Ty nodded adamantly. “Oh hell yeah. I got a picture of a woman with an RV and a puppy. The picture shows her tag number. Can you run it?”
She sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it. I can run it as soon as I’m back at work but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. This is serious. They will fire me in a heartbeat if they find out. It’s a good gig. If I lose it over a look and a puppy I’m going to be pissed. I’ll be showing up on your doorstep.”
“That’s why I wanted to ask you in person. I didn’t want to put it in a message.”
“Shit, you think that makes a difference? The NSA is all up in our phone calls.”
“If you can look the number up, that would be fantastic. I’ll owe you big time. I’m on my way to Arizona now to look into this.”
“Wait...what? From where?”
“Virginia. I’m somewhere in Tennessee now. Probably hit Arkansas in the morning.”
Jessica was shaking her head at him like he was indeed crazy, a knight charging out on a fool’s errand. “Dude, I’m not even going to argue with you. You got the number handy?”
Ty gave her the tag number and watched her scribble it on a piece of paper.
“You’re going to fucking owe me.”
“I know. I’m headed in your direction. Maybe I’ll stop in Oklahoma and buy you a big old steak.”
“Yeah,” she said with a grin, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Well, I better get back to it. I have a lot of road to blow through.”
“Just like a man. Get what you want and take off.”
He winked. “You know it.”
“Hey Ty, one more thing,” she added before he could disconnect. “Something I just thought of. There used to be a guy active in the Wasteland a few years back. His name was Cliff Mathis. He’s involved in child abductions and human trafficking stuff. Like, he works for some international organization and does this shit for a living. He’s one of the only Wastelanders I’ve ever met in real life because he did a training for our law enforcement on investigating human trafficking.”
“Human trafficking? There’s no sign this is anything like that.”
“If it’s not the dad then it’s a possibility.”
“You really think so?”
“I don’t know but I hear it from the cops I work with all the time. You’d be shocked how often human trafficking is a component of crimes like prostitution, drug dealing, and even shoplifting.”
“Shoplifting?”
“Definitely. They smuggle these folks in, keep them prisoner, and then send them into stores to steal goods that can be sold. The traffickers don’t care if the shoplifters get caught because there’s plenty more people to replace them.”
“Sounds like I need to do a little more homework. I had no idea.”
“Call this guy, Ty. He’ll probably talk to you if you play the Wasteland card. He knows a lot about finding kids.”
“That might help,” Ty agreed. “You have contact info on him?”
“It’s at work. I have his business card. I’ll shoot a picture of it and text it to you tomorrow.”
“I appreciate it, Jessica. You have a good night.”
“You too. Drive safe, Rambo.”
Ty was smiling when he ended the call. He started his truck and got back on the road.
19
The next morning Ty awoke stiff and uncomfortable in the reclined seat of his pickup truck. Out of sheer will, he’d pushed until he crossed the Mississippi River overnight, but immediately turned into the first rest area he found on the Arkansas side. It was midmorning and he’d had a decent night’s sleep for a change. His bladder was screaming for relief so he headed in to use the facilities, stretching as he walked.
When he was back at his truck, he grabbed a bottle of water and a package of Pop Tarts from the food box. He unplugged his phone from the charger and found a picnic table where he could sit for a few minutes. He needed to get his head together before he got back on the road. He tore open the Pop Tart and found it was strawberry, which would do. There were better flavors but it was what he had. He opened the water bottle, drained half of it in a single drink, and wished he’d brought a second one with him.
While he slept, he'd missed a call from his sister, another call from Lieutenant Whitt, and a text from Jessica. Before he dug into any of that, he opened his Facebook app and checked into the Wasteland. He replied to messages and reviewed the most active posts to see if there were any he was compelled to weigh in on. It looked like anyone needing help overnight had found it. The people in crisis had received solid advice and deescalated. As usual, the community was taking care of its own in a way that people outside the fence could never understand. It wasn’t clinical or pretty to look at. It was quick and dirty problem-solving by people who understood. Field medicine for the heart and mind.
When he finished his Pop Tart and his bottle of water, he went back to his truck to get another of each. He retook his seat at the same picnic table and opened the text from Jessica. It was not the expected picture of the business card she’d mentioned.
I'm not back at work yet but I remembered the guy's website. I go in tonight and I’ll get that other thing you wanted.
There was a link in the text and Ty clicked on it with his thumb. It took him to the website of a man named Cliff Mathis. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps he'd heard it in the Wasteland, but it was no one he could recall interacting with. He scrolled down the homepage to find that it contained a montage of images: women and children from all over the world, people in shackles, jacked up guys in tactical gear standing in dirty foreign compounds, and flex-cuffed men on their knees as they were lined up for arrest.
