Devotion Apart Read online

  "How about her?" I looked back at the Hispanic woman. "How's she figure into this?"

  "She's the witness, caught in the room with McMaster. I don't know if she's a legit masseuse or a victim of McMaster's sex slave network. If she says what I think she'll say, I can get a warrant, then tear his life apart for evidence of the bodies he's buried in the desert."

  "So, you want me to translate for you?"

  "Just visit with her first. I'll listen from in here. Get her to open up. If she's willing to talk, we'll need to protect her, but we need to know if she'll testify. You're my unofficial consultant today."

  In the linoleum corridor outside the observation room, I bought a couple of chocolate candy bars and canned iced teas from a vending machine.

  The woman, Talia Huella, looked up from her chair and shrunk away from me. Her hair was short and her skin was dark mocha, indicating her family line had probably intermarried with Brazillian slaves in the recent past.

  "Good morning, sister," I said in Portuguese as I placed a candy bar in front of her. Next, I opened a can of tea and set it down as well. I sat across from her. "My name's Cord Dalton. Until recently, I lived in northern Brazil. You can probably tell by my accent, right?"

  She didn't respond, except her eyes darted toward the door.

  "Don't worry. You're safe now. The one called Detective Fletcher is a man of God. He called me because I know your language. I'm not a police officer, just a civilian. We're going to make sure you remain safe."

  "The police officers are. . ." She didn't finish her statement, so I had to read through her fear and silence.

  "I know. Some are corrupt, but many are not. Some care deeply for the people. Is the tea okay? Do you like chocolate?"

  She eyed the gifts, then took a sip.

  "What part of Brazil are you from?" I asked.

  "Salvador."

  "I know where that is. Your family is there, or here?"

  "My brother was in America. He paid to get me here, in a shipping container,"

  "How long ago was that?"

  "A few months. I don't know. I wasn't allowed a phone. I don't even know what day it is."

  "Is there some way I can contact your brother? I want to make sure he's safe from the same people he paid to bring you up here."

  "My brother was supposed to meet me. But the man I was with in the massage parlor showed me a picture. My brother has been killed. I don't know anyone in America."

  I nodded sadly, understanding the predicament that the traffickers had put her in. Her brother had her illegally smuggled into the country, then the criminal network had killed him to trap Talia in the sex trade.

  "What else did that man tell you? How long did he say that you'd have to work in that place?"

  "One year, if customers were pleased with me." She lowered her head. "He said I was his favorite, but he said that to other girls, too."

  "Do you know the man's name?"

  "No. But he was with me in the room when the police came. He's powerful. Please don't make me testify against him. He'll kill me, or his friends will. I've seen witnesses killed in Brazil."

  "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do, Talia."

  "Will I be sent back to Brazil? The coyotes who brought me here work in Salvador as well. They'll kill me if they know I've cooperated with you."

  "I have friends in Brazil who would make the bad men in Salvador weep with fear." I smiled, and her eyes brightened. "Besides, if you're sent back to Brazil, I'll make sure you go live with my Christian friends."

  "I came to America to live with my brother and become a rich artist. Now, I realize I was naive."

  "God can help us learn lessons from the things we survive, Talia." I sipped my tea. "This isn't the end of your life, only a new chapter. Let's remember that, okay?"

  "No man will want me. I've been used. Not even God will look at me now."

  "Oh, my sister," I said, my heart heavy, "you're not despised by God because of what others have done. Some women are hurt terribly, but there's healing found in the arms of Jesus. He gives us the strength to continue and the courage to live with new confidence."

  "What will happen to me now?" She cried quietly, one hand covering her mouth. "I am all alone. . ."

  As I stood, I squeezed her hand. I felt I'd learned enough for now. Taking my tea with me, I returned to the control room.

  "She's been hurt, Fletcher," I explained. "Using her as a witness might be too much for her, even if it means your case against McMaster falls apart."

  "I thought this was my chance to make McMaster go away, Cord. You've got to convince her!"

