Nine months after Lily Reyes’s disappearance
Deke was working at the office when a call from Carol was put through. “We’re pretty sure we found him,” she said.
Deke allowed himself a single fist pump. Tracking down Tío Leo had been a long and difficult hunt, with many disappointments along the way. Carol had spent countless hours sifting through sexually oriented advertisements, and the dark web, to try and get leads on Rodríguez and Lily. They started closing in on their target when Rodríguez advertised her as a “green-eyed vixen,” along with some leads from Deke’s billboards.
A few months back they had almost landed their fish. If one particular sheriff hadn’t been so intent on trying to turn the arrest into a photo op, Lily would now be free. That was something Deke couldn’t forget. Even now it haunted him.
“How sure?”
“We have a tentative ID from one of our operatives who’s watching a house we believe Rodríguez is staying in.”
“Where is he?”
Instead of answering his question, Carol said, “Let me take care of this.”
“Where?” he repeated.
“A suburb in Mobile.”
Mobile, Alabama, was only an hour’s drive from their offices in Spanish Trace, and that was if you obeyed the speed limit. That wasn’t something Deke was planning on doing.
“Is she there?” he asked.
“Our operative has identified several young women in the house, but we don’t know if Lily is among them. I’m walking over to your office now so we can discuss the best way to handle this.”
It was clear Carol was doing everything in her power to keep Deke from acting on his own, but that wasn’t enough. Not this time.
“Save yourself the walk. My office will be empty. I need that address. Now.”
Carol gave it to him.
* * *
Deke jumped into his ten-year-old Ford F-150 truck. His vehicle looked out of place in the firm’s parking lot filled luxury sedans, and wasn’t the kind of drive most people would have expected from a senior partner in one of the nation’s largest plaintiff law firms, but the old truck suited his purposes just fine.
He threw the truck in reverse, hit the gas, but then slammed on the brakes. Jake Rutledge had suddenly appeared in his rearview mirror.
Deke lowered his window and barked, “Get the hell out of my way.”
“I’m going with you.”
In answer, Deke revved the engine, but the young man didn’t budge.
“You want to keep working here?” Deke asked.
“Go ahead and fire me. I’m still coming with you.”
“Then get in!”
Jake ran to the passenger door, opened it while the truck was moving, and jumped inside. Even before Jake had a chance to pull the door shut, Deke floored the accelerator. As the truck rocketed out of the underground garage, Jake managed to close the door and latch his seatbelt.
For ten minutes, the two men didn’t speak. Deke finally broke the silence. “I thought you were supposed to be on vacation.”
Jake worked investigations for the firm, and for much of the past month he’d been on special assignment working undercover as a trucker investigating Welcome Mat.
“It was a staycation. And I just happened to come into the office today when Carol recruited me to help.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, or a bodyguard.”
“Then think of me as a traveling companion.”
“Did Carol tell you what this is about?”
Jake shook his head. “She only said you were on your way to go confront some scumbag.”
“He’s far worse than a scumbag. Leonel Rodríguez, who goes by the nickname Tío Leo, sexually traffics girls.”
“I’m familiar with him,” Jake said. “Carol spotlighted him in her BOLO alerts to the team, along with one of the young women he’s believed to be trafficking.”
“My goddaughter Lily,” Deke said.
“I wasn’t aware of the connection,” Jake said.
“Carol and I didn’t see any need to advertise it.”
“I had her picture taped to my dash, and kept an eye out for her at all my Welcome Mat stops,” Jake said. “I kept hoping against hope that she’d turn up.”
“You and me both.”
Deke didn’t volunteer anything more, and they drove without speaking for a few minutes. Jake finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“A suburb just outside Mobile called Saraland. Carol believes Rodríguez is holed up in a house there.”
“Will we be meeting up with law enforcements?”
“We will not.”
“Why not?”
“Reason one would be Sheriff Earl Jackson.”
Jake’s face showed his confusion. “I don’t know him.”
“You’re lucky,” Deke said. “Two months ago, we had Rodríguez dead to rights. Through Carol’s investigative work, we knew where he was, and we passed on that information to the Cove County Florida Sheriff’s Department. We counted on Sheriff Jackson to do his job, but instead of acting right away, he apparently decided it was a good time for a photo op. Not coincidentally, the sheriff’s up for reelection in November. While Jackson was lining up the media, Tío Leo got away. I was the one who had to call Lily’s mom, Sylvia, and tell her what happened.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“We shared some bitter tears. And afterward, I made a substantial political contribution to the candidate running against Sheriff Jackson.”
“I can understand your disappointment, but just because one bad cop messed up doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be enlisting law enforcement in this.”
“There are other reasons as well.”
“Such as?”
“We can’t chance having to wait before acting. Our coming in from out of state complicates matters, and could cause a delay in issuing a search warrant.”
“So we call the local authorities now, and the paperwork might be in place even before we arrive.”
