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The brightness in the room surprised Alexander when he opened his eyes. He usually woke around daybreak, even in the summer when sunrise was between six a.m. and six-thirty a.m., the room would be dimly lit. He looked at the clock on the nightstand next to his bed. The glowing green numbers told him it was eight-seventeen. It wasn’t late by most non-working people’s standards, but it was for him.
It had been a restless night. The theory Bat had shared was troubling, and Alexander couldn’t get it out of his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure Bat was spot on. The question was, what was he going to do about it?
Alexander twisted himself out of bed and he noticed the pain. His legs, back, and arms were all sore. He didn’t consider himself out of shape, but yesterday’s ocean rescue had put a demand on his muscles unlike any they’d experienced in years. “I need to beef up my workout routine,” he muttered as he stretched in a futile attempt to loosen the tightness.
The door to the guest room opened as Alexander started a pot of coffee. May walked out in an oversized pink T-shirt and drawstring shorts. Her ensemble fit and looked much better than the shirt and too-tight shorts she had worn the night before.
“Good morning,” Alexander said.
“Buenos días. I mean, good morning.”
“That’s okay, we know what ‘buenos días’ means. I know a few Spanish words. I think most people in Texas know the basics. Like buenos días, no bueno, no mas, cerveza por favor, and dónde está el baño.”
May laughed at how, according to Alexander, Texans could ask for a beer and the location of the bathroom in Spanish. “But I want to only speak English,” she said.
“You speak English better than many people who were born here. You won’t have a problem. Do you drink coffee?”
“Yes, what is that?” she asked pointing.
“It’s a coffee maker.”
“It is funny looking. We make our coffee in a glass, um, like a cylinder. We press a plunger thing to filter it.”
“We Americans like big cups of coffee. We make pots at a time.”
“I don’t know how you drink that much.” May pointed to Alexander’s large mug of coffee.
“You don’t want such a big cup?”
“No, I usually have a small cup.”
Alexander handed her a cup of coffee. She thanked him, but was clearly puzzled. “Is it okay?” he asked.
“Uh, I guess. This is coffee?”
“Yes. You don’t like it?”
“No. I mean, yes. Thank you.” She took a sip, wrinkled her nose. “It’s fine, thank you.”
“Well, May, it’s obvious you’re not a good liar. What’s wrong?”
“This is coffee? I mean, what you call coffee? It’s not what I’m used to.”
“What are you used to?” Alexander was genuinely interested.
“In Cuba, our coffee is smaller but much stronger. It’s black and thick. We will add sugar and sometimes milk, and it will be kind of, um, how do you say, ‘frothy’ on top. Just a sip and your eyes pop open. We often add a little rum to it too.”
“Rum would be nice, but it’s too early, even for me.” Alexander laughed. “It sounds like you drink what we call a cappuccino. Sorry, I don’t have an espresso machine. I can make you a stronger cup if you’d like.”
May tasted the coffee, running it over her tongue as though she were judging it. “No, this is good. Maybe stronger next time.”
“I’ll start a new pot, and I’ll make it stronger. I have a feeling Bat will be over soon. He likes strong coffee as well.”
“That will be good.” She took another larger sip, “Bat. I’m not sure why, but I liked him. Even though he looked kind of odd. He is too old for a ponytail, and his beard is too ralo, uh, too—”
“Scraggly?”
“Sí. Yes, Scraggly, that is it. Too thin, he doesn’t have enough hair for a beard.”
“I agree. I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Oh no, please, do not tell him.” She held the cup of coffee in front of her face, pretending to take a long drink.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Alexander studied the girl while thinking about the best way to tell her what he had to say.
“May, Bat’s a brilliant guy. His IQ is off the charts. Yeah, he is, as you said, a bit scraggly looking, but don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s highly intelligent. We talked last night after you went to bed.”
“About me?”
“More about your sister, but what happened to you too.”
“What about my sister? Do you think you know what happened to her?”
“From what you told us, I think we have a pretty good idea. Bat had a theory, and I think he’s right. The good news is, we think your sister is alive.”
A smile briefly crossed her lips. “That’s the good news? There is bad news?”
“I’m afraid so. We think your sister, the girls with her, and the girls on the boat with you, were smuggled here and sold into the forced sex trade.”
May took a deep breath. “But you think she is alive?”
“Yes, we do.”
May studied Alexander’s face for signs of hope but found none. “You don’t think we can find her? She has to be somewhere close, right?”
