20

The truth was Jim did have a good idea what this was all pointing to. All the driving back and forth to Coyote Springs gave a man time to think, consider, add things up. It was new math. Bad math that gave him an idea what Chris was doing in the clubs and what had become of her. But he needed Oscar Olsen to confirm those suspicions, and Jim didn’t have the balls to be the one to break it to Erica.

Coward?

Yes, sir.

He watched her face as the big man rolled into the parking lot and pulled himself off his bike. Oscar replaced his heavy flag-painted helmet with a ball cap with the American flag printed on it, turned backward.

Sandy showed up with the extra mug and menu. She glanced at Erica’s bruised eyebrow. “You need anything for that?”

Erica smiled. “Some makeup to cover it up would be great. But it’s fine. Looks worse than it is now.”

Sandy poured her some more coffee. “He didn’t do that, did he?” She tilted her head Jim’s way.

“He probably wished he had by now, but no.”

She filled Jim’s mug too. “By special request”—she tilted her head toward the big man coming toward the door—“I was able to convince the boss man to order some real bacon. Well. Turkey bacon. But it’s meat. You want some of it?”

“How’d he rate that kind of VIP treatment? I come here almost every day, offer you a real job, and all I ever get is that tofu shit?”

She shrugged. “He’s not an ass.”

“I’m downright sweet to you.”

“He gives me kisses.” She winked at Jim.

“I tip. You’d rather have kisses?”

She gave Jim that same look most women eventually gave him. The one he really didn’t understand. Was it constipation or consternation? “Hardly.”

She turned to go greet Oscar as he came in the door.

“She’s certainly fond of him,” Erica said. Her face said she was unconvinced by his appearance. “He’s going to help?”

At times Oscar did look more like a criminal than most of the criminals he tracked down. The man was even taller than Jim. His hair was long and pulled back in a braid that hung past his shoulders. When he wasn’t working as a bounty hunter, Oscar rode an ancient motorcycle that he’d cobbled together from nuts, sprockets, and odd parts. He lovingly referred to it as Franken-bike. Damn thing could outrun anything around and probably survive being run over by a tank.

Today Oscar’s clothing choice was a sleeveless denim shirt—sleeves torn out, not cut; jeans faded by wear and time, not chemicals; and a thick leather choker that Jim was sure the man always wore. His chunky arms were a collage of tattoos. Some Jim knew the meaning behind, others he didn’t.

“Best man I know,” was all Jim said before Oscar stopped and gave Sandy her peck on the forehead and a giant smile.

A little huff escaped Erica. “Good enough for me.”

Oscar dragged over a chair from a nearby table and spun it around backward at the end of the booth. He managed to ease into the seat with a genuine sort of coolness Jim did not possess. Oscar flashed Erica that perfect smile that had just melted the waitresses. Jim watched her respond. If he wanted to, Oscar could look like a giant lion on the verge of ripping someone to shreds, but once he turned on that charm, everyone flocked to him.

“Hombre.” He nodded to Jim.

Erica sat tall, stuck out her hand. “Erica Floyd.”

Oscar shook it. “Erica.” He crossed his arms over the top of the metal-backed chair. “I presume this is not about lightening my caseload.”

Jim wished it were now more than ever. But he’d driven that broken road back out to Coyote Springs and brought Erica here for a reason. If he was right, if this was what he suspected, Double O would want in on it.

“I have a couple pictures I’d like you to take a look at.” Jim brought the picture of the crate with the cuffs up on the screen, but didn’t turn to share just yet.

Sandy had appeared to pour Oscar’s coffee. She took everyone’s order although it was unlikely anyone would be eating any of it once this discussion got underway.

Oscar’s eyes lost some of their lightness as he glanced to Erica and back to the camera. Jim pushed it over to his longtime friend. “Found this out behind a strip club. What do you make of it?”

Oscar glanced at the camera for just an instant. He didn’t need to study the photo. His eyes closed. He took in a long breath. Straightened his back. He looked at Erica. “Who are you?” His voice turned cold.