  "Fletcher, you're not listening to me." I frowned at him. "She's too fragile. I'm sorry. How long can you hold McMaster?"

  "Time's up." He slumped in a chair and rubbed his bald head. "She was my only hope, but if she's a reluctant witness, I can't make a case to hold him any longer."

  "We can't give her back to him, or send her back to that place. They'll just get back to paying their protection money, and we'll never see her again until you find her dead body in an alley."

  "She's Immigration's problem now. I suppose it's for the best. If she stayed to testify, it would be a mess."

  "But she's not just Immigration's problem, Fletcher. She's still our problem." I finished my tea and went to the door. "Release McMaster, but hold her for another hour, then release her to me. We'll start emergency asylum paperwork for her."

  "It's procedure to hand her over to Immigration, Cord. Why? What are you thinking?"

  "Our Christian duty for people like her comes before procedure," I said. "We need the Body of Christ for this. I have an idea. One hour, Fletcher, and then I'll pick her up. We'll do the immigration paperwork ourselves."

  "I don't like this, Cord, whatever you're trying to do."

  "What? The world cleans up its messes by throwing people away. God cleans up the world's messes by caring for people. Wait for me, and I'll show you how this can work."

  Chapter Seven

  When I picked up Talia Huella an hour later from the jail, I had Karen Lennick in the Jeep with me.

  "Karen was a school teacher," I explained in Portuguese to Talia as we drove north toward Retail Row. "She's also a Christian woman and a close friend of mine. You're going to live with her, learn English, and discover how God is directing your life in America. Maybe you'll still become a gifted artist!"

  I switched to English to talk to Karen.

  "We haven't known each other too long, but you've shared enough about your faith for me to rely on you. I want you to open a safe house for women to get off the streets. Teach them about the Lord, and prepare them with a few skills to go out on their own. How's that sound?"

  "Uh. Yesterday I was homeless myself." She chuckled nervously. "You don't move slowly, do you?"

  "Talia here is your first student. Teach her English, and help her get set up. Her immigration status needs to be sorted out, too."

  "You have money for this?"

  I showed her my phone and an account Craig had given me.

  "For now, run all your expenses past me."

  A moment later, we parked outside Artisan Real Estate, which shared a building with Shoe Guru, a women's footwear retail store. Inside the real estate office, Karen and Talia went to admire several display cases as I hunted down Sadona.

  "She's not one of our primary brokers," a supervisor stated to me. "Can I show you to one of our leading agents?"

  "I asked for Sadona Escobar." I cocked one eyebrow. "I understand she's a Christian woman, so I know I can trust her. Is there a problem with that?"

  "No, no problem." He backed away. "I'll call her out of the back."

  Instead of waiting out front, I followed on his heels. I knew Sadona was in the office.

  "Sadona, I—" The supervisor noticed me and stopped at the door of a supply room. "Sir! You cannot be back here!"

  "I didn't see a sign." I glanced about the numerous cubicles, each
one hosting a real estate agent. "Well, you found her for me. Thank you."

  The man forced a smile and returned to the front.

  "Let me guess," Sadona said, as she organized brochures from a box on the floor. She wore a plaid skirt and the golden cross earrings. "He thought you were a client and he wanted the commission?"

  "No." I knelt to help her gather the last few bundles to place in the supply room. "He knows I'm in the market because I told him so, and I also told him I'm only going to work with you because you're an honest Christian woman."

  "Are you trying to get me fired?" She scowled, then softened. "Wait, are you serious? You need a broker?"

  "I want one large residence to start with. If that works out, there'll be more."

  "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again after last weekend." She led me to her small cubicle. "After the way I spoke to you on Sunday, I expected you to head back to Brazil."

  "No offense was taken." I seated myself beside her desk, which was smaller inside a tighter cubicle than the others. "I need your help."

  "Meaning?" She laughed, opening her laptop.

  "I guess I'm finding ways to involve you whether you like it or not."

  "You are trying to get me fired." She gave me an exasperated look.

