CHAPTER TEN

Rory and Tiffany escaped out the back door of the strip club and were standing in an asphalt lot full of trash bins.

After throwing his jacket over her shoulders to cover her, Rory led Tiffany around the building to the front, sneaking along the concrete façade to stay out of the glaring lights of the parking lot. Rory peeked around the corner of the front of the club and saw Carlos standing alone next to his car, smoking a cigarette.

Motioning for Tiffany to stay put, Rory walked up to Carlos, trying to keep his nerves at bay.

Carlos turned when he felt his partner’s hand tap him on the shoulder. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down. There’s no time to talk. I’ll explain later. Just start the car and give me your jacket, hat, and sunglasses. I’ll meet you back here in two minutes. We need to get out of here fast.”

Not giving him a chance to ask questions, Rory snuck back to where Tiffany stood, shaking with fear, handed her the jacket to wrap around her waist and the hat and sunglasses to wear, and with his arm around her like she was his girlfriend, he walked with her out into the open, saying a quick foxhole prayer.

They both strolled as casually as they could to the waiting car. Carlos gave them a wide-eyed look of shock from behind the wheel but was smart enough not to ask any questions until they were on their way back to the station.

Lieutenant McAfree had worked with female victims of domestic abuse and sexual assault for almost twenty years after joining the force following graduation from college and the police academy. She was skilled at showing victims compassion yet knowledgeable enough to be firm when she needed to be, and was rarely sucked in by manipulation, drama, or emotion.

Tiffany had been hesitant at first to talk to anyone including Susan, afraid to divulge any information that might be used against her.

But Chief Steele had convinced her that she would be given full immunity and witness protection by the FBI and Sheriff’s department and would be put in a safe house with round-the-clock guards. More importantly, he promised her the police and FBI would do what it took to rescue the other girls and bring them to safety if she cooperated.

Rory, Carlos, Chief Steele, and Agent Glover watched and listened to the interrogation through the two-way mirror.

“So tell me what went on back there,” Lieutenant McAfree said in a quiet voice.

Tiffany sat up stiffly in the hard metal chair, looking uncomfortable in the khaki pants and long-sleeved blouse Susan had given her to replace her skimpy outfit.

She seemed even younger and more vulnerable under the bright fluorescent light, which made her skin appear translucent against the collar of the white shirt.

Receiving no answer, the lieutenant leaned in and reached for Tiffany’s hand, but the young girl wrenched it back, turning her face defiantly, refusing to make eye contact.

“Tiffany, I know it’s hard to talk about all of this, but I know you want to help those girls—your friends who are still stuck back there.”

Tiffany turned to look at Susan, and Rory noticed through the glass that she was tapping her foot anxiously as Susan lay out on the table several photos of Jameel and the Master.

A tear strayed down Tiffany’s cheek, which grew a hot red—with anger and shame, Rory imagined.

“Danielle and Kimi aren’t the only ones who were beaten and starved,” she finally said, her voice cracking. She wiped away tears, and seemingly out of nowhere, Susan produced a box of tissues and handed her one, waiting for the teenage girl to collect herself.

“It’s okay, Tiffany,” Susan said, her voice soothing. “Whatever you tell me will be confidential. And telling it will help you get through this and hopefully help us catch these dirt bags.”

“Sometimes the guys who worked there would … use us for their own pleasure too.”

“You mean, they would rape you?” Lieutenant McAfree asked gently.

“Yes. You’d be lucky if that’s all they did.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’d rough up some of the girls while they’d have their way with them. Or they’d sub them out to their Muslim gang friends. Since we aren’t Muslims, they treat us as less than human. Sometimes, I’d wake up to three or four of them in the room ….” Tiffany cried into her tissue, dabbing away the vestiges of mascara that streaked down her cheeks. The air apparently grew warm in the small interrogation room, and Rory noticed Tiffany roll up her sleeves without thinking, revealing thin track lines along the undersides of her arms.

