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The girls looked fabulous in the party dresses when they disembarked. They didn’t look like young women who had just been sold into the sex slave trade. Anyone who saw them would think they were girlfriends out for a night on the town. Not only did the cute dresses sell the illusion, but the low-cut, backless and extremely short dresses made it extremely difficult to hide anything, although usually, none had anything to hide.
As Reymundo watched the girls being loaded into the black SUVs, he felt like shit. Worse than shit. He could not believe he’d done something so despicable for a second time. He took solace in the fact it would be the last time.
Gorgonio had finalized the negotiation of eight girls, not ten, and was hustling back to the boat when Reymundo yelled at Nestor to cast off. The captain was tempted to gun the engines, leaving Gorgonio standing on the dock to watch, but he didn’t and soon Gorgonio was standing on the main bridge next to him.
“Man, they was pissed. They wanted ten girls. Said the deal was for ten. I told ‘em eight’s all we got. You don’t want them, we’ll take them to Miami. We could make a bundle off of them. That sure changed their tune.” Gorgonio said.
“That’s done. Let’s get fueled up and head for home,” Reymundo said, checking boat traffic in the channel, looking for the right time to U-turn.
The big Cheoy Lee eased into the long dock next to the fuel pumps. Nestor and Gorgonio tied the boat up. Reymundo cut the engines. On some trips, Nestor would handle the fueling duties. This time it was Gorgonio’s turn. Joe was already standing next to the boat when Gorgonio got off.
“Fill ‘er up?”
“Yes, sir. What’s the price of diesel today?”
“Three-forty-nine,” Joe replied.
Gorgonio handed him a wad of cash. “Not bad. It’s gone down. Here’s three grand. We’ll settle up when it’s finished. Fill up with fresh water too. Shouldn’t take much.”
Joe knew from experience that Gorgonio was not much of a talker and he preferred dealing with Nestor. Joe had tried to talk to Gorgonio before, but the conversation was strained and difficult. Recently, he’d given up trying.
The dockmaster must remain on the dock while a boat is fueling. A crew member must remain on the boat, with engines off. Putting a thousand gallons or more of fuel on a boat takes time, so the two men would stand, watching the boats go up and down the channel for an hour.
“Oh, I just remembered, a guy was here a few weeks ago asking about your boat,” Joe said.
Gorgonio spun around and looked at him. “What did he want?”
“Um...I think he said he was a private detective, and the owner of the boat had hired him.”
Gorgonio squinted as he shot a glance at Reymundo on the bridge, wondering what he was up to, and if he’d hired a detective.
“Yeah, he said the boat was being sold or was about to be sold, but it left Miami. He said someone thought it might be here, or Tampa or New Orleans. He was hired to find it.”
From what Joe had said, Gorgonio had a good idea it was not Reymundo who’d hired the detective. “I don’t know much about that. I don’t think the captain has owned the boat too long. Maybe you should talk to him.”
The suggestion surprised Joe. He’d never talked to anyone other than Gorgonio and Nestor. “Sure,” he said. “Can you get him?”
Gorgonio sent Nestor to fetch Reymundo.
“Rey,” Gorgonio said. “This guy told me some detective was here not long after we were here last time asking about your boat.”
“Oh?” Reymundo hoped someone was looking for the missing girls. But a detective? They usually investigate homicides. Had they found the Cuban girl’s body?
“Uh-huh,” Joe said. “A guy came in here asking if I’d seen the boat. He wouldn’t tell me much, but he mentioned it being sold, no, it was going to be sold, but there was a problem with the seller. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the details.”
“You said he was a detective?”
“I mean a private investigator, not a detective. Is there a difference?”
“I bought the boat a couple of months ago. I know the man who sold it to me died a few weeks later. Maybe that’s all it is. I can’t imagine what else it would be. Did you get his name?”
“He told me, but I don’t remember. Wait, he gave me a card. Just a sec.” Joe spoke into his small hand-held walkie-talkie. “Joe to Gary, you copy?”
“Go for Gary.”
“On my desk, there should be a card from the guy who was here a few weeks back looking for the big Cheoy Lee. See if you can find it and bring it out to the fuel dock.”
“Roger.”
Joe turned to Reymundo. “He should be able to find it. He’ll be right out.”
Gary came out and handed Joe the card for Alexander Christian, Private Investigator, who handed it to Reymundo. “I hope it all works out,” Joe said.
“It should. All the documents were filed, and I have the title. Maybe it’s an issue from before I bought the boat. I know the seller was going through a divorce. I’ll give the guy a call to be sure. Thanks.”
