CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

DELIA

Gene Casio’s not happy to see me walk through the door. Or Cade Barrow, for that matter, who I collected along the way. Or two members of Cade’s SWAT team, Howard Castle and Sal Grigorio. They’re in uniform, without the RoboCop SWAT gear, but all three are large men. And no more in love with human trafficking—which should be called slavery—than I am.

Released on his own recognizance after being arraigned on the gun possession charge, Casio decides to make a show of it.

“What do you want?”

“Get out of the way, Gene.”

“Not unless you got a warrant.”

Without speaking, Cade steps forward and slams the heels of his hands into Casio’s chest. Casio flies back, loses his balance, and lands on the floor. His blue eyes light up. The man’s been pushing women around for a long time. He’s no doubt concluded that preying on the weak equates to power in the real world. A genuine badass. That a number of those women are there to witness his humiliation does my heart good.

“You have a gun on you, Gene?”

Howard Castle’s already drawn his weapon. Is he looking for an excuse? Back in Florida, I taught a course in de-escalation. That’s not where I’m going today.

“Answer the question, Gene.”

“Yeah,” he admits.

“Roll onto your stomach and extend your arms.” When he hesitates, I add, “Patrolman Castle, are you in fear of your life?”

“Gettin’ that way.”

Criminal mentality has always been a mystery to this cop. I recognize it, can predict it, but I don’t understand how a man charged with possession of a firearm will commit the same offense a day later. I watch Casio roll onto his belly, as ordered, and extend his arms. Cade pats him down, recovers a Browning auto, finally stands up.

“He’s clean.”

The Quonset hut’s interior is beyond primitive. Metal walls, metal roof, some kind of composite floor. A dozen lawn chairs, most occupied, are clustered at one end of the room. Against a wall, folding picnic tables hold soft drinks, playing cards, scattered paper plates, and a small flatscreen. A kitchen counter barely five feet long includes a sink and a tiny prep area. A refrigerator alongside the counter is small enough to bring on a camping trip.

Hanging from a rope that runs across the building, sheets partition a smaller part of the hut. Cade’s already on it, crossing the room to yank one of the sheets off the line to reveal eight or nine scattered, very narrow mattresses, each with a crumpled sleeping bag on top. There’s another room, this one with a door, a bathroom no doubt. Cade checks it out.

“All clear, Captain.”

“Great. Gene Casio, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, but if you decide to shoot your moron mouth off, anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You also have a right to a lawyer. Free if you can’t afford one, which I’m sure you can. Do you understand these rights? You should, you asshole, because they’re the same exact rights I read to you a day ago.” I gesture to my team. “Take him out of here. Yourselves too.”

I’m not going to charge Casio. For one thing, he hasn’t committed a crime. The statute only applies to concealed firearms carried in public. I’m looking for privacy here, a few words with Charlie’s women.

“Anybody wanna tell me what happened to Bruce?”

“Gone.” This from a tall woman with a pair of shoulders to match. Her name—or the name she gave me last time out—is Gretta.

“Gone where?”

“Left to run an errand. Never came back.”

Bruce on the run? It makes sense. We’re close to making an arrest and Charlie knows it. If Charlie knows it, his boss in New York probably knows it. Gangsters aren’t all that complicated. They prefer simple to complex solutions. The simplest way to deal with their Bruce problem? Execution. That would make sense to Bruce. As would acting first, before Charlie executes his orders by executing Bruce.

There’s a third possibility out there, one I don’t want to consider. Maggie Miller. She didn’t flinch when I threatened her, but I don’t believe she dismissed my threat either. A dangerous woman, surely.

“Why don’t you tell us what the fuck you want?” This from a slender woman whose name I can’t recall.

“The real question is what you want. All of you. The real question is whether you want to be enslaved. Because that’s exactly what’s happening. At any minute you can be sold off to the highest bidder and taken anywhere in the country. Just pack your clothes, get in the car.”

“Listen up, Officer—”

“Captain.”

“Great, Captain. But if you think we’re gonna rat on Charlie, you need to think again. Hard as our lives may be, suicide’s not on the table.” This from Gretta, who’s taken a step forward. She’s asserting a right to defend her sisters, with her body a psychological barrier. To get to them, you’ve got to go through her.