“Did they drug you?” McAfree also saw the tracks on Tiffany’s forearms.

“Yes. I had never done drugs before I came into Wildcats. But one night after I started working there, Jameel came into my room and said I had a long night ahead of me, and since I was new, he would help me out by giving me a little pick-me-up. I tried to tell him no, I didn’t need it, figuring he meant some type of drugs. But before I could resist, he and another guy held me down and stuck a needle in my arm. It was heroin. I think I blacked out. When I came to, this guy was on top of me, hitting me and hurting me.”

Tiffany started to weep—big heaving sobs that she had held back for a long time. She had seen what they did to girls who cried and she had stopped showing any emotion a long time ago.

After a few minutes, she wiped her tears again, took a deep breath, and continued. “After that I was hooked. I’d take anything to numb me. I gave most of the money I made from stripping and prostitution over to Jameel or his men for more drugs. They had me right where they wanted me. It was one big vicious cycle. And the one time I hinted that I might want to get out of the business, one of them told me that if I ever tried to leave, I’d be as good as dead—that I may as well plan to spend the rest of my days there until I was too old and unattractive to be of use to them anymore. I swore to myself I’d somehow find a way to get out.”

Susan took Tiffany’s hand in her own and glanced up for a moment in their direction as if to say, “It’s okay.”

Looking on, Rory felt a combination of admiration and respect for Susan McAfree wash over him.

The lieutenant didn’t even have to ask how it all got started. Tiffany seemed to want to unload her guilt and shame, not needing to be asked.

“All I wanted to do was make some quick money dancing in a strip club so I could put myself through college. My parents had divorced when I turned fifteen, and my dad left. I lived with my alcoholic mom, who couldn’t take care of me. She and her boyfriend kicked me out and I had nowhere to go. When I was promised room and board at Wildcats in addition to a lot of money, I thought I would just stay for the summer. They said all I had to do was dance topless and that would be it.” She sighed heavily. “They are all liars.”

Tiffany finished her story and eventually gave Susan the names of all the people and places she knew in the business, finally trusting the redheaded cop and wanting to help out of gratitude for being brought out alive.

“Jameel Tahan. Age forty-two. Birthplace is Cairo. Gained entry to the US three years ago to work here in Vegas for Amad Safar, aka the Master. We know Safar has been in Vegas for about five years now, and we’re trying to find out more info on him as we speak. We’re not sure if he’s in charge of the whole ISM outfit or, like Tahan, just another player.” Mark Glover outlined what had been gleaned from the investigative profiling his FBI team had assembled once Rory and Carlos had reported what they had discovered and Tiffany had been questioned.

When the rundown of both ISM members was finished, Chief Steele turned to Rory, Carlos, John, and Susan. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

Steele outlined to them that the FBI, in conjunction with some of Sheriff Thomas’s forces, would conduct a simultaneous surprise raid on Wildcats and five other notorious strip clubs suspected of being run by the Mafia.

The Operation’s goal wasn’t only to root out the Mafia members in hopes of eventually finding their leader and the nuclear bomb; it was to close down the strip joints that were operating as sex-slave warehouses.

Chief Steele had ordered the police to offer the girls who worked in these places a special arrangement. In exchange for their testimony of what they had seen, heard, and experienced while employed there, the young women would be given immunity. If they were arrested and convicted of any related charges in their line of work, such as drug use or prostitution, the US Attorney’s office would automatically grant them probation with mandatory community service and counseling as well as drug rehabilitation.

If they weren’t arrested or charged, they would be offered free job counseling, a stipend to get them started in new lines of work, and witness protection as needed.

The raid was set for the following week.

SWAT team members would be stationed at each of the five major Mafia-run nightclubs: Wildcats, Cobra, Brandy’s, the Black Panther, and Hot Pink.

When given the signal, the armed agents would “descend” or break down the doors and storm in, taking as many prisoners as possible.

