A solitary floor lamp slashed a triangle of light across Andre’s bloodied face. Slumped on an armchair in the living room, his hands tied behind his back, a strip of towel muffling his screams, he had spent the past half hour in varying degrees of pain.
His nose was broken. One eye had started to swell shut. A gash, deep enough that it would require stitches, ran from the edge of his left temple, down past his eye, finishing an inch short of his chin.
Before he took his leave, Ryan Lock had decided that he should decommission the pretty boy good looks Andre had deployed to ensnare Kristin and who knew how many others.
Given that there was almost zero chance that Andre would see the inside of a prison cell, Lock had decided to dispense a little jail justice of his own. In the California prison system, on the high security yards, someone involved in a crime against children would be ‘marked up’ by other prisoners. It was a way of signaling to others in the system that they were all bad.
Even criminals didn’t like those who messed with children. Lock agreed, and to his mind, a fourteen-year-old like Kristin was exactly that, still a child.
Lock stood in front of him and counted through the cash he’d scooped from Andre’s wallet. He folded it up and pocketed it.
“Hey, that’s my roll,” Andre protested.
“I have expenses,” said Lock. “You weren’t cheap to track down. Now, where do I find your buddy, Hanger?”
Over the course of the past half hour Andre had already coughed up most of the details Lock required, and quite a few that Lock didn’t but chimed with what Angie had told him about how trafficking worked. As bedtime debriefs went, it was one Lock would gladly have missed.
Andre’s role was that of recruiter for a pimp with the street name Hanger. Andre claimed he didn’t know Hanger’s real name and that part Lock believed.
In the normal course of his day as a part time DJ, drug dealer and all round piece of shit, Andre stayed on the lookout for vulnerable young women. When he found one that he thought he could peel off from the herd, he sweet-talked them, showering them with compliments, affection, and small gifts. Nothing too expensive, this after all was a business for Andre and he needed to keep his costs down.
Overpowered by Andre’s love bombing, whatever guard they had up was lowered and Andre went to work persuading them to meet his friend, Hanger.
If he felt like he needed extra leverage, he would get them to send him compromising photographs or videos. Or if they were of legal age, he would make a video with them. Then he would threaten to send the pictures or video clip to their family or friends if they didn’t do what he wanted.
At first, he claimed not to know what happened to them after the introduction. With some additional persuasion from Lock, he confessed that he knew exactly what the next stage of the process was. It involved violence, both sexual and physical as well as some psychological mind tricks worthy of a cult such as sleep deprivation, drugs and one of Hanger’s other girls playing the good cop to Hanger’s nightmare cop.
They were broken. First physically and then mentally. Because they had been pre-screened and selected by Andre and were already vulnerable to low self-esteem, the process did not take that long. A day or two, maybe a week or two. Never longer than that. Then they were put to work.
If Lock felt any guilt about what he was doing to Andre, it immediately dissipated as he got to that part of the conversation. The only reason Andre was still breathing was that Lock needed more information.
And he wanted Hanger to know that he was coming and that when Lock found him, if he hadn’t already returned Kristin Miller to her family alive, if not well, that it was going to get very ugly indeed.
If Hanger’s tactic with the girls he pimped out was shock and awe, Lock planned to return the favor. With interest.
“You really think Hanger is going to cough up a fine young swan like that?”
“I don’t think, I know. Because it won’t be worth his while to keep her.”
“I don’t know who you are, but pimps don’t give up girls. The last bitch that someone tried to take back ended up face down in the LA river.”
Lock took his time responding. Drawing his main weapon, his SIG P226. He pressed the hot end into the center of Andre’s forehead.
“That happens and I’m coming back for you. Ever been out to the desert, Andre? Sound really travels. Only there’s no one to hear it. I’ll keep you out there for a couple of days before we’re done.”
Lock reached into his pocket and pulled out Andre’s cell phone. He scrolled down the recent call list and found the contact he was looking for.
“Now, you talk to him and tell him you need to meet up. Don’t say why, just set the meet. Try to tip him off and we’re taking a ride together.”
Lock hit the call icon, put the call on speaker so he could hear both sides of the conversation, and held the phone up to Andre’s ear.
It went to voicemail. No personalized greeting, just the robotic default message asking the caller to leave a message after the tone.
Lock pulled the phone away and killed the call.
“I’ll keep this safe. Sure, there’s a bunch of stuff on here that the Feds might take an interest in. What do you think?”
That drew a rare smile from Andre. “I think there’s nothing on there that counts for shit in court. All I do is make the introductions. You think these hoes ain’t doing anything they don’t want to?”
Lock drew back a clenched fist and delivered a heavy overhand right to Andre’s broken nose. Andre yelped with pain as fresh blood sputtered from his nose, running down his chin and onto his already soaked shirt.
On the way out, Lock stopped to slash the tires on Andre’s prized possession.