35

The dim glow on the horizon meant the Miss Jana was nearing Key West. Reymundo would bring the boat as close to the island as was safe. Outside the channel, shallow reefs were a real danger. He hoped to get within cell range without pulling up and docking at Mallory Square.

The passage across the Gulf of Mexico had gone smoothly. A few afternoon squalls rocked the boat, causing a few of the girls to become queasy, but the feeling passed as quickly as the storm.

The anchor from the dingy was unhooked from its line and reattached to Gorgonio’s body. Both were eased over the transom roughly two-hundred nautical miles southeast of Galveston. The anchor, in all likelihood, was not necessary, but Reymundo liked the touch. He did hate littering. He had more remorse for tossing the tequila bottle overboard than he did tossing Gorgonio.

The training of the girls had gone well. Initial unwillingness turned to reluctant acceptance once Nestor explained to the girls that they needed to work on the boat and entertain a couple of guys a night, or work a strip club and entertain a lot of guys. He explained working in a profession other than the sex industry was not likely, at least not for the foreseeable future. Reymundo offered some hope by telling them that if they learned how to be real ship’s stewardesses, someday they could work on a boat that didn’t require them to have sex with the clients.

With the encouraging news offered by the captain, the girls showed a renewed interest in their training. Lily was on her way to being an accomplished lap dancer. She was eager to practice her nude couch dance on Nestor, much to Barbara’s chagrin.

The virginal Eva danced nude, but she was stiff and uncomfortable. Barbara would practically molest Nestor to prove she had more to offer him than Lily. Reymundo enjoyed several sessions on the couch as well. It was okay, he reasoned, as long as he didn’t touch. The dances were, after all, for training purposes. He now understood why strip joints were so popular.

Reymundo didn’t allow fifteen-year-old Carida to dance nude or even topless. Not much of a line, but he had to draw it. Instead of dancing, her training focused on non-sexual guest services. By the time they reached Key West, every girl on board could mix and serve drinks, bring food, prepare cabins, do laundry and wash dishes. They could properly set a table for dining. Though Reymundo was not planning on serving meals, it was a skill every yacht stewardess should know.

The only skill separating his girls from any of the stewardesses on fishing charters was their ability to speak English. It wasn’t a huge issue for “party girls,” which he’d begun referring to them – it sounded better than “hoes” – since they wouldn’t be engaging in deep conversation with clients. Basic conversational English would be required to be hired as a stewardess on a yacht of any kind.

The course Reymundo set from Galveston put him a few miles south of Dry Tortugas. He turned east past Marquesas Keys and the Key West National Wildlife Refuge then edged north as he approached Key West. As he passed Whitehead Split, he eased to within a half-mile of the coast. The buzz of his cell phone let him know he’d gotten close enough for a signal. He had a couple of missed calls from an unknown number and a text message from his brother.

Reymundo had spent the better part of four days thinking about what he had to do. His only distraction had been when Lily practiced her nude couch dances on him. But his decision had been made and although it might not be the best decision – only time would tell – it had to be made.

He punched in the private investigator’s number. It was four forty-five in the morning. His phone had adjusted itself back to Eastern Daylight time. “Damn, it’s even earlier in Texas.”

The call went to voicemail.

“Hi, this is Reymundo Cruz. Sorry to call so early, but I just got service off the coast of Key West and I don’t know how long I’ll have it. You mentioned you couldn’t tell me the name of the people who hired you to look for my boat. Is that always the case? Like client-attorney privilege? I hope so. I’d like to hire you. It’s a long story, but basically, I got into a bind. A man in Miami threatened to kill me and my girlfriend and blow up my boat if we didn’t do some work for him. He’s holding my girlfriend to make sure I follow through.” Reymundo didn’t like giving out the details, but he was desperate.

“A month ago, I brought some girls in from Cuba. I’m sure they’re being trafficked. The deal was that if I made one more trip we – me and the guy who has my girlfriend – would be square and he’d no longer bother us. I just brought eight more girls in and dropped them off in Seabrook. Some guys picked them up and took them somewhere. I don’t know where. That’s why I’m calling.

“Before I left Florida last week, I bought two small GPS trackers. When we were close to Texas, I gave two of the girls a tracker and told them to hide it on themselves. I planned to find the girls and hopefully get them away from the people who took them. I got your card and hoped you could help. I’ll text you a link for the tracking software along with the login and password. If you could find out where the girls are, I’d appreciate it. I’m still not sure how to get them back, but I’m working on it. Let me know what your fee is. I’ve got a little money; eventually, I can pay you, if that’s all right. If you can locate them and let me know where they are, that’d be a big help. Hopefully, it won’t take you too long. I think that’s it. I’ll send a text shortly, as long as I still have service. If not, it will be as soon as I get service. Thanks again. Bye.”