Ambulances would be parked on standby for girls who needed them or any victims of gunfire if it broke out.

The signal would be initiated by Lieutenant Susan McAfree, who was going undercover as a decoy stripper looking for a job at Brandy’s, where the Master purportedly held court.

Prior to the sting going down, Susan would plant bugging devices throughout the building, and once the team retrieved enough information about the Mafia suspects and she gave them the green light, the SWAT team would converge on the five nightclubs after she escaped to safety.

Her goal was to get in, get to know the girls who worked there, then find out what they knew about Jameel, the Master, and whoever else was of Arab or Middle Eastern descent and thus most likely part of the ISM.

She also was instructed to find out if any of the strippers were being abused like Danielle and Kimi were at Wildcats.

She wouldn’t be alone; shortly after she was to apply and get the job, a different wired FBI agent posing as a john, like Rory and Carlos had done at Wildcats, would go in every few hours to keep tabs on her.

Rory nearly fell out of his chair when Susan sashayed into the Condo wearing black stilettos. Her shoulder-length wavy red hair, which she usually wore in a tight bun, had been teased out around her face in soft curls. She normally wore little to no makeup, but for the sting operation, her face had been transformed into that of a supermodel with crimson lipstick and plum-colored eye shadow and eyeliner accentuating her big brown eyes.

He tried not to stare when she briefly, playfully opened the front of her oversized raincoat to reveal a red halter-top that hugged her curves and showed her midriff and a very short black skirt that showcased her long legs enmeshed in fishnet stockings. He was used to seeing her every day in her police uniform, and his voice caught in his throat and he coughed, nearly choking until he took a gulp of water.

The rest of the guys whistled appreciatively.

“Knock it off before I punch one of ya,” she reprimanded them, closing her raincoat.

If she doesn’t I will, Rory thought, a sudden feeling of protectiveness toward her grabbing him by surprise.

“Show’s over guys, go back to work,” Agent Glover barked at them from his desk.

Rory, Carlos, John Dade, and most of the rest of the Operation No Dice team were stationed at the Condo as the sting went down.

Reports were called in by the minute from the field agents. Chief Steele had taken two men with him and was in the field with the SWAT commanders outside of Brandy’s.

Rory sat with John and Carlos in the Condo’s small kitchen area drinking coffee and eating sandwiches that had been ordered in. They were halfway through dinner when Mark Glover poked his head in the kitchen doorway. He stood, his bulky body filling the frame, looking at each of them silently. He was clearly at a loss for words.

“What is it, Mark?” Carlos prodded him.

“I have bad news. Steele just told me Susan’s missing. When the SWAT team went in to Brandy’s, we thought she’d already been safely removed by the FBI agent inside. We just got word she’s still in there. It sounds like halfway through the back passageway she and her “john” partner were discovered as they tried to escape, and they somehow became separated from each other ….” Mark’s two-way radio beeped and he picked it up. Static muffled the voice on the other end. “What? All right, keep looking! You’ve got to get her out of there!”

Rory felt his stomach lurch, dropped his half-eaten sandwich, stood and grabbed his coat from his desk chair, and headed for the front door.

Mark grabbed him by his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to try to save her. I’ve seen what happens in there ….”

“We’ve got a whole SWAT team in there, Rory. She’ll be fine.”

Rory turned, anger making his heart race. “What if she isn’t?”

“We’ll send John in, or I’ll go. You and Carlos are marked targets already. You can’t go in there.”

“I don’t really care. Carlos has a family; I understand why he can’t go. I’ve got no one. I’m going, and you better not stop me.”

John had already put his coat on and headed out behind Rory. “Let him go, Mark, I’ll go with him. You need to stay here.”

Rory had never seen a SWAT team in operation. When he and John arrived, a swarm of masked men stood like a barricade in full black gear wearing boots and helmets and bearing machine guns, blocking their way.