“You bet,” Joe said, checking to see the status of the fuel pump.
“I’ll be on the main bridge. Let me know as soon as the tanks are full and secured,” Reymundo said to Gorgonio before he left the fueling area.
Reymundo went to the owner’s cabin, picked up his cell phone, and ran back up the steps, across the salon, and into the main bridge. He made sure Gorgonio was still occupied, then dialed the number of the private investigator.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Is this Alexander Christian?
“Yes, it is.”
“My name’s Reymundo Cruz. I own a Cheoy Lee trawler. Joe at the Blue Marlin told me you were asking about the boat. You said the owner was looking for it. He couldn’t remember the details. I know the man who sold me the boat died not too long ago. I wondered if that’s why you were looking for it.”
“Oh, yes, the Miss Jana?” Alexander’s heart palpitated.
“Yes, was there a problem with the sale?”
“I don’t think so. It was a personal issue that I believe has been resolved. I reported to the people who hired me, a Miami group, that the boat had been here. They said they’d get back to me if they needed anything else. I’d forgotten about it.”
“Who hired you? Do you know why they were looking for the boat?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t share who hired me. Honestly, I’m not sure why they were looking for the boat. If you can hang on a minute, I’ll check my notes.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Alexander stared at the wall, wondering what could he say to the man on the phone to convince him to tell him what he knew about the girls he’d just delivered. He drew a blank but unmuted the phone.
“Mr. Cruz?” he said.
“Yes, I’m here. Call me Rey.”
“Okay, Rey. I’m not at home. I thought I might have some notes in the car, but I don’t. Can I call you back later? Is this a good number?”
“It’s a good number, but we’re heading back to Miami. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have service. I may know what it’s all about anyway. I bought the boat, um, shall we say fairly cheap. Not cheap, cheap, but for this boat, yeah, cheap. I bought it from a guy who was getting divorced. He’d promised his wife the proceeds. He sold it for a lot less than its value, just to piss off his soon-to-be ex. I met the wife. She came out to the boat, not knowing it was sold. I don’t know if she hired you, maybe before it was sold, or maybe her ex did for some reason. The ex died in an auto accident not long after I bought the boat. An attorney has been trying to get in touch with his ex-wife. I know because, um, I’ve been seeing her. Anyway, I think the attorneys may have hired you. It might all be related. When I get back, I’ll make sure she calls them, and we’ll get it all sorted out.”
“If you have any problems, and need an investigator, feel free to give me a call. I’d be happy to help,” Alexander said, unable to think of any way to get him to shed light on the ultimate destination of the girls he’d smuggled in.
“Thank you. I will.”
“And when I check my notes, if I find anything that might be of interest to you, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks. Nice talking to you.”
Alexander leaned back in his chair and replayed the conversation in his head. The man on the other end didn’t sound like a human trafficker, but what does a human trafficker sound like? Ted Bundy was a charismatic, well-spoken, good-looking guy, yet he kidnapped, raped, and murdered over thirty young women.
Alexander sent a text to Bat: New development. Can you come back over?
The reply came straightaway: On my way.
Alexander tapped on May’s bedroom door.
“Come in.”
“I wanted to check on you. Are you okay?”
May was curled up on the bed. “Yeah, I’m a little depressed.”
Alexander could tell she’d been crying. “Can you come out? I asked Bat to join us. I may have some good news. I have some news anyway.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
He went back and sat in his chair. May soon joined him. She’d combed her hair back. She wore knee-length drawstring shorts and a baggy T-shirt. Bat arrived just after May.
“Sorry to bother you,” Alexander told Bat.
“No worries. I’m finished for the day. I was thinking about grilling those burgers if you still want them?”
“Sure do, but let me tell you about a phone call I just received.”
Alexander repeated the conversation he’d had with the owner of the Miss Jana, as close to word-for-word as he could remember.
“That’s the gist of it. I had the captain on the phone. I couldn’t think of a way to get more information from him. I have his phone number. All I need is a way to get him to tell us where they take the girls.”
After a moment of concentration, Bat said, “Somebody on that boat knows how to get in touch with the guys in the SUVs. May said they pulled up just after the boat arrived. They had to let them know what time to be at the dock.”
“Good point. I don’t know how much they know about the guys. Odds aren’t much, but they must be able to contact them. How do we get that number?”
“Hmm...Maybe call him and ask?”
“Seriously? Think he’d give you the number, just like that?”
“Not just like that, but with a little trickery and a solid bluff, maybe.”