Paradise Falls (35 page)

Jacob glanced over at her.

“Just thinking,” she said.

“About?”

“The town. I’ve spent my whole life here, except when I was in college, and I never saw what it was really like. I knew the police would look the other way when Elliot tormented me, but that’s the same anywhere, isn’t it? A Senator’s son in Idaho or something could get away with the same thing. Now,” she shook her head. “Is there anything in Paradise Falls that isn’t tainted?”

“Yeah,” Jacob said, without skipping a beat. “You.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes.

“We’re getting close.”

She didn’t expect to visit Port Carol again so soon. Jennifer had no idea why the town was called “Port” Carol, and wasn’t sure anyone else did, either. Dozens of little towns out here had Port-something for a name, regardless of their proximity to bodies of water. Port Carol was the image of a one-stoplight town, with the highway narrowing to become the main drag before fanning out again and a few side streets of old decrepit houses and a brightly lit gas station that seemed eerily out of place. As absurd as the idea sounded, most of the population of Port Carol and the other little towns out here were commuters, working either in Paradise Falls in what little industry there was left, or driving even further to the Philadelphia suburbs.

There was a time when the locals were concerned about ‘gentrification’ and rich yuppies converting barns into open concept houses with granite countertops and vaulted ceilings, but little of that materialized. Jennifer knew of at least one sad remnant of a subdivision being built outside of town, a few empty houses surrounded by the skeletons of unborn homes, covered over in ragged tarps shredded by age and weather.

On the far side of town was the bar, an illegal strip club. There were plenty of those out in the sticks, and like the ‘massage parlors’ that opened in Paradise Falls before Adam Katzenberg had them shut down, most of them were fronts for prostitution. Jacob parked the car and began setting up his surveillance gear. He had an artificial ear that looked like a satellite dish, and binoculars, and a long range camera. He gave Jennifer a wireless earbud for the listening device and took one himself, and set the cameras out on the hood of the car. In a stand of trees, in the dark, no one near the brightly list honky-tonk would be able to see them. At least, she hoped.

Just in case, she opened the trunk, and put a live, loaded magazine in the rifle. Jacob nodded as she checked the safety and rested it on the back seat.

“Oh my God,” said Jacob.

“What?”
 

“Binoculars. Look by the door.”

Jennifer lifted the heavy binoculars to her eyes and adjusted the focus, and her jaw dropped. Jacob was already working the camera.

She was five foot eight at least, almost as tall as Jennifer but not quite. Her hair was a brighter shade of red, probably died. She was dressed for the occasion, as it were, in a leather halter top and a skirt so short it barely qualified for the term. She found a dial to zoom in. The girl was covered in tattoos, on both arms and her back. Jacob was snapping pictures relentlessly, and had the video camera going, too.

The more she looked at the girl, the more two things occurred to her. She was a tall, narrowly built redhead. The resemblance was there. It would be overly dramatic to say she could be Jennifer’s sister, but a cousin certainly. Worse, she was young. Very young. If she was eighteen, Jennifer would be shocked. This had to be the one Ellison was talking about. Elliot’s favorite.

Jacob shut off the video camera.

“That’s her.”

By the look of him, the man that took her arm was a truck driver. He was also old enough to be her father. He led her away from the door, towards the big gravel side lot where a line of semi-tractors parked.

“Masks,” said Jacob.

8.

The mask came down over his face and Jacob breathed deeply through it, sucking in the plastic taste of the artificial fibers. With the mask over his face he felt a change come over himself. His posture contorted slightly and nervous energy quivered in his muscles. Pulled the fabric down over his face felt like letting something out, rather than keeping it in. Tiny cold slivers coiled in his stomach when Jennifer stepped out of the car and looked over before pulling her mask down. He felt a hot stab of of shame at the sight of her decked out for combat, but a strange pride, too.

The redhead was moving across the parking lot towards the line of parked trucks, following behind the john. Her posture sang of broken spirits and defeat. She hugged herself against the cold and drew in her shoulders, as if by making herself small enough she could disappear. Jacob steeled himself and took a glance at Jennifer.