“We’re with the FBI, on your side,” Rory said, trying to push his way past two burly SWAT guys towering over him. Up close, they almost looked like aliens. But Rory was not afraid. He was on a mission.

John obviously knew better than to think they could somehow persuade them, and grabbed his partner, wrapping a beefy arm around his chest, holding him back. “They’ve got orders, Rory. Let’s try to find Steele.”

Rory thought his heart would burst out of his chest; he could literally feel his blood pressure rising. I’ve got to save her. There was no time to reason why this one thought kept resounding throughout his being like a siren blaring inside him, drowning out all other thoughts and feelings.

He pushed John’s arm away and pressed forward until he felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against his face. I’ve got to save her ….

And then he saw her.

Two SWAT team members on either side ushered her toward the waiting ambulance just ahead of them. She was wrapped from her head down in a thick gray blanket; she kept her eyes downcast, and just a few red curls revealed her identity. More women wrapped in similar blankets were being escorted behind her into other waiting ambulances and police cars.

“Susan!” Rory shouted her name, the gun barrel still holding him back, but she couldn’t hear him with all of the chaos.

“C’mon, Rory, she’ll be okay,” John said behind him. “At least we came and found that out. But now we’re just in the way, and we need to let these guys do their jobs.”

Rory reluctantly stepped away and let John lead him back to his waiting squad car.

They arrived back at the Condo to hear more bad news.

“A sixteen-year-old girl died before the SWAT team was able to rescue her at Wildcats,” Mark Glover informed them. “They tried to resuscitate her, but she had passed away minutes earlier of internal injuries and a blunt force trauma to her head. Her name was Danielle.”

Rory sat and put his head in his arms. Black stars danced before his eyes, and he thought for a moment he’d pass out.

“I’m sorry, you knew her?” Agent Glover asked, seeing Rory’s reaction.

“Yes,” Rory raised his head once his vision cleared, his voice choked with grief. “She was Tiffany’s friend. Carlos and I saw her when we were undercover in there. They beat her to death. I should have gotten her out of there.” Suddenly he was seething with guilt and rage. “So did they catch any of these Mafia barbarians?” I hope they are all tortured and hanged, he thought angrily.

“Yes, at least a dozen, although a few escaped. Still, we hope we captured enough of them to get to the bottom of all of this.”

“What about the other girls?” Rory asked.

“Seven others were rushed by ambulance to Sunrise Hospital with various injuries,” Agent Glover said solemnly. “One is in Intensive Care, three are in critical condition, and the others were treated and released back into police custody.”

“What happens next?” John Dade wondered aloud.

“Everyone who was caught is being booked in the four Vegas police stations, which were alerted and staffed ahead of time in preparation for the sting. There are more than a hundred and fifty in all including the girls. Of course they’ll wait for those in the hospital to get better before they bring them in for questioning.”

“How is Susan?” Rory was almost afraid to ask but had to know.

“We just got a call that she’s fine. She was treated and released and hopefully is at home resting.”

“They didn’t …?” Rory left the question unspoken, but everyone knew what he meant.

“No, she was not assaulted, just emotionally battered and a little tired.”

“Thank God.” Rory exhaled a sigh of relief.

Susan shocked them all when she walked through the door to the Condo a few hours later looking different from her typically confident, policewoman self. Instead of wearing her uniform, she was dressed in civilian clothes—jeans and a lightweight powder blue sweater, her hair down around her shoulders. She looked vulnerable, and sadness clouded her big brown eyes.

Rory sat at his desk across from John, sorting through stacks of papers that had been confiscated in the raid from the various clubs, everything from accounting records to copies of visas, green cards, and naturalization certificates. Rory was grateful for the menial task as he was having trouble focusing; it was already approaching 11 p.m.

He looked up when he felt her presence; he thought she looked beautiful, despite the fact that she looked very tired.

“What are you doing back at work, Lieutenant?” Rodney Steele walked up and pulled out a chair for her to sit in, but she ignored his gallantry.

