The two guards from the park were moving around outside the building, their weapons still well-hidden inside their jackets. She guessed submachine guns by the shapes. A single paved road led to the front doors of the warehouse while hurricane fencing surrounded them. She couldn’t see the interstate anywhere, even though she knew it was close by.
“You told them to bring in the food and water while I was inside so the girls would connect them to me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Reese shrugged, but didn’t confirm or deny.
“Why are you only just feeding them once a day?” she asked.
“It’s not by choice. I had to convince our employers just to give the girls this much. They wanted to give them just water for the entire trip, have them starved by the time they reach their destination.”
“They’ll be so grateful for the food they’ll forget they were stolen from their homes and families, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“What happens if they don’t all make it to their destination?”
“That’s why we’re here, Alice. To make sure they do. Keeping them fit is someone else’s problem.”
“Are they all from Mexico?”
“They came through Mexico, but there are a lot of South Americans. Colombia, Venezuela, as far as Argentina.” He paused briefly, then, “They aren’t all stolen from their homes and families. Some were sold. There are a lot of desperate people out there, and youth and beauty are still prized commodities.”
Allie was grateful for the thick smell of spilled oil and grease around them, anything to force away the memories of the room behind her, of Sara and the others gorging themselves on stale sandwiches, grateful for just a bite, for a splash of humanity…
“You haven’t told me who we’re working for,” Allie said.
“Didn’t you ask Juliet before you agreed to be her replacement?” Reese asked.
“I did, but she didn’t know.”
“And you took the job anyway…”
“The money was too good to pass up.”
“And that’s how it’s supposed to be. We’re all just freelance contractors, Alice. It’s better not to know everything. Safer that way, for all parties involved.”
“But you know who they are?”
“Only because Dwight and I have worked for them long enough to have earned their trust. Or as much trust as you can earn with people who sell little girls like they’re canned goods, anyway. Do you know why Juliet doesn’t know who they are?”
“She never asked…”
“That’s right. And she was smart not to. She didn’t want to know about a lot of other things, too, so I never told her. She came, did her job, and left with a nice payday. Be like Juliet, Alice; knowledge is not your friend.”
“Ignorance is bliss, is that it?”
“In this case, yes. The truth is, you work for Dwight and me. And we work for them. That’s all you need to know.”
“What if something happens? What if we get separated and I need to contact them?”
“You don’t. Ever. There’s a reason all communications go through us. Through me, specifically. Your job — your only job — is to keep the girls cooperative until we deliver them. Nothing more, nothing less. When we get paid, you get paid, and not a second before. It’s the same for all of these guys. Besides,” Reese continued, “what’s that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat? Do yourself a favor and don’t be so curious, Alice. Do your job and go home and be glad, because this will, in all likelihood, be the easiest money you’ll ever make. You’ll thank me when this is over.”
Allie clenched her teeth but didn’t say anything.
Four
He couldn’t go meet the girl while both his legs were feeling as if they were engulfed in flames for some damn reason, so Hank took a quick detour. Kent Whitman’s pharmacy had a small line of people at the front register, but Hank bypassed the woman working behind the counter and went straight to the back.
“What do you want?” Whitman said when Hank pushed his way into the back room. The pharmacist was in the middle of separating stacks of pills.
“I need the good stuff,” Hank said.
“What ‘good stuff?’”
“You know what good stuff.” Hank pointed at his right leg, though of course Whitman couldn’t see anything through his pants. He had re-bandaged the wound the best he could while Diane’s voice nagged at him to go to the hospital and get it properly looked at.
Whitman didn’t even glance down at Hank’s leg and instead returned to his work. “I’m not giving you anything without a prescription.”
“Ain’t got time for that.”
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Someone shot me.”
“Someone shot you?” The pharmacist looked back at him. “Jesus Christ, Hank. I thought you were retired?”
“I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still get shot. Now you going to give me the good stuff, or not?”
“No,” Whitman said, and shook his head for emphasis.
Hank sighed and leaned on the counter, staring at Whitman. “Eight years ago, you came to me asking for help…”
Whitman didn’t let him finish. “Okay, okay. Jesus Christ, how long you going to hang that one over me?”
Whenever I need something from you, Hank thought, but said, “This is the last time.”
“Yeah, right,” Whitman said, but he abandoned his work and headed farther into the back. “Wait here.”
Hank leaned against the counter and wondered what Diane would say about him blackmailing one of their oldest friends.
I did it for a good reason, sweetheart.
Well, mostly.
And he could be wrong — and it was likely all in his head — but Hank swore the pain had started to lessen in both legs almost right away.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, old-timer.
The address the girl gave him was for a motel along the interstate in the neighboring state, and it took Hank over three hours to reach her. He spent that time mulling over everything he knew about the robbery at the diner — which wasn’t very much, when he really thought about it — and how much of a bad idea this was. Hank was glad he didn’t carry a cell phone, otherwise he wasn’t sure if he could fight the temptation to call Miller and tell him everything. The lack of a phone, as well as a general dislike of the young turd, helped Hank to keep on course.
By the time he pulled into the motel parking lot, the sun had begun to dip in the horizon and the establishment’s glowing neon sign had flickered to life in the background. From the number of vehicles, the rooms were only half full today, most occupied around the central hub where the manager’s office was located. The room the girl gave him was for the next-to-last door on the east side.
Hank parked in front of the room and sat behind the wheel of the Bronco, staring out his dirt-covered windshield, trying to convince himself he wasn’t just being a stupid old man who still craved action.
Go back home. This is one mystery you don’t need to solve.
What would Diane say?
He sighed and stuck his keys into his jacket pocket and climbed out of the truck, and was happy when his legs didn’t buckle or send streams of pain through his body as soon as he put pressure on them. Maybe it was the long drive that had numbed the wound or the pills Whitman had given him. The “good stuff,” after all, was called that for a reason.
“This is it; no more,” Whitman had said when he handed them over.
“Yeah, sure,” Hank had said, doing his very best to avoid his friend’s eyes.