  "Not intentionally, at least not before you become this office's top salesperson."

  For a few minutes, we discussed how I wanted her to work with Karen to find a proper women's home.

  "A safe house will need security." She scrolled through listings on her screen. "That'll raise the price range for you, if you want some sort of gated community."

  "Nothing over-the-top," I said, wondering if Craig was watching us right then. "They'll need to learn to lead normal but safe lives."

  "There are some nice properties down by the lake. Crime is low, and the neighborhood watch is active. Will that work?"

  "Let's start there. Then I'll need you to drive Karen and Talia around to check out the properties."

  "Of course you do. You have errands to run and people to save?"

  Her sarcasm was growing on me.

  "I'm glad you understand." I rose to my feet. "Come meet Karen and Talia."

  With Karen and Talia in Sadona's hands, I left to focus on Roger McMaster.

  Down on Infacto Street, I ran into the same protestors as earlier who were blocking traffic, so I parked on the street at a distance and studied McMaster's profile over the last day. In minutes, I was caught up with his activities, and found him in Bangour Commons, a high-rise apartment building across from Progress Park.

  As I communed with God on how to deal with him, I rolled down my window to hear the protestors. They still shouted for independence from dependence, but their message wasn't clear to me. When I climbed out of the Jeep, I heard a speech blaring from the next intersection. A crowd blocked two streets as a woman stood on a car hood and shouted into the bullhorn.

  "We aren't slaves!" Her voice grated on my ears, but I walked closer, wanting to understand. "It's our right to be free! It's a constitutional right! Society's constraints should let us be!"

  The crowd seemed to agree with the statements. I stopped at the back, remembering this was the crowd I'd noticed earlier.

  "This is about taxation!" the woman continued. "The state is burdened with geriatrics and the vulnerable, and they've passed the burden—that ball and chain—on to the rest of us! We have to take a stand. If they want to live, let them live on their own dime. If they don't have a dime, then they obviously don't want to live. Let them die if they want to die."

  "But who decides?" a man questioned from the crowd. "Who lives and dies?"

  "Who has decided for millions of years? Nature decides! It's survival. Those who have shouldn't be burdened with those who have given up. It's not just the elderly. Some of you have other dependents you know in your heart are not your responsibility. Their lives are over. They can't clean up after themselves. They can't work to support themselves. Their quality of life is substandard. We're doing them a favor, and doing each other a favor. Put them down! Put them down! Put them down!"

  The chant caught on, and the mob continued down the street, to interrupt traffic somewhere else.

  The aged seemed to be the problem, and I stood still as the young and healthy streamed past me. I wondered if they realized they wouldn't be young and healthy forever. Their push for culling out society's vulnerable wasn't new. Hitler and Stalin had pushed for euthanasia as they identified people they deemed subhuman, terminally diseased, or suffering from what others might term a lack of quality of life. Instead of caring for and respecting the elderly, killing them was this crowd's answer, which didn't surprise me, since killing unborn or newborn babies had already become so popular.

  I walked back to my vehicle. Suddenly, I stopped at the bumper as an SUV screeched to a halt next to my Jeep. Three sizeable tough guys stepped from the doors. The SUV was new, but the thugs were not wearing expensive clothes or jewelry.

  "We need you to come with us," said one with a thick neck and bald head. He revealed a pistol in his waistband. "Now."

  "I'll follow you in my vehicle." I nodded towards my Jeep. "I'm not leaving it on the street like this."

  "He'll drive it." Thick Neck nodded at one of his friends. "Get in."

  Someone who meant me harm wouldn't have had any concern for my Jeep. Obviously, I was being summoned for something rather than being kidnapped. I could have outrun all three, but I was curious, and climbed into the back seat with one of the men.

  First we headed east, then got on the freeway. We took the exit into the Airport District, and drove into the trailer park. Several other expensive vehicles were parked at the back of a double-wide. Most of the trailers appeared to be rotting on their foundations, fire traps decaying where they'd sat for decades. Several had tarps over their roofs, held in place by ropes and plastic tent stakes.