Ty scrolled a little further and found blocks of text explaining the story of Cliff Mathis and his organization. He called his company Door Kickers International and they were one of several veteran-operated entities who devoted themselves to ending human trafficking and sexual exploitation. Cliff's bio explained he came from a special operations background and entered law enforcement after receiving a career-ending injury in combat. He was so appalled at the pervasiveness of human trafficking that he encountered through regular police work that he wanted to devote his career to ending it. Finding no way he could do that within a law enforcement framework, he left that job to start Door Kickers International.
Ty was impressed to learn this was not just an organization dedicated to increasing awareness. The centerpiece was an operational division whose activities had earned the company its name. Backed by a team of American and international lawyers, the company worked with foreign governments and American law enforcement to take action against known traffickers.
This wasn't just writing stories and holding press conferences to shame ineffective governments. This was action. It was fast-roping out of choppers and, as the name implied, kicking down doors. The company had deep pockets and conducted investigations around the world. When they nailed down a target, his people took the risks and launched the operations. In foreign countries, local law enforcement or the military stepped in behind them to make the official arrests. Victims were freed, government officials got some good press, and Cliff's team moved on to the next job. There were always more jobs because there were always more victims.
Ty was fascinated by the website. There were dozens of articles and just as many videos. There were links to podcasts and television interviews, along with testimonials from individuals rescued by the team's actions, and statements issued by celebrity spokespeople. He could have sat there all morning and read through it, but he needed to get back on the road.
After one more round of stretching, Ty climbed into his truck and hit the road. He needed to fuel up, suck down some go juice, and put miles behind him. He hadn’t dealt with the missed phone calls yet but he didn’t want to start his day off that way. He was a little concerned about Deena. If he didn’t contact her, she might panic and send the police to do a welfare check on him. The last thi
ng he needed was the police busting down his door when he wasn't home to secure the place. He damn sure didn’t want them pawing through his gun collection.
Deena, for as much as she cared about him, just didn’t get it. She was like a lot of family members whose hearts were in the right place but didn’t understand how to relate to their returning vets. She always expected him to stick a gun in his mouth or take some other drastic measure. That was only true part of the time.
He was aware from his experience in the Wasteland and from his buddies that a lot of returning vets struggled with the same demons. Of course, he knew they weren’t actual demons. He didn't really think there was some supernatural entity speaking to him in his head and trying to sabotage his life. It was simply the term they commonly used to describe the experience of feeling like you were sinking and losing your ability to fight back. At least every couple of days someone in the Wasteland would post that the demons were winning. Everyone knew what that meant. It was a cry for help and the team pulled together to do what they could.
Ty navigated through his phone and clicked Deena's number. She answered with her professional voice and it was only then he remembered she would be at work this time of day.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I forgot about you being at work."
"It's okay, Ty. I was just kind of worried after the way you took off so suddenly yesterday. You had like one bite of pizza and bolted out the door. Is everything okay?"
It was one of those questions he didn’t know how to answer. Things weren't exactly okay but he was in a good place at the moment. He decided to start with something concrete. "I got fired from the Petro Panda."
"Ty...” She groaned with a mixture of disappointment and sympathy.
"It's okay. It was because I shut the place down when the girl turned up missing. They decided it was an overreaction that put the public at risk, so they fired me. Turns out that locking the place down didn't make any difference. The missing girl must've already been off the premises by then. I think I did the right thing, though. If I had it to do all over again, I’d still lock it down. I’d just have done it sooner."
"Have you tried talking to them and making them understand why you did it? You could ask for your job back."
"That was my first reaction but it's actually a shitty job. It's not worth begging for. Especially when I know I was right. If that’s the kind of people they are, fuck’em."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Right now, I'm going on a road trip."
He heard an involuntary inhalation on her end, like mild panic. "You left town?"
He had to laugh. "Did I need permission, sis?"
“Well, of course you don’t need permission. I mean, you’re a grown man and all. It's just…"
"Just what?"
She lowered her voice. "You're not running off to do something crazy, are you? You’re not going to...hurt yourself?"
“Jesus, no!”
“I’m sorry, Ty. I had to ask. I know you get in these funks sometimes.”
“No funking funk here, Deena. Just taking a road trip to clear my head. Might visit some buddies.”
“Where are you headed?” That mother voice was coming out again.
“I’d rather not say. That way, if anyone asks, you don’t have to lie.” He was specifically thinking of Lieutenant Whitt contacting his sister if he failed to answer her calls, though that was probably a long shot. He was likely nothing but a footnote in their investigation at this point.
“Why would anyone ask about you, Ty? You didn’t knock off a liquor store, did you?”
“Not lately.”
“So you’re not going to tell me where you’re going?”
“No, not right now. But I’ll stay in touch. I’ll be coming home soon so don’t worry.”
“If you say so,” she said, not sounding as if she believed him.
They said their goodbyes. After ending the call, Ty reviewed his recent calls again, staring at Lieutenant Whitt’s number. He wavered back and forth as to whether he should make the call or not. He decided to pass, closing the display on his phone and placing it in the cup holder.