“I want to help. I can see there’s a lot more work to be done.” She gestured her hand in a sweeping motion, indicating the massive amounts of paperwork, the phone bank, which was completely manned, and the satellite video screens being viewed by several agents. The Condo’s interior, which seemed full when just the OND members were present, was now packed with at least two dozen law enforcement officials, some back from out in the field and some brought in on special assignment.

“Well, you’ve already done enough, and it’s late ….”

Susan swayed a little, losing her balance, and grabbed hold of a nearby desk. “Maybe I will take that chair. I do feel a little light-headed.”

Rodney Steele put his one arm around Susan’s waist. Even though he was strong and she was petite, settling her down into the chair was awkward for the one-armed FBI chief, and they stumbled. Rory jumped to his feet, eager to help.

“You’ve been through a lot in forty-eight hours, Lieutenant McAfree. How about if I have Mr. Justice take you back to the hospital just to make sure everything’s okay?” Chief Steele was all about using proper titles and last names while at work, and encouraged them to do the same.

“That won’t be necessary, Chief. I’m fine. It’s probably just that I haven’t had enough sleep, and I guess I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. The food they feed the girls is pitiful.”

“I could take you for a sandwich and coffee,” Rory heard himself offer.

Susan looked up, her brown eyes locking with his green ones. He wasn’t sure if he saw defiance or gratitude in them, or maybe a strange combination of both. She sighed. “All right. But then I’m coming back to help, and ….”

“No, you are going straight home and getting some sleep so you can come back ready to go tomorrow,” Chief Steele said sternly. “And that, Lieutenant, is an order.”

Rory and Susan sat across from each other in the little diner three blocks down the road. It wasn’t fancy, but the locals ate there and the food was decent. Rory was surprised when Susan ordered a bowl of chili, a grilled cheese sandwich, an iced tea, and a piece of homemade cherry pie a la mode and coffee for dessert. He was further amazed when she ate every bite.

He ordered a piece of pie and some milk, and sat while she ate her dinner making small talk, filling her in on everything they had pieced together so far on the Mafia ring they were investigating. He bided his time, waiting until she was almost finished, to ask her questions that had been building up, burning inside him.

“So how was it in there, Lieutenant?”

“You saw for yourself in Wildcats, didn’t you Mr. Justice? And call me Susan.”

“Deal, if you call me Rory.” He saw her smile and felt his heart jump. “I guess it was the same. Pretty bad, huh? I hope you weren’t, uh, mishandled or abused?” Careful, he warned himself, his heart now thumping.

“Nah, luckily the undercover agents posing as customers found me on the dance floor and we just hung out together in the back room.” Susan ate the last bite of pie and ice cream and licked her spoon. “Did you want details?”

Although her tone was playfully sarcastic, and he knew she was just toying with him, Rory felt the sting of her words. He realized he shouldn’t have probed her for information, and he knew that his questions had arisen from a feeling of jealousy that other men had seen her in that skimpy costume. But it was more than that. He wanted to make sure she was okay. He realized he felt overprotective … like a big brother, or partner … or more. Like some macho man, he derided himself, feeling suddenly mad at himself for even asking or caring.

“I was just concerned, that’s all,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “We were all afraid for you when you didn’t come out right away and the SWAT team descended. You didn’t know it, but I was there when you came out of the building. I’m glad you made it out okay.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you.” Susan now looked sincerely contrite as she sipped her coffee. “And thank you for caring. To be honest, I was afraid too, a few times in fact, and I’m a cop. I don’t know how those girls survive in there. I’ve worked with many victims, but these new Mafia guys give the word sadomasochism a whole new meaning.”

“Yeah, I used to think those girls all asked for what they got working in places like that, sinking that low,” Rory admitted. “Now I see that many of them sign up for something they didn’t bargain for and didn’t deserve—no human being deserves to be treated that way.”