  Once out of the SUV, I was directed into the double-wide where an odor like meth and weed wafted from the open door. The interior was dim, the carpet an ugly orange. Five men waited in a gutted living room where a large fan blew hot air through an open window into the trailer.

  On a folding chair, Naul Bueno sat closest to the fan. The stout Mexican was tattooed from head to toe, and he had a silver pistol tucked into his waistband. The years had not been kind to the gangster, who must've been in his mid-forties now. His slacks and collared shirt were sweat-stained and appeared uncomfortable, but Naul's face was stoic, showing no weakness.

  A crucifix on a gold chain hung around his muscled neck.

  At a folding table, Naul's right hand and adopted brother counted money. I'd known Rick Strange twenty years earlier to be Naul's cool-tempered sidekick, and he seemed to be in the same position.

  The other three men in the trailer were unknown to me, but I recognized hard-cases when I saw them.

  "I heard you were back in town." Naul, like a godfather trying to be casual, gestured to another folding chair that faced him. "I had to see for myself if the slap challenge sensation was the Cord Dalton I knew. Hope my boys didn't inconvenience you."

  Accepting the chair, I turned it around and sat in it backward, a smile on my face.

  "Nah, they were hospitable. It's good to see you, Naul." I turned my head. "Rick."

  "I see you, Cord." The man didn't look up from his counting. His nickname was Nightmare on the streets.

  "Still the same old Cord, huh?" Naul didn't smile much, but I heard the amusement in his voice. "You'd be sitting where I am right now if you wouldn't have run off."

  "Is it everything you hoped it would be?" I asked, glancing at the soiled accommodations. "Is this the penthouse?"

  "It has its perks." He scowled at the walls. "Don't be mistaken. To live well, I have to swim in the gutter a couple times a week, just to keep things in balance."

  "Isn't that like saying to be clean, I have to bathe in manure?"

  "Cord?" He swore. "You always were a smart aleck. Where've you been all
these years?"

  "I bounced to Brazil and almost died. It turns out that God used it to give me a new life."

  "You found God?"

  "Jesus Christ—He found me. Now I've been preaching the gospel to everyone who will listen."

  "You won't find many who'll listen in Devotion."

  "Maybe no one has been telling them the right way."

  "Yeah, maybe." His eyes, now sad, seemed to show his agreement, as if he wished things were different. "Sorry to hear about your sister. I looked into it. None of my people know anything. I'd tell you if they did. Even if you got a little Jesus to balance you out, I still wouldn't cross you, Bro. I remember the wild in you. So, you hunting for Cora's killer?"

  "On the side."

  "On the side of what?"

  "Sharing the gospel's more important than revenge."

  "Let me tell you a story, Cord." He took out his silver-plated handgun and polished it with his shirt tail. "A few years ago, there was a righteous cop. Now, everyone knows I've got no love for the police, but this guy was good biz. He didn't jack anybody. He wasn't on anyone's payroll, as far as I know. But he crossed someone in his department. In his own building, he was shot nine times with nine bullets from nine different guns. I got a copy of the ballistics report. And no one was arrested.

  "You know how crooked a department needs to be for nine dirty cops to beat a murder rap of one good one? That man was honest, and they killed him for it. The people who're supposed to keep us in balance did that. In this city. You want to preach the gospel? You start at the top, not at the bottom. And watch your back."

  "Sounds like good advice." I nodded once.

  "Man, I still tell stories about you." He scoffed and slid his weapon back into his waistband. "I guess I should take your name off the APB roster. Unless you want to remain an honorary member and founder of this family."

  "Nah, I'm in a new family now." I touched my chest over my heart. "But I know where I came from, and my love for you is no less."

  He rose from his chair, and with the speed of a man who appeared twenty years older, held his arms out to me. I stood and embraced him, sad that my old friend was still lost in the game, but pleased he hadn't shut the door to me. My time in the city would've been more complicated if the Airport Boyz were sour that I'd deserted them years earlier.