She blinked at his sudden change in demeanor and looked to Jim. He nodded. “Tell him what he wants to know.”

Her gaze darted back to Oscar. She bit her lip. “My sister, Chris Floyd, works for the department of welfare here. She suddenly started working part-time in strip clubs. Now she’s missing.”

Oscar kept his expression blank. “Where?” He trained his glare directly on Jim. The lion was close to the surface now. That told Jim his conclusion was right.

“What is it, anyway?” Erica took the camera from the table, looked at the screen. “Dog crates?”

“People crates.” Oscar’s hand had a slight shake to it. He still looked at Jim as he said it. “Where was that taken?”

Erica answered. “The Showgirl in Coyote Springs.”

“Have you told her?” Oscar pointed at the camera with an irritated flick of his wrist. “What that means?”

“Wasn’t completely sure. Wanted to confirm my suspicions before going into it.”

O looked down and slowly shook his head before he gave Jim a piercing look. “Better to hear it from me, huh?” Jim didn’t have to answer. O’s face softened. He suddenly looked older, much less threatening.

“My wife.” He took a drink from his mug. “We were here on our first anniversary. Up on Freemont Street, downtown. We got ripped. Really ripped.”

Erica was frozen in her seat. Jim saw her ball her hands slowly into fists to steel herself for the story that was coming. It was no fairytale with a happy ending. That was clear from the way Oscar pushed himself back into a stiff upright position. He was putting some distance between himself and Erica. “We were in a strip club. Thought it was cool. She was all proud of herself for doing it.”

He looked right into Erica’s eyes. “It was loud, dark, and late. I only lost sight of her for a minute. She was in line for the bathroom. There one second. Gone the next.”

Erica was already tearing up. Jim felt helpless. She needed to know what they were facing. Needed to hear it from someone who’d experienced it or she would have trouble even believing it. Jim had when he first heard the story, but time had told him that people did horrific things. Still, Jim had never heard the account of the night directly from Oscar. Not like this.

“After months of badgering the police and selling off everything thing I owned, I moved here and started digging myself. I found a trail. A trail that led to Mexico, then to a man in South America. It’s known as human trafficking in the media.”

Erica’s mouth opened. No words came out.

“They stole her, then sold her. We have a plague of it in this country. Both workers coming in and girls going out.” He took his hat off, twisted the brim, and then placed it back on his head. “After more money, three years, and more than a couple busted heads, I got proof of where she had been taken and eventually … proof that she’d been killed.” He swallowed hard. His hand went to the leather choker around his neck. A single, small gold ring was braided into it. He touched it gently.

Erica was trembling. Jim felt the urge to go to her. Hold her. No matter the past, this was not what anyone deserved to hear, to experience.

“I’m … I’m very sorry for you, Mr. Olsen, but are you suggesting Chris has been kidnapped and sold?”

He let out a long sigh. His face tightened back up. Business. “She worked for juvie?”

“Yes.”

“She look anything like you?”

“Yes.”

He took another drink, scratched his chin. “Is she the kind of woman who’d notice that she was losing girls from her client list and go looking for them?”

Erica didn’t answer right away. The pieces were falling together for her. The same as they had for Jim driving that road. “Exactly that kind.”

He nodded. “Sorry, lady. My guess is she found something that pointed to the clubs. The girls were going to work and not coming back. Your sister went looking.”

Erica sat silent for a moment. Jim watched a range of emotions cross her face. Fear. Hurt. Anger.

He decided to do something. He couldn’t just sit there any longer. He glanced to the waitress station a few feet from the back table they occupied. He got up and grabbed the coffeepot Sandy had left on the warmer. He slid in next to Erica, the vinyl creaking in objection to his weight. He refilled her cup. No need to reach out. Just wanted to be there if she needed.

“I knew she didn’t start stripping for money or drugs.” It was directed at him.

“You were right.” Not that it helped, but he said it anyway.

“Is she gone?”