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Craig sighed as he straightened up the front desk. His shift was about to end, and the night auditor would arrive soon. Times had changed, and not for the better. The Internet had created an army of bloggers, and as a result, he was no longer able to support himself working full time as a writer. Hopefully things would change once his three-part expose on human trafficking was published. If all went according to plan, he might even win a Pulitzer Prize, but for the time being he had to take a job as a desk clerk at run down motel off the Interstate. The motel, however, also employed a number of undocumented workers. Craig planned on getting to know them well enough so they would share their stories with him. He was reaching for the broom when the phone rang.
"Front desk."
An irritated voice waited on the other end of the line. "I'm in room one twelve, and they're making way too much noise next door. Lots of yelling and screaming."
"Okay, I'll see what I can do."
The motel catered to the kind of people who didn't like the cops coming around, so Craig would have to address the problem himself. As he stepped out to the parking lot, a first-floor guestroom door flung open and a young woman in a tight-fitting, short skirt raced out. Two men stepped into the doorway and screamed obscenities at her. One tried to follow her into the parking lot, but upon seeing Craig he ran back into the room, slamming the door behind him. As the woman came closer Craig noticed her face was bleeding.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I don't know." She suddenly burst into tears. "He didn't tell me he had a friend waiting in his room when he brought me here. And they wanted me to—" She stopped short of completing her sentence and tried to pull herself back together. "Hey, I'm leaving. You don't need to call the cops, or anything like that."
She spoke with a Spanish accent. Craig decided to play a hunch.
"Your cheek is swollen, and your face is bleeding. Why don't you come into the office and we'll get you bandaged up."
"No, I'm fine, really."
"I promise I won't call the cops, but right now you're in no condition to go back out on the street. I just want to make sure you're okay."
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "Thank you."
He took her into the office and led her into a small room in the back. Once inside, he pointed out a chair and handed her a box of tissues before he grabbed the first aid kit.
"Looks like he hit you pretty hard."
She looked down at the floor and nodded.
Craig crouched down in front of her and studied her face for a moment. "I see you've got a small cut on your lip, and your left cheek is pretty swollen." He stepped away and returned a moment later with an ice pack.
"This should help with the swelling, but you're probably going to get a really nasty black eye."
"Thank you," she said as she placed the ice pack on her cheek. "You're very kind. Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm not a doctor. I'm just working here until something better comes along. How about you? How did you end up becoming a...working girl?"
"I used to be a maid, at another motel, just down the road, but then it closed down. I tried to find other work, but..."
"You don't have a green card, do you?"
Her gaze returned to the floor and she shook her head.
"So, you have a name?" asked Craig.
"Marta."
"Just Marta?"
"Yeah. Just Marta."
"Okay, Just Marta." He poured some peroxide onto a cotton ball and dabbed it on her lip. "So, how long have you been in the country?"
"Almost eight years. I came here with my mother and my little sister. I was fourteen at the time, and for a while things were good, you know, but then my mother decided to go back to Mexico, and she took my sister with her, but I wanted to stay. I thought I'd have a better life here. So are you about done?"
Craig nodded. "Yep, I'm done, but you'll need to keep that ice pack on your face for a little while longer." He put the first aid kit away and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Marta gave him a strong look.
"Well, can I at least have some aspirin first? I'm starting to get a really bad headache."
"This isn't what you think. I'm also a writer, and I'm working on a story about human trafficking. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to include your story. The money is so you can take a cab home once we're done."