Vic and Kyle dashed after me.
I released the man. “Sorry. My mistake.”
Vic stood in my personal space and made strong eye contact. “Pat, we’ll find her.”
I backed away from them, and started back into town.
If she were still alive, I would find her. Annie had survived this long. I just prayed she wouldn’t give up, because I would search every corner of this earth until I found her.
“I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity.”
7.
We sat around in the yacht and hatched a plan over beer and pizza. I had two weeks to find her. Two weeks until we were due back on our carrier where we would deploy to the Middle East. By then she would be lost forever. And so would I. There was no more room for errors.
Kyle always tried to take charge. “It’s easy. Let’s just go and ask around town until someone talks. Or we can ask Dave for help. He knows this area.”
“It’s not that easy.” I took a swig of my beer and studied the breaking waves. “I don’t want to involve Dave. We don’t know him. We can’t raise suspicion. They could kill her if the wrong person found out.”
Vic nodded in agreement. “We should tell Lt. Marshall. Just go through the channels. That’s the best way.”
Kyle and I exchanged a glance. I’d already informed Vic that telling our command wasn’t an option. Especially now—I’d wasted enough time.
“I fucked up. I should’ve told you guys the night I met her. We could’ve gotten her the next night when I went back. Now it'll be on my shoulders if she ODs or winds up in a ditch.”
Kyle grabbed another slice of pizza. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. We had to get back on the ship that night. What the fuck could we have done? Save her and then just drop her off somewhere? And don't be suck a fucking pussy. She didn’t get moved because you came back. They move these girls all the fucking time.”
I knew that, she’d even told me that. But I hadn’t listened. Too cocky, and now I didn’t have a fucking clue where she was.
I stood up. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t have to explain myself. Vic and Kyle pounded back their beers, polished off their pizza, and we left.
We weaved in and out of the underbelly of Curaçao. Must’ve hit up a dozen more brothels. It was so fucking depressing. Some of the whores couldn’t have been older than fourteen. The older ones reeked of desperation. Dead eyes, bruised bodies, drugged minds.
But there was no sign of Annie.
We found another joint; this one was more similar to the one I’d met Annie at. But again, she was nowhere in sight. More importantly, at all of these brothels, I never recognized any of the other girls who’d worked with Annie. I knew that they couldn’t have all just vanished into the night. They had to be somewhere. Unless they were six feet under.
Kyle disappeared into one of the rooms with a girl. He said he was going to ‘take one for the team’ so we didn’t arouse suspicions.
When he emerged from the room, he had a big smile on his face.
“Was she that good?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t know. I couldn’t bear to fuck her, just in case she was another American and I’d have to deal with this shit. So she just gave me a hand job. Not half bad but I do a better job myself. Anyway, I told her I had fucked this amazing whore at the brothel that had burnt down. She said she’d heard that a bunch of girls were just moved to Aruba.” He smirked. "Told you I'd take one for the Team."
“Let’s go.” I pressed my palms downward; this time I didn’t want to be overly confident. The cool Caribbean breeze calmed my mind. Annie had mentioned she’d been transferred to Aruba once. Made sense that she was back there now.
Aruba was a mere sixty-nine miles away.
Pictures of Annie in various situations raced through my mind. Annie being raped by some sweaty fat ass with tentacle hands and bad breath. Annie shooting up and stoned out of her mind on the dirty floor of a dark room. Annie being beaten by an overenthusiastic pimp with a heavy hand and no one to protect her. Annie crying alone at night because she'd finally given up hope that I would find her.
Over the years, I’d participated in many missions. Accomplishing them gave me a great sense of pride for my country, but I’d never felt as connected to a mission as I did to this one. I was meant to be in the brothel that night, to choose her, to ask her name. Even my ex-fiancée cheating on me led me to that moment, that decision, because if she had been faithful, I would be married to her and would’ve never set foot in a brothel. I may have many character flaws, but cheating was not one of them.
I would not fail Annie. I don't fail.
“I am never out of the fight.”
8.
We survived a rocky boat ride to Aruba. This neighboring island had the same vibe as Curaçao: tropical, humid, colorful. My eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and not even the black tar that Kyle claimed was coffee could wipe the fog from my brain. A restless night on the piece of shit boat coupled with vivid nightmares of Annie's fate had me feeling edgy and irritable. I couldn't relax until we'd gotten this shit done.
With the boat safely docked in a slip, the three of us made our way through the energetic market, elbowing through hoards of tourists and locals hocking their wares. The sun was already baking a sea of bodies on the stretch of beach and though I wore faded jeans and a frayed t-shirt with a cap pulled low over my eyes, I felt the heat heavy on my skin. I couldn't stop Vic from donning a tacky Hawaiian shirt, his attempt to dress like a tourist. Vic followed at a distance, strolling leisurely from shop to shop along the beachfront road.
We’d rented a car and reserved a hotel room in the middle of town. Until we found her, we wanted to make sure that we were staying in the center of the tourist hub so we could do our best to blend in with the throngs of visitors.
At night, Kyle, Vic, and I set out again, scouring the red lights. The ones in Aruba seemed more upscale than the ones in Curaçao. Most were set up like bars. Men could sit and order drinks at little tables and chat up the hookers. I guess that was great for the men who liked to pretend that these women were actually interested in them, instead of admitting that they were paying for sex. I preferred to be honest with my intentions so I never needed to play any games or delude myself any more than I already did.
But after another long night of too many drinks and too bright neon lights, we’d come up empty-handed. No Annie.
Kyle convinced Vic and I to cool off at the hotel bar, Enrique & Richie’s. It was dark and pulsed with loud music, heavy on the bass. Spring break was out in full force. Coeds writhed on the small dance floor with candy-colored drinks and short skirts paired with bikini tops. Most were already halfway to blitzed and I couldn't help but wonder if one of them would be the next Annie.
Vic and Kyle hit on girls at the bar, but I was too fucking depressed to make small talk. I sat alone at a table in the corner, drinking whiskey. Why should I be out having fun in paradise, while Annie was turning tricks in hell?
Think, motherfucker. What am I missing?
My mind drifted, and I zoned out listening to the Calypso music. The beat of the steel drums shook my shot glass.
Steel. Drums.
Annie had said that the last thing that she’d remembered the morning she had been taken was that the drummer entered into her elevator and drugged her. And the other American girl who went missing, Nicole Race, had been last seen at this bar. Annie had even said she knew Nicole, but Nicole had overdosed. This couldn’t just be a coincidence.
I glanced over to the drummer and my eyes narrowed. A larger than life man with piercing dark eyes; he wore a pink shirt and played those drums as if he didn’t have a care in the world.