20
The day after cutting Gretchen’s hair, Tia went into her room and tweaked the style. She snipped any stray hairs she’d missed and tried to comb it into something resembling a professional cut. It wasn’t perfect and that was fine. It just had to be good enough. When she was satisfied, she backed away from Gretchen and held up her phone.
“Face me, Zarita.”
She took several pictures, trying to find a flattering angle in the poor light. “Turn to your left.” She snapped more pictures, turned the child, and then took more of the other side. When she was done, she retrieved a bottle of water and another candy bar from the kitchen.
“What’s your name?” Tia asked.
Gretchen hesitated, then muttered, “Zarita.”
Tia tossed the food and water on the bed. There was no praise. Tia didn’t give praise. She withdrew from the room and locked the door behind her, then went forward to the cab and settled into the passenger seat.
After studying the pictures she’d just taken, she opened an encrypted email application she used for communicating with her contact, attached three images to an empty email, and sent them. She stuck the phone in her bra and stared out the window. “I just sent the pictures.”
“Good,” Barger said. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”
“If you’re losing your nerve I can always hire someone else,” Tia said, tired of his complaining.
His lack of response gave her his answer. Barger liked the money. He couldn’t give it up any more than she could. She also sensed he was a little scared of her, which was good. He should be. She gave the email a few minutes to work its way to its destination, then dialed a number on her phone.
“Hello?”
She recognized the voice. She didn’t know his real name but they called him El Clavo, the nail. He’d earned that name by his practice of leaving the bodies of his enemies nailed to prominent buildings. That sent a certain kind of message, which was exactly what he was after. El Clavo was a member of the Jalisco Cartel New Generation. Tia’s son Luis had made the introduction. She didn’t know where El Clavo stood within the hierarchy of the cartel but assumed he must be a low-level player since she was able to call him directly. She showed him respect, though, because even a low-level player could be plenty dangerous.
“It’s Tia. Check your mail.”
“Hold on,” he said. “Putting you on speaker.”
She waited, knowing he was clicking around his phone and opening the email she’d just sent.
“This is a different girl,” he noted.
Tia sighed. She’d gotten ahead of herself and sent him a picture of the girl she was supposed to pick up in Richmond, which hadn’t panned out. “That a problem?”
“No,” El Clavo replied. “It may affect the price, though.”
“Hell, she should bring more.”
“Eh, the young ones are more complicated, Tia. That’s a specialty market with more risk. If I assume more risk, I pay you less money.”
Tia hated these cartel bastards but what could she do? If you wanted to be a player, they controlled the court. “Well, the other deal fell through and this is what I got. I don’t know what happened. You know how shit goes.”
Trafficking wasn’t a business for the rigid and inflexible. Every day was something new. You had to be able to think on your feet and improvise. El Clavo understood that. Tia understood that. Barger, not so much.
“How old is she?”
“Ten or eleven, I’d guess. I haven’t asked.”
El Clavo let out a low whistle. “How soon can you be here?”
Tia tipped the phone away from her mouth. “Barger, how soon can we get there?”
He shrugged. “Probably middle of the night tomorrow. Could be the day after. Depends on how tired I am.”
Tia relayed the information
into the phone.
“You see, that’s a problem,” El Clavo said.
Tia rolled her eyes. Everything was a problem with this one. “What’s the problem?”
“You were supposed to be here tonight. I have cargo headed to San Diego tomorrow for the West Coast circuit,” El Clavo said. “If she ain’t here then, she’ll miss that ride. I’m not sending more girls until next week and I damn sure ain’t babysitting her until then.”
“You could make a special trip,” she offered. “It might be worth it.”
“I don’t make special trips.”
Tia was ready to give up but he was her only market for this kind of thing. She had no idea where she’d look for another buyer. “You are interested though, right?”
El Clavo paused. “Yes. Next week I’m interested. This week, not so much.”
Tia sighed but knew there was nothing she could do. This was her problem, not his. This was not a man you disrespected, either. It was best she not push her luck. Santa Muerte had delivered the girl to her. She would help solve this little problem too. “That’s fine. I’ll call you next week.” She ended the call.
Tia tipped her head back and closed her eyes. The world had been a better place before the rise of the cartels. She resented the way they’d moved into her city and took over her neighborhood. Before they came along, she’d been a boss, one of the few women running a gang in the city. At the time, when they drove her out, she’d been lucky to escape with her life. Now, she didn’t feel so lucky. What had they left her with?
To make matters worse, her own son went to work for them. Luis made more money than she’d ever made. He had his fancy house and his fancy ranch outside the city. Anytime she asked him for something, like the introduction to El Clavo several years back, he acted as if it was an inconvenience. He tossed favors like they were scraps of meat and she should be appreciative.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with her for a week?” Barger asked. “People are going to be looking for her. She’ll probably be on the news.”
Hard Trauma Page 12