She had the rifle out of the case. Just like he taught, she inserted a magazine and gave it a firm shove to seat it, pulled the charging handle and checked the safety, then popped open the bipod and put it on the roof of the car.

“What do I do?”

He tapped his earpiece. “Warn me if you see anyone coming. Be ready to shoot. It’s your call, but you need to be ready. You have my back, right?”

Her head trembled as she nodded.

A wave of remorse pulled through him.

God, what am I doing?

He pushed that out of his head. The john had the girl going into the truck first, climbing up the side. Then he followed. Jacob loosened up, ignoring the flaring agony in his sides and chest and the dull red lines of the wounds etched into his skin. He was a figure of wood. Pain was just an awareness of injury and his injuries would not stop him.

First, he jogged down the road. He had to get out of the lights, had to avoid being seen. Black was the wrong color. He should have gone with gray and earth tones, in a digital pattern to break up his outline. Black was stylish, though, and in a way, traditional. The second skin of black weave gripped his body, pulled him forward. He circled around behind the parking lot, a wide
 
expanse of gravel and dirt that would turn into a mud pit if it rained again, and moved slowly, deliberately placing his feet to muffle any noise.

He stopped by the side of the truck and crouched. Big Kenworth with a sleeper box, pulling a load of logs. Jacob mulled over his options, then hauled himself up onto the flatbed, ignoring the strain of the bandages and the screaming, tearing feeling in his core muscles. Working his way up the side of the log pile, he crawled along the top and onto the roof of the cab.

With his knuckles, he rapped lightly on the window.

There was a commotion inside. A scuffle. It sounded like a bug fluttering against a window. He knocked again, the sound grew louder and the door swung open. The trucker dropped down, resting one foot on the running board, and looked out.

“My time ain’t up yet,” he snarled.

“Yes it is,” Jacob whispered.

Twisting on the roof, he lashed out with his foot and drove his heel into the back of the truck’s head. He flew forward, arms cartwheeling as he flailed for balance or purchase to arrest his fall before landing in a heap in the gravel, on his side. Jacob threw himself over the side and landed just behind him in a crouch.

The pain of his wounds and bruised ribs moved inside him, grew. His rage was a living thing, hot and liquid, taking shape and spreading through his body until it buzzed under his skin. The trucker’s cry was cut off by Jacob’s hand closing over his mouth and his knee in his back.

“Shh,” Jacob whispered.

No time. He had to get the girl, keep it quiet. He jerked the trucker’s wrists behind his back and zip-tied them with a plastic strip from his belt.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, then bound the man’s legs. Finally he rolled a piece of black duct tape over his mouth as he rolled him over.

Wide-eyed, he stared up at Jacob, trembling. He fit the stereotype. Sweaty flannel shirt, worn dungarees, wallet chained to his belt. Jacob pulled the wallet out and rifled through it. A few worn bills, a picture. Trucker had a frumpy wife and a chubby but cute boy. The picture was old. The boy was probably in his teens by now. Probably the same age as the girl.

Jacob found what he wanted. Commercial driver’s license, issued by the state of Illinois. He took a long look at it, then showed it to him.

“This you?”

The truck nodded.

“This where you live?”

The trucker nodded again.

“Listen carefully. I ever find out you’ve taken a pit stop on your route to pick up an underage prostitute again, I’ll be paying you a visit. We clear?”

He nodded. Hard.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Jacob rolled him under the truck and fought the urge to kick him in the ribs. He grabbed the rail by the door and pulled himself up inside. The inside stank, smelled like sweat and stale beer and fear. The girl was huddled up in the bunk bed in the back, wrapped up in a dirty blanket. Her overdone, coquettish makeup only made her look younger and the way it was smeared heightened the effect even more. Her hair would probably be a bright orange in the right light. He’d put her at seventeen, at the oldest.

It would be an exaggeration to say she could be Jennifer’s sister. A cousin, maybe. The resemblance was there, though, and strong. Jacob moved to her side and she hissed and pulled back, pressing into the corner.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“W-what do you want?”

“I’m here to help.”