“You’re assuming that some judge won’t have qualms about this or that. I don’t want us jumping through judicial hoops while Rodríguez is pulling another disappearing act. He’s slippery, and being constantly on the move is a way of life for him. It’s not just the law he’s trying to stay in front of. The word on the street is that MS-13 wants to settle a score with Rodríguez for having had a hand in the death of one of their own.”
“That would keep me moving,” Jake said.
“He avoids staying anywhere more than a few nights, and has a host of names he uses for short-term rentals in residential locations.”
Deke turned onto Interstate 10 west, which would take them right to Mobile. “You’ve probably been along this route a lot lately.”
Jake raised his left arm, displaying his “trucker’s tan.” “I traveled this way a few times, but mostly I worked along I-20.”
“I guess there’s a reason it’s called the sex trafficking superhighway.”
“From what I saw, there’s lots of competition for that nickname.”
Deke’s scowl served in place of words.
“Were you close to Lily?” Jake asked.
“I wish I could say that I was, but I haven’t seen her since the day of her christening fifteen years ago.”
“That’s not unusual. When I was growing up, I was told I had a godfather, but he was never part of my life. Hell, I don’t even remember his name, and couldn’t tell you anything about him. These days being a godparent is ceremonial.”
“That’s not what the vows say. I promised to be there for her, but wasn’t. Until now.”
* * *
The Mobile suburb of Saraland, with its stately trees and large homes on big lots, wasn’t what typically came to mind when most people thought about sex trafficking. That was what made it, and places like it, perfect spots for Tío Leo’s business. The short-term rental he was believed to be staying in was surrounded with fencing and greenery, shielding the house from prying eyes.
Carol’s hired help was a PI who had set up shop on the residential street. Deke had passed by the nondescript delivery van while making his own slow surveillance of the street. Only one car was visible at the house: a Ford Transit van parked in front of the three-car garage.
After parking down the street, Deke called the operative on his cell phone and identified himself. “Any activity?”
“Nothing in the last two hours,” the PI said.
“What about before then?”
“There was a TV on in the master bedroom upstairs where I believe the girls are.”
“No visitors?”
“None I observed.”
“So, it’s just our suspect and the girls?”
“As far as I know.”
“Thanks for your work. We’ve got it from here.”
As Deke put away his phone, Jake said, “Why didn’t you ask for his help?”
“Because what I’m about to do isn’t exactly legal, so I’m thinking the fewer eyes on the situation, the better.”
“You haven’t told me the plan.”
“The plan is to question Mr. Rodríguez, preferably without anyone around.”
“If I recall correctly, Rodríguez is twentysomething? Besides being younger than you are, he’s probably armed, and certainly dangerous.”
“I’m hoping that means he won’t be threatened when he sees me.”
“What’s your reason for knocking at his door?”
“I’m with the management company overseeing the rental, and the last tenants reported a gas leak.”
“And you think he’ll buy that?”
“I don’t care if he does or not, as long as he lets me get within striking range. I’m wearing what’s called a sap cap.”
Jake’s eyes went to the innocuous-looking baseball cap on Deke’s head.
“There’s steel bird shot sewn into a pouch and the back lining of the hat. It works just like a sap, and at my first opportunity, I’m going to try and drop Rodríguez.”
“That’s too risky.”
“If I’m not back in ten minutes, call the cops. Give me that much leeway.”
Jake began shaking his head. As he opened his mouth to object, Deke spoke before he could. “Give me a chance to make good on the promises I made to Art, and my goddaughter, and to God, all those years ago. I need you to do that for me.”
“You and your damn closing arguments.” Jake sighed in reluctant capitulation. “All right. Ten minutes. Not one second more.”
* * *
“Hello! Rental management.”
Deke knocked on the door for a second time. He had a sense of being watched and did his best to appear benign and nonthreatening. As the door opened a crack, Deke began speaking in a tone both friendly and apologetic.
“Good afternoon! My name is Nick Draper. Sorry to bother you, but I’m with the company that manages this rental, and I’m responding to a complaint made by the last tenant who reported that there was a strong gas smell in the unit. By law, we’re required to follow up.”
From behind the door a man’s voice responded. “I haven’t smelled no gas leak.”
“Our company is all about accommodating our guests, but when it comes to safety, we have to follow company protocols. If you don’t want me inside, that’s fine, but I’ll need to call the fire and police departments to come out here just to make sure we don’t have a serious problem.”
The door slowly opened, and Tío Leo showed himself. Deke kept a placid smile on his face and said, “Thank you so much.” He made a move to tip his cap, but Rodríguez chose that moment to step back.
Deke followed him into the house, but Rodríguez remained wary and watchful. It was a hot day, but Rodríguez was wearing a sports coat. He had his right hand in his coat pocket, and Deke had no doubt but that a gun was leveled on him.
Pretending to be oblivious to the threat, Deke said, “You can’t fool around with a gas leak. Better safe than sorry, right?”
“You said that you’re with the management company?”
“That’s correct.”
“And what’s your name?”