“Texas is a big state. The US is huge. They could’ve taken her anywhere, but the more I think about it, I bet she’s in the Houston area.”
“Knock, knock,” Bat said popping his head through the French doors. “Good morning. Coffee ready?”
Alexander pointed toward the pot. Bat filled a cup and joined the two at the table.
“I was filling May in on our discussion last night,” Alexander said.
“Are you okay?” Bat asked May, putting his hand on top of hers.
She squeezed Bat’s hand and held it. “Yes, thank you. Alex says you think Briana is alive.”
“Yes, I do. What else did he tell you?”
“You think she’s now a sex worker,” she answered, eyes averted.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Hopefully, she is still alive. Being forced to have sex is better than being dead. I want to know if you think we can find her.”
Her emphasis on “you” led Bat to believe that the question had already been asked. He feared Alexander didn’t give her the answer she wanted.
“I think we can. You said ten girls were on your boat. Assuming ten were on your sister’s boat, that’s twenty. No telling how many more trips those guys made, but let’s say at least two others this year. Forty or more young Cuban girls working the sex trade in Houston. All we have to do is find one, and we can probably find the rest.”
“You think the girls are still in the area?” Alexander asked.
“Sure. Why ship them out? There’s probably plenty of work for them here. Massage parlors, strip joints, and all the places that are fronts for prostitution. The list is endless. Not that it matters, but lots of people in the area speak Spanish. The girls would fit in.”
May leaned forward in her chair. “So you do think we can find Briana?”
“I do. Even if they did move some of the girls to Austin or Dallas, if we can find one, we can find her.” Bat looked at Alexander. “This coffee is strong. What’s up with that?”
“He made it for me. Cubans like it like that. May I have another cup?”
“I’ll get it,” Bat told her. “I need another cup too. This will get us going.” He poured two fresh cups of heavy-duty coffee, placed May’s cup in front of her, and sat down. “We’ll find your sister, but we need to figure out what to do with you. People live in the US illegally for years, but you'll have to keep a low profile and not get into any trouble.”
“I think May will be fine, Alexander said. "May, you’re welcome to stay here until we find your sister. Bat, you haven’t kept up on immigration laws lately, have you?”
Bat shrugged. “Not really. At one time, the policy was ‘wet foot, dry foot.’ Anyone who made it from Cuba to the United States got asylum. They simply had to make it onto US soil. But in 2017, President Obama ended that policy. Now, like any other immigrant, a person from Cuba must seek asylum. To get asylum, you must be unable or unwilling to return to your home country because you have been persecuted in the past or have a fear that you will be persecuted if you go back. To be honest, I don’t know what all the rules are now. I don’t know if May being in the US is an advantage or disadvantage. I think we need to consult an immigration attorney.”
“If we can make May legal, that’s what we should do.”
“Thank you, but I have no money. I have nothing. How can I—”
“Don’t worry,” Alexander said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I will repay you. I promise. I feel so stupid. The men who brought us here said all we had to do was get here and we’d be given asylum. They lied to us.”
“I don’t think you were dealing with the most honest human smugglers,” Bat said.
“It sounds worse when you say it like that.” May blinked back tears.
“Here is my question. Drug smuggling may have been involved, but the main commodity was the girls. Why did they keep you on the boat only to try to kill you later?”
“That’s easy, I am not pretty, and I’m fat. They only want thin, pretty girls.”
This was not the direction Alexander was hoping the conversation would go. Now he felt bad about trying to change the subject. He needed a way to reply to May without agreeing with her.
“You don’t have to be thin and pretty to be a prostitute,” Bat said. “Granted, the prettier the girl is, the more she’ll likely make. I think maybe they were planning on ten girls, and that’s all they wanted or could take.”
“If I was thin and pretty, they would’ve wanted me.”
“Maybe. Okay, probably, but if our estimate is correct, they already have thirty or forty girls.”
“You guys are so nice. If I was pretty, I’d be with my sister by now.”
“Yeah, locked in a dingy room with no food or running water. You’d be let out only to go to another room where guys would come in to have sex with you. Most likely one after another, until no more were lined up. You wouldn’t want that.” Bat said, realizing he was likely describing the conditions May’s sister was currently living in.
Bat ran his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. Alexander and May sipped their coffee. They could tell he was in deep thought and didn’t want to disturb him.
“May,” Alexander whispered. “Come with me.”