“Hmmm, maybe there’s hope for you yet, Mr. Justice … Rory.” Susan McAfree smiled. “I took you for the ultra-conservative, judgmental type.”

Rory felt a little offended, but knew she was right in her assessment. “You’re pretty astute. More so than I am. Do you mind if I ask you another question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you do what you do? Stay in this line of work, all of these years, here in Las Vegas of all places? I have to admit, there have been a few times when I’ve been ready to call it quits, and I’ve only been involved in this assignment for a week or so. It’s depressing. And you’re so smart and ….” Rory realized he was venturing onto dangerous ground again. He had wanted to say “attractive,” but knew it might sound condescending.

“And what?” her eyes gleamed playfully again.

“And … you have so much more to offer.”

“Why, thank you, Rory Justice.” Susan smiled and blushed, showing a lighter, feminine side he had never seen before. But then her expression turned shadowy, like a cloud was passing overhead. “I guess I do what I do to help people, especially battered and abused women, because I’ve been where they’ve been.”

Rory sat in silence, his hands wrapped tightly around his coffee mug. He looked down at the black liquid in his cup, not sure what to say, waiting.

“It was a long time ago and I’m over it now,” Susan continued matter-of-factly. “Counseling helped. I was eleven when it started. My parents travelled a lot for their jobs, and my uncle babysat my younger brother and me. He played games with me, like hide and seek, after my brother went to bed. I tried to hide really well, but he always found me, and then … well, you know, he sexually assaulted me. When it turned ugly, he threatened that if I told anyone, he would hurt my little brother really badly, and I would be sorry. It went on for almost two years, and then he was in a car accident that disfigured him. He had to have his leg amputated … and of course, I was old enough to take care of us at that point. I used to think maybe God punished him by making him lose a leg. Anyhow, I always believed that one day I would work in a field that would help victims and punish the bad guys. I grew up in a nice white-collar town in Arizona. I guess I came here because Vegas is full of victims and bad guys.”

Rory was dumbstruck for a few minutes, his heart aching for her. “I’m sorry you went through all that, Susan.”

She yawned and smiled sleepily. “Sorry, it’s not the company. I am still really tired. I don’t think I could drink enough coffee to keep me awake at this point. Could you take me home?”

Rory was happy to oblige. Susan lived on the outskirts of the city in a nice little rancher. He pulled up next to the curb and parked in front of the house.

She turned to face him. “I’m embarrassed to ask, but do you think you could see me inside? After the bust on these guys, I just don’t feel entirely safe right now, especially since we obviously didn’t catch them all.” For a moment, Rory thought she looked like a young, vulnerable girl and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. But that’s not what she needs right now, he reminded himself.

“Sure, no problem,” he said. Before he could walk around to open the passenger door for her, she was already out of the car and headed up the walkway. He hurried to at least hold the screen porch door while she unlocked the front door. “Do you want me to come in while you make sure everything is all right?”

She grinned. “Hmmm … yes, I think I can trust you.”

Rory felt his cheeks turn hot. He stood in the foyer while she went through the house flipping on light switches and opening doors. Once she was in the kitchen, she called out, “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I don’t drink much,” Rory responded, feeling for the first time that he almost wished he did.

“Good, neither do I,” she said. “How about a soda?”

“No, that’s okay. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course, second door down the hall to the right.”

Rory noticed that Susan had contemporary taste, with a few pieces of framed, colorful modern art hanging here and there, but she definitely wasn’t into knickknacks or a lot of decorations. He liked it. Her place had a clean, comfortable feel that wasn’t overly feminine or masculine.

When Rory walked out of the hallway into the living room, he saw Susan lying on the couch fast asleep, her head resting on a throw pillow, her legs curled up. He saw her holstered gun on the coffee table and a blanket nearby, and he covered her, smiling to himself. A sudden rush of a feeling he refused to label tugged at his heart. Sweet dreams, Lieutenant, he whispered, and saw himself out, locking the door behind him.