He stuffed down the bile developing in his gut.
Riley whispered something to the gentleman who had ushered them into the room. The man nodded his head, and as the group of ladies were ushered out unceremoniously, another group came in. These girls were very young, some as young as ten or twelve years old, even allowed to dress like the children they were.
And they were not happy campers. Brady knew their little scared faces would haunt him for years.
Brady could feel anger rising, boiling in his veins. He knew his men were so offended they had a hard time playing the parts they were supposed to play and kept looking to him for guidance. He was all out of ideas. He just didn’t want to be there any longer. It seemed like a personal violation not only for the girls, but for himself and his team as well, and they were only sitting there looking at these poor souls.
In the long run, all they could do was tell the host they were not interested in any of the girls, which would lead to them being led from the room. But it was hard for Brady knowing these girls had probably been trafficked, sold into sex slavery to benefit some crime figure, and that, tonight, he could do nothing.
As they were leaving, one of the young girls reached out to Brady and held his hand. She said something to him in Spanish, and Enemario rushed to his side to translate.
“She says, please, Mr. American, she needs to earn some money. She would do anything you ask. And she’s very good.”
Enemario listened further, looked down at his boots, and swore. “She says they will beat her if she does not work.”
Brady looked at her little hand in his, and he placed his other hand on top. “Tell her I’m sorry, but I am not that kind of man. But I wish her good luck.”
As Enemario translated, Brady noticed this girl had a tattoo of a dragon on the underside of her forearm. He interrupted the translation, pointing to the tattoo. “El Dragon?” he asked her.
“Sí, sí.” She ran off a string of words in Spanish once again, and this time, Enemario spoke back to her.
“Boss, she says that if you do not like her, she has a younger sister at the ranch.” Enemario’s eyes got wide as he emphasized the word ranch.
Riley sucked in air behind them. “Younger?”
“Tell her we would like to visit the ranch. Ask her if El Dragon is there.”
During the translation, several of the other girls surrounded Brady. All of them showed him their dragon tattoo as well. It seemed to be their admission ticket to whatever dangerous game they all were playing.
The door to their little room burst open, and their host yelled at the girls, who scattered and exited through another door on the other side of the room. He said something to Enemario, who nodded. Brady heard the word rancho and was heartened. But his teammate was greatly affected by the brief words he’d exchanged with the stranger. Enemario clammed up and wouldn’t look back at him.
Freed at last, they wandered casually down the street. Cars and bicycles rattled as they passed by, bumping over the old cobblestone pavers. Enemario waited until they were well clear of the little bar before he turned and addressed the group.
“Gentlemen, we have a formal invitation to the ranch, tomorrow at nine. He said that we will find whatever it is we’re looking for there, ‘as close to paradise we will ever come.’”
Riley wanted to know if they needed directions, what road they were to drive tomorrow.
“No, we are to ride with them in their trucks.”
Carter, who had been rather frosty this morning and neglected to engage in even simple smack talk, gave a small opinion.
“Brady, I don’t like this scenario at all. It just doesn’t feel right. They didn’t ask anything about who we were or what we did or why we were here. That’s not normal. It’s almost like they know who we are already. Like they were waiting for us to show up.”
Chapter 12
It was nearing 9:00 AM. Brady tried to eat some breakfast, but Riley shoveled down more food than anybody thought possible. With a chip on his shoulder, Riley chastised them all. His mouth was full of corn flakes and milk.
“For all you know, we’re going to be stuck in some hole for a while or carted off to jail. I’m going to get one good American meal in before they grab me. So, if you don’t mind, bug off.”
Brady shared a long glance with Riley, and his buddy shrugged. He set down his spoon and further explained.
“Look, Brady, I’m sorry. When I get nervous, I eat. I’m just not wired up for waiting.”
John had been reading a book, sitting on the bed at the rear of the camper. “You think you’re the only one nervous, Riley? Hell, we just all show it in different ways. I’ve got myself a little sci-fi. Carter over there? He’s looking at poetry. Love poems.” John wiggled his eyebrows up and down to make a point.
Brady was sensitive to the information he had about Carter but didn’t react, because Carter chuckled.
“Yeah well, John, I read beyond a third-grade level. While there might be some science fiction I like, your idea of science fiction is graphic novels. And I’m sorry, man, don’t mean to diss you, but that’s just not me. Growing up in Mississippi, we called them comic books. It’s all you white folks out here who call it graphic novels. And that’s BS.”
He followed it up with a wide grin and a belly laugh, and soon, everyone was doing the same. Even John winked at him, nodding.
“Touché. You got me there, Carter.”
Brady needed some air so stepped outside, surveyed the dusty gray hills, and wondered to himself why anyone would voluntarily live in this part of the world. He didn’t even like Palm Springs, and that was beautiful compared to this landscape. Arizona had lots of color, beautiful rock formations, and mountains. Palm Springs had those beautiful trees, oases, and golf courses. This place reminded him of Bakersfield. And Bakersfield was famous for just being one huge truck stop.
He noticed a trail of dust coming their direction several miles away. They had parked for the night under a couple of large trees that had survived several drought years, half their foliage dead and half struggling to stay grayish green. There were lots of coyotes nearby, and they heard them howling all night long.
The road leading to San Benito was only about a quarter mile, but the local brush and small foothills, dotted with large boulders like the surface of the moon, obscured the town from view. As he continued surveying the area, the dust streak got larger and larger. Two black Suburbans came into view.
“Guys, our escorts have arrived.”
The other four members bailed out of the van.
“Remember what we talked about, and this is a do-or-die situation. We aren’t going to do it any other way, okay?” Brady reminded them.
“Gotcha,” said Riley. Others nodded and mumbled their approval as well.
Without any consideration for their comfort, the two Suburbans pulled up in front of them, enveloping the five former military men in a cloud of brown dust. Several men got out of the first Suburban, leaving the second and third doors open, while the driver left the motor running. One man got out of the passenger seat of the second Suburban. They pointed to the doors, but Brady’s team didn’t move.
“Enemario, it’s your show now.”
Enemario asked if anybody spoke English, and surveying the unfriendly faces, Brady understood that either they didn’t speak English or they were unwilling to say so. Enemario began his negotiation.