Alexander led May out the French doors and onto the deck of his beach house. They walked to the end of the deck, where they had a slight view of the gulf. Alexander sat on the railing. May leaned on it and took in the panoramic view of the beach, broken only by other houses.
“This is nice,” she said. “It would be nicer if that great big house wasn’t between you and the water.”
Alexander nodded. “Let me tell you about Bat. Like I told you before, the man’s a genius. It doesn’t matter the subject. He can talk intelligently about it. He constantly reads and retains most of what he reads.”
“What does he do? Is he rich? You must be rich.”
Alexander laughed.
“Is that funny?”
“No, I’m sorry, it’s not. I laughed because it’s a good question. If Bat is that smart, he should be rich.” Alexander was also laughing because the young Cuban didn’t realize it was not an appropriate question. One doesn’t ask another person if they are rich. “Bat is not normal. What I mean is, he definitely marches to a different drummer. Do you know what I mean by that?”
“Yes. He does things his way. Like his hair and beard. He does not look smart at all.”
“That might be the look he’s going for. I don’t know. I’ve never asked him. Anyway, he has a computer degree and a Master’s, but he has trouble with authority. He has difficulty holding a normal job. He can get a job without any problem. He cleans up well, but he usually doesn’t last more than a few months.”
“He does not work? You do not work?”
“He does consulting work. He’s exceptional when it comes to cybersecurity, and he’s always in demand. I think he mostly works from home – he sets his hours. Honestly, I’m not sure what he does. He’ll tell stories about work he has done but never talks much about what he’s doing when he’s doing it. Me? I worked. I invested some. My dad worked for forty-five years, saving for retirement. He passed away a year or so after he retired. I inherited what he’d saved.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard. But your mother? She didn’t get the money?”
“My mother passed away years before my dad. It’s a long story I’ll tell another time.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. But you and Bat, you are good friends, yes?”
“We are. We both like a good Scotch or a cold beer. We also both like music. I prefer jazz and classic rock. He’s into classical. But we have a good time hanging out together.”
May’s face contorted. “Are you lovers?”
Alexander was taken aback by the question.
“I mean, that is okay. We have gays in Cuba. We have lesbians in Cuba too.”
“No,” Alexander said, finally regaining his composure. “We’re not gay. Far from it. I don’t have any issues with gay guys. It’s just not my cup of tea. Bat and I, we prefer women.”
“But neither of you are married?”
“No, we’re not. That’s another long story I’ll save for another time. Let’s go back inside.” Alexander gestured toward the door. “Let’s see if Bat has anything.”
As the two stepped inside, the cool, dry air felt refreshing. It had turned to late morning, and the sun was already high in the sky. The temperature outside was only eighty-eight degrees, but the seventy-five percent humidity made it feel like a hundred. The seven-knot breeze from the southwest didn’t help.
Bat was still sitting at the table and it didn’t appear as though he’d moved. “I’ve been thinking. This is tricky. More than likely, we’re dealing with a large group, considering they may be holding forty or fifty or more girls against their will. That’s not an operation for one or two people. We need to be careful. We don’t want to get hurt, and we don’t want to get your sister hurt. It would be nice as well if we could free the other girls without getting any of them hurt. I’ve been running scenarios through my head. Should we just get in touch with law enforcement and let them handle it? Before we do, should we – Alex and I – see what we can dig up and then go to the cops? Should we try to get Briana out ourselves, before we go to the cops? An operation this big, what if they have someone on the inside. All it takes is one vice cop on the take, and we’re all fucked.” Bat blushed slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. They use the word in Cuba. It is probably the most used English word.”
“It's way overused here. Anyway, I think I know what we need to do. Just to warn you, you may not like it.”
“Why is that?” May asked.
“It’s going to take some time. We can’t rush in since we don’t know who we’re dealing with. We have to be sly. We don’t want to let them know we’re looking for them. Once we get some intel, we can formulate a plan. We need a plan.”
“I agree,” Alexander said. “That’s more or less what I was thinking. I think we need to figure out where and how the girls are being kept. I have a horrible feeling they’re spread all over Houston. If possible, we’ll try to find Briana and get her to safety. Then, I’ll contact the FBI and give them the information we have. I can guarantee nobody in the Houston office is being bribed by sex traffickers. I’ve been gone a while, but the team was exceptional, and I’m sure it still is. I can’t see any skullduggery going on in that office.”
May’s face lit up like a hot air balloon in the night sky. “You are going to find my sister?”