Taking the box from Maria, I reach inside and pull out several of the tapes. One name, in particular, catches my eye. I hand it over to Maria, then second guess the wisdom of that choice. Too late, she inserts the tape into the old video recorder and presses play.
With the tiny flip screen, I scoot around until I sit behind Maria. Cradling her in my arms, I provide something for her to lean against. An image fills the screen of a younger version of the woman I love lounging poolside at an impressive estate.
“That’s me.” She peers at the screen.
“Do you recognize where that is?” An impossibly lavish pool fills the background.
“Yes. That’s my home in the Hamptons.”
“When was this taken?” And unsettled feeling stirs in my gut.
“Oh, I don’t know … Oh wait.” She adjusts her position, leaning against my shoulder. “There’s Sybil.”
Indeed, a young version of her friend fills the screen. The two of them are poolside, wearing tiny bikinis. They laugh and wave to whoever is recording the video.
Maria watches the recording, and a smile fills her face. “Lord, we were so young. I can’t believe my mother let me out of the house in that. Although, technically, we were still on the grounds.”
“Maria?” I try to get her to focus. Assumptions are a bitch, but I’ve already formed mine. “When was this taken?”
Maria thinks this is nothing but an innocent summer video, but there’s no reason Marco would hide something innocent in a locked compartment under his desk. I brace for the moment the video reveals its true purpose.
I know men like Marco, and I know what they like. Nubile young girls tend to be at the top of their list.
“Oh, it had to be the summer of our sweet sixteen.”
Her smile is brighter as Sybil moves to the edge of the pool. Pulling at her bikini bottom, Sybil glances coyly at the camera. Eyes fluttering, she places her hands over her head and gracefully dives into the pool.
The camera cuts from the edge of the pool to follow Sybil’s graceful form underwater. She swims to the other side of the pool where the photographer records everything.
Popping up out of the water, she blinks as water sluices down her face, then props her arms on the side of the pool, lifting her body enough out of the water to reveal rather impressive cleavage. As expected, the cameraman’s view goes right to Sybil’s tits.
Maria has yet to react. I don’t think it hits her, but I remember every word of what she told me about the summer of her sweet sixteen.
The video cuts out, then picks up a few seconds later. It’s nighttime. The grounds are lit up in bright lights, ostentatious floral arrangements are everywhere. Light and airy fabric flutters in the breeze as what looks to be the party of the season seems to be in full swing. Despite the summer heat, the men wear dark suits, and the women compete to wear the skimpiest and most revealing dresses.
After panning through the crowd, the camera zooms in on the dance floor where Maria and Sybil dance together. They laugh and shout. They drink far too much champagne. Maria checks out one of the busboys while Sybil turns to the camera and gives a little wave of her fingers where Maria can’t see.
The feed cuts out again. It’s replaced a moment later with a view of carpet as the camera swings. A suit jacket falls to the floor. It lands in a clump of fabric. Then Sybil’s skimpy dress joins it.
“Maria …” I place my hand on her arm, only now noticing how her reminiscent smiles have turned into shock and horror.
“Is that …” She blinks, as if that can erase what she’s seen.
The camera falls to the floor where it’s covered with an errantly placed sock. The screen goes dark for a moment, but then the camera is on the move. The view jostles about as the cameraman places it on the dresser. All we see is a hairy chest, but then Marco takes a step back and checks his shot.
Sprawled on the bed, Sybil waits for her first lover.
Maria shuts off the video camera and covers her mouth.
“Sybil’s first was Marco?”
I want to hold Maria, provide some sort of comfort. I remembered Maria’s recounting of the pact she and Sybil made to lose their virginity when they were both sixteen.
Maria picked a busboy.
Sybil chose an older man.
“How could she?”
“Did she know who he was?”
“I don’t know.” Maria shrugs. “Maybe?” Her brows knit together, and she chews on her fingernail. The fake engagement ring glitters on her finger with an all too real treasure of a diamond. “Come to think of it, Sybil did seem a bit surprised at breakfast. I can’t believe she never told me.”
“Maybe she was embarrassed?” There are hundreds of reasons why Sybil never told her best friend the identity of the man who took her virginity.
That’s not my concern.
My concern is Marco willingly seduced a sixteen-year-old virgin. He was easily twice her age, and there’s no state where that kind of shit is legal. If Marco had a taste for young girls, then, how have his tastes matured over the ensuing years?
He’s involved in human trafficking and fulfilled the last set of orders Benefield took in before the Guardians stormed the facility in Colombia. Benefield lost his life in that raid, and the Guardians obtained a set of ledgers detailing every transaction. Six names were at the end of that list. Six orders for sex slaves that had yet been fulfilled.
Those clients paid outrageous sums to Benefield and expected delivery. Marco had no choice but to fulfill the orders, but what else did he fulfill?
We still don’t know who ordered the deaths of six innocent women, young things taken off the streets of Cancun and brutally murdered while a client watched the whole thing. We saved only one during that mission. Zoe Lancaster was tortured and on the brink of death by the time we stormed that compound.
I want the person who ordered the deaths of those girls for their perverted pleasure. I want to watch them suffer the way those girls suffered.
Maria presses the play button.
“You sure you want to watch that?”
“I’m going to fast forward. There might be something important on the rest of the tape.”
It’s a bad idea, but I keep my thoughts to myself as I continue to watch from over Maria’s shoulder. The tape shows Sybil and Marco in bed together having sex. Maria fast forwards the explicit scene until static fills the screen.
Taking in a deep breath, she lowers the camera to her lap. Right as she does, another video begins to play.
“Lord, there’s more?” Maria huffs out a breath. “I can’t watch any more of that.” She lifts the camera up, giving it to me.
“Um, Maria?”
“What?” She lifts the camera again. “You can take it.”
“Maria …” I wrap an arm around her waist. This isn’t good. “That’s not Sybil.
The couple on screen are not Sybil and Marco, but rather a younger version of Maria’s mother having sex with her uncle. Her mother gyrates over Marco, riding him. Her face contorts with pleasure as she lifts up and slams down. Muriel Rossi looks up into the camera and smiles. It’s not a smile filled with joy; nothing as innocent as that. It’s a smile of sublime satisfaction.
Maria’s silent, processing what she sees. I take the opportunity to look through the other tapes as her mother’s head bends back as she moans through an orgasm.