“I know that, Gretta.” I watch her flinch at the use of her name. “But it’s pretty obvious, with the Paradise shut down, that you’re gonna be shipped out like so much excess inventory. Has anyone told you where you’re going?”

“Charlie said something about Las Vegas.”

“Something about? Look, I’ve already spoken to Rita, so I‘m not makin’ it up as I go along. Charlie and his people are holding your debts. You can’t leave until they’re paid in full. That’s the way it’s supposed to work, but we all know that shylocks swap debts. It happens every day and there’s nothing to stop Charlie from selling your debts. And yours, and yours, and yours. Nothing.”

One sure way to get folk to pay close attention? Tell them what they already know. The women, all of them, are listening now. “Take a second to consider what Charlie’s dealing with here. Corey Miller was murdered. Corey Miller was pregnant. Bruce Angoleri gave her the mix of fentanyl and heroin that caused her death. You’re all potential witnesses. For example, Corey was pregnant? How many of you did she tell? Did she name the father of her child? Charlie doesn’t know the answer and he doesn’t know what you know either.”

“Okay, we get it, Captain.” Gretta draws the last word out. Captainnnnnn. “But what the fuck can we do about it?”

“That depends on how you want to spend the rest of your life, Gretta. Do you want to wake up in the morning and learn that you’re headed to an iron mine in Minnesota, where the January temperature drops to fifty below zero? Or a copper mine in Idaho? Or an oil field in Alaska? Remember, Charlie wants you as far away as possible. He wants to be certain you’re not around to testify. The farther away, the better.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’ll answer it now. Pack your clothes and leave. I’ll arrange transportation to the bus station, even pay for tickets to whatever destination you choose. You get that? A destination you choose, not Charlie. And I’ll make sure the cops who escort you keep Charlie and his thugs well away.”

“Suppose they come after us?”

“You’ve been watching too much television. You know, where some twelve-year-old clicks a keyboard and your whole life appears on the screen. Charlie’s not gonna find you. Most likely, he won’t even look. Yeah, he wants the money he claims you owe him, but he also wants you far away. Which is exactly where you’re going. Far, far away.” I look from one woman to another. They’re teetering. They know I’m right, but they’ve been dependent for years and years. Time for my closing argument. “You don’t need tea leaves to read your futures. You’ll never be out of debt. Charlie or some other pimp will make sure of that. They’ll use you until you can’t earn, then dump you on the street with the clothes on your back and a habit you can’t feed. Better to get out now while you’re still young enough to have a chance at life.” I glance at my watch. “We don’t have a lot of time, me or you. Once I leave, Gene Casio’s gonna walk back into this pitiful excuse for a house. He’s gonna make sure you don’t have another chance to get away before Charlie decides your fate.”

A commotion outside draws my attention. I hear Charlie first: “You can’t keep me out of my home.” I want to laugh until I hear Cade’s reply: “One more step and I’ll kick you all the way back to New York.”

“I need to attend to this,” I tell the women. “Those of you who want out, now’s your chance.”

About half the woman begin to move toward the back of the hut as I reach the door. By the time I get back, they’ll be ready. Outside, Charlie’s standing a few feet away from Cade Barrow. His eyes are wild as he fights for self-control. Can’t blame him. His plans are falling apart.

“You got no right to force your way onto private property.”

He’s correct. But as we’re not about to make an arrest, what’s he gonna do about it? Sue the Baxter Police Department?

“You lost, Charlie,” I tell him. “This is the beginning of your end and what you need to consider is how your bosses in New York are gonna react to your failure. But not here and now. Here and now you’re gonna back off. You and Gene. Like across the road, at the very least.”

Casio and Charlie look at each other for a moment, eyes darting back and forth as they consider and reject every choice except compliance. Finally, the pair cross the street to lean against Charlie’s car.

“This ain’t over,” he tells me. “Not even close.”

There’s nothing to be gained by responding and I don’t. I turn to brief Cade on the situation.

“You want me to order up a van? Drive them to the bus station?”

“Yeah, and make sure nobody interferes. You see any of Charlie’s people around the station, warn ’em off.” I wait for Cade to nod, then step back inside the building to find eight women, every one of Charlie’s indebted workers, packing bags.

“I owe Charlie nine fat ones,” Gretta explains. “This is an offer I can’t refuse.”