were marketing kids. This Internet search was one way to get to them, but it’s not the only way. We know more about how the ring works now—we’ll just have to go back to the streets and do it the way we always have.”
She was thinking of what Sandy had told her about the young prostitutes who had been involved in making sex films. She and Watts needed to track them down. She remembered, too, Sandy’s offer to sign on for one of the films. “I can pass, Frye. I’ve done it before.”
Rebecca blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve still got some leads.”
“You’ve got more than that,” Sloan responded with a hint of her usual fire.
Rebecca glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve got the download of tonight’s video.” Sloan lifted her laptop. “All of it. There’s information I can get from that. I might not be able to tell you a street address, but given enough time, I can probably give you a sector location. It’ll be a place to start.”
“You’re likely to be unemployed by tomorrow, Sloan,” Rebecca reminded her. “If Clark gets anything out of this guy, he’ll probably work that angle in preference to anything else we might get from the Internet.”
“I told you before,” Sloan replied evenly, “I don’t work for Clark. Someone behind this pornography operation, or someone working with whoever’s running it, tried to have me killed. Instead, they put my lover in the hospital. I’m not done with this yet.
”
“No,” Rebecca agreed, thinking that this someone was probably the same person who had her previous partner killed, “neither am I.”
*
“What a fuckarow,” Watts grumbled. “Although we should have seen it coming. You can never trust the feds.”
Jason rubbed his wrists, trying to erase the slight indentations the cuffs had made. He was also trying to erase the mental images he still held of the scene on the monitor.
“You okay?” Mitchell asked with concern, looking over the back of the front seat at him. “I didn’t mean to ratchet them so tight. Habit.”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just pissed off. I know that guy knows how this whole part of the operation works. Did you see the setup he had in that room? He’s a relay station. I’ll bet he remasters those feeds and makes high-quality wholesale products. He’s probably got customer lists, for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, if he does,” Watts grunted, “the feds will find them in about a year. You know damn well if they had anyone who could actually do the kind of voodoo you and Sloan have been doing, they’d have used them to begin with instead of coming to you.”
“Maybe.” Jason smiled wryly at Watts’s veiled compliment. “Then why cut us out now, when we’ve finally got something to work with?”
“Because they don’t want to spend time and resources on the street side of the operation,” Mitchell said cynically. “All they wanted was a key—someone they could twist who would lead them inside the organization. They’ll probably turn this guy and send him right back out to work. He could be back in the kiddie smut business in a day or two. Except this time he’ll be feeding the feds information while he peddles skin to other guys like BigMac10. That’s how federal cases get made. Inside informants. Rats in the garbage dump.”