Deke recalled the name he’d used. “Nick Draper,” he said, extending his hand, but Rodríguez kept his hand inside his coat pocket and maintained his distance.
“I was told the gas smell was coming from the kitchen area,” Deke said.
“Is that so?”
There was a mocking note in Tío Leo’s reply, but Deke pretended not to notice. He made his way farther into the house, Rodríguez following behind him, and found the kitchen. What he hadn’t counted on was the electric stove and oven.
“Strange place for someone to have detected a gas smell,” Rodríguez said, facing Deke down with a shooter’s pose, the now visible gun centered on his chest.
Deke held up his hands. “Clearly, there’s been some misunderstanding.”
“Let’s see your ID,” Rodríguez said.
“My wallet’s in the car.”
“Really? Then why do I see an outline of it in your back pocket?”
Deke feigned surprise, patting his back pocket. “I guess you’re right.”
Tío Leo seemed to think that was funny. “I guess I am,” he said. “No sudden movements. Toss your wallet my way nice and easy.”
“Please lower your gun. Like I said, there’s been some mistake.”
“Your wallet. Now!”
Deke complied with the directive. With his gun raised and held at the ready, Rodríguez picked up the wallet, pocketed the cash, and then studied Deke’s license.
“Nicholas Dekey-tomb-eyes,” he said, struggling with Deke’s surname.
“Deke-eh-tome-is.”
“You work for the management company, but you live in Florida?”
“I recently resettled in Mobile.”
“Don’t bullshit me. Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“Look, if you don’t believe what I’m saying, why don’t you call the cops? They should be able to confirm everything.”
“Either you start stripping, or I start shooting.”
Deke began removing his clothing, leaving on only his socks, underwear, and cap.
“Now, slide your clothes my way, and then sit on the ground, put your hands behind your back, and link your fingers together.”
When Deke complied, Rodríguez went through his clothing with his free hand, pocketing Deke’s cell phone and the keys to his truck.
“If you want to get out of this alive, I’ll need to hear answers I believe. Who are you, Mr. Dinky Thomas?”
Deke gave up on his ruse. “I’m a lawyer representing Sylvia Reyes. She retained my services on behalf of her daughter, Lily.”
Rodríguez started laughing. “You’re a lawyer?”
“I am.”
“And you came here to do what? Sue me?”
“I got another option for you, old man. Putting a bullet in you.”
“The police are going to be here any minute, Mr. Rodríguez. Or do you prefer to be called Tío Leo?”
Deke could see that got the other man’s attention. “You’ve been in our sights for months. We know all about you.”
“You don’t know jack shit.”
“By cooperating with me, you might get a reduced sentence. Let’s start by having Lily and the others go outside.”
“Who’s this Lily you keep talking about? I don’t know no Lily.”
Deke called out, “Lily? Come downstairs now.”
Rodríguez started laughing. “My three nieces from Mexico are upstairs, but there’s no Lily.”
“Where is she?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. But I do know I’ve heard enough.”
Rodríguez pulled Deke’s belt loose from his pants and then tossed it at his feet. “Loop the belt between and around your ankles, and then pull it tight and fasten it.”
Deke slowly began wrapping the belt around his ankles. “Tighter,” Rodríguez said. “And keep your head facing forward if you don’t want it blown away.”
He circled behind Deke, who tried to keep him talking to track his whereabouts.
“All I want to do is get Lily back safe and sound.”
Rodríguez didn’t answer. Deke was straining to hear. Was there a whisper of movement behind him? Reacting was dangerous; so was not reacting.
A kitchen window shattered, and Deke swept the cap off his head and blindly swung upward. The impact was enough to throw off Rodríguez’s blow and lessen the impact of his gun’s smashing into Deke’s cheekbone.
From outside Jake’s muffled voice yelled, “Police! Drop your gun now.”
Rodríguez responded by firing two rounds in the direction of the voice. Deke swiveled his partially tied legs toward Rodríguez, trying to sweep him off his feet. The kick staggered but didn’t drop him. As he steadied himself, Deke lunged for his arm, and the two men wrestled for the gun. From his knees, Deke lacked the leverage to turn Rodríguez, but he held tight to the other man’s arm even while being kicked in his head.
Don’t . . . let . . . go . . .
The gun went off, but Deke didn’t loosen his grip. He took another vicious kick to his face, a blow that knocked him backward, but that also wrenched his opponent’s arm and sent the gun flying.
Rodríguez froze, torn between going after the gun or fleeing. The sound of Jake kicking in the back door was enough to make Rodríguez race off. Deke staggered after him, but by the time he got to the front door, Rodríguez was driving away.
As Jake ran up to his side, Deke said, “Call the police! Tell them to put out an APB on a Ford Transit van.”
As Jake made the call, Deke called up to the second floor, “Lily? Are you there?”
No one answered, but Deke heard several girls talking excitedly in Spanish.
“Lily?”
No reply.
Blood started pooling at Deke’s feet from the gashes on his face, but he barely took notice. It wasn’t his wounds that left him hurt and empty; it was his failure.