The blank confusion on her face stung him.

“What?”

“I’m here to get you and the other girls away from here.”

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about that. How many are inside?”

“There’s me and four others. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I know they give you drugs. I can take care of that. I have a doctor.”

“It’s not that. My sister…”

Jacob tensed. “What?”

“My sister’s out at the trailer.”

“Trailer?”

“That’s where they keep us when the club is closed.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.” Her breath hitched and she curled up in a ball, pulling her knees to her chest. “Don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Tell me your name.”

“Star.”

“Your real name.”

“Kirsten.”

“Okay, Kirsten. Who’s your sister?”

“Hailey.”

“Kirsten and Hailey. I’m going to get you both out of here.”

“You can’t. If I’m bad they’ll put Kelly in the box.”

Jacob’s stomach tightened. “What box?”

“The box is where you go when you don’t do what you’re told.”

“Trust me. Nobody is going in the box. Can you tell me where they keep you during the day?”

“I don’t know where it is. The van has black windows and they give us the drugs first.”

He nodded. “Okay. Come with me.”

“I can’t. He only paid for fifteen minutes. If I don’t come back…”

God
damn it.

Jacob clenched his fists and the girl flinched, tucking the blanket up under her chin.

“Okay,” he said, forcing himself calm, making his voice as even as he could. “Here’s what I want you to do. Go back inside and do what you have to do. Don’t say anything and act normal. This is your last night here, I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

“Alright,” she said. “Can I g-go?”

“Yes. Go on.”

Jacob moved to the side. The girl got up and adjusted her meager coverings and dropped down out of the truck in a practiced motion, and ran back towards the bar with her arms wrapped around her body. Jacob dropped down and found the driver still lying on his belly under the trailer, pulled him out, and shoved him inside.

Swinging up, he closed the door and fired up the motor. He didn’t wait for it to warm up, but carefully shifted it into gear and rolled out of the lot, careful not to grind the gears and make a commotion. A truck’s transmission had more gears and a gate to access them, and he was more sure of the concept than the actual process of driving it, so he took it slow and headed down the road, glancing at the bound driver huddled up on the floor.

When he stopped, he looked down at the driver.

“You have a kid, right?”

The driver nodded, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry. I don’t hurt children. How can you do this? Do you know what they do to those little girls?”

The driver was silent and still for a time, except for his labored breathing.

“Don’t make me regret letting you live.”

Jacob shut everything off and swung down to the road, and jogged back, ducking down into the ditch that ran along the road until he reached Jennifer. She looked over and yanked her mask up to bare her face as he leaned on the side of the car and did the same. His sides were burning and his chest was a map of agony.

“What happened?”

“They keep the girls off site,” said Jacob. “Don’t keep them all here. Probably rotate them. Place is closed during the day, they keep them all there. That’s our best bet. Need to find it, scout security and get past, get them out when they’re all there,” he nodded towards the bar, “that kid has a sister. Keep them separated. Wouldn’t come with me.”

Jennifer nodded and touched his side. He couldn’t feel her fingertips through the armored vest, but he may as well have felt her. The concern on her face was plain.

“What did you do with the driver?”

“Tied him up. I didn’t hurt him.”

She nodded, a little wave of relief flickering over her beautiful face.

“We need to get in the car. When the van comes to pick up the girls we’ll follow it. Then I’ll scout out the area and make a plan.”

He slumped in the driver’s seat. Jennifer sat with the rifle clutched between her legs, muzzle pointed at the ceiling. She held it like she was meant to, a dark look on her face.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “For not hurting that guy.”

“Why?”

“I think I would have,” she said, softly.

He shook his head.

“No. You wouldn’t. You’re better than that. Better than me.”

She squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, lightly.

Then he took his binoculars and looked. The place was ramshackle in construction, violating a dozen building codes, maybe more. It was probably a diner, originally, the big metal trailer kind that used to dot the landscape out here, offering good vittles and air conditioning to the weary. Now the outside was rusted, the chrome peeled off, and it had been expanded three or four times over with crude additions that folded out from behind the original like wings, and a sloping overhang built out front.